#something that only really matters to one person BUT. IT'S IMPORTANT... TO ME... AS WELL...... it means everything to me...

[pokedash55]

I always find it odd that the majority of Spamtenna content have Spamton as the one who advances. He's the one giving kisses or sly words while desperate for attention Tenna receives. Spamton sure is the more brash and confident one, but with spamtenna I really think it was far more one sided than we are theorizing...

Spamton was already a Bigshot living in Queens mansion when he partnered with Tennas studio. He was running ads there, co-hosting or guest starring and nothing more. He was never an equal to Tenna as he never signed the deal that (as Tenna puts it) "was gonna put him on TV". He wanted to be famous and well appreciated but he didn't need Tenna specifically for that. He was already big in cyber city. He mentions him one or twice as another person he deemed screwed him over in life, getting lumped in with the Addison and swatch. Even his claims are blown out of proportion and we see they are generally unfounded, as he was the one who left the deal (most likely due to the prophecy but that was of no fault to Tenna). To spamton, Tenna was nothing more than another step on the ladder to sucess that he (or more generously the phone guy) broke. Nothing too important on the grand stage of his life and this is reflected in his dialogue where although he hates him, that hatred is kinda scattered throughout a general need to blame others for his life going wrong. The passing mentions are from things they worked on together, while Tenna himself is really the least of Spams problems. He cared for him, most likely even romantically at one point given the Valentines card and the Pipis, but he wouldn't have been quick to advance things in that way.

But to Tenna... Spamton was everything. His way to relevency. His ticket back into the limelight after CRT starts to go out of fashion. His life and actions and dialogue are centered around Spamton and the deal that fell through. Spamton represented a hopeful future where he would be loved and appreciated again. In everything he does he has spamton brainrot. His music is poisoned with Hey Every and he mentions him directly far more than spamton with far more vigor and emotion. They both blame eachother for how things went, but Spamton leaving was a massive betrayal to Tenna, one that isn't reflected as much with Spam since EVERYONE in his life is a betrayal. The angriest he gets is the Damn you Tenna page, where its clearly business as usual, focusing on his present condition and not Tenna personally.

Tenna clearly loved and needed Spam more than Spam ever needed him. This coupled with Tennas impulsivity and boisterous loud nature when excited, to me, makes him far more likely to make any romantic advances. Spamton was his world and his ticket to a better one and that clearly mattered to him... ALOT.

Adding to this, more evidence on Tenna pursuing over Spamton can be found in the Sweepstakes, where Spam openly talks about his romantic endeavors during his bigshot era.

In both these comments he says he was "[kissed] on the mouth". Note neither of them say he was the one advancing. In the first he admits to not caring as long as he can invest, noting back to another ask where he says he loves anyone who can give him [kromer]. In the second he seems very mad about it, ranting about everything he had to suffer to be on top yet still end up in the garbage (including many censored phrases but take that as you wish)

I bring this all up because Spamton has nothing to gain flattering Tenna and the stuff we do have implies he was nothing but on the receiving end of it. Kissing is always an act done TO him. This isn't to say he didn't care for Tenna at all, but i doubt his feelings were anywhere close to what Tennas were. And Tenna has the motive to pursue him in order to gain info on his sucess. Tenna even admits to this being something he was doing here.

The way he laughs nervously after sweet talk makes me think he was the one making flirtatious advances not only because he genuinely loved Spamton, but because he needed something from him. Spamton would have no motive to be so brash and he doesn't seem to care enough about others to do so if there's no end goal.

I'm not trying to say Tenna is a horrible abuser or that he commits sexual harassment. Spamton is a salesman and the most divourced darkner in history. He seems to accept this type of business transaction (and cares for him to some regard), but I'm noticing a pattern in fandom works where Spamton is foward, crass and romantic while Tenna swoons like a woobie, which I highly doubt was the real dynamic.

Anyway I love spamtenna but dont woobiefy the CRT ok byeeeeeeee

[ccarisi]

pity party

summary: Sonny saves you from yet another god awful birthday party thrown by your dad.

warnings: age gap, smut, virginity loss, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, daddy kink, slight anti-rollisi, sonny is cheating surprise surprise, car sex, kid/kiddo used, uncle sonny mention but no blood relation, dbf!sonny x gender neutral afab reader, mdni, 5.9k words

a/n: this fic was a real thorn in my side to get done for some reason but i ended up really enjoying how it turned out thankfully. special thanks to @johnnydubcek for working on this one with me + being there for me always ily soooo so much. credit to @pupcarisi for the phone call idea 🙂‍↕️

You should have known that this year would be no different than the last.

You look around the room with a sigh, isn’t this supposed to be your birthday party? You barely recognize a single person here. Before you is a sea of your parent’s friends and colleagues, none whom you like in the slightest. You watch as they drink out of your parent’s expensive glasses and talk amongst themselves about their latest business ventures. You doubt half of them even know your name.

If one more person tells you ‘I remember when you were only this tall’ you’re sure you’ll snap. How many times can you pretend to remember somebody?

You manage to find an empty seat on the sofa and the people sitting next to you don’t even acknowledge your existence, the happy birthday banner on the wall across from you is nothing short of ironic.

If Sonny was here maybe it wouldn’t be all bad, at least then you’d be with someone who actually cares about you. You know he’s running late, something about work keeping him, but your eyes stay locked on the front door willing him to come. You can’t hold it against him, you know he’s a busy man.

Sonny’s been your best friend as long as you can remember, your whole life he’s been right by your side. In some ways he’s more of a father figure to you than your own dad is.

It’s Sonny who first taught you to stand up for yourself. Your world was so small back then. All that mattered to you were cartoons, Mama Carisi’s baked goods on a Sunday after church, and getting your friends to believe you when you say your Uncle Sonny is a real life police officer, gun and all.

You didn’t understand what you did to make them not believe you, Sonny taught you to always be honest. You’d come home crying about it and your dad wasn’t much help in that department. He told you to suck it up and grow some thicker skin.

You never really mentioned your dad to your friends. He didn’t have such a cool job and he was grumpy, but your Uncle Sonny? Everyone knew everything about him, even all the embarrassing things that you told them.

Who cares what your friends think, right?

Well, you did.

Sonny took matters into his own hands when he found out about your friends giving you a hard time. Making sure his sirens were on and the lights were flashing; he made it his mission to park in the very front of the pick up line outside your school in his patrol car, always timing his break for your dismissal times. It was worth it to see the little self assured smile on your face as you got in beside him.

“Don’t let people walk all over ya, alright? ‘S important to stand up for ya self. N’ if anyone gives ya trouble just remind them that ya uncle Sonny’s on the job n’ not to mess with ya.”

When you got older your feelings towards him only grew. You aren’t able to pinpoint when exactly, but you know that it eats you alive inside to watch how he is with his wife when they both come over.

You wish it was you instead.

Don’t bother coming, party sucks. Maybe we can do something instead?

You shoot Sonny a text. Even with him by your side you’re not sure how much more tolerable this would be. You feel so insignificant. So small on your own birthday. This party isn’t for you at all, your dad didn’t even get you a cake flavor that you actually enjoy. It’s just another way for your parents to look good and show off your ‘picture perfect’ family.

As if on cue you look up from your phone to see Sonny walk through the front door, briefcase in hand. He came straight from court.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m so sorry I’m late, court was runnin’ late and I–”

You cut him off with a hug strong enough to send him backwards on his feet a bit, the smell of his cologne wrapping around you like a warm blanket at the end of a hard day. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” You mumble into his chest.

His hand rubs your back soothingly and you almost forget where you are for a second. That you’re not in the middle of a room full of strangers pretending to celebrate your birthday. Sonny makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

“Y’wanna head out? Get some ice cream or somethin’?” Sonny asks as he looks around the room and you nod without a second thought. It didn’t take a genius to know that you aren’t enjoying yourself here.

The two of you slip out without a moment’s notice and you’re pretty sure your parents won’t notice you’ve left. It wouldn’t be the first time.

+

Parking in your usual secluded lookout spot Sonny turns the radio down as you work on finishing your ice cream. Something that usually brings you such childhood joy suddenly feels more like a consolation prize, you almost have to force yourself to eat it. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Sonny who bought you it you probably would have tossed it.

Looking your way he lets out a strained cough as he watches you try to lick the spare ice cream off the corner of your lips. He can’t stop himself from thinking about how grown up you are now, that shy little kid who made the friendship bracelet on his wrist is long gone.

“Ope, got a little somethin’ there…” He murmurs as he reaches out to wipe the ice cream off the side of your lip with his thumb. It’s a simple gesture, one he’s done hundreds of times before, but something felt different this time. Like it meant more. 

The tension between you grows as you look away, empty ice cream cup in your lap. You look out the window with a sigh as Sonny tries to tuck his growing feelings towards you away.

You’ve always felt like the center of his universe at times. Sure he’s your dad’s friend, but you’re the real reason Sonny stuck around. He treats you as if you were one of his own, he was always right alongside your parents at every recital and every sports game (even if you admittedly were terrible). If there’s any good in the world after all, you’re proof of it to him.

Honestly, he doesn’t care for your parents that much at all. Especially not your dad, ironically enough. It isn’t all bad, there’s a reason they’re friends in the first place. But seeing the way he treats you like some prop, it’s never sat right with him. He’d have you move in with him if it wasn’t for Amanda and the girls.

“You uh, havin’ a good birthday, kiddo?” You almost laugh at the absurdity of the question.

“Does it look like it?” Your reply comes with a heavy sigh as you turn away from the window to face him. The sympathetic look on his face snaps you out of your attitude, it’s not Sonny’s fault your birthday ends up like this every year. After all, it’s him who makes it even remotely tolerable.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. You can imagine how the party was…” 

His heart broke when he found out all alone on that couch. Cheek resting in your hand with your elbow on your knee, the rest of the room ignoring your existence. How could your parents treat someone as precious as you like that?

“It’s just, I think they’ve made me hate my birthday, y’know?” You stare down at the empty ice cream cup in your lap as you vent, letting out all the pent up frustrations that have been brewing all night. “And there’s so much I haven’t done yet, but I keep getting older. I feel like I’m falling behind.” 

Sonny looks over at you and frowns, he knows what it’s like to feel like you’re not meeting the standards. Hell, Amanda lets him know that everyday. Feels like she’s always got a bone to pick with him lately.

“I mean, I still live at home with them. Not to mention my job sucks, all my other friends have ‘careers’ and I’m taking coffee orders.” You huff and lean back against your seat.

“Listen kid, there’s nothin’ wrong with any of that. I stayed at home as long as I could, sure is hell of a lot cheaper than rentin’ ya own place.” He tries to console you with some classic Carisi wisdom.

“N’ don’t worry about ya job either, y’still young. Ya got plenty of time to figure all that out, there’s no need to rush. Y’still jus’ my lil’ baby.” Sonny reaches out to lightly pinch and tug your cheek like always.

“But that’s exactly the problem,” you whine as you shove his hand away. “I’m not a baby anymore, but they’re still treating me like one. You know some of my friends are getting married? I haven’t even been in a real relationship.”

There’s the part of him that’s beyond pleased to hear your confession. The thought of some boy using and discarding you once he’s done makes his stomach churn.

“Boys your age will just waste ya time, sweetheart. Better off without ‘em. Besides, ya too young t—“

“Seriously, you too?” You cut him off. “You’re just like them, when are you gonna let me grow up?” Crossing your arms you slump down in your seat as Sonny sighs.

“Alright, I hear ya. How about this, name me somethin’ ya haven’t done yet n’ I’ll try to help ya.” He tells you earnestly.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the first thing that pops into your head. He absolutely cannot help you in that department. “U—uh… I can’t think of anything…” you lie as you avoid meeting his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, ya were actin’ like ya had a whole list earlier. What’s one thing that’s been botherin’ ya more than the rest?” Sonny digs deeper while you grip your ice cream cup so hard you’re pretty sure you’re going to rip it right in half.

“It’s just…I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk to you about this kinda stuff. And besides, it’s embarrassing...” You mumble barely loud enough for him to hear and suddenly Sonny puts two and two together. Oh, that kinda stuff.

He should just drop this whole thing, you have a point. He probably isn’t supposed to be talking about this with you. But all he’s ever wanted to do was help you, right? Be there for you when no one else was?

With a sigh Sonny runs a hand over his face, “Listen, kid. It’s alright if you’re talkin’ about, uh…intimacy.” As soon as the words leave his mouth you bury your face in your hands and groan, this conversation makes your very worst stress dream feel like a walk in the park.

“Oh god– stop–” you whine. “We’re not supposed to talk about this kinda stuff together…you’re practically like my uncle.” You always tell Sonny everything but this? This is wrong, right? Sure, you might have a tiny (huge) crush on him but that’s your own problem to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about all this.

“I’m just givin ya advice, nothin’ wrong with that is there? C’mon, I hate seein’ ya so upset, honey. Jus’ tell me what’s botherin’ ya.” The look on his face makes you feel like you can tell him anything no matter what, the same look he would give you right before you confessed to something bad you did as a kid.

Your eyes glance down to the old and worn friendship bracelet on his wrist, a symbol proving that no matter what he’s always there for you.

With a exacerbated sigh you force the words to leave your mouth. “Well… when did you lose your… y’know… virginity?”

Sonny nods nonchalantly in acknowledgment before answering like it’s not weird at all to be having this conversation with you.

“Hm, let’s see… thinkin I was maybe twenty? Hooked up with some girl from church in the back seat of my first car. Wasn’t the most romantic, but I got the job done.” Admittedly, it took Sonny awhile to check that box off, too.

“Jesus– even you had sex before I have. That’s so fucking embarrassing–” you groan as you hang your head in resignation that even Sonny was more adult at a younger age than you are currently. Not mentioning the fact that you now have the vivid image of him having sex in your head.

“Hey, hey, ‘s alright.” He attempts to comfort you, “It doesn’t matter when ya do it, n’ it’s better to wait for someone special, anyways. There’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, kiddo.”

You peek up at Sonny and shrug half-heartedly, “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know, sometimes I just feel like it would be easier if I just got it out of the way already. That way I can at least say I’ve y’know…done it.”

Sonny shakes his head, the thought of you running off to the first person who opens their arms isn’t a thought he wants to imagine. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve someone who knows how to take care of you. Someone who’ll find out everything you like, every spot that makes you tick. Someone you trust.

Someone like him.

“Listen, kid. I don’t want ya runnin’ off to god knows who jus’ cause they’re willin’ to do that with ya. There’s a lot of scumbags out there n’ they ain’t gonna treat ya right.” He begins his lecture, “But, I know this means a lot to ya, n’ I’m gonna help out okay?”

Your head snaps up as you finally meet his eyes again.

“Wait…you? You’re going to help?” You ask incredulously as your mouth goes dry at the very thought. Of course there’s the secret part of you that desperately wants that, but you couldn’t.

Sonny knows he’s crossing a boundary here, for a variety of reasons. The glaringly obvious is he has a wife and kids at home, but he can’t bother with that right now. If it comes down to it, he’ll put you first in every life.

“If you’re okay with it, yeah. I mean, we’re comfortable with each other right? N’ not to brag but, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doin’. Then ya can cross it off your list.” Sonny proposes casually.

Your mind races as you try to rationalize this. He does have a point, having your first time with Sonny is infinitely more safe than a random hookup like you were planning. After a beat of silence you give in to the side of you that’s been fantasizing about this exact scenario.

“O-okay… just…don’t tell dad, okay? Promise?” You nervously fidget with your fingers just like Sonny always does, you take after him a bit in some ways.

“‘M not gonna tell, are you?” Sonny grins with a tilt of his head and you shake your head from side to side. When you shake your head Sonny lifts up his pinky, “I promise.”

You pinky promise on it and you watch as he goes to undo his seatbelt and the realization hits you. “Wait– here? Right now?” You ask in disbelief as he reaches over to undo yours next.

Sonny looks at you as if it’s weird for you to be confused. “It’s ya birthday, ain’t it? Consider it a part of my birthday present to ya.” 

Leaning over the center console he cups the side of your face as his thumb soothes the soft skin on your cheek. “It’s alright if ya change ya mind…” Sonny murmurs as his eyes dart down to look at your soft inviting lips.

God, he hopes you haven’t changed your mind that quickly. Now that he’s this close to finally having you he’s not sure if he’ll ever move on.

“I… I think…” you try to gather your thoughts but it’s hard to think straight when you can feel his hot breath ghosting your skin.

“Don’t think.” 

Sonny presses his lips firmly against yours before you can think twice about what’s happening. His lips are soft and plump against yours and he doesn’t miss the soft little noises he pulls out of you.

The smell of his cologne is dizzying as warmth pools in your stomach from his kisses. Any hesitations you had are long gone as his tongue slides between your parted lips, breath mixing together. 

Moving his hand down from your cheek Sonny’s hand slides to the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart for him. “Y’ever touch yourself here?” He murmurs against your lips as his hand massages your inner thigh.

“Um…maybe a few times. I don’t know,” you mumble and dodge the question. How ironic is it to be too embarrassed to answer the question after making out with him?

“Y’don’t know? Ya either have or ya haven’t, kiddo.” Sonny laughs under his breath as he fingers inch closer to your clothed crotch.

“Okay– fine. I have, but I don’t think I was doing it right… I just kinda gave up after a while.” You huff at the memory. Lying in bed frustrated as you tried to work yourself over, mimicking what you’ve seen in videos. Maybe you thought of Sonny a few times too, how his big strong hands might feel in place of your inexperienced ones.

“Hey, that’s alright. That’s what I’m here for, right?” Sonny reassures you as he goes to the waistband of your pants. “Lift up f’me, sweetheart.” He moves to pull your pants down as you lift yourself up off the seat.

Spreading your legs apart he rubs two long fingers over your underwear and you gasp, the feeling of someone else touching you down there is both foreign and exhilarating.

“See, ya gotta work yourself up before goin’ straight into it. ‘S called foreplay.” Sonny teaches you clinically, no different than teaching you about the world when you were just a kid. “That feelin’ good?”

He knows it does. The way your hips subconsciously tilt up towards him as he glides over your clothed clit says it all. You suck in a breath and nod as you look out the window, too ashamed to face what’s happening head on.

His fingers slide under your underwear and as you let out a deep breath, hips twitching when his fingers rest against your clit. “Oh, I know, huh? Y’like that?” Sonny asks as he adds more pressure, rubbing light but firm and slow circles against your throbbing clit.

Once you’re adjusted to the feeling it feels real good. Better than anything you’ve tried on your own, that’s for sure. You moan softly as your legs open up for him and he grins, he’s figured you out now. He keeps up the same gentle rhythm as you rock against him, pussy dripping down onto his hand. Your face grows hot from the feeling.

“How about…” Sonny murmurs as his finger teases your little hole and you whine, much to his delight. He slowly slides his finger inside and your head falls back against the car seat, your pussy clenching down around the intrusion.

It’s a strange feeling, Sonny’s finger inside you. You stare up at the car ceiling as you try to get used to the feeling and the more he finds his way the dull pain you feel starts to fade.

“There ya go. It’s good, huh?” He slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, transfixed by the way your body reacts to him. Your chest rises and falls with every labored breath as one hand holds onto the car door and the other grips his wrist tightly.

He finds that special spot inside you with ease, curling his finger as it brushes against it. You can’t help the desperate moan that escapes your lips and it’s music to his ears. Could there be a more beautiful sight than you writhing beneath him?

The only thing you can think about is more, more, more. It doesn’t matter to you that it’s probably wrong– actually that it’s definitely wrong that he has a wife and kids at home. All that matters is how good he’s making you feel, and just how happy you are that it's Sonny who’s doing it to you. You glance down at the friendship bracelet and sigh in pleasure.

“Oh god, fuck, hold on–” You choke at the building pleasure inside of you and not too soon after you’re cumming, pussy gushing around his thick long finger as he works you through it.

You surprise yourself with a loud moan, head tilting back as you try to catch your breath. You’ve never experienced such a raw hot pleasure, you feel it from your fingertips to your toes.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” Sonny sighs as watches you come down from your high, pulling his finger out of you and licking it clean. He moans from the sweet taste of your pussy, already imagining how it’ll be to sink to his knees and bury his face between your legs until you pull him away by the hair.

“I’ve never had that happen before…” you admit with a smile as you lean up to kiss him on your own. It’s messy and sloppy and everything you want now. You didn’t know it could feel like this, maybe you were just waiting for Sonny after all. You hope it's good for him, too. He smiles before brushing some hair out of your face.

“Is…is that it? Are we done?” You’re unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. With a chuckle he pets your hair and smiles down at you, what an eager little monster he just turned you into. “Well, don’t sound so disappointed.”

Your cheeks flush as you look up at him. “You said you were gonna teach me–”

“And I am. Where’d your manners go, hm? Back seat, baby. Can’t do nothin’ up here without pullin’ my back out.” Sonny grunts as he maneuvers you both into the backseat.

You look like nothing short of an angel sprawled out beneath him on the black leather seats. The leather is cool against your warm bare skin and Sonny wastes no time before fishing himself out. Your pussy throbs at the sight of his cock, large and heavy in his hand.

“Y’ever seen one before, sweetheart?” He asks and you scoff, masking your nerves with indifference.

“I know what a dick looks like, if that’s what you’re asking, weirdo.” You groan as you sit up to take a closer look.

With a roll of his eyes Sonny pinches your hip and you jolt with a small yelp. Always with the attitude. “Okay smart ass, I’m askin’ if you’ve ever seen one in person. Keep this up n’ I might jus’ shove the whole thing inside ya, no warnin’.”

You swallow harshly at the thought of that, the size of his throbbing cock is nothing to laugh at. “Okay, okay. No, I haven’t… Obviously.” You admit with a soft grumble.

Sonny gently guides your hand to wrap around his cock, letting you get acquainted with the size and feel. It’s gonna go inside you after all, might as well get accustomed to it first.

His cock is firm but smooth, warm and stiff all at the same time. The sight of your small hand wrapped around him makes his cock twitch and he sighs as he sighs as he relishes in the feeling. After a moment Sonny slowly moves your hand up and down his shaft as you watch, mesmerized by how it throbs and twitches in your grasp.

You move a little quicker on your own, trying to remember what you saw in those videos you stumbled across. You know you’re doing a good job when you hear him curse under his breath and you mimic the motion, long strokes and twisting up at the tip.

“Jesus– where’d ya learn that from, huh?” He teases as he swats your hand away, any more of that and he won’t last. If he’s gonna cum he wants it to be inside you.

You shrug innocently as he lays you down against the seat, settling himself in between your thighs as he pulls your underwear off. Sonny leans over to let out a glob of spit on your pussy before spitting in his own hand to coat his cock and your skin flushes.

“You’ll be gentle, right?” You ask him timidly. You can hide behind sarcasm and insults all you want but this is happening, and it’s a big deal.

There’s a part of him that feels guilty almost. Maybe you deserve better than your first time in the backseat of his truck. He should take you out to dinner first, take things nice and slow in the comfort of your own bed or his, if he could manage to get the apartment to himself.

Brushing the hair of your face Sonny swipes his thumb against the swell of your bottom lip. “‘Course, sweetheart. Y’know I’m always gonna take care of ya.” No matter what it’s you and him, always.

Sonny intertwines your hand with his, your fingers interlocking tightly. “Deep breath, okay?”

As slowly as he can manage Sonny gently starts to push himself inside of you, jaw tensing as he’s swallowed by your warmth. You grip his hands while you try to adjust to his size as his cock stretches you open. “I know, honey,” Sonny coos when he sees the faint expression of pain on your face.

It’s a strange feeling, having Sonny’s cock inside you. But before you know it your discomfort fades into nothing more than a dull pain before it’s gone completely.

Sonny knows it too, the pretty noises you make for him are making it hard not to plunge himself as deep inside you as he can get. You’ve never looked prettier than how you look pressed underneath him.

“Better?” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek as he gives your hand a squeeze. “Y—yeah, better.” You melt as you feel his cock fill you completely.

With every thrust Sonny fits a little bit more inside you until settling into a relaxed rhythm as his hips gently rock against yours. He fights back a moan as he looks down at where your two bodies meet, watching the way his cock disappears inside of you.

You squirm from the rhythmic pace of his thrusts, your breath hitching as he seemingly thrusts into the very end of you. “Yeah, it’s feelin’ good now, huh?” Sonny coos into your neck as his larger frame covers yours, pushing you down into leather seats.

“Y–yeah, i–it’s–“ you’re suddenly cut off by the distant ringing of your phone from the passenger seat.

Pausing only long enough to grab the phone Sonny answers the call and tosses it on your chest before slamming back inside you. Shakily you pick up the phone to read the caller ID, Dad.

“H—hello?” You exhale as Sonny’s finger moves to your clit, starting with slow but firm circles on the sensitive bud.

“Where are you? We’ve been looking for you to blow out the candles, everyone’s been waiting for you. You’re embarrassing us.” Your dad says on the other line.

If you were able to think straight you’d probably think that it’s just rich that now he notices you’re gone. That it only matters that you’re there for your photo op with him to look like a gold star father in front of his colleagues.

The reality though is that Sonny’s rubbing your clit and it feels real good. 

“I’m with Sonny…” you murmur before biting your lip to stifle a moan as the head of his cock massages that special spot inside you with ease.

Your dad starts to rant about how you should’ve asked before leaving, that it’s ungrateful to leave your own party, and a bunch of other stuff you can’t even process because of Sonny’s cock pistoning in and out of you. 

Unable to keep up with the conversation a second longer, you pull the phone away and try to hang up on him. You hope that he can’t hear the wet sounds of Sonny’s hips slapping against yours. 

Before you can hang up the phone he snatches it out of your hand and puts it to his ear. You listen as he makes himself known and you figure your dad’s giving him the same earful about snatching you away from the party. 

“Listen, they’re fine. I took ‘em out for some ice cream.” Sonny tells your dad breathlessly as he sensually thrusts into your dripping pussy while you leave a puddle of arousal beneath you on the nice seats. 

You watch as his face tenses and you swear he fucks you even deeper somehow, whatever your dad said obviously struck a nerve. “Maybe if y’fuckin’ thought about them instead of ya self for once they would’a stuck around. Instead I’m over here pickin’ up the pieces n’ makin’ sure they’re havin’ a good birthday.” That’s one way to describe what he’s doing to you.

Sonny doesn’t care how loud he’s recklessly pounding into you, he hopes your dad fucking hears. Hanging up the phone he tosses it to the side before shoving his lips against yours, pouring his pent up frustrations into the kiss and the long, deep thrusts of his hips.

