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hoshifighting · 2 months ago

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— Synopsis: After a series of graffiti attacks on your bakery, you find out Jihoon is the vandal behind it, frustrated because your shop's success has outshone his grandma's bakery. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, physical violence (reader hits jihoon with a mop, vandalism), jealousy, emotional conflict, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, semi-public sex, cock riding, overwhelming, body fluids (cum), no protection, fetish elements—being painted with grafitty during sex, claiming, mention of an enormous cock on the bakery's wall.

Your arms are crossed in a tight clutch as you stare at the front door of the bakery, the black, fresh tags sprayed across the pastel walls like an ugly bruise. It’s the same crap, just a new day. The pink and white of your shop—the delicate aesthetic that drew people in—was constantly being smeared by some low-life with a spray can. Months of this, and all the cameras ever caught was a faceless guy in a black hoodie. Useless.

With a frustrated sigh, you unlock the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary. The day needed to start, vandalism or not. You open the windows, letting the fresh morning air in. At least the floors were clean, thanks to the obsessive mopping you’d done last night. That had become a habit lately, one of the few things you could control.

You grab a bowl, dumping the ingredients for cake batter in with a bit too much force. Your arm flexes as you whip the fouet through the mix, your irritation guiding every furious stroke. It’s therapeutic, in a way—until Mingyu walks in.

“Are you... trying to murder the batter?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice as he sets his stuff in the locker. “You’re about to crack the bowl in half.”

You glance up, still scowling, but the comment catches you off guard. “Shu’up, Mingyu. You would be mixing like this too if someone graffitied your walls for the hundredth time.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he teases, walking over to grab his apron. “It’s just a little paint. You act like the world’s ending.”

“It’s not just paint! It’s every day with this. And it’s not even good graffiti. It’s just some bullshit tags that don’t mean anything.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, some people might say you’re overthinking it. Maybe the artist is just misunderstood. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning.”

“‘Eat shit’ has no deeper meaning,” you deadpan, pushing the bowl to the side. “And I’ve got a cake due at 3 p.m. Can you please help me with the fondant? I need to leave on time for class.”

“Gastronomy waits for no one,” he quips, moving to help you.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Exactly. And if I’m late, I’m fucked. So let's get this done.”

Mingyu chuckles, but he gets to work, his hands already busy with rolling out the fondant. “You ever think of just... catching the guy yourself? Stake out the place or something?”

“Yeah, because that’s a great use of my time,” you mutter. “I’ve got school, work, and now this mystery asshole. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside all night and wait to get jumped?”

“Hey, you might scare him off with your mixing technique alone.”

You snort. “At this point, I’d rather beat him over the head with the bowl.”

— // NEXT DAY // —

You’re bent over the counter, carefully arranging the pies and cupcakes in the vitrine, when the bell above the door jingles. The sound makes you straighten up automatically, pasting on your best “welcome to my bakery” smile.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” you ask, looking up to see Mrs. Yang, one of your more... particular customers. She smiles politely, her bag clutched in one hand, and takes her time approaching the counter.

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice too sweet for whatever she’s about to say next. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... the situation outside.”

Here we go.

You nod, still smiling like your life depends on it. “Yes, we’ve been dealing with some, uh... graffiti issues lately.”

Her lips purse. “It’s quite the eyesore, don’t you think? Having that sort of thing on the storefront isn’t good for business, especially with such a nice bakery like yours. People might get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want to bring my friends here if it continues.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you from the back, wide and alarmed like he’s bracing himself for whatever smartass remark is about to leave your mouth. You can almost hear him holding his breath.

But instead of snapping, you swallow it down. Barely.

“I understand, Mrs. Yang. We’re working on getting it removed as soon as possible,” you say, your voice calm and professional, even though your brain is screaming, What the hell do you want me to do? Hand-paint the walls every night?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” she replies with a thin smile, “You always do such a lovely job here. I’ll have two of the lemon tarts, please.”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing the tarts and ringing her up, every muscle in your body tense as you try not to explode. “That’ll be $8.50.”

As she leaves, Mingyu sidles up behind you. “You alright? That looked painful.”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before I throw a tart at you.”

He just laughs. “Hey, props for not biting her head off. That’s growth.”

Your day only goes downhill from there.

An order comes in last-minute, right when you're about to head out for a cake delivery, forcing you to juggle too many tasks at once. The fondant on the cake cracks just as you’re trying to finish it, and you nearly drop the entire thing when you’re loading it into the car. By the time you deliver it, you're ten minutes late, and the client is tapping her foot like you ruined her wedding or something.

As you drive away, you notice that some idiot in the parking lot nicked the side of your car with their door. The scrape is fresh, ugly, and just another thing you don’t have time to deal with.

By the time you make it to the university, you’re on edge. Every little thing is pissing you off—the late delivery, the car, Mrs. Yang’s passive-aggressive comments replaying in your head.

You stomp into the classroom, tossing your bag on the desk as you take your seat. Your friend, Jiyeon, looks up from her notes, immediately catching the “I’m about to lose it” vibe radiating from you.

“Woah, woah... Don’t talk to me,” you say, waving her off before she even opens her mouth.

She raises her hands in mock surrender, exasperated. “Okay, okay, damn. I wasn’t even gonna say anything!”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the guy sitting next to you glancing over. He’s half-smirking, like he’s amused by your bad mood. You roll your eyes as you pull your utensils from your bag.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” you snap, not really in the mood for whatever attitude he’s giving you.

He just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Nothing. Chill.”

You huff, biting your tongue. “Whatever, man.”

As class starts, you try to focus on the lecture, but it feels like everything is stacking up, one annoying thing after another. You’re counting down the hours until you can get out of here and back to the bakery, where at least you can take your frustrations out on some dough.

[...]

The bakery is finally quiet. You’ve set the doughs to rest for tomorrow, turned off the colorful lights, and now it’s just you, the mop, and the hum of the radio. There’s something peaceful about the dark bakery—like it’s resting, too, after a long, chaotic day. The floor’s slick beneath the mop as you drag it in lazy strokes, the apron around your neck, always too tight, was finally off.

It’s quiet out there too. Rush hour’s over, people are strolling by in pretty scarves, leaving their cubicles for the day. Not that you’d ever want that life. That could never be you—this was your space, your bakery. You’d rather be here, mopping your own floors than stuck in some windowless office.

Even if your apron’s been digging into your neck all damn day. You rub at the sore spot, sighing, when—

Wait.

What the fuck? You squint, eyes narrowing as some guy steps right up to your bakery window, a paint can in hand. You watch in disbelief as he starts spraying. Right on your wall. Again.

You don’t even think. You just move. The front glass door slams open so hard the bell almost flies off, the aggressive clatter echoing behind you as you stomp out, mop still in hand.

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy barely turns, but it’s too late. You’re already swinging. The wooden handle of your mop cracks across his back with a satisfying thud, and he lets out this startled grunt, almost tripping over his own feet. You swing again, harder this time, and it echoes across the empty street. Even the homeless guy across the road—the one you always give leftover tarts to—jumps in his spot, startled.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You think this is funny?!” you yell, swinging the mop at him again as he ducks, letting out an “ouch” with each hit. “You keep tagging my walls, and I’m the one paying for this shit! Do you even know how much it costs to get this cleaned? Huh?!”

“Ouch, fuck! Stop, STOP!” he stammers, arms up, trying to shield himself.

You don’t stop. You’re done with this day, done with this week, done with this punk-ass artist ruining your bakery’s vibe. “You piece of shit! You’re dead! I’m gonna shove this can so far up your—”

“What the hell?!” the guy stumbles, trying to dodge your swings, but you’re relentless.

“You think you can just waltz in and spray whatever dumb shit you want? You’re gonna clean this up with your tongue, you little—”

Before you can deliver another hit, the guy turns around, and his hood falls back. Your breath catches.

“Jihoon?!”

The guy grimaces, rubbing his back where you’ve practically beat the soul out of him, but it’s definitely him. The same Jihoon you snapped at in class today, the same Jihoon you barely tolerate during group projects. The fucker who’s been defacing your bakery.

You blink, still holding the mop in a death grip. “So it was you, you fucking idiot?! You’ve been doing this the whole time?!”

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, still smirking like this is some kind of joke. “Well... I wouldn’t say the whole time.”

“You—” You jab the mop handle at him again, making him flinch. “You’re going to clean this up. I don’t care how. Hell, you can start with your tongue if you’re so attached to your damn art.”

“Woah, woah.” He holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I mean, it’s just paint.”

“Just paint?” you repeat, incredulous. “I’ve had customers complain, the city’s sent me notices, and you’re out here calling it just paint? Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, no. They’re shit. Like, the worst shit I’ve ever seen,” you bite out.

You cross your arms, staring Jihoon down as he leans awkwardly against the wall.

“You know what? I should call the police on you.”

His eyes go wide, his posture straightening instantly. “No, no, no! Come on, don’t do that!”

You slowly pull your phone from your back pocket, waving it in front of him as you point a finger at his chest. “I think it’s about time you get what’s coming to you.”

Panic flashes across his face, and he lunges forward, trying to grab your phone, but you thrust the mop at his chest, pressing it against him to keep him at bay. “Back off!”

He stumbles back, frowning, his lips jutting out in a sulk. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I don’t wanna sleep in the cold!” His feet stomp on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, the whole thing looking ridiculous enough that anyone watching might think this was an opening scene from The Office.

You ignore his whining and start dialing, but he won’t shut up. “Please! You can’t let me go to jail over some paint!”

“You should’ve thought about that before tagging my bakery again.” You cut him off, giving him a pointed look. “Why the hell have you been doing this? And don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous dick spray-painted on the back of my shop either.”

Jihoon stays quiet for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he shifts on his feet. His hands fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you narrow your eyes, sensing something off.

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear.

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What?”

His face goes red, and he mutters again, “Only if... you let me try one of your tarts.”

You blink, leaning in closer. “What was that? Speak up, punk.”

Jihoon sighs, cheeks practically glowing. “I said... I want to try one of your tarts, okay?!”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

He nods, keeping his head down, looking smaller and more pathetic than you ever imagined he could.

“You’re telling me... you come here, paint my walls like a little delinquent, and now you want a fucking tart? You—”

You breathe in, trying to summon every ounce of patience you have left. The tarts are your best sellers—the buttery crust, fresh fruit, and creamy filling that made your bakery famous not just in the neighborhood but all over town. People raved about them, coming from across the city just to get their hands on one. Hell, students from your college made regular stops just to bring some back to class.

Your shoulders sag in exasperation, but you eventually gesture toward the door. “Fine. Get inside.”

Jihoon looks up, surprised but not daring to push his luck. You flip the lights back on, the bakery coming to life once more. Heading to the back, you grab a fresh tart from the display, muttering curses under your breath as you shout, “Which one do you want?”

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

You grab a pink plate and set the tart delicately in the center, placing it on the counter with one of your signature gold-colored forks and a neatly folded napkin. When you walk over to the table Jihoon picked, nestled in a corner, you notice him glancing around the bakery with a curious expression, taking in the space like he’s never seen it properly before.

He sits down, eyeing the tart suspiciously at first. You cross your arms and sit across from him, your foot bouncing impatiently under the table. You can’t help but suppress an inner smile—every customer had the same reaction to their first bite, and you’re secretly waiting for it.

Jihoon picks up the fork, hesitantly cutting into the tart. As soon as the buttery crust gives way, the scent of fresh strawberries and sweet cream fills the air. He takes a bite, and his eyes widen almost immediately. He chews slowly, like he’s processing the taste, his expression changing from sulky to... amazed.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing up at you, eyes wide. “This is... really good.”

You lean back, crossing your arms tighter. “Yeah. That’s what people keep saying.”

He takes another bite, and then another, clearly trying not to devour the whole thing in two seconds. His face softens, the usual smugness gone, replaced by genuine awe. He looks around the bakery again, understanding slowly sinking in. The care you put into every detail—the soft lighting, the warmth, the way the scent of fresh-baked goods fills the air. It’s no wonder other bakeries in the area couldn’t compete.

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed.

You shift in your seat, arms still crossed, and stare at Jihoon as he wipes his mouth with the napkin, setting it down with a quiet sigh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture heavy with something unsaid.

“So… you gonna tell me why you’ve been punking my bakery?” you ask, your voice less biting than before, though the edge is still there.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing out the window for a moment like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighs again. “We had a bakery, me and my grandma. It was right across the street.”

You frown, your head tilting slightly as you turn to glance outside through the window. Yeah, you remembered that place. It had that old-school charm, the kind of bakery that felt like a cozy throwback to the 60s, with its wooden benches and rustic signage. It had been there before you moved into the neighborhood. You even remembered the old lady that used to work there, always with a smile, though her hands were slow and her voice even slower. The front of the bakery had been boarded up for months now, closed and forgotten by most.

Jihoon continues, his voice lower. “Before you opened up, we did well. My grandma’s tarts were, like, the thing around here. People came from all over to buy them.” He pauses, and you see his shoulders drop slightly. “But after your tarts took off… we started losing customers. A lot of them.”

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air thickens. You swallow, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight in your chest. You remember seeing them sitting outside their shop, the once-busy bakery now quiet as yours boomed with success.

“We tried to keep up,” Jihoon says, his voice a little shaky. “But no one came in anymore. People stopped buying our stuff. My grandma and I used to just sit there on the bench, watching people line up outside your place while we were lucky to sell a couple tarts.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, like he’s mocking the memory. “She’d pretend it didn’t bother her, but I knew. I knew it killed her inside.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, guilt creeping in even though you know it wasn’t really your fault. Still, hearing it from him, the weight of their loss, makes you look down at the table, feeling suddenly small.

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask softly, the words barely escaping your mouth. “This was my dream too.”

