#paper come fix it please

[crowned-oj]

Update, my toast still burnt. ITS WORSE THAN BEFORE.

[angeart]

AU Masterpost [tags]

I think it's time. So I can keep track, and you guys know what's out there and how to search for it <3 I'll try to order AUs based on how much there is to them. Some AUs will only have a single thought/art underneath their tag, but there might be more added to them in the future, and if you're curious about anything, you can always ask. (I'm very easily convinced to drop rambles, as has been proven in the past—)

*

Help Me To Breathe [hmtb]

my main multi-chapter story, set in s8 boatem. deaths abruptly hurt on hermitcraft, and each respawn makes it worse. scar dies a lot by grian's hands, before grian even learns (the hard way) that things hurt now. welcome to a scarian angst hellhole where 3rd life flashbacks hit like bricks and guilt is mercilessly spilled everywhere <3

this fic is the epitome of it gets worse before it gets better. trust me.

cws: violence, ptsd, anxiety attacks, delusions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, suicide, temporary character death... please check tags on AO3 which i try very hard to keep updated

tags: #hmtb - an all-encompassing tag for fic updates, rambles, and art. (sometimes #hmtb art is also used in tandem, where relevant.)

fic: Help Me To Breathe on AO3

*

Hunted hybrids [hhau]

hermitcraft s8 got code-attacked and all the hermits got scattered into different worlds, lost and stuck in unfamiliar places, not knowing if their home still exists. the au follows scar and grian who ended up in the same world (although originally unaware)—a world dangerous and hostile to hybrids. grian is an avian, scar is a vex, and they're hunted relentlessly. also, it's permadeath <3

this au is self-indulgently used in RP and co-owned by linkito

cws: violence, blood, dehumanisation of hybrids, self harm (feather plucking), mentions of suicidal ideation... [updated cws in the hhau masterpost]

tags: #hhau

this one got out of hand so >> hhau masterpost <<

*

Boatem circus

scar, a sea-lion hybrid, builds a circus as a safe haven for all the hybrids and misfits that have nowhere to belong and need a place to heal. they all carry their own traumas and wounds, and scar gives them what they never had: gentleness and options and freedom to roam or leave. but it's not easy, navigating a growing community of varying triggers and buried pasts.

au put together with stiffyck

cws: ptsd, panic attacks, fear of fire, loss and grief, mentions of captivity/torture/abuse

tags: #boatem circus au

fics: don't be afraid, little bird (there are no cages around you now); elegy

[AO3 series link]

*

Sleep demon Grian

grian is a sleep demon, existing in the dreamscape, able to manipulate dreams and thriving on giving people nightmares. he meets scar in a dream, immediately intrigued and amused by his reactions, and he keeps coming back to him. scar, despite all the nightmares being thrown at him, catches a glimpse of his perpetrator, and grows curious in turn. they start talking, everything eventually culminating into a ritual and a summonning circle. grian, in the waking world, needs to learn how to exist somewhere where he can get actually hurt, and come to terms with the fact that he has locked away memories and trauma.

cws: injuries, fear, panic, nightmares(?), trauma, violence, memory repression

tags: #sleep demon grian au

au rambles: here

fics: the nightmare snippet; even if it hurts (and even if it isn't a dream) you can have a home here

*

Cursed forest

found family boatem, where each of them carry their own heavy past and an attached curse. they thought they'd never find a place to settle that'd accept them and let them heal. but they found each other, deep in a hidden away forest, littered by bones and flowers, death and hope. (honestly, just see the au rambles.)

au put together with stiffyck

cws: animal death, necromancy, grief and guilt, body horror

tags: #cursed forest au

rambles: here

fics: even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again

*

Ari au

grian (he/she) is ariana giande (ari), a famous singer beloved by the crowds. except things start getting a bit too out of hand. there are stalkers and people who think they have the right to ari's personal life, the right to see and dictate everything. the press gets out of hand. maybe the crowds get too rowdy. maybe—

more scared and overwhelmed by the second, grian gets a bodyguard. that bodyguard is scar. things continue to escalate though, and by the time ari calls a break in her career, everything's irreparably breaking down around her.

(If it wasn't clear yet, this is one very dark, very heavy, very human story. There's love and so, so, so much despair. Things go wrong and then worse.)

au with Ben

cws: papparazzi hounding, stalkers, lack of privacy, blurring of self, drugging and [attempted] SA, physical assaults, self harm, overdose, medical trauma, restraints, seizures, ptsd, depression, suicidal stuff (including several attempts)

tags: #ari au

au rambles: [part I] - [part II] - [part III] - [part IV] - [part V] - [TBC]

au art:

downfall in three stages - here lake scene art - here

*

Assassin au [work title]

grian is an assassin, scar is elven nobility. one day, grian is sent to kill scar, but upon meeting, they find out that they know each other. i promise i'll add a better description at some point.

cws: blood and violence, mind control, being generally oblivious about life, survival scenario, murder, possible animal death

tags: #assassin au (subject to change)

*

Misguided Heroes

scar is secretly hotguy, a hero meant to protect the people. grian is a shopkeeper at barge, but with self-proclaimed king ren wreaking havoc on economy and making life of ordinary citizens so much harder, he decides to secretly play vigilante, cuteguy, and stage a one-man rebellion.

also, scar and grian are roommates.

au for rp with sima <3

cws: injuries, illusions messing with perception/reality, [to be determined]

tags: #misguided heroes au

*

Ghost Scar

grian is a paranormal investigator. scar is a ghost. they meet, they talk, and grian resolves to do his best to make scar feel less lonely.

cws: dead character??? he's a ghost dw he's fine-

tags: #ghost scar au

fics: you exist in silence (i'll help you make a sound)

*

Silly vampire Scar

scar is a vampire living in a mansion too big and too lonely for him. grian and mumbo are survivors in a world riddled with monsters, which they learn to hunt and kill. one night, they seek shelter in what seems to be an abandoned mansion—

cws: general vampire stuff, [to be determined]

tags: #vampire scar au

fics: [one day]

*

Cuteguy au

things do be angsty in this one. scar is hotguy, grian is his sidekick cutecuy. one day, things go wrong and a building explodes with scar still inside. the body is never found. hotguy is presumed dead. that is, until cuteguy comes face to face with a new villain that is oddly familiar—

idea loosely bounced off of stiffy's TOGH au

cws: blood, violence, delusions, brainwashing, grief, loss of identity, presumed major character's death (twice. wild. huh.)

tags: #cuteguy au

*

Papers please au

what it says on the tin. scar lives with his cat jellie in a cold, small, state-provided apartment and gets assigned a job as an immigration officer at a border checkpoint. he... isn't great at the job, but doesn't have a choice, and needs the money to keep them fed and healthy. grian is the head of resistance, because of course he is <3

cws: dystopian world, cold, hunger, sickness, potential pet death, injuries

tags: #papers please au

*

Spirit au

grian is an avian living freely in a patch of forest. that is, until he gets caught by people who think hybrids are on-par with working animals, and is shackled and hurt and trained, to serve. there is a looming war, and flight-capable carriers are very valued (but not much cared for). scar is a vex hybrid, coming from a settlement that's kinder to hybrids, who also gets captured. they meet in captivity, and things happen.

cws: hybrid slavery, hybrid dehumanisation, loss of freedom, abuse, warzone stuff

tags: #spirit au

*

DL rp au

grian and scar in double life, soulbound and with vague memories of previous life games. their soul connection transfers not only all the pain and injuries, but also emotions. and they both feel. a little too much. (they're a mess, but also in love, as they should be)

au for rp with sima <3

cws: they very sad; self destructive tendencies (sorry there's no self in this one, they are linked and there's always collateral-)

tags: #dl rp

*

Half sea town au

a town half-submerged into the sea. the upper half is reserved for humans, who are seen as better, richer, the posh and the nobility. the lower half, the submerged part, is slum-like, reserved for seafolk, seen as lesser. many seafolk learn to live on land, to improve their standing (not necessarily living situation; they do need water). mumbo lives amongst the nobility. scar lived his whole life in the sea. grian, even though he belongs to the seafolk, lives on land. mumbo's best friend, forever trying to be something he isn't.

a crackers collective au

cws: er.. class divide?, self worth issues, needs denial in a way?

tags: #half sea town au

*

The underwater au that somehow fails to have a name the first thing i ever posted on tumblr woo.

an underwater au set somewhere in the wide, deep sea. merfolks. mumbo is a prince, grian, jimmy, and joel are his guards. scar is a deep-sea fish, and tales say those are scary and horrendous and dangerous. (he's just a silly guy, pls)

stiffy/crackers collective au

cws: injuries, idk

tags: #mer au

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smaller aus/ideas:

last life scar: #post-ll scar's issues with touch

fixing double life scarian: #fixing dl au

puppeteer scar: #puppeteer scar au

cannibal scar/forest (the game) au: #forest au

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others' aus that i have yoinked and might have content for:

#grumbo apocalypse monster au - ben's au that i slinkered my way into <3 - ben's au masterpost here - grian is very much a (horror) creature :3

#space grian au - also belongs to ben. also burrowed my way in to this one. hehe. (ben none of your aus are now safe from me.)

#snifflins au - crackers group au, based on that one time jimmy and scar were piglinmynose, and joel and grian were sniffermyfeet - twisted into snifflers and piglin hybrids (snifflins!) in the aftermath, trying to get used to their new bodies and instincts and needs.

#desert alien scar au - belongs to stiffy

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

+ a whole bunch of aus (some collective ones) that i haven't talked about on tumblr yet <3

(for example, the zombie whisperer scar/dancing zombies au - postapo, (mum)scarian, with one redscape-focused fic (written for stiffy): the blooms in a dead world)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

(if i missed any cws for any of the aus, please let me know!)

reinstating that if you're curious about anything, i don't bite! come ask!

[my AO3]

[lollipopsie]

going crazy. goobbye.

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

sooooooooo i have pcod

[clownov]

hmm anyone else with 'severe mental illness' that will never fully go away just Constantly Embarrassed hahah just me hahah ok just me constantly seeing myself & my life from outside points of view & being embarrassed? haha not to be vulnerable or emotional but like

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.

[fazcinatingblog]

There were only three toilet rolls left so I emailed my boss "I'm ordering more toilet paper" and then went and did it and then hours later, she rang telling me to just get it from the supermarket, it'll be cheaper

[hoshigray]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇[𝐞𝐫]!! | t. fushiguro + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time, look around the area before you say you find a serial killer attractive. Because you’re about to see what mess your words will have you end up in — and your clothes all torn up.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: serial killers! Toji + Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - age gap (the reader is in their early 20s) - porn with plot - oral (f! + m! receiving) - threesome - double penetration; anal (first time) & vaginal - restricted movement (hands tied up) - face-sitting - cowgirl dp positions - gun + knife play - choking - spanking - unprotected sex - overstimulation - degradation (brat, broad, slut, whore) - pet names (baby, dollface, good girl, pet, princess) - blackmail/threats - the reader is in an established relationship w/ Nanami - mentions of blood, tears, spit, and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k (told you, porn with plot, lol)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uhhhh happy Friday the 13th, everybody???? blame @ramonathinks for this idea (jk, don't, she's so amazing, ty for pushing me into this, mona bear ♡ and tysm for beta reading; your thoughts mean the world). Haven't done a fic in two months sooooo go easy on me!! Not proofread, so I'll fix stuff l8rrrr

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! Just answer the question!”

“You’re so fucking sick, you know that!?” You glare at your friend, who slumps on the booth chair with a heavy sigh. 

A slight breeze tickles your skin through your comfortable sweatshirts as the leaves on the trees slowly change to autumnal colors, and Halloween decor is already adorning every house and every yard. It was a warm and sunny afternoon on this pleasant Friday. Usually, you’d be cozied up in your apartment enjoying yourself, probably catching up on some horror flicks you missed last year. 

But alas, that was not the case. Because you’re a college student. As October has finally rolled around, only one thing prevents you from enjoying this beautiful season — midterms. The thought of it is enough to pull you into a pool of dread. Every day has been one whirlwind after another. Yet, on the bright side, all you have now is one last exam to worry about, and you’ll finally be able to rest this weekend. So here you are, at the diner with your best friend, Shoko Ieiri, completing your papers while eating off your plates to satiate the stress. For the most part, things were going smoothly.

Until the news anchor on the television at the bar relays an announcement… 

“…Once again, everyone, please be on the lookout for these two killers on the loose. Three weeks ago, the two recently escaped from their cells, killed three guards, and are still at large. There have been accounts around the state that reported recent sightings of either or both criminals, the recent one being in this county 27 hours ago. So, please, stay safe. The killers are identified to be…”

And Shoko, being the curious person she is, asks you a question that stops your fingers from typing on your laptop: “Do you find those killers hot?” 

That’s how you two end up where you are now, groaning at the brunette’s persistence in getting your approval to find two criminals — murderers, even! — attractive. 

“Hey, Y/n, I know you hear me.” Shoko snaps their fingers at you while you try to get the assignment done. “Just answer the question: don’t you think those guys are hot.”

“We didn’t come all this way for you to talk about your hybristophilia fantasies.” Facing the Word document, you remind your friend why you’re here in the first place. “Just get back to writing; I wanna finish this and get home.” There’s nothing said afterward for a few seconds, thinking she has finally given up.

However, “First of all,” your eyes close to conceal them rolling behind the lids. “I’m not into hybristophilia; I just know a hot guy when I see one. Second, look at their mugshots. Like, damn, you’ve ever seen anyone so intimidatingly good-looking before? Come on, have a look!”

“You’re such a weirdo,” the click-clacking of your fingertips tapping your keyboard fills the rest of your answer. 

Still, she persists. “Y/n, look at the phoooone~”

No words, only tapping keys.

“Y/n?”

The keys become louder. 

“Pretty, pretty, pleaseeeee~?” 

Louder.

“Y/n!!”

A fist bangs on the booth table as the other closes the laptop shut, sending another glare to the person across from you who holds the phone up. You’ve had it at this point, so you say with a steady breath, “If I look at the dumb mugshots and answer your dumb question, will your dumbass leave me alone and finish your work?” The brunette only puts the phone on the table and slides it your way, giving you big doe eyes and whimpers like a hurt puppy. You sigh with your nostrils as you snatch the phone up, your gaze stationed on the images presented.

The image displayed two mugshots: on the left was a man with raven hair and a scar on the left of his lip. Intense, forest-green orbs contrast the black strands that cover his forehead. The mugshot letter board below him is labeled as "Toji Fushiguro." The one on the right is another man with spiky salmon-colored hair pushed upfront with prominent black tattoos decorating his nose, cheeks, and forehead. The board named him as “Sukuna Ryōmen.”

You look at the pictures intently, examining the men’s features at your discretion. It didn’t occur to you how long you were gawking at the mugshots until you peered from the phone to see Shoko give you the biggest shit-eating grin. Shaking your head, you chew the inside of your cheek before responding.

“….Well,” you cough. “…they’re not terrible looking at all. They are…..hot.”