His frustrations with your dad, frustrations with Amanda, none of it matters. The only thing that matters to him is listening to the sweet noises you make falling apart on his cock. Heat spreads under your skin and you feel the fire in your abdomen building and building while his fingers are relentless on your puffy swollen clit. “C’mon honey, cum for Daddy.” He murmurs into your ear before nipping at your jawline. It only takes a bit more to have your back arching off the seat as you dissolve underneath him, your climax hitting you in waves. Your walls flutter around his cock as you choke out his name into his shoulder, anything that isn’t Sonny fades into the background completely. Sonny’s thrusts are frenzied as he chases his own release, sweat dripping down his brow as he fucks you with a pace that borders on erratic. The feeling of your pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock is almost too much to bear, watching you come apart underneath him is something he hopes he’ll be able to commit to memory. “Fuck– gonna make me fuckin’ cum, sweetie. Y’want Daddy to cum inside ya?” He purrs in your ear as you limply hold onto him as he has his way with you. Any guise of this being just educational is long gone as his cock jerks inside you. “Y–yeah, please–” you cry as his hips piston in and out of you. It’s Sonny who ended up being the one to give you the talk, and you know it’s stupid to let him cum inside you but you can’t seem to care. With a final deep thrust he empties himself inside of you, a loud groan erupting deep from his chest as his body shakes. He gives you a few more languid thrusts as you both come down from your high as he collapses on top of you, and you sigh from the feeling of his heavy body crushing yours. You wrap your arms around his frame tightly, never wanting to let him go. He peppers kisses wherever his lips can reach, showering you in a love and affection you’ve never thought you’d ever receive. Of course it'd be Sonny to show you how much you were loved, why would it be anyone else? “You okay?” Sonny breathes against your skin before nuzzling his nose against yours, thumb coming up to tenderly caress your cheek. You smile before finally opening your eyes to look up at him and nod, feeling more relaxed and cared for than you have in a long time. “Yeah, I’m alright.” You tell him in a quiet tired voice, a small smile plastered to your face. He nods back at you before slowly pulling himself out of you and you whine, already missing the cozy full feeling that came with him buried inside you.

He has to fight back a moan as he sees the way his cum starts to spill out of you onto the seat beneath you, making note to clean that up before Amanda gets in the car next. You sit up on your elbows and wince a little from the dull pain between your legs, you won’t be surprised if you find yourself walking funny later. “Hey…Sonny?” you ask timidly as you chew on the inside of your lip. It feels stupid to ask this, as if you were writing your crush a ‘Do you like me? Y? N?’ note to pass in class. “Was this uh, like a one time thing? Or…” you murmur as you bite your lip in trepidation. Sonny raises an eyebrow as before thinking carefully about his reply. “It’s whatever ya want it t’be, sweetie. I mean, I know I enjoyed myself…” he shoots you a lopsided grin. It’s not until that moment do you remember. 

“But you’re… y’know… married, aren’t you?” You ask him in a quiet voice, the shame of what you did slowly creeping in on you the more you think about it. It’s like he can sense the guilt before you even realize it yourself, you’re too tender hearted for your own good. “Yeah, I am.” Sonny admits with a sigh. “But bein’ honest with ya kiddo, things haven’t been too good lately. I don’t want ya beatin’ ya self up over that. I feel good for the first time in ages thanks to you.” You find the guilt immediately dissipating when he praises you like that. If you made him feel good then that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? If they’re already on the rocks then you’re not doing anything wrong, you decide. “If you’ll have me I wouldn’t mind bein’ somethin’ special to ya. Maybe kinda like your boyfriend?” You wouldn’t be surprised if you were drooling at the thought as Sonny’s hands softly caress your sides. Sure, you don’t love the idea of having to ‘share’ him. You’ll do whatever you have to to keep him, though. To be able to feel the way you do when you’re with him. You nod as Sonny leans in closer to you and you can see the dimples on his cheeks as he smiles. “I’d like that…” You admit with a sheepish smile of your own as you look at him like he hung the moon. Sonny seals the deal with a sweet and simple kiss, large hand cupping your cheek. Pulling away he pets your hair, eyes shining as he looks you over with the knowledge that you’re all his. He knows he has a lot to figure out for the future, but he’ll deal with what comes as long as he has you looking at him like that. For once you don’t hate your birthday.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

I am rotating transfemme Ralsei in my head now. I knew it was a thing but your post really made me SEE IT. I’ve also been reading through your poly fun gang works and that combined with Rouxls throuple comment made me write something myself (and start… two other longer fics because my god these three)

This is a very funny ask to receive, because up until very recently I have been what you might call "transfem Ralsei-agnostic" - I saw the interpretation, it made sense to me, but it didn't really call out to me the same way it did others. My main exposure to transfem Ralsei has been through the stellar @acaciapines and xir amazing Deltarune fics - I wholeheartedly recommend you read them just for how good they are!

I want to say that, before we begin, I am a cishet, gender-conforming male in my early 30s, so if I at any point come across as insensitive or I get something wrong, please do let me know and I will do my utmost to address it and improve as I move forward. Heaven knows trans folks have it hard enough right now without ignorant or ill-thought-out comments from well-meaning people salting their wounds.

Evidence has been steadily growing for the idea that Ralsei may end up transitioning mid-story, either as a way to better assert and express her growing self-identity, or as a giant middle-finger to the Prophecy which has controlled her life up to that point. It's started in tiny trickles - the word PRINCE being highlighted yellow when he first mentions it to Kris, indicating its plot importance; his reaction to the Spamton-mannequin dress, which it has been noted was the same dress worn by Mettaton, who is himself considered an allegory for transition; and the use of the track Lost Girl when it's discovered that Ralsei's room in the castle is completely empty, which prompts a discussion where he talks about developing his own opinions and personality.

All of these point to the possibility that Ralsei could very well become a princess before the story concludes, and considering the significance of the Prophecy foretelling all that is fated to happen, gains a new narrative significance as a way for her to escape the doom set before them. These combined make a compelling case, to be sure, and I would be very happy were that to actually occur in canon.

Now, I realise I must tread quite carefully here, because I don't want to give the impression that I think the transfem interpretation of Ralsei is in any way "lesser" to the current canon Ralsei. I adore Ralsei no matter what gender he or she will choose to identify with - if indeed he settles for one gender at all. I do feel that both interpretations of Ralsei have something valuable to say, however - Ralsei as a gender-non-conforming male who is nurturing, compassionate, wears dress-like clothing and partakes in traditionally "feminine" hobbies such as sewing and baking, works as a potential role-model for young males who wish to exhibit those behaviours but fear being judged for it. On the other hand, a transfem Ralsei who chooses that identity wholeheartedly and for her own selfish reasons is also an incredibly rousing idea that could be a huge boon for those who wish to follow in her footsteps.

Both are equally valid, of course, and I would be happy no matter what Toby has in store for Ralsei... my only concern is that these clues are hinting at this grand revelation only for it to amount to nothing, and I feel that people would find themselves VERY hard done by were that to be the case. I understand the need for Toby to hint at this development, especially if it does become plot-relevant as we've theorised... but the lack of more concrete foreshadowing and evidence has me slightly concerned. I suppose all we can do for now is wait and see.

OR! Maybe they could make Ralsei multigender/genderfluid as a way to express her shifting identity as he grapples with himself. Fitting that when faced with the idea of "your choices don't matter", Ralsei might go "But what if I DON'T choose? Check and mate, prophecy!"

And with that, I, Patchwork "cisgender male" Crow, shall take my leave, before I really DO overstep my bounds and wind up being pelted with tomatoes.

...

Agh, I got so caught up in the transfem Ralsei discussion I completely forgot about the 2nd half of this ask! I'm really pleased that you liked my poly Ralsei works, and that they inspired you to write your own! I'd love to read them when they're complete, so please send me a link whenever's convenient :D

[dumbkitsune]

All of Mike's expresions are 100% intentional - part 2 (analysis)

In the first part of analyzing Mike's faces and Finn's way of acting there is proof that this boy is not a girlkisser.

I've also been over how Milkvans excuse to some of Mike's sus expresions are not valid, because with that you're saying that Finn is a bad actor when he is obviously not. Im sure he portrays perfectly what the director has asked him to do.

So, no. If Finn has a disgusted face after kissing El and and a face that seems admiring and loving towards Will is not because of bad acting.

Its common sense atp, bro is just doing his job.

Now this time we are going to make a comparison that is well known in the byler fandom: Mileven's break up VS Byler rain fight.

But this time, instead of going over the same facts that every byler knows about the differences of these two scenes lets take a look at Mike's faces.

Mileven break up:

OKAY SO WOW lets just say that uhhhh, this face is very expresive, it says a lot.

If you never saw ST and you had to give an answer on whats going on with him here Im sooo sure that your answer wouldnt be: His gf broke up with him, like no, ARE U KIDDING ME?

This isnt the face of someone getting dumped, this is the face of someone being completly disgusted at something. Maybe even a dissaproval, weirded out or even shocked.

Its not giving "heartbroken".

Yes, he was surprised, but you can be surprised with almost anything. Basically with something you didnt expect, like El's words, but the outcome of surprises can come in so many different ways.

If the break up was actually serious, this wouldnt be the right face to have: You should be shocked as we stated, but you also have to look sad, confused, devastated even LIKE YEAH THE BARE MINIMUM BRO, girl just said: "I dump your ass!"

Someone that has strong feelings for another person thats breaking up with them would actually look dissapointed and sad, but its not Mike's case. He looks quite confused, disgusted, not believing whats happening. He doesnt look destroyed by those words, doesnt he?

Besides, another important thing that must be said about this face is how unserious it is:

It makes the scene become even more comedical. Like no, the bright colors, sunny day, funky music and laughters arent enough to state that this scene isnt supposed to be serious or important. We still have Mike's expression that not only tells you that he didnt feel much for El but its also there to prove the unseriousness of the break up.

This said, lets check out the other face.

Byler fight scene:

This face tell a completly different story than the other one.

Now more specifically the differences are: He was surprised but the outcome is the opposite, he felt so much more and in a painful way with Will's words and this expression is far more serious that the first one.

This is should be the face of a serious break up. This is the face of someone being actually dissapointed by someones words.

And funny how Mike was actually hurt not because his gf dumped him but what really bothered him is how he could have had everything he wanted. Will just told him what he actually wanted which was stay in his basement all day playing games and it turns out thats what Mike also wanted all along too.

Thats probably the key of the comparison between these two expressions. It tells us what really matters to Mike.

Oh and, there is really no excuse whatsoever of these expressions no matter how you put it. Just like I said at the beggining, Finn is a wonderful actor that portrays his characters just like he is asked to, its not bad acting AND its not because of "Finn's way of acting". Do you actually think that he was gonna go "freestyle" on his character?💀 You literally cannot say that, as the title of this post says, all of Mike's expression are intentional, especially when it comes to such a detailed series like ST.

Woowoweoeoowo okayyy its overrr, I think that this analysis was even longer than the last one lol.

If you actually red all of this tysm!! ^_^

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Life, 7/11/2025 Issue ft. Kimura Kaiki & Hino Yusuke (translations below)

Publication: June 25, 2025

OneLog! Vol.8 (Kimura Kaiki)

-I had the feeling of "my chance has finally come…!!" when I was selected to appear-

Nice to meet you! I'm GozyuPolar and Kumade Mashiro's Kimura Kaiki. I like vintage clothes and anime, and can usually watch a whole season of anime in one sitting on my days off (laughs). When I was selected to appear in Gozyuger, I had the feeling of, "My chance has finally come…!!" Ever since I started my entertainment activities, I had the strong desire to "appear in a tokusatsu production no matter what!" I'm the eldest among four brothers, so Sentai shows have been playing in my house for a very long time. I've admired Sentai heroes since I was a child, where I was bought toys and wore Sentai hero pajamas, so this has made me really happy.

When I first read the script for my role as Kumade Mashiro, I was surprised and was like, "Why is this character assigned so many setups?!" At the same time, I felt that I wanted to perform in a way where my impression of him would be conveyed to the viewers. I'm conscious of differentiating him from other characters, as I want him to give off a scary presence (laughs). What was most memorable about Mashiro's introduction in episode 16 was the convenience store scene at the very beginning. As an anime lover, I was very excited by the sci-fi like direction of linking episodes 1 and 16.

When I had just started filming, I overheard a name that I had never heard before through everyone's conversations, so I mistakenly assumed it was a staff member and thought, "I have to remember their name quickly," but it turned out that they were one of Mio's hometown friends…(laughs). I was surprised at the fact that everyone recognized this person as if it were obvious, but that's just how friendly they are, so I've been able to film in a harmonious environment. From now on, scenes related to Mashiro's past will appear, so please look forward to them!

Q: If you could gain only one special ability like the Gozyugers, it would be…?

A: What would it be…I'd want the ability to change my appearance. I'd want to transform myself into whatever I imagined in my head, which would include my height, face, voice, and so on (laughs). I think I'd like to use this ability for performative situations. If I could really gain the ability to transform, it'd become the strongest asset for me as an actor!

Number One Shot!!: With episode 18 airing, it's already been three episodes since Kumade Mashiro's unforgettable debut! The world must be overflowing with "kittens" who've become prisoners of love to Kumade Mashiro, no? (laughs). Well anyway, Kumade-san observes something during a scene in episode 19. He appears to be grinning during this unusually different scene. What's the focus of his gaze? Please look forward to next week's episode!!!!!! _

GavvPare! Vol.21 (Hino Yusuke)

-At long last, we've entered the final spurt-

Dente, who was important not only to Shouma, but also to the rest of them, was taken out by Glotta. As Hanto, I was of course shocked, but when I saw the sad expression on Sachika's face, someone who had probably lived a happy life up until then, it was something that struck my heart, and as both a man and a hero, I couldn't let her have that face any further.

Now then, I think episodes 39 and 40 were also Lakia's "turn." Convinced that she was the one he'd been looking for when he saw Dente's wound, Lakia exploded with rage towards Glotta, but I think initially, he was only concerned with avenging Comel and Dente and getting revenge. Still, I think Lakia's the same as Hanto, where he's been influenced by Shouma's strong mentality and sense of justice, and rather than just for getting revenge, he's had his mindset changed to "fighting for the sake of preventing further casualties." Along with that mental change, I think that the big brother qualities he displays from his relationship with Shouma and Hanto contributes to the "laid back vibes" the viewers have come to love him for. He's not just cool, which is so unfair (laughs).

At long last, the story has entered the final spurt. Putting the situation in perspective again, we still have president Bocca Jaldak, Lizel and Jiip, Nyelv, and Lango among the enemies we still have to defeat, and I think the volume is so large that the viewers will wonder, "Can they depict all that within the remaining episodes?!" (laughs). Still, that's just how things roll with Komura Sensei. Even though there'll be tons of hot topics, the growth of Shouma, Hanto, and Lakia will be properly portrayed, and I think you'll see the three different ways of life of these three people who found their reason to fight.

Most recently, one highlight from episode 41 is that it conveys the strength in Hanto's heart as he continues to act alone in his search for Michiru-san. With Shouma on his mind, what choice will Hanto make?…I'd be happy if you'd watch things through to the end with us.

Q: What XX thing can you talk about now?

A: It became increasingly harder for my body to handle the action before transforming (laughs). In episode 32, where Hanto and Lakia get stuck together, my muscles were aching when we filmed those scenes, so I asked Kohei-kun, "Can I rest abit of my weight on you?," and he readily said, "That's fine." However, based on what I overheard later on, Kohei-kun was also having a painful time with his back…I truly feel bad for relying on him. I'm sorry!

Off Shot: Vram powered up! His silver form is so cool! What's more, he even got a shield. I have no doubt this is proof that Lakia's become more concerned about protecting, rather than defeating. Please watch the three of them fight until the very end!

[diximixy]

Oh someone gave me permission to yap. You shouldn't have. Really shouldn't have this became so long.

My og/main (canon to my heart) tav is called Bern (high elf, sorcerer).

She comes from a rich and very fucked up family (based slightly on my very little knowledge ot the Ushiromiya's from Umineko, mostly Rosa and Maria). As a young child she knew that this made her family important in some way. But she herself didn't really grow up w a lot of money or in luxory. Her mother and her family had some sort of falling out before Bern was born so she only met her relatives on family conferances every 5 years. Her mother and she lived in a fairly big house but without a staff it fell into dissrepear even while they lived there.

This happened bc the house was her mothers only item of worth, in other words she was flat broke. Her mother didn't really work only in short bursts when she wasn't to depressed to get out of bed this was for mulituple reasons not gonna get into it here.

Bern once "stole" some money from her mother to buy food but she spent it quiet badly for which she was berated and punished for. From this point onward she learned that money was something she shouldn't touch bc she will not spend it well especially on herself.

Bc of this she starved a lot and was a sickly looking kid. But the other villagers started noticing this and took care of her, gave her food, chlotes and other necessities when she needed them, they only did this bc she was the up comining head of the village, taking her mother's place in the future. What would they do without their pristes anyways? It wasn't this materialistic but her importance surely helped her survive. So yep it did take a village to raise her, she will make jokes about this btw. Also bc of this for a long time she didn't have a concept of money.

From when she was 10-13 she was given smaller responsiblitys in managing the village and from 14-16 she was acting head of the villages inner workings/"politics" (there are other familys in charge of security of the village and trades w outsiders, she mostly maneged the inner distrebutions of food/goods and spiritual matters being head priestess and all, she on her own was only fully in charge of spiritual matter w other matter she got at least a bit of help usually). So she became quiet good at managing money, goods and personal relations. She is good at this but hates it more than almost anything. She had to manage funeral before she had a concept of death, had "assistants" so she herself never needed to interact w dead bodys for their preparation at the very least. She also managed annual festivals and kept the villages shrine in good shape (other villagers helped her w this from time to time.) Bc of this later life experiance she has a lot of experiance w managing momey and personal/professional relationships as a whole.

All of this leads to the funny situation of Emps pieling up the treasury while Bern quietly funnels it out into the public education system and other public services, because its good investment. Or something, she says that at least and she is good at allocation of these funds sooo he has no ground to complain about it for the most part. (This is the knights of the shield ending basically but my headcanon ending for these fuck ups is completly different so idk about that one its way more chill/slice of life...I mean for a bit at least. Plus important info I made Bern some bs custem lore bc I could this kinda sort of means that she literally can't become mind flayer...(I mean she could but she'd kinda introduce the far realms to atomic pwered distruction, to put it that way)...ops well gonna use that for a lot of angst not gonna lie.

She wouldn't ever want to or would have a lavish lifestyle. "Expensive and "pretty" chlotes are just uncomfortable usually, why would I want expensive rugs its just a fucking RUG and painting ahh one question WHAT THE FUCK AM I SuPPoSeD to do w them? And if you get one more expensive wine I'm gonna find the highest place in this god dammed city and throw it from there! It the same as normal wine sometimes even worse but its only expensive bc its "special" or some shit gets you drunk same way as a fucking beer so watch me give a shit about what I get drunk on!" All sounds like something she would say to Emps when he bought something expensive and objectively usless.🤣 Trust her she knows a lot of expensive wines, she had a "system" for mandatory family gatherings. She is autistic as shit and grew up in poverty while having to pretend she wasn't doing so, gave her a necessities only mindset even about her own needs. Emps understands this still finds her complaining about his spendings annoying, why should she care what it spends its money on also she is mostly right about expensive stuff it buys but it would never admit that.

Thyneron and the Emperor have dramatically different outlooks on money and finances. I would not exactly call Balduran "self-made" since it's highly implied that much of his financial acquisitions were questionable at best, and outright theft, extortion, and exploitation at worst, but at the end of the day, he did still acquire his own money, no matter how illicitly.

On the other hand, Thyneron was born with a gem encrusted silver spoon in the mouth. Money means nothing to Thyneron in the way that money means nothing to all immensely wealthy people, in that it's been a permanent fixture in the background of his life. He has no more regard for money than he does for the lavishly expensive rugs under his feet. It is simply there, because it has always been there, and presumably always will be there.

At the same time, the Emperor is completely unconstrained by perceptions of wealth. I believe it has a certain taste for fine things, but it dresses and lives simply, and is more invested in the love of the game of acquisition. I think to the Emperor (and Balduran before that), amassing wealth was like a game, with only marginally higher stakes than dice or cards.

Meanwhile, Thyneron dresses in clothes he dislikes, associates with people he disdains even more, and is constantly buried in a mountain of self-hatred because he feels compelled to keep the rigid standards of the Upper City for the sake of his family and business. If he had it his way, he'd wear simple tunics and trousers and never go to a damned ball, feast, gala, or party ever again.

I always enjoy thinking of what money means to various people, especially two that embody separate sides of the same coin (ha) the way that these two do.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[boomerang109]

remember when you were like "do you want to go to england with me for a week even though we've never met and havent talked that much" and i was like absolutely and then we did it and it was a blast. LIKE WHO DOES THAT AKFHWLFHKWHD ARE WE WEIRD!?!?!?

we’re ABSOLUTELY weird but who else is doing it like us? when hella met my brother he was BIG sad cause he was like, wow you like have cool real friends. and like yeah partially cause she’s international, but also just like, the fact that i have so many friends who i know i can rely on no matter what. like, i know i’m kinda shit at responding to your snaps and your posts and everything. but if you called me rn and said ‘hey i need to get out of [REDACTED] can i come stay with you?’ i would say, yes hannah, of course. i have a full-sized bed and we’ve shared before. you deserve the vacation time and i would love to introduce you to where i live. when you texted me randomly this summer, i was SO EXCITED to meet you in a random ass dog park and see you for 15 minutes. my biggest regret of our friendship is that we don’t talk more, but also i kinda love that my tumblr moots all understand my constant ghosting isn’t personal, it’s just how i am and it doesn’t lessen my love for them. next time i’m on the east coast i want to see you. if you’re ever on the west coast i BETTER see you.

[deathofacupid]

—ME AND CAT MAMA ROLLED INTO THE DISTANT FOG!

LITTLE DID SHE KNOW, I'M A NASTY DOG! — jujutsu-kaisen men/woman as overused pórn tropes.

★ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna, ieiri shoko.

warnings — pórn without a plot, kind of crack. afab!reader. cheating, óverstimulatión, light degrading (slút-shaming), age gaps (teacher/student). both unprotected/protected séx. dumbífícatíon, squírtíng. dom!characters, slightly out-of-character. óral (female/male recieving), fingéring, chóking. 4.6k+ words!

(呪術廻戦) : note — inspired by @fushitoru's work. banner credits to @cuntpress. yes, i was lazy and reposted the toji one from my side-blog... shh, don't tell. also, how do people write long fics? i've passed away from just this one <33

★ SATORU GOJO — GORGEOUS BRIDE RETHINKS MARRIAGE AFTER GETTING THE BEST SEX OF HER LIFE!

"i'm just," you breathe, "i'm just really nervous. i mean, what if he's not the right guy for me?" your fingers fumble with the delicate lace of your veil, your gaze stubbornly fixed anywhere but on him.

"isn't that a question you should've asked before you said yes?" he asks, half-teasing, as his brows raise. satoru licks his lips, fuck, you look breathtaking in that virginal white. it's not fair that you'll be sent off to a man that's not him.

you let out a frustrated whine, tipping your head back against the wall. "don't say that! you're supposed to be reassuring me!"

"well, maybe, you're right," he shrugs, leaning against the wall, satoru's gaze lingering on the curve of your breasts beneath the satin, the swell of your hips.

"what?" you blurt, astounded. if this was his way of making you feel better, it wasn't working very well.

"you're the one about to be bound, legally, to this ass— i mean, man. are you ready for that? can you deal with that douche— shit, guy?" he asks, though the suggestive glint in his eyes doesn't waver.

you give him a look, pointed. he continues, undeterred, leaning in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your ear. "like, how good does he fuck you?"

"'toru!" you gasp, heat flooding your cheeks and lower.

"what?" satoru asks, as if that was a totally precedented question. "i'm serious? you really wanna condemn yourself to a lifetime of missionary with a limp-dick?"

you click your tongue, "no. wait, that's not important. it's his personality, okay? that's what matters in the long-run."

he snorts. "personality? babe, he's drier than the sahara desert. how'd you even end up with him?"

"oh, my god," you groan, burying your face in your hands. "i'm actually going to be stuck in a sexless marriage with a personality-deficient bore."

"he's also a grade-a asshole," satoru adds, his arms crossed over his chest. his commentary doesn't help your pre-wedding jitters.

"if I were you," he says, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive murmur, "i'd ditch the stiff and run off with someone who'll worship every inch of you. in bed and out."

"like, who?" you scoff, sinking further into the chair you're sitting on. satoru pushes himself off the wall.

"oh, y'know," a lazy shrug, but there's a flicker of something that crosses his features, "me." your eyes go wide, and your thighs clench — almost like it's some perverted instinct.

and, then? then, he's showing you proof, pulling your wedding gown up, with your panty-clad ass facing him. the fabric bunches around your waist, and his hands slide under the hem of your pristine white gown.

for him, you're already soaked. but, like the real gentleman here, he slides two fingers beneath the elastic, parting your folds and thrusting them deep inside. he scissors them rhythmically, stretching you open for his pleasure.

you cry out, chanting his name like it's the only thing you know. well, in this moment, it's the only thing you remember. "oh, sato— shit," you moan, your body instinctively arching, hands gripping the edge of the antique dresser for dear life as you bend over it.

"are you close? are you gonna cum for me, huh?" he groans, relishing in the feeling of your tight pussy, warm and wet. all for himself.

"yesyesyesyesyes," you whimper, your body convulsing, the word a broken string of syllables.

the second you're squirting all over his digits, he wastes no time. with a guttural groan, he yanks down his zipper and guides his thick, throbbing cock to your slick opening. god, the stretch, the fullness —you can feel every ridge, every vein pressing against your swollen, desperate walls.

"do i fuck you better than he does?" satoru mutters into your ear, his breath a ragged caress. he's not just your goofy best friend anymore, not really. you don't know what he is, but you'd like him to stay this way.

the way you cum three times on his length, before he even gets one in, it answers the question for satoru.

well, it's not like you can go out there with your makeup smeared like this, anyways.

★ SUGURU GETO — KINKY MASSEUR HELPS STRESSED CLIENT RELAX!

"how's that feel?" geto murmurs, his voice a low rumble as his fingers dig into the knotted muscles of your hips. you groan, a deep, involuntary sound that vibrates against the plush massage table beneath your stomach.

"mm, feels so fucking good," you manage, the words thick with sensation. you can practically feel the answering twitch in his own body through the slight pressure of his touch against your lower back.

