#and then change them a bit to fit the fics ^^"

[sailorsoons]

Cherry Sours (l.c)

PAIRING: Mafia!Chan x f. reader

SUMMARY: Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy is the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenience store at the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day you run into him where you're not supposed to, and everything changes.

WC: 27,990

AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers

GENRE: Romance, hint of angst, smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Due to the nature of this fic, warnings are under the cut. This is far tamer than either of this fic's predecessors.

A/N: This fic, though a part of a greater "collection" of fics, can be read as a standalone. I do highly recommend reading Baby and Vengeance, though. They provide much more color to the characters you meet in this. Welcome back Angel, Baby and Soonyoung! This fic also introduces Jeonghan :)

A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta reading this absolute monster and being my biggest cheerleader.

 MASTERLIST | ASK | THE SYNDICATES COLLECTION | ▷NOW PLAYING: OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

FULL WARNINGS: General violence associated with criminal behavior, depictions of murder, fight sequences, mentions of drug use/references to drugs, mentions of death, mentions of Syndicate War and its toll on the city, threats of physical violence, depiction of guns and knives, explicit language, some depictions of classism/reader struggling to make it by, Jeonghan is in his evil era, pls forgive him, some angst regarding reader's perception of the world/how she feels about her life, morally grey characters (but they're fun lmao), reader agrees to sort of be paid company for the night - nothing sexual happens but I don't shy away from the implication of escorting, Chan gets a bit possessive, a bit of a miscom trope, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, light cum eating, use of 'good girl' a few times. I think this mostly covers the big things, please let me know if I missed anything.

SWEAT DRIPS DOWN KANG LI YANG'S FOREHEAD. Chan watches it sharply, tracking the bead as it travels from Kang’s salt-and-pepper hairline to his thick brow. Chan has to give it to the older man - he doesn’t reach to wipe the sweat. Instead, he tries to seem unaffected and relaxed, leaning back in his chair to view the cards in his hand. 

Chan already knows what the cards are. Even if he wasn’t one of the top gamblers in the room, Kang is a terrible gambler - funny, considering he owns the ornate casino they’re sitting in. It’s just the two of them at the table with a single dealer, a woman dressed in a tight-fitted, all black suit. There are tiny LED lights stitched into the fabric, glittering subtle to make it look like she’s swimming in the cosmos. 

The high rollers room is quiet, the heavy privacy curtains blocking out the noise from the main gambling floors. Only a few tables are open with dealers similarly dressed as the woman in front of him passing out cards. It gives the illusion that they’re surrounded by people who will mind their business, who will afford them privacy.

It’s supposed to put Chan at ease. It doesn’t. 

He might be at ease if Kang weren’t sweating through his custom suit. He might be at ease if he didn’t recognize that the people at the tables around them were Patrons of the Yong Syndicate. He might be at ease if Kang’s fingers weren’t trembling as he moved his cards around to his preferred order, trying everything in his power to do anything but look around the room for what Chan knows is an ambush. 

He’d have figured it out even if Jeonghan hadn’t given him a warning. The right hand man of Choi Seungcheol is full of secrets, and though Chan has no idea why he has so much knowledge of the Yong family, he’s thankful for Jeonghan nonetheless. 

Chan sighs. Kang notices, steel grey eyes flickering up to Chan. “Worried you’ll lose another hand, Lee?” 

Chan does not lose games of poker - not even a single hand. He lets people win, sure, but he does not lose unless it is a part of his game to win. Because that is what Chan is good at - winning. It’s why he’s one of the most trusted members of the Choi Syndicate, a powerful Chariot whose single job is to broker and secure alliances and business to keep the money and loyalty flowing into Choi Seungcheol’s pockets.

“Do you know why The Syndicates started calling brokers Chariots?” Chan asks. He flicks his finger upward and pushes glittering chips toward the middle to raise the bet. Kang shakes his head at Chan’s question and matches his bet. “In the old days, one of the cards in a tarot deck was the Chariot.” 

The dealer burns the cards on the table and deals out anew. Kang looks at his hand, a ringed finger tapping against the back of his cards. His sweat increases on his brow and his eye twitches in the corner as he risks a glance to Chan’s left. 

“I didn’t know that,” Kang says eventually. 

“The Chariot,” Chan explains as Kang places a bet, “is a card that represents triumph through determination and overcoming obstacles. It’s what I do for a living - I overcome obstacles and move the Choi Syndicate in a positive, forward direction.” 

“I see.”

“I believe that you think you do.”

Kang glances up as Chan slides chips onto the table. “Being a Chariot is more than being charming or letting the owner of a high-performing casino beat me at hands to earn his trust and make him feel confident.” This makes Kang frown, his shoulders tensing. “It means knowing when someone is bullshiting me, and you, Kang Le Yang, are bullshitting me.”

“Excuse-”

“Three weeks ago you were more than eager to set up this meeting.” Chan presses on as the dealer moves the cards again, impervious to the crackling tension at the table. Kang is rippling with tension now, clutching his cards harder. “You’ve been wanting to lick the boot of one of the Syndicates since you opened this place.” 

“Listen here, you-”

“The Tower of the Choi Syndicate was amenable to bringing on the Kang Family as a Patron serving under the banner of the mountain, so I agreed to meet with you, Kang Le Yang.” The dealer asks the men to reveal their hands, but Kang is staring at Chan, fury reddening his cheeks. “Imagine my surprise to find you less eager, and inviting me to your table with several men loyal to the Yong family in the room.” 

Kang Le Yang’s face drains of color. He drops a hand from his cards to signal someone, but Chan tuts, stopping him. Chan reveals his cards - a straight flush. He doesn’t need Kang to drop his hand to know he only has a straight. 

“You’ve been delaying talking about business for the last hour,” Chan observes, leaning back in his seat and leveling the older man with a heavy stare. “You’re sweating through your clothes despite the anti-perspirant modification your wife had you do three years ago, and you keep looking over my shoulder to the left, which leads me to believe you’re waiting for someone.”

“Get out of my establishment.” 

Chan cocks his head. “Why? I haven’t cashed out my poker chips yet. Anyway, it looks like your wife isn’t done with playing her game yet.”

Kang spins around in his chair. He’d sat himself with his back to the entrance of the high rollers room like any good guest establishing trust would. He had given Chan a seat with a good vantage point to set the tone for confidence and to feel like he was safe. 

Which meant Kang Le Yang had not watched his wife, Kang Daiyu, walk into the room and sit at a table of her own. She’s flanked by two of the personal guards belonging to the Kang family, but the player next to his wife gives Kang a glittering smile with all teeth when he looks at them. 

When Kang turns to look at Chan, he is shaking and pale. “Get that demon away from my wife.”

“Her name is Angel, actually. The bible is confusing, I know.” Chan leans forward and pulls his winnings toward him. Kang doesn’t move, vibrating in his seat. 

Most members of the Syndicate know the woman sitting next to Kang’s wife. Kang himself might not know her, not embroiled enough in Syndicate politics to recognize one of the Rooks of the Choi Syndicate, but he does. Which confirms Jeonghan’s contact was right - Kang Le Yang had been prepped and educated about the Choi family in a way that screams collusion with another Syndicate. 

Lucky for Chan, Angel’s presence keeps Kang in his seat for the time being. Seeing one of the renowned killers of the Choi Family next to his wife is enough insurance that Chan has a few moments to spare before leaving - it was why he had Angel tag along in the first place. 

“I’m going to take these poker chips, walk over to the teller and get my cash, and then I’m going to walk out of here and go home. Probably going to stop to find someone to take with me on the way because I need a good fuck after this bullshit.” 

Chan points at Kang, the ring on his finger catching the light. It's a gaudy thing, all hammered gold and lapis lazuli with a chariot etching on the front. “And you are going to sit here and not do a fucking thing about it. And you’re not going to signal any of those Yong fuckers to touch me, or Angel is going to carve your wife open and play doctor with her insides.” 

“You insolent-”

“Angel loves knives,” Chan interrupts. He looks at Kang seriously. Lets the casino owner see the weight of his words. “Her favorite is a pretty butterfly knife Yoon Jeonghan gave her, and that Yoon Minji taught her how to use. If that isn’t convincing, I urge you to call whoever you were waiting for to see who answers - the Yong contact you set me up with, or the Sentinel of the Choi Syndicate.” 

Angel’s main purpose was to turn Kang Daiyu inside out if needed, but she was also an additional set of eyes and ears for Chan. She’d signaled Chan with a single flick of her hair fifteen minutes ago confirming that Soonyoung had removed whoever Kang was waiting for to come through the back door. 

Everything about Chan’s demeanor seems unaffected, but he’s raging inside, heart pounding. He and Angel are the only two people from the Choi Syndicate in the room and they’re outnumbered five to one. Soonyoung is somewhere lurking outside the high-rollers room doing whatever it is the hired guns of the Syndicate do. 

It’s not Chan’s best gamble, but he is making one right now. He is betting that Angel and Soonyoung’s reputation will be enough to terrify the casino owner into submission. Chan can be scary in his own way - he’s lethal too. But this is where he thrives, leveraging the names of two well known butchers that answer the call of Choi Seungcheol, ready to spill blood. 

Kang might get to kill the three of them tonight, but not without irreparable damage. Damage he’s going to take anyway for letting them go, but not irreparable. He can survive a petty skirmish with the Yong family. He cannot survive a fight with two of the Choi Syndicates most lethal members and the long term fallout with Seungcheol. 

The gamble pays off. Kang sags in his seat, the exhaustion transforming him. His apprehension turns to defeat and he nods, forehead in hand as he dismisses Chan. Chan gives him a charming smile, standing up and collecting his poker chips as he goes. 

Despite his confidence that Kang won’t do anything stupid, Chan doesn’t let his guard down. He walks with even steps, fingers ready to reach for his weapon as he goes. The Patrons under the Yong’s dragon banner watch him go, confused. 

None of them raise a hand to him. He gets the sense that they want to, but they haven’t been given the signal. They’re low enough on the totem pole in terms of Syndicate rank to do nothing, watching as Chan stops by the table Angel is playing poker at. 

He bends down to kiss Kang Daiyu on the top of her hand politely, flashing her a smile. She flushes and fans herself as he says, “You never fail to look less than ephemeral, Lady Kang.” 

It’s not untrue. Kang Daiyu has all the cosmetic enhancements money can afford, putting her appearance at somewhere around her late thirties while her physical age is somewhere in her early sixties. He still finds it uncanny, but he ignores the nervous flip in his stomach the proximity of her brings when he catches a whiff of altered pheromones, made to attract. 

Daiyu smiles, her red lips sparkling. “Lee Chan, you tease.” 

Angel makes a face behind her as she stands. In rare form, Angel is wearing a dress. She looks nice, which is disorienting and deceiving. Chan is used to seeing her wearing nothing but black tactical clothes or nondescript black pants and long sleeves. He’d made the mistake of asking her why she always wore black once. Because it shows blood the least had been her chipper response. 

Chan winks at Kang’s wife because he can. “Until we meet again.”

She pouts. “You’re leaving so soon?” Her eyes dart to Angel and a flash of rage goes through them. “Ah, it’s always the youngest of the flock.”

Chan laughs. “I assure you, Lady Kang, nothing in the world could lure me into this one’s bed. I think I would find too many teeth and a very angry, very prickly boyfriend.” 

If Angel is offended by implying she has too many teeth or that Chan thinks Vernon is prickly, she doesn’t say so. She is placid calm, watching him with even eyes as Kang Daiyu wishes him farewell and he sweeps by. She falls into step with him, saying nothing as her gaze sweeps from right to left, on high alert. 

When they exit the high roller room, Chan is hit with a barrage of noise and visuals. The casino is space-dark and filled with intricate holographics casting blue and purple light around the shine and clamour of the slot machines. Above the casino floor, the ceiling seems not to exist. Instead, a whorl of stars and galaxies float above, giving the illusion that they’re looking straight up into the night sky somewhere undiscovered. 

Soonyoung pushes off a slot machine, tucking his phone in his pocket. He’s dressed in all black as usual, and his silver hair is styled back and tucked behind his ears - longer than usual, like his girlfriend likes it. He falls into step easily with Chan and Angel, hands in his pocket, dark eyes like stormy seas sweeping the room.

Together, they head toward the teller. Soonyoung makes a noise in the back of his throat when he sees Chan diverting toward the glittering booth, a woman dressed in a space suit behind the counter. 

“I’m collecting my chips,” Chan says seriously. “I won fifty thousand credits off that stupid fuck.” 

“I’ll give you fifty thousand credits to skip it and get out of here. There are only three of us.” 

Chan rolls his eyes, walking backward toward the counter. “It’s a gamble, but it’s not a bad one. Wait here.”

Soongyoung does not, in fact, wait where Chan tells him to. He follows in Chan’s footsteps up to the window, a dangerous shadow that makes Chan sigh. He knows it’s Soonyoung’s job to keep the Syndicate - and Chan by extension - safe. Soonyoung has only been the Sentinel of  the Choi family for a few months, inheriting the position of militia leader when Seungcheol stepped in to lead the family business after his father’s passing. 

Life has not been easy for any of them lately, least of all Soonyoung. Chan glances at his friend sidelong while the teller counts his chips. Soonyoung looks tired, circles under his eyes and a little watery at the edges. But he’s nothing like the mess he was last year, nothing like the shadow of himself he’d been before his girlfriend had made it back to him. 

It makes Chan’s mouth twitch in a smile. He looks down at the counter, waiting for the teller. Seungcheol’s sister coming home and escaping the clutches of the Kim family had been the miracle that they all needed - and the start of the war that’s kept Chan busier than ever. 

Syndicate war isn’t common. It always devastates the city’s infrastructure, makes the general population panic, and has been known to wipe out entire family lines. That thought alone makes Chan glance over his shoulder at Angel. She’s standing in the middle of the casino, her gaze everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She looks like that a lot these days. Lost and found. Swimming and sinking. Here and there. Burning and fading. 

She’s the last of her family in more ways than one. She has no living relatives left that Chan is aware of, and though she’s not a Yoon by blood, she’s one of them by marriage and by Yoon Minji’s careful design. She’s one of two Yoon family members left in the city, the Wisdom of the Choi family and Seungcheol’s right hand man the other. 

The teller hands Chan his money and asks if he needs an escort. Soonyoung snorts and pushes off the wall, sticking a stim pop in his mouth as he goes. “I’ve got it,” he assures them, narrowed eyes. “Have a nice night.” 

Chan’s lips twitch again. He wishes the woman behind the counter a goodnight as well and follows Soonyoung, who charges toward the door. Angel is by his side in seconds, snapping from seemingly inattentive to alert. 

As they walk ahead of him, Chan relaxes just a little. He feels safer when they’re around, though he can take care of himself well enough. His mother had been a Sword for the Choi family, a hired gun and excellent fighter both with her hands and with a knife. She’d taught him how to defend himself from a young age, giving him the tools to be scrappier than most of the other Chariots in the Choi Syndicate. 

As a Chariot, it’s Chan’s responsibility to put himself in dangerous situations. He’s one of the few who has the audacity to go after deals and partnerships that put him deep in enemy territory - or walk through the doors like he did tonight to see if he can salvage a potential partnership anyway. 

It’s what makes him so successful. He’s willing to do whatever needs to be done to help the family - and if he likes the feeling of winning impossible wagers, well that’s his own business. 

Outside, the hiss of rain is hot on the pavement. Summer is bringing more and more rain to the city - not that it’s ever not raining - turning the world into a slick blur of watercolor. They’re in the Upper District of Hyperion, which means the storm drains actual work and the world doesn’t smell like piss and decay immediately when it rains. It doesn’t smell good, but it’s not as rotten as the gutters of the Lower District. 

A car pulls up in front of the lobby doors. The driver steps out and pops up a black umbrella, looking like a black beetle as they make their way toward Chan and the others. Chan recognizes the man as one of the Choi drivers and relaxes, complying when he escorts the three of them to the car, holding the umbrella over their heads.

Inside, the interior is warm and smells like amber. Soonyoung shoves him to the side with a curse and Chan growls, moving to sit by the other window - until Angel opens the door and narrows her eyes at him. Which is how Chan, the youngest of his friends, ends up smashed in the middle between them. 

He sighs and lets his head fall back against the headrest. “Can we go get fucked up?” 

Soonyoung shakes his head and tells Chan his girlfriend is waiting for him at home. Chan eyes Soonyoung, whose focus is on his phone, the holographs floating above the screen showing news articles. He notes that Soonyoung doesn’t call Seungcheol’s sister Baby anymore, like the rest of them. Soonyoung says her name, rolling off his tongue soft, like it belongs to him.

Chan supposes it does.

He turns to ask Angel and she already shakes her head. “I’m meeting up with Hansol to go hunting.” 

Chan doesn’t have to ask what Angel means by hunting. Ever since her stepmother’s murder the night the Kim Syndicate tried to take the Choi’s by surprise, Angel has been murdering members of the Kim family like clockwork. 

Like Soonyoung, Angel says Vernon’s given name like it’s something precious. It makes Chan feel unsettled. He’s never had what either of them do with their partners, a missionary-like devotion to the people they love that borders on unstable. 

The only thing Chan has ever been devoted to is his charm and his ability to talk people into a deal and into bed. He will be fucking damned if either of his friends who are in a relationship will rob him of that tonight, so he asks to be dropped a few blocks away from the casino at the corner of a strip of clubs under the Choi banner. 

Soonyoung rolls down the window before the car rolls away. “Be careful,” the Sentinel warns. His dark eyes flash. “Remember our territory isn’t safe either.” 

“God, you’re so serious these days.” 

“Syndicate war is serious.”

“You sound like Baby.”

Soongyoung’s mouth twitches at the mention of his partner’s nickname. “Yeah, well she’s smarter than both of us.” Soonyoung looks at his watch. “Try to be no longer than an hour, Chan. You’re charming, I’m sure you can find some pussy in that time frame?” 

“He’s also annoying,” Angel remarks from behind the window. 

Soonyoung snaps his fingers and points to Angel, who Chan cannot see. “Right she is. Maybe make it two.” 

“Thanks dad,” Chan growls. “I’ll come home when I want.” Soonyoung’s face darkens for a second, levelling Chan with a look that makes Chan happy. “But if you’re going to ruin your night worrying about me, I’ll make it two hours. Now leave.”

Soonyoung blows Chan a kiss and rolls up the dark window as the car’s tires hiss against the wet pavement. 

Watching the car go, Chan has the brief feeling he should have gone with them. He is exhausted, pulling long, stressful shifts and spending longer and longer in clubs, casinos and anywhere that will accept his invitation to get more people across the finish line and united under Seungcheol’s family. 

It’s not easy work. Times of unrest in the city don’t make people confident in doing business with the Syndicates until it looks like there’s going to be a winner. And right now, it’s hard to tell. The Choi family is doing a good job holding out against the pressures of the combined might of the Yong and Kim families, but two against one isn’t easy.

Stress knots in Chan’s shoulders. He rolls his neck, hissing when he feels the way the muscles coil. He’s fucking stressed. Everyone is. But the long nights weigh him down in a way that he’s not used to, and now he’s constantly walking across the edge of a knife.

Almost all of his meetings have been like the one with Kang. It’s not the first time someone has tried to maneuver him into a place where they can eliminate him, and it won’t be the last. He’s just glad that this time there was no bloodshed, unlike two weeks prior. 

Determined to find someone to take home and destress with, Chan starts walking up the street. The neon lights of a corner store capture his attention and his steps slow as he thinks about it. He hasn’t eaten all night and his energy is plummeting. He pats around his pockets and realizes he’s out of stimpops. Sighing, he pivots and walks toward the door.

A blast of air conditioning hits him in the face and the airlock on the door hisses. Inside the convenience store is a cacophony of neon advertisements and rows and rows of product: snacks, medical supplies, books, food, technology, tobacco products, hygiene products. 

Chan ignores it all in favor of going to the back wall, lit blue by the refrigerator lights. Multiple advertisements pop up on the screened fridges as he browses, each louder than the last. He winces, in a hurry to find the energy drink he wants so he can escape advertising hell.

Opening the fridge, he braves the cold as he snatches a cherry flavored energy drink that promises to wake him the fuck up with no added sugar or calories. He’s about to close the fridge when he thinks better of it and grabs a water as well. 

He trots to the front of the store, head ducked down as he goes. There’s no one else at the checkout counter as he drops his shit on top, knocking over the can. He reaches to right it, but a hand shoots out to do it for him. 

Chan startles, surprised at the human hand. Most convenient stores have little robots with singsong voices, but when he looks up at you, he freezes. You are certainly not a robot. Well - maybe you are. You look too pretty to be human, eyes glittering under the neon light above your head, casting you in a pink halo. You give him a shy smile, almost apologetic when you retract your hand back after fixing the can. 

“Find everything okay?” 

Chan just continues staring, items long forgotten.

Chan is so rarely thrown by a pretty face. He’s seen them all - natural and cosmetically enhanced, simple and exotic, friendly and not. He does a lot of business with a lot of people who make it their job to be pretty, whose entire purpose is to lure him in. 

He’s pretty good at cutting through pretty, but you cut right through him, down to the arsenic filled core of him. 

“Are you okay?” The question makes him blink a few times. Your mouth is downturned - still sweet and flush with sticky red like candy. “Sir?”

“Yes,” Chan answers finally. “Yes to both questions. Uh - found my shit and uh - sorry, that sounded rude. I found what I needed and I am okay. Yes.”

“This is my favorite flavor.” 

Chan glances down at the energy drink. “Same.”

“You know they make a candy that tastes exactly like this but sour?”

He realizes that the candy you’re referencing must be what the sticky residue on your mouth is. Suddenly he’s never wanted them more. “And where would I find them?”

Your smile lights up the room and he swears his heart beats faster like he’s just done a line of frostbyte. When you point, Chan notices a tiny tattoo on your wrist. It’s in the shape of a red heart. The corners of his mouth quirk upward. Cute. 

Following your direction, he walks back toward the candy aisle, hands perusing the shelf until he finds what he’s looking for. He picks up the box and shakes it as he approaches you, making you grin. Holy fuck he wants to keep making you grin. 

Once you’re finished ringing his items, he hovers his phone over the pay station. The machine chimes and you slide his bag over to him, red heart catching his eye again. 

“Enjoy your night,” you say.

“You too.” He steps toward the door and holds the bag up. “I’ll let you know if I like the cherry sours.”

“You will.” 

Night air hits Chan in the face, humid and sticky. Even if he hates the candy, he’ll certainly tell you otherwise. 

Instead of walking toward the club and cracking the energy drink, Chan calls one of the drivers for the Choi Syndicate to come get him. He passes the time by turning to look over his shoulder back into the interior of the store, but he can’t see you from where he stands. 

Cute. You were cute. In a way that he can’t quite pinpoint, but that sticks with him even when he slides into the air conditioned interior of the car. Your candied smile and little heart tattoo haunt him all the way home, nearly making him forget about the candy until he’s keying into his apartment. 

Tossing his shit on the counter, he reaches into the back and produces the little box. He gives it a shake, pleased at the rattle. Ripping the lid open with his teeth, he spits the spent cardboard on the counter and shakes out a few red, heart shaped candies. It immediately makes him think of your tattoo and he chuckles. 

Chan pops a few of the candies into his mouth and gives a thoughtful suck, humming pleasantly. They are sour, making his eyes water for just a second before they turn sweet. The taste of cherry is perfectly balanced and doesn’t taste like chemicals like most other candies. 

When he finally crawls into bed, Chan wonders if you taste as sweet as the cherry sours. 

-

Chan doesn’t do drugs. Well - sort of. He eats plenty of stimpops and every once and a while he has to resort to frostbyte as a last resort. His job requires him to operate at a level of awareness for hours longer than normal, and even though he takes the supplements and does all the wellness shit in the world to keep him operating, sometimes an illegal stimulant is the best way to get it done. 

It isn’t that he thinks drugs are bad - he just knows he has an addictive personality. Which is why Chan has been able to make a career out of high stakes and gambling, turning everything he does into a game. He is pretty good at not straying too far - it would cost him his life if he did - but he still gets a high from a closed deal, feels a rush of something strong when he wins. 

He can’t not work. It’s what makes him one of the best Chariots in the Syndicate, and Seungcheol’s favorite. The others take too much time off, or are too patient, too okay with losing. Chan is addicted to the risk and reward of navigating backdoor deals and under-the-table transactions. 

The inability to quit is why he doesn’t do drugs. Chan knows that once he starts, he won’t stop. 

Which is exactly how he winds up at the same corner store every Sunday at 3:40 AM sharp. He doesn’t bother telling himself it’s because the store is on the way home and because it’s the only one that carries the new cherry sours he likes (he wouldn’t know where else to look for them, he hasn’t tried). Chan knows it’s because that’s the only time your schedule doesn’t conflict with his. 

At least, that seems to be the case. He doesn’t have your schedule exactly - he has resisted doing that to feel less crazy. But Chan’s entire job is to be observant, and over a few weeks of trial and error, he knows for a fact the only time he is guaranteed to run into you is the late night hours of Sunday shifts. 

You’re a breath of fresh air every time he sees you. He has no idea how you manage to be so sweet while working arguably the worst shift at a convenience store that seems chronically empty, but he likes it. You’re a tiny pocket of kindness in his overwhelmingly cruel world. 

Tonight, Chan’s hands are shaking from post-adrenaline rush. He takes a few deep breaths outside the store. The air is heavy with the promise of rain, the smell of petrichor lingering. Better than the scent of blood that had filled his nose forty minutes ago. Chan hates the smell of blood. 

Steeling himself, Chan enters the store. The bright lights make him squint, the flashing holograms and fluorescents above a little too much for his liking. You look up from the counter and his heart trips over itself, doubling its speed when you smile and wave at him. Friendly. Familiar. 

Chan flashes you a smile in return, tilting his head in his own greeting before he ducks to the back where the freezers hold all of the drinks. He grabs his usual, taking his time as the advertisements beg him to pick their product. The cool air when the glass slides open is refreshing. 

He follows the same route he does every Saturday night, moving from the fridges to the candy aisle. He glances over the top of the shelves as he goes, watching you. You’ve jumped up on the back counter, swinging your legs as you hold a tablet in your hand, the words of what appear to be an online book projecting above the screen. 

You’re lost in your own world and he appreciates that. The first few times he’d come in here, you hadn’t let yourself be distracted. You’d stood and waited for him to grab his things and check out, every bit the customer service employee and attentive while someone was in your store. 