“Told you!” Shoko slams the table with high enthusiasm, earning another sigh from you as she snatches the phone back. “Would you fuck them?”

You almost popped a vein. What the fuck—“is wrong with you!?” 

“It’s just a question, geez.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Or is that too lewd and raunchy to ask the partner of the trusting, charismatic “Golden Boy” SGA president, Kento Nanami?”

You choke on your spit before you can say anything, and your cheeks dial in warmth. “S-Shut up! Don’t bring my love life into whatever deviant horny thoughts you’re thinking!”

“I’m sorry, I’m boreeeeeeed. I don’t wanna do this paper, ugh.” The brunette whines and bangs their forehead on the table surface; your eyes roll for the fifteenth time in the past three hours. “…Maybe I should get some dick after this.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to use the restroom.” 

You exit the dining booth when they give you a muffled response of anguish, straightening yourself and heading for the back of the diner. As you walked away, you noticed a pair of hooded figures sitting at the booth behind you. Realization kicks in, and you groan internally. Oh, God, they probably heard what we were talking about! But what caught your mind next was that one of them had a black mark on the bridge of their nose. Huh, what an odd tattoo…

After using the toilet, you wash your hands at the sink, but your mind is still fixated on that weird tattoo. Who would get such a thing on their face? Wouldn’t that hurt? I wonder if that’s the only tatt— And then It clicked, you quickly turn off the faucet and dry your hands, exit the rest restroom, and run to your booth. Shoko was begrudgingly typing away on their laptop until she saw you return in a hurry. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asks you, but you aren’t looking at them. Your face contoured to a confused expression as you stared at the booth behind the one you were sitting in, now empty. 

“Did…..The two people who sat behind us, did you see them?” 

“Hmm? No, I didn’t. Must’ve left while my head was on the table.”

“Uh huh…” you say nothing more as you slowly sit back in front of your laptop. Your mind is now clouded with confusing thoughts, questioning your experience up until now. It could be a coincidence, quite far out at that. Regardless, you could’ve sworn you saw that tattoo on the Sukuna guy that Shoko showed you. It was such an uncommon decor, especially since you just saw it on the face of a criminal. Not to mention, the news anchor earlier stated that those two killers were in this exact county…

Needless to say, you didn’t touch your keyboard for about twenty minutes. Your mind was too wrapped up elsewhere to think clearly about your school assignment, and your body harbored a disturbing chill worse than the soft autumn winds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, why are you researching about the loose killers again?”

“Hm? Oh,” you stop typing on the laptop to attend to the phone call you’re on. Exiting your bedroom, you walk to the living room. “No reason, I was just curious. I saw something about them on the news at the diner with Shoko.”

The person on the other side of the line hums. “You should be careful about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know, Kenty,” you open the sliding door to your balcony and close it behind you before taking a seat on the cream-colored swing chair.

“I’m very serious, Y/n.” It was none other than Kento Nanami who was speaking with you. The trustworthy “Golden Boy” of your class year, the circumspect president of the Student Government Association… your loving and attentive boyfriend.

"I know you are."

"And those guys aren't just any usual criminals. They're notorious killers who barge into people's homes at night to steal valuable things. Maybe even kill their victims in their sleep if they have the time. So, be very careful, okay? Can’t trust these streets at night, especially now with those guys on the run. So, don’t go anywhere alone, always have your pepper spray on you, and be sure everything is locked — doors, windows, everything.”

A deep sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I double-checked all the locks once I got inside.” 

No one says a word; the rustling of the trees and the beeping of cars from the traffic at the light substitute this awkward silence. Until Nanami says, “….You scared?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind flashing back to the bewildering encounter at the diner earlier today. Those two hooded men, one with a black tattoo on his face. It felt too surreal to feel like a coincidence, yet it wasn’t too far out of your mind to think as such. The timing was strange, with the news reporter and your conversation with Shoko. The thought of two murderers nonchalantly being in the same space as you rub you off in the worst way imaginable. “…Kinda, yeah. A bit spooked.”

“You want me to come up there and spend the night?”

“No, no! You don’t have to do that,” you hurriedly decline his proposal. “I know you’re busy with homework and student government stuff. I wouldn’t want you moving around so much; I’d feel bad.”

You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone, and your heart swoons at the sound. “Don’t feel bad; you could never be a burden to me, especially when your safety is my top priority.” Another skip of the beat; it’ll never fail to amaze you how sweet he is with his words.

“Thank you, Kenty. But still, I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. You don’t have to see me right this moment. Besides, isn’t Haibara supposedly dragging you to some party at Geto’s?” Nanami is silent for a few seconds before he groans; a smile creeps up on your face at his reaction.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to leave to pick him up, and then we can go…But I can cancel and come o—“

“Absolutely not.” You’re quick to interject. “You’ve been so high and on edge with your exams. This is the first party after midterm week. And I can bet my left toe that Gojo — cause you know he’ll be there if Geto is — will be upset you couldn’t make it.”

“…….Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have five toes on your left foot, so which one—“

“Kento.” He chuckles once more for your ears to hear at the use of his real name. “Have fun, okay?”

Nanami hums. “I’ll try. I’ll come by your place Sunday. Sounds good?”

“Perfect. Take some pics for me. Love you!”

Your boyfriend bids you farewell before ending the call, already missing his voice. A yawn creeps out from you, a sign that you are indeed fatigued and need rest. Leaving the balcony, you close the door and do a final check at your door. Confirmed that it’s locked and secured, you turn off the living room lights and head back to your bedroom to get some shut-eye. 

You shut off and close your laptop on your desk before turning off the lights. Then, you lift the comforter and finally enter the chilly embrace of your bedsheets.  Usually, you’d scroll on your phone for a little bit until you get drowsy enough to fall asleep. Yet — it could be because of the exam you were doing at the diner — you felt way more exhausted than usual and wanted to sleep right away. And you did just that: closed your eyes, listened to the calming rhythm of your breaths, and soon drifted into an anticipated slumber.

….Three Hours Later….

The next time you open your eyes, you’re not in the room you left yourself in — let alone the bed. 

Instead, you find yourself somewhere cold and dark. Your bed is nowhere in sight, just a lone chair facing you. There are no windows, no desks, just you and this chair with a sole overhead light that almost blinds you when you slowly get up. 

The change of scenery throws you off as one thought after another picks up the pace of confusion. Where am I? What is this place? This has to be a sick dream of mine…Wait a minute. You look down to find your pajamas are shriveled and torn up, pieces of the material scattered all over where you’re lying on the cold floor. Also, what the fuck!? You can’t seem to move your hands and feet, noticing that there’s some rope restricting your limbs from moving freely from one another. No matter how hard you try, squirming does little to no help, yet it confirms that this is not a dream.

What the absolute fuck is going on right now!? It was an appropriate question for this perplexing situation, not knowing where to pick up from to start picking clues as to why you’re here. Better yet, who brought you here?

“Ah, look who’s awake.”

You turn to the sound of a door opening and closing; the direction it came from makes it hard to register the distance of whoever was speaking to you. However, that doesn’t matter because you can hear footsteps approaching you and a figure stepping into the light. And when the face finally comes to your field of vision, your blood shifts into an immediate icy cold.

Standing to you by the chair was a man in a tight black shirt that exhibited his muscular arms and physique way too perfectly, harboring dark and baggy pants. But those weren’t the features that had your breath hitch. No, no. The man before you had raven hair with the length stopped to his ears and strands that covered his brows. They did not even try concealing the striking green eyes that looked straight at you. And the familiar scar at the right of his lip put everything together for you — the mugshot that Shoko showed me, the inmate that escaped prison…!

Toji Fushiguro, in the flesh, takes a seat on the chair with his legs spread while putting on black gloves. He notices your look of realization and smirks; you don’t like how his scar is rooted up with the motion. “Y’re a pretty heavy sleeper, ya know that. But I guess that made bringing you here a lil’ simple.” 

A tiny bit of confidence prompts you to speak with the man. “Whe–Where am I?”

“C’mon now, little girl,” your stomach churns when he scoffs at you. He brings up a hand to help him as he cracks his neck. God, why is he so jacked!!? “Y’re supposed to be smart, right? You know that’s the wrong question to ask me.” 

Okay then, think, Y/n, think… ”…Why did you kidnap me? Is it for money? Because I don’t have much—“ The palm of Toji’s hand faces you to halt you from speaking more, making your nervousness dwell even further. 

“For one, you should really consider locking your balcony door when y’re done using it.” There are not enough words to describe the mental facepalm you gave yourself. “If we wanted to run y’r pockets, we woulda done so earlier.” He casually admits to you. “But that’s not why we brought ya here, so he’ll explain it to ya.”

He? Wait, wait, we??

The other mugshot hits you like a flash before you hear the door open and close again. Of course, Toji isn’t the only one on the run right now. There was another guy with salmon-colored hair and tattoos. The other figure, now wearing a black tank tee and ripped black jeans, came from behind Toji. Your stomach drops to the floor when your eyes land on the prominent black tattoo on his nose — now seeing that he has way more on his face, shoulders, arms, and wrists. The scene from the diner replays until your brain can’t keep up. It was him, no doubt about it.

“Well, well. Did the sleeping beauty finally get their rest?” Sukuna Ryōmen, looks just as [if not more] dangerous as Toji. He stuffs his hand into the back of his jeans pocket. “Listen here, I’ll be asking you some questions, and I expect nothing but honest answers. Got that?” 

You don’t know what possessed you to ask the question. You being scared shitless right now should’ve prevented you from doing so. And yet, you ask, “And if I don’t?”

It happened way too fast; your eyes couldn’t even process it happening. But one moment, the salmon-haired criminal was standing in front of you beside Toji. The next, you feel someone crouched behind you with the cold feeling of something barely piercing your skin. Your eyes widen, and you don’t dare move a single hair. Toji shakes his head at you, the smirk on his face still present. Now you can guess who had fun cutting up your PJs.

“I don’t think you wanna know the answer to that question.” He says it so close to your ear that you could’ve nearly fainted. Sukuna then moves the knife to scrape the side of your neck. “And don’t you ever think you’re in a position to ask me questions. Use that college brain of yours, brat.” 

You gulp — a risky move when you have a sharp object to your neck — and nod. Satisfied, the pink-haired man removes the knife from your proximity and stands right up. “At least you follow things quickly.” He says while walking back to where he stood prior. “Now, question one: do you know a kid named Kento Nanami?” 

The mention of your boyfriend’s name hits you like whiplash. Kento? What do they want with him!?

“…Yes, I do.”

“Good. Next question,” You chew the inside of your lip before he asks you the following. “Where does he live?”

Your body almost shuts down when he says the final word. No. No, no, no! Absolutely not! “I can’t tell you that.”

“Tch, just when you were doin’ so good.” Sukuna sucks his teeth. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want you hurting him.”

He barks a laugh. “You don’t even know what we’ll do to him! Damn, talk about a loyal dog.” 

The insult sparked a flame in you. It was a small one, but a flame nonetheless. “Why the hell do you want to know anyway? It’s not like he knows you any—Hrckk!”

“What the hell did I say about you asking questions, huh.” A hurried hand meets your throat, black nails digging into your skin as his grip gets unbearably tight. You attempt to keep a stern face despite choking for some air, but you’d be lying that the pain wasn’t getting to your head.

“Alright, Kuna, let ‘em go.” You almost forgot about Toji sitting on the chair until he spoke up. With a displeased click of the tongue, Sukuna releases you and throws you to the cold, hard floor. “For your information, princess, that kid does know us.”

You’re coughing up a storm, but you still listen. Your eyes are watery, and your throat pulses. “Hic…Ack, what—What are you talking about?”

Toji continues. “That little friend of y’rs is the reason why we were behind bars for three years. Fuckin’ kid saw us break into a house in his neighborhood and called the cops on us. For the longest time, we’ve thought about getting out of those damn cells and coming back to rip that lil’ fucker limb from limb. Maybe ransack his whole home and then some.” 

“And now that we are out here,” Sukuna chimes in. “We plan on doing just that. We were sitting right behind you at the diner and heard the brown-haired chick say his name, meaning he had to be around this county. And when he heard that fucking square had a little girlfriend, who better to introduce ourselves and point us the way than you.” 

So much information hits you all at once that you’re not given enough time to process it properly. Nanami called the cops on these guys? Where was that piece of information on the phone call!!? Three years ago, it must’ve happened before the start of freshman year. And then there’s the matter of these murders trying to kill him — the love of your life! 

You immediately try to weigh your options: you could give them a fake address, but that would lead them back to you and have you killed instead. And Nanami doesn’t live at home right now; he’s on campus with you and everyone else. So, sharing these two his home address will just have his family killed in his place! Oh, you wouldn’t handle that guilt; you just couldn’t!!

“So, what’ll it be, little girl?” Toji’s voice snaps you from your rampant thoughts. “You can be a cute girlfriend and be loyal, and we’ll just kill you right here, right now. Or, you give us an address, we’ll put you back to sleep, and you’ll never see from us ever again.” 

Those two options were far from what you wanted to do. You would never want to jeopardize your poor boyfriend’s life and those around him for being a model citizen, especially for these assholes! There had to be a way, something you could do!

“Please, don’t hurt him!” The ropes on your hands and feet have you shuffle to look at the two men from the dirty ground. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just spare him!”

“No-can-do, brat.” Sukuna comes down to your level once more, yanking your shirt — or whatever’s left of it, your bra practically out for the whole world to see — to lift your upper body. “Nothing to ease a vengeful spirit than taking care of the problem, right? So do us a favor, will ya.” 

Tears are fighting your control to fall, your body trembling. You’re scared, so so frightened. But most of all, you’ll do what you can to make sure your “golden boy” stands tall for you. “Please, I’ll do anything! Anything you want, I’ll do it! So, please!!” 

Sukuna opens his mouth to bite back, but no words come out. Actually, his expression resorts back to a neutral tone. He then turns to Toji, who looks at him with a quirked brow. There’s nothing but silence between the two, a silent conversation between the two killers that you have no choice but to stay quiet for. And you jerk when the two focus back on you. Sukuna then finally says something.

“Anything, huh?” It’s the worst when he sneers at you. Such a devious man. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Tch. Fucking brat.” Sukuna sucks his teeth before he snatches your chin with a rough vigor, forcing your teary eyes to face him. And it doesn’t help that you now have a gun pointed at your temple. “This is your warning. You better do this right, or you’ll be the first to get a gift with your boyfriend’s head all minced up. Now, use that mouth. Properly.”

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d end up here. You stood on your knees and hands on the concrete floor, your mouth occupied with Sukuna’s cock, propelling your face to and fro to meet the base. Why the handgun to your head? According to the salmon-haired man, he said: “Try to fight, run, or bite our dicks off, then this whole mag is getting emptied.” So, you’re literally giving the fellatio of your life. And judging by the grunts coming from Sukuna, it seems you’re doing a decent job keeping him going. 