"yeah? and, here?" geto coos, his hands sliding lower, settling on the rounded curves of your ass, the thin white sheet doing little to conceal their shape. it's a blatant caress, and a thrill shoots through you.

the stress of endless office hours had been a constant, dull ache in your shoulders and back. but under geto's knowing hands, the knots were surrendering, melting away as if they'd never existed. he slips his hands beneath the edge of the towel, pulling it down to expose your bare skin.

"just for the best experience," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, and you're in no state to argue. he’s the expert here, his touch already weaving a potent spell. his hands roam freely, shamelessly exploring the contours of your body, kneading, rubbing, feeling. he pauses at the juncture of your thighs, his fingertips tracing the delicate folds of your vulva through the slickness of your own arousal. a shiver rips through you. "oh, shit," you whimper, instinctively pressing your hips down, wanting more of that electric touch.

he smears the slick heat, mingling it with the fragrant massage oil, his thumb now directly pressing against your swollen clit. he lifts your hips slightly, a subtle adjustment he claims is for a "better angle," and your face is pressed into the headrest, your ass now presented to him. two firm hands settle on your lower back, anchoring you, though you have no intention of moving away. not now.

geto's nose nudges against your wet folds, the warmth of his breath mingling with the heady scent of your own arousal. a low groan escapes your lips as his warm, moist breath washes over your most sensitive spot. "fuck," you cry out, a thread of drool escaping your parted lips, your eyes squeezed shut against the mounting pleasure.

his tongue darts out, a wet, insistent stroke tracing the engorged length of your clit before dipping lower, lapping at the slick entrance to your core. he slips in one finger, then another, the gentle stretching sending another wave of heat through you.

geto's fingers begin to pump inside you, a steady, rhythmic thrust that mirrors the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit. the dual sensation is overwhelming, a messy, wet symphony of friction that sends shockwaves of pure, unadulterated pleasure through your body.

it isn't long before the tremors start, building into the unmistakable crescendo of your orgasm. geto’s mouth is still latched onto you, greedily licking up every drop of your release, a possessive sound rumbling in his chest.

he finally pulls back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. a sly smile plays on his lips. "would you mind rating us five stars, then?"

★ KENTO NANAMI — COLLEGE SLUT SUCKS OFF PROFESSOR FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

you were prepared for this. you'd picked out the tiniest skirt, a low-cut blouse to match. you were going to seduce the hell out of your finance professor. seriously. professor nanami was about to get a lesson he hadn't signed up for.

he wouldn't see it coming. well, you know, except that he did.

nanami's eyes were fixed on yours, refusing to wander anywhere else. it threw you for a second, a tiny snag in your carefully laid plans. okay, new tactic, you thought, a little thrill of challenge sparking within you. because, if there's anything you're good at, it's making them ache.

"you should know i worked really hard this semester, sir," you purr, nodding your head. you lean over his wooden desk, just slightly. you make sure he gets the full view this time, the subtle swell of your breasts just visible above the fabric.

a beat. you saw it — the almost imperceptible dip of his gaze, the faintest flush creeping up his neck. score. he cleared his throat, a little rougher than usual. "y/n, the grades are finalized. there's always next year, if you need to retake the course."

you pouted, dragging a nail slowly down a strand of your hair, your eyes wide and falsely innocent. "but next year? that's ages away. surely there's… something i can do?"

he sighs, momentarily considering it. "you're aware of my policy, are you not? i don't do extra credit. it's the end of the grading period, and there's not enough time to—"

"sir," you interrupted, a soft giggle bubbling up. "the extra credit i have in mind, it won't take too long."

"i— i'm sorry?" he stammers, awkwardly shifting his position in his seat. "i'm not sure if i understand."

you coo, a gleaming look on your face, "well, i could show you what i mean." rounding the table, you spin his rolling chair, so that it's facing you. gently, you part his legs, and the restraint on his face is all but gone.

"if you wouldn't mind," you add, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. his pupils are blown, and he hesitates.

"look, i appreciate the, er, enthusiasm, but this isn't appro—"

you're cutting him off, already, dropping onto your knees, between his thighs.

"i bet that hard-on isn't exactly appropriate, either," you pipe in, unbuttoning his slacks. his protests die down, fading into a soft groan. you hands palm his crotch, as you peer innocently above.

"damnit," nanami hisses, his eyes falling shut. messing with his belt, you loosen it, pulling his weeping cock out. you swear, you almost moan at the sight. (actually, you might have.)

"fuck," you breathe, "y'so big." it's mostly to yourself, than him, but he finds himself (anatomically possible, or not) hardening even more. his hands tangle themselves in your hair, tugging softly, the movement needy.

you drag your tongue along the underside of his dick, stopping to swirl at the tip, and smear his pre-cum.

your lips tighten around him, cheeks hollowing with each downward stroke. you can feel the frantic pulse beneath your tongue, the way he strains against your mouth.

your hands are busy too, one stroking the length of him, the other cupping his heavy sack, the weight of it a potent reminder of what you're doing.

breath hitching, his thick-rimmed glasses slide down his down. "shit, shit, d— don't stop. ah, just like that." the back of your throat aches as he thrusts deeper, a strangled sound escaping you. you don't get a warning, save for a slight tremor in his hands, as his heavy balls tighten, and he releases strands of gooey seed.

and, to really make sure you've earned those extra percentages, you swallow, choking down everything you can. it tastes musky, bitter, and utterly his.

a slow, satisfied grin spreads across your face. mission fucking accomplished.

★ CHOSO KAMO — TATTOO ARTIST FINGERS PRETTY CUSTOMER RELAX!

"you need to stop squirming," choso says, his voice flat, utterly devoid of amusement.

"huh?" you mumble, your body instinctively twitching as the needle buzzes against your skin.

"if you don't want this to look like abstract roadkill," he repeats, his gaze never leaving your thigh, "you need to stay still."

a wave of sheepish heat floods your cheeks. "oh. right. sorry. it's just… um… i thought it would hurt less." you cringe inwardly, hating how whiny you sound. jesus, why did you ever think getting inked would some cool, edgy experience? this feels like torture.

he blinks slowly, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching a fraction. "…right."

it would be nice if he's bothered to distract you, with even just a little small talk. but, this space-bun-haired guy, no matter how sexy, is the driest person you've ever met.

"so…" you shift your gaze from the intricate lines blooming on your skin to his intensely focused face. the proximity is doing nothing to calm your nerves, or your involuntary fidgeting.

okay, yeah, you know he's just doing his job, but the way his dark lashes frame his serious eyes, the slight furrow in his brow… it's distracting in a whole other way. "so, uh, nice weather today, huh?"

"it's raining," he responds bluntly, not looking up from his work.

"yeah. yeah, i mean, rain's good. rain is… good. for the plants. yeah." you wince, making a face at your word choice.

no response. you click your tongue, "not a fan of small talk?"

"nope."

you laugh, nervous, "…right. sorry. just, uh, trying to take my mind off this." your leg throbs, a dull ache that is steadily intensifying.

he finally sighs, his gaze sweeping around the sparsely decorated studio. it's just the two of you in here. you watch as he deliberately sets the buzzing tattoo machine down on the clean side table.

"you wanted a distraction, yeah?" he asks, his dark eyes finally meeting yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. he then reaches out and casually nudges your knees further apart.

"well, i—" your breath hitches.

"fine, then." his hand slides beneath the hem of your shorts, fingers pressing against the fabric covering your most sensitive spot. you flinch, a jolt of surprised heat shooting through you. your eyes widen.

"what're you—?" you gasp, shivering at his touch.

"distracting you," choso shrugs, as if this is a standard part of the tattooing process. wait, does he? you aren't really thinking, too caught up in the sudden thrill, to protest, as he tugs your shorts down.

a flicker of genuine amusement dances in his eyes — the first real emotion you've witnessed all day — as he takes in your damp lace panties. with a swift, efficient movement, he pulls those down too, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

choso picks up the tattoo machine again, the buzzing a stark contrast to the sudden quiet intimacy, and goes back to meticulously working on your leg.

but his other hand… his free hand is now kneading your clit through the thin veil of moisture, his thumb circling with a lazy expertise that sends a jolt of pure sensation through you.

"cho…" you whimper, your head falling back against the cushioned table. you bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle a moan.

then, two fingers, slick with your own wetness, slide inside you, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate pressure. he curls them, hooking and pulling, each movement sending a wave of intense pleasure that almost eclipses the stinging of the needle.

the pain of the ink is rapidly being drowned out by the insistent throb between your legs. his movements are fluid, almost absentminded, yet devastatingly effective. seriously, how is this seemingly aloof guy — who is putting in less obvious effort than anyone you've been with before — making you feel better than… well, anyone you've ever been with?

even more unbelievably, he is a multitasking god. his brow remains furrowed in concentration as he expertly guides the needle, while his other hand turns you into a quivering, moaning mess.

he knows exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply, not frantically, but with a calculated precision that keeps you just on the edge, just still enough.

"oh— wait, god," you cry out, your body arching involuntarily, your fingers clenching into the padded table.

"what? you close?" he asks, his voice still calm, as he leans back to assess his artwork from a different angle. "me too, i think."

his name becomes a broken mantra, the only sound escaping your lips as your inner muscles clench around his fingers, your body tightening with the force of your orgasm.

"you do that for all of 'em?" you manage to gasp out, your voice still shaky, as he finally sets the tattoo machine aside, the intricate design on your thigh now complete.

he takes a moment to admire his handiwork, a hint of a satisfied smile playing on his lips before he finally answers, his gaze lingering on your flushed face.

"nah. just the pretty ones."

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO — BORED HOUSEWIFE INVITES SEXY PLUMBER OVER FOR HELP!

you'd like to preface this by saying; it wasn't your fault. it wasn't your fault that your boring, workaholic husband was always at work. what were you to do? a pretty, bored housewife — one left all alone at home.

"it's the pipes," you say, soft and breathy. as if you aren't dreaming up the nastiest things that could ever come to mind, eyes roving his fit body. pipes, ones that you'd messed with. there wasn't that much leakage, at least not that you could see.

you think. to be honest, you're hardly aware of how much harm you've inflicted onto them.

you're just a little lady, so, what do you know about these things? instead, you lead him to the cabinets underneath the kitchen sink, leaning back against the counter, pretending to be concerned, as he takes a look.

it takes him less than two minutes to realize the damage was dealt on purpose, to which he responds with a roll of his eyes. "if you wanted to fuck, should've just said somethin'."

and, well, that's how you end up with toji's hips snapping brutally against your ass, the cool slab digging into your skin. your palms are damp with the slick of your sweat, desperately trying to ground yourself, as he rams into you relentlessly.

"this — oh, fuck — is want you wanted, yeah? f— fuckin' better take it." the empty house is filled with the lewd sound of squelching, accompanied by a plap, plap, plap!

he groans, dark hair sticking to his brow. "damn husband of yours, he doesn't fuck you good, huh? you're wrecked already, and we just started."

you can't muster a response, whimpering instead. it spurs him on, his cruel pace only increasing. one of his hands are tangled in your hair, yanking back. the other is digging into your hip, sure to leave bruises in the morning.

his cock stretches you out wholly, forcing yourself to mold to the shape of his thick length. your cunt clenches around his, the fluttering hole doing the best it can. you hardly even last long, body tensing.

"shit, ma, you gonna cum, already? cum on my cock, like some slut?" he sneers, right by your ear. he fucks you hard and greedy, driving into you repeatedly.

"mm—! t— toji," you cry, velvety walls squeezing him tight. your body seizes, and you tremble violently, gushing onto his dick. his stamina? it lasted far longer than yours, and he didn't let up, not until he was shooting ropes into your pussy. overstimulated and fucked-out, you'd lost count of how many times he'd pulled orgasms out of you, waiting for his own to come.

and, when he finally leaves (hours, upon hours, later), you realize he never quite fixed the pipes. oh, well. at least, you had a reason to call him back over, right?

★ RYOMEN SUKUNA — HOT TENANT FUCKS HER WAY OUT OF PAYING LANDLORD'S RENT!

"i just need, like, two more weeks," you plead, your voice laced with desperation. sukuna gives you an unimpressed look, arms crossed.

"it's been seven," he informs you, as if this wasn't information you didn't already know. so, yes, you'd been behind on monthly dues, but it wasn't your fault! blame capitalism. or, um, inflation.

"i know, i know. i swear, though, this is the last time!" you insist, wringing your hands.

he pulls out a cigarette, from his back pocket, the foil crinkling. he places it between his lips, "can't keep making exceptions, sweetheart." it's condescending, tied with a hidden threat, you think.

you blow out a breath, running a hand through your, already messy, hair. watching him light it, your eyes go wide with an idea. shameful, for sure.

but, dignity wasn't going to keep the rain off your head when you were sleeping in a cardboard box.

"not even," you tilt your head, looking at him with innocent eyes, lashes batting, "for me?" the way you're leaning closer, over the desk, it doesn't take him long to figure out what you're insinuating. your chest almost brushing his forearms, sukuna pauses, mid-smoke.

"for fuck's sake," he groans, rolling his eyes. "you're doing the work." he doesn't need to say it twice. sukuna leans back in his chair, his hands now resting loosely on his thighs, a silent invitation.

paying him a favor? bullshit. If anyone was benefiting here, it was you. who in their right mind wouldn't jump at the chance to get their brains fucked out by their ridiculously built landlord?

you didn't hesitate, settling onto his lap with a soft thud, straddling his hard thighs.

"hi," you grin, albeit slightly nervous, rolling your hips on his crotch.

"go on," he tsks, gripping your waist, holding you in place. your lips brush against his, hesitantly at first, then... not so much. his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring, and you moan, grinding against his growing erection.

your fingers fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans, the rough denim scratching against your skin. when you finally got them open, his thick, red-tipped cock sprang free, slapping against his lower stomach with a fleshy sound. a surprised gasp escaped you, and you're too shocked to be embarrassed.

"it'll fit, brat," he mutters, as if reading your mind. not wanting to test his patience, you lift your hips, guiding yourself to the slick head. slowly, agonizingly, you sink down, a sharp intake of breath escaping as you stretched around his impressive girth.

"fuck, you're tight," he groans, breath hitching. it took a moment of awkward squirming, but when you were finally seated fully, a whimper of discomfort and a burgeoning pleasure escaped you.

his large hand clamped onto your breast, his thumb teasing your hardening nipple through your thin top. you threw your head back, a guttural sound rising in your throat.

"s— sukuna... shit, you—!" whatever you'd planning to say, it dies out on your tongue, replaced with quiet whimpers of his name.

"mhm, keep... damnit, just like that." his voice is thick with lust, eyes fixed on you.

your movements lost their initial awkwardness, becoming more frantic as the pressure built in your core. your hands tangled in the short, spiky strands of his hair, gripping tightly as you rode him. sukuna's jaw clenched, his other hand now sliding down to cup your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"'kuna, 'm close," you whine, syllables drawn out.

"i know, mm— me, too," he grunts, his hips starting to buck against yours.

you came in a rush, a series of intense contractions that squeezed him tightly. sukuna followed just seconds after, a deep, guttural groan from his throat.

exhausted and slick with sweat, you collapsed against his chest, your head falling into the crook of his neck, his scent of smoke and pinewood filling your senses.

"if i keep fucking you," you ask, shaky and panting, "do i get to live here for free?"

★ IEIRI SHOKO — GYNECOLOGIST HELPS OUT NEEDY PATIENT WHO CAN'T SEEM TO CLIMAX!

"are you feeling any pain?" she asks, flipping through her notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

you brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. "no."

"are you on birth control?"

"yes," you answer, fiddling with the thin hem of your paper hospital gown. you clear your throat, a nervous flutter in your chest. "yeah."

shoko clicks her pen, a small, decisive sound, and nods. "how long?"

"three— three years," you stammer, a warmth creeping up your neck. you're not entirely sure why you're so flustered. maybe it's the sterile environment, or maybe it's the fact that your doctor is so unbelievably gorgeous it's hard to focus on anything she's saying.

your gaze keeps drifting to the way her scrubs fit her chest, and you have to actively drag your attention back to her face. oh, thank god you're not a man, you think, a little mortified.

"uh-huh. and, to be sure, you've orgasmed before, right?"

you're also not sure why your face feels like it's on fire. this is her job. this is why you're here — for her to do her job and figure out what the hell is wrong with you.

"um, yeah. myself. i mean, i did it myself." the words tumble out, awkward and rushed.

her eyes flicker to yours, a brief, assessing glance, and you immediately drop your gaze, suddenly intensely interested in the wrinkles in your gown. shoko holds back a small laugh; you're kind of adorable in your embarrassment.

"alright," she says, taking a breath and shifting in her rolling chair. the movement causes a subtle jiggle of her breasts beneath her scrubs, and your thighs involuntarily clench.

pervert, you scold yourself internally. "well, based on your history, it doesn't look like there's any physiological reason for what you're describing."

"really? but, i can't, like, y'know…" you trail off, frowning, the frustration evident in your voice.

"cum?" shoko questions, filling in the blank with a bluntness that makes your cheeks heat — they never really did cool down — at her casual vulgarity.

"well, yeah. i mean, what about that?"

"don't fuck asses," she shrugs, her expression nonchalant. oh, god. was it hot in here? that wasn't just you, right? "but, i'm gonna do a pelvic exam anyway, yeah? just to rule everything out."

you nod, your eyes following her as she pulls out the cold metal stirrups. gently but efficiently, she guides your legs into them, her gaze surprisingly steady and focused on you.

"pulling this up now," she informs you, tugging on the front of your gown. shoko moves it higher, and you instinctively lift your hips to accommodate.

you fidget with your hands, acutely aware of the slickness blooming between your legs. you just know she'll see it. her eyes, no matter how professional she tries to keep them, widen almost imperceptibly as she takes in your pretty, wet folds. you can see the internal battle she's waging not to say something suggestive.

"won't need lube," she mumbles, mostly to herself, but you catch it, your ears burning red. the cool touch of a latex-gloved hand brushes against your swollen clit, and a involuntary shiver courses through you. you clench your jaw, resisting the urge to make any and all embarrassing noises.

then, her middle finger slips inside you, and a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. "sorry," you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand.

"no need to apologize," she says, her voice softening slightly. "it's just us in here, y'know."

"ri— right."

her finger probes the tight walls of your cunt, and you instinctively squeeze around it. another finger slides in, and by this point, she can probably confirm you're perfectly healthy.

but she doesn't stop. not yet.

then, she thrusts them deeper, and your hips jerk up off the table. "ngh, fuck," you murmur, your eyes falling shut against the sudden, intense sensation.

her other thumb comes to rest on your puffy clit, rubbing gently, then pinching with deliberate pressure. shoko's pace quickens, her digits fucking you harder and deeper.

"how's that, baby? feel nice?" her voice is a low, husky purr.

"god, yeah. keep going, please!" you plead, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"close already? haven't even been going for long," she laughs, a soft, breathy sound that vibrates between your legs. "ah, that's alright. go on, prove me right."

your inner muscles clench rhythmically around her fingers, and you moan, the familiar knot of your impending climax tightening in your stomach. it intensifies, coiling tighter and tighter, and with one final, deliberate flick of her wrist, it breaks.

"see? told you, you were just fucking the wrong people."

"and, the right people?" you ask, your body still trembling, your head lolling back against the headrest.

shoko chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "me."

❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜

[stinkbeck]

i'm like "HELL yeah i gotta listen to 'So What!'" and then i do and 2 seconds in i'm crying and being like "why do i hate my life"

[rex-rambles]

➤ THE COSTUME | LANDO NORRIS

pairing: lando norris x single mom!reader

summary: your son wants nothing more than to have spiderman at his birthday, and when a certain neighbour finds out, he decides to take matters into his own hands to make it happen.

wc: 4.2 k

warnings: none!

➤ MASTERLIST

"Mr. Norris?" Lando had a soft spot for kids. That much was obvious, especially when they were fans. Maybe it's that he remembers being that age, what it felt like to meet someone he thought was a celebrity. Maybe it was the little McLaren merch, or baby fever, or something, but Lando had a soft spot for kids.

Milo, however?

Milo could probably tell Lando to crash during a race and he'd do it.

"You alright?" He finds himself saying, immediately squatting to Milo's level by the elevator. In the boy's hands are a stack of red and blue envelopes, with names written twice: once in neat, formal writing, and the other in Milo's. "What've you got there?" 

"It's for my birthday party." Milo says quietly, extending the envelopes. "It's spider-man." 

"No way!" Lando says, smiling down at the papers. "That's so cool! How old are you turning?" 

Rather than answering, Milo holds up four fingers, the coordination making the envelopes spill from his hands. Lando's quick to pick them up, neatly sorting them into a stack, when he realizes one has his name on it. "Is this for me? Do I get to come to your birthday party?" 

"Oh, you're the guest of honour." Your voice says from above, and Lando counts another reason he has a soft spot specifically for Milo: 

You. 

His mother. 

You couldn't be much older than him, soft spoken and so kind when you moved in next door, offering sweet treats and texting apologies, laughing at his jokes, taking care of Milo. It was the sort of infatuation that Lando wasn't used to, at least with normal people in real life. You were perfect, he was pretty sure, except that was an insane thing to say to someone, let alone your neighbour. "I'm so honoured." 

The elevator doors ding open and Lando rises to let Milo and you past, and despite the fact that he had just gone up the elevator, he gets back on to waste a moment with you. "Is spider-man coming?" Milo asks up at you, and you gently card your hand through the boy's hair, and Lando wonders how that would feel if you did it to him. 

"No, sweetheart. I'm afraid Spider-Man is busy in New York!" Maybe it was the little British accents, too, that really got him. Lando rented an apartment, back home, for whenever he needed to escape from the chaos that was Monaco and just be normal. You, he thinks, are the perfect embodiment of that normal. 

Just a normal person, leading a normal life, telling your kid Spider-Man can't come to his birthday. Only, as Lando stares down at the envelope in hand, Spider-Man could technically come to the birthday. He might not be able to do a flip, but Lando's pretty sure he still has an old Spider-Man costume hung up in a closet somewhere, and has a cheery enough voice for it. 

"Well, I will definitely be coming." The elevator doors ding open to the first floor as you lead Milo out by the hand, and he reaches up to take Lando's, dragging him along towards the main doors of the building. "Oh, am I joining you today?" 

"You're going to take us in your car," Milo states firmly. "Your fast car." 

"I don't think we'd all fit," You offer with a soft laugh, the kind of noise that has Lando dreaming of a domesticity he's never even thought of before. "And I think Mr. Norris has more important things to be doing today." 

Mr. Norris. It was a sweet thing, for Milo to call him, but whenever you said it, Lando always considered what it would be like to call you Mrs. Norris. 

Not that he would ever, ever voice that thought aloud. "And if you're busy the day of the party, no worries." You add quietly back to him, stopping at the door. "Milo just wanted to make sure you got an invite." 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" He responds honestly. "Do you need me to bring anything? Snacks? Presents?" 

"I think just bringing yourself would be enough. I'm sure the other kids will be very, very excited a professional race car driver is at the party." Well, an F1 Driver AND Spider-Man, but he decides to leave you out of those plans. "Say goodbye to Mr. Norris, Milo!" 

"Bye, Mr. Norris," Milo says, waving happily. "See you at the party." 

Lando watches the two of you go, happily walking down the street, and he waits in the doorway until you're gone before he's sprinting back to the elevators. He needed to test out that Spider-Man costume, and find the best possible gift he's ever given in roughly a week. 

Manageable, he thinks. 

Surely that's manageable.

-

The knock on the door is the only unexpected part of Milo's birthday party. So far, everything had gone off without a hitch - all the decorations were perfect, the cake had arrived, the kids were somewhat behaving themselves for a room of four year olds, hyped up on sugar. 

Milo, ever the little copycat, was trying to show them how to play Mario Kart, because when Mr. Norris arrived, Milo wanted to show off how he could beat him at the game. 

Lando threw every game, but Milo didn't need to know that. The thought of the racer next door then clicks to the knock on your door, and you quickly spare a glance in the mirror in the hall before answering. It was a stupid, stupid, childish crush to have on the man, but you couldn't help it. 

Maybe it was the way he played with Milo, offered to babysit, raced around the world and somehow kept a level head, maybe it was how he looked, and how he spoke, and how he dressed, and how he acted, or maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought you were paying attention to Milo. 

Whatever it was, you were starting to get a bit embarrassed of how much you looked forward to seeing Lando today, until you open the door, and Lando was not standing there. 

Instead, there's Spider-Man, with a stack of boxes tucked under his arm. "Hey there!" He says, with an accent most certainly British but trying not to be. "I heard there's a me-themed birthday party?" 

Slowly, without alerting the kids, you peer around the door and into the living room, where they are still glued to the television, and the parents are watching and conversing nearby. "Spider-Man," You say quietly, "How did you get my address?" 

"A friend of mine told me," He says, accent slipping, "He drives fast cars, and lets me borrow them for my missions." 

"Oh, does he now?" You step aside to hold open the door, and you turn toward the kids. "Milo, your special guest is here!" 

"Mr. Norris?" Then, as Milo turns, you watch the greatest shock you think you've ever seen wash over his face as his jaw drops, clinging to the back of the couch as he stares at Spider-Lando, who offers a cheesy wave. 

And really, maybe you liked Lando because of how much Milo loved him. Watching him now, sprinting full-tilt at the driver, it almost makes you emotional. He had never run like that towards any man, only ever you. Well, you suppose he doesn't know it's Lando, but maybe it's the fact that Lando does stuff like this when he really doesn't need to. 

Lando lets the presents drop to scoop up the boy, who's been spouting questions faster than any human, or any superhuman, could answer them. You join Lando's side to gently take Milo's hand, who finally sucks in a breath to look at you. "Mom," He whispers dramatically, "Spider-Man came." 

"Well, you're a very special kid." You answer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Of course he'd come." 

Four years old. You remember when he was just a thought, a terrifying realization, and now, he was your world, dressed up like Spider-Man himself and in Spider-Man's arms. "Is that Mario Kart?" 

"We have to wait to play with Mr. Norris." Milo says, looking at the TV and the other kids, who are now circling Lando. "He's coming soon." 

"Why don't we do something else then?" Lando offers, voice cracking. You can tell he's smiling under that stupid mask at the thought of Milo waiting for him to play the game. 

"We could do cake." You say, and the crowd erupts with chants for cake. Lando gets Milo to his spot at the head of the table and helps pull out chairs for the others as parents snap photos, offering you strange looks. You had told them, outright, you hadn't been able to afford someone to play Spider Man. 

