#also this is what i went through in college

[kissforyouu]

too much ☆

pairing : sugar daddy!jungkook x fem!reader

genre : smut , fluff

warnings : sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship , implied age gap (reader 20s, jk 30s) , size kink, BIGGGG DDDD (9 inches) , choking , groping , d riding , daddy kink , hickeys , slapping , creampie , panty sniffing , use of petnames (angel, doll, baby, sweetheart) , he talks u thru it , squirting , anal penetration , slight dacryphilia , he gets off to her orgasming , the whole point is he’s too big for her

Today was the day.

You’re so determined to do it. You can do it. Yes, you can.

You were fully prepared, laying on your sugar daddy's expensive ass master bed, wrapped in white lace like a little present for him to unwrap. You looked as if you were a sweet angel fallen into his room filled with all things black and the only thing light being the white walls. And the little parts of you you'd leave hanging around. like makeup, books, clothes, etc. etc.

Too excited, that's what you were. but also nervous, in a way, but you had one goal for tonight. And that was to fit your sugar daddy's cock inside and ride him.

There was a very evident size difference between the two of you. Him being 6ft tall already gave it away, but to add to the list you stood at 5'2ft. He was big in every possible area you could think of, even his cock was massive. fuck. His palm could easily cover your asscheek perfectly without any flesh slipping out. He was a tall successful man with broad shoulders and a muscular body. Thick thighs, big arms—everything you liked in a man.

In addition to that, he was rich. So so rich that he offered you to be his sugar baby. You both met at the mall. So excitedly you went through all the cute dresses you could wear, but definitely not afford. You were still in college. No further explanation needed.

“Ah! this, er, maybe that? don't know!” You were on facetime with your friend, reviewing all the cute dresses you would buy if you had the money. Delusional!

“Nah, nah, nah, the purple one with butterflies would look so good on you!” Your friend squeals, making you squeal back. You might be making too much noise in ths store, but you didn't care.

“You know what would look good with this dress? a cute cardigan and I’d pair this up with some gold hoops."

“Hmm, sounds really pretty”, your friend answered.

“Wish i had the money though...” there was a pout formed on your lips when you look back at the prize tag.

Somehow, your friend ended up having to leave the call due to some work. You end the call, ready to exit the store with absolutely no bags whatsoever. But someone, a man, stops you.

And then he asks you the most out of the blue question ever.

“Want me to buy you that dress?”

That was how it all started. He offered you to become his sugar baby after a full day spent at the mall of him buying you random things. At first, you said no. But he gave you time to decide and also kept sending you gifts over and over. At the end, you agreed. To be fair, you expected him to be the most obscene, rude, horrid man ever. But he's actually...pretty nice. sweet. caring.

Your relationship was 50/50. All you had to do was to take care of that man emotionally, shower him with love which you'll gladly do and also have bomb ass sex with him and he'll pay off all your bills and buy you a shit ton of things in return. The sex wasn't even a topic brought up at first, he didn't need that kind of favour. Just needed a pretty baby to spoil who'll love him in return. The sex just happened on a random friday night. Ever since, you've been getting the best dick you've ever had in your entire life. But there was one problem.

He was too big.

And you were too small.

Sure, the sex was so good and he always made sure to make you cum at least twice each time. It was so good that you couldn't even count the stars rotating around your head each time you orgasmed. But one thing that always managed to bother you...was he satisfied? Because of the obvious size difference, it was hard to fit him inside. Most of the time you’d end up stopping him because it hurt. He won't even be fully in when that happens. Although he always reassured you that he's far more than satisfied with you, you still wouldn't buy it.

But today, you’re going to do it. Gonna make all of him fit inside and give him the orgasm he deserves.

You laid on your back with your eyes fixed on the pattern of the ceiling, feet kicking in the air as you mindlessly waited for him to return home.

But a flirtatious whistle catches you off guard. you immediately rise back up from the bed, eyes darting to the man leaning against the door frame looking at you with a smug look.

“Jungkook!” you squealed.

“Was wondering where you were.” He makes his way towards you.

“I was here.” you mumble.

“I can see...” he snorts.

He lifts you up to sit on the bed by his hands on your waist, then touching your bare stomach, right above the little lace skirt you were wearing.

“For me?” there's a little smug look on his face.

“Who else would it be for?” there’s a sly smirk on your face, batting your lashes as you spoke.

"hah, you little minx" he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, soon cupping your chin and raising your head up.

"when did you buy this?" his thumb teasingly caresses your lower lip.

"mmm, last week. bought it when i went shopping with mina..."

jungkook snickers, thumb now poking in between your lips. instinctively, you open your mouth for him to easily slide his thumb in between. you let out a muffled giggle, swirling your tongue around his thumb.

you both had wide grins on eachother's faces, fully aware of where this was heading.

you choke on his entire thumb the moment he pushes it all in, his thumb and a part of his hand, stuffing your mouth full. with a little bit of drool slipping out of your mouth, you close your eyes with a hum, but jungkook pulls his hand out.

hurriedly, with a satisfied grin, jungkook begins to unbuckle his belt. but before he could move any further, you were quick enough to stop him, bringing confusion to his face.

"huh?"

"kook, the bed. get on the bed, please." you request.

jungkook raises his eyebrow as your unusual request, but still obeying. he removes his shoes first, then gets on the bed, legs spread and leaning against the headboard as he waits for your next move. you couldn't help but let out a small giggle, excitedly making your way to sit in between his legs.

jungkook, in the other hand, admist his confusion, still couldn't hold back the little smile that threatened to come out. let's just say...this relationship was more than just being a sugar daddy and sugar baby. for him, at least. he'd like to think so.

you push some of your hair back, brushing it along the way and letting it fall down your shoulders as you made yourself comfortable between his legs. pretty, jungkook thinks.

"what're you going to do?" he asks, voice as gentle as ever.

you let out a long hum, fingers struggling to open the zipper of his trousers. he was rock hard, so it was hard to get the zip down. ugh.

jungkook chuckles at your struggles, "want me to take it off for you?"

you shake your head in denial. no. you were gonna do everything tonight with no help from him. with the help of the strong mentality you've set on getting goal done, you manage to successfully pull the zipper off.

you sigh, relieved, but jungkook just laughs at you, almost mockingly.

"what?" you ask.

"nothing, baby, 'just love watching you trying to please me. you're gonna take my cock tonight? hm?" the corner of his lip curves up.

"hmmmm, yes" you're moaning.

jungkook snorts, as if he's not believing you. but he takes off his trousers and boxers, leaving his lower body bare. you're gulping while staring at his erect cock, finally free from the restraints of his white calvein klein boxers. he's already leaking precum.

you lean forward, taking his fat cock in your hands, giving it a few pumps. smearing the precum all over the tip, you use it as lube, pumping his cock again. it barely fits in your hands. you have to use both your hands to hold it.

your ass was up, back slightly arched as you took his cock in your mouth. a muffled moan immediately escapes you, as you slowly slowly take him in deeper in your mouth inch by inch. fuck, was it hard. suddenly getting the urge to cough, you quickly pull him off of your mouth and turn your head around to cough.

"shit, you okay, doll?"

nodding your head in embarrassment, you take hold of his cock again to leave kitten licks all over it. you begin by licking the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over the small alleyway of his cockhead several times. jungkook hisses at the feeling, eyes droopy. happily, you're licking all over his shaft as if it's your favourite ice cream.

you lick a long stripe up his shaft again, then circling your tongue on the dent in his cockhead. pulling away to spit on his cock, you rub your saliva all over the base with both your hands, then taking his cock in your mouth again.

you sink it down your throat further, slobbering all over his cock, saliva gushing out of your mouth and covering his cock full. his hand instinctively lands on the back of your head, caressing your hair and giving your scalp a subtle massage.

you were so beautiful, he thought.

slowly, you move your head up and down his length, sucking his cock in your mouth. his cock repeatedly hits the back of your throat, causing him to let out a few grunts from here and there. he was surprisingly very vocal during sex. and that just got you even wetter.

"mhm, that's right. taking my cock well, huh? taught you good?" his free hand taps your cheek, feeling his cock against your cheek. your cheeks were hollow, your face felt hot. it was obviously heating up, and so was your pussy. jungkook's hand leaves the back of your head to touch your other cheek, both hands holding up your face now as you took him in your mouth. he grunts, releasing another breath.

you slurp up your saliva on his cock only to spit it back, swiping your tongue on his base. you bob your head on his cock, enjoying all of his moans to the fullest. his thumbs swipe over your cheeks repeatedly, wiping away the small tears that are falling down.

"bet you're soaking right now, hm? fhuck—i can imagine how pretty your panties look right now. drenched and sticking to your pussy? isn't that right, angel?"

you hurry to nod your head, still sucking him in your mouth. fuck, you were so cockdrunk. jungkook knew exactly how to get you riled up. the small touches and caresses, holding your face and hair, he knew you liked that. of course he did. he knew your body like the back of his hand.

"yeah?" he acknowledges your nodding, petting your head. you try to best to flash him a smile, moaning in between. "that's right." his palm lays flat on top of your head again as he pushes your head back down on his cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

you're pretty sure it's gonna bruise there.

up! down! up! down! you go, warming his cock up by the insides of your mouth. your right hand is wrapped around the rest of his cock that you can't fit while the other squeezed his balls.

the harder jungkook pushed the more you gagged on his cock. it felt suffocating, but you knew jungkook would never do anything to hurt you. you're whining, clawing his thighs. your eyes rolled to the back of your head followed by a series of cusses coming from jungkook's mouth.

"ohhh, oh, hah, fuck, fuck." his head is thrown back against the headboard of the bed. he lets out a whiny little moan, spilling his load into your mouth. jungkook wipes away your tears once you slip his cock out of your mouth with a pop, reassuring you on how well you did.

"you did so well, angel. took my cock so good." he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail to raise your head back up. you looked so fucked out just from his dick in your mouth. it was definitely a huge ego boost for him. as much as he loved seeing you pretty and dolled up for him, this look on you has got to be one of his favourites. naked, sweaty and fucked out from his dick. you were so pretty.

"hmm...", he groans, hand sliding up from your left breast to the back of your neck, pulling you on top of him so that you'd be sitting on his lap. "liked having a mouth full of cock?" he grins mockingly, left arm folded on his back as he rests back on it. you nod your head, eyes still closed. the man chuckles, wiping away the drool on your face and chest. he makes sure to wipe his hand on your asscheek also, then slapping it afterwards.

"good now?" he checks up on you.

"yes. all good." you flash him a toothy smile with a thumbs up. jungkook smiles, tongue poking his cheek. "c'mere." he pulls you closer by your waist and securely wraps his right arm around you. your cheek was resting against his peck while he caressed your hair, giving your scalp a few massages here and there.

jungkook trails kisses from the back of your ear down to your neck, darting his tongue out to lick some areas known to make you moan. "let me take care of you, doll."

your sugar daddy gently lays down your body on the bed, hovering over you quickly. he takes a moment to stare down at you, a stupid little smile brightening up his face. you raise your eyebrow, quick to pick up on that. "what? why're you smiling like that?" you ask.

"why not?" jungkook snickers, he pinches the tip of your cheek, thumb gently caressing it afterwards. you feel your cheeks heat up. leaning into his touch, you smile a little.

jungkook lifts you hips up, angling his cock with your entrance and you almost— almost forget your plan. immediately, you halt and place your hand on his chest with a shake of your head.

"why? something wrong?"

you nod your head, gently pushing the man back.

"what're you doing?" you shush him up with your index finger pressed against his lips and shaking your head. jungkook raises his eyebrow.

"i wanna ride you."

jungkook just stares at you as if you've just told him the craziest thing ever, eyes wide as well. stop. this is making you feel embarrassed. what if he just laughs at you?

"what, you're gonna ride me now?" jungkook couldn't help but laugh a little, but immediately shutting himself up when he sees the frown on your face. "okay, sorry, sorry."

"yeah, i am." your voice came out almost inaudible. you felt so small in his large presence. with his big eyes boring into yours, you feel put on the spot. like. like everyone's looking at you holding a mic to your mouth expecting you to talk.

the corner of his lip slightly twitches up, then he breaks into a smile. big hands land on your hips and effortlessly drags you closer to him, he then lifts your chin up, thumb swiping over your lower lip. "sure you won't hurt yourself?"

"yes, daddy. not gonna hurt." jungkook chuckles at the nickname, finding it amusing. you both never really used the name daddy, just once or twice. although, you can't deny how the nickname gets you feeling sort of...thrilled? aroused? jungkook could say the same.