Jihoon nods, almost like he understands, though there’s still bitterness in his tone. “I know. And it’s not like you did anything wrong. Your bakery is… well, people love it. They loved your tarts. And I guess, after a while, I just got so… mad.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “We had to close the bakery. We couldn’t keep up. And I started working in the city, doing graffiti, whatever I could to make ends meet.” He shakes his head, laughing without humor again. “And when I saw people still lining up here, day after day, it just… pissed me off. So I started tagging your walls. Stupid, I know.”

You feel a lump in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You glance back out the window, seeing the boarded-up bakery in the distance, and it stirs something deep inside. His frustration, his anger… it all makes sense now.

“I didn’t understand,” Jihoon says, his voice softer now, almost defeated. “I couldn’t figure out how your tarts were better than my grandma’s. It didn’t make sense to me. We’d been here for years. How could people just forget about us?” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sad. “But now I get it. I guess… your tarts really are better.”

The way he says it, with that empty laugh, hits you right in the chest. There’s no joy in his voice, no real acceptance, just this sad realization that his family’s legacy had been outdone by you.

You lower your gaze, feeling awful. “Jihoon…” You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt gnawing at you, but what could you even say? You worked hard for this. It wasn’t like you meant to destroy his bakery. But it’s clear now that, in a way, you did.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you mumble, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s not like I wanted to take business away from you guys.”

He waves it off, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I know. It’s just how it worked out. You did what you had to do. I just… I didn’t know what else to do but get mad at you for it.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with unsaid things. Jihoon keeps his gaze on the table, his fingers playing with the edges of the napkin, while you try to process the weight of everything he just said.

And as much as you want to feel justified—after all, you didn’t do anything wrong—there’s a part of you that can’t shake the sadness settling deep in your chest. You glance out the window again, at the closed shop across the street, and for the first time, you wonder what it must’ve been like for them, watching your bakery rise while theirs fell apart.

Jihoon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know… it’s dumb. You didn’t mean to screw us over. I just… I just miss the way things used to be.”

You breathe in deeply, trying to push down the growing lump in your throat.

The silence between you two lingers, stretching out like the stillness of the night outside. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator behind the counter, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You breathe in, thinking of something to say, and for a moment, Jihoon glances up at you, expectant. But when you close your mouth again, he looks away, fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

Finally, you place your hand on the wooden table between you, the sound of your fingers brushing the grain breaking the silence. "What kind of tarts did your grandma sell?" you ask, voice steady but curious.

Jihoon frowns, clearly taken off guard by the question. "Savory ones," he says after a beat, as if testing the waters of the conversation.

Your brow lifts in surprise. Savory tarts weren’t really your thing—you specialized in the sweet stuff. "Savory?" you lean in a bit, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Jihoon seems to hesitate, unsure of where you’re going with this, but then he starts listing them off, voice soft at first but growing stronger. "Palm heart or olives, ham, and cheese, sometimes we’d do quiches with bacon and caramelized onions, even some seasonal ones with pumpkin or sweet potato… Stuff like that."

You sit back, letting the list of flavors settle in your mind, gears turning. You’d never considered offering savory tarts before—your bakery was known for its sweets. But maybe that was part of the problem. There was a whole side of the tart game you hadn’t even touched.

"You think you could make some of those flavors and bring them tomorrow?" you ask, your tone casual as you rest your chin in your hand.

Jihoon frowns deeper, confused, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

You chew your lip for a second, glancing around your bakery, imagining it filled with the rich, hearty smells of savory tarts instead of the usual sugar and cream. "I was thinking maybe we could try something… an experiment," you say, eyes lighting up as you lean forward. "You bring the savory ones, I’ll sell them in the display, right alongside the sweet ones. See how people like them."

Jihoon blinks at you, processing your words, and for a moment, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re suggesting. "You… you wanna sell my grandma’s tarts here?"

You nod, the idea already snowballing in your mind. "Yeah, why not? People around here are crazy for the sweets, but maybe they’ve just never had the chance to try something savory. And you know I don’t do that kind of thing, so… it’d be different." You pause, watching his face, which is slowly starting to shift from confusion to something brighter. "We’ll call it a collab or something. Give them a taste of what your bakery used to offer."

His eyes light up, sparkling with excitement as the idea sinks in. The hesitation that was there before vanishes, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. "Really?" He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "You think… people would like them?"

"If they’re as good as you say they are," you grin, tapping your fingers on the table, "then yeah, I think they will."

Jihoon’s face softens, and for the first time tonight, a real smile spreads across his lips. It’s small at first, but there’s something genuine and almost childlike about it, like you just handed him a lifeline he wasn’t expecting. "They’re really, really good," he says earnestly, nodding. "My grandma used to get people coming back for them all the time. They were, like, her specialty."

"Then bring enough for tomorrow," you say, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "We’ll put them out, see what happens. Maybe it’ll bring some of her old customers back."

He looks at you like you’ve just flipped the entire script on him. The guy who’d been tagging your bakery out of spite now suddenly has a shot at redemption, and it’s written all over his face. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his excitement barely contained.

"How many do you need?" he asks, voice filled with an eagerness you hadn’t seen in him before.

You pause, thinking for a second. "Start small—maybe a couple dozen to test the waters. If they sell out, we’ll know we’re onto something."

Jihoon nods rapidly, his excitement bubbling over. "I can do that. I can bring, like, the spinach and feta ones. Those were super popular. And maybe the mushroom ones too. People loved those." He’s rambling now, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "You think they’ll like them? I mean, people around here are kinda obsessed with sweet stuff, but these… these are different."

You laugh softly, watching him get more and more animated. "I think if they’re as good as you say, people are gonna be lining up for them. And who knows? Maybe savory tarts will be the next big thing."

Jihoon sits back, grinning like he can’t believe this is real. "I can’t believe you’re actually doing this." His eyes flicker over the bakery, taking in the pink and white décor, the polished countertops, the faint smell of sugar still lingering in the air. "I thought you’d just tell me to fuck off, honestly."

You shrug, smiling slightly. "Well, I did wanna hit you with a mop earlier. But… I don’t know. It seems like the least I can do after everything."

He stares at you, his grin softening into something more serious, more genuine. "Thanks," he says quietly, and you can tell that he means it. "I… I really judged you wrong."

You wave him off, but inside, there’s a warmth spreading, something that feels almost like… relief? Like maybe this little experiment could be more than just business—it could be a way to right some wrongs.

"Just bring your best game tomorrow," you say, standing up from the table. "If your grandma’s tarts are half as good as you say, I’m sure people will love them."

Jihoon stands too, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, they will. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with that confidence again, and for the first time, it feels like you’re seeing the real him, not the guy who’s been tagging your bakery out of anger.

As you walk him to the door, you glance back at the kitchen, already imagining the savory tarts lining the shelves next to your usual sweets. This could be something big, something new—something that might even help mend the bridge between you two.

Jihoon pauses at the door, turning back to you with a grin. "Tomorrow, then. You won’t regret this."

The next morning, Jihoon arrives at your bakery with a box, the warmth of the tarts and quiches radiating from inside. You grin as you lift the lid, the smellof the buttery crust wafting out. Carefully, you place them in the display, arranging them neatly beside your sweets.

Jihoon moves towards the door without saying a word, but before he can leave, you raise your voice, “Where are you going?”

He pauses and steps back in, bending down to pick up a bucket of paint remover and a brush from outside. “Gonna get rid of the mess,” he says with a shrug, shaking the supplies in his hand.

You scoff, leaning against the counter. “Looks like hitting you with the mop actually worked.” You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed.

He freezes, his eyes widening a little, like he just remembered something. “Hey! You!” he protests, gesturing to his back. “I’m my back its black and blue thanks to you! My back its ruined.”

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Serves you right,” you shoot back, and Jihoon huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he heads outside to scrub off the tags.

As the morning rush starts, a couple of your regulars approach the counter, eyeing the new items. One of them, Mrs. Park, furrows her brow. "What’s all this?" she asks, nodding to the savory tarts.

You flash her a smile, "We’re doing a little collab with Jihoon’s family bakery. They used to sell these savory tarts, and we thought we'd give them a try here. You should taste them, they’re amazing."

Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow but picks up one of the tarts anyway. Within minutes, word spreads, and before you know it, the dozen savory tarts you put out are gone—people even leaving with extras for home. You lean against the counter, watching the buzz, satisfaction building in your chest.

As the rush dies down, you step outside where Jihoon is wiping down the wall, now tag-free. You smirk. "Sold everything," you say, watching his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

You nod. “Yeah, they went faster than I thought. Even Mingyu couldn’t keep his hands off them,” you say, pointing through the window where Mingyu is, mid-bite, munching happily on a tart behind the counter.

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at Mingyu, then back at you. "I’ve got more ready at my grandma’s place. I can go grab them now."

"Do it," you say with a grin, waving him off. “Bring a lot. I don’t think these’ll last long.”

An hour later, Jihoon returns, but this time he’s not alone. His grandma, the sweet old lady you remember from the bakery across the street, is with him. You light up when you see her.

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she gives you a gentle hug. "You’ve done so well with this place," she says, looking around the bakery.

As you help unload the box of fresh tarts, you see Mingyu’s eyes widen as he watches you set them out again, his mouth practically watering. He reaches for one, but you swat his hand away.

"Those are to sell," you scold playfully, but before you can follow up, Mrs. Lee reaches up and pats Mingyu on the head.

"Eat, eat, you’re a big boy. You need it," she says, and Mingyu, towering over her, grins sheepishly as he lowers his head.

"Yes, ma’am," he says with a boyish smile, clearly charmed.

With the tarts restocked, the afternoon turns out to be just as busy as the morning. People are coming in and out, curious about the new savory options, and before you know it, they’re sold out again.

After the rush dies down and the shift ends, you pull out the cash notes, counting how much you’ve made for the day. You walk over to Jihoon, handing him a stack of money.

"Here, this is how much we sold, minus the cost of ingredients," you say, but Jihoon waves his hand, shaking his head.

"Nah, don’t do that," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s your bakery. I’m just helping out."

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. "You think I’m not gonna pay you for your grandma’s recipes? Don’t be stupid."

He fidgets, glancing down. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles, but you cut him off.

"Come on. You think of reopening your grandma’s bakery again?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "I’ve been thinking about it. But there’s a lot to clean up, fix…"

You lean back, thinking for a moment. “Well, while you figure it out, how about you use my bakery to sell your savory stuff? We can split the profits and see how it goes. Maybe that way, you’ll get enough to fix it.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, gratitude spreading across his face. "You… you’d let me do that?"

You shrug. "Why not? People love your stuff, and I’ve got space. Plus, this way, we both win."

His lips part, disbelief still etched on his face, but then his shoulders relax, and a small smile forms. "I don’t know what to say. Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," you say, grinning. "We still gotta get through tomorrow."

He laughs, the tension that had been hanging between you since the whole graffiti incident finally easing. "I guess I’ll be back here early with more tarts, then."

"Bright and early," you reply, with a playful nod. "And don’t forget to bring your grandma too. Mingyu might cry if she doesn’t show up."

Jihoon chuckles, glancing at Mingyu who’s in the back, still wiping tart crumbs from his face. "I think you’re right about that."

As Jihoon and his grandma leave, you’re left standing in your bakery, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the now pristine windows.

The next morning, Jihoon shows up right on time, his grandma’s small hand wrapped around his arm as they step into the bakery. There’s something heartwarming about the sight—the way she leans on him, and how he effortlessly balances the heavy box of tarts in his other hand. You catch a glimpse of the pure affection between them, the kind only grandparents seem to have for their grandkids, and it makes you feel... softer.

Jihoon flashes you a quick, almost shy smile as he sets the box on the counter, the warmth of the freshly baked tarts instantly filling the room. You move to help him, opening the glass case of the vitrine. As you lean in to arrange the tarts, his arm brushes against yours, just barely. It’s nothing, really—just a quick touch—but you bite back a smile anyway. The warmth of it, the quiet ease, feels nice. Comfortable.

Outside, the rain begins to pour, pattering against the windows. It's not the gloomy kind of rain, though—it’s the kind that makes people crave warm spaces, a place to settle into with a coffee in hand. Your bakery, with its soft yellow lighting and the sweet smell of tarts mingling in the air, feels like the perfect refuge. You can already see a few people huddling under umbrellas as they make their way inside, the little bell above the door chiming each time.

Jihoon steps back, his eyes following yours as you arrange the tarts in perfect rows. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to sound casual, though your voice is a bit quieter than usual. You clear your throat. “Rain’s gonna bring people in. They’ll want something warm.”

Almost as if on cue, the door swings open with a gust of wet air, and your best friend stumbles inside, panting, her umbrella flung into the holder by the door. She shakes the rain off her coat and makes a beeline for the counter, eyes wide.

“I heard you’re selling savory tarts now,” she exclaims, nearly breathless.

You shoot her a look, half-amused. “Word spreads fast around here, hm?”

She leans on the counter, eyes scanning the new additions in the vitrine like she’s sizing them up. “You know me. I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says, grinning. Her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who’s still standing behind you. “And you,” she says, her tone turning teasing, “finally decided to be useful, huh?”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes, but you can see a flicker of amusement there. “I’m useful in ways you don’t even know,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, but it makes you smirk.

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure,” she quips, pulling out her wallet. “Alright, give me one of those tarts. Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

You grab a tart—spinach and cheese, her favorite—and hand it to her on a small plate. She takes one bite, her eyes widening dramatically. “Oh my god,” she says, mouth half full. “Okay, this… this is dangerous. You can’t sell these, I’ll be here every day.”

You laugh, watching her devour the tart. Jihoon leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed, a little smug. “Told you they were good,” he murmurs.