And now, here he was. You take the cake from its box on the counter, and stick in the large 4 candle and light them, as the kids begin singing. You had been so worried, once, about Milo making friends, about being a single mother, but watching now as you set the cake down in front of him, as he blows out the candles and everyone cheers, as other parents offer to help with plates and knives and forks, you realize you might actually be good at this parenting thing, even if the situation wasn't the best.

"Can you take off your mask to eat some?" Milo says, awkwardly grabbing at Spider-Lando's cheek, who happily moves the boy's hand away.

"I have to keep my identity a secret!" Lando says, before carefully rolling up the edge of his mask. "So I'll do it like this, yeah?" 

"That's silly," Milo says with a giggle, and you cut out a slice for him, which he immediately hands off to Lando. "For you!" 

"No, muppet, birthday boys get the first slice!" Lando has fully abandoned the accent by now, but no one really cares. The rest of the cake gets distributed and smeared across faces, Milo included. He gets one streak of blue icing far up on his cheek, and you grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Do I have any?" Lando asks, and without thinking, you reach over to gently wipe some icing from the corner of his mouth. 

No one seems to notice the action, too absorbed with eating and celebrating, but you feel your cheeks burn, quickly turning back to watch Milo as he finishes up. By the time the cake is done, and Lando hasn't arrived, Milo decides to turn from Mario Kart to a game called 'Spider Man Tag', where everyone chases Lando around the apartment, and you take videos of the whole thing, laughing. 

When that's done, and the kids stop climbing on him, and just when he looks like he might faint, one of the girls suggests hide and seek, and Milo immediately volunteers to be the seeker. "Go hide," He says to you, before clapping his hands over his eyes. "Spider-Man too." 

You're quick to help the other kids find their spots, throwing blankets over them and tucking them behind curtains until finally, Milo is down to 1, and you realize you haven't hidden. Luckily, you don't seem to be the only one alone in this, because Lando grabs your hand and pulls you into the front hall closet, just as Milo pulls his hands away from his eyes. 

"Hold the door," Lando says, and you put your hand together on the sliding doors to keep them from moving, and Lando pulls off his mask with a gasp. He's flushed, hair slick with sweat, and you can imagine this is what he must look like after a race. Hell, you've seen what he looks like after a race - he might honestly look worse. 

Cramped together, he doesn't have much room to wipe over his face, arm bumping into you. "You okay there, Spider-Man?" 

"I worked out this morning!" He groans softly. "That was so stupid." 

"Language," You chide softly, and he offers an amused scowl. "There are little ears nearby." 

"They can't hear us," Lando says, intercut by a scream of a child found as Milo happily laughs. "Right?" 

"We'll just have to whisper," You say, as the predicament you're in slowly dawns on you. 

You're chest to chest with Lando Norris, in a spider-man costume, in your closet, as he pants against you.

There are a lot of not age-appropriate thoughts that occur, so you shift quickly into something you can talk about. "You really didn't have to do all this," You say, and Lando cracks a smile. "You've made his year, I think. This is too much." 

"Well, he said he wanted Spider-Man, so he gets Spider-Man." Lando says, eyes skimming down your face before snapping up to your eyes. "How much longer do you think we have in here?" 

The world slows a little bit at the question. "Not much longer," You say, as Lando somehow manages to shift closer. "Breath while you can." 

"The mask is awful," He says, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Think it's constricting my airways." 

Well, if you need CPR... "You can say you need to get going to stop a villain or something, and then come back as Lando. He'd be just as excited." 

"No, no, I'm committing to the Spider-Man thing." He says, tugging the mask on, but stopping before his mouth. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" 

"Trust me, Lando, there's little you could do to make me hate you." 

"I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thi-" The door to the closet yanks open as Lando fumbles to get the last of his mask down, and Milo cackles in delight. 

"FOUND YOU!" He grabs both your hands and drags you back to the living room, and you try to take as many deep breaths as possible. 

He always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing. 

Did he...with you? "Why don't we do presents?" You say, trying to find anything to distract you, and also give Lando a break. "Go sit on the couch, Milo." 

You gather up the few gifts the children brought, and Lando grabs the ones he abandoned by the door. Like any little kid, Milo rips through each package excitedly, showing off cars and Spider-Man toys and a new bubble-blower, until finally, he gets to Lando's presents, who you're sure didn't wrap them himself. 

Or, if he did, you might just love him more, considering the Spider-Man wrapping paper that's wrapped neater than you could ever manage, bow included. Milo, for some reason, takes his time opening them, and the first two are Lego sets, one of a Spider-Man scene, the second a McLaren car. 

Oh, Lando. "Mr. Norris still isn't here!" Milo says, distraught. "This is his car!" 

"Mr. Norris invited me!" Lando says, gesturing to the gift. "He told me what to get you! Maybe he'll build it with you when he gets back." 

Then, Milo carefully opens the third box, and discovers his very own webshooters. "No way!" He immediately hands the box off to you to open, which is basically the equivalent of silly string, strapped to his wrists. The moment he gets them on, he begins spraying, and in a matter of mere minutes, the room is covered in string as the kids all giggle in unison. At some point, Lando squats beside him to help him aim and shoot, carefully gesturing to things that will be easier to clean up, and your heart clenches at the image. 

Because as much as you were good at this parenting thing, as much as you had mastered being a single mother, it was something new to see a man in Milo's life who wanted to be there, who cared for him, who bought him gifts and came dressed as Spider-Man and who just...adored him, like you adored him. 

You're not sure how long you just stare at the chaos unfolding, but it's long enough you think you might genuinely have feelings for Lando, cheesy Spider-Man suit be damned. It's the sort of messy, perfect ending to a messy, perfect day. As much as Milo really doesn't want to end the party, considering Mr. Norris hasn't shown up, he's yawning and trying to fight off the inevitable crash that comes after this. 

The kids get their party favours, which include pictures with Spider-Man, and Milo says goodbye to everyone, perched on Spider-Man's shoulders, and Lando carefully dumps the boy on the couch with a huff. "I think you need to get cleaned up!" He says, gesturing to the cake and silly string staining the boy's clothes. "Heroes have to stay clean!" 

The moment Milo disappears into the washroom, Lando collapses onto the couch, head hanging back off the back of it to look at you. You step forward and gently uncurl the mask, and with as much bravery as you can muster, you speak. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" Lando's lips part as he swallows, before he nods. "I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing." 

"Yeah?" Lando breathes out, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Well, Mary Jane, now's your chance." 

Kissing Lando upside down is not how you originally planned on doing it, but it's sort of everything you wanted it to be and more. It's soft and sweet and patient, the kind of loving you need after everything you've gone through, that's just hot and heavy enough that when you hear the tap turn off in the bathroom, you're quick to pull away. 

"Can Spider-Man stay the night?" Milo asks, running up as Lando pulls down his mask again, and he lets out a soft sort of laugh that does something to your stomach. 

"I've got to get home! Maybe another time," Lando says as he rises from the couch, and Milo's bottom lip trembles. "Just think, you still have your guest of honour that needs to visit." 

"I don't want to see Mr. Norris," Milo mumbles, "I want you to stay." 

You watch Lando hesitate then, about pulling off his mask and revealing himself, but for the sake of the magic, he chooses not to, and you intervene to let the poor man go home. "There's lots of people Spider-Man has to go save," You say, crouching down to his level and brushing the hair from his face. "And you never know, he might come back soon. But for right now, let's thank him for coming." Milo pushes away from you to wrap around Lando's leg, and Lando kneels down to give him a proper hug. 

"Thanks," Milo mumbles into his shoulder. "You can come back whenever you want." 

"Thank you for having me!" Lando tries to say cheerfully. "But your mom is right, I have to get going back to New York! It's a long plane ride." 

"Say goodbye, Milo." Milo finally lets go, and helps walks Spider-Man to the door. 

"Bye, Spider-Man." He says, offering a small wave. 

"Bye, Milo. Hope you had a great birthday." 

-

Lando strips the moment he gets home. 

Fireproofs were hot, the race suits were hot, but the Spider-Man suit? 

Wrangling that many kids? 

With you kissing him? 

He's practically a sauna. And yet, as soon as he's done showering and gets changed, he'd back at your door, knocking and hoping it's not too late, and that Milo's already gone to bed. There's a shuffling noise behind the door before you open it, and he's discovered in the time it took him to shower and get back here, both you and Milo had changed into pyjamas, and were eating dinner at the table. "Mr. Norris!" Milo says, mouthful of pasta falling into his bowl. "You missed Spider-Man!" 

"What? Spider-Man came?" You let Lando in with a soft smile, and all he can think of is your lips on his, how you repeated his line back to him like it was nothing, how right it had felt. Kissing you right-side up probably felt better, but he was just riding off the high that you kissed him at all. He was pretty sure, all things considered, that you had to like him, as much as his brain tried to convince him otherwise. 

Having you actually kiss him and prove it? He was still struggling to wrap his mind around that. "And he brought me webs!" 

"Webs that are going to be tricky to clean up." You say, shooting a grin his way as you move to the stove. "Dinner?" 

"Actually, that sounds great." He had a single slice of cake after being the personal play-place for kids all afternoon. It might not be the most gentlemanly thing he's ever done, but he's not turning down a bowl. He finds his place at the table, and you take your place across from him, and for a moment, Lando thinks he can see into the future. "Did you get anything else?" 

"Bubbles, a book," Then, as if remembering it all over again, "He got me your Lego car! He said we can build it together." Then, as if remembering what Spider-Lando said, "You know Spider-Man? And you didn't tell me?" 

"It's top secret," Lando says around a mouthful of noodles, and you grin down at your own bowl. Dressed in an over-sized t-shirt and fuzzy pyjama pants, it gives a certainly warm glow that has Lando wondering what man could ever give this up. "But, I still haven't given you my gift." 

Milo perks up as your head shoots up to look at him, confusion furrowed between your brows. "Lando, that's not-" 

"I want you to come to a race." He couldn't really think of some big gift to get Milo, besides a full-paid trip to a race. Silverstone was soon, anyways. It would be fun, for Milo to see him race, for you to see him win. At least, Lando really hopes he'll win, because then that's one more reason to kiss you. "All expenses paid." 

"Lando!" You exclaim, fork clattering to your bowl. "No, no that's too much-" 

"Really?" Milo cuts you off, leaping out of his chair to throw himself at Lando. "Thank you thank you thank you-" 

"Okay, okay," Lando says, trying to calm both of you. "But you have to promise to be on your best behaviour for it, okay Milo?" 

Milo nods furiously against Lando's leg, and Lando scoops him up to hold him in his lap. "I promise. Can I drive your car?" 

"Wait another eleven-ish years for that one, mate." He continues eating his pasta as Milo drags his bowl over, content to finish his dinner sitting with Lando, and he catches you staring. You do that a lot, especially when Lando and Milo interact, and he doesn't blame you. He's a strange man playing with your kid, who wouldn't want to be checking in?

But there's always something more in the way you look at him, like you're not used to someone being there. He doesn't know the full story, and he doesn't need to, but he has a feeling that, if he pursues this, he's filling in a spot that never really was occupied before. 

"Thank you, Lando." You finally say, finishing up the last of your dinner. "That means a lot." 

"What else would I do for my favourite neighbour?" Milo, also now finished eating, yawns into his hands. "Bedtime, buddy?" 

"Come on," You say, pulling Milo from his lap. "Let's get you changed and ready for bed. Lando can read you a bedtime story." Then, back towards him, "Finish up your dinner first. No rush." 

And then, like it's the most normal thing in the world, Lando finishes the last of his food and gathers up all the dishes on the table and puts them in the sink, and finds you and Milo already on Milo's bed, a Spider-Man storybook laid out on Milo's Lap. Lando takes the other side of you, and as guest of honour, Milo explains, he gets to read tonight. If he had really been prepared for how tonight was going to go, Lando would've brought his own pyjamas, but instead, he just cozies further into his hoodie, and flips open to the first page. 

"This is Spider-Man," He begins as Milo crawls over you to splay over your lap. "He's a superhero."

"You're a superhero," You whisper quietly with a yawn, and Lando is pretty sure he turns as red as Spider-man's suit. 

"Spider-Man shoots webs," Lando continues, moving to the next page, and he decides to focus all his energy into the book, rather than you pressed up beside him. However, he finds that as he finishes up the last page, he might've let his attention wander to far. 

You're asleep beside him, head tilted back as you doze, and Milo is the same in your lap, tuckered out from the party. Honestly, if Lando could, he'd fall right asleep beside you, but that's for another time, another date, so instead, he presses a kiss to your temple, closes the book, and turns off the light. 

It's how he hopes he can spend every night for the rest of his life.

a/n: baby fever is in full swing. tell me he wouldn't be a fantastic dad.

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt nagi being an undercover menace..

people think that nagi seishiro is this cool, effortless, nonchalant guy. he's sort of emotionless and apathetic in a way that leaves everyone wondering. everything he does is easy for him, and he's just so cool and uncaring. he would never do something stupid like messing with his partner.

they're WRONG.

– he picks you up randomly whenever he wants. he's super tall and muscular, so it's really no hassle for him. brushing your teeth, doing dishes, on a phone call, reaching into the fridge. he just scoops you up like it's nothing and walks off with you. when you squeal like “nagi???” he just goes:

“what? you looked like you wanted to be moved.”

– he hides your phone but only when he wants attention. and it’s always nearby, but in the dumbest spot. like under his leg or in his pocket. he'll watch you turn over every pillow and look under every table with this nonchalant "i don't know, don't ask me" look, but when you catch on, he gets this stupid little smirk and goes:

“guess you gotta come get it.”

getting you to cuddle and pay attention to him was always the objective.

– he texts you from across the room while literally staring at you, and when you look up confused, he just blinks real slow like:

“check your phone.” ‘hi :x u look cute'

– he keeps “accidentally” messing with your settings and it's so fucking stupid and frusturating. he sets your phone’s language to something random like french, or makes his contact name something stupid like “i should pay more attention to my bf” or reo's as "free money" just for fun and to see your reaction.

– and when you’re trying to concentrate, he’ll invade your personal space. he does not give a fuck that you're working on a very important presentation due tomorrow. wraps his arms around you, chin resting on your shoulder or head as he whispers:

“you’re so serious. pay attention to me.” and you’re like PLEASE let me finish this task “mmm. no.”

– likes to tickle you all the time. when you're focused, when he's just passing by, when he wants attention, when you're in a quiet place you should not be making noise in, or just because. he thinks your reactions and giggles are so cute and likes watching you get annoyed at him.

"nagi! stoppit!" "that squeal was cute. like a mouse. do it again." "nagi, i said- HEY!" (he does not stop)

– takes your belongings as if they're his. takes your blankets, your snacks, your phone as you're using it. and this egotistical motherfucker sees nothing wrong with it and just does it as if it's his god-given right.

"awe, my phone died. gimme yours." *snatches it out of your hands* "wha- nagi! i was doing something!" "don't care. my charger's too far."

– falls on top of you whenever he wants as if he's not over 180 cm. it's like a trust fall except he gave you no warning beforehand and it's not because he wants a trust fall, he just got tired of standing and felt like messing with you.

"catch me." "wha- AHH! nagi! you're so fucking heavy! get off! we're gonna fall!" "mmm noo. you can do it. i believe in you." "well, don't!"

– doesn't let you get out of bed when he's sleepy. this actual motherfucker i swear to god. it doesn't matter whether you have to be up in 5 minutes or 5 hours, he will keep you in bed. uses his unfairly long limbs and traps you until he feels awake enough to get out of bed.

"hmm? nooo don't go yet. 'm still sleepy." "i am too, but i'm meeting up with a friend in an hour." "you can be late. they'll understand." "GET OFF OF ME."

– takes all of your snacks except for one. this is oddly specific, but he'll do this thing where he'll take your entire bag of chips or all of your fries, and when you protest, he'll act all gracious and generous and give you one.

"nagi! those are my fries!" "mine now. 'm hungry." "i dont care! go get your own fries! give mine back!" he sighs heavily, like you're the hassle here. "fine. here you go." "..this is one fry." "and? be grateful. go buy more fries if you want them that bad." "THOSE ARE MY FRIES!"

– makes himself at home in your home. this isn't necessarily a menace problem, but you thought it was kind of funny how the first time he came over, he immediately settled down in your bed as if it was his.

"'m tired. you wanna take a nap?" "..this is my bed." "mhm. it's comfy. and?"

and because he's a real menace, when you're at your wit's end, face flushed from frustration despite your smile, and you yell an "I HATE YOU" at him, slapping him angrily, he'll just pat your head gently and give you a slight smile.

"no, you don't."

he says it with this confidence, like he knows he's right, hands down. and as much as you "hate" to admit it, he's right. despite how annoying he can be, you know damn well you wouldn't trade him for the world.

masterlist

[aeyumicore]

endless summer - caleb 夏以昼

surrounded by your very own endless summer, what happens when caleb and you reunite for the first time since the events of ‘captive bird?’  my take on ‘endless summer.’ part two of my series of smutty canon compliant caleb fics. (part one)

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE:  smut, porn with very little plot, porn with feelings/angst

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, continued off ‘endless summer’ (caleb’s standard 5*), slightly angsty, lots of feelings, outdoor sex, f!on top, slight voyeurism, unprotected, never pulling out, otherwise pretty vanilla, pet names (baby, brat, princess, pip-squeak), no use of y/n, insecure caleb, conflicted mc

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: part 1: captive bird | ao3 | endless summer memory | where our blue is

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooo after talking about this so long ago it’s finally here! 

part two of my series of smutty moments between caleb and mc throughout the canon material. first was my take on ‘captive bird’ which i’ve linked above. this one would occur two weeks after that one. next will be ‘exclusive aftertaste’ no current eta

also i highly rec listening to キタニタツヤ (where our blue is—the outro to jjk hidden inventory arc) as you read. i think it encapsulates endless summer SO well. read the english lyrics :D

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

part one | part two |

“Don’t go.”

Even in his sleep, Caleb’s grip is firm against your wrist. Almost like, even in the comfort of dreams, he was plagued by the feeling of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

Your heart throbs at his gentle pleas. It’d been two weeks since you’d left Skyhaven—since he’d let you leave. Two weeks since you’d both decided to start being honest with yourselves—honest with how you felt for one another. How you’d always felt for each other. 

Two weeks since you’d given yourselves to each other in the most intimate ways possible—something you found yourself replaying over and over in your head. Particularly at night, when you were alone in bed. 

But was it a misplaced night of passion? Fueled by the overwhelming trauma you’d both endured, both then and all your lives? 

Whether it was or wasn’t, it didn’t matter. Because you’d chosen to leave. And he’d chosen to let you. 

But even now, the way the summer light hit the defined ridges of his thick biceps made you blush like some lovestruck schoolgirl. Made you remember just what those arms could do to you—had done to you. 

You physically shake your head, pushing those thoughts away. If you had any hope of returning to the things were, you absolutely could not be reminiscing on the way Caleb held you, devoured you. 

When his thick eyelashes flutter open, his violet eyes misted with an unbridled despair and longing, his hand coming up to your face to smooth your hair that the wind had ruffled. 

Even awake, he can’t help but plead brokenly, “Don’t leave me alone.” His voice is faraway, like he was still caught in a battle between nightmares and consciousness. It’d only been two weeks since you’d gone back to Linkon, but the way you’d left things made everything all the more complicated and tense. 

Did you want to go back to the way things were? Pretending you felt nothing more than innocent, platonic, love for the man you’d craved nearly all your life? 

No, you didn’t. But worse than going back to a life of pretending was a life where you couldn’t even look Caleb in the eye anymore because of one night. 

He was the most important person in your world. Could you really risk that over one night that very well might’ve been an emotional mistake, born of desperation and vulnerability, on both your parts? 

But for Caleb, now that he had you in his fingertips again, even when things were fractured and unresolved, all he could think about is how your lips were slightly parted, sheened with moisture. How the summer heat made your cheeks flush—nearly the same shade as when he had you folded beneath him. 

Unbeknownst to you, Caleb had never been more assured in anything. Everything he ever did when it came to you was carefully thought out and highly intentional. 

You would never be a mistake to him. 

Without thinking, as if you were his center of gravity, he leans in towards you. His eyelids are heavy with the weight of his thick fluttering eyelashes, still caught between dream and reality. His lips instinctually seek yours, as naturally as his lungs inhaled air—desperate to feel what it felt like to have you again. Not just in his sleepless and hopeless dreams.

For a second you’re drawn to him like you were that night, still that helpless moth drawn to a blinding light. But rational thought, ever the annoying presence, resurfaces. 

Your eyes widen, and the gentle breeze sweeps against you. Something catches in your eye, maybe dust or a fragmented blossom petal. Against your heart’s own longing, you push him back gently, trying to blink the discomfort away. Tears had already welled in your one eye, threatening to spill over. 

“Caleb?” you ask, honestly unsure if you’d mistaken yourself, your vision blurry in the one irritated eye. If, like the countless lonely nights leading to this summer day, you’d imagined him leaning in to kiss you. 

Caleb’s nebulous eyes widen as you push him back, his face falling into a heartbroken dejection. The same feeling when you’d told him you couldn’t stay in Skyhaven. Stay with him. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The resignation in his voice makes your heart squeeze painfully. You try to reassure him, “No it’s okay…I just got something in my eye.” On cue, your eye starts to twitch and your hand instinctively comes up to rub at it, even when you know you shouldn’t. 

“Let me see,” Caleb murmurs, sitting up off the stone wall he was leaning against. Relieved to have an excuse, he leans in closer, looking into your teary eye. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” you can’t help but ask, knowing he won’t tell you anyways. Ever the protector, he’d rather face everything alone than burden you with even, what he considered, a silly little bad dream. 

You fight the urge to shiver when his eyes flicker to your lips, before he smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, holding the heavy weight of both his unending longing and depthless loneliness. 

His eyes reluctantly meet yours again, fingers brushing the hair away from your twitching eye. 

“Don’t blink,” his voice is unbearably gentle, his other hand coming up to tenderly hold your face in his fingers. He bites back a groan as his body reacts viscerally to the feeling of your skin against his again.

His hands thread into the strands of your hair, and he leans in until his face is mere inches from yours. Your heart pounds so painfully you can hardly hear anything but the rushing of blood in your ears. You can’t focus on anything but Caleb’s parted lips and warm breath.

This was far too dangerous. Your resolve to return to ”normalcy” was quickly dissolving, leaving absolutely no traces of its existence behind. 

Like he’d done so many times before, he blows gently into your eye. Except it doesn’t feel quite like when he used to do it before, when you were younger. 

You shudder at the feeling of his breath against your sensitive eye. Tiny delicate petals land in his hair, his skin glowing under the soft sunlight. Despite the circles under his eyes, he looked just as you remembered him. Just how he did when he held you against his naked chest on your last night in Skyhaven.

The moment is charged with unspoken tension and you know you should pull away. But you can’t bring yourself to. Your breath catches when one of his hands abandons your cheek, placing his palm over your hand that rests on your thigh. The feeling of his thumb stroking your skin feels so unbearably familiar and natural you have to bite your lip to keep from gasping out loud. 

Again, his stormy eyes fall to your lips before he pulls away, his eyes downcast and his warm palm abandoning your clenched hand. He falls back against the stone wall, the conflict of emotions on his crestfallen face speaking for him. 

He knew exactly what he wanted, but he’d never force it if you didn’t feel the same. If you regretted him.

Spotting a pink petal in his hair, you give him a gentle smile, making a small step towards smoothing over your prickly relationship, “I heard…that the fragrance of endless summers can bring people sweet dreams for a whole night.”

He looks at you in surprise, heart pounding under his white tank top as you clean in closer, blowing it out of his hair, like he’d just done for you.

The delicate fleck of pink flutters into the air with the warm breeze, Caleb’s deep galaxy eyes following its path, until it lands in his outstretched palm. An olive branch of sorts.

As you move to stand, Caleb’s arm darts out, his fingers firmly enclosing around your wrist before he can stop himself. You look at him in surprise, not pulling away.

Caleb’s face doesn’t quite meet yours, but he refuses to let go, “But…there aren’t endless summers in Skyhaven.”

There’s a heartbroken desperation in his soft words, so soft you barely hear them over the rustling of foliage. It melts away the last of any lingering animosity or restraint you’d been holding onto.

You were too far gone. The past was irrecoverable. Probably from the moment you’d laid eyes on him on the tarmac on the Fleet base in Skyhaven—the first time since the explosion. 

And finally, finally, you accept that you don’t want to return to the past. 

Caleb was your weakness, just as you were his. 

With his hand still holding your wrist, you let yourself fall back to him, grasping his face in your fingers. Before you can change your mind, you press your mouth into his, gasping when his soft lips meet yours.

Unlike the first time you’d kissed him on his couch in Skyhaven, Caleb doesn’t hesitate, wasting no time in threading his fingers into your hair and pulling you impossibly closer.

He swallows your squeak of surprise when you topple onto his lap, his hands leaving your face so that they can grasp your exposed legs, your skirt having ridden up. His strong arms make sure you situate safely and comfortably on his thick thighs. Your arms naturally loop around his neck, melting into his secure and desperate hold.

Caleb pulls you closer, your rapidly pounding hearts beating against one another. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as his tongue rediscovers every inch of your mouth, groaning into your lips as you squirm against him.

His fingers inch up your legs and under the hem of your skirt, rubbing the pad of his thumb into your heated skin. Your hips roll instinctively as you try to hold back your whimpers, your inner thighs brushing against his crotch. 

“Caleb—!” you gasp, tearing yourself away when your core presses against his bulge, already incredibly hard as it strains against his jeans, grinding against you. 

Caleb groans beneath you, his hands moving to grip your hips firmly, fingertips digging into your skin as he stills your movements. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he rasps, gripping your chin, forcing your hazy eyes to focus on his own darkened ones. His chest heaves with the effort of holding back his unbearable need for you—an unending black hole of desperation that had grown explosive over the last two weeks. 

He presses heated kisses down your jaw and against your throbbing pulse, murmuring, “Go easy on me, pip-squeak.” Despite his seemingly soft and pleading words, his body moves against yours with precision and domination. 

You feel him grin against your collarbone when a moan escapes your wet lips, unable to contain it when his hips thrust up into you, giving you a taste of just what you’d been dreaming about since leaving Skyhaven. 

“Asking for mercy when you’re the one teasing me,” you grumble, cursing your body as it arches at his will, instinctively giving him better access to your neck. 

