#moonwrites

bun_theory0222 • 2h

INFO: Did you at least try the samples? Were they worth the lawsuit? We’re all dying to know here.

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muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h

nah cuz why is he suing when he CLEARLY wants to flirt??? this man is embarrassing but so are you. somebody matched ur freak <3

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soggywaffle0205 • 6m

YTA why can’t this shit happen to me. AT LEAST I would commit to the bit.

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cerealfordinner0323 • 2h

Bro sued you just to slide into your life again. He’s not slick, and neither are you. Good luck with that wedding cake.

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. . .

If you could hop a few steps to the right, feign unconsciousness, and climb right into the active fireplace, it could potentially make everything okay. For you, that is. Not for the poor bakery employees who would have to call the cops. 

“I’m sure he’s a handsome one!” The girl behind the counter giggles, light pink dusting her cheeks. “You’re- you’re so gorgeous!”

Setting aside the fact that most gorgeous women you know end up with malformed gargoyles, your current predicament is almost equally sinister. What started as an innocuous process to gain free wedding samples (in other words, a scam) has led to a question that should be obvious but completely escaped your mind following your trailing success.

“We’ll need to have you come in with your fiance for the free wedding cake samplers. Is he around?”

Is he around?! Boy, you sure hope so. Because now you’re also frantically looking around with the employee after you blurted out another lie: “He’s going to be here soon!”

When did you turn into a compulsive liar? You’re not sure if your mom would be proud of you for being so good at nabbing free food, or disappointed that you’re a filthy liar. After all, she did tell the buffet employees you were under 10 all the way till you were 14. So, really, you’re not the source of the problem! You brush your festive red skirt of invisible crumbs, trying to busy yourself.

The cafe itself is well decorated for Christmas—a silver reindeer bores holes into your head from by the front door, a small Christmas tree stands at the center that’s a little emaciated but the cute Sanrio ornaments in Santa hats make up for it, and most importantly, a beautiful Mont Blanc cake sparkles from atop the glass counter. (Seriously, why didn’t you think of this? Your own bakery is all sparkles and no play.)

You move out of the way of other customers, and casually glance at the source of your awe and joy. Powdered sugar dusts the top as idyllic snow, covering the sugared cranberries and sugared chestnuts, not dent in them under the white fondant star. The base of the cake is tied with an edible red ribbon, completing the seasonal aesthetic of it. A sigh rests momentarily upon your lips before it escapes. 

You love Mont Blanc cakes, but you never quite get it right. That’s your biggest failure as an up-and-coming baker, and such is the reason for your unhinged serial sampling scam. You swear it started off as a search for inspiration in a creative rut but before you knew it, a lie had spilled from your eclair-sweetened lips, and another, and another. 

It is at this point that you briefly consider bolting for the door. Tibet is great around this time of the year. Maybe if you convert to a monk lifestyle and atone for your sins, you’ll be granted a pardon in the form of delicious sweets. Before you can make your escape, however, the front door jingles, and in strides a sight unbelievably reassuring. A man with caramel hair enters, who might as well be wrapped in a giant red ribbon and seated atop a snow-white horse in golden ornaments.

It’s a Christmas miracle. Hallelujah! They still apply to you.

His smile—soft and sweet as meringue hearts—lights up the room as he inhales the warm, sugary air of the bakery. You’re hit with the vaguest sense of familiarity. He might be one of the few customers you get these days. For a moment, you falter. Are you really going to victimize this stranger?

Yes. Yes, you are. The situation is dire.

“Hi darling!” You exclaim within earshot of the employee, before lowering your voice. “Could you help me out a little here?”

The man blinks, dazed for whatever reason. “Uh… sure?”

“Okay, then follow along and ask questions later,” you reply, and loop your arm through his gingerly. The touch of his fuzzy winter coat makes you relax a little. It is chocolate-colored, with beige fluff around the collar. Not now, you think to yourself, You need to stop thinking about sweets for one goddamn moment.

“Here he is,” you laugh sheepishly as you bring the man forward. Gosh, what in the heavens are you doing? You didn’t even ask his name. 

The employee stares, jaw agape. What’s with the reaction? He’s not that hot. 

“O-oh,” she responds. “That’s quite the surprise. I never knew. Congratulations, sir!”

You turn to look at him. He simply scratches his chin with a sheepish smile, and manages to respond with a “Thanks, Kimi.”

He must be a regular, you think. Oh, (Name), what did you get yourself into? You’re just gonna have to read his name off his coffee order first.

“We have a selection of samples for our wedding cake choices,” the girl, Kimi, moves to the far side of the counter, offering a small menu card to the two of you. “I know you’re not a big fan of wedding cakes, Mr. Lee, but the latest tiramisu flavors should suit your tastes, no?”

Just how close are they?! You chew on your lip and try to calm your depraved little heart.

“Well,” he responds, thinking for a second, “I actually hadn’t thought this far. What do you think, honey?”

He turns to you with a radiant smile, but you sense a hint of mischief. You don’t have time to think of that though—so you just change the topic. 

“Actually, do you have a Mont Blanc flavor? I’ve always had trouble perfecting it myself.”

Truth be told, that ‘honey’ had flowed from his lips and struck you straight in the heart. He’s not too bad to look at, you think now. His tousled hair catches the light with a playful sheen, framing his face and accentuating his disbelieving smile, while his fluffy coat adds a cozy touch to his charming, boyish demeanor. If you were to overthink a little, you’d find a hint of mischief in his voice. Alas, you’re a simple girl who only overthinks sweet treats, not boys.

“You bake?” He blurts, before his ears turn red from realization.

Kimi shoots him a puzzled look and your breath hitches in your throat. Was the miracle an idiot in disguise?

“I mean, uh, gosh, you make me so nervous, honey.” He looks like he’s trying his very best to ace an exam he never studied for. “I meant to ask if you're going to bake.. today? Don’t look at me like that.” 

Maybe you should’ve picked a candied apple and prayed that a witch had poisoned it. You can’t even force out a smile at that pathetic save.

“You’re a lucky man, Mister,” Kimi jabs, a look of distrust in her eyes before they flash to you. “I’m afraid Miss (Name) in a wedding dress would make me drop dead at the altar.”

“Oh, you- you flatter me,” you choke out, “I promise you wedding gowns aren’t my thing at all. Besides, you’d look beautiful in white yourself.”

Why is she so into this wedding conversation? How close are these two? You’re not sure how to react, and neither do you know how this man is going to explain your mysterious disappearance the next time he visits the bakery. You’re sure as hell not going to continue the act beyond this. It’s time you retired from this scam business. You’re not even sure how you’ll talk your way out of this with the man, currently engaged in small talk with Kimi. 

And— is he blushing?! Does he have something going on with the girl—Kimi? Did you just ruin something? Your heart tightens a little, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to the floor, head in your hands.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to diffuse the situation. When you open your mouth, you are interrupted.

“Actually, Miss, I think I take back what I said about the handsome part,” Kimi jokes, evident disdain sent towards Donghyuck.

Your natural response is a little laugh that leaves before you know it. Maybe, the feelings you sensed were of unrequited resentment. He does have the kind of face that looks like it’s often smacked by girls. No offense to him.

Kimi hands you the first sample (two delicious slices of Mont Blanc) and excuses herself to fetch the rest. The two of you make your way to a booth with the heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced. You might as well be at a funeral.

“So… free samples are that good, huh?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” he responds with a youthful laugh. “Might I have the honor of knowing my fiance's name?”

“(Name). And stop looking at me like that.”

He lets out a short breath.

“You know, maybe we should’ve pretended it was an arranged marriage.”

“Quite proficient in the scamming business, are you?”

“Oh, you’re better off not knowing my dirty secrets.”

You couldn’t care less about his secrets but the look you shoot at him is certainly dirty.

He opens his mouth but you interrupt him to absolve yourself first. “Listen, I don’t do this often. And I’ll have you know it’s nothing personal. Well, not against you. The owner of this place maybe.”

Donghyuck blinks. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all for being a hater with my fiance.”

You stare at him, not impressed.

“Sorry.”

“Okay, so this started a month or two ago. I had been working tirelessly, testing recipe after recipe, trying to perfect the Mont Blanc cake. It was my dream to make it iconic, you know? But before I could even settle on the perfect combination of flavors, some smug bastard opens a bakery right across from me. And what does he have as his specialty? Why, the Mont Blanc cake of course. Seasonal! Cute, elaborate new decor every two weeks! Just how rich is he? I bet he doesn't even bother to create his own recipes. This guy didn’t just steal my idea, he’s turned my passion into some overpriced, generic trend!”

You heave, tired from the onslaught of frustration. Chewing on your lower lip, a pout naturally makes its way onto your face, and so do more complaints. 

“And that’s not all, okay? I never see him at the bakery. I refrain from entering my competitors' establishments unless I greet them in person. But this asshole is just never there! What, is he too good to work at his own bakery? Too good to grace us lowly bakers with a visit? How could he just swoop in and steal my signature item?”

Donghyuck listens to your rant with intent, cheek resting against his palm. He even looks a little ridiculously charmed right now. 

“Wait… so you’re the infamous Free Cake Phantom everyone’s talking about?” He gasps.

You’ve finally turned to your poor, neglected Mont Blanc sample, just for your heart to jump out. “What?”

“Just kidding. Your secret is safe,” he says, digging into the cake with infuriating nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got good taste. This Mont Blanc though? It’s my personal recipe.”

Your fork halts halfway to your mouth. “Your recipe? What, you work here or something? And, no offense, but it’s overwhipped.”

If that’s a joke, it’s not very funny. The man looks more like a confectionary than a confectioner. There’s no way he works here. He’s probably some jobless guy drifting from bakery to bakery on early Saturday mornings.

His jaw drops. “Overwhipped? Are you kidding me?”

You wave the fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Chestnut puree shouldn’t have the texture of mousse. It’s called finesse, Mr. Lee.”

Before he can respond, Kimi returns with another tray, and you slip back into character, placing your hand on Donghyuck’s. “Thank you,” you coo at her. “I can’t wait to share all these flavors at our wedding.”

Donghyuck stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he recovers quickly, plastering on the fakest grin known to man. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Kimi laughs. “You’re such a lovely couple. When’s the big day?”

You freeze, and so does Donghyuck. For a moment, neither of you has an answer.

“Oh, we’re still, uh, deciding,” you blurt, glancing at him for backup.

“Yeah, we’re thinking spring,” he adds smoothly. “Cherry blossoms. Very romantic.”

“Y-yes. Maybe the Raspberry Rose should be in the winner’s spot then.”

As Kimi bows politely and walks away again, Donghyuck leans in to whisper. “Should I book the honeymoon now, or…?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. 

He makes a pained sound, but recovers quickly. 

The second flavor is dubbed “Marble Eclipse”, a decadent blend of rich chocolate and vanilla, perfectly balanced with a luscious buttercream frosting. You try to focus on the taste, but Donghyuck’s smug grin as he watches you take a bite is more distracting than you’d like to admit. You’re not easily flustered, not by men. Unfortunately, he would have been the exact type you’d have tried to nab in college.

You shake your head. Focus, (Name), you think to yourself, You’re in the enemy’s lair right now!

“So… I might as well come clean,” Donghyuck says with a serious tone, right after you’ve taken a bite. You pause in horror. What arcane knowledge is he going to use for your humiliation this time?

“I visit your bakery often, and I must say your selection is just as good, if not better.”

You exhale.

“Oh, it’s better alright,” you retort, before realizing the unwarranted passion in your voice. You compose yourself. “I mean, maybe their Mont Blanc is… a solid competitor.”