The steady rain outside only adds to the cozy vibe, making the bakery feel like a warm little haven. More customers trickle in, shaking off their umbrellas and ordering coffees to go with the new savory tarts. Some regulars ask about the new addition, and you tell them about the collaboration with Jihoon and his grandma. It’s casual, like you’re letting them in on a little secret, and soon enough, people are lining up to try them.

As you work, you can feel Jihoon’s presence behind you, quietly helping out where he can—refilling the display, wiping down tables, clearing plates. It’s kind of funny, actually. Not long ago, this same guy was spray-painting the walls of your bakery like a punk, and now here he is, setting tarts in your vitrine, his arm brushing against yours, acting like part of the team.

Your friend finishes her tart and slides the plate back toward you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, I gotta go before I eat the whole case,” she says, shooting you a wink. She glances at Jihoon as she grabs her umbrella. “You better keep bringing these, or we’ll have problems.”

Jihoon smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

As she leaves, you watch the bakery fill with warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of conversations. The rain taps against the windows, the outside world grey and wet, while the inside is alive with comfort. You lean against the counter, watching Jihoon’s grandma chatting with a customer. It’s kind of perfect, in a way—everything just falling into place.

After the lunch rush, Jihoon catches your eye, his expression a little sheepish. "They’re really selling, huh?"

You smile, a little proud. "Yeah. Told you they’d be a hit."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Guess I underestimated this place."

“It’s kinda nice having you around... even if you are a pain in the ass.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes but not disagreeing. “You just like bossing me around.”

“I do,” you admit with a grin. “And you’re getting pretty good at following orders.”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he picks up a rag to wipe down the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring more tomorrow."

The evening was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint swoosh of the mop gliding across the floor. You were halfway through cleaning when your foot nudged something under the counter. Frowning, you crouched down and pulled out a box—heavy, clinking inside—and when you opened it, there they were. Paint cans.

You tilted your head, staring at them, then shouted, "Jihoon! What the hell is this?"

He popped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Uh... well, I was thinking... maybe the bakery could use a little—art,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cans to you.

"Art?" you raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips. "You're not gonna draw a dick on the front door, are you? 'Cause if that's your plan, Jihoon, I swear—"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No! It wasn’t me, alright? That was one of my friends.”

Your eyebrow shot up even higher. "So you had your friends tag my bakery too?"

He suppressed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I yelled sorry, like, a million times already.”

You shook your head, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Jihoon stepped closer, eyes scanning your expression carefully. “Look, I promise—no dicks. I was thinking... something different. Something that matches the vibe here. I could paint something... that looks like you.” His gaze lingered on you, analyzing your features like he was already sketching you out in his mind.

You sat back, considering it. The idea of graffiti on your pristine bakery wasn’t exactly appealing, but there was something about Jihoon’s offer... the way he was looking at you, not like a cocky vandal but like someone who wanted to create something for you.

You frowned, arms crossed, skeptical. “You? Graffiti something that looks like me? You’re kidding.”

He shrugged, stepping back slightly. “Let me show you. I’ll do it on the back wall. Something pastel, something sweet—like your bakery.”

You huffed, but curiosity got the better of you. “Fine. But if it looks like shit, you’re cleaning it up, Jihoon.”

Outside, the air was crisp, and the dim lights of the street barely reached the back alley behind your bakery. Jihoon grabbed the cans, setting them down with a focused energy, his jaw tight. He was different when he worked on something—serious, quiet. You watched as he started to shake one of the cans, the metallic rattle filling the space.

He started to sweat after a few strokes of the spray, his arm flexing each time he pressed the nozzle. The light from the back door illuminated his face, and when he flicked his hair to the side, it reminded you of those boys from high school, the ones who all had that Justin Bieber haircut. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He stepped back, turning toward you, his eyes searching your face. “So... what do you think?”

You tilted your head, focusing on the paint. It was a pastel-colored slice of cake, detailed with delicate swirls and shadows that made it look almost real. “The... strawberry looks a little weird,” you pointed out, walking closer.

Jihoon let out a soft laugh, stepping aside. “Come help me then. You fix it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Me? I don’t know how to spray paint, Jihoon. It’s gonna look like a five-year-old did it."

He waved it off, walking toward you with the can in hand. “Nah, you can do it. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you out of the chair, placing the can in your hand. “Just like this,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His chest pressed lightly against your back, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear. His hand moved to yours, guiding your fingers to press down on the nozzle, and the paint sprayed out in a clean line. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Press gently... just like that."

“See?” he whispered, his voice right in your ear, and you could feel the concentration in his breath, how calm it was. “Not so hard, is it?”

You were too aware of everything—his breath, his hand on yours, the way his body pressed just slightly against yours, not enough to feel too much, but enough to make your pulse pick up.

His hand, now on your waist, gave you the faintest squeeze, right where your skin showed between your top and your jeans, right where your shirt had ridden up a little. It was an absent touch, almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did. His fingers were warm, the pressure light but there. Your breath caught in your throat for a second.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His hand never moved, just stayed resting on your waist, a quiet but steady reminder of how close he was. The paint kept flowing, and you realized you were barely focused on the mural anymore. It was all Jihoon. The way his body moved with yours, the brush of his breath against your ear.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, voice low, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. "You sure you're not just getting handsy with me to avoid doing the work?"

He huffed a small laugh, right in your ear, his breath warm. “You think this is me being handsy? I’m just trying to teach you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little more, just enough to feel him tense up. His hips were snug against yours, and you could feel the smallest reaction in his body, the way his chest rose sharply as you pressed back into him.

"Uh-huh,” you said, feigning innocence. “So that’s why you sound like you’re having the best time of your life right now? Not exactly subtle, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, his mouth so close to your ear that you flinched a bit. "Says the one who's shivering under my arm like I’m doing more than just helping you paint.”

You let out a soft chuckle, your head leaning back just a little, the movement making his face brush against your shoulder. You could feel his breath catch again as your body pressed back.

“Jihoon…” you said, voice dropping an octave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying real hard not to moan in my ear.”

His breath hitched, and this time, you felt it. His body tensed, the can in his hand wavering slightly as he pressed the nozzle. He was trying—trying so damn hard to stay focused on the paint, but your words were getting to him. His grip tightened on the can.

He lowered your arm, stopping the spray of paint, and you could feel the tension crackling between you both. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and then he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw as he whispered, “You keep teasing me like that, I’ll forget the painting and pin you to this wall.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the low rumble in his voice, letting your ass push against him again. You give him a slow, teasing smile, turning your head just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “And if I told you I wouldn’t mind?”

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, in a blink, he turned you around, the paint can clattering to the floor as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips hovered over yours for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, tension thick in the air. “You're playing with fire, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “Then burn me.”

His lips crashed against yours in a starved kiss, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed so close it felt like there wasn’t an inch between you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him down harder into the kiss, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders. His hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch burning your skin as he kissed you deeper, rougher, like he couldn’t get enough.

His body pressed you against the wall, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, and you could feel his cock coming to life. The slight tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, the way his breath hitched when you kissed him harder—it was all there, barely restrained.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly like the strawberries and honey from earlier, and every time you tried to pull back for air, he chased you, his lips crashing back against yours like he couldn’t stand the space between you for even a second.

Finally, when you both pulled away for breath, your foreheads resting together, you smirked, your breath still uneven. “You okay there, Jihoon? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

He chuckled, his hand still gripping your waist, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You talk too much,” he muttered, pulling you back in for another kiss before you could even think of another comeback.

You could feel the wetness of his tongue against yours, slick with saliva that started to pool at the corners of your mouth as you sucked it in deeper. Jihoon’s hand was firm, gripping the curve of your ass, his other arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

You stumbled backward in a tangle of steps, the two of you moving like you were magnetized to each other, lips fused together, completely unwilling to separate. His hand squeezed your ass hard, making you gasp into his mouth. That sound—the desperate little moan you couldn’t hold back—had him groaning too, swallowing the noise like it fueled him, pressing you harder against the door to the back of the store.

Jihoon fumbled for the handle, blindly opening it while keeping his mouth glued to yours. You barely noticed when he shoved you through the threshold, into the bakery’s quiet salon. He didn’t break the kiss, not even for a second, not until your back hit the counter and he pressed himself against you again, trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You were breathless, desperate to kiss him harder, to get more of those sweet, low moans he made when your lips connected just right. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slipping between you that you realized what he was doing. Somehow, in the heat of it all, he had already undone your jeans, his fingers deftly sliding the button free, his hand dipping lower, teasing the waistband of your panties.

"Fuck, Jihoon," you panted, head thrown back as his lips trailed along your jaw. You shivered when you felt his hand slipping under the lace, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. You felt your sink boiling, the warm air from the bakery making you sweat down your neck.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, more like moaning.

The jeans you still had on were tight, too tight, and it made it impossible for you to spread your legs the way you wanted. The friction of his hand between you was good, but not nearly enough.

You shifted against him, trying to spread your legs wider, your breath coming out in frustrated little pants. "Jihoon," you managed, voice almost pleading, "jeans... get them off."

His lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, and you could feel him smirk before he pulled back slightly. "So bossy," he murmured, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to your jeans, tugging them down with quick, rough movements, the denim catching awkwardly on your thighs before he yanked them free.

With your jeans finally gone, he spread your legs wide, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over you. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you exactly how he wanted before slipping his fingers right back under the waistband of your panties, but this time, there was no hesitation.

He slid one finger through your slick folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were for him. "God, you're soaked," he breathed, almost like he was in disbelief. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips. "Just... please, Jihoon—more."

He slid a finger inside you, the sensation making you gasp, your legs instinctively spreading wider for him. You wanted more of him, needed it, and when he curled his finger just right—not even forcing it, he felt the spongy spot, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

"Like that?" he whispered, voice hoarse as he added another finger, filling you up and making your whole body arch into him. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, each thrust deeper, more insistent.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, barely able to form words as he sped up, his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, making you see fireballs with closed eyes. "Just... just like that."

His hand moved faster, fingers curling and stroking deep inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room. Your hips bucked against him, chasing the sensation, wanting him to take you higher, needing him to push you over the edge.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, "I could do this all night... but I think you want me to make you come, don’t you?"

You whimpered. "Please, Jihoon," you breathed, voice shaky. "I need it."

His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deep, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body trembled. He could feel how close you were, could see it in the way your thighs quivered, the way your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

"Cum for me," he murmured, thumb pressing harder against your clit, feeling the nerve throb as his fingers worked inside you. "Cum all over my fingers."

You rest your elbow on the counter, arching your back in a way that makes the slick sound between your thighs almost obscene. It’s impossible to ignore. You know exactly how wet you are, and palm, right there pressing down the mound of your pussy—god, you can feel it, burning hot. Your breath hitches, and you throw a hazy glance in his direction, catching his smirk, that cocky look on his face. His lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes dark and full of heat, and that’s all it takes before you come apart.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you. Eyes squeezing shut, your body tenses, thighs trembling as your hips jerk involuntarily against his hand. You hear him coaxing you through it, his voice a low murmur, his fingers keeping steady pressure, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of you.

“There you go… good fuckin' girl. Just like that, keep comin’ for me… shit, so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, fingers slowing just enough to keep you riding the high.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you slowly open your eyes again. He’s staring at you—taking in every inch of you. The smirk on his face hasn't faltered, only deepened. There’s something dangerous about the way he looks at you, like he's already planning his next move.

“You think you can turn around for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, still catching your breath, but a wicked grin spreads on your lips. “Nah. I’ll fall to my knees and suck you off instead.” Your voice is steady despite the way your legs still tremble. His eyes widen just for a second before he sharpens a breath, a harsh inhale that lets you know you’ve hit the right nerve.

You don’t give him time to respond before you’re on your knees, fingers already undoing his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. You look up through your lashes, watching his jaw tighten as his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. His breathing’s heavy, uneven.

You run your tongue along his length slowly, collecting the sticky precum, teasing the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. He moans immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward as your lips slide further down his cock. The sound he makes is a whiny moan, almost of frustration as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel the pulse of him on your tongue, the way his body reacts to every little move you make.

He grips your hair, tugging gently as you bob your head, setting a slow rhythm that has him panting. His hips start to move, barely restrained, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Goddamn… ngh—fuck! From hittin’ me with a mop to this?” His voice cracks on a laugh, but it’s breathless, shaky. “Didn’t think you’d… suck me off like this…”

You pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lips slick, before looking up at him, smirking. “Better than the mop, right?”

His laugh turns into a groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you take him deep again. “Fuck yeah… way better than the fuckin' mop.” He’s losing his composure now, hips moving a little more desperately, the hand in your hair tightening, guiding you as you work him harder, faster.

His moans grow louder, less restrained, and you can feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer. You hollow your cheeks one last time, sucking him in deeper, tongue working every inch of him until you hear him curse under his breath, his head falling back as his body shudders.

“Shit—” His moan is drawn out, almost too much for him to handle, as he loses himself in your mouth, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably. You keep going, pushing him right to the edge, savoring every last sound he makes until he finally pulls you off, breathless and wrecked.

“Fuck... you’re gonna kill me with that pretty mouth,” he pants, grinning down at you, still catching his breath.

You pull back for a second, lips slick with spit, catching your breath before you go back in, this time with a wicked grin. His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him slowly, teasing, just enough to keep him on the edge.

“So…” you start, voice low, looking up at him with a dangerous gleam in your eyes. “How are you gonna fuck me, huh? Gonna be good to me, or…” You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, making him gasp before taking him back into your mouth, sucking harder, wanting to hear him stutter. “… or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His breath hitches, and he swears under his breath. “I—fuck, I—” His hips jerking toward your mouth, but he’s not quite there. The pressure is building, you can feel it, the way his muscles tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens.