"daddy, huh?" he clicks his tongue.

you nod your head with a small hum, raising your body up to sit on your knees. "lie down, please."

jungkook listens to your request with a teasing smirk on his face. hah, you wanted to fuck that smirk off of him soooooo bad. he lies down on the bed with two pillows supporting his back and makes himself comfortable. he raises his eyebrow watching your puzzled expression, trying really hard to read your face. his legs are spread, fat cock rock hard and leaking that precum you love so much. you gulp down the drool that was already pooled up in your mouth, eyes darting between jungkook's eyes and his cock.

"what're you waiting for? come fuck me, girl."

and you do.

gliding yourself over his muscular thighs, you settle yourself on top of him, your thighs on each side of his waist. you avert your gaze down to his massive cock, twitching with pre cum leaking from the tip, impatiently waiting for you. you take a long deep breath before raising your body over his thighs, then angling your pelvis over his cock. wrapping your hand around his base, you teasingly rub the tip on your folds. jungkook tugs on his lower lip as your pussy twitches against his tip, both your juices slightly mixed with eachother. you raise your hips up again and this time, a string of wetness appears connecting your hole and his reddened tip.

"fucking nasty. you're soaking." jungkook couldn't help but reach out to touch your pussy one more time. you groan once his thumb harshly rubs on your clit while his fingers sunk into your pussy for a moment. he pulls them out before you could even enjoy the feeling, ending it with a slap on your clit. "go on. get on this dick."

jungkook was such a slut.

the moment you finally sink yourself in, or try to, both of you let out a soft gasp, taking in how genuinely tight it felt.

"god, kook...mh", your chest heaved up and down as you balanced yourself, still not fully sunk in his dick yet. you move your hand down there to spread your pussy lips a little further apart, then pushing yourself down a little further.

jungkook stayed silent watching you struggle for a few seconds before deciding to step in. "you okay? want help?" his fingers caressed from your waist to hips, trying to soothe you. you whine, frustrated, ugh—

"i can't. can't do this—mh, too big!"

you give up.

jungkook clicks his tongue, clearly disappointed. he shakes his head, disapproving your decision. "come on, baby. 'know you can do this. you're a hardworking girl. it's okay."

"no, no, no, ahh, can't." you shake your head in denial.

"tsk. no. you're gonna do this. slap my thigh if it's too much, m?" a tear escapes your eye as you finally agree to proceeding to pursue your initial goal. jungkook decides to lend a helping hand by rubbing your clit in various patterns slowly to get you wetter and make it easier for you. "better not cum."

"hmm...", you moan out.

with your throbbing clit being rolled in between the tip of the big man's fingers, you sink your hips down his much bigger dick, eyes widening at the newfound sensation.

"SHIT— oh, mm!" his tip hit your g spot, causing your entire body to tremble a little. the action makes jungkook laugh cockily, his lips forming into a mocking pout.

"gonna cum already? my dick only had to get in? you're that needy?" he slaps your cheeks lightly. you give him nothing but a small enticing glare. jungkook groans and taps your hips as a signal for you to get moving.

your knees buried deep into the bed sheets, you steady yourself before guiding your hips up and down slowly. honestly, it hurt. your walls were so mushy and tight, firmly gripping the base of his cock.

"ah, loosen up, angel. if not, you'll make me cum just from that tightness—shiii."

you try to loosen up your pussy hole, relaxing your entire body but ugh, you just can't do it. with a whine, you continue thrusting yourself downwards on his cock. jungkook adjust himself to you fully— your pussy felt soooo full. so fucking stuffed. his tip reached your womb. you didn't even know having him this deep could be possible. it hurt so bad, yet it felt so good. jungkook's hand reaches behind your back to grab the flesh of your ass and mold it into his liking, slapping and pulling on the flesh.

by now you've learnt how to sit on his dick fully inside. and now, you're doing to fuck it.

"h-haaa—" a breathy moan surpasses through as you begin riding his dick, your walls tightly squeezing in his fat base. your moves were slow and careful, careful trying not to hurt yourself too much. it already hurt so bad, no—burnt. your pussy felt as if it was burning, overwhelmed by the size of his dick. you squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly remembering why you've never tried fully taking him in. cause your cunt was too small! and fuck! does it hurt!

still, you try, brushing away the second thoughts. the skin slapping noises grew louder each thrust as you let his cock hit deeper and deeper areas. jungkook was in pure ecstasy. the most attractive woman he's ever seen (he would never never reveal that to you) is riding his dick. he loved every second of it.

his hands cup your tits through the sheer fabric of your skimpy lingerie, thumbing your nipples hard. he could feel your nipples grow harder, he just could. which drove him crazy. jungkook's thumbs swipe on your nipples, swirling the bud around too. the bridge of his nose brush against your collarbone as he leans his face closer to your neck, whispering sweet nothings.

"i fucking love watching you struggle like this." you grip onto his wrist tightly, twisting it around with your nails digging deep into his skin and probably creating scars. thankfully for your wet slick, it progressively got easier for you to slide up and down.

"take this off. mm, now." his fingers toyed with the straps of your skimpy ass top, tugging on the fragile material and pulling on it. you groan, hurriedly taking off the annoying ass top and throwing it away to let it land on wherever.

you breasts were fully bare for him, big and juicy, nipples hard as fuck. you were such an eye candy. he loved—liked everything about you. so fucking hot. he could go insane.

your jaw falls open, shoulder pushed back and chest popped out as you rode his dick. such a pornographc sight. your tits bounced along with each of your jumps. puffy clit rubbing against his pelvis with each thrust of your hips, his dark pubic brushing against your clit, creating some sort of friction as well. fuuuck.

jungkook caresses your hips, fingertips also dancing across your asscheeks, bringing you a relaxing feeling amidst the heavy workout you're putting yourself through. you slam yourself onto his dick, pussy quite literally splitting into two. you've never fucked someone this hard. this is so crazy, you're actually taking him— you gasp, letting yourself feel out his dick fully.

fuckfuckfuck you could feel his dick tightly smuggled inside your chubby cunt, feeling out the tight clasp of your walls as you literally squeezed him shut. shit, you're scared he wouldn't be able to pull out even. you're squeezing him that tightly. you hold onto his broad shoulders, long manicured nails digging into the skin, probably—most probably leaving marks. you inhale in the musky scent he always has once he gets back from work. you loooveeee it.

"please, i—literally—like, fawwkkkk jungkook!" jungkook hisses, hands messily searching for the discarded dirty panties on the side of the bed. he finally finds them and brings them upto his nose to take a long sniff out of it. a looongg nasty sniff. "you're so dirty, daddy."

his eyes drift from the dirty material to yours in a second. he quickly dropped it off and snakes his arms from under your thighs to hoist you up the bed. you squeel in surprise, arms immediately wrapping around his neck for stability. jungkook looks at you from below, big doe eyes glistening at you as you stared back. you giggle a little once you feel his hand slap your asscheek and grab it again.

jungkook leans forward to envelope your lips in a sweet kiss. you sigh in content, kissing him back passionately as your tongues swirled on eachother. you both were eating out eachothers face so good. moving your heads rhythmically in sync while your nails scratched his back real good. you exchanged saliva, head tilting to various sides as you shared a sloppy messy kiss. so fucking hot.

"mmh, put it in...", you try to reach behind your back and grab his dick but jungkook beats you to it, swatting your hand away. he grips his cock, squeezing the red tip with a hiss. "inside me, daddy." his mind feels fuzzy as he slides his dick inside you again. this time, it enters pretty easy, much easier than before. well, since you're well lubricated and all. you both moan in sync, shoulders dramatically falling down as he fills you up again. you hug his muscular body, gliding up and down his dick once again. second time feels much better than last. shiiiit.

"you're so big. i—" you sigh deeply, whole cunt swallowing his fat dick. "hm, it slips in so easily now." you grunt into his neck, trying to adjust yourself. "yeah, cause you're slippery as shit."

"c'mon, sweetheart." he pats your back as you start over, again. you begin riding his dick once more, this time gripping onto the head of the bed and his head. "you know you're doing so good, yeah? never been more proud of you." you could feel the bone of his nose poke your neck as he inhales your sweaty scent in. jungkook presses tiny kisses all over your neck, down to your collarbone. little kisses all over your collarbone. little hickeys forming all over your collarbone ૮꒰ ⊃ ⸝⸝ ⊂ ꒱ྀིა

yeah you know what, maybe you overestimated yourself. fuck does this hurt. did your pussy get smaller or what. you were squeezing him so tight. so fucking tight.

"koo— haaarrd... 'm struggling." you grunt into his neck.

"lemme take over, then."

"wha—no. i'm fucking you." you refuse his offer quite literally right away.

"you're barely holding on. can't even keep my dick inside without moving around. hm?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, squeezing your cheeks together mockingly. he treated you as if you were a feeble little being who couldn't even complete the simplest task.

nothing simple about this dick.

he made sure his dick was perfectly tucked inside, ready to absolutely break you apart on it.

your pussy suddenly starts pulsating, clenching around his dick repeatedly. jungkook lets out a gruff moan, palm slapping against your waist.

"stop fucking clenching. you gonna cum, yeah? is that what this is?"

"mmmhm, i don't want to cum." you break into a whine into his shoulder. "'s okay, just let it out on me, yeah?" he sneaks his arm in between you guys and sticks his thumb out on your very swollen clit. you flinch once he starts rubbing your clit, and in no time, you cream his dick.

"fuck, no, i—i don't want to cum yet." you punch his arm and bite his shoulder, agitated that he just had to make you cum. "i wanted to make you cum first. fuck you." "too bad. i barely even moved."

"are you making fun of me?"

"maybe."

you tug on his hair and bite his arm as revenge.

"i haven't cum yet. did you forget?" he pulls on your hair.

"you know that i wanted to ride you." you huff,

"and you did."

"barely." you roll your eyes, snuggling closer into him, face nuzzled into his neck.

"yeah, my bad my dick's too big."

"you're so over the head."

"okay, but we both know i'm right."

"my vagina is burning."

jungkook pinches the top of your ass and flips you over so that you'd be laying on your back. the sudden movement catches you off guard as you yelp in surprise.

"ow! that hurt."

jungkook doesn't respond to you, but slowly, carefully, pulls his dick out of you. he's still rock hard. you're not surprised.

"you said you wanted to make me feel good, yeah?" he caresses the side of your face, moving away each and every hair sticking to your face. gentle kisses all over your face, cheek, nose, eyes—he suddenly stops, the eye contact between you two breaking the moment he looks away. your breath hitch, there's a tingling feeling all over your body, it felt like the tip of a feather gracing over your face.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

Jungkook squeezes the fat of your belly with a soft kiss on top and suddenly—he was so sly with it too—enters his dick inside your cunt again. “AH!”, you yelp out due to the sudden waves of pain and pleasure sent right from your swollen fucking pussy.

“Come on, girl, take it. I know you can—haah.”

He plunges his dick deep in you with a hard thrust and immediately going at it. He didn’t stop. No he did not. Jungkook rutted into your wet cunt like an animal in heat, desperate to hear the high pitch moans coming out of your swollen lips.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arched and gasps left your lips repeatedly. It hurt so bad. Your pussy was fucking burning. It hurt so bad that it felt so good. He’s never done this before. He’s never probably been inside you fully. You swore to the heavens above that your cunt was already torn apart. There was no way.

“Jungkook—mmhphhhhhhhhhttttt!!! It hurts so much! Stop, ah, fuck!”

You raise your legs up, slinking them around his toned sweaty fucking torso. Jungkook grabbed a handful of your meaty thighs, using the fat for support to cling onto you more.

“Please! Stopstopstopstop it hurts so much!”

You didn’t actually want him to stop. You would’ve used to the safe word if so, you and him both knew that very well.

Jungkook grunts in annoyance with a slap on your ass to shut you up.

“Shut up and take my fucking dick. You wanted this. Finish what you’ve started. Take my fucking dick like you said you would!”

He was so big.

“You’re a big girl made for taking big fucking cocks like mine, yeah?”

Without a warning, his palms slap against both your asscheeks before hoisting your entire body up into his arms. Jungkook had you on top of his thighs, carrying your entire weight on his arms as he thrusted from below. His thrusts were so harsh and aggressive with the intention of only wrecking your pussy apart. You were bounced on his cock like a ragdoll. He used you for his pleasure, letting his cock mold the insides of your pussy to the perfect shape that'll fit him always.

"I'm not letting this pussy go now. Hah", he rocks your body upwards again, letting you fall onto his. you cling onto his body for dear life, arms wrapped around his neck, breasts bouncing in front of his face. you could feel his balls slap against your ass repeatedly. they were wet, slimey and sticky. he spread the stickyness on his balls everywhere, constantly reminding you of the fact that he was deep inside you now. like, finally.