As for the other one, Toji, his hands grabbing onto your asscheeks from beneath should answer that. “C’mon, baby, sit on my face. I don’t bite…” you can tell he has the biggest grin on his face saying that, has you hesitant to follow orders. Regardless, you gently sway your ass down to sit on his face. But impatience gets the best of him before he pulls you down himself, his nose abruptly hitting your clitoris. You jolt despite his hands keeping you on him, forced to feel his tongue and mouth indulging on your wet folds.

So there you sit, bare and nude, for the men to use you as they see fit. Whatever piece of your clothes were torn off you to be fully exposed for them. This is what you choose to do for the sake of your boyfriend: giving yourself off for the night. 

Oh, if Shoko could see you now. Sucking off one of the exact murderers you two were talking about at the diner while the other eats you out? You know you’ll never hear the end of it from her if — by some miracle — she finds out! And you’ll hold onto that miracle for as long as you can. 

“…Fuuuck, hnngh! It’s been a minute since I had my dick on something tight,” Sukuna comments while putting his free hand on your head. His thrusts increase to have your tongue bathe the underside of his dick, and he sighs at you choking when the tip suddenly hits your uvula. “Heh, that’s right. Keep those tears coming, pet…You seem to be enjoying yourself there, Fushiguro. This broad taste that fucking good—Ohhh shit, fucking shit…”

You can feel Toji’s lips curve into a smile from down under, he gives your labia and clit a slow and antagonizing lick before responding to his partner in crime. “Mmmm, man. It’s been a while since I had to do this. Crazy how this princess got with a square like that kid. Wonder if he makes ‘em feel good like this.” And then he returns to your clit to give it a harsh suck. 

Your body continues to be used like a toy. Your jaw loosens to oblige Sukuna’s girth that’s currently hitting the back of your throat every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. His ruts dial-up, and you ball your fists with the constant oral abuse on your face. Drool runs down your chin with every shove of his length, practically choking you with his dick. And the commotion between your leaking vulva and Toji doesn’t go unnoticed either; motherfuker’s tongue is relentless, making sure every crevice and part of your pussy is familiar with him. And the sounds of him slurping your essence are so lewd, so erotic for your ears that you think they’re bound to explode on you. 

“—Ahhh, damn, I’m gonna cum,” Oh, God. Your eyes open to look at Sukuna’s expression, nothing but pure enjoyment looking at your pitiful look. “You’re cute looking all pathetic taking my cock like this, whore—Mmmph!! Shiiiit, keep your head like that.” He grabs your head as his thrusts speed up to an irregular pace, your throat and face becoming numb. Your whimpers are muffled, and tears streak down your cheeks. His groans of pleasure fill the room, and before you know it, his load is released down to the depths of your throat. You’re stuck taking it, mewling on the shaft still in your mouth until he’s finished. 

He removes you when he is, his cock slathered in your saliva and still rock hard. You gawk at it, amazed that you could fit it in your mouth. And you hate to admit this, but it has you wondering what Toji’s is like. 

Speaking of, with a foggy mind, you peer down to see Toji finally done eating your cunt out. “Ya taste good, you know that.” He licks his lips provocately with a smile. You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. “You ready fr’ me now?” He cocks his chin up, and you turn to see what he’s talking about, only to be met with the pinkish-red tip of his sprung erect cock. If you didn’t think you’d be able to have Sukuna’s in your mouth, you’re going to need a diety’s grace to see what you can do with Toji’s. “Heh, think I’m too big fr’ you? How the hell is Kento handling a piece like you?”

“S–Shut up, stop bringing him up!” You shout at him, tired of being reminded of the love of your life whom you’re betraying right now. All for his sake, but still…

He chuckles at your reaction. “Little girl got spark, huh. Fine then, be a doll and put it in yourself.” 

Cold sweat slides from your brow. Me? I’ve gotta put that shit in on my own!? But you have to. You know you do. So, with anxiousness pooling in your stomach, you bring your ass up and use your hand to align his cock to your wet cunt. 

It takes a lot of mental motivation for you to continue, but slowly and surely, you push the folds of your cunt onto his glans. The pain you experience makes it excruciating to bear, but with steady breaths, you push the tip in with every exhale. And when it finally enters your vulva, a gasp erupts from your puffy lips and a hiss from the man with the scarred lip. “Mmmm, slow down, baby, slow it down…” That was probably the only words he’s ever said that you could trust, so you anchor your ass down, taking in every inch of his length with his hands guiding your ass down. When you reach the base, you give yourself a few seconds to adjust to his girth within your velvety walls. “Fuck, ya feel so nice and tight, princess.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna walks from behind. “Can’t wait for me to have a go.” You couldn’t even comprehend the meaning of that sentence because the salmon-haired one kicked your back. You are now mounted on Toji completely, the two of you facing each other while Sukuna crouches behind your ass. “Get ready, I’m putting it in.”

“Huh?” Wait, both at the same time!? “Ho–Hold on, I’ve never done it in my ass bef—“

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me; guess I’ll be the first then,” he shuts down your argument and then bends down to use his fingers and spit to ease your asshole. It feels so gross and repulsive that you could puke right now. Not that it would matter to Sukuna because he’s already set on doing it — his fore and middle finger pushing in and out of your anus. When he feels you’ve loosened up, he’ll remove his digits and substitute them with his cock. 

And he doesn’t warn you either, fucking bastard; he nudges his dick in his own countdown with no regard to how you’re feeling. Gripping onto the raven-haired man’s black shirt, Sukuna’s cock puts you through pain worth traumatizing, evoking screams that scratch your throat until he gets the whole thing in your ass. Nanami would never put you through this much pain. Never!

“Aww, y’re making the pretty girl cry,” Toji teases condescendingly, chuckling at the sight of you burying your head in his chest to shield the embarrassment. 

Sukuna hums while grinding his hips to your ass, a tiny bit of blood painting his shaft. “Hmph, good, makes my enjoyment worthwhile. Now,” you shriek with the sudden snap of his hips to your ass. “Let’s get this show started.”

When Sukuna moves, Toji follows right after, and you’re left to fend for yourself in this unsteady tempo from both your holes. You start seeing stars from the unusual stimulation, and your mind and vision become so blurry that it hurts to think. Hell, it hurts to try and concentrate on one dick at a time! One is currently scraping the wells of your walls in a way that your slit clenches around him, while the other churns your insides from the back that almost takes your breath away. More drool and tears seep into the black shirt you use to disguise yourself from them. This shit is already humiliating as is!

“C’mon now, baby. Show me that pretty face of y’rs.” Of course, Toji uses one hand to nudge your head to look at him. Your face is such a wet and hot mess, the sweat on your body making you sticky. The attempt to make sentences is beyond you, relying on moans and choked sobs to express your disorganized emotions. “There ya are. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Toji then takes your plump lips with his, his hand snaking to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. It was one thing letting them use your cunt and ass as they see fit; now, they dare to kiss you in a time like this. Oh, this is the absolute worst! How can you speak to Nanami ever again after this!? These lips are now sullied by the lips and cock of other men. You can’t ever go back and say that you were his, and it’s because of these assholes!!

…And what’s worse, you were starting to find enjoyment in what you were doing, sinking into Toji’s kiss and moaning into his scarred lips.

“Haahh…Mmmph…Damn, this slut is so fucking tight.” Sukuna watches your back glisten in the light while your ass quaked under his unstable momentum. He sneers before slapping your asscheek, resulting in a rushed moan and a twitch from your pussy. Toji breaks the kiss. “Hey, keep doing that. Think they like it.” 

With devilish glee, the tattooed other doesn’t hold back. He gives you another smack to the ass, and more loud purrs and shrieks fill the space between you three. Fast ruts to your soaping slit and ass coincide with the strikes to your butt, catching you off guard and leaving a stinging sensation every time. 

It’s apparent now that your hips start to move on their own, riding out your own high while preparing for your orgasm that’s climbing up. And the raven-haired man notices as he puts your hand on your aching buttcheeks. “Goin somewhere, dollface?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me come already!! “—Ahhnn, ooohhhh!! I’m about to cummm—I’m gonna break—Eeyahhh!!!

“That so?” You want to wipe that smirk off his stupid, dumb, handsome face. “Then go ahead and get dirty, princess. Ring us up.”

Your arousal staggers up when both of their thrusts fall into a unity, the tender spots of your gummy walls from your ass and cunt being hit and abused prompt more ecstatic moans and your head pounding with every jab. Almost there, almost! Please, please, I want it!! And you are finally given what you want; your release crashes into you in a hard swoop, the shocks crawling up your body while your holes contract around both men’s cocks. Your brain falls into an erotic trance; you only care about the euphoric sensations tingling around your body. Dizziness overtakes you, and your head descends back on Toji’s chest.

“Hmph, you really a pathetic pet.” Sukuna grinds his pelvis into your sensitive ass. The aftershocks from your release still make your body react to their movements. “Chasing for your own orgasm, huh. We outta fuck that selfishness right out of you, damn brat…”

You don’t say anything — more like you don’t have the energy to. Your ass and chasm are too stuffed to keep your mind active, and your eyelids feel too heavy to keep up. It probably was from all that crying and screaming. All you want to do is go back to sleep in your bed at your cozy apartment. But that must be asking for too much. Just please end this nightmare…

Kenty…Please forgive me, I’m so sorry….

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You can’t remember how sleep found you that night. But your eyes open to the ray of sunshine that peaks through the binds of your bedroom. Wait, my bedroom!?

You shoot up from your bed, the soft comforter and sheets peeling off your skin, and the cool air from the air conditioning welcomes you back to your personal space. Everything untouched, everything where it’s supposed to be — where you’re supposed to be.

A deep breath is the first thing you do when you wake up, following a long exhale. Was I dreaming? You would’ve accepted that delusion had you not looked down to realize that your figure was covered with one of your oversized shirts, remembering that your old pajamas were cut and torn up. Flashes of last night return to haunt you, and shivers travel down your spine from realizing what transpired at those ungodly hours. You quickly check your sheets for any stains — Thank God, none. Funny how a pair of serial killing assholes have the decency to clean up your body. 

And then a sudden feeling of dread crawls up after hearing your phone vibrating on your nightstand. You hurry to check the screen to find out it was a text message from Nanami. It’s a Saturday, 9 a.m. He’d usually be sleeping in until noon. Curious, you unlock your phone to check what your boyfriend is texting you about.

Recent Message from: ♡ my bby nanamiii ♡

Hey, Y/n. Hope you slept well and everything’s okay. I’m coming from Geto’s place after picking up Haibara, who is going through the worst hangover right now. He said he wants to see you and that you make the best meals for his hangovers. I don’t want to intrude if you’re not up for guests, so please tell me so I can take him somewhere else. But otherwise, we’ll be there at around 30-45 mins. Let’s just relax this weekend, okay?

Reading the text as you fall in love with him all over again. After what you’ve gone through, knowing that he’s safe and sound from any trouble, all you want right now is to be around him and hold him close. To be with him and forget about everything that’s happened. 

You send a heartwarming reply saying you’ll be waiting for the two of them. Then, you remove yourself from the bed and stretch out your fatigued muscles. Ugh, I should probably shower before Nananmi gets here…

However, before you lift your shirt and head for the bathroom, you notice a glass of water and a bag full of pills. Huh…I definitely didn’t have that there when I went to sleep before I was taken. And next to the glass was a folded piece of paper. Curiosity got the best of you this morning as you picked up the material to read its contents. 

And this is where you knew your life was changing, for better or worse. Your legs give out, making you fall to your knees with a shaky breath, the hairs of your body standing, and your heart on the verge of leaping out of your mouth. What you read crushed your whole being, leaving you cold in this world — worse than the autumn breeze.

Yo, thanks for the great time last night. Keep that up, and your pretty boytoy will keep standing. Here’s water and birth control, and keep that bag safe. Wouldn’t wanna end up losing it for the next time we fuck you dumb. See ya later, pet.

SR + TF

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly <3 header art by rororgi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[choerrypuffs]

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.” 

[puppym3]

୨⎯ "temptation" ⎯୧

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ bangchan x fem!reader

a result of the poll win! (cockwarming w chan)

summary: after waking up and realizing your boyfriend isn't next to you, you find him still working in his office. after asking him to join you in bed and his many refusals, you try convince him to join you.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, established relationship, pet names (princess, baby, good girl, love), piv, unprotected sex, cockwarming (obvi), teasing, creampie, soft dom chan, chan is a workaholic, reader is needy, aftercare; (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: the poll was super close!! so i'm gonna post another poll that should be on my page now if you want to vote for the next one! i hope i didn't disappoint with this one;;; hope you enjoy reading!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

I felt the faint glow of the moonlight spread across my face from the cracks in the curtain. I stirred, my fingers brushing against the cool silk sheets where my boyfriend should be. The coldness of his absence was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—2:00 AM.

I sat up, the chill of the night air sending shivers down my spine. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. I lazily threw on one of Chan’s shirts and slithered out of the bedroom.

As I moved through the hallway, I knew exactly where I was going to find him at this hour. My gaze fell on the closed door of his office. The faintest sliver of light seeped out from underneath it. I sighed, approaching the door and gently pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the glow of his screen casting a pale light over his face. Chan was hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen. Papers and notebooks were scattered around him, and a half-empty cup of coffee sitting right next to his laptop.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him work. His brows were furrowed in concentration, a small crease forming on his forehead. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry.

“Babe?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't look up, too engrossed in whatever he was working on. I padded over to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind, resting my cheek against his head.

“Hmm?” he responded, still not taking his eyes off the screen.

“It's 2 AM,” I murmured, nuzzling his hair. “Why are you still working?”

“I have a lot of work,” he sighed, not sounding very convincing.

“But you can finish it in the morning, right?” I pressed, my voice tired.

“I just want to get it done,” he mumbled, fingers tapping against the keyboard.

“Chan, come on,” I pleaded, “You need to rest.”

“I can’t,” he groaned, leaning back against me. “I need to get this done.”

I sighed, feeling his warmth seep through my shirt.

"Come on, babe," I whispered, my voice filled with a mix of annoyance and playfulness. "I'm cold and I need your warmth to sleep."

He didn't respond, still lost in his work. I let out a small huff, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice.

"Baby, please," I pleaded, "I miss you and I can't sleep without you."

When he still didn’t budge, I decided to change tactics. Giving up on trying to pull him away, I slid onto his lap, straddling him. I pressed myself close, trying to make it impossible for him to ignore me.

His breath hitched at the sudden contact, and his hands faltered. I smirked to myself, knowing that I had gotten his attention.

"What are you doing, love?" he breathed, finally looking at me.

Chan's eyes dropped to my legs, and his gaze lingered on the expanse of skin visible beneath the hem of his shirt. I could sense his attention, his focus snapping back to me like a rubber band. His fingers tightened around my waist, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as he realized I was only wearing his shirt. The fabric was thin, and I knew he could feel the heat of my skin through it.

"Wha- Why are you wearing that?" he asked, his voice sounding strained

"I'm cold," I replied, my tone light and teasing. "And I thought it would be cozy to wear your shirt."