But before you can push him too far, he suddenly pulls you off with a gasp, his cock red and leaking at the tip, his body shaking from the almost-orgasm. “Stop, stop, fuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, lips swollen as you sit back on your heels, panting, teasing. “Could’ve just let me finish you off,” you murmur, licking your lips slowly as you watch him struggle to catch his breath.

He grins, though his expression is tight, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. “Not gonna let you win that easy,” he mutters. He helps you up, hands firm but delicate as he lifts you to your feet. Your knees wobble a little from the discomfort of kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and he notices, his thumb brushing gently across the soft skin.

“They hurt?” he asks, glancing down at your knees, frowning just a little.

You shake your head, smirking. “I’ll live. But you owe me a good fuck for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You let him guide you back against the counter, his hands already sliding down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down tossing it on the floor. He pauses just for a second, eyes flicking between your bare pussy and your face, his breathing heavy.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Gonna make you scream.”

You shiver, feeling his cock press against your thigh as his hands move to grip your waist. His fingers are rough, impatient. You can barely think straight when he turns you around, pushing your chest flat against the cold countertop. The contrast of the cool surface and his hot skin makes your breath hitch, your body already aching for him.

He groans softly, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your slick folds as you grind back against him, impatient.

“Fuck—please, just—” You barely get the words out before he thrusts into you, filling you up completely in one swift movement. The stretch is intense, but it’s exactly what you needed, the delicious burn making you gasp as your fingers dig into the counter.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.”

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke.

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched. Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it.

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the ��zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?”

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him.

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling.

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control.

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate.

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red.

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

“Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased.

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

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seungcheorry · 1 month ago

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cherrytober ❤️🍒: day 07 - lee jihoon

woozi + charging your phone at night;

when jihoon comes to the bedroom, he's met with the view of your sleeping figure. he softly smiles to himself, catching the way you're still holding your phone, where there's a tiktok playing - was that person teaching how to cook the one recipe he told you he wanted to eat?

jihoon takes your phone, closing the app and checking if your alarm for the morning is set.

"6am? you should have slept earlier", he says, as if you could hear him in your unconscious state.

he plugs your phone into the charger on your bedside, caressing your face before walking around the bed to lay beside you.

as his weight makes the bed shift, jihoon quietly chuckles when you turn around to cuddle him, still sleepy.

"thought you were gonna sleep in the shower", you mumble.

"you didn't even wait for me, you punk."

"i was... i was watchi-", you try to say, mind fogged with sleepiness. "wait, where is my phone?"

"charging", jihoon pulls you closer. "low battery, 16%."

you hum, pressing your face to his naked chest. you press a kiss to his skin, as you're too tired to say 'thank you' - jihoon knows that, though.

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svt17-imagines · 6 months ago

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𝕴𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6ᴋ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ +18 ꜰɪᴄ ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏ ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ꜰɪɢᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ~

Sometimes your own life didn’t feel real.

It took years of back breaking studying and hard work, but even you couldn't believe your ears when it was announced that you had somehow managed to swing a job as one of HYBE’s various producers. The roster of people it allowed you worked with was expansive and impressive, and you often felt out of place amongst the many well known music industry personas who shared your job title. But all that wasn’t to say you got chosen for the job out of pure luck or sheer will, for you definitely had more than enough background and experience to warrant your resume having a more than fair shot in the first place.

You’d worked with plenty of idols before, albeit without an official label behind you or any exclusive contract in place. Hell you’d even produced for a few big names in the U.S., it gave you every reason to be extremely proud of your work, and deep down you definitely knew your skills were highly sought after. But it didn’t change the fact that you still got surprised whenever a particularly famous idol or company reached out and requested to work with you.

You were even more caught off guard when Bang PD himself wrote to you directly, offering you the opportunity of a lifetime to work with the various talents beneath the incredibly famous company known as HYBE.

That was two years ago now, and you’d grown more connections with more composers and idols then you’d ever thought possible. Le Sserafim was the first group you’d ever been assigned to work with, and from then on you knew you made the right career choice. The girls were absolute angels, incredibly humble with the kindest personalities. New Jeans was the next, and you’d never felt more protective and proud of such sweet young ladies. They even went out of their way to write you a card and buy you a cake last year for your birthday.

Seventeen though… Seventeen just so happened to be the group you’d grown the most fond of within the past year.

Your first job for them was to assist the production of their song Darling, and from the moment you’d stepped foot in the studio the boys went above and beyond to make you feel welcomed. Seungcheol was the first to greet and introduce the members, which you’d appreciated immensely. Joshua and Vernon were happy to have some small talk in English with you to discuss your work in the U.S., while DK and Hoshi made an effort to get to know more personal details like how you came to work for HYBE in the first place. All of the members were considerate enough to include you in their conversations, and as you all grew closer you’d come to become friends even outside of work.

It was an interesting dynamic they all had, fitting together like a puzzle even though their personalities were all so complex and different. The way their voices managed to melt together without any problems astounded you, and made the production process a million times more interesting and fun to you.

And Woozi of course was the conductor that made the absolute chaos of Seventeen’s vocals work together. Your respect for him had grown exponentially the longer you knew him, and over time he’d eventually become the one you’d talk to the most in the group.

The first time you’d ever seen him in person you had to admit you were incredibly intimidated, his blondish pink hair was concealed with a black baseball cap as he sat leaning forward in his office chair. His posture was tense and uncomfortably on edge, almost as if a simple change in temperature would disrupt his process and send him spiraling. His eyes darted around the computer monitors sporadically, adjusting volume levels and fixing microphone frequencies quicker than even you could follow. He was locked in, completely blocking out everything except the boys’ vocals and the screens in front of him.

He hadn’t even properly been able to introduce himself to you until after everyone else had finally left, only then did he finally remove those giant headphones covering his cute little ears. You remembered the rush of anxiety creeping up your throat at the time, by that point you’d met many producers and musicians who absolutely hated being assigned an assistant. You’d come to find it was always a pride thing. When a song just wasn’t working most felt the need to figure out what was missing themselves, and if they were so much as suggested a simple extra drum beat in the background or a synth wave in the chorus, it would get immediately shut down no matter the potential it had.

But when Jihoon turned around in his chair to greet you with a sheepish grin and a bow of acknowledgement, you knew he was simply just appreciative of the space you had given him to work. He offered you a seat next to him, apologized profusely for his late introduction, and asked for any input you might have for the title track.

It made sense that you’d both end up getting along so well, with the two of you being such passionate producers and each of you having workaholic tendencies practically pumping through your veins. Music came easily to you, to Jihoon, it was a love you had shared deeply and a conversation you never got sick of having together. It became incredibly common for both of you to knock out in his studio after pushing yourselves to the absolute limits of your creative abilities.

But it also wasn’t uncommon for you to swing by and bring him food even on the days you weren’t working. When you got especially bored at home, you often found yourself poking your head in the studio door and proceeding to talk his ears off for hours about life while he sat and listened, and in return he’d rant to you about whatever musical rut he’d been stuck in that day.

During the worst of it he would shut himself inside the studio and force himself to work in complete silence, it was days like these where you knew he needed energy the most. You’d drag him out of the studio for some sun and stimulation, force him to grab coffee or walk to the convenience store together, other times he would ask you to simply stay with him while he brooded over his computer in a pout.

One time he’d gotten stuck on a melody for days, and yet within one single visit inspiration had hit you almost immediately. He always made sure to let you know how grateful he was when you gave your opinion, each time he would always give you the warmest, most gentle smile you’d ever seen. The same smile that filled you with an unbridled joy that pooled deep in your stomach, it made you feel… needed. No, it made you feel borderline irreplaceable.

Today was one of your days off, and yet you still found yourself grinning ear to ear as your heels clicked along the marble flooring of the main HYBE building. A large sandwich bag was hanging from your arm, with your hands clutching a cup holder filled with iced americanos. You made your way to the elevator, fumbling with your badge to scan against the wall reader as the soft ding alerted you to the lift arriving.

The third floor of the building was designated for all the production studios, with a practice room at the far end of the narrow hall. It was one of the higher quality locations meant more for filming rather than actually rehearsing. Each room contained plenty of music equipment and had absolutely breathtaking acoustics, with nearly each one also managing to be soundproof. You'd remembered being present for one of Seungkwan's incredibly impressive vocal recordings here as an assistant producer a while back, and to this day you swore that it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard in your life.

As you stepped out of the elevator your smile grew even wider as you noticed Jeonghan and Wonwoo walking down the hall in your direction. Jeonghan with his arm hooked through Wonwoo’s tightly, his head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

“Y/N! I thought you weren’t in till Friday?” Wonwoo greeted with a smile, his hand coming up to adjust the glasses drooping low on his nose. It was obvious the two had just gotten done filming something, their faces were slightly red from exertion and excessive overheating if their leather jackets and pants were anything to go by.

“Jihoon’s been stuck on Maestro’s bridge since last week, I figured I’d at least bring him some lunch so he doesn’t starve himself to death.” You shrugged, Jeonghan smirked.

“You came just for Jihoon? Again?” He huffed in feigned offense. “What about us~?”

“You know just as well as I do that I can’t walk into this building without expecting to run into at least two of you.” You giggled, holding out the coffee carrier in your hands. “I brought extra for you guys, try not to fall in love with me alright?”

Their eyes immediately perked up at the sight of iced americano and wasted no time snatching one each. Wonwoo took a long sip from his drink and released a sigh, his eyes closed in content.

“An Angel. You’re an Angel, Y/N.” Wonwoo spoke blissfully. Jeonghan nodded and proceeded to sip from his as his eyes fluttered shut too.

“I will never doubt your beautiful and charitable heart ever again.” You snorted at the dramatics, reaching into the sandwich bag for the extra pesto caprese you’d purchased as well.

“You guys can split this too, but don’t tell the others.” You chuckled as the two practically drooled, eyes locked on to your hands as you offered them the food. “If they find out I fed you both they’re all gonna make me buy them dinner next time.”

Jeonghan nodded and grabbed the sandwich from you without hesitation, attracting Wonwoo’s gaze. He gave a little cross my heart sign and winked slyly.

“They’ll never even know it existed.” Jeonghan promised, already slinking his way onto the elevator behind you. “It’ll be gone in seconds, trust me.”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going with that alone, huh?” Wonwoo whined, following him into the elevator and reaching for the sandwich. Jeonghan was faster and trickier, pulling it out of reach just in time resulting in a soft “Hyung!”.

“Why? What is it?” Jeonghan feigned innocence as he tried pushing Wonwoo out of the elevator to escape, Wonwoo forced his way back in with a hearty laugh as he managed to bite a small corner out of one of the sandwich halves still in Jeonghan hands. “Hey! What if I wanted that one!”

“Yoon Jeonghan—” You threatened lightly, a smile tugging at your lips when Jeonghan finally ended his teasing. He handed Wonwoo his partially bitten portion of the sandwich just as the doors to the elevator closed, both of them waving you goodbye with a happy grin.

You chuckled in content and continued down the hall to the left, finally coming to a stop in front of Jihoon’s studio. You gave the door a heavy knock, not expecting him to hear much especially if he had his headphones on. When no response was given for five minutes you pulled out the key he’d given you a long time ago, unlocking the door swiftly and surprised to find the room completely dark.

You flipped on the main light switch to discover the studio completely empty, papers and pens scattered across the desk with ramblings written every which way in the producer's idea notebook. A half assed attempt was made to fix the couch, which was covered by a throw blanket and pillow to indicate he’d been pulling all nighters here again.

You set the sandwich bag and remaining coffee on the little table in front of the couch, whipping your phone out to shoot a text to the sweet overworked producer you called a friend.

Brought you lunch, studio looks like a wreck lol. You been feeling ok?

You grabbed the small trash can beside Woozi’s desk and got to work throwing away the energy drink cans and granola wrappers littering his desk. You were just organizing all of his sheet music when you felt your phone buzz in response.

This songs’ been killing me, man. Couldn’t breathe in that room any more, went to the gym to relieve some stress. I’ll be there in a bit, appreciate you for always worrying about me

You let out an exhale as you slid your blazer off your shoulders and placed it along the back of the desk chair, unable to simply sit and do nothing while he struggled. You of all people knew how frustrating creative blocks could be, but hopefully a cleaner environment would ease his tension a little bit. You took a seat at his chair and scooted yourself up to the computer, logging in to locate the audio file for Maestro that was currently driving its producer up a wall.

Your eyes poured over the desktop, and you quietly cursed Jihoon for never labeling anything properly. ‘Organized Chaos’ he’d call it, but just looking at the screen filled with folders titled ‘Audio Ex1-B67’ gave you no clues as to what actually was stored in each file.

You sighed and decided to start with the icons at the bottom that looked most recent, you clicked. The infamous beat of ‘Adore U’ began to play. You clicked the next one, Wonwoo’s distinct growl filled your ears as you recognized their song ‘Fear’. You closed both files and groaned outwardly, remembering Jihoon discussing the concept of sampling past songs to construct his new one.

You changed your focus towards the folders near the middle of the screen and clicked the first one you saw. It was labeled differently in comparison to the rest, and the audio file inside had no name at all. Just a jumbled arrangement of letters and numbers randomly given by the computer itself. You pressed play, and a completely unfamiliar melody began echoing through the studio speakers.

It was completely unlike anything Jihoon had composed before, it was sweet but also… sensual. Not like the few songs he’d produced for Seventeen that gave a spicier instrumental, this felt more intimate somehow. Almost personal. The slow hum of the strings in the background stole your breath and you felt your heartbeat quicken as a beautifully soft clarinet chorus stole your attention. The energy shifted halfway through, running around from loving and sensual to borderline carnal.