"da-ddy! i can't believe you're fucking me like t-this."

you close your eyes tight, your nails gripping onto jungkook's scalp as you let out a scream.

"please, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! i'm g'na- HAAH!"

jungkook recognizes the familiar high pitched sound you make, hand sneakily rubbing your puffy clit again. and as a cherry on top, he spreads your ass cheeks apart and sneaks his thumb in between to penetrate your neglected tight little hole. he rubs your hole and inserts the tip of his finger in, repeating the process after. You were so tight down there, considering the fact that you were still an ass virgin. He always said he was gonna take your ass sometime, but you always said no. This was your first time. Fuck.

The finger in your ass caught you off guard as you let out a shriek, your asshole immediately tightening at the sensation.

“Jung…hah. My ass—hhnmpht!”

He shushes you up with a kiss and got into work, rubbing your swollen little clit with his right hand and finger your tight asshole with his left hand, all while his cock absolutely ruined you from below.

“Stop! Too much! Too much! Too much!”

You slobber all over his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as your entire body shiver and crumble against him. You didn’t have to tell Jungkook once, he knew you were just about to cum.

“Cum, baby. Let go. You’ve done amazing.” He fastens his pace on your clit, giving you just enough simulation.

“Ah! I’m g’na pee! FuckfuckfuckfuckSTOP!!”

You let out one more loud cry before aggressively trembly. Your pussy is so used and swollen and your ass hurts so much. Fuck. It didn’t take that long till your pussy starts squirting angrily. Your eyes widen, back arching as you let your pussy take full control of your body.

Jungkook pulls out of you for a brief moment to let you squirt wherever. His hand never left your clit though, continuing to rub at an increased speed. Your pussy convulses aggressively, squirting on everything and everywhere. The sheets behind you were fully drenched with your squirt and so was his dick, that was right under you.

“I’m sorry I’m making a mess all over your bed,” you cry into his shoulder, completely overwhelmed with everything that’s happening.

You’re still squirting. You don’t know if you’re actually squirting or just straight up pissing yourself on him. This was so embarrassing. Your face was so red. This is so humiliating fuckfuckfuck.

“I’m so”—you choke,“—embarrassed. Ahh, I’ve ruined everything.” You cry out, covering your face with your hands. Jungkook understood that this was an intense moment for you. You’ve squirted before, but never this hard. He soothes you by bringing you into his embrace, tracing patterns on your back to help you calm down.

You choke on your tears again. You were crying so much. You’ve never cried this much during sex before. As concerned he was for you, he was starting to admit he liked that sight. He liked it when you were crying out for him.

You let out the last bit of squirt on his cock, drenching him fully. Jungkook’s cock twitches, it’s angry head starting to let out spurts of cum.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe it. He was cumming. He was cumming so hard from just watching you orgasm. He was getting off to your orgasm.

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my god”, Jungkook groans. He throws his head backwards, letting his cum spurt out as you squeezed his balls. There was a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as his face changed into various expressions as he emptied his balls into your mouth.

You made sure to put your mouth on it and let his cum fall right onto your tongue, just how he liked it. And you also made sure to swallow it all, just how he liked it.

You were still getting off of your high as well, body still crumbled against his.

“It’s okay, babygirl”, Jungkook coos into your ear and soothingly rubs your pussy slowly with your palm till you calm down.

“It stings”, you whine.

“Hmm, I know, baby. Take a deep breath.”

You obey him, taking a deep breath as he wiped off your tears. You sniffle. Your pussy was still throbbing and hole gaping. Fuck. You’re gonna stay stretched like this for a while. He ripped you apart.

“My gorgeous girl. You did so well.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can’t believe I fucking came to you squirting”, he chuckles.

“I wanted you to cum in my pussy.” You whine, spreading your pussy lips apart once again.

“I know. But this is more than enough. You know I get off to your orgasms.” He swats your hand away.

“Let her rest.” Jungkook leans down to press a kiss to your swollen worn out pussy.

You cry out, scooting closer to him.

Jungkook then picked you up, took you to the bathroom, made you pee, and brought you back to bed after changing the sheets.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

What?

[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.

[caitified]

Hihi really love your fics. Its my first ask haha. Was maybe thinking if you could do a fic of CC and a teammate, teammate can be either a rookie/vet but is kinda cold to CC (really just kinda awkward with new people). When CC gets shoved roughly on court, reader gets all up in the opps face and protects CC and their relationship deepens from there?

Thank you!

rookie season

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none, i got carried away so you’re getting their entire backstory sorry 🙊

the first time you and caitlin clark really crossed paths was in the championship game during your senior year at lsu. she was the face of iowa basketball, and you could tell from the moment you saw her on the court that she had something special. she was confident, fierce, and competitive—just like you. but in the end, your team pulled ahead, winning the title in front of a packed crowd.

as the final buzzer sounded, you couldn’t help but catch her eye. there was a mutual respect, but there was also that playful rivalry. on the court, you were opponents, but off it, you could tell you had a little bit of a thing for each other. you knew that fire in her eyes. it mirrored your own.

after the game, you shot her a quick text. “close, but not close enough. see you soon clark,” you wrote, the taunting light in your words meant to sting just a little. but it was all in good fun.

caitlin stared at the message for a long time, a frown tugging at her lips. she was already upset about the loss, but this—this was a challenge, and she couldn’t ignore it. she hated losing, but she hated being underestimated more. her fingers hovered over the screen for a few seconds before typing out a response. “i’ll get you next time. count on it.”

the rivalry continued through the years, even as you went your separate ways. after graduation, you entered the wnba, getting drafted to the indiana fever, and had an incredible rookie season. caitlin, meanwhile, went on to dominate her final year at iowa. but despite her skill and talent, she couldn’t overcome south carolina in the national championship. when she lost, you couldn’t resist—sending her a cheeky text. “looks like you came up short again. better luck next time.”

you expected her to get a laugh out of it. it was playful, just like before. but caitlin’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. she stared at the message, hurt more than she’d care to admit. the loss had stung, and your words felt like salt in the wound. still, she didn’t reply. she couldn’t. not yet.

then came the 2024 wnba draft. when caitlin’s name was called and the indiana fever picked her, now you were on the same team. and things only got more awkward from there.

every time caitlin interacted with other players, like katie lou or aliyah, she noticed something. you were always friendly, always smiling, always making an effort to bond with them. it was easy. natural. but with her, it was different. you barely spoke to her beyond the bare minimum, and every time she tried to start a conversation, you gave short, one-word responses. it confused her.

“why doesn’t she like me?” caitlin thought, watching you laugh with katie lou as the team played cards in the lounge after practice. “i don’t get it.”

every time you teased or joked around with your other teammates, caitlin felt the sting of your coldness. it was like she was invisible to you, even though you were teammates now. it made her question herself. was it because she lost that championship? because of how things had gone down in college? did you still think of her as just an opponent? the thought ate at her.

then came the game against one of the toughest teams in the league. caitlin had been getting pushed around, more than once, and the tension on the court was palpable. you could see her jaw clench, her shoulders stiffen. when the opposing player—a notoriously aggressive forward—got in caitlin’s face, pushing her and swearing, caitlin didn’t back down. but it was obvious she was starting to lose control.

you didn’t even think about it. you just reacted. before anyone could stop you, you were between them, your body protecting hers. you stood tall, staring the other player down, your voice cold but firm. “you don’t get to do that to her,” you said, the words leaving no room for argument.

caitlin stood behind you, a mixture of shock and gratitude on her face. she didn’t expect you to step in. she’d always been the one to fight her battles, but something in the way you had defended her made her heart race. it was different. personal. and for the first time, she realized just how much she needed that support from you.

after the game, when everything had calmed down, caitlin found herself alone in the locker room, her thoughts swirling. she hadn’t expected you to protect her like that. it made her feel something deep, something she couldn’t put into words. and she wanted to know more. wanted to understand why you acted the way you did around her, why you kept your distance.

you were sitting by your locker, wiping down your sneakers when she walked up to you. the silence between you two was thick.

“why didn’t you say anything before?” caitlin asked, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “you’ve been so… cold with me. i don’t get it. i mean, you’re nice to everyone else, but with me… you act like i’m invisible. i just wanted to know why.”

you looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time with something softer in your gaze. the rivalry between you two wasn’t there anymore. not really. “i didn’t know how to be around you,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. “in college, you were the one i had to beat. and then you got drafted here, and… it felt weird. like i didn’t know how to treat you.”

caitlin blinked, processing your words. “you didn’t know how to treat me?” she repeated, her voice catching slightly. she had hoped for something else, but hearing you say it made her understand. maybe she had been too focused on trying to prove herself to you. “so, you’re not… mad at me?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“no,” you said with a small smile. “not mad. just… confused. i didn’t know if we could be something else after everything. i guess i wasn’t ready to let go of the rivalry.”

caitlin let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing. she smiled, a genuine one this time. “maybe it’s time we let it go.”

from that moment on, things changed. you and caitlin started to talk more, really talk. you found common ground, sharing laughs, teasing each other, and slowly, the barriers you had built up started to crumble. the more you got to know her, the more you realized there was more to her than the fiery competitor you once knew. and maybe there was a lot more between you two than you had ever expected.

not me lying and saying i was gonna post a few days ago. i’m so sorry i’ve been so busy. enjoy. REQUESTS R OPEN

part two? let me know

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part two)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: reader recently decided to get a physics tutor...it's time for the first session with jayce talis

notes: walk with me and suspend ur disbelief in the actual physics talk...i have to make it somewhat believable that they're actually having tutoring sessions so i dug into the crevices of my brain for old physics topics that aren't too hard if you know them...if you don't..hopefully jayce makes sense LMAOOOO. but i will try not to do too much physics that it takes you out of it, i just want to build the tension and relationship. just trust me.

again mentions of neurodivergence/adhd references but that’s it really

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Ekko was your longest friend—the closest one you had. He understood your brain even more than Viktor did, which was saying something. Since the day the two of you met in middle school, you became accustomed to one another. You knew each other like the back of your hands—which is why you knew he’d be so upset right now.

Immediately after leaving the student center, you scrambled to the dining hall. You and Ekko had a standing lunch date every day unless one of you said otherwise. There wasn’t always anything to say, but the idea of each other’s company comforted you—comforted him. He had been adamant that even if you two sat in silence, worked on classwork, or simply watched something on your phones, that the time was well spent.

Ekko valued these meetings in particular after his last girlfriend. You didn’t talk about Powder much…but he was devastated when she left town. The three of you had been friends for a long time…she’d abandoned you too. Acknowledging how much harder it may have been for Ekko was hard. You were forced to pick up the pieces and it started with daily check-ins over lunch. They stuck. 

You spotted him sitting alone, sipping on his drink through the glass. You tapped on it softly, getting his attention, waving.

He lit up when you approached the table, “Funny seeing you here.” Ekko looked at his watch dramatically, “Almost thought you couldn’t tell time for a second there.” 

“I am so sorry.” You moved to sit, pulling out the chair across from him. “I got caught up at the student center, needed a tutor for physics.” 

Ekko watched you reach and grab his bag on the table. He rolled his eyes knowingly—you were going for the fries of course. 

You continued, “Viktor recommended this guy, his lab partner.” 

Ekko nodded, “Thats great…but I’m also good at physics ya know?” 

“Oh yes, I totally forgot to ask my best friend to be my tutor. My best friend who knows I cannot stay on topic to save my life…wants me to ask him to be my tutor…so we can definitely not work on physics for the entire session.” You paused, a fry just on your lip, “Besides, I didn’t really have a choice.” 

“Okay first, I would be a great tutor! And second, what do you mean, didn’t have a choice?” 

“Viktor kinda just…led me there?” 

“So you didn’t have a chance to get yourself worked up and find a way to not go…great tactic on Viktor’s part.” 

There was a silence, but never uncomfortable when you were with Ekko. You smiled to yourself at that, and then about how surprisingly well the first meeting went. 

“He seemed nice…Jayce…my tutor.” 

Ekko reached into his bag, grabbing his sandwich. “Am I sensing a but?” 

“No, actually. He just seemed genuinely invested in me not feeling bad when it comes to sucking at school.” You paused, rubbing your hands in a napkin. “He said we could work on making it all seem more interesting…which I liked.” Ekko still hadn’t unraveled his sandwich, listening intently. You watched him observe you, but not speak up. “What?” 

He shook his head, “Nothing…that’s great.” 

The rest of your lunch was spent quietly recounting your days, not much of note happening otherwise. Eventually, you parted ways with an unspoken yet understood promise that you would see each other tomorrow. 

