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my cheeks hurt from smiling

𝐊𝐀𝐙 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐊𝐊𝐄𝐑 | 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | kaz brekker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | swearing.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | kaz brekker didn’t need a reason. he did, however, need a birthday present - that is, if you were to ask y/n. based off of this request!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | to be fair, idk if kaz’s birthday is acutally january 13th i only chose that bc of my own funky little reasons & bc i knew he was a capricorn but hey, that’s what we’re going with soo enjoy!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8k.

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“Stay,” he rasped out, tasting it in his mouth tentatively. “Stay in this dump. Stay with me.”

—come running; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1k words. ʚ slightly inspired by this prompt. | after your payout, you decided to leave everything behind. the gang, the jobs. until your old crew is in a bit of a pickle and you come running back. ʚ set roughly in crooked kingdom; mild spoilers; light angst. ʚ a/n this is a short one and i wasn't sure how to end it.

“You should not be here.” Kaz rasped, visibly confused that you were standing at the Black Veil instead of being at Ketterdam University. You should be in your cramped dormitory room, perusing thick textbooks to cram for your tests. You shouldn't be with them—the most wanted people of Ketterdam.

The rest of the Crows were running errands, taking their gondels off of the island. Aside from a sleeping Kuwei, Kaz was the only other living person there.

You swallowed. “I heard that you're forced into hiding from Rotty.”

“He shouldn't run his mouth to anyone.”

You winced. You were just anyone now. “He didn't tell me where, Kaz. You did, back then. Remember?”

He did. Before a particularly risky job, if anything went wrong, he told you to come to the Black Veil. No one ever went there anyway. An island housing the tombs of the wealthy wasn't a point of interest to both locals and tourists.

“You shouldn't be here.”

His name fell from your lips pleadingly, simultaneously familiar and foreign. It had been seven months since your last job with the Crows. Seven months since you left and enrolled at the University. The payout was abundant—it would support you until your graduation and then some. You had even taken a job. An actual part-time, away from the Barrell and the pubs and the scams. Kaz had pulled a lot of strings, getting fake documents for your application, creating a whole new persona for you to be.

He made you promise to stay away from the Barrell. For seven long months, you did. Jesper would swing by occasionally. He was supposed to be a student here anyway, before the gambling and the sharpshooting. You usually got the news about the Crows' happenings from him. Until Jesper stopped coming, so you had to ask Rotty.

Once a liar, always a liar. You had lied through your life in the Barrell. You lied to get into the University. It didn't seem far-fetched that eventually you would break your promise to come back here.

“What happened, Kaz? Rotty only said something about Van Eck. I thought we were supposed to stay off of Van Eck.”

Kaz clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Again, I should tell Rotty to shut his trap. Leave, ___. Go back. This doesn't concern you.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Kaz recognised your stubborn quality. He had always found it endearing, your relentless approach to life. The two of you were alike in that sense. What he disliked was that you didn't know when to step back.

“No. Why are you here, ___? You can't have forgotten already. Stay away from the Barrell.”

You picked at your cuticles. “I don't know. I just—”

“You don't know?” He asked incredulously. “You know that I'm a wanted man. We all are. Do you not find University to your tastes anymore? Are you trying to be a criminal, again?”

He was being unfair. “What was I supposed to do then? Go and study my textbooks, not knowing if any of you would still be alive tomorrow? Should I wait for the newspapers everyday to see whether or not you had kicked the bucket?”

“Yes! You should. You should've kept your word and stayed away.”

Kaz was at the edge of telling you everything, despite everything logical in his being telling him no. Ghezen knew he was at his limit, especially after Inej had been taken and everything else. What if you were spotted when you came? What if someone found the two of you right now? What if Van Eck took you as well?

You were supposed to get out. He got you out of this Ghezen-forsaken place. You gave him your word that you would stay out. Why were you so eager to return?

“I don't know, Kaz,” you admitted. Your voice was quiet. “Old habits die hard. When I heard that you were in trouble, I wanted to immediately come running. The way we used to have each other' s backs. It was foolish of me, but you can't seriously expect me to turn back and continue on as if everything is alright.”

He pursed his lips. “You chose to leave.”

It was as much your choice as it was his. “You encouraged it. I said that I wanted to go to Ketterdam University in passing, and you got me enrollment forms. You made me a whole new identity."

The inside of the tomb was hollow, your voice echoed through the chamber. Kaz leaned back against the mossy stone wall, closing his eyes and taking a frustrated breath. He slid down to sit, and then patted the empty space beside him.

“How's university? Is everything to your liking?”

You sat down, not close enough for him to be uncomfortable. “It's a routine. Repetitive weeks. It's funny how the only thing everyone is excited for is the weekends.”

It was definitely all the death in the air on the Black Veil Island. He swore he didn't mean to say anything. He had a thousand thoughts going through his brain, but instead he said, “I can feel the lack of your presence.”

You wanted him to say it. “Feel what, Kaz?”

He turned his head to look at you. “You know.”

This was what it always came down to, wasn't it? You were picking up breadcrumbs that he left, treating them as if they were a feast. Then, he would vanish, leaving you yearning for more until eventually—as always—he would do it all over again.

“Say it, Kaz,” you pleaded. “Say you want me to stay or leave forever and never come back.”

It should've been easy. Leave. Leave and don't look back, but his hand twitched and his heart leaped at the word stay.

“Stay,” he rasped out, tasting it in his mouth tentatively. “Stay in this dump. Stay with me.”

“I will stay.”

His eyes widened. He was envious of how easy it was for you to say things that you really meant and held your heart out in the open. For the first time in months, the constant weight in his chest was lifted, the worry lines in his forehead whenever he thought about you were smoothed out.

“For as long as you like,” he whispered.

You nodded vehemently. “For as long as you want me to.”

[ ]

Gotta put Some Color in the Miserable Place — Much to Dirtyhands' Liking

pairing: kaz x gn!reader

summary: A famous graffiti artist has been roaming around Ketterdam for a while now. It was about time you set your sights on the Slat, bare and just waiting to be painted on. A certain gloved man didn't exactly like that.

genre: idk how to label it but it's the beginning of something

wc: 2.3k

content: art-inclined reader, they/them pronouns, kaz getting annoyed, ooc kaz? not sure how to write him properly yet, spraypaint exists because I need it to, fighting

note: just a little something to get me out of my slump — it sucks, i'm sorry

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1/?

Ketterdam wasn't known to be the most luxurious of cities in Kerch. Yes, it did have places where people with money could settle down and quality napkins for them to wipe their buttcheeks on, but the "slums" part of the city overpowered that luxury. There were numerous criminals, thieves, pickpockets, and people of other illegal occupations roaming around the streets, especially the streets of the West Stave. At every alley, there would be at least some signs of a beating that occurred not too long ago. Even when people inhaled the air, it didn't feel clean.

One of your biggest concerns about the city, however, wasn't about how cleanly it was. What worried you the most was about how damn plain it seemed to be.

Where was the color? The flare? Come on, if people around the lands travel to Kerch for business, they might as well have some pretty things to look at as they cautiously walked on the streets.

You took it upon yourself to rectify that. Which was why, for the past two years, you have been one of the most sought-after criminals of Ketterdam that everyone called the “Painter”. Not because you murdered people or stole kruge, no. It wasn't even because of the fact that you decided to spray your art without permission.