He traps you against him, his thick arms hugging your entire body as he chuckles and pushes his lips to yours again. Through the heated clashing of tongue and teeth, you can vaguely feel your knees tingling and you realize Caleb is using his Evol to make sure your bare knees don’t scrape against the rough outdoor ground. You don’t even think Caleb realizes he’s doing it, far too lost in reclaiming what he’d thought he’d lost.

The summer breeze ruffles Caleb’s hair, catching soft pink petals. He tears himself away from your mouth, tracing a trail of wet kisses everywhere he can reach.

Taking a deep inhale of your intoxicating scent, he rasps, “Tell me to stop. Last chance.” 

When his teeth graze against an already forming love bite, you moan unabashedly into the open space by his ear, “W-Why would I do that? This is what I want.” 

Caleb growls, his chest vibrating against yours, “Say that again.” His fingers find their way under your skirt, kneading the soft plush of your thighs, stopping himself from venturing higher, deeper. 

You’re distracted by the teasing touch of his fingers, “Say—ngh—what?” 

Caleb’s fingers dig in, crescents indenting into your skin, “Say that you want me.”

Realizing that you leaving Skyhaven had simultaneously left him broken-hearted and needing validation, you pull away slightly so you can face him. Cradling his jaw in your palms, you whisper whole-heartedly, “I want you. More than anything.” 

Caleb’s eyes darken to a near indigo, his jaw clenching with barely restrained desire. 

He growls, “Not a mistake?” Though his tone is unbelievably commanding, you can make out the faint lingering insecurity, his bright purple eyes pleading with yours. The desperation to know that you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“Not a mistake,” you affirm gently, fingers curling into his hair, lips pressing into his jaw. Your knuckles scrape against the concrete pillar, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Before he gives into uncontrollable animalistic need, he chokes out your name, words laced with unbearable desire, desperation, and love.

“I miss you.”

Your still-healing heart splinters fractionally. 

Miss. Not missed. Like, even with you in his lap and his arms encircling you, you were still just a faraway dream to him—a fantasy. 

But this was reality. And the reality was that you were irrevocably his—not a bird trapped in a cage, but a bird returning home after an endless winter. 

Taking his face into your hands, your lips descend upon his. Just before they meet, you whisper, “I missed you, Caleb.” 

You press your lips the remaining distance to his, purposely rolling deeper into his lap as you do so. Caleb receives your kiss, not missing a beat as your tongues meet in a tangle of desperation. 

Your fingers fly to his belt, undoing it eagerly. Caleb lifts his hips up, as if to give you more access, better control. 

Despite his eager movements, he pulls away briefly, voice hoarse with desire but also hesitation. 

“A-Are you sure?” His eyes dart around your compromising setting, heart pounding at the idea of being so vulnerable out in the open, where anyone could find you. There was little to no coverage from your position atop his lap to the back door of the store which stood wide open, the indoor counter visible. 

“The store’s closed, no one will come in,” you whisper in rushed tones, glancing at the back door, “But if you want to stop…”

Caleb growls, his right hand finding your nape, turning your face back to his. 

“Fuck no.” 

Your teeth nearly knock together with the force at which he devours you in another all-consuming kiss. His free hand quickly helps you undo the rest of the barriers between you and his impossibly thick cock, swollen and tall against your naval. 

With your skirt ridden up, only your pitifully soaked panties stand between you and him. His arms are wrapped so possessively around you that your entire body is flush with his, his manhood pressed right into your core. 

Unable to wait any more, you pull your wet undergarments to the side, grinding directly onto him. His cock fits so perfectly against you, parting your sensitive lips until you’re practically fucking him with just your soaked lips.

“Christ,” he grunts into your lips, “Won’t last like this, princess.” 

Your chest flutters with confidence, unbelievably turned on by his yearning for you. 

“Good,” your murmur, “You know I’ve never been a patient person.” 

He lets out a strangled chuckle, swearing when you purposely drag his throbbing engorged tip against your entrance, nearly impaling yourself onto him. 

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “Such a spoiled brat.” 

You giggle in between desperate gasps, eyes nearly rolling back as he thrusts his hips into you, cock brushing against your clit. 

“You made me this way.” 

Caleb grins, grabbing the base of his erection, dragging himself intentionally up and down your irresistibly responsive skin. He leans into the corner of your neck, nipping playfully at your earlobe. 

“Did I?” 

You gasp as he pushes himself into you, but only enough to stretch you slightly and yearn for more—not enough to fully enter you. 

“Then let me take responsibility.”

His words drip with an arrogant possessiveness that makes you keen into him, nearly collapsing against his marbled chest. His free fingers grip your chin, bringing your fluttering eyes to his. 

Wordlessly, his amethyst hued eyes plead with yours—one last affirmation of consent. 

Biting your lip, you nod eagerly. Caleb’s eyes darken unmistakable, his voice low and animalistic. 

“Good girl.”

You feel his Evol recede, and, using only his hands, he lifts and positions you perfectly against his swollen head. Just as he sinks into you, he curses and captures your lips in a searing kiss, devouring your cry of simultaneous pleasure and pain.

Gently, he nibbles on your bottom lip, encouraging you to call out more for him. It only makes your body seize up, tightening like a vice around his cock.

Caleb stiffens, his fingers digging so forcefully into the soft flesh of your hips that your eyes roll back. It takes everything in him not to slam you down to the hilt, his erection throbbing painfully, wanting nothing more than to bury itself in you and never leave. 

Incrementally, he lowers you until you sit fully on his lap. Caleb trembles visibly under you, chest heaving and thighs quivering under your own. Under the sun, Caleb glows with thin sheen of sweat, his breath ragged as he adjusts to how fucking tight and perfect you were. 

“G-God, couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Caleb rasps desperately, burying his face into your chest, “Thinking about how perfectly you take me.”

You bite your lip, eyes darting around. Though Caleb’s voice was by no means loud, as the trees rustled, you can’t help but be reminded of your surroundings. 

Your arms wrap around his head, cradling him to you, indiscreetly muffling his voice, “Me too, Caleb.” 

Without lifting his head, Caleb looks up at you, his rhythm hungry and rough. 

“Only me, yeah?” 

Though his words are slightly insecure, they’re laced with a possessive confidence that reminds you just who your heart had always belonged to. 

You roll your eyes, wanting to tease him just a bit. So you don’t speak, leaving his question unanswered.

Caleb’s eyebrows furrow at your intentional silence, unaware of how adorably pouty he looks.

“Tell me.”

He punctuates his demand with a sharp pointed thrust up into you, one of his hands moving up to grip your throat. You squeal, your cry strangled by his fingers as he uses his other hand to slam you down onto his lap. 

The deafening sounds of skin against skin, bodies joined in inseparable union, ring out in the open space, mixing with the gentle sounds of dancing foliage to create the most sinful orchestra. Your heart races as you pray no one enters the storefront. 

But Caleb only goes deeper, the lewd sounds progressively growing louder as he awaits your response. As if he might pull your sweet words out of you using his cock.

“O-Of course! Nnngh–who else would there be?”

Caleb looks unsatisfied with your response, his violet eyes wet and shiny with need.

“Please baby. Tell me that you’re mine.”

Any previous confidence that laced his words had since dissipated. Now, as the vast universe of his purple eyes stared into yours, you could tell just how desperately he needed validation. How badly he needed you to ground him in this moment—to reassure him that this was real.

That he could blink, and you’d still be there. Unlike in his dreams, where you’d be in his arms one second and gone the next.

“I—” you moan embarrassingly loud when Caleb captures your clit with his roughly padded fingers, twirling it tenderly, showing it the same care one might show a precious pearl. 

He leans into your neck, his teeth grazing your earlobe. 

“Please.”

Your heart squeezes at his rare vulnerability, and you find yourself confessing to everything he wanted to hear. You’d been thinking it anyway.

“F-Fuuck–! I’m yours Caleb. No one else…” you trail off as he rubs relentlessly into your g-spot, a sensation you could never quite replicate when you found yourself alone in bed with nothing but your longing for a certain Colonel and toys that paled in comparison to this. 

“No one else what, baby?” Caleb demands, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, “Tell me.” 

He knocks the wind out of your lungs when he grabs your waist, using both his legs and his arms to bury himself into you—losing himself in you. 

“No one else—fuck—stretches you out like this?” 

Caleb swears as his filthy words make you spasm against him, his own veins throbbing inside of you. The sound of your pleasured screams has him wanting to push you further, trying to prolong this moment—a moment he’d been hoping for since that very first night. 

One hand moves to your stomach. “Hah—no one else gets to be right here.” Caleb’s fingers dig gently into the soft skin under your belly button, where there’s an unmistakable bulge of where he bullies himself into you. 

“N-No one!” you squeal in agreement, embarrassed by how easily he could render you a submissive fucked-out mess—putty in his hands. 

Caleb swears under his breath at the sight of you, clinging to him with all the longing in the world, chasing a pleasure that you only wanted and would ever want from him. 

Under the soft rays of the sun, swirls of hydrangea petals dancing around your hair, you looked like heaven reincarnate. Everything he ever wanted, and then miles more. 

“No one else will ever get to feel—to know perfect you are,” he murmurs, his strong arms wrapped around your entire body, pulling you closer to him in a hug that forces you to feel the depth of his adoration for you. He holds you so tightly that you can feel the cool metal of his necklace press against your chest. 

Your breath catches. Trying to convey your feelings for him, you whisper, “I-If I’m perfect, then what does that make you, Caleb?”

For a split second, Caleb seems taken aback. But he quickly composes himself and chuckles darkly, “Just a boy who had the good sense to fall for perfection.”

Your heart flutters rapidly at his words. A boy. As if he’d felt this way about you for far longer than he’d let on. 

“Then I guess I’m just the foolish girl who fell for that boy.”

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, almost like he didn’t believe you. Didn't believe he was worthy of your affection—of you.

“Fuck baby—keep saying things like that and I…” Caleb cuts himself off with a strangled grunt, his heading falling back to gently hit the concrete column behind him. You laugh breathlessly, gently taking his head into your hands, pressing his face into your shoulder. Caleb groans as the intimate proximity amplifies your pheromones, mixing intoxicatingly with the summer air.

“And you’ll what Caleb?” you tease, your confident tone betraying how close you were.

Caleb pulls away from your chest, his fingers gently holding your chin between them. Violet eyes hooded with deep rooted desire, he looks at you with a sincerity so honest and raw that it makes the world around you fade out. The blinding sunlight seems to dim, the rustling of leaves fading into silence. 

“I’ll never let you go,” he murmurs hungrily—almost a lightly veiled threat. The truth and sincerity dripping from those simple five words sobers you up briefly—just a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the haze of insurmountable ecstasy and passion. 

You take his hands into yours and loop them tighter around your waist.

“You’d better not,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering as he hammered up into your g-spot, nearly bruising your cervix as he tried to bury himself inside you, leaving imprints of himself behind. 

Caleb’s jaw is slack—his teeth clenched as he fights his body’s need to release inside you, marking you as his.  

“Never again,” he gasps, your name leaving his lips like a sacred prayer, “Never.” 

The intensity of this moment is all too much—breaking walls that’d raised over months in mere milliseconds. Your body starts to move on its own, grinding down as he pumps up into you. The combined movements feel unbearably passionate, like ocean waves colliding with one another in a crescendo of unfiltered desire and need.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his teeth scraping playfully against your pulse.

“Close, baby,” he rasps, movements growing increasingly erratic and desperate, “Need to fill you up, okay?” 

You groan, raking welts until his biceps, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin as your gut tightens with impending release. You’re about to speak—beg for it—when you hear the distinct sound of a bell jingling.

The front door of the store.

Your muscles tense, your thighs clenching against Caleb’s lap in fear. Caleb’s violet eyes widen back at you, but he shows no signs of stopping, only chasing your combined releases even more hungrily. 

Faraway and muffled, you hear a voice call out, “Hello?” Footsteps follow, loud and taunting against the wooden  floor beams of the building, “Are you guys still open?”

Even amidst the sounds of your wet thighs slapping into Caleb’s, louder than the sound of wind disturbing the trees and bushes, you can hear the footsteps getting closer. But Caleb shows no signs of stopping, almost as if he cannot hear what you hear. 

“Mmmf–Caleb–!” you say in hushed tones as he bounces you so enthusiastically that your brain feels like it’s rattling in your skull, “S-Someone’s—nnngh—inside.”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, impossibly close to his finish, “Shh, princess. Ignore them, okay?”

Your eyes widen at him in disbelief before they roll back in ecstasy. Despite your words, your actions, you couldn’t bear the idea of him stopping. Not when you were this close—when you’d missed him this badly.

“They’re g-going to hear,” you whimper, but you make no moves to stop him—in fact only meeting his movements more excitedly, clit grinding into his pubic bone. 

“They’ll go away,” Caleb growls, begging, “Please. I need you.”

A strangled moan escapes your lips, inexplicably turned on by the way he begs for you—the way he needs you as much, if not more, than you need him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, nodding eagerly. Caleb groans in appreciative awe, using everything in himself to bring the both of you to your explosive releases.

Heart hammering, cunt clenching unbelievably tight, you moan, “C-Close, Caleb.”

“Fuck!” Caleb moans under his breath, rambling as his cock twitches inside you, “Close too, princess. Need to mark you. Need this. Need you.”

His words are the nail in your coffin, sending you careening into your orgasm. Your nails dig into his shoulders, thighs clenching tighter around him, as your entire body seizes up. Just as you come undone, his name on your lips, the voice calls out again—closer this time.

“Helloooo?” 

Caleb pulls away from your neck, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other hand clasping tightly over your mouth. If he had to guess, he’d say the person was right in front of the cashier counter, where you’d left the backdoor ajar. At the right angle, they might even be able to see the two of you. 

He needed to keep you quiet, because he’d be damned if he let anyone see you like this.

But he’d also be damned if he ever missed an opportunity to hear you cry for him.

“I’ve got you,” he grits, milliseconds away from his own climax—movements sloppy and erratic, “Just like that. Fucking perfect.”

On the cusp of his orgasm, he whispers, “Let me hear you. I can’t keep trying to remember what you sound like. It’ll never compare.”

Your heart skips an erratic beat at his admission. Knowing that maybe he lay awake thinking of you, of that night, just as you did, night after night…

It made your orgasm crescendo, soaring to entirely new heights.  

Your moans vibrate against his palm, the muffled cries of his name audible even with your mouth covered. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he gasps your name reverently, pressing his forehead to yours, “Christ, you feel incredible.”

The explosion of warmth inside you makes you groan in satisfaction, still into his hand that gently grips the lower half of your face. Caleb grinds up desperately into your tight walls, every stroke a release of thick hot seed.

The sound of footsteps still remains, and in the back of your head you know you should be concerned. 

But it only makes you cum harder. 

You’d say it was the same for Caleb, because even as his pearly essence dripped down your thighs, he was still pumping, still crying your name—almost loud enough to be heard beyond your little summer sanctuary. 

Caleb releases your mouth, only to replace his palm with his lips, pressing a searing kiss to yours. His tongue claims every inch of your mouth, just as his cock marks every possible part of your core.

He swallows your cries hungrily, hips languid in their movements now. He tries to prolong this moment as much as possible, not ready to face reality. 

In the back of your head, you can hear the store bell ringing again, either signaling the customer leaving or a new one entering. But you can’t bring yourself to care, too focused on the way his body feels inside yours. 

Eventually, the overwhelming feelings—pleasure, lust, desperation—boil down until only a tender adoration remains. 

Your head rises and falls rhythmically, laying on Caleb’s heaving chest. Tremors course through your entire body as you bathe in the afterglow of this moment between you and the Colonel you found yourself loving so hopelessly.

Caleb cradles your head, gently holding you tighter against his body, his fingers combing through your wind mussed hair. His lips press into your scalp, taking deep inhales of your scent.

This was the only fragrance that could give him sweet dreams for an entire night, and entire lifetime. 

But then, he’s reminded of how temporary—fleeting this moment is. Like chasing the last day of summer, where the sun melts away just as you really begin to enjoy it.

On instinct, he holds you tighter—as if you might melt away from his fingertips right then and there. Even in the sweltering summer heat, you don’t mind, only sighing happily in pure bliss. 

Your voice cuts through the sound of emerging cicadas, soft and hesitant, “Caleb, if we hadn’t run into each other here…would you have not come back to see me?”

Caleb freezes against you, his muscles tensing, “...Were you hoping I would? Or were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

You gently extricate yourself from his arms, looking straight at him, “I…want you to answer my question first.”

Caleb sighs, unfathomable emotions beyond the depth of his beautiful eyes, “Have you thought about me at all these past few weeks?”

You’re caught off guard by the direct question, “I—”

Caleb continues—cutting you off before you can form an answer, “How many times?”

His face is tilted upward, watching the petals of summer flowers float through the air, “When I want to see you, will you also want to see me?”

You can tell the question isn’t meant for you. It felt like a mantra that he’d repeated to himself repeatedly. And while it was directed at you, it echoes like a confession between the small space between your joined bodies. 

The silence stretches on as you let the words sink in. Caleb wasn’t looking for an answer, but he needed you to feel the weight of his questions. Through the intimacy of the moment, you almost forget he’s still buried inside you, an uncomfortable sticky mess smearing against his lap and your thighs.

Finally, Caleb’s eyes meet yours against, his palm cupping your cheek tenderly. He presses his forehead against yours, skin slightly damp with a thin sheen of sweat. With a reverent whisper of your name, he finally answers your initial question. 

“How could I not come?”

Your heart flutters, eyes stinging with emotion. His breath is heavy against your lips, yours rapid and shallow against his. 

Just before you press your mouth into him, you whisper an answer to his question, “If you’re the one asking Caleb, then the answer is always yes.”

With those words leaving the tip of your tongue, you lean in the rest of the way to kiss him—slowly, tenderly, adoringly. The entire world melts away amidst your embrace, leaving only you, Caleb, and the endless summer surrounding you.

And just like those endless summer hydrangeas—the only ones that bloomed year-round, you’d always remain. You’d always be his center of gravity. 

Even if there weren’t endless summers in Skyhaven.

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[s1rawb3rry]

Cupid’s arrow has struck… the wrong target!

Oh cupid… do you love me, or do you love me not?

synopsis: As a cupid, Y/N's job has always been to make people fall in love– that has been her task for centuries. However, everything goes horribly wrong when Jake accidentally locks eyes with her instead of his intended match. Now, she's stuck with a hopelessly in-love Jake, following her around like a lovesick puppy. The worst part? Cupids aren’t allowed to fall in love…

word count: 10.3k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, maybe a little suggestive, absolutely smitten and hopelessly in love jake, he fell first and fell harder, acts of service jake, jake is somewhat yn's boss, magic (???)

genres: office au, cupid au, rom-com, slow burn

pairing: enhypen Jake x reader

featuring: Chungha

a/n: oh my god this took FOREVER but im so glad its done im so happy with it hehe

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @veilstqr(comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

Cupids don’t wear halos and wings, or float around on fluffy clouds. At least, not anymore. We live among humans, blending in seamlessly, living for the purpose of matchmaking. Year round, we work behind the scenes of every soulmate pairing. This has been my classified, top secret occupation in the world for centuries, that I wouldn't trade for anything. When I'm off the clock, I work at a dull office job– that I love!– but it's boring enough to allow me to keep up with my much more important tasks. 

Seeing my Boss slowly making his way near my desk, I planted my hands on my keyboard and started to type away, pretending to be fully immersed in the spreadsheets that are on my computers. In actuality, my mind was completely preoccupied, I kept eyeing the thin paper folder with the name “J.S.” on it. I was assigned my last assignment before my much-needed “cupid break”. The thought of rest made me giddy enough to move my hips in my office chair and hum an off tune harmony. 

“What's the matter with you?” Chungha asked once she noticed my movement, her desk in front of mine. I smiled like a kid on christmas, well really rest did feel like christmas to me, “i got my final assignment before my break. I just have to find this Jake Sim.” I whispered to her. She smiled, sharing my excitement. Chungha has been one of my, if not the, closest friends for years. She is the person who knows everything about me, she knows me like the back of her hand. She is the one and only person that I could ever trust with this secret job. 

“I swear I heard that name not too long ago… “ she said, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember. I jump in my seat, lean forward to reach her desk and hold her hand in mine, “I beg you, tell me who he is so I can go into this break early.” I whisper-yelled, misery clear in my voice.

As she was laughing at my desperation, the clear glass office door swung open with an exaggerated creak. Our Boss strides in like a man who will make the biggest announcement of the decade, again. He always makes this grade entry, makes you feel like he will say something important, only for you to find out it's absolutely nothing. His dramatic flair is only rivaled by his complete lack of self-awareness. I suppress an eye roll and stare back at my spreadsheets, these seem way more interesting in fact. 

“Team!” he calls out, his voice booming as he stands at the front of the office room, making a couple chairs turn around and make multiple people stop talking and clicking their keyboards. “I’d like you all to meet your new supervisor for the upcoming project I already told you about–” he told us about a new project? – “This is Jake Sim, our new project manager. So he will only be here for a couple of months until the deal with the other company is sealed.”

My eyes widened and my ears perked up when I heard that name. I glanced at Chugha who was already looking at me with that same bulging eyes. There he is– Jake, my new assignment. He stood tall in the sharp lines of his suit, his dark hair neatly swept back, and his dark eyes carrying a quiet intensity. As the Boss continued talking, jake gave the group a friendly but reserved smile. As his eyes were scanning the room, as if he's trying to memorise our faces. I tried to follow his gaze to get his perspective on my colleagues. Maybe I can find his pair in the office?

As my eyes look back at him, our eyes lock. He held it for a second before he gave me another polite smile. I returned the smile fast enough before he continued his scan of the room. I perch up on my seat when I notice Jake staring for longer than usual at the other side. My eyes land on a coworker, Mira. Both of them also exchange a polite smile. 

As the boss continued to babble about the new project, that familiar feeling comes to me: when an idea of a couple clicks in my mind. Jake and Mira, they seem perfect together, well on paper they do. I open my Jake’s paper file and quickly read the notes written on him, trying to confirm to myself that he is a perfect match for Mira. Warm personality. Charismatic. Loyal. Energetic… Oh, it’s spot on.

“Alright team, that's all for today. You can get back to your work.” he wrapped up his speech, which dragged on longer than needed, motioned to Jake to follow him. Jake smiled and nodded his head at us one last time before turning his back on us. I clicked my pen and started scribbling some notes about Mira in Jake’s file. I can not waste time on a case like this. I can get in and out quickly out of it, sending them on their merry way. I beamed with excitement, unwrapping a chocolate covered almond from my drawer and popping it in my mouth.

“I remember now where I heard his name,” Chungha whispered to me. I looked up from my notes, paying my attention back to her. “He has been going to the café I always go to after work. I heard the barista always calling his name, that's why it's familiar.” 

“Wait, that's perfect,” I said as the idea sparked in my mind, “if we can get Mira to come with us to the café, I can absolutely do the job there.” I continued with Chungha nodding at me. “Leave it to me, I will ask her.” she said, getting up from her office chair. I watched as she walked over to Mira, starting up a conversation with her. A moment later, her head turns to me, smiling, I smile back and do a little wave to her. 

I pull my eyes from her, when I notice the light of the office in front of us turn on. That office is almost always empty, so my surprise grew when I saw Jake again, standing at the doorstep with a small moving box. He walked over to the desk and placed the box on it. Oh that's his office now. Well, him being right across from us just made my job a whole lot easier. I can monitor the progress of my work firsthand, almost front-row seat to a movie I directed.  

-♥︎-

As the workday wrapped up, the three of us settled on a table in the café, the scent of bitter roasted coffee beans filled the air, making me wrinkle my nose each time the barista made a new espresso. Mira and Chungha were chattering up a storm, drinking their coffee orders while I stirred my strawberry milkshake’s straw absentmindedly, barely registering anything that is being said. My focus was set on the door, waiting for him, in any minute, to come in. Every second that passes is a second closer to my break. I take a sip of my drink, trying to suppress my excitement.

Yet, nature called at the worst moment, “I'll be right back, I need to use the restroom,” I said, sliding out of my seat and leaving my milkshake barely touched. They nod at me before returning to their conversation. 

As I step out a few minutes later, wiping my hands on a paper towel, I pause just outside the restroom door. As if it’s a twist from fate, I find myself standing in a perfect spot to have the perfect shot. Jake was standing, waiting for his coffee, not noticing me. His position is exactly where I need him, flawlessly aligned with Mira. Excitement ran through me, It’s almost too perfect. 

Almost there… One clean shot– quick and easy.

Letting my muscle memory instinctively reach for a cupid arrow, I take a steady breath and discreetly wind up my arrow. My heart bubbles in my chest in anticipation. Just as I’m about to let the arrow fly…

“Hey, did you notice that–” Chungha said, coming from behind me, disturbing the silence.

I gasped, her sudden loud voice making me jump forward and making my heart leap to my throat. My hand jerks, my aim going completely rogue, accidentally hitting Jake. I gasped again, “oh my god, no!” panic sets in my bones as I walk forward to try to recover the arrow.  Before I can even process the rest, my foot catches on a stray chair leg making my world tilt. 

I closed my eyes, bracing my fall before I felt two tight arms around me, steadying me effortlessly. When air got back to my lungs, I opened my eyes to find Jake's face inches away from mine. Oh dear god, please no… “I’m so sorry,” I said, the words left out of my mouth with my mind running much faster. Am I sorry that I fell or that I accidentally struck him? This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to see Mira, not me. 

His usual polite warmth in his expression softens into something more tender, something deeper. His brows furrow just a little, as if he's suddenly aware of a feeling—a feeling that stirs something in him undeniable. The more I look at his eyes, the more my plan crumbles.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks, his voice low and surprisingly gentle, his gaze lingering a little too long. His grip on me is still tight, my heart and stomach felt twisted in knots, as if they were bound together. This doesn’t feel like love—it feels more like alarms blaring in my mind.

Chungha, my traitor of a best friend, noticed the mistake she just made. Her eyes darted between us, her face painted with realization. I could see her from the side of my eyes trying to come up with a last-minute fallback plan.

“No way!” she exclaimed almost cartoonishly with an exaggerated gasp, practically lunged forward tugging me out of his grip with force, “I—uh��I forgot something at the office! Come on, let’s go!” she lied, turning her heel to the opposite side of the cafe, with my heels right behind her.

With my heart still pounding, I slapped a 20 dollar bill on our table, grabbed my coat and pushed both Mira and Chungha out of the café. I could feel his piercing gaze on me as we were shuffling out of the café. He was still looking at me as I was walking away—like I was the center of his universe. 