I leaned in close, brushing my lips against his ear. "Besides," I whispered, "It makes me feel a little bit closer to you."

I could feel the tension in his body as he struggled to maintain his focus on the screen. His hands slowly slid up my sides, tracing the contours of my body under his shirt. My heart raced as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against his neck.

"Chan," I whispered, my voice low and sultry. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of my stomach, sending shivers down my spine.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before finally looking up at me. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with a mix of desire and reluctance.

"I can’t stop," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I have so much work to do."

"I know," I replied, my voice trembling slightly.

But I was too far gone, so needy for him, feeling his half-hard bulge pressing against me. I shifted slightly on his lap, rubbing against him slowly and deliberately.

Chan’s breathing grew uneven, and his gaze flickered between the screen and me, struggling to maintain his composure. The more I rubbed, the more his resolve weakened. He tried to focus on his work, but his concentration faltered with every brush of my body against his.

"You’re going to kill me," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he shifted slightly against me. His fingers trembled on the keyboard, his attention divided between the screen and the intense need pulsing through him.

I could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard press of his bulge making his struggle clear. His eyes were dark with desire, and I knew I had him where I wanted. I rubbed against him with increasing insistence.

"Channie," I whispered, my voice laced with desperation.

I continued to grind against him, feeling his erection grow beneath me. His fingers dug into my hips, and I could sense the heat building between us. I let out a soft moan, my body aching for more.

His breath was warm against my skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing my neck. "God, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The sensation sent a jolt of desire through me, and I whimpered, feeling my need grow stronger.

He let out a low groan as he slipped his fingers underneath my panties, teasing me. I could feel the slickness between my legs, my arousal intensifying. "You're so wet already," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You need this, don’t you?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "I need you," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, slipping his hand into my panties and rubbing slow circles around my clit. I moaned, my head falling back as his fingers slid into me. He continued to tease, sliding in and out at a torturous pace.

I rocked my hips, craving more friction, but he pulled away, his touch barely ghosting over my skin. "Chan, please," I whimpered, my voice shaking.

Leaning in close, his lips brushed my ear. "What is it, baby?"

"Please," I begged, my voice cracking. "I need you in me."

He smirked as my hand reached for the zipper on his pants. "And I need to work," he replied, his tone firm.

My hand paused on the zipper, his heated gaze locking with mine. "You’ll have to be a bit more patient, my love," he said, a teasing note in his voice.

"I’ll be a good girl," I promised, my voice quivering.

"Mmm... we’ll see about that," he murmured, his tone skeptical yet intrigued.

I continued to unzip his pants slowly, revealing his throbbing erection. The sight of him made me shiver with anticipation. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking gently.

He hissed in pleasure, his hands tightening around my waist. "Fuck," he murmured, his eyes locked on mine.

I kept up the slow, deliberate strokes, savoring his reactions. His breathing grew labored, and he bit his lip, struggling to maintain control. "Such a needy girl," he whispered, his voice strained.

Leaning in, I brushed my lips against his ear. "I’m your needy slut," I murmured, my voice dripping with lust.

He groaned as his hands slid up my thighs, pulling my panties down. "God, baby," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

He guided his cock to my entrance, rubbing the tip against me. My legs trembled as I slowly sank onto his length, feeling him stretch me open. "Oh fuck," I gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He gripped my hips, pulling me down fully. I rocked my hips, grinding against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening on my waist.

I bit my lip, reveling in the fullness of him inside me. I rolled my hips, savoring the pleasure. His fingers dug into my skin, and the pressure on my clit sent waves of ecstasy through me.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice rough. "Stay still for me. Let me finish this work so I can take care of you properly."

I whimpered, my body aching for release, but I stayed still, feeling completely stretched, waiting for him to finish.

He began typing away, his gaze fixed intently on the screen. I tried to control my breathing, the heat building between us making me dizzy. The sensation of his length throbbing inside me was almost too much to bear.

I bit my lip, feeling every slight movement sending ripples of pleasure through me. He glanced at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Don’t do that," he warned, his voice low and husky.

I felt myself instinctively clench around him again. "I’m trying," I breathed, my voice strained.

The pressure of him inside me was becoming almost too much. I closed my eyes, resting my head against his chest and trying to relax. I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against my cheek. The rhythm was comforting, and I slowly began to regain my composure.

I took a deep breath, my body still aching with desire, but I focused on the feeling of his body against mine, his warmth seeping into me. Chan continued to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

I concentrated on his touch, the heat of his skin against mine. The feeling of him inside me was soothing, and I gradually started to relax. Chan’s pace at the keyboard increased as he worked through whatever he was writing.

I closed my eyes, the steady clacking of keys lulling me into a sleepy haze. I felt myself drifting off, the warmth of his body enveloping me. I nestled closer, my arms wrapped around him, losing track of time in a dreamlike state.

Suddenly, I felt a jolt of pleasure as he shifted slightly. I gasped, my eyes fluttering open, immediately aware of his throbbing cock inside me. I tightened involuntarily from the sudden surge of pleasure and let out a soft moan.

I bit my lip, struggling to keep my reaction in check. Chan paused, glancing down at me with a smirk. "I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

"I was," I whispered, my voice trembling with a trace of sleepiness.

"I guess I’ll have to take care of you now," he replied, his voice tinged with sweetness.

Chan closed his laptop, scooping me up from under my thighs and carrying me. His hard length still inside me, standing now, I felt fuller with him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

He carried us to the bedroom, each step causing me to stifle whimpers on his shoulder. He laid me gently on the bed, hovering over me with his arms on either side of my head. I gazed up at him, my eyes wide with adoration.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, a small smile on his lips.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

"I love you too, princess," he replied, his eyes softening.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. The kiss started soft but soon turned heated, our need for each other spilling over.

I moaned as he rocked his hips, grinding against me. His cock was still buried deep inside me, filling me completely. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting more.

"You waited patiently for me?" he asked, pulling out completely, the tip lightly rubbing against my entrance.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice trembling.

"Good girl," he murmured, slowly pushing back into me. I gasped as he filled me, the sensation almost too much to bear. I gripped the sheets, my knuckles turning white from the intensity.

He began thrusting in and out, picking up the pace. I cried out, my body arching as waves of pleasure washed over me. His hands explored every inch of my body, touching me in ways only he could. I shivered under his touch, his fingers finding all the spots that made me moan.

My eyes fluttered shut as I lost myself in the pleasure. The feeling of him inside me, the way he moved, was overwhelming. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, my body aching with need.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice strained. "You’re so tight. I thought I stretched you well, hm?"

"Y-you did," I whimpered, my voice breaking under the intensity.

"So what’s going on, huh? Are you that needy for my cock?"

Heat surged to my cheeks, making me feel vulnerable under his gaze. I tried to come up with a response, but all that escaped was a breathy moan.

"I-I don't know," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Oh, so you just wanted me to fill you up, hm?"

"Yes," I breathed, my mind hazy with pleasure.

He thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside me that made me cry out. I gasped, clutching his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Is this what you needed, princess?"

"Yes," I moaned, arching my back, my nails digging into his skin.

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck. Picking up the pace, he drove into me with relentless abandon. The room was filled with the symphony of our moans and the sound of our bodies meeting in passionate rhythm.

The pressure inside me built up, the pleasure so intense I could barely breathe. He held me close, his arms wrapped around me as he moved inside me. The heat between us was palpable, our bodies intertwined as we approached our climax.

I moaned his name, feeling the wave of pleasure crest. My body tensed, the sensations coursing through me, and I cried out, my nails digging deeper into his shoulders.

He growled, his grip tightening around me. His thrusts grew more frantic, each movement pushing him closer to his own release.

"You feel so good," he rasped, his voice rough with desire.

I gasped, my body shuddering with aftershocks. The feeling of him inside me, the heat of his body against mine, was almost too overwhelming to endure.

He moaned deeply, his voice husky as he came inside me. His thrusts became more urgent, his body tensing as he rode out his climax. The sensation of him filling me completely sent me spiraling, causing my body to tremble uncontrollably.

Once we both caught our breath, he slowly withdrew, his face reflecting a hint of panic when he saw his cum dripping from me. He quickly looked around for something to clean up before it got on the bed.

Returning with a towel, he gently wiped me clean, the soft fabric sending shivers through my overstimulated body. He made sure every drop was taken care of, his touch tender and attentive.

"Baby, was that okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"I’m perfect," I murmured, smiling up at him with a sense of contentment.

"Thank you for being patient," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

The sleepiness from our intense moment began to catch up with me, my eyelids growing heavy.

"Channie, I’m tired," I mumbled, stifling a yawn.

He smiled warmly, shaking his head fondly. "I bet you are," he said, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me toward the bathroom.

"You always do this," I grumbled, a playful pout on my lips.

"Do what, princess?"

"Make me so sleepy after sex."

He chuckled softly, setting me down on the edge of the tub. "You wanted this, remember?"

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning against him as he started running my bath.

"Now, get in the bath and let me take care of you, hm?"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

taglist!

@stanskzot8 , @loverbangchan

[copperbadge]

Recently I ran across an article about an art center that was doing creative expression classes for people with disabilities. Not that unusual, I've encountered that and trauma-oriented art therapy before, but it was the first time I'd come across the idea since getting diagnosed with ADHD. While the class was aimed more at high-needs disabilities, it occurred to me that I could -- if I wanted -- make non-prose art about being disabled.

Outside of my work in scene design I've never been much of a visual artist because I've never felt I had the combination of "something to say" and "a meaningful way to say it", but I started to question how meaningful and complex I really had to be to just make some statements about having ADHD. I can do it in prose, after all.

So I started thinking about how you would talk, in visual language, about things like time blindness, shame stemming from undiagnosed disability, the shift in behavior that medication can induce. Ways to express my condition to people who don't experience it. I still didn't really know how to build the pieces but whenever I went to an art museum I'd think about how I might do a gallery installation. The centerpiece of my mental gallery was a pair of barcodes, one marked "Neurotypical" and one marked "Neurodivergent".

[ID: An interior view of a small booklet, with pages marked 1 and 2, showing barcodes -- on the left, labeled Neurotypical, and on the right, in slightly weirder configuration, labeled Neurodivergent.]

And then I thought, why not make a zine? Nothing you're thinking of couldn't be put in zine form instead of on a gallery wall.

[ID: The booklet continues to pages 3 and 4; on page 3 is a postage-style label reading AUTISM with up arrows on either side, and on page 4 is a QR code labeled ADHD. The QR code technically should work but it just dumps a block of text I wrote about having ADHD into a browser.]

I grew up with zine culture in the 90s and I always wanted to make one but much like with visual art, I never felt like I had the right kind of thing to say; either I had too much to say or too little, and anyway I wasn't confident that what I wanted to do wouldn't just come off as trite and obvious. But you can make a six-page zine out of a single sheet of paper, so I did: I made Helpful Labels For Strange Brains by idab zines, a division of Extribulum Press. (i--dab is a term for a cuneiform tablet that contains a royal communication.)

[ID: The last two pages feature the same image -- a cereal bowl with a spoon in it, the spoon containing a single Adderall pill. One image, however, is captioned "Wake up. Pour yourself a cup of iced coffee. Fix a bowl of cereal. It's going to be a good day." while the other is covered in a detailed ADHD-style step-by-step process for the same actions, culminating in "It's going to be a day like that."]

I'm pretty pleased with how it came out -- the art all looks intentional and it still has that "taped this together after school" aesthetic I remember fondly from the 90s. And the confines of six pages, each only a few inches square, offers a good structure to keep things clear, simple, and meaningful.

[ID: The cover of the zine, labeled "Helpful Labels For Strange Brains" in a kind of esoteric stampy font.]

Especially nice is that if you wanted to you could just hand out the flat sheet, and let folks fold it into a booklet or not -- there's instructions for folding it on the back of the zine. Additionally I have some sticker backed printer paper so I could print it such that you could literally turn the labels into real labels.

Anyway if you want it, here ya go. You can print it on a single sheet of paper and follow the instructions on the back to fold it. I thought about selling it but I do not have the spoons to do a bunch of printing and folding and shipping.

[pucksandpower]

That’s That Me, Espresso

Charles Leclerc x barista!Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen seem determined to fight over the heart of their favorite barista … but soon they learn that sharing can be much more fulfilling

Warnings: 18+ content

You tie the green apron around your waist, smoothing out the wrinkles as you get ready for another day behind the counter. Working as a barista in the paddock club is not where you imagined you’d end up, but it pays the bills. And there are some nice perks — like getting to see the drivers up close when they come in for their daily coffee fix.

Two drivers in particular have caught your attention recently: Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen.

They started coming in separately a few weeks ago, always ordering the same drink — a latte with an extra shot of espresso for Charles and black coffee for Max. At first it was just polite small talk as you made their drinks, but gradually you’ve gotten to know them both a bit better.

Charles is charming, with an easy smile and a quick wit. He asks you about your day and remembers little details you’ve told him before. Max is more reserved, but has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh. You find yourself looking forward to their visits, wondering when you’ll see them next.

It’s another race weekend and the paddock club is buzzing with activity. You’re kept busy with a steady stream of drinks orders. A loud group of sponsors clusters around your counter, loudly debating team strategies. You handle their complicated orders, foaming milk and steaming pitchers like a pro.

As you hand off the last drink, you look up and see Charles walking in. He locks eyes with you and grins.

“Busy today, I see,” he says, sidling up to the counter.

“The usual?” You ask with a smile. Charles nods.

You turn to make his latte, hyperaware of his gaze following you. The espresso machine hisses as you pull his shots. You take your time with the milk, adjusting the froth just so.

“Here you go,” you say, placing the latte in front of him with a flourish. Your fingers brush as he takes it from you. Was that accidental or on purpose? His eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Looks perfect. You always make it just how I like it.” Charles takes a long sip, foam coating his upper lip. He swipes it away with his thumb. “Delicious. I don’t know how I’d get through race day without this.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment. Before you can respond, Max walks up to the counter, focused on his phone. He glances up, does a slight double take at seeing Charles already there, then looks back at you.

“Morning,” he says briskly. “The usual, please.”

You nod and turn to make Max’s black coffee. As the coffee drips into the paper cup, you feel the awkward tension behind you. Charles and Max eye each other warily, a silent stand-off you don’t understand. You glance between them nervously as you hand Max his coffee.

“There you go. Enjoy!” Your voice comes out too bright and cheery.

Max takes the coffee without looking away from Charles. “Thanks,” he mutters. They keep staring at each other for a beat too long before Charles clears his throat.

“Well, I should get going. See you around,” he says lightly, with a meaningful look at you.

You nod, perplexed. As soon as Charles is out the door, Max seems to relax.

“So how’s your morning been so far?” He asks, taking a sip of coffee.

You make polite small talk, but your mind keeps going back to the weird tension between him and Charles. What was all that about?

