#Sorry that this have to be my first post after that long of an unplanned hiatus

[cuntyji]

MEOW OR NEVER ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: when your mom told you to steer clear of men, you didn't think she meant all of them - fur, whiskers, and all. but hey, maybe naming your cat mr. pickles was where you went wrong, considering she's apparently a mrs. now. and oh, she's pregnant. great. just fantastic. enter suguru geto, your drop-dead gorgeous neighbor, who's not just good at stealing glances but also at being a reluctant father - well, kitten father. turns out, his annoyingly smug orange menace named gojo's the reason you're now an unplanned (grand)parent. is this co-parenting arrangement going to end in peace, or in pieces? or worse, feelings? spoiler alert: suguru geto's got more than just child support to offer, and he's about to prove it in ways that'll have you questioning who the real stray here is.

warnings & tags: fluff and crack, eventual romance, no angst, geto is a year older than reader, geto is an (international) law student implied to be rich, reader's college program is not specified, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual smut (oral, f & m + 69). cast: geto, catoru (gojo is a tabby cat), yaga, sukuna, choso, yuuji, shoko, brief mention of utahime and nanami.

author's note: how i feel adding a graphic after not touching any editing apps since eight grade: 🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺. first long-fic on here and it is obviously for my @norikuna <3 i had so much fun writing geto, i hope you like this, and yes i named her mr. pickles after your meet-cute fic/s. ‼️ i recommend reading on ao3, as tumblr's formatting this fic very poorly and often times the fic has long paragraphs mashed together. i'm so sorry, but please enjoy!

chapter one: guess who's expecting (hint: it's not you)

when your mother warned you to stay away from men, you didn’t realize she meant all species of men. in your defense, you didn’t even know mr. pickles was…well, a dudette. a full-fledged woman, even.

judging by her usual air of indifference toward the struggles of life—whether it be a broken mug, burnt toast, or the existential dread and fear of capitalism looming over you—you’d assumed she was male. an assumption, it seems, born of sheer hubris. after all, you’d done thorough background checks on everyone else you let into your life. everyone except the stray cat that had waddled into your overpriced studio apartment one rainy night and decided it was hers.

the truth? you didn’t mind. between cramming for your degree and surviving the post-mortem of your relationships (both romantic and platonic, because apparently humans are terrible at consistency), mr. pickles became the one reliable constant in your life. albeit a hairy, aloof constant who occasionally brought you hairballs and dead bugs as sacrificial offerings to her goddess. you, of course, were said goddess.

any normal, functioning adult would have taken her to a shelter, or maybe put up a flyer: “found: one stray cat, bad attitude included.” but you, lonely soul that you were, took her in. except, it hadn’t been that simple. no, the first night you met her was anything but serene.

you were drunk. plastered. wobbling through the door with a bag of takeout in one hand and your heels in the other, ready to collapse onto your bed and dream about a life where rent didn’t cost your soul. but instead of an empty apartment greeting you, there she was. sitting smack in the middle of your living room like some furry squatters’ rights advocate, tail flicking with utter disdain.

you froze, still holding the doorknob, as your eyes locked with hers.

"what the—" you whispered, blinking hard to confirm you weren’t hallucinating. nope, she was real.

the cat let out a long, guttural “yeowwwwwwwwwl,” like she was just as horrified by you as you were by her.

you screamed. naturally. "who are you?! how did you get in here?! security’s supposed to be good—oh my god, is that a rat?"

she screamed back, launching into an impressive round of yowls that rattled your very bones. it became a chaotic symphony of you, still holding your takeout, pointing at her with your shoe, while she darted back and forth in an apparent panic over your panic.

"okay, okay," you gasped after what felt like hours but was probably five minutes. "just—calm down! i’ll call the cops or animal control or—do i even know animal control’s number? is that a thing people know?!"

the cat paused mid-panic, tilting her head as if considering whether you were worth the hassle. then, slowly and with the grace of a self-proclaimed queen, she sat back down.

you stood there, panting, wide-eyed, and still clutching your takeout like a lifeline. "are…are you done? can i move now?"

she gave a single chirp in response.

you blinked. "was that a yes?"

another chirp.

"okay, cool. good talk," you muttered, inching toward the kitchen counter to set your stuff down. "you know, you really picked the wrong apartment to haunt, bro. you don’t wanna hang out here."

she followed you, hopping onto the counter with zero hesitation.

"oh, you’ve got nerve," you grumbled, waving a hand. "get down. that’s…oh my god, is that chicken grease? you’re gonna get salmonella. do cats get salmonella?"

the cat meowed, which you took as a very sarcastic no.

you sighed. "great. now i’ve got a cat."

let’s rewind back to the future, to the moment you found out mr. pickles had a party of tiny paws brewing in her belly. it wasn’t an epiphany that hit you like a bolt of lightning—no, it was a series of increasingly bizarre events that gradually chipped away at your ignorance until the horrifyingly adorable truth came crashing down.

first, let’s talk about “pinking up.” apparently, around 16-20 days into pregnancy, a cat’s nipples turn pinker and more prominent—a fact you learned after a very awkward google search. not that you were actively inspecting mr. pickles’ nipples. that felt…wrong. but you did notice, eventually. the weight gain started subtly, a little extra fluff around her midsection that you brushed off as the result of switching to a premium brand of cat food. "guess the organic kibble’s working," you mumbled one evening as mr. pickles sprawled on the couch like a spoiled heiress. she blinked at you, unimpressed, before rolling onto her side, belly on full display. it was… rounder than usual. suspiciously so. but denial is a hell of a drug.

then came the morning she beat you to the bathroom. literally.

you were nursing a wicked hangover, the kind that makes you reconsider every life decision leading up to the night before. groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and toward the bathroom, only to freeze in the doorway. there was mr. pickles, perched in your shower cubicle, hurling her guts out like she’d been partying harder than you. "what the—" you started, but she cut you off with another violent retch. you just stood there, slack-jawed, your own nausea momentarily forgotten. "are you… hungover? can cats be hungover?" she ignored you, finishing her business before hopping out of the shower with a nonchalance that screamed you’ll clean that up, right?

and the sleeping? don’t even get started on the sleeping. mr. pickles, your once lively (read: temperamental) companion, now spent her days passed out in the weirdest positions. you’d leave for class, catch her sprawled upside down on the couch with her legs in the air, and come back hours later to find her in the exact same spot. the first time it happened, you panicked. 

“mr. pickles?” you whispered, crouching beside her. no response. 

"oh my god, are you dead?" you poked her back. nothing. 

just as you were about to call your landlord and have him prepare for the worst, mr. pickles let out the laziest, most judgmental yawn you’d ever heard.

then came the personality shift. the mr. pickles you knew—the one who hissed at your laptop every time you opened it, as if microsoft word had committed a personal offense—was gone. in her place was a clingy, purring ball of affection. she started curling up on your lap while you worked, purring loud enough to rival an industrial saw. “awwww, who’s a good kitty?” you cooed, melting into the moment. and then she shed enough fur on your clothes to build a second cat.

but the final straw, the one that shattered your fragile understanding of reality, was the nesting.

you came home one evening to find mr. pickles frantically rearranging your laundry basket, clawing at the clothes and dragging them into a fluffy pile. she paused when you entered, her eyes wild with an intensity you’d never seen before.

"uhh…what are you doing?" you asked, only to be met with a deep, guttural growl. "okay, that’s new," you muttered, backing away slowly. "you do…whatever that is."

it hit you then. the weight gain, the puking, the clinginess, the nesting. oh my god.

"oh my god," you whispered, clutching the counter for support. "mr. pickles is a girl."

your world tilted. memories of every time you called her sir or buddy flashed before your eyes. you were the problem.

you rushed her to the vet the next day, bursting through the door like a contestant on a reality show. "she’s been acting weird," you blurted to the receptionist. "and by weird, i mean…is she pregnant?"

one checkup later, the vet turned to you with a warm smile and uttered the words that changed everything: “congratulations, you’re a mother.”

your jaw dropped. "what? no. no, i’m not. she’s—she’s the mother!" you gestured wildly to mr. pickles, who was now lounging on the exam table like this was all very boring. the vet chuckled. “well, technically, that makes you a grandmother.”

a grandmother. you, a college student, were a grandmother.

as you drove home in stunned silence, mr. pickles stretched out in the passenger seat, her belly looking smugly round. you glanced at her, still reeling.

“does this mean i have to start calling you mrs. pickles now?”

she purred. of course she purred.

chapter 2: welcome to parenthood, kinda

the day after the vet visit, you were a woman on a mission. holding mr. pickles up like she was a fragile artifact, you found yourself wandering the corridors of your apartment building, knocking on doors and attempting to uncover the truth behind your feline’s unexpected condition. sure, your mother raised you single-handedly, but did that mean you had to take on the role of a cat grandmother solo? absolutely not.

the first stop was masamichi yaga, your landlord. you weren’t sure why you started with the most intimidating person in the building, but desperation has a way of clouding judgment. his door creaked open, revealing the towering man himself, wearing a slightly bemused expression. “uhh …good morning, mr. yaga,” you stammered, clutching mr. pickles tighter for moral support. “i—uh—wanted to ask…do you have a cat?” he raised an eyebrow. “a cat?”

“yeah,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your grip on mr. pickles. “because, um, she’s pregnant, and i was wondering if—well, you know…”

yaga blinked at you for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “no, i don’t have a cat. the only thing i house around here is pandas.”

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. “...pandas?”

“yup. no cats.”

you decided not to press further. “right. okay. thanks, anyway.” you shuffled away, cheeks burning, as he closed the door behind you with a definitive click.

next, you made your way to choso’s apartment. you’d seen the guy a few times in the hallway—tall, always dressed like he’d just walked out of a corporate ad, with an aura of quiet exhaustion that screamed salaryman. when he opened the door, he looked down at you with mild surprise, a coffee mug in one hand. “hi,” you greeted, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “i, uh, have a question. do you happen to own a cat?”

choso blinked, glancing at mr. pickles, who let out a disinterested meow. “no, i don’t.”

“are you sure?” you pressed. “because my cat is pregnant, and—”

“i’m sure,” he cut in gently, though his tone held the same weariness you felt every monday morning. “i barely have time to take care of my brothers, let alone a pet.”

“brothers?”

“yeah.” he took a sip of his coffee. “one of them’s a high schooler. the other one…well, he’s sukuna.”

you froze. “wait. sukuna? as in, the scary guy with the tattoos who glares at everyone when he smokes in the hallway?”

choso nodded. “he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

you had your doubts but decided not to argue. “right. okay. thanks anyway.”

your next stop was shoko’s apartment. you’d always admired her cool, no-nonsense vibe, but the dark circles under her eyes told you she probably didn’t have time for a pet. still, you knocked. when the door opened, shoko stood there, looking like she hadn’t slept in three days but somehow still pulled it off effortlessly.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “do you have a cat?”

“a cat?” she repeated, leaning against the doorframe. “no. i’m barely home enough to keep my plants alive, let alone a pet.”

you nodded, biting back a sigh. “yeah, that makes sense.”

“why?” she asked, eyeing mr. pickles. “is she yours?”

“yeah. she’s pregnant.”

shoko raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “congrats, grandma.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned. “thanks anyway.”

lastly, you tried suguru geto’s apartment. according to the building’s handbook, he was your neighbor on the floor above. but when you knocked, there was no answer. “great,” you muttered, glancing down at mr. pickles. “our prime suspect isn’t even home. what now?”

mr. pickles responded by squirming in your arms, clearly unimpressed with your sleuthing skills.

defeated, you trudged back to your apartment, where the reality of impending grandmotherhood sank in further. with no leads and no one to pin the blame on, you flopped onto your couch, setting mr. pickles down beside you. she stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with herself.

“this is your fault, you know,” you muttered, pointing a finger at her. she responded with a purr, curling up into a fluffy ball of indifference.

great. just great. looks like you were in this alone—again.

evening rolled in, and with it came mr. pickles’s dinner time. lately, you’d been overly cautious about her diet and mood—the whole pregnancy thing and all—but tonight? tonight she was testing your last nerve. there she was, stationed by the door like her life depended on it, yowling dramatically with an almost operatic flair. her tail flicked like a metronome, her cries growing more pitiful by the second. “oh, come on,” you groaned, setting her food bowl down with an exasperated sigh. “what’s with you tonight? you’ve eaten like, three times already.”

mr. pickles, naturally, ignored you, clawing at the door with all the determination of someone who just had to get out. “fine,” you muttered, stomping toward the door. “but i swear, if there’s a stray out there, you can explain yourself, motherf—”

you flung the door open mid-rant and promptly froze.

standing in your doorway was a man. a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome man with long, silky black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and bangs that framed his angular face like he’d just stepped off the cover of handsome landlord quarterly. he wore a plain black sweater, dark trousers, and an expression that was equal parts bemused and apologetic. but your attention snapped to the cat he was holding aloft—an orange tabby with piercingly bright blue eyes that were somehow both smug and indifferent at the same time. “uh…hi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth with an edge of uncertainty. “this yours?”

“that’s…not my cat,” you managed, pointing awkwardly at the tabby.

“figured,” he said, glancing past you into your apartment where mr. pickles was now peeking out, her ears perked and tail bristled like an antenna. “he’s mine. name’s gojo. found him sitting outside my door screaming his lungs out, so i thought maybe…” his words trailed off as his gaze flicked between you, mr. pickles, and gojo. then, realization dawned on his face.

“wait.” he looked at mr. pickles, then back at you. “is your cat…?”

“pregnant?” you supplied flatly. “yep. as of about a week ago, thanks for asking.”

geto—because of course you’d figured out that this very handsome man was suguru geto from the floor above—blinked, visibly processing this information. “huh,” he said finally, his brow furrowing as he glanced at gojo. “but…gojo’s neutered.”

“what?” you blurted, staring at the smug orange tabby who looked anything but neutered. “yeah, had it done ages ago.” geto tilted his head, clearly as baffled as you. “so how the hell…?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache blooming. “you’re saying there’s no way it could’ve been him?”

“not unless he figured out how to reverse a neuter,” geto said dryly, his lips twitching in a bemused smile. you both looked at the cats the—gojo, lounging smugly in geto’s arms, and mr. pickles, glaring daggers from the safety of the couch. “okay,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “if not gojo, then who? because i don’t exactly let her out, and she’s been acting weird for weeks.”

“well…” geto began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “he did sneak out a couple of times last month, but i didn’t think—”

“oh my god,” you groaned, cutting him off. “are you telling me your supposedly neutered cat is actually some kind of feline lothario who managed to knock up my cat on one of his escapades?”

“it’s not like i planned this,” geto defended, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. you shot him a look, but before you could respond, gojo meowed loudly, almost like he was bragging. “great,” you muttered, throwing your hands up. “just great. now i have to deal with kittens, rent, and figuring out how the hell to co-parent with the guy next door who can’t keep his cat under control.”

geto chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. “well, if it helps, i’m pretty good with kids. or kittens, in this case.” you stared at him, incredulous. “this isn’t funny.”

“oh, come on,” he teased, his smirk widening. “it’s a little funny.” you groaned again, retreating into your apartment. “this is a nightmare.”

“or an adventure,” geto countered, stepping back into the hallway with a casual wave. “let me know if you need any help. babysitting, moral support, whatever.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving you with a very pregnant mr. pickles, a smug orange tabby, and far too many questions about how you’d managed to land yourself in this ridiculous situation.

-

the realization hit you as soon as you pressed "send." oh no. oh no, no, no. 

did you really just text suguru geto—your neighbor, a man who likely had better things to do than deal with your ridiculous antics a demand for child support? for cats? you flopped face-first onto your couch, groaning into a throw pillow. “what the hell is wrong with me?” mr. pickles, lounging on the armrest, flicked her tail and let out a smug little chirp, as if she’d orchestrated the entire debacle. “you’re no help,” you muttered, rolling onto your back to glare at her.

but it was too late now. the text was sent, sitting in geto’s inbox like an uninvited guest at a party. you imagined him reading it, probably over a cup of coffee in his immaculate apartment upstairs, eyebrows raised in disbelief before muttering something like, what the hell is this?

“what was i expecting?” you asked the ceiling. “a courtroom? with gojo cat wearing a tiny tie and confessing his sins?” mr. pickles yawned, completely uninterested in your spiral.

“ugh,” you grumbled, standing up. “whatever. it’s his problem now.”

-

bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, you shuffled to the door the next morning to grab the newspaper. the universe owed you at least one boring morning after last night’s embarrassment. but as you opened the door, your sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. there, sitting on your front porch, was a 5kg bag of premium cat food, the kind you’d seen in the store once and immediately walked past because it cost more than your monthly grocery budget. “what the…” you muttered, crouching down to inspect it.

taped to the bag was a folded piece of paper with the words “child support :)” scrawled in smooth, confident handwriting. beneath the note was what looked suspiciously like a paw print in ink. you squinted, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “no. absolutely not. did he—did they actually ink up the cat for this?” you glanced down the hallway, half-expecting geto to pop out from behind a corner and yell “gotcha!” but it was eerily quiet. mr. pickles, who had wandered over to investigate, sniffed the bag and let out an excited meow, her tail curling in approval. “of course you’re happy,” you said, picking up the note and reading it again. “this is like winning the lottery for you.”

you flipped the paper over, looking for more, but that was it. just “child support :)” and a smug paw print. “oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “he’s good. he’s really good.” you set the bag inside and grabbed your phone, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. what were you even supposed to say to this? thank you? an apology for being unhinged?

before you could overthink it, a new message lit up your screen.

geto: hope this helps. let me know if you need anything else. gojo says hi.

you stared at the message for a long moment, torn between laughter and mortification.

“what do i even say to that?” you asked mr. pickles, who was now trying to claw her way into the bag of food. she didn’t respond, obviously, but you took her enthusiasm as a sign to type out the least embarrassing reply you could muster.

you: thanks. mr. pickles says hi too. sorry about the text, was half-asleep. really appreciate this though.

a reply came almost instantly.

geto: no problem. wasn’t sure how much to get, so i just grabbed the fanciest one. figured she deserves it.

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are you, cat royalty?”

mr. pickles let out a pleased chirp, pawing at the bag triumphantly, and you couldn’t help but laugh. whatever this situation was, at least mr. pickles was happy. and, okay, maybe suguru geto wasn’t completely terrible either.

you thought life couldn’t get more ridiculous after the whole “child support” stunt. but somehow, suguru geto managed to raise the bar so high that it was practically doing pull-ups in the stratosphere. because when you stepped out of your apartment to grab some fresh air and regroup after being up all night with a cuddly mr. pickles, you realized geto had turned this entire ordeal into a neighborhood event. “did he… throw a party without telling me?” you muttered to yourself, narrowing your eyes as you spotted a small, hand-decorated sign taped to the landlord’s door. it read: "congrats to the new parents: gojo & mr. pickles!”

“new parents?” you said aloud, incredulous.

as if summoned by your confusion, choso’s door creaked open, and yuuji popped his head out, looking entirely too enthusiastic for such an early hour. “hey, neighbor! did you see the banner?” you blinked at him. “banner?” 

yuuji pointed down the hallway. you squinted and, sure enough, there it was — a banner strung across the hallway ceiling that read: "welcome baby kittens!!!" in what looked like glitter glue. “oh my god.” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “he didn’t.”

“he totally did!” yuuji grinned, stepping fully into the hallway. “he came by earlier and told me about gojo being a dad. so cool, right? i mean, gojo’s kind of an idiot, but hey, every cat deserves a shot at fatherhood.”

“yuuji,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “he’s not an actual dad. this isn’t a sitcom. it’s just…biology.” yuuji shrugged. “biology, destiny, same thing. oh, by the way, geto dropped off cookies! want one?” you looked down and noticed yuuji holding a plate of cookies shaped like tiny cats.

“what the—did he bake these?”

“nah, i think he bought them,” yuuji said, biting into one. “but still. pretty neat, huh?” you groaned, muttering, “neat isn’t the word i’d use.”

just as you turned to head back into your apartment and escape the madness, there was a loud, insistent scratching at your door. you froze. “don’t tell me…”

yuuji, still chewing on his cookie, pointed. “that’s probably gojo. he’s been making rounds all morning trying to visit your cat. i think he’s really taking this fatherhood thing seriously.” you stormed to your door and there he was—gojo cat, gojo the cat, his bright blue eyes wide and hopeful as he pawed at the doorway like a love-struck romeo. “oh, for crying out loud,” you muttered, scooping him up and holding him at arm’s length as you entered your house. “what do you think you’re doing?” gojo meowed pitifully, his tail flicking as he looked past you toward mr. pickles, who was curled up on her blanket, looking utterly unimpressed. “she’s not interested, casanova,” you told him, turning to yuuji. “can you take him back before he climbs my curtains again?” yuuji laughed, taking the cat from you. “no problem. come on, gojo. let’s give her some space.”

as yuuji disappeared down the hall with gojo, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. but before you could even sit down, your phone buzzed.

geto: hope you’re enjoying the festivities. gojo’s a little excited, but who can blame him? parenthood changes you.

you stared at the message, your eye twitching.

you: i'm one sleepless night away from snapping. please stop turning my life into a hallmark movie.

geto: don’t be shy. you’re the real hero here, grandma.

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. mr. pickles, who had been watching the entire ordeal with an air of feline superiority, let out a small, smug purr. “don’t you start,” you told her, flopping onto the couch. “at least it’s a long weekend.” but deep down, you knew there was no such thing as peace—not when suguru geto and his ridiculous orange menace were involved.

-

suguru geto was not having a good day.

he sighed, leaning back against his couch as the familiar hum of embarrassment settled over him. gojo cat, sprawled across the armrest, gave a half-hearted meow, probably to mock him. he’d woken up to him scratching at his front door like a lunatic, yowling for his morning ritual of inspecting the hallway for signs of mr. pickles. the normally smug and self-satisfied orange menace had been acting weird for days—restless, meowing at windows, and straight-up bolting every time geto so much as opened the front door. it had taken geto exactly one trip downstairs to realize why.

you. or more specifically, your cat.

geto hadn’t even known you had a cat until he’d knocked on your door last week, with mr. pickles in the background like some furry empress. now, not only did he know, but he also had the dubious honor of being the grandfather of mr. pickles’ unborn kittens. “how did it even come to this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the glittery “welcome baby kittens!!!” banner he’d put up in the hallway. he knew he was making things worse for himself, but honestly, it was better than sitting in his apartment, spiraling. he sighed, looking down at gojo, who was perched on the armrest of the couch, lazily licking a paw. “you couldn’t just chill, could you?” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the cat. “no, you had to go and ruin my already complicated life. do you know how awkward this is? do you?”

gojo blinked at him, clearly unbothered. “of course you don’t,” geto muttered. “you’re a cat.”

the thing was, geto had genuinely thought he’d be cool about this whole situation. sure, it was a little weird to be co-parenting kittens with the girl he’d had a hallway crush on for months, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. except he wasn’t handling it. he’d told yuuji. he’d told yaga. he’d even left cookies for shoko. and now half the building knew about gojo’s escapades. “what am i doing?” he groaned, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “you know, this is all your fault,” geto muttered, glaring at the cat. gojo, unbothered, blinked lazily.

geto had been a lot of things in his years of life—student, aspiring lawyer, occasional cat dad—but one thing he wasn’t was smooth when it came to you. you, the girl from another department who lived one floor below him. you, the one who always looked like you belonged in a wes anderson movie, with your half-hidden smiles and humour. you, who somehow managed to make even the most mundane hallway interactions feel like they had a gravitational pull. geto groaned, pressing his palms into his face. he was this close to becoming a tragic cliché. 

it wasn’t like he’d never tried to talk to you before. he had. there was that one time in the campus library, where he’d psych himself up for twenty minutes only for you to leave before he could string a coherent sentence together. or the time in the cafeteria when he thought about offering you a seat at his table but chickened out because he was certain his friends would tease him for weeks. “this is what rock bottom feels like,” he muttered to himself.

he wasn’t even supposed to live in this building. as an international law major with a full schedule and internships on the horizon, he should’ve been in one of the fancier complexes closer to campus, but fate—or sheer bad luck—had landed him here. not that he could complain. not when you were his downstairs neighbor. he had always figured you were out of reach, though. you had this aura of being completely in your own world—poised, a little reserved, but not in a way that came off as unapproachable. more like you were quietly observing the chaos around you, letting it wash over you like a passing breeze. and he’d been content to admire you from afar. well, mostly content. but now? there was a knock at the door. 

geto froze.

“please don’t let it be her,” he whispered, praying to whatever higher power might be listening.

it was you. standing in his apartment building, holding a note he wrote about “child support.”

“hey,” you said, holding up a piece of paper. “you forgot this.”

“oh,” he said dumbly. “right. thanks.”

you stepped inside, looking around at the various cat-themed decorations geto had somehow acquired in the past 24 hours. “so… big fan of cats, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. geto felt his face heat up. “uh, yeah. something like that.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this. it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” geto repeated, incredulous. “your cat is having kittens with my cat. that’s, like… monumental.” you rolled your eyes. “they’re cats , geto. not royal heirs.”

“still,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “i’m just trying to be responsible here.” you looked at him for a long moment, and geto swore he saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in your eyes. “responsible?” you repeated. “is that why you’ve turned our hallway into a petting zoo?” geto opened his mouth to argue but stopped when gojo jumped down from the couch and strutted over to you, rubbing against your legs like the shameless flirt he was. “traitor,” geto muttered under his breath. you crouched down to pet gojo, a small smile tugging at your lips. “well, at least someone knows how to make a good impression.” 

geto stared at you, his brain short-circuiting. “uh, yeah,” he said finally. “he’s… he’s good at that.” you stood up, brushing cat fur off your hands. “anyway, thanks for the food. mr. pickles appreciates it.”

“no problem,” geto said, trying to sound casual. “you know, if you ever need help with… anything, just let me know.” you raised an eyebrow. “like what? cat parenting classes?”

“sure,” geto said, shrugging. “or, you know, anything else.” you gave him a long, considering look before finally nodding. “i’ll keep that in mind,” you said, turning to leave. “thanks, grandpa.”

geto groaned as the door closed behind you. “what am i even doing?” he muttered again, looking down at gojo, who had jumped back onto the couch, looking entirely too smug. the cat meowed, as if to say, you’re welcome.

chapter 3: first we stalk, then we brunch

later in the evening, you found yourself huddled under your comforter, laptop balanced precariously on your knees. mr. pickles was curled up at your feet, occasionally flicking her tail, as if silently judging you. you ignored her. tonight, you had a mission: to do a deep dive into the enigma that was suguru geto. you weren’t proud of yourself, okay? but curiosity had officially killed the cat—or at least put her temporarily out of commission. like any sensible person armed with curiosity and internet access, you turned to linkedin. not instagram, not facebook—linkedin. because nothing screams “serious investigation” like stalking someone’s professional achievements. “let’s see what we’ve got, mr. pickles,” you muttered, typing “suguru geto” into the search bar on the holy grail of professional snooping. mr. pickles perched regally at the foot of your bed, her gaze judgmental as ever. “don’t give me that look,” you muttered. “i’m doing this for you.”

within seconds, his profile loaded up, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

suguru geto wasn’t just good-looking. oh no. he was an overachiever of the highest order. his profile picture was annoyingly perfect: a candid (but totally staged) shot of him sitting at a café, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while looking thoughtfully into the distance, as if he’d just solved world hunger. his headline read:

suguru geto | international law student | aspiring global policymaker | passionate about justice and equality

“ugh,” you groaned, scrolling further. “passionate about justice? who is this guy?” his bio didn’t help matters. it was filled with phrases like ‘dedicated to fostering positive global change’ and ‘committed to bridging the gap between policy and implementation.’

“committed to being annoyingly perfect, maybe,” you muttered, side-eyeing mr. pickles. she let out a half-hearted meow that you chose to interpret as agreement. his experience section was even worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. a summer internship at the UN where he ‘assisted in drafting resolutions and collaborated with member states on sustainable development initiatives.’ worked as a legal intern at some fancy law firm with a french name you couldn’t pronounce, where he ‘focused on international human rights cases, with a specific emphasis on refugee protection.’ not to mention being a volunteer coordinator for a charity in sri lanka, where he ‘organized relief efforts and distributed supplies to displaced families during the holiday season.’

“okay, mr. pickles,” you said, glancing at the unimpressed feline. “this guy’s either a saint or a robot.” what shocked you most wasn’t his saintly résumé, but the fact that he went to the same university as you. you stared at the screen, stunned. “how the hell did i not know this?” his “education” section confirmed it:

bachelor’s in international law | current student

active member of the debate team and global policy forum

that explains it, you thought. you were a year younger and in an entirely different department—he probably had his head buried in treaties while you scrambled through your own projects. still, the idea of suguru walking the same hallways as you sent your mind reeling. “was he in the cafeteria when i spilled coffee on myself that one time?” you wondered aloud. as you continued scrolling, you stumbled upon his posts. his posts swung wildly between annoyingly inspirational and oddly endearing.

the first was a very cheesy, slightly-too-polished “ringing in the new year” post, complete with a stock photo of fireworks and an unnecessarily long caption: ‘as we close the chapter on another year, let us remember the power of community and resilience. cheers to 365 days of growth, learning, and striving for a better world!’

“uggghhh, gag me,” you snorted, though you couldn’t help but admire how polished it all was.

then there was a post featuring none other than gojo cat sprawled on a cushion, mid-snore. the caption read: ‘cats are not just pets—they are companions, teachers, and sometimes, our greatest confidants. thank you, gojo, for reminding me to appreciate the little joys in life.’

“confidants? really?” you muttered, holding back a laugh. “what secrets are you sharing with your cat, suguru?” the pièce de résistance, however, was a post about his recent trip to sri lanka. it included a photo of him kneeling next to a group of kids, all of them smiling brightly, while he held a giant sack of rice. ‘spending christmas eve here has been a humbling experience. giving is not just about material wealth but about offering hope and kindness. #holidaygiving #payitforward’

“oh, come on,” you groaned. “who even has time for all of this?” mr. pickles let out an approving meow, her ears twitching at the picture. “not you too,” you sighed. just as you were about to close the tab, a final post caught your eye. it was from a few months ago: a blurry picture of the university quad, with a caption that read: ‘sometimes, it’s the quiet moments on campus that remind you why you started this journey. grateful for this space, these people, and this path.’

“quiet moments, huh?” you mused, leaning back against your pillows. “maybe he’s not all bad.” mr. pickles let out a disapproving chirp, as if to say, focus on the fact that he’s responsible for my current condition, thank you. and just when you thought you’d seen it all, there was his international cat day post. gojo cat lay sprawled in the background, his belly exposed, looking utterly unbothered. geto had written an almost poetic ode to feline companionship. ‘in a world filled with noise, cats remind us to listen to silence. they are the quiet guardians of our souls.’

you couldn’t help but snort. “quiet guardians? mr. pickles, your baby daddy is a poet now.” mr. pickles gave a soft chirp, as if to say, better him than some nobody. “fine,” you relented, closing your laptop. “maybe he’s not terrible. just… annoyingly perfect.” but as you lay back against your pillows, a nagging thought lingered: why had he never said anything? you’d walked the same hallways, shared the same campus, yet he’d never even made a passing hello. was he too busy, or something else? either way, you weren’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. probably both.

-

suguru geto prided himself on being polished and refined. and he had standards okay? he wasn’t some creep skulking around in the shadows. he was a man of composure, logic, and discipline. but all of that went out the window when it came to you. he is also an upstanding citizen who just happened to know your spotify account, which he checked semi-regularly. for research purposes, obviously. it started innocently enough—getting your instagram handle. no big deal. he hadn’t even followed you right away, worried it might seem weird coming out of nowhere. it was all very calculated: a "friend of a friend of a classmate of a third cousin" pipeline that eventually led him to your public page. a click here, a scroll there, and boom—your instagram aesthetic was forever seared into his memory.  but social media wasn’t enough. no, geto was too curious (and maybe just a bit too pathetic) to stop there. this led him to your spotify.

now, he didn’t just stumble upon your spotify profile by chance. this particular treasure hunt began at a house party at the start of the year. utahime had made a collaborative playlist for everyone, and while everyone else just added their favorite songs, geto decided to dive deep. deep as in scrolling through over 150 accounts connected to the playlist just to find yours. “there it is,” he had muttered triumphantly back then, his lips twitching into a satisfied smile. “gotcha.” and from that moment, your spotify profile became his guilty pleasure. your profile picture at the time? a blurry photo of what looked like you holding a glass of wine at some fancy rooftop bar. but the playlists were the real treasure.

your “gym rat” playlist was his favorite, with high energy tracks, peppered with one or two questionable choices. seriously, why was there a taylor swift song in the middle of your workout playlist? your “in the clerb, we all cryin’” playlist was interesting to say the least, comprising of indie ballads, heart-wrenching acoustics, and, for some reason, a single abba track. then there was “road trip,” featuring everything from funky throwbacks to an absurd number of songs by chappell roan. “you’ve got taste,” geto muttered to himself, clicking into the playlists one by one. “questionable taste in some areas, but still…” he often scrolled through your profile aimlessly, not necessarily looking for anything new, but just existing in your world, even if it was through music. tonight, he found himself back on your page, like some kind of masochistic ritual.

his eyes drifted to his chrome tabs, where your spotify was bookmarked for easy access. it was right there, sandwiched between his email inbox, an online soba delivery menu, an article titled “10 Tips for Acing Your Next Law Internship” and a tab about international trade law regulations. “no new playlists,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. your gym playlist hadn’t been updated in six months (“what happened to your gym rat era?”), and your grwm playlist was untouched. “slacking, hm?” gojo cat, perched on the edge of the desk, gave him a slow blink. “boring night for you too, huh?” geto sighed dramatically, glancing over at gojo cat sprawled on his lap. the feline barely flicked an ear in response. “don’t look at me like that,” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the feline. “this is completely normal behavior. i’m not stalking. i’m just… maintaining a healthy level of interest.”