-♥︎-

Later that night, I stood in my dimly lit kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugar and butter. My stand mixer whirring loudly with the warm smell of cookies coming from my oven. My hands trembled as I measured out the flour, my mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. I turned off the mixer, slowly adding the flour.

Chungha leaned against the kitchen counter, looking in the oven to see the cookies. Then her eyes landed on the already freshly baked cookies on the counter, still warm. She watched my unsteady movement with a confused expression, her eyes held concern. “This is the batch number…?” she asks, leaving the question for me to finish.  

I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady myself and my hands. “Baking calms me down,” I muttered, my voice tense, matching how my muscles felt, “besides, it’s the only thing that doesn’t make my head feel like it’s about to explode.”

“I’m sorry…” she said quietly after a moment passed, her voice full of guilt, referring back to what happened in the café. I sighed in defeat, putting down the mixing bowl. I gave her a weak but genuine smile, “it's not your fault. I'm the one who was impatient,” I said before going back to my bowl, “I never rushed the process of pairing a couple, look where that got me…"I trailed off, scraping the side of the bowl a little too roughly. 

She stayed silent, looking at me, waiting for me to actually explode. My frustration bubbled up again when I dropped my spoon on the floor, even dropping spoons is putting me on edge. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath to ground myself, “this whole situation is too risky,” I started once Chungha picked up my spoon and started washing it. 

“Men liked me before, but none were under the influence of a Cupid’s arrow. It's just too strong. If this goes wrong, if I fall in love, I will systematically lose my job. I love my job, you know that.” I rambled, pouring out what's in my heart.

Chungha was silent, listening to me, “So… what now?” she asked, uncertainty laced her voice.

I exhaled a shaky breath, turning back to my mixing bowl, “I have one week. A week before the arrow’s effect turns into true feelings.” I said, grabbing a new, clean mixing spoon, not sure if I was trying to focus on the dough or just distract myself from my spiraling thoughts. My hands moved automatically, though my mind raced, “I have a week before this turns into a full-on disaster. If I don’t reverse the arrow in time.”

“That’s not a lot of time.” Chungha commented, taking a cookie. “You're not helping, Chungie,” I grumbled. She laughed, biting into a cookie, “don’t worry, we’re in this mess together.” she said, her hands found my tense shoulders, reassuring me. I just nodded, leaning into her. 

I began to bake again, the nervous energy inside me didn’t dissipate. There was no time to waste. I couldn’t let him genuinely fall in love with me. Not when everything I’d worked for hung in the balance. My hands shook slightly as I carefully scooped the cookie dough onto the tray. I close my eyes for a second. 

Focus. One week. I can reverse the arrow’s effect. I have to reverse it. 

♥︎ DAY 1 ♥︎

I strolled into the office with my heels clicking behind me. I readjusted my purse on my shoulder when I noticed a pink drink sitting beside my keyboard. Condensation beads down the plastic cup, the whipped cream still holding its shape—fresh. 

“You got me a milkshake?” I gasped in awe, turning to Chungha. She appeared from behind her screen, brows knitted together, “I got you a milkshake?” she echoed my question, leaning to the side to see what I’m talking about. 

I blink at her as if she just sprouted another head. "Yes, this!" I said, looking back at the milkshake, squinting at a small sticky note attached to the side of it. I carefully unstick it from the drink, holding it like it’s evidence in a crime scene. 

forgive me for making you leave early yesterday… - Jake

I closed my eyes hoping, wishing, the earth would open up and swallow me. Of course it was him. Chunghun leaned forward to catch the note, squinting. A smile grew on her face, “okay, you gotta admit that this is cute.” I shoot her a glare, “I need to thank him.” I said, placing my purse on my desk and grabbing the milkshake. Chungha’s grin widened at my announcement, “you caused this.” I reminded her playfully before leaving.

Each step I took toward his glass-walled office feels oddly heavy. It’s just a thank-you. Nothing more, not a big deal. Knocking the door twice made Jake turn around. His eyes brightened when he saw me, just like a puppy who was told they will go on a walk.

“Hello, sir,” I greeted, the milkshake suddenly felt a little too heavy in my hands. 

"Good morning," he says, a smile full of warmth and admiration spread across his face. Oh, he got it bad…

I held up the milkshake, "Thanks for this. You really didn’t have to." I said, returning the smile sheepishly. 

His eyes glowed with adoration, "Consider it an apology. Hope I got the right flavor?" he said, motioning to the milkshake. I should be the one apologising.

Then it dawned on me, he did remember the flavor… "Yeah," I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be. "You did."

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden interruption from outside the office stopped him, “Team!” our Boss shouted before his voice became muffled to me. Slightly jolting, I gave Jake an apologetic look, “I must go. Thank you again for the milkshake, sir.” I said, watching him walking towards me. 

“Jake,” he said, as if he’s correcting me. His gaze flickering between my eyes.

I stared blankly at him, “I’m sorry?” 

“Please, call me Jake.” 

-♥︎-

Avoiding him was proven to be impossible. It started off small: he held the elevator door open for me even when I was still ten steps away, he would offer to buy me anything and everything the cafeteria offered, even suggesting ordering something. But now it was the worst situation. We had a meeting before we could leave for the day, something about that project the Boss keeps fussing about. Focusing, however, was beyond me.

Between Jake sitting besides me and the lack of sleep last night, my brain was running on fumes. The anxiety of this whole situation tangled itself around me, and that damn milkshake moment kept playing in my head like a broken record. I blinked hard, trying to fight off the weight of exhaustion dragging my eyelids down. My notes in front of me blurred together. The voices in the room became distant, background noise to the quiet battle I was losing against sleep. 

A small piece of folded paper appeared on the table in front of  me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jake's hand retreating back to his side. I tried to decipher his face from the position i was in, but his expression was unreadable. Carefully, without trying to pull attention towards us, I unfolded the note. 

Are you feeling okay?

I stared at his handwriting in black ink, oddly neat, like he had taken his time. I reached for my own red pen, scribbling down how I just didn't sleep well last night. I refolded the paper, sliding it back to him. A few seconds later, his response appeared in front of me.

Close your eyes. I can cover for you.

I almost snorted, exhaustion making everything funny now. What is he even talking about? Hesitating only for a moment, I grabbed my pen and scribbled back something. I straighten my back, trying to wake myself up. Again, his response popped up in front of me. 

Trust me on this one. No one will notice.

I frowned in confusion, but before I could decide on how to respond, he subtly tilted his body, his broad shoulders blocking me from view. All I could see was his back and how everyone else was listening to the meeting.

Slowly, undeniable fatigue took over me, making me shut my eyes. 

-♥︎-

“Hey… Wake up.” 

A hand shook my shoulder gently,  pulling me from the depths of my nap. I stirred, my mind still heavy with exhaustion, before I finally blinked my way back into consciousness. Once my vision focused, I found Chungha standing beside me, casually packing my notepad and pens into my purse. 

“Meeting’s over,” she announced, tilting her head. “I was this close to tucking you in and leaving you here." she laughed, putting my purse on my lap. I groaned, stretching out my arms as I forced myself upright. My body still felt sluggish, my brain foggy from sleep. The conference room was empty now—everyone was gone.

 “Now, come on, let’s go eat something. I’m starving…” she grumbled, heading towards the door. As I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder, I slipped my hands into my coat pockets out of habit. The sleepiness fog vanished the moment I felt a piece of paper already in my pocket. I pulled it out only to find very similar handwriting in black ink.

Didn’t have the heart to wake you up.

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. 

♥︎ DAY 3 ♥︎

I had spent the last two days trying every trick, every strategy, everything and anything in my power to undo this ridiculous mistake. Yet, every desperate attempt led me to a dead end. It was completely hopeless. 

I tried acting uninterested, distant, cold, downright dismissive towards him. Jake would greet me every morning, warm smiles and bright eyes. It took every ounce of willpower not to match his puppy-like energy, to keep my response flat and indifferent. "Morning," I’d say, voice devoid of emotion. But no matter how lifeless I sounded, his grin never wavered. 

I also attempted to make him lose hope by acting like I have a ‘secret office admirer’, Chungha’s idea. We thought, maybe, this would make him give up on me.

“Are you sure this will work?” I whispered, watching her place a vase of flowers– that she picked– onto my desk. She shrugged at me as we eye the soft yellow and white rose bouquet with a small note. It looks legitimate, at least in my eyes. I sighed as I popped a chocolate covered almond in my mouth.

When I felt Jake’s presence coming closer, I started acting as if I just noticed the bouquet, putting on a full play in front of Chungha. His steps slowed as he passed my desk a few steps away, watching me pull out the note that was with the roses. I made sure to read out the note in a loud voice, I cleared my voice, "To the most beautiful woman in the office. I hope these flowers bring you as much joy as your smile brings me, your secret admirer." I read, acting surprised while turning to Chungha, “that is adorable.” she played along, smiling.

His chuckling made me turn my head towards him, “didn’t know there were secret admirers in this office…” he muttered, hands in his pants pockets, his tone dripping with amusement. I glanced at Chungha who’s now completely turned away from us, speaking to another colleague. 

He bent down his head a little to read the note in my hand, his cologne was woody and intoxicating. I could see his slicked back, soft, black strands. His closeness made a fluttering warmth spread through my chest. “What’s funny is that they call themselves an admirer…” he started, his voice snapping me back to reality, “... yet they got your favorite color wrong.” he said, eyeing my outfit, my accessories, my desk decorations– all pink. He looked at me one last time in the eyes before turning his heels, leaving my heart into a wild, nervous rhythm and warmth rising to my face. 

That was not the intended effect, and not on the right person.

Desperate times called for unflattering, repulsive measures. I was standing next to the vending machine after buying myself a Coke. Jake and a couple other colleagues were standing on the other side, chatting away. Perfect position. 

I took a long, fast and exaggerated sip of Coke, stood for a moment when I felt the carbonation bubble up in my chest. I eyed Chungha who was on her phone, slowly sipping her coffee. 

Then, it erupted like a thunderstorm. A loud, unexpected burp that could’ve registered on the Richter scale. Chungha choked on her coffee, the room fell silent, eyes were on me. I stood there, waiting. Surely, this would do it. No one finds that attractive.

Jake burst into laughter, his eyes glistening with adoration, “Impressive," he said, smiling and nodding before turning back to his conversation.

I turned back to Chungha, my jaw to the floor, “oh he didn’t find that disgusting. Quite the opposite.” she whispered to me, smiling in amusement, “I want to throw my Coke at him.”

I told myself that the next time he compliments me, i would be ready to shut it down. I was standing next to the printer, waiting for it to finish printing a paper that the Boss asked me to finalise. Jake passed by me, his eyes shimmered with light when he noticed me. "You look nice today." he said, stopping right dead in his tracks. 

Bingo. I smiled sweetly, itching to put on another play. "Oh, thanks! I haven’t washed my hair in three days." I beamed, brushing my hair with my hands. A normal person would recoil. A sane person would be appalled. But him?

"Still looks stunning," he said easily, tilting his head. "What’s your secret?"

I wanted to scream. Who gave him permission to be this… tantalizing? 

If I couldn’t drive him away with disgust, maybe I could with annoyance, if I just bother him enough to make him lose interest. I thought about barging into his office every hour or so, each time asking for something different but completely useless. I thought that if I just got under his skin, he would get tired of seeing me. I already went in, asking for a stapler, even though both him and I know I have one on my desk. Yet he gave me his without hesitation.

Half an hour later, I stood in front of his office door again, knocking as hard as I could, making sure that even my knocking was irritable to listen to. I opened the door after I heard a faint ‘come in’ from the other side.

I walked into his office as if I owned it. "What are you working on?" I asked him, as if he's not my higher up and could fire me. He looked up from his laptop, amused. "Something very important," he replied, still smiling.

Each time I left, I felt a little more defeated.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at his office. "Still working on something important?" I asked. Oh my god please, any reaction.

This time, he just laughed and shook his head. "You tell me. You seem very interested." he grinned, his arm propped up with his head resting in his hand. I stared at him, searching for a flicker of frustration, anything to indicate he was growing tired of this. But no, he looked at me like I was the one who painted the sky.

Then, I decided to really test how far I could push him. “Hey… uhh…” I squinted at him, tapping my forehead as if I’m really trying to remember something, “What was your name again?” I asked, trying to act casual, pulling out some chocolate covered almonds from my pockets and popping them in my mouth. This reverse the arrow mission will actually get me fired.

He raised an eyebrow, but there was no sign of irritation, only humor. Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in return. Slowly, he pointed to his nameplate that’s on his desk. “Jake Sim,” he said, dragging out his name with a knowing smile.

I stared at him for a second. Was he really going to play along with this? Did he seriously not mind being the target of my ridiculous antics?

♥︎ DAY 5 ♥︎

I was in front of my computer’s screen, the room was filled with the sounds of keyboards clicking and telephones ringing. Focusing on any type of work was impossible, all I could think about was him. I thought to myself that I should still try to set him up with someone else, Just get him interested in someone. I leaned back into my chair, my gaze following Jake who was at the water cooler. He was standing casually, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up just enough to show off his forearms. The way he moved—effortless, composed, yet somehow magnetic—was enough to make my thoughts spin out of control.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I flew up from my chair and headed towards his direction. “Hello, sir,” I said, politely. Oh suddenly I remembered what manners are…

He turned around his signature warm smile appearing the moment our eyes met. “Hey,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “Need a refill too?”

“Yeah, just a little,” I replied, but before I could move, he already took another cup. After he filled the other cup, he handed it to me. “Thank you, sir.” 

He huffed a laugh, “you know, the ‘sir’ ages me by a lot.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said with a soft laugh.

We both stood there, side by side, the silence almost comfortable but the tension between us thickening. Then I broke the silence, “You know, don’t you think Mira is cute?” I asked, trying to sound natural as I fiddled with my paper cup filled with water. “I mean, she’s very elegant. Charming. Professional as well, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded, listening intently, but I noticed him drifting his gaze lower. I froze, my breath catching as I saw his fingers carefully adjust the small cupid bow-and-arrow pendant on my necklace that had somehow gotten tangled. His touch was so gentle, almost like he was afraid to hurt it—or maybe afraid to hurt me. My heart skipped a beat as he carefully set it back in place, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow.

His focus was still on me, his eyes lingered on mine for a heartbeat longer than I expected. And when he spoke, his voice was so sincere, it made my chest tighten. “She’s okay,” he shrugged, “but she’s not what I’m looking for.” His gaze never wavered, locking with mine as if trying to make sure I understood every word, every feeling behind them.

-♥︎-

Later that day, I went to the restroom before heading home for the day. As I was walking towards my desk, I noticed a couple familiar candy wrappers on my desk with a sticky note next to them. They were my chocolate covered almonds, the same brand even. I pulled the sticky note and stared at the neat handwriting, the words so simple, but they made my heart flutter more than it should have. 

It simply read, enjoy. Again, not signed. 

My fingers lingered over the edges of the paper, tracing the strokes of his pen. I stuffed the sticky note into the drawer of my desk, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest. But even with it hidden away, the flutter in my chest didn’t go away. If anything, it only grew stronger. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I couldn’t let myself feel this way.

♥︎ DAY 7 ♥︎

It was almost the end of Monday, and I felt completely defeated. None of the tricks had worked. Not the cold, distant act, not the jealousy plan, not even trying to be completely gross—nothing. Every strategy I tried to reverse the effects of that damn arrow had failed. It was like Jake just couldn’t be swayed. I was beyond tired, drained in every way. I hadn’t even seen Jake all day, and that should’ve been a relief. but honestly, it instead felt like something was missing. Every time I passed his office, there was a strange ache in my chest.

By the time the clock finally struck five, I gathered my things, shoved them into my bag, and walked out of my office. Today was the last day to reverse the effect, I’m seriously fucked. 

As soon as I stepped outside, the sky opened up, and rain poured down in sheets. The cold wind cut through my jacket, and my already exhausted mind screamed at me to just hurry up and get home. Groaning, I fumbled with my purse, mentally preparing myself for the walk home. 

“don’t tell me you're walking home in this.” a voice called out from behind me, cutting through the sound of the rain.

I turned around, I saw Jake with his bag in one hand and an umbrella in another. His hair was slightly messy, but still looking incredibly soft. His blazer was draped over his arm, leaving him in his button down white shirt. I forced a laughed, “"It’s fine. I don’t live that far," I said, trying to downplay how miserable I felt. "Really, it’ll just take a minute."

His eyes told me didn’t seem convinced, though. “Let me give you a ride home,” he offered in a heartbeat, but I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine, sir. Really, I—”

Before I could finish my sentence, he interrupted, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to me. "Take my jacket at least," he insisted. As I hesitated to say no, he held up his blazer in front of me, the insides of the blazer facing me. I sighed in defeat– more like too exhausted to argue– and slid my arms into it while he held it for me. As I was fixing the collar, he gently pulled my hair out from underneath the blazer. His fingers traced my neck, leaving hot trails behind. I turned around to see strands of hair falling on his forehead. 

"Here, take this too. You will catch a cold." he muttered, handing me his black umbrella. “Thank you, really…” I said, flustered by the gesture. He flashed a warm smile, “anytime.”

without another word, he turned and ran toward his car, the rain pelting his back. As he reached his car, he paused and turned to wave at me. I watched him, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. He looked like a soaked puppy—wet, tousled, and far too endearing for his own good. It made my heart give a little thump.

"See you tomorrow!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the rain.

I waved back, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips. As I watched him get into his car and drive off, I had accepted the fact that he was in love with me. But that does not mean I will fall for him. Ever. 

Pulling the jacket tighter around me, the weight of his gesture still warms me. As I was walking in the opposite direction towards my apartment, I instinctively reached out for my phone and put my hands in his blazer’s pockets thinking it was mine. I frowned as I felt small wrapped spheres in the pocket. Pulling it out, I found a familiar sight: my chocolate almonds.

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head, despite the growing flutter in my chest. That idiot really was hopeless.

-♥︎-

A few weeks have passed after the arrow’s effect has indefinitely settled in. My cupid duties have been on pause for a while, but not the office job. Our Boss kept on giving me– and it seemed like it was only me– many different tasks to finish for this upcoming project that forced me to stay late, after my usual office hours. 

The office was nearly empty. The usual hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards had long since faded, leaving only the soft buzz of overhead lights. I leaned in my office chair with a sigh, rubbing my burning eyes from my screen. My documents were scattered around, words blurring together and losing their meaning. 

Despite all my attempts, my mind circles back to Jake. Guilt was eating me alive as I felt like I ruined his life, his love life. He was meant to fall in love with someone who can be with him, someone whose world aligned with his own. The guilt was so unbearable that I started avoiding him. I would turn to the opposite way whenever I sense he's nearby, I would be late for meetings on purpose so I could sit away from him, I would take the stairs so I don’t cross pathways with him in the elevator, I would make it seem like i get an important phone call each time I see him coming my way. I could see that it hurts him, but my remorse was overwhelming. Slowly but surely, his own attempts to speak to me reduced.

Even though his office wasn’t in my line of vision, I could sense his gaze on me from time to time. He was also still in his office, only his desk lamp was on, with him clicking away, very concentrated on his own computer. Whenever I stayed late at the office, Jake seemed to always be there too, leaving only us on our floor. He would never say anything to me, he wouldn't even step inside the shared workspace. He would stay in his office, but I could feel his presence from across the office. 

My eyes scanned over to the clock, 1:12 am. I took a deep breath and returned back to my screen. The sound of a foot creaking open made me stop reading a sentence midway. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His footsteps were slow, but purposeful as he made his way to my desk.

“You’re working way too hard.” Jake’s voice was softer than I expected, like he was choosing his words carefully, with his hands in his pockets. I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Before I could shut him down, he continued, “Do Cupids get paid overtime as well?”

My grip on my mouse tightened, my heart stilled. For a split second, I thought I misheard him. Surely the lack of sleep made me a little delirious. My eyes looked up at him before I could stop them, Jake had this knowing expression.

My stomach twisted in knots, my head is spinning, “I think you should head home, sir.” I dismissed, my eyes locking back to my screen with a thumping heart. God please tell me I’m imagining this…

He glanced down at the scattered notes on my desk before his gaze flickered back to me, “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jake said, his smile not reaching his eyes, “You can make people fall in love… but you don’t know what to do when it happens to you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to stay still, unreadable even though every nerve in my body was on high alert. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jake raised a brow. “Really? You have no clue what I’m talking about?”

“No clue.”

He let out a quiet exhale, his expression unreadable. A moment has passed of complete silence, I was praying that the earth’s crust would crack open and swallow me. 

“At first, I just had a feeling that something was up...” His voice wasn’t accusing or even angry, just observant. “Miss. Chungha slipped up and said something about how you ‘messed up’ the matchmaking…” the more he spoke, the more my chest tightened itself on my pounding heart. 

“And then,” he continued, watching me carefully, “I saw your open files on your desk a couple of times, with the names of couples you helped.” I winced, I should’ve been more careful.  

The fragile rawness of my soul felt like it was on open display. It felt like he had carefully taken apart every building block of my defense that i had built and was looking at what was is actually underneath.

The feeling of guilt emerges once again when I look at his sincere eyes. I felt like a deceiver and a liar, he had to know at this point, there was nothing left to hide. I sat up straighter than I already was, forcing my voice to stay even and failing miserably, “the love you feel for me isn’t real. I was supposed to matchmake you with someone—”

“I know.” he said it softly, with certainty.

I blinked, “what?”

Jake tilted his head slightly, watching my reaction as if he were giving me a moment to process it, a soft smile on his lips. “I know about the arrow, Y/N.” He said my name so gently it made my chest ache, my heartbeat pounded in my ears. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“However…” he said, leaning on a desk that was near mine, “i think the effect wore off faster than it should have. I think two days later I was feeling normal again.”

I closed my eyes to ease my beating heart, exhaustion and this deranged conversation was a dangerous mix at this hour,  “that’s impossible.” 

“If I had a choice,” he said, making me open my eyes and look up at him again, “I’d still want you.” He held my gaze before looking at my lips and then back into my eyes. 

I could no longer compute rational thoughts, or any thoughts at that. The world was spinning and steady all at once. Jake straightened himself and turned his heels towards the exit, “Don’t stay too late, okay?” his voice called out before he left, without facing him. 

He left me with my heart racing, feeling completely ruined. The weight of it all pressed down on me as tears fell down. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was making me cry– Jake finding out my sworn secret? Jake knowing I messed up on said secret job? or the fact that I have been feeling my powers slipping away? The thought of losing everything I had fought for because of my growing feelings was unbearable. My tears unraveled faster than my realisation that I actually fell for him.

-♥︎-

As if my life couldn’t be any harder, our Boss announced an emergency work trip across the country for a couple of client meetings, big ones at that. The kind that could define the next few months of the company’s future. Our trip was a haze for me, I stayed near either Chungha or Mira the entire time. My jake avoidance persisted despite the tension in the air, if i just act like none of this exists, it won’t affect me. 

Before I knew it, we were off the plane and checked into our individual hotel rooms. The hotel lobby had this muted hum of chatter and telephones ringing filling the space. As to not waste time, we were all immediately called down for the first client meeting. As I sat down, my B oss handed me a notepad with a pen, “please, take notes during the meeting.” I just nodded, no energy left in me to argue.

As usual, Jake was running the presentation. Though, this serious and composed attitude was a side of him that I hadn’t seen before. It caught me off guard, the way he stood at the front of the room, the projector illuminating his face as he explained the new project to the clients. His voice was steady, authoritative, and it was clear he was in his element. 

My notepad and pen sat in front of me, waiting to be used. But as the meeting progressed, I found my focus drifting from the content of the presentation to Jake. my eyes kept following his movements, how his hands gesture as he explained the key points, how his fingers occasionally adjusted his tie or brushed his hair back in that absent-minded way. The way his dark hair slightly tousled as he leaned forward, the little crease between his brows that appeared when he was deep in thought. In this room, in front of clients, he was assertive, and maybe even a little intimidating.

This was a stark contrast to the Jake who has been putting almond chocolates on my desk, or the one who always complimented my perfume choice of the day, or the one who leaves endless sticky notes at my desk. He was different, and it was… captivating.

I tried another attempt to focus on the presentation by scribbling down the client’s questions, what Jake was saying. The meeting continued, and Jake seemed to glide through it effortlessly. Every once in a while my mind would wander back to him, how easy it seemed for him to command the room with just his presence, how natural he was at all of this.

Soon enough, the meeting wrapped up. The clients were satisfied, Jake finished his presentation with a final handshake and brief thank-you to the clients. Our team packed up soon after, I raced to leave the suffocatingly hot room. The moment that our Boss gave us the green light that we can leave for the day, I beelined to the elevator, itching to just take off these stifling layers of clothes. 

Once I reached my hotel room, I started a cold shower immediately, letting the icy stream douse over my skin to cool the heat that had been building ever since the meeting. I needed to clear her head, to push away the fluttering thoughts that refused to leave my mind. As I stood under the water, I kept remembering how Jake moved, the sharpness in his gaze and how my body responded to his subtle but undeniable presence. How can someone look like a cute puppy one second then the hottest man alive the next?

After washing my hair and body, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in the hotel’s bathrobe. My skin was still tingling from the cold water, my face still flushed from my racing thoughts. I left the bathroom and tried to find my phone in the pile of mess I left before rushing in the shower. 

Soft knocking was heard from my door, making me stop my search. It must be one of the girls. Another series of knocks made me pick up my pace and rush over to the door. When I opened it, it was, in fact, neither of the girls. I locked eyes with Jake instead. He was only in a light blue button down shirt, the sleeves were rolled up. His hair was a little messy compared to how it looked in the meeting.

It took a moment for the both of us to register the situation, the ‘I’m only in a robe’ situation. Jake stood there, looking just as flustered as I felt, making me tug the robe tighter around my figure. His gaze quickly flicked downward to the floor, clearing his throat, “god, I’m sorry. I will come back lat-” 

“It’s alright, really.”

“I just need your notes of the meeting earlier,” he said, his eyes now looking at me. “Oh shit, I completely forgot,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. 

I went back into my room, trying to find my notepad and my phone now, “I swear I can’t find anything. The plane landing, then the meeting… it was all too fast.” I said as I rummaged from my stuff. Jake held the door open, watching me frankly running around the room. “I’m sorry, this is really unprofessional of me…” I uttered. As if professionalism has been common in my behavior these past months…

Jake stepped in my room, letting out a short laugh because of my state, “take it easy, I’m not in a rush.” he said, letting the door click shut behind him. After moving my sweater to the side, I found the notepad tucked under it. I got up on my feet and handed it to him, “here they are, I'm so sorry again…” 

“No need to apologise, hun,” he chuckled, taking the notes from hands. The nickname made my heart flip. Considering my current state, this was a really bad time for flirting.

