#because it's so easy to want to want things to turn out okay for him

[callsign-rogueone]

gentle giant

garrick tavis x reader (angel!)

words: 2.1k

🏷️: smut, first time in the relationship, mentions of penetration being painful, but they stop and do alternate activities, because how are these fantasy heroines always taking pipe the size of their forearm with no lube or anything, thigh riding, gare gets a handy and loses his mind a little, mentions of size difference between you, but I tried to just emphasize him being big instead of saying you are tiny because not all of us are violet sized, especially not myself, you wear his shirt and it’s implied to be big on you, his hands are bigger, he’s taller… I think it’s easy enough for everyone to relate. this is kinda rushed but when I saw the prompt for today I knew I had to finish this draft that literally had the same title already! posting with 1h20m to spare 🥳

“Are you sure you want to— oh, fuck,” Garrick breathes, his grip on your waist tightening as you lower yourself down.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Your words are cut with a soft whimper as you sink lower, stretching around him. You’re trying to keep your cool, but he can feel your thighs shaking, feel you squeezing him so fucking tightly, your breaths coming out in pathetic little pants as you try to adjust to the thickness.

“Angel,” he says softly, moving his hands to your waist. “If it’s too much, we can—”

“I can take it,” you interrupt. “Just give me a second.”

Maybe if you shift your hips a little, you can get a better angle, and it’ll stop feeling like you’re being torn apart.

Nope. That’s even worse.

Hold your breath, then, so he can’t tell how much it hurts, and you don’t kill the mood. This is the first time you’ve done anything more than kiss, after all. It should stop hurting after a few minutes, right? Just power through, and…

It’s too easy for him to lift you up off of him and sit you on his thigh, wrapping his arms around you and stroking your back. “I don’t want you to be in pain, Angel. We should stop.”

“M’ sorry,” you say in a small voice, working your head into the side of his neck.

“Don’t apologize, Angel. It’s okay.” He continues smoothing his palms up and down your back in slow, grounding movements. “What do you want to do? We can go to sleep, or just cuddle for a while… or we could have some fun in a different way.”

You pull back to look at him. “I didn’t completely kill the moment?”

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Are you kidding? I have the most beautiful woman on the continent sitting in my lap with no pants on, and it turns out that my dick is actually too big.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’d find a way to joke about this, and make it feed his ego. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You sit up straighter and guide him back into another kiss with a hand on his jaw, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone.

His hands find your waist again, slipping underneath your — his — shirt, and smoothing up your ribs to rest just below your breasts. He’s always been touchy with you, but even after being the two of you a couple for a few months now, he’s still a little hesitant to touch you anywhere intimate, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. It’s cute, really.

You reach down, settling your hands on his wrists and guiding his hands up to where he really wants them to be. He’s gentle, massaging the soft skin and brushing his thumbs over your nipples. It’s a new sensation, a soft, buzzy pleasure that adds to the desire growing within you.

The kisses had started off gentle, slow and loving, meant to reassure you that he still wanted you despite your difficulties, but now it’s more than that — you’re back to the same eager, frenzied makeout that had started this whole thing off.

He pulls back for air, and you whine softly, scooting closer.

He gives you a sly smile. “Someone’s needy. You enjoying yourself there?”

Your cheeks warm as you realize what he’s talking about — you’ve been rocking your hips against his thigh for the past few minutes, in search of any kind of stimulation.

“If you want to get yourself off like that, that is more than fine with me.”

There’s no denying that it felt really nice, but could you really make yourself cum that way?

It wouldn’t hurt to try, you suppose.

You nod shyly, giving another exploratory rock of your hips against his thigh. It’s perfect for this; wide, firm, but pliant enough to be comfortable. Just like the rest of him — thick muscle, with just the right amount of softness covering it, good for sparring and cuddling and several other things, including this. And there’s just something about the size of him, the way he towers over you, and how much bigger he is than you, that makes your heart race.

Is it a little superficial? Maybe. But he feels the same way about you.

The first time he’d seen you wear one of his shirts, that draped down to your thighs, just long enough to cover your ass, he’d forgotten how to speak. Even before you’d admitted your feelings to each other, he’d loved comparing the size of your hands, making jokes about being able to see over the top of your head, and being able to move you around effortlessly, guiding you through crowds or sitting you in his lap like this…

And he’s always loved your softness — both the feel of your skin, your hands smooth and soft compared to the roughened skin of his palms from all his training and exercise, and the plush of your body, so easy to relax into, to cuddle up with and rest his head on, to knead in those giant hands of his while you do things like this…

He pulls back, his nose brushing against your cheek. “You mind if I help myself out a little?”

You shake your head no; of course you don’t mind. If anything, watching him is going to help you get there.

He wasn’t lying about you not having killed the mood — he’s still hard, aching with need. And even held in his own hand, he still looks giant.

You take mental note of the way he’s doing it, the lazy pace and the way he twists his hand when he reaches the top before sliding back down, soft little sighs leaving his lips every now and then.

He probably does this quite often, to know what he likes. He might have even done it while thinking of you — you’ve certainly spent more nights with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips than you’d ever admit.

As good as this feels, it’s tiring. Your legs were already aching from the day’s training, and this isn’t helping you at all. You sigh in frustration, your hips slowing, but you continue to rock back and forth, sitting up a little straighter to reach his lips.

He’s always known exactly what you want, and what you need — you gasp into his mouth as he takes over, sliding you back and forth over his thigh with minimal effort. This is much better, enabling you to concentrate on the feeling of the muscle rubbing against your clit instead of the ache in your hips and thighs.

And it’s godsdamned sexy how strong he is, how he can handle you any way he pleases.

He leans forward, his other hand sliding up your neck to tilt your head back, allowing him access to the side of your neck.

Despite this being the farthest you’ve ever gone together, Garrick has clearly established that no inch of your skin will go un-kissed, or otherwise unloved. He’s an excellent multitasker — his lips are still on your neck, one hand helping guide you back and forth against his thigh, the other hand having returned to your chest, just playing with you, groping and stroking and pinching, just seeing what you like.

It’s soft little circles of his thumb that seem to have you the most vocal, arching forward into his touch. He’ll keep doing that, then.

“Gare,” you breathe, your hand finding the one that rests on your hip, your fingers curling around his.

He pulls back from your neck with a soft, wet sound — there’s definitely going to be some bruises there tomorrow, that Xaden will tease you both for relentlessly — and even with your eyes closed in concentration, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Aww, are you close, angel? You wanna cum for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing your hips forward to help him, and help yourself. “Yes, please, keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“All of it.”

He’s a perfect soldier, excellent at following orders. And he’d do anything you asked without hesitation, especially if it pleased you like this. His lips return to the side of your neck, sucking at your pulse point, continuing those little strokes of his thumb…

You nearly sob as it washes over you, your inner muscles clamping around thin air, and your hand clutching his. He rocks you back and forth a few more times to help you ride it out, still mouthing at your neck, but after a moment it becomes too much — you start to squirm, squeezing your thighs together around his, which he takes as a sign to stop.

You slump forward against his chest, dazed and a little bit in awe of the fact that he just made you cum without laying a finger on you. Your tummy feels fuzzy, your whole body relaxed… and your pain appears to have ceased, which is an added bonus.

You’re vaguely aware of his hand rubbing your back. He's talking to you, cooing praises into your ear. “Did so good, angel. N’ I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my clothes.”

You stifle a yawn, lifting your head up enough to give him a kiss. Your lips land more toward his jaw than his mouth, but that’ll have to do for now. “Thank you,” you add. “Felt really good.”

He reciprocates your kiss, a soft peck to your temple. “Anything for my perfect girl. S’ late, you wanna go to bed?”

“In a bit,” you murmur, smearing another kiss against his jaw as you reach down again, wrapping your hand around him. He gasps in surprise, his thigh tensing underneath you. “Is this okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes, his eyes still locked with yours, subconsciously pushing his hips into your hand, rutting forward into your touch.

You hum happily, boldened by how quickly he’s falling apart beneath you. “Felt so good grinding on your thigh like that. All that strong muscle, and the way you could move me so easily…”

You punctuate each sentence with a slip of your thumb over his tip, watching the way his abs clench as he squirms underneath you.

“Oh, just like that, Angel,” he breathes, “Fuck, your hands are so — soft, feels so good… so much better than — fuck — better than mine. Not gonna last.”

You hum against the side of his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin just above his collarbone, where his relic ends.

He whines, his hips pushing against your hand faster now, his desperation increasing. “Please,” he gasps. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” you murmur. “I’m not going to stop. Especially not when you asked so nicely.”

He buries his face in the side of your neck, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips.

If you thought his needy little whines were pretty, then the sound he makes when he cums is absolutely gorgeous — it’s a shame that it’s muffled by your skin. You’ll have to do this again soon, so you can hear it properly.

His thighs are shaking, and your hand is covered in his spend, but just like he did for you, you don’t stop right away, just slow down and let him ride it out. “Holy shit,” he pants, catching his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that fast before. That’s actually a little embarrassing.”

You can’t help but giggle, pleased with yourself. “You’ll just have to show me how long you can last, then.”

He groans. “Don’t say shit like that right now. You’ll get me hard again.”

“Oh nooo, we can’t have that.”

“Not tonight, at least. We need to get some sleep.”

“Fair enough,” you agree through a yawn.

You’ve both already showered, and used all your energy for the day, so a quick wipe-down is enough until morning, and then it’s back to your normal routine of getting tucked into bed together. You’ve only used your own bed twice since getting your own room a month ago, now. You might as well just share his room, at this point, but there’s only one desk and one closet, which would cramp things up.

“Angel?” he asks softly, before turning the light out.

You hum in reply, eyes already closed.

“I really enjoyed tonight, even if it wasn’t what we planned.”

“I did too. Was fun.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want you to feel bad, or anything. Really.”

“And that right there is why I love you so much,” you murmur, scooting over to rest your head on his chest. “You’re big and scary, but you’re really just a gentle giant. With me, at least.”

“Only with you,” he agrees, stroking a hand over your hair. “I have a reputation to maintain, y’know.”

“Mm. Can’t have people finding out that you’re a big softie.”

“They’ll put it together eventually. But not today.”

[its-in-the-woods]

About Damn Time

~ Series of smutty one-shots with Congressmen Bucky Barnes ~

Masterlist

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Synopsis: You and the congressmen have been dating for a while now, and you cannot wait to jump his bones any longer.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 4.6k

Rating/Warning: Established relationship, somewhere between TFATWS and Thunderbolts*. CongressmenBucky, p in v, slight dombucky subby reader, Smut, oral (f), slight body image issues from everyone, ingering, creampie (wrap it), biting, kissing, cussing, fun to bad had

Author notes: This will probably end up being a series of cute, funny, and ridiculously smutty one-shots. Enjoy, tell your friends ;)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You met him at a veterans' fundraiser, he had been kind, caring, easy to talk to. He’d sit with anyone who wanted to speak to him, really let them be heard. It was clear that was why he had gotten the votes, his actual care for others seeped through his pores. It was so rare a sight in the modern day.  So when he came to sit beside you, you were surprised. You had arranged the event, invited many members who were running for congress, but Mr. Barnes had been the only one that had stayed.  The only one that couldn't keep his eyes off you.

“Thank you for organizing the event,” He said quietly, sitting beside you, right hand fiddling with the glove covering the left. 

You smile, “Thank you for staying. Means a lot to the vets to hear from you. “

Just like that it started. 

He’d show up at your job, always bringing coffee or something sweet. You were pretty certain that some of your co-workers had let slip what you enjoyed to the charming congressmen. It also helped that he never missed an event. Barnes was old-fashioned that way; he didn’t push, didn’t press things, just showed up. Until finally you gave him your number, and told him if he didn’t set up a date, you would. 

He picked you up at your place, flowers in hand, opening up your door and pulling out your chair. The place was small, tucked away in Brooklyn. The owner knew him by name, you caught him giving a thumbs up to James, Bucky. 

You knew then that you’d have taken him home that night. Months of talking and flirting, it had felt right. But after making out in his car like you were fourteen again, he’d walked you to your door, kissed your forehead, and walked back to his car. Promising it would be worth the wait.

That had been four dates ago, several coffees, and a dozen run-ins, and you were not waiting any longer. The man was going to be the death of you, and you were determined to get him through that door somehow. 

“So, I am leaving in about fifteen, going to stay at Chad’s place,” Your roommate, Dahlia, said from the other side of the door. “And I really need to pee!” She grumbles, “Isn’t this like your five hundredths date, is he impotent or something?” 

You open the door with a huff, “No, He is not impotent.” Stopping for a second you think of that. “Okay, just because he is over a hundred years old, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow, “So then why has it taken him so long? Look at you, you’re a ten everyday. And he’s just dragging it out.” 

“Oh hush. I am six on a good day.” You roll your eyes. “He’s just.” Your cheeks flush, making Dahlia gag as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Different, doesn’t like to rush things. Beside, this, what, your eighth time going back to Chad? You can do better.” 

It was Dahlia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Unfortunately, guys from the forties don’t just appear at my work like they do yours. And the sex is good.”

You wrinkle your face, checking that you have all your stuff in your purse. Phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bucky <3 : Be there in five. Can’t wait to see you.

The flush that creeps up your neck is totally normal, you tell yourself.

“Alright, hot stuff, I am out of here.” Dahlia grins, twirling a piece of her hair with her fingers. “Going to want all the details about your old man.”

You groan and she winks before taking off into the night. Checking yourself for the tenth time, you wonder if you’re overdoing it. The dress is emerald green, sweetheart neckline, long flowing sleeves, and mid-thigh slit. You wore black heels that weren’t too high, and a clutch that matched it. Chewing on your lip, you almost decided to change into something different when a knock came at the door. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you decide it's now or never. Walking over to the door to open it. Bucky stands on the other side, wearing black on black, the top couple buttons on his dress shirt undone, hair ruffled back as he takes you in. 