Donghyuck laughs, clearly amused by the bashfulness on your face.

“Wait, are you patronizing me?”

“Of course not!” He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I think the difference is that this one keeps up with the youth.” He waves his fork about, explaining his point further. “Everyone loves new, shiny things. Cycle those as much as possible. Have you ever considered holding blind box events with your cupcakes? I’m sure the kids would love to find out which flavor of panda bear cupcake they got—matcha, my personal favorite, or coconut cream, or… god forbid, chocolate mint. Ugh. Have you considered removing that from the menu? Anyway, that shouldn’t take too much time and money, right?”

The youth? What is he, forty? However, however, the look on his face as he describes your own baked goods to you is enough to make you intensely flustered. Has this man visited so often? And you never noticed him? How could you miss that easy-going smile?

A familiar figure saves you from whatever awkward, garbled response you were going to muster.

Despite Kimi’s arrival, Donghyuck has a hard time taking his eyes off you. Lashes swaying with each flicker of his eyes over your face, he’s hardly taking a bit of the delicious marble cake, in fact. What, have you got something on your face?

Kimi apologizes profusely before you can say anything to greet her. 

“There’s only one slice prepared for the Tiramisu Dream sample,” she explains. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind sharing this one? I apologize again.”

“No worries, Kimi,” Donghyuck responds, laughing a little. You shake your head and reassure it’s alright too. 

Anyway, that slice is going to be yours. You’re ready to pry it from his cold, dead hands.  

To your surprise, though, he shoots a friendly smile at you. 

“Want the first bite?”

“May I?” You ask, just to be sure.

“By all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “After all, what’s mine is yours, fiance.”

You swear, if he calls you that one more time, he’s going to end up in the cake display.

Kimi stares at the two of you blankly for a moment. It instantly flusters you and Donghyuck both, so much so that the idiot digs his fork into the cake slice and holds it up to your lips with a soft ‘ah’ —and so much so that you actually accept it graciously. 

And all that only for Kimi to not even notice as she excused her way back to the counter. So now you’re just two idiots deep in your romantic charades. Donghyuck clears his throat, too late to cover his coral-tinted cheeks and ears. You’re certain you wear a similar expression.

“You’re- you’re so weird,” you jab, unable to come up with an insult higher than middle school grade. 

“What, you wanted me to do airplanes too?!”

“Take that fork and drive it through your tongue, will you?”

“Woah, woah, no need for violence, Miss (Name). Peace and Love.”

Unexpectedly, it makes you break character into unbound laughter. The weariness of the act and the silliness of the whole situation leaks into the sound, and it’s enough to make Donghyuck join in. For passersby, you are just a couple already past your third, fifth and seventh dates.

“Any comments for the tiramisu cake?” Donghyuck asks, grinning ear to ear.

You catch your breath, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I have a comment: who puts this much cocoa powder on top? Are you trying to choke your customers?”

“Awh, and I thought you were gonna be nice,” he whines, “Your smile is just so… inviting.”

As if on cue, he chokes on the cocoa powder. 

“I still like it,” you continue. “I’d just do it better.”

“I have the utmost confidence in that.”

Gosh, his smile is nauseating—too bright, too easy, like he’s actually enjoying this. Maybe he’s a rising actor, and you’re the one being hoodwinked. After all, who looks at someone like that on a first meeting?

A moment passes, and suddenly his thumb is at the corner of your lips, brushing off the cocoa powder with a touch so casual it feels anything but. “Got it,” he murmurs, and the air between you shifts, warm and oddly heavy.

“So, how do you know all this?” you ask, changing the topic. You’re forcing yourself to focus, to breathe. 

He leans back, a small laugh slipping out like he’s grateful for the lifeline. “You- uh- you could say I’m a connoisseur of pastries,” he offers, his voice lighter now. “I like to sample the best around town—just, you know, legally. I even take notes of my favorites.”

He gestures towards you, and you scoff.

The words settle between you as you toy with the edge of your skirt, smoothing the fabric down over your lap. There’s something about the way he speaks—so casual, so effortless—that needles at you. For a man so annoyingly confident, he sure seems relieved to have redirected the conversation.

Your hand grazes the tiny snowman buttons on your cardigan, tracing the cold plastic absentmindedly. His gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. You don’t know what’s more embarrassing—getting outed as the Cake Thief or the fact that he’s bound to know he flusters you.

You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “How professional of you.”

The bite in your tone is softening, and you don’t like it one bit.

He holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey, it’s an art. Someone’s gotta appreciate it, right?”

The faint chatter of other patrons fills the room, but his presence sharpens the moment, making it feel like it’s just the two of you. For a fleeting second, you catch yourself wondering what kind of person would take notes on pastries for fun. It’s so bizarrely specific, so utterly unnecessary—and yet, so like him.

His smile deepens, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the traitorous grin threatening to break through. You refuse to indulge him, even as you feel the faintest crack in your defenses.

"Maybe,” you say, finally.

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before leaning back against his chair with a satisfied air, as if he’s won something. You glance at the tray, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

How awkward. How warm. 

You spot a napkin fluttering off the table, carried by a sudden draft from the door. Instinctively, you step out of your chair to grab it, but Donghyuck beats you to it, scooping it up with an exaggerated flourish and a bow.

“Your knight in shining armor,” he declares dramatically, holding it out like a trophy.

“More like my nuisance in sugar-stained armor,” you retort, snatching it from his hand.

He laughs, unabashed. “Ah, so sharp. Yet here you are, sharing cake with said nuisance. Life is full of mysteries.”

“I’m just here for the cake,” you deadpan, dusting your hands off.

For a second, his smile falters—not in hurt but in sheer disbelief. He tilts his head, studying you with an incredulous expression, and you suddenly feel like a frog under a magnifying glass.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, almost to himself, his voice low but still playful.

“Get what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Donghyuck presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He steps closer, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of chestnut cream. “I mean, I could spell it out for you, but that might ruin the fun.”

“Spell what out?” you press, a little flustered now.

He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, you airhead. Absolutely nothing. Is your head full of cotton candy, by any chance?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, he’s already pulling his chair back, resuming his seat with a sigh.

“Mont Blanc, Marble Eclipse, and Tiramisu on the first date,” he states, deep in thought. “Maybe Matcha Lemon, Lavender Peach, and White Chocolate on the second… Perhaps a Red Velvet and a Strawberry Shortcake before you realize I literally own this place?”

You feel the heat intensify on your cheeks. You almost miss the last part, clouded by the implications of the rest of his words. He… wants to go on more dates with you? Was this a date all along? You’ve been swindled into having fun with a man somehow. He even knows the ins and outs of a baker’s life. And he’s charming in an oddball sort of way. You shouldn’t be feeling solidarity with this weirdo. But then again, somehow, his laugh is very… endearing. 

Wait a minute.

“You- you really own the place?!” A scream dies in your throat.

Donghyuck looks positively taken aback. “So you actually weren’t aware?!”

“What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to know?! You described yourself as a connoisseur of pastries. I thought you were some kind of freelance failure so I didn’t pry!”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, either that or you’re unbelievably rich. But then you don’t look it. Your sleeves have flour and oil stains on them, and your shoes are all dusty too, and there’s gold flakes in your hair—okay, how did I miss this?”

“Geez, way to judge someone by their looks. I’m not taking that from the local tart snatcher.”

The retort barely registers because your brain is too busy replaying the words “I own this place.” The realization hits, and before you can think better of it, the chair screeches back as you bolt upright.

“Wait, where are you—” Donghyuck’s voice is cut off by your shrill, mortified “Bye!” as you make a beeline for the door, leaving behind a very startled staff and a half-empty tray of cakes. Immediately after your exit, you let out a shriek. 

What the hell are you doing?!

Your face burns as you speed-walk down the street, each step punctuated by the memory of your impulsive retreat. You must have cast your senses away at that moment, like some wide-eyed fool in a fairy tale, almost charmed by that silly man and his absurd little quirks. It’s not your fault, of course—it’s his, with his flour-dusted sleeves, that stupidly endearing laugh, and the way he talked about pastries like they were a love language. What was wrong with him?! you think, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was your awkwardness and runaway theatrics that had caused the scene. You’d blame it on sugar overload if it weren’t for the nagging realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten under your skin, and the fact that you deserved it.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not after your embarrassing getaway. But three days later, you’re staring at an email with the subject line: "Notice of Legal Action for Unauthorized Sampling."

You open it with trembling fingers, only to find what can only be described as the world’s most dramatic—and definitely fake—lawsuit. 

Your jaw drops as you scroll through the email. He’d even attached a fake case number: #CAKE-404-NO-FUN.

The body of the email was littered with ridiculous legalese. Phrases like "egregious acts of confectionery negligence" and "failure to properly appreciate artisanal craftsmanship" were scattered between absurdly specific accusations.

There is a diagram. An actual diagram. Arrows pointing to "Exhibit A" (the Mont Blanc) and "Exhibit B" (the empty spot on the tray), annotated with notes like "victim of hasty consumption" and "left to fend for itself."

And then, at the very bottom, there it was—the pièce de résistance:

“This suit may be settled by one (1) heartfelt apology and one (1) coffee date at the aforementioned bakery. Should you require legal counsel, I suggest bringing your A-game. I am, after all, a connoisseur of arguments… and pastries. 😉”

You groan, head thunking against the back of your chair. The audacity. The drama. The fuckass emojis. 

This man is getting to you.

Your first reaction is, of course, panic. Your second? Rage. And by the time you storm into the bakery at ass o’clock before it even opens, Donghyuck is waiting for you, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. (Which he does, actually.)

He’s propped on his elbows, his posture easy and unhurried, as if he’s been expecting you. The black apron around his waist is slightly askew, and his beige T-shirt bears faint streaks of flour across the chest, a testament to an already busy morning. His fluffy brown hair is an artful mess, the kind that looks unintentional but infuriatingly perfect, with a few errant strands curling over his forehead. There’s a streak of something golden—sugar, maybe?—on his cheek, catching the light as he tilts his head to regard you with an expression that’s equal parts curious and smug.

“You’re early,” he remarks, his voice low and teasing, as though he isn’t the root of all evil.

“You think this is funny?” you demand, shoving your phone in his face.

Donghyuck grins, unbothered. “Hilarious, actually. Did it get your attention?”

“You can’t just send someone a fake legal notice!”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He shrugs, leaning back with infuriating calmness. “Besides, you owed me an explanation for your Houdini act. You know, poor Kimi had to clear your tray. She almost cried.”

“She did not!”

As if on cue, Kimi pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, she absolutely did. It was tragic,” she deadpans before ducking back in.

You groan, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. “You’re unbelievable.”

Donghyuck leans back, smug as ever, and gestures to the email still open on your phone. “Unbelievable or resourceful? Let’s review: I sent a single, harmless message—full of creativity and wit, I might add—and look where we are.”

“At me wanting to strangle you?”

“At you running right to me,” he corrects, his grin widening. “What, were you worried?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap. “I’m here because—” 

You stop, realizing you don’t have a decent answer. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I took you seriously.”

“Oh, you absolutely took me seriously.” He nods sagely. “I saw the panic in your eyes. Admit it: for a second, you thought you were going to have to pay me a hundred grand or grovel at my feet.”

“I- ugh- fuck you!” is all you can muster, stepping forward without thinking.

He mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by degrees. 

“But seriously, you ghosted me, and I had to get creative. What the hell was I supposed to do? I figured the legal drama might get my point across.”

“What point?”