Your first session with Jayce was also tomorrow. That was on top of everything else you had to do. So much to be done…such little time, you thought. 

The following day came just as quickly as the previous had ended. You woke in a frenzy, almost always rushing to and from one class and toward the next. Then, to tutoring. 

You stumbled in, looking for any familiar face. You were met with only one, Jayce’s. He stood quickly, grabbing a folder and his bag before approaching you. 

“Right on time.” He turned, walking you toward a room off to the side. “This will be the office we use, I requested one with a white board.” He glanced back at you for affirmation before speaking again. “If you ever come for our meetings and don’t see me in the lobby, you can just come in here.” 

“Sounds good.” Your lip curled at your voice coming out more weak than you expected. You had to admire your own consistent ability to embarrass yourself, truly. 

He stepped back, allowing you to walk in first, again. “So…I printed these forms out for you.” He opened the folder, taking out some of the pages and spreading them on the table. “This is the basis for everything you’ll need to know about physics. There’s legends here, conversion charts, some of the greek symbols you’ll need to know, circuit diagrams, acronyms…everything.” You slowly sat in your chair, observing the filled pages. Jayce noticed you looking between the table and him with wide eyes. 

“This is a lot of information…” 

He finally sat down. “It is…but we have time to get you up to speed.” 

“But there’s these quizzes.” You looked down at the table, tapping a finger lightly against the wood. “Every week we have to prove we understood the concept and I am already weeks behind so it just keeps building on things I didn’t even understand to begin with. I don’t have time, I have to pass the quizzes so I can pass the class and keep my scholarship. If I lose my scholarship, I can’t pay for school and I’ll have to drop out. And all of this over stupid fucking physics and a professor who seems to want to ruin my life specifically.” You finally took a breath, “I can’t do this.” 

“I think you can.” 

Your eyes snapped up, meeting his. The look on his face seemed sincere—as if he truly believed in the statement. Hardly knowing you at all, he had enough faith that you could, in fact, do this.

“So,” he clasped his hands together. “What’s this next quiz on? What’s the topic for the week?” He got up, grabbing a marker from the white board’s small shelf. He looked at you expectantly, a brow arching as if to ask you again. 

“Vectors.” 

He nodded, “Okay, and what confuses you about vectors?” 

“Well, I feel like I’m pretty good at understanding angles. But as soon as we add in speed or velocity I am just…confused.” 

“Let’s start there.” He wrote the words speed and velocity on the white board in broad strokes, leaving space beneath each. “What is speed? Don’t think about it too hard.” 

“How fast something is going?” 

“Exactly, like a car.” He drew a makeshift car, and an indicator of both miles and kilometers. “Velocity is different.” He sketched a quick graph, a simple y and x axis and an arrow. “Velocity indicates the direction of an object.” His hand followed the trail of the arrow he drew, emphasizing that it was in motion. “So, velocity is the only one that actually would be considered when you look at vectors. Speed is just a number…velocity represents a change in position…which is what vectors do.” 

You grimaced at his attempt to make it make sense for you. The effort was appreciated, truly, but it didn’t stick. You feigned understanding, nodding your head in an attempt to get him to move on and explain more. This was common for you. Something wouldn’t make sense, but you wouldn’t want to hold everyone up, to be a burden. So you would sit in class, half listening, half in another world. After class, you’d be forced to scour videos about the very subject the teacher had spent class time explaining. Unfortunately that was a rabbit hole, too, as you would always end up on videos that had nothing to do with school. 

His eyes narrowed, not believing that your nod was enough of an indicator that you understood. “Come with me.” He moved to grab the papers for you, stuffing them in the folder and sliding them to you. You followed without a thought, trying to match his steady pace. He lead you to a nearby park down the street and sat his bag underneath a tree. You copied, placing your bag down beside his. It was impossible to not feel awkward, and yet, he persisted. 

“Okay stand here,” he pointed a finger to a random spot on the ground. Your feet stood perfect on the space where the asphalt and grass met, one foot on each side. “So just imagine that standing here, you are the bottom of a line graph along the x-axis. He moved his hand side-to-side, palm down, reminding you that this would be the horizontal line. Hotdogs and hamburgers. You remembered the silly phrase from elementary school. 

“Okay, standing here…x-axis.” 

He walked over to the grass side, “Okay, over here…in the nice green grass…this is positive.” He walked over to the asphalt, “I’m on your left now, on the asphalt…this is negative.” 

“…Okay.” 

He walked to mirror your position, one foot on each terrain. Then, he slowly stepped on the grass. “Without thinking about numbers, how would you describe what I just did.” 

“You…” Your brows furrowed, “You walked to the grass?” 

“Right, and that is-“ 

“Positive?” 

“Exactly.” 

In a split second, he darted over to the asphalt. “How bout now?” 

“You ran to the…to the negative?” 

He nodded, meeting you back at center again. He smirked at how quickly he’d even come up with this demonstration. “This is an example of how vectors work. When you think of me running somewhere, picking up my speed, but moving to the quote unquote ‘negative,’ this could also mean that from my original position-“ 

Your eyes lit up, “You moved backwards?” 

“Yup, or even down. On a graph, I mean.” He smiled with each word, amused by how you caught on to his unorthodox teachings. “But if I move slowly and to the ‘positive’ side?” He waited for you to answer.

“You…moved up or to the right.” 

“Just like a point on a graph.” He stood, hands on his hips. 

You were on the edge of every word he spoke, analyzing his every movement. You knew it was inopportune, but it was rather characteristic for you to lose focus right then. Jayce’s eyes were…interesting. Your first instinct was to say that they were yellow. When you looked closer you noticed the border of dark brown, the flecks of hazel and copper. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen. You got so caught up, you missed his hand coming up—leaving it lingering in the air. 

“What,” he questioned, “Do you not like high-fives as encouragement?” 

You chuckled, finally meeting his hand with yours. “I actually prefer snacks as encouragement, but this works.” 

It was his turn to laugh, then. It was short-lived. You followed his line of sight to see the same woman from the resource center, the one he’d been so enraptured by. Rightfully so; she was even more beautiful than you thought. The sunlight hit her skin just right, almost glistening. You gulped, somewhat intimidated by her presence alone. 

She reached you both, immediately giving Jayce a hug before turning to greet you. 

“Hey, how’s the tutoring going?” She nudged the man beside her, looking to you for an answer. 

“It’s going well,” you glanced at your phone screen, shit. “I actually should get going, but today was really helpful, thank you Jayce, bye.” 

You shuffled to grab your things as quickly as possible, avoiding the look of surprise on Jayce’s face. It didn’t really matter, though. 

Ekko was going to be pissed, again. 

part three

[sturnlsstuff]

NOT SO TOUGH | ghostface!matt

ghostface!matt comes to you for help after geting hurt on one of his "nights out".

— warnings; blood, mentions of murder & violence, cursing

requested by this person !! divider credits. @anitalenia

it was a quiet evening in which you finally found some time to take care of yourself, do skincare, watch your favorite shows and read a book. you were home alone, a week after finishing your finals at college, and you needed some relaxation and peace. you didn't think anything could destroy your alone time tonight.

until someone started banging on your door around midnight.

confused by someone visiting at such an hour, you get out of bed and lazily trudge to the door, first obviously checking who it was. a frown appears between your eyebrows and your heart skips a beat. you unlock the door, "matt? what are you—"

he practically pushes himself forward, almost losing his balance and leaning on your body for support. "fuck, sorry— are you... are you alone?"

"yeah," you kick the door shut with your foot, arm wrapping around his waist causing hiss to escape from his mouth. matt takes off his blood stained ghostface mask, tossing it to the side so you were able to see his face. he didn't look too good, blood dripping from his nose, hair messed up, dark circles under his eyes. your heart drops at the sight. "what— what happened?"

"fuckin' disaster, that's what happened." he retorts dryly, grimacing in pain as you start leading him to the bathroom. "i know is late, i just didn't really know where to go. i couldn't... couldn't show up like this at my place, y'know."

after helping him sit down on the closed toilet, you stand between his legs, grabbing his jaw and examining his face against the light to see better. he gently smacks your hand away, "is nothing, y'need to help me with this." he points at his black robe, only now it is noticeable that it was damaged, torn in some places and also bloody, your mind swirling with questions, assumptions and worries.

you help him untangle himself from the robe, several curses and painful groans filling the bathroom. underneath he had a black t-shirt through which you could also see the blood stain. you lock eyes with him, "matt. what the fuck happened?"

he rolls his eyes, trying to take off the shirt with which you're also quick to help. "i was out, doing my... stuff. had to take care of things, but it went slightly in a wrong direction—"

"slightly?!"

your eyes widen, breath catches in your throat as his bare chest is revealed to your gaze with numerous bruises forming on it and — what's worse, a cut on his rib from which blood was oozing out.

"yeahhhh... business problems," his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm, before he winces when your fingers brush against his bruises. his skin feels exposed under your eyes, and he can see that concerned expression of yours that you were giving him more and more often recently. he sighs, "it looks worse than it feels, i promise. don't worry 'bout it."

"i'm not..." you mutter quietly.

he smirks, blood from his nose begins to flow down his mouth and chin. "sure you don't, sweetheart."

"matt, you should see a doctor. i'm serious, this is...."

"be realistic," he scoffs. "i can't go to the hospital. it'd arouse suspicions. you gotta be my doctor for tonight." he cracks a little smile, his amusement making you annoyed.

"you're helpless."

"wooow, low blow, low blow—"

you quickly find the first aid kit and take a towel, soaking it slightly with water. standing between his legs again, you tilt his head back, starting to wipe the blood from his face. "so how did it happen? and i don't wanna hear any of this 'business problems' bullshit."

he sighs, eyes locked on your face. "my victim was such a fighter, apparently. didn't really want to die." his words makes a shiver goes down your spine, even if you were already used to his lifestyle. "there were two of 'em, wanting to make sure to leave me with a few gifts." once he sees the death stare you give him, he decides to push the jokes aside. "it was just a little harder this time. one of 'em punched me in the face with something, which explains this," he points at his face that was now clean. "if not my mask, i'd probably get my nose fuckin' broken."

"and what about this?" you urge him to lean back slightly and look at the cut on his ribs that is still leaking blood. it wasn't deep luckily, but looked nasty.

"the other one tried to defend himself with a knife and scratched me a little bit—"

"scratched you? jesus christ, matt..." you start cleaning the wound without warning, causing him to flinch and curse loudly. "oh, sorry— sorry..."

"be maybe a bit gentler, huh?"

you kneel between his legs, looking up at him with clear annoyance, "what's the problem, tough guy? i thought it only scratched you."

"oh, shut up..." he rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly, but then he groaned again as you continued to clean up the cut.

"not so tough now, hm?" you tease, but then gets more serious as the blood is still oozing out. "matt, you need to be more careful. and why the fuck would you even attack two guys when you're on your own? are you crazy?"

"hey, don't question my skills just 'cos i got hurt. it never happens, there always has to be a first time." he watches as you use a clean cloth, trying to stanch the gash on his skin. then you wrap the bandage tightly around his waist. luckily the wound really wasn't that big and didn't need to be seen by a doctor like you thought at the beginning. "besides..." he hisses uncomfortably. "i know what m'doing is dangerous and it's not gonna stop me. so quit worrying, m'kay?" he grips your wrist when you stand up, about to pull away. he pulls you to sit on his thigh, his hands finding its ways to your hips. "i'm serious."

"it's just... i never know what to expect from you," your arm wraps around his shoulder. "what if next time is going to be something worse? like..."

"m'good at what i'm doing, sweetheart. and you know it," he presses a small kiss on your neck, which breaks your attitude, causing to smile. "and to be honest? you're pretty good at being my personal nurse, so maybe i should start getting hurt more often."

"matt, don't even fucking joke like that," you reply, getting a chuckle in response which quickly turns into a slight cough and grimace, his chest and ribs in pain. "see? karma."

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[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Two

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: drinking, author who is terrible about being consistent with tenses, incredibly down bad main characters (be gentle with Paige and Maya guys, the first love WLW situationship breakup is ROUGH)

Authors note: Not sure exactly how I feel about this chapter, but I feel like it gives a decent amount of context. Prepare for more flashbacks next chapter. Also this is highkey not proofread so … approach with caution there.

August 26, 2023

The drive from Stamford to Storrs is about two hours, traffic permitting. My mom waits approximately 20 minutes before she begins the inevitable interrogation session into the state of my life. More specifically, the train wreck it has become.

“You know, I really think you should consider rejoining mock trial. You loved it for so long, and look how many friends you made.” She rambles, her eyes never leaving I-95. “You probably would have never met Brooke if you hadn’t joined mock trial.”

