#like they just put it there and expected no one to question it
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
YOU ARE MARRIED??!!
-Wayne Manor, Gotham-
Cass is not having a good time. From the Arkham breakout last week all the way to losing a bet with his siblings on who is going to attend the gala with Bruce. And now this annoying lady kept asking her about her preference in men or something. And Bruce can't help her since he is being occupied by those rich assholes about investment or stuff.
Vicky: So, Miss Wayne. Is it true that you have a secret boyfriend?
Cass: No.
Vicky: Then how about that pict-
Cass: I'm already married.
Vicky blue screened as Cass finished her sentence. Cass takes the chance and slips away from her before she starts barraging her with questions. Revealing that she is married may not be the smartest thing she has done but she is very annoyed at people who keep asking her about her secret significant other. If they want to ask, at least use the proper term.
Just as Cass reaches the hallway, she is scooped up by two strong arms and is carried away to the Batcave. Cass looks to her side to see Dick and Jason both holding one of her arms each and looking very pissed. Well, Dick looks very pissed. Jason looks like he is having fun. Cass doesn't struggle and just lets her brothers carry her to the Batcave to have the talk.
They put Cass on the couch and proceed to guard the exit of the cave on the off chance that she decides to escape. Not that she would because she and her husband have been thinking of breaking the news to their respective family for awhile now.
She waited for a few hours while playing on her phone. Her main phone. Not the one she used to contact her husband since this family has a lot of competent hackers. She knows that being married is like a big deal. But she doesn't expect it to be such a big deal.
When she says everyone is here, she means everyone. From all his close family all the way to Selina (Bruce's fiancee), Roy (Jason's boyfriend), Kori (Dick's wife), Kon (Tim's boyfriend), Jon (Damian's bff) and even Harley and Ivy is here. She is also pretty sure that Clark is listening from somewhere but it's not like she is trying to keep it a secret anymore, so the more people there are the less she needs to explain.
Harper: So what are we here again? I would rather be home to polish my new gun than in this cave.
Dick: Since everyone is here, I would like to apologize for calling all of you in such short notice.
A murmur ranging from 'it's fine' all the way to 'I want to sleep' sounded in the room.
Dick: Anyway, let's get to the main topic shall we. For starters, I would like to say that none of us wishes to control who you dated nor who you choose to be your partner.
Some more murmurs sounded in the room.
Dick: HOWEVER! We would really appreciate it if you wish to marry someone, at least notify one of us since being married is a big deal.
More murmurs sounded as all of them have a rough idea on what the topic going to be.
Dick: So, the person in question, would you like to explain yourself?
A spotlight lights up on top of Cass, directing all the people's attention to her. She doesn't even know there is a spotlight installed in the cave.Cass stands up and looks at the crowd. She replies, "No."
Everyone is stunned by her reply. They expect many types of replies but no is certainly not one of them.
Tim: Fuck you mean no?
Alfred: I would prefer this conversation to remain civil and proper please master Timothy. I would also like to express my extreme displeasure at the fact that I am not notified by your marriage Mistress Cassandra.
Cass goes still at Alfred's sentence. Okay, shit is really serious. As much as she loves messing with them, she would rather not have her food burnt on the inside. (No one knows how Alfred manages to do that.)
Cass: Ehem, I'm just messing with you. It is a long story but to make it short, my husband and I met when we were in Hong Kong. We met after he got roped in one of the gangs that I was busting. After we met and a little misunderstanding, he helped me to dismantle the underground drug labs across Hong Kong.
Tim: So he is also a vigilante?
Cass: Ex-vigilante. He has a daughter now so he is taking care of her.
Dick: You get pregnant?!! How? When?
Cass: I did not get pregnant. But she is technically my daughter.
Jason: Like how Lian is with me?
Cass: No. Biological daughter.
Kon: Umm, guys. I think Bruce needs to rest a little. His heart has been beating a little too fast for even him.