“it’s not creepy,” he justified aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “it’s resourceful. i’m just staying informed.” gojo cat stretched lazily, letting out a yawn that sounded suspiciously judgmental. “oh, don’t start,” geto shot back, tapping lightly on the cat’s head. “you’re the reason i even know her in the first place.” geto’s eyes flicked to your “gym rat era” playlist again. still untouched. “what happened to that, by the way?” he asked no one in particular. “gave up? hit your personal best and retired early?” gojo cat pawed at the corner of his laptop, as if trying to close it.

“hey, no,” geto said, swatting the cat’s paw away gently. “i’m in the middle of something important.” his finger hovered over the profile picture you’d updated—something blurry and vaguely artsy. probably taken at a bar or café. he debated clicking it but stopped himself. what was he expecting? some secret hidden bio like “hey, stop creeping”? he sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “i’m not weird, right?” he asked the cat.

gojo, being a cat, offered no answer.

“right,” geto muttered. “this is perfectly reasonable. i’m just… interested. it’s not like i’m walking past her door at 3 a.m. or something.” a fleeting daydream crossed his mind—what if the two of you had a shared playlist? something intimate and special, where you both added songs and left little comments. “‘thinking of you when i added this,’” he mused in a mockingly cheesy tone, shaking his head. “god, what am i, thirteen?” still, the thought lingered, making him smile despite himself. just as he began to close the tab, a notification popped up.

[beef_boss_69 has followed you.]

his entire demeanor shifted. “beef boss? beef boss?” geto practically spat the name out. “who the hell—what kind of username is that?” he clicked on the profile, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the new follower. it was a faceless account, with no playlists or followers of its own. “oh, great,” he grumbled. “a bot. or worse, some guy who thinks he’s funny.” he glanced at gojo cat, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. “don’t give me that look,” geto said, pointing at the cat. “you’d be upset too if some guy named beef boss was muscling in on your territory.” gojo cat chirped, which suguru took as a sign of agreement. “exactly,” geto said, nodding to himself. “i mean, what’s next? chicken king 420? pork prince 88?” 

he sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “i should just send the linkedin request,” he muttered to himself. “rip the band-aid off. what’s the worst that could happen?” gojo cat let out a loud meow, almost as if to say, you’re never going to do it. “shut up,” geto shot back, though there was no heat behind his words. he closed your spotify tab, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the thought of actually interacting with you. maybe tomorrow, he thought. or next week. or the next time beef boss made a move. as he shut his laptop, he made a mental note: tomorrow, he’d work up the nerve to send you a linkedin request. baby steps, right?

-

you weren’t even sure what had pulled you out of bed that morning. was it the ungodly racket outside your door? the growing guilt of not actually reading the paper you insisted on having delivered? or maybe just the suspiciously human-sounding yowls of mr. pickles as she nested in the corner of your room? either way, you’d dragged yourself out of bed, eyes half-closed, hair resembling a bird’s nest, and shuffled toward the door in your favorite—read: most embarrassing—pajamas. and there he was.

suguru geto, standing in front of your door in the crisp morning light, wearing an athletic jacket, sweatpants, and the expression of a man who was absolutely not ready for this level of chaos. attached to his hand was a leash, and attached to the leash was none other than gojo cat himself, strutting like he was the king of the neighborhood. “morning,” geto greeted, his tone breezy but his face clearly betraying some inner turmoil. you blinked at him. “is that… is that a harness?”

“yep.” geto scratched the back of his neck. “gojo here insisted.” as if on cue, gojo cat let out an overly dramatic meow, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. he looked like a lion surveying his kingdom =—or, more accurately, a spoiled housecat demanding tribute. “you’re taking your cat for a walk?” you asked, still half-asleep and very much regretting this encounter. “yeah, he’s been getting a little… restless,” geto said, glancing down at the fluffball who was now trying to paw at your door. “and by restless, i mean clawing the walls like a maniac at 3 a.m.” gojo cat let out another meow, this one louder, and then craned his neck to peer behind you, as if expecting mr. pickles to emerge in all her pregnant glory. “okay, what’s he doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the cat. “probably hoping to see his baby mama,” geto replied with a dry chuckle. you stared at him, your brain still buffering from the sheer audacity of that sentence. “baby mama?”

“look,” geto started, suddenly looking flustered, “i was wondering if you… i mean, if she … maybe we could —”

“spit it out.”

“do you wanna join us for a walk?” he blurted, his cheeks faintly pink.

gojo cat meowed again, clearly seconding the idea. or maybe he was just demanding that you bring mr. pickles along. you sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the aforementioned queen of your household, who was currently sprawled on her side like a beached whale. “she’s not exactly in the mood for exercise.” “please,” geto said, his tone bordering on desperate. “it might do her some good. and honestly, it might keep gojo from trying to scale your window again.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “fine. but you owe me breakfast for this.”

“deal,” geto said immediately, his relief almost palpable.

after an embarrassingly long five minutes of wrangling mr. pickles into her carrier—complete with angry hisses and a swat to your hand—you emerged from your apartment, looking like you were about to march into battle. “ready?” geto asked, his smile equal parts charming and sheepish. “let’s just get this over with,” you grumbled, hoisting the carrier while mr. pickles glared daggers at everyone in sight. as the four of you set off, gojo cat kept glancing back at the carrier, chirping softly as if trying to woo mr. pickles through sheer persistence. “he’s really laying it on thick, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “like father, like son,” geto joked, then immediately looked mortified at his own words. you snorted, finally cracking a smile. “careful, geto. i might actually start thinking you’re funny.” he grinned, his confidence seemingly restored. “well, miracles do happen.”

mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a low growl from her carrier, clearly unimpressed with the whole ordeal. gojo cat chirped in response, pressing his face to the mesh side of the carrier in what could only be described as a show of devotion. “is he always like this?” you asked, watching the ridiculous display. “only when he’s in love,” geto replied, shooting you a look that lingered just a second too long. you pretended not to notice the way your heart skipped a beat. “well, he better not get his hopes up. mr. pickles isn’t exactly the romantic type.” geto chuckled. “guess he’ll just have to win her over.” as the morning sun climbed higher, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so bad after all.

geto meanwhile, was mentally spiraling. he didn’t know what was worse—the “like father, like son” line he’d just dropped on you or the fact that you didn’t immediately burst out laughing and leave him and his ridiculous orange tabby in the dust. instead, you stayed, which only made things harder for him. literally. his heart was pounding so loudly he was sure even mr. pickles could hear it from inside her carrier. he was trying to play it cool, but how was he supposed to do that when his so-called son was busy embarrassing the hell out of him? gojo cat was living his best life, pulling on his leash like a dog on a mission. his blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he trotted beside mr. pickles' carrier, occasionally pawing at the mesh as if trying to “connect” with his beloved. mr. pickles, for her part, was clearly over it. she sat in the carrier like a disgruntled queen, her ears flat and her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“your cat’s persistent,” you said, watching as gojo cat did a full circle around the carrier before flopping dramatically on the sidewalk, belly up, in what looked like a plea for attention. “he’s… special,” geto replied, attempting to reel in the leash as gojo cat kicked his legs in the air, rolling onto his side to stare mournfully at mr. pickles. “gojo, stop being weird.” gojo cat let out a pitiful meow, his paws pressing against the carrier like he was performing some romeo and juliet reenactment. “is this normal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crouched to take a closer look. “define normal,” geto deadpanned, tugging the leash again as gojo cat started to nudge his face against the carrier. “he’s just... enthusiastic. about life. and apparently, love.”

“mr. pickles looks like she’s about to murder him.”

mr. pickles, indeed, was having none of it. when gojo cat got too close, she raised a paw and batted at the mesh with a low growl, making geto jump. “okay, timeout,” geto said, scooping gojo cat up with one arm while holding the leash in the other. gojo cat squirmed, letting out a series of indignant chirps as if protesting his removal from the “love of his life.” “you’re really committed to this cat dad role, huh?” you teased, standing back up. “it’s not a role,” geto replied, attempting to adjust gojo cat in his arms as the feline twisted dramatically, his tail flicking with determination. “it’s a lifestyle.” you snorted, and geto decided right then and there that he would endure any amount of humiliation for the sound of your laughter.

meanwhile, gojo cat had decided he’d had enough of the timeout. with a sudden burst of energy, he wriggled free from geto’s grip and made a beeline back to mr. pickles’ carrier. he pawed at it again, letting out a chirp that sounded suspiciously like, notice me, senpai. “jesus christ, gojo,” geto muttered, scrambling to grab the leash. “can you give her some space for five seconds?”

“he’s determined,” you said, your lips twitching as you watched the scene unfold. “i’ll give him that.”

“determined to get us kicked out of the building, maybe,” geto grumbled, finally managing to wrangle gojo cat back.

mr. pickles, now thoroughly fed up, turned her back to the carrier door, her tail swishing in annoyance. she let out a loud, irritated meow, as if to say, enough of this nonsense. “looks like the queen has spoken,” you said, nodding toward mr. pickles. “yeah, well, tell that to this guy,” geto replied, holding gojo cat up like a misbehaving toddler. “i swear, he’s got no chill.”

“takes after his dad, huh?” you said with a sly grin.

geto froze, his cheeks heating up. “i—uh—he’s not my biological—uh…”

you laughed again, shaking your head. 

“relax, geto. i’m just messing with you.” but before geto could recover and try to salvage what was left of his dignity, gojo cat let out another loud meow, squirming in his grip. “great,” geto muttered. “and now i’m the guy whose cat ruins his chance to make a good impression.”

“who said it was ruined?” you said casually, your gaze meeting his for a brief, heart-stopping moment. and just like that, geto decided that maybe—just maybe—gojo cat wasn’t the worst wingman in the world after all.

honestly, when you first saw geto on linkedin yesterday—highlighted internships, connections with every fancy-sounding legal firm, and posts that made him look like a diplomatic demigod—you thought, oh, great. another rich boy who probably orders his coffee by listing ten modifications and has never eaten instant noodles in his life. add gojo cat into the mix, and you were sure this guy was going to be the embodiment of an annoying private school kid, complete with a pet who demanded bottled water and artisanal treats. but this? this was unexpected. geto was, dare you say it, fun. the man actually cracked jokes, didn’t have that holier-than-thou attitude, and seemed genuinely nice. how was he even an international law major? weren’t they supposed to be the glorified MUN kids of society?

“so, what do you think of him?” geto asked, glancing down at gojo cat, who was currently doing his best impression of an olympic sprinter, chasing a rogue leaf across the path. “him?” you asked, smirking. “i think he’s a menace to society.”

“hey, that’s my son you’re talking about,” geto said, mock-offended. “like father, like son,” you shot back, and you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. “you wound me,” geto replied dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just dealt a fatal blow. you laughed despite yourself. “i mean, am i wrong? you’re kind of a menace too, you know. showing up with that “like father, like son” line earlier.”

“that line was gold, okay?” he said, defensive but clearly holding back a grin. “besides, it worked. you’re still here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “you got lucky. i needed some fresh air.”

“ah, so i’m just a side quest for your morning routine. noted,” he said, looking mock-wounded again. “don’t make me regret this,” you said, though your tone was light. but then, of course, you had to spiral. because what kind of person just casually smells like bamboo? why were you even thinking about how he smelled in the first place? no, focus. you were not about to develop a crush on mr. linkedin extraordinaire.

“so, um,” geto started, scratching the back of his neck. you noticed he did that a lot when he was unsure of himself, which was oddly endearing. “did you, uh, happen to notice we go to the same university?”

“oh, i noticed,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “what i didn’t notice was how i never saw you around campus before.”

“i keep a low profile,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. 

“low profile? you? with your fifteen linkedin posts about networking events and charity galas?” you teased. he flushed, and you bit back a laugh at the sight of the ever-composed suguru geto getting flustered. “that’s professional stuff,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “different vibe.”

“sure, mr. diplomat,” you said, grinning. “but seriously, why haven’t we crossed paths before?”

“well, you’re a year younger,” he mumbled, “and in a different department. plus… i might’ve…”

“might’ve what?” you pressed, leaning in just slightly.

“might’ve avoided you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “avoided me?” you repeated, blinking. “why?”

his face turned a shade darker. “because i didn’t know how to talk to you, okay?” you stared at him, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of gojo cat rustling through the bushes filling the silence. “well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smile, “you’re doing fine now.” he looked at you, his expression softening. “yeah, maybe.”

and just like that, the flustered energy transferred to you, because how was this guy suddenly so disarming? you quickly turned your attention to gojo cat, who had now returned, proudly carrying a twig in his mouth like it was some grand prize. “your cat’s weird,” you said, hoping the heat in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “takes after his owner,” geto quipped, a little more confidently this time. you snorted, shaking your head. “yeah, well, you’re lucky i don’t scare easy.”

“lucky, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

you groaned inwardly. maybe you were spiraling. if mr. pickles could talk, you’d be subjected to a very long, exasperated lecture right now. and honestly? she’d have a point. because here you were, fumbling in front of what could only be described as a god-sent man—minus his questionable taste in cheesy pickup lines and feline companions. and judging by the way she was scratching insistently against the carrier’s mesh, mr. pickles had had enough. “alright, alright,” you muttered, unzipping the carrier. “but behave, okay? no swatting.”

the minute she stepped out, in all her pregnant, regal glory, gojo cat lost his mind. if there were an olympic event for wooing, he’d be taking home gold, no contest. he was meowing nonstop, his tail flicking like crazy, hopping in excited circles around mr. pickles. “good god,” geto muttered beside you, watching his cat’s antics with a mixture of horror and amusement. “he’s… persistent, isn’t he?”

“persistent? your cat’s acting like he just won the lottery,” you said, watching gojo cat crouch low and wiggle his butt like he was about to pounce. “mr. pickles deserves the best,” geto said with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “she deserves peace and quiet,” you shot back, laughing as mr. pickles calmly let gojo cat have his little moment of excitement before promptly swatting him on the nose.

gojo cat froze, blinking in shock. then, as if nothing happened, he tried again. another swat.

“he doesn’t give up, does he?” you said, shaking your head. “like father, like son,” geto said with a shrug, and you snorted.

“oh, so you’re like that too, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. he froze for a second, his brain clearly buffering. then he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “i like to think i have a bit more self-control.”

“hmm,” you said, pretending to consider. “debatable.”

“harsh,” geto said, placing a hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. things weren’t any better for geto. watching you laugh at his lame attempts at humor was doing something dangerous to his brain. you were so close, and the way your eyes lit up when you laughed…

he couldn’t help it. he felt the same urge gojo cat must’ve felt—like physically shaking, meowing, jumping, doing whatever it took to make sure you were looking at him. but he was a man with poise (he reminded himself), so instead of resorting to anything outrageous, he blushed furiously, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “you okay there?” you asked, noticing his face had turned an alarming shade of red. “yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, waving you off. “it’s, uh… warm out here.” you glanced up at the sky. it was barely sunny with a light breeze. “sure,” you said, smirking. “totally the weather.”

“don’t call me out like that,” he mumbled, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck again. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you said before you could stop yourself, and the words hung in the air for a second too long. his head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “what?”

“i — nothing ,” you said quickly, suddenly very interested in the stray thread on your sweater. “no, no, go on,” geto said, leaning in slightly, his voice teasing now. “what were you saying?”

“i said nothing,” you insisted, but your face was practically on fire. he grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “mm-hmm. sure.”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “mr. pickles, save me,” you muttered, but she was too busy fending off gojo cat’s latest round of attention to care. and next to you, geto was grinning like an idiot, his blush finally starting to fade as he realized he might not be the only one spiraling.

amidst the awkward giggles and blushes, your stomach decided it had enough of the coy flirting and declared war. a low, awkward rumble escaped, loud enough for both you and geto to freeze. “was that…?” geto began, his lips twitching.

“no,” you lied immediately, your face heating up. “that was probably…gojo.” as if on cue, gojo cat meowed loudly, almost like he was backing you up. but mr. pickles wasn’t having it, her head snapping toward you with a “you’re kidding, right?” look. geto, bless his golden heart, didn’t press further. instead, he scooped up a very indignant gojo, who was in the middle of another extravagant attempt to woo mr. pickles. 

“sounds like breakfast is overdue,” he said, grinning. “my treat, as promised.” you hesitated, watching as mr. pickles, the opportunist she was, pranced toward her carrier with the regal air of a queen boarding her royal carriage. she gave you a look that screamed, what are you waiting for? let’s go, servant.

“uh,” you started, scratching the back of your neck. “so, funny story — i didn’t bring my wallet, and even if i did…” you trailed off, remembering the bleak state of your cashapp. $27.53 stared back at you the last time you checked. it was a miracle you even had that much. “...i wouldn’t be able to afford it.” geto blinked at you, as if you’d grown a second head. “what?”

“yeah,” you said, already feeling the mortifying urge to dig a hole and crawl into it. “i’m, uh, broke. like, hilariously broke. economy, y’know?” you added with a weak laugh. “you think i’m letting you pay?” geto said, looking genuinely offended. “what kind of guy do you think i am?”

“a nice guy?” you offered, unsure where this was going. “no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “a gentleman.”

oh god, the drama. you stifled a laugh. “well, excuse me, mister gentleman. i just didn’t want to assume you’d pay.”

“assume away,” he said, already heading toward the nearest fancy breakfast café like he hadn’t just kidnapped you and the cats. “i’ve got you covered.” you glanced down at mr. pickles, who gave you a look that screamed, hurry up, i want my eggs.

the café, of course, was fancy. fancier than anywhere you’d normally set foot in. as you walked in, clutching mr. pickles’ carrier like a lifeline, you whispered to geto, “you couldn’t pick a normal place?”

“normal?” he asked, arching a brow. “what, like mcdonald’s?”

“that would’ve been perfect, ” you muttered. he just chuckled. “relax. it’s on me. besides…” he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “i have a reputation to uphold. international law guys don’t slum it, you know?” you snorted. “you’re so full of it.”

“maybe,” he admitted, grinning. “but you’re here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you followed him to a table, where gojo cat immediately tried to climb onto the nearest chair, only for geto to gently push him back down. “don’t even think about it,” he told the cat, who meowed indignantly. mr. pickles, meanwhile, sat primly in her carrier, surveying the café with a look of mild disdain. she was probably judging the lack of gold-plated bowls. “so,” geto said once you were seated, his tone casual but his eyes warm. “what are you having? and don’t say something cheap to be polite.”

“how’d you know i was going to say that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. he shrugged. “just a hunch. order whatever you want.”

you hesitated, glancing at the menu. everything was overpriced, and you were 80% sure a single pancake here cost more than your rent. “fine,” you said finally. “but if i order the most expensive thing on the menu, i don’t want to hear you complain.”

“deal,” he said, smiling like you’d just agreed to marry him. god, he really was trying to woo you. and judging by the way your heart was doing somersaults, it might’ve been working.

the cafe was everything you imagined a “fancy breakfast spot” would be—muted beige tones, big windows letting in soft sunlight, overpriced art hanging on the walls, and tables filled with people who somehow looked like they owned hedge funds. there were plants too, the kind that didn’t seem real, and a faint jazz tune played in the background. if geto was trying to impress you, he was definitely succeeding, albeit unintentionally making you feel a little out of place. but all of that took a backseat the moment you heard that voice.

“you’re joking,” you muttered under your breath as you caught sight of none other than ryomen sukuna, towering like a goddamn villain straight out of a noir film. the cigarette smell hit first, faint but unmistakable, lingering on his dark uniform. his face twisted into a scowl the second he spotted your table. “ugh, pets,” he grumbled, eyeing the carrier with disdain. “this is why this place is going downhill. who even lets cats in here?”

“good morning to you too, sukuna,” geto said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with a calmness that only pissed sukuna off further. you, on the other hand, were seconds away from panic. this is choso’s brother? you’d seen him before, sure—usually smoking in the hallway and glaring like everyone had personally wronged him. but now? here? as your server? gojo cat immediately picked up on your distress—or maybe he just didn’t like sukuna’s face—because he started growling in geto’s lap. it was the tiniest, most pitiful growl, but sukuna’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing in challenge. “what’s that thing’s problem?” he asked, jerking a thumb at gojo cat. “his problem is you , ” geto said, smiling. “can’t say i blame him.” sukuna shot geto a flat look before turning his attention back to you. “what are you having?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

you panicked, your eyes darting to the menu. “uh… ummm …i’ll have the, uh…” you started, struggling to pronounce the ridiculous name of the dish. “the croissant…something?”

“you mean the croissant aux truffes?” sukuna interrupted, rolling his eyes. “yeah, got it. anything else?” you shook your head furiously, feeling your face heat up. “and you?” sukuna turned to geto, clearly already over this interaction. “my usual,” geto said casually, resting his chin on his hand. sukuna raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mean smirk. “your usual , huh? what’s that again?”

geto froze for half a second, his cool demeanor slipping ever so slightly. “you know what my usual is,” he said, his voice a little sharper. “do i?” sukuna asked, feigning innocence. “must’ve slipped my mind.”

“it’s soba,” geto hissed, his calmness now completely abandoned.

“oh, soba,” sukuna said, nodding slowly like he’d just solved the mystery of the century. “got it. soba. anything else, your highness?” geto glared at him but didn’t say anything, and sukuna walked off, muttering something under his breath about “stupid regulars.” the moment he was out of earshot, geto leaned back in his chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m never coming back here.”

“really?” you asked, raising a brow. “because it sounded like you practically live here.”

“not after this humiliation,” he said, though the way his lips twitched betrayed the fact that he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. you couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away. “for what it’s worth,” you said, “your ‘usual’ sounds pretty fancy too.”

“don’t,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i’ll never live this down.”

from the corner of your eye, you saw gojo cat attempting to claw his way out of geto's lap, probably planning to finish what he started with sukuna. mr. pickles, ever the drama queen, merely yawned, completely unfazed by the chaos. it was going to be a long morning.

sukuna’s approach to serving was efficient, sure, but it was laced with the kind of attitude that made you question why this place hired him in the first place. he practically slammed geto’s soba on the table with a smile so forced it could rival a ventriloquist dummy, and your croissant—although perfect—arrived with a snide comment about “petting zoos” under his breath. you gave him a tight-lipped smile, muttering a quick “thank you,” while geto tried to hide his snicker behind his hand. sukuna walked off, grumbling something about “pretentious cat dads.”

“don’t mind him,” geto said, breaking his chopsticks with practiced ease. “he’s just like that with everyone. well, maybe worse with me.”

“so you’re special, then?” you teased, tearing off a piece of your croissant. “you could say that,” geto replied with a grin, feeding gojo cat a tiny bit of soba under the table. gojo, the shameless flirt, lapped it up happily, ignoring mr. pickles’ death glare from her carrier. things were calm, peaceful even—until the gaggle of women arrived.

they were the type you’d expect to see in glossy magazines: perfectly coiffed hair, subtle but expensive-looking makeup, and outfits that screamed “we brunch in designer clothes.” they made a beeline for gojo cat, cooing and fawning like he was some sort of feline casanova. and, like the attention-seeking traitor he was, gojo lapped it all up, practically preening under their praise. “oh my god, look at him!” one of them squealed, petting gojo as he leaned into her touch. “he’s so cute!”

“what’s his name?” another asked, giving geto a smile that could only be described as predatory. “gojo,” geto said, chuckling awkwardly. “you named him after yourself?” one of the women teased, clearly mistaking him for the egomaniac in question.

“uh, no, actually—”

“oh, sugurruuu!” another one interrupted, clearly recognizing him. “it’s been ages! how have you been?” you raised an eyebrow as the women began circling him like sharks. apparently, they were his seniors from a past internship, which made sense because they had that polished, professional air about them. “we missed you at the office!” one of them gushed. “you were so good at handling those client presentations,” another added, her tone a little too sweet for your liking.

you took a bite of your croissant, trying to ignore the sudden twist in your stomach. it wasn’t like you had any claim over geto, right? and yet, seeing him chuckle nervously and entertain them, even though it was clear he was uncomfortable, made you bristle. beside you, mr. pickles was practically vibrating with irritation, her tail flicking furiously as she watched gojo soak up the attention. she let out a low, guttural growl that you could’ve sworn mirrored your exact mood. “he’s such a ladies’ man,” one of the women purred, gesturing to gojo. “just like his owner, huh?”

“actually,” geto said, his voice cutting through the chatter. he looked at you, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “this is my partner.”

wait, what?

the table went silent for a moment as all eyes turned to you. the women’s faces fell ever so slightly, their previously cheery expressions dimming as they processed the information. “partner?” one of them repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “yep,” geto said, leaning back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile. “we’re co-parenting these two,” he added, gesturing to the cats. you blinked, your mind racing. co-parenting? he wasn’t wrong, technically speaking, but the way he said it made it sound...a lot more serious than it actually was. the women muttered half-hearted congratulations before awkwardly excusing themselves, their heels clicking against the tiled floor as they walked away. once they were out of earshot, you turned to geto, your cheeks burning. “partner, huh?”

“what? it’s true,” he said, a hint of smugness in his tone. “we’re co-parenting.”

“you do know how that sounded, right?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.“sounded perfect to me,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. maybe, just maybe, you liked geto a little more than you thought. meanwhile, gojo cat continued basking in his stolen glory, and mr. pickles finally settled down in her carrier, clearly satisfied with how the situation had turned out.

chapter 4: he brought kibble, you brought your heart

the days following your chaotic breakfast outing became a mix of heartwarming absurdity and mild chaos, all thanks to geto and his ever-determined cat. 

it started with the pet supplies. one offhand comment about needing more for mr. pickles, and suddenly geto was at your door with an entire armful of toys, treats, and nesting materials. “you said you needed stuff,” he shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he handed you a bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks. “this is…a lot,” you said, peering inside. “did you buy out the entire pet store?”

“nah, just the essentials,” he replied, brushing off your comment. “besides, i had to get stuff for gojo anyway.”

the “stuff for gojo” turned out to be a single can of tuna.

then came the vet visits. geto had decided, entirely unprompted, that your vet appointments were now his responsibility. he would show up unannounced, a coffee in hand for you and a carrier for gojo in the other.  “i don’t think the vet needs to see gojo,” you’d said the first time he came along. “you never know,” he’d replied, entirely serious. “what if he has sympathy symptoms for mr. pickles? he’s been sneezing a lot lately.”

“that’s because he shoved his face into a pile of dust bunnies,” you deadpanned. still, you couldn’t deny how much easier it was having him around, even if it meant enduring his occasional attempts to one-up the vet with random facts he’d googled beforehand. “you know, some studies say cats feel pain differently during pregnancy,” geto commented as the vet checked mr. pickles over. the vet gave him a flat look. “that’s…not entirely accurate.”

“huh, weird,” geto said, leaning back with an entirely too smug grin. “i’ll look into it more. it’s good to stay informed, right?”

meanwhile, gojo cat’s relentless courtship of mr. pickles had reached new, unhinged heights. every day brought a new “gift” for her nesting area, ranging from sweet (a soft sock) to outright concerning (a half-dead lizard that had you shrieking and yuuji wielding a plastic lightsaber like some kind of jedi exterminator). “gojo, no!” you’d yelled, trying to wrestle the lizard out of his mouth. “don’t hurt him!” geto shouted, entirely missing the point as he held gojo back. “don’t hurt him?!” yuuji echoed, brandishing the lightsaber dramatically. “what about me? what if it jumps at me?!”

amidst the chaos, mr. pickles remained the picture of serenity, carefully arranging each of gojo’s offerings in her nesting area like some kind of bizarre art installation. she even started tolerating his presence, which was a minor miracle in itself. “look at them,” geto said one day, gesturing to the two cats as they napped side by side. “they’re like us.” you raised an eyebrow. “one of them brings in literal trash and the other barely tolerates them. which one’s supposed to be me?”

“well, obviously, you’re mr. pickles,” he said with a grin.

“and you’re gojo?”

“exactly.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “geto, you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet, here you are,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

despite the chaos, you couldn’t deny that your little makeshift family—complete with a sock-stealing, lizard-catching cat and his annoyingly thoughtful owner—had started to grow on you. mr. pickles seemed calmer, you felt more relaxed, and even geto’s awkward attempts at affection were kind of endearing. maybe, just maybe, these two weren’t so bad after all.

but honestly, you should’ve known geto would take a casual dinner and make it look like an event. the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there, you realized just how badly you underestimated the man’s ability to weaponize his looks. he’d ditched the usual button-ups for a fitted black turtleneck that clung to him like a second skin, paired with tailored gray slacks that looked more expensive than your monthly rent. his hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, but a few stray strands framed his face just enough to be annoyingly perfect. and then there was the smell—some cologne that was equal parts warm and spicy, making your knees wobble like a newborn deer.

“you…uh, look nice,” you managed to stutter, awkwardly gesturing him in. he chuckled, stepping inside. “thanks. figured i should dress up a little since you’re going all out with dinner.” oh, so now it’s your fault for making dinner sound like a five-star experience when it was really just some pasta and garlic bread. meanwhile, your own reflection in the hallway mirror mocked you mercilessly. you were still in your semi-formal college attire: a blazer that was slightly too big, a wrinkled blouse, and pants that had seen better days. you could have changed, but no, you thought you’d save time and effort. bad call.

dinner itself went surprisingly smoothly. mr. pickles and gojo cat managed to coexist at the food station, which was nothing short of miraculous. out of the corner of your eye, you saw gojo nudging a small portion of his food toward mr. pickles, who sniffed it delicately before accepting. “look at them,” geto said with a soft smile, catching your gaze. “sharing like that. think it’s love?” you scoffed, trying to ignore how his smile made your heart race. “or maybe gojo’s just trying to butter her up so she doesn’t swat him later.”

“harsh,” geto replied, leaning back in his chair. “you’re cynical. i like it.”

after dinner, you were about to tackle the dishes when geto, ever the overachieving law student, pulled out his macbook. the glow of the screen illuminated his face as he typed furiously, answering emails and looking like the poster boy for "i have my life together."

“work?” you asked, carrying a stack of plates to the sink. “just a few emails,” he said, not looking up. “one of the partners at my internship sent over some last-minute questions.” you blinked, watching him with mild disbelief. “it’s a friday night.”

“welcome to international law,” he said dryly, fingers flying across the keyboard. against your better judgment, you found yourself… impressed? his focus, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms—it was annoyingly attractive. “ugh, law students,” you muttered under your breath, scrubbing at a plate. “what was that?” suguru asked, looking up with a smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, turning back to the sink. “just saying how dedicated you are.” he laughed, the sound low and warm. “you’re bad at lying, you know.”

“and you’re bad at taking a break,” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

after a few more minutes of typing, geto finally closed his laptop and joined you in the kitchen. “here, let me help,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves further. “you cooked,” he said, taking a plate from your hands. “least i can do is clean up.” you wanted to argue, but the sight of geto, sleeves rolled up, standing beside you at the sink, made your brain short-circuit. “fine,” you mumbled, handing him a dish. “but if you drop one, i’m not forgiving you.”

“noted,” he said with a grin, elbow brushing yours as he worked. as you both washed dishes in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, heart doing a stupid little flutter each time he caught you looking. maybe this dinner wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

geto had never been one to overthink simple things. he prided himself on his ability to stay cool and collected, whether it was during an exam, an internship interview, or wrangling gojo cat after he’d somehow escaped onto a neighbor’s balcony. but here, standing next to you, washing dishes, his heart was doing its best impression of a jazz drummer—completely out of rhythm and far too loud. he tried to focus on the task at hand, scrubbing a plate with the precision of a surgeon, but his brain was too busy short-circuiting over the sheer domesticity of the moment. you, standing next to him, a faint smile on your lips as you passed him a dish. mr. pickles and gojo cat sitting like a mismatched elderly couple in the corner, their rivalry seemingly paused for the evening. this was too much. domesticity was his weakness, and you were unknowingly his kryptonite.

"you know," he started, trying to sound casual, "i’ve been working on my forearms lately. gotta make sure gojo has a sturdy perch when i carry him." your laugh was soft but genuine, and it hit him right in the chest. "oh yeah? is that why you’ve been flexing every chance you get? because i was starting to think you were just trying to flirt." he froze, plate in hand, before turning to look at you with a mock-offended expression. "flirt? me? that’s slander. i’m just a humble man with well-defined forearms doing his civic duty.”

"right," you drawled, rolling your eyes as you handed him another dish. okay, suguru, he thought. focus. this is the perfect moment. ask the question. it’s not that big of a deal. except it was a big deal. because it wasn’t just about asking if you’d like to carpool to college every day. it was about getting more time with you, sharing little moments like this. he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "hey, uh…you know how i drive to college every day?" you glanced at him, a little confused. "yeah?"

"and you, uh, also go to college every day?"

"correct," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

he could feel his palms starting to sweat despite the soapy water. this was ridiculous. why was he nervous? it was just a question! but somehow, the thought of you saying no made his stomach twist. "so," he continued, trying to keep his tone light, "i was thinking…maybe we could drive together? you know, save on gas, reduce our carbon footprint, that kind of thing." you blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. "you want to carpool with me?"

"yeah," he said quickly, nodding. "i mean, it makes sense, right? we’re both going the same way, and i wouldn’t mind the company. plus, i’ve got this playlist i’ve been dying to share." that wasn’t entirely true. his playlist was a chaotic mix of instrumental lo-fi, 90’s rock and songs gojo cat seemed to enjoy, but he’d happily curate something just for you if it meant hearing you laugh and sing along. 