Now? You let Chan do what he wants. It’s a recent development over the last two weeks, one that he thoroughly enjoys. Last weekend you’d been listening to music, humming sweetly as you sat and kicked your feet back and forth while he walked around the aisles to collect his usual. 

Cherry sours in hand, Chan heads up to the counter. This part is bittersweet. He loves to chat with you, but he knows how short the shelf life of the conversation is, how quickly he has to say goodbye once he pays for the items. 

As usual, you hop down from the counter. You give him a smile that lights up the entire store and it’s all Chan can do to not drop everything on the counter for you to ring up.

“How’s your night?” You ask, eyes flicking up to drink him in.

Terrible is the honest answer. Chan had nearly died under an hour ago, and had to murder his way out of a bad deal. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. 

Instead, he says, “Better now. What are you reading?” 

“Umm it’s some sort of ancient classic? It’s about two lovers who come from warring families.” 

“Ah.” His mouth twitches. “Romeo and Juliet.” 

“You’ve read it?”

He nods. “It’s one of the few books my mom owns.” 

“Your mom owns books? Like physical copies?” 

Chan winces. It’s easy to forget that something like a book is a simple possession to him and not the rest of the world. While most citizens of Hyperion only have access to the digital world, those with money and storied family history have access to things others don’t: physical art, tangible books and paintings, sculptures, gardens, decorations that are meant for looking and that don’t serve a purpose. 

“Ah,” he scratches the back of his neck as he pays for the items. “Yeah. She’s very fortunate.” 

You hum and he looks at you. There’s a look on your face he doesn’t understand. He stares until you look up at him and he shoots you a questioning look. 

“You said she is very fortunate,” you point out. “So either you don’t share in the wealth - which I doubt because you’re always dressed nice - or you’re calling it hers because you don’t want to make it awkward that you own physical books and I can’t.” 

Chan opens his mouth. Closes it. Your observation is dead on, leaving him at a loss of words for a moment, which is unfamiliar territory. But Chan is observant too, and he notices the way you say that you can’t own physical books. Not that you don’t. Because it isn’t a possibility for you, it’s not just something you haven’t been able to do yet. It’s something that you’ll never be able to do, a firm no.

“It’s the second one.” He opts for honesty here, in this space with you. He cheats almost everyone else, but he doesn’t want to cheat you. “I forget that it is incredibly privileged of me to just… have access to books.” 

“I think it’s easy to forget what is normal for you isn’t the same for everyone.” 

He doesn’t like where this conversation with you is going. He’s never talked to you this much at once, but it feels negative, feels like he’s putting distance between you instead of pulling you closer. So he switches to asking, “What do you think of it so far?” 

“Despite its age, it's quite relevant. Family wars wreak havoc on everyone.” 

He looks up at you sharply. “You’re referencing the Syndicate War?”

“Those are families, so I suppose they fall under the category.” 

Chan narrows his eyes a fraction. You don’t look at him straight on, but your words hold meaning enough, even if you’re not brave enough yet to look him in the eyes and tell him. He doesn’t mind, hiding a small smile as he gathers his items. 

“You’re not wrong,” he says evenly. You glance up at him. “About either thing.” 

“Anyway, sorry to bore you. It’s a good book.”

“No apologies necessary, you’re far from boring. Have a nice night?” 

You nod and step away from the register. He aches to stay, but he’s tired and the timer has burned out on this interaction. Chan turns to go, but stops when your voice calls him back from the register. “By the way?” He looks at you over his shoulder. “There is blood on your hands. I hope you’re alright?” 

Surprised, he looks down at his hands. You’re right - there are smudges of dried red, not yet flaking from the rest of his skin. He looks back up at you to see real concern in your eyes. You’re leaning over the counter, hands pressed flat to the top to peer around the stand of phone charges that would otherwise block your view. 

“Yeah,” he calls awkwardly, laughing a little. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

You chew the corner of your mouth. “Alright. Have a good night, Chan.”

“You too.”

Chan steps out into the humid air of the city, immediately cloyed by the sticky fingers of promised rain and heavy clouds. Instead of looking up to the swollen sky, he glances over his shoulder to look back through the door. He can’t see you, but he knows you're there, sitting and reading your story. 

Fuck. Chan sighs. Like Romeo, he suddenly feels that his consequences too, are somewhere hanging in the stars. 

-

Exhaustion burns your eyes. You press the heels of your palms into them, willing the burn to stop. When you remove your hands, they’re still stinging and likely red. Sighing, you slide off the counter and pull open the drawer behind the register. It’s creeping past three in the morning, and these late, never-ending shifts are starting to weigh down you.

They don’t weigh as much as the debt inherited from your father, though, so you squeeze some drops in your eyes, crack an energy drink and tell yourself that you at least have something to look forward to tonight.

Sundays are the only bright part of your nights. Maybe your life. It feels too heavy to admit that, though, so you pretend that seeing Chan for five to ten minutes once a week isn’t the only thing you look forward to for days at a time, even if it’s true. 

You wish you had those fancy stimpops you sometimes see him chewing on when he wanders into the store. He always throws the paper stick out in the trash before he comes to the register, as though he’s too afraid to let on that he likes them. 

In school, they told you stim was the gateway drug. Now, knee-deep in twelve-hour shifts split between two dead-end jobs, you know better. The real gateway to hard drug use is just surviving. Just waking up and existing in a world that grinds down anyone who dares to breathe too loudly. You don’t blame people for needing an escape - you need an escape.

Chan is that very escape. 

You’ve never touched stim. Not because you don’t want to, but because the Taps in your neighborhood terrify you and the reward isn’t worth the risk. You can’t drown yourself in virtual reality clubs or AI lounges, either. Those require time and money, neither of which you have. 

So you settle on what you do have: seeing Chan once a week in the dark hours of the night. 

It’s not much, but it’s everything. Between dragging yourself through never-ending cashier shifts and folding sheets in the hotel’s laundry room until your hands are raw from the scrape of fabric, your world has shriveled to a pinpoint of focus to survive. You sleep. You eat. You work. 

You think about Sunday when Chan will stroll in, grab his usual energy drink and box of cherry sours, and for a few minutes, you’ll remember what it feels like to want something just because it makes you feel alive. 

And when he leaves, the moment will last for a single, ephemeral minute and then die, the embers of a fire gone cold.

A patron enters the store with a gust of rain and the melodic chime above the door. You don’t bother looking up, knowing it isn’t Chan. He arrives at a very specific time every night. No earlier, no later. You like that about Chan. It makes him feel reliable.

No one else is reliable. 

You know little about Chan. What you do know is that he does something questionable, sometimes coming in with flecks of blood on his hand or on his neck where he thinks he’s scrubbed himself clean. You know that he comes from money - you’re not sure how many generations - with access to paper books, a luxury you can barely fathom. You know that he’s charming, and after the first few times he’d come in, he’d gone from shy to coy. 

He’s also kind. At least, you think so. He always asks how your night is, lingering at the end of your conversation, as though he’s just as hesitant to go as you are to let him. It’s a little fantasy you play in your head after he leaves, taking his energy drink and cherry sours with him: who will break first.

Of course, you don’t think Chan is playing a game. You’d never assume that anyone with the access to the lifestyle he has would be interested in more than mindless flirting on their way home. 

A man comes up to the register and buys a handful of food items. You scan them wordlessly, bagging them and handing them over the counter. He’s just as wordless, snatching them from your hands and turning on his heel to exit the store. He’s dressed nicely, evidence of tailoring and an old fashioned watch on his wrist. 

That is Chan’s kind of crowd. People who move through the world blind to those beneath them, living in a bubble so self-contained they don’t even realize anyone unlike them exists. 

This time when the door opens, you shoot a grin toward the door. Chan is already smiling when he sees you, lifting his hand in a small wave. He points to the back of the store, as though to tell you he’ll be with you in a moment after he grabs his things. You nod - because that’s what you always do. Because you’re just eager to see him, heart hammering as he vanishes down an aisle. 

Advertisements yell at him as he goes. You swear you hear him tell one of them to shut up and the first genuine smile you’ve had all week breaks across your face. Heart skipping, you jump up on the counter behind the register, trying to appear calm. Watching. Waiting. 

Chan will only be here for fifteen minutes, but you love all fifteen of them. 

When he appears, it feels like your blood sings. You smile at him, sliding from the counter as he approaches. He’s dressed down today, not in his usual button up and blazer, but rather black slacks with a grey shirt tucked in, a leather jacket pulled over his arms. Beads of water cling to the leather from the rain, and his dark hair is damp and hangs in his eyes.

His hair has gotten longer over the last few weeks. You like it long, wondering if it’s as soft as it looks. You imagine it is, watching him as he brushes his hair from his forehead with the delicate tips of his fingers, looking up at you with a small smile. 

“How are you?” He asks, voice warm. 

“Good. Not working tonight?”

He looks down at his outfit. “Could you tell?”

“Mhmm.” You slowly ring up the energy drink first. “You’re usually dressed very fancy when you’re working.”

“I’m not always, I promise. That’s just for meetings.” 

“So you are working, but no meetings?”

He winks and your heart sputters to a stop. You nearly knock over the box of cherry sours in your attempt to pick it up and ring it in. “Believe it or not, I’m just starting work.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Graveyard shift.”

“Well then I hope you have a good day.” 

Chan pays, holding his phone up to the reader. You study him, drinking in each familiar part of his face, committing it to memory so you can think of him fondly until the next time you see him. His expressive eyes are downcast as he types something on his phone, the blue glow of the holoscreen bathing him in ethereal light. You admire the soft curve of his cupid’s bow, the angular cut of his jaw. 

He’s beautiful in a world where beauty feels manufactured. You like the small scar on his face, untouched by lasers, left exactly as it is. You like the dark circles under his eyes, quiet evidence that nothing’s been smoothed or erased. You like the way his face shifts effortlessly from commanding to kind. Most of all, you like that it’s real. He’s entirely, unapologetically human.

When he looks up at you, you think you could fall into the dark depths of his eyes and never stop falling. Would do it, if it meant you could stay with him. 

“I have something for you.” 

His words break the spell. You blink, equal parts dazed and surprised. “Oh?”

“And I don’t want you to freak out when I give it to you.”

“Well I wasn’t going to, but now I think I might.”

He groans, still playful. He opens the lapel of his jacket, revealing a red, silk interior paneling. It makes the jacket that much nicer, an elegant touch to what otherwise looks nondescript. When his hand comes back out of his jacket, he’s holding a thin book. 

Your heart catches as you stare at it. He holds it out to you but you pull your hands away like you’re afraid to be bitten. It’s a beautiful thing, thin and sleek with a red leather cover and gold filigree pressed across the front. Pressing your palms to your middle to keep them from shaking, you look at the cover where it says Romeo and Juliet back up to Chan, who is waiting.

“I can’t accept that,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “That is- Chan.”

“I promise that you can. I know it’s… look it’s not the only copy in my library. And I don’t say that as in ‘this means nothing to me because I have multiple.’ I mean that I can spare one, and I would like you to have it.”

In your little corner of the world, a paper book is a rarity. Only a certain level of the upper echelon have something so permanent. Everything that has always been available to you is digital screens and hollow imitations of art. 

Chan’s gift - a real piece of art - hits you harder than you expect. It’s more than a gift. It’s proof that once upon a time, humans created something genuine, that humans were more than what they are now. 

And Chan wants to just give it to you. 

Gently, Chan leans over the counter and presses the book into your hand. You tentatively take it, pinching the tome between your fingers. He lets go, giving it to you without ceremony. There’s no bow, no note, just the weight of it in your hand.

You glance up at him. He says nothing, watching while he chews the corner of his lip. You turn it over in your hands and run your finger on the embossed title, feeling the groove of the letters. The gold glitters in the neon light of the store, flashing colors as it catches the lights.

Tears pool in your waterline, ridiculous and sudden and silly. He’s giving you this because he can, and crying feels like too much of an emotion in front of him, so you suck in a sharp breath and look up at him, giving him a smile. 

“This is too much. I don’t know how to express my thanks.”

He shrugs. “None needed. I just want to know that you enjoy the physical version. It feels realer that way.”

It does, you want to say. You can’t find the words, throat constricting as Chan looks at his phone and sighs regretfully. 

“I have to go.” You look at the clock. He is a minute over fifteen, one minute longer than he usually spares you. “Tell me how you like it in this version. Forgive me for all the handwriting in the margins and all of the bent pages - this specific volume has been very loved by me and I took a lot of notes when in school.”

Chan’s admission makes your heart beat harder, your fondness grow softer. He has no idea what this means to you, no idea how it’s already become your most treasured item, and it probably means little to him - almost nothing. 

“Have a good night,” he murmurs, giving you a final smile before he gathers his items and heads out the store, leaving you  teetering between bursting into tears and falling ridiculously in love. 

-

Perched in the neon-drenched skyline of Hyperion, The Spire overlooks most of the city, boasting that it’s the tallest building in all of Hyperion. That’s true - for now. There are plenty of real estate and building architects interested in beating the luxury hotel’s claim to fame, but for now The Spire remains top of the list and top of the city, with its penthouse rented out to people you could never dream of knowing.

The building spirals upward like a helix, pulsing in the night like an aura as LED bands thrum from bottom to top. When you stand at street level and look up, the top of the building vanishing into the clouds, turning them blue and pink and purple as the LEDs flash.

You’re rarely at street level, though. Unlike the occupants who get to rent rooms and stay among the clouds, you exist in the bowels of the building, tucked deep below the guest levels in sublevel B6 of the Service Core. If the glittering building is the body, the Service Core is its nervous system, branching out like roots beneath the hotel. 

There’s no glamour in the Service Core. Steam hisses as you enter into the cavernous, industrial laundry room. Above, the white-blue fluorescent lights flicker and hum. Where the hotel itself has so much color, the Service Core does not. Gunmetal walls stained with years of detergent runoff from the machines and the laundry room above, exposed pipes hissing and twisted overheard like a mechanical spider web - it’s far from the glory above. 

The Service Core exists to serve a single purpose to the hotel - serve it. Kitchenstaff, waste management, laundry, engineering, housekeeping - it all exists on multiple sub-level floors. The Spire has a robust staff, churning people in and out to keep the thousands of guests above happy. 

Weary and heavy-footed, you trudge to the folding station. The table hums and flickers as you approach and stick your thumb on the top of it, clocking in. Next to the table is a stack of linens that need folding. There are hundreds of types of robots that could do this for you, but part of The Spire’s pillars is giving back to the community and ensuring there are jobs for real people who need real money.

Except they don’t pay a real living wage. 

Still, it’s a job. And a mindless one where you can zone out, grabbing a linen and placing it on the glowing grid of the folding table. The interactive surface recognizes the material easily and a folding guide pops up, showing you exactly which way to fold each part. You’ve been doing this long enough that you don’t need it, hands getting to work before adding it to the appropriate pile to be scanned and rated on quality of fold. 

The air smells like ozone, bleach and burnt polyester. It singes your nose as you fold, but eventually you get used to it, the smell vanishing the longer you pull, fold, repeat. Pull, fold, repeat. The ambient sound of whirring machines, dripping condensation and chatter between tables brackets the soft thunk as you flip sheets over, pressing your fingers along seems, feeling the hiss and burn of silk against your fingertips. 

Eventually, someone calls your name. You look up, eyes adjusting in the dim light as Cara clocks in to the table next to you. She’s dressed in the same drab, grey-blue uniform, her blinking name tag showing a little red heart. You’ve never added anything extra to yours, just your name. 

“Yay, I get to work with you!” Cara gushes, brushing an auburn strand of hair behind her heavily pierced ears. “It’s been so long since I saw you!”

“You haven’t been taking shifts,” you note, arching a brow. 

“Haven’t needed them until now. Ugh, I’ve been making really good money at that gig I told you about, but Bebito had some debts to pay off so…”

So naturally, Cara is picking up the slack for her piece of shit boyfriend again. You grimace but let her chatter on, filling you in on some sort of hotel staff drama dealing with names of people you don’t remember and faces you cannot recall. 

Cara is pretty. The kind of pretty that gets in trouble, catching the attention of all the wrong people. Cara likes that attention, though - thrives on it. It’s why she sticks around with her deadbeat boyfriend who does nothing but low-level work for some minor Syndicates in the city and blows away his money. But the danger appeals to Cara - and apparently, the mind blowing sex. 

It’s good to see her. When she goes weeks without a shift, you start to worry. You’re not friends, but she’s friendly. Kind. A flower in a world that rarely sees sun. It’s why she’s been plucked by another group of women in the Service Core to occasionally participate in the side gig she talks about. 

“So I know you always say no,” Cara broaches, glancing side-long at you. “But Tivi dropped out of this high-level event we’re supposed to be doing in two weeks and we really need another girl. I swear it's safe. You just have to be pretty and stand there and sometimes sit on a lap.”

Your stomach turns sour. Cara has asked you a million times before. She makes good money being an accessory to powerful people who want to put on a show, but it’s far more dangerous than she lets on. Plus, you’ve never been keen on letting someone touch you for money, even if it’s just a hand on a waist or a brush of fingers on an arm. 

Shamefully, a small part of you resists because you have Chan. You don’t need the attention of anyone else, patient like a planet eager to come back into its sun’s orbit again. The thought of someone else getting to smile at you and bat their eyelashes makes you squirm. 

“I’m good,” you assure Cara. “Thank you for offering, though.” 

Cara sighs, not disappointed, but a bit resigned. “Figured you say that. You ever change your mind though, you know where to call?”

“I do.” 

“Good.”

You offer her a tight smile and nod, pretending to focus on the sheet in your hands. It’s soft, lavender-scented, obviously from one of the higher suites. It’s the kind of luxury you can only touch with gloves on. You slide it into the folded stack. 

Cara’s offer lingers in your mind. You could do it. Just one night, one event. Stand there and look pretty. You’ve seen the other girls come into work with something new and pretty - sleek earrings, upgraded iris mods that glimmer behind their eyes like they’ve caught a glimpse of something you’re not invited to. 

But the thought of someone else's hand curling around your hip, their fingers tightening like they own you, even if you’re just rented, makes you stop. You think about Chan and your throat tightens a little. He doesn’t know about these offers, you think. You’re sure he wouldn’t even be able to understand them. His world is books and soft silk. Yours is steam and callused fingers.

At the end of your shift, you wave goodbye to Cara, touching her elbow gently, happy to see her. You tell her to be safe and you head out, stopping only to check the glitching screens by the door to check your upcoming schedule. 

You frown. Usually you’re scheduled for thirty hours a week, but it seems like you’ve only got ten upcoming. Ten doesn’t pay your rent. Ten doesn’t even come close. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you head to the office tucked in the corner of the room, nestled underneath a tangle of pipes. The glass window is full of fog from the humid room, and inside is just as cloying and thick with steam. 

“Ethel?” You ask gently, standing at the door. The B6 manager looks up over her foggy glasses. You jut your thumb backward toward the main floor. “I just checked the schedule and it looks like my hours are wrong.”

Ethel is a wiry woman with greying hair, gnarled fingers and swollen knuckles from decades of folding, and blotchy forearms from years of exposure to bleach. Now, she gets to sit in this small little room, the pipes clanging above her and the mold gathering in the corner giving her a wet cough. 

“No,” she sighs. “Not wrong. Just received word this morning that we're cutting back hours.” 

“What?” 

She shrugs. “Corporate hierarchy. Costs are heavy. Syndicate war. The owner is a Patron to the Yong family. They’re not doin’ so good with them Chois.”

Everything in Hyperion starts and ends with the Syndicates. It's always been that way. In this city, three families reign supreme: the Yong family, the Kim family and the Choi family. As of a few months ago, all hell had broken loose among the top three families. As you understand it, the Kim and Yong families had joined forces against the Choi family when their patriarch finally passed, and they’ve been going at it ever since.

You have nothing to do with the Syndicates, have stayed away from them your entire life. But the Syndicates have never stayed away from you, every decision their Tower’s make trickling down to affect you, an ant beneath their boot. 

This time, it seems the Yong family is going to step on you.

“I really need the hours…” You murmur, wringing your hands together. 

“You and everyone else. Schedule is final.” 

You leave The Spire the same way you came in - through the gutters. It’s not really a gutter, but the city drainage systems are so bad that it feels like it as you slosh through shin-deep rain runoff to get up to street level. 

Outside, it smells like rain and something vaguely coppery, like blood or rust or both. You tug your jacket tighter and start walking, the wet smack of your boots on the pavement your only companion as the distant glow of buildings hover over you. 

Your mind loops like a faulty video: cut hours, Syndicate war, Cara’s offer, Chan. Cut hours, Syndicate war, Cara’s offer, Chan. You’ve been careful, saving when you can and avoiding anything that is too dangerous or illegal, but being careful doesn’t pay your rent, especially in a city designed to make a criminal out of you. 

At a crosswalk, you pause. There’s a newscast screen playing at one of the main squares. It’s mostly devoid of people, save the few walking with umbrellas along the street, making them look like beetles. The bright blue of the screen makes you squint against the night, shielding your eyes as you watch the scrawling text feed at the bottom of the screen.

Choi family suspected in retaliation event in Pearl District. 14 confirmed dead. Yong family still denies involvement in the death of matriarch Yoon Minji. 

You look away, not bothering to look at the images of fire, blood and pictures of the fallen on the screen, not because you can’t stomach it, but because you don’t care. These people and their wars mean nothing to you so long as you can’t make a living under their thumb. 

By the time you reach your apartment, your legs ache and the weight in your chest from the week has settled into something low and pulsing. Cut hours. Syndicate war. Cara’s offer. Chan. 

You take the stairs. Every step up, you think about Ethel’s hands, bent, clawed, broken. You think about her arms, bleached with time. You think about her bent over her desk, crooked. Has she ever left B6 or the Service Core? Has she ever had dreams of being anything else? 

You think about Chan. You think about the book he gave you, sitting under your pillow and protected. 

Four days. In four days you’ll see Chan again. He’ll walk in from the rain and smile at you, asking you how your day is. You’ll tell him good, even though it’s not, and for the fifteen minutes that he leans against your counter, looking up at you with stars in his eyes, everything will be fine. 

-

Everything is not fine. 

The night had started out like normal - you’d gone from your last shift for the next few days at the laundry room to the convenience store, clocking in with heavy-lidded eyes and even heavier steps. But at least today was a Chan day, so it made it more bearable. Made it easier to pretend that for the next week, you weren’t going to be desperate for money. 

It was a slow night, only two people coming in before three in the morning approached. Each minute the clock counted down, your heart picked up speed. You’d been looking forward to this for days, thinking of everything that you wanted to tell Chan about the little notes he took in his copy of Romeo and Juliet, thinking about gushing over the way each of the pages in the book he gifted you felt like heaven, the words typed so perfectly on paper, each one meticulously placed and - 

When the door opens, you’re already smiling. Chan walks in, shaking off the rain. You start to lift your hand to wave when a woman steps in after him, elbowing him out of the way and barking at him to let her in before she drowns outside. 

Your smile vanishes. It feels like someone has kicked you in the stomach, punching through to your very core. You can barely breathe as you watch Chan turn to her, shooting back a quip that has her rolling her eyes. Their affection and intimacy is immediately palpable, familiarity written in every shove as the girl walks by him and vanishes into the aisle. 

He rolls his eyes and gives you a smile. You try to return it. You’re not sure if you do. He disappears down the aisle behind the girl and they restart their bickering, voices rising and falling in a steady cadence as they browse around the store. 

Turning around, you press your palms to your cheeks. They feel hot-flash warm, your heart thundering in your chest, breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. Chan is with a girl. Chan has a girl. There’s a girl with Chan. A girl has Chan. 

Every thought sputters like a broken engine, coming to life and cutting out, starting and stopping. When one thought begins, another one crashes into it, shattering it before you can fully get a grip on any of them and make them tangible. 

A feminine voice makes you spin around, breathless. The girl is standing in front of you, bent down to look at the types of gum in front of the counter. She looks vaguely familiar, though you can’t put your thumb on it. She is gorgeous, the type of gorgeous that rips the wind out of your sails, that leaves you stranded in dead water. 

Of course she’s pretty. Why wouldn’t she be? You’d always known what type of cloth Chan was cut from - it was the same type that you folded for the gods who stayed at the top of The Spire, the type you could only handle with gloves. 

“Why are there so many flavors?” She mutters, scrunching her brow. 

“Orange creamsicle is good,” you blurt, not really knowing where it comes from.

The girl flinches and looks up, eyes going round. “Holy shit,” she laughs. “There is an entire person there. I didn’t even see you. I thought most of these places had robots.” 

“Well I’m human. Last time I checked, anyway.”

“Huh. What do you know? Good on this store.”

Of course she hadn’t seen you. You’re nothing but a ghost to these people. They don’t know the difference when you’re there or not, whether you live or die. 

Except Chan. 

The girl stands, groaning as she stretches. She tosses the orange creamsicle gum on the table, alongside energy drinks and a candy bar with a tiger on it. Chan appears behind her, his usual gathered in his arms. He adds his items to the collection and glances at her. 

“Are you not paying?” He asks, deadpan. 

“You said we had to make a pit stop. You’ll be funding this one.”

“You’re such an ass,” he mutters, pulling his phone out. “All the money in the world and you always make me pay.”

“Right. I’ll remember that next time I get you a car for Christmas, Chan.”

He flushes and looks up at you. He has the decency to look flustered and chagrined. “Ignore her. She has no manners.”

“Bullshit!” She slaps his arm. “I took like four years of etiquette classes.” She gestures to you. “By the way, I had no idea there was a person here. I thought these places had robots.”

“Baby,” he sighs, paying. The term of endearment is the nail in your coffin. It feels like the world falls out from underneath your feet and it’s all you can do to not to turn around and burst into tears, fantasy shattered. “You’re being rude. She has a name.” 

When Chan says your name, it doesn’t feel like a caress this time. It lands cold, impersonal. It doesn’t settle into your chest like it usually does. It slides right off. You're just… you. She’s baby.

She giggles as Chan shoulders past her to grab his things, but she doesn't even flinch. She grins at you, polite, cheerful, effortless, plucking her items off the counter like she owns the moment, like this is her story and you're just some passing name in the credits - you are just name passing in the credits. Then she skips off toward the door, the picture of ease, popping gum like punctuation. 

She sings your name to get your attention. You blink at her, surprised she remembers it. “Amazing recommendation. Thank you!” 

“Ignore her,” Chan says, voice soft, sheepish, cradling his items like they might shield him from how awkward this suddenly feels. “I know she’s hard to ignore. She’s a bit of a… presence.”