Brooke and I met as co-counselors at a mock trial summer intensive for high schoolers at Yale the summer after my freshman year of college. Turns out trying to keep track of a bunch of hormonal fifteen year olds is a bonding experience like no other. She quickly became my formerly long-distance best friend and very soon-to-be roommate. 

“I told you, I’ll check it out when I get there.” I say, half telling the truth and half just trying to get her to change the subject. Clearly, my attempt was failing.

“I just want to make sure you’re making the most of college. I know University of Minnesota was not your thing, but I want you to find your why when it comes to Connecticut.”

I sighed. One of the perks of having a therapist as a mother is that you always have someone to listen to your petty problems without judgement. The downside is that she’s always trying to dig deeper, even when I really do not want to. “My why is being close to you. Plus, UConn is close enough to New York.”

“And close to Paige.” This remark nearly makes me choke.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She quickly apologizes, though knowing her she knew damn well what kind of reaction she would receive. I never told her full details of what actually went down between us - maybe because I thought it would be too embarrassing, or maybe because I knew that if she ended up in my mom’s bad graces, there was no coming back from that. All she knew is that at one point we were friends, then we were more than friends, and then things got messed up and we don’t talk anymore. She also knows that I really don’t like talking about it with her. “Does she know you’re coming?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell her.” 

The last text I had sent Paige was shortly after the basketball player announced she tore her ACL. Despite the tension between us, it felt wrong to say nothing in these circumstances. Basketball was Paige’s world, and I couldn’t even fathom the grief she must have felt. I received a “thank you maya, i hope you’re doing well. miss u” in return. It took everything in me not to call the blonde after reading the last five letters. 

Thankfully, my moms line of questioning ends there, and she returns to the driving playlist we made together the night before, an eclectic mix of 80’s hits with the occasional R&B ballad. Occasionally I hear her sing along, letting the crack of fresh air from the car window flow through her almost-black hair. Some people say I’m basically her twin: same dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and short stature. I just wish I got a fraction of her curves.

The rest of the car ride, I alternate between reading the newest Emily Henry book and messaging Brooke, who has been sending me updates on our new apartment. She moved into a couple of days ago while my mom and I were still on our girls trip to New York City, and her texts ranged from “ill give you the room with the ensuite bathroom if i can have the bigger room” (deal) to “our neighbors are FINE” (knowing her taste in men, doubtful). 

After what feels like too long in the car (maybe I never actually got over my tendency to get carsick), we pull into a lot. there it is: My new apartment, a small building surrounded by others similar to it and tall trees, still wrapped in vibrant green hues untouched by the incoming fall. I hear a yell from across the lot as I step out, but I’m so overwhelmed by the new sensations in Storrs that it takes my brain a moment to process that the tall figure running across the lot with a truly impressive speed was my best friend.

Brooke barrels towards me, wrapping me in a hug that nearly tips me over. “About time you got here!” She grabs my shoulders, her white acrylics a comfortably familiar sensation on my skin, before turning to my mom with her award-winning smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’m Brooke. Wow, you could have convinced me you two were sisters. You’re gonna have to give me your skincare routine before you leave.” She gestures to my mom, who giggles. I can tell that her day has been made.

I will never fail to tell Brooke Jones that she is perhaps the most charismatic person I have ever met. When I’m in Mock Trial, I will fight to make my voice heard. Outside of the courtroom, however, I tend to lean on the more reserved side. On the first day of counselor training, it was as if she could sniff out how nervous I was and made it her personal mission to befriend me. And one thing about Brooke: she will make you talk. Somehow I don’t mind it as much when I’m with her. 

So it’s a great sight when Brooke and my mom trail ahead of me, hands filled with various decor items and chatting (I think I hear one of them mention bringing out photos of me in seventh grade, an action I know I will have to intercept later for my own sanity).  

About three hours later, with the hard work of the three of us supplemented by SZA’s discography, my space is set up just enough to where I can sleep comfortably for the next few nights. Brooke pulls my mom in first, after getting her phone number “for emergencies”. Next, it’s my turn. 

“Alright, you know what I’m about to say.”

“We’re not going to throw a party, I know you’re worried about the security deposit.” Behind my mom’s shoulder, I could see Brooke’s brows furrow as she mouthed don’t promise that. 

“No, I meant have fun. Take risks. Find your why,” She grabs my shoulders at the last word for emphasis, and it’s hard to believe that this is my real life and not some after school motivational special. 

We embrace one last time. Despite her cheesy moments, I am reminded just how much I’m going to miss seeing my mom every day. After three years of being in closer proximity to my dad, it was nice to spend the summer in Stamford, my days filled with NYT crossword games by the water and day trips into New York City. This summer solidified that it didn’t even need to be Boston - I was just happier on the east coast. 

“I like your mom, she’s sweet.” I hear Brooke say as we watch the white Toyota leave the parking lot from our third floor window. Our view is perfect, and I picture what it will be like to watch the leaves change from it as the semester goes on. It makes the last few hours of lugging furniture and suitcases up flights of stairs worth it.

“I love her when she’s not trying to psychoanalyze every decision I make,” I chuckle, moving to continue unpacking some miscellaneous items in the kitchen.

Brooke follows me. “Is that what that whole ‘find your why’ thing was about?” 

“Got a whole interrogation in the car. Everyone in my family thinks I’m having some sort of crisis,” I place a stack of plates (a gift from my mom’s boyfriend) in a cabinet. “She even suggested I came here for Paige.”

Brooke stands there, her lips falling into a flat line. She is taking far too long to respond for my preference. My jaw falls, eyes widening. “Stop.”

Brooke lifts her hands in surrender. “Ok, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

My head falls into my hand, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes shut. “I swear to god, why does everyone think I chose to go to UConn because of Paige?”

“Maybe because other people definitely have.” Ok, Brooke does have a point. While I have done everything in my power to not think about the blonde, everyone else has been increasingly trying to get in her orbit. I’ve even seen a handful of edits made for her in the past few months as people anticipate her first season back from her injury.

I shake my head. “I’m not that dumb. I’m here for-“

“In-state tuition and to be closer to me and your mom, I know.” Brooke finishes, coming around to wrap one arm around me. It’s her way to both apologize and check in on me. While I appreciate the gesture, a small part of me feels guilty - like I have gotten use to people extending pity to me for one reason or another: my parent’s divorce, the move to Minnesota, Paige, transferring schools. It gets to a point where I just want to win at something.

I lean into her embrace, smelling the citrus in her hair product. “I know I was down bad for a while, but I promise I’m fine.”

I feel Brooke nod above me. “Good, because she’s kinda everywhere on campus. Even if you don’t run into her, people don’t shut up about her.” This was to be expected, a fact I have been preparing myself for months for. I decided it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to, like many things in life.

“Well, why don’t we shut up about Paige and order some food. I’m starving,” I exclaim, moving towards my phone to pull up Doordash. Perhaps my first win can be proving to people that I can thrive at UConn and absolutely not fixate on Paige Bueckers. 

“Okay, okay. You good if we invite my cousin Adria to come over too? She’s chill I swear.” I remember Brooke telling me about Adria last summer, how she was entering her freshman year at `UConn at the time. I nod in agreement, excited to host my first get together in my new space. 

////

Just an hour and a half later, the three of us are sat in the sparsely furnished living room, eating pad thai surrounded by a large collection of boxes. Upon one look at Adria when she stepped through our front door, I could tell her and Brooke were related: both had the same long legs, clear deep complexion and white smiles that looked like they belonged on billboards. Where they differed was in dress: while Brooke wore the same blue sweat set that she helped me unpack in, Adria was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a boho white tank top, a cascade of black and blonde braids down her back and an “A” necklace around her neck. 

Adria is only a sophomore, and yet from the first hour I have known her she appears far more put together than I was at this time last year. It’s evident in the way she talks about her pre-professional sorority, or in the way she talks about getting ahead of internship applications for the next summer. It would almost be irritating if she wasn’t also so charming.

“So what brought you to UConn?” Adria asks me from the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I tried U of M. My dad and his new girlfri… new wife,” The correction felt bitter on my tongue in a way that made me feel guilty. “They live out there, so I got in-state. It just wasn’t for me. I decided to transfer here just in case I still want to go to law school, since my mom lives in-state and I don’t want to go further in debt than I need to.”

“What do you mean if you still want to go to law school?” Brooke questions, her face incredulous. “Wasn’t that your whole plan since you were in, like, fourth grade?”

I love Brooke with everything in me, on the deepest platonic soulmate level there is. I tell her everything - except for the fact that I don’t know if I still want to practice law outside of college. I guess if I said it out loud to her, the girl who I once dreamed of going to law school with, practicing in the same city with before opening a shared practice, it would become more real: that I was seemingly blowing up all I’ve known with no plan B. She already thinks me dropping mock trial is some sign of an incoming mental breakdown.

“I’m just… exploring all of my options.” I muster, though from the furrow in Adria’s brow it must not be as believable as I would have hoped. Judging by the way Brooke’s shoulders appeared to relax, however, it at least worked on her. Eager to switch the attention off of myself, I turn to the younger girl once more. “Adria, what are you studying?”

“I’m kinesiology, trying to become a physical therapist. Maybe do some athletic training?”

Brooke chokes back a laugh, waving her hand. “She’s just saying that because she’s fucking someone on the basketball team.”

If there’s one similarity between Adria and I, it’s the way both of our jaws drop at Brooke’s candor. Her cousin seems particularly taken off guard, throwing her hands up with a, “Jesus Christ, Brooke!”

I can’t help but laugh at the dynamic. “Who is he?”

“She’s on the women’s team.” The word she rings in my ears as my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I’m literally a lesbian, I thought she was above assuming sexuality based on looks after having it done to me throughout the summer by daddy’s money frat guys in Stamford.  Adria scratched the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing. “Um, KK Arnold?” 

I’ve only seen the name in passing, during a late night scan of the women’s basketball roster that I would never admit to. KK was the new recruit from Wisconsin to my memory … or was it Indiana? 

“She got a job with athletics over the summer. Somehow her and KK crossed paths and they’ve been hooking up since.” Brooke took a bite of her noodles between sentences, filling in the gaps that Adria left. 

“We haven’t even had sex, chill.” Adria held a hand up to her sister, but the shy look never left her face. “KK’s nice though. I think I could really like her, which totally sucks because basketball players aren’t exactly the relationship type.”

“Looks like you both have the same type.” Brooke says through another bite.

Silence falls on the room, followed by a confused “What?” from Adria. 

A part of me wants to be frustrated with Brooke for bringing it up - the last thing I want is to be known at UConn as just a girl who got with the basketball star. However, Adria seems like a kind person, and she did just confide in me about KK. Part of me feels like I owe her an explanation in some sick way. With a sigh, I give her the context. “Brooke is giving me shit because a long time ago, in high school, I kinda had a thing with Paige Bueckers.”

The younger girl looks at me for a beat as if she can’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth. Once she gets a minute to reboot, she explodes “Like Paige Bueckers Paige Bueckers?Holy shit!”

“Don’t say anything, it was a really, really long time ago,” I plea, recognizing that she was acquainted to one of her teammates. Oh god, the last thing I need is KK telling Paige that her … whatever Adria was … told her that her sister’s friend is still hung up on her or something.

“I won’t, I promise.” Adria holds both hands up, a move that must be genetic. “You’re not gonna hit her up now that you’re on her campus?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” I say, taking a bite of my own food. I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at how Adria claimed the entirety of University of Connecticut as belonging to Paige somehow. As if there was no room for me. “She may be great at basketball, but that girl does not do emotions.”

“Well, I’m not exactly surprised.” Adria shrugs. My head snaps back up, and Brooke shoots her cousin a pointed look.

“What do you mean?”

Adria continues, “I mean, its not a secret Paige kinda has a reputation here.”

So much for not fixating on Paige Bueckers. My mind races as I ask, “What kind of reputation?” although based on her tone and the context, I can make my own educated guesses. 

“She just gets with a lot of girls on campus.” Adria speaks slowly, her expression somehow guilty. “My freshman year roommates friend got with her. Said she slept with her one night and never talked to her again.”

It’s not like I had no clue that Paige had no issue moving on from me once she got to Storrs. For one, she didn’t seem to have an issue doing such a thing when we were together in the first place. She had also heard rumors through the grapevine at school during her senior year, with people saying that they knew someone whose sister was friends with someone who got with Paige or some outlandish connection like that. Hearing confirmation from someone in Storrs somehow made it more confirmed in my mind. That all Paige wants is to kiss as many girls as possible, touch as many girls as possible, fuck as many girls as possible. Maybe that’s why she started acting so cold and things fell apart. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t enough for her, I can’t help my mind from thinking bitterly. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” I force myself to breeze past the conversation, knowing that I cannot dwell on the past again. After a year or two of trying to figure out where everything went wrong, I have long since realized that there is nothing else to decode. I preferred to think of Paige as a painful memory that I’ve locked far, far away - it was just easier that way. “Who wants to watch a show?”