"you’re serious?" you asked, and he swore he could see a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "dead serious," he said, putting on his best poker face. "it’s a purely logistical decision, of course. nothing to do with the fact that i think you’re great company or anything." you stared at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, and he felt his shoulders relax just a little. "okay," you said finally. "sure, let’s carpool." he grinned, feeling an almost embarrassing amount of relief. "awesome. you won’t regret it, i promise." as you turned back to the sink, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, his heart still doing its offbeat jazz solo. yeah, this was going to be good. better than good, even.

the last dish was set on the drying rack, and with it came the awkward silence that always followed. you and geto exchanged a glance, both of you clearly trying to decide what came next. do you send him off with a polite "thanks for the help," or do you suggest something casual? ugh, why was this so hard?

"soooo," you started, awkwardly fidgeting with a dishtowel. "uh, do you…want ice cream?" geto blinked at you, his expression pleasantly surprised. "ice cream?"

"yeah, you know, frozen dairy, sugar, flavors," you said, waving your hands vaguely like you were describing some rare delicacy. "do international law students even like convenience store ice cream? or are you more into, like, artisanal stuff churned by monks in the alps?" his laugh was low and warm, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just won something. "as tempting as alps-monks-churned ice cream sounds, i’m fine with rocky road if you’ve got it."

rocky road. he’s perfect, you thought as you rummaged in the freezer, pulling out a pint. mr. pickles, ever the queen, trotted over and sat primly by your feet, tail twitching as if she expected you to serve her a scoop. gojo cat, on the other hand, had found a stray spoon to bat around the kitchen floor like it was his life’s mission. you handed geto a bowl, and he graciously accepted before pulling out his macbook and setting it on the table. "mind if i put something on?"

"as long as it’s not UN debates or a soba recipe tutorial," you teased, leaning over to peer at his screen. to your credit, you weren’t snooping—you were just curious about what kind of stuff an international law student kept on their homepage. but the minute you saw it, you froze. nestled among his neatly arranged bookmarks for email, law journals, and a soba takeout joint, was your spotify profile. your brain went into immediate overdrive. oh dear god. oh no. oh yes. wait, what?

you fought the urge to gasp, to point, to scream into the void. instead, you settled for the most nonchalant reaction you could muster. "huh. your bookmarks are so…organized." but your awkward tone gave you away, and geto, sharp as ever, followed your gaze. when his eyes landed on the offending bookmark, he paused mid-scoop, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "oh," he said, clearly trying to play it cool. "uh, yeah. that’s—uh, for convenience. you know, for when you share playlists and stuff."

"totally," you replied, nodding far too enthusiastically. "makes sense. who doesn’t bookmark their friends’ spotify profiles?" you were lying through your teeth, and you both knew it. but instead of feeling weirded out, your heart felt like it might actually burst. he bookmarked your spotify. this ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny guy has done something so nerdy and cute, and you think you might die. the silence stretched awkwardly until you couldn’t take it anymore. "so…what’s your favorite playlist of mine?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual but failing miserably.

geto, to his credit, recovered quickly. "probably the one you called ‘in the clerb, we all cryin’.’ it’s got a lot of questionable choices."

"questionable choices?" you gasped, feigning offense. "excuse me, those are carefully curated emotional masterpieces!"

"right, right," he said, nodding solemnly but with a teasing glint in his eyes. "masterpieces like, what was it? ‘torn’ by natalie imbruglia followed by party rock anthem?"

"that’s called range, geto."

he laughed again, and you swore it was the best sound you’d ever heard. meanwhile, gojo cat had successfully cornered the spoon under the fridge, and mr. pickles let out an indignant meow, clearly unimpressed by the lack of attention directed her way. "anyways," you said, clearing your throat and desperately trying to steer the conversation away from how much your soul had ascended, "what are we watching?" he smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "how about a soba recipe tutorial? you know, for research purposes."

"get out of my house," you deadpanned, throwing a napkin at him. but deep down, you couldn’t stop smiling. maybe you did like geto. just a little. or a lot. who’s counting?

-

the youtube video played on, gordon ramsey passionately dissecting the finer points of why "tiramisu supremacy" should be the law of the land, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. instead, you were hyper-aware of the ridiculously attractive man next to you, lounging on your bed, casually eating rocky road like he wasn’t a complete menace to your sanity. gojo cat had stationed himself at your feet, swiping lazily at a loose thread on your blanket. mr. pickles, in a rare display of domestic harmony, perched regally on a pillow next to geto like she was claiming him as her territory. you could almost hear her smug little cat thoughts: this one? yes, acceptable.

meanwhile, you? you were losing it. somehow—through some strange twist of fate or cosmic joke—your head had ended up resting on geto’s chest. his chest. his sculpted, unfairly perfect chest. you told yourself it was for comfort, or convenience, or whatever excuse your brain could scramble together. oh god, is this okay? what if he thinks i’m weird? or worse, what if he doesn’t care at all?

his arm was just kind of… hovering there, like it didn’t know what to do. his bicep flexed every time he adjusted, and you swore it was on purpose. it’s not on purpose, idiot. calm down. "you good there?" his voice cut through your internal spiral, warm and teasing. you cleared your throat, suddenly self-conscious. "uh, yeah. totally fine. just... comfortable, i guess."

"comfortable, huh?" he echoed, his tone light but his heart doing cartwheels. she’s comfortable. okay. don’t freak out. play it cool. meanwhile, geto was absolutely not playing it cool. this is fine. this is normal. people hang out like this all the time. friends. buddies. totally platonic. on a bed. watching gordon ramsey. with her head on my chest. oh god, i’m dying. his arm was still hovering awkwardly, and it was starting to cramp. should he just—? no. too much. but maybe? before he could overthink it further, you shifted slightly, glancing up at him.

"you can, you know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. he blinked down at you, dumbfounded. "can what?"

"put your arm around me," you mumbled, cheeks heating up like a furnace. geto’s brain short-circuited. oh god, she said i can. she actually said i can. is this real? am i dreaming? where’s gojo? he needs to see this. wait, no, absolutely not. this is private. oh god, my arm.

"uh, yeah. sure," he finally said, his voice cracking just a little as he tried to sound casual. his arm settled around your shoulders, warm and solid, and you let out a content sigh. meanwhile, internally, he was screaming. this is the best day of his life.

"you’re stiff as hell," you teased, glancing up at him. "sorry, it’s just—i’m not used to—" he fumbled, trailing off. "chill out," you said with a soft laugh, your hand lightly resting on his chest. "it’s just me."

just you. the girl he’d been pining after for weeks. the girl whose spotify profile he’d bookmarked. the girl whose cats he’d willingly co-parented like an idiot in love. he wasn’t even sure how he was still breathing. "yeah," he said softly, his lips quirking into a small smile. "just you."

"hey, are you even watching?" you asked, gesturing at the screen where ramsey was now passionately defending the honor of cannoli. "uh, yeah. totally," he lied, having absolutely no idea what was happening in the video. "oh yeah? then what’s his stance on panna cotta?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. geto paused for a second, then grinned sheepishly. "panna whatta?" you groaned, laughing despite yourself. "you’re hopeless."

"hopelessly charmed," he muttered under his breath, but thankfully, the loud volume drowned it out. gojo cat let out an exaggerated yawn, curling up at the foot of the bed, while mr. pickles blinked at both of you with what could only be described as approval. and for a brief moment, with you curled up against him, geto thought that maybe, just maybe, domesticity wasn’t so bad after all.

the clock on your bedside table glowed 9:30 pm, the red numbers a cruel reminder that sunday was slipping away. geto shifted slightly, the arm around your shoulders reluctantly moving as if to signal his departure. right. college tomorrow. responsibilities. but neither of you moved. instead, his attempt to lift his arm ended in a poorly executed maneuver that pulled you closer—much closer. suddenly, your face was inches from his, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his breath hitched. oh god. oh no. oh yes. what if he does something stupid? like kiss you? no, bad idea. abort. retreat. pull away. you’ll think he’s weird—

you kissed him first. his brain went blank.

your lips pressed softly against his, a tentative, curious movement that sent every coherent thought in his mind scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. your lip balm—something fruity, maybe peach?—lingered on his lips, blending with the faint taste of rocky road ice cream. his heart stopped, then kickstarted with a force that left him lightheaded. "oh," he murmured against your lips, his voice barely audible. "oh?" you pulled back slightly, a teasing smile quirking your lips. "i — i mean —" he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep pink. "uh, wow."

"wow?" you laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. "shut up," he groaned, but his grin betrayed him as his hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you as you moved to straddle his lap. oh god. oh god. she’s on my lap. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill. "you’re awfully red, suguru," you teased, your tone light, but the way your fingers brushed against his jaw made his pulse race. "yeah, well, you’re—" he cut himself off, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze. "you’re unfairly pretty, okay? and i’m trying not to pass out here."

"pretty?" you echoed, feigning innocence as you leaned in closer, your noses brushing. "is that all?" he chuckled, low and breathy. "pretty, gorgeous, unfairly cute. take your pick." before he could spiral into another wave of self-doubt, you kissed him again, and this time, he responded in full. his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers flexing like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. in the background, gordon ramsey’s voice bellowed something about undercooked risotto, but neither of you noticed. this is what dreams are made of, right? he thought. her lips, her taste, the way she’s holding onto me like i’m her favorite person in the world. rocky road and lip balm and… gordon ramsey? okay, ignore that. focus. focus on her.

"you good there, suguru?" you murmured against his lips, your voice laced with amusement. "good?" he echoed, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "i’m amazing. incredible. best night of my life, no contest."

"you’re such a dork," you laughed, your forehead resting against his. "yeah, well," he said, his smile softening as his thumb brushed along your cheek. "you like this dork."

"i do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart soared. he tightened his hold on you, his lips ghosting over yours once more as he whispered, "good. because i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon." the clock ticked on, but neither of you cared anymore. responsibilities could wait.

-

just as geto’s lips brushed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, a loud, synchronized cacophony of meows erupted from the corner of the bed. you both froze.

there sat gojo cat and mr. pickles, staring at the two of you with matching expressions of feline judgment. mr. pickles, her fur slightly puffed and her eyes narrowed, let out an indignant mrrrow that sounded suspiciously like "get a room." gojo cat, ever the instigator, joined in with an exaggerated meeeooowwww, his tail flicking dramatically as if to say, "seriously? right in front of us?"

“oh my god,” you mumbled, burying your face in geto’s neck as he chuckled, the sound rumbling against you. “i think we’ve offended the fur babies,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly as gojo cat began pacing in circles, yowling like a siren. “offended? they sound like they’re trying to declare war,” you muttered, pulling back reluctantly. “maybe they’re just jealous,” geto teased, his dark eyes twinkling as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “jealous of what?” you scoffed, glancing at the cats. mr. pickles was still bristling like a wronged queen, while gojo cat was now attempting to paw at the edge of the bed for dramatic emphasis.

“of this.” geto smirked, leaning in like he was about to steal another kiss, but mr. pickles let out a sharp hiss, cutting him off. “okay, okay, time out!” you said, waving your hands in surrender. with a sigh, geto released you, though his hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer. “guess that’s our cue.” you followed him to the door, the cats trailing behind like disapproving chaperones. gojo cat let out one last, drawn-out meow as if to say "good riddance," while mr. pickles sat primly by the door, glaring up at geto with all the disdain she could muster. “she’s really protective of you, huh?” geto said, slipping his shoes on. “always has been,” you replied, your hand resting on the doorknob. “probably doesn’t help that you keep bribing her with treats.”

“bribing?” he repeated, feigning offense. “that’s called building trust.”

“sure it is, mr. international law,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “speaking of trust, uh… i’ll pick you up tomorrow? for class?” you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “trying to make this a habit now?”

“well,” he said, his cheeks pinking slightly, “i figured i’d bring you another one of those fancy croissants. and, you know, maybe see you smile first thing in the morning again.” your chest tightened at his words, warmth spreading through you. “smooth, geto.”

“is that a yes?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze locked on yours. “yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. before he could step out, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a quick but lingering kiss that made your heart race. when he pulled back, his smile was uncharacteristically shy.

“goodnight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“goodnight,” you replied, watching as he walked away, his hands stuffed into his pockets but his stride noticeably lighter.

as you closed the door, you turned to find mr. pickles sitting side by side, staring up at you with unreadable expressions. “don’t look at me like that,” you said, pointing at her. “you’re the ones who ruined the moment.” mr. pickles let out a chirpy meep , as if to say "i’m just doing my job," before padding back to her nesting area with an air of smug satisfaction. you shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. whatever this thing with suguru was, you didn’t want it to end. not now, not ever.

chapter 5: justin bieber and other forms of groveling

you swung the door open, expecting to find a text from geto telling you to come downstairs like a normal person. instead, you were met with him. suguru geto, standing at your doorstep, looking like he’d just stepped out of a gq photoshoot. “morning!” he greeted cheerfully, his voice as smooth as his suit. yes, a suit. a dark, perfectly tailored one that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist just right, paired with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing just a hint of his collarbone. the whole look was topped off with a skinny black tie and shiny leather oxfords that somehow made you question if you were even allowed to walk next to him. and don’t even get started on his hair—pulled back into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing his stupidly perfect face. “why—why are you here?” you stammered, gripping the doorframe for support because, honestly, this man might be a health hazard. “thought i’d save you the trip downstairs,” he said casually, though his lips curled into a smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. “besides, i wanted to see you earlier.” great. now your heart was doing this weird fluttery thing, and you hated it. “you know you could’ve just texted me, right? like a normal person?”

“where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

ugh. 

the first thing that hit you when you slid into his car—a sleek black bmw z4 convertible with the top down—was the overwhelming scent of car cleaner mixed with him. “did you—did you just get this cleaned?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “maybe,” he replied, a little too quickly. you glanced at the dashboard, which was spotless and gleaming. the leather seats looked freshly polished, and there wasn’t a single crumb or speck of dust in sight. well, except for the faint trace of orange fur on the passenger seat. “you missed a spot,” you teased, pointing at the fur. “gojo,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “aw, don’t be mad at him,” you said, grinning. “he’s just marking his territory.”

“yeah, well, he’s not paying for this car, is he?” suguru shot back, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. the car smelled like money, honestly. the leather had that rich, almost intimidating scent, and the steering wheel looked like it had been handcrafted by someone with a phd in luxury interiors. but somehow, there was this comforting undertone of suguru’s cologne—spicy, woodsy, and ridiculously distracting. you tried to act normal, like you weren’t suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in this car that felt way too intimate for a ride to campus. “so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, nodding toward his suit as he pulled out onto the main road. “internship meeting after class,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “wanted to make a good impression.”

“yeah, well, mission accomplished,” you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but he still heard. “what was that?” he asked, glancing at you with a playful smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating. as he drove, you found yourself sneaking glances at his hands on the wheel. his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, which looked unfairly muscular for a guy who claimed to “barely have time for the gym.” the veins running up his arms were just… there, taunting you.

“you’ve been working out, huh?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. he chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “noticed, huh?”

“kind of hard not to when your biceps are trying to break out of that shirt,” you retorted, trying to sound nonchalant. “oh, this?” he said, flexing his forearm slightly as he adjusted the gearshift, clearly showing off. “ugh, stop,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “you’re so annoying.”

“and yet here you are,” he teased, shooting you a quick grin before turning his attention back to the road. as you sat there, half-annoyed and half-smitten, you couldn’t help but think that this man was going to be the death of you.

-

the two of you sat in the car outside your campus building for a moment longer than necessary. the engine was off, but the atmosphere buzzed with something heavy, something neither of you dared to name yet. geto had one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, but you weren’t fooled. his jaw was tense, and his thumb tapped nervously against the leather, a small tell that you’d come to recognize. he didn’t want this ride to end. neither did you, if you were being honest. “so,” you started, your voice almost shy. “thanks for the ride.” he glanced over at you, his dark eyes soft but smoldering all at once. “yeah,” he said, his voice low, “anytime.” and just when you thought he’d let you leave, he moved.

his hand—large, warm, and calloused just enough to send a thrill through you—slipped behind your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent goosebumps racing down your arms. the touch was firm but gentle, commanding but tender.

“come here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t even have time to process before he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. this wasn’t just a goodbye kiss; no, this was something deeper, something that spoke of longing and frustration and a thousand unsaid things. his lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he didn’t care that the windows weren’t tinted enough for the scene unfolding inside. his tongue swept against your lower lip, asking, no, demanding entrance, and you couldn’t deny him. the taste of him—coffee from earlier, a hint of mint, and something uniquely suguru—was enough to make your head spin. your hand instinctively came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself. but instead of pulling away, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, and you thought you might actually lose all sense of reality.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. no, he lingered, his lips brushing against yours one last time, as if reluctant to let go. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and when you looked up at him, you saw the faint sheen of your lip gloss smeared on his mouth. his lips—pink, swollen, and thoroughly kissed—were enough to make your brain short-circuit.

“you’ve got—” you gestured vaguely to his mouth, your voice shaky. he raised an eyebrow, smirking in that infuriatingly confident way. “lip gloss?” he guessed, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip like he was testing the feel of it. “yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your own cheeks heat up. “good,” he said simply, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll keep it.” you wanted to scream, cry, and maybe kiss him again all at once. instead, you just sat there, dazed, as he leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“guess i should let you go now,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “yeah,” you managed to say, though your legs felt like jelly just thinking about walking into that building. as you stepped out of the car, the smell of car cleaner and his cologne still lingering around you, you could feel the weight of people’s stares. it wasn’t like fancy cars were a rare sight, but you stepping out of that car, looking thoroughly flustered and kissed? yeah, that was something. you glanced back at him one last time before closing the door. he gave you a small wave, the smirk still firmly in place. “i’ll pick you up later,” he called out, and you swore you heard the faintest hint of smugness in his voice. “yeah, okay,” you replied, trying to sound normal even though your entire body felt like it was on fire. as you walked toward the building, your mind raced with one singular thought: suguru geto was going to be the end of you. and honestly? you were okay with that.

-

as geto shifted gears and eased into a parking spot, he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "oh, suguru, what a smooth operator you are," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his already-perfect hair. but as his fingers grazed his lips, he froze. oh no.

your lip gloss—that faint pink menace—was still there. he squinted into the rearview mirror, tilting his face left and right like he was analyzing evidence at a crime scene. yup, definitely there. and definitely noticeable.

“cool. love that for me,” he said under his breath, grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment. he dabbed at his lips gently, trying to erase the sheen. but no matter how much he rubbed, it refused to disappear completely. a faint tint lingered, stubborn and utterly humiliating. not that he minded, of course. secretly, he was fighting the urge to giggle like a high schooler who just got his crush’s number. she kissed me, he thought, his inner monologue doing cartwheels. and now her lip gloss is on me. does this count as shared property? do i need to buy her a ring now? he glanced at the building where you’d disappeared moments ago. a soft smile tugged at his lips, but then he caught his own reflection again, and the smile turned into a scowl.

“focus, suguru. you’re an international law student, not a lovesick teen,” he muttered, trying to psych himself up. but then, completely unbidden, the lyrics hit him: shawty’s like a melody in my head that i can’t keep out—

“oh my god, no,” he groaned, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. “pull it together.” he sat up straight, fixing his tie like he was about to walk into court, not class. still, his thoughts wandered back to the kiss. he could still feel the warmth of your lips on his, the way you tasted faintly of coffee and lip gloss. “yeah, okay, maybe i’m a little lovesick,” he admitted to no one, sighing dramatically. a loud honk snapped him out of his reverie, and he jerked upright, eyes darting around. some guy in a beat-up sedan gave him a look as if to say, get moving, pretty boy.

“right, right, focus,” geto muttered, putting the car into park. but the distraction had already done its damage. in his daydream, he’d nearly considered driving through the building instead of parking near it. and not for the first time. last semester, there’d been that unfortunate incident where he’d been too engrossed in memorizing legal jargon to realize he was barreling toward the curb. it wasn’t his finest moment, but hey, everyone made mistakes. this time, though, it wasn’t legal jargon messing with his head. it was you.

after ensuring his car was perfectly parked (and double-checking for rogue curbs), he checked his reflection one last time. hair? immaculate. tie? sharp. lips? …still faintly pink. he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "well, if anyone asks, it’s my new look," he muttered, smirking to himself. but deep down, he wasn’t bothered. in fact, the idea of walking into his building, pink lip gloss and all, knowing it was from you? yeah, he could live with that.

-

you glance at your phone for what feels like the millionth time, the lock screen mocking you with its time: 6:45 p.m. every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity. where the hell was geto? the man who swore on rocky road ice cream and cats that he’d pick you up after class. “ugh, liar,” you grumble under your breath, clutching your phone tighter. you dial his number again, half-hoping, half-dreading, that he’d pick up. the line rings once, twice, and then straight to voicemail. “figures.”

the campus courtyard is thinning out now, with most students heading home or to their dorms. you, however, are still standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking like the poster child for loser-core chic. a group of girls you vaguely recognize from your department walk by, their giggles low and conspiratorial as they glance in your direction. one of them nudges her friend and whispers loudly, “see? i told you. you can’t trust law guys. they’re always playing games.” you stiffen, feeling your cheeks heat. okay, rude. but also…they might have a point?

“poor girl,” another one says, her voice dripping with pity. “she probably thought she was special.” your jaw tightens as you resist the urge to shout back, no, actually, he’s probably just late! maybe traffic, or… or… you groan inwardly. even you don’t buy your excuses anymore. just as you’re debating whether to crawl under a bush and live there forever, your deskmate, nanami kento, approaches. ever the epitome of politeness, he clears his throat softly before speaking. “hey,” he begins, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. “are you, uh, waiting for someone?”

you force a smile, trying to appear less like a rejected rom-com protagonist. “yeah, uh… my ride’s just running a little late.” nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he glances at his watch. “it’s been over thirty minutes.”

ouch. okay, way to rub salt in the wound, kento.

he sighs, looking almost…sympathetic? “i could drop you off if you’d like. it’s on my way.”

normally, any sane, self-respecting woman would jump at the chance to be chauffeured home by nanami kento—a man so punctual and reliable, he’s basically a walking swiss watch. but alas, you are neither self-respecting nor particularly sane at this moment. “thanks, nanami, but i’m good,” you say, waving him off with a grin that’s probably more pained than reassuring. he nods slowly, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue. “alright. take care, then.” as he walks away, you let out a long sigh, your earlier bravado crumbling. “ugh, geto, you’re so dead,” you mutter under your breath, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. by now, the campus is nearly deserted, and the idea of taking the bus home looms over you like a dark cloud. with a resigned sigh, you check the bus schedule on your phone. the next one isn’t due for another 15 minutes. just perfect.

the bus ride home is as glamorous as you’d expect—fluorescent lights that make everyone look vaguely ill, the faint smell of stale chips and rubber, and the occasional bump that sends you jerking forward. you plop into an empty seat, your bag clutched tightly on your lap. a group of teenagers in the back snicker about something, and the guy across from you is humming off-key to whatever’s blasting through his headphones. yeah, this is way better than being driven home in a bmw z4, you think bitterly, rolling your eyes.

the faint scent of orange fur clings to your bag, and you wonder if it’s from gojo cat sneaking into geto’s car this morning. the thought makes you irrationally mad all over again. i bet the car is fine. he probably just forgot or something stupid like that. you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. the rhythmic hum of the bus is oddly calming, but your thoughts are anything but. what if he’s hurt? a small, worried voice pipes up in the back of your mind. but you squash it quickly. no, he’s just being an idiot.

-

geto is convinced this is how he dies—not by some massive legal scandal or a tragic car accident, but by sheer embarrassment. the moment the clock hit 6:00 p.m., he knew he was doomed. when the hands of time ticked past 6:45, panic set in. it’s fine, he had told himself, gripping his steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. she probably hasn’t even noticed yet. but she had noticed. oh god, had she noticed. every missed call and unread text was like a dagger to his heart. he could practically feel your disappointment vibrating through his phone. the sheer audacity of his internship, requiring him to sit through endless discussions about treaties and bylaws while you were out there—waiting for him like some rom-com protagonist.

and what does he find when he finally arrives at campus? absolutely nothing. a deserted lot, the soft hum of crickets, and not a single trace of you. he rubs a hand over his face, groaning as he slams his car door shut. great, suguru. really great. not only do you make law students look unreliable, but you’ve also officially cemented yourself as a clown in front of the only person who matters.

so, he does the only thing a desperate man can do: breaks every traffic law ever invented, zipping through yellow lights and cutting corners like it’s his goddamn personal mission to get to the apartment before you disappear entirely. “please don’t hate me,” he mutters under his breath as his bmw roars down the street. “i’ll get on my knees if i have to. maybe not in public, but like…if it comes to that.”

meanwhile, you’re trudging through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment complex, the bus ride home having sucked every last ounce of life out of you. your feet ache, your bag feels heavier than ever, and your faith in men has plummeted to new depths. he didn’t even call back. the audacity, you think bitterly, fumbling for your keys. wasn’t i just defending international law men this morning? god, i’m so stupid.

you’re too busy cursing geto to notice the looming figure leaning casually against the wall by the elevator—sukuna. he smells like croissants and cigarettes, an objectively weird combination that somehow works when it’s him. his uniform—a black button-down rolled up to the elbows and an apron slung lazily over one shoulder—is dusted with flour. “yo,” he greets, his voice low and gravelly as always. you freeze mid-step, praying you don’t look like a drowned rat after that miserable commute. “uh, hey.”

“late night?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in your obvious exhaustion. “something like that,” you mumble, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. sukuna’s sharp eyes flick to your bag. “bus, huh? thought you were too fancy for public transport these days. what happened to prince charming?” oh great. just what i needed, you think, rolling your eyes internally. “prince charming is currently on my list,” you snap, more to yourself than him. “yikes.” sukuna lets out a low chuckle, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “guess mr. perfect isn’t as perfect as you thought.”

“okay, first of all,” you shoot back, “i’m not having this conversation with you. second, why do you even care?” he shrugs, clearly unbothered. “i don’t. just funny to see you slumming it with the rest of us peasants.” before you can muster a witty retort, the sound of rapid footsteps echoes down the hallway. you both turn just in time to see geto rushing in, his tie slightly askew and his expression one of pure panic.

“there you are,” he blurts, skidding to a stop in front of you. his eyes dart between you and sukuna, his brows furrowing slightly. “oh, now you show up,” you say, crossing your arms. “did you have fun ghosting me for two hours?”

“wait, i can explain—”

“can’t wait to hear this,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a glare from you.

geto runs a hand through his hair, his words spilling out in a rush. “i got stuck at my internship, and they don’t let us use our phones— stupid rule, i know—but i swear i tried to get to you as fast as i could. i even broke, like, five traffic laws. maybe six.” you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“no! i mean, yes! i mean…” he groans, clearly flustered. “look, i’m sorry. really. i’ll do anything to make it up to you. please don’t be mad.” sukuna snickers, leaning back against the wall. “wow. anything, huh? bold move, law boy.”

“can you not?” you snap at sukuna before turning back to geto. “fine. you can start by explaining why my calls didn’t matter enough for you to pick up.”

“they did matter!” geto insists, his voice rising slightly. “i swear, if i could’ve answered, i would’ve.” sukuna snorts, muttering, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“dude, seriously?” geto snaps, finally losing his patience. “guys, enough!” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “i’m too tired for this. suguru, if you’re really sorry, you can start by leaving me alone for the rest of the night.”

geto’s face falls, but he nods reluctantly. “okay. yeah. i’ll go.” as he turns to leave, sukuna shoots you a smug grin. “guess prince charming isn’t so charming after all.” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

-

you’re sprawled out on your couch in the most dramatic fashion imaginable, mr. pickles perched on your chest like some kind of feline overlord. her tail swishes back and forth, slapping your face occasionally as if she’s judging you for your life choices. can’t even secure a law student, her gaze seems to say. and honestly? fair. lanas haunting voice croons “the other woman” from your speaker, because of course your brain thought this was the perfect soundtrack to your misery. who is the other woman, his degree? you wonder, staring blankly at the ceiling while mr. pickles kneads your collarbone with zero regard for your comfort. maybe it’s the un charter. maybe she’s prettier than me. you groan, picking up your phone to scroll aimlessly, only to see it light up with a string of notifications. it’s geto.

geto: hey. geto: i’m so sorry, seriously. geto: please don’t hate me. geto: gojo cat is crying.

and there it is, a picture of gojo cat edited with comically large tears streaming down his face. you snort despite yourself.

geto: i can explain. geto: the internship is evil. geto: satan himself probably drafted those treaties. geto: and i had to read them all. geto: sorry :((((

you roll your eyes but feel your lips twitch. the messages keep coming.

geto: look, i even made a playlist called “my apologies” to make it up to you. geto: song 1: sorry by justin bieber. geto: song 2: call me maybe by carly rae jespen. geto: song 3: i’m a fool by cee lo green.

you’re this close to laughing when another message pops up.

geto: please forgive me, i’ll do anything. geto: i’ll even let mr. pickles sit in the bmw.

now you’re grinning. typing back, you send:

you: door’s unlocked.

the next sound you hear is heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway above. you blink. “he’s running,” you mutter, barely containing your laughter. within seconds, there’s a knock at your door, and when you yell for him to come in, the door swings open to reveal a completely disheveled geto. his hair’s a mess, his suit jacket is halfway off his shoulder, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “you’re serious about leaving your door unlocked?” he breathes out, a hand on the doorframe for balance. “why are you out of breath?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “you live one floor up.”

“sprinted,” he replies, straightening up. “priorities.”

mr. pickles hops off your chest with a disgruntled meow, sauntering over to sniff him. she gives a little approving chirp before settling down by his feet. “even mr. pickles forgave me,” he says, grinning like an idiot. “so, am i forgiven?” you lean back into the couch, trying to look unimpressed. “you sent me a justin bieber song.”

“a classic apology move,” he counters, stepping closer. “and gojo cat cried. that’s how sorry i am.” you roll your eyes but hold out your hand. “fine. you’re forgiven.” he takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch into his arms without hesitation. “good. because i’m never missing another ride again. next time, i’m picking you up in advance, like a whole hour early.” you snort. “you’d probably park outside my window and text me to hurry up.”

“absolutely,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll even bring coffee. and croissants.” mr. pickles lets out a loud, approving chirp. ah, love.

-

it did feel a little ridiculous, the way you were sprawled on top of geto on your couch, both of you tangled together in a heap of limbs. but neither of you seemed to care. he had one arm slung around your waist, keeping you steady, while his free hand lazily traced circles on your thigh. you were lying chest to chest, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "you know," he said, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair, "if i ever screw up like that again, i’m giving mr. pickles full authority to end me. claws out, no mercy." you lifted your head to meet his gaze, one eyebrow raised. "oh, she’d do it too. and with that belly of hers, she’s got some extra power now."

as if on cue, mr. pickles let out a loud, approving purr from her spot at the other end of the room, delicately grooming her very pregnant self. her tail flicked in what you could only assume was satisfaction at being included in this hypothetical revenge plot. geto chuckled, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. "there you have it. mr. pickles as judge, jury, and executioner. i’m officially terrified." you smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "as you should be. she takes no prisoners."

“and neither do i,” he murmured, his tone dipping as he tilted his head up to kiss you. the shift in mood was sudden but not unwelcome. his lips pressed against yours with the kind of determination that made you forget how to breathe for a second. his hands slid to your hips, holding you in place as he leaned back against the cushions, taking you with him. "you’re really trying to prove a point, huh?" you teased, breath hitching as his grip tightened. "i don’t think words are enough," he said between kisses, his voice low and smooth. "actions speak louder, right?" and speak they did. his hands wandered lower, firmly grabbing the soft curve of your ass, earning a surprised squeak from you. "suguru," you warned half-heartedly, though your hips involuntarily shifted against him. he grinned up at you, the picture of smug satisfaction. "what? i don’t hear you complaining."

“yet,” you shot back, but your body betrayed you, rolling your hips again as heat pooled in your stomach. "thought so," he said, voice dipping into a near growl. his hands guided your movements, holding you steady as he kissed you again, deeper this time. it wasn’t just apologetic; it was hungry, desperate, and laced with a promise to make up for every missed second. mr. pickles, ever the unbothered queen, yawned loudly from her perch. apparently, the impending chaos was none of her business. 

things were absolutely peachy—literally and figuratively—because there you were, straddling geto on your worn-out couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. his tie had been discarded somewhere (you’ll probably find it wedged under the couch cushions next month), and his usually crisp shirt was wrinkled beyond salvation.  his hands, warm and firm, roamed over your thighs and hips, eventually settling on your ass, which he seemed determined to commit to memory with the way he kept squeezing. it was flattering, really. all those squats and lugging around mr. pickles’ oversized carrier had not gone unnoticed.

“you’re really into this, huh?” you teased between kisses, nipping at his bottom lip just to feel the soft hitch in his breath. he grinned against your lips, shameless and unrepentant. “what can i say? i’m a man of taste.” his hands squeezed again, making you jolt slightly. “and damn, this is a masterpiece.”

“oh my god, suguru,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified. “you sound like a bad rom-com character.” he tilted his head back, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh that made your stomach flip. “hey, i call it like i see it. can’t help it if i’m honest.”

“yeah, well, your honesty’s about to get you kicked off this couch,” you shot back, though your hands betrayed you, sliding up his chest to cup his face. “oh, c’mon,” he said, leaning up to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was trying to remind you exactly why you hadn’t kicked him out yet. “you’d miss me too much.” and then, because suguru geto couldn’t let a moment of peace exist, he smirked and said, “besides, you’re the grandma of the house. gotta respect my elders.” you froze, pulling back just enough to stare at him with a look that could melt steel. “excuse me?”

“grandma,” he repeated, entirely too pleased with himself. “you know, since you’re mr. pickles’ mom and all. technically makes you—”

“i swear to god, suguru,” you interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp pinch to his side that made him yelp. “do you have a death wish?”