“Oh.”

It’s all you can think of. Chan wavers between where he stands and the girl at the door, who scrolls on her phone. “What did you think of the book?”

“What?”

He raises his brows. “The book I gave you.”

That catches the girl’s attention from the door. Her eyes dart between Chan and you, narrowing. Your hands shake, knowing the look when a shark smells blood in the water. “You gave her a book, Channie?”

If it’s possible, he goes several shades redder. She starts to walk toward the two of you again. Her gaze has gone from dismissive to calculating, eyes narrowed, pupils dilated like a cat that has discovered a new toy. 

Before she reaches you, Chan steps back. He doesn’t say goodbye. Just gives you a look—something you can’t read anymore, not after what you’ve just seen. You stare back at him, hollowed out and unsure.

We’ll talk about it next time,” he says, voice soft and too fast. “Sorry again about her.”

Then he’s gone.

Your shift drags out like something dying. Each hour longer than the last. Everything around you is gray, dulled, like someone pulled the saturation out of your world. The only thing that stays sharp is the image of Chan, but not with you.

By the time you lock up and step outside, the air has cooled. The streets are quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you don’t belong in your own life. Your footsteps echo against the pavement, louder than they should. You cross your arms tighter around yourself.

She called him Channie. He’d called her baby.

It replays again and again in your head. That voice. The way his shoulders didn’t stiffen. The way he didn’t correct her. 

He gave you a book. But he let her call him that. He gave you something thoughtful. Quiet. Careful. And she still got to stand closer. Laugh louder. Be the one he left with in his orbit. 

You think about Cara’s offer. It comes to you unbidden, pressing against all other thoughts until it’s all you can think of. It’s good money, a way out of your shortened hours, and… Chan isn’t yours. The fantasy is ruined. Shattered. Burned down.

Beneath the surface of the city, the subway smells like rotten rainwater. You ignore it, careful not to slip down the wet stairs as you go. Bundles of sleeping bags are shoved in the corner, people inside of them. There’s someone offering needles from his coat and a girl dressing in a translucent, LED body suit purring at people as they walk by.

You ignore them all, getting onto the subway, thankful when the doors suck shut behind you. The subway hums beneath your feet, a dull and constant shudder that rattles up your bones. You grip the cold metal pole beside you, staring at your own reflection in the window as the tunnel blurs past behind it.

Your reflection is washed out. Tired. Someone who works too long and too hard. Not someone like the girl Chan was with. Not someone who laughs like they haven’t a care in the world, not someone who argues over money despite it not being an object to them. 

The train isn’t crowded. A few scattered passengers, most of them asleep or hiding in a corner away from everyone else. There’s a man whispering to what you think might be a ferret in his coat, but you’re not sure. At least he has a companion, even if it’s some lanky critter. 

It feels like you’re not even on the train. You’re still stuck in that shop, watching Chan’s back as he walks away. Watching her walk toward him like she belonged there. Like you never did.

You close your eyes. You hadn’t realized how much of your hope had been pinned to the idea of him. To the what-if. The maybe. Maybe he saw you the way you saw him. Maybe he meant something when he gave you that book. Maybe you were different.

None of it was real. Like the idyllic fantasies in an alternate reality club. You suppose you’re no better than the people who get addicted to AI and alternate reality - you just didn’t need help to get there. 

The train jerks, lights flickering for a moment overhead. You open your eyes again. 

Cara’s offer, you think, not for the first time tonight. It drifts back to you like a ghost with impeccable timing. You look at your reflection again across the train. The lights smear across the  glass now, and for a split second, you see yourself not as you are, but as you could be. Full of color. 

Pulling out your phone, you text Cara and let her know that you’ll fill in for her friend. The train doors open with a hiss. You step out. You let the illusion of Chan shatter behind you without looking back. 

-

Chan doesn’t get nervous.

At most, he’ll admit to heightened awareness. He knows when the air shifts, when the room tenses, when the eyes start to watch just a little too closely. But it’s not nerves. It’s instinct. Nerves are for the untrained. Nerves make one sloppy, make your hand shake. Nerves mean you’re not ready. 

Chan is always ready. 

Tonight, there’s something gnawing under his skin. A feeling he can’t quite name, sharp and low like the ache before a storm. He tells himself it’s the stakes—the weight of the meeting, the caliber of the people in the room. But even that doesn’t fully explain the unease.

This isn’t a standard deal, where he’s greasing the wheels of some shell corporation or smoothing over a turf-sharing agreement with one of the mid-tier syndicates. Tonight’s meeting is internal business. Formal. 

He still doesn’t know why Jeonghan picked him.

Not that he would’ve said no. No one says no to Jeonghan these days. At least, not unless they have a death wish or a taste for public verbal shaming and potential Syndicate ruin. Chan had said yes immediately, without question, like a good soldier. But deep down, he’d said yes because it was Jeonghan.

Not the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. Not the youngest second-in-command in their history. Just Jeonghan.

The car is dead silent. Not even the soft hum of the radio. Just the city lights flickering past and Jeonghan sitting beside him, cold and unreadable. Not awkward, exactly. But heavy.

Oppressive. 

There’s something new carved into Jeonghan. Something mean and sharp and hungry. It hadn’t always been like that. Chan remembers when Jeonghan used to laugh more, when his anger was calculated rather than constant, but the death of Yoon Minji had carved a hole in him. Killed him. Left something more sinister in his place. 

Unlike most of Chan’s meetings, he is armed to the teeth. Layers of steel and weight hidden beneath his well-cut suit. Security is sure to check him at the door, but he still needs to try to get in what weapons he can. Tonight is not the kind of night that is safe. He doesn’t have Soonyoung waiting at the back door, and Angel isn’t sitting in the room with a gun pressed to someone’s wife’s stomach for insurance. 

Angel has given Chan some insurance, though. She had gifted him a butterfly knife not long ago. Slim, elegant. The hilt is carved obsidian, etched with a pattern that shimmered in the light like wings in flight. Beautiful and cruel, exactly like her. It’s tucked deep into his boot now, strapped in place with anti-metal-detection mesh. One of a handful of things he’d rather die than be caught without.

A meeting with a distant branch of the Yong family had not been on Chan’s agenda at the start of the week. Chan had originally been slated for a meeting down near The Salts, but Jeonghan had added him at the last second, insisting that someone as charming and sharp as Chan needed to be a part of the discussion.

Unlike most of Chan’s deals, tonight isn’t about business or territory or partnership. It’s about influence. About getting someone on the inside to let Jeonghan and his Chois in to eat the Yongs from the inside out. 

“Tell me again,” Chan says, voice quiet over the hum of the tires. “How’d you hear about Yuli having second thoughts about the current Yong leadership?”

Jeonghan doesn’t look at him. Just stares out the window, face cast in the blue glow of passing signs and headlights. His expression looks almost skeletal in the light, like the grief still hasn’t stopped hollowing him out.

Chan isn’t sure it has. 

“Inside source.”

“I can’t imagine he was just… venting to strangers about how much he hates his family,” Chan adds.

Jeonghan finally turns, slowly. His mouth pulls into a humorless smile. “Inside source.”

Chan raises a brow. “Meaning?”

Jeonghan slips his phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, buttoning it with a deliberateness that feels almost threatening. When he answers, his voice is clipped. Cool. “Meaning stop asking questions above your station, Chariot.”

Chan bites back the instinct to wince. The title hits harder than the words. Not his name. Not Chan. Chariot. Syndicate designation. A reminder. Jeonghan is in Wisdom mode tonight.

The rebuke stings, but not enough to push him off balance. Chan swallows it. Focuses on the cold glass of the window instead. Watches the city bleed by in streaks of neon and shadow. He knows Jeonghan well enough to recognize the warning for what it is. A boundary drawn in blood and old loyalty. Just because they grew up together doesn’t mean Jeonghan won’t cut him down where he stands if he oversteps.

Chan lets it go. He’s known Jeonghan for far too long to let something so small eat at him. They’d grown up in the same rooms together, bled in the same combat classes, laughed at all the same jokes. Out of the hundreds of hands that belong to Choi Seungcheol, Jeonghan has always been the one Chan trusted most, even now, when Jeonghan teeters on the sharp edge of the knife he’s using to carve a warpath. 

The car slows. They’re in a nondescript neighborhood on the far edge of town. It’s not wealthy, but it’s modest. Here, there are no flashing lights and neon holograms. There’s just buildings pressed together, cars lined up out front, like something out of a history book. 

For a split second, the thought of books makes Chan think of you. It is fleeting. Heart pounding. There and gone again because as much as Chan wants to dive headfirst into thoughts and dreams of you, he can’t. Not right now. 

The door is unmarked. Just black, steel-reinforced, and guarded by two men in identical suits, both broad-shouldered and blank-eyed. One of them steps forward as Chan and Jeonghan exit the car.

“Wisdom,” he says, voice even and polite. Manners is the name of the game here. “Weapons check, please.” 

Jeonghan says nothing. Just holds out his arms. The sensor beeps several times on him. Jeonghan divulges an array of knives and a single gun. Chan notices a butterfly knife with symbols carved into it in one of the dead languages: brother. 

His mouth twitches, knowing Angel’s work when he sees it. 

Chan follows suit, keeping his expression neutral as the second guard runs a scanner over his body. A soft beep when it hits the knife at his hip. Another at the shoulder holster.

He surrenders both, smiling with professional ease. “Sentimental, not stupid,” he murmurs as they take the weapons. 

The guard grunts and says nothing, stepping back and waving him through when he finds nothing else. They don’t find the butterfly knife in his boot. Good. 

They step inside a dark home. Chan glances around, but it looks like a normal home. There are stairs to his immediate right that lead to the second landing, and a door to the left that goes to what looks like a study. Straight ahead, the house opens up into a living area with doors to other parts of the home. 

It’s quiet inside. Chan feels tense as they are led through the house, not a single light on. He can barely make out the shapes of furniture, paintings on walls. They’re brought to a door at the far back of the house. Sound drifts up from the stairs revealed behind it when a guard opens the door, stepping down and into the dark.

Chan goes first, shooting Jeonghan a glance. The Wisdom’s face is unreadable. 

Downstairs, the decor changes immediately. Chan is relieved to see that the lights are on, bathing the room in gold glow. He feels like he’s stepped backward hundreds of years in time, the old-world luxury of something like a speakeasy clashing with modern era touches. The room is small, but pristine, with black marble floors, warm lighting, oil paintings that don’t match the building’s exterior, and soft jazz playing from speakers Chan can’t see. 

A woman waits for them just past the threshold, dressed in a carmine gown that clings to every curve in her body. There’s a slit up the side, showing a flash of tan thigh as she slinks over to them, a coy smile on her lips. She is stunning, reminding Chan something of a femme fatale. 

“Gentleman,” she greets, voice like smoke. “Welcome. Can I grab you refreshments while you mingle? The next game starts in fifteen minutes.”

In the center of the room sits a long green felt table, crowded with men in suits and women who aren’t wearing much at all. The air buzzes with laughter, the clinking of chips, the soft background jazz that does nothing to dull the tension.

Jeonghan barely spares her a glance as he cuts toward the table. “Boulevardier.”

Her eyes cut to Chan. They are cat green and almost uncanny. “Whiskey neat, please. Yamazaki, if you have it.” 

The woman bows her head, her gaze lingering a second too long before she drifts toward the bar in the back. Chan watches her go for a split second before he scans the room, drinking in all the details. 

Girls circulate with silver trays carrying glasses of scotch, whiskey, and champagne. Some settle in men’s laps, some whisper into their ears, all of them part of the illusion of wealth, comfort, control. Chan steps forward, eyes adjusting to the dim glow- 

He sees you and he nearly goes catatonic. 

You’re dressed like the other women, but somehow even more out of place. Not because you don’t belong, but because he doesn’t expect to see you here, couldn’t even have imagined it. Not in a thousand years would he have made this gamble. You were never even in his odds of being here. 

You’re standing near the far end of the room, your lips parted slightly in what looks to be mid-laughter in response to something the man talking to you has said. Chan’s chest tightens so sharp and sudden that he staggers, wondering if he’s having a heart attack. 

You are painfully beautiful, dressed in a sapphire gown that ripples like water when you walk. He barely has time to register how perfect the cut of it is, the way it hugs your waist, the way you turn and it undulates like a living thing, turning you into a goddess of the sea. Maybe in another life he would appreciate how beautiful you are, but right now, he can’t. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to be here - weren’t ever supposed to cross his path outside of that goddamn convenience store. He had prepared for tonight for days, planning everything perfectly, scripting each gamble and risk, calculating it to the fucking detail and it’s all for nothing, because you standing there in that fucking dress ruins it all. 

Chan’s thoughts scatter like dropped cards. Jeonghan has already started the evening without missing a beat, greeting someone sitting at the table with a handshake dripping with charm. Chan tries to follow suit. His body moves, just barely, but his mind doesn’t, still stuck on you. 

You laugh again and it feels like Chan has been stabbed. 

What are you doing here? And worse, what does it mean that you are? Is this some intricate play by the Yong family? Are you here because you’re in trouble? Both are equally likely and send Chan down a violent rabbit hole of thoughts, chasing all of the possibilities. He suddenly doesn’t know if you’re a threat or someone who needs saving, and it rattles him to the core.

Chan finally starts to collect himself, dragging his eyes away from you, trying to calm himself. It’s too late. You turn to look at him, a fleeting glance that turns to shock. Recognition blooms across your face and if Chan wasn’t in such panic, he might grin at how cute you look when you’re surprised. 

When you don’t smile at him, Chan cracks. He forces himself into a mask, but the damage is done. There’s already a hitch in his step, a breath he can’t seem to take. His hands twitch toward his chest as though he needs to search for a physical wound there, a gunshot he can’t see. 

Chan is thrown off. Confused. Out of balance. Exposed. 

The woman who took his drink order appears just as Chan siddles up next to Jeonghan. He can hardly hear what she says to him. Everything feels secondhand, the dissociation hitting him as he tries to shield himself from his own panic. 

He accepts the drink and knocks it back before shoving the glass back in her hand and ordering another. He’s not even sure he says anything, just staring at the men surrounding the poker table, unfeeling and unseeing. 

Jeonghan doesn’t look up at Chan right away. He’s mid-handshake with someone else, voice low and pleasant as he exchanges pleasantries. Every word from Jeonghan is barbed silk, and Chan should be at his side, watching and backing him up with easy charm, matching volley for volley. 

When Jeonghan finishes his greetings, he sits in a high-backed velvet chair. His sharp eyes find Chan and narrow before they dart at the open chair next to him. Chan nearlys trips over his own feet as he scrambles to sit down. 

Jeonghan watches him, his eyes sharpening like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “What,” Jeonghan growls lowly as he flashes someone’s wife a smile, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chan blinks. His heart’s been pounding for minutes, making him feel sick with adrenaline. “The girl from the convenience store is here.” 

Jeonghan’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice is flat when he asks, “Who?”

“Cherry Sours.” 

There’s a tick in Jeonghan’s jaw before he turns his head a fraction, gazing in your direction. It takes Jeonghan only a second to find you across the room where you’re struggling to keep up with the conversation the man at your side is having with you. 

When Jeonghan turns back to Chan, his eyes are flint. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Chan doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. Jeonghan leans closer, his voice sharper than any blade Chan has ever known. “Why the fuck is someone you know here? Is she with the Yong family? Do you think we’re being set up?”

“I- fuck - I don’t know,” Chan admits. “I don’t know why she’s here. She’s only ever worked at the convenience store. I’ve never- Jeonghan, I don’t know.” 

“Stop.” Chan shuts up. Jeonghan’s voice has the hard edge of the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate right now. “You have ten seconds to get your head out of your ass. Or leave if you know you can’t do this. Now.” 

Chan doesn’t move. His eyes flicker to you. You’re not looking at him but he can feel your panic from where he sits, matching his own. Can Chan do this? He doesn’t know, but he can’t leave you here. Not in this pit of vipers. Jeonghan leans back slightly, drinking in Chan’s deliberation. 

“Decide,” he warns, voice like velvet. “If you fuck this up, I will remove you as Chariot myself, no matter the years between us, Lee Chan.” 

It hangs in the air between them. Chan nods and straightens his shoulders, falling into the casual and cocky Chariot he’s trained to be. Jeonghan turns back to the conversation, smiling like nothing ever happened as he asks someone about how their kid’s play went. 

Chan sits for a second longer, disengaged and heart rattling. But he doesn’t look at you again, taking in a deep breath as he tries to relax.

This time when the woman brings him his drink, Chan’s smile is lazy and flirty, winking at her as she walks away. 

The low murmur of conversation quiets as a man that Chan recognizes as Yuli stands up from across the table, his arms spread like a gracious host. He has a glass of something expensive in one hand, his suit cut to perfection and his smile even more so.

“Friends,” he says smoothly, voice carrying over the music, “thank you for making the journey tonight. I know how busy our lives have become, so I consider your presence here a personal courtesy.”

A few men chuckle, raising their glasses. Others merely nod, already watching Yuli like players waiting for the first move on a board. Chan watches with absolute focus, chin slightly lifted. Yuli’s eyes skim across the room, assessing. Weighing. When they alight on Jeonghan and Chan, they pause only for a moment before he keeps going. 

Jeonghan doesn’t move, but Chan knows that he saw the acknowledgement too, that Yuli knows the stakes and is interested in this dance. 

Yuli continues, “Let’s not waste time. The table is ready, the cards are warm, and luck will favor the bold.” 

Those who aren’t already standing around the table move to take seats. Chan shifts in his seat to make sure he clocks every single face at the table, going over their profiles in his head. He recognizes Yuli’s sister, Anita, her long hair piled high on her head. The table is mostly men, though there is a single other woman that Chan realizes is Yuli’s wife, younger than he expected, probably due to procedures. 

No one in the room or at the table is high up in the Yong Syndicate. Here are all the blue collar workers, the men and women who are cousins of cousins, or Yong by marriage. Not blood. Who are Yong by long-association, perhaps. Distant family, who, when push comes to shove, have enough claim to Yong name that with the right support, could challenge the Tower. 

As the final guests settle in, a few of the girls glide through with refilled drinks and practiced smiles, heels soft on the carpet. You’re among them. Chan doesn’t look. Not yet. Instead, he watches as Yuli retakes his seat and taps his finger on the felt, signaling the dealer to shuffle. 

The game starts, though Chan already knows he’s playing far more than poker. He folds into the game like he’s never missed a beat. His smile is relaxed now, easy. He leans back in his chair like he owns it, lets his sleeves roll up just enough to show off the ink curling over his forearms. The men around the table are watching each other, sizing each other up, but not Chan. Not yet. He plays the part of harmless well.

The women, though, they pay attention to him. They give him smiles and ask him questions, let him shoot flattery their way. They eat it up, even if they know it’s fake. Fake or real, it doesn’t matter to them. Any of it feels good, especially from someone they’re not used to hearing it from. 

Jeonghan, always sharper, plays the opposite role. Where Chan flirts, Jeonghan flatters. Where Chan jokes, Jeonghan probes. Together, they work the table like a duet, sowing discord, planting seeds.

“You can’t really be betting that much on that hand, can you?” Chan teases the man across from him. It’s some cousin of Yuli’s, with a watch too big for his wrist and a tendency to overplay. The man laughs, but it’s the uncomfortable kind. He folds. Again.

There’s a beat of laughter around the table and Yuli points a shaking finger at Chan like he’s a troublemaker, and then a new hand begins. Chan places his bet. Doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows you’re still in the room. You’re lingering at the periphery, hovering like a ghost. You’re pretending not to watch him, and he’s pretending not to notice you. But both of you are failing. Badly. 

Worse is that someone else notices you too. The man three seats down from Chan is watching you, interested. He’s older and heavyset, with a gold chain resting over his chest. Finally, he leans over and starts chatting you up, loud enough to cut through the din of conversation.

“You new?” He asks you. Chan remembers this man - he’s one of the owners of a strip of clubs under Yong jurisdiction in the Pearl District where Baby has made it all but impossible to do business with anyone but the Choi family. “I’d remember a face like yours. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Chan watches out of the corner of his eye, his stomach souring. You laugh and it’s pitched too high to be normal or polite. You don’t give him your name, but you tell him yes you’re new and you’re learning poker. The man reaches out toward you, as though to guide you over to his lap. 

It makes him break. 

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t lean forward. He just lifts his eyes and says, “Hey.”

A few people on their side of the table still, looking up at Chan. The others are actively placing bets, chatter and music still going. You’re frozen in your spot, looking at Chan, mouth parted, breath quickening. 

Chan tilts his head, smile lazy but eyes sharp. “Why don’t you come sit with me, gorgeous? I’m terrible luck without a pretty girl by my side.”

You blink. Clearly thrown. “I’m… um.” 

The woman who greeted Chan at the door and who is clearly in charge of the provided women swoops in, a gentle hand placed on your shoulder as she lifts you up and guides you toward Chan. “She’d be happy to, Mr. Lee. Mr. Matsuo, why don’t you show me how to play?”

She is effortless in her chess game, this woman. She easily replaces you with herself, easing the annoyance of the other man while giving Chan what he wants. If he wasn’t so distracted, he would be impressed at the way she works a room, a weapon in her own right. 

You stand there a second too long, but then you move, slow steps across the plush carpet until you’re beside him. You perch on the edge of the seat, hands in your lap, eyes avoiding his. You look like you want to melt into the floor. 

“Better,” he says softly more to himself than anything else.

You hear him, though, asking tightly, “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

Jeonghan gives Chan a single, sharp look. He knows the Wisdom is thrumming with rage, but he ignores it. Jeonghan ignores him in return, starting a conversation with Yuli like he is supposed to. 

Instead of talking, you and Chan fall into steely silence. The cards hit the table in steady rhythm. Chips shift hands. Laughter spills out from somewhere on the other side of the felt table, sharp, hollow, and far away. You sit at Chan’s side, refusing to look at him directly. He doesn’t look at you either. 

Not even when his hand brushes against your knee when he folds a hand, tossing his cards on the table. Noe even when he folds again, flicking his wrist with the same careless confidence he always wears when he’s working, letting them think he’s bad at cards. 

Your eyes stay in your lap, eyes forward, throat tight. Chan fights the urge to reach up and brush his fingers across your back to tell you to relax. If he does, he’s not sure what would happen. It’s the one gamble he’s not ready to make. 

Chan feels Jeonghan’s pointed stare on occasion. He ignores him, more aware instead of tension vibrating between you. It’s like a live wire, tense, thin and vibrating, so distracting that Chan might actually be losing his hand on accident instead of on purpose. 

After three rounds end, Yuli stretches in his chair and calls for a cigarette break. Players rise, some lighting cigars, some leaning back to talk in low voices with their entourage. You start to rise, but Chan is quick like an adder, leaning in and growling, “Come with me.” 

You don’t exactly say yes, but you stumble to your feet when Chan jerks his chair from the table, jolting you from the arm. He immediately feels guilty about it, reaching out to steady you. Instead, you snatch your arm from him and march toward a far corner of the room, half-screened by shadows and heavy drapery. The music is quieter there when he follows you over, the air a bit thicker.

He stops as you turn, and now it’s just the two of you, inches apart. 

You look around. “Is this where you usually drag girls to whisper sweet nothings? Behind velvet curtains and poker chips?”

He exhales like he’s already tired of this. “What are you doing here?”

You blink. “Me? What are you doing here?

“I asked first.”

“Working. You?”

His eye twitches. “Working. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Is this what you do for a living? Syndicate bullshit and flirt with pretty girls and cheat on your girlfriend?”

That throws Chan for a loop. He stalls trying to catch up, not understanding at all. 

“Don’t play stupid,” you warn. “You’re not stupid. Then again, I guess I don’t really know you, do I?”

Chan opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I’m so confused right now. Yes, my work is Syndicate bullshit. You never asked so I never told you. Also - what girlfriend?”

You take a step back. “I saw her, you know. The girl. From the store. The one you walked in with.” Chan sucks in a sharp breath. You glare up at him. “She called you Channie. You called her baby.”

He fights the urge to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, unsure how he is having this conversation at this event. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he hisses, looking around to see if he’s drawn any attention yet. As always, Jeonghan is the only pair of eyes on him in the room. “She’s not even someone I like,” he rushes on. “Her name’s Baby. That’s just what people call her. She’s the Architect of the Choi Syndicate.” 

You stare. “Her name is Baby?”

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is what you’re focused on right now?” You stare at him and he nearly growls. “Yes, technically it just stuck when we were kids because she was the youngest - well I’m younger, but she was babied a lot - look, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t calling her that because she’s mine, and if I did, there is an insane blondie who likes guns that would murder me for it.” 

You look away, jaw tight. “I thought…” you start to say something, then stop yourself. You shake your head, furious again. “Never mind.”

Chan’s heart is pounding. Everything he’s wanted to say since walking into this room is tangled up in his throat, clawing to get out. “Is that what bothered you? Thinking I was dating her?”

You flinch. He sees it. Sees the way your fingers twitch, the way your chin lifts like you’re bracing for a hit. “No.”

He laughs, then. The fight goes out of him because he sees the lie. Sees the vulnerability, the bitter edge of jealousy. It makes his heart flutter, realizing that you’d been mad at that. Before he can retort, someone calls for another round. You pivot on your heel, marching away and leaving him with his chest tight with everything left unsaid. 

Slowly, he follows you back to the table. 

When Chan slides into the seat for the next round, he’s still out of sorts. This time, it’s less panic about you being in the room and more about knowing you’d been jealous of Baby. It makes him spiral. What does you being jealous mean? He’d seen the hurt flicker across your face, so honest and raw and- 

He cannot think about it right now. He needs to focus on the task at hand, even though your jasmine perfume is making it hard to think and you’re sitting so close to him that he can feel your warmth. 

“The Tower has been levying heavy taxes on your businesses, right?” Jeonghan asks Yuli mildly. The question draws Chan’s focus to a needle point. Jeonghan shuffles his cards, not looking up. “A few weeks ago I saw the outcry from businesses. Steep taxes.” 

Yuli’s expression tightens. “The Tower has to make a lot of decisions.” It’s a generous answer. “It is… perhaps short-sighted, though.”

Chan tries to focus. He really does. But the man next to him - Daesik, some mid-tier Yong affiliate - leans in toward you. “You know,” he offers, “you could sit on my lap the next round. Chan seems to be losing hands left and right. Maybe you could bring me luck.” 

You shift uncomfortably, not responding. Chan tenses. Daesik notices, grinning. “Unless you’re taken? Are you two a thing? I thought you were hired company.” 