“That I wanted to see you again.” The words come out so easily, so matter-of-fact, you don’t know how to respond. When you finally glance up, he’s watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“Just because you’re all cute and covered in flour like the star of some indie chef movie doesn’t mean you get to toy with me.”

“Ha! You’re presumptuous—despite all the fine details on me you seem to observe.” He leans in. “But guess what, I’m a greedy bastard that loves attention. So, look closer.”

And you look anywhere but his lips, too pink and too plush, as your face grows hotter than a convection oven on broil.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, staring resolutely at the display of cakes. “That hardly counts as details.”

“Details,” he echoes, his grin growing wider. “Like the way I look at you?”

“You’re just a flirt,” you mutter.

He gasps, mock-offended, and gestures dramatically to the kitchen. “Kimi, did you hear that? I’m just a flirt!”

“You said it, not me,” Kimi calls back without missing a beat.

You laugh despite yourself, the sound surprising you. And Donghyuck doesn’t miss it. His gaze softens, the teasing edge in his voice dropping slightly. “There it is. I knew you could laugh without running away.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

For a moment, the air shifts, the humor giving way to something quieter. Donghyuck’s gaze lingers—not on your awkward posture or flushed cheeks, but on you, as though trying to piece together something he doesn’t quite understand.

“What?” you finally ask, defensive.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but there’s a small, genuine smile now. “Just... you’re such a fidgety person.”

“Are you trying to shell out an insult?”

“No, I mean, I always see you scuttling here and there. Always on the move. Always observing, but never stopping long enough to be seen. You just… don’t seem like someone who takes much time for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s crossed a line.

“I’m wrong?” he asks, almost sheepishly.

“I—” You pause, unsure of how to respond. “You’re nosy, that’s what you are.”

“That’s a yes,” he decides, grinning again.

Donghyuck chuckles, leaning just a little closer, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. “Tell you what,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’ll prove I’m not just nosy. Let me take you out. Somewhere you don’t have to bolt out the door halfway through.”

“You think I’d agree to that?” you retort, though your words lack bite. The proximity is doing something to your brain, and you’re acutely aware of how close he’s leaned in.

His grin is confident and infuriating. “I think you’d be curious enough to say yes.”

Your breath hitches as you realize how little space is left between the two of you, your noses almost brushing. “Woah,” you whisper, trying to play it off, “my mommy warned me about boys like you. All up close and personal with flour in their hair.”

He raises a brow, unrepentant. “Smart woman. But she didn’t tell you we’re pretty good at first dates, did she?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes, soft but genuine. “Fine,” you say, straightening up and taking a step back before your pulse betrays you further. “But you’re paying. And no weird cakes this time.”

“Deal,” he replies, his smile softer now, more sincere.

And for a moment, you believe it—not just the act, not just the cakes and the banter, but the idea that maybe, somehow, this strange, sugar-dusted series of events has led to something real.

. . .

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 16h

UPDATE: I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

Fine, you guys were right. We’re dating now. Let’s just say we’ve been filling my cream puffs lately  🫠

Edit: I also got the Mont Blanc recipe!!

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 3,297 Comments

kimikakes • 13h

KIMI HERE, REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE: they literally argued over frosting consistency for half an hour yesterday. This relationship is built on chaos and croissants.

➥ Reply ⥣ 7.1k ⥥

bun_theory0222 • 2h

Hellooo where are the recipes. Priorities, OP :/

➥ Reply ⥣ 4.1k ⥥

lil_sugar_daddy0813 • 1h

man i was betting on donghyuck dying alone i dont wanna lose my $20

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h Give me your money NYEOW ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m why are you suddenly a furry ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

-

love is supposed to burn, ivypool thinks. she's heard the tales spun by storytellers; the hushed confessions at gatherings; even the murmurings around camp. love is something small and sacred but also hot and fierce, and it eats at you. it singes the hairs on your pelt and licks at your whiskers and makes its home inside you. it is supposed to hurt. the hurt is what makes it romantic.

love is supposed to burn, so that means ivypool is doing it right. the sharp flare in her chest when fernsong creeps into the warrior's den to fall asleep at her side is a reassurance. it purrs in her ear that this is correct. that the feeling is good. ivypool stays awake for hours, her fur warm against his, her heart pounding like the small animals she kills, because she loves him. that knowledge makes her secure. it means that starting a life with him was worth it.

love is supposed to burn, but ivypool is starting to wonder if it should sting this badly. her ears and tail have caught fire. fernsong doesn't seem to share this problem. fernsong wants more kits. when he smiles it doesn't look like it strains every muscle in his face. he sounds wistful, or nostalgic. he says he misses coming by the nursery. ivypool's paws catch fire too.

fernsong wants more kits. ivypool can do that for him. it's the least she could do. and she doesn't hate being a mother. she doesn't. when she thinks about carrying life inside her again, it burns, and she is grateful for it.

ivypool is on fire. it doesn't spread to the greenery or the dens, so no cat seems to notice. sometimes when fernsong is sleeping, his head pressed up under her chin, ivypool grinds her face down so they're even closer. none of the sparks leaping from her pelt touch his, and she wants to scream.

ivypool's fangs are red-hot now, and send clouds of steam billowing from her mouth. it is night. she sets her teeth to the soft, warm fur on fernsong's neck and it soothes the ache. he is soft and sleeping. ivypool trembles from the heat inside her, and it means she loves him, and water rises to the corners of her eyes but dissolves into smoky trails soon after.

her fangs meet skin and it feels like plunging them into a lake. she closes her eyes and wonders if fernsong's insides are ice. she feels colder than she has in a long, long time.

he stirs. she lets him go. he settles. she licks her teeth and knows she has not drawn blood. she is feverish.

The next day differed little from the last. He was alone again, left to flounder in uncertainty and silence. No phone call came this time as there was no burst of anger to invoke it, so Hughie dared to venture outside. He peered through the thick of trees that stood sentry around his prison and saw a forest stretching out into the distance. He walked the perimeter, the same sight greeting him with every step. What he really needed to know was how far it stretched, if there was a fence waiting for him at some point; but it was impossible to know without venturing in. The trees were so tall that they dwarfed all two stories of the cabin, so not even sticking his head out of the window would gain anything. Hughie was left with two options: climb a tree or find a way onto the roof, without Homelander finding out.

He had zero experience with climbing trees, so the roof was his best bet.

That was how Hughie broke up the mundanity of the day, interrupting the steady routine of eating, washing and dissociating. He began to practice using his powers. He tried, desperately, to teleport back home, but when he thought about his bedroom in New York, he never moved an inch. He tried the flat iron, he even tried any major landmark he could think of, anywhere but where he was, but in his cage he remained. When it became clear that he wasn’t going anywhere that he really wanted to, he sank down onto the bed, shoulders sagged, a weak croak of a laugh in his throat. Of course his power would be as useless as the rest of him. He could teleport, but not to where he needed to be. It was too cruel an irony.

In spite of the despondency that weighed heavy upon him, Hughie still continued to practice. He tried to keep his clothes on, but no matter how little or far the distance, he could never bring them with him. He couldn’t bring any sort of object with him. He could transport himself and only himself. Hughie didn’t much like the idea of trying to escape completely naked, though he couldn’t see a way out of it. He couldn’t outrun Homelander on foot. It was doubtful he would be able to do so with his powers either, but it did somewhat improve his chances. The thought of being hunted down whilst naked was, to say the least, unnerving, but he would do it if it meant a higher chance of getting out.

While Hughie had expected the phone to ring again when he began practising, Homelander seemed to have no issues with him using his powers, despite it being obvious (at least to Hughie) that he would be training for only one thing. Perhaps it spoke to Homelander’s confidence in being able to keep him prisoner; but Hughie was used to being underestimated. With any luck, he could turn it to his advantage.

It was still the only other thing that broke up the day. His only forms of entertainment were encyclopedias, Disney movies and bird watching. The place was pretty much spotless when he’d arrived, so it wasn’t as though he had any real cleaning to do either. He would eat, wash up, watch tv, practise his powers, shower, sleep and repeat. Finally, the day came when a diagonal line was carved across the tally of four.

Five days.

Five, long, monotonous days.

It was best that Homelander stayed away, but Hughie could feel that he was starting to go stir crazy. He had never lived alone once in his life. He was used to the presence of others and now it was only him, filling up a space far larger than that of the apartment he’d grown up and still lived in. The silence and solitude made him ache for home. He wanted to see Annie. He wanted to see the Boys, his dad. He held himself sometimes and thought of Annie holding him fast against her or M.M.’s arms squeezing the breath out of him or Butcher’s strong hands gripping his shoulders. The extent of his yearning frightened him. It was bad to miss them this much so soon, when he probably wasn’t going to see them for a long time.

However, the worst part wasn’t the homesickness. It wasn’t the boredom or the way his mind ran in vicious circles, it wasn’t the swings of hope and despair. It was the anticipation. Homelander was going to come back and Hughie had no idea when. He could show up at any day, at any time. Every morning started off the same, peering round corners, ears pricked the moment he awoke. He could handle it better if there were a deadline, even a vague one would be better than none. With each day, the tension grew. Doubtless, this was on purpose. He’d heard of what cops did to suspects, forcing them to wait hours before interrogating them; though for what reason Homelander was applying that technique was beyond Hughie. Perhaps it was all just to fuck with him, because Homelander definitely didn’t seem above fucking with people just for the hell of it.

Then, Hughie’s thoughts turned darker. What if Homelander was priming Hughie, isolating him to such a point that he would take anyone over being alone, even his own captor? After all, what parent wouldn’t want their child to love them?

That was when Hughie finally turned to the dull books and read all that he could find on Stockholm Syndrome. What he read brought him no comfort. Mental fortitude had never been one of his stronger attributes and that was exactly what he needed to get through it in one piece. If Stockholm Syndrome was Homelander’s goal, Hughie was woefully outgunned. He needed no reminder of what little power he had in the situation he was in. Homelander had already turned him into a supe. His privacy had been annihilated and Homelander had managed to exert control over even the smallest acts of Hughie’s independence. It could only be a matter of time before Homelander would begin to sink his claws into Hughie’s mind, as he had done with everything else.

The sixth day started off very much the same. The television was on in the background to soothe Hughie’s frayed nerves and fill in the silence that he couldn’t sit comfortably with. Breakfast was uneventful. His training went uninterrupted. The morning came and went, same as the others before it. Like clockwork, lunch arrived and Hughie went to the fridge to pick clean the food that magically appeared there. Plate filled with sandwiches (he really hoped that whoever was bringing him meals would change up his lunch menu soon), he turned and-

“How’s it going, champ?”

A shout ripped out of Hughie’s throat. The plate was half thrown, half flung to the ground in shock, the loud smash of broken porcelain adding to his panic. His lungs floundered, frantic and shallow, unable to catch one deep breath to make them fully swell. Homelander stepped forward, bread and ceramic crushed under foot.

“Hey, hey, Hughie. It’s alright. It’s okay.”

Hughie couldn’t focus on just how disarming it was, how genuine the concern in Homelander’s voice was. All he could focus on was how his chest was pinched tight and no matter how hard he tried, his lungs could not open. A gloved hand took Hughie by the arm and carefully manoeuvred him to the sofa.

“I’m sorry I scared you, kid.” A hand pressed on his back, steady and heavy, easing him down until he was almost folded in half. “I thought you’d heard me come in. Just breathe. Everything’s okay.”

If there was any space left in Hughie’s ever shrinking chest, he would have laughed. Nothing was okay and the cause was rubbing circles into his back. Hands clasped tight together, Hughie forced himself to calm down. In and out, slowly his breathing deepened and the pounding of his heart eased.