Instead of just walking away or leaving the room, Jake comfortably opened them right there, standing at the door. He quickly scanned through them, his brow furrowing as he reread a few lines. He looked the same way he did in the meeting—so serious, so focused. His lips barely moved as he reread the notes, his entire body leaned forward in concentration. Every little thing he did—how his fingers brushed against the paper, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he concentrated—it all made my mind scream at me to stop looking, to stop thinking about him this way, but my body betrayed me.

“Your face is burning up,” he asked, his voice soft but laced with genuine worry. “Did you catch something from the plane ride?” 

Before I could react, Jake gently placed his hand on my forehead, then my cheeks, my jaw, his touch surprisingly tender. His hand lingered for a moment, trying to assess if my red face is because of a fever. The warmth of his skin was clashing with my ice cold shower earlier. He came a little closer as his hand cupped my face, still trying to see if I’m sick. 

I looked up at him, I probably looked dazed, “sir…” I finally said something, my voice was barely a whisper. My eyes involuntarily flickered to his pink lips.

“When will you get it that it's ‘Jake’ to you?” he said, his thumb moving from the side of my face to my lips, his touch sent shivers down my spine, his own eyes looking at my lips. The air between us thickened as he leaned in, letting our lips touch. 

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer to him. Each kiss was more urgent than the last. My fingers tangled in his now extremely messy hair, pulling him deeper. His cologne was stronger than ever. If I could memorise this feeling, if I could memorise how he tasted and felt, before it slipped away I would. There was no thought—only the desperation to feel more, as if this is our one and only chance to hold each other. 

I pulled back slightly, catching my breath. His forehead rested against mine, "for a Cupid," he murmured with a chuckle, "you're quite confusing." I couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, my fingers found the nape of his neck. 

Just as the distance between us closed again, a loud knocking echoed from the hotel door. “Y/N! Why aren’t you picking up your phone?” Chungha’s voice rang through the door, filled with concern and a touch of annoyance.

I froze, panic seizing me in an instant. "Oh no," my eyes wide with realization. "Jake—" I barely whispered, my mind racing as I quickly backed away from him. Jake immediately took a step back, his hand held mine, his face turning to confusion as he caught the urgency in my eyes. “I can’t be seen like this with my Boss,” I whispered to him urgently. 

We scanned the room, finding a hiding spot for him. I ended up grabbing his wrist, leading him to the closet near the door in a hurry. Without protest, I pushed him into the small space as he ducked into the closest with a chuckle, leaving me to try to regain control of the situation.

I rushed to the door and opened it just enough to reveal Chungha’s expectant face. "Hey, what’s going on?" she asked, her eyes darting over me as she stepped inside. I waved my hand frantically, trying to act casual. “Just came out of the shower,” I said, motioning to my robe that I was still wearing, that I was wearing while kissing our Boss.

 “Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, trying to distract her. Chungha raised an eyebrow, “I tried, but you weren’t answering. I wanted to order something, I wanted to see if you wanted anything.” She glanced around, stepping further into the room. Her attention was diverted, I could feel my heart pounding, the sound of Jake shifting in the closet just beyond the thin closet door.

I took a deep breath once Chungha was out of my line of vision, and then hurriedly, without thinking too much about it, shooed Jake out the closet. “Go, go, go!” I whispered urgently.

He smirked, “you’re cute when you panic." he commented, as if this was the right moment to do so. “Oh my god, i will kill you with my bare hands, go!” I whispered, pushing him out the door.  

“I'm hesitating between pizza and sushi. What do you say?” I heard Chungha’s voice call out as I clicked the door shut. I swear my hotel’s door looks like a revolving door.

“I'm fine with both!” I responded, trying to catch my breath. I leaned against the door for a second, pressing my palms to my flushed face, trying to ground myself. My heart was still racing, my skin still burning from his touch, and worst of all—my lips still tingled from the kiss.

What the hell was I doing?

-♥︎-

After many meetings and conferences that we were all forced to sit through, the familiar hum of the office was back—the ringing phones, the clatter of keyboards, the distant murmur of coworkers chatting by the coffee machine. Everything was the same. Except me.

I sat at my desk, blankly staring at my screen. I blinked, trying to focus on the words that are blurring together, but it was no use. I felt like a zombie, just so drained– not just physically, but in a way I couldn’t even describe.

The little magic I once felt at my fingertips was gone. I used to hear it, the universe’s quiet whisper, the way love threaded itself through the world like a melody only I could recognize. But now? Silence.

Jake noticed my changed humor. Of course, he did. He noticed the pile of untouched almonds on my desk that he left on desk, how I poked at my lunch instead of eating it, and how I barely even reacted when Chungha cracked a joke during their break. 

Chungha noticed, but she knew I wanted space, so she didn’t push. Everytime i would space out in my thoughts, she would put her hand in mine, kiss my hand ever so lightly before leaving me to it.

I would catch him staring– his brows drawn together in concern. I would frown back at him, feeling my chest bubbling with unreason frustration. I hate this. I hate the way he looks at me like I am slipping through his fingers, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. And most of all, I hated how much I felt, how much all of this hurts. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I wasn’t supposed to lose this part of myself. And yet, here I am. A complete mess without it.

I decided to go home early, my Boss just waved me off while on the phone, muttering a ‘whatever’ under his breath. If I had strength in me, I would have reacted to his rudeness, but I just quietly walked to my desk. Chungha watched me pack my purse, “heading out?” she asks, her eyes sympathetic. 

I weakly smiled back at her, “i will see you on monday, i promise,” 

“Lemme walk you home, you look pale,” she said, standing up from her seat and ready to put on her jacket. “No, stay. I will be fine. Plus, I don't know what’s up the Boss’ ass right now, but he won't appreciate both of us leaving,” 

Her shoulders slumped down, “alright, as you wish.” she said in defeat, pulling me in a tight hug before letting me leave. 

-♥︎-

The knocking at my door stirred me out of my nap. I groaned as I lifted myself off my couch, still in my office clothes. I was so tired that I just collapsed on the couch the moment I walked in. I pulled the thin blanket I used tighter around my shoulders as I made my way to my apartment’s door. 

The knock came again—gentle but insistent. I glanced at the clock on my wall, 11:45pm. No way it's Chungha… she would've come by earlier than this hour. My eyes and heart still feel heavy, the nap was not enough. I caught a glimpse of myself in my small hallway mirror, hair poking from every direction, puffy eyes, red face. With a sigh, I unlocked the door and used all the force I had left to open it.  

The moment it opened, I froze and my throat dried up.

Jake stood there, holding a basket in one hand and some leftover containers in the other. He was no longer in his office suit, instead he was wearing jeans, a simple shirt and a basketball hat, however his heavy signature Rolex is still on his wrist. His brows knitted together in concern the second he saw my face. 

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat, “I thought you were under the weather, so I made you some beef stew and cookies,” he continued, lifting the leftover containers slightly. I stare at him, and then at the food. 

Then, it just hit me all at once as tears filled my eyes. The fact that he’s here trying to fix something he never caused, or the fact he cared so much he cooked me food and dessert, or the fact that I have been unreasonably angry at him, all just made those tears spill over. 

“I… I can’t—” my voice broke, “I don’t know how to fix this. Any of this.”

Jake’s face shifted from confusion to alarm the moment he saw my tears. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked, set the food down as I let out a choked sob. The amount of crying I have been doing has been leaving my head pounding against my skull. 

“Everything. I just…” I trailed off, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. I felt pathetic, to be quite honest. He opened up his arms without hesitation, through my tears, I got closer to him and wrapped my arms around him, steading myself.  

“Oh, love…” he sighed after hearing another sob from me, his voice filled with nothing but warmth. Without a word, he guided me inside, shutting the door behind us. After setting the basket on the kitchen’s counter, his eyes landed on me again. I probably looked like hell, from the work clothes to the unkempt hair to the probably smudged makeup.

“Y/N…” his voice comforting but hesitant. “Talk to me.”

My throat tightened, not allowing me to speak. When he saw new tears threatening to come out, Jake inhaled, with a quiet murmur of, “come here,” he led me toward the couch. I didn’t argue. Didn’t think. All of those actions took too much energy. I just simply followed, letting myself collapse next to him on the couch.

The grief of losing a part of my identity, the exhaustion, the feeling of failure, the weight of everything—it all felt heavier than ever. I shifted slightly, curling up and resting my head on his lap. He didn’t flinch or hesitate, his fingers found my back, running slow, soothing circles on it. 

After a while, the apartment became calmer, the soft hum of the city could be heard outside my apartment window. Jake’s been quiet ever since, every so often you would only hear my sniffling. I let out a breath I have not realized I was holding.

“I’m no longer a Cupid,” I murmured, eyes staring blankly at the side of the small living room, face pressed up against Jake's chest. “And I don’t know what that means for me.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, his fingers never stopping their soft movements. “Well,” he said, amusement lacing his voice, “you could always be my retired Cupid.”

I huffed out something close to a laugh. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” he grinned. “Just means you get to sit back and let me do all the chasing. Nothing new.”

I giggled against his chest, hearing his heartbeat again once my laughter faded. “Can I be honest with you?” I asked hesitantly, looking up at him from my position.

“Always.”

I swallowed hard before I spoke up again, “I was… mad at you for a moment,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “For making me fall for you.”

He blinked, surprised, before suddenly laughing. “Wait—that’s why you were avoiding me? Shit, I thought you regretted the kiss.”

“That’s not the case.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Jake stared down at me, one brow raised and a smile slowly forming on his lips. I opened my mouth to backtrack, to save myself, but all that came out was a flustered, “I—I mean, it was—you were—”

he let out a full, warm laugh. “Oh my god,” I groaned, immediately burying my face back into his chest “I hate you.”

“You enjoyed it,” he repeated, smug now.

“Stop talking.” I whined, my voice muffled against his own laughter. 

-♥︎-

I walked into the office the next morning, my shoulders feeling much lighter. A warm smile spreads across my face as I greet my coworkers, noticing a slight rosiness in my cheeks. The bounce in my steps slowed down when I noticed a large bouquet on my office desk. 

“Always a special delivery for the Miss…” Chungha said, the bouquet completely blocked me from seeing her. I snorted a laugh at her comment before I stepped closer to the bouquet. I ran my fingers ever so slight over the soft petals of the pink roses, my heart doing an embarrassing little flip as I spotted a note tucked between them. Carefully, I unfolded the small card.

For my retired Cupid.

Unsigned. I huffed sharply with a smile, a mix of amusement and something warmer blooming in my chest. Instinctively, my gaze flickered upward—to the glass walls of his office. And, of course, he was already looking at me, probably saw my whole reaction. 

Jake didn’t even pretend to be subtle. His chin rested on his hand, smiling and eyes glistening with that same familiar puppy love. I rolled my eyes, a smile still on my lips, I pulled out my phone.

“For someone no longer under Cupid’s influence, you’re really not acting like it.” - “Me”, Delivered 30 sec ago

[after-witch]

The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x reader]

Synopsis: Shigaraki Tomura finds something at Overhaul’s base that’s worth taking.

Word count: 7000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon sex, abuse

It’s not that Tomura Shigaraki thought the base of the once-great–he tucks the once into his molars, savoring it–Shie Hassaikai would be teeming with life. It’s that he thought some of them might have the balls to stick around and fight for the remnants of their organization.

But they must have been paying real-fucking-close attention, because there wasn’t a trace of a living person left in the entire facility. Which was a shame–while killing some stupid underlings wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as destroying the hands of a fear-stricken Overhaul, it would still be a little fun.

Well. At least the rest of the League seemed to be having a decent time sifting through the hallways, the abandoned rooms. Finding things to take home or mock or both. 

The sights of overturned chairs and abandoned posts both sickened and thrilled him. Sickened because, really, what unloyal douchebags. Thrilled because it meant they were afraid–afraid of the League. Afraid of him.

They should be. It was only a matter of time before everyone else was, too. 

Most of the rooms are what they expected, minus any signs of existing life. There’s even some kind of hospital lab–what did that creepy asshole do in there, he wonders–amidst the various bunkers, a kitchen, odds and ends.

Still, there’s one room Shigaraki wants to find–wants to sift through himself, in case there’s anything worthwhile. More money would be nice. More vials, more secrets. More, simply put. 

“Think I found it.” Dabi stares at a door that’s so irritatingly obviously the door that Shigaraki doesn’t hesitate to shove his palm against it, watching it crumble into dust with something a bit like satisfaction. 

Unlike the other doors, plain grey things, this door was a sleek black metal. Probably with some fancy lock system that didn’t matter anymore.

And unlike the other rooms with their scattered papers and overturned chairs, with signs of messy life and abandonment, this room is really fucking perfect. Prim. Proper. Utterly disgusting, really, and Shigaraki is the first one to step in and sweep his hand across a side table lined with perfectly spaced vases and send them crashing to the floor.

Lovely.

“Don’t take anything yet,” he says, glancing at the others. “But tell me if you find something worthwhile.” 

There’s murmurs of agreement that mingle with a general sense of curiosity. He soaks in the feeling in the air–the triumph. The thrill of victory thrumming through everyone’s chests, no doubt, the same way it’s making his whole body tingle. 

Overhaul’s room is just as annoying as he is; it’s entirely expected. Immaculate. Through an open doorway, he can see a bedroom with perfectly pressed black sheets. No doubt in the closet were equally perfectly pressed clothing sets. Fucker probably had perfectly shined shoes, too. 

It’s all too satisfying to plop down in Overhaul’s chair and stick his boots, dirt and mud and blood flecking off the soles, onto the meticulously organized desk. There’s probably something important on there, but Shigaraki doesn’t mind if it’s got dirt (or a boot print) on it for later.

“What’s this door for, do you think?” Toga pokes–literally–at a closed door on the side of the room. 

In the beats of silence after her question, Shigaraki hears it–they all hear it: sound. From behind the door. Shuffling and scuttling. Footsteps–

Someone’s still here.

There’s a curling little thrill inside his stomach as he stands and makes his way to the door. Toga is mid-way asking about looking for the key inside Overhaul’s desk when Shigaraki places his palm on the wood and disintegrates it with his hands. 

He expected an underling’s office. Maybe a second-in-command that had yet to show his face, stationed in some side office next to Overhaul. Probably someone just as organized, by choice or by command.

He doesn’t expect a bedroom. Not just a bedroom, actually, but one that is so clearly not Overhaul’s living space that it’s a bit disorienting. Sure, it’s got that same sort of annoying tidiness as Overhaul’s office and the glimpse of his bedroom. 

But it’s… prettier. Softer. Touches here and there, that place it distinctly away from Overhaul himself. A soft pink comforter with matching pillows. Watercolor paintings taped to the wall. A bookshelf with spines that he vaguely recognizes–some light novels and mangas, fantasies, romances, all pinks and pastels. 

And in the center of the room, a table with some scattered papers, an overturned chair… 

Like someone had heard they were coming and bolted.

There’s only one place for someone to go, and that’s the only other door remaining in the room. He gestures for the rest of the League to stand by as he watches the door turn to ash.

Behind the door is a bathroom, immaculately cleaned, with a toilet room and then beyond it, a room with a tub–and inside that tub, no doubt bleach-cleaned like mad, is you. 

Cowering, of course. Wearing a pretty white dress with pink flowers embroidered all over it–you’re all flounces and frills. Even from the doorway, he can see you trembling, can see your eyes all wide, pupils blown in fear. 

Staring at him like a victim, like a doe. Like some pretty little thing in way over your head.

And you are, aren’t you? You’re like some fish all flopped out of the water, gasping for breath on the sand.

It’s irritating, really. 

“Who are you?” He asks, none too nicely.

He sees your lips press together, and thinks, all instinct: haughty bitch.

But then he reconsiders. The pieces are put together link by link. A pretty little thing kept in a room adjacent to Overhaul’s private office, wearing nice clothes, given nice things…

“You’re Overhaul’s squeeze?”

You furrow your eyebrows, like you’re thinking way too hard. He might add “stupid” to his list of descriptors–doe, sweet, scared. Stupid.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Oh, you are sweet. You’ve got a soft, trembling voice to match your shaking form.

“His girlfriend,” Dabi drawls from behind them. The rest of the League is watching, craning their necks, eager (or indifferent) to see where this goes.

“No,” you say, then seemingly correct yourself. “Y-Yes. I… we’re…” Everything seems to confuse you, and you pull your arms tight across your chest. “Where… is he?”

Shigaraki doesn’t hide his grin. “Oh, he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

And then, odd thing you apparently are, you take a breath in. Almost in relief, he thinks. You stand up and take an unsteady step out of the tub–he finds that he likes that. Likes the way you try to straighten up a little, despite being unable to look him in the eye.

“When is he coming back?” You keep looking to the side, and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “Did he send you?”

Shigaraki’s lips twitches. “You ask too many questions.”

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, then. And he finds he likes that, too. Likes the way you look like some sort of bizarre doll in this bunker of Overhaul’s, some little treat he left behind. 

And left behind you were–because there’s no way in hell Overhaul will be able to get you out of here himself. 

“He won’t be coming back,” Shigaraki says, easily enough. “Ever.” 

And oh, you finally look right at him and what is this? Something that looks like joy in your eyes. 

Shit, maybe you aren’t as annoying as you seem.

“Then I…” You swallow, and there’s a crack of a smile on your lips. “I can go home now?”

Go home? Ah. Another piece clicks together. Not a girlfriend, then. A toy; a kidnapped one, anyway. Overhaul wouldn’t be the first creep to resort to kidnapping to get a partner.

“He kidnapped you?” There’s no pity in his tone, and he hopes you aren’t looking for it, because you won’t find it with him. He just wants the confirmation.

You nod, looking down at the floor again. “Yes. Um. And he… I’ve been kept here a while, so…”

While your words drift away, his mind drifts, thinking of the souvenirs from this bunker that the League’s got stuffed in their bags. Remnants of Overhaul’s reign. He ought to take something besides that fucker’s hands. 

And aren’t you the perfect trophy? Some doll that Overhaul wanted and took, kept here in this stuffy bunker. You probably haven’t even seen sunlight in ages. All pretty and soft and maybe stupid, by choice or force.

Why not? He’s earned it. He has a right to anything that shitbag left behind.

Even you–especially you, with your trembling hands and flouncy dress. He thinks about the watercolors on the walls and wonders what happened if you got paint on this dress, or any other; Overhaul probably kept you in the same types of frilly things day after day.

He might, too. Or not. He doesn’t even know what he wants with you, really. He might have fun with you, might just let you go, might just keep you until you’re boring. It doesn’t matter. There’s no sense in plotting so far ahead when the real thrill is in the act of taking what he wants. And right now, in this moment, he finds that he wants you. 

It’s Shigaraki’s turn to crack a smile, but there’s not much joy to be found in it.

“How would you like to live somewhere else?”

It is, of course, a rhetorical question. 

–

What happened in between? You can’t be too sure; the memories are all blurs and fogs, snatches of conversation–a girl complimenting your dress and someone asking if you had any injuries, if he hurt you–and overwhelming noise. 

It was easy to forget how quiet your life had been, when confronted with the outside world. 

Maybe that’s why it’s all fuzzy. Your mind or your body or both went into some sort of shock, maybe, in between the bathroom to the truck to the–wherever this is. Not a bunker, exactly, like where Overhaul kept you. 

It’s a bedroom, that seems obvious enough. A messy one. The man–Shigaraki Tomura, he’d told you–dumped you in here and said simply, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before leaving. The door is surely locked, though you don’t have the nerve to try it. Where would you go, if you were brave enough to run?

It would be stupid, besides, and he told you not to do anything stupid. You’re good at following orders. Well, now you are; it took training. Will this Shigaraki Tomura want to train you? What is he going to do with you, after all? 

The question makes you cringe. 

“What am I to do with you?” Overhaul–Kai, he insisted–would ask you, when you did something wrong. The question always carried with it the thread of being remade. Literally. The threat of his hands on you and being blown to bits and put together the way he wanted. So you answered his questions by remaking yourself from the inside out; it was gentler, that way.

Overhaul–Kai?--was… gone. Dead, maybe? They didn’t say. Shigaraki told you that he wouldn’t be coming back for you. Someone else in the truck had quipped–”He’s got his hands full”--which made one person snicker, then everyone else laugh. You didn’t know why it was funny, and you didn’t want to know.

Maybe you’ll be bait. Or ransom. Or maybe he wants you to…

On this messy, unfamiliar bed, your fingers begin to pull at the dingy, faded comforter. The threads come out with a bit of work from your fingernails, and it’s satisfying, to yank on them, as you contemplate.

Maybe he wants you to… 

You know what villains might do to people they kidnap. You’ve read your romance novels. Though Overhaul took some of them away once he’d realized what they were about. Still. The thought of that is–scary, sending tingles down your back.

Overhaul never touched you like that. Sure, he looked at you sometimes. When you were asleep but when you were awake, too. Told you to stand still and ghosted his fingers just above your nightgown, until he’d pull himself away and scrub his hands raw in the bathroom.

You don’t suppose this Shigaraki Tomura will be squeamish. 

As if on cue, the door swings open, and your sort-of-rescuer-but-maybe-also-kidnapper tosses a pre-warmed bowl of noodles on the bed. They bounce against the plastic wrap, and you can see the artificial color sticking to the condensation against the plastic. A pair of chopsticks lands next to the bowl. 

“Dinner,” he says, before plopping down on an upholstered chair shoved into the corner of the room. He tears the plastic off his own bowl, and begins to eat unceremoniously. 

You scooch back on the mattress, your clean, full skirt feeling dingier by the minute on the mattress. That was dinner? The meals that Overhaul made you come to mind–not just the meals, but the dinner itself.

Dinner was meant to be at 7pm sharp. At your table, which you’d cleaned and cleared. Dinner was meticulously thought out, he told you, each element designed to give you the best nutrition possible. Protein, fat, fiber, carbs; vegetables, lean meat, rice. Sometimes a bit of chopped sweet potato as a treat. 

This–this was certainly not appropriate. And to eat it, where exactly? On the mattress? Something tingles in your chest, imagining all the germs seeping into the plastic, settling onto the noodles. 

The noodles themselves were a problem, though. 

You clear your throat. Shigaraki doesn’t notice. You clear it louder, and he sighs.

“What?”

You poke a finger at the bowl.

“I’m not allowed to eat that.” 

As if he should know. 

He blinks at you. 

“Eat it, or don’t. I don’t care.” 

Then he goes back to eating his own meal, and you’re left with something dull inside your chest. It’s not right–the meal. Or the setting. Or any of this, really. 

Some part of you, a selfish part, wishes you were back in your bed inside your clean room; wishes that you were still waiting, colored pencils and paper in hand, for him to get back and continue on with your orderly, if captive, existence. 

Well, if wishes came true, none of this would have happened in the first place. 

You can’t bring yourself to touch the noodles; the thought of them makes your stomach ache. Overhaul (Kai, you remind yourself) would be able to tell you all that was wrong with a meal like that, and you try to envision what he’d say. It becomes too tiring so you simply pull your legs up and wait to find out what this Shigaraki wants.

The answer must come, you think, when he tosses his bowl in the trash bin and shrugs off his coat. It smells of sweat and dust, or is that him? 

Without warning, he flops down on the mattress, almost sending you flying off the side. He snickers, and you feel warmth flush your chest as you try to recollect yourself. But even that brief loss of dignity gets lost when you realize what must be coming now. 

What villains do, when they take someone away.

Will it hurt? Will it take long? How often will he do it?

He props himself up on his elbow and you can feel him staring at you. Sizing you up, probably. Deciding on how and when he’ll take you. The realization makes your heart begin to race, and cold sweat beads against the back of your neck.

When will he do it? Now? Now? 

When you hesitantly glance at him, you can see he is sizing you up–looking at your dress and your socked feet and the way you’ve pulled your knees up to your chest. There’s a flash in your mind of him ripping it off, shoving you down onto the mattress, and then–then. 

But it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t move towards you, despite his leering look. 

Instead of hovering over you and pinning you down to the mattress, he simply scoffs. Then he sits up and grabs a game controller, turning on a system set-up at the far end of the room.

“Be quiet,” he says, “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to mess up this level.”

Eventually, as your heart begins to settle, you stare at the cooling bowl of microwaved noodles on the mattress. 

Your stomach growls.

But this would make you sick; that’s what Overhaul said. 

And he’d done many things to you, but he never lied.

–

Hunger can be overcome. It can be uncomfortable, true; but you’d dealt with it before. During the days when you hadn’t been good enough yet, and Overhaul refused you anything but water, until you’d given in and behaved yourself.

So it’s not the growing hunger that’s bothering you now, as the day wears on and it must surely be nighttime.

It’s the sleepiness.

Hunger can be ignored–but this? It’s hard to ignore the way your head is starting to slap hard against your knees as you begin to micronap, unable to keep awake no matter how many times you pinch your flesh. 

It’s not a gesture you’ve had to do in so long–bedtime was, well. Bedtime. A set time with set things to do, all designed–or so Kai told you–to get you the best possible sleep so your body could rest and heal. (Heal from what, he never said.)

So sitting on a mattress and feeling your body jerk in desperation as it tries to get some sleep is something new. Something difficult. 

If this Shigaraki Tomura notices, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are glued to the news, a grin on his face, his palm slapping his thigh at the action. 

The news has him enthralled, so your fights to stay awake are probably not even on his radar. Which means you’ll have to bring it up yourself–that question that’s been pulling at you since you realized it must be well past afternoon and into the night.

“Excuse me…” You say, voice hoarse. You clear it, then realize you don’t know exactly what to call him. He gave his name, but that didn’t mean you were supposed to use it. So when you continue, you err on the side of caution. “Excuse me, sir?”

At this, he finally seems to remember that you’re in the room. He waves a hand at you, vague irritation crossing his features. “Just call me Shigaraki.” Instantly, his gaze turns back to the TV. 

Your tongue feels heavy as you swallow. “Oh. I’m sorry. Um. Shigaraki?”

You can see him push his tongue against the side of his cheek, his eyes still not leaving the TV. There’s some sort of press conference footage playing, though you can’t quite focus on the words. 

“What?” he says, almost a grumble. “Don’t ask for something to eat. I already gave you dinner. Eat it cold, if you’re hungry.”