Again, you say nothing. You stare straight forward, lips pressed in a firm line.  Rage makes Chan’s hand shake, and he clenches his fists. “She isn’t available.”

Daesik looks at you. “That true?”

“Yes.”

“Could have fooled me. The way he’s been ignoring you all night, I figured you were up for grabs.”

“Well she’s not,” Chan clips. The words come out harsher than they should, but he’s already too gone to reel it in, composure cracking. “So fuck off.” 

The table goes silent. Chan already knows he’s misstepped. Chan never missteps, and yet it’s all he’s done tonight, one wrong foot placed after the other. 

Yuli leans back in his chair, his smile thinning. “That’s a rather pointed tone, Chan.I hired her for everyone’s entertainment. Daesik is a guest. Just like you. If he wants her attention and she’s on my clock, I expect her to oblige.”

Across the table, Jeonghan doesn’t speak, but Chan catches the flick of a finger against his glass, a silent warning: pull back. Now. 

Chan tries. “She shouldn’t be here,” he says, quieter now, aiming for diplomacy. “It was a miscommunication. She’s not… that kind of staff. Not really part of this.”

Yuli’s eyes flash. “You’re saying I made a mistake?” His voice is low, but cutting. “That I hire incompetents? That I’ve hired someone inexperienced for a party of this caliber?”

“No,” Chan answers quickly, though the tension in his voice betrays him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Yuli leans forward now, elbows on the table, smile gone entirely. “She’s here. At my table. Wearing what I assigned them to wear.” 

The air curdles. Chan feels the tension shift and his hand goes to your back, flattening his palm against your spine. You’re rigid, but he feels you lean into the touch, seeking safety. Your hands shake - he can see them - and he curses at himself for putting you in this position. 

Jeonghan sets his drink down pointedly, eyes fixed on Yuli with a patience that is menacing. His smile is slight, but Chan knows that smile. Knows the violence in it. It’s Jeonghan’s smile before it rains blood. 

“I think,” Jeonghan says softly, “we have overstayed our welcome. Come on, Chan.” 

Jeonghan stands with measured grace. Chan rises, tight-jawed and unable to look at you. As he turns from the table, he realizes you’re still sitting. He hesitates, waiting for you. 

“Let’s go,” he urges, quiet but firm. 

“No,” Yuli announces. “She’s not going with you. I have paid her to be here tonight. She’s here under contract, and you-” He gestures lazily between Jeonghan and Chan. “You’re both leaving.”

“She’s not staying.”

Before Chan can get another word out, Yuli lifts a hand and the room fills with Yuli’s personal bodyguards, hands brushing over their jackets. Chan moves instinctively, only to feel Jeonghan’s palm grab the back of his neck, scruffing him.

“Careful,” Jeonghan growls. 

Chan’s hand is on your wrist. He feels you trembling under his touch, rooted between wanting to go with Chan and knowing that if you do, there will be violence. 

Yulie’s voice sharpens. “Remove your hand from her. Take her with you, and I’ll consider it theft.” 

“She isn’t your property.” 

“And yet,” Yuli says, rising to his feet with the theatrical air of a man who loves having the final word, “I have rented her. So is she yours? No. She stays. You go.”

Silence.

Chan’s fingers twitch. Sweat drips down the back of his neck. He can feel it beading in his hairline. Now, his heart beats as adrenaline surges through him. He’s ready for anything, eyes drifting around the room as he makes everyone a mark, ranking them in the order they need to fall.

He smells blood in the air and he’s ready for it, grip tightening on your wrist to pull you down and shield you before he acts. 

Jeonghan exhales once through his nose and steps forward, light and lethal. “Yuli,” he says, almost kindly. “I suggest you let the girl come with us.”

Yuli’s grin drops. “Or what?”

“You know what.”

Yuli narrows his eyes. “That a threat?”

“No. A reminder.” Jeonghan’s voice stays soft. “I know about Arkos. The safehouse. The twins.” Yuli freezes, his face leeching of all color. “I have all the information and the addresses, the schedules. Copied on two separate drives. One is in my personal safe, and the other is with my sister. Who do you think is faster? My sister who is already in Arkos on vacation, or you driving three hours from Hyperion?”

A hush ripples through the room. This is why Yoon Jeonghan is the Wisdom of the most powerful Syndicate in Hyperion. This is the man that Yoon Minji trained to perfection to take her place, wicked sharp and more lethal than any amount of brawn or weapon could make a human being.

Chan had no idea Angel was in Arkos. Doesn’t even know if Jeonghan is bluffing or being serious. That’s the thing with Jeonghan - you never know, so all of his threats are real. 

Yuli looks split between murderous and panicked, his chest heaving as he figures out what to do. He seems to weigh his options, trying to puzzle out if Jeonghan’s threat about Angel is accurate. 

Jeonghan cocks his head. It’s sharp and predatory. “You think I came without insurance?” 

Yuli doesn’t move for a moment. Then, his tongue runs over his teeth, followed by a sharp, bitter exhale. “Fine. Take the bitch.” 

Jeonghan doesn’t speak. He simply turns, his every step calm, deliberate. Measured. A man walking a highwire and pretending it’s solid ground. Chan mirrors him, shoulder squared, jaw locked. You stick close, nearly tucked beneath his arm.

No one dares stop you.

As soon as you hit the stairs, Chan feels your body press fully into his side. He slips a hand around your waist, grounding you. You're trembling faintly. His own hands aren’t much steadier. The scent of jasmine hits him hard, a knife under his ribs. The desire for you is so strong he closes his eyes for a half-second, breaths deep.

It’s not the time, so he shoves it down. 

Outside, it feels like surfacing from underwater. The night air bites, cold and honest. The car is idling, a driver opening the door while one of Soonyoung’s Swords stands with his hand in his jacket, ready to draw if he needs to.

Chan gets you into the car first, palm steady on your back as you climb in. He makes sure to block the doorway, shielding you in case anyone decides to shoot you all from behind afterall. You say nothing. Instead, you curl in slightly like you’re bracing for an aftershock. He slides in beside you, surprised when you reach for him, almost on autopilot. 

He lets you. The scent of jasmine hits him again when you lean into him, still shaking. 

Jeonghan slides in on the other side of Chan, shutting the door with a bang that feels louder than a gunshot. You flinch and he murmurs a soothing word, tucking you into his side. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you and he hates the circumstances, hates that somehow, he’s run out of luck afterall. 

The car pulls forward. Nobody speaks. The silence is brutal. 

Your fingers tremble in Chan’s lap. He tightens his grip around you, light enough to not hurt, firm enough to try and tell you that he’s got you. His other hand rests in his lap, still shaking, still wanting to draw blood. 

You shouldn’t have been there. He still can’t figure out why you were there in the first place. He should have walked out the second he saw you, should have left when Jeonghan told him to, cut his losses and not gambled- 

“Hello.” Jeonghan’s voice slices through the quiet like a knife on silk. Chan’s stomach knots as he glances where Jeonghan has leaned forward, his eyes alighting on you. “I’m Jeonghan. Can I call you Cherry? Chan calls you Cherry.”

You give him a tiny nod and he grins like the cat that ate the canary. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but you and your stupid lapdog of a boyfriend have thoroughly fucked up my night.”

Chan’s jaw clenches so hard it aches. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend. There’s no point. Because Jeonghan’s not wrong, and Chan is just trying to keep you breathing next to him long enough to fix whatever the hell he’s gotten all of you into. 

-

Wind makes the building creak and groan. You have long since gotten used to the moaning whispers of your apartment walls, just hoping that the old building doesn’t decide to give up and fall down on top of you. 

It’s entirely possible. A few months ago, a building just like yours, old and out of code and full of people had collapsed in on itself, killing hundreds, people missing for days. The pile of rubble and rust is still there, the dust hanging in the air like the ghost of the screams of those trapped inside. 

The city just… never did anything about it. The Choi Syndicate had attempted to buy the land with the intention of removing the rubble and recovering the bodies, but this strip of neighborhood belonged to the Kim family.

The Choi Syndicate. 

A flash of fear and fascination goes through you. Never in a million years would you have thought that Chan was a member of the Choi Syndicate - a high ranking one, no less. When he had stepped foot into the party a few nights ago, your entire world had shattered. You had seen him and frozen in place, confused, elated, then terrified all at once.

And he’d been with Yoon Jeonghan, the fucking Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. 

You don’t know how you didn’t put it together before. Polished, charming Chan. Smooth-talking, flirty Chan. That night he had come into the store with the girl he called Baby should have been the night you put it all together. Now you know why you thought she looked familiar, her face plastered in news articles and all over screens while posing next to her brother, Choi Seungcheol, at events across the city.

Chan worked for - no, was friends with - some of the most dangerous and influential people in the city. Chan was dangerous and influential. And yet you had never known, both of you existing in your tiny bubble of cherry sours and a single, gifted paperback book.

Nausea makes your stomach roll uncomfortably. That night exists as a nightmare now, equal parts terror, intrigue and embarrassment. Fear at how close you had come to being caught in violence you’ve only seen on the news, intrigue at the way Chan had held you close and called you his, embarrassment that  you’d been there in the first place.

You haven’t talked about it. Didn’t talk about it on the drive home where you muttered directions to your apartment, Jeonghan muttering a comment about how Chan should move you somewhere that wasn’t a health risk. Didn’t talk about it despite Chan forcing you to exchange phone numbers to make sure you were safe. Didn’t talk about it because you answered none of his calls and none of his texts.

Didn’t know what to say. Still don’t. So the texts and calls go unanswered, despite the gnawing desire to pick up the phone and hear his voice again, to pretend that it’s him murmuring in your ear that it’s okay like he had that night, pressed against you and warm. Safe. 

But the world doesn’t pause just because your life has fallen apart. The world has never paused for you. So you peel yourself off the single chair in your apartment and get ready for your shift at the convenience store. 

The floor is cold beneath your feet. You flick on the bathroom light and wait for the flickering bulb to turn on. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. It depends on the fluctuating power grid and the need for power in the Upper District and beyond. 

You dress quickly and in layers. It’s cold and rainy today, a tropical storm blowing in cold hair from the far coast and chasing away the sticky humidity temporarily. It’s a simple outfit: black pants, a work hoodie with a peeling logo on the chest, and a windbreaker that you found in the lost and found bin at work two winters ago. It’s missing a zipper, but it helps with the wind.

Your backpack is already half packed. You shove a bottle of water, a granola bar - because you’re not allowed to eat anything in the store on shift for free - and the keys to your apartment. The keys are a bit of a joke, considering anyone could kick your door down with a solid attempt. 

Out the door and into the hall, you lock the door behind you. Not that you have much to protect, outside of the single paperback book that burns in the back of your mind, hidden under your pillow. 

The hallway is dim, lit by a single buzzing ceiling fixture that casts long, flickering shadows down the hall. Mrs. Han from 23B is arguing with her dog again, her voice echoing from the apartment next to you. You start the trek down the stairs - all twenty three flights. The elevator had long since fallen down the shaft, killing the people inside of it before you ever moved in. 

Twenty three lights is a lot. But it gives you time to zone out and focus only on the movement of your legs, only the burn in your thighs and the quickness of your breath as you wind down and down and down. 

Finally when you reach the bottom, you’re sweating. You adjust your backpack, strap digging into your shoulder, and push the door to enter the main lobby. The door groans when you push it and slams behind you, vibrating in the metal frame.

Outside the world is wind and mist. It still smells like smog, familiar and acrid. Your breath mists as you make your way to the subway. It’s a few blocks away, the path caved through cracked pavement, hissing cats, Taps in alleyways pushing paraphernalia and explosions of neon from screens and advertisements for pleasure clubs and alternate reality lounges. 

When you pass a Tap, you faintly wonder whose banner they’re under. You remember Jeonghan saying that this was Kim territory, so you assume them. It makes you give them wide berth, suddenly wary of every member of a Syndicate in a way that you weren’t before. 

The subway station looms ahead, a smear of purple and blinking neon. You head down the stairs, feet tapping against the wet tile, and scan your card at the station gate. The turnstile sticks, like always, and like always, you lift a leg to kick at it until it gives. 

A man is arguing with a holographic advertisement as you pass. The hologram doesn’t see him - doesn’t know he’s there. How could it? Still, the man yells something unintelligible at it, his frame crooked and leaning heavily to the side like a reed under too much water weight. 

The train arrives with a gust of wet, sour air. You step inside and grab a pole, swaying when the car lurches forward. Ads scroll past the digital screens overhead, pushing plastic surgery, new modifications, biotech pills. It’s interrupted by a headline about a Kim family member being arrested and immediately released the same night.

Nothing new. Everything new. You wonder what that means for Chan. Does something like that affect him? Did he have something to do with it? You have all of these new questions, but you’re unsure if you want any of the answers. 

You ride in silence, watching the city shapeshift as you cross districts. Graffiti fades into clean walls, grime into polished chrome. The Upper District arrives like a clinical slap to the senses: clean lines, glowing storefronts, security drones. 

It’s drier here when you exit the station near the convenience store. You blend into the night, invisible to the partygoers heading to clubs a single district over and the suits exiting from buildings after insane hours at work. 

The store comes into view, its bright signage a familiar beacon. You let out a breath, thankful that you can return to the routine and try to forget about Chan, maybe. This is a place you know. Here, you understand the shape of things, what they’re made of. 

Inside, you’re greeted by the soft hum of refrigerated cases and the scent of cleaner. It’s almost comforting. Almost. You clock in at the back, scanning your finger on a screen similar to the one you use at the laundromat. You pull on your store-issued apron, fingers tying it around your back before you pass Eren with a nod as he heads out, wordless and tired. 

At least working the graveyard shift means quiet hours. No one should bother you, allowing you to do stock or to scan items in inventory. It also means all the time in the world to think, which is exactly what you do as you attempt to lose yourself in stocking shelves and fridges. 

No matter how hard you try, your thoughts go back to him. 

To Chan.

Chan, with his easy grin and soft eyes, who liked to buy cherry sours. Chan who offered pieces of himself in small, delicate conversations and light teases. 

Chan, who was a high-ranked member of the Choi Syndicate. Who walked into that party like a blade wrapped in silk. Who had growled a warning at those men and who clung to you so hard you could still feel the imprint of his hand now. 

You see the memory in your mind’s eye: Jeonghan’s gaze, sharp as glass, the casual way the men talked about you like you were a piece of furniture in the room, Cara’s panic as she watched Chan take you. The way Chan stood too still, too tense, like he had been preparing to start a war if they took you away from him. 

It’s embarrassing to realize how much you hadn’t known about him. And how could you, really? You’ve only talked to him for fifteen minutes at a time over the last few weeks, needing inference and his idle conversation to give you clues about himself.

Still, you had trusted him. Trusted that despite the fact he was clearly not like you, that he was at least similar in soul. It was a dramatic kind of trust, but a quiet one. One that said you see me and I trust you to keep seeing me.

You’re restocking instant noodles when the door chimes and you hear the rush of wind. You glance up, half-expecting some salaryman or a sleepy student, but your heart lurches violently when you see him. He’s standing just inside the door, dressed down in a hoodie, but there’s no mistaking him. He looks tired. His eyes scan the store until they land on you, and his shoulders drop just slightly, like he was holding his breath.

You straighten up too fast. The cup noodles clatter onto the shelf. “You should not be here.”

“I wanted to talk.” 

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He holds up his phone, annoyance twisting his face. “You haven’t answered me in days.”

You scoff. “Did you really expect me to? After—what, that? After finding out you’re not just some guy who likes sour candy and books, but someone who gets invited to parties by Jeonghan?”

“I didn’t lie to you,” he says quietly.

“No,” you agree. “You just let me believe you were harmless.”

His face screws up. “Whatever version of me you conjured up isn’t my fault. I never implied I was harmless. I never implied anything.” 

It stings because it’s true. You feel bitter about it, knowing how right he is. You shove the cup of noodles on the shelf and walk toward the counter, needing to put something between you, needing a shield. 

“Well, you can’t just show up here.” 

“Please just let me-”

“I’m not ready to talk to you.” The silence that follows is loaded. He watches you, eyes round. Hurt. “Please.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but the words don’t come. He gives you a last look, eyes unreadable, and then turns to leave. The bell jingles gently in his wake. The silence that follows is heavy with tension.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to steady the sharp rhythm of your heart. You feel strung out and hollow, as if he’s somehow taken all the air with him when he left. Sinking behind the counter, you try to steady your shaking hands.  You hate that you’re still shaking. Hate that part of you had wanted him to protest more, but begrudgingly appreciate he respected your request. 

For a while, you sit there. You watch a moth flutter around a neon sign, oddly grounding. It’s quiet and for the first time in a few days, you don’t have any thoughts. No worries, no sounds, just the blue light and a single moth, fluttering as it chases something. 

You peel yourself off the floor and go back to stacking ramen cups and wiping down the counters. The rhythm of work helps. It always has. Your hands remember what to do even when your brain is fogged and aching.

When the door opens this time, you don’t hear it, too caught up in the wet slosh of the mop in a bucket, eyes staring but unseeing as you press the mop into the tile door. When you come around the corner, you pull up short at the three men standing in the doorway.

Your blood runs cold.

Had more time passed, you might not recognize the man from the party a few nights ago. His name doesn’t stick - David, Donnick, Daesik. The man who had nearly started a fight with Chan over you, his hands in the pocket of a sleek jacket, like he’s attending a business meeting. There’s a tilt to his smile that makes you tighten your grip on the mop, skin crawling.

“You’re easy to find.” His eyes slide over the shelves before they make their way back to you. “But I realize that people like you don’t know how to disappear. You’re really not of this world, are you?”

Your throat tightens. “Can I help you?”

He raises an eyebrow, like the question amuses him. “You’re certainly going to.” 

Terror makes you take a step back. You pull the mop in front of you, a shield or weapon you’re not sure. Your heart kickstarts, pounding so fast you swear you can feel it in your toes. 

“I didn’t do anything to you,” you murmur, quiet. 

He shrugs. “I’m insulted. I deserve an apology.”

“Fine. I’m sorry.” 

Your phone is sitting on the shelf right next to you. You make the mistake of looking at it. He notices and you both act at the same time. He lunges for you and you leap for the phone, both of you crashing into the display. You scream as you both go down with the shelf, a tangle of limbs and chips. 

It hurts, but you hit dial anyway. Daesik rolls on top of you, pinning you down by the forearms. You’re still holding the phone, unsure if it’s connected. You can’t hear anything over your own screaming and thrashing, lifting your hips and kicking your legs as you try to throw him off of you. 

Daesik leans down, a smile twisting his face. You seize the opportunity and throw your head forward, your forehead connecting with his nose. 

Pain explodes. Your ears ring. Your vision sputters. All you can see is red, head spinning as you fall backward, dazed from the hit. Someone is yelling and you feel a boot on your hand where it holds the phone. Something loud slices the air - your screaming, you realize. 

And then something crashes, glass exploding inward. Daesik is off of you and for a moment, the world is nothing but glass glittering like rain as the window shatters inward. You hold an arm up, feeling the bite of shards cut into your arm where it’s exposed. 

A car is idling in the front of the store. You’re less surprised at the car and more surprised to see Chan sliding over the hood, planting his foot into the chest of a man with enough force to send him flying into the drink fridge, the glass door cracking under the impact. The man crumples and remains motionless. 

Another figure steps through the wreckage behind him, someone you don’t recognize. She’s grinning, eyes manic. Her eyes gleam with something sharp and hungry, and the moment she moves, you understand why. She doesn’t fight like a person. She flows, quick and precise, slipping past a punch and lashing out with one arm. 

Red erupts from the man's throat. You gasp. You hadn’t realized she was holding a knife. Hadn’t realized she was already cutting him again. Again. Again. Fast, brutal slashes that seem almost too fluid to be real. With each flick of her wrist, more blood arcs through the air. The man crumples, clutching at his neck, choking on his own breath as he drops to his knees.

Daesik tries to scramble up, but he’s too slow. Chan slams into him like a freight train, taking him back down into the carnage of shelving and snacks. You roll away from the chaos, gasping in pain. Vomit climbs up your throat, head throbbing as you try to gain your bearings. 

You sit upright and the room swims. Through the blur, you see Chan pin Daesik to the ground, one knee crushing into his chest. His hand is steady. The blade he holds is pressed flush to Daesik’s throat. His face is unrecognizable, fury distorting every line of it, a rage that is burning, holy, inhuman. 

“I told you once,” Chan seethes, spittal flying. “Not. Yours. Say hello to all the other Kims and Yongs we’ve sent to the fucking afterlife.”

He drags the blade across Daesik’s throat. You turn away before you see it. You don’t need to. You hear it. Smell the iron and salt of it. 

The store is a disaster of glass, blood, and chaos strewn across the floor. None of it feels real. Not yet. You sit curled up in the wreckage, your arms wrapped around your ribs, body aching in more places than you can count. Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts. You try to focus on anything that isn’t the iron tang in the air or the sticky warmth drying on your skin.

Footsteps approach, crunching through the destruction. Someone crouches in front of you and then you hear Chan’s soft, “Hey.” You look up at him, eyes scanning his face. There’s blood splattered across his tan skin. You don’t think it’s his own. “I’ve got you.” 

Chan licks his lips and reaches for you and then hesitates, hovering just shy of touching you. “Can I? Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?”

You nod. “I think I cracked a rib. My head hurts really bad.”

Chan’s eyes flit to your forehead and his mouth twitches. “Did you break his nose?”

“I think so.”

“Good girl.” 

A shadow moves past behind him. Light, purposeful steps. “Gnarly. Is she coherent?” 

Chan glances over his shoulder, exhaling. “Yeah. Angel, easy.”

Angel crouches beside him, resting her chin on one hand like she’s studying you. She has the same blood smeared across her sleeves, same wild glint in her eyes. She smiles. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… weirdly friendly.

“Good job breaking his nose. Pretty decent for your first time.” 

The woman - Angel - offers you a hand. Her nails are painted and glossy, the juxtaposition against the dried blood on her wrist making you oggle at her. 

“Don’t worry,” she winks. “I only use the knife on people who deserve it. Cherry, right? That’s what Jeonghan called you.”

Cherry. Jeonghan had called you that a few nights ago, implied that Chan had been calling you the cherry sours girl. 

You nod slowly. 

“Cute. Jeonghan liked you, so you must not suck.” 

For some reason, the thought of Yoon Jeonghan signing off on you is not at all comforting. 

Chan sighs. “Angel, please.”

“What?” she grins. “I’m being reassuring.”

You look at her hand. Then back to Chan. Then slowly, cautiously, let her help you to your feet. Pain radiates down your side and you wince, hissing through your teeth. Chan’s arm is under you instantly, steadying you.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, softer this time. “I promise.”

Angel steps back with a hum, eyes flicking around the store. “Jihoon is going to fucking kill us. Do you think Kero will come burn the place down?” 

Chan glares at her. “We’re not burning it down.”

“Oh, so now arson is too far?” She gives him an innocent look. “Where was that energy ten minutes ago when I drove a fucking car through the window?” 

“Yeah, what the fuck was that? That’s my car, Angel.”

“Tell Baby to buy you another one! She loves giving people shit on Christmas.” 

You let out a small, choked laugh before you can stop it. A ridiculous sound. But you’re suddenly grateful for her madness, because it’s easier to focus on that than the blood drying on the floor. 

“Come on,” Chan murmurs, guiding you toward the back door. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Where are we going?” you manage.

“Somewhere safe.”

Angel trails behind you, humming as she steps over a body. “I’ll drive.” Chan shoots her a look. “Right, no car. So are we walking, or?”

-

You do in fact, take a car. You have to walk a few hurried blocks first, getting away from the scene of the crime as sirens scream in the distance. Angel makes a quick call and a sleek, black car pulls up to the curb for the three of you. 

You barely remember getting into the car, or Angel tossing a bloodied blade into the glove compartment like it’s a pack of gum. You don’t remember the way the city lights slid across the windows or how Chan never let go of your hand, not once. Only when the car begins winding through tree-lined roads and passing silent iron gates do you begin to come back into your body.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, looking out the window. “What is this place?”

An entire jungle exists here, snatches of drives leading up to secluded houses. It’s beautiful in a way that feels haunting, old trees, stone paths. You’ve never seen so much green in your life, breath fogging the window as you pass through the tropical paradise, tires hissing on gravel. 

“Go to my house, please,” Chan tells the driver.

The car turns down a near-invisible path in the trees. You watch as the world vanishes into a world of palmetto and palms. Chan’s thumb strokes back and forth on your hand, but he says nothing, frame vibrating with tense silence. 

Chan helps you out of the car, his hand gentle at your back. Angel remains in the passenger seat, grinning as the car pulls away back down the path before it vanishes. 

His house is nothing like you imagined. Not glass and steel or sharp, cold edges. No guards posted out front. No high walls. Just… nature. Dense tropical trees surround the house on every side, vines thick with dew, leaves rustling overhead in the cool air. 

The house itself is low and sprawling, dark wood and warm stone, glowing from the inside with soft amber light. Plants hang in pots by the porch. There’s a hammock slung between two posts. Wind chimes stir gently in the breeze.

You stare. 

“What? Chan asks, a little shy.

“This is beautiful.”

“Oh, uh. Family home. A lot of us um - live on property. Angel and Vernon are just up the road and Baby and Soonyoung are in the main house.” 

Inside, the house is warm. It looks lived in and cozy. There are books everywhere, some open, some dog-eared, some stacked haphazardly beside a record player. A large worn couch faces a fireplace filled with glowing coals. A low table holds three mismatched mugs, one with tea still in it. There’s a blanket thrown across the back of a chair and a pile of laundry peeking out of a hallway basket. On the wall hangs a corkboard with photos pinned to it. 

A home. One where generations have lived. Chan is pressed into these walls, his entire family’s history all here. 

You swallow hard as he leads you to the couch. It smells like cedar, citrus, and something distinctly Chan. He helps you sit with a soft grunt. Your ribs pang and you curl your arms around them. He murmurs that he’ll be right back before vanishing down the hall, returning just as quickly with a med kit and a bottle of water.

“Let me see,” he says gently, kneeling in front of you.

You hesitate, then pull your shirt up just enough to reveal the bruises blooming across your ribs. His fingers brush your side with clinical precision, but you still feel the tension vibrating under his skin. His eyes are laser-focused, intense and dark. He doesn’t press hard, but his fingers map the edge of the damage. 

“I don’t think anything is broken,” he murmurs, looking up at you with pinched brows. “Angel will bring Dr. Ymir to confirm, though.” He gestures to your head, where you realize it’s cut. “May I?