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of foamed milk and espresso. Before you know it, it’s nearly closing time. You’re wiping down the counters when you hear footsteps approach. You look up to see both Charles and Max walking toward you, stopping short when they notice each other.

“You again?” Max frowns at Charles. “Does Ferrari not have their own coffee?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Charles shoots back. He turns to you with an easy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The usual, please?”

You nod uncertainly and set to work making their drinks on autopilot, feeling the heavy weight of them watching your every move. The silence hangs heavy in the air. You can feel the animosity rolling off them in waves.

You finish the drinks and set them on the counter. “Here you go.”

Neither makes a move to take their coffee. The tension coils tighter. You glance between them nervously.

Finally Max turns to Charles. “Why do you keep coming here for coffee? Don’t tell me it’s for the scintillating conversation.”

Charles bristles. “Why do you care where I get my coffee? Unless ...” His eyes narrow. “Are you trying to keep me away from something? Or should I say, someone?”

You freeze. Are they talking about you?

Max scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to get my daily coffee in peace.”

“Oh really? You seem to be going out of your way when you could easily get coffee from Red Bull hospitality. Admit it, there’s another reason you keep coming here.” Charles crosses his arms.

“I could say the same about you! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you flirting with her every time you’re in here.”

You nearly drop the rag in your hand. Heat floods your cheeks. They are talking about you.

Charles laughs sharply. “Look who’s talking! The man who makes eyes at her whenever you think I’m not looking.”

“Makes eyes-” Max sputters. “You’re delusional.”

“No, you’re just blind. Anyone can see she likes me better.”

“As if! She obviously prefers me over some pretty boy.”

They’re nearly nose to nose now, fists clenched at their sides. You stand frozen behind the counter, heart hammering in your chest. This can’t be happening.

“Why don’t we let her decide then?” Charles turns to you. “What do you say? Want to settle this once and for all?”

Max whips his head toward you eagerly. You open your mouth but no words come out.

Charles barrels on. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I already know the answer.” He winks at you.

Max makes a disgusted noise. “Don’t listen to him. He’s so full of himself.”

“Better than being full of overhyped energy drinks and bad decisions like you!” Charles shoves Max’s shoulder.

A flicker of rage passes over Max’s face. He shoves back, hard. “Watch yourself, Leclerc.”

Charles stumbles into the counter, jostling your arm. You cry out as the steaming pitcher of milk spills down the front of your apron. Pain scalds your skin. You inhale sharply as the hot milk soaks through your shirt.

Charles grabs a damp dish towel and presses it to your arm. “Let me see.”

You lift the cloth with a wince. An angry red welt is already rising along your forearm.

“That looks bad,” Charles murmurs. “You should get it treated properly.”

Max edges closer, brows drawn together. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry-”

“She needs medical attention,” Charles interrupts. He takes your elbow gingerly. “Come on, I’ll take you to the medical center.”

Max puts a hand on your other arm. “No, I’ll take her. This is my fault.”

Charles tugs you toward him. “Back off, Verstappen. I’ve got this.”

You stumble between them as they play tug-of-war with your arms.

“Stop it!” You cry, wrenching away. They freeze. “You can both take me or I’ll go myself. But I am not a rope in a game of Red Bull versus Ferrari.”

Charles and Max have the decency to look ashamed.

“Of course, sorry,” Charles says quickly. “We’ll take you together.”

Max nods, biting his lip. You follow them from the paddock club to the medical center, cradling your arm. Mercifully they stay silent, the fight drained from them for now.

The medic clucks over your injury, applying a cooling gel and clean bandages. You sag in relief as the medicine soothes the burning. Charles and Max hover anxiously until the medic shoos them away.

“All done,” she announces. “Keep it clean and covered. Should heal in a few days.”

“Thank you.” You slide off the exam table, flexing your freshly wrapped arm.

Charles jumps up immediately. “How’s it feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.” You offer him a small smile.

Max steps forward. “I’m really sorry about this. Let me make it up to you — can I take you to dinner tonight?”

Charles makes a strangled noise. “You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” He turns to you, expression earnest. “Please, allow me to take you to dinner instead. It’s the least I can do after you got hurt.”

You stare between them incredulously. Are they serious?

“Um, I don’t think-”

“Come on, what do you say?” Max presses. “Dinner, just the two of us.”

Charles crosses his arms. “Don’t listen to him. Let me take you out.”

“You already ruined her day,” Max snaps. “I’m not letting you mess up her evening too.”

Charles bristles. “If anyone ruined it, you did by shoving me into her!”

“I wouldn’t have shoved you if you weren’t being an annoying prick.”

“Obstinate show off!”

“Insecure brat!”

“Enough!” You yell. They fall silent. “This is absurd. You’re both acting like children.”

Charles scuffs his shoe. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Max nods, properly chastised. “Me too. That was stupid.”

You take a deep breath. “If you really want to make it up to me, we’ll do this: you can both take me to dinner. Together. To apologize. Take it or leave it.”

They share an uneasy look but don’t argue. You nod firmly.

“Good. I’ll be outside the paddock club after the race. Come get me then.” You fix them with a stern gaze. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. No fighting, no bickering. Got it?”

“Got it,” they mumble.

“See you tonight then.” With as much dignity as you can muster, you turn and sweep out of the medical center. You feel their eyes following you as the doors swing shut.

Your breath leaves in a whoosh when you’re alone again. What did you just get yourself into? A tense conciliatory dinner with two drivers who happen to hate each other? This night can only end in disaster.

But a small part of you tingles with excitement at the thought of having their undivided attention, if only for an evening. You push the feeling away. Don’t be foolish. This is just about apologizing for the coffee incident. Nothing more.

***

After the race, you freshen up and change into a flowy summer dress. As you apply a final coat of lipstick, nerves flutter in your stomach. This dinner will either go surprisingly well or be a total disaster.

With Charles and Max, it’s anyone’s guess.

Your pulse picks up when you exit the paddock club to see Charles and Max waiting, wearing nice button downs and trading murderous looks.

But as soon as they notice you, their faces morph into charming smiles. Charles steps forward first, eyes bright.

“You look beautiful,” he says, kissing your cheek in greeting. The press of his lips sends a thrill through you despite yourself.

Max moves closer, expression soft. “That dress is perfect on you.”

You thank them, trying not to blush. Max gestures to the row of sleek sports cars. “Shall we?”

Charles frowns. “She should ride with me, I asked her to dinner first.”

Max scoffs. “Only because you swooped in when you saw I was going to.”

“As if! I was being a gentleman, unlike you.”

They descend into bickering while you stand there awkwardly. Finally you interject.

“Or here’s a thought — how about we take an Uber together?”

Charles and Max stop arguing, properly chastised. “Of course, good idea,” Charles says smoothly.

You all pile into the back of the Uber, you wedged between them. Their thighs press against yours, muscular and distracting. Get it together, you scold yourself. This is just an apology dinner.

At the restaurant, Max holds your chair out while Charles arranges your napkin on your lap. Their efforts to dote on you would be sweet if they weren’t also trying to outdo each other. You settle in for an interesting night.

A waiter appears to take your order. Charles recommends the osso buco. Max argues the sea bass is better. You go for the risotto to avoid playing favorites.

When the food arrives, Charles insists on serving you first. “Try this, the sauce is exquisite,” he purrs, holding a forkful to your lips.

You let him feed you, hyperaware of Max watching hawkishly. “Delicious, thank you.”

Not to be outdone, Max spears a bite of his fish. “Here, you have to taste this.” He brings the fork to your mouth. You oblige, cheeks burning.

This continues through the whole meal. Charles and Max take turns hand feeding you, vying for your attention. Under different circumstances it would feel romantic, but their competitive edge ruins the mood.

Still, you have to admit the food is incredible. Charles was right about the osso buco. When your risotto is gone, he happily shares his plate. Max pushes his closer too, until you’re stuffed on bites of their entrees.

For dessert they order chocolate soufflé to share. Two forks battle for the privilege of feeding you. You finally snatch the dish between you, laughing.

“I think I can manage on my own now, thanks.”

Charles sits back with a rueful smile. “Sorry, got a bit carried away there.”

“We just want you to enjoy the food,” Max adds a touch sheepishly.

You take a bite and sigh blissfully. “Mission accomplished, trust me.”

Despite their antics, you’re surprised to realize you’re having a nice time. When Charles and Max aren’t competing over you, they’re charming dinner companions, trading funny racing stories and debating controversial penalties. You find yourself relaxing, giggling often at their witty banter.

Over digestifs, the mood shifts. The low lighting makes Charles’ gaze smolder. Max’s hand brushes your knee under the table. You shift, heart rate kicking up.

The bill comes and Charles snags it before Max can react. “Please, allow me.”

You start to protest but Max speaks up. “I guess I’ll get the next one then.”

The implication makes your pulse flutter. Next one?

Outside the restaurant, Charles offers his arm. “Let’s go somewhere more private to continue the evening.” His eyes glitter with promise.

You hesitate, feeling suddenly shy. Max steps closer.

“Don’t listen to him, he just wants you alone. Come out with me instead and I’ll show you a good time.”

He waggles his eyebrows. You blush fiercely as their suggestive stares make you squirm.

Charles drops your arm, scowling. “Back off, Verstappen. She’s coming with me.”

“She can make her own choices,” Max retorts. “But she’d clearly have more fun with me.”

Their flirting turns sour as they descend into bickering again. You clench your fists, frustration bubbling over.

“Enough!” You burst out. “I’m done being fought over like a trophy.”

Charles and Max stop arguing, looking properly scolded. You take a deep breath.

“My hotel is just around the corner. You’re both welcome to join me for a nightcap. But you need to stop this childish fighting or you can go back to your own rooms.”

They share an uneasy glance, then nod. “You’re right, sorry about that,” Charles says. “Lead the way.”

Max just gestures for you to walk ahead. You turn towards your hotel, nerves and anticipation swirling. A nightcap is harmless, you tell yourself. You’re just putting your foot down about their behavior.

At the hotel bar, you order a round of drinks and claim a small corner booth. Charles and Max slide in on either side of you. Their thighs press against yours under the tiny table.

You take a fortifying sip of your cocktail. “Okay look, tonight has been … fun, surprisingly. But the constant competing over me has to stop.”

You level them with your most serious gaze. They have the grace to look embarrassed.

“You’re right, that wasn’t fair to you,” Charles says earnestly. “I got carried away trying to, I don’t know, impress you, I guess. I’ll be more respectful from now on.”

Max clears his throat. “Yeah, me too. Didn’t mean to make you feel like a prize. I just ...” He ducks his head. “Really wanted you to like me.”

Your breath catches at the endearing admission. You place a hand over Max’s where it rests on his thigh. “I do like you. Both of you. When you’re not acting like idiots.”

Charles covers your other hand, expression softening. “I like you too. So much.”

Warmth spreads through you at their words. For a moment, you all just smile at each other, the atmosphere shifting into something … intimate.

The air suddenly feels charged with possibility. You wet your lips nervously. Two sets of eyes track the movement.

Charles moves his thumb in a slow sweep over the back of your hand, stirring up butterflies. “I’d really like to kiss you right now,” he murmurs. “If that’s okay.”

Your heartbeat stutters. You glance at Max. His eyes are dark, lips parted. Waiting for your answer.

You close the distance to Charles in response, pressing your mouth to his. He makes a soft sound and cups your jaw, kissing you back eagerly. His lips are soft and seeking.

When you part for air, Max clears his throat. “I believe you said no more competing tonight. So it’s my turn now.”

Before you can react, he captures your lips in a searing kiss. He kisses differently than Charles, more urgently, with the promise of heat. You grasp his shoulders to stay grounded.

You break away gasping. The three of you stare at each other, wide eyed and flushed.

Charles recovers first. “Why don’t we take this upstairs?” His expression leaves no doubt as to his meaning.

A spike of want goes through you. But uncertainty flickers too. Are you really ready for … all that? With both of them?

Sensing your hesitation, Max squeezes your hand. “Or we could just keep talking, if you’d prefer?” His tone is serious despite the desire in his eyes. “No pressure, okay?”

Charles nods, looking equally willing to follow your lead. You smile, grateful for their patience. As tempting as it is to fall into bed together, that feels rushed.

“Why don’t we have one more drink upstairs and see where things go?” You suggest.

“I’d love that,” Charles says.

Max signals the waiter for your tab. “Your room or one of ours?”

You laugh at his eagerness. “Mine. I have the key.”

***

In the elevator up to your hotel room, the air feels charged with possibility. Charles pins you to the wall, nuzzling your neck in a way that makes you shiver. Max crowds behind you, hands spanning your waist. You feel surrounded, but also safe between them.

At your door, Charles steals one more heated kiss before you unlock it. His eyes are dark with want when he pulls back. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Max’s breath tickles your ear. “My turn now.” His low voice sends desire swirling through you.

You lead them inside, nerves and excitement making you giddy. Max pulls you into his arms immediately, kissing you deeply. Charles comes up behind you, trailing kisses down your neck in tandem with Max’s exploring tongue. You clutch their shirts, anchored between them.

When you part for air, Charles suggests opening a bottle of wine from the minibar. You nod, needing to steady your spinning head.

While Charles uncorks a bottle of red, Max comes up behind you, nuzzling your hair. “That dress looks amazing on you, but I bet it would look even better on the floor,” he murmurs suggestively.

You blush even as arousal stirs. But Charles interrupts before you can respond.

“Don’t be crude, Max,” he chides, handing you a glass of wine. His fingers linger on yours. “She deserves to be treated with respect.”

Max rolls his eyes. “I was complimenting her, not being crude.”

“It came off as objectifying. I know how to properly appreciate a woman.” Charles strokes your arm lightly, eyes smoldering.

Here we go again, you think. But Max just laughs.

“Oh it’s on now, Leclerc. We’ll see who can make her feel more … appreciated.” He waggles his eyebrows.

You nearly choke on your wine. “Um, I’m not sure this competition is necessary-”

“Shh, just relax, mon amour. Let us take care of you.” Charles silences you with a deep kiss, stealing your breath.

Max comes up behind you, trailing hot kisses over your exposed shoulders. His hands find your waist, pulling you back against him.

You’re surrounded by them, enveloped in wandering hands and seeking mouths. It’s overwhelming but intoxicating. You let yourself get lost in the sensations.

Charles lavishes attention on your neck, hitting sensitive spots that make you shiver. When he finds one that makes you moan, Max focuses on the same area until your knees go weak.

They maneuver you to the bed, shedding jackets and shoes along the way. Charles presses you back into the pillows, kissing you deeply as his fingers trail up your leg, rucking your dress higher.

Max pushes himself between your parted thighs, kissing along your inner leg. You grasp their hair, anchoring yourself.

“You’re both trying to kill me, I swear,” you gasp out.

Charles smiles against your neck. “On the contrary, we’re trying to make you feel as alive as possible.”

As if to prove it, Max hitches one of your legs over his shoulder and kisses along your inner thigh, making you squirm.

“Tell me what you want, cherié. I’m yours tonight,” Charles breathes in your ear.