“what? it’s a term of endearment!” he tried, though his laughter betrayed him. “you’re lucky i like nerds,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile as you leaned down to kiss him again. “lucky indeed,” he murmured, hands finding their favorite spot once more. mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a loud, judgmental meow from her perch, as if to remind both of you who really ran this house.

and geto? geto was panicking. like, full-blown, internal monologue of doom panicking. sure, he looked calm on the outside—well, except for the faint pink creeping up his neck and the way his hands were starting to tremble just a bit against your hips. but inside? oh, it was a mess.

he loves ass. he loves your ass. in fact, he loves you. and while those three facts should be enough to keep him focused and confident, they were doing the exact opposite. because—plot twist—he hasn’t exactly been in the game for a while. “okay, breathe, suguru,” he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to keep his cool as your hands idly played with the collar of his shirt. but your superwoman instincts picked up on everything , and your raised brow as you looked down at him only made things worse. “you good?” you asked, voice soft and teasing, but laced with genuine concern. “yeah, totally,” he replied too quickly, clearing his throat like that would erase the way his voice cracked. “i’m just—uh. just, you know... thinking.” you tilted your head, watching him with that infuriatingly cute little smile that made his stomach flip. “about what? you’re usually a lot smoother than this, geto.”

“oh god, i’m blowing it,” he groaned, letting his head thump lightly against the back of the couch as he finally let the words tumble out. “it’s just... it’s been a while, okay? i’m out of practice or whatever, and now i’m worried i’m gonna, like, disappoint you or something. and that grandma joke? yeah, that was supposed to kill the mood so i could avoid all of this.” you blinked at him, caught between laughter and disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“painfully.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand still planted on your hip. “you’re amazing, and i just... i don’t want to mess this up.” for a moment, you just stared at him, and he could feel himself shrinking under your gaze. but then, the smile that spread across your face was nothing short of wicked. “oh, suguru,” you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed against his ear. “you have no idea what’s coming, do you?” his breath hitched as your hand slid down to the buttons of his shirt, popping one open with a practiced ease that made his heart skip a beat. “w-what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you said, voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine, “i’m about to make sure you never, ever doubt yourself again. you’re gonna be too busy thanking me to think about whether or not you’re ‘out of practice.’”

he swallowed hard, trying to think of a coherent response, but all that came out was a strangled, “uh — okay.”

“good,” you said simply, shifting your weight and sliding down his lap. and as he looked down at you, wide-eyed and completely at your mercy, one thing became crystal clear to suguru geto: he was absolutely, 100%, in over his head.

-

diva down? diva down. the diva in question being you.  you, the self-proclaimed diva of the century, were currently on your knees, ready to turn suguru geto’s jittery, bashful energy into something far more relaxed—well, if relaxed meant completely wrecked. and honestly? you were thriving. “oh god,” geto let out a breathless laugh, raking a hand through his loose hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his eyes hazy with anticipation. “you don’t have to—”

“stop,” you cut him off with a teasing smirk, fingers already working on his belt with the precision of someone on a mission. “don’t ruin my moment, suguru.” he laughed again, that soft, breathless kind that made your stomach do flips. “right, wouldn’t dream of it.” as you slid his belt free and popped open the button of his slacks, you couldn’t help but notice how his chest rose and fell just a bit faster, the faintest hint of nerves lingering in his gaze. “you good up there?” you asked, giving him a little grin. “y-yeah,” he stammered, licking his lips. “just... uhh, taking it all in.”

“oh, you’re gonna be taking a lot more than that in a second,” you teased, tugging at his slacks. he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch as he laughed again, but he still lifted his hips eagerly to help you slide the fabric down. and holy shit.  those slacks had been doing a lot of heavy lifting, and now, with them out of the way, you were faced with undeniable proof that suguru geto was not just hot, but also packing. “damn,” you muttered, your eyes widening just a bit as you took him in. “what?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness, but also curiosity. “nothing,” you said quickly, though your smirk betrayed you. “just... wow.”

“wow?” he echoed, his brows lifting.

“wow,” you confirmed, leaning in closer. “you’re full of surprises, huh?”

he chuckled softly, his hand coming down to rest gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that was almost too sweet for the situation. “i could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “oh, suguru,” you said with a teasing lilt, your hands bracing against his thighs as you leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him. “you have no idea.” and as you finally got to work, suguru let out a sound that was half laugh, half moan, his head tipping back as his hand slid into your hair. yeah, it was definitely going to be a long night—for both of you. and honestly?

bless men raised by their mothers. or at least men who respect women beyond a surface level, because suguru geto? he was proving himself to be a certified sweetheart even with his brain turned to mush. "god, you're...you're so good at this," he babbled, voice pitched just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "like—ohhh, fuck—you’re perfect. seriously, i don’t know how—fuck—you’re even real."

you couldn’t help but smirk around him, though the sheer earnestness in his tone was making your head spin. suguru wasn’t just moaning—no, he was giving you a running commentary like his life depended on it. and honestly? the mix of his praise, his ridiculous vocabulary, and the raw honesty of his reactions were doing more for you than you cared to admit. "shiiit, babe," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips shifted just slightly, like he was trying to hold himself back. "you’re incredible. so... so fucking—god, you’re beautiful." you hummed against him, letting the vibrations travel through him, and the broken moan he let out in response was almost enough to make you moan.“i—fuck,” he stammered, his free hand clenching and unclenching on the couch cushion as though he was trying to ground himself. “i can’t even—fuck, you’re amazing. you know that, right? like, amazing.” 

it was ridiculous, really. this level of detailed, horny babbling shouldn’t be hot, and yet, suguru’s desperate, unfiltered honesty was doing a number on you. you’d kiss him if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. “you’re gonna—oh fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his words punctuated by a low, shaky laugh. “like, actually. no coming back from this. you’re—shit—so perfect, babe. i don’t even know how you’re real.” you glanced up at him briefly, catching the flush on his cheeks and the dazed, almost reverent look in his eyes. he looked wrecked already, and you weren’t even close to finished. yeah, men raised right were a blessing. and suguru geto? he was living proof.

suguru was going to cry. or die. or both. maybe at the same time. because when a simple, god-loving, god-fearing man like him thought of you—his girl, his love—his mind didn’t stop at the surface. no, it wandered far, far into the future. he dared to dream big: marriage, a nice house with you, gojo cat and mr. pickles running the place with their eventual brood of kittens, and maybe, if he let himself get really carried away, a kid or two of your own. but this? this was not in the script. not the way he imagined this happening, not this soon. was he complaining, though? no, not one bit. still, suguru couldn’t shake the way his brain was short-circuiting. what if you thought this was weird? not the moment itself—because, holy shit, this moment was unreal—but the way he couldn’t control the ridiculous rambling bubbling out of him.

“god, you’re... you’re gonna be the death of me,” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly as his hand tightened on the couch cushion beneath him. “seriously. i’m done for. you’ve—fuck—you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. literally, figuratively... h-hell, every way there is.” he let out a shaky laugh, his other hand brushing the edge of your jaw, his touch featherlight like he was afraid he’d break you—or worse, wake up and find out this was all a dream. “you have no idea, do you?” he murmured, his tone softening even as his breaths came uneven. “how much i—fuck, how much i love you.”

that admission was supposed to stay locked in his chest, hidden away alongside the future house and the diary full of thoughts he would probably never admit aloud. but there it was, laid bare in the open. his throat tightened as he watched for your reaction, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free. his mind raced with every possibility—what if you thought he was moving too fast? what if this ruined everything?

you were going to die. or cry. or both. maybe not in that order, but the emotional whiplash was real. because while you were—let's face it—giving the performance of your life, suguru geto had the audacity to play the wildest card in his hand: he told you he loved you. the words hit you like a sucker punch, making your brain screech to a halt. you paused, pulling him out of your mouth with a slick, obscene pop, a strand of spit still connecting the two of you as you gaped at him like he’d just told you the earth was flat. “wait, what?” your voice was hoarse, a little breathless, and full of disbelief. your hands remained steady on his thighs, but you weren’t about to let that slide. “say that again.”

suguru blinked at you, his flushed face half-covered by the messy curtain of his hair. and yet, somehow, he still looked every bit the breathtaking dork you fell for. “i... i said i love you,” he mumbled, his voice soft, but you could see the telltale signs of his nerves in the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. oh, you knew you won now. your lips curved into a sly, wicked grin, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons that had nothing to do with what you were doing moments ago. “good,” you said simply, your voice low and teasing, before brushing your thumb over his hip bone in a way that made him shiver. “because i love you too, suguru.” the way his eyes widened, his chest hitching in disbelief, was almost enough to undo you completely. but you weren’t done. oh no, not by a long shot.

you leaned in again, doubling down on your efforts with a newfound determination, your mouth warm and eager as you took him back in. this time, you didn’t hold back, letting him feel just how much you meant those words. the soft noises tumbling out of him turned into broken, desperate moans as you let him slide deeper, letting him bump against the back of your throat with a confidence that made his hips jerk. “holy—fucck, baby, ” he gasped, his voice trembling as his hands instinctively tangled in your hair. “you’re—oh my god—i can’t—”

and just like that, he was gone. the way his body tensed, his hand gripping the back of the couch like a lifeline, was all the warning you got before he tipped over the edge, his release hitting you with an intensity that left him trembling beneath you. you pulled back slightly, swallowing and smirking as he looked down at you with dazed, love-struck eyes, his chest heaving. “you okay there, lover boy?” you teased, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you crawled up to straddle him. he groaned, dragging his hands over his flushed face, but even through his embarrassment, you could see the adoration shining in his gaze. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but the small, lovesick smile on his lips said he wouldn’t have it any other way.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of his mind, suguru was thinking about reciprocity in customary international law—something about how states are expected to treat each other in kind. why this popped into his head as he helped you up from your knees, he had no idea. maybe his brain was short-circuiting from everything that had just transpired. or maybe it was just his nerdy coping mechanism for the sheer intensity of what was about to go down. either way, he shelved the thought because all he knew—clearly, distinctly, and beyond a shadow of a doubt—was that you needed help. erm, his girl needed help. and suguru geto? he was nothing if not a gentleman. “alright, up you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he hooked an arm around you, effortlessly lifting you.

before you could even fully process what was happening, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed. “oh my god, suguru!” you squealed, smacking his back, but there was no real heat behind it. " shh, this is for your benefit,” he said, laughing softly as he adjusted his grip. and with a surprising amount of precision for a man who had just been thoroughly flustered minutes earlier, he tossed you onto the bed. somehow, miraculously, you landed gracefully—no awkward angles or unflattering positions. before you could catch your breath, suguru was already yanking down your pajama shorts, his movements sure and deliberate. his hair, still a little messy from your earlier efforts, framed his face as he looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of affection and hunger. you smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “you know, if you’re really feeling sorry, there’s one thing you could do.” his brows raised, intrigued. “oh? what’s that?”

“sit down,” you said casually, leaning back against the pillows. “because i’m sitting on your face.” suguru froze for half a second, and you could swear you saw his soul leave his body. but then he let out a low, almost reverent laugh, his hands already sliding up your thighs as he knelt onto the bed. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts adoring and wicked. “but if you insist…” and as he settled himself beneath you, looking up at you with pure devotion, he thought to himself—if he had a ring right now, he’d propose without a second thought.

sit on his face? seriously? where the hell did that confidence come from? because let’s be real—have you ever sat on someone’s face before? no? yeah, that’s what i thought. so it really serves you right for hovering over suguru’s face in the most awkward, hesitant way possible after you practically tore your underwear off like a woman on a mission. and suguru, bless his sweet, sweet soul, was waiting so patiently. expectantly, even. until he let out this deep chuckle—low and warm and way too sexy for your own good—and before you could spiral any further into overthinking, he reached up and yanked you down onto his face. oh. OH. there was no time to process, no moment to think, because suddenly the same mouth that usually went on and on about laws, treaties, and whatever international nonsense was now french kissing your cunt like it was his one true calling in life.

you moaned—loud and borderline pornographic—but could you really help it? suguru groaned against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you as his grip tightened on your thighs, holding you firmly in place like he had absolutely no plans of letting you escape. you tried. god, you tried to play it cool. tried to pull a geto on him with a little bit of horny babbling of your own, figuring he’d appreciate the effort. but every time you so much as opened your mouth to string a coherent sentence together, suguru would double down on his actions—his tongue flicking or curling in ways that had you seeing stars—and whatever you’d been planning to say vanished into the void, replaced by high-pitched whines and breathy moans.

“suguru—oh my god—”

he hummed in response, the sound smug and almost teasing as he looked up at you from between your legs, his dark eyes practically glowing with amusement and pride. “you talk too much,” he mumbled against you, the words muffled but clear enough to make your face heat up. and honestly? you’d be offended if he weren’t so goddamn good at what he was doing.

geto was putting in the work. the work. and you? you were trying not to cry or completely lose your mind, but if you did, you had a sneaking suspicion he’d love it more than anything. the man had a thing for drama—especially if it was drama he caused. but in the middle of all this face-sitting, tongue-lapping, thigh-gripping madness, you noticed something else.

geto was hard. painfully so. the sight of him below you was already sinful enough, but the way his erection strained against his boxers, twitching every time you moaned his name, was almost too much. his response time to recover was unreal—maddening, even—but considering it was you on top of him, you liked to think you deserved the credit. and since a wise saying says to love your neighbor as yourself, you decided to help a man out. literally. your hand snaked down between you two, wrapping around his length with a touch that had him freezing for a split second. “what are you—oh, fuck, ” geto choked out, the sound muffled against your thighs as you yanked down his boxers and started stroking him.

he let out a garbled groan and—you couldn’t make this up—spat. he outright spat onto your cunt, the hot slickness dripping between your folds, and you? you loved it. the move earned him a sharp gasp, followed by a breathless laugh as you sped up your hand, squeezing him just enough to draw out those pretty whines you loved so much. “oh my god, suguru,” you teased, voice shaky but teasing nonetheless. “did you just—?”

“shut up,” he grunted, his words nearly swallowed by a low moan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. “you’re the one—fuck—driving me insane right now.” and judging by the desperate way he buried his face against you, tongue moving feverishly as his hips bucked into your hand, you’d say he was enjoying this just as much as you were. but the real kicker? when you came, your body instinctively pressed down against his face, your thighs squeezing tight enough to almost cut off his air supply. geto didn’t complain. not once. if anything, the muffled groan against your cunt and the way he jerked against your hand as he came told you he’d gladly die like this if it came to it. but luckily for both of you, you lived to tell the tale.

once the both of you had managed to throw on some semblance of clothing, clean up, and collapse into the bed, that’s when reality hit geto like a brick wall. what. the. hell. just happened. as he laid there, his arm slung lazily around you, your soft breathing against his chest, his brain decided now was the perfect time to spiral. he glanced over at mr. pickles, who sat perched on the counter in the kitchenette, her tail flicking in judgment. the cat looked like she was debating calling the authorities on him for defiling her beloved owner. oh god. what does this make the two of you?

no, scratch that. the real panic set in when he remembered: he told you he loved you. not in some subtle, cute, roundabout way either. no, it was the full-blown, l-o-v-e type of confession. the kind he wrote about in his secret diary he kept under his bed. the kind that implied white picket fences, shared dreams, and a life together. and judging by the way you were pressed against him, one leg draped over his, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his bare chest (because yes, the formal shirt had been entirely ditched), you were either about to let him down easy or...

oh god.

“you okay?” your soft voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, your hand pausing its movements as you tilted your head to look up at him. he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally fine.” you squinted at him, your lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “you sure? you’re looking a little... out of it.” well, there was no way out of this now. in all his dorkus glory, he blurted out the dreaded question:

“so, uh... what are we?”

the words hung in the air for a second, and geto wanted to melt into the mattress. but instead of laughing or teasing him, you smiled, your expression soft and fond. “what do you want us to be?”

“i mean...” he swallowed hard, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “i said i loved you, so... maybe something serious?” you grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “good. because i’m not letting you go after that performance, lover boy.” and just like that, geto decided he could die happy. even if mr. pickles never forgave him.

chapter 6: the class you’ll never forget

geto woke up feeling like the main character in some rom-com where everything had finally fallen into place. the sun was shining directly on his face, his skin was clear, the tension that had been tying his muscles in knots for weeks was gone, and most importantly, there was you snuggled up next to him. your soft snores were music to his ears, and mr. pickles' contented purring from her nesting area completed the picture. everything was perfect. except for the yeowling.

it started faint, like the distant sound of a car alarm, and grew steadily louder. groaning, geto rubbed his face. “what the hell...?” he suddenly bolted upright, realization hitting him like a freight train. “oh no. oh no, no, no.” you groggily stirred beside him, blinking up at him in confusion. “what’s wrong?”

“gojo,” he groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “i left him alone in my apartment last night. he probably thinks i’m dead.” you blinked, then snorted. “that’s dramatic, even for a cat.”

but geto wasn’t joking. he’d seen gojo cat throw tantrums over him leaving for ten minutes to grab milk. this? this was abandonment on a grand scale in the eyes of the overly dramatic feline. as if on cue, the voice of your landlord, yaga, boomed from the other side of the door. “keep that cat quiet, or i’m calling animal control!” you gasped indignantly, sitting up. “excuse me! mr. pickles would never—”

“it’s not mr. pickles!” geto groaned, already throwing on his pants. “it’s my overly theatrical—”

just as he was about to open the door to go upstairs, a loud thud echoed from the direction of your fire escape. the two of you froze.

“what was that?” you whispered.

geto peeked out the window, his jaw dropping. “oh my god. no.”

there, perched precariously on the fire escape outside your window, was gojo cat. his tail swished furiously, and he was glaring through the glass like he had just tracked his runaway owner down on sheer willpower alone.

“he... jumped from my window to yours.”

“that’s, like, one story up!” you exclaimed.

“i know!”

gojo cat let out another ear-piercing yeowwww! that sounded suspiciously like he was cursing geto out in feline language. “okay, okay , i’m coming!” geto sighed, sliding the window open to let the cat in. gojo cat pranced inside with all the dignity of someone who had just won an olympic gold medal, ignoring you entirely as he hopped onto geto’s torso and began aggressively kneading his shoulder. “i’m sorry, okay?” geto muttered. “i didn’t mean to abandon you.” gojo cat meowed smugly, his forgiveness conditional.

“so... how mad would you be if i told you yaga still thinks this is mr. pickles’ fault?” you asked, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. geto groaned, flopping back onto the bed, gojo cat still perched on his chest. “this is my life now. cat dad, tenant offender, and boyfriend to the world’s most beautiful woman.” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “and don’t you forget it.”

gojo cat, ever the drama queen, was about to make a grand display of his wrath, his tail swishing like an emperor preparing to deliver a royal decree. but then, he saw her.

mr. pickles. lounging in her nesting area, belly round with her impending litter, she cast him the most witheringly judgmental side-eye known to catkind. it wasn’t even subtle. her disdain radiated like heat off asphalt, and for a moment, gojo cat’s indignant rage faltered. but then, like the suave rogue he believed himself to be, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and strutted toward her with a confidence that could only be described as delusional. it was all tail flicks and exaggerated steps, as though the very floor beneath him had the privilege of bearing his paws.

and then—smack. the grand feline tumbled, face planting into the ground with all the grace of a wet noodle.

you tried to stifle your laugh, but the sound still slipped out. geto choked back a snort, muttering, “that’s my boy.” mr. pickles, however, did not laugh. no, the dignified queen merely let out a single approving chirp, a sound that might have translated to "pathetic, but amusing." gojo cat, undeterred by his embarrassing mishap, rose with renewed determination. and with the kind of courage that made you question if he had a screw loose, he approached mr. pickles once more, his intentions clear.

“no way,” you whispered.

“he wouldn’t,” geto added, equally mesmerized.

but he did. gojo cat, in what he undoubtedly believed was the ultimate gesture of love, began grooming mr. pickles. grooming her. and she let him.

for a moment, you thought she was going to swipe at him with all the fury of a hormonal mom-to-be. but no. she actually closed her eyes, her purring like a soft motor. it was... surreal.

“did we just witness the biggest romance of the century?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “bigger than us?” geto teased, pulling you closer. “way bigger,” you deadpanned.

as you both watched the unlikely duo share their moment, you couldn’t help but laugh. gojo cat was clearly putting his all into his attempt at love, and mr. pickles? well, she looked like she was actually enjoying it.

“ah, love,” geto sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your head. “even dumber than us,” you added, shaking your head in disbelief.

-

you were on cloud nine, feeling a level of peace and contentment that only came from having a hot law nerd boyfriend and a cat with enough sass to rival gojo cat himself. geto's bmw hummed quietly beneath you as the two of you cruised toward campus. it wasn’t just the morning coffee kicking in; it was the knowledge that if this man dared to be late—even by two minutes—mr. pickles would end him. like, not even metaphorically. she’d leap on him, claws out, and make him regret. because mr. pickles loved his hair. she loved kneading it, curling her paws into his long, luscious locks as if claiming her personal throne. and honestly? you got it. if you were a cat, you’d do the same. hell, even as a human, you’d do it (and did, regularly).

as he pulled into the parking lot, the goodbye routine began. “don’t forget to text me when your class ends,” he said, already pulling you into a warm hug. “don’t forget to pick me up, or we’re breaking up,” you countered sweetly, earning a laugh from him. “you’re scary, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “and you’re my very gorgeous, very whipped boyfriend,” you shot back, leaning up for a kiss. he wouldn’t dream of ghosting you—not when you were this beautiful, amazing, kind, and, obviously, a little unhinged. as he opened your door and helped you out like the true gentleman he was, he insisted on walking you all the way to the front entrance. his hand rested at the small of your back, a gesture that had you swooning even as you teased him.

“you do know you’re going to be late, right?”

“worth it,” he replied with a grin, bending down to kiss your cheek. but just as you were about to part ways, a booming voice shattered the moment.

“GETO! LAW STUDENTS BUILDING! NOW!”

you both turned to see a very exasperated professor waving frantically at him from across the quad. you couldn’t help but laugh as geto sighed, muttering under his breath about how “love is a battlefield.” he gave you one last kiss, muttered a promise to pick you up later (or else), and jogged off. you watched him go, smiling like an idiot as you whispered, “ah, love.”

the day started fine. better than fine, actually—you left geto’s bmw with a kiss and the knowledge that your cat, mr. pickles, was safe and sound in her nesting area, glaring at gojo cat with the fury only a pregnant feline could muster. but halfway through your lecture on post-modern feminist theories (a riveting topic, truly), your phone buzzed. it wasn’t a normal notification. no, it was the cctv feed suguru had installed as a “gift” to keep an eye on your “queen” (read: your absolute dictator cat). and there she was—mr. pickles—kneading her nesting area with an urgency that sent a chill down your spine.

“oh. oh no. oh dear god.” you whispered, staring at the screen as she let out a war cry that could only mean one thing: grandmahood was happening. you shot up from your seat so fast your desk screeched against the floor. “is everything okay?” your professor asked, startled by your abrupt movement.

“uh, yeah! just — cat emergency! she’s — uh — giving birth!” you stammered, already halfway out the door.

“congratulations?” someone in the back called out, earning a round of laughter you had no time for.

you sprinted through campus like a woman possessed, your backpack bouncing behind you as you cursed yourself for not realizing mr. pickles’ morning mood wasn’t jealousy but labor. and then—because fate had to test you—geto appeared, casually strolling toward the law building with his usual unbothered grace. “babe?” he called out, watching you bolt past him like you were auditioning for the olympics. “no time to explain!” you yelled over your shoulder. he frowned, putting two and two together because, let’s face it, the man’s a genius. “is it mr. pickles?!”

“YES!”

and then he started running behind you.

“suguru!” you wheezed, already out of breath. “GET YOUR CAR!”

“why?” he shouted, effortlessly keeping pace with you.

“because we’re running across a campus that’s like thousand acres and I WILL DIE!”

he paused, muttering something about how you were so dramatic, before pivoting on his heel and sprinting toward the parking lot.

you barely made it to the main road before suguru’s bmw skidded to a stop beside you.

“get in!” he barked, throwing the passenger door open.

“i swear to god, if she starts delivering while we’re stuck in traffic —”

“she’s not gonna start without you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“cats don’t work like that, suguru!”

“well, neither do women, but here we are,” he shot back, pulling into the driveway of your building.

you bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time while suguru trailed behind with all the urgency of a man who knows he’ll be the one cleaning up whatever mess awaited. when you burst into the apartment, mr. pickles was mid-contraction, glaring at you like, finally, my useless human has arrived. gojo cat, meanwhile, looked terrified, hovering at a safe distance as if he was considering calling 911. “okay, okay, we’re here!” you panted, dropping to your knees beside mr. pickles. suguru followed, looking at the scene with wide eyes. “do...do we call a vet?”

“no! she’s got this. we just have to support her!”

“support her how?”

“i don’t know! emotional support?”

“she’s a cat!”

mr. pickles let out a low growl, silencing suguru’s protests. “okay, okay, i’ll shut up,” he muttered, backing away slightly. the door creaked open, and there stood shoko, still in her scrubs and sporting the exhausted yet curious expression of someone returning from a night shift only to walk straight into chaos. “what’s going on here?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. you barely spared her a glance as you clutched suguru’s arm. “mr. pickles is in labor. it’s a whole thing. prayers are appreciated.”

“prayers?” she scoffed, stepping closer. “i’m a doctor. i got this.”

relief washed over you. “thank god, shoko! we could use an actual professional!”

but the moment she peeked over the edge of mr. pickles’ nesting area and caught sight of a tiny kitten halfway out, her calm demeanor shattered.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!”

“what do you think it is?” suguru deadpanned, visibly unimpressed. “i don’t know! i didn’t sign up for this!” shoko shrieked, stumbling backward and holding her hands up as if warding off an unholy demon.

you blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded. “aren’t you a doctor?”

“a human doctor! this is nature gone rogue! ”

mr. pickles, clearly unamused by shoko’s dramatics, let out a low, guttural growl that sent the so-called professional scurrying back to the doorway. “you’re on your own,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the events unfolding in your living room weren’t directly her problem. meanwhile, gojo cat, always the overachiever, decided he needed to help. unfortunately, his idea of help involved attempting to paw at the nearest kitten. “don’t even think about it!” suguru warned, his voice laced with exasperation.

but it was too late—mr. pickles, mid-contraction, turned her fiery gaze on gojo cat, who froze like a deer in headlights. one wrong flick of his tail, and mr. pickles let out a feral hiss that could have sent shoko back to med school. gojo cat, realizing he had crossed the line, slinked back to the corner, tail tucked between his legs, his usual swagger replaced with what could only be described as embarrassed defeat. “well, that’s one way to keep him in line,” you muttered.

“this is insane,” shoko said, still watching from the doorway. “how do you people live like this?”

“we manage,” suguru replied, his tone completely void of humor as he massaged his temples.

the next hour was a whirlwind of cat screams, your whispered words of encouragement, and suguru pacing like an expectant father in a sitcom. “should we name one after me?” he asked at one point, earning a glare from both you and mr. pickles as she finally let out one final push, and another tiny kitten entered the world. you let out a relieved sigh, and suguru finally cracked a smile. he was crouched beside you, holding your hand as if you were the one giving birth. “you did amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“she did amazing,” you corrected, motioning to mr. pickles.

“team effort,” he replied with a grin.

and as mr. pickles began cleaning her newest babies, shoko muttered from the door, “you’re all insane. call me when it’s over.”

“you’re the godmother, shoko!” you called after her, earning a muffled string of curses as she disappeared down the hall.

“we’re gonna need so much cat food,” he muttered, pulling you close.

ah, the miracle of life.

-

a few weeks had passed since d-day—delivery day, or as suguru had renamed it, “domestic chaos day.” the kittens were growing faster than you thought possible, transforming your once peaceful apartment into a battlefield. mr. pickles ruled the roost with an iron paw, while gojo cat’s ego took a daily beating as the kittens bested him at every turn. every time one managed to leap higher, run faster, or swipe his tail just right, his tail would puff up in indignation like a furry balloon. you’d managed to rehome a few of the kittens, starting with shoko.

her kitten—affectionately dubbed “roach” for her uncanny ability to survive despite zero effort—was the perfect match. low-maintenance, unfazed, and perpetually napping. shoko had initially protested, but now you’d catch her sending you pictures of roach curled up in her sink or casually perched on her liquor cabinet.

then there was yuuji. poor, sweet, persistent yuuji. he’d campaigned harder for a kitten than some politicians do for office. the boy went through hoops — begging you, suguru, choso, sukuna, and even mr. pickles. you weren’t sure how he’d pulled it off, but eventually, he was deemed worthy of a black-and-white troublemaker he promptly named “gumi.” the kitten adored yuuji and spent most of his time riding on his shoulders like a parrot, though you suspected yuuji let him get away with far too much.

sukuna, on the other hand, had reluctantly taken the runt of the litter after it refused to leave him alone. “don’t need some damn cat,” he’d grumbled the entire way home. now? the tiny kitten followed him everywhere, even sneaking into his apron pockets after he came back from work. he pretended to hate it, but the soft grumbles about “stupid runt” were always followed by careful, protective pats on the kitten’s tiny head.

but the biggest surprise of all came when suguru decided to make your relationship public—on linkedin. linkedin, of all places.

it had started as a joke. you’d teased him about not “properly asking you out” after all this time, and before you knew it, he’d crafted a three-paragraph-long post about you. “in a comitted relationship with the love of my life, and no, this isn’t a humble brag — it’s a masterpiece,” he’d typed with the fervor of a man defending his dissertation. the post included references to romantic literature, quotes from classic movies, and, somehow, a detailed analysis of how mr. pickles and gojo cat played pivotal roles in your story.

you’d wanted to die of second-hand embarrassment, but the post blew up. colleagues, professors, and even strangers commented, congratulating the two of you. “you’re insane,” you’d told him, hiding your face in his chest as he laughed. “insane about you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

life wasn’t perfect — it was loud, chaotic, and occasionally overwhelming. but with mr. pickles, gojo cat, and your ridiculous yet lovable boyfriend, it was better than you ever imagined.

feline parenthood? best decision ever.

[facets-and-rainbows]

Update from Kazue Katoh's Twitter

The Blue Exorcist hiatus will be extended for another month (through the November issue)

[Drawing of Katoh apologizing] Sorry for all the delays!

As Blue Exorcist celebrates its 15th anniversary, I'm taking my first ever unplanned three-month break from publishing it. I think it's about time to share more information on the situation with my readers...It's a personal matter but I'd like to tell you.

I was actually diagnosed with an illness at my regular checkup in March, and I've spent the last few months working in between hospital visits.

I've finished surgery, which went well, and I've been discharged for the time being, but I needed extra time for post-op treatment so I'm going to have to extend the hiatus.

It's ended up as a long 3-month wait, and I'm sorry about that!

I'll be keeping my exact diagnosis private for now, but in my case it shouldn't be life-threatening with proper treatment.

I'm currently back to work and feeling good, so don't worry too much!

[Drawing of Katoh in a hospital bed] I actually got excited for my first hospitalization, and my first surgery, and my first general anesthesia, and my first catheter... Maybe it's a manga artist thing. I had my catheter removed by a nurse who apparently reads Blue Exorcist, haha, nothing can scare me anymore (*Catheter=a tube that goes directly in the urethra) (Nurse: Take a deep breath and I'll take it out when you exhale...)

[Drawing of Katoh at the gym] I got back to the gym 3 days after I was discharged from the hospital! They said exercise will be good for my recovery.

The current plan is:

Next month: There will be no Blue Exorcist chapter in the November issue of Jump SQ (which comes out in October), but I'm drawing a new poster for it!

The month after next: Blue Exorcist is scheduled to return in the December issue of Jump SQ (which comes out in November.)

At any rate, I'll be continuing treatment alongside work for a while, so there may be times when that impacts my work and makes you all worry...Apologies in advance! My soul couldn't rest if I died before finishing Blue Exorcist, so I'm hoping to stick around and keep drawing it while I continue my treatment.

All this has just been spurring on my inconsistency as an author, but I hope you'll stick with Blue Exorcist going forward!

Kazue Katoh, Sept 4, 2024

[Drawing of Katoh making a determined little fist] And take care of yourselves too! Get your annual checkups!

[love-anddeepression]

EVERYTHING IS FINE- Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

this is it. angsty asf. bittersweet ending it’s sad people. tw: infidelity. based on my most recent post. please comment i’m literally begging you and tell me how you like it<3

Part 2

In the depths of your heart, you already know. Your Miguel is not yours anymore.

You remember the stolen glances between him and Dana where you pretended not to notice the palpable tension between the three of you amidst the throng of about ten other people in the house.

It was a nice dinner that you’d planned, after spending almost a week away because of your actual job as well as your little side gig that was being a part of spider society.

But fifteen minutes into the little shin-dig and you get a call from none other than your boss. Not the nice one who showed you the ropes when you first joined and provided you with hours of mentorship. The bitch that was a variant of your husband was currently floating above your watch as you glared at him in the bathroom.

“We need you.”

“Not today.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“It’s always an emergency.” you roll your eyes.

“Look this was unplanned, you think my life’s aim is to torment you?”

“Kind of.” you nod and he groans, “Give me twenty minutes.”

——

At the end of twenty minutes, you storm out of your house as quietly as you can, yes it’s an oxymoron but you’re pissed off.

At Miguel, at your husband, at yourself.

Your mother always said that you were one to pity yourself, even when every bad thing that happened was the result of your own actions. All your life you’ve disagreed, but now you think that maybe your mother was probably right.

None of this would have happened if you’d just said no. No to Dana making her way into your marriage to her guy best friend and co-worker.No to the variant of him with fangs and red eyes and No to your own urge of fucking things up because you wanted to see what happened. If maybe what your heart felt was wrong. That there was nothing wrong with you and Miguel, that he still loved you.

You let out a shaky breath and open a portal from an alleyway behind your apartment building. The purple hue reflects onto your face. No, you weren’t a spider. Just a traveller that stumped your boss and changed his perception of everything he knew about the multiverse.