It wasn't really the art that concerned other people (most of the time), but rather where you decided to put it up.

Plain old alley walls weren't the only victims of your spray bottles. Your style ended up on the main doorways of well-known brothels like the Menagerie, or the ground leading to the secret bases of different gangs. It made you a target not only of officers, but of other criminals as well. You may or may not have been the cause of the Dime Lions losing one of their main strongholds to a rival gang because you put skipping stones of Pekka Rollins' name leading to it.

You were flattered by the attention people were putting on you, but you felt unsatisfied. You had tried to put at least a little bit of your art on every visible wall of the West Stave and some of the East Stave as well, but there was something missing. Like there was one part of the Ketterdam map that hasn't been colored by you.

You got the answer to your problem one mundane day, while you were coming back from the market with a bag of groceries.

The Slat.

You had no idea why it hadn't hit you sooner. Sure, the Slat was the home of the Crows besides their bar "The Crow Club." Sure, the gang had been gaining a dangerous reputation this past year. Sure, the man calling the shots was scary as hell.

But it was just perfect.

You had long admired the Crows and their leader Kaz Brekker. You had spotted him going about business during late nights when you decided to test your skills by evading the Wraith that always pursued him (you hadn't been attacked by her, so you assumed that you were really good at sneaking around).

He was a man of business, a boss that liked getting his hands dirty — maybe that was how he got his nickname Dirtyhands. You don't see much of that in Ketterdam, and that interested you quite a bit.

Not to mention he was attractive in his own, ghostly way.

The Slate was also one of the very few canvases that you had left blank in this wretched city due to some unknown and unconscious reason, but now you had just the perfect artwork in mind for it.

—————

Kaz was in a bad mood today.

He woke up to his leg in pain. Well, it was always in pain, but it felt particularly worse that day. He almost face-planted while hobbling down the stairs in the Slat.

He had a small heist, with just him, Jesper, and Inej, but it was still messed up due to the unexpected appearance of a drunk group in the house they were robbing.

He got jumped on by some stupid pickpockets, idiots who were unaware of his identity and his reputation. He didn’t obtain any injury, but the blood that still stained his black gloves and his long black coat made him feel disgusting.

Just when he thought that he would find peace in the Slat, peace in just holing up in his office with no one to bother him, he limps down the streets of West Stave to the home of the Dregs to find a small crowd gathered on the side, murmuring to each other.

They were all members of the Crows, and they were all looking at something that was on the wall of the Slat.

His already creased brows creased further at the sight of the gathering. What were these idiots looking at this time?

Jesper was the first one who first saw him, eyes drifting over his blood-splattered clothes in slight concern.

“What’s going on?” Kaz asked, not giving Jesper the opportunity to worry over him.

“It seems that the Painter finally set their eyes on the Slat,” Jesper replied, his voice containing its usual mischief and mirth.

Kaz forged onwards, making the sharpshooter step aside to make way for Dirtyhands.

The small crowd parted for him as well, conversations dying down to small murmurs as Kaz got a better look at what they were ogling at.

He had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

When “the Painter” left Jesper’s mouth, Kaz wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The days when infamous the Painter set sights on establishments or gang bases were the days when gangs or businessmen would get publicly humiliated by the art on their walls. Normally, it would ridicule the head of the place (The Menagerie spent a significant amount of money to wash off and paint over the caricature of Tante Heleen in a horrid neon green outfit) or reveal some interesting gang secrets (two gangs were exposed to be stealing from each other and there was a little war between them).

Which was why Kaz had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

The artwork on the side of the Slat was a large mural of the Dregs’ signature crow perched on the lip of a cup, but a trail of black roses swirled around it in a spiral. Surrounding it was the Crows’ motto “no mourners, no funerals” in black and white. The irregular red and white shape behind it all emphasized everything, making it look like a banner rather than something someone actually took the time to spray on a wall.

It was unlike any artwork that was spotted anywhere in the city.

And even Kaz, who’s never had any particular interest in art, had to admit that it was nice. Flattering.

Beautiful, even.

"The Painter has their favorites, huh?" A Crow chuckled, making his mates laugh and shake their heads.

"If everyone's done having a staring contest with the wall," Kaz called, making everyone turn to their boss, "get back to work."

And just like that, they lost their interest in the artwork and dispersed. Some drifted away to different alleys to visit some gambling house, most passed by Kaz to finish some unfinished business of theirs, and others went back inside the Slat.

Kaz felt a familiar presence beside him. "Can you find this Painter, Inej?"

The Wraith that appeared out of nowhere replied, "I can try, but they're slippery."

Kaz rose an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. Someone who can evade his best spider? Now that caught his attention.

"Do it. Bring them to me," Kaz said, dismissing her with a wave. He didn't have to look to know that Inej had dissolved into the shadows.

He examined the mural once more, the barest ghost of a smirk on his face. Maybe you can come around to work for me, "Painter".

—————

You were having a good time.

If running away from some angry traders was something people would consider a good time.

"I'll kill you!" One of the men chasing you bellowed, hurling a stone that hit a wooden pillar dangerously close to your head.

You laughed, a manic cackle that only came from someone facing a certain death.

You leaped over crates, weaved through people with barely any gracefulness that would have made dancers feel second-hand embarrassment, but you didn’t care. Being chased around West Stave was one of the best things to do in Ketterdam, and you were enjoying every single bit of it.

You turned left into a random alley, only to find that it was a dead end. You looked upwards, but found only ladders that led to heavily-barred windows. You were trapped.

"Nowhere left to run, scum," A man laughed, his companion grinning as well.

You turned to flash them a charming smile. "Actually there is one way, but you're blocking it, so if you'd kindly move aside so I can peacefully make my leave."

They both looked at each other before turning back to you. "Not until we've got our money."

You pretended to think for a moment, not knowing what they mean, until you widened your eyes. "Oh! The money! That's what you were after? Why didn't you just say so?"

You rummaged through your deep pockets. "Here it is!"

You took a few quick steps forward and took out a spray can, squeezing it and drifting it over the closest man's eyes, creating a thick yellow line across his face.

The man yelled and stepped back in surprise, prompting you to catch his heel in yours and pull, making him fall.

You bent down to punch him twice before rummaging in his pockets, taking out a few loose coins and pocketing them.

You turned to face the other guy, who you found already on the ground with a figure standing above him.

The Wraith.

"Oh." Your gaze alternated between the sudden assistance and the man on the ground, before you decided to focus on the one standing and smiling at them. "Thanks for your help, Miss Wraith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave —"

You turned, only for Inej to block your exit, making you sigh. "What is it that you want from me this time?"

"For you to come with me to the Slat," Inej responded, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the alley.

You sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

—————

"Look, if this about money, I don't have any. I'm very broke." You stared at the man sitting in front of you, a desk separating him from your standing figure.

The Bastard of the Barrel didn't respond to your statement, opting to just look at you, his eyes examining your movements.

You let the silence drain on for a few more seconds before you lost patience. "What do you want?" You asked, frustrated.

"You're the Painter," He responded, putting his elbows on his table and lacing his gloved fingers together.

You waited for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't continue, you replied. "Yes."