“Wow,” He blinked, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look fantastic.”

You let out a small giggle, “Not so bad yourself, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He chuckles, holding his arm out for you to take. You close the door behind you, grabbing his arm to start the way to his car. 

“It isn’t too much is it?” You ask quietly, as he goes to open the door. 

His eyes crinkle as he looks at you over again, “Never is, when it’s you.”

You roll your eyes and pat his hand before getting into the car. 

Dinner was at a steakhouse downtown, it wasn’t where either of you normally went, but man was the food delicious. Bucky told stories of dealing with the press, you had no idea how he managed all of it, and learning how to be press ready. Something along the lines of saying worry four times in one interview, didn’t seem to work well for them. You told him about fighting for grants and funding. That, despite the endless amount of paperwork, you still had more to do.

He’d hold your hand with his gloved one, thumb running over the top of your knuckles. Watching you closely as you spoke of troubles and worries you had. Reaffirming that you would figure it out, and he’d do what he could help. It was easy, it always had been. The way he understood without being patronizing, supportive, and not overbearing. Like the whole world stopped when you spoke.

Meal finished you sat, finishing up your glass of wine and Bucky sipping on whiskey.

“I was thinking-”  “Would you-”

Both of you are stumbling over your words. 

You bite your lip before holding up a hand, “No, no, go first.” 

His cheeks stained pink, “Would you like to come to my place?” Swallowing, his eyes glancing down at were your hands are linked. “Umm, tonight.”

Grinning, you nod, “I would love that. Was going to invite you into mine.”

His eyebrows go up, “Really? Got tired of waiting?”

Your face flushes, “I’d wait for you.” You reach over and grab both his hands in yours across the table. “But I am certainly not going to say, no.”

The bill is paid for quickly, the air between you is now charged more than normal, his hands don’t stop touching you. He holds your hand at the table as the bill is paid, as you get up to leave, his hand slides gently onto the small of your back. In the car, his large palm slips gently past the fabric of your dress to rest warmly on your thigh. 

Your skin prickles with heat, goosebumps running up your neck, when he squeezes slightly. His eyes on the road, but they glance over at your more, that unspoken quietness that has you wanting to pull the car over. Low music playing in the background, but your mind is starting to melt. It was finally happening, and you were surprisingly more excited than anxious.

He pulls up in front of a small apartment complex, it’s in a quieter, older end of the city. It should surprise you, but it doesn't, it’s perfectly Bucky. Stepping out into the cool night air you look at the area. It’s older, less generatified than many, small stores underneath the apartments. An older lady walks by, with a small white fluffy dog, saying hello to Bucky. She gives you a smile and a wink, and of course he is known by everyone. 

Grabbing your hand, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, before guiding you inside. You follow eagerly, face already flushed as you ascend the set of stairs. Cursing slightly at the fact that you decided to wear heels. 

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers at a landing, before he is picking you up, one arm under your legs, the other holding your back. You let out a squeak before wrapping  your arms around his neck.

“Got to warn a girl, Bucky,” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t have you worn out before we get up there now.” Bucky replies, before easily carrying you up the next flight of stairs 

He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes it open. He flicks on a light to reveal his home. The lights are dim, older fixtures that he has clearly restored, bathing the place in a warm glow. The kitchen is tidy, a rack of dishes sits on the counter, and a coffee pot half filled. The living room has a worn sofa, with a wall of bookcases, full of worn books, and a small tv in the corner that definitely has dust on it. It’s cozy and comfortable, a space clearly cherished and lived in. 

He carefully lowers you to the ground, you lean up to kiss him again, your fingers running through the hair along the back of his neck. He kisses you back, hand coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb making lazy circles over your cheekbones. You nip at his lips, hearing him let out a small groan, his free hand sliding to your hip. 

Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours, a small smile spreading over his face. “Let’s get these shoes off.”

You hum, watching him kneel down in front of you, heart stuttering in your chest when he looks up at you. Blue eyes framed by dark hair, a warm hand sliding down your calf, as a cool one slips down over your heel and pops it off. He moves over to the next one, cool hand sliding up along your leg, his eyes following it. The other heel hits the ground, the metal of his hand stays on your calf, moving up and pushing the slit of your dress open slightly. He leans forward and kisses the skin on the inside of your knee. 

A shiver runs down your spine as your foot hits the cool wood floor below your feet. You hold a hand out, that Bucky takes, standing up, he leans down to kiss you again. Pulling you tight against his chest, you hear your heart thumping in your ears as your hands reach up to cup his face. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging into the material as he opens his mouth to nip at your lips. A small groan escapes as your tongue pushes into his mouth. The taste of whisky and him making your toes curl.

“You taste so sweet,” He murmurs, slowly pushing you past the kitchen, towards a short hallway.

Your back hits the door, and both of you fumble for the handle. It opens, and you both topple forward. You are pretty sure the neighbors hear you nearly scream as you fall. Bucky catches you and rolls so that you land on top of him. A giggle erupts out of both of you as you lie there in a tangle of limbs.

“Not what I had planned,” Bucky murmurs, his cheeks gone pink. It only furthers your giggling fit, burying your head against his chest. 

“Guess you could say you swept me off my feet.” Your own face red from the ridiculous jokes.

Bucky groans, eyes rolling, “Been reduced to Dad jokes.”

You continue the gigglefest, as the two of you get up off the floor. It was hard not to feel a little silly around him, he had that effect. Walls sliding down easily, making you feel safe, like no one else could.

“Where were we?” You lean into him, one hand on his chest, the other coming up to cup his jaw. 

He leans against your palm, eyes closing, as he breathes you in. The stubble on his cheeks makes your fingers tingle, as you rub small circles into the skin. Fingers run from our hips up along your sides, a shiver running down your spine, making you squirm. Pulling you closer his hands move to your back find the zipper, he leans in close to your ear.

“Think you’re wearing too many clothes,” He whispers into your ear, his voice a deep growl that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “Turn around.”

A shudder comes out, you do what he asks and turn around. Warm fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down, as the teeth click, a cool finger runs down the now bare skin. A gasp escapes from your lips, his hands moving from your back up to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them down your arms. His lips find your skin, kissing along the top of your shoulder. You shrug the dress down one shoulder, his hand pushing the other down. The dress slides down to your hips, pooling fabric around your waist. Bucky’s lips don’t stop moving. He kisses slowly down your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. Clothed body pressing behind you, one hand moving to cup at your breast. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your head tipping back against him. Groaning as his one hand moves down and pushes the rest of your dress down. 

“Turn around,” He hushes, kissing down along your neck. His teeth scraped against the skin, your mind turning to mush as you turn to face him. 

You stand there nearly bare, save for a matching set of black underwear and bra, watching him look you over. His cool eyes going down along your skin, eyes moving along you like he was trying to burn the memory of you into his mind, 

“You’re stunning,” He whispers, holding your gaze. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, it wasn't, it couldn’t be, not with him. Right there you’d do just about anything he would ask. “I will, but it’s not. It’s never too much.”

A small smirk crosses his face, his shoulders roll as he pushes his suit jacket off. Fingers moving up to do the buttons, you move forward wanting to help, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. Butterflies blossom in your stomach as you stand back. Watching as he undoes the buttons, fingers easily slipping them out of each slot. He pulls the shirt out from the waistband of his pants, pushing the material back off his chest. You swallow, watching the wide expanse of his chest appear, the way his movement flexes the muscles. Hands clenching against your bare thigh with the need to touch.

The shirt snags where his shoulder and arm meet on the left side, his face scrunching in frustration at the material. You don’t hesitate, moving forward, one hand rest on his pec and the other goes over to the caught fabric. Sliding a finger underneath, you carefully work the fabric out before pushing it down. His body stills, his eyes flicking down to you. You hold his gaze as the shirt drops down, finger moving along his skin. Feeling the different scars that dot his chest, you flick down to the large scar where the metal meets the skin. 

You don’t ask, instead leaning down to kiss at some of the smaller scars, watching his breath hitch as you move over. Keeping your eyes on his you kiss down the ragged edges of his scar, you can hear his heart start to pick up. You start at the top of his shoulder, going down along it, leaving your kiss light, soft, leaving room for him to tell you to stop. Moving your hands, you reach up to gently touch his face, leaning on your toes, you kiss him softly. 

“All the details, the stories,” You whisper quietly. “I want to know every one of them.” 

A shutter rattles his body, and his hands are on you. Finger digging into your hips, as his lips crash into yours, it is hungry and desperate. You kiss back against the onslaught, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling just enough to anchor you to him. He backs you up slowly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Fuck, wanted to do this for so long,” Bucky groans, kissing down your neck, as you both fall back against the bed. 

Your hands move down to his belt, and he swats them away. You moan. “Buckyyy, please.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want to make it a night to remember.” He smirks, resting so that he is leaning over top of you.

“It already is,” You complain, hands running along his chest and down his arms, squeezing at them.

He leans forward, kissing down your neck, down along your shoulder, around your collarbones. Resting on his metal arm, he uses his free hand to reach behind you and unclip your bra. Arching your back, you help him free it before his mouth moves again. Hand kneading at your breast, making you hiss as he leans down to suck at one of your nipples. A whimper leaves your lips as he laps at it, teeth scraping at the sensitive bud. 

Whimpering your hands move to grab at his back. The metal hand moves quickly snatching both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“You squirm so much,” He grins, holding you steady as you pout. Kissing your pout, he switches to the other nipple, making you squirm more, breathy pants coming as you feel heat pulse in your core. 

“Goddamn, you’re such a tease.” You huff, now trying to arch your hips up for some friction. 

Bucky grumbles, shifting so that his legs spread yours open, making it difficult for you to try and move up. The more you struggle, the more he grins, and he goes back to kissing down your body, stretching as far as he can reach with your hands pinned. 

“I am going to let go,” His eyes are dark with need, desire, swirling in the air. “If you move I stop.”

“Ahh, I should have known you were kinky.” You yip back, trying not to squirm. “It’s always the quiet ones-” Your breath is suddenly sucked out of your lungs, when he tongues just below your naval. 

His teeth nip harder here, making you shiver, he licks and sucks after each bite, leaving a squiggling line of bruises across your lower stomach. Going further down, his tongue moves down and licks along the edge of your panties. 

Your body clenches as you try not to squirm, fist balling up the soft bedding underneath. Nearly losing it when you look down to see him lying between your legs, hands holding onto your hips, as he grabs onto your panties with his teeth. Bucky looks up at your eyes, connecting with yours as he works them down. Moving them just enough that he can get where he wants to go. Eyes pinning you in place as he leans forward, thumbs pushing your fold open as his tongue flicks out and tastes you. 

A whimper leaves your mouth, as his eyes close, he pushes forward eagerly, tongue taking a deep sweep as he groans. The vibrations have your hands fisted in the sheets, mind melting into a puddle as he continues to lick into your core. 

“Please,” You whimper, legs shaking as his nose brushes against your clit. “Let me touch you.”

His head raises, lips and chin soaked in your slick, which just makes you want to reach for him more. Bucky shakes his head. Before doubling his efforts, he moves his left hand down, running the cool metal along where your thigh and core meet. Mouth moving up to nip at your folds, making you buck up, just as one of the cold metal fingers slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, he stops moving for a second, eyes focused on your face as he starts to work one finger in and out. 

Keening, your hips move down against the friction, it's not enough. As if reading your mind, he slips another finger in. Scissoring them and opening you up, heat starting to grow in your stomach. A cry leaving as he latches onto your clit, sucking and humming, the slow pace picking up as his fingers move deeper. They curl up looking for the spongy spot, when he hits your eyes slam shut body pulsing as he keeps moving. Fingers moving up and pressing at it over and over, combined with him sucking and humming on your clit has you teetering on the edge. 

“I am-” Your breath stutters as he pops off your clit. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Grinning he moves his tongue down to wear his fingers are, scissoring you open so he can stick his tongue deep inside. 

“Goddamnit, Bucky please. Please.” You’re begging, the edge of release is right there, just under his tongue. 

The bastard chuckles, leaning forward to blow on your clit, “So pretty when you beg.”

You don’t have time to curse him out, as he latches back onto your clit, tongue swirling around as his fingers push up and against the spot. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape in a slight scream as pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t stop moving and sucking against you. The feeling keeps building, the fire growing, tingling out through your lower abdomen. It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You couldn’t help but let your fingers finally card into his hair, they clenched in and out. 

Bucky finally eases up, your thighs shaking as you try to find words in the haze. He moves up fingers, carefully slipping out of you, and you let out a huff at losing the sensation. Hands coming to cup his face, you bring him closer and kiss him, tongue pushing in so that you can taste a mix of you both.

“You broke the rules,” He teases, kissing the tip of your nose. His body is not quite laying on top of yours. 

A small giggles leave your mouth, “Still can’t think straight.” Your hands move down along his broad back, “Next time you’re just going to have to tie me up.”

Bucky grins, eyes crinkling as he kisses along your jaw. “Next time huh?”

Your hands roam down over his still cloth covered lower half, you squeeze his ass with one hand, the other moving to his front to work his belt open. 

“Many more times,” You grin, kissing his forehead as you slide the belt out. 

He sits back up, standing, and slides his pants and underwear down in one motion. Revealing his straining cock, it bumps against his lower abdomen, leaking enough to leave a mark there. You stare a little longer than you mean to, before your eyes flick back up to his. He smirks and crawls back onto the bed, his arms encasing you as he peers down at you. 

“So many promises,” He whispers, his metal arm hikes up one of your thighs as his mouth finds yours. 

Gasp escapes your lips as the thick tip of cock rubs against your folds, you are going to feel this, every bit of it. His hand drags you closer, letting you start to sink into it, and the feel of him starts to stretch you. Your hands digging into the flesh of his back. Moving your hips, you finally get him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hushes, kissing down along your jaw, tongue running from below your ear and down your neck. He found the spot where your shoulder met your neck and latched onto it.