“I-I’m sorry about the plate,” were the first words he managed to get out.

“Don’t worry about the plate, son. We’ve got plenty of plates. I’ve only got one of you. You’re the one that’s important.”

Hughie wanted to point out that shit like that wasn’t helping him calm down, but decided against it. Antagonising his kidnapper was, as Butcher would put it, a piss poor idea. So he put up with the hands he wanted to slap away and the voice that curdled unpleasantly in his ears; and slowly, he got his breath back. His heart rate would never be normal so long as he was within a foot of Homelander, but even that slowed a little. Such panic was unsustainable, even when death itself was nestled up against him.

“I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.” His hand stayed rubbing his back. “No wonder you’re so jumpy.”

Right. Of course. That was the issue. How much of Homelander’s own bullshit did he buy? Surely a little? Why else continue keeping up such a flagrant act? On some level, Homelander must be suspending his disbelief; because they both knew that Hughie was no child and it was impossible for him to be a blood relative of Homelander’s, let alone his son. With enough insanity and effort, anything could become real; no matter how hard Hughie fought. Whatever he did or said could, Homelander could twist to fit his narrative.

Hughie pushed himself up to his feet, before Homelander’s arm would stretch out and wrap around his shoulders. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped on the sofa with him. At least this way, he was trapped with a little distance between them. “I’ll, um, I’ll go clean it up.”

Homelander appraised him for a moment, perhaps assessing if Hughie’s actions fit into his delusion, before assenting. Hughie had never been more eager to clean in his life; even if Homelander’s attention remained fixed upon him.

“How have you found things here, Hughie?” Homelander asked, moving over to the kitchen island as Hughie bent down to sleep up the mess of broken plate and bread.

Hughie looked up. “Wh-what do you mean?” He couldn’t answer honestly, Homelander surely knew that. So what exactly was he looking for? He wasn’t looking for the truth; he was inviting Hughie to play along with his game.

“Well, moving into a new place isn’t always easy. Is there anything you want? I could get you your old clothes if you wanted?”

Panic spiked right through Hughie’s chest. His ‘old’ clothes were at his dad’s. What if his presence would ruin the fragile little illusion that Homelander was so keen to keep alive? Hughie knew full well what little regard for human life Homelander had. He had murdered for less. He had already gone to such extreme lengths for his fantasy; killing his dad would probably slot perfectly into the fantasy.

“Um. I um, I-I don’t want any of my old stuff here,” he looked up, plastering a shaky smile of gratitude on his face. Homelander would have been able to hear how his heart rate had picked up, but perhaps he would get points for trying. “But, I mean, thank you, for the offer.”

Hughie went back to sweeping up, with the burn of Homelander’s eyes making holes in his skull.

“Alright. What about toys?”

Hughie nearly dropped the dustpan. The question was so out of left field that he couldn’t appreciate that Homelander wasn’t pushing him on getting his old clothes.

“What?”

“You know, stuffed toys. Soft toys. I’ll get you some.” Homelander waved his hand in that dismissive way that let Hughie know that it wasn’t up for discussion. So long as he wasn’t expected to play with them, Hughie supposed that there were worse things that Homelander could insist on buying him. It was humiliating because Homelander was doing it for the charade of making Hughie a child, but he had been humiliated in far worse ways. A few stuffed toys he could handle.

“Do you want some more movies?”

“Um… Yeah. Could I make you a list?”

Homelander nodded, before flashing a grin. “They’d better be PG though, kiddo.”

Hughie offered a weak smile. “Right. Yeah. Of course.” He thanked whatever god there was for how films were rated back in the eighties; and for the idiots that decided that Watership Down was a movie for kids.

Hughie was still weighing up the pros and cons of getting onto the roof while Homelander was present. The trouble was that he hadn’t found where the outside cameras were located, though he knew there had to be some, for what would be the point of plastering the inside of the cabin with them and not the outside? He also didn’t know when Homelander was watching and the likelihood was that if he wasn’t watching, then someone would be watching at all times. The only time they wouldn’t need to watch would be when Homelander was at the cabin himself. Despite his back and forth, he always arrived at the same conclusion: his chances of not getting caught were higher when Homelander was closer.

So, he waited a few days. Stayed up late, feigned sleep as best he could, listened to Homelander’s patterns and sussed out roughly when he was asleep. The third night was perfect. It was cloudless and though there was only a half moon, it was bright enough to provide plenty of light. With any luck, Hughie would be able to see for miles. Carefully, Hughie slid out of bed. He could only estimate, but he was certain it had been at least a solid few hours since Homelander had gone to bed. Long enough for him to have fallen asleep. For a few minutes, he stood and listened. He didn’t dare breathe. If Homelander wasn’t asleep, if he was watching him right now, he was fucked; but if he wasn’t, Hughie might just be able to see a way out.

A deep breath, a squeeze of clenched fists, and Hughie found himself falling forward. He scrabbled for purchase, gripping on tight with his hands and knees to the ridge of the roof.  He hadn’t considered the practicalities of teleporting to what was essentially a balance beam made solely out of tile and moss. He lifted his head, saw the chimney and in an instant, he was leaning heavily against the brick structure. He was bowlegged, one foot on either side of the roof, trying desperately not to slip. He was vertical just enough to look around himself and he saw, shining in the moonlight, that he was in the middle of nowhere.

There were trees and more trees and further beyond those, there were mountains that he didn’t recognise (not that a New Yorker like him was able to recognise mountains anyway). His heart sank. He knew that he would be far from civilisation, but this was true wilderness. His head turned, looking desperately to his left and his right and found very much the same. No way out, not without hiking gear and supplies and some sort of navigation. Hughie had none of these things. He didn’t even have shoes.

Carefully, though he doubted it would make a difference, he turned around to look behind him. His eyes widened. His left foot slipped and in slow motion, his whole body seemed to follow, even as he fought so hard for it to do the opposite. His arms swung windmill wide, his right foot was fully off of the tile and just as he was sure he was about to fall, a hand grabbed his arm.

Homelander looked older in the pale light. The few lines that marked his face were made more severe, their divots deepened. His brows weren’t furrowed, but still, the expression upon his face was stern. His mouth was thin, his jaw taut. He looked strange without his suit, but Hughie barely registered it. His heart, which had sunk to the pits of his stomach, had now returned to his chest to beat frantically at his ribcage.

“Why aren’t you in bed, Hughie?”

There was no anger to be found, not in his voice or his countenance, but that sternness permeated through.

Somehow, Hughie managed to reply.

“I-I wanted to stargaze.”

The hand that claimed his arm squeezed.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Hughie shook his head.

“No. I don’t- I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Then tell me why you’re up here.”

Homelander moved forward, tipping Hughie back until his spine arched. His toes dug uselessly against the tiles, but the only thing keeping Hughie on the roof was the same thing that was threatening to fling him off of it.

“The fall won’t kill you from here, but with your shitty healing factor, it’ll hurt. Have you ever broken any bones, Hughie?”

Hughie wasn’t sure he could call it courage, but a burst of something swept through him. Desperation perhaps, though he was used to that taking the form of jellied bones and stammered pleas. Whatever it was, it ran his mouth.

“Is this your parenting technique? Just… throwing people off of roofs?” Somehow, in spite of the terror and every instinct he had in him telling him to shut up, he continued. “You know, kids aren’t supposed to be scared of their own dads. Threatening your kids with violence? That’s not parenting, that’s just abuse!”

Hughie was convinced that Homelander would throw him off. Now was hardly the best time for criticism, especially for a man who spent his life in an echo chamber with a team of yes men. The shove never came though. Homelander stayed staring into Hughie’s face, his own unreadable, a sheen of uncarved stone. Without warning, he yanked Hughie forward and with a moments manoeuvring and ducking down, hoisted him onto his shoulder. An arm wrapped around his waist, another around his thighs. Hughie didn’t dare move, but he was far from quiet. “I-I can teleport!”

“And let you get your filthy feet all over our home?” Homelander began to descend and Hughie found that he had to close his eyes against the sight of the ground rising to meet them. “No. We’re gonna get you clean and then we’re gonna have a talk about what you were doing up on that roof.”

It seemed as though the violence had ebbed, at least for now. Hughie was sure that Homelander couldn’t give two shits about his opinion on parenting or was actually taking stock of anything he’d said. The issue wasn’t about causing Hughie harm. The issue was that it didn’t fit the narrative that Homelander was trying to spin. He wasn’t above physical abuse, but it had to slot into the fantasy. Spankings fit the part perfectly; broken bones didn’t.

Homelander didn’t put him down once, making him go through the indignity of being carried through the house. His state of undress was immaterial. The dread that had already pooled in Hughie’s stomach dropped a few degrees when he saw that Homelander had taken him to the bathroom. Hughie wouldn’t be able to put up a fight, but Homelander still moved quickly, as though to eliminate even an attempt. Out of the dread came a vicious panic, as Homelander swiftly sat down with Hughie over his lap.

“Hey!” Hughie twisted, trying to somehow tumble off of Homelander’s lap. “Hey, I didn’t do anything!”

“Hughie,” Homelander admonished. He leaned over and the loud sound of water gushing into the bathtub filled the room. Homelander shifted, so that Hughie was propped up on one thigh, as the other came to pin Hughie’s legs. An arm secured him by the small of his back, and like that, Hughie was trapped in place. “We both know what you were doing up on that roof.”

Hughie jerked and grunted as Homelander’s palm crashed against his right cheek. It swiftly came down against the left and just as quickly as last time, a pattern was formed. There was no time to adjust, nor was there any need to pause. Homelander could bring down the entire house with a hard enough slap if he really wanted to. Though Hughie could appreciate none of it, it was probably taking a great deal of restraint on Homelander’s part not to permanently damage him

“You were looking around because you’re planning on running away. You needed to get a good look, didn’t you? You needed to get an idea of the terrain.”

“No!” Hughie hollered, writhing as much as his human restraints would allow him. “You can’t prove it! Ugh! I wasn’t trying to-”

“Hughie Campbell, if one more lie comes out of your mouth I am going to wash it with soap. And then you are still going to get a spanking.” Homelander cut in. Hughie couldn’t tell if the harsh tone was one that Homelander was putting on, if he was enjoying himself, or if his patience truly was wearing thin. Either way, Hughie had no intention of calling his bluff. “You thought that because I’m here no one’s watching the cameras. You did it when you thought I was sleeping and you made sure to do it on a night when you could see into the distance. How am I doing so far?” When Hughie gave no response, Homelander chuckled. “I told you if you tried to run away, I’d make you regret it. Planning counts as trying.”

Homelander’s arm had continued to swing the entire time. He didn’t even pause for breath. The result was a harsh burn that throbbed and pulsed with every smack. Just like last time, Hughie couldn’t keep quiet and he couldn’t keep still. His hands were spread flat against the floor tile to keep himself somewhat upright. His feet kicked with the little space they were afforded.

“And if you even think about trying to teleport out of this, we’ll be doing this every night for a week.”

Hughie hadn’t thought of that, because, really, where could he go? All it would do would piss Homelander off more. In spite of himself, a low, frustrated growl rumbled in his throat. There was nothing he could do. Still. Even with powers he was still completely helpless. Nothing had changed, except perhaps that he could take more of Homelander’s swing than he normally would have been able to.

“This is still abuse!” Hughie pointed out, his voice shrill and tight with pain

Homelander brought his hand down again, only to leave his palm on Hughie’s cheek this time, pausing for the first time, as he began to laugh.