"Everyone in Ketterdam is aware of your reputation to leaking powerful people's information," Kaz finally continued. "But that's not what's interesting. What intrigues me, is how you acquire the information in the first place, when the Wraith has never spotted you out in the open other than spraying on some random wall."

You shrugged. You had your ways, and if the Dirtyhands didn't know your methods, then there was no way you could reveal them. "I have my ways."

Kaz rose an eyebrow. "I can have you killed right here and now, did you know that?"

"And I’ve gotten out of these chains three minutes ago, did you know that?" You mocked him, shrugging the cuffs off and tossing them on his table. Inej moved, pulling out a dagger. Kaz put up his hand, and Inej paused, waiting.

You approached the desk, putting your hands on it and leaning forward, leaving half a feet of space in between your face and Kaz's.

"You want to know my methods so you can have the Wraith master them and use them," you said, leaning a bit more. "But then she can't. No one in this place can do what I can."

"I suppose there's an underlying deal somewhere in those words," Kaz hummed, seemingly unfazed by the distance.

You grinned. "Indeed there is. I can work for you, as long as I get paid. I'll do my thing, get your information, even infiltrate a few places if you like."

"Hmm," Kaz thought about it for a moment. "Two thousand kruge for each mission."

You paused. That would be enough to buy your food and pay your rent for a week or two, maybe even enough for some new clothes.

Yeah, you didn't have that good or luxurious of a lifestyle, but hey, money is money.

"Alright," You decided, sticking your hand out to seal the deal.

Kaz stared at your hand for a moment, before taking it. You pulled him up from his chair, face now barely away from yours. "If you think about double-crossing me and leaving me out in the cold, then you risk some of your own information being revealed... Rietveld." Your voice was barely louder than a breath, words only for Kaz’s ear.

His eyes widened, looking at you. Just the mere mention of his old last name, the one he shared with his brother, was enough for the water at his ankles to pool around his knees.

But you had already pulled away, brushing against the Wraith with a nod as you left the office without another word.

"What was that?" Inej asked — more like demanded.

Kaz didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the door. It took him a long pause to reply.

"The start of another painful alliance," Kaz muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The start of something indeed.

nothing more, nothing less

Kaz Brekker was acquainted with different monsters. Those wrapped in expensive silk and bathed in sickening perfume. Those who spouted beautiful lies, enticing unwitting men into their dens. Those with hands stained crimson, preying on children and fools alike. His reflection on a mirror.

But the green-eyed beast proved to be a terrifying match.

Or, Kaz gets jealous.

✦ kaz brekker x gn!reader | grishaverse

✦ tags: jealous kaz, lieutenant!reader, (kind of?) enemies to lovers, set sometime after the events of crooked kingdom

"Brekker."

"Darling," KAZ drawled without looking up at your arrival, his tone more mocking than affectionate. "You're two bells late. Do you have the—"

A roll of parchment zipped through the air, landing in the middle of his desk with startling accuracy and ruining the neatly arranged blueprints spread atop it.

"I told you to quit calling me that," you muttered darkly. "One of these days, I'll really cut off your tongue."

He huffed, concealing his amusement. He enjoyed calling you all sorts of endearments after discovering how easily they riled you up.

There are times when Kaz allowed himself to feel, to act, like a boy again. Reconcile with a distant past, one that echoed Jordie's voice and carried the smell of fresh grass.

This was one of them. Similar to a child, Kaz reveled in your attention. Regardless if they came as threats, insults, or downright disdain.

He'd swallow a bullet first than ever admit it, though.

"How terrifying," he said, unfazed, and made swift work of straightening out the floor plan you brought him.

Silence fell, interrupted only by the soft shuffling of papers. From the corner of his eye, he noticed you shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Normally, Kaz would come up with some sort of excuse to make you stay, but it seemed that something was on your mind.

And so, he waited.

You cleared your throat. "Do you need anything else?"

No, but thank you. You did well. Please, get some rest, his thoughts supplied. He ignored them. Instead, he simply settled on, "No."

His movements stilled. The question was unusual, especially coming from you.

"Nothing more, nothing less," you had once told him, seated on the ledge of a stadwatch tower that overlooked Ketterdam's shores. He'd nodded in agreement back then, mesmerized by the early sunlight that caressed your face.

You lived by the old saying for as long as Kaz has known you. After all, when you grew up in the Barrel, you'd learned early on that acting out of the goodness of one's heart only left a person broken. Penniless. Or worse, dead.

As such, you weren't the type to seek additional assignments without an offer beforehand. The fact that you had gone out of your way to ask was... suspicious.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. He could never afford to look at you for too long, as it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to stop once he started.

He cocked his head to the side and searched your gaze. "Why?"

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. He rarely indulged you in idle conversation or pried into your affairs.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Because despite everything you've been through together, this was the nature of your relationship too. Neither of you tried to change it, even after every scar he unraveled and laid at your feet.

Even after numerous nights spent confined in his office, shoulders almost, but never brushing one another as you pored over schemes for hours.

Even after repeatedly saving each other's necks and during the intimate silences that followed when the adrenaline wore off. Moments taut with charged tension, heaving breaths, and unspoken truths.

"I've got plans," you explained rather cryptically.

"Plans? Has someone else hired you for a job? I hope you don't forget that you belong to—"

"No, someone asked me out on a date."

Me, insisted the voice in his head, rich with desperation. You belong to me.

Kaz scoffed in disbelief. "A date? In Ketterdam?"

Fear clawed its way up his throat, determined to make itself known. It warred with another emotion he was too proud to name.

This... feeling was absurd. Sentimental. Kaz was no stranger to loss.

The seas granted Inej her freedom. A new chapter awaited Jesper and Wylan. Nina stumbled upon a second chance at love. Matthias found peace.

Yet, deep down, each farewell left him a little more empty than the last.

You were bound to Ketterdam only by virtue of being the Dreg's sole lieutenant. In truth, nothing else was preventing you from leaving.

Leaving him.

After promoting you, a tiny seed of guilt buried itself in his cold, wretched heart when he realized he held you back. That he never gave you the opportunity to pursue your dreams. Your position forced you to assume several roles, to fill in the shoes the others had given up.

But his greed outweighed his guilt and Kaz was a selfish man indeed.

The mere idea that someone could whisk you away from him brought forth a hateful bitterness from within.

"Where is the unfortunate fellow taking you?" he asked, keeping his voice deceptively calm.

You narrowed your eyes, ignoring the jibe. "It's a quaint little bar called 'none of your business.'"

Nothing more, nothing less. The phrase taunted him now. The green-eyed monster inside him rattled his ribcage ferociously, driving him to boast.

He curled his fingers around the desk's edge tightly. "Funny. I run the entirety of the Barrel, and I don't recall an establishment operating under that name."

"I'll have you know that he actually owns the place he's bringing me to," you snapped defensively.

Good, good. More information.

"And how long have you known each other?"

You shrugged. "A few weeks."

The answer relieved him somewhat. His possessiveness ebbs, its rhythm steady, before it swelled again, rising with the current of his emotions. One should always be more sure of everything. He'd learned that the hard way.

"And he's aware of who you truly are?" Kaz pressed on. "Of what you do?"

There were only a handful of possibilities. The person could have ulterior motives for approaching you. It wasn't unlikely, considering your power was only second to his.

Perhaps it was a spiteful soul he'd wronged, plotting to take advantage of you and get revenge on him.