You nod and he cleans it, his touch careful. He works in silence, tension thrumming between the two of you all the while. 

When Chan finally speaks, it’s pained. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen and it did and… that’s on me.”

You look at him. Really look at him. His jaw is clenched. His hair is still mussed from the fight. There’s a smear of blood, some on the collar of his shirt. And yet his eyes are full of something unbearably human. 

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “Who you were. What you were part of. I just thought… you liked cherry sours and paperback novels.”

He huffs a faint breath. “I do. I also happen to kill people who try to hurt the ones I care about. It’s not mutually exclusive. Does it… change anything?”

What is there to change? You almost ask, but don’t. You think about his question. Then ask one of your own, “Is it always like this?”

Chan tilts his head. “Like what?” 

“People showing up. Trying to hurt you. People like Angel cutting throats and then offering to make tea.”

He snorts. “I can’t lie and say it’s not. It’s worse than usual right now. The family is at war and well…” He chews his lip. “I am so fucking sorry I brought you into this. Had I just… left you alone at the party…” 

After a beat, you reach for his hand and squeeze. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He looks up at you. “Leave me alone at the party, I mean. Thank you.” 

“It was selfish of me. The thought of someone else touching you…” He sighs again and stands up. You wish he would finish his train of thought - want to beg him to finish. “You’re safe now, but you should probably rest. Dr. Ymir will come around to make sure your ribs aren’t broken and to check if you have a concussion. We can figure out what to do then, alright?”

You nod. Let him take you to one of three rooms - this one is clearly his. It smells like him and there are more books scattered around the room, his sheets rumbled. It’s full of earth tones and soft orange light. It’s so different from the cutting edge modern that you’re used to, feeling like you’re stepping back through time to something soft. Homey. 

Chan helps you lay down and brushes his fingers across your forehead gently, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “Rest. I’ll wake you when the doctor is here.” 

-

You lose track of time in the days that follow. The world outside Chan’s house might as well not exist. The estate is so wrapped in dense greenery and quiet security that it starts to feel like a dream you haven't quite woken from. 

Dr. Ymir arrives a few hours after the incident. She’s tall, sharp-eyed, and whip-smart, her touch clinical but not unkind as she checks your ribs, bruises, pupils, and reflexes. She doesn’t ask questions. She just hums quietly to herself, pokes you exactly where it hurts most, and tells Chan she’ll be back tomorrow. No broken ribs, no concussion, just a hard fucking head. 

“Don’t let her do anything strenuous,” she says as she packs up her kit. “No stress, no stairs, no sharp objects.”

“So no Angel. Got it.”

“She’s surrounded by you,” Dr. Ymir replies dryly. “Which is worse.” 

Chan scowls. You hide a smile, deciding that you like this family doctor very much.

That becomes the rhythm of your days: Ymir visits. You heal. Chan hovers. He won’t let you lift anything heavier than a fork. He follows you from the bedroom to the living room like you’re made of glass. He brings you snacks you didn’t ask for, fluffs the pillows behind you, and glares at them like it’s their fault you’re uncomfortable.

One night, you catch him asleep in the armchair beside the bed, his neck bent at an awful angle, arms crossed, a book half-open in his lap. You stare at him in the low light and wonder how long he's been sitting there watching over you. 

On the fourth day, you surprise him in the kitchen. He nearly drops a glass when he sees you, rushing to make you sit down at a rustic wooden table. 

“Chan, I’m fine.”

“Sit down.” He helps you sit and brings you a cup of coffee. “Drink your coffee and let me helicopter in piece.” 

“At least you’re self aware,” you mutter into the mug, taking a sip. It’s sweet, flavored with cinnamon. 

Finally, he sits next to you with his own cup. He looks good, dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and pajama pants. It’s such a stark contrast to the polished Chan that you’ve always known, but you like this version of him. It feels real, now, this thing between you. You don’t know what to name it - don’t think you can give it a name - but there’s something there, buzzing. 

You talk about books, about music, about everything except the night that got you here. You start to learn the layout of his home by touch and scent, by the warm corners where he likes to sit and the strange half-painted canvas hanging in the hallway, abandoned.

“Soonyoung,” he deadpans when he catches you looking at it. “Don’t ask.” 

On the fifth day, your morning coffee is interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up in the driveaway. Both of you lift your heads. Chan is already moving toward the door, fingers twitching like he’s looking for a weapon. Before he can get there, the door swings open and Angel is stepping inside, dressed in an all black rain slicker and grinning. 

“Hello, Household of Chan!” She moves to the kitchen, opening cupboards with practiced ease, clearly a frequent visitor despite how little she acknowledges it. “You look way better. How are you feeling?”

“Umm, better,” you offer, eyes darting to the door where Jeonghan enters like a shadow. He makes you shiver. Chan tries to shut the person behind Jeonghan out, but there’s a tussle at the door and a man with silver-blonde hair enters the room after shoving Chan out of the door. “Definitely better.”

“Hello, Cherry,” Jeonghan says, his tone light but there's an undercurrent of something else. It’s hard to tell what. “Long time no see.” 

“Hi.” 

The blond man tumbles into the room, still smacking at Chan. “Damn, no wonder you kept going to that goddamn convenience store. She is cute! Congrats.” 

You blink, unsure if you should be offended or flattered. He doesn’t give you time to think, slinging himself onto the chair next to you. “Name’s Soonyoung,” he announces, voice practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Don’t let Chan’s little ‘I’m too cool for everyone’ act fool you. I’m the fun one.”

You can’t help but feel a slight chill run through you. You know who Kwon Soonyoung is. The Sentinel of the Choi Syndicate is a known entity in the city, a violent predator who has been the thorn in the sides of the Yong and Kim families for months now. 

“Soonyoung,” Chan says, voice low, “tone it down.”

Chan comes to stand behind you. You feel the heat of him on your back, a comfort that you lean into instinctually. Tentatively, he sets a hand on your shoulder, squeezing. Soonyoung’s stormy eyes lock on to the action and he grins, sharp. 

“Sure, Chan,” Soonyoung gives him a cheeky look. “Just making sure she knows what she’s dealing with. Don’t worry, I’m mostly harmless.”

“Mostly harmless?” you ask, knowing this is someone who’s not mostly harmless at all.

“Mostly. You’d be fine. Probably. My girlfriend said you’re normal.” He takes the mug of coffee that Angel offers. He notes your confusion and clarifies, “You met her at the convenience store. That creamsicle gum, by the way? Fucking excellent. Do you have any more?”

Ah. This man belongs to Baby. You cannot imagine how. She seemed refined, regal, like someone who comes from a long line of divinity. This man is brutal, rough around the edges, a storm of blood and steel. 

“Soonyoung,” Chan sighs, exasperated. 

It’s late morning by the time you all move to the living room and settle, the sun filtering lazily through the wide windows of Chan’s living room. The tropical trees outside cast dappled shadows across the floor, branches swaying gentle in the breeze. 

You’re curled up into one end of the long, sun-warmed couch, your knees tucked under you, a blanket draped over your shoulders. A mug of tea - made by Angel - rests in your hands, warm and comforting. 

You don’t say much. You don’t need to. The others do all of the talking for you. Not that they talk over you or around you - they talk at you plenty, keeping you in the loop and trying to catch you up to speed on their world. 

Across from you, they move with the ease of people who’ve known each other their whole lives. Soonyoung is sprawled across the rug like a lion in the sun, legs stretched out, gesturing wildly as he recounts something that makes Angel snort. She’s perched on the arm of the chair Jeonghan’s taken, leaning over to flick Soonyoung on the head when he gets too dramatic. It only makes him louder, more animated, like being the center of attention feeds something inside him.

Jeonghan, of course, is the calm in the chaos. Quietly smug, lazily amused, his eyes half-lidded as he listens. He’s more relaxed now, a layer of him melting. There is still something hard, there, an exterior you don’t understand. But you watch the way his affection shines through when he tilts his head and listens to Angel talk. At some point, you realized they’re adopted siblings. Once you notice, you cannot help but see the synchronicities in their movements and habits. 

And Chan - he’s warmer too. He sits next to you, legs pressed against yours in a way that is overwhelming and distracting. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, a half-smile on his face. This is the Chan you know from the convenience store. 

You realize that your Chan is the same as their Chan. That this unpolished, open version that the people who he’s known his entire life is the same version of him that he gifted you. Even if it was only for fifteen minutes a week, between fluorescent lights and discount candy, he gave you this version of himself, freely, quietly, without expectation.

The thought drives you mad. Makes the room spin with possibilities. If that Chan was real, and if he looked at you then the way he’s looking now- 

He is looking at you now. His gaze has drifted, as if drawn to you by an unknown power. It catches and it holds, his eyes never leaving yours. Everything recedes to a distant hum, the chaos of laugher, the quiet brush of leaves against the window - it’s all eclipsed by the weight of Chan’s eyes on yours. 

His smile softens and you melt. 

Chan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His gaze dips briefly to your hands curled around your mug, then flicks back up to your face, almost shyly. It’s absurd, the way your heartbeat reacts. How quickly it speeds up. 

When he meets your eyes again, there’s a question there. He straightens a little, uncrossing his arms like he might reach for you, like he wants to press you even closer to him and- 

Jeonghan’s voice breaks the moment. “I have socialized enough.” 

When you turn to look at Jeonghan, his gaze is pinned on you, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He’s read the moment, sees whatever is brewing on your corner of the couch. Soonyoung complains, but Jeonghan’s kicks at him playfully as he stands. 

“Take me home, children.” 

Angel unpeels herself from the arm of the chair like a cat, eyes flashing as she winks at you. Perhaps she noticed, too. “Bye, Cherry.” 

Soonyoung gets to his feet and pouts. “Bye.” 

The door clicks shut with the soft finality of departure. Now, silence. Chan hasn’t moved. The air is thick with something unspoken, something that’s been humming between you for days - no, longer. For weeks. In stolen fifteen minute increments. 

He leans a little toward you, eyes half-lidded, dropping down to gaze at your mouth. He stares down at you like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s spent every spare moment these past few days trying to keep his hands to himself and is now dangerously close to giving in.

Your heart thuds.

“Chan,” you murmur, not really sure if you’re asking a question or making a statement. 

That’s all it takes. Your voice. His name. He moves. 

One moment there’s space between you, and the next his hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is crashing into yours like he’s breaking through the surface of water he’s been drowning beneath. It’s not tentative, not careful. It’s raw, heated, desperate. Like he’s been holding this back for far too long and the dam has finally, finally broken.

You gasp into him, the sound swallowed by his lips, by the way his fingers tighten like he’s scared you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You can’t. Your hands rise of their own accord, curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in him, anchoring yourself to the moment.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, your breaths tangling. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide.

“I can’t,” he pants, voice ragged. “I can’t do this if you don’t want this… whatever we exist in. You asked me if my life was always like this. I was honest: it is and it isn’t. You’ll never be entirely safe if you’re with me, but I will do anything to make it so.”

“I feel safe. Even at that stupid party. You made me feel safe.” 

“I’m serious,” he whispers. “I know we haven’t talked about it all or what happened or what comes next. But I can’t be half in, half out with you.”

You don’t respond right away. Your hand finds his, lacing your fingers together, grounding him. Grounding yourself. “I’m good right here.” 

He makes a sound, somewhere stuck between relief and desperation. His lips find yours again, softer this time, needy. 

Chan presses into you, pinning you against the arm of the couch. Your arms loop around his neck, pulling him in tighter. His mouth is hungry and warm, tongue brushing against yours as he drinks you in. It’s different now. Still tender, but deeper. Slower. Lingering. Like he’s learning the shape of your mouth, committing the taste of you to memory. His hands slide down, framing your waist like you’re fragile, like he’s still giving you the chance to stop him.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down with you as you shift backward, sinking into the cushions. He follows, a soft groan escaping him when your hips press up, a whisper of friction that ignites something low and molten between you.

“Bedroom,” he rasps against your neck, kissing a path just under your jaw. “Not here. Not the couch.”

You nod, breathless, letting him pull you up to your feet. His hands are secure and careful, his mouth returning to yours even before you take a single step. The walk to his bedroom is a blue, a mess of heated kisses and tangled feet. By the time he nudges the door open and manages to get you onto his bed, you’re already trembling with need for him. 

He pauses once, hovering above you in the amber light of his room, his chest rising and falling as he pants. 

“You sure?” His voice is rough. 

You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair. “Come here.” 

His mouth is on yours again, hungry now, unrestrained. Clothes are pulled away in slow, dragging touches, and brushing over skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, despite the warmth of his palms. Your eyes alight on the ink on his arms, fingers tracing delicately. There’s a mountain range covering the circumference of his forearm, all black ink and white highlights. 

“Pretty.”

“Steadfast is the mountain,” he answers. It sounds practiced. A mantra. 

He straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, lit only by the low lamp in the corner of the room. The shadows fall just right across his cheekbones, but it’s the smile on his face that steals your breath. That crooked, boyish grin you find so fucking charming.

Without a word, he reaches forward and grabs your ankle, pulling you toward him with one smooth tug. You yelp, half-laughing, but he just raises a brow, clearly pleased with himself as your legs dangle a little off the bed. His fingers curl around your ankle, and he brings it to rest on his shoulder, pressing a kiss there, light, deliberate. The heat of his mouth lingers longer than it should.

“So pretty,” he murmurs. 

His mouth starts moving again, this time lower. A trail of kisses down your calf, his lips brushing each inch with slow reverence, only interrupted by a sudden, playful nip to the meat of your leg. It makes your leg twitch. Makes your stomach flip.

You bit your lip, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. His mouth leaves fire in its path, makes you tremble. It feels good, his breath skating across your skin, his touch reverant, like you’re something to be cherished. 

Chan sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed, settling between your legs like he belongs there. The carpet muffles the sound of him shifting forward as he slides your leg over his shoulder, resting your calf against his back. When you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, your breath catches. 

Gone is the playful boy from the convenience store. In his place is pure hunger. Adoration. Focus.

His palms slide along the curves of your things, slow and meticulous, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His thumbs draw tiny circles near your knees, then move inward, kneading softly, coaxing you open. His hands feel too good, making your eyelids flutter. 

You can’t help the sigh that escapes you. “Feels good.” 

He hums in response but says nothing else. Instead, he dips his head down and kisses your thigh, then the other, then the space between, mouthing over your already damp underwear. You curse, head falling back heavily as Chan’s tongue laves over the fabric, soaking it with a mix of spit and your arousal. 

Hooking his fingers in the sides of your underwear, he pulls them slowly down. He tosses them somewhere behind him and presses your legs apart, hands firm, eyes dropping to take in the sight of you, wet, aching and already trembling for him. He groans under this breath. 

“Fuck.”

You bite your lip. Your heart’s hammering. The room pulses with tension.

And then he leans forward, and his tongue meets you, slow and deliberate. The first stroke is long, flat, dragging through your folds like he’s savoring you. You moan softly, your fingers fisting the sheets. He doesn’t stop, tongue exploring, teasing, avoiding your clit just enough to make you whimper.

“Chan,” you whimper, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“Good girl,” he mutters, giving your cunt a long lick. “Say my name just like that.”

You do. He groans, diving back in, tongue circling your clit now, the pressure just right. Every slow, slick stroke sends heat coiling in your stomach. You can’t think. Can’t breathe. All you can do is feel.

His warm hands ground you, one gripping your thigh, the other stroking slow, soothing patterns into your hip. It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. You’re melting and coming undone in his hands, and he’s barely started. 

A breathy whine leaves your mouth when Chan starts to eat you out properly. You drop down to the bed, unable to keep yourself propped up. A hand shoots to his hair, tangling your fingers in the silky threads as you tug. He grunts in appreciation, his tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. 

When he fastens his mouth on your cunt and gives a gentle suck, you nearly die. It feels so good, your thighs shaking around his thread. He hums, satisfied, tongue prodding your entrance teasingly before dragging up to circle your clit lazily. 

“Tastes so good,” he mutters, more to himself than you. He lets a glob of spit drip onto your clit, his tongue chasing it. “Fuck.” 

“Shit,” you squeak, feeling your orgasm loom closer. “I’m gonna- fuck.”

“Good.”

He buries his face in deeper, picking up pace. You drip into his mouth and he swallows it down, not shy about the way his mouth sucks at you, loud, wet, lewd. You’re shaking underneath him, barely able to breathe, his tongue sliding back and forth over your throbbing clit. 

Chan dips his head low, suctioning his mouth to you, sucking harshly from entrance to clit. It sends you slamming into your orgasm, thighs twitching around his head, body shaking, back spasming. He continues to mouth at you, tongue circling your entrance, catching every drop of you. 

When he’s done, he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, marking you with spit and cum. You don’t care, and you definitely don’t care when he hovers back over you, mouth shining in the orange light with your arousal. 

Lifting your head, you crash your mouth into his, tasting yourself on his tongue, tangy and heady. He groans, letting you consume him as the two of you shuffle up the bed. His skin hot against yours, stomach jumping underneath your touch as your nails scrape down his front to press firmly against his sweatpants. 

Chan lets out a needy moan. You grin, wicked and spurred by the sound. You squeeze him through the fabric, reducing him to a whining mess, his head dropping down to your shoulder as he pants, letting you give him the barest amount of friction. 

His hips twitch into your hand, little jerks of motion as your hand shocks his system. You love the way sounds for you, love how he sounds throaty, voice broken, mouth desperate where he plants kisses on your neck. 

“Let me taste you,” you murmur, pulling at the band of his sweatpants. “Please.” 

Chan peels off of you and shuffles up the bed. You blink at him, stars in your eyes, watching with swollen lips and your mouth parted as he knees next to you. He tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and peels them down, revealing his thick, heavy cock. It bobs, dark tip swollen and beading with precum.

Your mouth waters. You remain laying on the bed, batting your eyelashes at him as you reach for him. He’s hard in your hand, warm to the touch. He pants heavily as you stroke his velvety shaft, his head falling back a little, throat exposed, eyes fluttering shut.

Chan is beautiful like this, on his knees, hands fisted against his thigh as your hand pumps him leisurely. Your hand rounds the top of his cock, thumb brushing across the sensitive tip, smearing his precum down his shaft. Then you’re rolling on your side, guiding him toward your mouth and he shifts, shuffling to accommodate the space.

“Fuck,” he hisses, air slicing between his teeth.

Your lips close around Chan, the familiar weight of him settling on your tongue. You trace the underside of his shaft, slow and deliberate, feeling the warmth of his skin. His breath hitches, a quiet tremor running through him as you draw him in, your movements steady, unhurried.

You pull back, a thin thread of saliva glinting briefly before it snaps. Lying back, you meet his gaze and murmur, “Use my mouth.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he heaves. 

Still, he complies. He shifts closer, one hand steadying himself as he looks down at you, eyes dark with want. You part your lips, tongue extended, an open invitation. He shakes his head, almost disbelieving, and brushes the tip of himself against your tongue.

You give him a single, wet lick and he’s cursing again, laughing at the way you make him fall apart. This time, he sinks into your mouth carefully. You’re mindful of your teeth, suctioning your cheeks as he slides

in. It’s a challenge for him, every inch making his cock twitch.

Still, he complies. He shifts closer, one hand steadying himself as he looks down at you, eyes dark with want. You part your lips, tongue extended, an open invitation. He shakes his head, almost disbelieving, and brushes the tip of himself against your tongue.

His free hand drifts downward, fingers grazing your thigh before slipping between your legs. He groans at the wet mess he finds there, fingers slipping against your clit. You hum around him, hips twitching as you spark with pleasure. The dual sensation, his slow thrusts in your mouth, his fingers working your cunt, sets your nerves alight, a soft moan vibrating against him as he presses deeper into both your mouth.

Chan drags his fingers down, pressing them to your entrance. You nod, mouth full of cock, desperate for his fingers. 

“Want my fingers?” You hum, looking up at him with a watery lash line. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

His fingers grow more deliberate, parting you with a gentle insistence, exploring your slick heat. He curls them just right, finding that spot that makes your hips buck involuntarily. Your muffled gasp around him only spurs him on, his touch steady but relentless. 

Each stroke is precise, his thumb brushing against your clit in tandem, building a rhythm that matches the slow rock of his hips. Your body tenses, thighs trembling as he pushes you closer to the edge, his fingers slick and unyielding, drawing out every shudder and pulse while you struggle to keep your focus on the weight of him in your mouth.

Chan pulls out of your mouth. You protest but he shuffles down the bed and hushes you with a kiss. “I’m not cumming in your mouth.” You pout and he laughs, fingers working your cunt. “Think you can take me?”

“Please.” 

He surprises you by laying next to you, reaching over and grabbing you and rolling you on him. Your knees settle on either side of his waist, your chest pressed against his. He grins down at you, hands skimming down your sides to your waist where he squeezes before continuing to your ass, dragging his nails across your skin.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, rolling your pussy against his wet shaft.

“You don’t tease me!” 

“No fun.”

Reaching between you, Chan strokes himself, spreading slick down his shaft. You lift your hips just a little, letting him press his tip against your entrance before you sink down on him slowly. You moan in tandem, his cock stretching you to the fullest. Inch by inch, you take him, until he’s fully sheathed, your body flush against his, breaths ragged.

The fullness is overwhelming, Chan buried deep, your chest pressed to his. For a moment, you stay still, breaths intertwining, lips brushing but not quite kissing. It’s raw, close, the heat of him grounding you.

His hands find your thighs, gripping firmly as he begins to move you, lifting you along his length before pulling you back down. His hips rise to meet you, a steady rhythm that sends sparks through your core. You gasp, a shiver racing through you, and you match his pace, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck. Your knees dig into the mattress, giving you leverage to rock against him, each motion drawing a soft groan from his lips.

Chan’s thrusts deepen, deliberate, each one stoking the heat coiling low in your belly. You lean forward, lips grazing his jaw, his pulse thrumming beneath your touch. His grip tightens, one hand sliding to your hip, guiding you faster, harder.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice strained. “Just like that.”

His words send a jolt through you, your walls clenching around him, earning a low growl. You’re close too, the pressure building with every thrust, every brush of his cock against that perfect spot inside you.

A hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, circling with just the right pressure. Your hips stutter, a whine escaping as the sensation pushes you to the edge. You gasp, digging your nails into the back of his neck. He doesn’t let up, his thrusts relentless, jostling you, fingers working you until your vision blurs. 

It hits you first, a wave crashing over you as you tighten around him, coming undone. Your moans are broken, hips jerking as you ride your high, thighs burning, trembling against him. The way you throb around him sends him over the edge. With a choked groan, he thrusts deep a final time, spilling inside you, heels digging into the mattress. 

You remain tangled limbs, you on his chest, both of you panting and slick with sweat. His arms wrap around you, loose but warm. As your heartbeats slow together, his hand begins to trace patterns up and down your spine. 

After a while, Chan shifts beneath you. He leans back, looking at you. You smile, resting your chin on his chest. You’re so close you can count each one of his silk eyelashes. 

“So… you’re staying, yeah?” His voice is small when he asks. Hesitant. “I don’t mean just until you’re feeling better. I mean that I want you here. With me. We can figure out what’s next. I just…” 

“I’ll stay,” you whisper. Then grin, quoting Romeo and Juliet when you murmur, “For parting is such sweet sorrow.”

That gets a grin out of him. “I have lots of books for you to read.”

“I’ve noticed. You have… more books than I thought possible.”

“They’re yours. Anything of mine belongs to you.” 

Your hand slides up his chest, resting over his beating heart. “I just need this.”

“You have that. You’ve had that since the first night I walked into that store and you recommended cherry sours.” He pauses. “You know that store is not remotely on my way home, right?”

“What?”

He grins. “I go out of my way every week to go there. Just to see you. It made me happy.”

Your heart thrums in time with his. “Me too.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs as you rest your face in his neck, snuggling closer. “For offering those cherry sours that night. For staying.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone, unable to articulate just how thankful you are for him, despite everything.

-

Angel stands in front of you, her arms crossed as she watches you with an intensity that makes you want to run. Her arms are corded muscle, winding with black ink. She has an image of an angel falling down her forearm, the feathers drifting upward toward a starry sky. Most members of the Syndicate are tattooed, Chan included. 

Your eyes drift over to him, drinking him in. He’s squaring off with Soonyoung a few mats over, sweating through his tank top, arms up. His tattoos flex as he throws a jab, glistening under the neon lights and sweat.

“Come on,” Angel instructs, tapping her foot impatiently. “Eyes here, not on your sweaty rat of a boyfriend.” 

You shift awkwardly. “I don’t know how I am ever going to be able to throw a punch like that. You make it look easy.”

“I’ve been hitting people since I was ten. I punched the Tower in the stomach when we were kids once.” Your eyes go round and she grins, all teeth. “Watch me.”

She changes her stance, twisting her arm as she slowly goes through the motion of an exaggerated jab. “Always follow through. You need to punch through something, not at it.”

You try to replicate the movement. The move is clumsy and Angel winces. “Try again.” 

Before you can try again, a loud thud echoes through the gym. You glance over to see Soonyoung in the background, pinning Chan down to the mat. Chan is stomach down - you have no idea how that happened - growling and trying to throw Soonyoung off of him.

Soonyoung is grinning, clearly enjoying every moment of it. “Nice try, Chariot.”

“A bit of advice.” Angel’s voice brings you back to the present. “Don’t be stupid like your boyfriend and challenge the Sentinel every morning. He gets his ass beat most days.” She gestures to your hands. “Try again. Hit me like you mean it.” 

Soonyoung helps Chan to his feet. Claps him on the back. There’s so much love in these walls, even when throwing punches and trading blows. You look at Angel and make a fist, retaking your stance.

Then you throw a punch like you mean it. 