You could practically feel the goosebumps forming as you listened to it. There were no lyrics, but every now and then Jihoon let out a faint vocal riff that was intoxicating. His voice made you melt, and you were too absorbed into the music to feel embarrassed by the warmth making its way through your body. A pleasant buzz ran from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and you imagined him singing to you.

You closed your eyes and laid your head back against his chair to really get the full effect, to lean into what the music was trying to make you feel. It amplified everything tenfold, and you began to notice the hints of Jihoon’s cologne that still lingered within the space. Everything about the song, about the room, about the scent, it overwhelmed your senses and you suddenly realized how much you enjoyed it. How easily you’d allow yourself to get overtaken by it all, only if it was him. Only if it was Jihoon.

A guitar chord was plucked sharply in contrast to the soft instrumental, and you gasped in surprise. By this point you had thought the song was simply looping since it had been well over several minutes, but the longer it went on the more you noticed small interesting deviations from the original melody. The pace of the music kept steady, but everytime Jihoon let out another gorgeous riff you could feel the tension increasing slightly.

You almost wanted to break your trance just to throw on a pair of headphones, your body thrumming at thinking about what the song would sound like even more intimately being funneled directly to your ears. A shiver ran through you at the idea as another strain of strings drew you back into the music without another thought.

A gust of AC provided your senses with yet another strong note of Jihoon’s cologne, at the exact same time the guitar plucked again and his voice echoed beautifully throughout the room. Almost on impulse, your hand reached up to clutch your chest. It trailed downwards slowly, softly grazing your left breast and a quiet hum escaped your lips as your fingers danced along your clothed peak. You bit your lip and pressed lightly into your clothed center with your other hand, sighing how good the pressure felt.

Your head felt empty and dizzy, this kind of touch with these kinds of thoughts about Jihoon were typically reserved for your own bed at home. Never once had you ever allowed such behavior to follow you to work, nevertheless Jihoon’s own studio. You stuttered in your motions as a sliver of guilt ran through you, he was your colleague, he was your friend. This was inappropriate on every single level.

But it was like the music was encouraging you, talking you through it. And almost like it knew you were beginning to have doubts, Jihoon let out the most provocative vocal run you’d never thought possible. Your hand gripped tightly on to your breast in reflex, and the noise you made would’ve been humiliating if you weren’t so focused on every little jolt of pleasure thrumming through your veins.

Before you could think better of it, your right hand moved to hurriedly unbutton the top of your pants. Not bothering to push them down, you dipped your hand into the waistband of your underwear to locate your heated folds and you exhaled at the relief it brought. Your head tilted back and your mouth formed an ‘O’ as the pleasure from your own fingers built steadily, another stray guitar chord causing your body to jolt in gratification.

You weren’t proud of it, but you’d imagined Jihoon touching you like this more times than you could count, especially in this studio. His mouth being unable to detach itself from yours, from your neck, from your chest, from between your legs. Your favorite thing to fantasize about lately was riding him in the very chair you sat in, ending it with a sloppy kiss as he refused to let you remove himself from you. You thought about where he would touch you first, where would you touch him? A silly question, since you knew those gorgeous locks of hair would be tangled between your fingers without a second thought if he so much as allowed it. You wanted him panting in your ears, his voice itself bringing you to an edge that you just needed to fall off of.

Your fingers quickened, and you whined out as you found yourself waiting for another of Jihoon’s vocal riffs to give you that extra push closer to completion. Instead, the clarinet danced throughout your ears, a soft beat echoed from the drums, even a few stray piano notes participated in increasing your tension. It was teasing you, the song knew what you wanted but it refused to give it to you. Another whine was unconsciously pulled from your lips.

“Please… please…” you found yourself whispering out loud, your head spinning as your hand began to cramp up at the speed with which it moved. “God Jihoon, please—“

A loud thud that was definitely not a part of the music ripped you out of your reverie in an instant. Your hand shot away from your breast while the other ripped itself out of your pants as if they were both burned. You swiveled the chair to face the door of the studio, and your heart sunk into your stomach as Jihoon stood front and center with the most frustratingly unreadable expression on his face.

His cheeks were flushed, most likely from the gym but you wouldn’t be surprised if it was partially your own doing as well. His long black hair was messy and slightly damp from sweat, the black tank top and shorts he wore were clinging to his body and giving your indecent mind way too much of a view of his glistening pale skin. His gym bag was on the floor, some of its contents having spilled out including one of his metal water bottles and a small kettlebell, the items proven to be the cause of the thudding sound no doubt.

You simply looked at him for a solid minute, your chest still panting from the near orgasm you’d just experienced and your body still aching from being denied its release. You felt shame, pure and unbridled as he looked you up and down. You hadn’t bothered to button your pants back up, and your shirt and bra were most certainly out of sorts from the iron grip you’d had on it moments before. You looked an absolute mess, and even if he had only come in half a minute ago, there was no hiding or denying what you’d been up to.

“I… I’m…” You began, finding the first few words coming out like gravel in your throat. “Can we just, not talk about this?”

You attempted to appear pitiful, which wasn’t hard considering you wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you up whole in that very moment. His expression still revealed nothing and you huffed in irritation, running a hand through your hair as you sent him a pleading look.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what came over me.” You tried to act normal, turning back to the computer briefly to shut off the music that had become background noise playing softly through the studio. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“I just…” Jihoon croaked out, attempting to keep a casual composure and failing. Your eyes locked on his, expecting. “I never expected to walk in on—“

“Please! Stop!” You covered your ears in embarrassment and Jihoon had the audacity to chuckle softly. You glared at him. “Don’t even try to tell me you’ve never gotten yourself off here before, you practically live in this place.”

His ears burned red and you felt a bit of relief that you’d hit the nail on its head, a bit of excitement also thrumming through your chest at the image it gave you. You forced yourself to straighten your back and clear your throat, fixing your shirt back into place as you reached down to re-button your pants.

“… You could.. continue. If you wanted to.” Jihoon let out, and you felt your fingers freeze at his words. You looked up to stare at him, his eyes were glassy and his cheeks and ears still burned deeply. But his gaze, his gaze was directly on you.

“… What?” You blinked, unsure if your fogged up brain was simply making you hear hallucinations at this point. Jihoon shifted his weight, making no move to leave.

“I’m the one that interrupted.” He licked his lips, and your eyes latched on to the motion immediately. “I would hate for you to go… unsatisfied because of me.”

He spoke matter of factly, like he was suggesting a different melody for the hook of a song or what they should eat for dinner today. It didn’t sound creepy or odd in his voice at all, just a suggestion from one friend to the other. Your brain reeled, partially excited at the prospect of relieving all the tension your body had winded up, but also anxious as to how Jihoon would see you after this awkward encounter was over.

Despite everything, your core ached at the very thought of being relieved, and you gripped the arms of the chair to ground yourself before responding.

“… I’d appreciate that, then.” You spoke, your own voice sounding unfamiliar. Jihoon’s eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by your answer. He seemed to mull something over as he leaned down to throw the water bottle and kettlebell back in his gym bag, tossing it in the corner of the room.

Your eyes tracked his every move carefully, the way his bicep veins flexed as he lifted the bag and the angle at which his glorious thigh muscles peeked out from beneath the edges of his shorts. Your mouth went dry at the sight, and you couldn’t help the surprised noise you made when he moved to sit on the couch rather than exiting the room.

You raised a brow as he leaned back comfortably, one arm lying across the top of the couch while the other rested atop his front. Your brain flashed a brief image of you crawling into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as you hooked your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer, and closer…

You mentally slapped yourself, he literally just sat down.

“Are you not leaving?” You questioned with a frown, unsure of how much longer you were expected to continue acting like you weren’t completely turned on and frustrated. Jihoon shrugged slightly.

“It’s my studio, why would I leave?” He spoke in that tone again, like he was just asking your typical everyday question. It was starting to tick you off.

“You just said I could continue what I was doing.”

“I did.” Your brows scrunched together in confusion.

“… But you’re not gonna leave?”

“Nope.”

Jihoon shifted his legs wider, and you were suddenly aware of just how obvious it was that you were ogling him. The man could’ve moved a pinkie and your eyes would dart to watch it, your posture completely tense and on edge. He smiled a little, and your face warmed as you realized he’d been observing you too.

“You’re just.. gonna sit there then?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you finally registered what he wanted. You swallowed audibly. “You’re going to watch me?”

“Unless you’d rather go somewhere else.” He suggested, and though Jihoon looked just as invested as you were, it was equally apparent that you still held all the power in the room. If you wanted to leave and decided you were uncomfortable, he wouldn’t stop you from getting up and walking right out. It was his own kind of reassurance, a promise with his eyes that things wouldn’t change between the two of you even if you decided to end it all right then.

Instead, you strengthened your resolve and removed your shirt. You didn’t look at him directly, still a bit too nervous for that. But you heard his sharp intake of breath, and all the hairs on your arm stood up at the sound. The unspoken tension in the air shifted almost immediately, and before you could regret it you forced yourself to completely relax in the chair as you closed your eyes.

Your hand discovered your breast once more, teasing and prodding over the thin material of your bra. A sigh escaped as you squeezed softly, without the music playing you found yourself much more aware and anxious of the eyes staring you down. Your hand dipped tentatively underneath your bra to play with your peak and you squirmed slightly, your center pulsing in excitement and you whimpered at the feeling.

“Fuck…” A groan resounded throughout the studio and you arched your back in surprise at Jihoon’s suddenly rough voice. His cursing made the dim flame sitting in the pit of your stomach burst into a wildfire, and you pinched your nipple with a small squeak.

It was honestly desperate the way in which you forced your hand back beneath your underwear, unable to contain the desire Jihoon managed to make you feel through that one word alone. Any remaining embarrassment from the situation dissipated as you focused entirely on the pleasure your own fingers provided. You rolled your thumb against your nipple as a finger finally prodded inside your aching core.

“Take it off.” Jihoon practically begged, and your eyes fluttered open to look at him. His pupils had gone nearly completely black, and the arm covering his front seemed to be applying pressure to a now significantly growing bulge in his shorts. You licked your lips which seemed to add fuel to his fire, and he huffed out again. “Your bra, your pants. Take them off.”

You smiled at his weak demand but you stopped your ministrations nevertheless. You stood from your chair on tentative legs, unhooking your bra and letting it fall soundlessly to the ground. The look on Jihoon’s face made you feel warmer than you’d ever thought possible, his jaw clenched tightly and he didn’t even bother to hide the grip he held on his swelling erection.

“That song you wrote, the one that was playing when you came in.” You removed one leg from your pants slowly, then the other. Deliberately teasing the frustrated man across from you. “It was beautiful, your voice suited it perfectly. It felt carnal, like lust incarnate.”

“It was just some late night improv.” He spoke breathlessly, eyeing you hungrily as you sat back down to continue your actions. “I remember you looking especially tempting that day. It took everything in me not to pull up that sinful fucking skirt of yours and throw you up against my desk.”

You gasped at the image and bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning out loud. Your underwear which you’d simply pushed to the side was drenched by that point, and you slowed your pace as you watched Jihoon staring at your fingers fervently. You wanted to give him the best show while you were able, in and out... In… and out.

“Whatever emotions I don’t act on goes straight into those unnamed tracks.” He mumbled out. A deep exhale leaving his lips as the last of his self control seemed to exit his body. “I probably have thirty recordings on there that were created just from me thinking about you.”

You cried out as he spoke, pumping another digit inside your throbbing hole as you ramped up the intensity. You watched eagerly as Jihoon shuffled his shorts down, his own hand tugging his erection harshly put from his underwear with haste. Your fingers stuttered at the sight of him, pale and long with a glistening pink tip. ‘Pretty.’ You couldn’t help but think, practically drooling as you imagined how it would feel to replace your fingers with it.

“What if I told you I want you to act on it?” You panted out, a light sheen of sweat coating your skin as you watched Jihoon pause mid stroke. “What if I told you I want you to fuck me until I’m numb? That I dream about it.”

Jihoon let out his own whimper at your words, and the noise had you keening into your palm. Jihoon increased the pace at which he pumped his hard length, his expression that of a complete wreck. You quickened your fingers in turn, eager to feel as connected to him in pleasure as you were physically able.

“I’d tell you that I’ve pictured pushing you into the glass of my recording studio and falling to my knees since the day we met. I’ve thought about thrusting my tongue into that tight little hole of yours over and over until you can’t be bothered to think straight more times than I can count.” He spoke his words carefully, eyes never once leaving your body as he watched your soaked fingers pump steadily into your cunt. “I want to record the audio of it all. Of you screaming my name as I devour you, the sounds of you panting and begging me to let you cum. It would be the most beautiful fucking sound, my favorite song.”

The moan you released was obscene, the heat in your blood boiling up to unbearable heights as you unconsciously introduced a third finger. Your pants were getting heavier, and you knew the edge was once again spiraling towards you head first.

“You like that?” Jihoon grunted, a self assured smirk planted on his face contrasting with the desperate way with which he stroked himself. “You enjoy touching yourself while I talk about all the different positions I’ve wanted to fuck you in?”

You nodded so harshly you wouldn’t be surprised if your neck was sore tomorrow. Your eyes squeezed shut again as the smell of your and Jihoons sweat and fluids consumed your senses, his voice was so much better than the music. The slight neediness mixed with his hungry tone made your knees weak, and you quivered to think of how your body would react if he’d actually been touching you.

“Next time I’ll bend you over my desk, huh?” Jihoon moaned at his own words, the very idea of it seeming to drive him mad. His grip was iron tight as his pumps stuttered and his eyes fluttered closed for a quick moment before latching once more unto you. “I’ll lean down to your ear and tell you how good you feel around me as I pound every inch into you nice and hard. You’d be so good for me wouldn’t you?”