On the other hand, there was also a chance that they weren't privy to your true identity. He couldn't blame anyone for wanting you but it was common knowledge whispered in the streets that Kaz Brekker was a man unwilling to share.

Anyone who didn't heed that advice and went against it anyway was just recklessly bold. Or stupid. The Barrel never seemed to run out of those.

This time, you broke away from his gaze. "It doesn't matter." You sniffed, feigning indifference.

The person didn't know then, he surmised. You probably met him during one of your undercover assignments, disguised and masquerading around with an alias.

Sensing his disapproval, you attempted to defend your date-to-be by adding, "He's kind. Sweet. Honest."

Everything he was not. The words, sharp as glass, ripped him apart. Crushed him with an overwhelming weight of sorrow.

"It seems naive of you to form an impression of him in such a short amount of time," he said through gritted teeth.

Pretending as if he didn't care should have been easy for him. Right now, all his years of experience in perfecting that charade were useless.

You rolled your eyes. "Not everyone is cynical and distrusting of the world like you. People can be good, Brekker."

And you deserved everything good and more. Better people could love you, he knew.

Someone who would not flinch every time you drew near. Someone who would freely kiss away your every fear.

Kaz had survived gunshots. Knife wounds. Sickness, nightmares, and grief. But the very thought of someone else soaking in your warmth was an ache he could not bear.

He felt the words scorching his tongue, his demons voicing them with unbridled cruelty. "There is a difference between being cautious and acting like a love-sick fool!"

Your eyes widened in shock, hardening in anger a second later; then they softened with disappointment, and all Kaz could see was the reflection of himself, a frenzied animal. A blown fuse. Inhumanely hollow.

He opened his mouth to speak, beg for your forgiveness, but you had already turned and walked away.

"I'll come back when you aren't hissing at me like a wet cat," you said, slamming the door behind you.

Kaz clenched his gloved hands into aching fists and hung his head, trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another man made him.

He wasn't too late. Dealing with his emotions was uncharted territory for him but scheming came as effortlessly as he breathed.

Kaz never lost a fight and he wasn't about to start now. Even if he needed to play dirty. His greed outweighed his guilt and he wasn't called Dirtyhands for nothing.

"Brekker!"

Kaz had just finished speaking with another gang member, Roeder, when he heard the heavy stomp of your footsteps, followed by the frustrated yell of his name. You appeared on the stairway landing soon after, rage thundering in your wake.

"You're dismissed." Kaz waved to Roeder. His eyes shifted to you momentarily and cast Kaz a wary glance. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, he scurried off, slipping past the both of you.

Kaz began to ascend the stairs, you trailing behind him. He could sense that you were shooting daggers at the back of his head, probably cursing him out silently.

"You're back early," he finally said once you entered his office. He circled back to the same place you'd left him hours earlier and sat in his chair. "How'd the date go?"

You stormed closer, wedging yourself between him and the desk, stopping him from hiding behind the pretense of work.

"You know exactly how it went," you snarled.

In spite of your anger, you remembered to maintain your distance. Not once have you commented on his aversion to skin-to-skin contact, though he was certain you harbored your own questions.

"I'm afraid I don't, darling." He raised his chin to hold your gaze, his expression carefully blank. A tailored mask. "I wasn't there."

"You had him taken by the Dregs." The hurt on your face was unmistakable, enough for Kaz to feel a tad remorseful.

It was hardly sufficient, though. Screw righteousness, old habits die hard. "Ah, I had no idea he was your date," he lied again.

"Bullshit."

"But, what I do know is that he laundered money from our coffers and forced children into building the same tavern you were just in."

Kaz went over records of the jobs you'd accomplished in the last two months. After connecting the dots, he successfully identified your date and paid Roeder to look into his background. It was pure luck that the man was a merchant who managed to con Kaz's old boss.

Pulling the strings for his capture was practically child's play. Not that he'd ever tell you that.

Your fury dissipated, replaced by defeat that slumped your shoulders. "You were right," you said quietly, avoiding his eye once more. "I'm sorry."

Kaz rose from his chair and stepped forward. Taken by surprise, you backed away instinctively, only to find yourself trapped by the desk now digging into your hip.

"Let me make it up to you," he spoke with an unfamiliar softness. It almost sounded wrong.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "What?"

"I ruined your evening. I could have ordered the others to seize him after you finished dinner."

But I didn't want him to walk you home. Wrap his coat around your shoulders. Kiss you goodnight at the Slat's doorstep. Kaz would've probably loaded his pistol at the sight. Broken every limb that touched you with his cane.

You snorted. "Okay. Are you going to give me whatever we steal next? Increase my cut?"

"No, although we can discuss it another time. I'm inviting you out on a date."

You blinked once. Twice. Slowly, you said, "Brekker, you ask someone out when you like them."

His lips pulled into the slightest frown, mildly impatient. "I know."

"You don't like me."

"Whoever put that silly idea in your head?"

"You did. You don't like anyone."

"I may not be the best at showing it, but you know that there are exceptions to that rule," he argued. "Especially when it comes to you."

He continued to lean over you, ignoring the pressure of panic beating against the walls of his chest from the proximity.

"You called me an idiot," you countered. You refused to move a muscle, most likely out of consideration for him, but he closed the distance himself.

He dipped his head further. "Again, I never said that."

"Fine," you conceded, sounding fond. "You implied that I was an idiot."

"I'll be kinder from now on," he promised. "I can try to be sweet, if you give me time and chance to learn. And I'm being honest right now."

Nothing he could do would ever atone for his sins. But although he was renowned as the Bastard of the Barrel, he was prepared to do it right by you.

Hesitantly, you raised a hand. Every inch of his flesh wanted to turn itself inside out, but every bone in his body yearned for your touch.

A quivering sigh escaped his throat as you reached for his cheek, your fingers warm and gentle on his skin.

He braced himself for the familiar scent of death. The ocean. He willed himself to focus on the details that made your face. The line of your jaw to your ear. The slope of your nose. The curve of your lips, hanging onto them as if his life depended on it.

It did, in a way.

"Your answer?" he rasped, suppressing a shiver.

You dragged your thumb against his skin in a delicate but paralyzingly manner and whispered, "I accept."

He had never been held with such tenderness before. Your touch made him feel like he was somewhere else, far from the memories that haunted him.

Growing concerned, you attempted to withdraw your hand but Kaz grasped your wrist before you fully could. He steadied himself with your pulse, each beat, each hymn, anchoring him to the present.

He was here. With you. In his office. Nothing in the world could hurt him.

Eventually, he slid his own gloved hand so that your palms pressed together. Your lashes fluttered and you asked, "Is this really happening? Are we really going on a date?"

He hummed in affirmation. "And I'll do it properly."

Seriously, who in their right mind would bring you to that side of Ketterdam? He took the sealed envelope containing your dinner reservation from inside his coat and handed it to you.

"Thank you." Your mouth curved into a shy smile. "And for the record... you don't have to be anything else other than yourself."

"Ruthless, callous, and dishonest cheat?" His voice held a hint of insecurity, betraying his attempted nonchalance. It was a question hauled from the inner depths of his soul, the boy inside him who wondered if he could ever be worthy of love.