He sinks all the way in, your mouth opens, gasping his name, throwing your other leg over top of his hips. Rocking up to meet his hips, your bodies flush where you join. He waits a moment, and you want to scream for him to move, to do something. So full, body aching and fluttering around him, still sensitive from your release earlier. 

Finally, he moves, slowly pulling out, then sliding back in, he moans into your ear. Saying your name softly as he continues to move, at a steady, unrelenting pace. One of your hands grips his hip, the other running into his hair, pulling him into a devastating kiss. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, his face slack with pleasure, yet lined as he holds back. 

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper quietly, leaning in to bite at his lip.

Something snaps in the air, his hips still for a moment, then his hands are gripping your hips, dragging you up onto his lap. His hips snap up making you gasp, strong arms wrapping around you as he starts to fuck in earnst. You can feel how deep he sits inside you, the way your stretched out, mind going fuzzy with the sound of your bodies filling the air. Nothing holds him back, you just cling onto him, mind goes blank. Your hand moves between you, rubbing at your clit. Making your insides spasm around him. 

“I am so close,” He whispers, grunting with the effort, muscle straining as he pumps into you. “Where?”

You kean, feeling your own pleasure renewing and blooming out. “Inisde, fuck please, inside me.” 

His mouth latches onto the top of your shoulder, biting hard, and a shout rips out of you as you come. Your eyes rolling back in the fog of pleasure and pain, making your whole body clench around him. His body spasms as he holds you close. His own body tensing, breath in short pants, heart hammering as he keeps pumping into you over and over. Metal hand placed on your lower back, as his rhythm falters, you feel him slam in cock twitching as he spills inside you. 

Breath still in short pants, you both collapse onto the bed, Bucky still holding you tight against his warm body. His heart just under your ear, body aching in the best way possible. Sweat and hair mingled together as you lay there happily. 

“You okay?” He whisper hands rubbing gently up and down your ribs, you could still feel him inside you.

“Mmhmm,” You mumble, trying to find words that seem to have left your brain. “Think you broke me.”

You felt him tense up at the words, you smack at his arm. “Not like that.” You giggle leaving light kisses across his hot skin. “Just a little foggy.”

He relaxes, moving so he can look at you, “That good or bad?”

You lean back grabbing a pillow to shove under both of your heads. “So, so good.”

He kisses you quietly, carefully unwrapping your legs from his before pulling out. You grumble at losing the feeling , but don’t hesitate to smack his butt as he goes to leave. 

“Behave,” He says with a grin. “Be right back.”

You groan, shifting a little, kicking and moving the blankets so that you can crawl underneath. The sheets were soft and comfortable, your head still riding the high of the orgasm. You could get used to this, a small smile crosses your face. 

Bucky slips in, two glasses of water in one large hand, another holds a washcloth. He puts the drink down, flipping the covers up, he grabs your ankles and drags you closer to him.

“You love to manhandle me,” You giggles, letting him carefully clean up the mess between your legs. 

“Think you like it as much as I do,” He grins, before tossing the towel into a basket near the closet.

You nod your head as you take the water glass, taking a few stips, “Not used to being thrown around, can’t say I mind.”

He drinks his own water, before crawling into bed beside you. “Good, cause you still owe me for breaking the rules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3 Reblog, comment, like, more to cum *cough*

[koenigami]

“skyhaven - x02. 20th neural control experiment. test subject is starting to adapt. prepare higher voltage-”

there’s a deep voice that documents the horrific video recordings. your hands shake, fingers hovering above the computer keys as you contemplate whether to stop your suffering. or rather, his suffering?

mechanical sounds and buzzes fill the dark room you've snuck inside. when his whimpers and pain induced groans reach your ears, your stomach drops. goosebumps litter your skin, and you swear you start feeling nauseous.

confidential files related to protocores. that’s what you came here for initially. caleb himself had made sure you could easily snoop around a bit through the fleet's archives, of course only with restricted access to limited files and programs.

the pictures and videos of your lover being tortured and experimented on until he was barely conscious… those have not been locked away behind a secret passcode.

just as you’re about to pull the usb drive out and turn everything off, unable to watch him suffer any longer, the sound of a door falling shut behing you catches your attention.

“did you find what you were looking-”

caleb freezes and swallows thickly once he recognizes his own voice in the background, the video still playing. almost as if on loop. the same procedures over and over again. never ending torture. instinctively, his left hand moves up to clutch his right arm, the all too familiar phantom pain flaring up again once he sees his own convulsing body on the monitor.

“caleb…”

but none of the pain compares to the one that shoots through his chest once he notices the look on your face. he's seen you terrified before. he's been with you at the haunted house in town when you were younger. he's held you through the strongest storms, and comforted you in the darkest nights when sleep wouldn’t come easy to you. but this-

“pips.” your body recoils when his hand reaches out to you, his fingertips barely grazing your wet cheek.

he knows that the betrayal runs deep because he’s never uttered a word to you about the things that he’s been through. nervously, he combs his fingers through his hair while he watches you frantically approach the desk again and close the tab of the video. though the silence doesn’t last long.

“they hurt you.” shaken, breathless. as if you've been physically put through the same pain that he has been through.

“it wasn’t that bad-”

“it was.” once the first sob escapes you, you’re unable to control them. on shaky legs, you eventually do take careful steps towards him as if he were a wounded animal. that’s why he didn’t tell you. he's not deserving of your pity. it's only his burden to bear. “i don’t even want to imagine how much pain y-you had to endure.”

all alone. by himself. not a single soul to hold his hand through the atrocious experiments that they conducted on him. no one to confide in. just your caleb, all by himself. your soft cries and sniffs pierce his heart like daggers when you try to muffle them behind your palm.

“no, no, no… hey, c'mere.” his warm embrace envelops you instantly like a safe cocoon, though instead you wish you could have done the same for him during his darkest times. you feel his lips on the side of your head as he hushes you gently, his right arm around your waist so steady yet so cold. “it’s okay. to be honest, i barely even remember a thing.”

he doesn’t. but his body does, and so does his subconsciousness since otherwise he wouldn’t be plagued by nightly dreams that remind him of every single second spent in that lab.

“i won't-” your throat bobs as you try to take a breath, and you feel caleb's hand press into your spine to straighten your back. with your iron grip on his uniform, it’s as if you feared he would slip right through your hands. but it’s your next words that make his stomach churn and tears sting his own eyes. “i won’t let them hurt you again, caleb. i promise.”

and you’re going to hunt them down. every single one of them.

[queersyourgender]

Could you possibly maybe write a Mateo diaz x reader??? The plot could be whatever you want but if you wanted a couple ideas it could be

Mateo and reader are dating/engaged, she works in psych but got padged to the ER or sent there either to deal with a patient or she got assaulted by a patient and needed help.

Or

Mateo x reader where shes jealous about Victoria having such an obvious crush on Mateo

Love your work sm! I hope you can write somthing for Mateo, I cant find any x reader with him and hes my favorite <3

Run of the Mill — Mateo Diaz x F!Reader

Notes: Eeee tysm for your sweet words! Mateo is a gem and I'd be happy to write something of him for you! Here's what I've got, I hope you like it! Brief references to accidental elbowing!

———

“Don't tell Mateo,” is the first thing that flies out of your mouth as your curtain slides open and Cassie's eyes land on you, instantly going wide and horrified by the sight of your gnarly black eye.

“Holy shit, what happened?” Cassie asks worriedly, immediately cradling your face in her hands and turning it side to side to observe you. She shines the light in your eyes, watches how your pupils react, the whole shebang. “How long have you been down here? I didn't even see your name on the board.”

You grimace as she lightly touches the area around your eye, clearly assessing for fractures in your skull. The thought frightens you a little, but after being a psych nurse for who knows how long, this is pretty run of the mill to you. “I just got here,” you confess, shrugging sheepishly at her. “They wouldn't let me walk it off upstairs.”

Cassie shoots you a glare that tells you just how bad an idea that is. “Of course they wouldn't, have you looked in the mirror?” She tells you, shaking her head in that every-disappointed motherly way she does whenever one of you lot is being stupid. “You look terrible, hon.”

“Jeez, Cass, tell me how you really feel,” you try to joke, only to end up winning as she presses her thumb at a particularly tender spot. She gives you a sympathetic smile and starts rattling off the things she's about to send you to do, from x-rays to CTs, when you see him in the distance.

The margin of spotting each other is quite literally the tiny gap in between the closed curtains, but you'd recognize that mop of curls anywhere. He's walking towards you, and you make a panicked noise, flailing your hands about and grabbing at Cassie's scrubs.

“Quick, don't let him see me!” You whisper-yell, trying to physically hide behind her as your fiancé gets ever closer to the two of you. Cassie doesn't budge where you pull her, because she's a traitor who wants you to get caught, just stands there and laughs.

“Is that my sweet angel future-wife's voice I hear behind this curtain?” Mateo's playfully days from the other side, cheerful and happy as he always is, until he pushes the curtain aside and sees the scene. Immediately, his smile falls and his easy going nature makes way for abject shock. “What the fuck?”

“Baby, don't freak out!” You immediately try to placate, holding your palms out for him to take. He does so immediately, of course, and you feel guilt gnaw at you at the slight tremor of his hands in yours. “A patient accidentally elbowed me during an episode, but they didn't mean to! I'm okay, promise. Tell him, Cass.”

“It looks worse than it is,” she offers weakly, and you shoot her a glare that says that's not helping as Mateo makes an even more worried sound and cups your face in his hands. He does the same exact spiel Cassie just did, but you don't bother trying to stop him. “She'll be fine, if she's a good girl and gets her scans done.”

“My girl is always good,” Mateo retorts quickly, almost reflexively, and your face flushes slightly as Cassie shakes her head in endearment at the two of you and walks away, tugging the curtain closed behind herself to give you two some privacy.

Carefully, Mateo pushes his forehead against yours, cautious to keep away from the bruised side of your face as he does so. “Would it kill you to be more careful?” He asks you exasperatedly, and you give him a shit-eating grin, twirling one of his curls around your finger to play with.

“It was an accident,” you remind him, and Mateo rolls his eyes fondly at your insistence. Instead of lecturing you, though, he settles on placing a chaste kiss over your darkened brow, thumbing at your swollen cheek and exhaling softly.

“You're going to be the death of me,” he murmurs against your skin, and you laugh as you thread the fingers of your other hands together and pull him down ever closer to yourself.

“Is that why they say 'til death do us part?” You ponder aloud, and Mateo snorts and quiets you by moving down to kiss your lips instead.

[cute-ellyna]

Ship Sleep Dynamics

Thanks for the tag @mythals-whore, this sounds so cute <3 Gentle tag to @bronzieinthedas @casa-dei-corvei @davrinsleftpectoral and whoever wants to do this ^^

How often do they sleep together?

Always, unless they're not travelling together for some reason. They started pretty early to sleep together, although at first it was mostly Ayanne accidentally falling asleep in his room, and Dav not wanting to wake her up. With time, when their relationship gets less horny and more serious, Ayanne starts leaving her things for the night in Davrin’s room, and that becomes her official place to spend the night in.

Where do they sleep?

During the event of Veilguard, in Davrin’s bed of course. It’s soooo soft and comfortable <3

How do they prepare to sleep?

Well, they need to get Assan asleep first, and that might take a lot of effort (that’s necessary if they want some time for themselves doing whatever) (yes, I do have small children and really feel this OKAY?). Then, if no sexy time is on the agenda, they just chill on the armchair or on the bed, Davrin sketching things for his monster manual, Ayanne snuggling close to him while watching him draw and then falling asleep first every time (yeah yeah I still have to find her a hobby, I’m working on it).

What do they wear to sleep?

As in the drawing above. Dav definitely shirtless with some pants on, Ayanne wears some sort of pajamas. I’m sorry but at 40 you don’t really sleep naked or with sexy things on anymore, comfort is more important and the best you can get by staying too naked out in the open for that long is a stomach ache (if you’re lucky) XD

Do they cuddle?

Ooooooh yes they absolutely do. That’s definitely part of the prepare to get to sleep routine, now that I think about it.

How easy do they fall asleep?

I believe they’re extremely tired from the day most of the time, so they fall asleep pretty easily. Ayanne sometimes just literally can’t keep her eyes open even if she wants to, she collapses on any chair, the dining room couches, once even on the stairs outside while everyone was in the courtyard chatting together.

So of course it also happens while comfy on Dav’s bed or armchair: Davrin would be talking to her, and at some point notices she’s not answering anymore, then look at her and find her asleep lol :)

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Dav has agitated nightmares of course :( But I think he doesn’t move much otherwise, maybe by being used to sleep anywhere while travelling for the wardens or for some monster hunt.

Ayanne… she doesn’t move often, but she “expands” lol. She starts sleeping all curled up at Davrin’s side, but then during the night she sprawls, throwing her legs above him and things like that.

Let’s say that if Assan also joins them on the bed, there’s not much space left for poor poor Davrin XD

Do they snore?

Ahahah I like @mythals-whore headcanon and will say that Dav soft snores :) Ayanne doesn’t, but if she’s awake and hear him, she just cuddle him a little, gently make him change position just a little bit, and he’ll be quiet again.

She never told him she knows he snores, but she keeps the information ready to be used for whenever she’ll need a little revenge ;)

Who hogs the blanket?

Ayanne XD Because she moves, but also because she’s not that used to sleep in a blanket being a dalish who preferred to sleep out in the open under the stars.

What do they dream about?

Warden nightmares for Davrin T_T And we know he canonically dreams about being a griffon lol.

Ayanne doesn’t dream much, but her favorite dreams are the most absurd ones, she always try to remember them so she can tell everyone about it!

How easily do they wake up?

Dav is an early rise, and Assan would make him get up early even if he doesn’t want to. Ayanne is slower to wake up, she would always try to keep Davrin in the bed a little bit more, but almost never succeed. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but this is one of those times she kinda gets jealous of Assan.

How awake they are afterwards?