“Aww, Hughie, am I abusing you?” With a rough hand, he half stroked, half grabbed Hughie’s ass, fingertips digging into the hot flesh. “See, this is how I knew you were a little boy.” Homelander lifted his hand and Hughie barely had time to brace himself before the palm came down hard against the centre of his ass. “God, you’re adorable. You can’t even take this like a man. You don’t know what abuse is. Turning your naughty bottom red isn’t abuse, kiddo. You’re getting exactly what you deserve.”

Fury, like a hot brick, was lodged in Hughie’s throat, unable to swallow it, unable to spit it out. Every choice word had the intention of making him feel as small and helpless as humanly possible. Perhaps he shouldn’t have convinced Homelander not to throw him off the roof. Maybe broken bones would be better. It would certainly deal less mental damage than being naughty and adorable whilst being spanked.

Hughie was sure that whatever he’d say, he would undoubtedly making things worse for himself. He wasn’t going to change Homelander’s mind and he wasn’t strong enough to stop him. All he could do was try to bear it as best he could with what little slivers of his dignity he had left. Hughie bit his lip, hands curling into fists. He couldn’t stop himself from flinching upon every impact, but he kept his legs relatively still and his writhing and squirming ceased. He kept doggedly quiet, trying to concentrate on counting the tiles on the floor.

Even without his sounds of pain adding to the din, it was still plenty loud in the bathroom. The sound of gushing water filled the small room, colliding with the sound of Homelander’s hand cracking down on Hughie’s ass again and again. Homelander didn’t give him a chance to breathe. He was relentless. The only time his palm moved away from his cheeks was to focus on his thighs.

Hughie’s determined silence didn’t go unnoticed. Hughie grimaced at the curious purr that emanated from Homelander, loud enough to be heard above the noise. Even if he gave no indication that the gratification he was getting from this was sexual, he was still, without a doubt, enjoying himself on some level, which was too much for Hughie.

“Someone’s being a brave boy today,” Homelander hummed, patting Hughie’s bare hip, as though that were some sort of reward. “It’s a shame, though. I like your pathetic whining.”

Hughie ground his teeth, digging his nails deep into his palms. He would give anything to be able to kill him. If he could just hurt him, that would be better than being forced to just take whatever he’s being given, even if it did make things worse for himself.

Hughie didn’t answer and Homelander chuckled. “You just try and keep it up, champ, but you’ll be crying like a baby by the end of this.”

‘Fuck you’ lay on the tip of Hughie’s tongue, which he forced himself to swallow. Rising to the provocation wouldn’t help. It was what Homelander wanted and while he could take whatever he wanted from Hughie, there were still a few things that Hughie could withhold.

He wasn’t crying by the time Homelander stopped as was promised, but his breathing was laboured and his whole form quivered. He could feel the burning ache emanating from his bottom and thighs, and he felt the urge to reach behind and rub his abused skin.

“We’ll finish this off after you’ve had your bath,” Homelander announced, tone light and conversational as he reached over to turn off the taps.

Hughie’s stomach dropped. There was still time for Homelander to make good on his threat after all. Once again, Hughie finds himself moved as though he’s a doll. In a fluid motion, he’s transferred from dangling over Homelander’s knee to sitting uncomfortably in the bath.

Homelander rises to his feet, hands on his hips, smiling down at Hughie, who was trying not to squirm.

“This feels familiar.”

He carefully knelt down beside the bath, ignoring the way Hughie recoiled from him.

“It’s a bit like the first time we met, isn’t it? Don’t worry.” Homelander winked. “I’m not gonna hold you under this time.”

“I…”

Hughie’s voice died as the jovial expression melted from Homelander’s face. “What?” Homelander raised his eyebrows. “‘You can do it yourself’?”

Hughie glanced tentatively over at Homelander, then back down at the water. “… Yeah?”

“I just had your pink, bare ass over my knee. Who do you think is in charge here, Hughie?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“You,” he mumbled, despondent and reluctant.

“‘Me’ what?”

Hughie sighed, closing his eyes just so he could briefly roll them to the back of his head. “You, Sir.”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when a hand closed around his ear and yanked him, pulling him hard until he was bent over the rim of the bath. The hot water lapped around the bottom his thighs, droplets rolling down the curve of his cheeks.

“I was going to wait until after your bath, but I’m not going to take this attitude of yours, little boy.” Homelander was standing now, a hand pressing down on the small of his back, ensuring his hips stayed digging painfully into the porcelain. “You asked for this.”

Hughie heard something move against the tiles behind him and he only got the chance to figure out what it was when the flat side of it cracked loudly against his right cheek. Hughie yelled, curls flying as his head flung up from the impact. He turned his head to see a bath brush wielded in Homelander’s grip, before it swung down again. Keeping quiet was impossible now. Hughie cried out with every blow. He shifted his weight from one hand to the other and, mortifyingly, his squirming essentially meant wiggling his ass from side to side. Homelander’s aim stayed true. From one cheek to the next came debilitating smack after smack, barely giving Hughie time to adjust to one stinging burn before another was ignited on his skin.

“You are nothing but a little brat, Hughie. Just a naughty, little brat and it is about damn time you learned your place.” There was real anger in Homelander’s voice, which Hughie felt as the brush came down even harder against his bottom, an especially sharp crack on a few choice words. "You have broken nearly every single rule I've given you. Even after trying to run away, even after being punished, you continued to be a rude, insolent little boy." Homelander pinched Hughie's ear again, pulling him up while he bent down to meet in the middle, his voice a dark growl. "Do you really think I don't see every single thing you do, Hughie?"

He didn't give Hughie a chance to reply. He shoved his head down, hand returning press down upon his back. He hadn't paused the entire time. His arm was in constant motion, bringing the brush down from one cheek to the next. Homelander spoke over the sounds of Hughie's choked gasps and cries, his voice granite and ice, unmoving and cold. "This won't end when you apologise. It will end when I say it will end. It's about time you learned that you don't have a say any more. You will learn obedience."

Hughie was in so much pain that there was scarcely any room left for humiliation. Only later would he think of how pathetic it was that being spanked with a bath brush had brought him to tears. In the moment, he could scarcely form a complete sentence. He cried out with every smack. He tried to wriggle free, but Homelander's grip was bruising and try as he could to push against it or wriggle out from under it, Hughie couldn't get loose. The only reprieve his backside got was when Homelander decided to attack his thighs, to which he was equally attentive.

Homelander gave Hughie nothing. He didn't speak. Hughie slowly but surely began to crumble, in spite all of his fervent efforts to keep it together. It started with pleas, cries and howls of 'please!' and 'stop!', every single one of which went ignored. Not even when, in a moment of desperation,  Hughie grabbed Homelander's leg, was he given even the slightest acknowledgement.

Panic mingled with helplessness. It didn't feel as though it was going to ever end. He was so sure he couldn't take any more, but Homelander didn't stop. He kept going and going, to the point where Hughie's bottom felt positively raw, where it was constantly throbbing, aching and burning. Hughie tried so valiantly to move out of the way of the brush. He pushed and squirmed, shuffling on his knees as though there was any place for him to go. Only when he began to cry did he finally slump forward, still, head hung low in defeat.

Hughie did his best to keep the tears at bay, but he could only hold out for so long. His vision swam, his eyes throbbed and there was no moment of reprieve, he couldn't catch his breath. It wasn't at all long before Hughie had his face buried in his palm, his shoulders quivering, tears seeping through his fingers. Still, Homelander continued. Helplessness turned to despair and anguish. Homelander was as good as his word. This would only stop when he wanted it to. It didn't matter what Hughie could take. Hughie would have to take it, whether he could handle it or not.

Before he knew it, Hughie was crying in earnest, howling out apologies between sobs. The fact that his misery wasn't even acknowledged, not even in the form of cruelty, made him break down that much harder. Hughie had learned the lesson Homelander had been so doggedly teaching him. His wants and his needs no longer mattered. He didn't have a say in what happened to him any more. Homelander had taken away his agency, his freedom, his right to even show his true feelings. Homelander was going to do whatever he wanted with him and there was nothing Hughie could do about it.

It was some time after Hughie had descended into a speechless weeping when Homelander finally decided he had learned his lesson. Hughie was crying so hard he didn't even notice at first. Even without the constant hail of smacks, his bottom and thighs still throbbed. The hand that had pinned him to the rim of the bath left his back, but Hughie didn't move. He remained bent over, head hung low between his arms, crying pitifully.

Apparently, this humiliation failed to suffice.

Hughie practically wailed as he felt the sudsy bristles of the bath brush (the same one that had reduced him to such a mess) scrub at his tender skin. There was not an iota of protest left in him. He didn't bother moving as Homelander washed him methodically, scrubbing over his burning bottom and thighs first, before scouring all the way down to his feet. A hand on Hughie's upper arm guided him up until he was sat back on his haunches. If Homelander was smiling or if his expression was still one of unsated fury, Hughie didn't dare look to find out. His face was turned, his head hung low. His crying was quieter now, but it remained ever present, picking up in volume and pitch when Homelander destroyed the last bit of dignity he had by ensuring he was thoroughly washed, even between his legs.

Once the indignities of the bath tub were over, the brush was finally hung back up and Homelander was pulling Hughie to his feet, hands under his armpits. Hughie complied with stuttering breath and quivering legs. He went where the hands led him, until he ended with his feet on a bathmat and his nose in a corner of the bathroom.

"Hands on your head."

Hughie flinched upon hearing Homelander's voice after such a long spate of silence. He immediately complied, his head bowed. He didn't even have it in him to be angry. He had more than suffered enough, but we wasn't about to try and argue that he had learned his lesson. The very act of voicing his opinion would prove that he hadn't learned a thing.

"No turning around, little boy," Homelander chided gently. "Keep your nose in the corner until I say so. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Hughie whispered, eyes closing, tears rolling down his cheeks to drip off his chin.

The sound of the bath water being drained soon filled the room. Once it had petered out, the only sounds left were of Hughie's sniffles and the smallest hitches of his breath. He was still in the corner by the time all of his tears had dried and every droplet of water of more or less evaporated from his skin. He didn't turn around, though he was sorely tempted. He didn't enjoy the thought of Homelander doing nothing but staring at him, standing naked in the corner like an idiot. Just when his arms were truly starting to ache and he was starting to wonder if Homelander had forgotten about him, it was finally over.

"Alright, Hughie." He heard Homelander walk towards him and immediately, he braced himself. The worst that happened was a light pat to the centre of his still aching bottom. "You can put your arms down now, son. It's bedtime."

Hughie's arms fell to his sides with a small sigh of relief. Homelander led him out of the bathroom, head bowed, the picture of a humiliated defeat. He didn't speak as Homelander gathered up the pyjama t-shirt that had been abandoned when Hughie had teleported himself to the roof. He went along, reluctantly compliant as Homelander pulled it down over him.

"I don't think you'll be needing to wear anything else," Homelander chuckled. "You're gonna be plenty warm, aren't you, kiddo?"

Hughie nodded. The combination of exhaustion and defeat were creating a rather welcome numbness. If he had to be half naked and laughed at like Homelander was nothing but a moronic locker room bully, then so be it. He just wanted it to be over.

"Now, you don't need me to stay, do you?" Homelander asked, eyebrow raised as he pulled back the covers. "You won't be tempted to go 'star gazing' again, will you?"

That did cut through the fog. Hughie cowed, shaking his head. It took a great deal of effort, but he forced his heavy gaze to rise, briefly meeting Homelander's eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise. I'm sorry."

"Why won't you do it again, Hughie?"

He had thought his tears were all spent, but apparently not. They pulsed against his eyes and he found himself sniffling, curling in on himself, pulling down his t-shirt to cover maintain some semblance of dignity. "Because... I-I learnt my lesson. I'll be good. I swear."