You drag him down for a messy kiss. He groans as you press up into him.

Max works his way higher until his breath ghosts over your core. Your whole body tightens in anticipation.

“Can I taste you?” His voice is rough with need. “I want to make you feel so good, lekker ding.”

You nod frantically and he hooks his fingers under your underwear, sliding them off. The first touch of his tongue makes you cry out.

Charles swallows the sound, kissing you deeply. “That’s it, let go. We’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by sensations, you can only clutch their hair and let yourself be carried away on waves of pleasure.

You lose track of time, of everything beyond their mouths and hands worshipping every inch of you. When Max finally has you teetering on the edge, he pulls back right before you tip over.

“Not yet. I want you to come with me inside you.”

The primal promise sends a bolt of need through you. Charles props himself up, pupils blown wide. “God, that’s hot.” His erection presses insistently against your hip. “But condoms first. I’ll grab some.”

While he digs through his wallet, Max strips you both bare. You run appreciative hands over his chiseled physique, anticipating having him inside you. But uncertainty flickers too.

“Have you … done this before?” You ask hesitantly. “With another guy, I mean?”

Max stills. “I haven’t. Have you?” At your head shake, he relaxes. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Reassured, you pull him down for a messy kiss. Charles rejoins you on the bed, rolling a condom onto Max.

“All set.” He kisses you lingeringly. “If you want to stop at any point, just say the word.”

You smile at his caretaking. “I’ll be vocal if I need you to stop or slow down, don’t worry.”

Max lines himself up at your entrance, holding your gaze. “You ready?”

At your eager nod, he pushes inside you in one long stroke. You arch up with a cry at the delicious stretch of him filling you so perfectly.

Charles lavishes kisses over your face and neck murmuring praise. “That’s it, you’re doing so well. You look incredible like this, taking him so beautifully.”

Max builds a steady rhythm, fucking into you almost leisurely, stoking the fire higher. “You feel incredible, so hot and tight around me.” He hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Charles sheds his own clothes and rolls on a condom, eyes fixed on where you’re joined. “You two are so fucking gorgeous together. Makes me want a turn.”

“Yes, please,” you gasp out. You need them both tonight.

Max slows to shallow pumps, letting Charles take his place between your legs. He pushes in slowly and your body opens for him, welcoming the new stretch.

Charles curses breathlessly at your tight heat engulfing him. “You’re unbelievable. I could stay buried in you forever.”

He sets a steady pace while Max kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans. Having them both lavish you with such dedicated attention pushes you close to the edge again.

“Want to come with you around me,” Charles pants out. “Can I make you come, ma belle?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close-” you cry out as he reaches between you to stroke your clit.

The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge with a sharp cry. Your inner walls pulse around Charles, pulling him over with you.

You cling to each other, breathing hard as you come down. Charles presses soft kisses over your face while Max smoothes back your hair.

“You’re incredible. How was that?” Charles asks gently once he catches his breath.

You huff out a giddy laugh. “Absolutely amazing.” You cup his cheek. “Both of you.”

Max smiles and kisses you sweetly. “I’m not done with you yet tonight.”

Anticipation sparks through you again. “Oh really?”

He licks his lips. “I want another taste of dessert.”

Charles nips your ear playfully. “And I want a round two with you. We’re just getting started.”

The promise in their heated looks makes your spent body begin to reawaken. You stretch like a cat between them.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?”

They pounce on you eagerly, hands and mouths roaming your sensitised skin. You surrender to their passionate attentions, mind blissfully blank of everything but pleasure.

Later, they lay you between them, bodies spent and entwined. Sleep tugs at the edges of your sated mind.

Charles nuzzles your shoulder. “Rest now, mon ange. You were perfect.”

Max pulls the blankets over you and presses a kiss to your hair. “We’re right here with you.”

Wrapped securely in their arms, you let yourself drift off, a contented smile on your face. Tonight was exactly what you needed — no more fighting or competing, just pure connection.

As you fall asleep cocooned between your two gorgeous drivers, you can’t imagine a more satisfying way to end the craziest day of your life.

***

The morning after the blissful night with Charles and Max, you wake up alone in tangled sheets. For a moment you wonder if it was just a dream. Then you spot a note on the bedside table.

Had early commitments but can’t stop thinking about you. See you at the paddock club soon - C & M

You grin and fall back against the pillows. Last night definitely happened. And based on that note, they’re already eager for a repeat. Happiness bubbles up in you.

Over the next few days, you text constantly with Charles and Max. They check on how you’re feeling (sore but satiated) and send increasingly flirty selfies that make you blush. The texts grow more suggestive as the next race weekend nears.

Can’t wait to get my hands on you again. I’ll sneak you off somewhere the minute I see you

I call dibs on stealing her away this time! We have some unfinished business

You smile at your phone, butterflies taking flight. You have a feeling this race weekend will be anything but routine.

Friday morning you show up early to prep the paddock club cafe. As the bustle of the weekend ramps up outside, your pulse quickens wondering if you’ll see Charles or Max first.

A gaggle of mechanics come in, followed by Fred Vasseur and Toto Wolff bickering over coffees. No sign of your drivers yet.

Finally Charles saunters in, sweaty from practice and still in his red race suit. His face lights up when he sees you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans across the counter for a swift, burning kiss. “I missed you.”

You blush fiercely as hoots and whistles sound from the patrons. Charles just winks.

“The usual?” You ask, ducking to hide your glowing cheeks.

“Please. I need my favorite barista’s coffee to get through the day.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you work, warm and admiring. It makes your skin tingle.

As Charles collects his coffee, he murmurs low in your ear, “Dinner tonight? I want you all to myself.”

His steely gaze leaves no doubt as to his intentions. You shiver and nod eagerly.

“Here?”

“I was thinking your hotel bed again ...” His fingers graze your wrist suggestively.

Your breath catches. Before you can respond, Max strides up to the counter.

“Morning.” He gives Charles an unreadable look then smiles at you. “I’ll take my usual.”

He watches you work with a little smile playing about his lips, occasionally trading glances with Charles. They seem … chummy, almost conspiratorial.

You hand Max his coffee, brow arched. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something with you two?”

Max grins. “Let’s just say Charles and I … bonded recently over a mutual interest.” His meaningful look makes your cheeks flame.

“Oh really now?” You ask coyly.

“Really.” Charles slings an arm around Max’s shoulders. “We’ve discovered some shared enthusiasms lately.”

They smirk at each other and you have to fan yourself. If this new camaraderie is the result of your tryst, you heartily approve.

Over the rest of Friday you spot Charles and Max hanging out often, laughing together. The other drivers eye them curiously but they just share secret smiles.

In the media pen after practice, a reporter asks about their burgeoning bromance.

“I guess you could say we recently discovered some common ground that brought us closer,” Charles says vaguely.

Beside him, Max shrugs. “Let’s just say our relationship has … matured lately.”

They grin at the innuendo. You nearly spit out your drink watching the live feed, their slyness making you squirm. So much for discretion.

As promised, Charles takes you to dinner that night. In the car, he pulls you across the console for a heated kiss.

“Thought about doing this all day,” he growls against your lips.

At your hotel, clothes are hastily shed as you fall into bed together. Charles takes you apart ruthlessly, until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

After, he gathers you close, nuzzling your hair. “I don’t know what hold you have over me, but I can’t get enough.”

You smile and kiss him lazily. “Right back at you. I could get used to this.”

Charles’ eyes darken. “Speaking of, Max was suggesting we all get together again before the race ...”

Tomorrow night is wide open in your schedule.

***

The next day buzzes by until Charles and Max finish their media duties. They saunter into the paddock club wearing matching smirks.

“Time for that break you promised us,” Max says, crowding you against the counter.

Charles nips your ear. “We’ll make it worth your while.” His hot promise makes you instantly pliant.

They lead you outside hand in hand, sneaking glances around until you reach the Ferrari motorhome. Inside Charles’ driver’s room, he pins you to the leather couch, kissing you ravenously.

Clothes melt away between heated kisses and grasping hands. Soon you’re naked on the couch, framed by Charles and Max’s toned bodies.

Charles trails kisses down between your breasts, laving his tongue over a nipple until you arch up with a cry.

“Sensitive here I see,” he murmurs smugly before redirecting his attention. You grasp his messy waves, overwhelmed.

Max slides a hand up your inner thigh, eyes blazing when he discovers you bare. “So wet already. I think she likes us teasing her, Charles.”

A thick finger slides through your folds and you gasp out his name. Chuckling darkly, Max repeats the motion until you’re rocking your hips desperately.

“Please … need you ...” you whimper.

He smirks. “How can I deny such a sweet request?”

Charles sits back to enjoy the show as Max lines up at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, groaning as your body opens to welcome his thick length. You clutch his shoulders, overwhelmed.

“Fuck, feel so perfect around me,” he grits out through clenched teeth, seated fully inside you. “You good?”

You nod frantically. No matter how many times you come together, that first blissful stretch when he fills you never gets old.

Charles strokes himself lazily, eyes fixed on where you’re joined. “God, that’s hot to watch. Starting to think we should share you more often if this is what I get to see.”

Max builds a relentless rhythm, spurred on by Charles’ avid stare. You grasp the leather couch, crying out with every deep stroke nudging that sweet spot inside.

“Look at those pretty tits bounce while you fuck her,” Charles rasps out. “You close, ma belle? I want to watch you come undone around him.”

That heated plea sends you over, clenching on Max’s length as pleasure crashes over you. He fucks you through it before chasing his own high.

“Want to feel you come in me,” you gasp out.

Groaning your name, Max pulls you tight and shudders his release inside you. He collapses forward, breathing ragged.

“Holy fuck that was intense,” he mutters, kissing you sloppily. You cling together, spent and grinning.

Until Charles clears his throat loudly. “Looked like fun but I believe you promised to share, Max.”

Unfurling from you, Max laughs. “All yours, mate. But only after I get one more taste.”

To your delight, he seals his lips over your swollen clit without warning, sucking firmly. The stimulation on your over-sensitized nerves straddles the line between pleasure and pain until you’re thrashing and begging.

Finally Max releases you with one last lick and a wolfish grin. “Had to have another hit of that sweetness.”

You can only whimper as Charles immediately replaces him between your legs. He kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, eyes blazing.

“Please tell me you have another round in you, cherié. Because watching that made me very eager to play.”

As he pushes inside you in one long stroke, you clutch his back deliriously. Charles wastes no time building a ruthless rhythm, spurred on by watching you fall apart with Max. His thick length drags along your sensitive inner walls, wringing gasps and cries from you with every snap of his hips.

“That’s it, sing for me,” he grits out, angling to nudge against that sweet spot inside you. “Want the whole paddock to hear how good I can make you feel.”

You grasp his biceps, feeling his muscles flex powerfully with each pounding stroke. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room.

Charles snakes a hand between you, finding your throbbing clit and stroking in time with his deep thrusts. The sensations make you see stars, still so sensitive from Max’s attentions.

“Oh god, right there,” you sob, teetering dangerously on the edge again. “Gonna come ...”

“Look at me,” Charles commands sharply. You drag your eyes open to meet his burning gaze. “Come for me now.”

On cue your body seizes up, inner walls clamping down hard as a shockwave of pleasure crashes through you. You cry out Charles’ name hoarsely, barely hearing his own bitten off groan as he follows you over the edge.

Collapsing forward, Charles peppers your face with tender kisses as you cling together, panting through the aftershocks.

“Magnificent as always, mon amour,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck.

You comb lazy fingers through his hair, body coursing with endorphins. “Mmm. Pretty sure you two are going to kill me with great sex at this point, but I can’t bring myself to complain.”

Max’s laughter warms your skin as he slides up behind you. He trails a hand down your side, eyes glinting. “Oh we’re nowhere close to done with you yet ...”

[luveline]

Hi, love! Hope you’re well <3

Could we perhaps have some more single dad Spencer? I miss him and Amanda so much

tysm lovely❤️❤️ —Spencer misses you when he’s not working, so Amy tries to fix that. fem, 1.8k

Spencer thinks about quitting the BAU, sometimes. It was all he ever knew how to do for a long, long time, and the work is important. He’s not too shy to say they need him. 

When someone else needs you more, you start to wonder if work is all there is. 

“And… kiss!” 

Spencer scrunches his eyes closed as Amy leans across to kiss his cheek. She’s decided that every time they finish a drawing, they should kiss. Spencer’s enjoying it very much. 

“Good job,” he says, “that was your best one yet.” 

“I’m getting good at bugs.” 

To their left, they have opened a huge copy of The Modern Encyclopaedia of Bugs: Insects, Arachnids, and Myriapods. Spencer has purchased many, many books in his life, and this was somehow the fifth most expensive, but it’s worth it, because it’s what Amy likes. She loves laying down on her stomach with a pack of art crayons and drawing the intricate details of each creature. She is, as she said, getting very good at bugs. 

“I meant the kiss,” he says, leaning forward to tuck her hair behind her ears, mousy brown like his, twice as soft. “But the drawings are amazing every time.” 

“If I… if I draw this one for Y/N, do you think she’ll like it?” 

“She loves everything you draw her, baby,” he says softly, stroking another stray hair behind her ears. If she wasn’t so busy colouring the leg of a spider in concentrated strokes, he’d pull her into his lap for a cuddle. 

“I’m not a baby.” 

“You’re my baby,” he says, and she is. Spencer Reid has a kid. Who’d ever think it? 

The older she gets the more right it feels. He’s a dad. He was always meant to be one to Amy. 

“Amy, can I have a cuddle, please?” he asks softly. It’s fine if she says no. 

She throws her nice crayons down immediately. Usually he wouldn’t say anything, but they’re a gift from his mom, so he says, “Be gentle with your things,” as she climbs over her paper pad and the encyclopaedia to land in his lap. 

“So they’ll last longer,” she says.

He wraps his arms around her in a solid hug. “Exactly. The kinder we are to our stuff, the longer it lasts. That’s why–”

“Why you’re nice to your body,” she finishes for him. “Dad, I know.” 

“You know everything.” He closes his eyes and breathes her in. Amy’s hair smells like lavender kids shampoo, her clothes like detergent. They stood in the softener aisle and Spencer, on his knees to match her height, took down bottles for them to smell the caps one at a time until they found the best one, settling on apple blossom and jasmine. “You smell nummy.” 

Amy rubs her face into his chest. “What do I smell like?” 

“Really clean.” 

“So when I’m dirty, I smell yucky.” 

“You don’t ever smell yucky,” he mumbles, relishing the weight of her in his arms. “Oooh,” —he grabs her under the arms and ushers her right into his neck— “my Amy, I’m so happy to be home. I missed you sooo much this week.” 

“But you’re home next week.” 

Spencer has started consulting more and going on cases less. He’s glad to do it, he can afford it, and Amy will never be any younger. He’s never been happier balancing work and family, except… 

He used to see you everyday. It’s fine, he’ll choose Amy every time, but he wishes he didn’t have to, because he’s starting to miss you too. 