Once out of the bed, they’re both quickly fully awake. Dav would go with Assan in the courtyard, while Ayanne moves to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast and infamously singing while at it.

[xnackery027]

I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about this, but I haaaate how Mr. Winters’ character was handled in the show. It was such a missed opportunity!

They absolutely took the easy way out by making Mister Winters hurt Dazzle. Having the interesting conflict of “Is it really right for Sun to keep Dazzle from Winters?” resolved with “it’s totally okay because it turns out Winters was evvvviiiil the whole time!!!” Is such a bullshit answer! That is exactly what happened to Nexus and is just the kick the dog trope all over again. It’s like the universe bends around Sun to make sure he’s always in the right. So I’m going to try to rewrite this while keeping the main conflict in mind.

The question is, “Is it okay for Sun to keep Dazzle for himself when Winters still wants to see her?” Sun killed Evelyn, and then adopted her ghost as a way to redeem himself. Winters trusted him to protect her, and Sun turned around and killed her. To Winters, this is the ultimate betrayal; not only murdering his daughter, but also trying to hold on to her corpse and twist the roles from murderer and murder victim to father and daughter. Sun is absolutely deranged if he thinks what he’s doing is appropriate or healthy. But Sun’s “family”, a group of violent rouge robots, are helping to hold Evelyn hostage. Any attempt to reach out is met with violence.

To Sun, he was controlled by Bloodmoon, and Bloodmoon killed Evelyn. Then, he found Dazzle in a broken body and did his best to help her. Dazzle chose to start calling him dad, and he had a crisis over it. He’s tried to reach out to Winters, but is only met with doors slamming in his face. He wants to have some sort of closure, but also is being held back by his overprotective family who doesn’t want him to be hurt.

Winters deserves to be able to see Dazzle. I think it would have been better to have him hostile with Sun, but gentle and friendly with Dazzle. With the pressure of Sun’s family on him, Winters might be willing to work out a visitation agreement. Dazzle can go and see him biweekly, maybe with Jack as invisible protection. He can still be messed up from her death and the divorce; He has to clean his house for the first time since then and it’s still a mess when Dazzle comes around. But we get to see a slow improvement over the course of the next few months.

Plus, it’d provide a great excuse to not include Dazzle in more blatantly mature episodes. The family encounters the weird ABO wolf people again? Good thing Dazzle’s at the other house. The family has to go to a different dimension together? Sun drops Dazzle off with Winters and off they go.

This could also be a fun relationship between Sun and Winters themselves. Sort of a “Never married but it’s like we’re bitterly divorced” situation. Like, imagine they have to work together for a school project, the family tree. Dazzle is torn on whether to use the Celestials or the Winters as her family. Because of the illusion disk, Sun decides it’s better to use Winters, and has to schedule a meeting to discuss his family history for the project. Awkwardly asking about each other’s families, Winters realizing that the Celestials are so strangely intertwined that it makes it nearly impossible to tell brother from father from son. (Eclipse and Andrew, anybody? Andrew is Eclipse’s uncle and Eclipse is Andrew’s dad.)

Also, getting another human character to be the token human guy? Winters has his first week long visitation and Moon gruffly hands him a suitcase that weighs over a hundred pounds like it’s nothing. “Just the basics,” he explains. Her charging supplies, nanomachines, some oils, batteries, emergency cross-dimensional contacters, etc. Moon has to carry it out the door and set it up in his house. He also ends up giving him one of his patented generators to power the charger; When Moon trusts him a little more, he connects everything in the house to it so Winters doesn’t have to pay electricity bills.

Solar showing Winters how to fix misaligned ankles and replace fingers and horns. “Sometimes, if she falls over and hits it just right, her head will be stuck in maintenance position.” He explains, while Dazzle’s face is flipped up, revealing gorey circuitry and metal. Horrifyingly to Winters, Dazzle is still completely awake. Her inner musculature is clicking and whirring to move a face that she doesn’t have anymore. She isn’t distressed though, swinging her legs on the table like she’s waiting for Solar to fix her so she can go back to having fun. “It’s just a manufacturing error with her latches. You have to reach behind, into the hinges, and… there.” He flips her face back in place, and she’s back to giggling and running around again.

Eventually, Winters starts understanding the family’s past. He’s seen things that he never thought were possible. He’s gone to different dimensions and seen magic. He starts connecting with Sun. Not forgiving him, but willing to try and help give Dazzle a better life. He gets invited to house parties, even being trusted with portal tech. Sun gets more comfortable and vulnerable around him. Able to tell him things he couldn’t even tell Moon before.

And when Dazzle gets hurt? You better believe you’re dealing with Sun and Winters doting all over her and beating the shit out of whoever dare to harm her.

It could be so interesting, and yet instead we got Dazzle getting shot and Winters left behind, just like Cosmos and Nexus.

[backtothechurch]

"yeah it broke" john walker x super soldier!reader

smut +18, minors please don't

warnings: no mentions of y/n, reader genitals and genre not specified, pet names used, smut, comedy, cursing, switch!reader and switch!walker, blood as a turn on

note: first, thanks for the likes and reposts on the other post, it gave me inspiration for more dirty things hehe. second, I've been obsessed with "one thing" by lola young and I was wondering how fun would've be breaking the bed.

like, comment and reblog, let's go

you needed him. and oh shit that was consuming you.

you and John were assigned to a very quick mission on a fake company that was possibly making drugs.

you don't have idea if it is the summer heat in new york those days or just your been too many days without sex, but he never looked so good.

"still don't know why val thought the mission needed two super soldiers" walker said looking down to the people at the fake company.

he was on his suit, but thanks god he left his helmet at the tower, his hair was bigger now, and he just did his beard, he was stunning.

you always thought he was an attractive guy, even when you two met two years ago when he was captain america. maybe was the way you met him, all beaten up, crawling away after a fight with bucky and sam, his arm broke and his face bleeding everywhere, you had a thing for beaten blonde bloody men. you helped him that day, he didn't know you were one of the flag smashers until weeks after when your picture was all over the country, rough days.

but now you two are on the same team, at the beginning it was easy to not feel anything, he is an asshole so wanting to shoot him was a good distraction, but today you wanted to shoot him with another thing, way more liquid than a bullet.

"hey! did you even listened to me?!" walker asked and got you out of your thoughts

"yeah of course" no, definitely not. every time you looked at him all you could hear is "bla bla blah"

"I know you didn't, you're not subtle when you're staring" damn it, he was not supposed to know you were staring. "so, we should knock out the people here and just call the police and let them do the rest, I'm not in the mood to arrest drug dealers and possible terrorists tonight" you nod, you wasn't on that mood either, you just needed to get back to the tower and use the vibrator on the back of your drawer for the whole night.

"okay, let's go" he said you two got inside, kicked some asses, deviated from some bullets and got a few punches. more specifically walker got punched on the face, his nose and eyebrow were bleeding and that was bad, because he managed to look hotter.

after finding the proofs and files and when police arrived you two left the scene, you were worried.

"that's a bad cut, john, we should go to the hospital" he groaned and shook his head.

"I'm fine" yeah he was "I just need... I need to go home"

"they won't let you walk away with this bloodied face without going to the med bay" you kept walking still looking at his face, the blood had dripped and his lips had a bit of blood too.

"im not talking about the tower" he looked at you, more of a glare, he was probably on a lot of pain but damn your legs were weak.

"so what you're talking about?" he just stay in silence and walked.

"you have an apartment and never told any of us?!" you asked when he opened the door, the place was... actually very pretty, you always thought that if walker lived alone he would have a 'masculine house', with horses and military random stuff, just like his dorm. but no. that was a very normal home.

"it's the place I had before, well everything" he walked directly to the kitchen and got an ice bag to place on his nose.

"it's a very nice place" you said smiling softly, you took off the heavy material of you suit and placed on the counter that separate you two. now you could breath better and feel less hot.

he nods and smiled a bit sad.

"yeah, it is" he walked to sit on the bench at your side, he sighed. "olivia did a good job at decorating it" besides the sad remark you chuckled and he lift his look to you "why the laugh?"

"because its obvious that a woman decorated that" now was his time to chuckle and scoff

"why? I'm a very good decorator okay?" you laughed and walked to be in front of him, you started to clean his eyebrow cut and the blood from his nose, he looked up at you smiling, that was killing you slowly, you needed him.

"you have a poster of a horse above you bed at the tower" his smile got wider, he placed the ice bag on the counter behind him "alright you won"

then silence, he was still looking up at you, the smile became a smirk, but not the cocky smirk, was a happy smirk, a smirk as if he was admiring you, then he chuckled.

"you have a neon light sign above your bed saying 'where the magic happens'" you laugh hard when says it.

"better than a horse"

for some reason that back up line was the trigger for both of you and he kissed you, slowly.

maybe he was on the romantic slowly vibes, but you were burning waiting for this time all of your life, so you kissed him back hard.

your hands went directly to his suit and he holds your hands and pulled away.

"look I don't wanna mess what we have" you groans and pull him closer

"can you just live a little?" you caressed him hair "Nobody will ever know" he nods and took you to the bedroom.

he walked taking off his boots while you were taking off yours, when you and him crashed the bed his pants were somewhere else, his cock rock hard under his boxer, you groaned, that was exactly what you wanted.

you take off the rest of his upper suit and he freed his cock.

"you look so good with no clothes on" you said with a sign and he grinned, there was that cocky grin you loved to hate.

when he went down to kiss you you switched positions and got on top of him, he moaned when you sat over his cock.

he helped you remove the rest of your clothes and you pushed him further on the bed. you got the condom box and put on him while he watched with his eyes dripping lust

when he got inside you, the room was filled with loud moans, you could feel his cock stretching you and you clenched your walls.

you started riding him hard, the noise of skin slapping skin was loud and dirty. you hold the headboard and he hold your hips so tight you knew you would have bruises next day, he was moving you as hard as you were riding.

right before your first orgasm you two hear a loud crack and almost fell.

you were holding pieces of the headboard, and the bed just broke in half, you two share looks of shock.

"did we-" you said looking around you two

"yeah we broke the bed" you chuckled still in shock and covered your mouth

"oh my god" he chuckled with you and lift you both from the bed

"so that's what happens when two super soldiers decide to fuck rough on an ordinary bed" you hugged his neck and he got up with a groan "at least we always have the old good sofa" he got a sheet and put under you and him, now he was on top.

after a quick break to breath he started moving again, he didn't lost the pace and started pounding you, you could feel him breaking your back, while you scream moans and call his name out loud to everyone hear.

one of his hands were on top on your head caressing and gripping your hair while the other one was on the arm of the couch above you two. your hands were on his hair and back so you could hold on him.

after a few minutes of rough pounding you two moans loud and cum together, your fluids wetting the sheets under you two.

he was catching his breath while admiring your face, then he move his hand from the arm of the couch and kissed you, slowly this time.

that was when the arm of the couch crashes the floor making another loud noise that scare you two, you are another confused and shocked look before looking up seeing the couch armless and the arm on the floor.

walker chuckles hiding his face on your neck, he takes his cock out of you and rest his whole weight on top of you. "you're destroying my house, sweetheart"

you laugh hugging his neck and kissing his shoulder "you needed a you needed an aoartment renovation anyways"

he shake his head you two stayed like this for the rest of the night.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF, DOLL"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH BUCKY

I hope you like it! 😊🖤

Although he didn't want to admit it to anyone, Bucky had been watching you ever since Iron Man introduced you as the new member of the team.

Since that day, the soldier couldn't help but spend most of his time watching you, and without you realizing it, he left you little touches that brightened your day, like underlining the most important information in mission reports so you could see them better, or leaving the last piece of cake in the fridge uneaten because he knew it was your favorite.

That day, Stark had organized a party in honor of Peter, who had been part of the team for a year now.

For the party, they went to one of Tony's houses in a select corner of New York City, with its pool, a huge terrace, and, of course, tons of food.

When they walked in, everyone was amazed by how big everything was.

Even though they were already used to Tony's ostentation, everyone agreed that this house was on another level, even for him.

Without a second thought, Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Pietro shed their clothes and jumped into the pool.

The sprinter didn't before picking up a running start to dive in, splashing everyone.

Bucky wasn't in the mood for a swim, so he decided to start slowly and have a drink from the bar on the terrace.

While he drank, he looked around for you until he found you leaning against one of the tables, alone, with your hands on your chest in a clear protective pose.

You looked at the boys in the pool with a mixture of pain and anxiety, as if it physically hurt to see them having a good time.

Bucky waited a few moments to see what you would do, and when he saw you enter the house, he followed you.

He walked a few steps, and after climbing a flight of stairs, he saw you sitting in an armchair in front of one of the windows.

He knocked on the door a couple of times, causing you to turn sharply toward him, colliding with his large, expressive blue eyes.

"Hi"

"Hey, doll" he greeted with a kind smile. "I saw you leave, and I wanted to know if you were okay"

"I'm fine," you nodded vigorously, looking back at the view in front of you. "Thanks for worrying, I'll be right there"

Bucky knew something wasn't right the moment you were so curt and sharp with him.

That wasn't you, you weren't like that.

He entered the room and gently stood beside you, just enough to see several tears sliding down your cheek.

"Oh, honey" he whispered, holding your chin between his fingers "What happened?" he murmured. "You know you can tell me, right?"

"Yes," you replied, angrily wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "It's nothing. Just a bunch of things piled up, and I couldn't help but break down. That's all." You waved your hand towards the door. "You can go back downstairs with the others. I'll… I'll come as soon as I can."

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered gently. "I'm not going to leave you alone, especially not when you're like this," he murmured, searching your gaze with his eyes. "Who did this to you?" he asked very seriously. "I'm sure it was some idiot who broke your heart, is that it? Right?"