"And why else?" Homelander cupped the back of his head, coaxing firmly until their eyes met. "Because you saw it. There's no way out, is there?"

Hughie's breath hitched. His jaw trembled and his chest heaved as he tried to contain a sob that threatened to burst from within. "No."

It had been an innocent enough request. Team Mew was back at the café, most of the girls having already gone home after stopping another chimera attack. Just as Ichigo was about to power down Kisshu asked to get a look at her pendant. The request was casual, Kisshu laying down the air, arms behind his head as he looked at her sideways, like his request wasn’t all that important. After studying the alien for a second, looking for any hint of mischief in those golden eyes, Ichigo gave her go-ahead.

Kisshu floated in close, fingers reaching out to feel the trinket still attached to her uniform’s choker. Her pink eyes crossed a little as she looked down at Kisshu’s face, suddenly feeling nervous about her decision. Isn’t he a little too close? she thought nervously, as she subtly fingered the frills of her dress. She did her best to keep her breathing even as cool knuckles rested against the hollow of her throat as Kisshu ran his thumb across the pendant.

Ichigo wondered what he was thinking as she pointedly looked away from that intense gaze of his. She knew he and Ryou had started working on Mew tech down in the lab. Maybe Ryou had shared how the pendants worked? Heck, even she wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. Not the technical of it, at least. Most of her charge was fighting, with Ryou and Akasaka doing most of the behind-the-scenes work. She and the other girls knew how to activate the Mew Aqua in her pendant through their emotions and will. No science or tech needed, just intuition. From what she could understand from Ryou’s initial explanation (not long after she’d first transformed) the pendant helped her channel the Mew Aqua’s energy through her body more steadily, not that she knew how he managed to do that. Though, she supposed, she didn’t really need to know the ins and outs to do her end of the job. 

 Still, it had been exasperating at times (especially in the beginning) when Ryou wouldn’t explain things in less techy terms, opting instead to wave her off and tell her she just needed to focus on kicking chimera butt. Kisshu on the other hand was much more forthcoming with that information - as well rewording things when she didn’t understand. With him and his willingness to share what he and Ryou were working on now, she’d slowly started understanding more of the Aqua’s in-depth workings. She’d never really told him much that she appreciated that. I should do that soon, she thought.

 The Mew was torn away from her thoughts like the pop of a bubble, suddenly aware of Kisshu’s knuckles lightly grazing the side of her neck as he thumbed the fluff on the side of her choker, nowhere near her pendant.

 “It’s a cute design, isn’t it, kitten?” He hummed.

 Ichigo swallowed thickly as his light touch went from her neckband to tracing the tops of her shoulders. She was keenly aware of her tensing muscles and nervous heartbeat and absolutely certain it was loud enough for him to hear. Kisshu kept his eyes locked on her pendant (despite his fingers wandering far away from it), expression appearing relaxed and nonchalant, though there was a certain mischievous glint in his eye that Ichigo could spot from a mile away.

 Dumb jerk. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. And absolutely on purpose!

 Then there was a subtle little click and a slight tug at her neck. Ichigo blinked a few times in confusion as her ears swiveled at the sound. Kisshu was suddenly out of her space and floating away from her and Ichigo noticed a small golden-something resting in his palm. Her hands flew to her neck and she found it unusually bare.

 “I- you? Did you just steal my pendant?”

 Kisshu let out a gasp, hand going to his chest in mock offense. “Steal? I would never! I’m simply borrowing it. I want a better look – you’ll get it back tomorrow.” And he went back to toying with her fluffy neckband as though nothing was off.

 “I didn’t SAY you could borrow it! I didn’t even know that could come off!” The pink Mew quickly lunged for the alien only for him to fly up and out of her reach.

 “Since when has that ever stopped me?” he snickered, stretching out in a relaxed position. The cat-girl made a leap for the alien, fingers only just grazing his ankle as she missed her mark. He gave a few tsks and teleported to the other side of the room, feet landing softly on the floor. “Oh c’mon, I know you can do better than thaAA-”

-

Kisshu gave an oof! as Ichigo suddenly crashed into him, stumbling back as he tried to keep them from toppling over. One arm quickly looped around the back of his neck while the other reached out for the pendant he held out at arm’s length, face squished tightly against her. He pushed against her with his free arm, struggling to escape her grasp to no avail.

 Damn, she’s stronger than she looks, he thought through gritted teeth. He knew he wouldn’t be able to teleport away with her clinging to him and he did not fancy trying to race her for the pendant, even if he could make a good throw. She was faster than she looked too and was getting startlingly good at predicting his teleports.

 “Can’t breathe, kitten!” he tried as he strained against her arm, now dangling the pendant by just two fingers as Ichigo steadily closed the distance.

 “Good. If you pass out I get my pendant,” she grunted back.

 Damn. Well that trick didn’t work. Alright, plan B.

 There was an odd charge to the air suddenly - a buzzing kind of electric feel – and in just one breath and a strange tilting feeling the two were suspended up in the air, just beneath the café’s ceiling. Ichigo yelped, the sudden change startling her, and quickly wrapped both arms around Kisshu’s neck. Kisshu grinned wickedly as he reached behind him, fingers tangling tightly in hers and her fuchsia eyes quickly snapped up to his gold. Her pupils shrunk as she parsed Kisshu’s expression, ears quickly flattening and growling out a “don’t. You. Dare-” just a Kisshu pried off her hands and planted a boot firmly against her stomach, kicking the cat-girl away and sending her tumbling to the floor.

 “Whoops!”

 Kisshu bit his lip as Ichigo fell, a shriek tumbling from her throat. He knew she’d be fine, but he couldn’t help the way his heart instinctively lurched as he watched her plummet. He’d seen her fall from bigger heights and land perfectly fine, so he forced his body to stay put. He was winning whatever game they were playing right now and there was no way he was gonna let his own damn love-sickness give her an edge.

 The feel of his heart in his stomach didn’t go away until she twisted herself midair, landing safely on all fours with a heavy grunt. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 “I can’t believe you just kicked me off from like, ten feet in the air!” she snapped, hair falling haphazardly around her face.

 Kisshu waved her off, reassuming his reclined position from before their tussle. “Oh you’re fine, don’t be a sore loser,” he quipped.

 “Why won’t you just give me back my pendant?” she growled, tail lashing side to side as she stomped a foot.

 “Whhhy won’t you just let me borrow it?” He countered, spinning the choker around on one finger. “I’m not gonna mess with it. Maybe I just wanna carve our initials in it.” He sent Ichigo a wink, blowing her a kiss for emphasis, and laughed as she just gave him a deadpan look. “C’mon, I won’t break it. Stars know I don’t need blondie bitching at me.”

 “No!”

 Kisshu scoffed, flipped around to “lay” on his belly, still high up in the air, chin propped in his hands. “Y’know, sharing is caring, kitten. It’s just one night, it’s not like you need-” he broke himself off and in the silence you could almost hear his brain give a little click! as an idea popped in his head.

 Ichigo regarded him warily with a side-eye as he floated closer, chin turned away as a grin slowly formed on his face. He flipped around again, sitting upside down and cross-legged at Ichigo’s eye-level, hands holding his ankles.

 “You can’t transform back without this, can you, kitten?” It was a bit of a shot in the dark, sure. But logically since he’s seen she can’t initially transform without it then logic would dictate she probably couldn’t power down without it either.

 Ichigo’s eyes narrowed, dark spotted ears folding flat against her head and giving Kisshu all the confirmation he needed.

 “Ha! Oh, that’s beautiful!” He quickly zoomed out of reach as a gloved hand took a swipe at him, flipping back upright as he did. “What I’d give to see you trying to slink home in that-” he gestured to her ostentatious everything, “-without anyone seeing you. I can see the photos of the famous Mew Ichigo just sitting on the bus now, the only neon pink thing for miles. Why are your outfits so loud anyways? Doesn’t make for good camouflage, you know. Might wanna bring that up to blondie.”

 Ichigo threw up her arms. “Alright, fine, yes! I can’t power down without the pendant. Or power up for that matter! And this-” she spastically waved her hands in his general direction. Kisshu had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. “-is exactly why I didn’t tell you! Cuz you go out of your way to be a pain in my ass! There, now you know! So give me back my stuff!”

 Kisshu gasped out “language, kitten!” snickering at her subsequent eyeroll. He closed his eyes for a moment, tapping his chin as if in thought. “Hm. I’m thinking no.”

 Kisshu tried his best to not look amused as Ichigo’s tail puffed up twice its size, even the hair on her head seemed to be getting fluffier. “No?” She ground out slowly, as though she wasn’t sure she heard him right.

 “Correct.” Kisshu made a show of putting her pendant around his own neck and clipping it closed. “See, you’ve made the unfortunate mistake of keeping this thing away from you too much fun, I couldn’t possibly hand it back now.” He touched back down to the ground. His thumb hooked underneath the collar, giving it a tug and flashing a toothy grin. “So then, you want it? Come get it.”

-

Ichigo’s tail lashed as she stared at Kisshu.

Don’t do it, Ichigo. He’s baiting you. You KNOW he’s baiting you.

But what ELSE was she supposed to do? WALK? Go back home and pray her parents weren’t sitting in the living room asking why the hell a superhero just walked into their house? (And y’know, doesn’t she look just like our darling baby girl- WAIT A SECOND--)

 Yeah. Right.

 And she had school tomorrow! Even if she did manage to sneak into her room completely unseen she still couldn’t go to school like this. No way would she be able to get her lazy butt out of bed before daylight (with her nocturnal genes it was hard enough just being awake at 7am much less any time before then). She doubted Kisshu would be so kind as to return her pendant before morning. Knowing him he’d make me go on a scavenger hunt first, she scoffed internally.

 She could call his bluff perhaps? Make like she’d back down and just go back home. What fun was there in a game with only one player, right? Wait, no, no, Ichigo mentally shook her head. He wanted to keep the pendant overnight in the first place. If she ignored him that didn’t mean she got it back, it just meant he got a consolation prize.

Darn it, think, Ichigo!

“If you don’t give it back I’m gonna… tell Ryou!” she threatened.

 “Hah! If you think I’m scared of blondie then you haven’t been paying attention these last few months. Next.”

 Ichigo pointed a warning finger. “He’ll start bitching at you!”

 Kisshu just simpered. “Totally worth it to see you trying to sneak home in that.” He gestured to her outfit, looking smug as he did a little hop so he could sit cross-legged in the air. “Plus, if he actually tries helping you steal your little trinket back then I just get an extra challenge. You know I’m always up for that.”

 Ichigo narrowed her eyes, thinking fast. “I bet Akasaka-san would be disappointed you didn’t respect my boundaries and took something without permission.”

 That gave him pause and he pursed his lips. Ichigo’s internal cheering was short-lived though as Kisshu clutched his chest with an exaggeratedly pained expression. “Oh, a low-blow bringing Kei into this. Even using the therapy words, you wound me. I think I’m impressed!” Ichigo just gave Kisshu’s theatrics a deadpan stare. “Kei’s disappointment would hurt, but seeing as we’re not stabbing each other I think I can earn his forgiveness. That’s major progress, you know! What else you got?”

 Ichigo pressed her mouth in a hard line.

 That-

 -was all the ammo she had. Not even the threat of Akasaka’s disappointment was going to sway him. (And she’d seen firsthand how much that could get under Kisshu’s skin, as much as he’d tried to hide it). Threats weren’t gonna cut it this time.

 A bribe?

 It’d technically be rewarding him for being a brat, but she just wanted to go HOME, darn it! You can only pick so many battles, right?