"You forgot insufferable," you teased, although your earnest gaze belied the lightness of your tone. He knew you could see right through him. "But, yes. Just you, Kaz. Nothing more. Nothing less."

At that moment, Kaz knew you would be his salvation and destruction. You could shatter his heart and every single piece would still cry out for your name.

He squeezed your hand. Soon, he'll make you, and everyone else in the Barrel, realize that he had no intentions of ever letting you go.

✦ byeol’s notes: new year, new fandom ?!

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you so, so much in advance! <3

Another Dream | Kaz Brekker

Summary: In which Kaz reveals what his true dream is.

Warning: slight angst…its short…and major fluff near the end

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.9k

The chapel hadn’t sustained much damage from the battle. A few wooden pews ended up getting pushed and overturned. A few shards of glass scattered across the floor from broken windows. Yet, the stainless window remained absolutely untouched. The image of the Saint Sun Summoner cast colorful rays of light onto the stone floor.

Keep reading

—inked; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1k words. ʚ reader is a tattoo artist, kaz brekker needs a tattoo. there's a lot of yearning involved. ʚ non-descriptive needle and tattoo stuff; slight angst. ʚ a/n you can tell i don't know how tattoos work.

Kaz Brekker should stop trying to find a reason to knock on your door. He should step back, tilt his head down and walk away as if he was never there in the first place. It was becoming a habit and habits meant comfort and comfort usually became root for something more—something that someone like him couldn't grow beyond a sprout when you deserved the whole forest.

Yet he stayed stubbornly at your door.

He was a selfish man in that regard.

He could hear you shuffling behind the door and then the rattle of your keys, followed by a soft click of your door being unlocked. You pulled the door open a smidge.

“Kaz!”

He wished you didn't sound so happy to see him. Then, he wouldn't feel welcomed to come back the next time and the next time and the next. He didn't want to make a habit out of it, but he was here yesterday and four days ago and a week ago. He had a feeling that he would be here in the near future as well.

Your door swung open immediately. You were wearing casual clothes, comfortable for sleeping, instead of your usual coats and leathers. It was a welcome change. It made his visits feel more personalised, like he was the only one to see you as you were and not as you wanted him to.

“What brings you here tonight?” you asked, already leading him to sit on the upholstered couch in your room. It used to be your bed, before you saved enough for a real one. Now, it nestled itself in one corner of your room for rare visitors. The only one who ever came by your rented room in Ketterdam was Kaz lately.

“I want to get a tattoo.”

His eyes wandered to your walls, littered with inked drawings of past tattoo designs you had done. You worked at a tattoo parlour that fell in the Dregs' territory. Many of the new members had their tattoos done at your workplace. You had even inked a few of them yourself.

“The shop opens in a couple of hours,” you said. “We can wait—”

“Not at the shop, if you can,” he interrupted. He didn't think he could bear having other people in the same room. He didn't think he wanted someone else to potentially do it as well. He came to you because he trusted you. He had spent too many nights awaiting dawn with you. He had told you too many secrets he shouldn't have. You had told him things about yourself that you probably shouldn't. He came to you when nothing went right. He came to you when everything went the way it should. You waited for him after a good day. You still waited even after a bad day.

It was a strange dynamic.

It should feel like he was skeeting over the edge of a chasm, but it felt more like the gentle hum of his room at the Slat. Steady, familiar four walls that served as a respite from the debauchery of the Barrell.

“Of course,” you agreed. It took you less than five minutes to gather everything you needed. Fortunately, you had gone on a supply run for the shop earlier. You were planning to bring everything to the shop when it opened, but you'd be needing them earlier than you thought.

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you joked. “I could write 'Ketterdam's biggest loser' on your arm.”

“It would suit you better than me.”

You chuckled. He thought it would sound good on vinyl. He could listen to it for hours.

“Rule one, Brekker. Never insult the person who's putting permanent ink on you.” You shot him a glare, but you were smiling. It was inexplicably easy to smile around him. “What are you thinking?”

“The Dregs tattoo, on my arm.” He rolled his sleeves and your heart was beating twice as fast. Unbeknownst to you, his was as well. He had never bared a part of himself so casually before. You had never seen him without all his layers—all the protection over his skin.

Your machine whirred to life. You disinfected his skin with a couple swipes of a disinfectant pad. His whole body tensed when you made contact, despite your gloves.

“Hey, Kaz.” You pulled his attention away from where you'd touched him. “I won't hurt you.”

You held out your gloved palm. With your free hand, you took his gloved hand and set it gently over your palm. He inhaled sharply.

“It's okay. It's just me.”

He trailed a finger softly over your palm. There was a barrier between your skins, but it was daunting all the same. He took a couple of deep, spaced breaths with closed eyes. When he opened them, you were smiling encouragingly at him.

“You can start,” he said, but almost immediately regretted it when you pulled your hands away.

“There will be slight pain,” you said over the whirring of your machine.

He scoffed. “I know pain better than—”

He cursed, inhaling sharply when first contact broke his skin.

You rolled your eyes. “I warned you, Brekker.”

Stray hairs fell over his forehead. “I was startled.”

His eyes were tracing the lines of your face as you worked. The proximity started to feel somewhat comfortable, with the lull of your tattoo machine. You occasionally hummed as you worked. He etched the sound into his mind. You weren't a singer, but he preferred your voice over any performers.

“Done!” you suddenly proclaimed. He looked away and cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

The crow and cup over his right forearm. A permanent mark that he was Dirtyhands of the Dregs. No deed too low for him as long as there was enough Kruge involved. Was that all who he really was?

“Can you add another? A small one,” he rasped.

“Certainly, Kaz. What is it?”

“The letter R, here,” he pointed at his bicep. “For the boy I was. For my brother.”

“I wish I could've met him, you know. Jordie.”

Kaz wished so, too. A foolish wish. Ketterdam didn't groom him to be a wishful thinker. Hope was a dangerous, dangerous thing. He should leave.

“Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I overstepped.”

Kaz's eyes widened. “No. You're okay.”

It was him.

“Then stop looking like you're ready to bolt anytime, Kaz. I happen to appreciate your company.”

“Oh.”

He let hope force its way in and make a nest in his chest anyway.

[ ]

bf texts with woozi!

prompt: woozi spamming you because you overslept (he thought his world is ending)

character: woozi

genre(s): smau, fake texts, fluff

masterlist

jeonghan’s version

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@toplinehyunjin @aervera @arkynz @Hawshiiiii @jenowithjaem @chhnc @do-you-remember-summer-127 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lesuneczka @tinyelfperson @codeinebelle @fr-freak @cherrylvrr @dcrlingyou @hq3lo @jkbabiey

@sarabencze @gyuguys @dunixxd

your bedroom door creaks open just after midnight, and the weight of donghyuck crashing onto the bed next to you a few minutes later startles you awake. you stare at him in the low light, not fully-aware of what's going on. but he's just looking at you, patiently waiting.