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[arisewanekosuki]

Now im excited to see TLH! Reader interact with the guys in 5.6 i wonder how will they interact with each other when she introduces them to one another? : >

I wanna see a small scenario with the natlan guys and fontaine guys lmao

Writing before the event started! So it will be short too. Maybe I will write another thing after playing the event but I don't promise anything~

---

-"So this is Kinich, Ajaw, Ifa, Cacucu and Ororon" you introduced the boys and two saurians "They are my new friends from Natlan! And those gentlemens are Nevuilete and Wriothesley! I hope you all can get along!" You smiled, not realizing there is some tension between your friends from Natlan and Fontaine. -"It's a pleasure to meet you, I hope you will enjoy the stay in Fontaine." Iudex was the first to break the silence, his tone soft but his eyes were sharp. -"Likewise, we heard many stories about your nation and we are glad we could come here." Kinich responded, already feeling there will be some troubles. There was awkwards silence for a moment. -"So how about I will show you all around? The food here is really great! " You said with a smile, happy that your friends can be friends too. -"We would appreciate it!" Ifa smiled towards you. Then you felt someone placing a hand on your shoulder. Looking up you saw the Duke being closer to you -"How about we join you?" Wriothesley smiled towards you. -"It will be at my cost too, after all we should treat our new... friends from afar."  Neuvillette added, coming closer to you too. -"Oh that's great idea! The more the merrier!" You clasped, liking the idea of spending time with everyone together. "Then let's go!!" you and the Fontainians started to walk, while 3 Natlanese stayed a bit behind. -"Is this me or does it feel like two Tatankasaurs protecting their little one?" Ororon said, letting his breath out, that he didn't even realize he held. Your friends made him a bit nervous. -"That's… an interesting way to put it my bro." Ifa responded by scratching his head. He just started to get along with you and there are already so many obstacles on his way to spending time with you. -"No way, bro!" Cacucu who was sitting on Ifa's hat said, flapping his little wings. -"Hahaha! You are such a bunch of losers! Quivering after seeing some two guys?! And you all want to get her?! Hahaha- AUCH!" Ajaw got hit by Kinich -"From what I observed you were the one hiding behind me." Kinich sighed. "But even if they know her longer it doesn't mean anything, we still have a chance so let's go." Ororon and Ifa nodded at that and all of them followed after you with determination in their eyes. 

[happyendingsong]

applying for this jnior scrptwriting role but the only creative writing work i have to show is jn fic from three years ago. :/

[gelatinous-globster]

Do you think Globby's ever fallen asleep on Felony Carl's shoulder? I do.

Short fic for this scene under the read-more!

The cushions shift as Felony Carl sits down next to him and easily wraps an arm over Globby's shoulder, as was their routine. Globby leans against him without thinking, and it feels like the most familiar thing in the world. Felony Carl's solid form next to him makes things much easier to manage. 

"Wanna see what's on T.V.?" Carl holds the remote in his other hand, looking at Globby. 

"Yeah." Globby answers simply. Wow, he was worn out. 

Felony Carl wordlessly flicks through channels with the T.V. volume turned down low. They settle on some documentary, light from the T.V. screen casting the room in a subdued blue. 

Globby's not really watching whatever is on the T.V., and if he was paying attention, he would notice that Carl wasn't, either. Globby isn't thinking much of anything. He just… feels comfortable. Drowsy. Safe. 

His head droops onto Carl's chest—normally he was taller than Carl, but he's oozing down the couch somewhat, so his head is at Carl's chest level. 

It's interesting how he can feel Carl's heartbeat, in this position. Steady thrumming. Combined with the hushed T.V., it's almost like a lullaby. 

Globby is just aware enough to register Carl's cat jumping up onto the couch next to them and curling into a ball. He's been trying to befriend that cat for so long, and this small victory pleases him. A small smile crosses his face, different from the one he was wearing at the diner. 

"This is nice," He says. 

Globby's voice is soft, a slight bit raspy. His eyes are half-lidded. The blue glow of the T.V. reflects off of his face and Carl traces with his eyes where it cups Globby's cheek. 

"It is." Felony Carl considers saying more but is interrupted by light snores. His eyes soften. He lingers on Globby, who is fast asleep already. 

Letting out an endeared sigh, he turns his head back towards the T.V., careful not to jostle Globby.

He can feel his own eyelids getting heavy, so he resigns to keep the T.V. on as background noise.

He likes how the light makes Globby look, too. 

…They can deal with things tomorrow.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

BTW next chapter of "Like A Parody of Tantalus" will be a Chume Labs interlude!

It's just polished enough / long enough for me to feel reluctant posting it to Tumblr rather than Ao3, but I don't want to shove it into the pre-QSMP / beginning of QSMP chapter since it doesn't fit the vibe.

[dapurinthos]

i have developed a deep loathing for people who are all 'yes i have done a completely integrated star wars legends/disney clone wars timeline' and then it turns out the timeline is just a list of book chapters, comic pages, and episode titles. no. that is not a timeline. that is a timetable. a timeline has events.

(the only valid timeline creator is the person behind numidian prime, with the continuity breakdown category and a complete disney-canon timeline, which is my saviour)

this is worse than calibrating theoretical theran eruption dates to a lunar calendar while also remembering to keep the precession of the equinoxes in mind so that the seasons are also in the right place, and that nasa kindly put the calendar in the right order so that everything from 4 october 1582ce is indeed in the julian calendar but all the dates need a year added to them to be the correct bce one.

such as: in 1518bce, the winter solstice was on 3 ianuarius, there was a penumbral lunar eclipse on the 12th, the vernal equinox was on 5 aprilis, the summer solstice of 7 iulius had a full moon (1518bce was a very special year where the moon was waxing from new on the winter solstice, full on the summer). there was a partial solar eclipse on 22 iulius, spica rose c. 18 september, the sun began to shine in the throne room of knossos c. 26 september, 11 days before the lunar new year, meaning that there weren't any intercalary days to add that year. the autumn equinox was on 7 october, shortly before the sowing of flax seed. the new lunar year probably began c. the 19th (since the new year was in autumn), which would be followed by the opening of the new wine.

i am what they call intense about chronology.

oh wow i haven't used the minoan novel tag in just over six years. i wonder if i'd be able to do better at it now that i'm on the vyvanse with my newly acquired concentration powers.

no. bad. stop. it will still be there after figuring out gffawmbctta (why did i decide to give a ridiculous title to this fic monster? probably because it is a monster

[kirnet]

im putting the whole agency bunker bit into one chapter but like. its so long already. because its an info dump chapter and dorotea is picking fights with everyone. i know the blood test thing is kind of important but i might just cut it for pacing reasons???

[harrysfolklore]

misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1

summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before

word count: 8.2k + social media posts

folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day 🥹 this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Max Verstappen was bored.

It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.

He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.

After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.

A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."

Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a reader—he had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loud— but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.

The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"

Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny — and really pretty—. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.

"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."

Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.

"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."

Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.

"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"

Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.

"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.

"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."

Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.

"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."

Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.

With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.

When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.

"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."

Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.

"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."

Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.

"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."

Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.

As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.

After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.

As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others

f1gossip “I went to bed early last night. Just listened to the team’s orders, you know?”

Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am 😭

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username1 HES SOOOOO

username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBER’S channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS 😭

username3 he looks so pretty tho

username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU

username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers

username6 HES SO RANDOM

username7 max’s search history: lestappen as fictional couples

liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others

ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?

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username1 YES QUEEN

username2 that max comment was so random but so real

username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card

username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you

username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES

username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun

username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion

maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks

liked by username1, username2 and 15,836 others

f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !

view all comments

username1 BABYYYY

username2 max ??? bookshop ????

username3 WHAT SHIFTED

username4 he thought it was jimmyz

username5 HEELPP what is he doing there

username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books

↳ username1 FOR REAL???

↳ username2 max said book girl summer

↳ username3 this is so random

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If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.

As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.

Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.

As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.

Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.

He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.

Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.

"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"

Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."

"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.

Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.

"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"

"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"

"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"

Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."

"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."

Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.

"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."

They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friends.

As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.

"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"

"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"

Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."

"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.

Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"

He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.

Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.

"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."

"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"

Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."

"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.

"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.

"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"

"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."

"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."

"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.

Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.

"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."

"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."

"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."

"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"

Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?

"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.

Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.

"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.

After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.

As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.

Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?

He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.

Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.

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liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others

ynreadsbooks this week’s video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons ☺️

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username1 GIRL

username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOU’RE GOING

username3 f1 x books this is literally me

username4 hot girls support max verstappen

username5 ahh if she’s going to the gp i’ll be so happy bc she’s a huge fan

username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan 😭

redbullracing We can’t wait 💙

↳ username1 REDBULL???

↳ username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.

The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.

But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.

The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.

As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.

Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.

Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.

As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"

Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.

"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"

"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"

"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."

"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."

"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.

"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"

Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."

With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.

Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.

After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.

As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.

She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.

He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.

Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"

She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"

They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.

"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."

He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.

They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.

As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.

"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."

Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.

"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."

"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."

"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."

"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"

Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"

As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.

"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."

YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."

They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.

"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."

"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."

They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.

"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."

"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."

They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.

"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans… I was right about you, Max Verstappen."

Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.

"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."

"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."

"Everything happens for a reason, right?"

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ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU 🥺💙

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username1 OMFGGGG

username2 no one deserved this more than her for real

username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED

redbullracing Come back soon! 😉

username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport

username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG

username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill

↳ ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion

↳ username1 WTF

↳ username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video

danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! 👀

↳ username3 how do i sign up for this

username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED

maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special ☺️

↳ username1 OMG MAX

↳ username2 i'd be screaming if i was her

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maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company 🧡

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username1 KIIING

username2 how can a man be so babygirl

username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2

danielricciardo 🦁🦁

landonorris Simply lovely

↳ username1 menace

username4 bro who got you smiling like that

ynreadsbooks ❤️

↳ username2 biggest max girlie

↳ username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG

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When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.

Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.

As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.

Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.

Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.

"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"

"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."

YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"

"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."

"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"

"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."

"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."

They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.

"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.

Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"

"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"

Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.

"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"

The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?

YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."

Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."

YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But… are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."

Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.

"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."

He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.

"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just… I really want to see you again."

As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.

YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."

Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.

"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."

"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.

"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."

"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."

"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."

As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.

He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?

The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.

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The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.

In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.

The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.

As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.

Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.

"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.

"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."

Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."

"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."

"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."

Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"

Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.

"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."

"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.

"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"

"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."

"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."

Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.

As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.

Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.

YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.

"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.

"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.

"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."

As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."

"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.

As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."

YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."

Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place – it has a great view of the harbor."

As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.

Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."

She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."

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username1 AWEEE

username2 those are cute kittens

username3 those look like max verstappen's cats

username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??

↳ username1 how CRAZY would it be

danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble

↳ username2 HOLD ON??

↳ ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry 😅

↳ username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??

↳ maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...

↳ username1 OMFGGG

↳ username4 THIS PLOT TWIST

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Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.

True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.

The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.

They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.

Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.

What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.

When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.

The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.

Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.

YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"

Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"

YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.

Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.

Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."

YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"

"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."

A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.

As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.

In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.

He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.

"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."

She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."

As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.

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username1 GIRL

username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY

username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this

username4 girl we can tell that's max dw 😭😭

username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO

username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?

username7 she just had a book and a dream fr

landonorris Has he bored you yet?

↳ username1 IM DYING

↳ username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle

↳ ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies 😉

↳ maxverstappen1 Good to know that ❤️

↳ landonorris I'm disgusted

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As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.

For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.

Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.

As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.

Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.

"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."

Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been… I don't even have words for it."

"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up on…"

Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."

YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"

"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just… competitive."

"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"

"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.

"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."

Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."

As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.

YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.

The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.

When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."

Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."

"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."

With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.

When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.

"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you… it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."

YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but… I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."

"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."

"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."

YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."

Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.

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The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.

"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.

Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."

When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.

In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.

Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.

Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.

"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.

"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up… there's nothing like it."

They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.

She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."

"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."

Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.

"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"

"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."

"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."

Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"

Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.

"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite… impressive."

Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.

As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.

He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans… it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.

Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.

"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"

Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."

He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.

Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.

"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.

Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I… yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, but…"

YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud… it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."

Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."

The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."

YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.

"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"

YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."

[simpjaes]

HYPER-SEXUAL (s,jy)

If there’s anything in life that Jake wants, it’s to fuck. All day, every day, it’s on his mind. He fantasizes constantly, watches porn every free chance he gets, and ultimately has grown bored of his own hand to satiate his need. or the one where jake is inexperienced, incredibly perverted, and borderline addicted to sex but cannot, for the life of him, land a girl.

leave feedback and reblog to give jake another boner. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 13.8k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader

CONTENT― smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant jake, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets jake go absolutely insane on her

NOTE― not proof read in the way it needed to be.  disclaimer: this is straight up just porn. it had a plot at one point but i deleted all of it and wrote this instead. also this is posted on my other blog [@ncteez] for mark lee. yes, i wrote it for both of them bc they both fit the shoe ok? ok.

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― jake isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, jake’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-” 

Jake slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny. 

Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three. 

Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point. 

It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself. 

The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again. 

It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting. 

For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Jake has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway. 

Almost given up.

A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Jay in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Jake is proud to admit.

“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Jay had said to him. “It’s only June!”

Maybe Jay was right, and maybe Jake should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Jay had advertised. “Even got Jungwon laid.” 

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Jake has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jungwon laid, surely it could get him laid too. 

Maybe this one really is better.

And at the end of the day, Jake does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though? 

We’ll see.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ah. Okay. Nice.

Jake stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh. 

The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck. 

Safe to say, Jake’s profile went a little something like this: 

you can call me jake, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.

LOOKING FOR: Female PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more] PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]

NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn

Embarrassing? Yeah, probably. 

Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him. 

He can only imagine what the fuck Jungwon had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Jake is desperate and so was Jungwon at one point. 

Apparently girls like desperate guys. 

Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually. 

“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?” 

“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?” 

“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”

Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.

Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.

Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Jake probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did. 

And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real. 

“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”

One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship–

Oh.

Fuck yeah.

He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?” 

Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.

He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God. 

You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.

And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?

You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.  

Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances. 

Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?

Please.

Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs. 

And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you. 

Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems. 

Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back. 

Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You awake?

Dick pic #1. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol

Dick pic #2 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Wake uppppppppppp! 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Please? :(

Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message:  Do you already have me silenced?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….

JAKE_02 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”

Oh, he has an accent. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff? 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw? 

Etcetera. 

And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed. 

You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond. 

YOURUSERNAME: that was cute. 

It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone. 

YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby. 

JAKE_02: oh god please don’t say that

JAKE_02: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again

YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then? 

Yes, you’re teasing him. 

JAKE_02: if you’d let me

YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?

JAKE_02: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again

You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you. 

YOURUSERNAME: show me?

And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?

YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?

Oh, shit. Jake could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.  

JAKE_02: i’ll come over right now. 

JAKE_02: let me come over and show you

YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me

And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.

Public meeting first. 

Always.

JAKE_02: right, right, that makes sense. 

JAKE_02: so can i see your pussy then

You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits. 

Meaning, he has to settle with them too. 

And the photo is all but enough for Jake. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…

This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden. 

He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it. 

JAKE_02: thats so hot…but….

JAKE_02: pussy….

JAKE_02: please show me your pussy

Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice. 

And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open. 

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again. 

JAKE_02: tht was hot lol….um

JAKE_02: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want

You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately. 

And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.

YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot? 

JAKE_02: ….would u want me to? 

YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good

JAKE_02: hahah damn

JAKE_02: so you’ll come see me?

YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you

JAKE_02: ok cool :)

And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Jake is gonna be fun. 

JAKE_02 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good

Sounds promising. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.

Fucking handsome and charmingly cute. 

Perhaps even, hot. 

You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same accent you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.

 Oh wow. 

On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying. 

 Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock. 

Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.

Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough. 

You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used. 

No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy. 

It’s hot. 

And when you approach, Jake nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first. 

“Hi, did you find everything you–” Jake stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.”  He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.

You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot. 

No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.

“Do you wanna see my pussy?” 

It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda. 

You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal. 

No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.

“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.” 

You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there. 

“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”

Jake swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.

“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.” 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place. 

“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Jake?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.” 

“Please–” Jake blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this. 

“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”

His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.

“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.

Jake swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse? 

Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then? 

Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you. 

You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.

Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now. 

And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.

“Here it is.” Jake says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.” 

You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever. 

It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Jake is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers. 

You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open. 

You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally. 

He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot. 

“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny. 

And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.  

“Jake,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”

You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain. 

“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove. 

Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things. 

And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan. 

You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place. 

“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”

He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more. 

Jake’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.

And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Jake keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand. 

“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket. 

“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”

You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket. 

“I’ll text you my address.” 

And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end. 

Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently. 

It’s not doing anything to hold him over though. 

He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.

Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again. 

“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles. 

Jake wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy. 

“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater. 

Jake doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right. 

“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!” 

Jake would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too. 

And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough. 

“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!” 

“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.

He needs to leave. Right now.

“S’all good,” Jake shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!” 

And finally, Jake can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum. 

He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful. 

Careful isn’t something Jake can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work. 

He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle. 

“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck. 

He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore. 

You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems.  He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.

“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.” 

You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect. 

“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”

Jake nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind. 

“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”

You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back. 

“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”

“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”

“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”

Jake groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either. 

It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours. 

“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone. 

“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it. 

The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.

“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”

“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”

You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”

If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.

Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you. 

“Ah, fuck–” Jake groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….

“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads. 

The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair. 

Jake lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up. 

It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.

“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath. 

He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud. 

“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”

As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you. 

You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue. 

“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really? 

Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?

 “God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you. 

He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself. 

Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue. 

Oh fuck.

“Ahh- '' Jake moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything. 

You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him. 

“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?” 

He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face. 

There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.

Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.

“Jake–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose. 

He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn. 

And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you. 

Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now. 

You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock. 

“Hah–” Jake lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”

You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose. 

He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Jake managed to keep them shoved out of his way. 

“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”

Jake has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer. 

Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match. 

You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling. 

He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow. 

Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too. 

You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Jake just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.

“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”

Right. Bedrooms exist.

Jake follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him. 

You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time. 

You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.

He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.

He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward. 

Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp. 

“Could eat you out again.” Jake mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead. 

Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Jake could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please. 

“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated. 

He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you. 

“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?” 

Jake nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it. 

“Do you work tomorrow?” 

He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him. 

“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”

Oh, damn. 

The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Jake. 

Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night. 

Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…

“Yeah?” Jake breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are. 

“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”

God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock. 

“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–” 

He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.

“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”

Jake moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body. 

“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”

With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches. 

Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore. 

You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely. 

That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.

And god, Jake loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…

Oh no.

“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.

And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.

Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries. 

“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely. 

He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay. 

He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more. 

“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”

That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you. 

“Don’t say that, oh god–” Jake mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”

Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.

Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.

And as Jake catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.

“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms. 

And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes. 

“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would. 

His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…

His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips. 

“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways. 

Good. 

“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,”  He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”

You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips. 

“Well, Jake–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”

Jake rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.

“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Jake groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”

You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this. 

“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.

It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.

Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t. 

Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.

He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold. 

You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.

“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time. 

The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Jake is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.

For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Jake can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.

He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”

Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation. 

Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently. 

“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”

You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw. 

“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”

A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw. 

“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”

You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope. 

“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”

Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t. 

“You can have it any time you want.” Jake smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.” 

You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.

“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”

You shake your head. 

“Not usually, you just turn me on.” 

Jake feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl. 

Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of. 

“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again. 

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.

“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”

Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this. 

“Yes, Jake,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”

His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use. 

“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”

You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot. 

“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”

Oh.

“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”

So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic. 

“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”

This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control. 

“You want me to sit on it, Jake?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction. 

The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth. 

Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it. 

He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are. 

And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch. 

“That’s it.” Jake soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.

And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it. 

“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving. 

Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation. 

It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation. 

You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed. 

“Oh, oh shit, Jake–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no. 

“What– What’s wrong?!” Jake’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing. 

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest. 

Jake just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?” 

And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.

“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe. 

Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before. 

Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–

“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours. 

Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”

At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.

But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural. 

And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression. 

“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.” 

And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The rest didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Jake remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.

To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves. 

And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely. 

Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Jake seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key. 

Never in your life would have imagined giving a person the key to your apartment, and yet…there he goes. Backing out of a guest parking spot in front of your building with your spare fucking apartment key in his pocket right next to those fucking panties. 

[viaviavie]

OPERATION CINDERELLA-SABOTAGE [SAVANACLAW]

in which he rescues you from your very short-lived wedding.

SUMMARY: due to a massive misunderstanding, a prince from royal sword academy is set to wed you at sunset. thankfully, your un-princely crush is here to save the day and crash this lovely wedding.

PAIRINGS: everyone x fem reader (separately)

WARNINGS: they're being a bit dramatic, characters are 18+, slightly suggestive (leona and ruggie), leona lifts you up bc he's a big man like that,

NOTES: this is echoes the ghost bride event, but listening to this prompted me to write out this scenario instead. i made this for shits and giggles, so have fun with this self-indulgent fic ofmine writing for savanaclaw was pretty funny tho

HEARTSLABYUL | SAVANACLAW | OCTANIVELLE | SCARABIA | POMEFIORE | IGNIHYDE | DIASOMNIA

There was no way you would be able to say 'no' now, not when there were hundreds of Royal Sword Academy students and even more members of a random royal family whose last names you cannot recall waiting outside that door. Aside from a completely oblivious Neige and Che'nya who was nowhere to be found, there was no one you could really ask for help to get you out of this mess.

You turn to your supposed betrothed with frantic eyes, shaking your head wildly. "I already told you, I'm not the one you danced with at the ball!" Your hisses fell on deaf ears. That damned prince from Royal Sword Academy was too busy making the 'goo-goo' eyes at you to even register what you were saying.

"I just happened to have the same shoe-size!"

Damn it, why did you have to agree to fitting some missing girl's shoe?!

Pierce Charmant, possibly the most delusional guy you have ever met in Twisted Wonderland, clung onto your calf with a stubborn expression. He had no intentions of letting you go, and neither did his five other guards that had blocked your way.

"You have to be her!"

"You don't even know my name!"

You were really counting on Grim to get someone, anyone, to stop this wedding. Yet, as you are walked down the aisle by the fair Neige, you are already planning out a divorce settlement plan. Based on the number of guests here, who had filled this entire venue from top to bottom, you would have guessed that this prince was rather rich. If it was to be an unhappy marriage, at least your wallet would be more than compensated.

You managed to convince this prince to send invitations to Night Raven College, but that didn't matter. He was so excited and in a hurry to marry, that your friends barely had any time to rescue you! There must have been so much traffic with the mirrors that they couldn't even use them! There was just no way that they'd make it in time now.

And so you consign yourself to readying some divorce papers within the next few weeks, and planning out how to avoid any more interactions with this guy while you were married.

You stood at the chapel's base, your expression exasperated than ever as you kept darting your gaze to the door. You've already tripped over the aisle a few times, fumbled the scripted vows, and even called for a bathroom break or two to stall.

And now comes the big moment that you were so desperately trying to avoid.

"Would you, Pierce Charmant, take the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

The prince smiles so sickly sweet, and its the look of a man who won't change his mind.

"I do."

You grimace as the officiant faces you, just as blind to your annoyed expression.

"Would you, the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, take Pierce Charmant as you lawfully wedded husband?" They didn't even use your name!

You pause, the image of your crush flashing before your eyes.

You would never see him again if you let yourself get married. Defiance returns to your face as you suck in a deep breath, ready to deal with the consequences of rejecting this delusional prince in front of hundreds of people.

"I—"

"I object!"

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, herbivore? How bothersome. You had better be prepared to kiss the ground I walk on as soon as I grab you from the altar. You owe me for this, big time. Don't even think about lumping me in with the same lot as Ashengrotto. I suppose I'll have to retell you this as soon as I get you out of there... Damn it, the prefect couldn't pick up the goddamn phone for the fifteenth time. Park the car, Ruggie. I'm going in."

Imagine Leona's irritation when he has Grim tugging at his tail blubbering nonsense about you and a wedding. He really thought it was some stupid ploy to have him attend class or some arrangement until he heard Malleus expressing his concerns a couple rooms away.

Because what do you mean the herbivore is getting hitched into a royal family?! You sure that we are talking about the same magicless prefect with literally no credentials or documentation?

It's enough to have the beastman get up and deal with the issue himself. Consider yourself a lucky prefect since he is personally driving his way to the venue to pluck you from Prince Whatever's clutches.

Did he think the plan through? Not really. Leona is a prince himself from the Sunset Savannah, and he can easily abuse that status for issues like these. It should be easy. All he had to do was go in, and get you out, right? Right?

That being said, was it really necessary to dress for the occasion? He would have happily went in with his uniform, but Ruggie seemed to have insisted because no one would take him seriously if he came in looking like a bum! Hair tied back and donning a suit, he can easily pass as a prince charming if he tried. Still, he knows that you wouldn't expect him to be a white knight. You knew him too well to think him to be one.

Kicking down the doors of the chapel, everyone's eyes flew to Leona with mild shock and surprise. The second prince from the Sunset Savannah? What business could he possibly have here? Of course, that business would be no other than you who had gasped at the sight of the beastman, dressed to the nines as if he were the groom himself.

It takes everything in Leona's power to hold back his exasperated sigh when his eyes land on you. No wonder Pierce Charmant fell in love at first sight, you looked like an absolute dream. The longer he stared at you, the easier it was to forget that he had something to take care of here. As beautiful as you looked in that dress and veil, you would sooner suit the colors of the Sunset Savannah better than whatever this man's designers gave you.

Pierce lets out an uncomfortable cough, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed onto the beastman. "Prince Leona Kingscholar, I do recall sending an invitation. Unfortunately, you are quite late to the occasion." His hand extends towards the pews, a tight lipped smile surfacing his expression.

"Still, please have a seat. We can pardon the intrusion."

Leona flashes a haughty smile, his stance exuding pride and confidence. "You don't have to. I'm here to crash your wedding, Charmant." He takes long strides down to the altar, eyes fixated on your own. The beastman ignores the scandalized gasps, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as he makes his way to you, as if he was eager to retrieve a possession of his.

It's the way your lower lip quivers, how your hands wring against one another and the slight bead of sweat forming on your temples. It was difficult to tell if you were nervous yourself, or if you were just taken aback by how handsome the beastman was in his get-up.

"Herbivore," It snaps you out of your daze, reminding you to blink when your eyes land onto his narrowed green eyes. His voice is as commanding as ever, like the call of a lion to his pride.

Rather than addressing you from the high tops, he stands at the bottom of the alter with a raised brow, looking up to you. Then his lips curl upwards into a sly grin, mocking Pierce whose jaw was clenched.

"Herbivore, you really wanna marry that guy?" Leona asks in that low coaxing tone, very well knowing the answer before you shook your head wildly.

"No!"

Leona shrugs to himself with an exasperated sigh.

"Good enough for me."