“I’m home,” he says. “For the next sixteen days. Maybe longer, if they don’t need me then. Hey, tonight, I was thinking we’d go swimming.” 

Amy makes a strange noise. “Um, well maybe not tonight.” 

“Are you kidding? You love swimming.” 

“I know, but I don’t want to go tonight.” 

“Why not, angel? We can get your pool noodle and the paddle boards.” He lets his nose wrinkle. “Is it your swimsuit? I guess we haven’t got a new one in a long time. We can go shopping first. We can go now, if you want to.” 

“Daddy, I asked Y/N to come over.” 

Spencer laughs. “What?” 

“I texted her.” 

Spencer realises she isn’t joking and holds her away from him. “You what?” 

“You left your phone in the bathroom,” she says defensively, her eyes on his shirt, “and I was washing my hands and it was boring and I thought you maybe missed her.” 

“How could you know that?” Spencer asks. 

“Because you talk about her lots, dad.” She shrugs. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry! No, no, it’s okay, it’s nice of you to think about me. That’s really kind.” Still, his stomach hurts thinking about it. “Did she… text you back?” 

“She said she’s coming over.” 

“She did?” Spencer asks. “Did she say when?” 

“She said five thirty.” 

Spencer checks his watch and feels his heart drop. “Oh my god.” He gets up with Amy in his arms, rushing to the mirror to see them both in their pajama’d disarray. “Oh my god! We need to get dressed. Amy, we need to brush our hair.” 

Spencer panics harder than he needs to, but seeing you in fifteen minutes when he thought he might not for another two weeks is stressful. He decides Amy will have to wear new pyjamas, that he’s going to have to put on jeans, and that both of them could have used a shower to tame the mess of their hair, his curly, hers fine. He sprays hers with detangler generously, brushes gently, and plops her in front of the air conditioning unit plugged into the window to dry. He’s barely raked a hand through his own hair when the door is being knocked. 

He can’t help squinting unhappily at Amy. She’s totally set him up. 

She smiles back, and he feels awful for not smiling too. 

“Amy, can you give me more warning next time?” he asks, crossing their living room to the front door. 

She smiles wider. “Yes!” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

He thinks, Ouch, I’m not very nice, then thinks Why would she do this to me? before settling on, Everything's okay. Amy didn’t really do anything wrong, Spencer isn’t mad at her, and you’re waiting on the other side of the door to see them. 

You smile on the stoop —how lucky is Spencer to have all these pretty girls smiling at him?— and adjust your bag over your shoulder, the cloth tote bag hooked on your elbow slipping and sliding with a rustle. 

“Hello!” you say. “Where’s the little lady?” 

“Hello!” Amy calls. “I’m by the air conditioner trying to get dry!” 

Spencer lets you in. You nod your head gratefully and put your bags on the sideboard, dumping your keys in the bowl beside his, and offering your now empty arms for a hug. “Hello,” you say, “you smell good.” 

Spencer panics. “You smell good.” Your arrival has brought the smell of Chinese food, and your jacket smells like perfume. 

“Dad says I smell good too.” 

You part from Spencer gently to bend down, meeting Amy at her height, arms out to offer a hug. “I bet you do. Hi, lovely girl, I haven’t seen you in too long.” 

You lean into her with care. Spencer suspects you think she’s much more breakable than she is, but you’re sweet about it regardless, giving her back a good rub and humming happily when she hugs you back. She’s way less careful. 

“Don’t strangle her, Amy.”

You pretend to choke. Amy laughs like a fiend. 

“I missed you,” Amy says. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I missed you too.” Spencer knows how good that must feel. “Can I get a good look at you?” 

Amy springs away to pose. Her damp hair kisses her shoulders, her pants hide her dirtied socks. Spencer forgets that he wants to impress you and instead sees how cute she is, laughing to himself as she does a swift spin and slips into the side of the couch. 

“Spence, she looks so much like you,” you say, grinning. “Don’t you think so?” You catch Amy’s eye. “You’re gorgeous! Can I see another one of those spins?” 

Amy spins. You nudge Spencer in the hip. “I brought dinner like you asked.” 

Spencer covers his face. “Was I polite?” he asks cautiously. 

“You said can I please have my favourite Chinese food and can I please have a soda,” you say, laughing, so at least it’s clear who was really texting you, “so yes, you were very polite.” 

“I don’t know what got into me.” 

“Guess you really, really, really missed me or something.” 

He loves Amy, and he wishes the wood floors beneath you would eat him whole; while it may be obvious that Amy’s posed as her father on the phone, it’s also clear that you, as a profiler, seem to have made assumptions as to why Amy would text you in the first place. 

“It’s okay,” you say, watching Amy as she races to her sketching papers and the encyclopaedia, “I really, really, really missed you too. Even though it’s only been two days. Did you get taller?” 

“No.” He gets the distinct sense that he’s getting flirted with, but he also doesn’t understand the compliment. “Same height, why?” 

“Feel like this is taking much more effort than usual,” you say, your hand on his shoulder as you lift your chin to kiss his cheek. 

Spencer follows you on instinct, not to kiss you or anything, but your elbow in his hand, almost begging for another. 

“Oh, no,” Amy says. 

Spencer feels your elbow but remembers himself, and raises his head. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, scouring her for injuries where she stands in front of you both, her drawing in hand. 

“Now you gave Y/N cooties.” 

Spencer blushes worse. “Oh, I didn’t kiss her! And I don’t have cooties, do I? I give you kisses all the time!” 

“You’re my dad,” she says. “But you’re a boy.” 

You pat him on his warm cheek. “He’s a boy, sure, but he’s not gonna give me cooties, don’t worry. I’m not here to see daddy, anyways,” you say, though your hand on his shoulder rubbing softly hints otherwise, “I’m here to see you. Let’s have our spring rolls before they get soggy, yes? Yum!” 

Spencer wants you to stay for much more than dinner, but dinner’s a good start. He swoops Amy up to carry her to the kitchen table —she’s such a babe, she deserves princess treatment only.  

“Kiss?” Amy asks. 

“Thought I had cooties?” he asks.

“Daaaad. I was joking.” And she wasn’t joking, but Amy gets her kiss.

[srngrque]

tell my girlfriend i love her.

jude bellingham x fem!reader. fluff jude has something to say to the public, clearly.

The city of Madrid was crying out loud in white and happiness while you were quietly suffering with your thesis paper, the ultimate killer of your life.

Your heart was already sinking, knowing you were not able to go to the stadium to cheer your boyfriend after his first biggest win of the season but Jude was more understanding than anyone as he kept saying it was alright and it just made your day way worse.

("I am so sorry, I wish I could come but this paper . . it is killing me." You muttered through your phone, as the other line heard you in silence.

Jude sighed, and your heart broke a little. It will be his big day, his club's big day, and you, being his girlfriend, could not attend. Your thoughts lingered toward the trolls on the internet who would be after the status of your relationship.

"It is alright, my love. You will call me after we finish the game, innit? I would just love to hear your voice after we win." Jude softly said, in his voice settled a calmness and a sense of assurance.

You nodded furiously. "I will call you, of course, I will. I love you," You sighed in defeat. "I love you so much." You said it once again, more clearly to hear, more firmly to believe. You could just envision Jude sitting on his bed, biting his lips in slight disappointment with his shoulder completely down like a baby.

"I love you too." He chuckled, trying to make you feel better about the whole situation. "Your boyfriend will make you proud."

"My boyfriend always makes me proud.")

So you decided to take a break from the paper and see the live broadcast of Real Madrid through your large television that Jude gifted claiming to watch him play while you do your little assignment. Switching the television on the news was already covering the win of Real Madrid in the Champions League. After his fresh win with his club, you had already called Jude but it was impossible to pick up since he was happily celebrating with his family and his teammates.

And you did not mind.

His bright smile and the happiness that twinkled through his eyes as he proudly showed off his badge and its accomplishment was warming your heart. Proud was an understatement with Jude, but it was all worth it.

Traveling around Madrid with his teammates on the upper deck of the bus. Your eyes lingered on Jude through the live broadcast as he quietly sipped his cup. You shook your head, laughing since his drunk behavior is quite questionable and now he has decided to show off to the world.

This would be fun, you thought.

"Jude, how do you feel about the win in your first season?" The reporter gently forwarded the mic to Jude who had a red cup holding on his hand. He laughed, grabbing the mic.

"Being in Real Madrid was already a great pleasure, but winning with the club and for the people who support Real Madrid was another beautiful moment of my life and I do not think I will ever forget. But I," He caught a breather for a moment, "I honestly do not know but like, I miss my girlfriend." He rambled through his words. You laughed on your couch, confused and slightly nervous about his behavior. "So I do not know, maybe I am happy but I am sad too." He confessed at the end.

With all the fixed pieces of your heart, it broke piece by piece with his confession at the end.

The reporter took the mic from Jude, but he frantically grabbed it back as if he still had something to say. Clearing his throat, he waved the cameraman to come closer, "Please come here. No, please stay back. No need. I have a mic. Please stay back. I need to look presentable." He laughed.

You mentally note to never let his lips touch any form of alcohol whatsoever. Well, his mother will do the part too. "Can you please tell my girlfriend I love her? Oh wait, I have a mic." Jude whispered to the reporter whilst still holding the mic.

You cupped your mouth, not wanting to laugh at him. Your heart clenched out in adoration at the boy standing in front of a sports broadcast confessing out loud that he simply misses his girlfriend.

"Jude, I think you told her that just now." The reporter laughed. The camera shook in a degree noticing that the cameraman was laughing alongside. The heat crept through your neck but your eyes could not leave him, and his expression for the whole nation to see, he furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head.

"No, I need to tell her properly again." Jude expressed his words through his pouted lips and his eyes darted at the camera.

"We won, baby. I love you, I love you so much, I will call you after this, I promise and I will fly to you and my heart will still be yours." Jude smiled, staring at the camera with his eyes still sad, yet his smile gave enough of how much he simply wanted to be with you right now.

"I love you too." You whispered softly . . for nobody to hear but most likely the ghost, yet it was enough to know he is coming home to you.

[rafesangelita]

Rafe x reader x Barry threesome??

warnings: dealer!rafe, bambi!reader, arguing, threesome, dubcon, face sitting, oral (m & f. receiving), barry is so sleazy in this

“this isn’t all my money, country club.” barry ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. rafe was quick with his response, an uneasy feeling settling over you. “look, there’s a party tomorrow night back on figure eight, if you could lend me something to flip i’ll have the rest of your paper, plus interest, alright?” barry shook his head, feeling for the gun he had in the waistband of his shorts.

rafe’s eyes traveled down to where the metal glinted under the dim light of barry’s trailer. “come on, man, i got my girl here.” your boyfriend took a seat next to you, pulling you into his side. “calm down with the gun, barry, forreal.” you glanced up, only to see rafe’s business partner already looking at you. “i got bills to pay, rafe, and i need to collect.” he sat back in his chair, a smirk forming on his lips.

“you didn’t tell me your girl was so pretty.. what is that? ‘that lace?” you looked down at your stockings that peeked out from under your skirt, nodding as rafe fixed your bottoms so barry couldn’t look at you anymore. “just let us leave from here and we won’t have any problems, i’ll bring you your money asap and we could go on with our business.” rafe wanted nothing more than to gouge barry’s eyes out of his skull for looking at any other part of you besides your face.

“m’afraid i can’t do that, country club.” rafe scoffed, getting up from the dingy couch before pulling you up with him. “fuck you, man, we’re outta here. c’mon, baby-” barry chuckled, “i wouldn’t do that if i were you, unless you want to be gunned down as soon as you open that door. ‘would be a shame if your little girlfriend was left here all by herself..” you shivered at his words, both you and rafe exchanging looks.

“do you fuckin’ hear yourself? i told you i don’t have the rest of your money, barry. what do you want?” rafe watched as barry’s eyes moved over to you, basically sizing you up as he motioned his head in your direction. “her.” rafe stared blankly at the man in front of him, the gears in his head turning. “i could kill you right now.” you swallowed nervously, eyeing rafe as his face began to redden.

“yeah? so could i.” your heart dropped when you heard the metal click of barry’s gun. “no!” you cut in, both men zeroing in on you. “there’s no need for that.. barry.” rafe looked confused as you got closer to him, “please don’t do that.” you met rafe’s gaze, your own eyes brimming with tears. “i’m not letting this fucker touch you-” he grabbed your wrist pulling you back before barry could do anything.

“he said he was going to shoot you!” you whispered, nearly losing your footing. rafe knew barry wasn’t playing, he’d do anything if money was involved, even if that meant killing his partner. “just let him, rafe..” your voice broke rafe’s heart in two, the look on your face forever ingrained in his brain. “no.” he shook his head. you turned towards barry anyways. “i’ll do it, but only under one condition.”

both men waited with uneven breaths. “rafe has to join us.” at yours words, barry glanced at your boyfriend behind you. “fuck no.” he got up, about to reach for you before rafe got in the way. “i can’t do it without him.” you shook your head, hiding behind rafe. barry huffed, shooting daggers in rafe’s direction. “fine.” you clung to rafe’s arm, a chill running down your spine as barry motioned both of you towards the hallway.

“after you.”

if someone told you, you’d be sitting on barry’s face while rafe shoved his cock down your throat as a solution for missing payment, you wouldn’t believe them. “son of a bitch, you’re one lucky bastard, country club. she’s so fucking sweet.” both you and rafe ignored barry’s words, a groan rumbling from rafe’s chest when he felt you swallow around him. your hips moved languidly against barry’s mouth, the tip of his nose nudging your clit.

in a way this wasn’t so bad. with barry underneath you, and your view only being rafe’s pleasure filled face, it was easy to pretend like the man wasn’t even there. since you didn’t let barry take you the way he wanted to, he settled for fucking his fist while eating you like a man starved. you couldn’t deny the way barry’s tongue worked skillfully on your soaked cunt, but it was nowhere near as good as the way of your boyfriend’s.

you looked down when you felt barry’s bruising grip on your thigh, a whimper leaving your lips at the pain. rafe swore to himself he was going to punch barry when he least expected it as pay back for hurting you. softly tugging on the roots of your hair, rafe mumbled a ‘keep your eyes on me, baby’ as he felt himself nearing his climax. “fuck..” barry grunted, spilling his load in his hand while working to make you cum on his tongue.

you cried out when barry sucked your clit, your hips stuttering as your orgasm hit you in waves of ecstasy. rafe followed suit, his jaw going slack as he painted the inside of your mouth with his cum, his fingertips threading themselves in your hair to keep you in place. swallowing rafe’s load was second nature to you and it drove him crazy. you sighed through your nose, rafe moving your mouth off of his cock.

he quickly pulled up his jeans, adjusting his belt before pulling you off of barry’s face. “there, asshole. you don’t get to relish in it afterwards.” your legs were still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your boyfriend dressing you as barry laid there on his bed. he looked like he was coming down from the best high he ever had, even licking the remnants of you from his lips. “you okay?” rafe cupped your face, stroking your chin. “mhmm.” you hummed, ready to get out of barry’s trailer already.