"well?"

you blink. "... hi?" you stifle a yawn as you sit up, turning on your lamp. the red numbers read out that it's literally two--now three--minutes after midnight. you just turn back to your boyfriend. "is something wrong?" you rub at your eyes. donghyuck doesn't just come over without warning.

he pouts at you. "really?" he reaches over, pinching your side a little--just to get you to jolt. "you're so mean. i came here so you'd be the first one, and you don't even remember."

remember...? you just sit there, brain still chugging along until it all finally clicks. "oh!" it earns a eye roll from donghyuck, but you ignore that as you lean in to kiss him. "happy birthday, my sunshine--"

"you'll have to make it up to me," he says. he's grinning, though, as he wraps his arms around you. "or i'm gonna tell everyone that you forgot."

you just roll your eyes, pulling him closer to you as you snuggle in. "mmhm. whatever you want later," you paw through the air before finding your lamp again, clicking it back off. "or your friends are gonna come beat me up."

"right." he grins as he buries his face into your neck, pressing a tiny kiss there before he shifts into a comfortable position. "whatever i want. no matter how expensive."

he's teasing you again, but you just let out a blissful sigh. "goodnight, my beautiful sunshine."

he just wraps his arms around you a little tighter, snuggling in to spend the beginning of his birthday with you. exactly the way he wanted to.

爱 | h.rj

summary: you ask renjun to teach you chinese, hoping to gather some courage to confess to your crush

featuring: huang renjun x gn!reader

genre: one-shot, fake texts, fluff

notes: i love renjun i love renjun i love renjun. chinese is actually my mother tongue so this was really fun to write teehee i hope you enjoy ^_^ as always, feedback, likes, reblogs n replies are appreciated!

see you later ★ jeong jaehyun.

jaehyun x gn!reader. hurt comfort, drabble.

wc: 533 words.

note: requested! most parasocial thing i've ever written i fear...

After the news of his enlistment, he comforts you.

“You can’t go.”

Your words come out as a whisper, though your heart’s screaming inside. The syllables that slip past your lips are laced with desperation, they are akin to thorns to Jaehyun. 

He hates making you sad, truly.

“Baby…” he breathes out, swallowing back his words at the sight of you shaking your head. 

You’re standing before him, the kitchen countertop separating you. Jaehyun wants to go up to you and hold you — but he knows you’d push him away. So, he watches as you hold back your tears. 

“You can’t go, Jae.”

“You know I have to,” he whispers. In exasperation, he pushes back his hair, “You know if I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to.”

A squeak elicits past your mouth as you part it, followed by a choked sob. All you can feel is the clenching of your heart, and the rapid thumping of your heart against your chest as you bury your face into your hands. 

“I can’t, I really can’t,” you whisper, though Jaehyun can’t hear them through the sounds of your choked sobs. 

“It’s not like I’m going to die,” your boyfriend makes a pathetic attempt at lightening the situation, “It’s just the military.”

If there’s one thing Jaehyun knows how to do, it is to piss you off.

Just like that, you tear your hands away from your face. Your eyebrows are scrunched, a mixture of grief and anger written all over your face. 

“Are you serious?” you mutter, trying to sound angry (and failing), “I’m going to fucking miss you, Jae.” 

It takes all of him not to laugh at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and pout. Jaehyun bites back a smile, opening his arms. 

“I know,” he mumbles, “Come here, baby.” 

Who were you to decline?

Before you know it, you’re sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Soothingly, Jaehyun slips his hand inside your shirt, rubbing your back as he gently rocks you. Warmth reverberates against your skin, seeping into your soul.

“It’s hard when you’re not around,” you mumble into his neck, “I’ll really miss you.

He hums, lip slightly jutted into a pout, “It’ll be hard for me too. I’ll miss my angel.”

At the confession, you nuzzle your face further against his body, earning a happy sigh from him. He presses a kiss onto your cheek, eliciting a sigh from you, too — basking in the time you have left with him. 

You’ll miss this – you’ll miss him.

“I really don’t want to say goodbye,” you mutter, pulling away to look him in the eyes.

Jaehyun sees the stray tears on your cheeks and wipes them. Then, he presses kisses onto your cheeks, your forehead, then your lips.

“Then don’t say it,” he answers. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“Hm?”

“Tell me see you later instead.” 

“Oh,” your face immediately contorts into one of happy realization. 

For the first time that night, your lips form into a smile. Jaehyun makes sure to stare at it long enough to burn in into memory. 

With the image of you etched into memory, two years feels a little more bearable. 

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

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

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

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

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

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you’re hiring?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love nothing more.”

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

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

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

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

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

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty lame, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

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

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

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God, your face!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

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

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

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

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

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

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

“What? A blueberry pie?”

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

“Peace.” 

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

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

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

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

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

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

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

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

But he steps back. 

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

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

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

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

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

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

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

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

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace. 

EXTRA

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

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

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

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

when the fratboy falls

fratboy!Jaehyun x tutor!reader

summary: Jaehyun is a fratboy with a notorious reputation for being a playboy, you have never heard of him. surely, he can use tutoring as an excuse to get close to you, right?

word count: 8.9k

warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol and weed, characters consuming alcohol, based on ages in this fic- underage drinking, mentions of sexual acts, a very brief scenario where a non-nct-fratboy verbally harasses/drunkenly flirts, confusing ages/age changes between members (just don’t think about it :)), Americanized college described (I’m American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart) in order to avoid using y/n, uhhh I think that’s it, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: oh my god this feels like it’s been a long time coming, I hope you all enjoy the origins of Jaehyun and Sweetheart and grow to love them even more! Feedback is appreciated! 

This fic is a part of my fratboy!jaehyun universe but can be read as a stand alone fic! (it’s the origin story)

dividers from plutism <3

taglist! @luv4jeno @vvx3 @mmjhh1998 @bluedbliss @soheendo

@lovesuhng @i4kt @johnjaesblog @sunghoonsgfreal @leemoonna

@cbgisland @yowmaman @cryingforjae @nanaissour @kongjjen

You should be in a club right now, you and all your friends should be getting drinks bought for you in the flashing neon lights of a crowded room. You should be dancing like the girls in all the college movies with your hands up, tangled in your own hair, and dancing to the beat of the music pulsing through the room. 

But you weren’t there! You were stuck in the godforsaken library being proactive by studying for your staggered midterms starting in two weeks. You hated your professors for giving horribly detailed study guides that actually required you to work on them this early on. It was as if they had all conspired to make them as detailed and long as possible and to make them span two weeks.

Your eyes were burning from staring at the screen in front of you, the books laid out around you had barely been touched since you found the information you needed, and your pencil was lost somewhere in the pages of your notebook where you had been taking notes. Right now, your fingers were itching to grab your phone and scroll through some sort of entertainment, but you knew you couldn’t. 

You’d been doing so well studying for a good- wow, almost 3 hours, until the rowdiest group of guys came in and started making this experience even worse for you. They’d come in about half an hour ago and had been the worst examples of library goers since they took their seats two tables away from you. 

“Those guys are such a pain in the ass,” your roommate, Ari, mumbled under her breath.

Your friend, Kira, shot a look in their direction and immediately rolled her eyes, “Frat guys, Nu Chi. I’m not surprised.”

You peeked over at the group of guys catching the Greek letters on various pieces of clothing worn within the group. The ‘ΝΧΤ’ was was patched onto some hats, hoodies, and t-shirts- the bright green of the letters made it easier to see. You trailed your eyes over the guys in the group. Some look like they’d just woken up, one was asleep, another two were actually studying, and one was looking right at you. 