“Please…” You whispered out as you felt yourself finally reach the peak, your clit throbbing as your other hand reached down to give it a harsh rub. “God Jihoon, please…”

“Are you gonna cum for me, Y/N? I want to see how wrecked you look when you do.” Jihoon panted, his chest heaving as his own release approached rapidly. “Fuck please, say my name when you cum. Say my fucking name—“

“Jihoon!” You couldn’t help but scream out, repeating it over and over again as a complete tidal wave of pleasure roared through you as your body jolted over and over again. The aftershocks were nearly just as strong, and you squeaked out in surprise at just how intense and drawn out your orgasm had been.

By the end of it you were completely limp, not a single muscle functioning properly and your mind a delightfully empty buzz. You managed to open your eyes slightly, finding Jihoon in a nearly identical state with his eyes shut and his arms being completely dead weight hanging by his sides.

Eventually both of your heavy breathing slowed significantly, and those gorgeous eyes of his opened leisurely to lock on to your own. The sudden twinge of worry that you’d crossed too big of a boundary was completely crushed when Jihoon offered you the warmest smile.

In that moment you swore he was practically glowing, he wasn’t the stressed and overworked producer you’d come to know so well. He looked content, happy, and if you could help him feel that way every day for the rest of your life you knew you’d never have any regrets for as long as you lived. You returned his smile, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“I think you’ve just ruined any chance of me experiencing a normal orgasm ever again.” You giggled, he raised a brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cum like that again unless I’m listening to one of your songs or something.”

Jihoon groaned, the picture of you touching yourself while listening to his music no doubt clouding his mind. You were both well aware of each other's exhaustion, but god only knew if he wanted another round you wouldn’t even hesitate. Anything to feel that level of intensity again.

“Don’t you ever let me find out you’re trying to get yourself off without me again.” Jihoon threatened weakly, sitting up tentatively to give you a cheeky grin. “I’m a man of my word after all. And we have a lot of positions to try out.”

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sunshinedeekay · 2 months ago

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Woozi x Sick!Reader Drabble

tbh, there isn’t a whole lot of plot to this. more of a drabble thing since my pookie has been sick for a while :(

this is written for @wooziorgans . bcs ilysm and i feel like you need a little pick me up 🫶

trigger warning for the mentions of puking, being sick in general

‼️not revised‼️

word count: not sure- but it’s not long

you didn’t anticipate getting this sick. i mean, who really does? nobody can predict when/if they’ll get sick from a cold or a flu.

but a sickness this bad, you didn’t know if you could consider it tied together, or simply a stroke of bad luck.

yet, here you were. hunched over the toilet and puking first thing in the morning after battling a bad cough just a week prior to this. there was nothing coming up as you heaved, well, not food or water related, anyway.

nobody was more concerned at that point like jihoon was.

he woke up when missing your presence from in bed. remembering how you two had gone to sleep all cuddled up in each other’s presence. warm and toasty under the blankets.

when he heard your heaving from the bathroom, he instantly walked in to check on you. concern woven all throughout his dark eyebrows while his pale skin wrinkled with them. he knelt behind you, gently bringing a hand to your forehead to brush your hair back from hanging in the toilet, but also check your temperature.

you were burning up.

“oh, my love.” jihoon would coo through a concerned tone. rubbing circles in your back to calm down your heaving and continuing to hold your hair back away from your face. “you just can never catch a break, can you?” he asked.

you didn’t reply much. just with a tired and frustrated groan as you rested your forehead on your forearm. leaning on the toilet seat.

“i know.” jihoon whispered. giving you a pat on the back before standing up. grabbing a dry cloth from the bathroom cupboard. you could hear the water running for a bit before he held the cloth underneath it. he shut the tap off before wringing out the excess the best he could.

jihoon knelt back beside you. gently coaxing you to sit up with a gentle hand and tug on your right shoulder. as you sat up, you felt the relief of the cold cloth rest against your forehead.

“come on, back to bed. i’m getting you some water.” jihoon spoke gently, as if your ears were just as fragile as your stomach was right now.

you mumbled in agreement. reaching up to flush whatever came out of your system before standing up. jihoon led you up with a gentle grip to your elbows.

as you trudged to the bed with jihoon’s help, he watched you like a hawk. his soft eyes even softer with concern as he led you to your side of the bed. jihoon gently sat you down, then slowly lied you down as to not aggravate your stomach even more. he pulled up the comforter, and leaned down to kiss your head.

“will you be okay for a few minutes while i get you some water and nausea pills?” jihoon asked. his lips mumbling against your pale skin as he carded his fingers through the front of your hair.

“i’ll be fine, ji. i can get the water on my own in a bit…” you tried to argue, but jihoon was having none of it.

“absolutely not.” he argued. “you lie right here and rest. i’ll get you some water and nausea pills. you’re not leaving this bed unless you need the bathroom.” he left no room for argument, and his soft, but still stern tone told you that. so, you sighed and leaned your head back into the pillow.

“i’ll be right back. just keep breathing and resting.” his tone went back to soft and doting, and away he went to fetch you what you needed.

now, jihoon himself was stubborn when it came to taking care of himself when sick, honestly, you wondered for a while if he knew what to do. but when it came to you, he was always by your side. suddenly knowing all of the classic remedies and reliefs to any cold, cough, or nausea you’d have.

a part of you was so thankful that he was exactly the way he was. because you two could have the mutuality of looking after each other when the other is poorly.

jihoon came back, your water bottle full and in his left hand, and one small pill resting in the centre of his soft palm.

he sat on the edge of the bed on your side. setting the water bottle down to use a free hand and guide you to sit up. he set the pill in your hand, and watched you take it before handing you your water bottle to wash it down.

“just small sips.” jihoon reminded you. “otherwise your stomach will not like you very much again.” he tried to speak lightheartedly, to make you feel better about him worrying and doting over you. he wanted you to know that he takes care of you because he wants to, but also because he loves you too much not to.

he coaxed you back to lying down however you felt comfortable, and when he made sure you had everything you needed, he climbed into his side of the bed. you felt him shuffle under the covers, while an arm gently draped over your waist. he scooted himself to press up against you, but didn’t dare squeeze you in fear of making you puke again.

“try to get some more rest. i’ll be with you for the rest of the day. we’ll take it all at your pace.” jihoon spoke warmly behind you. his warm breath fanning over your hair while his lips brushed against your head.

“i thought you needed to work today?” you asked him, feeling yourself slowly relax as you waited for the nausea to subside.

“…i can take today off. i think you and i both need it right now.” he whispered. nuzzling his face into the back of your neck to press a gentle, loving kiss on your nape.

“thank you…” you muttered after a while of silence. you were thankful that he wanted to take care of you so bad, even if you felt guilty you were taking him away from his work.

“never thank me, love. i’m here for you always.” he reassured. giving you one more kiss while his fingers ran back and forth over your waist. “just get some sleep. i’ll be here when you wake up, just like every day.”

“i love you…” you spoke in a softer, more sleepy voice now as you fluttered your eyes shut.

jihoon watched your eyelashes flutter with your eyes, and he grinned. satisfied seeing the way your eyelashes rested on your cheeks. you were always so amazing to him, and he couldn’t look up to somebody more than you.

“i love you too, baby. now get some more sleep.”

sorry if this was a little shorter, but i just wanted to write something up for my pookie, but also because i haven’t posted for a while 😭

i recently moved out and started uni, so i’m kinda getting used to life right now. but i promise, the s.coups fic will be coming!

i love you @wooziorgans . get better soon ❤️

love, ur sunshine <3

#sunshinedeekay #✿sunshinedeekay drabbles #svt #svt x reader #svt x you #woozi #woozi x reader #svt woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #woozi drabbles #woozi fic

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dollyhyuckii · 1 month ago

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𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁- 𝘄𝗼𝗼𝘇𝗶⋆୨୧˚

pairing-bf woozi!* fem reader! ♡

word count- 591 ♡

genre: fluff ♡

warnings- everything is lowercase on purpose ♡

୨୧˚authors note -this is for the seventeen drabble week! , you can read all of them here!

it was a rainy saturday afternoon when you stumbled upon an old shoebox tucked away in the far corner of your shared closet. you were looking for a pair of boots when your fingers brushed against the rough cardboard, and curiosity tugged at your heart. pulling it out, you noticed that the box was filled not with shoes but with keepsakes from you and woozis relationship concert tickets, handwritten notes, and photos from you twos adventures together.

as you rummaged through the contents, your eyes landed on a carefully crafted mixtape labeled “for you.” the handwriting was unmistakably woozi, with its familiar loops and swirls. a wave of excitement surged through yoy. in an era dominated by playlists, woozi had gone the extra mile, curating a mixtape just for you.

with a smile curling on your lips, you fished out an old cassette player from the shelf and dusted it off. you inserted the tape, pressed play, and the familiar strumming of a guitar filled the room. the first song trailed through the air, “better together” by jack johnson. it reminded you of lazy sunday mornings spent cuddled up on the couch, the sunlight streaming in as you two made breakfast together. you could almost see woozi flipping pancakes, a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, while you playfully frustrated him by stealing bites before he could plate them.

the next track began, and it was “landslide” by fleetwood mac. your heart flutter as you recalled the night you two drove up to the mountains last fall, the car windows down, the chilly breeze tangling your hair. you two parked under a blanket of stars and talked about both of your dreams and fears, sharing secrets that deepened you twos connection. you guys had laughed and cried that night, all the while feeling utterly safe in each other’s arms.

as each song played, memories flooded back. there was “just the way you are” by bruno mars, which took you to the first anniversary, where woozi surprised you with a candlelit dinner and whispered sweet nothings as you two danced in the living room. Each track was a chapter of your guys love story, woven together like strands of a beautiful tapestry.

after the tape finally concluded with “home” by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros, you sat in silence, overwhelmed with emotion. it was a reminder of how far you two had come, each song echoing parts of you twos journey, growing together, celebrating milestones, and supporting each other through tough times.

woozi emerged from the kitchen, his expression curious as he saw your misty-eyed demeanor. “angle .. what’s wrong?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

you held up the mixtape, a grin breaking through your tears. “this… this is incredible! you really made this for me?”

a sheepish smile spread across his lips as he nodded. “i wanted to remind you of our journey, a little something to reflect on all the moments we’ve shared.”

you beamed, moving closer to him. “each song brought back such vivid memories. I feel so lucky to have you baby.”

woozi pulled you into a gentle embrace, both of your hearts aligned in a comfortable rhythm. “and I feel lucky to have you angel” he replied softly. “let’s keep making more beautiful memories together.”

as both of you sat in the gentle glow of the fading day, you two knew this mixtape wasn’t just a collection of songs, it was a celebration of the love, a promise that this journey was far from over.

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flwoie · 5 months ago

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✿ SUGARCOAT — LEE JIHOON

STARRING frenemy! woozi x gn! reader GENRE romcom, supernatural au (reader has mind reading powers), idea stolen from my own wip that i dropped CONTAINS bickering, reader’s ears are pierced, woozi is a pathological liar, hes also secretly whipped for reader WORD COUNT 231 (lowercase intended + not proofread sorry!!)

🗯 hi i stole this idea from a oneshot with the same name

“should i wear this to match my necklace?” you ask jihoon as you show him a pair of earrings that match your necklace.

“you look good with or without,” he comments.

you stare into his eyes while he makes eye contact with you. he’s not looking away, and you can tell he wants to get this over with. yet beneath those eyes, there’s something off about him.

“you’re lying,” you huff, pettily looking away.

“no, i’m not.”

“you’re lying again!” if there was something you could take away from jihoon, it would be his ability to lie. everyone knows you can read their minds, which makes it harder for them to lie around you. he knows very well about this power of yours, yet he still lies a lot—or, as he puts it, sugarcoating.

“do you want me to say you look horrible?” another lie. seriously, what’s up with this man’s motives?

“what’s horrible is your lying skills,” you complain, and you might have overheard a snicker coming from him.

“i’m not the one with silly powers!” having superpowers isn’t that bad, but it doesn’t help your case that you can sometimes read that jihoon wants to kiss you all the time. he’ll have to wait for his lips to touch yours. but for now, if you had super strength instead, you would without a doubt throw him across the galaxy.

seventeen masterlist

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wheeboo · 3 months ago

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cute lil soft thought 🚹

like 'magine being taller than jihoon and being an absolute menace?? kinda just heckling and poking and just zipping around him all cuteness aggression n stuff and then he catches u with his arms around ur waist and u can't move and like woah 😳 he'd be so smug 🥹

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA i'm gonna scream 😓😓 look i still may be shorter than jihoon but i would love this HAHASJADS who wouldn't have cuteness aggression around this man????

affection was quite literally your middle name at this point. for jihoon, the height difference between the two of you had never been a bother. if anything, it made everything more endearing--the way you had to slightly lean down to press a kiss to his lips, or how you'd playfully ruffle his hair. jihoon may be the shorter one in your relationship, but he never felt smaller with you.

on the other hand, for you, there was something utterly adorable about being the taller one in the relationship, something so sweet about how his brown eyes would glance up at you. you'd take that opportunity to just giggle over how cute he looks, lightly poke and cup his face in your hands until he'd groan and shove you away (but would secretly love it).

to simply put, jihoon is cute. you remind him that everyday, whether verbally or through your actions. so right now isn't new--you sitting down on the couch in his studio while he worked away on his music.

"baby," you call out to him. "it's getting late."

"just a few more minutes, hon."

"but there's a better place you should be right now."

"yeah?" he still doesn't look away from the brightly-lit screen in front of him. "and where is that?"

you tilt your to the side, a small pout to your face even though he can't see it. "in my arms..."

your words bring a faint tug to his lips. "i'll be yours in a minute, sweetheart."

however, that doesn't reassure your patience at all. you find yourself standing up from the couch and approaching behind him, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders, shaking him just slightly.