Oh, that. You’d set the bowl on the floor once you’d decided that it was best not to eat. It would have been awful if it got knocked over and the sauce seeped through the plastic rim, after all. Although given the status of the mattress, maybe it was generous to care about additional stains.

“It’s not–” Your voice is too soft, in this room, with the mess and the TV.  You try to speak up, something you haven’t done in so long. “I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know…” Directly asking things is no longer in your nature, and your fingers find themselves playing with the hem of your skirt. 

The sound from the TV stops abruptly, and you flinch. He’s muted it. He turns fully to you now, irritation written on his face. “Can you just spit it out already?” 

A shuddering breath escapes your chest as you force the question out: “I just–I wanted to know, what time am I going to bed?” 

You do not ask the rest, though surely it must be a given: What time are you going to bathe me, what nightgown would you like me to wear, do you prefer to brush my teeth for me or can I do it myself, am I sleeping on your bed or somewhere else?

He blinks at you, not for the first time today. “Whenever you bother to fall asleep.” The words come out slow, like you’re some inept child. 

You’re starting to feel like one. Because the words hit you, the way he intends them, all hurtful and condescending. But you can’t make sense of them. Go to bed whenever? Without anything to prepare you? It doesn’t register–you don’t know what he means.

And you tell him so, as plainly as you can: 

“I don’t understand.”

He rolls his eyes, and a pit inside your stomach seems to open up, tossing each irritated expression into it and making you feel worse. 

“What’s there to understand?” He waves at the mattress. “Pick a side and go to sleep. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” 

He turns back to the TV, clearly not interested in any further conversation, and turns the sound back on. Without so much as an order or command or at the very least, an expectation from you.

What a strange man. What a strange place. What a strange world.

There is, at first, a temptation to tell him. To explain what your needs are–why you can’t simply go to sleep. But then come the thoughts about punishment. He’d already gotten annoyed with you for simply asking. What would he do if you, bold thing, insisted on it?

And so, on this new first day of what is apparently the rest of your life, you’re left to curl up on the farthest edge of the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a headache lingering at the back of your forehead, and hunger in your stomach, and it’s all so wrong.

If Kai were here–and he’s not, and you can’t deny that you don’t hate that fact even as your mind jolts from the strange turnabout the day has taken–this wouldn’t be happening. But this new one… this Shigaraki, maybe it’s too much to expect from him right now.

He just took you, after all, and it sounds like whatever group he belongs to was involved in something major today. A long day–a hard day. So he must still be thinking on the rules, how to properly manage you.

You need to be managed, after all. That is one thing you learned from Kai.

It’s surprising to you that you’re even able to fall asleep without everything that ought to be done. Without the ritual of the bath, without being handed your nightgown while Kai turns around and swears he won’t look, without your hair being tended to, without being tucked into bed…

Exhaustion doesn’t seem to care about rituals. 

So sleep, you do; and when it takes you, it takes you hard, dragging you into a heavy slumber while the TV plays on. 

–

When you wake up, it’s morning–and you are alone. 

There’s a bright light streaming in through the windows and it’s a wonder you can stand up at all, with your muscles aching and the world itself feeling topsy turvy, as you fumble for the shabby curtains with one hand over your eyes. They rip a little as you yank them over the window, but at least you don’t feel blinded now. 

There hadn’t been windows, before; in the bunker, that is. With Overhaul–with Kai. Just the overhead lights at first, and then eventually, a pretty lamp with a soft lilac-colored shade. A gift, for behaving; for being trustworthy enough to control your own light. It was nice to be able to turn on the light when you had to pee in the middle of the night, at least. 

There are no lilac lamps here. Only an overhead light that, when you peer closely, appears to have a smattering of dead flies resting inside the lamp shade. The thought brings bile to your empty stomach, and it growls in retaliation.

You hadn’t eaten in… was it almost two days, now? 

Maybe Shigaraki was getting your breakfast. That seemed right–that he’d sleep off yesterday’s havoc and spend the morning organizing his rules for you. What you should eat, and wear, and your schedule.

But what should you do in the meantime? 

You stand, stretching your worn-out muscles, and take stock of the room he’s placed you in. It’s not clean, that’s for sure. Messy, to say the least. Used clothes and food wrappers are strewn about, and the whole room has a terrible sense of neglect.

If your room isn’t clean, how could you hope to get anything done?

Kai had told you that, when you argued about his expectations for your room. Everything ought to be perfectly tidy, he’d said. And after a while, how could you disagree? It only made sense. When your room was organized, your thoughts could be organized. When your thoughts were organized, everything else simply fell into place.

And maybe–maybe that’s the trick, here. Shigaraki left you alone in the morning, because he wanted to see what you’d do. Wanted to see if you’d pick up on a classic rule–keep things clean and tidy–without being told.

Before, Kai needed to train you–but now? Now, you knew the game. 

A smile, faint and uncertain though it is, crawls across your face. 

You’d pass this test with flying colors.

–

He’s still not sure what to do with you. The thought comes to him, faintly and then stronger, as he gets closer and closer to the bedroom where you’re being kept. It’s one thing to take what you’re due, another to decide how to manage it–how to manage you. 

It’s a bit like taking in a pet, he realized over the night. You’ve got to be fed and watered and all that. Clothed, if he feels like it. He’s not sure if he does. And if you’re too much trouble, well. It might not be worth the thrill of taking what was once Overhaul’s, in the end.

He almost expects you to still be asleep when he opens the door, but as soon as he steps in, he can see you’re up and about and–

Cleaning? 

The room is almost unrecognizable. He doesn’t bother much with tidying. Not when there are far more important things going on. Yet you’ve picked up every bit of trash, folded all the dirty clothes he’s thrown here and there… even made the bed. You clearly haven’t noticed him open the door, because you’re just finishing up the folding, humming a bit to yourself. 

He can’t decide if he likes it or not. 

“What are you doing?” 

You flinch at his sudden words, and there–he likes that; the fear, the flinching, it’s familiar. He can work with it. He deepens his frown, just to see what you do. 

You swallow, timidly folding your hands in front of you. All proper and prim. 

“I–I thought you wanted me to clean.”

He snorts. He doesn’t know what he wants you to do, exactly, but “tidy up the bedroom” probably wouldn’t be at the top of the list. 

“I didn’t tell you to clean.” And maybe it comes out snarkier than he intends to be, but so what? He’s allowed to be an ass, if he wants. 

Your hands wring together, and your gaze flits down to the floor.

“But I thought… I thought…” You seem to struggle with the words, your voice getting higher, more anxious. You’re like a bird, he thinks, one afraid to fall from some carefully constructed nest in a tree. There’s an instinct to crush you until those brittle bones break–and another instinct, too. One that makes him want to scratch. 

“I thought it was… a test.”

What. 

“A test? Are you stupid, or something?” 

When you don’t answer, just bring your top teeth over your lip and wring your hands tighter, he can’t help the almost cruel warmth that spreads in his chest. This–this is more familiar territory, he thinks. 

He wonders, too, how often Overhaul made you look like that; how often he might want to make you look like that in the future. 

“What did that freak do to you, anyway?” Curiosity mixes with his existing annoyance, and it clearly takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking about Overhaul.

“Overh–” You catch the words in your mouth. “Kai,” you say, and the way you say it so sweetly feels rehearsed–and gross. “He didn’t do anything.” You shake your head, like you’ve said something awful. “No! I mean. He did everything.” He watches your throat bob as you swallow. “He taught me how to be better.”

“Better,” he says, the word coming out all slow and sticky and thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Yes,” you say, staring down at your feet. Your fingers pick at the hem of your nightgown. “How to be… organized.” You seemingly ignore his snort. “How to be clean. Things like that.”

“Why?” He can’t help the sneer in his voice, even if he’s dimly aware that he’s not fully committed to tearing you down just yet. “Were you a dirty girl?”

You frown and swallow and shake your pretty head. “No, of course not. He made me take a bath or shower twice a day.”

So much for teasing. You’re too stupid–or naive, whether it was natural or beaten into you by Overhaul–to get it, apparently.

He’s not sure how long he stares at you. Long enough that you stop worrying at the floor and start worrying at him, your eyes all wide and anxious and getting glossier by the minute. Soon enough, he’s sure tears will start spilling down.

He stops you before you start sputtering out apologies–and teardrops.

“That’s not what I meant.” A finger goes to his neck, scratching. The white dress, the teary eyes, the way you can’t really keep his gaze… it’s annoying. It’s endearing. Both are equally tiresome. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” he says, finally. An end to the conversation, he hopes. Then he digs into the pocket of his coat and tosses its contents at you–a wrapped up egg sandwich someone pilfered a while ago, shoved into the shared fridge and forgotten amidst their recent win. “Here. Breakfast.”

You barely catch the sandwich (your reflexes sure are shit, he thinks; you’d die in the wild) but the way you simply stare down at it, words apparently caught behind your teeth, brings irritation to the forefront again. 

“What?” He almost bites the words out. “Not good enough for you?” Maybe Overhaul fed you on silver platters or something equally ridiculous. 

Perhaps it’s his tone, or maybe you’re just that eager to get him un-pissed at you, but you manage to unstick your tongue and stumble out something akin to an explanation.

“I’m not allowed to have white bread. It’s too processed.” You turn the sandwich over, inspecting. “And there’s mayo… it’s got too much oil, and–”

“Not allowed.” The word becomes a sneer. “Who are you to tell me what I’m allowed to give you?” Captives–that’s what you are, at bare minimum, at least–aren’t usually so damn bold. 

And oh, the way your face seems to fall, the way your mouth perks around your words like a damn heroine in a novel.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean–it’s that–” The wrapper on the sandwich crinkles as your fingers tighten. It makes his chest tighten, too. How stupid. “It’s not safe. It’ll make me sick. Unhealthy. Kai said so–”

So that’s why you turn up your nose at food? Overhaul, of all fucking people? 

“Kai says,” he repeats, mocking your voice, the soft lilt of it, the way each word mimics the pitiful wringing of your hands. “Kai,” he continues, “isn’t here. So who gives a flying fuck what he said?”

He doesn’t wait to see what you say or what you do. He leaves without another word–he’ll relax somewhere else, without you and your pitiful self to think about–and doesn’t see you sink down onto the mattress. He doesn’t see the way you grip the sandwich until your fingers smoosh into the bread.

He doesn’t see the way you eventually, and oh it takes so long, peel back the wrapper and take a small and slow bite.

–

It’s only been a few days, and maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems like your stomach is finally beginning to settle. The food isn’t–it isn’t right, it isn’t healthy. That’s what your brain tells you, what your mouth wants to parrot. But you’re so hungry and–this is what Shigaraki wants you to eat.

So you should do what he says. You think. It’s still debatable, still churning around in your head. Kai taught you what was best, and now you’re here, where what was “best” seems to be entirely pointless. 

You’re still digesting a microwaved breakfast that definitely wouldn’t have passed Kai’s examination when the door opens. Shigaraki enters, as he always does, without bothering to acknowledge you. 

He’ll probably sit down and eat something for himself. Or start texting someone–the other people in his group, maybe. Sometimes he unwinds with video games. Or naps.

But instead, he approaches you, boots thudding on the hardwood floor. They stop right in front of you and you have just enough time to think about all the germs on the bottom of the soles before he speaks–

“Hey.”

You look up. His face is twisted today, nose screwed over, mouth turned down in a frown. You did something wrong, probably. But what? You ate breakfast, and didn’t even complain about it being wrong today. That was a good step. So what–

“You stink.”

Oh. 

Shame curls in your gut with the half-digested breakfast. It’s… true. You haven’t washed for days, and you know you’ve been sweating. Shigaraki doesn’t open the windows and the room isn’t exactly a bastion of fresh air, anyway. 

He jerks his thumb at the bathroom door. It’s a far cry from your bathroom back home–back with Overhaul. Messy, dirty; the hand towel hasn’t been changed since you’ve been here. And you doubt that Shigaraki cleans the toilet as nicely as Kai did (well, as Kai’s cleaner did, anyway) so the tub can’t be much better.

Still. Still, it’s what he wants, and that’s what should be done–and it would be nice to get under some hot water and have the sweat and grime and overall feeling of awfulness scrubbed away. 

So you dutifully follow him into the bathroom, note a change of clothes that he’s dropped into the open sink, and then–as you should–you stand in front of the tub and wait for him to undress you, so that he can give you a bath. 

But instead of ordering your arms up or having you sit on the toilet so he can peel off your socks, he simply turns away and starts to leave.

“Wait–” You can’t stop the word from coming out, can’t stop the way you stupidly reach out a hand.

He does stop. He turns around, face questioning, irritation starting to creep onto his features.

“What?” He tilts his chin towards the tub. “There’s shampoo and soap in there. Some random brand Toga stole. Is it not good enough for your highness, or what?” There’s a bit of a jeer in his tone that makes you want to sink into the floor. 

“It’s not that,” you force out. “They’re–they’re fine. It’s just…” And your fingers fiddle with your dress, the fabric feeling more thin and frayed from all your worrying it. “Aren’t you going to draw my bath?”

Because that’s how it goes. Kai draws the bath. Kai undresses you. Kai tests the water, and tells you to get in. Then he cleans you or, if you’ve been exceptionally good, lets you do it yourself while he gives the orders.

The jeer in his tone becomes a snort, an almost sneer on his lips. “You really are a princess, you know that? You can draw it yourself. You’re not that stupid.”

And oh, the way your heart pounds. He’s upset, and you’re upset, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s throwing away the natural order of things or if it’s because you’d like him to be nicer to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel too loud, in the bathroom, trapped in the small space with you and Shigaraki. “It’s that–Kai says I don’t clean myself up right. So he does it for me. Tells–tells me what to do, if he doesn’t scrub me himself.” 

Your fingers clench hard against your fists–and then harder, when you see the emotions registering on Shigaraki’s face. One emotion in particular–disgust. Disgust, yes, and it makes you feel awful. Makes you feel dirty and stupid, and everything Kai said you were, when you hadn’t yet listened. You can’t look at his expression anymore, so you stare at the floor. At your socked feet, at the dirt between the tiles.

It’s the floor that you see when you hear him sigh, when he steps further into the bathroom and practically pushes past you to turn the water on.

Your heart speeds up–is he going to?--but as if he’s read your mind, he crosses his arms. “I’m just filling the tub for you. You can wash yourself. You remember how to do that, right?” And maybe it’s the way the question seems earnest, no longer weighted down with a mocking tone, that makes you feel better. Not stupid–not dirty. 

So you nod, and smile–just a little. Just to show your appreciation. 

“Good.” He grabs something–a towel–from a hook on the wall and tosses it at you. He glances away when he speaks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, or if there’s really a faint hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Just… shout out when you’re done and I can help you out or whatever. If you need me to.”

He glances back at the tub, filling rapidly with hot water.

As if to burn away the flush on his cheeks, his voice turns jeering again. “I’ll leave once I turn it off. Don’t take forever in here, either, princess.” 

Jeering, sure; but with something nicer mixed in, something like a flush underneath it all that makes your skin tingle. 

Maybe Shigaraki wasn’t so bad after all. 

–

Overhaul had clearly trained you and fucking hell, you really need to be untrained. 

It’s this simple fact that helps Shigaraki decide what to do with you–that is, he’s going to keep you.

Dropping you outside would be like putting some pampered house pet on the streets–you’d be gobbled up. And if you happened to go to the police before you were snatched up by some back-alley criminal, it would complicate things, anyway.

Besides–you’re… endearing. In a way. He likes the way you ask for his permission, likes the way you stammer and stumble over your words when you get anxious.

You’re like a pet. A pet project, that’s what you’ll be. He’ll untrain all the weird fucked up things that Overhaul taught you, and make you into something better.

Overhaul had his kinks, that’s for sure. And while he’s not going to deny that there’s something really fucking hot about imagining you being his mindless doll, letting him bathe you and eating exactly what you’re told and waiting for him to come home in a pretty white dress… it’s simply not very fun.

Or practical, truth be told. 

And more importantly–

He wants you to be his in the right way. He’s not some replacement for Overhaul, some step-in that you’ll simply pivot to because he’s there. 

Sloppy seconds aren’t his style. 

Overhaul is nothing now, a useless, handless fuckup who will rot away and forever regret tangling with him. You should forget about him, forget about what he taught you, how things were with Overhaul. (He makes a mental note: Train you to stop saying ‘Kai,’ especially so damn softly, so damn sweetly. Something Overhaul meticulously taught you to do, no doubt.)

In the end, Shigaraki is better than that failure–so you need to be better than the pet Overhaul created, too. 

–

It’s not exactly clear why Shigaraki wants to keep you–but he does keep you. And he gives you something Overhaul had taken away from you: he gives you choice. 

So much choice. Too much choice, maybe. Foods aren’t off-limits anymore, and Shigaraki doesn’t scold you for any awful table manners. Maybe because you never eat at a table. You’re allowed to watch TV, and even tentatively take up an extra controller to try (and fail) at the video game he’s currently playing.

He even–and it’s got your stomach in knots, as you make your way down the hall–lets you out of the room. To get some air and, today, meet other people. You’re meeting the League, the people you met (so to speak) on the day Shigaraki took you. 

“It’ll be better if you get to know everyone,” he says, almost muttering. “In case someone needs to keep an eye on you while I’m gone for a while.” 

The thought of Shigaraki leaving you for that long, too long, almost makes you feel sick, but you try to force it away. 

“But you won’t be somewhere else too often, will you?” The question comes out too soft. Something else you’re working on; he told you to talk louder. Less like a rabbit, more like yourself. Whoever you were before all this.

Shigaraki glances back at you, something unreadable in his expression. Did you say something wrong, or not? You’re almost bold enough to ask, when he simply snorts and turns around, gesturing for you to enter an open doorway where you can hear chatter already sifting through. 

But you stop at the threshold. At the sound, at the thought of being amongst a group of people. Eating whatever you wanted was one thing; but talking to a whole gaggle of others? 

“Are you sure…” The words are soft, but you can’t help it. It’s easier to slip back into that place from before; to be soft and quiet and let someone else take over everything for you. “Are you sure you want to let me talk to other people? Wouldn’t it be better if I only talked to you?”

And now, you did say something wrong, because his expression twists. His nose scrunches and his lip curls up, like he’s thinking about something unpleasant. “No,” he says. “That’d be weird.”

“Oh.” Something dull hits your stomach. Embarrassment and disappointment, a terrible mixture. “Sorry.” You swallow, and add, quickly. “I don’t want to be weird.”

“Too late.”

The two of you turn your head inside the doorway in time to see someone with a burnt face and dark hair watching you, arms folded, a teasing grin on his face.

It is also just in time to see a young girl playfully smack the air next to his arm–”Dabi, don’t be a jerk! She’s not weird, she’s cute!” 

There’s barely any time to decide if this is a compliment or not, before Dabi–that must be the man with the burnt face, after all–shrugs and grins. “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. The fact that the grin is edged by staples doesn’t help. 

The rest of the group is sprawled about the room. On a sofa, on the floor. There’s a card game going on. Drinks on the table, along with takeout. The room looks like it was once some sort of office break room, complete with a microwave and dinged-up fridge. 

The conversations that must have been going on are silent now, and you’re left standing awkwardly next to Shigaraki in the doorway. He nudges you forward, then takes a step out the door. There’s a strong urge to grab his sleeve and ask if you can go back to the room, but he begins walking down the hallway and doesn’t give you the chance.

“Um,” you say, and his footsteps in the hall stop for a moment. “Nice to… meet you?”

There’s a moment before there’s a burst of laughter, and the girl–Toga, you’ll learn later–grabs your hand and pulls you inside the room.

–

That night, Shigaraki climbs into bed with you and instead of turning over and keeping to his side of the mattress, he slots himself against your back for the first time.

The freeze response comes naturally, as your heart speeds up and your breath seems to slow down. Overhaul did this, too. When he thought you were sleeping, though.

Shigaraki knows you’re up and his fingers, pinky jutting to the side, ghost over your clothed side, caressing your hip. His fingers skitter underneath your shirt and rest against your stomach, before trailing up, bringing the fabric with it.

He cups your chest and you think the sound you make must startle him, because he pulls away without a word. But if he’s mad, he doesn’t tell you. Instead he stays pressed against your back, breathing.

Why was he still in bed? 

“Don’t–” And you stutter out the next words quickly, because you’re not telling him to stop touching you. You wouldn’t dare. But– “Don’t you… want to wash your hands now?”

Something between irritation and curiosity lodges itself in his tone. “Why would I wash my hands?”

You lick your lips, and fight the urge to turn around in bed and look at him while you speak. Sometimes, when you told him about–Overhaul–the disdainful expressions he made stirred something awful in your gut. Made you feel ashamed and silly. He didn’t mean to do it, you think; but that didn’t change how you felt.

“Overhaul… when he touched me like this, he always washed his hands in the bathroom after. For a long time. Because–” The word Overhaul would mutter over and over come back, like acid rain pattering on the roof. “I’m dirty.”

You don’t want to look at him, but you don’t get a choice, because he grips both of your shoulders and lifts you up, until the two of you are sitting with your backs against the wall. The curtains are open and the moonlight washes everything out, but you can see him frowning well enough.

“You’re not dirty,” he says.  “Stop saying stupid things.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, but you don’t feel sorry at all. Instead you feel–relieved. Lightened. 

He frowns. “And stop saying sorry, too.”

“Right. Sorry–”

You stop with a breath left in the word and in a single beat, the two of you burst into laughter.

That’s when you lean forward and kiss him, smashing your lips against his in a brief moment before he pushes you off.

Humiliation stings your chest and you almost start crying in an instant. The world before and the world today blur into one awful moment and you apologize for things you’re not even sure about. “I’m sorry, that was–stupid. I’m awful, I’m bad, I won’t do it again-”

“Shut up. You will do it again.”

Oh. What? 

You blink up at him, stupidly, yes, but it’s a nice kind of stupid. The syrupy kind that only gets sweeter when his hand grips your chin and pulls you in. You don’t fight. 

This time, he kisses you. His lips are chapped and so are yours, and your mouth opens awkwardly to let his tongue in. It feels wrong and right and for once, there’s nothing old that dredges itself up with the action. No ghost of Overhaul over your shoulder, no commands, no flashbacks to being locked in closets–

Just you and Shigaraki on his bed in the middle of the night, kissing. 

–

You can be annoying. Too meak, too unsure; wanting him to guide you and taking too long when he tries to give direction. 

You’re a burden, that’s for damn sure, but oh, he doesn’t want to let you go.

The thoughts of releasing you on the streets seem so dim now.

They faded every time you stumbled through eating food that wasn’t perfect by Overhaul’s stupid standards, every time you looked like a deer in headlights at the prospect of washing yourself, every time you suddenly got the ick at his room and scrubbed yourself raw until he stopped you… 

You wanted to be better, though–better for him. That’s what sealed it. Well, that, and that kiss, even though it was mostly teeth the first time. He likes you better for that, he thinks. Because that was you.

You’d once told him that you were afraid Overhaul would remake you, so you remade yourself. And now he’s remaking you. No, that’s the wrong word, isn’t it? He’s unmaking. Undo what Overhaul did and find out what’s underneath, Because what’s underneath–you, the you he’s seeing as he peels away each layer of bullshit–belongs to him.

That’s how it should have been from the beginning. Too bad he didn’t find you first. 

–

He’s been gone for longer than usual. Long enough that Toga came in with something to eat and played a round of cards with you. Long enough that daylight came and went and came back again, and the sound of morning birds does nothing but contrast with how groggy you feel. 

It was too hard to fall asleep, when your stomach was tied up with worry. 

They don’t unravel even when the door opens and he comes in, expression troubled, burdened. You know something about burdens. He smells of sweat and dust, and you long to lift it from him. He’s been… nice, hasn’t he? Nice and kinder, kinder than Overhaul, although his words are often short and he sometimes calls you stupid. 

He takes a look at you, at the darkened circles under your eyes and maybe he can see all the thoughts swirling around in your head, and snorts. “Go to bed. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I can stay up,” you tell him, sitting up straighter on the bed. “To keep you company.” 

He pauses, drops his coat on the chair. Something in him seems to soften and harden all at once. A vulnerable question left on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see which wait it will roll. “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

Words don’t come easily to you, even now. “I… like being around you.” It’s more than that, but you don’t know how to say it, how to peel it out from your mouth.

He eyes you with something that might be suspicion. “Don’t lie.”

At this, you stand. It feels better to stand, to be on something like stronger footing. “I’m not. I–I like that you let me do things. You don’t get mad if I eat what I want, or if I read certain books, or watch movies with you…”

He doesn’t respond and maybe it’s not words you need. Maybe it’s this–

Maybe it’s you taking a step forward and gripping his shirt and kissing him, just as awkwardly as the first time. This time, when he pushes you away, he keeps his fingers curled on your shirt. His eyes search yours and you don’t know what your expression is saying, but you try to make it say: You make me feel good and I want to make you feel good, too.

“Get on the mattress,” he tells you, but it doesn’t feel like an order. Maybe you’re sugarcoating it. Maybe not. In the end, you’re okay with it; you’re okay with turning around and crawling onto the mattress, knowing what he wants now.

It’s not how you envisioned it happening with him. You remember what you thought that first day, flashes of him taking you while you struggled and squirmed, pinning you to the bed. A villain in a book that Overhaul took away from your bookshelf.

It’s slower. Slower and maybe not sweet, exactly; but there’s some tenderness there that you can’t explain. Tenderness reflected in both your tired eyes, in the smell of dust clinging to his skin, in the way you cling to him and don’t have to worry that he’ll scrub his hands raw afterward.

Tenderness that makes you forget that Overhaul took you and now he took you, and you’re never sure if you’ll ever be your own person again. 

–

When it’s over, he cleans you up. Slow but sure. It’s remarkably soft, but you don’t dare say so; if you did, you think he might push you off the mattress for good measure.

“Shigaraki–” you begin.

“Call me Tomura.” He interrupts.

“Tomura,” you say. 

Something about that makes you want to cry, so you bury your head further against his chest and blink the tears away.

Later–not this morning and not for some time–you will think about whether Overhaul would have ever fucked you. What he might have thought about the mess of it all. The sweat and panting, the warm liquid between your legs that was carefully wiped away with a warm washcloth before he hopped back into bed.

For now, all you think about is Shigaraki–no, Tomura–who doesn’t tuck you into bed like you’re some precious doll but instead wraps his leg across your own, keeping you close on the mattress as sleep begins to overtake you. 

His hand brushes against your hair as the world begins to turn into a formless buzz.

“Do you want to stay with me?” He asks.

It is, you know, a rhetorical question.