"No, it's nothing like that," you murmured. "It's just… I…" You swallowed hard before speaking. "I wanted to get in the pool with the others because I'm dying of heat, but I can't… It's not…"

"Hey, easy" Barnes murmured, gently holding your shoulders. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." I didn't mean to pressure you

"You're aren't Buck, really" you assured me. "It's just that I've never said this to anyone out loud, and it hurts and it's scary, and I don't know what you're going to think of me when I say it, but…"

"What?" he asked, his voice as delicate as a feather.

"Sometimes I'm ashamed of my body," you finally blurted out. "I think I don't deserve to do certain things because of it, and I feel worse the more I think about it," you murmured. "I really want to get in the pool, but I don't know if I'll be able to…"

"I'll do it with you."

"What?"

"I'll get in the pool with you, Y/N," he whispered, looking at you delicately. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you… are…" he murmured thoughtfully. "Beautiful," he finished. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, and the fact that you won't let yourself see it makes me want to hit someone."

"You always want to hit someone, Buck," you joked. "Yes, but even more now," he said, making you laugh. "Seriously, doll, I'll get in the pool with you. Don't worry about the others," he whispered. "Just think we're alone, you and me."

"Alone," you repeated. He nodded.

"That's it," he murmured, smiling before offering you his hand to help you up. "Shall we?"

"Yes" you replied, letting him guide you down the stairs. "When you reached the pool, he took off his clothes, leaving him only in his underwear, and turned around while you took off yours.

He didn't look at you again until you were in the water.

Bucky's blue gaze reflected pride and happiness in equal parts, making a huge smile spread across her lips.

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing, all without once thinking about your body or the demons in your head.

[sturniololuvz]

Since chris and Kacey are now officially dating

when did they start dating and how, like the night Chris asked her or she asked him

🍼teendad!chris

⸻

It was late. Like, late-late. Daisy had finally gone down for the night after her usual chaos: three bedtime stories, one cup of water, and at least four different plushies. Kacey helped with it all like she always did — sitting cross-legged on the floor of Daisy’s room, letting the toddler braid her hair with sticky fingers and beg her not to leave.

Now the house was quiet. Nick was out with friends, Matt had passed out watching some boring documentary downstairs, and Marylou and Jimmy had long gone to bed.

Chris stood in the kitchen, barefoot, staring into the fridge like it owed him something. He didn’t even know what he wanted. Something sweet? Something real? He didn’t know anymore.

“Looking for anything specific?” Kacey’s voice teased softly from behind.

He turned, smiling automatically. “You.”

Kacey blinked at him, surprised — not because he flirted, he always flirted — but because this time, there was no laugh afterward. No joking wink. Just… Chris. Barefaced. Tired-eyed. Honest.

“You okay?” she asked, stepping closer, arms crossed but soft.

Chris shut the fridge and leaned back against it, his voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Saying something.”

Kacey tilted her head. “Saying what?”

“That I wanna be with you,” he said. “Like, actually be with you. Not just you helping with Daisy or being my friend. I want more.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

Chris ran a hand through his curls, suddenly rambling. “I know it’s not perfect. I know I’ve got baggage and you didn’t sign up for all this. I’m not easy, and Daisy—she’s my whole world. But you already love her. And you’re already here. And I just—God, I like you so much, Kacey. I’m sick of pretending I don’t.”

She stared at him for a second, like her brain needed to catch up. Then she smiled, just barely. “That was… kind of a lot,” she said, teasing but gentle.

Chris laughed nervously. “Yeah. Sorry. I was gonna do some romantic thing, ask you out with like, dinner and a flower or something. But I panicked.”

Kacey stepped in closer, now right in front of him. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re already mine,” she whispered.

He looked at her like she’d said the stars were his. Like he couldn’t believe it, even though he’d hoped for it every day.

“So… is that a yes?” he asked.

“To what?”

“To… being mine too?”

Kacey smiled and reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Of course it’s a yes.”

And Chris kissed her.

It wasn’t fireworks or some dramatic movie moment — it was soft and real. A kiss that tasted like finally and thank God and I’ve been wanting this forever. Her hands cupped his jaw, and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her in like she belonged there.

When they pulled apart, Kacey rested her head against his chest. “Does this mean we have to tell your whole family?”

Chris groaned playfully. “God. Matt’s gonna make fun of me so bad.”

She grinned. “He already does.”

“Fair.”

From down the hall, Daisy made a tiny, sleepy noise in her room.

Chris turned his head slightly. “I should check on her.”

Kacey nodded. “I’ll come with.”

And just like that, the three of them were a family. Quietly. Softly. With no big announcement or perfect plan — just love, and late-night confessions, and the kind of comfort that feels like home.

⸻

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxvasturns @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff @whump-loverz @sarahsturnn @urloveanaa @k-pevensie28 @chrissturniolobendmeovernow @chriss-slutt @lenus1aa @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3 @blahbel668 @kingofeverythingmb @kenah-sturniolo @sturniolobananas1 @le4hsblog @alorsxsturn @matchzah3sturns @bronnysnothere

[bloody-bee-tea]

Summer of Doom 2025 Day 15 - Please

This prompt was tripping me up so much that I almost called it quits with this entire thing but then abusemesoftly left me a comment on AO3 and just like that my writer's block was cured. You saved my writing and Summer of Doom <3

This is a direct continuation of I'm trying! - Summer of Doom 2025 Day 14 and it won't make any sense without reading that first.

Hitoshi is still flying on the high of Aizawa calling him his son by the time they make it back home. Remembering it makes Hitoshi feel all warm and tingly inside and for the first time in his life, he hopes nothing shatters this moment.

He wants to live in this one single moment for as long as he can, still hearing Aizawa's voice calling him that.

And then Aizawa stops the car and turns towards him, his eyes dark and serious.

"Listen, Hitoshi," he says and just like that, ice creeps up Hitoshi's spine.

Of course he'd take it back. Of course he would; Hitoshi doesn't know why he would ever be so incredibly stupid as to believe that this could be real, that this could be something Aizawa wants.

He'll ask him to never speak of this again, to forget it, that it didn't mean anything and Hitoshi's eyes burn with just the thought of it.

"I understand," he whispers out, because he does.

It's ludicrous to think that anyone would think of him as their son—least of all Aizawa and Hitoshi doesn't know what kind of delusion he must suffer to believe that it could have been real.

"I won't mention it again."

He hopes Aizawa doesn't hear how his voice shakes, how it's bound to break over those words and he hopes Aizawa won't hold this moment of weakness against him.

It was easy to believe, in the heat of the moment and deep down, Hitoshi is just a stupid, idiotic child, so he did. He'll have to remember to do better in the future, but he only hopes that Aizawa can look past it.

"I'm not taking it back, Hitoshi," Aizawa's voice cuts through his thoughts and Hitoshi's head flies up.

"What?" he breathes out, too scared to believe it and his mind is all over the place.

Surely he must have misheard Aizawa?

"The look on your face tells me exactly what you think, but I'm not taking it back. I stand by what I said. I think of you as my son and that is not going to change any time soon."

His voice is steady and serious and he's wearing his no-nonsense teacher look, which means he must mean it.

Hitoshi isn't quite sure how he can mean it, but it's clear that Aizawa does.

"Okay," he gives back, ducking his head to hide how the reassurance makes him blush. "Then what?"

"I think we shouldn't tell Hizashi about the talk yet," Aizawa says without missing a beat and now that makes Hitoshi frown and his heart constrict with fear again.

"You don't want him to know?" he weakly asks and Aizawa lets out a long sigh.

"I want him to know, of course I do. He needs to know, anyway, so he can put his signature on the adoption papers. But—telling him over dinner is not the right time. I'm going to call Cementoss before we go up and once we're done eating we'll all be going out again and then we can tell him. I'm just—really tired and I don't want to have to cancel out his quirk for half an hour."

"You—think he's going to be mad about it," Hitoshi slowly says, trying to parse through the meaning of Aizawa's words. "Mad enough to lose control of his quirk."

"Not about the son thing, Hitoshi," Aizawa quickly says. "Suzuki."

"He'll be mad about Suzuki," Hitoshi dutifully repeats as if that would somehow make this make more sense and Aizawa sighs softly when it becomes apparent that Hitoshi isn't catching on.

"It will be fine, Hitoshi, and we will be signing those adoption papers today, but for now I ask you to trust me, okay? It's best if you see, anyway, because I fear just my words might not be enough."

"I—I'm sorry," Hitoshi rushes out because he's inconveniencing Aizawa and acting as if he doesn't trust him and—

"Breathe," Aizawa firmly says and Hitoshi sucks in a breath on instinct. "I'm not blaming you for anything, so there is nothing to say sorry for. I just think you might find it more reassuring to see what's going to happen than to simply have to trust my word for it."

Hitoshi presses his lips together because Aizawa might be right. Words are nice and all, but in the long run, they don't mean anything. People have made all kinds of promises to Hitoshi, have said all the nice, wonderful things he wanted to hear and then turned around and slapped him in the face for being so stupid and believing it.

So if there's a chance that somehow Yamada's reaction might reassure him—beyond just simple words—then Hitoshi hates to admit that Aizawa has seen straight through him.

"Okay," he agrees, deciding to trust Aizawa at least that much and he's rewarded with a small smile and a little hair ruffle for it.

Just for that, Hitoshi would have agreed to anything, but he doubts that saying that out loud would make Aizawa happy.

Aizawa gets his phone out and speed dials someone from the looks of it before he presses the phone to his ear.

"Aizawa here. Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Cementoss, but can you get the Gym ready?"

There's an answer on the other end but Hitoshi is not straining to make out the words and so he has no clue what the other person says.

"No, I think—yeah, everything sounds good."

Another indistinguishable answer.

"It's a family matter."

Some more words from the other side.

"Thank you. And can you put out two? I'm bringing Hitoshi."

Aizawa waits for a moment before he nods.

"You have a nice evening, too."

Aizawa hangs up and turns back towards Hitoshi.

"It's best if you leave the talking to me and then just follow my lead, okay? Hizashi can't yet know about Suzuki and what happened."

So he can't know about the son thing, either, Hitoshi bitterly thinks and then immediately chastises himself for it because Aizawa very clearly said yet and Hitoshi has to start trusting him on this.

He didn't let him down yet, not as a teacher and not as his guardian and the reaction he got from him today already means so much to Hitoshi; a little trust really shouldn't mean anything.

"Okay," Hitoshi agrees and then they are on their way up to the apartment.

Yamada is already home, because they are greeted by him singing in the kitchen and Hitoshi is caught off guard by how home-y all of this feels, and the soft look on Aizawa's face is not helping.

"We're home!" Aizawa calls out and Yamada pokes his head around the corner.

"Welcome back! Everything go okay?" The question is innocent enough, but Hitoshi can't help but to look to Aizawa for guidance.

"Thank you for bringing dinner," Aizawa says instead of answering Yamada and just like that, all traces of humour vanish from Yamada's face.

"Shou. How did it go?"

"Let's just eat," Aizawa tries again and then sighs when Yamada stares him down. "I already called Cementoss."

That clearly means something to Yamada because his eyes go wide.

"Shit, that bad?" he hisses out and Aizawa shrugs before he reaches back to tug Hitoshi alongside him into the kitchen.

"Yes, actually, but let's not talk about that for now. Hitoshi here had a rough day and needs some food."

"No problem, little listener, I got you your favourite," Yamada immediately promises and even though he gives Hitoshi a warm smile, the tension around his eyes belies his worries.

Still, no one mentions the visit with Suzuki again; instead, Aizawa and Yamada try to talk about everything but that and despite his still lingering worries Hitoshi is swept away in the story Yamada tells about his work.

It's easy to forget the nerves in his stomach and even easier to forget the strange phone call and simply laugh along with Yamada but soon enough dinner is over and just like that the mood drops.

"Let's go," Yamada says as soon as the last bite is eaten and Aizawa pushes himself up with a weary expression on his face before he reaches out for Hitoshi again.

"Come on, kid, time to unleash the beast."

"Hey!" Yamada calls out, much to Hitoshi's confusion and it feels as if no time at all passes before they're in the car, at U.A. and then, finally, at Gym Delta.

Hitoshi has never been to that one before, because it's the one designated for the teachers and so he's quite curious as to what he'll find inside. When he sees that it's just another city scape he's almost disappointed.

"Here," Aizawa says and hands Hitoshi a pair of earphones.

Hitoshi slowly turns them in his hands, but he can't find a brand name on them and he looks questioningly back at Aizawa.

"Those are from the support course, specially made. We're gonna need them," he says and holds his own up.

"Now, care to tell me what happened today?" Yamada asks, his stance forcefully relaxed and he doesn't have earphones, Hitoshi notes.

"We'll be filing an official complaint about Suzuki. I want her removed from CPS," Aizawa immediately says. "And we're going to file for adoption."

"Of course we are," Yamada says without missing a beat and without even knowing the entire story. "What's up with Suzuki?"

"She threatened Hitoshi with a correction center and then Tartarus. She thinks he's a villain who has to be kept in check and in all honesty, I don't even want to know what else she said to him," Aizawa briefly summarises and Hitoshi ducks his head in shame.

He's sure Yamada is going to argue on behalf of CPS, no matter how fast he was to agree to adoption, but for the longest moment, nothing happens and then Hitoshi's body starts to vibrate.

"Hitoshi, earphones. Hizashi, city," Aizawa says shortly and slams his own earphones over his head and Hitoshi is quick to follow. Yamada, meanwhile, whirls around and screams; he must be using his quirk because the nearest building simply crashes down, but Hitoshi cannot hear a single thing.

It's only when Yamada turns back around and Aizawa takes off his own earphones, that Hitoshi follows suit.

"What the fuck did she say about our son?" Yamada growls out, still the faintest traces of his quirk in his voice and Aizawa huffs out a breath.

Hitoshi can't even think past the fact that Yamada called him that, too.

"I just told you. I don't know what she said to Hitoshi because she insisted on speaking to us separately but that about sums it up I think."

"She talked to you separately. What the hell? That is not according to protocol at all!"