“You good, Maya?” Brooke asks, a small smile on her face. I know she feels guilty for bringing it up in the first place. But really, I have no reason to be mad: I was the one who ended things, and years ago at that. Being hung up over Paige Bueckers was ridiculous at this point.

“Yeah.” I answer, my voice more sharp than I intended. Fuck. Shaking my head as if to shake off any sort of doubts in their mind, I smile as I stand and walk towards the kitchen. “Believe me when I say I do not care what that girl does. She can do what she wants, and so can I. And what I want right now is to drink some prosecco and watch the Bachelorette.”

The sight of me pulling out the bottle of wine seems to strip Brooke of her doubts, because she agrees with a “Hell yeah, lets do it.”

Thankfully, once the TV is on we all settle into a groove of gossiping about strangers on our TV, not the very real people in our lives. Brooke in particular is enthralled, even though I had to beg her for weeks last summer to give the show a try. Even Adria chimes in as the two contestants cry over these men with a yell of “stand the fuck up!” I am quickly reminded in this moment that these two girls are, in fact, related. At one point in the night, Adria whips out her phone and snaps a photo of Brooke and I, grinning under a pile of throw blankets with our wine glasses in hand, an act I fail to question. After all, she had been checking her phone sporadically throughout the night.

Soon enough, we catch up on the past two episodes, our heads buzzing with the wine we consumed and our eyes struggling to stay awake as we say our goodbyes for the night. Adria pulls me into a hug, my head surrounded by the scent of her vanilla perfume as she whispers, “I’m so sorry about saying that stuff about Paige. You should know you… you absolutely did not deserve that shit, whatever she did. For the record, I think you’re awesome and that its completely her loss.”

I smile, happy to hear her words even if this is just a wine happy trail of thought. “It’s okay, Adria, I promise. It was so good to finally meet you.”

Brooke walks her out, and I can barely make it through brushing my teeth and washing my face before collapsing on my bed. The mattress is not the best quality and Amazon still says my mattress topper won’t be here for a few days, but I drift off easily, my thoughts filled with nothing except gratitude for my first night in Storrs and eager for my new start.

It’s safe to say this feeling does not extend in the morning, when I am awoken by the sun blazing through my window. My mouth is dry as I reach for my phone, eager to check the time and groaning when I see it is only 7AM. My groan is not audible for long, though, as I am quickly silenced by my most recent notification. One that has been awaiting me since 12:37AM.

Paige (DO NOT CALL): You go to UConn now???

August 26, 2023

“Go, go, go… Let’s fucking go Dorka!” I yell, watching as my old teammate scored in a game against the Liberty. It’s the Saturday night before the start of classes, and while the streets of Storrs are filled with people on their first night out of the semester, my teammates and I have all been moved into our current apartments for a little over two months. When your summer breaks are filled with workouts on campus mixed with brief vacations or visits home, that first night out doesn’t exactly carry the same novelty.

Which is why some of us were sat in Nika and Azzi’s living room, game on the TV as the two hosts prepare whatever alcoholic beverage they are subjecting us to from the kitchen separated by a counter. Three of our freshmen sit in the room with us: Ashlynn is on the floor, Ice is right above her on the couch with Aaliyah and Aubrey, and KK is next to me, typing hurriedly on her phone. Being one of the oldest players this year, I feel it’s especially important for me to get to know them - not just how they play, but who they actually are off the court.

“If UConn gets me playing like that,” Ice gestures to the TV, “I’ll know I made the right decision.”

“No turning back now.” Aubrey clapped her on the back, an over exaggerated grin on her face, which Ice responded to by shoving her off playfully. Ashlynn giggles, but doesn’t respond beyond that. It’s not abnormal for her to be quiet - what is abnormal is how silent KK is, her phone apparently more interesting than any of us. Aubrey seems to notice too, because she calls over to her.

“Hey KK, what did you think of that play?” No response. The typically extroverted girl has her chin in her hand, still staring at the screen in her other hand. Ice grabs the nearest pillow to her and throws it at the girl, prompting a jolt and a startled “What?” from KK and a “Ay, cut it out!” from Nika across the counter as she stirs a pitcher of God knows what.

“Bruh, KK, you’re not even watching,” I roll my eyes.

“Probably busy texting her girl,” Aaliyah mutters, although clearly she wasn’t trying that hard to be quiet. Hold up … her girl? Now the entire room quickly turns away from the game and to the freshman, who sits up from her slouched position with a death glare.

“I told you that in private.”

“Yo what? KK, you’ve been on campus for, like, five seconds,” Nika pops in the room.

“Clearly that’s all she needs,” Ice shrugs, earning her the same pillow thrown right back at her.

“Y’all suck,” KK slumps back into the couch, crossing her arms with a slight pout. I feel bad, wondering if we’ve been too hard on the teasing.

“Ok c’mon, we’ll stop. Let’s see her.” I gesture her to bring her phone closer to me, an act that she ignores for now.

“She’s not even my girl,” she mumbles.

“Do you want her to be?” Nika asks, eyebrows raised as she steps closer. All of us watch as KK bites her bottom lip, looking down at her sneakers. Hold on… she’s blushing. I may have only known the girl for two months, but i’ve never seen her do that before.

“Holy shit,” Nika exclaims. “KK’s a lover girl.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, just surprising is all,” Aaliyah clarifies, “not many freshmen are too into settling down.”

I notice Aaliyah, Nika, and Aubrey turn to face me, their stares deadpan. “What are you lookin’ at me for?” I exclaim, pointing at my chest. The heat rising to my face reveals that it’s no secret, even to me.

“What do you think?” Azzi calls from the next room. I sigh.

It’s no secret among the team (or anyone, really) that I had a pretty… entertaining first two years at UConn. Once COVID restrictions began lifting and the team was able to see other people outside of other players, some of the older players made it their mission to show the younger ones what they had been missing, one of those things being who they were missing. Honestly, it’s what I thought I needed at the time: being trapped in my dorm the majority of the time I wasn’t in practice gave me a lot of time to think, and with thinking came regret. More than once I jolted up in my bed in the middle of the night, dreams of dark hair, tanned skin, and that laugh replaying in my mind. It was torture.

Being in a different girl’s bed every weekend silenced it, just momentarily. Some people viewed me as a player who got off on getting any girl she wanted. The guilt of it finally caught up to me at the beginning of my sophomore year, when I thought about all of the girls I hurt, the ones who thought I wanted more than just one or two nights. It just reinforced my worst fear about myself: I was a womanizer who was incapable of caring about anything aside from basketball. 

“Aight aight,” I surrender, shifting my attention back to KK. “We not talking about me right now. Let’s see her.”

KK unlocked her phone, typing a username into the search bar before handing the phone off to me. Nika and Ice were quickly at my side, craning their necks to see a peek. The girl (Adria Taylor, I discover from her bio) is tall, with deep skin and long braids going down her back.

“She’s so pretty!” Nika gushes, and I would have to agree.

Ice, unable to resist the pink circle surrounding Adria’s profile photo, taps on the waiting story before KK can protest. The phone illuminates with a photo of two girls smiling on a couch, captioned “first night back” with a heart and a couple of mentions, presumably her friends handles. I don’t even need to take a look at what is written, however, because my eyes seem to have zeroed in on the girl further from the camera, and my mouth seems to go dry. It can’t be, but it is.

Because the girl in the photo is Maya. 

“Holy fuck.”

I don’t even realize I’ve said it until the three girls turn to look at me, confusion laced in their faces. “What?” Nika asks, concern evident. My heart is racing at a million miles an hour and my hands suddenly feel impossibly sweaty, but I refuse to reveal myself to them. 

I fake a cough, covering it with one hand while the other goes to scratch the back of my neck. “Uh, nothing. Thought I saw something but um,” Suddenly the sight of my lap clad in Nike tech sweats is the most interesting sight in the world. “She’s cute, KK.”

Almost like some sort of angel sent to save me, Azzi appears with a tray full of drinks that are a bright pink color and look entirely too sweet. “Drink it slowly guys, I’m not really sure I measured correctly.” She looks embarrassed at the admission, passing them around the room. Upon my first sip, I wince. Yep, definitely not too sweet. Will I still drink it? Yes. It would be a shame to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, and I now have something to run from tonight.

We continue watching the game, or at least I am. During commercials I spark conversations with anyone who will listen, including asking Ashlynn about some country concert she went to with her parents over the summer. I don’t even really listen to country, but it was nice to see the typically shy girl light up over something. Plus, it gave me an excuse not to think too hard.

Truthfully by the end of the night I was fucking hammered, not bothering to keep track of how many shots I chased down after whatever concoction Nika and Azzi made. Everyone in the room knew it too, to the point where Nika took it upon herself to walk me back to my apartment once the game ended, even though I only lived one floor down and KK and Aubrey were both still at her apartment. 

After I promised her I would chug some water before bed and take the pain reliever she laid out for me in the morning, she agreed to leave and let me go rest. I collapsed in my bed, which suddenly felt like the most comfortable place I had ever been. My brain, on the other hand, was providing anything but comfort running at around 100 miles an hour. Unable to resist, I look up Adria’s profile on my account, clicking the story. Sober me probably would have thought about how it would look if I showed up in her profile views, but drunk me clearly didn’t care enough. 

Sure enough, she’s sat there with a glass of wine in her hands. My heart jumps as I realize that she’s still just as beautiful as she was when I first met her, just more grown up this time. Her face is all defined cheekbones, glistening eyes, and a smile - God, that smile, that never failed to brighten my day if it was directed at me. It’s been a while since I’ve glanced at her profile - though we still follow each other, she barely ever posts and I don’t remember the last time she’s interacted with anything I’ve posted. Viewing her profile is reserved for nights where I’m filled with just enough delusion to convince myself it’s a good idea. Nope, never is. 

The girl next to her (Brooke, I assume from the tag) is leaning into her slightly in a way that makes my stomach flip. She’s not entirely unfamiliar to me - I’ve definitely seen her in a photo dump by Maya last summer. A part of me wonders if that’s the next girl that gets to treat her the way I should have. What if she came to UConn for her, I think. Nope. Can’t do that. Maya hasn’t been mine, not for a while.

The urge to reach out has died down through the years, going from entirely unbearable at times to more of a constant dull itch that I feel as though I can’t ever scratch. Her texting me after my ACL tear last summer provided temporary relief. I mean, it had to say something that she cared enough to show that she cared. A person that hates me wouldn’t do that.

But then, she never responded to my reply. A person that hates me would do that.

So yeah, there is nothing I want more in this world than to text Maya one last time, just to tell her I’m sorry. That I still think about the way I treated her, and how I’ve been too afraid to be with another girl since I’m worried I’ll do the same thing. That I know I don’t deserve her, not even platonically, but feelings aside I miss being around her. I wish we could be friends again, or acquaintances who occasionally text each other on birthdays and holidays, or something. At the very least, I want her to know I’m sorry.

But beyond everything, I want her to be happy. And if me not talking to her makes her happy, as stated the last time I saw her physically where she stated she “just needed time”, I was willing to suffer through that.

Somehow knowing she could be anywhere right now, even just a short walk away, made the suffering unbearable right now, in a way that I hadn’t felt since freshman year. 

Blame it on the alcohol, or the picture, or whatever you like. Doesn’t change the fact that I opened my contacts in search for one particular one. Doesn’t change the five word text I sent that took an embarrassingly long time to think of. And it doesn’t change how my fingers pressed send before any other doubts could enter my brain. Putting my phone on do not disturb, I plug it in and turn off my lights, deciding that chugging water can wait until tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep off everything I’ve seen tonight and the memory of what I just did. 

[eemamminy-art]

I was talking with some friends about it just now and I wanted to share my headcanons for the bachelor/ettes ages in stardew valley! These are just my own personal interpretations of them and of course you can disagree if you feel differently, but I wanted to share anyway! I actually put a lot of thought into picking them and have reasons for each of them being the ages they are, which I summarized a little bit below :3

Alex - 20 He seems like he's still in this mindset of someone who just graduated high school and is about to move on to bigger things, but he's spinning his wheels talking about all the things he's gonna do and never taking meaningful steps toward achieving those things (until meeting the farmer, that is)

Elliott - 32 He seems like someone who maybe had a privileged background and lots of opportunities, spent a few years in a career and just realized he yearned for something more romantic and wistful out of life. He has these lines that seem kind of out of touch and idealistic, which makes me think he hasn't had to struggle too much in life but wants to experience that in order to live out his dreams as a writer (thus, living in the conditions he does and trying to live a very simple life in the valley)

Harvey - 35 He has to skew older just due to him being a doctor with his own clinic, but Harvey seems like someone who doesn't have too much practical experience in life and relationships, and also isn't really good at taking care of himself. So mid-30's fits perfect: still at that stage where he hasn't quite found himself or had a lot of experiences but has a very extensive education and on the surface seems very put-together.