 But what would she have that he could possibly want? Money wasn’t a worry to him – he just lived at the café now and something told her Ryou wasn’t exactly charging rent. She hadn’t heard him express anything he wanted that she could buy – she doubted he’d even walked into a store before. Food wasn’t much of a bribe either. Akasaka was a master chef and pâtissier and Ichigo burned her grilled cheese last week. So, what else could she bribe him with?

A kiss, her brain supplied.

She felt her ears burn.

No, no, no! Bad idea! Bad brain! As if her feelings towards the alien weren’t complicated enough, the last thing she needed was to add fuel to that particular dumpster fire.

She gave a resigned sigh.

Okay. It seemed like her only real option (or at least the option with the lowest amount of anxiety-induced headaches) was to play by his game and take her pendant back by force. She’s kicked his butt before – she can do it again.

Tail lashing, Ichigo crouched low, feeling the wildcat’s aura stir to life within her. Mew Aqua and feline finesse thrummed through her veins, fueling her tired muscles.

Kisshu grinned as he watched her posture change, catching sight of that fire in her eyes. “That’s what I like to see, kitten!” he said as he touched down again. A flicker of excitement passed through his expression as he readied himself. “Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ichigo lunged.

The ends of her fingers just barely swiped verdant hair as Kisshu sidestepped her. Thinking fast she twirled around in the opposite direction, kicking her leg out to catch him by the ankles. Her foot connected and she felt the follow through as he was swept off his feet, but upon facing him again she was greeted with the alien catching himself in a clumsy midair float. Ichigo snapped forward without pause, fingerless gloves reaching out to latch onto his wrist in a death-grip. Before she could make a move however Kisshu’s free hand snatched her forearm and he whirled around, using both their momentums to spin and throw her to the ground.

Ichigo sucked in a breath as she braced for impact, her shoulder connecting to the floor as she was thrown to the side. She let out her breath and let herself roll, landing back upright on hands and feet. The sound of sharp nails scraping against hardwood sounded as she scrambled after Kisshu. Already the alien was floating away, trying to put some distance between them.

“Ohoh, going straight for the heart right away, huh? Want to end things quickly? How cutthroat, kittycat.” Kisshu snickered at the blatant look of exasperation he was met with. Ichigo was never much one for trash talk – until Kisshu came along anyhow. Even before they were allied she swore his battle taunts were never-ending. It only seemed to ramp up the more he trained with the Mews, quipping and jeering to get a rise out of them at every second. It certainly worked to distract them at times. Zakuro seemed to be the only one immune to his jibes.

“Oh my GOD you are so annoying right now.”

“It’s a gift~”

Ichigo struck out but felt her arm connect with nothing as Kisshu disappeared. She whirled around and spotted it almost instantly – that slight wave, that barely-visible distortion of air.

It was so slight – most people wouldn’t even register it if they weren’t looking for it. And even if they did notice they’d likely brush it off as their eyes playing tricks on them. But repeated exposure to it meant Ichigo learned. Her cat’s eyes were evolved to catch movement – something fast and small shooting across their vision could trigger that instinctual urge to chase. It was that hardwired advantage that allowed Ichigo to latch onto the shiver in the air that signaled the alien’s teleport location. If it weren’t for regular sparing matches against (and with) Kisshu she might never have noticed that little tell. But now she only got better and better at spotting and reacting to it. It only lasted seconds – that’s all Ichigo needed.

Delight shot through her as she swept up behind the distortion. She guessed his orientation correctly and watched – a little smugly – as Kisshu’s head whipped side to side as he failed to spot her in her last location. With a wicked grin she grabbed a wrist and yanked it behind him, pinning it behind his shoulder blade as he hissed with the pain.

“Hm! You’re gonna have to get some new tricks, I’m getting too good at predicting yours.” Ichigo simpered, quickly grabbing his other wrist before he could retaliate.

“I ain’t outta tricks yet, kitten- ack!”

Ichigo pressed her boot to the back of Kisshu’s knees and he quickly fell to them. He struggled for a moment but with him being at a disadvantage she easily managed to get him kneeling and hunched over.

“There, I win! Now give me back my pendant.”

Kisshu scoffed despite his compromised position. “You win when I can’t do this-”

Ichigo yelped as Kisshu pitched forward suddenly and she was thrown onto his back. On instinct she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to both keep from falling off and losing her captive and quickly found herself on an unexpected rodeo ride. With his hands free Kisshu made it to his feet again despite his extra baggage. Within moments of him standing Ichigo was bucked off, Kisshu’s fingers prying her arms from around his neck as she tumbled to the floor. She clumsily stumbled forward, trying to grab him before he could escape, but her eyes registered that shiver of air and she knew he was gone again.

Slitted pupils frantically flitted around before pinpointing Kisshu’s landing sight, way up near the café’s ceiling and far out of the Mew’s reach. He materialized and locked eyes with Ichigo for just a moment before disappearing. She spotted his next landing site (still too high for her to reach) and stared at him before he vanished again. He did this twice more, disappearing and reappearing randomly across the room, always too high for her to attack. Each time Ichigo's unwavering sight locked onto where he inevitably appeared.

Kisshu finally stopped, breathing heavily from his high post. Ichigo knew his teleporting took a lot of energy. Even just moving in those short bursts probably felt something like a sprint, especially back-to-back like that.

Kisshu chuckled. “Can’t escape from your eyes, huh? You’re getting too good at that.”

When Kisshu first started training with the Mews one on one it wasn’t uncommon for him to win. Where the girls were used to fighting with their teammates, Kisshu was used to fighting alone or with a significantly smaller group. Ichigo especially had the worst win ratio against him; she depended a lot on her teammates getting in faster, more versatile hits to set up for her Strawberry Bell. It had taken a while, but Ichigo definitely started making progress. She stopped leaving herself open quite as much and worked better with her body. Where Mint and Zakuro tended to be flighty or graceful, Ichigo’s strengths lied more in stocky force. She leaned into both her natural strength and the newfound muscle her cat genes supplied and could really pack a punch now, even without her Strawberry Bell. Now her matchups against Kisshu were much fairer – almost a game for both of them. A constant push and pull of learning and adapting to each other’s vastly different styles, a newfound challenge that was always evolving.

Ichigo grinned up, feeling a twinge of accomplishment at the praise. Where Kisshu’s jeering was common in battle, his compliments were decidedly less so. It felt good being recognized by her opponent.

“Come back to my level and fight fair then,” she called as she stood back up.

Kisshu’s lip quirked at the playful lilt in her voice. If Ichigo stopped to think for a second she might’ve realized her annoyance was fading and she was starting to have fun now. “Oh, very tempting, but no,” he replied. “I think I’m gonna have to level the playing field, actually. New rule: you want your prize? You’re gonna have to come find me.”

And with that, much slower than before – he’s tiring out, Ichigo thought – he disappeared. Pink locks bounced around as Ichigo tried spotting his new landing site, but nowhere in the room did she spy that telltale shiver of air. A few more seconds ticking by proved he hadn’t reappeared in the room.

“Kish?” Ichigo called – to no response. She swiveled her ears, straining to listen. Nothing. The tip of her tail twitched nervously. She didn’t want to just start screaming and disturb Ryou and Akasaka, wherever they were in the building. “Kisshu! That’s not fair, you can’t just run away!”

She heard it then: a quiet chuckle from the hallway.

She stepped lightly and quickly, making her way over. The hallway was dimly lit, illuminated only by the light spilling over from the main part of the café.

“Kisshu!” Ichigo hissed again. The deeper they went into the building the higher chance they had of running into Ryou. She wasn’t particularly interested in a reminder of how crabby the blond could be after a long day.

“Ichigooo,” came the quiet reply, singing from deep down the stairway to the lab.

Shoot, Ichigo cursed. She quickly made her way down, hand feeling against the railing. The descent down was dim and only got darker further in. Her fingers brushed against the cold wall as she reached the bottom, hoping to find a light switch. She groped blindly while she waited for her eyes to adjust, but to no avail. It wasn’t often she came down here – and when she did the lights were always already on. She wasn’t even sure if there was a light switch.

Thankfully her eyes adjusted quickly, pupils expanding to drink in what little light snuck in from upstairs. (Thank you cat genes). A cursory glance around revealed nothing to her. It looked like she was alone.

Ichigo stepped further in, head on a swivel and ears twitching at every creak and step. She knew she was playing right into Kisshu’s hands, but she had little choice but to venture further, seeing as he was still holding her prize captive. Once she reached the hall’s halfway point she stopped. Surely Kisshu wouldn’t go into the lab, right? Things could get a little  rowdy when they were too focused on beating each other. The last thing they needed was to break something expensive.

Too wrapped in her own thoughts, Ichigo recognized a second too late the electric buzz of Kisshu’s teleporting. Before she could react she felt lean arms wrap around her like a vice, pinning her arms to her side.

“Gotcha.”

A tingle shot up Ichigo’s spine as she felt warm lips press against the back of her neck. Her muscles instantly tensed and she could feel Kisshu’s grin against her skin. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly as he pulled her closer against him and her pulse skyrocketed. She forced herself to breathe. Don’t get flustered, that’s what he wants.

An idea popped in her head and Ichigo bit her lip to keep from smiling.

She reached her hands up, grabbing tight where his arms crossed over her midsection, and spun. Kisshu yelped in surprise as he was suddenly taken for a joyride, his grip on her slipping as he was whirled around and slammed into the wall. Ichigo heard a low wheeze as the air was knocked from him and he stumbled sideways. As soon as he was disconnected from her she saw a quiver of air and he teleported away. It took her much longer to spot him again in the dark. She might have better night vision than a normal human, but the shadows still masked things just enough to make predicting his teleport impossible to spot before he reappeared.

“Actually? I think I got you,” Ichigo quipped. Despite the interruption from her attack, her chest still felt tight from moments before. Warm lips pressed against her neck, her back being pulled flush against him. She shook her head to clear the image.

“You are freakishly strong, you know that?” Kisshu coughed as he caught his breath.

Once again Ichigo felt a swell of pride at catching him off guard. In the back of her mind she wondered if throwing the alien around was easier because she was so used to fending off chimeras twice her size.

“Giving up?” she goaded.

Ichigo could just barely see Kisshu’s eyes flash in the darkness. “Not a chance.”

With that confirmation she advanced, though a spark of surprise hit her as he held his ground.

Ichigo’s strength lied in fighting things head-on (what with her having the strongest, but slowest, powers on her team). Kisshu tended to avoid and evade – opting instead to confuse and keep his opponent guessing on where he’d strike. It usually led to Ichigo throwing a lot of weak strikes or blocking him, waiting for Kisshu to give her an opening she could use to really capitalize.

Ichigo threw a half-closed strike, the kind always used in sparring matches, as Kisshu threw up an arm to block it. He struck out with his foot to catch her ankles but Ichigo reacted too quickly, raising her own to counter and hooking it behind his leg. With a twist of her hips she pulled him forward away from the wall. Her gambit worked and he tripped, falling back right on his butt. Ichigo swooped in, gripping his shoulders and shoving him to the ground in a pin. Kisshu gritted his teeth as he struggled, but it wasn’t much of a fight as Ichigo quickly wrangled him down. Still probably exhausted from teleporting, she thought as she kept him trapped beneath her.

“And here I always thought,” he took a large breath as he stopped struggling, pointedly glancing down to his hips where they were trapped between Ichigo’s thighs, “you’d be too shy to be on top.”