"It's—" Hitoshi starts and then falls silent again when both men turn to look at him. Aizawa gently nods at him to speak up and Hitoshi takes a deep breath. "It's because of my quirk. She says it's easier to find out if I brainwashed someone if I'm not in the room."

"She thinks you're brainwashing your foster parents?" Yamada's incredulous voice rings out and Hitoshi shrugs.

Everyone always thinks he's brainwashing everyone, so he doesn't really know what to say here, except the very obvious answer.

"What else did she say?" Yamada asks, his voice lilting strangely and Aizawa gives a pointed look towards the city but Yamada shakes his head and clams his mouth shut.

"Ehm—she—" Hitoshi briefly looks over to Aizawa before he stares back down at his feet. "She said she's disappointed. Because I'm still not in the hero course. And—"

"It's okay, Hitoshi," Aizawa almost gently says when Hitoshi falters. "You can tell us. We won't let her hurt you again."

Hitoshi takes a deep breath before he goes on and he can't quite bring himself to look at either of his guardians.

"She said your report left a lot to be desired and that you mentioned that I was using my quirk at school and that I still need extra help. And then—I mean it's—" Hitoshi leans into the hand that clasps around his shoulder and forces himself to speak. "She said she would send me off to a correction center or—or muzzle me again."

"Headphones," Aizawa rushes out just as the hand on his shoulder leaves him and even though Hitoshi has no clue what's going on, he slams his headphones down over his hears and just in time it seems, because the entire block in front of them crumbles to dust.

Hitoshi can only blink at the destruction in front of him.

He knew that Present Mic's quirk is strong, theoretically knows all the devastating effects sound and vibrations can have but to see an entire block levelled in front of him—at least fifteen houses from what he can see—with just one well-placed yell is chilling.

Aizawa quirks an eyebrow up at Yamada when he turns back around and he only huffs and then faces the fake city once again, screaming some more until he's out of breath and only crumbling ruins are left.

It's only then that Aizawa takes his headphones off again.

"Do you need me to call Cementoss for a rebuild?" he mildly asks and Yamada glares at him but he also shakes his head.

"I'm good," he gives back and Aizawa huffs out a laugh.

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one, but fine," he shrugs and then doesn't even blink when Yamada is suddenly all up in his face.

"What did you say to her, huh? To make her say all of those things to him?"

Hitoshi uselessly raises a hand to stop Yamada, because for a second it seems as if he's going to attack Aizawa, but Hitoshi damn well knows that he can't do anything against a pro hero and besides—Aizawa stays completely relaxed.

"I tried to tell her how proud of him we are, but she twisted the words around almost before they even left my mouth. I said that Hitoshi is as good as into the hero course, that we're still waiting on some papers and that I'm continuing his training to make him the best possible hero, and that includes quirk training, which he's very diligent and careful about. I think we argued about thirty minutes about the paperwork still left to do for his transfer because she insisted it's because he's not good enough and I tried to correct her."

"Is that why you came out so irritated?" Hitoshi blurts out because he still remembers the displeased look on Aizawa's face when he left Suzuki's office.

"Yeah. It was like pulling teeth with her. If I had known she'd twist everything I said like that—"

"I hope you gave her a piece of your mind," Yamada grumbles and then narrows his eyes at Aizawa. "You did not let her talk to our son like that and then let her get away with that, did you?"

There's the faint humming again and Hitoshi nervously fingers the headphones again but Aizawa only glares back at Yamada.

"Of course I didn't," he gives back. "She knows to expect a report and to never talk to him again."

"It was kind of scary, actually," Hitoshi interjects. "He went all quiet when he said it."

"Good," Yamada huffs out and then unceremoniously pulls Hitoshi into a hug. "She'll never say those things to you again, because none of them are true anyway. You're not a villain and you will not end up in Tartarus. You're going to be an amazing hero, kiddo."

It's enough to bring new tears to Hitoshi's eyes and this time he's quicker to return the hug. He almost desperately clings to Yamada before Aizawa makes an amused sound.

"You did it, too," he says and Hitoshi can practically hear the frown on Yamada's face.

"Did what?"

"Called him son."

"You, too, huh?" Yamada asks and then nuzzles the top of Hitoshi's head. "Well, it's what he is and what everyone will know him as once the adoption goes through anyway."

Hitoshi hides his burning face away in Yamada's chest because he thought that Aizawa had to be a fluke, just an accident or a cruel prank of the universe or whatever but now—

"You really think that about me?" he dares to ask and Yamada squeezes him almost painfully.

"I do, Hitoshi. You're our kid, our son and nothing is going to change that."

"It's been three weeks," he weakly argues, because how can they just decide it like that but Yamada only laughs.

"So? We've had months to get to know you and now you're our son. I think it works like that with every child that is born, ever, so I fail to see how this trips you up now," he jokingly says but it only serves to make Hitoshi cry again.

"Cause I'm not your child," he sobs out even though he wants to be, so desperately, and Aizawa sighs.

"But you are now, Hitoshi. You might not have been for the first fifteen years of your life but for the rest of it, you're going to be our son. If that is something you want, of course."

"Please," Hitoshi desperately chokes out because it's the only thing he ever wanted—to be someone's son, someone who loves him and who cherishes him and who doesn't look at him with barely concealed hate and fear.

"Then that's decided," Yamada immediately says. "We'll get the adoption papers ready as soon as we're back home."

"And—Suzuki?" Hitoshi haltingly asks because he doesn't think he will survive another meeting with her.

"We'll consult a friend first, to make the report as airtight as possible and to see what legal actions we can take against CPS apart from that," Aizawa says and Hitoshi finally takes his face out of Yamada's chest to look at him.

"You want to—against CPS?"

"Well, either Suzuki was just very crafty and hid her treatment of you or CPS is allowing kids to be treated like that and we're not going to allow that."

"Suzuki is my fifth case worker," Hitoshi mutters. "It's always been like that."

"War against CPS it is," Yamada cheerfully says and gives Aizawa the most deranged grin Hitoshi has ever seen.

"War it is," Aizawa agrees and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "But I'm thinking dessert and a movie first."

"Deal," Yamada immediately replies and then both adults are looking expectantly at Hitoshi who cannot for the life of him wrap his head around what just happened, so he simply nods.

He decides that it was the right decision when both Yamada and Aizawa smile gently at him and maybe, just maybe, they are right and finding a family is like this.

Overwhelming and almost rushed and warm and safe. Hitoshi is certainly not going to complain about it.

[exopelagic]

grief is weird and dumb

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

[mintaikkcorpse]

Okay, so, we're all freaking out bcuz this is the first time a beast has used the word "love" to describe what they feel for their ancient, right?

The other beasts all have some kind of obsession with their ancient, bcuz they have the other half of their soul jam, which would make them soulmates in some fucked-up way. But, obsession is still a form of love. So, I really want to go over how the Beasts "love" their ancients, even if it is kinda (EXTREMELY) fucked up.

Also, before I go on with this, don't spam my replies and reblogs with, "But it's toxic-" I KNOW! THAT'S THE POINT! IM EXPLAINING THE WAY THE BEASTS HAVE SUCH A TOXIC, TWISTED LOVE FOR THEIR ANCIENTS.

(This is going to be such a rambly mess, and I'm sorry)

Burning Spice

Burning Spice is obsessed with Golden Cheese because he's bored (he's actually depressed bcuz history is just a cycle of evil people hurting each other and innocent people only for the civilizations to all crumble in the end because of those evil people, but saying he's bored is easier than saying all of that), and he believes that Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again (by hunting her and having both of them fight each other to the death but you know-).

His kind of obsession torwards Golden Cheese is the (literal) destructive kind. He wants to kill her, but he also wants her to try and kill him.

The first time he meets her in person, he congratulates her for beating up Nutmeg Tiger Cookie and says, "Yes, excellent! I like my prey to have a little bit of fight in them!" He literally gets DISSAPOINTED when she was easy to defeat, but he doesn't kill her, nor fuse their soul jams, because he wants to keep her alive so she's angry enough to try and actually kill him, because he believes that it will be "electrifiying" to fight her (his words, not mine). He speaks of hunting her like it's all some fun game, because he believes that she is exciting, and he hasn't felt excited in a long, long time. He even gives her nicknames when he talks to her such as "Little bird", and he even calls her "his" and "his prey." And, I'm sorry to say this, but you could read their battle dialogue as some version of flirting-

Burning Spice: "Oooh! I see you still can channel the power of your Soul Jam! Good... I'm glad I didn't make it mine yet!"

Golden Cheese: "Hmpf... Yes. Yes, that might just be your greatest achievement! Know that I do not give praise lightly. You really should be thankful!"

Burning Spice: "Ha ha ha ha! Ahhh, lovely! Keep going, I'm thoroughly enjoying our little dance!"

He gets excited when he realizes that she isn't weak and can still fight him. He literally compliments her by calling her, "lovely", and then refers to their fight as a dance. That's flirting. That's literally flirting.

Anyways. Back to destruction as love.

I know, I know, I've said he's completely obsessed with destroying her multiple times in this post, but, for the person reading this who doesn't play the game or keep up with the lore (why are you reading this then???? Like, I'm happy, but huh???), I cannot stress enough that when I say "obsessed", I REALLY DO MEAN IT

SHE DEFEATED HIM. I THOUGHT SHE KILLED HIM WHEN SHE DID! SHE DROPPED A WHOLE AS BUILDING ON HIS HEAD.

And this motherfucker LAUGHED, when she did.

This mf is down bad, and NOT in a healthy way.

Tldr: Burning Spice loves in a incredibly destructive way, since he believes that fighting and killing Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again.

Mystic Flour

Mystic Flour has an obsession with Dark Cacao bcuz she wants to show him apathy, though, I honestly don't see them in a twisted romantic kind of way. More honestly a fucked up, misguided person trying to teach another person. She even mentions that she's old, and she talks to him as if she's a teacher. But, don't think that just because her care for him isn't romantic that it isn't interesting.

The thing about Mystic Flour Cookie is the fact that she believes that everyone embracing apathy and turning into flour is the only way the world can be at peace. She wants the other half of Dark Cacao's souljam so she can gain the power to do so, and, the easiest way to do that is for him to embrace apathy himself and give her the souljam.

But, despite her being apathetic (though she is definelty not beating the "Igaf" allegations. I see you being sweet to Cloud Haetae, girl), there is some sort of care when she talks to Dark Cacao. After all, even though she says she feels nothing, what she wants to do to the cookie world, she does because she cares. She just goes the wrong way about it. She believes that Dark Cacao's resolution and determination are only weighing him down, and she wants to help rid him of it.

Throughout the entire story, Mystic Flour guides him like a teacher would to a student. She takes him down the path of apathy; telling him the story of how she came to her conclusion, turning his soldiers into flour, waiting atop the mountain as a sort of test to see if he still had his resolution, and telling him about how everything suffers for no reason and apathy is the only way you can stop it. And, when those don't work, she keeps showing him and teaching him and trying to get him to return to flour. She goes so far as to show an illusion (I think it's an illusion? Could be an alternate timeline or smthn) of his son, Dark Choco, ruling the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and how, if he crumbled here, no one would miss him. She says that his kingdom is a moment in time, and that with time, he will be forgotten, and all of his efforts in his kingdom will be forgotten as well. And, for a brief moment, Dark Cacao accepted apathy. But, that's when she took his soul jam.

The thing is, if this was all a ploy to take his souljam, Mystic Flour would've stopped there. But she didn't. When the Dragon's escape, and he no longer has his souljam, nor his sword, Mystic Flour asks him how it feels to finally see the world of white. She then explains to him her plan of how she wants to guide everyone into Enlightenment.

This is the scene where she gently cups his face, and says this to him:

"Would I not be doing you a favor by relieving you of the burden you have carried your whole life? Now, there is nothing holding you back. Live the rest of your life free from any burdens, sorrows, and responsibilities."

She believes she is doing him a favor. She wouldn't go through so much to explain what she is doing to him and to comfort him in (what she thinks are) his last moments if she didn't care about him.

Tldr: Mystic Flour Cookie cares for Dark Cacao in the way a teacher would care for a student. She takes the time to teach him about apathy, even after she got ahold of the souljam, and even tells him that she believes she is doing him a favor. She wants him to turn the flour, just like she wants the rest of the world to turn to Flour, because she doesn't want him to be burdened in his life anymore. If he is flour, he no longer feels pain.

...Fucking. Shadow. Milk. Cookie

Oh God, where do I even begin with this-

Okay, so Shadow Milk's obsession with Pure Vanilla DEFINETLY goes beyond the simple "I want my soul jam back", no matter how hard he tries to make it seem that way. If that was the case, he wouldn't trap PV in his spire and play games with him and give him his own room which he made sure looks EXACTLY like his room in his kingdom and being all happy and giggly when PV says the he is his forever-

Yeah, it's a lot.

Shadow Milk Cookie is lonely. Once the Fount of Knowledge, forced to hold the horrifying truths of the world and realizing that the cookies would much prefer a nice lie over a bitter truth. He fell to deceit because of that realization. And throughout all of it, he was alone. He never had a normal life, because he was baked as an adult and immediately thrusted into a world to be the Fount of Knowledge. He never got that choice. He was always a god, with everyone else being below him, whether he liked it or not. It's difficult to make regular connections when everyone Worships you.

And this obviously had an effect on him. Shadow Milk is incredibly lonely (one of the devs even said that himself), so when he saw Pure Vanilla Cookie with his soul jam, someone who was like him all those years ago, who is worshipped as "the perfect hero" and only wants to seek the truth, his mind was filled with the emotions of rage, jealousy, but also hope. Pure Vanilla Cookie is just like him, after all. He can finally find someone who understands him.