Shane - 30 There's all sorts of reasons why Shane went off the rails (general listlessness in life, Jas' parents passing away, maybe unfulfilled dreams?) but I picked 30 for him as like, he had been struggling with all those aforementioned things and then hitting that milestone birthday kind of was a wakeup call that compounded his mental health struggles. I think he could even be older than that, honestly, but I like the idea of him still being somewhat young but just hitting that sort of "now what?" feeling in his late 20's and never pulling out of it.

Sebastian - 28 To me, Sebastian is similar to Shane in the sense of not having a direction in life and just getting by with the bare minimum while being unhappy overall. He has less life experience than Shane seems to so I put him in his 20's, but I like to think of him as someone going through a quarter life crisis who is maybe a bit more immature than people his own age but has no idea how to course correct and opts to just sleep his problems away as a means of coping with his depression.

Sam - 25 I like to lean into Sam's relationship with his little brother and the role he plays as the man of the house while his father is overseas, so I see him as someone who has ambitions in life but he is very caring and sentimental toward his family so he has been stalling his own life in order to care for Vincent, since he feels like he's the only one who can.

~~~

Maru - 21 Given the way her dad talks about her "bright future" I imagine her being in college still. I liked the idea of her and Sebastian having a decently large age gap too, to better highlight how dysfunctional their relationship is and how she looks up to him while he is unable to connect with her in any positive way. On that note, I think her being so much younger and finding more success than Sebastian also could contribute to their sibling issues.

Penny - 23 I think with Penny I put the least thought into with picking her age-- she's someone who is relatively naive and inexperienced in the world but she has an air of maturity to her as a result of her parentification. She could easily skew older or younger than this, but putting her at this age just felt right!

Leah - 26 I see Leah as being someone who is well into adulthood but still quite young, but old enough to have experience living on her own in a way that makes her so self-sufficient as she is. I can imagine her leaving home at a young age and really struggling to make ends meet for several years while creating her art. Also her creeping toward 30 could be a reason for her ex to become so pushy about her settling down to have kids and a stable, boring life, as that's the expectation for a lot of women as they get older (or at least, after 30+).

Emily - 29 She just has big sister vibes to me. I wanted her to be older than a lot of the other characters who are from Pelican Town, as this idea that like, she's always been looking out for them like they're her siblings. :3 Plus she just has wine aunt energy, I wanted her to be older than the rest.

Abigail - 23 I think I make her older than a lot of people do, though I still keep her quite young at 23. She's in college still so I wanted her to be around that age, but maybe just going through it slower than her peers. The kind of person that had to retake classes because she didn't plan out her studying or homework appropriately, or she got overwhelmed and dropped classes, or she took a semester or two off, you know! That sort of thing!

Haley - 19 Out of all of these characters, Haley seems the most immature to me so I wanted her to be very close to high school age. She has these desires to shop and to travel and to just enjoy herself, she's not really thinking about the future because she is so young she doesn't really have to. She doesn't really think much about other people initially either, because she has this worldview that doesn't extend much farther beyond herself.

[dollfaceksj]

hhh…

omg.🫣 hi..

its been so so very long. i know. i’m sorry. forgive me plz. <3 how is everyone<33

today is 6th of january, 2024 and i just took my first exam of the semester today i feel nauseous</3

i just wanted to swing by and update everyone on how it’s been and wish everyone a happy new year. 🤍

first off, i want everyone to know that i really, really appreciate your support. thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. sincerely<3

that aside, as 2023 was coming to a close, i turned off my tumblr notifications because my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing and i was trying not to get distracted from school. (so no, im not ignoring yall !!)

but let’s talk about 2024.

i’m going to be honest to y’all.

2024 was terrible. it was a really, really shitty year for me. a lot of things happened and writing just kept slipping out of my fingertips. yall felt the 2024 drought from me and for that i’m so sorry omg. (my acc was dry as hell and i still gained like 1k+ followers yall r insane thank u sm😭)

everything that could go wrong WENT wrong. like damn i got my ass whooped this year!!! that topped off with school made it really hard to even stay afloat, let alone write

plus i kind of underestimated these classes🫠🫠 like i knew it was gonna be a lot but i didn’t know it would set me back this much. yes i’m stoopid

on the bright side, 2024 changed me as a person SO i’m rlly excited to see how i’ll write and how i’ll express myself differently than i have in the past

as of 2025:

currently i’m going through exams and it’s eating me up but when i’m finally through with these, i really wanna write more. i wanna show y’all what more i have in store and i’m far from being done !!

that being said, i have a few wips in the drafts still, some i have been giving small updates and some i haven’t even touched since first writing them. (currently, 2 ongoing commissions & jimin’s the pink pill version.)

plus… bts year??? like i’m gonna be honest, bts being ‘inactive’ was also so rough on me because i’ve always had them and now it just felt idk. different? stressful? especially stepping into a new life after i decided to go to college at 23. i miss them😭

so, i hope you’re excited like me !! i can’t wait to be back ! not saying im fully back steady on my feet but i wanna try to make a schedule for my daily life and try to fit in writing as much as i want🥲 does anyone know any cute like agenda or calendar apps for that?? lmk plsss

have a good year!! see you soon<3

— 🍀

[stardustrebels]

More of You- Chapter 5

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

WC: 1.7k

Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI

Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff with eventual smut. Joel Miller just deserves a good life, you know? Joel and reader have a teeny tiny age gap- Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back and she wears skirts and dresses.

A/N: Joel Miller’s very bad no good morning pre-chapter 1. I just want to give this poor lonely saddie daddy a big hug. Of course, like a moth to a flame, the man’s drawn in by exemplary woodwork and the promise of good coffee. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Joel Miller saw you, it was a Monday. 

The kind of Monday that he guessed was going to be shitty from the moment he opened his eyes. He woke up half an hour before his alarm went off and stared at the ceiling, cursing the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the day had already gone wrong. 

The sun had barely risen, casting a faint orange glowing beam across the room through a gap in the curtains and straight in to his face. He groaned, slapping the top of his alarm before it even had a chance to sound. 

Seconds after he stood up, he stubbed his toe on the edge of his bed frame, cursing under his breath before limping his way to the bathroom. 

He got dressed and made it downstairs without further injury, sulking as he entered the kitchen, hoping to at least have a decent cup of coffee before leaving the house. He opened the cabinet and reached up to where the coffee tin usually sat. The coffee tin that wasn’t there. The coffee tin he’d forgotten to pick up a replacement for at the store yesterday. 

He gripped the edge of the counter, letting out a frustrated sigh and hung his head momentarily in silent defeat.

It was the type of Monday that would make anyone want to climb back in to bed and try again tomorrow. 

It also happened to be his birthday. 

And despite everything else that had happened so far, that fact was hands down the worst thing about today.

Sarah had left for college two weeks ago, and this was the first birthday he’d spend without her since she was born. 

The first time she called after he’d dropped her off, she said she would come back to spend his birthday with him. He’d insisted that she should be focusing on making friends and having fun, not worrying about her old man. After some back and forth, she’d relented, settling for sending him a picture of a hastily written I.O.U for ‘one amazing birthday celebration’ on a pink post-it note after they’d hung up.

In lieu of any coffee to drink, he leaned against the breakfast bar with a glass of orange juice and sifted through the small pile of birthday cards until he found the one with Sarah’s handwriting on it. The card had an obnoxiously large badge on the front- ‘it’s my birthday’ emblazoned on it in giant red letters. He huffed a laugh at it, shaking his head. 

Inside, she’d written that she’d told her Uncle Tommy she wanted picture evidence that he had worn the badge to the office. He sent her a text, despite knowing she wouldn’t be awake for hours. 

Thanks for the card, kiddo. And the badge. Not sure it’s clear enough though, could be bigger. Love you.

He placed the badge securely in his jacket pocket, ready to pin on his shirt when he got to the office. He figured if he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it. 

By the time he left the house that morning, Joel felt unusually lonely. He’d been doing fine the last couple of weeks, or at least that’s what he told himself. 

The day after he dropped Sarah off, he’d realised just how quiet the house was without her. He had immediately thrown himself in to work, spending long days at the office, doing out-of-character site visits and offering to take Tommy’s client meetings. Anything to stay busy. 

By the time he got home every night, he had just enough energy to heat up some dinner and fall in to bed. It felt like the old days, when Sarah was younger. The days where he would work every hour God sent just to keep a roof over their heads, making himself sick with stress. Except this time around he didn’t get to see her little smiley face every morning to remind him that it was all worth it. 

Joel tried to ignore the little lump in his throat as he climbed in to his truck that morning, earlier than he would normally leave. The house felt emptier than it ever had. 

The traffic on the way in to the city was a nightmare, and he had to park a couple of blocks further away from the office than he usually did because of road closures. By the time he found a spot and turned off his engine, he was utterly miserable, the idea of trudging to the office against crowds of other commuters did nothing to improve his mood. He grabbed his jacket and slammed the truck door shut, muttering to himself.

He groaned inwardly as he immediately hit the don’t walk signal at the first crosswalk. As he waited, the building on the corner next to him caught his eye. He took a moment to admire the dark wood and worn decorative trim around the windows. He squinted through the bright morning sunshine at the sign above the door. Harrison’s it read, in gold handwritten letters. 

The crosswalk signal sounded, but he didn’t move. He glanced through the pane of glass in the wooden door. It was a coffee shop. He hesitated a moment, standing on the sidewalk as people brushed past him. The faint smell of fresh coffee wafted out as the door opened and closed in front of him. He glanced at his watch; he had meetings stacked like bricks and emails waiting to be answered, but he could spare a little time. 

“Screw it, why not?” He muttered under his breath, pushing open the door. A bell chimed above him as he stepped inside.

The place was cosy; not too modern but not stuffy either, with dark wood floors and mismatched tables and chairs. Shelves filled with old books lined the walls, peppered with sepia-toned photographs and various pieces of historical- looking memorabilia. Eclectic but not overwhelming, 

He ordered a black coffee at the counter, unable to return the barista’s cheery smile as he paid, and decided to settle in a seat near the window, thinking how nice it might be to just watch the world go by for a little while.

He stared down at his wrist, at the watch that Sarah had fixed for him all those years ago. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it meant the world to him. He missed her. Missed the sound of the music drifting from her room, the clatter of her hurried footsteps when she was late for school, the terrible movies she made him watch, even the endless chatter about her friends, classes, and the soccer team she was part of.

He knew that this was the way it had to be. She was nineteen now, finding her independence and figuring out who she was outside of their little family unit. That had always been the goal, hadn’t it? To raise her to stand on her own two feet. She needed space to grow, to succeed and stumble, and she needed to do it without him hovering. He knew that.

Still, it didn’t make it any easier. 

The barista arrived with his coffee, pulling him from his thoughts. He muttered a thanks and took a sip, letting his eyes scan the other customers around him. 

Then he saw you. 

As soon as he laid eyes on you, it felt like everything around him exploded in technicolour and the world snapped in to sharp focus all at once. You were sitting a few tables away, staring at your computer screen, entirely engrossed in whatever was on it, oblivious to anything going on around you. 

Joel’s heart was suddenly thrumming in his ears as loud as waves. Everything surrounding you seemed vivid, bathed in the yellow glow of the sunshine streaming in through the window. 

A lock of hair slipped over your shoulder as you tilted your head, causing a gentle shadow to fall across your face. You tucked it back behind your ear with delicate fingers, focus unwavering. You were the the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

He blinked, the thrumming in his ears was joined by an unfamiliar feeling swelling right under his sternum. His palms felt sweaty and goosebumps started to spread up his arms. He felt hot and cold. He needed air. 

He downed his coffee, grimacing at the stinging heat against his tongue, grabbed his jacket in one hand and the empty coffee cup in the other to place back on the counter as he passed it, making every effort not to draw any attention to himself. 

He pushed past a queue of people waiting for their coffees and out of the door, bell jingling behind him as he stepped back in to the morning air. He sucked in a deep breath. The feeling in his chest- the one that had hit him like a freight train - was still there. 

He braced his hands on his hips, head tilting back to stare up at the pale blue sky. A little voice in the back of his mind pointed out it looked bluer than it had before.  