Keep reading

stranger. — mark lee 𝜗𝜚

in which mark lee attempts to text his ex girlfriend, not knowing her number was switched over to you.

part one, read part two at the bottom

i’m in big bold letters so u don’t ignore me hi gays and others errr this is the experimental fic i was talking about hhehehehheh.. should i continue or should she be left in the dust sitting next to jisung’s twitch account.

ok byeeeeee loveeee uuuuuuu ♡

ask and you shall receive [read part two here]

spidey boy ; 이민형

pairing spiderman!mark x female!reader

synopsis mark has tried to hide his secret identity from you for as long as possible, to keep you safe, of course. little does he know that you’ve untangled his web of lies long ago and will do anything in your power to get him to admit it. just when you've had enough of him lying to you, he ends up getting caught in the act trying to save your life.

genre established relationship, fighting (if you squint), lots of fluff, slight violence and cat-calling, slightly suggestive, mark calls reader “my girl” and “pretty girl”.

wc 2.9k

“do you think that spiderman guy is actually as good as everyone says he is?” you ask mark, who lay peacefully in your lap as your fingers ran through his hair.

you two had been hanging out after school, as you usually do, watching random channels while you both indulged in each other's day. however, you had articulated this hangout the night prior.

a few days ago, you had aimlessly been searching through mark’s backpack in hopes of finding your calculus notes, which you had so graciously let him borrow, only to stumble upon a very familiar red and black mask balled up in the bottom.

at first, you thought mark had hit peak fangirl. he was obsessed with the superhero after all, completely drawn to the tv or newspaper whenever spiderman was mentioned, but so was every other human being in your city.

so when you began noticing how mark’s late-night appearances and “fashionably late” activities began lining up with the famous building-swinging superhero, your mind put the pieces together.

you tried to understand his point of view and why he wouldn’t reveal this very key detail about himself. it hurt you, though, feeling as though there was something in you that made him not feel comfortable enough to expose himself to you.

so, you compiled a plan to get the truth out of him organically, or as organically as this could be.

“wha… what do you mean?” your boyfriend’s head quickly snapped up, turning on his palm to face you with a questionable look knitted into his features.

a smile teasingly pulled on your lips, knowing you had hit a sore spot in his ego. how couldn’t he be proud of himself? after all, he was known as the hero of your city.

“i don’t know,” you continued, leaning back against the couch, watching your boyfriend swing from building to building on the screen in front of your bodies. “he just seems too full of himself, like cool you can swing from buildings and hang upside down, but we have police and firefighters for a reason!”

it took everything in you to not break character, slowly watching mark’s face grow red at your painful statements. he just looked at you, eyes blown wide and brows pulled so close together that you were certain he could get stuck like that.

with a small giggle, you reached out, brushing your thumb between the crease in his brows and bringing it down to caress his cheek.

“what’s with the face, baby? don’t tell me you're obsessed with him too.” his face slowly relaxed as your soft hand held his face, but his brain was still scrambling with your previous statements.

how could you find him not absolutely amazing? he could swing from buildings and hang upside down!

“you don’t think he’s cool? not even a little bit?” mark’s eyes followed yours to the screen. spiderman now being shown saving an older woman from getting mugged.

“i think he’s cool, i guess.” you looked back at your boyfriend only to find his eyes already on your face, his previous expression appearing again. “babe, you can’t be serious.” mark leaned back, feeling completely bewildered by your nonchalant attitude towards his heroic duties.

“it’s not that big of a deal."it’s not like you’re spiderman, so why should it matter if i like him or not?” you titled your head away from the screen to watch his eyes grow wide, and you could audibly hear his breath hitch.

“but…” he quickly let out before catching himself, looking at the tv to see his segment disappear. “but what?” you teased, beginning to feel bad for your ministrations.

he looked back at your face, sighing heavily. “nothing, just like the guy a bit," he said before lying back in your lap to hide his face from you.

this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

“hey baby~” mark cooed as he stepped into your apartment, takeout bags in hand. you quickly sprung up from your spot at the counter, running to hug your boyfriend after not seeing him for awhile.

after your first attempt to disclose his true identity was unsuccessful, you held off from bringing up the topic for awhile.

but you had finally decided to take a different approach this time.

“i missed you, pretty girl.” the nickname made your cheeks heat up as his cold hands held your face in front of his. he inspected you lovingly, relishing in the fact that he could finally hold you without school being in the way.

“missed you too," you replied before kissing him softly. mark dropped the plastic bag on the counter beside him, pulling you firmly against him. his lips were almost enough to make you forget about your plan.

almost.

“god, i’m hungry.” you pulled away, making him laugh at your cute antics, and he joined you on your couch to eat. as you sat, you pulled off your (mark’s) sweatshirt to reveal the key details of your plan.

mark quickly noticed the black spiderman logo displayed across your chest, at a loss for how quickly your opinion of him changed. “you like?” you asked, flaunting the red baby tee you had bought earlier that day.

“i- i thought you thought spiderman was stupid." he nearly choked on his food, trying not to blush at the image of his girl repping him like this.

“i never said he was stupid, mark. i just thought he was overhyped, but i now understand where all the love is coming from.” you looked down, ogling at your new shirt, sure of its effect on your boyfriend.

“oh…” he tried to fight the grin, trying to cover his lips, but couldn’t contain his relief. “glad you finally came around, baby.” he smiled before shoving his face with more food.

“you’re not jealous?” you asked, beginning to take on step two of your plan. “he is a guy, after all.”

this made mark actually choke on his food. “what? why would i be jealous about that?"

“i mean, your girlfriend wearing a shirt for some muscular superhero who is most definitely sickly hot under that skin tight suit he wears while saving lives." you went on swirling your fork in your food, looking up every so often to see mark’s cheeks darken at the compliments.

he held his head down, but not enough for his flushed ears and cheeks to go unoticed. “why are you so red, baby? i still like you more, you know; spiderman can’t take you away from me.” you reached over and combed your fingers through his hair to feign worry.

“that is, unless he happens to swing by and sweep me up with his insane muscles.” you winked, making your boyfriend turn into a tomato.

“yeah, you wish he would do that.” mark  joked, trying to deflate his growing pride, which you continued to boost.

“what? are you saying i’m not worthy of spiderman’s fantastic biceps picking me up and swinging me through the night sky?” mark looked at you quizzically.

you couldn’t be serious, could you?

mark discarded his food, crawling over to trap you beneath his body. "fantastic, you say... and what are these?” he made reference to his own muscular arms peeking through his fitted white tee.

"marvelous," you replied, sliding your fingers softly over your boyfriend's muscles. how lovely it was that you didn’t have to dream of spiderman’s biceps as they sat right in front of you.

“better than fantastic in my book.” mark smiled before catching your lips in his.

your spiderman shirt was soon discarded in that moment but continued to linger in mark’s head days later.

“i’m just gonna go grab a few things. i promise i won’t be long.” you stood in your doorway, attempting to run to the store to get a few things before it got too late.

mark hated this.

“why cant i just go get it or go with you?” mark wrapped his arms around you from behind, making it increasingly difficult to slide on your shoes. he kissed you all over your neck and face, held your hand, pulled at your jacket sleeves, and even attempted to block the door entirely to try and get you to stay, but you were as determined as you ever were.

“i’m a grown woman, mark. i can run down the block by myself.” you turned around in his arms, reaching for your keychain next to his head on the wall, hanging by a hook.