Dick and and Tim are closest to Bruce realizing that Bruce's face has been impossibly pale for quite a while now. They take him to an empty couch and let him lay there and rest for a while. Everyone's reactions range from amused to straight up concerned that Bruce's career as Batman might get cut short today.
It takes a while but as soon as Bruce is fine, they continue another round of questions and answers.
Bruce: How long have you been married?
Cass: Next week is our 3rd anniversary.
Duke: Wait. Didn't you plan to go to Hong Kong for some time next week? You even ask me to cover your patrol because you say you need to go somewhere.
Cass: I don't lie. I missed last year's anniversary since there was an Arkham breakout at the time.
Duke: Dude, still not cool. You are going on a date with your husband while I need to spend hours running on top of buildings around Gotham. So not fair.
Jason: Was the present you asked me to send last year also was for your husband?
Cass: Yes.
Jason: I've been your middle man all this time and I don't even know.
Barbara: I found it! This is the registration for marriage between Cassie Cain and Daniel Fenton. You used a fake name?
Cass: Yes. You will know otherwise.
Bruce: Why do you hide it?
Cass: I'm not sure all of you are gonna like him and vice versa.
Dick: Is he a bad person? I will kill him if he treats you badly.
Cass: No. He doesn't trust all of you at first.
Steph: And why is that?
Cass: He thinks the Justice League is working with the government. So by extension, all of you are associates of government to him.
Steph: Why is he running away from the government? Is he a criminal?
Barbara: No. He doesn't have any criminal records in his name. Except for the fact that he is practically nonexistent before he is 18, there is nothing wrong with him.
Tim: Is it a forged identity then?
Cass: No. The government wiped away his records.
Dick: What? Why?
Cass: I don't know.
Damian: I expect you to at least do a background check on someone before marrying them, Cain.
Dick: Did you get married with someone you barely know? Do you understand how dangerous that is? What if he just dipped you after you got married?
Cass: *Rolls her eyes* He isn't a bad person. I make sure of that at least. I know he is some sort of meta tho-
A green portal suddenly appears out of thin air making everyone be on guard except Cass. She expects Danny to come out of the portal to greet her but what comes out baffled her.
A young girl that looks a little like Cass riding on a big wolf comes out of the portal swiftly towards Cass. Everyone is just about to shoot their weapons when the girl's word shock them.
???:Mama!
Everyone: Mama?!!
#danny phantom#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc#batfam#danny x cass#dead silent#cassandra cain#cass x danny#justice league#dc x dp
853 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHAPTER ONE: The Businessman.
kento nanami x fem!reader. nsfw.
your first night at Tsukumo's Angels, and you get put on the phone sex line.
masterlist. read on ao3
You sit on a peeling leather couch that sticks to the back of your thighs in the heat. An old metal-blade fan sits mounted on the wall to your left, but it’s a sorry excuse for one—someone blowing on you would quicker dry the sweat from your brow. It’s not as dingy as Toji’s apartment, which you suppose is an upside: things are looking brighter already. Yay.
The beautiful woman sitting across from you in a small black tank and jeans—in this weather—taps her nails against the surface of her desk. Her blonde hair gates her vision a little, but you can still feel the sharpness of her gaze on your skin. She’s sizing you up. You aren’t sure if you like it.
“So,” she leans back in her seat. “Your name was..?”
You look up at her, at the way her hands are clasped together. She could look down at the faded resumé in front of her and see your name written as clear as day, but she asks you instead. Maybe to hear it from your own lips.
You tell her your name, and she parrots it back to you to test it on her tongue. She decides that she likes the taste. “I’m Yuki Tsukumo. I own Tsukumo’s Angels, the finest budget escort service in the city.”
You knew that, of course, but you nod as a formality regardless. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Yuki smiles at you—wide and toothy and ever so beautiful. She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. She blows her smoke to the left and you almost forget just how hot it is in her office. “I hear you’d like a job?”