The man himself nodded at you as you stepped onto the platform he was standing on, looking back to the holo of what looked like a rogue Doc Ock, Goblin and another Spiderman.

“What, now we have evil spidermen? Isn’t that breaking the canon?” you raise an eyebrow.

“That’s the thing. There’s no canon event broken. He was meant to be a villain. Yet, I’ve never heard of him, or of this universe.”

You look at him like he’s just told you that he used to be a stripper in college and all his money came from his side-gig, “I’m sorry, what? The all powerful Miguel O’Hara with the pixel suit doesn’t know of the existence of a universe?”

“You’re being real helpful right now.” he grumbles.

“Thank you, I knew you’d appreciate the help.”

——

The house is quiet when you walk in, evidently everyone has left. The kitchen has been cleaned and the lights are off.

He’d always been your biggest supporter. Always so humble even though he had a high position and a fat paycheck, always telling you to let him help you. Doing some of your work for you when you were busy.

The bedroom door creaked a little as you enter, the sound of your loves breathing makes you crack a small smile. His hulking figure curled up and moving up and down. His face slack.

God he was so beautiful.

You shed your clothes and go through your night routine as fast as you can. Brushing your teeth and scrubbing your face. Cursing the pimples that always make their way onto your forehead at the wrong time.

The mattress squeaks as you get on, slowly wrapping your hands around his body. He stirs and looks up at you, his eyes softening. He’d been drinking, you can tell. He hasn’t looked at you like this for a while.

“Hi.” his hands cup your face and you smile softly as you kiss his rough palm. Your own covering his.

“Sorry I disturbed you. Thank you for cleaning up.” your hands mirror his actions, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

He answers you with a soft kiss. And then another. And his hands are travelling down to pull you to him. Engulfing you as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. Your hands move to play with his hair as he drifted back to sleep.

You close your eyes and pretend that everything is fine. That the lipstick stain on his shirt in the laundry basket wasn’t the same as Dana’s.

———

“Are you fucking dumb?” O’Hara seethes, as he disinfects the gash at the bottom of your neck.

“It’s just a graze, i’m fine.” you grumble, “it’s not like anyone’s gonna care if i die.”

“No, just shut your mouth. Stop talking like you’re some martyr. There are plenty of people here who would miss you.”

“Miguel, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” you chuckle, “i get it-

“No, you don’t. actually, you don’t get it. the woman i loved died, and she’s gone and i’d do anything to have her back, and you’re so convinced that if you died your own fucking husband wouldn’t want to die too? Stop acting like you’re expendable.” his eyes glow and yours widen, “This may come as a surprise to you, but people care.”

You gulp, “Sorry.”

He grumbles under his breath as he sprays the wound with bacta so it heals faster. Apologising when you wince.

You look at his concentrated face that is focused on wrapping the bandage around your shoulder and the bottom of your neck. His face is mere inches from yours. He is the splitting image of your husband, save from the red eyes and fangs. But this close you can see the differences, his eyebrows are a tad thicker and his ears are smaller.

He is harder and his words are sharp. Your love is soft and quiet. Mean when he has to be, but kinder. More open.

More loving. Yes. He’s more loving and he loves you.

You look away and focus on the ceiling. You don’t see his eyes watching your face. Eyes filled with sadness and want.

——

“Dana, here. Have some tea.” you pour a cup for the woman sitting next to Miguel at the table. At your spot.

Is it toxic to think that maybe you want her to choke on her tea?

She’d started to carpool with Miguel a few months ago , seeing as they worked together and were on the same team, it was more efficient and made more sense.

You didn’t want to seem like a toxic wife so you nodded and agreed, because you were secure in your relationship with your husband.

“Thank you.” she says your name with a wide smile as she sips the tea, “Amazing, as always.”

“I know right, she makes amazing tea.” he smiles at her and raises an eyebrow. Dana snorts.

You look between the pair trying to hide their smiles, “Did I miss something?” an awkward smile makes its way onto your face.

“Inside joke, you wouldn’t get it. It’s a scientist thing. I don’t think your writer brain could handle it.” Dana waves you away as if you’re a fucking waiter and you bristle.

But what drives it home is that Miguel laughs out loud when she says that. His hair flops onto his forehead and Dana fixes it for him, her hands running through this hair.

You fight the urge to break a plate on her head but you know it’ll be fruitless. Because your husband will take her side.

Maybe you’re just being dramatic. Maybe the tears you’re trying to hide as you make breakfast are unwarranted and you can’t take a joke.

Everything is fine.

You call out to them from the kitchen, telling them you’re going to be late and his voice is brighter when he says, “Okay, honey.”

—————

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, boss.”

“You look dead.”

“Your eyes bags suggest the same.”

“You’re hilarious.” O’Hara smirks

“Thank you.” you take a sip of the beer he’d passed.

It was late, far past dinner time. And the both of you had taken time to go over the record of what anomalies were most common and key weaknesses in most villains.

“But seriously, are you okay?”

You gulp, “Tell me about your wife. Please.”

He blanches, and then looks at the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Well, where to begin?” he turns to face you, “She…was a writer, she had her own business. She loved sunflowers because they faced each other when the sun wasn’t in the sky.” he smiles sadly, “she was terrified of frogs and dead fish. And she hated onions. The pickiest fucking eater.” he shakes his head and chuckles.

“She sounds sweet.” you know she was variant of you, Miguel had shown you the web of life and in every universe there was version of you that made their way into his life. It was beautiful, honestly.

“She had short hair, and her smile. God, it could make anyone’s day better.” he rested his head on his hand and looked at the hologram shining in front of the both of you.

“She sounds like a dream.” you reply.

“She was.” he nods.

“Hey would you mind bringing up a live of my house?” you ask.

“Why?”

“Humour me, will you?”

He grumbles and a hologram showing your universe pops up, on the screen is your living room. And Miguel freezes when he sees the scene before him.

He sees himself kiss Dana. The version of him who is married, is kissing his co-worker. He’s taking her in his arms and nuzzling her nose. He’s pecking her cheeks and tickling her like she’s his wife.

Like he’s in love with her.

“I love you.” his voice echoes throughout the room. And Dana says it back.

His head whips to look at you. You don’t look surprised, rather, you look defeated. You breathe out like it’s a finality. Your beautiful beautiful eyes transfixed on offending scene in front of you.

Before anything else happens, he shuts it off. Immediately turning to look at your frozen form, “Hey, you with me?”

You shake your head and smile. Eyes still fixed onto where the hologram was, “I’m fine.” Tears fall down your cheeks as your mouth quivers, “I’m okay. Everyday he comes back around this time. And they carpool. I told him I’d be late today. Just after I made them tea and they laughed at an inside joke amongst themselves.”

His eyes widens, “Oh honey.” his moves to hug you and you let out an ugly sob, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I knew it.” you say into his chest, “I’m so fucking stupid.”

His hand pats your back, “You’re not stupid.”

“I mean, I know i was busy, i know i wasnt always home. But I tried, i fucking tried. WHAT IS SO WRONG WITB ME?” the dam breaks and you let out a wrecked shout of agony that breaks his heart into two, “Why wasn’t I good enough?!” your body shakes violently.

“No.” he says firmly, taking your face in his hands, almost squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to looking at him, your hands fly to cover his, “ You are good enough. You are enough. Listen to me. That fucking idiot doesn’t know who he just lost.”

“But-But if i wasnt so busy-

“If he had a problem, he should’ve told you. He’s a fucking pussy.”

Your words are silenced when he shakes you once, hands still holding your cheeks, “You are the most perfect person. And the both of them will pay. I promise that, cariño.”

His arms wrap around you to engulf you as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, rapid breaths slowing. His pulse beats and you can feel the vibrations on your own skin.

You close your eyes and pretend everything is fine. Because you’re in his arms.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Windows To the Soul- Kinktober Week Two

Juliette Nichols x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+

[Originally labelled 'Mirror, Mirror On the Wall, Who's the Biggest Slut of Them All?]

Summary: An unplanned visit after your abrupt breakup with the Sheriff of the Silo brings unexpected revelations.

Kinks: Mirror sex, post-break-up sex.

A/N: This fic is less explicit smut and more graphic emotion-wise. What is the dirtiest, most sinful thing one can do if not admit they need another? (I am struggling to write the smut and it shows bc everything I write is just SAD).

Word Count: 2.1k

Every breath of air you took in this moment felt woefully inadequate. You couldn’t get a breath in, not a true, full-bellied breath that would soothe the ache in your lungs, relax the tension in your stomach, release the blockage in your throat. Three weeks of no contact, not a single glance in the hallways, and she was back, sitting on your couch like she’d never left. Taking you off guard in your own home. It’s something Juliette would do. The same blonde hair falling out of a too-loose ponytail, unbuttoned uniform and belt loosened to accommodate the natural press of her slouched abdomen against her pants.

“Jules.”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know who moved first, her barreling towards you off of her perch on the couch, you careening forwards and meeting her halfway. Her hands on your back, hips, shoulders, grasping-grabbing-pulling-yanking-cradling-holding all of you. Her mouth smashing against yours, the goddamned whimper she let out. All of the anger and hurt of the break up forgotten in the paroxysm of her body on yours, her mouth tracing hungry patterns wherever it found purchase.

“Jules, wait, please-”

A swipe of her hand over the table, glassware smashing on the floor; the destructive nature of her desires on full display.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” she whispered, nose pressed against your temple and shaky breaths puffing out over the small hairs that clung next to your ear.

That stupid face. Those stupid blue eyes and cocky smirk, the class of glassware.

“Get the fuck off.” you shoved her back, getting off the table.

A perplexed look came over Juliette’s face, her hands raised in mock surrender.

“Sorry.”

“You would be.” you snapped. 

The broken glass littered the already well worn linoleum. Another mess, another headache Juliette brought upon you. Neither of you spoke a word as you swept the broken glass into a pan, putting it in a bag for now.

“I should’ve slapped you.” you mumbled, not quite meaning it.

Juliette raised her brows, shaking her head dismissively. Her thumbs worked circles over the fabric where they perched out of her pockets, adding to the sheepish posture.

“Yeah, well sex with your ex is supposed to be cathartic.” she sighed.

“Not if you ended on bad terms.” you snapped.

Juliette shrugged, using your less than furious response as a cue to push forwards a little more. One step closer towards you at a time, slowly invading your personal space.

“It was a short fling, I didn't think I needed an explanation for leaving.”

Her reasoning was nothing short of inadequate. A fling, a minor dance of passion between two people who were just in the same place at the right time. Until it was the wrong time. But it hadn’t been, not in your eyes. Realizing she had never really gotten over George well enough to love another had been a hard pill to swallow, one you’d only managed recently.

“You know, you really should’ve made it clear that you weren’t planning on staying.” 

Looking at her was an awful mixture between painful and infuriating. You busied yourself with the dishes instead. They’d been soaking long enough, it was a matter of draining the water and actually washing them. Such an act conveniently coincided with having the excuse to avoid looking at her.

“Listen, I get that you’re upset that I wasn’t upfront about what I wanted, but no one ever is, so…” Jules shrugged, watching as you dove headfirst into the nearest task.

“Doesn’t excuse the fact that you just up and left. Lead me on… Flirted, teased, even hinted at something more in the future. Kind of like how George did to you.”

Juliette let out a groan of anger, turning on her heel and running a hand over her scalp in the anxious-avoidant motion she was so fond of.

“Founders be damned, are we just going to sit here and trade barbs all day?” she huffed. “I have enough shit going wrong for me, I don’t need you-”

“Oh you're still entitled to me?” you snapped. “Pretty mature of you, slinking back for a less than underhanded attempt at trying to fuck me.”

Juliette spun on her heel, now facing you. Her jaw quirked to the left, mouth working its way into a grimace. Again she smoothed her hair, hands stilling on her hips.

“I came because I wanted to apologize, and then you came in with your business casual shirt all rumpled, and in that damn skirt that just hugs your body, so yeah, maybe I got a little side tracked.”

There was nothing you could say to that. It wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t exactly a compliment. She’d left emotional baggage and pain the same way George had left it with her. A cute little cycle, but not one you excused her from. Soap was up to your upper arms, each dish scrubbed beyond what was really necessary to get it clean, but it was better than outright hurling something at her.

“Listen, I do miss some things, it just… For so long I didn’t know what I wanted, and now I do. And it’s not here, not with you, as wonderful as you are…” she choppily advocated, taking slow steps forwards until she was just short of touching you.

“As wonderful as I am you’re an asshole who wanted someone to fuck and hold you close while you were going through your shit. There’s a word for it, and it’s called a rebound. Shittiest thing you could ever do to a person, honestly.”

A long sigh crested over your shoulder, close enough to tickle the back hairs of your neck. Her arms snaked forwards, resting lightly on the swell of your hips. 

“Crawling back to you isn’t what I was planning, but I can’t resist another go…”

An arm snaked around your front ready to pull you back towards her, to snag you and pull you towards another hook up you knew you’d regret.

“Just one more time, for the fun of it…” Juliette whispered, breath climbing over your ear, attempting to lure you into a yes.

Anger welled up again, and this time you had a sink full of soapy water and a small pot to work with. Turning on your heel, you doused her front with several cups of warm dishwater. Juliette looked down at her clothes, and then you. 

“I have the maturity problem? Yeah right.” 

She reached in the sink, using a bowl to douse your work clothes in that same water. You smacked her with the damp dish towel, she snapped your ass. The two of you fought like children, splashing each other with water until both of you were wetter than not. A particularly violent toss of water caused your frictionless shoes to slip on the linoleum, causing you to careen back. The plastic cup fell against the floor, your body careening down towards the ground. Two hands reached outward, gripping your shoulders. Juliette let out a yelp, losing traction as well. You both crashed against the floor in a mess of limbs. Her elbow against your ribs, her chin clacking shut as her jaw cracked against your shoulder.

Both of you groaned, each more than a little sore. Juliette adjusted her body over yours, staring down at you, laid upon the linoleum with water lining the floor around you. Her head blocked the main light of the kitchen, creating a small halo around her head as she looked down upon you with more than a fair degree of concern. Neither of you broke the silence. Doing such a thing would be precarious, shattering the subtle tranquility of the moment. She settled above you, elbows on either side of your face. 

When she leaned down you didn’t push her away. Her body was warm, seeping through the damp cloth of her soaked uniform. You swore you could still feel the familiar dip and swell of her muscular back, and as your hands traced the line of her spine, you found the familiar divot at the base, hiding just under where her belt sat. Juliette, to her credit, was far more cautious in her next attempt. Soft kisses graced your cheeks, her fingers just lightly tracing the hair above your ears.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“Since we’re both here…” you softly replied, a squeeze to her back to affirm that subtle consent.

Juliette hummed once, hands sliding under your torso, pulling you up and off of the wet floor. Her hand cradled the back of your head, soothing pressure overwhelming the dull ache from where your skull had made contact with the ground. To have Juliette be this soft with you spoke to her inner guilt, a phenomena you’d witnessed many times after she vented to you about George. But you wouldn’t complain. Not when she was pulling you up, cradling you to her like a small child, carrying you away, out of the kitchen, towards the bathroom. 

As your feet touched the ground, she caught your chin, pressing a soft kiss there. A reassuring kiss, probably the only real intimacy you’d get out of this experience. Her mouth found your neck, wetter, meaner, hungrier kisses working slow patterns down, her calloused hands undoing the zipper of your skirt, the buttons of your blouse. Your own hands shook as you undid her uniform. Belt clanging to the floor with her slacks, uniformed button up shrugged off in the same manner you’d watched countless times. Neither of you could speak at this moment, neither of you dared. Words could ruin this moment, would ruin it. 

By the third time her lips crashed against yours you were finally bold enough to reciprocate, mouth slackening as her tongue slipped past your lips. She had the smallest hint of coffee breath, the one beverage you were sure she consumed regularly. Juliette lived on coffee, she depended on it in ways you knew to be worrisome. But when that coffee-breath stained tongue touched yours, it was a comfort. A spark of assurance in an otherwise vague moment. Her hands slipped to your back, yanking off your bra, blunt nails digging in with the desperation of her jerky moments. You both kicked off your shoes as you finished pulling off your panties. A push into the shower, that was all the direction she gave.

Cold water shocked your flushed skin as she turned the water on, body pressing against yours as she desperately kissed you against the shower wall. A quick glance to the long mirror in the bathroom confirmed the sight. Juliette’s hands tracing your hips, her mouth tracing desperate patterns on your neck. You didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. You’d wear turtlenecks for a month if that’s what you needed.

“Jules, look at me, please.” you broke the rhythm of the moment, trying to catch her gaze.

“I am.” she whispered.

Her gaze slipped to your right, and you turned, following it. Blue-steel eyes meeting yours in the slightly foggy mirror. You turned, still making that eye-contact as her hands slipped around you from behind. One hand down, parting your labia. The other cupped your left breast, thumb drawing circles over the pebbled flesh. 

You didn’t watch her hands as they stimulated you, fingers dipping inside, thumb tweaking your clit. You felt that. But all you saw were those blue eyes overrun with emotion. A white-hot throbbing erupted in your chest, complimenting and growing alongside the burning ache in your core. The sounds you both made, the way you moaned, the desperate whines she let out as she watched you climb higher, it was all background. Center stage were those blue eyes, heavy and burdened. 

One climax, then two. Your legs gave out, the two of you collapsing in the bathtub. You kissed hungrily, devouring her tongue, her lips, her breath. As her thigh made contact with your cunt, hers pressed against the complimentary thigh. And as you rocked together, you felt that grief.

The small little stuffed animal she kept in her bedroom, the books she had on her shelf. The way she left all of her socks inside out to ensure she didn’t put them on with a hair inside. The nose scrunch, the awkward bug-eyed look she sported most of the time.

“Please stay.” you whispered, your hands splaying over her back.

Juliette leaned down, her forehead pressed against yours. One loud whine and she came undone. Her body slouched over yours in the bathtub, the shower going cold as the water pounded down around you. Juliette’s breathing evened, nose finding that familiar crook in your neck and just nuzzling.

Tags: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange

[joelsmochi]

Us Against the World

A/N: How easy is it to come back after a 4 month (unplanned) hiatus? Not easy. At all. Sorry for my absence darlings, a lot has been going on from moving to health issues to new jobs… It’s been so hectic that I am willing to admit that this piece of garbage was also being worked on over the entire 4 months I hadn’t posted. This was all I could conjure up, but I wanted to polish this off so I could move onto the next project, so I also apologize for how rushed this one kind of ends + it doesn’t have the same lighthearted tone as the first 2 parts. Regardless I hope you enjoy reading (don’t judge it too critically… I’m begging.) Also I think when I pasted this it got rid of my italicized and bolded words -.- (i am serious about italics)

warnings: 18+, kinda mean!jealous!insecure!joel, cclg/ddlg [attitude] dynamic, punishment (but it’s really a reward ;]), angst, more panty kink, some useless scenes, chance of getting caught, a little sadness and a bit cheesy, lazily proofread so expect grammar issues + typos!, i don’t wanna spoil so it ends there byeee (let me know if i missed any please!)

wc: 10k (will the length make up for how bad it is? no? ok >.<)

series masterlist | main masterlist

The bar was filled with laughter and short applause from people winning their games. It smelled slightly of stale alcohol and oak wood.

You had just walked in with Joel behind you. As you were taking in your surroundings, Joel had already seen a guy or two look you up and down. He chose not to say anything. They weren’t worth the trouble.

You both sat at the bar and ordered two beers though you weren’t necessarily trying to getting drunk tonight. You just wanted to keep your promise of making him jealous.

He didn’t think you’d actually go through with it, but when he saw your eyes go from your fresh drink to scanning the men around the bar he knew he was in for a real treat.

“You’re serious ‘bout this?” He rhetorically asked.

You only gave him part of a smile and a shrug to say and what if I am?

He half rolled his eyes and sipped his beer, immediately grimacing at its subpar taste.

“Fine. Do whateeeeever you want, little girl. Just like you always do,” he said. “Gon’ and dance for other guys. I don’t give a damn.”

You glared at him when he called you a little girl, keening a dark chuckle from him. He was poking the bear inside you, waiting for the moment you would choose to give up on your cunning idea.

You stood up out of spite and slowly walked over to a man roughly your age, clad in some lousy outfit that somehow made him stand out to you.

The teasing smirk Joel was wearing replaced itself with a scowl. You swore you felt him shooting daggers into your back as you whispered in the younger man’s ear.

“Wanna dance?”

The boy looked at you with excitement and surprise, bashfully nodding and following you when you pulled him next to the other dancing couples.

You pressed your back into his and looked everywhere except for where Joel was sitting, swaying your hips in sync with your dance partner and occasionally pressing back into his crotch gently.

Joel stared long and hard at the boy who was just using the curve of your ass to jerk off, yet when his eyes wandered to you, all he could do was think about using you like that, only with fewer clothes on.

The song ended and Joel thought it would be the end of your shenanigans; he watched as you whispered in the young man’s ear again, and once you pulled away he motioned for his friend to come over.

Another young man approached the front of you, and you gave him a flirty smile as your arms linked around his neck.

Joel was gritting his teeth so hard he was sure he heard one crack. He wanted to keep his cool, not give you the satisfaction, but watching you dance for men that were your age when he was already insecure about being thirteen years older than you pissed him off.

He knew you were just having fun, but fucking hell.

He hated seeing those idiots practically fucking hump you in the middle of the bar. They were feral and inadequate compared to Joel who knew they could never take care of you the way you needed to be taken care of.

Joel had about enough when the boy in front of you began slipping his thumbs underneath your baby tee and saw how it made you tense up so he reached in his wallet for cash to pay for the drinks. Then, he stomped over you and grabbed your arm, snatching your body from between the two men.

“Fuckin’ idiots,” Joel growled at them before pulling you behind him. He felt you resisting his grip after entering the parking lot so he grabbed your hips and picked you up. He sat you in the passenger seat then got in himself, driving back home without saying a word.

You knew you were in for it.

Once you two made it to his place you were trying to get Joel to speak to you. He just gave you a hard look and tossed you over his shoulder without further resistance; he carried you to his bedroom, sat down, and forced you to bend over in his lap.

“I’m sorry, Jo—ow!”

He had landed a firm slap across the back of your thigh and then broke the zipper on your shorts from yanking them down. Your hips ached from the waistband digging into your bones. You tried wiggling from his grasp causing him to grab a fistful of your hair and yank it back.

He smoothed a hand over the peaks of your ass for a few seconds, not wanting to hurt his precious girl.

But then he remembered how you left him without a care in the world just to spite him.

He gave you another spank that burned furiously against your flesh and forced a cry out of your throat.

“I’ll never do it again,” you pleaded, “I swear! Joel—“

Another smack.

“Fuckin’ damn right, you won’t,” he grunted, watching your ass color red. “You wanna fuck some dumb college boy, huh?”

You whimpered and waved your feet around desperately.

Smack! “Answer me when I ask you a question. Do you wanna fuck people your own fucking age?”

You shook your head frighteningly fast, waving your feet around more as if it would get him to release your hair but his grip only tightened. “No, Joel! I only want you—just you. Please, Joel, I’m sorry.”

He tugged at your panties, not too harshly, just gently enough to create a wedge between your cheeks. You were thankful he didn’t notice your eyes roll back and the soft moan that left you from the friction against your throbbing clit and asshole.

“My ol’ ass not enough for you? S’that it?” He whispered in your ear.

“Of course not—“

He popped you again from your words before pulling your panties up again, hating how you said it like it should have been obvious.

He watched you grind into the taut cloth, humping his knee. Although it was a subconscious movement from your body it didn’t stop him from letting out a humorous laugh.

“So fucking needy, ain’t ya?” He cooed, releasing the fabric and trailing a thick finger down the wet spot in your panties. “M’over here punishin’ you and you’re fucking my leg.”

“M’sorry,” you mumbled.

“You like it when I spank you?” He cooed in your ear; you nodded and he chuckled softly, tickling the hairs along your neck. “Yeah?”

“I like it when—… When you pull my panties,” you bashfully admit. “Feels good.”

He slowly let your hair go and cradled your jaw softly to keep your head up. With a smirk, he toyed with the linings of your panties. “You like when I hurt that pretty little ass a’yours?”

You hummed, taking one of his fingers in your mouth. He circled the pad of his middle finger around the rim of your clothed asshole, letting out a hum or a chuckle every time he felt it pulse.

“You’re gonna be good from now on, girl?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered against his fingers, spit drooling into his palm.

“Good,” he hummed softly, “good.”

“Can you,” you paused, unsure of why you were still acting shy. “Can you please pull my panties again?”

He happily obliged, starting a little gentler this time. He watched the shadow of your face contort with pleasure while you moaned softly, grinding your clit into his knee some more.

He watched one of your swollen pussy lips escape from the constriction so he pulled them some more to make the other lip appear.

You moaned at the thin fabric being engulfed by your cunt, clenching so more of your juices oozed out.

You felt his finger gently slip beneath the fabric to rub your wet entrance. You exhaled at his long finger slipping inside of you, collecting your slick before sliding it up to your asshole to circle it briefly.

He removed his finger and snuggled your panties up more. The friction stung your skin deliciously. He landed a smack on your ass cheek with the noise piercing your ears; you yelped and flinched, seductively laughing afterward.

Joel noticed the outline of his hand appearing along your flesh, red and bruised. He kneaded it with his palm and told you to bend over the edge of his bed. Once you were on your stomach again you felt him pull your shorts off of you completely, then your panties. His hands warmed over your thighs, grazing your ass and touching your lower back. He pressed his thumbs in slightly to massage you there for a few seconds before he slid his hands back down again to spread your ass.

You held your lip between your teeth throughout his touches, not wanting to make any noises in case he wanted you quiet.

The cool arousal leaving your body dripped down to your clit almost making you flinch from the temperature difference. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, seeking his fingers or his tongue or his cock — anything. His laugh was taunting and raspy, seeing how desperate you were for him.

"Such a needy girl, hmm?" He took a deep breath leaning into your flesh; his tongue scooped up your juices from your clit to your ass in one long, heavy lick. You gasped, surprised by the sudden contact. You were left disappointed when he didn’t continue lapping at you, but a rush of joy ran through you at the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you.

He heard your simpering little giggle, smiling at how cute it sounded but still popping your right ass cheek where you had begun to bruise. You hissed, chewing on your lip while he undressed from the waist down.

He teased his length along your slit, spreading your wetness upwards and slapping his fat tip roughly against the tight ring of muscle.

And it fucking hurt, more than you were expecting, but judging by Joel’s chuckle he already knew it would.

You understood his need to humiliate you. That was the whole reason for doing what you did. You wanted him to have his way with you just as you had a few nights ago.

But you hurt his feelings more than you expected to and much more than he would like to admit.

He slapped your puckering hole even harder to elicit a response from you, satisfied when you groaned his name.

“Joooel, that hurts.”

He lined up with your pussy, not quite touching you yet. His only response was, “Good,” before shoving his thick cock inside of you.

You screamed at him tearing your walls apart with cruelty, clenching furiously around him to try and adjust quicker.

But he wouldn’t let you.

He pulled out of you to watch your muscles flex for a second, then rammed back inside of you; he stayed as deep as he could.

After ensuring your stomach would remain glued to the bed his lips pressed a wet kiss to the rim of your ear. He listened to your soft cries, feeling your hips wriggle beneath him.

“You gonna be good for me?” He asked again.

You panted with annoyance and told him, “If you fucking ease up on me.”

It was an absentminded comment with consequences you’d be dealing with for days. Joel just clicked his tongue at you and dug his hips into your flesh deeper. His cockhead nudged your cervix serving up a mixture of pain and pleasure throughout your stomach.

He didn’t want to be too mean, however, so he pulled back and pushed his weight into your lower back from his palms. Your stomach being smooshed into the bed made the impacts of his thrusts feel deeper than they were.

Your precum enthusiastically coated his shaft, lubing your entrance as he rammed into you. Your voice was breathy as you spoke.

“Joel—th-that feels… That feels good.” Your eyelids hung low creating a blurry line of vision, head bobbing from his stuttering hips.

“You like getting fucked like a slut?” He spat to which you confirmed. “S’that why you act like one?”

You admitted your faults, not wanting him to ease up on you.

“You wanna fucking dance on someone again?”

You didn’t respond, too immersed in how good he was touching you.

He grunted, pulling out of you leaving strings of your precum mixed with his hanging; he flipped you around and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, using his other hand to hold you at the base of your spine. He lifted you off of the bed, making you yelp.

Once he got into a comfortable position he removed his hand from your neck, showing you how strong he was being able to hold you up on his own. Your legs looped around his waist as he stood tall, your hands clinging to the broad peaks of his shoulders.

“Look at me,” he whispered; not wanting to be scolded again you lazily obliged. He laughed like a bully at your worn-out expression. “You’re so pretty like this, already fucked out like you can’t handle it.”

“Too much,” you complained against his lips in a short breath.

His hips snapped into yours, jolting your eyes wide open. “I don’t care. You wanted to act like a slut, so you’re gonna have to get fucked like one.”

“Joel—“

He shut you up by shoving his free fingers into your mouth, while the nails of his other hand dug into your back.

He didn’t want to hear your apologies anymore, or your complaints. He wanted you to shut up and take it, like a good fucking girl.

He saw the hindrance of innocence in your eyes that tried to beckon his forgiveness. He ignored it, meeting you with a punishing frown. The heavyweight stare riddled your nerves with anxiety — you didn’t want to disappoint him again.

He ravaged your attitude, breaking you down until he got his way with you just like you had all this time.

“You gonna be a good girl?” He asked again, shoving his fingers further back. You hummed into his hand and nodded, eyes as wide as saucers. He gasped when you twirled your tongue around his digits, slurping up the taste of his flesh. “You like that?”

“Mmhmmm.”

He experimented by pushing his fingers deeper, hitting the back of your throat; you gagged and coughed, but bit down on his knuckles so that he wouldn’t take them out.

His thrusts slowed because he was too focused on feeling your throat, something that felt entirely different against his fingers versus his cock.

Seeking his approval, you took this as an opportunity to fuck yourself on him. With your shaky fingers pressing into his shoulder blades you lifted you rocked your hips up and down, clenching around his length often.

“Look at’cha… You need to cum baby?” His fingers left your mouth indicating he wanted a verbal response.

“Yes, please,” you whimpered. “I’ll be good for you.”

“You’ll be good?”

“Yes. Fuck—yes. I’ll be so good for you, Joel. I promise. I’ll be a good girl for you.”

He moaned at your cunt gripping him, smiling at how you humped him. You couldn’t hide your deprivation from him any longer, but he wanted you to earn it.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he instructed, smirking when you did so immediately. He gripped your ass with both of his wide hands to steady you. “Yeah, there you go. S’pretty like this…”

Your hair was glued to the sweat on your face and your eyes were low with a wave of tears waiting to spill onto your cheeks. Your teeth waned behind your red lips as you gurgled from choking on your saliva.

“You’re so pretty for me, princess,” he cooed; despite the softness in his voice, his tone was still suggestive of his anger.

He was on the verge of forgiving you, but he still wasn’t quite there yet.

Your arms and core were growing weaker the harder you worked your body on his, but you were so determined to cum — and to do it on his command.

“Tell me how pretty you are,” he said with a devilish grin widening.

You were a little lost — what exactly did he want?

“Hmm?” You hummed, unintentionally slowing down.

“Tell me… How pretty you are,” he said again.

“Um…” Your mind was blank, God, Joel could really fuck you stupid, couldn’t he? “I’m—I’m so pretty,” you whispered.

You couldn’t think of what to say.

Maybe if I compliment myself the way Joel does…

“You like how pretty I am for you?” You asked. “All fucked out from your cock?”

His eyes rolled shut as he let out an obscenely long groan.

He liked that, you thought.

“I look so pretty with your cock stretching me out, don’t I? Hmm, yes, fuck—ah! You make me so pretty when you let me fuck myself on you, Joel—gah! Do you—fuck. Do you wanna see how pretty I am when I cum like this?”

His eyes shot open at the proposal, the only words his mind was able to compute being, “Yes, princess. Yes, yes, cum for me—mnh, God. You feel so fucking good.”

His words were encouraging enough to keep you going, long enough to light that fire that tickled you red.

“Show me how fuckin’ pretty you look when you cum for me, baby.”

Your ass stung from him squeezing where his punishment landed, adding fuel to your rising orgasm.

He saw it spread across your precious body: your eyes wavering between open and close, your mouth pouting with his name leaving your tight throat, your nipples peaking, goosebumps flaring across your entire body.

You were flushed red and heaving and Joel couldn’t look away. You looked so ethereal, wrapping your fluttering pussy around the base of his dick and grinding in circular motions.

Pins and needles poked your arms from holding your weight, but the climax felt too good to let up so soon. You were sensitive, knotty, and engulfed in the stillness you were finally able to have.

“My pretty girl,” Joel whispered sweetly.

You opened your lazy eyes, giving him a soft smile. “Show me how pretty you are when you cum,” you said against his lips.

He took a moment to catch his breath before propping his arms underneath your thighs one by one. Your body thanked you for the relief.

Your cunt squelched cum onto his balls while the air thickened with the aroma of sex and sweat.

So sleepy, you felt as he continued to drive his hips into you, but he was so handsome in the low light of the moon. You felt your soul tie to his own, blending your orgasm into admiration for the man.

This was anything but the casual agreement you two had come to weeks ago, but fuck was it well worth it. His jealousy was a sign of a weakness he only possessed when it came to you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he whispered with need. You wrapped your hands around his jawline and pressed his lips against yours.

The slip of your tongue against his was nasty. It was fucking filthy. You licked each other anywhere you could reach, coating one another in saliva as if to mark your territories.

Joel whimpered against your lips, admitting his arrival in the middle of the kiss. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming. I—…”

His mouth parted as he brought you impossibly close to his body, and he felt a knee nearly give out from the intensity of his orgasm. He drifted his body to the floor so he could sit on his knees, not wanting to drop you.