“it’s dangerous out there. wouldn’t want my pretty girl getting hurt.” he slouched against the wall, still holding onto your hand as your whole body nearly made it out the door.

“good thing spiderman will be there to save me from any danger.” you teased him before slamming the door in his face, preventing him from getting anymore words out. not that he could form any from your statement anyway.

as you made your way through the isles of the tiny convenience store down the block from your place, you began to notice a dark figure popping into your vision.

a man decked out in all black and wearing a dark baseball cap pulled down just enough to hide his eyes followed your trail through the store.

he just coincidentally needs the same things, plus it’s freezing outside. that’s why he’s covered up so much, you thought. you can't say much about covering up with your giant black puffer jacket nearly swallowing you whole.

as your shopping trip continued, you couldn’t help but notice the figure not picking up a single item they inspected.

how weird, you thought.

“have a nice night!” the sweet cashier bid you goodbye before you quickly made your way out of the store.

as you exited the glass doors, the figure from earlier greeted you outside. your steps increased in speed as you noticed the figure continuing to follow your path.

you: mark could you meet me outside

you: creepy dude won’t stop following me

you: dude answer the phone

you: mark come on this is serious

you huffed, knowing the figure was still following you from a distance and aggravated by mark ignoring your texts.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone at night?” the figure spoke from your side, somehow managing to come up beside you without you noticing.

you stayed silent, pretending to be interested in the cement beneath your feet.

“hey! i’m talking to you!” the voice barked, noticeably irritated by your lack of interest. “i asked you a question, bitch!” a hand grabbed your wrist tightly, stopping you in your tracks.

thinking it was the figure, your body froze seeing spiderman right in front of you. stumbling back, you watched your hero step in and fight off the creepy man, knocking him over before webbing him to the alley wall ahead.

“try and speak to her again, and you’ll get much worse than a few webs on you.” the familiar voice of your boyfriend came out deep and threatening, making your breath hitch. you had never heard him speak like that.

while the bum continued to try and yell through the webs plastered over his mouth, spiderman turned to check on you.

“everything all right? he didn’t touch you or hurt you, babe- i mean, mam?” the fumbling of words made you laugh slightly, knowing the dork under the mask.

“i’m all right, thanks to you, spiderman.” you swooned, so caught up with the fact that your own boyfriend was spiderman and that he had practically beaten and webbed a man to a wall for you.

“what could i ever do to repay you?” you asked, trying not to trip over your own feet at the way the suit hugged mark’s muscle so well. more than any t-shirt ever could.

“just doing my job, as always.” spiderman leaned his body against the wall smoothly, resting his head against his fist. you two stood there in a few seconds of silence, both not knowing what to do.

“you better get headed home; it’s getting late.” he coughed, finally breaking out of his daze.

“no swinging around the city for me?” you asked, pretty disappointed that your boyfriend was about to make you walk home alone. “no can do, web swinging with lovely ladies is a daytime activity only; i wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.” he pulled his body from the wall, shooting up a web to hang from a sign above your heads.

“what a shame. guess you’ll just have to give me a show of the city another day," you replied, watching as mark swung his legs over the sign to hang upside down effortlessly.

definitely trying to impress me, you thought.

“i can see what i can do.” he crossed his arms over his chest before you stepped forward on your tiptoes, placing your hand on his cheek, making him short circuit.

“thanks again, spiderman.” you spoke, leaning into him to place a quick kiss on his mask-covered cheek.

“of-of course. any day, mam,” his voice cracked at your actions, making you laugh as you turned away to walk home.

mark hung in bliss before realizing he was supposed to be at your place, not saving your life in a spidey suit.

you rushed through the door, dropping your bag on the ground and making a beeline to your room. the only place with a window mark could slide through without getting caught.

you swung open your door to reveal a maskless spiderman half way through your bedroom window, eyes wide, body frozen.

you froze in shock, almost surprised that your plan had finally worked. "gotcha," you smiled, leaning against your door frame satisfied.

“uh…” mark scrambled, attempting to put his mask back on as if it would make you forget seeing his face entirely. as he tripped and tumbled around your room, you slowly made you way behind him.

“mark,” you began, attempting to get him to calm down. “baby,” you turned him slowly as he finally got his mask back on. “mark? who’s mark? that your boyfriend or something?” he attempted to deepen his voice to throw you off.

he realized this was unsurprisingly unsuccessful, noticing the smirk that continued to show on your face. “you know him, don’t you, spiderman? he’s the boy who just kicked ass and saved my life less than ten minutes ago.” you said, gently pulling off his mask to reveal your boyfriend’s face.

he stared at you, not knowing how you felt. “look, i can explain this all,” he nervously let out as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

before he could explain, you kissed him softly, wanting to ease his worry and express your gratitude. he saved your life after all, and not just by being spiderman.

“i’m not mad, not at all.” you looked into his eyes, noticing how at ease he seemed to be at the relief of your words.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i was so scared you wouldn’t want to be with me or be scared of me,” he ranted, trying to make you see his side in case you had lied and were even the littlest bit mad at him. he hated when you were mad at him more than anything.

“why would i not want to be with you? i love you, mark, so much, it’s crazy.” you pulled his face into your hands in disbelief at his words. “and plus, how could i be scared of such a handsome, strong, crime-fighting superhero who so happens to double as my boyfriend. if anything, people should fear me,” you joked, ripping a laugh from his lips.

“how long have you known?” he asked, pulling you closer by your waist. biting your lip, you looked down, trying to hold back your laugh. “remember when you borrowed my notes for class and forgot to give them back?"

you didn’t even have to finish, seeing the realization wash over his face as the words fell from your lips.

“yeah, maybe putting your suit in your backpack wasn’t the best place.” you both laughed at the situation at hand; mark was completely dumbfounded.

“so that’s why you talked such shit about me and bought that stupid shirt!” he continued to put together the pieces, gripping your waist tighter as he laughed at his own stupidity.

"ding, ding, ding!” you replied, pulling away slightly to take in his whole look, still not being used to see him like this up close. “yeah, definitely need to see you in this more often now."

mark flushed, turning into putty in your presence. your eyes traveled all over the intricate details and meshing of the suit. how it hugged his body and made him look completely unreal.

“do a little spin for me, doll.” you teased, wanting to ease up all the pent-up emotions still hanging in the air. mark giggled at your stupid comment but did as you asked nonetheless, turning slowly for you.

turning completely to the back, not a second went by before mark felt a harsh slap on his skin. “fuck baby! what was that for?” he whined, reaching down to rub the irritated spot.

"sorry, i couldn’t help myself when you have an ass like that, mark lee.” you smiled at his pained expression, putting your arms back to lean against your vanity, still ogling at your boyfriend’s physique.

“guess i really do need to wear this more around you.” he placed his hands on either side of you, trapping you beneath him.

“maybe the story time can wait till later.” you breathed before his lips pressed themselves to yours.

“i love you so much, my girl."

“i love you too, spidey boy.”

now you had mark completely to yourself, spiderman and all with no secrets left to hide.

© martiniblues | do not copy or translate my work!

note | more spider!mark WHAT CAN I SAYYY WHAT CAN I SAYYY. he’s literally my fav mark to write ever like pleaseee get him as the korean peter parker asap!!! anyways, hope you loved this and my request box is always open <333