"jihoonie..." you lean down, poking a light finger to his cheek as he continues to focus on his work. "come on, please..."

he doesn’t react at first, just hums softly in response, but you can see the faint smile on his lips growing. you continue pestering him, from wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing quick kisses to the nape of his neck.

but he still refuses to budge.

"ugh, fine." you let go and start to separate yourself from him, huffing a defeated breath. "if you're not going to give me attention then i might as well just--"

jihoon suddenly swivels in his chair, catching you off-guard as he stands up quickly, turning the tables on you. and before you can react, his arms are around your waist, pulling you close and locking you in place. your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself trapped, unable to move as he looks up at you with a smug grin.

"got you," he mutters lowly. even if you try to move in the slightest, his grip only tightens, making it clear that he's not letting go anytime soon.

okay, you know that your boyfriend goes to the gym perhaps a bit too much, but you never realised how much strength he's been building until now. his arms are solid as a rock around your waist, and no matter how much you wiggle or shift, you're firmly caught in his embrace.

more heat crawls up your neck even as you get yourself to turn around to face him, peering down and meeting eyes with the smugness the plagues his face.

jihoon lets out a chuckle.

"you're such a handful," he says, but there's nothing but love in his tone as he drags you down so that you're just a breath away from his lips, finally giving you the attention you've been craving.

#anon ༊#answered #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #woozi imagines #woozi drabbles #woozi fluff #woozi scenarios #woozi x reader #soft thoughts!

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rinsuniverse · 1 year ago

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hi hiii i hope ur requests are still opennnn hihi can we get a woozi introducing his girlfriend to the members? Hehehehe 🫶🫶🫶 or woozi's girlfriend being a workaholic like him hehehe

[6:31]

woozi introducing you to the svt members!

he'd be the more nervous one because, to be honest, he NEEDS his s/o to get along with the members because they are his family

if you don't get along with them, it'd be difficult for him to be with you

if the members come out of this interaction being like "tbh i don't really care for her," trust me, you'll be dropped

but i really doubt that they wouldn't like you!

woozi wouldn't introduce you to the members all together

so i imagine he'd start introducing you to the members he sees most often

he'd have you meet vernon one day in the studio and vernon goes "oh, sup?" and goes to dap you up

dap him up pls, or else 🔫

if you speak english, he'd probably bounce between languages to talk to you

he would really like you if you're chill and bright

and when you do tell him goodbye after some light conversation, he gives jihoon a nod and a thumbs up, as if saying "good choice"

dk, hoshi, and seungkwan are together when you were invited to the recording session

you spend the recording session balancing woozi's cold, direct attitude by complimenting the members and applauding them for even a little progress

and seungkwan jokes, saying, "i'd really like to record with just y/n ((T_T))"

in which jihoon scoffs, but then laughs at

it'd be funny when dk is recording and he's goofing off and you can't stop laughing

jihoon's like "please don't entertain him"

"fine. let's focus then, dk!"

"okay!"

and dk loves making people laugh

he'd love you if you laugh at his jokes

"we should invite y/n every time we record!"

and hoshi already loves you as soon as jihoon introduces you as his girlfriend

he'd constantly be trying to make things romantic for the two of you

"i think you both should press the button together. that'd be a cute couple thing."

and "wow, you two really balance each other out."

and "can i take a picture of the cutest producers?"

"soonyoung."

"sorry, moving on."

jihoon's ears are so red until he starts scolding hoshi for making recording difficult.

moving on to mingyu and dino

mingyu goes and shakes your hand politely, which makes dino go

"wow, you're acting so polite all of a sudden. this isn't like you at all."

and mingyu sends him death stares.

chan and mingyu tell you things about woozi that makes woozi regret letting you meet them

"you wouldn't believe how mean he is to us when we're recording, but recently, ever since he started seeing you, he's been kind of weird. like weirdly nice."

"shut up"

"see? this is what he does!"

mingyu and dino loved meeting you, and they're eternally grateful for you making woozi seem happier

when he introduces you to wonwoo, minghao, and jun, the five of you hang out for coffee

they're really nice to you and ask about your interests

lightly talking with them about life and hobbies and stuff would probably be the least stressful meeting

it results in you making more plans to hang out with them in the future

"oh, you like video games, too? we should play a game together next time!"

meeting joshua and jeonghan was scary for you

they at first were trying to intimidate you, but in their terms, they were "trying to make sure you're the right one for jihoon"

"so what's your blood type? and your zodiac sign? and your mbti?"

"gosh, you guys are overwhelming her."

"it's fine, i'll answer any questions"

after you passed their intimidating test (which was mainly a joke), they treat you normally

they tell you to take good care of woozi and that they are glad you're the one he's seeing

and lastly, seungcheol

seungcheol is polite to you and bows all the way when he meets you

he has his gummy smile on display when he talks to you

he tells you that if you're woozi's, then you're part of the seventeen family, and that you can depend on him if you need anything

he thanks you for taking care of jihoon and he enjoys meeting you!

so overall, the members would LOVE you!

thank you for the request! i hope you enjoyed this drabble. feel free to request more! ✧( ु•⌄• )◞◟( •⌄• ू )✧

(p.s. requests are still open! ς(>‿<.))

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thedensworld · 1 month ago

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Hello writer, can you write about Jihoon subtly used his black card to give his wife meaningful gifts, respecting her dislike for being spoiled while expressing his love. The rest is up to your imagination. Thanks 🩷🩵

This is the closest i can get youuu. Enjoyyy🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️ thank youu🌼💓

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #woozi fluff #woozi imagines #woozi smut #woozi imagine #woozi drabbles

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

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Producer!Woozi x Celebrity!Reader

— Synopsis: You and Woozi have admired each other's work for a long time. Now, he has the opportunity to produce an album with you. Working on an album for a worldwide artist like you brings him immense joy... and turn-ons. — WC: 4.8k — WARNINGS: Smut, studio sex (Universe Factory), oral (f.receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, aftercare, reader fangirling over Woozi shirtless in Ruby's M/V mentioned.

Your name is splashed across big screens from Times Square to the Grammy Awards. Music didn't just enter your life; it crashed in, loud and powerful, sweeping you off your feet. It became your everything.

You went from singing in front of millions of people to strumming your guitar alone in a poorly illuminated room, lost in your own world. Music was your passion, your escape, and your purpose all rolled into one.

With that passion came endless opportunities. You were constantly on the move, traveling from one country to another, meeting people you once only dreamed of being in the same room with. You found yourself breathing the same air as your idols, sharing stages with legends.

Friendships blossomed, some fast and fleeting, others deep and lasting. The world knew your name. Your songs played in every state, on every continent, bridging gaps between different cultures and bringing people together.

Those cultures left a mark on you too.

You soaked in the richness of each place, each new experience shaping your music and your perspective. You remembered your early days, the hunger for inspiration, the late-night searches for new artists.

One night, you stumbled upon a webcam live stream with a bunch of boys in a neon green melona room. You laughed and loved watching them, their energy infectious even through a screen. You became a fan, following their journey as you built your own.

But here's the thing about being a superstar: time is never on your side. Your schedule was always packed, and despite being in contact with some of the Seventeen members through DMs and mentioning your admiration for them in interviews, meeting them in person was a challenge. You were in Seoul for a tour once, and they appeared on your show, but there was never enough time to truly connect.

Now, after years of hectic schedules and fleeting encounters, you finally had a moment to breathe. You were working on a new album, and for the first time in a long time, you had the opportunity to switch things up. Your usual producers were fantastic, but this time, something different was calling you. An opportunity was waiting in South Korea, and it had your heart racing with excitement.

You, your manager, and the company representing the group had been in talks for months, working out the details. The goal was clear: to collaborate with Woozi, the musical genius from Seventeen, on your new album.

When your team informed Woozi that you had just arrived at HYBE, his palms began to sweat. He never imagined he’d get to work with someone of your caliber. The fact that you specifically wanted to work with him made it all the more surreal.

As you walked through the HYBE building, your assistant and one of the staff members gave you a tour. You were almost giddy with excitement. The walls were lined with photos and awards, the air buzzing with creativity. When you finally approached the recreation area and spotted Woozi, his cheeks turned a shade of red. He was nervous, but seeing you smile so brightly at the sight of him sent a sense of relief through his system.

You were genuinely happy to see him.

As you step into the recreation area and see Woozi standing there, your cheeks flush a deep red. You can’t contain your excitement. "Woozi, I'm so happy to see you," you say, extending a hand, unsure if a hug would be appropriate.

He senses your shyness, and, in a moment of genuine openness, he breaks through his own reserve and gives you an awkward hug. It's brief and a bit clumsy, but it’s sincere. As you pull away, you swear this is the happiest moment of your life.

"I’ve admired your work for so long," you say, your eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "Your music is incredible."

Woozi shakes his hands in front of him, a shy smile spreading across his face. His long hair swings slightly as he responds, "Oh, no, really, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve done. I'm honestly just honored to be here with you."

You laugh softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "Are you kidding? I still remember hearing your solo for the first time and just being blown away."

Woozi's cheeks tint pink as he looks down, scratching the back of his head. "Thank you, that means a lot coming from you. I remember when we all watched your first big performance. We were in our green room, and we were all just in awe."

You grin, recalling that exact moment you first saw them. "I remember that! I was so inspired by you guys. It’s amazing how things come full circle, isn’t it?"

He nods, his eyes meeting yours with shyness "It really is. I never thought I’d get the chance to work with someone I looked up to so much." Woozi chuckles softly, breaking the silence. "By the way, I saw your post on Twitter about wanting to visit the Universe Factory—my studio."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you cover your face with your hands. "Oh my God, you guys see my tweets? Oh nooo!"

He laughs, a sound that's both comforting and infectious. "Yeah, they're hard to miss," he admits. "And I may have received a few screenshots of your reaction from 'Ruby'."

You gasp, mortified as memories of your tweets flood back. You remember typing frantically about needing a defibrillator when Woozi appeared shirtless in the music video. "Oh no, those tweets. I can't believe you saw those."

He’s grinning. "It's okay, really. It was kind of sweet to be honest. We all had a good laugh about it."

Peeking through your fingers, you sigh. "Well, now that my embarrassment is out in the open, I guess it’s only up from here, right?"

Woozi grins, a twinkle in his eye. "Absolutely. Besides, it’s nice to know we have mutual fans of each other’s work. It makes this collaboration even more special."

You nod, recalling how your fanbase and Seventeen’s had always gotten along so well. “Our fans really hit it off, didn’t they? It’s like they’ve been rooting for this collaboration all along.”

Woozi smiles and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on, let me show you the Universe Factory.”

Walking into his studio, you’re immediately struck by how incredible it looks. Purple lights cast a calming glow over the space, and the view from the windows is breathtaking. Everything, from the colors to the high-tech equipment, is perfectly arranged. You can tell he put a lot of effort into making this place special.

“Wow, Woozi, this is amazing,” you say, your eyes wide with admiration. “I always saw photos of your studio, but in person, it’s even better.”

“Thanks, but it’s just a studio.” Woozi’s shy smile returns, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “I wanted it to be just right for when you got here. I spent the whole week cleaning and moving things around. Even used some scented sprays.”

You laugh, feeling a snugness in your chest. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble for me, but I appreciate it.”

He shrugs, his smile widening. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

Woozi shows you some of the instrumentals he’s been working on, and they’re incredible. The beats blend seamlessly with the lyrics you sent him, and you can already hear the potential for something amazing. He’s practically buzzing with enthusiasm to hear how your voice will mesh with his music.

“Let’s get you in the recording room,” Woozi says, leading you to the booth.

You put on the headphones and glance through the glass at Woozi in the control room. As you start warming up your voice, he watches with a small smile. You can see him scoffing lightly, clearly amused by your funny warm-up techniques.

He presses the intercom button. “I’m definitely going to use that later.”

You sulk playfully, giving him a pout. “Come on, don’t make fun of me.”

He laughs, the sound filling the control room. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just cute the way you warm up.”

Rolling your eyes but smiling, you turn your focus to the paper in front of you. Woozi cues up the beat, and you start with a rough draft, feeling your way through the melody. Even in this initial take, Woozi can’t help but feel impressed. Your voice is powerful, yet it fits perfectly with the track.

You glance up occasionally, catching Woozi’s eyes. He gives you a thumbs-up, his appreciation evident even through the glass. As you continue, you find yourself getting lost in the music, and Woozi’s focus never wavers. When you finish, you look up to see him grinning widely.

“That was just the warm-up?” he says, pressing the button again. “I’m really excited to hear the final version.”

You laugh, feeling a rush of confidence. “Yeah, just the warm-up. Wait till you hear the real thing.”

Woozi nods, eyes gleaming with joy. “I can’t wait. Let’s do this.”

You start to sing for real now, fully immersed in the music. The lyrics flow smoothly, and your voice dances effortlessly over the instrumentals. When it comes to a tricky melisma, you frown slightly, pausing to ask Woozi through the intercom;

"Which tone should I use for this part?"

Woozi, equally focused, listens intently as you demonstrate two different versions. Both sound amazing to him, and he takes a moment to think. He taps his chin thoughtfully before pressing the button. "Try the second one, but start a half-step higher and then slide down smoothly."

You nod, absorbing his suggestion. You take a deep breath and try it his way. The moment you hit that melisma, sliding down effortlessly, the note hangs in the air. Woozi’s eyes light up, and he gives you an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the control room.

As you're in the middle of recording, Soonyoung suddenly appears in the studio, his presence bringing an unexpected burst of energy. You catch sight of him through the glass and wave enthusiastically, a big smile spreading across your face. Soonyoung returns the gesture, his excitement palpable even from a distance. He settles on the couch behind Woozi, watching the two of you work with keen interest.