His thrusts were small and deep as he continued ruining your sore walls with his ropes of cum.

Still entangled in a series of kisses, they simmered to a savory pace. You tasted each other and relished in the filthy mix of bodily fluids.

You’d never been so sweaty from sex in your life yet it felt so fucking amazing.

He pumped you so full of cum that even with his cock plugging you a little bit of it managed to leak out. You both smiled at the feeling and broke away from each other's lips.

With your head tossed back on the edge of his bed and his head resting on your chest, you just sat there in silence.

His hands gloss over your back and your fingers stroking the wet curls on his head. You wanted to stay here forever, clinging to him like a bear to a tree.

He pressed a kiss onto your collarbone before raising his head to look at you.

“You hungry?” He asked.

“Mm-hmm,” you moaned shut-eyed, obviously very tired from sex. He grunted from standing up again and laid you in the cold bed before grabbing your panties and slipping them back up your legs. You finished it for him, making sure they were snug against your entrance to keep the cum from spilling out too much.

“I’ll go get some takeout, princess.”

You hummed with a small smile at his new nickname for you, feeling him press a kiss to your temple before you fell into a deep slumber.

“What are you doin’?” Joel yawned as he entered the kitchen.

“I am making us eggs and only eggs because you have a poor selection of breakfast foods.”

He snickered, closing the space between you and wrapping his warm arms around your waist. “Well, thank you, princess,” he mumbled against the curve of your neck.

His fingers slipped beneath the shirt you borrowed from him and found the hem of your panties. You didn’t allow his hands to distract you as you spread the fluffy eggs out over two plates.

“I guess this…” His fingers slipped inside of your partially wet cunt, curling just the way you like. “…is my breakfast.”

You shivered as goosebumps poked your skin from the motion of his hand, and you smirked to yourself when his other hand tugged at your panties. Once they hit the ground he bent you over slightly to pull his cock out, gliding it along your slit to tease you. You turned the stove off and gripped the counter, careful to not burn yourself.

Not even a moment later you felt his velvety cock smack against the peak of your ass, and you moaned at how warm he felt against your cold flesh.

“Joel,” you exhaled. “You’re fucking ruining me.”

“Y’say it like it’s a bad thing,” he grunted whilst sliding inside of you.

You moaned, eyes closing softly. “Not at all.”

He rolled his hips slowly, careful not to break you any more than he did just the night before. His hot breath filled your ears with decadent compliments about how good you were for him and how much he wanted to show his appreciation.

Joel fought a moan every time he saw your eyelashes flutter shut and heard you sharply inhale between gritted teeth. His confession of admiration seemed to hold more weight than before. That knot inside of you gushes at his rasps of affection, pushing you toward the edge.

You focused on how he felt, every little thing he was doing: his left hand held you steady at your hip while his right stroked your hair calmly as if you were his new pet kitten. His hips curled into the shape of you as if his body was planting kisses anywhere you managed to still be bruised from his punishments. His thighs trembled against the back of your stiff legs, urging you to let go whenever you were ready, not quite rushing you.

His voice was staggering and cracking, the words I love you straining against his throat from him suffocating it with praises instead.

You knew all of the you’re doing so good f’me’s and you sound so beautiful’s and you look so pretty with my cock inside of you’s were just invulnerably hidden I love you’s, but it didn’t bother you.

You understood what he truly meant and that’s all you needed for now.

His lovely teeth nibbled into the valley of your ear earning a giggle from you; you were so close—so fucking close. You needed more.

You tried rubbing your swollen and throbbing clit yourself but it wasn’t enough. Joel’s need to take care of you radiated from the heat of his body and you craved more of his touch; you moved his hand from your hip to your stiff bud, guiding his fingers to perform the way you sought.

His fingers were strong and thick and just what you needed to overflow, clawing at his bicep, leaning your head back to rest upon his shoulder.

It felt so good to be held by him. A longing that burrowed itself into your soul resurfaced. Ready to be fulfilled by him.

His words turned into simpering little mewls of yes’s and cum for me’s as you clenched around him.

He knew you were just barely there and he was adamant on not changing his pace or patterns if it meant he could watch you crumble.

Joel’s right hand left your hair and held your agape jaw to keep your head from bobbing too much after one of your legs buckled and your grip around his muscles tightened. He increased the force of his thrusts emphasizing the sound of his hips clapping against your heated skin.

His body was aching from the lack of rest but every moan you let out was so soft and subtle that it motivated him to continue.

Your breathing was shallow, filled with whimpers since he wouldn’t ease up on your sore cunt, but you loved it. Your body craved the sin of secrecy that had Joel’s name written all over it.

All the sneaking around, lying, and pretending you two are nothing more than long-time neighbors made all of this worth it. The games. Chasing each other. Waiting days—if not weeks just for a kiss was the thrill of it all.

Deep down you knew it couldn’t last forever; it’d either have to come out or come to an end. But couldn’t you live in the fantasy just for a little while,

moaning Joel’s name a little longer,

feeling the thick cum etched between your bodies,

feeling him stiffen up or jolt whenever your breath hit his sensitive ears,

laughing every time he accidentally slipped out,

getting so carried away that you couldn’t hear anything else…

…Like the garage door opening.

“Oh! Shit!”

You and Joel immediately pulled away, shocked by the sudden boom of Tommy’s voice; with trembling legs, you struggled your underwear back up while Joel tried to tuck in what refused to be hidden.

“Sorry, guys, I didn’t…” Tommy’s voice trailed off as he looked over and realized it was… You?

Wearing one of Joel’s big t-shirts and some rainbow-striped socks, Tommy said your name as if he couldn’t believe it was you. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was kind of checking you out.

“Jesus, Tommy. Quit lookin’ at her like that,” Joel complained while ushering Tommy into the next room.

“Like what?”

“Like she’s a piece of meat.” Joel briefly looked back at you with those puppy eyes of his and asked if you were okay. You could only give him a tense nod in response.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in before looking at the plate of now-cold eggs.

Embarrassed wasn’t even the word. Distress curled around every crevice in the pit of your stomach making you feel nauseous.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, regaining enough composure to grab two forks from the utensils drawer and take them out to the living room where the two men sat and spoke.

“Here you go, Tommy,” you said sheepishly while trying to pretend that you weren’t avoiding eye contact. Turning to Joel you said, “I’m gonna head home.”

“You don’t have to leave ‘cus I’m here,” Tommy said, his apologetic tone emphasizing his indication. “I didn’t mean to impose or nothin’, it was… Just a surprise.”

“I gotta go shower and change my clothes anyways, so, uh…”

“Here, I’ll go help you get your things. I’ll be right back Tommy,” Joel said. You both walked up to Joel’s cluttered room where he shut the door softly and then apologized. “I forgot we picked up a job for today,” he explained.

“Well, I have been told I’m a pretty good distraction,” you teased, fumbling with last night’s clothes. He chuckled and watched as you got dressed, asking himself how it got to this point. “I probably can’t do anything until Sunday. My dad wants to take me to this new movie tomorrow, and then some event thingy Saturday.”

“Sunday, that’s…” Joel’s voice trailed off while he pretended to think about something.

You scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him for a moment before hitting his arm with his t-shirt. He caught hold of it and used it to bring you closer, the grin of a jester playing on his face.

“I’m kiddin’, princess. I know it’s your birthday,” he cooed against your lips. His kiss embraced your laughter and made him smile again, but this time much more humbly. “I got you a present—but if I give it t’ya now I’ll be empty-handed in two days.”

You cocked an eyebrow up and stared at his lips causing him to vapidly blush. “You won’t be empty-handed,” you whispered. You held his hand in yours and brought it next to your face.

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm, ‘cus I’ll make sure to keep both’a your hands busy,” you teased.

He watched carefully as you brought his index finger to your drooling mouth and took it in slowly. You somewhat forced his finger down your throat pretending it was his cock. You choked on the thick digit and pouted at him with your eyes.

He gasped at the textures of your narrow throat, frowning in a way that let you you’ve ignited something in him. He fought his moans harder than he ever needed to before, staring at you gag and slurp and slobber around his finger.

You curled your tongue against the webbing of his fingers and licked all of the excess spit up into your mouth with a swift bob of your head.

This made him bite his lip to shut himself up; you decided to not bully the poor man any longer and released his hand, smirking.

“You’re gonna regret that Sunday, princess. I’ll tell you that right now,” he threatened, however, his tone was full of defeat and his voice sounded higher from the strain of silencing moans.

“What are ya gonna do about it, old man?” You teased before walking out of his room.

Your birthday was more fun than you were expecting, more than enough people showed up (granted more than half of them were your dad’s friends), and you spent more time being the photographer than the center of attention.

Joel and Tommy showed up fashionably late (you’ve chosen to believe Joel’s watch is set two hours back). Meanwhile, their arrival earned a few giggles and stares from your high school friends.

They tried to talk to you about how much hotter Joel and Tommy had gotten while you pretended not to feel the pang of jealousy in your chest whenever they gawked at Joel a little too long.

They asked if you two had hooked up since being back and the only lie you managed to conjure was, “Joel’s either always at work or with my dad, so… I haven’t really been able to try.”

“Wait, does your dad know you two used to hook up?” One of your friends, Bri asked.

Right now you were really regretting telling all those lies…

“No,” you said almost too enthusiastically, “and I plan on keepin’ it that way. Not worth the trouble.”

“Well, if Joel’s not worth the trouble to you then you wouldn’t mind if I gave it a shot, would ya?”

You resisted rolling your eyes, wavering the drink in your hand around and mumbling, “Go ahead.”

“Hey,” another friend said after tapping you on your extended arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Joel’s just one guy.” She must have noticed the defeat in your eyes.

Maybe to you, you thought.

Before you could respond Bri was sitting back down at your patio table with an embarrassed pout on her face, and for some reason, you were surprised rather than happy (okay, you were a little happy).

“What happened?” You asked.

“He said he’s seeing someone else,” she scoffed. “Do you know if he even likes blondes? Because I can always dye my hair darker.”

You chuckled, “I don’t think he has a preference.”

The rest of them changed subjects so when your eyes went searching for Joel, you found him standing next to your dad at the grill where he was already looking at you wearing a smile. You smiled at him and then turned your focus back to your friends for the remainder of the afternoon.

Once your friends had left for the night and your dad ended up in a game of dice with his buddies, you realized you needed some time to decompress from all the socializing.

Your dad insisted on cleaning up for you the way you always did for him, so you made your way upstairs intending to lie down for a few minutes.

With your back facing the door as you flipped through a magazine Joel was able to sneak into your room; it was the lock clicking that scared you.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Joel!” You gasped while throwing your magazine at him.

He chuckled hoarsely and leaned against the wall with the doorknob sticking into his back.

“Could at least make a little more noise when you’re following me!”

“The more noise we make the quicker we get caught,” he spoke under his breath.

Your eyes were wide as you took the sight of him in; his skin was beautifully tanned from the Texas sun, his biceps straining against his almost too-small t-shirt, and his jeans hung a little lower than usual.

His glossy eyes lingered on yours as he watched you stand up and check him out. He saw the fear on your face morph into lust, increasing as you walked towards him.

“What’chu nervous for?” He teased after watching your hand fidget with your belly button ring.

You barely heard him, thoughts immersing into thoughts of all the things you wanted him to do to you. “Hmm?”

Even as you got closer to him your eyes couldn’t leave the imprints of his muscles effortlessly flexing against his shirt.

“You play with your piercing every time you get nervous,” he told you after you pressed your body against his.

Ignoring his statement, you stared at the shadow of his collarbone and the light layer of hair coating his chest.

“Look at me,” he cooed, yet you only did it for a second, fueling that same attitude he had at the bar.

He tapped underneath your chin more roughly than you liked, almost like a smack.

But when you looked at his face again you saw that darkness you knew you wanted it like that night again, despite your attempts at hiding it.

Joel could always see past your bullshit.

“You like when I’m mean to you, girl?” He asked. You opened your mouth, ready to omit, but he held a warning finger up. “Don’t. Do not lie to me.”

You swallowed the dryness in your mouth and batted your eyes at him before naively nodding your head. “Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t peg you for the mean type.”

His eyebrows raised in amusement, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “No? But you like it?”

“I fucking love it,” you whispered against his wet lips.

You didn’t need to decompress. You needed to unwind.

“I bet you did, rubbing that needy little pussy all over my leg when I was bruising you up all sweet and blue,” he bullied.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your breath left your body, remembering how good it felt for him to punish you. When you looked at him again you saw an egotistical smirk had plastered itself onto his face.

“Problem s’that you didn’t disobey me tonight, so how could I possibly punish you when you were being such a sweetheart? Sayin’ thank you after opening every one of your gifts and offerin’ to help out.“ His tone was sadistic, taunting…

“Well, it is my birthday…” You said grinning. A heat burned through the pit of your stomach and spilled into your panties. “…and no one’s given me my birthday spankings yet.”

He remained quiet opting to run his hands up your arms until they cradled your face, thumbs stroking your lips and cheeks.

“You gonna count ‘em for me?” He whispered without breaking eye contact.

You smirked and kissed him tenderly. “Yes, sir.”

He pointed at your bed where you went to bend over the edge for him.

His boots softly knocked against the hardwood floor as he paced behind you, pondering in his head how he wanted to proceed.

Despite the curiosity that made you want to turn around and ask him questions, you stayed still and quiet until he gave you your first instruction.

“Take your shorts off.”

You reached for the button and zipper before pushing the denim down until it met your knees on the floor. Your hips wiggling more than necessary.

“No panties?” He said amusedly. You heard his body move behind you so that he became eye level with your ass. “You must’a really wanted that present from me tonight, huh?”

You nodded your head and reached under your stomach, using both hands to spread yourself for him. “I’ve been touching myself all weekend thinking about it.”

Joel stifled a moan at the sight of the creamy precum that revealed itself between your swollen lips.

You flinched and yelped at the sudden feeling of his middle finger spreading your cum around your tight hole making him smile.

“Rub your clit f’me, baby,” he rasped.

Licking your lips you rested your head down on the bed before listening to him; your ring and middle fingers rubbed perfect loops on your bud while your pinkie finger kept your cunt spread for his eyes.

He glanced at your ass which was still marked from his abuse nights prior.

“My God, girl… These my bruises?” He asked wanting to hear your submission.

“No one else I’d let do this to me,” you breathed out.

His calloused hands gripped and massaged your butt for a few quiet moments until a firm smack landed on your left cheek.

His touch left your body as he anticipated a verbal response from you but it took too long for you to compose yourself.

You were just so fucking eager for his fingers to dance around your cunt that you made the mistake of forgetting the arrangement that occurred only two minutes prior.

“I don’t hear you countin’, girl,” he warned.

“Shit,” you whispered, “sorry—“

He interrupted you with another smack, only this one landed on your spread lips.

“Ah!” You yelped, quickly burying your face into your sheets. It stung ruthlessly. “One… And two…”

You couldn’t see it, but you felt the mean smirk on his face burning into the back of your skull. “Take too long t’answer me again… You get the rest on that pretty little pussy a’yours. Understand?”

Your knees braced into the floor as you nodded. “Yes, I understand, Joel.”

“Mm,” he hummed grumpily. “Good.”

Smack.

“Three,” you hissed.

Smack.

“Four…”

Smack!

The pain was starting to get to you in the best way possible.

You knew that for the next week anytime you would sit down on your bruised cheeks you’d remember how Joel took care of you in the way you wanted him to.

One spanking in exchange for one orgasm — that’s how you saw it anyway. He wasn’t into unnecessary punishment, but he went into this knowing he’d find a way to make it worth your while however you saw fit.

Joel only dominated you because you dominated him in every other aspect. When it came to sex he lived to serve you. So if 23 spankings is what you wanted, well then… What kind of man would he be to deny you of that?

By the end of the torture, you didn’t even want to think about sitting down for the next two weeks.

Joel saw your reflection in the mirror hanging from your closet, watching those red and puffy lips curl into a beautiful smile.

“Dunno how much longer we got, girl,” Joel grunted as he stood up. “Best make it quick.”

Your eyes softly close and you bite your lip, giggling and moaning at how his southern drawl sounded especially sexy tonight. He noticed how lazily you were acting and laughed.

“You already fucked stupid?” He said with a small smile.

You turned onto your back, hissing at the pressure on your ass but giggling again at his annoyed tone and pursed lips. “Hmm… Maybe.”

Joel opened his mouth to say something but you raised your feet to rub against the growing bulge in his worn jeans. He watched your bottom lip get stuck between your rows of teeth, shining a drunken smile at him.

“You wanna play around, girl?” He flirted, a crooked show of his grin sending chills throughout your body.

“Wanna feel you, deep…” You let out a strained moan, cunt gripping so tight around nothing your precum slid out.

His fingers slid to the bulky strap of his belt and pulled it from his waist so fast it ended with a snap.

“So pretty like this…” He whispered as he sprung his cock free from its restraints.

Your face warmed with blush and your nipples stiffened at the sight of his dick: so hard it only slightly curved to the right, with a red hot angry tip beaming with a thick droplet of precum.

He leveled with your body and slid into you slowly, not wanting to risk making you moan louder than the walls could handle.

“Need you to be quiet for me, baby,” he whispered, “can ya do that f’me?”

Your eyes were shut, lips still between your teeth as you hummed and mewled. You nodded, looping his curls around the webs of your fingers and legs around his soft waist.

A breathy grunt escaped his mouth. His breath hit just below your ear making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

As his hips softly crashed into yours you felt yourself tensing at the sound of people outside and downstairs. You’d managed to forget your father’s friends were still here, and any one of them could walk upstairs to use the restroom only to hear the soft squeak of your bed frame—your father could.

Joel was just so easy to get lost in. His scent, his pretty smile, his touch… The way his tongue lapped at your neck like a cat would milk. How his hands cradled your waist and thighs. When he’d move his head up just for a moment to look into your heavy eyes.

God, you were a fucking mess.

His cock slid effortlessly against your needy walls, pressing deeply into that perfect spot at an angle you’d never felt before. And fucking hell, you wanted to say his name shamelessly. Scream it and plaster it onto the fucking walls if you could.

You did everything in your power to keep quiet, struggling from how your bruised ass stung even more every time his body crashed into you.

Joel bit the meat on your shoulder to shut himself up. His body yearning to fill you up with his precious seed was almost distracting. Almost.

“Doin’ so good f’me, girl,” he whispered into your chest, the pace increasing. “Might need t’cum.”

“Joel,” you whined, not needing anything more. Your fingers tightened in his hair and your head was thrown back into the mess of your blankets.

The knot in your tummy twisted, curling tightly around itself. You let out too loud of a breath that turned into a moan, but nothing too incriminating.

“Do not make me have to pull out and stop, now,” he rasped before taking two fingers and shoving them into your desperately open mouth.

You choked at the surprise but settled down and bit at his knuckles.

His face pressed into one of your tits as another desperate attempt to keep quiet, but all he had to do was feel you cumming to finish himself. Joel’s cock was sensitive and overwhelmed, and despite his best efforts to keep going for the sake of satisfying you he just couldn’t fucking take it.

You pouted and tried to pull him back in after he slipped from inside you to no avail.

“M’sorry, princess,” he huffed, annoyed with himself. “Can’t handle you sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes but saw the disappointment on his face as he buckled his pants back up.

“Just sneak over tonight,” you flirted, “suck me dry.”

He smirked at your coy smile and slid your bottoms back onto your hips. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

“Don’t leave me hangin’, cowboy.”

It had been about a week since your birthday, and Joel did indeed sneak over to give you your well-deserved orgasm, give or take three more.

And his real birthday present was a small Eiffel Tower; he had remembered how you’d always wanted to visit Paris. While he wasn’t the most superstitious or spiritual man he said he’d hope it would bring you good luck with traveling for fashion.

Your dad on the other hand had been quite distant since that night and you wondered if he saw or maybe even heard something that gave your little secret away. Your dirty lies. Had they finally caught up to you?

Or were you just overthinking things? Maybe he’s just been moody or tired or in hermit mode. It could have been lots of things, right?

Needless to say, it was a shock when he called you downstairs as soon as you were done with your shower.

“Hey Dad, what’s up?” You asked as you entered the kitchen.

“You tell me,” he grumbled, eyeing you as you sat down.

“Ummm, the apocalypse is happening and flesh-eating monsters are taking over,” you answered sarcastically. When his facial expression didn’t even change in the slightest you stopped joking. “Uh, I…don’t know…”

“Whose shirt is this?”

A dull brown and red flannel was tossed onto the island and you just knew your face gave you away.

“Dad—“

“Don’t lie to me either,” he said between gritted teeth.

Your father already knew it was Joel’s, you knew that. But he always gave you the opportunity to take accountability for your actions. Not like it made him less mad, it just softened the blow.

“Where did you find it?” You asked, voice shaking.

“Yesterday,” he said after some hesitation, “you were at work for your last day. I was doin’ your laundry and there it was, as plain as day.”

You shut your eyes, a tear of embarrassment rolling down your cheek that you wiped away swiftly. “It’s Joel’s.”

“Why is it here?”

You looked at him with eyes that begged for him to not ask, but his face was hardened.

“Because Joel was here,” you reluctantly answered.

“When.”

“A… A few times.”

“Why?!”

The tension was suffocating; you figured you were already caught so you may as well admit to everything—well, not everything if you could help it.

“Because we’ve been seeing each other,” you said softly, leaning your forehead onto your hand. “Since I got back, we’ve been seeing each other. Sometimes I go there, sometimes he comes here.”

“Since you got back?”

You nodded and faced him again, fighting your tears. It wasn’t that you were sad or worried about what your dad may have done, you just wished you were more honest from the start.

“Yeah,” you answered. “I made the first move. I was trying to get over my boyfriend and… He was there… And it just sort of happened.“

“S’good thing you’re going back to New York soon.”

Your heart sank—had your dad forgotten when you said you were thinking of staying in Austin to stay close? Not just for Joel, but everybody. Your family, your friends, you wanted to be near when Sarah graduated. You missed life in Texas, too much to go back to New York State so soon.

“I—I told you I wanted to stay, that I was thinking of staying close,” you rambled, “did you forget?”

“No, I didn’t forget. You’re not allowed to see him anymore. You in New York makes sure that happens.”

“Wh—not allowed?!” You almost laughed. “I’m twenty-five, I make my own decisions.”

“He’s too old for you,” he said.

You scoffed, standing up. “I’m not some mentally incompetent eighteen-year-old, Dad. I’m a grown woman dating a grown man!”

“Not here! Not when you’re living in my house.”

“Well, then I will just fucking move out!”

You ignored his protests and calls for you, feeling like a grounded teenager all over again.

What you and Joel had was fickle, you knew that. You weren’t stupid. It wasn’t built on a foundation, it was hardly dating even though you wanted it to be more.

Your dad would come around someday. Hell, maybe he would have already had you been honest from the start.

“Hey, Sarah, is your dad home?” You stiffly asked.

She frowned at your puffy eyes and red nose, looking over her shoulder before saying, “Uh, n—no, but he’s just runnin’ a bit late from work. Why don’t you come in and wait for him? He should be back any minute.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t wanna impose. Just tell him to call me when he gets some free time, please?”

“You sure?”

You nodded, not necessarily trusting your voice anymore with how you were choking up from your tears.

Sarah’s shoulders dropped and she insisted you come in. “Come on, it’s starting to rain.”

After a moment of hesitation, you followed her inside after picking your bag up, wiping your nose, and clearing your throat.

Sarah was kind enough to bring you a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table and sitting down a couple of cushions away.

“Are you breaking up with my dad or something?” She asked after a minute or two.

“What?”

“He told me a couple days ago, but I already figured because I heard him talking to you on the phone a while ago. Something about missing you,” she explained.

“I’m sorry, Sarah, I…” You sighed and looked at your hands. “I wish I was there to tell you.”

“No, that’s okay! I think it’s kinda cool. A little weird, but cool.” She assured. “But are you? Breaking up with him, I mean.”

“No, well at least I hope not,” you chuckled softly. “My father isn’t a very forgiving man.”

“He just wants to protect you. My dad said that’s just what fathers do. I’m sure he’ll come around someday.”

“Thanks, Sarah.”

The lock clicks soon followed by the door creaking open; you and Sarah watch as Joel walks in with empty hands before he notices you sitting on his couch. A look of worry spread across his face.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Sarah chirped while standing up. “She just came by to see us.” Sarah walked into the kitchen to give you some privacy.

Joel sat next to you and gestured at the ground. “Why do you have a bag?”

“Oh, I’m just going to stay with a friend for a few days,” you said.

He nodded reluctantly, sensing your nervousness. “Your dad find out?”

A wave of sadness took over you again, but you managed your tears away better this time. You only offered a nod, nails picking at a loose thread on your jeans.

“Why don’t you stay the night? I was gonna make steak for dinner.”

“I—I don’t wanna… Impose.”

He chuckled. “What d’you mean impose? You’re my girlfriend.”

Letting out a surprised sound, you frowned and looked around the room incredulously while Joel just stared at you anxiously.

“Girlfriend?”

He shrugged, leaning his elbows onto his knees. “Well. You are my girlfriend, right?”

“You never asked,” you laughed.

His eyes were a mix of amusement and surprise. “My apologies, darlin’. Forgive me for not having been gentleman enough.” He takes your hand earning a laugh from you. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“You’re so sappy,” you teased before giving him a peck on the cheek. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

“I dunno what I’m gon’ do,” you said softly.

You and Joel had been in bed for a couple of hours just talking about everything, with Sarah sound asleep in her room; the three of you had watched one of Joel’s favorite movies and Sarah gave him a fixed watch.

You shifted up to rest on your elbow and looked down at him. “How much longer you think he’ll be mad?”

“I don’t know, princess,” he said after sucking his teeth. “He doesn’t tend to hold grudges but I know he’s more mad at me. F’it’s any consolation.”

You let out a weak chuckle and leaned down to kiss him. His hand cupped your jaw just firm enough to keep you still. Your lips tangled with his, fingers reaching up to clasp his curls; he climbed on top of you carefully, humming on the tip of your tongue.

He began to grind and hump eliciting moans from you both while his right hand got to work beneath your shirt, thumbing the nipple just enough to tickle you.

Your hand snaked between your bodies to find the opening of his boxers; you pulled his velvety cock out and pumped it gently whilst not bothering to touch yourself as your panties were already pooling.

Your heart ached with so much pain and at the same time so much love. You needed Joel. In every fucking way possible for as long as you’d be blessed to have him.

His lips broke free from yours to greet your neck, then your collarbone, before planting around your now exposed breast.

You exhaled at his warm tongue swirling saliva around your peaked bud, sending waves of shivers down your arching spine.

“Joel,” you whispered leaning into his gentle touch.

With a throbbing clit and a slippery cunt you felt weak beneath him. You were enamored with pleasure that it overtook your body. You couldn’t control your breathing or your trembling. Hand awkwardly shifting around his shaft.

He took your other nipple into his hot mouth, shirt bunched around your arching neck. With daunting hands he traced the hem of your panties, pulling at them carefully.

He sat on his knees to undress your legs, adjusting so his cock lined up with your entrance. He slid in slowly, knowing the lack of foreplay could ruin this.

But it didn’t.

Your walls burned with a stretch so delicious it set your skin on fire. It took everything in you to not moan as loudly as your body begged to.

A soft gasp only leaving your lips, your head lolling back, eyes clenching shut… Yeah. Joel knew how to fucking work you.

Your walls clung to him fearing even just a moment of loss. His eyes burned into your feverish skin, watching the rise and fall of your chest and stomach as you took in deep breaths.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into your collarbone, placing a sloppy kiss on it afterward. “I lo—“

A pause in his voice made your eyes fly open; his hips stuttered the same way his voice did signaling something was wrong.

Joel’s heart punched against yours, but he kept grinding into you like he hadn’t spoken at all. Oh, but all the worry was written in his eyes.

“Joel?” You softly asked between moans.

He took in the softness of your hands cradling his uneven stubble. He hummed and kissed the meat of your palm before biting it gently.

You fought the nerves in your voice. Everything inside your body screamed that this was wrong, yet as you looked into his eyes your heart swelled with admiration for the man that helped you find pieces of yourself again.

“I love you too,” you finally said.

He stopped moving his body against yours and he just stared at you. He was conflicted with whether or not you said that only because he almost did.

But when you said it again and tightened your legs around his waist to affirm it he gave you a gentle kiss, finding his tongue bumping into yours along the way. Pulling back, Joel finished his sentence.

“I love you.”

“You love me?” You teased.

But his face remained serious, eyes boring into yours.

After a few more silent seconds Joel laid his head into the curve of your neck and began riding into you again. Hips rolling into you, breath hitting your neck, and hands gripping the sheets.

Your body was hot as molten lava, melting into the mattress. Joel felt so safe, so beautifully safe. Safe enough to say, “I love you,” in his ear over and over again, his voice overlapping yours with the same words.

He took care of you that night. Letting you immerse yourself into enjoying every damn thing he gave you. His grunts staggered and turned into short hisses of pain as you bit into his shoulder to keep quiet. That’s what fueled him: the pain of your undying desire.

He reached deeper inside of you than he ever dared to before, reaching reaching reaching to find your soul and bear all commitment to it. To serve you, as his gravelly voice whispered, “I fucking live for you.”

“I love you, Joel,” you responded. “It’s you and me. Forever. Us against the world.” A tear made its way from your eye to his forehead.

He kissed the trail the tear left and repeated you. “Us against the world.”

It was just sex talk — usually is, but Joel always knew what words would just make you fucking cum. Those words dripped from his lips like a poisonous honey for you to lap up and savor.

He wanted you cumming all over his sheets cock to fucking mean something. To permeate his love anywhere it could stain.

Joel had started to cum just a second before you did, forcing him to let out a moan. You held his head to your chest while he cradled your back.

Your head buzzed the same way it would when you got high, only it felt better. Quieter. More immersive. Your back arched into his touch and the rolling of his hips kept you in that limbo. Not here nor there. You were right where you needed to be, whatever that fucking meant.

You managed to keep quiet a little better than him, giggling softly when he just plopped down onto you after you had both come down.

He stayed like that for a few minutes while you just stroked the curls by his ear, his other one listening to your heartbeat slow down.

“I’ll get ya cleaned up,” he cooed, and just as he finished dressing his phone began to ring. He just answered it as he walked to the bathroom, letting you rest some more. A few minutes later, he came back and wiped wherever you asked. “I gotta go help Tommy real quick with somethin’. W’ya stay here, keep an eye and ear out for Sarah?” He asked.

“Yeah, for sure. Be safe.”

You shared a kiss with him again before looking at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Shit. 11:32 PM.

“Joel?” He looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Happy Birthday,” you said with a smile.

“Thank you, princess.”

-

taglist: @paleidiot @sarap-77 @mmeereaa (cant tag) @ssweetart42

[httpiastri]

❣️ I just read your confession post for oscar and others! Can you do it for other drivers like Paul, Ollie, and Kimi? Love your writing! You inspired me to start my own Formula blog :D

❣️ – send me a prompt and one/a few drivers and i'll tell you how i think they would react!!

paul aron

paul is no stranger to short-lived flings and summer romances, but he's not as familiar with the feeling of his heart fluttering the way it does whenever he thinks about you. he isn't used to the way that he thinks about telling you whenever something good happens to him, nor the way that he wants to ask for your help when he's going through something. he doesn't understand why you're the first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing on his mind before he falls asleep. it takes him so long to figure out these new feelings, and when he eventually realizes that he's falling for you, he just gets scared.

he has no experience with these feelings, and everything he's heard about real relationships – commitment, trust, loyalty – sounds terrifying. but it doesn't take long for him to realize that it's worth it if it's with you.

i think the confession itself would be quite impromptu and unplanned. i'm imagining a movie night at his place, with you cuddled up to his side, when he just can't hold back anymore. when he asks if he can tell you something, he sounds just as playful as he usually does, so you never could've guessed the words that fall from his lips after that. "you're so... special. in a good way, a great way. and i... i think i'm falling for you."

ollie bearman

i see ollie as... kind of shy in this way? he isn't embarrassed or cowardly, but something in him makes that first real step a little too hard to take. i think ollie would much rather find a romantic, subtle way to do it.

one day, you're surprised to hear your doorbell ringing – you aren't expecting anyone, right? and you didn't order anything, did you? when you open your door, you find only a big bouquet of flowers standing outside it. you smile to yourself as you pick it up, your mind instantly wandering off to the tall, handsome brit you've been spending a lot of time with recently, who has had a bit of a habit of giving you flowers. this bouquet is especially big, though, and you try to search through your mind for any possible major occasion the bouquet could be for as you bring it inside.

but when you set it atop your dinner table, a note falls out from in between the flowers. and on the note, in ollie's messy handwriting, comes that confession you've been waiting so long for.

i like you. i really like you, and i would love to see what we could be. only if you feel the same way, of course. (please forget about all of this if you don't)

i'm sorry for not having the courage to say this to your face, but i would love to see you tonight if you're free. please call me.

sincerely, your bear ☺︎♡

kimi antonelli

kimi would be very spontaneous about it. he would not be planning it; it would come as just as much of a surprise to him as to you. i see it coming when you're sitting next to each other in class/the truck/etc, and you've been playing around with him and bothering him for quite a while. when you notice that your attempts to disturb his focus haven't worked, you turn to tickle him in hopes that it will work better – and it definitely does.

kimi folds over instantly, gasping loudly as his own hands come down to wrap around your wrists. "you're so annoying!" he exclaims, switching to hold both of your wrists in just one of his hands, as his other hand gives you a playful slap across the face. "you're lucky i like you so much, otherwise..."

you both come to a halt at his words, neither of you having expected them. instead of addressing it, though, he settles for moving his hands to tickle you instead, hoping to distract you from what just happened. you definitely won't forget, though, but the change is only for the better.