Ichigo blinked in confusion before pink quickly dusted her cheeks. “Oh- would you- shut up!” She smacked his arm in retaliation, ears folding against her head as she took in their position. It wasn’t her fault fights got a little… close sometimes! Still, she couldn’t help the stutter in her chest as the realization was brought to her attention. “Just give up. You lost this match and you know it.”

Kisshu’s eyes narrowed competitively, but she could see the fatigue in them. “Never. I still- still got one more trick.”

That familiar wave of distortion weaved around her.

He’s gonna try and teleport now? He’s exhausted! If she hadn’t won before, she knew it’d be a given now. Teleporting took twice as much energy if you had a passenger and he was clearly running low. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, just in case he did manage to move them.

When the world stopped distorting and that lurch in her stomach disappeared Ichigo glanced around. They were in the exact same spot, not having budged an inch. She heard a light thunk as Kisshu’s head dropped to the floor. Her raised his hands in surrender, saying “alright, alright, you win,” in between heavy breaths.

Ichigo hesitated before loosening her grip and lifting her weight off him through narrowed eyes, not quite trusting as Kisshu shuffled backwards to lean against the wall.

At seeing her distrustful glare he gave a tired, lopsided grin. “You win, I swear. No double-crosses.”

Ichigo pursed her lips, not quite sure if she believed him as she sat back on her ankles. Both were quiet as they caught their breath. The two stared at each other, both looking all sorts of unkempt. One of Kisshu’s hair ribbons had completely undone itself and was surely lying lost somewhere in the café. Ichigo pushed one of her armbands back in place from where it fell down to her wrist. Both of their hair was messy and sticking out all over the place from their whirlwind tumbling. Ichigo couldn’t help but think Kisshu looked like an edgy teen going through an emo phase as half his hair fell over one eye. She pressed her mouth closed harshly, trying to keep it together, but as soon as she heard a snrrk from Kisshu it was all over and they both doubled over laughing.

“You- are SUCH. A pain,” Ichigo wheezed out between giggles.

“I- I know.” Kisshu held his stomach, trying and failing to breathe between laughter. “Like- like I said: it’s a gift.”

The two took a few more long moments trying and failing to reign in their giggle fit. It never failed that they both ended up getting sucked into their own game (as often as Ichigo tried to resist it), and would end up going all out against each other – no matter how stupid it started out.

Kisshu pulled himself further up against the wall, wincing as he settled in. “Ugh, I think you pulled something on my side. Did you have to slam me into the floor and the wall?”

Ichigo shrugged. “You’re the one that asked me to kick your butt.”

He huffed. “Whatever eases your conscience. I hope the thought of me sobbing in pain keeps you from sleeping.”

“I will think of that but it will give me joy and sweet dreams.”

“Sadist.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Kisshu barked out a laugh. Ichigo rolled her eyes and gave a good-natured huff before holding her palm out expectantly. She pointedly eyed the choker still clasped firmly around Kisshu’s neck. He grumbled a bit as she gestured “give it” at him but relented, reaching back to unclasp it.

She busied herself with smoothing down her hair as waited for the feel of a weight dropping into her palm but instead let out a squeak as fingers closed around her wrist and yanked her forward. Her free arm shot out to catch against the wall and Ichigo found her face suddenly very close to Kisshu’s. She was posed awkwardly, one wrist still held hostage and half-leaning, half-falling over him, forearm propped along the wall next to his head. At her expression the corner of Kisshu’s mouth quirked and Ichigo felt her pulse spike.

Too close, too close, mayday, mayday.

On instinct she shuffled forwards to fix her awkward position and lean back only to find it just nestled her more squarely between Kisshu’s legs. Ichigo threw her best glare at him (as good as she could with her face surely on fire) and Kisshu just widened his smirk, crossing his legs behind her, trapping her in. He raised a brow and jingled the pendant in front of her, almost as if saying “don’t leave yet, you didn’t get this back.”

Ichigo didn’t move. Bright pink eyes stared unblinkingly, trying to reign in her nerves as she watched to see what he would do next. She liked to think she chose to stay put, but if she were being honest, she was completely frozen. The hand trapping her wrist tentatively released her and began a slow climb up her forearm. Ichigo suppressed a shiver at the tingling sensation and subsequent heat his trailing fingers left in their wake. Her eyes tracked as his knuckles slooowly dragged up her arm past her shoulder and traced along her clavicle. She looked back up to his face when she couldn’t track his hand anymore. He wasn’t looking back, instead gazing almost lazily as his hand trailed up her throat.

Calloused fingertips looped around to the back of her neck and gently tugged her forward. Ichigo bit the inside of her cheek, trying her best to get her breathing under control as it quickened, lest Kisshu feel it right against his cheeks. She was keenly aware of her waist and the slight pressure of his thighs against it. She resisted clenching her eyes shut as she felt his legs draw her in closer. They were already so close. (Yet somewhere the back of her mind insisted it wasn’t nearly enough).

The hand still holding her pendant reached up, gliding across her jaw before tilting her head up. Electricity crackled across her skin at the touch and the deep quietness of the hallway reminded her that they were very alone. No one around to hear. No one around to see. Throat exposed to someone who, in the past, had put daggers against it. Once upon a time, though perhaps not as long ago as it felt to her, this situation would’ve been reason to panic. And Ichigo was panicking, though not in the same way she might’ve when they were still enemies.

Her nerves felt numbed and on fire all at once. Her eyes drowned in the golden gaze in front of her. She felt both like it would take a mountain to move her and that she could bolt and run at any second. The moment was nerve-wracking and electrified. Terrifying. Addicting. She should move. She should stay put. Say something. Say nothing. Her mind frenzied in half-predictions of what would happen and what was happening in a flurry of thoughts that resulted in her absolute stillness.

Kisshu’s fingers continued their feather-light touches as he deftly looped her band back around her neck and clicked it closed. The pendant finally sat against her throat hollow with a comfortable weight and she felt her body sag in relief. That odd sense of nakedness with its absence finally lifted from her. She’d never noticed the small quiet pulse it gave off against her chest before. She wondered through muddled thoughts if that rhythm was the Mew Aqua within, resonating with her.

Kisshu quirked his lips as he stared at the pendant. From the outside he seemed entirely unperturbed by their current state. He leaned against the wall almost casually, head slightly tilted, shoulders relaxed. But from this close Ichigo could see the slight dilation of his slitted pupils (and some part of her was certain it wasn’t just from the darkness). She could feel the minor quake to his fingers against her neck. How his breathing fanned across her lips, shallow and fast. He swiped a thumb across the heart engraved on her pendant, pale skin a stark contrast to the saturated gold. He finally flicked his gaze to look up at Ichigo. As their eyes locked Ichigo felt the electricity in the air crackle and she held her breath. Anticipating.

He looped a finger into her neckband and pulled her into a kiss.

All at once the tension between them exploded. Cool lips pressed against warm ones. Chaste at first, unsure. Ichigo could feel the nervous tremble of his lips, even as his hand tugged at her neck to pull her closer. She felt herself caught between two wants. One was to pull away. Get distance. Get time. You haven’t thought this through. How could this possibly work out? What about Masaya, you still have feelings for him, don’t you? The second want was to stay, sink in. Feel what’s going on now. Who cared about all those worries when the person in front of her made her head swim and set her skin on fire? Her hand hovered over him as she short-circuited, indecision between clutching to him or pushing away leaving her frozen.

With enough hesitation, and the delicious feel of Kisshu squeezing her arm to pull her against him, she gave in to her second want.

Ichigo melted in the kiss, sighing as the hand holding her up against the wall slid down against Kisshu’s shoulder. Her other hand finally spurred to action and rested against his hip and supported her weight there. His hand ran up to tangle itself in her hair while the other rested against her back. She arched slightly as she sank into him, guided by the gentle press of his palm. Sharp teeth lightly nipped her bottom lip and was immediately soothed with the wet feel of his tongue gliding across it, almost an apology. Ichigo hesitantly opened her mouth. Her already blushing cheeks grew darker in color and she let out an undignified squeak as Kisshu wasted no time diving in. His tongue ran along the roof of her mouth before quickly finding hers to tangle with and Ichigo had to remind herself to breathe.

Kisshu only grew bolder as the seconds ticked by and Ichigo found herself coming further undone in his arms. Her worries? Her uncertainties? Her buts and what-ifs? Gone with the wind, swept away in a river separate from the one she was happily drowning in. As far as Ichigo was concerned they never existed.

With her chest pressed close against his she could feel the resounding beat of his heart right against her own. They thrummed one after the other, an echo and answer, a drummer keeping steady rhythm. Her hands at his shoulder and hip gripped tighter as his legs squeezed around her. He tightened his grip in her hair, nails running lightly against her scalp. Ichigo unconsciously let out a little noise of enjoyment and she vaguely registered Kisshu chuckling in response.

He pulled back for a moment, leaving her dazed and catching her breath. His hand untangled from her hair to cup her face, pushing her bangs back. As her glazed eyes refocused she found herself trapped in his sights again. She almost swore she could feel his heart rate pick up beside her own. Somehow, of everything done, she found looking into his eyes to be what caused her chest to ache the most.

He looked at her like someone who’d never seen the stars – full of awe and admiration and yearning to reach out and capture one for himself. An excitement and anticipation as finally the night sky was within reach. Ichigo felt almost burned by his gaze. A forest beset by a fire so bright and wild that it could do nothing but be consumed. Ichigo felt something curl low in her stomach, equal parts exciting and terrifying as she thought, I want him to.

And that thought is so sudden, so intense, that she feels all her previous worries come flooding back in. A rush of cold water dumped on her head.

What was she doing?? As if her feelings weren’t already complicated enough!

She felt herself being tugged forward for another kiss, Kisshu’s eyes dropping to her lips. His mouth pressed against hers, warm and inviting.

“I-”

Kisshu paused, lips just brushing hers, breaths mingling together. He didn’t push further, but didn’t pull away either. Just glanced up at her.

“I…” Ichigo started again, swallowing. Their mouths continued just barely touching as she spoke. “It’s… it’s late. My parents are going to get worried.”

Kisshu looked indecisive, like he wanted nothing more than to ignore her words and pull her into another kiss. Sear his mouth against her. Devour her. And he probably does, she thought.

A few moments of silence more. Kisshu’s eyes flicked between Ichigo’s stare and her lips. But finally, with closed eyes and a fortifying breath, he leaned away from her.

“Guess you better get back home then.”

Ichigo stayed silent for a moment as some part of her heart felt disappointed. Then she nodded, a little dumbstruck, and mechanically pulled away. The air felt cold against her cheek as Kisshu’s hand slipped away and she nervously twiddled her fingers as she stood. Ichigo took a few steps back and hesitated. Kisshu hadn’t taken his eyes off her, yet she couldn’t read his expression at all. She was overwhelmed by the need to say something, explain herself somehow? But she wasn’t even sure what to explain. She was having trouble understanding herself, let alone telling someone else. Instead she turned away, powering down as she headed for the stairway, staring unseeing at the metal flooring clanking beneath her shoes.

As she reached the end of the hall she mumbled, “see you tomorrow,” sure Kisshu heard her despite the quietness of her voice, and made her way up the stairs.

When she exited the café she was greeted by cool spring air that sent a shock to her system. Stark contrast to all the heated things that happened within the café’s cheery walls. A shiver passed through her as she bundled her arms together and made her way home.

When she uneventfully arrived home she collapsed in her bed. Her mind swam with so many things. About Kisshu. About Masaya. About her lingering feelings for her “old” flame and the sparking embers of her “new” one. About how good everything felt. And how guilty she felt about that. About facing Kisshu tomorrow. About what she would say – about what he would say. About, about, about.