Feeling a pair of strong arm wrap around your thighs, you couldn't help but let out a slight yelp when you felt your feet leave the ground. Instinctively clawing at Leona's back, you find yourself hoisted onto his shoulder like a sack of rice. The crowd gasps audibly, and you cannot help but hide your face in your hands as the beastman shamelessly began to walk towards the exit point without another word.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Pierce yells out from the altar, his hand falling to the blade hanging on his hip. You hear Leona snort, pausing for a moment to look back at the man. He rolls his eyes, almost annoyed by the other prince's theatrics.

"I'm bringing the Prefect back to where she belongs. I didn't think you weren't above spiriting strangers away over shoe sizes."

Gritting his teeth, Pierce shook his head and grinded onto his teeth. "You are not her guardian, nor her lover. You have no authority, Kingscholar!"

You can feel Leona exhale from the way his shoulders fall slightly, followed by how his grip on your middle tightens. "Then I stake my claim on her today," His tone is much more darker now, more dominating than the arrogant tone he had been using since he stepped through those doors.

Truly befitting of a lion demanding the submission of lower prey. "Do you really want to cross paths with my family, Charmant? I am sure my family is willing to negotiate at the next possible date." You know that Leona is smirking now, based on how irritation flashes across your supposed groom's face.

"Well, if you decide to try, my family will write you back in three days time. Until then, Charmant."

Noises erupt from the crowd as they watched Leona carry you down to the exit. Hanging against his back, you poke at his shoulder slightly. "Really? You have the authority to do that?" Leona clicks his tongue in his response, almost attempting to shush you down.

"Of course not, but Charmant doesn't have to know. Let Crowley take care of it. I am only the delivery boy."

Sure, it was a massive bluff on his end, but does it really matter? Leona got you out of that situation safe and sound! Even if it ended with you being hoisted over his shoulder and carried out of the cathedral, there was not a single scratch on you! That being said, Charmant was not exactly happy to know that Leona scammed him into letting you go, but you were long gone when he came to that conclusion.

Did we get Leona to drive you back to Night Raven College? Nope. Ruggie's getting a good bonus from being the getaway driver, not to mention the fact he drove you all through a fast-food drive-thru on Leona's wallet. He doesn't have to know either, not when he is fast asleep on your shoulder in the backseat.

Oddly enough, Leona wouldn't be leaving your side anytime soon. Even after Ruggie's dropped you off at Ramshackle, the lion beastman trails after you like a shadow into the manor, up until he's invaded your room.

"Leona, don't you have to go back to your dorm?" Raising a brow at your questioning tone, Leona crossed his arms and stared at you through the mirror's reflection.

The sun had already set long ago, leaving the moon filtering in through the windows. It was the only source of light, considering you haven't even though to flip the lights on. You can see Leona behind you, his eyes following the train of your dress and how it sweeps against the creaky floorboards.

"Ha? I haven't even started asking for compensation yet." He rumbles, finding his hand playing with the lace of your supposed wedding dress. The thought of it makes his stomach churn, followed by that prince's scent invading his nostrils.

Green eyes flicker back to you, something dark reflecting in them to the point where your breath is hitched.

"You ever thought of marriage before, herbivore?" Your eyes widened with surprise at his question. You could only let out a nervous chuckle, avoiding his gaze as you shift your gaze onto your wedding dress. "This entire experience has made me terrified of getting married for a while, Leona." You hear his humming from behind, eyes returning to the mirror to find his hand ghosting above the veil fixed onto the crown of your head. He doesn't let himself touch, only hovering slightly above the fabric. He seems almost lost in thought when he shoots the next question. "What kind of man are you looking for?" You stay silent, almost tempted to attack him for how seductive his voice seemed to sound in that moment. He must've been doing it on purpose. Then he chuckles slightly, teasing. "Don't tell me you're after the princely type like Charmant Ultra-Soft there." He easily catches your wrist when you whipped around to face him, smirking slightly at your somewhat flustered expression. "Of course not! He's... he's not my type anyways!" "Then what's your type then?" Gulping to yourself, you take a step back. He takes one forward. Another step back, another of his comes forward, all until your back is pressed against the fixed mirror. With a quiet purr from his throat, he hunches forward to hover above the crook of your neck.

You are already so certain that he sees through you, through the way your heart pounds in your ears or to the way you let him invade your personal space like he belonged there. Leona's lips quirk up into a smirk, followed by a knowing hum. "You never know, Prefect. Maybe Charmant will come knocking down your door claiming my stake on you is fake." His large hand presses itself against your hip in an almost possessive manner, but you can easily sense his hesitance, waiting for your approval.

"Or maybe, you'll wake up to everyone crowning you as a princess from the Sunset Savannah. Would it be so bad, herbivore?"

Pulling himself away, Leona rests an arm above your head and towers over you. You cannot avoid his gaze now, nor can you avoid that smug look of his against the glow of moonlight.

"Would it be so bad being yours?"

RUGGIE BUCCHI

"Nah, I can't use the Kingscholar name. Leona's gonna have my neck if I used his identity... Ali Baba? Does it look like I own thousands of camels and elephants? Come on, Jack. You're a smart cookie, you can think of some fancy-schmancy princey name for me! Can't exactly start a dispute with a royal family that doesn't exist... Pssh, you think Crowley's gonna help out in time? Prefect's gonna end up paying alimony if we let him take care of it! Come on, you got it Jack! Think faster!"

For all the trouble that Ruggie had caused you during and after Leona's overblot, he had to hand it over to you— you were probably one of the most well-resourced individuals in the campus. Sure, you had no magic but you had a good head above your shoulders and you seemed to have a knack for getting yourself out of tricky situations. It was admirable, really. He really respects you, and would often trust that you can take care of yourself!

Alas, you couldn't get yourself out of this situation. Ruggie had to do the biggest double-take when he looked over to see a wedding being broadcasted on Jack's phone, only to see you being dragged against your will for a gown fitting at a boutique.

Judging by that freaked out look on your face, you're going to need some help and Ruggie is ready to help you escape! Sure, he isn't as powerful as Leona or influential as Malleus... Now that he thought of it, how was he going to take you back safely without causing a ruckus? Crowley obviously is out of the question, and you might as well be married at sunset if he doesn't do anything now.

He's gonna have to pull out the big S.

S, as in, scammer.

"Darling, I'm here!"

You cannot keep your jaw from falling from its hinges as you watch Ruggie walk into the cathedral with a certain stride that was so unlike him. He wears a suit that is too expensive for his tastes, posture straight and refined to the point you were almost fooled into thinking it was a rich twin brother separated from birth.

In that moment, he seemed more like Azul than he did the hyena beastman you knew. It was only for a brief moment before you saw Ruggie, with his little crooked smile and the way he rubs the back of his neck with a hint of shyness.

"... Darling?" You croak in confusion. Ruggie laughs, easing your nervous heart. "Shishishi, it's me! Sorry, where you waiting for me that long?" Without a care in a world, the hyena beastman is making quick steps down the aisle towards you. You can tell that he is nervous though, based on the way his tail twitches slightly as eyes follow him down.

"And who are you?" Pierce demands. Ruggie gasps, feigning offense as he glances to the crowd, looking for some sort of support. "Me? You don't recognize me?" Sighing dramatically, the beastman shook his head in disappointment.

"Sheesh, didn't think that royalty these days haven't kept up with the times. Let me introduce myself," He grins, bowing to disguise the fact that he is playing a crook.

"Prince Varve Cu, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Barbecue?! Is that what you're craving, Ruggie?!

You want to choke on the air you just sharply inhaled. You've always known that Ruggie was clever and that he was not above dirty tricks, but you never did expect him to try and scam royalty into thinking he's someone else!

But Pierce hums to himself, attempting to recall the unfamiliar name in the recesses of his memory. "Cu? I have never heard of that name before." It almost baffles you that the prince was actually questioning his own memory, over a family name that never existed.

Always the opportunist, Ruggie scoffs in a spoiled manner, turning his nose up childishly. You would have been fooled by his act if you never really knew his true nature.

"How rude! We are quite the affluent family, you know? Luckily for you, I'm in a very good mood." Ruggie clears his throat, running a hand through his hair as he reaches his hand out towards you.

"I'm here to take back the Ramshackle Prefect. I am afraid she's already spoken for."

You may never get a chance to escape again, so you quickly flee Pierce's side to take Ruggie's hand. Easily, his hand wraps itself around your waist as he steps in front of you.

Pierce raises a brow, almost alarmed by how swiftly you had retreated to this mystery man. "You had no ring when we met. You never mentioned being betrothed to another prince, Prefect."

Thankfully, Ruggie is quick to answer for you with all the flowery vocabulary he can muster. "Clearly, if you were better well-informed, the Cu family does not require the use of rings. We firmly believe our love is enough proof to the world that we are one!" He turns to you and winks, hiding away his nervous grip on your waist.

"And we are in love, aren't we?"

There's that look in his eyes that is begging for you to play along with the lie, before everything would fall apart. Ruggie knew he fell for the right girl when you cozied up to his side, playing up a few tears and whimpers.

"I was so scared! How can I possibly tell this man that I already belonged to someone else? He wouldn't let me go!" You exclaimed, earning shocked reactions from the crowd.

Pierce gulps to himself, hands raised in defense. "Well, I—!"

Ruggie clutches your hands, playing the part of a charismatic prince that he would only be for a few more minutes. "Say no more, Prefect. I understand. Rest assured, you will never leave my side ever again." He drawls dramatically before he straightens his posture, glaring with the energy of a spoiled brat as he could muster.

"I will be certain to spare you of my family's wrath! They do not take very lightly to incidents like these, but for the sake of my lovely girl here, I shall be lenient."

Pierce finds himself nodding nervously, wanting to hide from the scrutiny of the crowd that seemed to be shocked that he would try to marry an unwilling bride, much to your annoyance. Only now, they decide to question this wedding?!

The hyena beastman begins to lead you by the waist, ushering you through the carpets in a hurried manner. "Let us be on our way, Prefect." He murmurs into your ear, but it is not the exit he takes you to.

Rather, it's the buffet table set to the side.

"Ruggie, what are you doing?" You whisper as he pauses at the edge, grabbing two paper plates and shoving one into your hands. He grins at you, hiding a laugh behind a free palm.

"Shishishi— I ain't planning on leaving emptyhanded, Prefect. Help me out here, will you? Let's take as much as we can before this idiot catches on. Come on, let's stack up a plate for the ride back!"

Luckily for you and Ruggie, you both manage to sneak away before anyone started realizing that the hyena beastman had fooled everyone in that cathedral. It's a subtle reminder for him to lay low for the next few weeks and deny any relation to being a prince. Does a guy like him look like a prince? Sure, he's the prince of empty pockets!

Munching on the wedding treats with a hand on the wheel, Ruggie has already prepared himself for the long drive back to Night Raven College. He's already begun negotiating some sort of compensation for getting you out of that wedding. A handful of favors here and there, mostly packed lunches from you to keep him fueled for a couple of days.

He expects you to be in more comfortable clothing by the time he's finished returning Leona's car and clothes. Much to his surprise, you're still in that poofy wedding dress, holding onto your own cup of instant noodles while Ruggie's was on the little coffee table in your living room. You do not miss the way his tail wags at the sight or how he averts his gaze, shuffling to the space beside you.

"You couldn't take it off on your own?" He questions, only to be replied with a casual shrug from you.

"Couldn't reach the zipper. I gave up."

Ah.

Consigning himself to the awkward silence, he takes his own cup and starts to munch down on the supposed 'wedding' dinner. Both you and him watch the flickers of the old television, watching some news as white noise. It's only coverage on the wedding, the runaway bride and the mysterious prince that seems to not exist.

Ruggie knows better than to let intrusive thoughts leave his lips, but he cannot help it as Pierce Charmant appears on the screen. "You think you ever gonna marry rich? Charmant was ready to give you an easy ticket to luxury, you know?" He doesn't meet your eyes, but you feel his tail brush against your arm, badgering for an answer.

Following a slurp, you shake your head. "I mean, if I was able to get a divorce with good settlement money? I would've." You tell him with a short shrug, so casually as if it were a lighthearted topic.

A bitter laugh leaves Ruggie's lips, ears deflated slightly at the thought. "Yeah? He can give you a pretty easy life, but he'd be real lucky to have you. Seven-time overblot champion? He's won jackpot." Not really. It was never about your achievements anyways. Pierce would've been the luckiest man in Twisted Wonderland to win you over, for all your sweetness and edges.

Ruggie's sulky behavior does not go missed by you, and you could only nudge his elbow. "I would've taken the settlement money and asked you on a date. My treat," It's the way his ears perk up, his head whipped towards you hastily with that surprised expression. He doesn't even realize his tail is brushing against the couch wildly, or that his cheeks are getting warm as he takes in your shy smile.

"It'd be funny if we ended up going on more dates and I ended up using that settlement money for a wedding. It saves a lot of money, don't you think so?"

Laughter bubbles from Ruggie's chest, and in that moment, he finds himself falling in love all over again. "Shishishi, you're a genius! That's what I like about you!"

Shifting closer to your side, Ruggie presses his cheek against your shoulder. The dress takes up so much space that it nearly swallows him too, hiding your hands from sight as he laces his fingers with yours in a silent confession.

You squeeze in conformation, relaxing into his warmth as he eyes the skirt with interest.

"Think we can sell it? Might catch a big buck for a royal wedding dress." You mutter with a gleam of amusement in your eyes. Ruggie chuckled to himself in agreement. "Yeah? I'd be happy to sell it for you as long as I get a cut of profits as the selling agent."

"Do you take payments in kisses?"

Instant noodles set aside, Ruggie licks his lips as he leans in towards you. For a prey-like subspecies, he looks very much like a predator looking down on his meal when he stares at you this way. Eyes fixated on your plush lips, he hummed in contemplation.

"Wanna give me one now for all the hard work I did getting you out of that wedding?"

JACK HOWL

"I'm sure that it's just a misunderstanding. If Prince Charmant is everything he says he is, then surely, he will let her go. I will be sure of it that she returns to Ramshackle tonight. The Prefect... I would rather not see her look so distressed like that. I just hope she isn't harmed in any way. Ace, if everything goes south... have Lilia on speed dial. If I cannot save the Prefect, Malleus would be our last resort. Agreed? Agreed."

Possibly the least unhinged one on this list. Not gonna lie, out of everyone in this school, definitely the least dramatic and most pragmatic ones out there. He insisted on dragging Crowley to the altar, but the Headmaster was nowhere to be found.

Sure, Jack has his own feelings for you. Of course, he doesn't want to see you get married to someone else. However, it is your choice and he will always support that.

That being said, he knows you don't want to get married based on your pale expression and strained grins. Clearly, you aren't very enthusiastic about his wedding and if Jack had confidence in himself, he already knew that this prince was certainly not your type.

Jack is smart enough to enlist the help of your closest friends. The first years are definitely helping, from transportation to the last line of defenses if things got awry in that cathedral. Sebek is ready outside to contact Lilia and Malleus should it be necessary, but Jack hopes it won't have to come down to that.

He is probably the only one who has faith that Pierce Charmant can see reason, even when he was the same one who got deluded into thinking you were his one true love because of your shoe size.

Jack doesn't actually dress himself up! He comes in without any fancy preparation really. He's just that much of an authentic guy, and he cares too much about you to keep up appearances.

Jack comes in panting and drenched in sweat, driven by a sense of urgency and alarm. He truly thought he was too late, but it seems that he came at the right time.

"Prefect!" He yells out, eyes zoning onto you as you dropped the bouquet in your hands. The sight of him urges you to move, a mixture of worry and relief swirling in your core.

"Jack!" Your voice rings out in return, echoing of the walls.

Abandoning Pierce, you ignore the prince's calls to you as you race down to the wolf beastman. You ignore the gasps and the stares, immediately pressing your hands against Jack's toned bicep.

"Jack, are you okay?!" You cry out, feeling his chest heave in and out for air. He winces, looking up at you and it only makes his chest constrict even tighter. Jack never meant to worry you like this, but that concern of yours makes his heart skip too many beats.

"Prefect," He doesn't answer your initial question as he attempts to stand up straight amidst pants. Large calloused hands tremble as they take yours, as if keeping them safe in his gentle grip.

"Please don't marry him. Don't marry him if you don't wish to."

He cares not for the prince, the crowd, not even his own feelings as he contemplates the thought of you giving your heart away to someone else. Sucking sharply through his teeth, Jack looks up to a scandalized Pierce who stares from afar. "I am not the one to dictate you what to do, who you choose to give your heart to." He returns his gaze to you, a look so gentle in spite of his sharp features. Jack makes an effort to be soft with you, so quiet in the moment in spite of the spectators watching you both. He wouldn't be this way in public, you knew this.

But if this was the last time he may ever see you as the Prefect, and not some prince's wife, then he wouldn't lose that chance.

Jack lets go of your hands, allowing his trembling fingers to grasp your shoulders lightly. Swallowing to himself, he asks with such uncertainty that it's almost unlike him to doubt what he knew of you. "Prefect, do you wish to marry that man?" He murmurs, eyeing Pierce once more.

He had to be sure. Jack never wanted to take away your choice and perhaps, he was the one with the misunderstanding. Perhaps, you did want to marry this prince from the bottom of your heart.

It was relief that flooded his chest and sparked life back into his tail when you shake your head, beaming at him as if he were a silly boy.

"I don't want to marry him, Jack."

Your words are enough to give him resolve to look at Pierce clearly now. Firm and stubborn, Jack glares at the prince as he positions himself in front of you like a guard. Defensive, but not complacent.

"You heard the Prefect. She doesn't want to marry you." Before Pierce could retort, Jack cleared his throat once more with a sense of authority. He may be a random student from Night Raven College, but that was not going to stop him from defending your wishes against someone who could abuse his power.

"If you have a problem with that, talk it up with Headmaster Crowley. Otherwise, you cannot force her into wedding you. Can you sincerely call yourself a proud student of Royal Sword Academy if you go against the very conducts your school preaches?"

Honestly, Ace and Deuce had to interfere before Jack began to scold the rest of the guests for letting you get married against your will. Admittedly, no one really wanted to interfere now because of how much shame they felt after Jack's lecturing.

Jack was mindful to bring in an extra pair of clothes for you! He would have been happy to rummage through your closet for you, but he is a certified gentleman. He wouldn't go through your stuff without asking, so you would have to settle for wearing some of his clothes. They are likely to be a bit bigger on you, but it sends his tail wagging on overdrive to see you draped in his clothes, his scent.

Quite sweet of the first years to help take you back to Ramshackle. Both you and Jack seemed to have forgotten that you had borrowed his clothes though. The least you could do is wash them for him before you've returned them.

"You didn't have to do that, you know?" Jack grumbled, arms crossed across his pectorals with that disgruntled expression. You knew better than to buy his nonchalant act when his tail seems to undo his efforts to seem unbothered.

You raised a brow at him, holding out his folded laundry in your arms. "What's wrong with it? They're pretty much ready for you to wear."

The wolf beastman sighs to himself, glancing away to avoid your gaze. His cheeks are starting to burn red, but he won't ever acknowledge them. "You don't get it, Prefect. Just drop the subject and leave the clothes on the bench."

It was cruel of you to even think of teasing Jack, but it isn't so often you get to opportunity. You pout at him, clutching the clothes close to your chest.

"... does my detergent stink that bad?"

Your words take him aback, almost like a heinous offense. Before you realized it, Jack had wrung the laundry from your hands and held the fabric closely to his chest. "I never said that! Don't misunderstand!" He stammers, subconsciously wringing a shirt up his neck.

Jack immediately realizes he's fallen in your trap when you smile at him knowingly. Sighing in defeat, he submits to your whims. "You... I like your scent. It gets hard to concentrate when you're..." He mumbles shyly, ears flattened as he fights the urge to bury his nose into his clothes that are now laced with your scent.

"Was this how you won that prince over? I wouldn't be surprised." He mumbles to himself in exasperation. You could only laugh softly as you approach him, rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. "Are you implying that I won you over too?" He says nothing, silently brooding to the side in a futile attempt to keep his tail still.

You don't exactly help his case when you place a kiss on his cheek either.

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[shouyuus]

─── 恋与深空 APHRODITE MADE ME!!

a mini-series of aphrodisiac-centric fics for our lnds boys bc how else do we celebrate kinktober if not under the influence? here you'll find fics that contain: sex pollen, heat-sex, and not one but two instances of sex-drug induced coitus -- don't say i didn't warn you now!

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged in one or all of these fics! cw and specifics below the cut. pls do have an age indicator on ur blog somewhere if ur asking to be tagged! your my mileage may vary in getting these fics out though, bc the muse is sporadic at best and nonexistent at worse, but i'll eventually have all these written... for sure! also, these summaries/tags might change slightly as i actually start to write the fics to better fit the content, but the broad storkes (ha! get it) won't change :) and without further ado -- here we go!

─── 黎深 ZAYNE

doctor, doctor!

he's not one known for overindulgence, so when he comes home from the hospital one day with flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes, you're understandably wary of his claim that he's just fine. but a few more minutes of probing reveals that he'd signed up to test a developing cure for a new strand of black-market aphrodisiacs on himself — well, you think, you might be just the person to nurse him back to health.

cw: knowing use of sex drugs, needy!zayn, internal creampies, handjobs, oral (fem receiving), face-riding, missionary

─── 祁煜 RAFAYEL

so it's that time of year again, except this year on ebb day, he's acting stranger than ever, begging you to touch him, to stay close — it isn't till he'd panting beneath you that he finally tells you the truth, that a lemurian in love reacts to ebb day differently. how differently? well, you're about to find out.

cw: heat!sex, premature ejaculation, power bottom!raf, switch!reader, cowgirl, oral (male receiving), abo-adjacent dynamics

─── 沈星回 XAVIER

it's not often that you come home to find xavier sprawled out on the bed, moaning your name, fucking his fist to the thought of you, but when you do, you can't help but wonder — what brought this on? turns out a lumiere fangirl handed him a box of chocolates and he didn't think twice about eating them. so, what better punishment is there than to let him look but not touch?

cw: unknowing use of sex drugs, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, dom!reader, sub!xavier, orgasm denial, footjobs, bit of aftercare

─── 秦彻 SYLUS

when the twins drag sylus back, squawking about how he nearly got shot, you're more than a little worried. but it quickly becomes apparent that what sylus got shot with wasn't just any normal bullet, and it won't be fatal. but, it is going to be a long, long night, and being the caring captive that you are, what to do but to dress his wounds and help him work through whatever it is that he needs working through?

cw: sex pollen, dom!sylus, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, rough sex, doggy style, creampies, backshot, hair-pulling, biting

[macabrebatz]

JUST THE TIP (Grommash Hellscream/Reader)

Summary: Grommash is determined to have you as his mate. There’s only one problem: Grom is too big.

Author’s note: Oh, boy. I have been OBSESSED with orcs lately. Especially the orcs in the Warcraft movie. Disclaimer btw: I don’t know a lot about Warcraft beyond the movie. I know some lore beyond that. So I apologize in advance. Also I wrote this in a way that you, my dear reader, don’t need to know anything about Warcraft either. Hopefully it can also be enjoyed as just a orc x human fic. And this is my 4th time writing smut, 2nd time writing it in oneshot format so I’m still very new to this lol. Also I don’t know orcish and the internet gave me very mixed translations, so I pieced it together the best I could.

Warning/tags: 18+ MDNI, fem! Reader, Grom might be a little OOC but I don’t care, teratophillia/monster fucking, orc x human, oral sex (f! receiving), size differences (Grommash is bigger than you no matter your size, these orcs are big, okay?), fingering, overstimulation, squirting, just the tip but not actually, unprotected p in v, missionary position, mating press, slight breeding kink if you squint, Grom is secretly a sweetheart, change my mind, love confessions, self indulgent filth, not beta read, yeah I know having sex with an orc this big would be borderline impossible but I don’t care, I swear I made straight A’s in all of my anatomy classes

Also just a for some fun references check out this post and this post about the hand size of the orcs in this movie. I find their size absolutely fascinating and I had to make a fic exploring that.

Word Count: 3.3k

Being the mate of an orc is an interesting experience. It was already uncommon for a horde member to pick a human as a mate. And it was still frowned upon by many orcs. Grommash didn’t care though. Nobody could tell him that he couldn’t have you. From the moment he first saw you he felt himself being pulled towards you.

For the most part, picking you as his mate had been smooth sailing. He had asked you to go on a hunt alone with him. Orcs hunted all the time but asking someone to hunt alone with them tended to be an indication that they were choosing a mate. You didn’t know this when you had agreed to go. But it became obvious when halfway through the hunting trip Grom had pressed you against a tree, his large frame encapsulating you. Soon the hunting trip had turned into a heated make-out session.

Everything was going according to plan. He had gotten you back to his tent and sat you on the edge of his bed. There was only one problem in his plan to make you his mate: Grommash was too big.

There was simply no way that all of him could fit inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it.

There was one undeniable fact about orcs and that was that they were massive. They were bigger than all humans. It didn’t matter your size. They outweighed and towered over every human they came across. And Grommash was no exception. He was a warrior and the Chieftain of the Warsong clan after all, not to mention one of the biggest orcs in the clan.

His biceps were rounder than your head. His hands were bigger than your face. His fingers were incredibly large compared to yours.

You honestly weren’t sure what you were expecting but when you removed his pelt you were at a loss for words.

There was no way.

His cock was heavy and hard, hanging down in front of your face as you sat on the edge of the bed. It was green like the rest of his skin, the head was flushed a purple color.

You lifted it up a bit with your hand, feeling the weight of it. It was long and thick. You couldn’t even wrap your hand around it, your fingertips nowhere close to even meeting your thumb. You were too stunned to speak and your brain was scrambling to figure out the logistics of this massive thing going inside of you.

Grommash seemed to read your mind. He brought his thumb up to your face and rubbed your cheek. He smirked as he looked down at you.

“You don’t have to worry about it just yet,” he said.

As much as Grom wanted to plunge his cock all the way inside of you, he was content with pleasuring you in other ways for now.

His large hand moved down, resting on your shoulder. His thumb grazed your throat as he gently pushed you onto your back. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he knelt in front of you.

His hand found its way to the hem of your pants, hesitating for a moment to look up at you. After giving him a swift nod of approval his fingers latched underneath the hem. He mumbled something about “humans always wearing too much clothes” as he slid off your pants and underwear.

Grommash hummed to himself as he placed his hands on your knees, spreading your legs as far apart as he could.

“Look at that,” he said.

He was staring at your glistening cunt in awe. You could hear a growl rumble in his chest as he brought his large fingers up to you, gently rubbing across your folds with his thumb. He grazed against your clit causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“So wet for me already,” he said, rubbing slow circles against your clit.