[starqueensthings]

I was going to wait to post this until Mama Echo Monday, but fck it. Happy Star Wars Day, Pals!

Pairing: GN!Reader x Echo. No mention of Reader’s appearance/gender (with the exception of "an unladylike grunt" mentioned once to describe exertion). 

POV: 2nd person, 4641 words.

Summary: Echo and SquadMedic!Reader share their first kiss after he makes an unplanned trip to the MedBay.

Warnings: Slightly whumpy as Echo gets injured while completing some ship repairs, mentions of blood and medical procedures (stitches specifically), mentions of Echo's traumatic past, mentions of the anxieties he deals with regularly now in regards to medical treatment. 

Rating: SFW, fluffier than a fkn cotton ball

A/N: I am not a doctor. I’m not even close to a doctor. I don’t know if any of the medical words/references make any sense but I did my best with the tools I had LOL 

Huge thank you to the always incredible @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading, your time and feedback was so appreciated. 

You hummed quietly along to the song warbling from the radio in the corner as you flattened the last of the dozen cardboard boxes that had, up until this morning, housed the carefully packaged restock of your MedBay supplies. Hunter had long since asked you to start keeping the empty boxes, as they worked well for kindling and the squad had taken to settling down after missions with a bonfire wherever possible. But storing bulky boxes in your already cramped closet of a MedBay had proven a challenge in itself, as the only method for storing such clutter was to have them sandwiched tightly between the wall and the arm of your bulky treatment chair. 

“Don't get stressed, it's gonna get figured out…” you sang to yourself. The fluffy pop song filling the quiet corners of the room was not your regular cup of tea, but was surprisingly successful at pulling a small wiggle from your hips, and the occasional snap from your dusty fingers. “Deep conversations at the Waffle House...” You sashayed across the room to the beat of the song, heading towards the wall of cabinets opposite the door.  

“But you knowwwww it’s always love,” you chorused, holding an invisible microphone in front of your mouth with your right hand, while your left latched each of the cupboards closed. 

The clunk clunk of approaching heavy footsteps (the kind that could only belong to the large metallic feet of Echo) were masked by the reverie that the radio always seemed to put you in, and you were momentarily deaf to everything else.

“Um… Mesh’la? Mesh’la?”

A sudden sharp intake of breath tugged heavily at your throat as your body jerked in surprise. You spun around towards the door, ready to adorn the person who’d induced your cardiac arrest with the most vehement glare you could muster… but the distress on the face of the man slumped in the doorway wiped every ounce of ire from your mind immediately.

“Sorry,” Echo mumbled from the doorway where he had paused. “I didn't mean to scare you.” 

The urge to clamp your hand over your thundering heart was immediately robbed from you as your eyes registered his visible torment, and his even more obvious need for medical attention. “Maker,” you hissed, your eyes widening and your lips parting. 

“So it is that bad...” he grumbled, correctly reading the shock on your face and triggering his shoulders to sag. 

You closed the space between you in a brisk walk, your brows knitted tightly in concern and focus. Echo had his hand clamped over his right cheek, though the pressure he was applying from his palm was nowhere near enough to stem the flow of blood now cascading down his jaw and dripping onto his chest plate. 

“Let me see,” you instructed gently, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and slowly tugging his arm downwards.

You had no choice but to ignore the loop-de-loop that your heart did in your chest as a result of your contact with his skin; Echo had had that effect on you from the get-go. For obvious reasons (and not), he was unlike any man you’d ever come across before. Sure, his cybernetics and past experiences made him unique enough as an individual, but it was more than that. He had a distinctive, polite sort of grace about him; a warmth that emanated from deep in his person that you’d never encountered before. There was just something about the way his eyes seemed to caress your features as he listened to you ramble about whatever topic it was that you needed to vent about that particular day; something about the way that his smile tugged just a little more on his left cheek than his right when Wrecker got him laughing hard enough; something about the little smirk on his lips, and nod of his head that he sent your way every morning before he was awake enough to voice a greeting.

Simply having him in close proximity somehow simultaneously calmed and excited you, wiping your mind of all coherent thought, while your heart was jolted into overdrive. It was particularly bad in the moments like this one where your skin brushed against his, as your body always seemed to take it as a cue to throw composure out the window, doping your blood with enough hormones to make your hands tremble. And then there was the fact that time did not seem to be a concrete concept when you two were together; you could have happily spent a continuous decade passing tool after tool over his shoulder as he patched up the ship, or three weeks collecting firewood from the nearby forest, or simply reading side by side in the cockpit chairs.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying to rid your insides of the butterflies that had launched into a fluttering dance routine at his touch, so you could focus on his injury. “Tech told me to come see you,” Echo mumbled through an expression laced with fear as his arm fell to his side. “He said something about a flap being ‘full thickness’?”

Now free from the pressure of his palm, the laceration on his cheek began to leak freely the moment it was exposed. Barely a breath later saw your fingertips quickly cloaked in the same red carnage that had seeped through the cracks of his own fingers. As you gently pulled at the loose overhang of skin, you reached around to the waist pouch on your lower back, yanked the zipper open, and deftly retrieved a handful of sterile gauze packs. With a quick rip of the paper packet, you unfolded a fresh square of linen and immediately pressed it against his cheek. He winced lightly against the pain of the pressure you applied, but did not pull away from your touch.  

While one left hand continued to hold the gauze in place against the warmth of his oozing cheek, your other reached for his elbow, pulling on it gently until he took a step forwards through the threshold of the door and into the MedBay. Somewhat awkwardly, as you were walking backwards and at a drastically reduced speed, you guided him towards the treatment chair and sat him on the worn albeit squashy cushion on the seat (an addition you incorporated upon first seeing the cold and rigid equipment).

“What in the name of Mandalore’s moon happened to you?” you asked him, reaching for his hand again and gesturing for him to hold the gauze in place for you.

He swallowed with apparent difficulty, his eyes flickering anxiously around the room, glaring at each piece of diagnostic equipment mounted on the walls around him. The MedBay was Echo’s least favourite area of the ship, and he had already apologetically admitted that he only visited it when he absolutely needed to. “The machines and stuff kinda freak me out,” he had divulged quietly halfway through the generic physical you had put him through shortly after you joined the squad.

Thanks to your research and the details in his medical chart, you were well aware before joining the crew that he had had several limbs replaced by cybernetic machinery in the past, but it wasn’t until several weeks after, in a whispered night-watch conversation on the ramp of the Marauder, that Hunter explained how… and why. Echo’s recurring MedBay anxiety, or the “Med Dreads” as you had comically labeled it since, became immediately validated and unspokenly understood.

“Your cheek, hun. What happened?” you probed again when he failed to answer you, deliberately keeping your tone light and warm as it usually helped diminish his anxiety.  

“I… uh… got cut.” He answered your question in a mumble, forcing the lump of anxiety down his throat for a second time and sending you a fleeting glance.

“Well I can see that, Captain Obvious,” you quipped with a smile and a small eye roll as you took the saturated material out from under his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

After tossing the used fabric into the biohazardous waste bin beside the chair, you reached around your waist into the pouch again, this time retrieving the travel sized bottle of your go-to wound disinfectant: a neon orange effervescent solution that smelled strongly like iron, and worked remarkably well at cleaning superficial wounds with minimal pain. You held the gauze over the opening in the bottle and tipped it upside down thrice. Once satisfied with the level of saturation, you screwed the lid back on and returned the bottle to your pouch.

Your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist again, tugging it away from his cheek and collecting the soiled linen from his fingers. The bleeding had almost entirely subsided, blood now seeping out from under the flap of skin in droplet form, as opposed to the crimson river it had been when he first walked in.

“It’s… it’s Corporal.”

Had you not seen his lips move out of the corner of your eye, his murmur of words would have been completely lost amongst the incoherent chatter of the radio hosts.

“Pardon?” you asked him, stopping the movements of your hands to give him your undivided attention.

You were surprised to see a small smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to you. “It’s Corporal,” he repeated. “Corporal Obvious.”

The upswing in his demeanor took you by surprise, momentarily blanking your mind of a response as a smile worked its way across your own face. You peered into his twinkly eyes for a breath of a moment, basking in the warmth that they smothered you in every time that they fell on you. “Oh, my apologies, sir…” you chirred with a smirk, resuming your careful wiping motions across his injured cheek. “Apparently you’re Corporal Funnyguy today, too.”

A small laugh left his nose in something of a soft snort, triggering the butterflies in your stomach to resume their tortuous, internal flap-about. Your cheeks began to burn as the echo of his laugh; you loved when he laughed, particularly if it was you that had managed to pull it out of him.  

In an effort to keep the giddy smile off your face, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, deliberately keeping your eyes away from his until you could regain your composure. After discarding the gauze in your hands, you turned your attention back to the laceration on his cheek, prodding it gently and tugging on each end to observe its reaction to various degrees of tension. Now that the area was cleaned of the carnage, the injury was thrown into sharp relief, and you were internally grateful you’d removed the mirror from this room months ago. Echo was a tough cookie but was notoriously squeamish with blood and injuries, and whatever it was that had cut him, left a clean albeit deep wound, extending from his cheekbone outwards to his ear.

“Hmm,” you hummed, placing your hands on your hips and wiggling your nose as you thought about the best method to close the wound. “It’s definitely full thickness, unfortunately,” you intoned. “I’ll have to E-Mag stitch it, hun.”

His shoulders sank dramatically, and a heavy sigh left his mouth as he tipped his head back in exasperation. You swallowed against the sadness and empathy building in your chest, placing what you hoped was a calming hand on this shoulder. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip before looking back at you, his eyes now framed with small creases of suppressed fear and contempt. 

“Can’t you just use a bacta patch?” he asked you, failing to entirely stifle the desperate plea in his tone. “Or some of that fancy tape you have?” His eyes darted around the room again, this time almost frantically, as if visually finding the tape would be enough to convince you to use it, but his silent petitions were met with nothing but a poignant shake of your head. The inevitable, and likely infinite, list of alternatives he was sure to propose, as he so frequently had in the past, were no match for the dismissive explanation waiting patiently on your tongue.

“Echo, hun, we've been over this before. Bacta is a great tool, but it isn’t the end-all and be-all.” You spoke quietly, trying to catch eye contact again by shifting your weight and tipping your head until your face was in his line of sight. “The laceration is deep into the epidermal layer, and skin always heals from the bottom upwards. If we put a patch on, it will limit the amount of breathing your wound can do while it’s healing, and the chance of forming a compound infection increases pretty drastically.”

You watched the ghosts of unvoiced arguments shift his expression as he turned his face away from you again, his amber eyes flickering back and forth between the rebuttals that only he could hear; sorting through the rolodex of bargaining chips in his mind, searching for anything to help him obtain a fast pass out of this chair, and away from the prospect of foreign tools near his body. But despite the crease between his heavy brows deepening to that of dark chasm, he remained quiet, the only motions of his mouth being the mollifying nibble of his bottom lip.  

“I promise, once the stitches dissolve, we’ll put some bacta gel on to prevent scarring, and you’ll never know it happened,” you offered warmly, standing up straight and retracting your hand from his shoulder. “But for now, I’ll give you a pain injection to numb the area and you won’t feel a th—”

“No pain injection,” he interrupted, snapping his head around to stare at you. 

You stifled your sigh just enough for it to leave your mouth as nothing more than a poignant exhale drenched in sympathy. “Echo,” you started, cowering only slightly under the intensity of his stare. “We've been over this too. You know the stitcher is more uncomfortable than the injector. It'll be more comf—”

“No injection. I don’t need it, or want it.”

“Come on, Corporal Toughguy,” you pleaded, hoping that adding a dash of humour to the situation might soften his refusal. “I’m a whizz with the injector, ask anyone! And you can even load the vial yourself, if you want, so you know exactly what’s going in—” 

“Still no, and always no.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and challenged your pleading eyes with the flick of a dark eyebrow, wordlessly reinforcing that this was a battle you were not going to win, and he would out-stubborn you into the ground. Little did he know, the intensity of his warm eyes directed at you so piercingly, had almost entirely diminished your resolve, and a smile was working its way back across your face before you could stop it. 

“Fine,” you conceded, sticking your tongue out at him fleetingly before turning around and stepping away from the exam chair.

With an unladylike grunt, you retrieved the heavy durasteel case that held the E-Mag stitcher from one of the lower cabinets on the opposite wall. The Republic Cog logo on the lid was almost entirely faded from the constant friction of your hand opening and closing it, but the tool inside was measuredly kept in good repair. With the prod of the button, you brought the stitcher to life while simultaneously doing your best to hide the tool behind your back as you crossed the room towards where Echo sat watching you.  

His glazed eyes focused again as you approached, flickering only fleetingly to your hidden hand before another heavy sigh stole over him. You steeled yourself against the dread building inside of you, reminding yourself that your discomfort in this moment was nothing compared to his, and despite the awareness that you were about to cause him moderate to significant physical and emotional pain, this treatment was necessary.

“You sure no pain injection, hun?” you asked him when you returned to his side.   

“I’m sure,” he answered with a stoic nod.

“But are you sure sure? For sure, sure?”

“I’m sure sure… for sure… sure?” he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled into a smile. “Maker, that word sounds weird when you say it so many times.”

A huff of a laugh poured from your mouth as you nodded. “I did that to Tech the other day too,” you said with a grin. “I somehow got him to say ‘tinkle’ three times in a row and I think he almost had a seizure.”

Another laugh forced Echo’s injured cheek upwards, though you were pleased to see the creases around his eyes were momentarily free of pain and tension. The look of neutrality, hell even joy on his features was a welcome change to the subdued and forlorn demeanor that the Med-Dreads drowned him in.   

You know you let your eyes linger on him for just a little too long, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same euphoric pull towards you, that you were feeling towards him in the span of that shared laugh. Father Time had launched into his usual cruel tricks the second that Echo’s crinkled eyes met yours, and suddenly moments could have been hours; years could have been seconds; an eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, for his eyes on you made everything around you make sense, and at the same time, irrelevant.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, apprehension ghosting behind his eyes as he clutched the armrest of the chair tightly in his pallid hand. 

“Okay,” you answered in a determined whisper, gathering the remains of your resolve, and finally pulling the E-mag stitcher from behind your back. 

The wad of boxes wedged between the chair and the wall was, unfortunately, precisely where you needed to stand to hold the stitcher at the optimal angle, but you had no intention of delaying or drawing out Echo’s torture any longer than necessary. Eager to start and to finish so that he could be free of the mental and physical turmoil, you opted to lean across his body instead. You heard his breath hitch in his chest as you stepped in between his knees and leaned into his space, but whether his alarm was triggered from the feeling of your body against his, or the fear that enveloped him upon seeing the stitcher, you were not sure. 

“Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed him, giving him one last smile before turning your attention to his cheek.

And he did. And it almost killed you. Watching his eyes water and his muscles tense with each stitch that you guided the tool to feed through his skin sent a wave of guilt and remorse crashing through your stomach to the point where you began desperately searching your brain for something to distract him with. 

“I think I’m going to try and get Hunter next,” you declared after the 6th stitch had wracked his tense features with another wince. You paused, offering him the moment of pain-free peace that he refused to verbalize. “What should I try and get him to say? Something attainable... but I kinda want to be on the raunchy side. Any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Echo considered after a long, slow exhale. “How about something like nipple?”  

“Nipple!” you chortled. “That’s perfect.”

“It’ll be hard to get him though,” he added against another wince as the tool in your hand threaded another stitch through his skin. “He’s too aware. You’ll have to get him nice and distracted first.”

“Kinda sounds like you’ve done this before,” you suggested quizzically, glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow.

Echo shrugged a shoulder and let the ghost of a smirk work its way across his lips. “My brother and I had some prankster tendencies back in the day,” he answered cryptically. “Though he was a natural at it, so I always took his lead.”

“Tell me about him,” you probed, grateful for the opportunity of a lengthy and important topic; one that might be enough to steal his awareness from the present pain that you were putting him through.

A surprisingly sad sounding sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly against unspoken thoughts. “Maybe another day,” he eventually mumbled with a small grimace.

Every cell in your body urged you to protest; to argue with him; to reassure him that you truly did want to know everything about the brother that he only ever mentioned fleetingly; to remind him that you would eagerly listen, with open ears, for as long as he was willing to talk, like he had done for you only countless occasions. But you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into anything at this moment; not while he was already uncomfortable... already desperate to escape this room and the pain you were putting him through.

You sighed quietly to yourself, making a mental note to prompt again later, and pushed the 11th stitch into place.

“Okay, deal,” you answered. “Maybe you and I can take down Hunter as a team? I’ll bring nipples up in a conversation because, let’s be honest, it’d be weird coming from you… but you’ll have to think of a way to get him to say it multiple times.”

“Deal,” he agreed with eyes clamped shut. “What about Cross? Have you managed to get him, yet?”

“No,” you grumbled audibly and dramatically. “I can’t even get him to say one word, let alone the same word repeatedly. I don't think he likes me much to be honest...”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Echo assuaged, opening his eyes again and directing them on to you. “We all love you. Crosshair’s just a severe guy. It takes him a little longer to show his colours than everyone else.”

“Yeah well… so far the only colours I’ve seen of his are ‘snipey’ and ‘cranky’,” you chuckled, shifting your weight slightly so you could rest your elbow on his shoulder. “Oh… and ‘morning-breathy’.”

Pride welled inside of you as Echo laughed again, his chest vibrating below yours with every snicker that left him.

“He does have bad morning breath,” he agreed with a grin. “Not as bad as Wreck though. He could kill a man with that toxic morning gas.”

“Good thing Tech has the cabin ionizer on full blast at night or I think we’d all be dead.”

“That’s why he has it on full blast at night.”

Two things happened in the subsequent moment of shared laughter: you pushed the final stitch through his skin, but before a suppressed sigh of relief could even think about leaving your mouth, Echo’s hand shifted from the arm of the chair and landed gently on your side. He placed it there so softly that, in any other moment, you may have been able to shrug it off as an unprovoked shift of your waist pouch, but being so close to him had increased the sensitivity in your skin- in your very awareness, and there was no denying that was his hand clasped timidly, yet purposefully on your clothed rib cage.

You froze, turning your head slowly to face him. His eyes were fixed on you, and his face donned an expression that you’d never seen on him before: a juxtaposed blend of confidence and apprehension. You slowly straightened up, the breath in your lungs stalling as you watched his eyes dart from your left eye to your right.

You could have sworn you had heard music playing mere seconds ago, but it didn’t seem like your mind was presently able to register anything other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could have sworn you were just laughing about something… but that couldn’t be true, as there was absolutely nothing inherently comical about the way he was looking at you, nor did there seem to be any air left in your lungs to spare on laughter.

“Thank you,” he breathed, using the gentle hand on your side to pull you a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“For… for what?” you somehow managed to ask.  

Hesitation stilled him for only a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between yours again. “For being… you. For being so... you know... awesome.”

If the butterflies rearranging your internal organs like furniture wasn’t enough to end you right then and there, then the addition of his gentle touch under your chin would certainly have been your demise. Tingles radiated from the place where his finger rested on your skin. Your hands, still limply holding the stitcher at your side, began to tremble in anticipation as a force more powerful that gravity pulled you closer and closer to him. Your lips parted slightly as his gaze darted between your eyes again. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed.

A cannon went off somewhere in the depths of your stomach as his lips brushed against yours, testing the waters of your approval; offering you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted, but there was simply nothing else in the entire galaxy that you’d rather be doing. There was simply no better feeling than this; than transferring every ounce of desire in your body into his through means of a kiss.

You pressed your lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss while the stitcher fell to the floor at your feet with a clunk that no one heard… forgotten, irrelevant.  As he probed your lips further apart, your right hand snaked its way up his chest to cup his jaw just below his ear. His hand returned to your side, brushing his thumb tenderly against your ribs, as his tongue made a hesitant entrance into your mouth. You welcomed it immediately, pushing your chest right up against his, impervious to the uncomfortable rigidity of his armour.

“This does not seem an appropriate treatment protocol for a level 2 subdermal laceration.”

You and Echo broke apart immediately, both of you turning deer-in-the-headlight’s expressions to the door where Tech stood wide eyed and slack jawed in the threshold. Echo blushed and hung his head to his chest, as a nervous giggle left your lips.

“Um…” you started, your mind frantically searching for a valid excuse as to why you and Echo had just been unceremoniously draped all over one another, all the while somewhat distracted by the large smears of engine oil across Tech’s forehead. “Well I stitched him first… and then… shifted focus...” Tech deadpanned you, his expression unreadable, and his magnified eyes blinking intermittently behind the lenses of his smeared goggles. 

“What was your method of choice?” he eventually asked you, when not even the radio in the corner could puncture the awkward silence in the room.

“S-sorry?” you stuttered. Echo scratched his nose in your peripheral vision but you refused to look at him, lest you return to pieces and pounce on him again.

“What was your chosen method for the laceration repair?” Tech clarified, shifting his goggles on his nose.

“Oh… um. The Electro Magnetic stitcher. It was full thickne—”

“Then I was correct in my initial diagnoses. Good for me.”

He turned and left without another word, his gaze immediately redirected back downwards to the datapad clutched in his dirty hands.

When the sounds of his footsteps faded to nothing, you finally risked a glance back at Echo. His smirking face pulled an embarrassed smile from you immediately, but his eyes remained locked on you as he stood up and reached for your hand.

“Come on,” he spoke quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

.

[siderealmaven]

2025 Tarotscopes

originally posted to @siderealmaven's Patreon blog

💜 HAPPY NEW YEAR! 💜

Hi, hello my lovely readers and welcome to 2025! Congratulations on making it through another post-covid year (because let’s be honest, things are as hard as they’ve ever been.) 2024 had some great and terrible astrology and 2025 is only going to turn up the heat as Jupiter, Saturn, and the Nodes will all be changing signs. While this can bring some chaotic energy, it’s also a wonderful opportunity for change. The cool thing about being an astrology nerd is that if you know the winds will be shifting, you can adjust your sails accordingly. I won’t bog you down with the all of the details, but I am here to let you know what to expect for the year ahead with some classic Sidereal Maven tarotscopes.

In order to get the most of out these tarotscopes, please read for your Sidereal RISING and MOON sign. If you happen to have a stellium in one sign (3 or more planets, including rising + POF) then you can read for that sign as well. Not sure if you have a stellium? Check out this post.

You can also learn how to calculate your sidereal birth chart here.

Deck used: The Wild Unknown Archetypes Oracle by Kim Krans*

*(I know this is technically an oracle deck but oraclescopes just don't sound as cool!)

♈️ Aries

Card: The Vision

Shuffled Song: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World

Have you ever felt like you were meant to be doing something more with your life? I mean in a making a meaningful impact on the world and making it a better place kind of way? Well that’s because you are, Aries. The first fire sign of the zodiac was always meant to live a life uniquely their own and inspire others to do the same. But what does that Ultimate Dream look like for you? What your vision for yourself and your life? Forget what you have been told is impossible or the voices that whisper you are unworthy of your wild imaginings. These visions come to you for a reason and it is not another’s place to decide if it can happen or to who. In 2025, your job is to clean out whatever is getting in the way of your creative process. That listless, aimless feeling that leads to reckless, impulsive decisions needs to be redirected towards making your life your own again. The next time you feel like you need to act, ask what action will bring your vision closer to reality. Trust that every step, no matter how small, is getting you there. When you’re feeling stuck, think back on what inspired you as a child, what art draws you in over and over again. Here lies the answers you seek.

♉️ Taurus

Card: The Dead End

Shuffled Song: White Noise by PVRIS

Have you ever got the end of a book or movie only to feel like it ended too soon? Now you’re left staring at a blank page or screen, none of your questions answered, overthinking the ending and desperate for more. That’s what the Dead End card is like, Taurus. It doesn’t matter how many times you hit rewind, the ending is going to be the same. Whatever is “ending” in your life this year is a way of seeing and identifying yourself, a way of living and being. Your beliefs, attitudes, and goals are shifting in a way that can feel unplanned and uncontrollable. After all, you’re someone who likes to know what is coming next. Perhaps you’ve planned on this for so long you never considered you’d need a back up plan. Well, you do. In 2025, your mission is to make peace with the Dead End, the path that can be traveled no more, the door that cannot be opened. Yes you can be angry, you can grieve, but don’t stay here. Take time to make sure you’ve understood the lesson and open your eyes to the other paths opening up around you. Whichever one you pick, relief awaits you on the other side.

♊️ Gemini

Card: The Healer

Shuffled Song: All Star by Smash Mouth

No one pulls this card unless they’ve been wounded, Gemini. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling down in 2024, but the bright side is your 2025 is going to be spent focused on your healing. Don’t groan, that’s a good thing! It’s time to rip off the band aid and let that thing air out. I know you’ve read thirty-two articles online about to deal with it and that despite it all, you still feel unsure if you’re truly ever “healed.” If you think healing means looking, feeling and being exactly the same as you were before it happened, then I hate to break it to you. You’re not allowed to go back to levels you’ve already passed through and you have to move on to the next one. That means following your intuition about what is going to make you feel better and trusting yourself to know what you need. The process of healing is less about achieving perfection and more about remembering what good feels like. To do that you will have to look within and get some fresh air (so get off the internet!)

♋️ Cancer

Card: The Heart

Shuffled Song: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndie Lauper

When was the last time you felt your heart touched, Cancer? Perhaps it was while listening to a certain song or the laugh of your favorite person. Maybe it’s mid brush stroke while painting or that one scene from that one movie? You know the one. I’m talking about the kind of genuine, spontaneous love that shoots you right in the chest and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Your mission in 2025 is to remember and reclaim this feeling. This requires looking past your frustrations at daily life and underneath the grief that seems to creep up on you at night. There are always going to be things to be upset about, to grieve and scream about. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t… but I am saying, you have to balance that out with something soft. Something silly and lighthearted. There needs to be routine, fool proof ways to re-energize yourself in your life. What can you do every day to make yourself smile? Prioritize it! You don’t just deserve it, you need it.

♌️ Leo

Card: The Judge

Shuffled Song: Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears For Fears

Have you ever felt yourself being judged, Leo? Of course you have, we all have. But at what age did you realize that your biggest critic was the voice inside your own head? Have you noticed the way it sometimes leaks out of your own mouth and begins to judge others too? It might feel automatic, predestined, happening before you can stop yourself and then all the sudden you watch the word “respect” crumble before your eyes. The thing you work so hard to earn and keep. In 2025, your mission is to get to the bottom of this voice and determine: who’s voice is that? Is it one or multiple? And was it ever truly you? Think about how every time you’re about to break a rule, you hear your parent’s voice in your heard warning of the consequences. That’s not your voice, it’s theirs. The next time you find yourself judging yourself or others, stop to ask: who’s voice is that? Do I believe this enough to repeat it? Is it your belief or theirs? And if it truly does belong to you then think carefully about how you voice your opinion, to who, and in what context. Your words carry the strength of a lion and they will be felt. Make your voice one of discernment, advocacy and compassion.

♍️ Virgo

Card: The Ring

Shuffled Song: Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts

When’s the last time you grounded yourself, Virgo? It’s easy to become disconnected from ourselves between the work that calls us, the work that demands we show up, and the constant cycle of daily routines. Despite knowing you need something more satisfying, you’ve probably spent all of December planning out your 2025 down to the last detail. While I admire your ambition, I have to wonder, did you schedule out some time for connection? For visiting with family, hanging out with friends, for nature walks and your neglected hobbies? Probably not. Your mission in 2025 is to make connecting a priority. You get to choose how and who; friends, family, teammates and community members, even the earth, even yourself. But you have get out of your head, out of your calendar and out of your phone. Otherwise, you risk staying in the cyclical montage training scene that is only supposed last a few moments before the daring protagonist sets out on their quest. So go head, buy yourself some new shoes and get outside! Adventure is waiting.

♎️ Libra

Card: The Box

Shuffled Song: No Wind Resistance! by Kinneret

Do you ever feel like the walls are closing in on you, Libra? From the expectations of others, to the social constructs that dictate what is and isn’t allowed, to the rule of law that sits ominously over our shoulders, it might feel like “breathing room” is just a myth. Perhaps you’ve gotten comfortable with the walls that have been drawn around you year after year, maybe even erected a few of your own. But in 2025, the dissatisfaction that comes with stagnancy could turn into some serious zoochosis. At some point, structure and order fails to meet our needs and continuing to conform to it puts us at risk. This year, your mission is to break free of the box that you’re in. This isn’t easy; you will have to come into new levels of self-awareness and have the courage to face the mirror. You might even find that some of the limitations that have been holding you back are self-imposed. As frustrating as it can be, try not to be too angry at yourself. The box that restrains you now once kept you safe.

♏️ Scorpio

Card: The Bardo

Shuffled Song: The First Cut Is The Deepest by Sheryl Crow

Just when you think that all has come to an end, a light appears in the dark. Ever so slowly it grows into a glowing beam of truth, enveloping you in divine truth. You have entered Limbo, Scorpio. It’s that liminal space between one life and the next. The version of you that has passed and the one that is slowly becoming. Whether you’re grieving the path that just dead ended or frustrated over how long it’s taking to jump into the next thing, 2025 is all about learning to embody the inbetween. On the surface this period of time may feel like it’s full of nothing but shadow, but you must dig beneath the surface of your grief and listen carefully. Right now, you have just the right amount of distance from what has happened to see it and yourself more clearly than ever before. This puts you in a wonderful position to decide where you’re going next. To forgive yourself, to love yourself, to heal the wounds left behind. Pay close attention to intuitive messages you receive during this time and allow them to gestate without needing to act immediately. You’ll know when you’re ready to move forward.

♐️ Sagittarius

Card: The Father

Shuffled Song: Ignorance by Paramore

What does it mean to be a good father, Sagittarius? Ideally, a father is supportive, wise and honest. He leads by example and nurtures a healthy self esteem in his offspring. He is a protector and guardian to his family. But as we know all too well, every father, no matter how good or ideal, whether by choice or by nature, eventually abandons us. We must all grow up and learn how to lead ourselves, which is impossible in his presence. Your mission in 2025 Sagittarius, is to stop letting the wins and failures of your father(s) define you and what you believe is possible for your life. Instead of internalizing the limitations of those who came before you, understand that recognizing these limitations is the first step to overcoming them. Regardless of your relationship to your father(s), they gave you what you need to succeed and surpass them. Ancestral wisdom is available to you at all times when you’re willing to learn from others. And remember; even their absence holds a lesson.

♑️ Capricorn

Card: The Crone

Shuffled Song: Gooey by Glass Animals

The entire world is on fire, but it doesn’t phase you, does it Capricorn? You were the first to point it out and the last to learn how to ignore it, because there was no changing a world determined to burn itself down. “It is what it is,” becomes your go-to motto in these trying times. While refusing to assign moral judgements to things and minding your business can be effective strategies, you need to be careful of allowing your jaded attitudes to ostracize you from your community. Your wisdom should be used to help and guide, not withheld out of bitterness or spat in frustration with a side of condescension. Your mission in 2025 is to learn how to embody the role of the Elder; this requires you to stay connected to the part of yourself that believes in the youth and their ability to create a better world, when armed with the right knowledge and tools. Use your experience as a means of preparing them for what comes next, not tearing them down. And most importantly; keep your compassion alive.

♒️ Aquarius

Card: The Self

Shuffled Song: I Got You Babe by Sonny & Cher

How well would you say you know yourself, Aquarius? There are the assigned identifiers of course; gender, sex, race, class, ethnicity, etc. There are the roles you play: child, parent, sibling, friend, employee, coworker, etc. Then there are the labels for what you do; job description, hobbies, and such. There are the things you like; movies, books, songs. But what about the You underneath all of that? I’m talking about the self you are when no one else is around and there are no expectations for you to be anything. Your mission in 2025 is to get close and intimate with your deepest, most authentic self. The great news is that you just spent this last Saturn cycle learning all about what is NOT you, but the bad news is it might have left you feeling tired and lacking purpose. When feeling overwhelmed by the world and everything it wants you to be, retreat into yourself and ask: What do you want? What makes you happy? And how can you choose it as if no one else will see?

♓️ Pisces

Card: The Maiden

Shuffled Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Do you remember your first love, Pisces? Back when you were too young to anticipate heartbreak and every longing glance held untapped potential. Some say that first loves are the only true loves, as one can never open their heart again the same way after it’s been broken. And yet, we can and do learn to love again, over and over. Your mission in 2025 is to fall in love as if it was the first time for the second time, but first you’re going to have to admit that you want it and get over your fear of trusting again. Recognize the moments in which you choose to daydream instead of connect, when you choose to pretend instead of act. How you might try to deny instead of live in the truth of your desire and past hurts. When you feel like running, ask a question instead. When you don’t feel good enough, remember you are inherently worthy. And when you start to feel too old to feel young again, remember your inner child lives within you always. (And they’re begging to be let out!)

Thank you for reading! I wish you many blessings in 2025 💜

[littlelalu]

Unplanned Encounters (Part 2) {Smut}

 NOTE: Hello everyone! I ended up taking a little longer than I should have on my midterm after work yesterday. I knocked out early. Here is the post I promised :) Have a great day!

Y/N = Your name

~~~ at his hotel room ~~~

Milo unlocked his door to his hotel room and let me go in first. It was pretty huge for a hotel room. It had a small kitchen and a dining area.

“You can set your stuff down on your bed there” he said pointing at a neatly done bed.

“Thanks again Milo… for everything. You've been a great help.”

“Anything to help you out.”

I smiled at him. “Can I use your shower? I want to wash away the smell of alcohol on me.”

“Haha, sure. It's right there. Do you have comfy clothes for the night?”

I always have a backpack with extra clothes in my car. I'm glad I had it tonight. I checked my backpack tonight and I only had a set of day clothes (blouse and pants), undies, bra, and socks.

“No really… I can just sleep in the clothes I have right now.”

“Hold on.” He said and walked over to his luggage. He pulled out one of his black shirts. He came to hand it over to me. “You can use this shirt. “

“Thank you. I will be right back” I grabbed the rest of my stuff and went to go shower.