“consider yourself debt free.” barry sat up, “but next time you’re short, i’m fucking her.”

[luminiamore]

EX WHO?

ex husband eren yeager x black fem reader

warnings: reader may have gotten pregnant again (she definitely did), ur daughters name is raqi

pt. 2

moodboard

masterlist

“Sweetheart, please let me put your shoes on so I can bring you to your daddy.” You try to tell your gorgeous four-year-old for the fifth time in one minute.

“No, mama! Daddy says he’s coming here because he misses you.”

You observe as she escapes your grasp again after kicking her tiny feet in different directions. You groan both inside and out loud because you have to repeat, “No, he’s not Raqi.” Mommy needs the house to herself tonight-”

“Uhuh, and Uncle Connie is coming too! He’s taking me to, um-Nick- um-” You watch as she looks at you, waiting for you to help her finish her sentence.

You stifle a giggle at her pout, “Nickelodeon?”

“Yeah!! It’s in Spain, mama!”

You heave a sigh once more. It’s not uncommon for Connie to take your daughter on expensive trips such as this. He probably indulged your daughter more than you did. Not more than Eren, though. Even though Eren didn’t live with you, he made sure to come by and see his baby girl every day, even if it was just for five minutes. Each time he came, he would have a new gift in his hand.

Connie gave your daughter gifts like trips, taking her around the world, and first-class only reserved for the princess. As she ages, she definitely won’t be impressed by someone’s son taking her to Miami.

However, Eren spoiled his girl with jewelry, bags, the newest edition of Hello Kitty plushies, and anything else. To be honest, you need to begin the process of finding her a larger room.

You’re not so sure your daughter is lying. It’s unlikely that she would lie about something like this. Your frustration has changed from being directed toward her to your ex-husband for not informing you. This was actually one of the reasons why you guys split up. He would always make plans and decisions regarding your daughter without letting you know first.

Although he didn’t make any bad decisions or put her in danger, it’s upsetting to know that you rarely had any say in what your daughter did, except for the things she wore.

You remember vividly handing him the divorce papers and standing in front of him in shock as he laughed right in your face with mumbles of, ‘Must be crazy’ and ‘Never in a million years.’

And so the divorce was never finalized because he refused to sign the papers, but you and he were through as far as you were concerned. He had no problem letting you run around thinking that, though. It goes without saying that he never took off his wedding ring. Yours has been on for so long that it’s like muscle memory to slip it on every time you go out.

To this day, his Instagram page is filled with pictures of you and only you. Shit, both of your parents still invite you guys over for dinner, and Eren never told them what you presented him with. You absolutely didn’t have the guts to tell them unless he signed those papers.

You didn’t have the guts to prevent your daughter from having a good time and living out her childhood, a chance you, unfortunately, weren’t blessed with.

“Okay, baby. Well, you still have to put your shoes on if you wanna go with Uncle Connie, okay?”

That seemed to do it. Your daughter headed to her bed and began bouncing up and down with joy before finally settling down and waiting for you to put them on.

Just as you were finishing, you heard the doorbell ring. You rise to your feet and fix your silk robe and matching silk bonnet. Kissing your daughter’s head and lifting her up in your arms, you walk barefoot on the cold tile floors of your penthouse— that Eren pays for.

It’s no surprise when you open the door and find the men of the hour. They were matching. Your ex-spouse appears in all his splendor, sporting a gray beanie that conceals his natural hair, a black hoodie, and black sweatpants that match. Connie’s attire was the opposite: a black beanie covering his buzz cut, a grey hoodie, and grey sweatpants that matched.

“Daddy!”

“Baby!”

Your daughter is quick to jump onto her father, and Eren easily catches her. It’s almost impossible to deny how similar they look. It’s as if she left you out of the gene pool altogether. All his facial features were present in her, including his curls, eyes, and face. Her skin color was the only thing you could vouch for.

Eren catches your eyes, and you look away quickly. His stare always gives you an intimidating feeling. You disregard his glance and turn to Connie with a smile, kissing him on his cheek and leading him inside, “Hey, Con.”

He reciprocates the gesture, albeit with a friendly tone. He was aware of how possessive his best friend can be towards you, and he didn’t want to be a part of that today. After playing with your daughter’s flushed cheek, you turn around and leave Eren outside, letting him invite himself in. Your hostility causes him to furrow his brows.

“What, I don’t get a kiss too?”

While still ignoring him, you direct your buzz-cut friend to your child’s room. “There should be a bag already packed with her things in her closet. I know how much you guys love these trips.”

Connie grins and nods. Your daughter demands that Eren put her down and runs after him, yelling that she wants to show him her new plushies. Now, there were only you and Eren in your living room, alone. Great.

It was impossible for you to function when it was just you and him. Eren’s presence always made you nervous and hot. No matter who was present, he always made his attraction to you known. Your daughter thought you were still together for that reason. Eren Yeager was an elusive figure. He was a force to be reckoned with. The feelings you have for him are still harboring, even though you tried to push them away.

They persist, and it doesn’t seem like you made any effort to remove them. You have been separated for a few months now, but you have never attempted to move on. Whenever your friends asked why you never went on a date, you would always answer that you’re ‘just not ready.’ You never actually moved on from him.

Your friends knew it was bullshit, but you would never admit it. You wouldn’t admit to missing him, missing him holding you, sleeping with you, fucking you. You went from getting your fat cunt stuffed every day to only cumming once a week due to a vibrator going high speeds on your clit. Eren knew you weren’t stupid enough to give his pussy away. You knew you weren’t stupid enough to give his pussy away.

Eren, of course, would never move on from you, either. He genuinely doesn’t believe that you two are separated, as you’re still together in his mind. You will be his forever.

He slowly stalks towards you, watching you intently focus on the wall. You probably hoped he would disappear if you didn’t pay him any mind. He knew how your mind worked.

“M’still waiting on my kiss, mama.” He raises your chin towards him when he reaches you, and his green eyes don’t skip over the little bra you had on beneath your lace robe.

“Eren, move.” You glare at him, but it really isn’t doing much but making him hard.

“Wassup with you?”

“You! You are ‘wassup’ with me.” You whisper so as not to alert Connie and your daughter in the next room. You try to match his tone, lowering yours in pitch.

“What did I do, baby?” His deep voice speaking to you like this always makes you squirm, but you suppress it to express your anger at him.

“Don’t call me that. How many times do I have to tell you to let me know when you make plans to take our daughter somewhere.” You grit your teeth.

He simply gives a sly smile, “Are you really upset about that?”

Once again, he pretends it’s not significant. You’re not even asking for much. Is it really a death sentence for him to inform you of where your daughter might be going? Why do you always end up being the last one to learn? You believe it’s not difficult to give you a week’s notice. You won’t have to be worried about looking silly when your daughter tells you. You don’t think it’s fair to you at all.

“I trust Connie, and I trust you with our daughter, but I just want to know where she’s going. Preferably before she goes! That’s all I ask for, Eren. You can’t keep doing-”

“Are you mad at daddy, mommy?”

You freeze.

Your daughter rested on Connie’s back as he held her mini Disney Princess suitcase. She was gazing at you with a pout, and you didn’t want to be the one to put that expression on her face. You’re about to respond when Eren suddenly opens his mouth, condescending tone and all,

“Yeah, mama. Are you mad at me?”

You try and force a smile for the sake of your daughter, even though every part of you wants to wring your ex-husband’s neck.

“No, baby. Are you ready to leave with Uncle Connie now?” As if it were never there, the frown is replaced by a fit of giggles, a bright smile, and a frantic nod of her head.

Connie gives your daughter a small rub on her head, “We should head out now. The flight’s in two hours, and we don’t wanna get stuck in traffic.”

You hurriedly nod and lead them both to the front door. Your daughter is smothered with kisses after you hug her and whisper a sweet ‘I love you.’ Eren presents your daughter with a mini Chanel box just before Connie puts Raqi in the child’s seat in the backseat of his Scat. You manage to make out his little whisper to her, ‘Don’t open it until tomorrow. Daddy loves you.’

Together, you love them, and you have no regrets about giving this man a child. It’s something you could never regret. Marrying him wasn’t a regret for you either; truly, he treated you like a princess. It’s just that you want him to dedicate more time to you.

Eren spent a lot of time outside before having your baby, whether it was with his friends or his job. He was always dedicated to providing you with everything you needed, but you never asked for any of those tangible things. The only thing you wanted was your husband. It took you some time to communicate your feelings to him, but eventually you did.

As a person who was understanding, he listened. For approximately a week, before he did the same shit again. You were worn out and reached a point where you couldn’t keep going any further. Although Eren wouldn’t give you the divorce you wanted, he was accommodating and allowed you to move out of his home. Provided that he will get the apartment and pay your rent. ‘Safety measures,’ he calls them.

Even now, Eren still acts as though you’re married, and you still pretend that it’s bothering you. You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you hear your door slam shut, with Eren still inside your house.

“You really mad at me, mama?”

You merely sigh, “Eren, why are you still here?”

With his hands on either side of you, he stands in front of you while your body presses flush against the front door. You feel a slight tingle, aware that you’re inhaling the same air as this man. You give a quick glance at his pink lips and hope you look away swiftly enough so he doesn’t notice. He does.

His lips curl, and his voice becomes low and breathless when he speaks again, “Answer me, baby.”

You sense that Eren is talking about more than today for some reason. He’s talking about everything that led up to it, including his absence and negligence. He’s asking if you’re still upset about the way he influenced you to want to divorce him.

A tear that you didn’t even realize was forming slips down your face. Eren doesn’t miss a beat when wiping it away with his thumb and delicately kissing your cheek as well.

You whisper shakily, “I don’t want to be. B-But you make it so hard, Ren.”

Ren. You called him Ren. He fails to recall the last time he heard the nickname you gave him flutter past your pretty lips. He derives pleasure from it and longs to listen to it again.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mama. You have to believe me. I never want to see you cry, baby. And I’m so sorry for making you feel like this.”

You attempt to move away, but he grasps your hands tightly, causing you to remain still. He understands your struggle, but you don’t trust him. And you’re trying to run away from him again. Eren has apologized before, but he wants you to acknowledge his apologies this time.

He kisses your cheek again, “I’m not working as much anymore, and I even cut back on dealing. I’m sorry I didn’t get it before. I know you just wanted me to spend more time with you, and I swear I’ll make it happen. Just take me back, please.”

Another kiss, this time on your neck, “I miss you so much, mama.”

Your breathing is intensifying, and your hold on him is gradually diminishing. “Ren, please. I- I can’t.”

“Let me make it up to you, hm? Show you how much I missed you. Let me, mama.”

You’re so weak, you scold yourself. So, so weak. He shouldn’t be able to get you like this easily. It shouldn’t be this easy for him to slip off your robe, letting it fall on the cold floor. You should have more resistance. You should make him work for it.

But how can you? 

How can you resist when he’s on his knees, letting his tongue push in and out of your wet hole, unashamedly moaning as you twitch and buck your hips into his mouth. He’s entirely too nasty and too careless when he laps up everything your addictive pussy is pouring into his awaiting mouth.

You’re shaking, your body shivering so much you have goosebumps everywhere. He just doesn’t let up. Each time you try and push away from his pleasurable onslaught, it’s just,

“Quiet, mama. Daddy can’t make it up to you if you’re running from him.”

Your eyes are starting to hurt so much from the way you’re rolling them back into your skull. You’re heaving, squealing when he suckles harshly on your poor clit. Not even your vibrator made you feel this good. 

“G-Gonna cum- Ah! Oh fuck, Rennie!”

You hear the slurping sounds as he eats you, and he never once removes himself from your cunt as he whispers, “Not my name, mama.”

God, you can feel the vibrations, can feel his long tongue covering every crevice inside of you. You grip his head, his beanie barely hanging onto him with how much you both are moving. You wail when he inserts two fingers in at once after he slips his tongue out of you, a precious and weak “Daddy- shit!” released into the air.

He hums against you, against your wet mound, and for some reason, that’s what pushes you over the edge. Your stomach clenches, and your entire being feels like it’s being set alight when you cum on his big fingers. Eren swears he’s fallen in love all over again. It’s been months since he’s tasted you, tasted your sweet cream. He’s missed it. God, he missed you.

As soon as he senses you’re too weak to stand on your own, he rises to his feet and immediately lifts you up by your legs. His lips are brushing against yours now, still wet from your essence.

“You never gave me that kiss. C’mon, baby, kiss me.”

And you do, moaning when you immediately taste yourself. Your breath caught in his mouth as he pushed your legs back against the wall, and he didn’t hesitate to swallow your sounds, sucking your tongue and biting your blushed lips.

Time slows when Eren finally pulls his sweats down and nudges his fat cock in you. He’s holding you so gently like you’ll break in any moment, and honestly, you feel like you will. It’s been so long, so long since you had something this big stretching you out. You can’t help but whimper out pretty cries of ‘Daddy!’ or ‘Rennie!’ against his panting mouth.

You’re so stuffed. So full that you can’t think of anything but how good he feels, how good this intense euphoria streaming through your body feels.

Eren is the same. He’s fisted his cock red to thoughts of having you like this once more. You were the only one who could ever make him feel like a wimp whenever he fucked you. Your pussy just feels so perfect, squeezing around him so tight, like you want him to put another baby in you. Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

He gives you slow, deep strokes that make you keen. The sound of his voice is groggy and slurred as he grunts against your throat, “God, you feel so good. Please, baby, forgive me. Say you’ll take me back. Say it. Say it.”

Through your haze, you still manage to have a few brain cells still working, barely. You’re trying to speak out, but every time his hips press flush against your own, it’s like your breath gets caught in your throat. Still, you stutter out,

“C-Can’t- Hah! Oh, right there!”

“You know I’ll never leave you alone. I can’t, mama. Rather die before I ever let you go. I’ll get on my knees again if I have to, baby.” He sounds so pretty, begging for your forgiveness like this. You don’t know how long you can hold out. You’re not sure you even can.

“You’re c-crazy.” You utter, completely breathless, when he hits your g-spot.

Eren’s response is immediate when he reaches down to rub your clit in tight circles, “For you. Crazy for you.”

Whining, your squirt splashes all over his hoodie, and your body is twitching because it won’t stop. Your supposed ex-spouse groans as he spills his seed past your splashing pussy lips, right into your womb, while whispering unsteadily, ‘I love you so much.’ Shakenly, you pull his face toward yours and kiss him, drool pouring out of both your lips. It’s almost as if you’re trying to devour each other.

When you reluctantly pull away from his lips, he speaks once again, “Please, I need you. Just want you in my arms again, mama.”

You sigh, and honestly too exhausted to argue against him, you answer,

“If you start going back to your old habits, Eren-”

“I won’t. Swear on my life- on our daughter.”

You hum, fingers now combing through his loose curls. You gasp against his lips, feeling him shift inside you, “I love you too, Ren. Always did.”