He paused for a moment causing you to whine. He shushed you as he spread apart the lips of your cunt with his large fingers. His index finger dipped down, lingering against your entrance but not entering. He looked as if he was deep in thought.

Maybe, just maybe.

Grommash leaned down further until his face was level with your pussy. He wrapped his hands around your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He nuzzled his head in between your legs, tusks pressing into the skin between your thighs, as he licked experimentally up your folds.

You moaned, rolling your hips ever so slightly. Grommash chuckled before licking again, this time dipping his tongue into you. There was another rumble from his chest, the taste of you on his tongue unlocking something feral inside of him.

The grip on your thighs got tighter as he lapped at your cunt, licking and plunging into you in a desperate attempt to taste more of you.

Your hand snaked down, resting on his head as you moaned his name. Your fingers entwined in his raven hair, gripping just a bit. He growled in response, sending vibrations through your body. You shuddered a bit at the sensation.

He dragged his tongue against you, occasionally wrapping his large lips around your clit, sucking at the bud before dipping back down, fucking his tongue into your hole.

“Mmm…Grom, it feels so…good,” you moaned.

Without warning you felt Grom’s thick index finger begin to push inside of you. A guttural moan left your mouth as your back arched, grinding yourself against his face mindlessly. His finger stretched your walls as he entered you. There was some pain but your wetness let him slide in easier than either of you would have expected. It felt so perfect.

His tongue licked upwards before focusing on your clit, sucking it into his mouth once more. Your hips bucked against him causing him to groan. He slid his finger out before pushing it back in. He curled it inside of you, sliding it against your spongy walls. This was pleasure you simply had never experienced until now.

Before you knew it, he was pushing a second finger in, stretching you out more. Your mouth fell agape as you struggled to make any sound. You had never felt so full before. There was more pain than before but he didn’t give you much time to think about it as he plunged both fingers inside of you, thrusting his hand at a faster speed than before.

“Gods, Grom,” you moaned as gripped his hair a bit tighter.

The tent was soon filled with lewd, wet sounds as Grom relentlessly pumped his fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your cunt squelched, clenching around his digits.

“Grom, I’m gonna…”

It felt like your breath had been knocked out of you. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm overtook you. Your legs involuntarily clamped down around Grom as he continued to curl his fingers into you, massaging and prodding at that spongy spot inside of you. His tusks pressed harder into your legs as he continued to devour you. You were sure you’d have bruises there by tomorrow but you didn’t care.

Your entire body shook as you rode your waves of pleasure, falling apart under Grom’s touch. You squirmed, your entire body felt too sensitive. Grom continued lapping at your clit, swirling his tongue around it.

“Grom, please,” you whined.

He pulled away momentarily, giving your clit a break. His fingers slowed but continued to slide in and out of you.

“Please what?” he questioned.

He leaned forward, placing his free hand beside your head. You tried to speak but found yourself at a loss for words, too entranced by the texture of his fingers inside you.

“Use your words, my dearest,” he cooed.

You tried to speak but you just couldn’t form the words. All you could do was moan as warmth pooled at your core. Your mouth hung open as Grommash’s hand began to speed up again. He watched you intently, studying your face as it contorted with ecstasy. Something inside of you was building and he knew it, bringing his thumb up to your clit as he continued to work his fingers inside you.

It felt different from the orgasm before. It felt just as pleasurable if not more, but it felt so different, so foreign to your body that it almost worried you. You weren’t fully sure what was happening to you.

“Wait, Grom, wait,” you pleaded.

But it was too late. Another orgasm hit you causing your cunt to clench around his fingers. It felt like something snapped inside of you as his fingers curled, hitting that spongy spot once more. Your hips bucked into him as you gasped, your head falling back onto the furs below you, eyes squeezing shut. Your body trembled, tensing up as you rode out your climax.

“Mmm, look at the mess you’re making,” Grom said, groaning.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking at him in confusion. Your eyes drifted down watching yourself in amazement and mild horror as you squirted around his fingers. The clear liquid spurted out onto his large hands and the bed underneath you with every thrust of his fingers.

You moan at the sight, the euphoria of the new sensation overtaking you. Grom’s hand slowed and then pulled out of you slowly. You whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your entrance clenching and fluttering around nothing.

Grommash brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking them.

“Who knew humans could taste so good?” he said.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” you said quietly.

The orc leaned down, pressing his body into yours and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Well, now you know,” he replied.

You hummed, bringing your hand up to his chest, grazing one of the piercings on his nipple.

He then kissed you on your lips. The cold metal ring on his tusk pressed against your cheek as he did so.

His hand pulled at your tunic, ripping it off completely underneath him. You were now completely bare.

His large hand kneaded at your breast, occasionally pinching at the nipple. You moaned against his lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

As he pressed into you more, you could feel his erection between your legs, occasionally sliding against your sensitive skin. He ground his hips against yours, cock slipping against you, causing himself to groan as he feverishly kissed you.

You knew what he wanted but you weren’t confident that he was going to get it. It’s not that you didn’t want him to fuck you, you were just worried still about him being inside of you.

As you pulled away from his lips you met his gaze, looking into his eyes. They were glazed over, lust-filled, and full of admiration. He wanted you. He needed so much more of you.

He ground his hips against you again.

“Need to be inside of you. Need to make you a proper mate,” he said in a low voice.

His hips bucked, causing you to moan as his cock slid across your folds, desire building up inside of you.

“I know. But I don’t think it’ll fit, Grom,” you said, quietly.

“Nonsense,” he grumbled as he got off the top of you.

He took his cock into his hand. It was already glistening with precum as he gave it a few lazy strokes.

“If you can take my fingers, you can take this,” he stated.

Just the sight of him jerking off was enough to make you spread your legs. You were basically salivating at the sight of him. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, although the fear of being ripped apart still lingered.

“Take it slow, okay? Don’t put all of it in, Grom. I really don’t think I can take all of it,” you said.

He spread your legs further apart before sliding his cock against your swollen clit, causing yet another moan to come out of you.

“Whatever you say, my dearest,” he said.

You took a deep breath as Grom began to push the head of his cock into you. You hissed as it stretched the tight band of flesh around your walls. You were practically dripping from your last orgasm but your wetness only helped so much.

Grommash let out a low groan as he pushed his member into you at an agonizing pace. Pain was surging through you, bringing tears to your eyes. He was only a few inches in before you placed a hand on his chest, silently stopping him.

“Are you okay?” he questioned, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m okay. I think that’s as far as you can go for now,” you said.

He hummed in response.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, rubbing circles on your thigh with his thumb.

You sighed, leaning your head back for a moment. Eventually, the pain began to subside. You brought your hand up to him, sliding it down his chest before giving him a nod to continue.

He pulled out the few inches that were inside you before thrusting them back in. It took everything in him to not push every inch in. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to fill you up so badly but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you.

You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, pushing part of his cock into you. The stretch was otherworldly. You knew if he hadn’t fucked you with his fingers earlier there was no way you would’ve been able to take the tip of him. It may have not been much but it felt divine.

“Oh, Grom,” you moaned as he fucked into you.

You could hear your pussy squelching around him as you became more wet by the second.

Your hands found their way to his large arms, holding on to stabilize yourself. Your body had a mind of its own as you rolled your hips forward. Grommash growled, halting his movements.

“Grom, why’d you stop?” you whined.

“Look,” he said with a grunt.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked down between the two of you. When you had rolled your hips moments ago, you had taken another inch of him without even realizing it. Too caught up in your pleasure to notice.

Grom rocked his hips into you, almost like he was silently asking you a question with his movements. He wanted to go further and you knew it. You moaned as he slowly began thrusting his hips again.

You were getting so wet. Surely you could take a bit more, right?

“I know you can take it. Let me show you just how good it can feel,” he said.

His shallow thrusts were already threatening to send you over the edge and you couldn’t deny it any longer, you wanted more of him.

You bucked your hips against him causing him to groan.

“Do you want all of it?” he asked.

“Yes…please. I need you,” you said in between broken moans.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Grommash hooked his hands under your knees, forcing your legs up as far as they’d go, pressing them against your chest. He replaced his hands with yours, making you hold your legs up. He then leaned forward, climbing on top of you. One of his hands was placed beside your head while the other lined up his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing in. He used his body weight to help sink into you, pushing in further than before, taking his time as he did so.

A choked moan left your mouth as your eyes welled up with tears. It was such a strange sensation. It hurt, a burning feeling seared into your core as Grom stretched you out. But the pain was also laced with pleasure.

Grommash’s hand left his cock, bringing it up and resting it by your head. He was a little over halfway in, sinking into you as he covered over your body. He hadn’t even begun thrusting yet and you already felt like you were becoming unglued.

“There you go. Taking it so well.”

He slid in deeper, another inch. Then another. And another. You whimpered, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“My sweet human,” he cooed.

He wasn’t all the way in but his hips started moving, thrusting into you slowly, working the last of his way into you.

“You like that, huh? Like being full of my cock,” he said, picking up the pace.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head and moaned.

Grommash pulled out all the way to the head of his cock before slamming back inside of you. You yelped as the sound of wet skin smacking together filled the tent. You could feel low rumbles vibrating from Grom’s chest as he growled, getting louder with every thrust. You were slowly becoming a babbling mess as waves of ecstasy began to overtake you. The pain had subsided and all you could think about was Grommash and how good he felt.

Grom moved one of his hands, bringing it down between the two of you. He circled your clit with his thumb. It felt as if sparks were igniting. Every raw nerve was crackling with pleasure.

You were panting underneath him, growing closer and closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you. His movements were becoming more erratic and you knew he was close to. An all too familiar feeling was forming and your body began to shake.

“Oh, fuck. Grom, I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, my dearest,” he said.

And that was all you needed. You let out a wail as your vision clouded. Your body spasmed as your cunt tightened around him, somehow managing to suck him in more as if your body wasn’t ready to let go. He kept fucking into you, chasing his own release until his hips stuttered, bucking into you harder than ever. He let out a roar and you were sure the whole clan could hear both of you as the two of you rode out the pleasure, not that any of the orcs would’ve cared.

You could feel his cum, hot and leaking out of you as he slowly pulled his cock out. You closed your eyes as your legs fell from your chest, splaying out in front of you. You were still in a daze as Grommash sat on his knees for a moment, admiring you like you were an art piece. You were officially his mate and he was overjoyed.

You felt the bed shift as he got up. He was only gone for a moment and returned with a washcloth, cleaning you off gently.

You felt yourself drifting off. You were so warm and so very exhausted.

“Falling asleep on me?” Grommash joked as he laid down beside you.

You opened your eyes, looking up at the orc.

“Maybe,” you chuckled.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his side. You kissed his chest, moving up to his neck, and then his jaw, pecking the inked skin. He held onto you tight as if he was afraid you’d be snatched away from him. You heard him mumble something in orcish that you couldn’t understand.

“What was that?” you questioned.

“Na dova dra,” he repeated, this time hearing him more clearly.

“And what does that mean?” you asked.

He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss against it.

“I love you,” he translated.

Your heart fluttered and you smiled. Admissions of love were another uncommon thing amongst the horde, especially towards humans. But it was true. Grom loved you very much.

You brought your hand up to his face, guiding him to yours. You kissed his lips gently before pulling away.

“I love you too, Grommash.”

[navybrat817]

I am warm and full and cozy and thinking about Bucky who has gotten a few pounds on his stomach, not bc he has to bulk for a mission or anything but bc he's save and get three square meals and a snack every day. Lots of love and a pie on Sunday. The dream honestly

Answering this on a Monday but I feel very cozy about it!

Just Right

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to love food again, and his body.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, recovery, body positivity, reference to oral sex, bit of humor, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I may need to do more of this, and much appreciated for the inspiration @v-wie-was. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who was now able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks in between each meal and dessert after dinner, which took some getting used to.

Bucky who didn’t get to overindulge in foods he enjoyed while he was under HYDRA’s control. He was given enough to maintain his strength and nothing more and he never decided on what they provided. 

Bucky who, when he thought about it, didn’t get to enjoy food since before he went off to war. He ate to sustain and survive and nothing more.

Bucky who had to learn all over again what he liked and disliked once he was free. Being able to choose was overwhelming and he almost broke down the first time he bought plums simply because he wanted them.

Bucky who with his heightened senses learned to appreciate certain smells and tastes and learned which places to avoid so it didn’t feel like sensory overload. He also learned which flavors he could never get enough of and which ones he could only handle in small doses.

Bucky who had to figure out how much he could eat to feel full and not stop because of his old programming. He also told himself not to feel guilty if he had a few more bites because it was more than allowed.

Bucky who met you at the store one day when you both reached for the same plum. That day changed his life. 

Bucky who, like a gentleman, let you have the plum and couldn't stop staring at you since you were so beautiful. 

Bucky who couldn't think of a witty reply when you boldly offered him your phone number in return, so he gave you an awkward smile that you found endearing.

Bucky who was happy you took a chance since you were easy to talk to. You also taught him that food emojis could be… taken a certain way, which he learned when he sent an eggplant and peach together.

Bucky who couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed because he was talking about food, and he wanted you.

Bucky who enjoyed cooking with you and smiled wistfully when he thought about his family. How his mom always put so much love into her cooking. 

Bucky who made a mess of his shirt one day because he was trying to eat something messy and read at the same time. And you groaned because you had just finished laundry earlier.

Bucky who grew to appreciate messes like that because they felt normal.

Bucky who noticed almost immediately when his clothes began to fit differently, eventually to the point where they were too snug.

Bucky who felt slightly worried when he told you his clothes were too tight and had to go shopping. He wanted to be attractive to you.

Bucky who felt his heart swell when you not only told him he looked good no matter what but offered to go shopping with him. 

Bucky who felt handsome trying on new clothes since they fit properly and just right. The confidence grew when he saw your pupils dilate more and more with each outfit he tried on.

Bucky who also heard your heart race faster and smelled your arousal.

Bucky who didn’t get to make it home before you dropped to your knees to worship him. You made sure to place extra kisses on his stomach on your way down.

Bucky who hardly let people touch him, but welcomed your touch and let you paint him like a canvas with your love and desire. 

Bucky who had a huge smile on his face after the mind-blowing orgasm you gave him along with a promise of pie for dessert. He wanted you for dessert, too.

Bucky who associated certain foods with you because, like you, they brought him joy, comfort, and were downright delicious. 

 Bucky who stood in the kitchen while he waited for dinner to cool off and looked down at his stomach with a smile, reminding himself that any extra pound was just more of him to love and you’d love him no matter what. 

Bucky who thought about how comfortable he was in his skin because he was healthy and able to make his own choices. 

Bucky who gazed at you from across the room and couldn’t believe this was his life, that he found peace, happiness, and love. 

Bucky who was crazy about you and couldn't imagine a meal without you. Or his life.

And Bucky who finally felt safe and free. 

Okay, lovelies, what do we think his favorite dessert is? Besides you. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[weiweific]

mark fic recs ₊✩‧₊

finally going through all my likes to put together a comprehensive of all of my fave mark fics! as a result, there's older and newer fics here - enjoy!!! (also most of these are smut lol)

(m) smut | (f) fluff | (a) angst

one shots

surviving no nut november by @domjaehyun | m | 28.8k one of my fave fics!!!, ft. haechan, college au

pretty little weapon by @lisired | m, slight a | 25.7k undercover cop!mark, crime/gang au author summary: A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.

pretty boy by @ncteez | m | 9.3k nerdy & shy mark, college au author summary: Mark’s favorite thing to do is sit alone at the library and enjoy the knowledge that his university offers. In contrast, your favorite thing to do is go to parties and enjoy as much chaos as possible. However, upon realizing your grades have dropped drastically due to this lifestyle, you have no choice but to approach Mark for help. or the one where your new favorite thing to do is seduce the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met and watch how desperate he gets for you.

graphic by @hausofwoo | m, f | 6.6k college!au, spiderman obsessed mark!! <3 author summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you’ve even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.

on edge by @ncteez | m | 22.5k infidelity, ft. boyfriend doyoung author summary: Dating the strict, well-liked, and loving Doyoung came with its hurdles. Normally, the two of you could communicate and work through the downsides, but what if the newest downside of the relationship is learning that his little brother, Mark, has a bit of a thing for you?

flipside by @yutaholic | m | 21k underground racer au author summary: When your father moves you overseas for his job, you are determined to hate it until you discover the illegal street races happening after nightfall. Boys are quick to vie for your attention, but none catch your eye like Mark, who takes you on the ride of a lifetime.

with a little pixie dust by @sehunniepotwrites | f | 11.9k cutest best friends to lovers au author summary: There are so many ways your friend group could have chosen to celebrate your graduation from university but they chose the one way that fit their childlike antics most of all–going to Disneyland. With all the screams of joy and laughter filing the atmosphere, you see why people call it The Happiest Place on Earth. It’s where magic comes alive, hearts soar to the skies, and where dreams come true. With your dream job already lined up for you once you get back from this vacation, you wonder if your last and wildest fantasy–the one that carries Mark Lee endearingly close to your heart–will take flight. (But don’t worry; your best friends, with a little help of pixie dust, are determined to make it come alive by the end of night.)

watch me by @sluttyten | m | 14.6k neighbours au, voyeurism author summary: you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

go with it by @seouljazzbar | m | 6k best friends to lovers au author summary: “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

bad habits. by @mrkis | m, slight a? | 6.5k slight toxic behaviour, dealer!mark author summary: ❝you know you're my favourite.❞

this is (not) easy by @mrkis | m | 13.2k friends to lovers, fwb situation author summary: getting into a friends with benefits situation with your all time best friend was so (not) easy

nervously in love by @angelwonie | m, f | 5.2k established relationship author summary: despite his very obvious sexual attraction towards you, your boyfriend keeps holding himself back from sleeping with you. OR the three times you want to fuck mark lee and the one time you do.

real talk by @smileysuh | m | 19.4k restaurant au, coworkers to lovers author summary: “You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

gelato by @hazyhae | m | 14.4k plug!mark, weed use, friends to strangers to lovers author summary: a high slip up cost you mark lee years ago, and you’ve spent years burying your memories of him ever since. the universe has other plans for you when your old friend starts a new career, smoking his way back into your life.

kiss u right now by @domjaehyun | m, f | 6.9k mark pining harddd author summary: in which mark just really wants to kiss you. alternative summary. five times mark wanted to kiss you and one time he actually does.

play with me by @domjaehyun | m, f | 4.6k weed use, best friends mark

series

sweet cream, cold brew by @lucyandthepen | m, f | 2 shot, 46.7k total college au, nerd!barista!mark, a very sweet fic with lots of pining <3 author summary: something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

unholy by @sluttyten | m | 19 chapters supernatural au, poly!au featuring ten, yuta, winwin & mark author summary: you’re a religious good girl when one day you find yourself sucked into a dark world of myth, legend, and creatures of horror. You never believed they were real, but now there are demons, vampires, werewolves, and so much more. In the magic and in the seduction, you begin to lose who you were and discover who you are. And most confusing of all? You want every bit of it.

quarantine chronicles by @domjaehyun | m | 3 parts | 126.7k featuring jaehyun, johnny, jaemin & jungwoo author summary: fourteen days, five roommates, and five remarkably high sex drives. what could go wrong?

smashing the six by @yutaholic | m | 6 parts other parts feature jeno, johnny, jaehyun and haechan - kinda have to read all the other parts for it to make sense!!, college au author summary: there’s a notorious tradition at nct university - hookup with a player from each of the six athletic programs. bonus points awarded if you get any of them to fall in love with you. but don’t forget about neonet, nctu’s infamous social media app, where rumors get passed around like candy and no one is safe from having their business aired out for all to see.

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ CRASH LANDING (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: lando accidentally hits a stranger with his car — the internet can’t stop referring to it as a meet cute. (un)fortunately for lando, mclaren agree.

genre: comedy, fluffy

authors note: a continuation of the ending to beached! you don’t need to have read that to understand this, however it will give some insight to the mclaren matchmaker jokes <3 also in light of that, this is set a few races in the future! *oscarsgf user refers to the character in beached!

*faceclaim: keeahwah on ig (but please imagine her as you see fit!)

landonorris posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

tmz posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris posted tweets ੈ✩‧₊˚

lando’s texts with y/n ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by carlossainz55 and 203,488 others

landonorris practicing safe driving

view all comments

user you are so unserious sir

user SOOOO IS THAT THE GIRL HE HIT BC

user no clue but she’s CUTE

oscarpiastri @/fia look here

landonorris i will literally remind your girlfriend of your murder attempts when you first met

user it’s giving meet cute

user i’d read a fic on it

yourusername you literally drove off BEFORE I WAS EVEN IN THE CAR

landonorris IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I WAS DISTRACTED

user ASSUMING THIS IS HER???

user @/user CLICKING ON HER ACCOUNT IT DEFINITELY IS

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by bestfriend, landonorris and 3,907 others

yourusername monaco recap🇲🇨 successfully didn’t get hit by too many cars!

view all comments

user AS IF LANDO HIT THE HOTTEST PERSON IVE EVER SEEN

user nah this is actually a full meet cute i’m sorry this is the shit you see in romcoms

bestfriend still can’t believe you didn’t take compensation but accepted a lunch date instead

yourusername can you blame me

user @/yourusername oh girl no one can you are so real for that

friend1 wait till everyone finds out you’re only there for another 4 days

user WHAT. i can’t have them separated already😶

user parasocial relationship with lando ended y/n is my new idol now

twitter reacts ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

[captions:

photo 1: lando paid for me to get my nails done !!!

photo 2: :D

photo 3: ur all romanticizing my life rn but this is my view in a fancy ass restaurant]

texts with your best friend ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris and 11,276 others

yourusername final days in heaven. i’ll miss so much about this place

👤 tagged bestfriend, landonorris

view all comments

user wait she doesn’t live in monaco?? she’s leaving??? just after i’ve gotten attached to her and lando???

bestfriend please come back to visit asap i cannot go too long without my y/n cuddles

landonorris seconded

user um lando sir,,, seconded the whole thing? cuddles included?

user this cannot be the end of the meet cute i refuse to

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by oscarpiastri and 286,425 others

landonorris safe to say i’ve had a pretty good break between races

view all comments

user a whole post dedicated to her with THAT caption? oh yep they’re whipped

user please tell me y’all are going to stay in contact?

user my heart is shattering already

mclaren 🧡

user MCLAREN PLEASE YOU’VE DONE IT ONCE BEFORE

texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

mclaren interview ੈ✩‧₊˚

[transcript:

o: safe to say you’ve had a pretty interesting break before this race

l: hey let me remind you what happened for you over winter break!

o: okay but i didn’t literally hit my girlfriend with my car!

l: oh so you finally asked her out officially?

o: stop deflecting!

l: okay okay! yeah safe to say i had a nice time. always need a bit of a change in life!

o: so how are things going now?

l: (awkwardly) well you know how it’s… yeah

o: ah i get it. quite literally been there done that got the t shirt. but hey you did say all that when i got my big moment about mclaren—

l: no no no don’t give them any ideas! they’re listening!]

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 203,467 people

mclaren the boys are back! don’t forget to check out the new interview on our channel where lando and oscar talk all things hopes for the second half of the season, workouts and… girls?

view all comments

user mclaren. mclaren look at me. you know what you have to do

mclaren 👀

user when oscar asked him about y/n… i wanted to cry he looked so sad are things over between them?

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri you’re such a gossip

oscarpiastri you love me for it

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri you know what i’m thinking?

oscarpiastri @/oscarsgf plotting?

oscarsgf @/oscarpiastri plotting!

user what on earth is going on…

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by oscarsgf and 29,481 others

yourusername lately :)

view all comments

user you are so ! gorgeous !

user i can see why lando is obsessed

user speaking of… where is our favorite brit in the likes☹️

oscarsgf pretty girl!!!

yourusername oh?!? thank u cutie!!!

user ^ oh their plotting is in progress???

mclaren you’d look good in orange👀🧡

landonorris posted a tweet ੈ✩‧₊˚

an email from mclaren ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 287,456 people

mclaren it’s race day🫡

view all comments

user WHO IS THE GIRL

user IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

user PLEASE TELL ME THATS Y/N

user LOOK AT HER STORIES ITS DEFINITELY HER

user SOMEONE WHO IS THERE KEEP US UPDATED PLEASE

user just posted a thread ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 106,544 others

yourusername i don’t know guys, do you think he’s cute?

view all comments

user OH MY GOD FINALLY

landonorris i will hit you with my car again

yourusername is that a challenge mr. norris?

landonorris @/yourusername oh you better run fast

yourusername @/landonorris well duh cause you don’t know how to do the speed limit

user i love them. i love them so much.

oscarsgf omg can we force the boys to do mclaren double dates

landonorris leave this comment section now

yourusername @/landonorris too late we’re already texting

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by yourusername, mclaren and 300,091 others

landonorris we are successful victims of mclarens matchmaking services

view all comments

user THEYVE DONE IT AGAINNN

user new fav couple fr

oscarpiastri oh how quickly you all forget me

user @/oscarpiastri WE COULD NEVER

user clearly i need to work for mclaren to get a cute gf

oscarpiastri @/oscarsgf is the second photo giving you flashbacks as well

oscarsgf they’re stealing our thing

yourusername thank you for posting the nice park date photo of me

landonorris well in all the others you’re mid cartwheel

mclaren glad to be of service🧡 anyone else? @/patriciooward how are you doing?

landonorris i’m gonna stop you right there

———————

a/n: WELL. hello friends. i said i wasn’t gonna post a one shot for a while, then this happened. i just hope its up to standard! i’m a little rusty in my writing considering everything!

in regards to new works, gonna be working on getting my wips out soon, and maybe popping some new smaus out at the same time as they’re easy and quick-ish for me to work on considering everything going on! do forgive me if i do some random family orientated stuff — pregnancy hormones are giving me baby fever for everything (is it still baby fever if you’re having a baby?)

let me know your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/asks — i’ve missed talking to you all sm! i have anon emojis available if people wanna chat too🤍

for the first time in a very long time,,, love, giselle xx

taglist (found here): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35 @treehouse-house @iloveyou3000morgan @scopeiguess @amaranthineghost @gwginnyweasley @hetfieldd @sweetbabygirlsworld @wittywhispers @dark-night-sky-99 @namgification @casperlikej @marshmummy @geniusalpaca

tags for this post: @the-untamed-soul @itsprashimusic @purplephantomwolf @jasminesacademia