~~~ After Shower~~~

As I got dressed, I noticed how long Milos' shirt is on me. I meant we do have a height difference so it makes sense. I brushed my teeth right after. I unlocked and opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

I began walking towards my bed, feeling like I was being stared at.

I turned around and saw Milo in the kitchen with his mouth open. I noticed he had different clothes on. Just some sweats and a white shirt. He looked hot.

“What? Are you okay?” I asked him

He closed his mouth and started to blush “Yeah.. umm.. You look beautiful in my shirt.”

Now he's making me blush, “Thank you.”

“Do you want anything to drink or eat?” he asked

“Just some water.” I said as I walked over to my bed. I got in the blankets and got comfy.

He got me some water from the fridge and handed it over to me. He laid down on his bed and did the same as me.

We talked for a bit more before we drifted off to sleep.

~~~ A few hours later, 2AM ~~~

I woke up from a nightmare I had. It was basically a repeat of when I caught Michael with the girl in our bed.

I tried going back to bed, but I was just tossing and turning.

“Y/N?” I heard a deep and raspy voice ask.

Sh. “Yeah. Sorry. I can't sleep.”

“It's fine. Nightmare?”

“Yeah. About when I caught him cheating..” I said softly.

He turned on the light from the lamp next to him and walked over to my bed. Since I was still laying down, I was looking up at him.

“You’re gonna be alright. Trust me”

“I know. I just can't forget it yet.”

“May I?” He said as he slightly raised my blanket.

I nodded and scooted over a little bit.

He got under the blanket with me. He pulled me closer to him. He was cuddling me. How does he smell so good all the time?

“It will take time for you to move on from this, but its okay to feel hurt.” He said as he looked down at me.

“I wish I could forget about it now.”

“Give it some time, Y/N. He should be the one feeling like sh. How could he lose a girl like you?”

“A girl like me?”

“Yeah. I just met you tonight, but you are really amazing. I feel like I know you so well.”

I looked down shyly for a bit. I felt his hand on my chin and he made me look at him.

“You’re a wonderful girl, Y/N. I'm sorry he didn’t see that.”

Looking at him at his big brown eyes, I felt like I was melting. He also has a way with words. He began leaning towards me, I closed the gap between us, making our lips brush against each other. We ended up kissing.

Every negative thought I had from the least 24 hours went away. I felt butterflies in my stomach. I have never felt like this with a kiss. Not even michaels.

Milo quickly pulled away.

“Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you.”

“Milo, it's okay… It was good.” I admitted.

I put my hand on his cheek, started to lean towards him. Our faces were close.

“Y/N… Are you sure you're okay with this?” Milo asked as our lips brushed against each other again.

“Yes..” I whispered.

He immediately kissed me again, placing one hand on my waist. My hands found his hair. I tugged it lightly. I heard him groan against our lips. I felt his hands exploring my body. He started to kiss my neck.

“M-Milo.” I moaned. He stopped kissing me and pulled me on top of him. He pulled my shirt over me. Exposing my bra. 

“Fuck…”  He started to undo my bra. He tossed it on the side of the bed. He began touching my breast. Massaging it and pinching my nipples. “You’re so hot, Y/N”

I rocked my hips against him. He groaned. He started to suck my left nipple. I felt his tongue swirl around them, driving me crazy causing me to moan his name louder.

He got me off him and began taking his pants and underwear off. He got on top of me. 

“A-are you sure, Y/N?” He asked again.

“Y-yes M-ilo” 

He lined up at my entrance. He teased me for a bit by going up and down with his dick on my entrance.

“You’re so wet for me baby…” he said in a deep voice. He was looking at me as he did this.

I noticed his eyes looked darker. Lustful. “S-stop… I need you now”

He slowly went inside me, both of us moaning at how good it was feeling. 

“You’re so tight” he groaned.

He held my legs as he started to fuck me. He used one hand to rub my clit as he did so.

“M-Milo…. M-milo… it feels good” 

“You’re so sexy. “ he said as he held my waist for more support as he went faster. I wrapped my arms around his neck, as one hand pulled his hair, causing him to groan. He started to kiss my neck again. “Moan my name, baby”

I kept moaning his name. I tried so hard not to be so loud but it felt so fucking good. 

He pulled out and flipped me over. I put my ass up for him. He instantly went in. 

I started to throw it back for him, and from the mirror I can see he threw his head back in pleasure. He placed his hands on my ass, guiding me.

I felt his hands on my body helping me up and then moved one hand around my neck and the other on my boobs for support.

“Look in the mirror. I want you see how I fuck you.”

He started to go in and out of me. I saw us in the mirror. Fuck he looked so hot. His hands holding my boobs just right. His pounding hit a spot where I knew I would finish soon. His moans in my ear. His hand on my neck, choking me, but in a good way.

“M-milo” I moaned. “ I’m close.” 

“Me too.” He kept going at the pace he liked.

I felt his dick twitching in me as I felt my walls clenched. We finished at the same time, letting out moans doing so. 

Milo grabbed his shirt to wipe himself off and then handed it to me to do the same.

“Milo… I’m sorry if I Made this awkward between us.” I said shyly as I put the shirt he had let me borrow back on.

“Are you kidding? That was wild! … Didn’t know you had that in you. You look shy, but you are very freaky too… I like that, "he said and winked at me. I smirked at him.

He walked over to me and grabbed my hands in his. I looked up at him. His eyes were no longer dark. They were back to his normal light brown color. His hair got even more messier because of my tugging.

“Listen Y/N… I know you just got over a relationship and have to figure out some things… but just know I am here whenever you need me.” He said with a soft voice.

“Thank you, Milo.” I said.

“But for now…Let's go to bed. You tired me out. “ He said as he led me back to bed. We got under the covers and cuddled. I could hear his heartbeat slowing down. How crazy were we going?

We ended up falling asleep in each other’s arms. For the first tie in a while, I felt safe. He made everything seem better despite everything. 

[mishaloveclub]

here’s the very first scene in my rewrite of desert duo’s time in third life because i do not have a completionist bone in my body and i may never end up posting or even finishing the whole thing

(first 700 words of guilty, not remorseful)

The explosion leaves behind remnants of fibre and vines, a sizable crater, and the sickly smell of singed skin.

A dreadful silence weighs heavy upon those who had witnessed it, had witnessed lively green eyes grow dull as Scar’s body slumped amidst the upturned dirt and smoke. They all stare in shock at the aftermath, exchanging uncertain glances as Grian remains frozen, blinking rapidly, eyes unfocused.

A shocked laugh, almost winded, forces its way up from Grian’s throat.

He has taken a life, lured a man to his death, and all he can do is laugh.

The air only remains still for a moment longer before everyone else finds themselves laughing too, unable to help themselves.

It’s an entirely absurd situation. One moment, Grian had a creeper hot on his tail, pressing a finger to his lips as he met Etho’s eye with a cheeky grin, and the next, Scar’s body was laid burnt and lifeless in a ditch.

Grian watches Scar’s fallen body flicker as it regenerates, vanishing from the crater and leaving nothing but a flattened patch of earth in its wake. It’s only then that the guilt rushes in, pushing aside any amusement as Grian realises the gravity of what exactly he has done.

He has stolen the life of a man who has offered him nothing but friendship and kindness. Torn it from his giving hands with a maniacal grin and the audacity to claim it as ‘a joke’.

The chatter dulls down as Scar reappears at the village outskirts and it seems that no one knows quite what to expect from him: anger, possibly. Or a sense of betrayal or revenge. Grian would even understand tears, grieving the life that had been so cruelly taken from him.

And yet Scar does nothing but smile at Grian with wary eyes, eyes that now shine a striking golden colour.

“Scar, I’m so sorry.” The apology bubbles up from Grian’s chest, voice softened with laughter as he takes a careful step towards Scar.

He makes no move to step away, a shocked laugh of his own escaping his lips, breathless yet forgiving, “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Grian’s smile drops at that, mouth falling agape as Scar’s attention is almost immediately drawn away from him.

Because Scar doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know what Grian’s intentions had been - good or bad - and yet he believes wholeheartedly in his innocence. It’s a level of trust that Grian truly does not think he deserves.

Conversation continues amidst the rest of the onlookers, Scar brushing off any implication of hard feelings, lighthearted jokes being made as the panic is pushed aside. Grian, however, has grown quiet, watching Scar laugh and jest as he always does, as though the guilt that has settled in Grian’s stomach isn’t threatening to consume him from the inside out.

Scar catches his eye after an excruciating minute, his lips tugging into a frown as he approaches, “Grian, it’s okay-”

“Let me talk to you for a moment,” Grian interrupts, his voice soft as he takes a gentle hold of Scar’s forearm.

He begins to tug Scar away from the crowd, to which he is happy to comply, following after Grian as they reach a more secluded area where their conversation will be out of the prying eyes and ears of the others.

“Scar, I’m so, so sorry.” Grian whispers, carefully scanning Scar’s face, his fingers still wrapped loosely around his arm.

“I already told you: it’s fine.” Scar chuckles, a well-meaning attempt to lighten the mood.

Grian takes in a long, calculated breath and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, entirely unplanned, he drops to one knee and bows his head in front of Scar, his next words altering the course of his time in this world forever.

“I took your first life, so I therefore owe you mine.”

Scar blinks at him, bewildered, “What?”

Grian lifts his gaze to look up at Scar, unsure of how else to prove his sincerity.

“I feel awful for what I’ve done, accidental or not, I killed you, Scar… So I vow my first life to you. I am in your service and at your side, “ There’s a momentary pause, “if you’ll have me.”

A slow, understanding smile paints itself on Scar’s lips, “So you’ll dig the sand… With me?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

And so it begins.

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Hi everyone, I'm Rin, welcome!

I'm a multifandom writer and you can send requests for headcanons, fics, etc. I can write for ships but currently I’m mainly doing x readers (no smut)

I'm also currently in school, so please be kind if I don't respond for a bit :) Guys I am on an unplanned really long hiatus :( idk the writing fuel is not… I hope you can enjoy the fics I have and I’m sorry if I haven’t written your request, I may get to it but not for a while. thank you <3

Besides writing this is mainly a maze runner blog, plus whatever else I decide to put on it - at this stage likely to be stranger things, the artful dodger, the marauders, and the umbrella academy

Tags: #my writing (just fics), #rin's saved (my fav posts of all time), #asks, #not fic (any non-fic posts)

Fandoms I write for (+ masterlist):

My personal favs: ✩, my most popular: ❀

(gn) = gender neutral reader, (f) = fem, (m) = masc

THE MAZE RUNNER

Newt

Come back to me: Part 1 & Part 2 (gn) All in two days: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (gn) ✩ You're my favourite: Part 1 & Part 2 (gn) Tides (f) Play me something? (m) ❀ Strawberry kisses (f) Angel boy & Perfect without (gn) Soul sister (f) The night we met (gn)

Thomas

✩ Invisible string (f) Calm and Storm (f) Intertwined (f) Thomas Relationship Headcanons (gn) Something I Need (f)

Minho

Love your touches (not in a weird way) (f) Classic (f) Just cuddles and kisses (f) ✩ Real or not real (f) First date (gn) ✩ Teenage dream (f)

Gally

Scars (gn)

Aris

It's you and me (f)

Everyone (platonic)

The Heart (gn) Shields: Part 1 & ✩ Part 2 (f) ✩ Hope (f) Born to run (f) ✩ Look after each other for me (f) ✩ Yellow painted skies (m) ✩ Everyone loves Y/n (gn)

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

New kids

Allison Argent

Lydia Martin

Kira Yukimura

HARRY POTTER (main cast and marauders)

George Weasley

It's a love story (f)

THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT

Beth Harmon

My girl (f)

Benny Watts

THE ARTFUL DODGER

Jack Dawkins

Belle Fox

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

Five Hargreeves (note that his age is a bit fiddly, so fics will be set a) before he jumps forward, b) in an AU where he never jumps, or c) the time he spent in the apocalypse will be reduced. also depends on whether requests specify reader's age range)

MARVEL

Peter Parker (tasm or mcu -verse)

Bucky Barnes

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

If you're looking for any fandom/character that's not on this list just send an ask and I'll see if I know it well enough to write it

Requests are open!!

[sh00kspeared]

hello give me a handful of facts for a handful of your ocs

You're so amazing for this ask; first time anyone's asked me about this on tumblr and it just made my day <33

(and I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you aaaaaaaaa)

Vincent Fox (Cyberpunk 2077 player character)

He LOVES coffee, so much so that his afterlife drink has coffee in it-- I've actually created a recipe for it (it's captain morgan's spiced rum with bailey's and coffee; I'll make a post with the full recipe and quantities if anyone's interested :)

He's married to Johnny :)

He's a dad of two kids-- his baby daughter Jackie and his baby son Barrett. Both were 'unplanned' (in quotes because, of course, he's gay and both kids were adopted). Jackie was rescued from a scav den and Johnny killed her parents after discovering that they'd sold her on purpose for drug money, and I'm still thinking of a backstory for Barrett (though I'm considering having him be a test tube baby who was grown in a lab for human experimentation purposes, and Johnny and Vince end up rescuing him and decide to unofficially adopt him).

He secretly loves rom coms and other movies/BDs that are considered 'cheesy'

At his wedding, him and Johnny play a small setlist instead of having a first dance. The setlist includes Your Song by Elton John amongst a couple of songs that they wrote for one another a few years prior to the wedding.

Growing up poor, he DIYs a lot of his clothing, which is how he got into punk culture. Even as an adult with enough money to get by, he still DIYs most of the bling on his clothing.

His fighting style is stealth, knives, and netrunning. He can clear out entire gang dens in complete silence. However, his weakness is that if he's discovered, he often is at a loss on what to do and has to hide/retreat.

He's very tall, standing at 6'5".

Cryx (Starfield player character-- I know you already know a bit about her, but I still wanted to add this for the folks who don't know :)

Her backstory is heavily inspired by Dune-- she came from a planet far outside of the settled systems, about 300 light years away. The planet is known as Canopus Gamma, the inhabitants of which are very devout religious people who are unwilling to leave their planet due to a prophecy regarding a messiah who is to come to the planet. She ends up leaving the Canopus system at age 19 due to her longing to explore the galaxy, stowing away on a cargo ship to the Settled Systems.

She's married to Sarah :)

She's a very big science nerd and loves to research various samples she finds on planets in her spare time.

Caspian (protagonist of my fantasy novel WIP)

He can play the fiddle, and quite well. Arden (the prince that he's in a sort-of relationship with) taught him in his spare time.

He keeps an extensive compendium of all of the plants and animals he encounters in his spare time-- especially the magical creatures.

He's pretty short, standing at 5'5".

He's the prince's chamberlain, though he's gotten such a reputation around the castle that he doubles as an unofficial head servant as well.

His favorite drink is pine needle tea.

Thank you again for being interested in my loreeeeee 😭💗

[anastacialy]

hello! first, i wanna say you're totally right here. all the points you made are correct, and i agree with your additions, as i agreed with your original post. i wouldn't reblog something to simply disagree in the tags! the tags were there as an addition and a slight rebuttal to opinions that opposed yours. for instance, when a lot of the fandom said colin should have to beg for penelope's forgiveness for saying he'd never court her, i disagreed wholeheartedly, and thought his scene of making amends was lovely, and more than made up for his actions. i don't like the way a lot of this fandom treats colin, and i'm sorry to have seemed to be doing the same. i think some of my tags and tone were misinterpreted here though, so i just want to clarify. i'm not great at communicating, so do try to read this post with the best and most lighthearted intentions. there's a character limit within a tag limit, so i can't always add everything i want to in the tags, and when i try to keep in concise, well, things like these tend to happen. when i said "yes it would be fun" that was meant to be read as, "yeah, yeah, i know you guys [the people who like angst] would like if this happened." which isn't totally disparaging the angst-loving people, by the way, as many actors and writers have confirmed that the original cut (pre-reshoots) of the season was angst-ier! even colin's crying and soft-spoken-ness during the whistledown reveal was unplanned, though it works entirely for his character and the two of them as a couple. the way it was written, he was meant to yell! shout! get angry! so that was my way of acknowledging that, before the second half of my tags were outright saying you were correct. imagine those subsequent tags as me going, "yeah, what they said! good point, boss!" behind you. i referenced like three or four other posts that were probably not read by you prior to this response, which is fair, since i post a whole lot. (there are fifty-five pages of bridgerton content on my blog. lmfao.) i use my tags to talk to myself and my followers, as was their original use (i've been rotting on tumblr since long before they showed up in the notes of a post), so i don't always give all the context in the world. it's kinda funny, i thought my referring to other posts for clarity was over-doing it! apparently not. i don't expect anyone who doesn't follow me to care to read my tags, but i know they're now served directly to the op, so i can see why you'd read them and disagree.

the "bite back" comment was in reference to this post, where i was commenting on the rest of the fandom's reaction to the scene. (in fact, someone reblogged that post with tags i disagree with, that seemed to miss the point of my post, ironically enough.) everyone was freaking out that he said something 'so mean' and i responded by saying, 'ok yes, if we wanted all the drama and messiness that came with the show's other couples, she'd have said something mean back to him there.' i imagined the rest of the scene playing out the same, though, where she apologizes quickly after realizing being rude to him isn't the right move. i'm not saying it would be healthy, nor better, and certainly not more in character. it was just a reference to a joke post i wrote at five in the morning after bingeing the series, and a reply to other people saying she should just call everything off in anger, which i don't agree with. the second post i was referencing was this heartbreaking drabble (which i fully thought i'd reblogged but didn't, so that one's my bad for sure) that has penelope call of the wedding for colin's sake. as in, her understanding she hurt him, and saying, 'i love you so much, i don't want to entrap you in a marriage where you'll be unhappy.' which, i did specify in the tags, by the way. this is just the annulment offer, but set earlier in the show. one thing we may disagree on, though, is that you say: "So if she said 'fine, no entrapment then, we're done' that is, realistically speaking, the death of their relationship." i personally do not think that would be the end of it. especially if, as in that fic and my tags, she called it off so as to not entrap him, to say 'no, you deserve happiness, even if it isn't with me.' i do think he'd be upset by her calling the wedding off. my interpretation of these scenes is that he still wants to marry her. when asked by kate, "does whatever new information you've learned [about penelope] truly negate [your relationship with her]?" [season 3 episode 7 timestamp 30:10] he shakes his head, no. i know this is later on in the show, but it is a feeling i think runs as an undercurrent to the feelings he shows in the scene we're discussing. so when i say his entrapment line is him "holding onto the marriage with his fingernails" i mean it is both him expressing his hurt, and him using propriety and "i am a gentleman" to keep the wedding on. this post i also referenced in the tags covers a lot of my feelings on the matter, though there are some nuances in my view there as well that i didn't bother rambling in the tags for, that time. and this one, and my tags on it, though that one's pretty /silly. but you share the same sentiment just in different words: "Yes, he still wants to marry her, not out of obligation, but because they have history and he has feelings for her." it is not truly obligation that i am arguing here, merely the illusion of obligation in order to hurt her in the moment, to hide his genuine desire to still marry her, and to deal with his more complicated feelings on his own.

also, when i say i want to write a fic about something, i mean it would be interesting to explore as an alternative to what happens in the show, to see how different actions might play out. i never, ever, in a million years think that the actual show should have changed, by the way. i make that clear in this joke post that i'm by no means the best writer. i'm also still waiting on my ao3 invite, so you're safe from my bad, ooc fanfics... for now. i was also referencing a very common joke post using the "please please please" line. i promise i don't actually think he'd say that, nor would it actually go in the fic. it's just a running joke at this point!

you extrapolated a lot about how i view penelope from these tags and, again, i understand why you would, as these are the only words of mine you've read. that's why im providing the context of my blog and other posts i'm referring to. the "no empathy" penelope you described is not at all the way i view penelope! i love her too much for that. she would be an awful partner if she behaved that way. but since we can understand colin lashed out in hurt, we can understand penelope might too, in theory, or in an au. but i understand you simply thought i was seriously saying the show should change or that this was the One True Interpretation, when i was not. context is important. uuu. [this is a joking reference to "prospects are important" and the little noise colin makes after he says his next line after that one. season 3 episode 3 "forces of nature" timestamp 8:57])

this is a great post i also recently reblogged on the topic too! and this one, which i have no clue why i didn't reblog yet. i may have been on mobile when i read it, hah. but they are saying the same thing as you here, and i agree! she truly hurt him, and he was completely within his rights to make a hurtful comment in that moment. i never said otherwise, and i certainly never said she should say or even imply that she didn't love him! i think both of us are also replying to the general fandom in this way. i genuinely love that, in canon, penelope met him with empathy and care right away. it's what he deserves! anyway, to reiterate: i agree with you! i think there were some misinterpretations of my tags and for that i apologize. i'd say agree to disagree, but i think it's mostly agree to agree (on most things) and agree to disagree (on a few small details i interpret slightly different than you) lmao! i hope this clears things up a bit!!

I guess what I find most funny about the 'She should call off the wedding because of Colin's entrapement line!' crowd is like. . .y'all really don't get Penelope at all, do you?

She has loved this man for YEARS. She's loved him through his engagement to someone else, she's loved him through him saying he wouldn't court her, she's loved him through multiple countries, through her family mocking their closeness, through a potential marriage to a Lord. She loved him so much she couldn't even DENY having feelings for him to save what she thought was her only chance of getting married. Do you know how easy it would have been for her to go 'No, we're just friends, I don't like him like that, you're proposing to me and that's what matters'? She couldn't denounce her feelings for him even THEN. Even when she doesn't think he reciprocates them and she's made peace with a life with Debling and is expecting his proposal. Colin was *always* first in her heart, through all those hurdles.

Because Colin has been kind in a cruel world, and he's made her laugh, and he encourages her confidence and he's warm and he's gorgeous and he centers her and he values her and he listens and makes her feel desired and beautiful. He's a good man, and her love for him makes her feel good, she treasures it. Even in the books she says it feels good to love a good person, whether he loved her back or not. And now she knows that he does and you think one line that Colin says in obvious hurt after finding out she's been hiding a secret persona for him is enough to shake that love? She spent what? Half a decade looking out her window pining for him and now on the eve of getting to live a life with him as husband and wife, she's going to chuck that away because of one sentence? How lowly do you think of her? How *stupid* do you think she is? To throw away the love of her life over what? Her pride? This fandom's OOC Fanon Pen is a disservice to Penelope's actual character.

Her love for Colin is steadfast. It's made of tougher stuff than all that. It has survived everything that has been thrown at it. Distance, other people, Portia. And y'all really, truly believe that a singular statement will make her go 'Naw, I don't want it anymore!' PUHLEASE. Even when she offers him that annulment, you KNOW she knows it's not on the table.

Stop playing. OF COURSE she didn't call off the wedding. Of COURSE she chose to understand where he was coming from and went 'I didn't mean to trap you, Colin, I love you'. Of course she asks what the marriage will be and is comforted by the fact that he still wants to go through with it.

Penelope Featherington has loved Colin most of her life. It has been one of the few constants in her existence. He has been good to her in said existence, consistently. He's listened, he's cared, he's apologized to her, he's taken ownership of his actions, he's invited her to be more open, he's joked with her, he's supported her, he saw her when she was invisible. She. Loves. Him. And for good reason.

It's not going away because of one line. Or two. Or three. Come back next time when you actually understand her.

[cosiamdeda]

First post after 2 year hiatus:

Code Geass S1 Ep 22 is complete sh*te.

See you next month. Bye

[astranne]

CHERISHED GIFTS !genshin snippet

note // ahahaha… finally writing again :D very sorry for the delay, the network was a bit more work than i thought. ty for my beta-readers ^^ ( @venexus ; @k-zu ) for reading trough my first yae miko writing and editing/commenting it. coming back from such a long (unplanned) hiatus is kinda hard. this is one of the works that is part of the network’s first writing event! i will link the masterlist here as soon it’s posted, check it out for more awesome works!!

network writing event; ice & snow

Yae Miko isn’t the biggest christmas partier in Inazuma. But she organizes a celebration with her shrine maidens, one that is well-known and well sought after. Of course she knows this, yet she keeps the celebration relatively small. She could use this event to expand her influence, or make it purely business. Most would think this Christmas party to be a wasted opportunity; too often the managers of the Publishing House begged her to expand it. She never listens to it and continues to celebrate Christmas in a small circle.

How could she not? Not when you always come to her party, one of the few non-shrine maiden attendants, bringing small gifts for everyone. Yet her gift is always the best one, the most thoughtful one. A rare book, a handwritten poem on the most expensive paper, dried sakura petals and so much more.

Every year you bring her the best gifts, one better than the other and of course she takes care of them. All your gifts are displayed in her room, taken care of and never touched by anyone else but her.

Miko knows Christmas is not about the gifts, but the time spent together. Yet, when she rarely sees you, she will take any gift of yours and treasure it– just as she treasures every moment with you together. It makes your gifts special, unique and her little gems.

Of course, she doesn’t hesitate to spoil you either. But, unlike your gifts, which have an emotional connection to the both of you, she gifts you the most lavish things she can get her hands on. Be it a rare collection of the first printed book series, a bottle of the best wine one can find in Teyvat or one of her many talismans, which are crafted with the best materials and clearly of higher quality than those she normally gives to other visitors of the Narukami Shrine.

Many years this has been going on, and for many years Yae Miko celebrates Christmas with her shrine maidens, all the workers of her Publishing House and a few selected guests. And, since the first year, you have been part of the celebration. A special something, a special guest, someone dear to her. This will continue for many more years, with many more gifts exchanged and more treasures for Miko to admire.

ASTRANNE 2022

[goldilockswrites]

Can I have a 6 w/ vic pls??

Thorns // Victoria De Angelis

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Pairing: Victoria De Angelis x Reader (she/her)

Requested: Yes

Summary: Victoria meets her ex-girlfriend (Ava). The unplanned “date” upsets her and she decides to drink and smoke to cope. When she wakes up in the morning her best friend Y/N (who she also happens to have a crush on) is there to try and reason with her. 

Warnings: Mentions of smoking. Mentions of panic. Swearing.

A/N: Hey, guys! This is the first fanfiction from my prompt list and I was so excited to post this one; this is an old fic, that I reworked to fit the request. 

Hope you enjoy,

Axe <3

P.S. I know Vic doesn't smoke, but this is all fiction, so anything is possible ;)

P.S.2. This is inspired by a true story and was first written with different names, so any similarities with real people are unintentional. 

Tags: @moonlight-simp @le-paure-di-coraline @cuzimitaliano @dpaccione @writingmaneskin @iosonoarina @itsmaneskinbitch @theimpossiblehologramtree @blackberryblossom @unitersmoonshine @maneslut @sunflowerpumpkinpie @que--sera--sera @wasteddoubts @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @mywritingonlyfans @l0standn0tf0und-fics 

© 2021-2022 @idyllicbutterfly on Tumblr All Rights Reserved

Add yourself to my taglist - Check out my other stories

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Victoria watched the sea, losing herself in the rhythm of azure waves. Her eyes - set on the horizon, face glowing peach from the last rays of the dying sun. Puckered lips bore the resemblance of a smile, wide enough to show that she was enjoying the sound of her own thoughts. Ava stepped closer, dry leaves crunching under the soles of her sneakers, yet she stayed quiet, allowing Vic one last moment alone. 

“You’ve started smoking again.” Thorn-like voice drawled. 

“I am not smoking.” The blonde didn’t turn around.

“I can smell the cigarettes on you. Don’t lie to me.” Ava reached out for Victoria’s hand. 

“Why do you care?” The bassist hissed; her palms, burning from Ava’s fingertips. 

“You promised me you won’t smoke!” 

“And you promised me you won’t leave.” Tears brimmed Vic’s eyes; her vision getting cloudy.

“I’m sorry.” Ava’s tone breaking. “I need you.” She admitted. 

“I needed you, too. I needed you when I cried all night long, when I bruised my knuckles from punching the bathroom tiles, when I stood in front of the mirror and hated what I saw on the other side… When I was in the hospital every other day, because I couldn’t stop shaking and gasping for air. Where were you when I needed someone to hold me through my panic? Where were you?” Victoria had started yelling; she could taste her tears on the tip of her tongue - bitter as poison. Silence. “You weren’t there! You weren’t there, because you left me! So tell me after you lied to everyone and made me lose them, what could you possibly need me for?” 

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” Ava fiddled with her rings.

“Mad at you? Absolutely not. Mad at you doesn’t even begin to explain it! Anger is primitive, anger develops after sadness; it trails behind, always. I am not angry, I am disappointed that you didn’t keep your promise. That you destroyed me!” The blonde walked down the beach, kicking small stones out of her way. 

“I didn’t mean to destroy you.” 

“But you did.” Victoria cuddled into her jacket. “Now, what did you need me for?”

“I’ve just felt extremely depressed lately… And I thought I’d share with someone and I just remembered how well you always understood me and how you were always supportive and …” Ava’s voice trembled.

“I could have changed.” The blonde looked at the horizon. Another pause of awkward silence torn by her voice. “You know… Before you asked me to date you, you said a girl broke your heart… Well, I found her. And I saw how you treated her and how you spoke to her and all the posts about your dates… And then I realised, you never treated me like that, even though I always put you first. I gave you the kind of love that was a shield when you needed it and freedom when you wanted it. So, please tell me, why did you leave? Did you find someone better? Someone more successful? Was I really just a replacement? Did you even care about me a little bit, miss “I’d love to still be next to you”!?” 

“You didn’t change. You can’t.” Ava was right. It was painful to admit, but she was. Victoria didn’t change, she was the same on the inside; only the outside had gotten thicker. 

“What do you need?” The bassist sighed. 

“You will help me? After all I did to you?” 

“When I wrote in that journal, that I’d die for you I meant it. Sucks, I'll have to die alone. You know my number, call me when you want something.” Victoria crossed over the small, stone bridge that led to the city. 

She threw herself in the first pub she saw on the way, submerging herself in thoughts and drinks. It took a lot of condensed pain to produce each drunk she saw sitting by the bar, storm and clouds were enough to break both a soul and heart, especially as fine as hers. So she found herself drowning in wine, all giggly, dancing with random strangers and lighting cigarette after cigarette, until the annoying stinging from her break-up had halted. For three months, without calls, or messages with someone who had become to her more important than oxygen, the only times she wasn't in pain were when she was drunk or smoking, if not both. 

***

The voile shirt draped around Victoria’s body, gently cascading down her curves. Red specks soaking into the white fabric - her bloody nose. Teardrops, stained gunmetal from shimmery eyeshadow, chased to her jawline, planting bitter kisses to delicate skin. 

“Babe?” The blonde turned around. The right side of her bed wasn’t empty for the first time in what felt like forever. “Are you ok?” The voice echoed through the small room like a storm over the sea; cold, azure waves crashing in moss-covered stones. “Do you remember what happened?” Iron fingertips gently tracing her neck.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Victoria croaked, her chest heaving up and down rapidly. 

“Yes, yes. It’s me. Now do you remember anything?” The woman stroked the blonde’s hair. “Aside from meeting your piece of shit ex, of course.”

“She isn’t a piece of shit.” Now this was anger. Fire burning ocean irises. Spite mixed in with saliva. “Don’t be like my sister, please. I have had enough of her bullshit, just to listen to you too.”

“Your sister is right.” Y/N fixed the blanket over Victoria’s trembling body.

“Don’t pretend.” The bassist’s breath shook.

“Pretend what?”  

“That anyone cares. I know for a fact, that if she had a choice she’d run, like the rest of them. She always assures me that’s not the case, but… She’s still a human… And if I couldn’t keep Ava…” Vic wiped new tears with her icy fingertips. “I hate this. I hate this. I HATE MYSELF!” Y/N winced as she watched the girl breaking down in her arms, toppling over like a house made out of cards, thinking she was completely unlovable. 

“You love. A lot. You love with your whole being; with each cell in your body, without sparing any love for yourself. You love so much you set people free, instead of suffocating them with your adoration. You let them grow in your space and you learn to stay on the sidelines, to support them and aid them when they need you; and then you slowly swallow your own heart to survive. You deserve better.” 

“I don’t. I don’t, because people like me… We don’t get to have people like Ava.” Victoria continued on crumpling. 

“People like Ava deserve a nap on the concrete, or in a jail cell for hurting someone as beautiful as you.” Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind the bassist’s ear. “Look at me, Vic.” The blonde lifted her blurry gaze. “I love you!” The woman placed her hand on the musician’s shoulder. “I love your eyes, and your smile, and the way you giggle after you say something stupid. I love how you look when you are sunken deeply into your thoughts, and I love you when you are happier than sunshine. I love you when you twirl around the kitchen, and when you sing, and when you play your music. And I love it when we go out and you drag me into vintage shops, and I love it when you say my name. And I love it when you hug me, and hold my hand, and when you pull me close. I love you. A lot. And I think I deserve you. More than Ava.” Y/N exhaled. “Look, if you don’t -”

“Y/N. I love you, too. And I never knew you felt this way! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because I was afraid I love you too much and that would scare you away.”

“Y/N… I love you. I love when you are being a dumb fool, who can’t read any of the signs I’ve given you for years now that I am madly in love with you. And I love when you are trying to love me, even when I am the most unlovable person. And I love that you don’t hand out promises just because. And I love your little rituals. And I love the bouquets you keep at home. And I love it when you swoon over art, and technology, and cars, and food, and coffee. And I love it when you laugh and talk… I love you. I love you to pieces.” That’s all it took for them to lean in; meeting in the middle. A passionate kiss that made everything make sense; the years of longing for real love, the waiting; 

“I love you, Victoria! Damn… I can’t believe how long I’ve waited to say this. I love you, Victoria De Angelis! I love you! I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”