Woozi presses the intercom button and gives you a nod. "Try going a bit higher for the adlibs."

You nod and sing the section, hitting the high notes while looking at Woozi for confirmation. He listens intently, his gaze dark in focus. “You did so good. That was perfect.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s voice from the back. “He never praises us like that.”

Woozi turns in his chair, giving Soonyoung a deadly glare.

Soonyoung, unphased, grins and stretches as he stands up. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” he says dramatically, walking toward the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses and turns back. “But after you’re done recording, we’re taking you to dinner Y/N. No excuses.”

You give him thumbs up. Feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. Woozi shakes his head but smiles, turning back to you.

“Ignore him. Let’s finish this up. You’re doing great.”

After skipping through some tracks, you find yourself sitting in Woozi's incredibly comfortable chair, fiddling with his equipment. The buttons, dials, and sliders are all so intriguing, and you can’t help but feel like a kid in a candy store, discovering new settings and features.

Woozi watches you from a few feet away, arms crossed, a smile playing on his lipsㄧHe knows you’re no stranger to studios and equalizers, but he loves seeing the joy in your eyes as you explore his setup like it’s the coolest thing in the worldㄧHe wonders if your producers ever let you have this much hands-on control.

“Hey, Woozi, how do you tweak the master mix settings here?” you ask, looking up from the console.

He steps forward, moving behind you. His arms come to rest on either side of the chair, effectively caging you in as he leans over to type on the keyboard.

“You just need to go into this menu,” he says, his voice low and calm. He types swiftly, his fingers dancing over the keys. “Then, adjust the settings here. See?”

You nod, trying to focus on his explanation, but the closeness is overwhelming. You can feel the warmth of his body, his head so close to yours.

It’s hard to concentrate when you’re not even breathing.

His voice is soft and steady, his breath warm on your skin. You watch his hands move expertly, typing commands and making adjustments with practiced ease. Your heart is pounding so loudly, you’re sure he can hear it.

“And here, you can add some reverb” he continues, “See how that changes the sound?”

No, not when he’s this near.

You nod, feeling a bit dazed. He tells you to try it yourself, and you reach for the adjustment, your hand hovering uncertainly over the controls. Woozi lets go of the mouse and places his hand over yours, guiding it to lower and raise the equalizer. His skin is soft and warm against yours, and the contact almost makes you melt on his chair.

“Like this,” he murmurs, gently moving your hand with his. “Just a little adjustment here and there.”

You can hardly concentrate on the settings, your mind fixated on the sensation of his hand over yours.

You turn your face slightly toward his, and he looks at you, the proximity between you almost intolerable.

Your eyes lock, and for a moment, the world outside the studio fades away. His gaze is intense, filled with something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Woozi’s hand squeezes yours lightly.

You can feel your pulse quicken. His eyes flicker to your lips for a brief second before meeting your gaze again. The moment stretches, neither of you moves, both caught in the electric current that seems to have taken over the room.

Finally, Woozi clears his throat, breaking the spell but not the connection. "There," he says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You’ve got it."

As you try to focus on adjusting the settings, Woozi leaves your hand on the side of yours, allowing you to make the changes yourself. You manage to make the adjustments, and as the sound fills the room, Woozi's voice breaks through the silence. "That's it. You're doing great." he praises.

You swear if he praises you again like that, you’re going to fucking wet his chair. You don’t even notice that you’re biting your bottom lip, too lost in the horniness.

Woozi’s words echo in your mind as you try to focus on the task at hand, but it's hard to concentrate with the way his body looks in the black shirt he's wearing. The fabric clings to him in all the right places, emphasizing his toned physique.

Every movement he makes with his hands, seems deliberate and calculated, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

You force yourself to push the distracting thoughts aside, but it's a losing battle.

Your gaze remains fixated on his hands as he places them on the border of the desk, supporting his body. His shoulders brush against the back of your head, and you can feel his presence looming over you. It’s as if he knows exactly what’s passing through your mind.

He brushes a hand over your shoulder, the sensation lingering even after he presses it between his hands in a gentle massage. You feel his lips tentatively brush against the corner of yours.

Caught off guard, you melt into his touch, your fingers intertwining with his as you lean into the kiss. His lips are soft against yours, a perfect match to the warmth of his touch. But when he catches you melting against his hand, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he turns the chair to face him, his hand sliding behind your neck to pull you closer.

His kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands sliding to each side of his face before tangling in his hair at the back of his neck. The kiss is desperate, as if you’ve both been holding back.

But when you finally break apart, gasping for breath, you realize that you can’t resist any longer. You get up from the chair, his hands desperately grab your waist, pulling your bodies together

The way he holds your waist makes your tank top bunch up between his fingers, his palms feeling your belly's bare skin. You whimper against his lips, "Hmm, Woozi..."

He pulls back slightly, "Jihoon," he corrects gently, "Call me Jihoon."

Your stomach flutters at the intimacy of calling him by his real name. "Jihoon," you repeat softly, savoring the sound.

He smiles, a soft, almost shy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Then he leans in again, kissing your cheek, your jaw, and your neck. Each touch of his lips sends you on cloud nine, making you arch against his chest, your hands gripping his bicep for support.

"Jihoon," you murmur again, the name feeling more natural on your lips each time.

His hands move up your sides, sliding under your tank top, his fingers warm against your skin. He pulls the fabric up, and you lift your arms, allowing him to remove it completely. The cool air of the studio contrasts with the heat of his touch, making your nipples harden.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body "You're beautiful," he whispers.

You blush, feeling a little shy under his gaze. "You too," you reply, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

He smiles and pulls you closer, his lips finding yours once more. This kiss is deeper, more urgent, as if he's trying to pour all his feelings into it. You respond with equal fervor, your hands exploring the planes of his chest, and the muscles of his back.

Jihoon’s hands move to your waist again, his fingers brushing the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, looking at you for permission. You nod, your breath hitching in the process.

He unbuttons your jeans, sliding them down your hips and letting them pool at your feet. You step out of them, standing before him in just your underwear. He takes a moment to admire you again, his eyes dark with desire, a little hidden under his long bangs.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. He helps you, tossing it aside. Your hands explore his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his milky skin, the steady beat of his heart.

This time, his hands roam more freely, exploring every inch of your body. His touch is gentle, yet possessive, as if he's trying to memorize every curve, every contour. After all, he doesn't know when he'll be able to touch you like that again. That is, if there is a next time.

You respond in kind, your hands moving over his body, savoring the feel of his muscles flexing under your fingertips.

He guides you toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours. You lie down, pulling him with you, your bodies molding together perfectly. He kisses his way down your neck, your chest, his lips leaving a trail of saliva in their wake.

"Jihoon," you moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation numbs your mind, making you arch against him.

Jihoon makes you relax on his couch, but you suddenly become very aware when his fingers slide your panties to the side, moistening his fingers with your lubrication. He opens his eyes to watch you squirm as your pussy sucks his finger inside without effort. His cold finger fits perfectly inside you, and you can feel him teasing to put another one. You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans.

He laughs softly, taking your hand off your mouth. "The studio is soundproof. You can moan as loud as you want."

You mentally thank him because with his fingers now perfectly entering and leaving you, a loud moan escapes your mouth, and the sound of your wet pussy isn't discreet. You're loving the intense gaze he has on you, like you're about to be devoured. He tries to kiss you, but you can only moan as he fingers you.

Jihoon curls his fingers on your g'spot, repeating the motion again and again. You let out a strangled moan, squirming under his touch. "Don't do that, or I'll mess up your sofa," you warn, your voice shaky with pleasure.

He looks at you from under his bangs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don't care about the sofa," he murmurs, pressing a hand on your lower belly to intensify the curl of his fingers.

The added pressure makes you scream, "Please, please!"

Jihoon smirks, his fingers moving faster inside you. "Please what? Tell me what you need," he demands, his voice commanding.

"Please, Jihoon, I need more," you gasp, your body arching against his hand.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "More of what? My fingers? My mouth?" he asks, his tone teasing.

"Both," you whimper, feeling desperate for more of his touch.

Jihoon chuckles, his lips brushing against your ear. "Greedy, aren't you? But I'll give you what you want," he promises, his fingers curling and pressing against your g'spot with relentless precision.

You cry out, your body trembling. "Jihoon, I'm going to—"

"Do it," he whispers, his calm raspy voice making you bite your bottom lip. "Come for me."

Your hands clutch at the couch as Jihoon's head moves from above you to between your legs. The moment his tongue touches your clit, you can't hold back, and you come almost immediately.

He stops for a moment, just to admire the sight of you arching your back on his couch, his fingers deep inside you, all wet as you roll your hips on them, moaning in his studio, naked. He never thought it would happen, but he isn't complaining.

You discover he's stronger than you thought when he holds your hips down to keep you in place before he devours your pussy. You roll your eyes at the sensitivity and the sight of his fangs tickling your skin, making you giggle between moans.

The scene is completely sinful. You prop yourself up on one elbow and hold his hair up to see his face, flushed but with closed eyes, all concentrated on giving you pleasure. You find it incredibly cute, and you can't help but praise him.

"Jihoon, you're doing so good," you murmur, your voice trembling. "You're so focused, it's amazing."

In response, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, making you pull his hair a little. He hisses softly, and you quickly apologize. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He looks up at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "It's okay," he says, his voice slightly rough. "I like it."

You can't help but moan louder as he resumes his attention to your clit. His fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside you, and you feel the pressure building again.

"Jihoon, please," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hold.

You gasp, and Jihoon stops, making your head fall back as you whine, your orgasm interrupted. He kneels on the couch, lowering his sweatpants and underwear to his thighs. You shake your head, saying, "I want you to take it all off."

He smiles, obliged, then comes completely naked over you. You spread your legs for him, wide, and he slides his cock between your folds, eliciting a whine from you. Still supporting yourself on your elbow, you grab his hair, pulling it slightly, earning a moan from him.

As your tongues wrap around each other, his cock slides inside you, and you open your mouth in a silent moan, your back plopping on the couch. He moans at the sensation of your gummy walls wrapping his cock, sucking him in welcomely. He also smiles, finding your reaction endearing.

Jihoon rolls his hips slowly, letting you adjust to the fullness of his cock. The slow stimulation draws moans from your lips, and you gasp, "Not only do you make amazing music, but you fuck so damn good too."

Jihoon lets out a genuine laugh, his breath warm against your skin. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, so shy, and you pull him back, wanting to see his eyes. He glances at you, amusement shining in his gaze.

"You really know how to flatter a guy," he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You laugh with him, the sound mingling with the intimate atmosphere around you. "It's true," you say, your voice lighter.

Jihoon shakes his head, still smiling, but the moment of levity shifts as he feels your walls tighten around him. His smile fades into a look of intense pleasure, his face contorts, and he starts to moan, the sound vibrating through you.

"Oh, God," he groans, his hips picking up a rhythm that makes your breath hitch. "You feel so good."

The sounds of skin slapping, your moans, and the low hum from the computer rendering the music become the backdrop to your intense session with Jihoon. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and your hair spreads wildly across the couch. He can feel your wetness around his cock, spreading to his thighs and the couch. You brace yourself with one hand on the couch's arm, your lips plump and sensitive from the kisses and bites.

Jihoon closes his eyes, focusing solely on the sensation of your pussy. If he keeps looking at how much pleasure you're experiencing, he might come too soon. But you can already sense his cock throbbing inside you.

"Open your eyes," you urge him, catching on.

He opens them, sulking a bit, and you give him a devilish smile. You lick your fingers, sliding them down your body to circle your clit, doubling your pleasure and his. His mouth falls open at the sight.

"Fuck, nooo..." he mumbles, watching your every move.

You revel in the sight of his abs flexing, showing that his orgasm is near. Sensing his impending climax, Jihoon pulls out, giving himself a moment to regain control. When he's ready, he slides back in, making you arch your back and curl your toes, triggering your orgasm instead.

You smile at his audacity, and he grins, seeing that his tactic worked. "F-fuck you… I'm cumming, Jihoon," you warn, closing your eyes as the pleasure builds.

He speeds up his hips, making you stop breathing for a second before a deep moan escapes from your chest. You feel yourself clenching and unclenching around him, your body shuddering as you reach your peak. Panting hard, Jihoon pulls out just in time, spilling his cum on your belly as he strokes his cock. His body trembles, and his eyes lock with yours, his bangs falling over his forehead.

Jihoon takes a long look at your spent body, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "How about a nap before dinner?" he suggests softly.

You close your eyes and nod, feeling the exhaustion settling in. "Right..." he murmurs, getting up from the couch.

You miss the warmth of his body immediately and let out a small whine. He chuckles, "I'm coming back," he assures you as he grabs a box of Kleenex and brings some tissues to clean you up. Gently, he wipes your belly and between your legs, his touch tender.

"I'm glad we finished some songs," he teases, his eyes twinkling. "You don't look like you could continue... at least not today."

You scoff, too tired to come up with a witty response. Jihoon starts dressing you, carefully slipping your top back on, your panties, and leaving your jeans off so you can nap comfortably. Once you're settled, he dresses himself quickly.

From the corner of the studio, he fetches a thin blanket draped over a poltrone. He covers you with it and then lays down beside you, pulling you close.

"You really wore me out," you murmur, a hint of amusement in your voice.

He grins, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Likewise," he says. "But it was worth it."

You let out a contented sigh, feeling more relaxed than you had in a long time. "I can't wait to hear how the songs turn out," you confessed, your voice growing dreamier with each passing moment.

Jihoon hummed in agreement, his fingers resuming their soothing motions on your back. "Me too," he murmured. "But for now, let's just enjoy this."

And so you did. Wrapped in each other's arms, you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, you snuggle into him, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you towards sleep.

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