Except his version of "You're the only one who understands me", is making Pure Vanilla Cookie suffer, telling PV that he'll just end up like Shadow Milk (a beast who sees no meaning in truth and who just wants to watch the world fall into chaos), and taking away everything he once loved. #justgirlthings🥰🥰🥰

But that doesn't stop the fact that Shmilk still yearned for someone to understand him, and Pure Vanilla is the closest thing he'll get to that, bcuz they have lived very similar lives, and now, they share their soul jam as well. And trust me when I say that his obsession with Pure Vanilla goes beyond the soul jam. Shadow Milk really wanted them to fuse their souls, and knowing that makes a lot of his dialogue make much more sense.

"You and I are bound..."

"Why, you've said it yourself! We are like the two sides of the same Coin!"

"Oh but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become... me! And it's gonna feel good!"

And, while Burning Spice and Mystic Flour wanted to destroy their ancients, Shadow Milk doesn't. He wants to keep Pure Vanilla alive, and have him stay with him in the spire. ("Why don't you stay for another day? Or FOREVER")

Since a lot of showing that him and PV are the same, he also took great pleasure in psychologically torturing PV and deceiving him. He tortures PV because he wants to know how far he can push him before he snaps, so, while he relishes in the game, he also is excited for when PV finally admits that Shmilk was right. It's why he was so damn excited when PV became Truthless Recluse, and started using his own deceiving tactics.

To survive the Yogurt River of Rebirth, one has to embrace deceit, he congratulates Pure Vanilla Cookie for surviving it and coming out on the other side, even though, if he died, he could take his soul jam back

When Pure Vanilla tricks him in the game of Chess and cheats, using his own methods against him, he is ESTATIC! He is laughing, and his sprite is blushing, and he talks about how he "wants to keep playing with his new favorite toy." Even Black Sapphire is surprised because, according to him, "He doesn't give multiple second chances." So, obviously, PV is a special Cookie to him

Shadow Milk also has an obsession with Pure Vanilla being "his." For Burning Spice, he meant like, "his to destroy", but Shadow Milk's version of it has a lot more romantic-coded undertones.

"Indeed, all this time, you've been my most treasured marionette!" (I think it's doll in KR, which I think is better. You control your marionettes, but you hold dolls close to you)

"Ah, there you are! My long-lost other half!"

"YES! YES! YOU ARE MINE!"

Anyways, to the point that made everyone lose their shit: fusing their damn souljams.

"Pure Vanilla: "Is this what you wanted? or is it even better? Instead of one Soul Jam of Knowledge, you will have two Soul Jams of Deceit. And me, forever by your side"

Shadow Milk: "You would do that, after what I just did to your friends?"

Pure Vanilla: Hah! It's no longer important. Now it's clear as day. There simply is no point in denying it... You and I... We are meant to be together.

Shadow Milk: Ah ha... Ah ha ha...! HA HA HA HA HA!

Shadow Milk: "Yes, YES! Now, you are mine!"

They fuse their souljams together. Shadow Milk didn't just want the soul jam; he wanted Pure Vanilla along with him. But then, in the ultimate deceitful betrayal, PV tricked him, and takes back the soul jam, separating their souls, and becoming even more powerful. Shmilk is completely heartbroken and tries to dearroy PV (and the souljam in the kr dub), but of course, PV defeats him. But, instead of going away after that, PV says that he felt how lonely Shadow Milk was, and that he's the only one who can understand him, something that Shadow Milk hws been looking for for a long, long time, and asks if he wants to be his friend. The worst part is that, with the way Shmilk's voice softened, he actually thought about it.

He then proceeds to crash out and try to destroy him again, but we still saw what we saw. Shadow Milk really just wanted someone who could understand him.snd be by his side so he wouldn't have to feel lonely anymore...

Also, I feel the need to point out that this is the only time in the story where Shmilk gets upset at PV for deceiving him, and that's bcuz it was emotional. The other times were a fun game to show that he is becoming him, but this time, he lied to him about being by his side forever, only to leave.

And then, other things I couldn't put in here that alludes to a romantic kind of love

Candy Apple Cookie is jealous of Pure Vanilla Cookie, and she canonically has a crush on Shadow Milk

Shadow Milk gave PV a plushie of him in his room

The story for Shmilk's special cakehound is that he is a wolf who fell in love with the cream sheep, and just wants to be closer to it. All I'm saying is that Shadow Milk already has multiple "wolf in sheep's clothing" things in his story, and Pure Vanilla is associated with cream sheep

The KR voice actors for them doing a duet together as their characters????

Anyways, I truly do not have the energy to talk about Shadowvanilla for millionth time. I'm moving on now.

Tldr: Shadow Milk loves Pure Vanilla like how someone would love their favorite doll, so he constantly dotes on him and plays games with him, but, as you own a doll, you control whatever it does and stop it before it gets out of line. A doll is also what helps someone feel less lonely (why do you think traumatized kids are always given dolls in therapy?), so there's that as well.

ETERNAL GOD-DAMN SUGAR COOKIE

Oh, baby, you thought that Shadow Milk was bad? WAIT TILL YOU SEE ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE!

But, out of all of the Ancients, Sugar's love for Hollyberry is probably the most obviously romantic one out of all of them. She constantly dotes on Hollyberry, is really sweet to her (even if a bit twisted), looks at her through her crystal ball and smiles, calls her "her other half" (just like shmilk), and "my love", is constantly in her personal space, talks a out how she just wants Hollyberry to be happy, makes a song which she says "is just for you (Hollyberry) alone," etc, etc. Yes, she wants her soul jam back, but why not just take the soul jam and be done with her? Yet, Sugar asks for Hollyberry to "stay by her side", which isn't something you ask someone you supposedly hate and see as your enemy to do.

__________________________

Okay, so like, I wrote all that BEFORE the other half of ET'S update came out. And now it's confirmed she has feelings for Hollyberry so....

I think Eternal Sugar Cookie has BPD, and that VERY much affects how she loves. If you're curious, here's the full BPD symptoms list. I'm going to make a post that goes over how these symptoms apply to her, so look forward to that ig.

But anyways! Eternal Sugar's story shows that she is INCREDIBLY lonely and has an INTENSE fear of abandonment. She didn't want the other half of her soul jam; she even let Hollyberry leave without it. She gently just wanted Hollyberry by her side forever.

I think she has this toxic, romanticized view of Hollyberry. I've said it before, but the Beasts and the Ancients are LITERAL soulmates because their souls are both tied to the souljams. Sugar must've also seen it like that, because she constantly refers to Hollyberry as "her other half", and again, didn't even wanna take the damn souljam away from her. She says that she felt like her soul was "missing something", and, now that Hollyberry is here, "everything feels complete!" She doesn't need her souljam to feel complete, because Hollyberry Cookie, her other half and the one who wields the other half of their soul jam, is right there beside her.

All she knows is that Hollyberry Cookie makes her feel complete. Combine this with her genuine want to make a paradise for cookies, and this leaves the belief that Hollyberry can only find happiness if she's with Eternal Sugar, and that creates the belief of, "She doesn't know what she wants. If she stays here with me, both of us will be happy! But if she leaves, both of us will be miserable."

And, because she's a god whose gone insane, anytime Hollyberry tries to escape, she always does something that she thinks is helpful, but she knows will make her stay.

Giving her and her teammates a scent that will attract monsters so they come back to her garden for safety

Harming Wildberry Cookie via the monsters so she has an even bigger reason to stay

Showing how happy that Hollyberry Soldiers are in the garden

Attending to her every want and need

Bringing the Hollyberry Kingdom to the garden so she won't leave, and then giving them something that will make them happy to show that they would be miserable if they go back

Trapping her teammates in jars, because she knows that she will not leave without them.

One thing I love about Eternal Sugar is that she isn't manipulating out of malice. She isn't thinking, "Hehehee, I'm going to manipulate this cookie for funsies." She's doing it because she genuinely believes this is what will make both of them happy, and because she does love Hollyberry in some fucked-way. Her mind is probably going, "Hollyberry Cookie is misguided in what she believes in. I will do all those to show her she is wrong, and that she can only find true happiness if she stays here with me."

Because that's how a lot of abusers work. A lot of abusers do love their victims. But, the love they feel is so, so incredibly toxic and not the way someone deserves to be loved. Eternal Sugar's love for Hollyberry feels like how an obsessive abuser would feel about their partner, and I love it.

So, when I go over this scene, please know that I don't think that ET is doing this because it's fun. She's doing this because she believes it will make Hollyberry stay with her. Even Shadow Milk did that to an extent. While yes, he did enjoy torturing PV, it was all so he could get him to embrace deceit and stay by his side. For most abuse cases, there's always another reason.

(Not defending abusers, I'm explaining things. You don't have to sympathize with your abuser AT ALL. And I'm not just saying that to say that. This is the bitch who still holds grudges from the assholes in middle school who made her feel like her body was an object meant to be ridiculed, judged, and to be eyecandy for horny men who dont understand consent. YOU DONT HAVE TO FORGIVE YOUR ABUSERS).

______________________________

At the end of their story, Eternal Sugar says that she will let her leave with the cookies she holds dear, as long as she sees what will happen if she does, and if she takes a bite from the Golden apple. Sugar then shows Hollyberry a world where Dark Enchantress Cookie takes over her kingdom, with all of her friends and family dying trying to protect her. This, obviously, horrifies Hollyberry and she feels conflicted about leaving, and Sugar tries to convince her to stay, by reminding her of her past emotions and how awful she felt, and saying she won't have to feel those in her Garden.

What she did is a manipulation tactic. She made it seem like she gave Hollyberry a fair choice, but in reality, what she did was manipulating Hollyberry's emotions because she knows that most cookies would refuse to after seeing that, and then she tells her that, to make that go away, she can stay here. What she showed her probably wasn't even real (GingerBrave would NEVER let that happen), so she purposely gave Hollyberry a false idea, which she thought would make her stay.

So, when Hollyberry STILL chooses to leave, and Sugar's begging and pleading don't work (she also pulls the "no one understands you like I do" card while doing though, and I do think that she genuinely believes that), she crashes out. HARD

(I showed this to my sister who doesn't play crk, and she went on a rant about how "any yuri that toxic should just end in a join suicide" and "what the fuck? Is this supposed to make me want to play the game?" But, you know)

When she realizes that Hollyberry doesn't want to be with her, she starts flooding the entire Garden with jam, and only stops after they defeat her. Even then, she keeps repeating, "Don't leave. Don't leave", because she is so, INCREDIBLY hurt at the thought of being abandoned.

And that's another thing. Eternal Sugad has a MAJOR fear of abandonment (BPD symptom as well) and will do anything to keep those she loves from abandoning her.

Sugar says that she cares about everyone in her garden, and I really don't think that she's lying. But, it's because she cares about them that she keeps them trapped in her garden because she believes that if she doesn't, they will leave her and go into a world of pain and suffering.

And now, someone who she loved so much to call her her love and other half, has left her. After she tried so, so hard to make her stay.

But, lucky for her (or unlucky depending on how you see it), Hollyberry has still given her hope when she decided to save her.

Instead of being mad, Sugar is overjoyed that he other half decided to save her. She asks Hollyberry if she changed her mind for her, and, even though Hollyberry doesn't answer her, she tells Sugar to think about her advice (waking up and understanding that this isn't healthy), and, to my surprise, Sugar said that she would! She even lets Hollyberry go, without any of that weird monster scent stuff!

I think it's because, in that convo, Hollyberry said that she would come back. Eternal Sugar now knows that Holly isn't leaving her forever, and she will come back at some point. So, she wants to focus on making the perfect place for her when she returns.

Tldr; Sugar's love is obsessive and tied to her belief that what she is doing is right, her major fear of abandonment, romanticization of Hollyberry, and the fact that she's incredibly lonely.

_____________________________

Has it ever occurred to you that, with each update, it appears as if the beasts wanna fuck their ancients more and more? Atp, I'm half expecting White Lily and Silent Salt to just nasty fuck on screen...

[lologoinsolo]

Main Masterlist, Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 2

Thinking about Simon with a runt of a kitten and it’s barely the size of his palm. Also thinking about the poor cashier that’s stumbling over her words when that hulking man has a kitten fisted in his palm and he just jerks it forward.

“U-Uh, sir, we can’t— I can’t keep that.” His eyes make you shrivel up and you delicately hold the little kitten in your hands. “We uh— the store can’t hold animals we only sell the stuff that animals need.”

He looks at you like that’s not what he’s wanted to hear. Granted you’ve had a couple people come up to try and surrender or drop of their animals like it’s a pound. “I need things for the cat.” He says and you feel like maybe you shot yourself in the foot.

You have a line piling up behind him but no one seems to dare speak up. Why would they when this guy could lay them flat out? Jesus what are they feeding this guy? Steroids and protein powders? You think before swallowing thickly. “I can… I can get my coworkers to—“

“No.” He reaches forward and you flinch when he picks up the kitten and holds it to his chest. “You’ll help.” Nodding off and he starts to walk leaving you dumbfounded and confused. He walks a couple steps before he turns to you with a ‘well?’ look on his face.

You hurriedly grab your pager and call for someone to go through the line while you help this guy. Leading him down the aisle for the litter and you list off the different types. “There’s crystal litter, wood pellets and those are pretty good when it comes to smell. We have tofu litter and that—“

“Does it need something fancy to shit in?” He cuts off the beginning of your speech with a huff. He sounds a mix of annoyed and amused with how you bristle from his remark. You’re tempted to leave, your manager can bitch later about you doing that butttt the kitten against his chest meows and you find that you can’t leave the little thing to suffer because their dad’s a right prick.

“Sir,” you take a breath, “the litter is moreso about preference. Do you want to hide the smell of their… ya know… poop better? Or would you prefer something that clumps or something that’s easy to clean?” You wait… and wait some more before he finally says.

“Pick one.”

You blink at him and he mimics it that bastard. He just stares the entire time you have this little contest. You’re starting to feel like you should’ve called out of work. You knew today would be horrible, your instincts never lie. “Okay,” taking a deep breath and spitefully picking the most expensive and heaviest litter that your store sells. You yank it off the shelf with a groan. If it’s hard for you to lift then he’ll probably have the time of his life having to lug this home. He doesn’t seem to care about the pricing nor the weight though as he grabs the litter from your struggling arms. He shoves the kitten back to your empty hands. “I—“ you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something but he beats you to it.