“Get it together, Miller,” he muttered towards the heavens, willing his pulse to stop racing.

It wasn’t like him to get flustered. He wasn’t the kind of man who let his emotions run away from him. He’d just had a tough morning, that’s all. He mused that this might be brand new biological perk, unlocked with another year of his 40s. 

He took another deep breath, willing the tightness in his chest to ease as he began to walk, eyes fixed on the concrete in front of him as he passed the windows.

By the time he made it to the office, he’d convinced himself that the strange feeling had been because of his bad morning and the sudden change in temperature from the coffee. A delayed reaction. A ‘funny turn’, as his Grammy used to say, nothing more. 

He stopped outside the glass doors, frowning at his faint reflection in them. He reached in to his jacket pocket and took out the badge Sarah had sent him. He pinned it to his shirt and took a deep breath. 

Weirdest damn birthday I’ve ever had he thought as he pulled open the door and walked inside. 

[piercethefic]

raw/risky sex and breeding !!! your writing is very hot

Request! Send me lots of them if yall want!

------------------------------------------------

Post prison Spence

Warnings: SMUT and fluff - p in v - degrading - raw/ breeding - begging - oral fem- mention of 🔫 (fbi training) - y/n once

You and Spencer have known each other since you were kids , you were a child prodigy along with him. You went on a different path for a while , forensic science. But once you decided to become a part of the team , he knew he'd have his first love back. He loved you all of college and high school. He fantasized about you constantly.. not even knowing that the spark that is inside him is also inside you. You took classes to learn about the field. He taught them. He slowly caressed his arms down your arms as he helped you hold your g*n and shoot the target. You felt his breath down your neck and turned around to see him face to face. Seeing his gorgeous eyes looking at you quickly made a puddle in your panties form. You knew if he touched you any longer, even in a seemingly meaningless way , you'd cum on the spot. What girl wouldn't? He smirks and says, "You okay? Look quite startled." ... "uh I'm okay" you giggle, knowing you're not okay and you want him to take you right here. You have a thought, go for it, kiss him.

You leaned in and kissed him ... he kissed you back passionately. "I've wanted to do that for a long time y/n"

"Spence...tell me If you don't want this...but I do" you kiss him passionately and he pulls you up on the counter of the shooting range. "Baby. Tell me If you wanna stop , or I won't hold back anything"

He pulls your clothes off fast and rips them in the process "I liked that shirt" you giggled. He pulls your panties off with his teeth and kissed up your thighs. "Don't move or make a sound slut." The name makes you wet, he can taste your attraction to him as he eats you fast. You can't hold back the moans and you run your fingers through his messy fluffy hair. "Please..fuck me" .... " needy little slut"

He pulls his pants down , leaving his black button up on. He slides into you leaving no time to adjust. You gasp in pain and pleasure. "Pretty little slut. You love this. I've been wanting to do this since you gave me my first boner ever. You tease me. So slutty. So beautiful. I'm ganna cum in you. I don't care who walks in."

He fucks you hard enough to almost knock you off of the counter. You can feel him hitting your cervix and you roll your eyes to the back of your head. "No slut. Look at me" He grabs your face and makes you look at him. "Look me in the eyes as I cum and fill you up. You'd look pretty knocked up with my baby , walking around the bau and everyone knows you're my slut. My first and only slut. Be a good girl and cum."

You feel yourself getting closer and see him biting his lip. You know he's close.

"Baby cum for me. Give me your babies. I need to feel you cum in me" You say desperate

"Desperate slut. Want someone to walk in and see you being the slut you are? I bet"

He cums deep inside you. You think he's done , he continues knowing the risk only gets stronger of someone walking in.

He kisses back down your thighs and finishes licking you. "be a good girl and cum for me" You cum on his face and squirt all over him. "Naughty girl"

"That was .. intense Spence"

"How are we supposed to walk out like this"

"Idk..come to my place later tho?"

"I'd love to"

------------------

I hope you like it!

[kcalsforhim]

𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ tuesday 8 jan 2025

༄.°

i woke up yesterday same as i am this morning, way too early and sleep rlly does help. i got ready and i applied some normal makeup and comfortable clothes. i had a monster to start my day !

monster energy zero sugar strawberry dreams 500 ml — 11 cal

i went to college feeling meh pretty ok, i was drawing water in the train again… i had to get out 1 stop before my stop to go to a different train so i went there and then went to my stop. from there i had to walk a while extra cause i had to go to the otherrrrr school building which is fine

so i went there and i was one of the first, way too early to be there… during my entire day i spent it drawing

3 zero sugar energy drinks 250 ml - 1 cal

2 coca cola light 250 ml - 1 cal

by the end of drinking all these energy drinks i felt so shaaaakyyyyy.. haku did my nails with gel polish ! it was his first time doing something like that but he said he wants to practice more on me !

after this we walked from the second school building to the train station which went just about fine. i had a nice conversation with him about a variation of things then he hugged me goodbye when i had to go

when walking home i took a detour to the mc donald’s to use their free restroom… everyone looked at me weird going into the male bathroom but can u actually leave me alone. actually even just going in there without ordering smth people stare at u with glassy eyes.. wtf. anyway i left not needing anything bcs that’s the LAST thing id break my fast with rn

i walked home and 3/4 in i started getting so nauseously sick like oh my god i had to slow down walking and take deep breaths and just breathe bcs for a sec it was getting to me but i still just kept walking and got home. when i got home my mom asked if i was hungry and i said not really

i told her i had a chocolate croissant and a large boba about an hour ago and that i felt sickly and she said “maybe the boba wasn’t fresh ?” with this concerned look. i said i just wanted some vegetables and luckily she randomly made me green beans which i took

i went upstairs not grabbing anything but i told her id likely crave it by the morning or id maybe have it later that night if i wanted it

green beans 213g — 70 cal

perfection bar crunchy chocolate cookie flavour 60g — 219 cal

i was not pleased eating this today… i don’t really know i just didn’t want to eat this ??? what i wanted was moms burrito but obviously we weren’t gonna do that so i just didn’t feel like it ? halfway through my meal i stopped for like 5 mins i just was not pleased sigh

the bar had this interesting dense texture with a sort of dense cookie doughy inside and i liked the crunchy toppings ? it also smelled very good it was actually decently tasty for a protein bar

after finishing it i did want to eat other food but i also can’t stop thinking about the weight i’ll be losing if i just keep trying. i just went to go draw and at 10 pm i took my sleeping medication. by 11:30 pm i finished my drawing and me and eli stared at it for way too long. i started feeling fatigued and tired and i got a little anxious but i told myself i just needed some rest and id feel better in the morning…

cool song i found on tiktok the creator said it was made to be purposely bad but it has a consistent bpm soooo i kinda like it somewhat

𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡ stats for today

cals : 302

streak : 2 days ? i don’t remember

steps : 16.8 k

tired exhausted not craving food but then again also craving it.. when it gets hard i just kind of push through telling myself to just be a man and suck it up and complete the damn challenge so i can lose the damn weight.. the steps r good tho !

༄.°

[stardustdiiving]

How evil is arlecchino and what is she cooking

As of 4.2, I’m really curious what they’re planning with Arlecchino as a character, especially as a villain/antagonist/morally dubious character, and how far/which direction they may go with that

Intuitively my impression is we’ll see her do something way more “villainous” than she presents herself as being for majority of Fontaine’s AQ in front of us right—(which isn’t a surprise given that, you know, Arlecchino nor the House of Hearth have never been presented as 110% ethical LOL) but I find myself not being in complete agreement with most analysis or speculation threads I see about Arlecchino’s morality and the like, level of sinister people seem to ascribe to her.

Idk how to put it, especially in regards to her children I do agree they are not a wholesome found family, that Arlecchino is not above pulling strings or using them for her own ulterior motives, but I kind of hesitate on the idea she only cares about the Hearth children as a means to the end/things she can control and there’s nothing else going on with her characterization wise there. I’m not saying that impression seems remotely unreasonable or unfounded, but just that it feels there’s something intentionally missing in how we are supposed to conceptualize her as a person

My main reasoning for this hunch is the fact they have not elaborated on Arlecchino and the previous Knave—who Arlecchino is stated to have taken over the position from by force. The extra tidbits I think about are that 1) Arlecchino was previously an orphan in the Hearth 2) the previous Knave is described as way, way crueler to the children of than Heart than Arlecchino was from when she took control of the House

Often, people’s major indicators that the House of the Hearth is kind of super fucked up are the NPCs we meet in world quests who are part of it and clearly suffering. But one thing I haven’t ever seen people mention w this that i think is a very interesting detail is, in The Very Special Fortune Slip Inazuma worldquest, where we stop this House of Hearth guy (Efim Snezhevich) from manufacturing tension between Watasumi/the Shogunate to restart the war with his other Hearth subordinates, at the end of the quest we get this dialogue that reveals he had been acting under the previous Knave’s directives:

It’s also mentioned he’s employing this plan in an attempt to “rebuild the prestige of the Knave” following Signora’s death, iirc? Now, see, the dialogue itself says that this is “assuming our captive is telling the truth” so who knows what’s really going on, but I find this a really odd/interesting thing to highlight. I’m a bit fuzzy on other world quests with Hearth members, and am not saying none of them were acting and subsequently being treated poorly by our Arlecchino, but like, this gives me a lot of questions especially when paired with implications this previous Knave seemed to be way worse

Like, what drove Arlecchino to take over? How unexpected and controversial was this within the House? Assuming the above information is all true it definitely says something this guy went rogue and acted on what the previous Knave would want and didn’t think our Arlecchino would greenlight it, which does feel consistent with the previous Knave being described as basically worse & crueler than our Arlecchino. It also makes me question how much house of hearth things we’ve seen outside the main story are the work of our Arlecchino or if there’s a bigger divide of loyalty. Heck, I could be wrong but it doesn’t even seem like we know if the previous Knave is dead or not

This isn’t me saying Arlecchino couldn’t possibly be treating hearth children worse than she wants us to know, especially ones who aren’t her “favorites” the way the fontaine trio seem to be, but I really don’t feel sure about making a solid conclusion of her exact level of malice the way ppl r generally understanding it rn when it feels there’s going to be more about her. Just the idea of she, as a Hearth child, clashed with the previous leader who was known for being cruel, overtook their position and took on less harsh methods of leading that made at least some members with more power/possible closer proximity to the previous Knave go rogue and try to commit atrocities in the previous Knave’s name…I feel this leaves a lot of room to suggest there’s more going on with how Arlecchino is as a person

I don’t mind if she’s just very evil and deceptive bc if she totally had me fall for thinking she was less evil than she actually was that’s fun tbh. But I feel people suggest that’s all her character could be with no degree of like, “sympatheticness” or deep grey morality and that if her character did go there it would be automatically poor writing and genshin walking back on making a truly evil woman when IDK. I feel you can claim at this point they have left it open ended and it’s never been completely confirmed she’s pure evil. Also sometimes I just get a hunch and feel cautiously confident in Genshin executing certain characters well. Not all characters, just certain ones. Especially given Fontaine’s character writing being very good and a character like Lyney feeling very solid to me when any development with Arlecchino would likely involve him and his siblings as well, I honestly feel open to the idea of Arlecchino being satisfyingly written to be both villainous/morally dubious but “sympathetic/likable as a person” in ways outside of just her ruthlessness if that makes sense

If I’m wrong/they drop the ball with it more than I anticipate I’ll eat my hat but I am pretty excited about her character and which way they decide to go with it. I will say the only potential impression I have of where they’ll go with her has been wondering if it will go in a “cycles of abuse” direction—I’d be surprised if they ever elaborated on Arlecchino’s character especially in how she feels about things and her also growing up as an exploited child of the hearth wasn’t relevant

[orcelito]

Hey I'm graduating college in may and I just kinda realized that I'll be Done Done with school after that. Not fake-done like I was graduating high school, where I'd have to go to college at the start of the fall. And not fake-done like I was in any of my semesters I took off.

Done Done. As in I accomplished my degree, and I won't ever have to go back to school if I don't want to. What a beautiful, beautiful thought.

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[todayisafridaynight]

plane scene is so funny cause why is mine a sleeper agent that wakes up whenever daigo is mentioned

can’t wait to see it in dragon engine :3

mine has been the winner for Funniest Character Imaginable for 15 consecutive years and i have yet to see anyone come close i fear

[cuteniarose]

Me: *creates an OC*

Me: *heavily implies OC will meet a bad fate*

OC: *meets bad fate*

Me:

(Alternatively, I may have started it, but @katkastrofa enabled me and now I’m losing my mind)