“Where’s the food she need?” Lifting it onto his shoulders, the muscles bulging as he holds that thing with ease.

“Well she,“ you cough to keep from ogling too much. “Will need some kitten food and maybe some wet food later on. A good kibble would be good to add later on once she gets older,” holding the kitten up gently and her little green eyes blink at you. You prod softly at her teeth to make sure she can handle those foods. You’re hoping she’s not to young or she’ll need kitten formula. You then check her ears and see some red marks. Noticing the little black specs moving about her neck and you cringe. “And a good flea bath. Poor thing,” petting the little baby as you walk off to grab a flea comb. He’ll have to buy it anyways so you’ll make use of it now. You pick at her fur with the comb and squish whatever fleas that you find, you hate those little fuckers. “What’s her name?”

You’ve noticed he’s as silent as a grave this customer of yours. He’s hardly said a peep besides caveman grunts and nods. If it wasn’t for him nearly against your side then you would’ve thought he ran off. That black surgical mask makes him look like he’s something important. Maybe mafia or something possibly dangerous. But… he did come in holding this tiny kitten and isn’t batting an eye at the things you’ve been telling him he’ll need to get for his new pet. Perhaps he’s nicer than your judgement of him is.

You clear your throat, he probably didn’t hear you since he hasn’t tilted his head down. “Does she have a name?” You ask once more and he pulls to a stop, he had came back with a cart earlier when there were too many things for him to hold in his tree trunk arms. It was comical seeing him try to hold a litter box, scratching post, and various foods though.

He doesn’t answer save for the roll of his shoulders that looks like it could be counted as a shrug. You mouth an ‘oh’ before you mind your business. He probably just found her or he’s gonna foster and send her off. Better to not get attached…

You chatter off the things he’ll need to do. See a vet, get her spayed, make sure she has no health problems, the usual things that you mention to pet parents. The little thing in your hands is a curious thing, she wiggles about constantly. Eager to move and escape your hands and arms. Tiny tail flicking about and the meowing and pawing is cute, makes your heart squeeze when he plucks her from your hands and he holds her close. You push the cart along and stop at the toys and bowl aisle.

“Well,” you pull some toys off the shelf, crinkle toys and mouses that should help with those prey instincts. “She’s a sweetheart. I’d probably call her Bailey,” you smile fondly and his brows furrow at your advice. Grabbing the kitten shaped bowls and hurriedly putting them in the cart when you squirm under his eyes. “Oh uh, my brother always wanted a cat named Bailey. It’s a nice name but if you don’t want to call her—“

“Bailey,” he holds her up a little and the kitten paws at his face. Her little nails snag on the fibers of his mask and he pulls them off quickly. “Better than garbage, yeah?” He speaks to the kitten like a human. There’s a crinkle besides his eyes and you realize he’s smiling but when you catch what he said you drop this cactus scratcher you thought he should buy her by accident.

“Garbage?” You look aghast. You’ve heard all kinds of names but never something like that. Quickly picking the cactus scratcher back up and placing it in the piling up cart. “You’d call her that?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders again. “S’where I found ‘er.” Grumbling his reasoning. He glares at the kitten like she’s the cause of his problems. “Couldn’t sleep with’er howling and rummaging about. Made a mess that I had to clean.”

You blink a bit and now it makes some sense why he’s so… snappy? “Well… maybe she knew you’d get her if she was loud enough.”

He scoffs, “she bit and hissed at me.” He rubs his finger over her head and you notice the little red marks on his hands. “Feisty little shit shoulda left ya out in the cold.” She nips at him and he chuckles something deep.

You can’t help the smile that reaches your face. She plays with his fingers and he doesn’t flinch when she bites hard or digs her nails in. He just looks down at her with something akin to wonder and begrudged responsibility.

You pull him to your cash register and his kitten racks up a pretty hefty bill but he pays for it with wads of cash. You don’t speak on the weird crumbled bills nor the faint reddish brown color. You simply bag his items and put them in his cart. “If you need anything, sir. Come find me and I’ll help, okay?” You can’t believe you said it AND actually ment it. What can you say, you love cats more than people and that little thing won your heart as easily as she won his.

He gives a gruff nod and pushes his cart out with on hand. The kitten is pushed into his coat pocket to hide her most likely from the cold outside. She pokes her head out to give a complaint but he just gently pushes her back in. He leaves without waving and you’re left to wonder if he’ll come back. You kinda hope he does come back.

[gossamyrrh]

hybrids, semi-public sex ୨ৎ fem!reader

dogboy!choso gets off on being a little bit vulgar…

it’s so easy for him to whine and trot to your feet, hump your leg, too, and blame it on the fact that it’s just his “instincts” taking over !

no, of course he doesn’t mean to pin you down that harshly so he can use you to get off. rutting against the curve of your ass as though he were left to the wild. and he definitely doesn’t mean to cum all over you. leave a sticky mess all over your skin. getting hard again when you coo that “it’s okay” and he’s just a “silly little mutt who can’t help himself”, as you scratch behind his ears because he’s still your good boy.

he almost thinks it’s too good to be true—the extent of your naïveté; your ignorance. how you let him act however with little repercussions. turning him into a grimy thing. a spoilt, little house-pet.

…it’s entirely your fault, then, for what comes next:

a dinner party; all your close friends and family members gathered in one room to celebrate your recent promotion, and dogboy!choso sits in the corner and eyes you as though starved. ears twitching lightly. eyes hooded. watching as the hem of your dress rises little by little whenever you move.

he doesn’t exactly know when that itch started up again—that fire in his belly swelled—but all he knows is that he wants to touch you. wants to feel you. sink his canines past your supple flesh and watch you writhe—pin you to the table while your guests stare in horror.

but he’s patient. knows better, if only just barely. waits until the wine’s gone, the food’s picked over, and the rowdy chatter about simmers into something more subdued—before he takes his own serving.

(stretches his maw; readies himself for a bite.)

and then—quietly, smoothly—he creeps forward.

no one notices. why would they? he’s just the quiet, obedient pet, right?

wrong.

he slinks under the table, head low, crawling on strong forearms, and sniffs until he finds you. his pretty thing. his master. the scent of your cunt so distinct—honeyed—that it knocks the air from his chest. makes his head spin.

you’re wearing silk panties. the kind he likes. soft and thin and soaked through. like you knew he was coming.

he nuzzles close. presses his nose to your slit and inhales deep, then deeper. his tongue darting out to taste.

slowly.

he’s good this time. careful. doesn’t want you to shove him away and whisper scoldings in that condescending tone of yours that often leaves him puzzled.

instead, he laps softly—lazily—like he’s tasting something sweet for the first time. like you’re dessert and he’s starving. sating his sweet tooth.

and when your thighs twitch? when your breath catches mid-laugh and your hand slides under the table to grab a fistful of his hair?

he whines. humps the floor once, like a filthy, desperate mutt.

and he swears—he’ll be good. he will. if you just let him keep going a little longer.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and choso practically purrs.

his tail thumps once—twice—against the hardwood before he stills it, panting now, lips glossy with spit and slick. he mouths at you like it’s all he knows how to do. tongue dragging slow and wide up the seam of your panties, soaking the fabric even more until it clings to your folds and he can see the shape of you through it. smell it. taste it.

you shift slightly, trying not to squirm, biting down on a moan. and just your luck, someone across the table says your name, asks you a question.

“you okay?”

you can feel all eyes on you.

“just…a little hot.” you murmur, voice strained. high-pitched.

choso just grins into your pussy. nose pressed against the damp fabric, tongue slipping underneath to flick against your clit just once, just to see if you’ll flinch.

and you do.

he moans at that, a soft little rumble that vibrates right through you, and starts grinding into the floor like the fucking dog he is. cock dragging along the polished wood, sticky with pre already, throbbing with every twitch of your thigh.

you try to close your legs. try.

but he growls—a low, warning noise that’s more animal than man—and pries your thighs back open with rough hands. pushes them apart until the chair creaks.

he noses the fabric aside and licks directly into you now. slow, deliberate. broad strokes that make your eyes flutter and your belly tense. his tongue is messy, undisciplined, like everything else about him. he groans into you, drinks you in, rutting against the floor the whole time, leaking and whining, eyes rolling back as he buries his face in your cunt. licking, slurping, suckling, like he wants to crawl inside.

you know you shouldn’t let him.

you know there are eyes just above the tablecloth, people talking and laughing and sipping their drinks while your filthy dogboy fucks himself on the floor and licks at your cunt like it’s his last meal.

but he’s looking up at you now.

those eyes.

glassy and fucked-out, begging you not to stop him.

and how could you? he’s being so good. so good.

so you pet his head. scratch behind his ears. let your hand slide down to cup his jaw as he sucks your clit into his mouth with a low, wet moan.

“good boy,” you breathe, too soft for anyone else to hear.

and choso shudders. cums in his pants again without even touching himself, hips jerking wildly into the floor. the sound he makes is guttural, ruined.

but he doesn’t stop licking.

not even after your thighs start to tremble. not even after you tug his hair and hiss his name and try to push his head back.

no—he needs this. needs your taste, your scent, your thighs squeezing around his ears like you’re trying to kill him.

and when you finally cum? biting your lip and pressing your heel into his back to keep him there?

he whimpers. grinds his spent, twitching cock into the floor and moans like he’s in heaven.

like you just gave him the greatest reward in the world.

you gently pull him away. smooth his messy hair back. he pants against your thigh, dazed and warm and sticky.

and just before he crawls back to his corner—still dripping, still aching—he presses a soft, sloppy kiss to the inside of your knee.

your friends are still talking. still laughing.

and not a single one of them knows that your good, little mutt just made you cum under the dinner table.

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.” 

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?” 

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation. 

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things. 

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since. 

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.” 

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.” 

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-” 

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them. 

Fuck. 

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?” 

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.” 

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says. 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.” 

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud. 

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them. 

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you. 

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply. 

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?” 

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.” 

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?” 

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.” 

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty. 

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer. 

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?” 

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.” 

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?” 

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.” 

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends. 

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.” 

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?” 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.” 

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly. 

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.” 

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return. 

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.” 

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.” 

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?” 

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.” 

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.” 

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.” 

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation. 

- 

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put. 

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him. 

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it. 

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to. 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.” 

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment. 

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?” 

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.” 

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.” 

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” 

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.” 

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?” 

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.” 

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping. 

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom. 

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch. 

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?” 

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused. 

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.” 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he’s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?” 

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.” 

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.” 

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.” 

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.” 

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture. 

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.” 

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?” 

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.” 

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.” 

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness. 

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge. 

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.” 

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop. 

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, how are you?” 

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?” 

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.” 

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.” 

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.” 

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.” 

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.” 

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.” 

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?” 

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.” 

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.” 

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.” 

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.” 

“I know.” 

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.” 

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place. 

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.” 

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.” 

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?” 

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” 

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare. 

And it almost wrecks you. 

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves. 

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything? 

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?” 

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.” 

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.” 

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-” 

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.” 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.” 

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.” 

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.” 

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had. 

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.” 

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it. 

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking? 

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute. 

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.” 

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You feel it everywhere. 

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.” 

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest. 

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob. 

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock. 

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?” 

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down. 

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership. 

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats. 

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life. 

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?” 

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.” 

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. 

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.” 

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.” 

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.” 

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.” 

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs. 

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.” 

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one. 

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.” 

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?” 

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.” 

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along. 

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.” 

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.” 

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much. 

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.” 

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first. 

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.” 

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer. 

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.” 

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face. 

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard. 

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.” 

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment. 

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.” 

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” 

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.” 

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.” 

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?” 

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting. 

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-” 

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears. 

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne. 

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it. 

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair. 

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him. 

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you. 

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all. 

- 

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.” 

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you. 

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.” 

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke. 

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...” 

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle. 

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.” 

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?” 

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader. 

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe. 

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?” 

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash. 

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you. 

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible. 

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones. 

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf. 

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh? 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you. 

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.” 

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.” 

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted? 

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream. 

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat. 

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?” 

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.” 

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-” 

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.” 

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle. 

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.” 

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight. 

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes. 

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop. 

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?” 

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge. 

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way? 

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package? 

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea. 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag. 

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly. 

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever. 

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining. 

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake. 

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips. 

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.” 

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter. 

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?” 

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.” 

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone. 

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases. 

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast. 

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink. 

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles. 

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare. 

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then: 

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath. 

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved. 

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.” 

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?” 

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet. 

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell. 

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.” 

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake. 

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body. 

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-” 

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.” 

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed. 

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years. 

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.” 

His dreams? 

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one. 

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless. 

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching. 

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system. 

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room. 

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. 

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand. 

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.” 

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?” 

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days. 

“Jake…” 

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that. 

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.” 

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.” 

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything. 

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then— 

“Fuck it.” 

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to. 

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes. 

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.” 

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale. 

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he. 

And then... you remember everything. 

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for. 

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.” 

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions. 

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.” 

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?” 

“Not when I’m this right.” 

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser. 

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.” 

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?” 

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.” 

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.” 

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard. 

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand. 

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-” 

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery. 

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend. 

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.” 

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?” 

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.” 

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.” 

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped. 

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them. 

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?” 

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life? 

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin. 

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second. 

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something. 

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts. 

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out. 

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear. 

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently. 

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator. 

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.” 

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present. 

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut. 

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking. 

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him. 

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.” 

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?” 

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” 

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?” 

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding. 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning. 

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable. 

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in. 

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.” 

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync. 

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.” 

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train. 

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said. 

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.” 

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall. 

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window. 

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional. 

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.” 

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out. 

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?” 

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment. 

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs. 

END.