You’re going to hell. Every late-night-TV preacher and grandmother in the congregation would tell you the same thing. It’s not just what you’re doing—it’s what you’re thinking, what you’re willing to become to make it out of this.
When you were younger, stupider, you’d fear hell like nothing else. Eternal heat, endless suffering, a constant lack of breath, a pit with no end. Now, you’re starting to think it might feel a lot like this city at night: oppressive heat rising from the pavement, the air thick and stifling, and an unshakable sense that something, or someone, is watching you.
Toji used to call the nightlife a cancer. And although he rarely managed the truth, this might have been one of the rare times it slipped past his lips. You tug at the hem of your dress—a little too tight, a little too short. It’s what you had to work with, cobbled together from a half-hearted thrift store run and whatever nerve you could muster.Yuki didn’t say anything about a dress code, and maybe you’re stereotyping yourself here, but you’re out of your element and this dress is short enough to strip the attention from your fidgeting hands.
The fluorescent lights outside Tsukumo’s Angels buzz faintly as you approach, the words glowing in neon pink that is reflected in the puddles on the concrete. The heavy metal door creaks loudly when you push it open and step in. 7 on the dot. You’ll be here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about finding a place to live until tomorrow. Don’t think about it.
Inside, the air is cooler, though not by much. The same peeling leather couch greets you, as does the same faint smell of smoke and something cheap, floral, and over-applied. Yuki isn’t at the desk this time, but a tall man in a plain white button-up leans against it, his arms crossed. He’s an attractive man, a cigarette hangs from his lips—you’re starting to see a trend in staff here.
“You the lamb?” He asks, though the way he looks you up and down tells you he already has an answer to that question.
“Lamb?” you ask.
He smiles, moustached lip curling upwards in something mocking and dangerously sultry. “Yeah, you’re the lamb—” he extends a hand for you to shake “—Shiu.”
Shiu has a rough grip, you note. Not mean or calloused like you’d expect from a man of physical labours, but just… rough. “It’s nice to meet you,” you hum. He laughs.
He takes another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter in the dim light, and looks you over once more before flicking the ash into an already overflowing tray on the desk. He blows a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, eyes narrowing slightly as the smoke curls. “You look familiar. I’ve seen you here before?”
You shake your head. “You haven’t.”
Shiu narrows his eyes even further, takes in the way your dress clings tight, how your frame stands in front of him. Your nerves… the tinge of excitement beneath them. “Have we..?”
“No!” your eyes widen, voice a little louder than you intend it to be. “Sorry. I just got out of a relationship so… no, we haven’t…”
“A breakup, huh? That’s always an interesting reason to land somewhere like this.” His voice lowers. He’s toying with you. “What’d he do? Not give you enough attention? Leave you out in the cold?”
You don’t owe him an explanation: you’re here and that’s all that matters, but you find yourself shrugging regardless. “Something like that.”
Shiu smiles, something teasing but not quite mocking. “Right, well if you’re here as a rebound I’d advise you to walk your ass right back out of that door. You’ll get attention here, for sure, but this isn’t the place for… soft comforts.”
“I’m not here for comfort.”
“Good,” says Shiu. “Keep it that way. You’re here to provide a service, an experience, but not without boundaries. Those lines blur when you start wanting cuddles and reassurance after, and when the lines blur you aren’t doing everything in your power to keep yourself safe. These men—and women—pay for sex for a reason. Remember that.”
You know. You know. There’s nothing warm and fuzzy about being an Angel, or a lamb, as he puts it. Still, you want to make the most of the hole you’re in. You narrow your eyes at Shiu and hope he doesn’t chide you for changing the subject when you ask: “and what about you? Are you—”
“For sale?” A door behind Shiu pushes open and in walks Yuki Tsukumo. She’s ditched the jeans from yesterday for a long black dress: one that hugs her figure and flows like liquid down to her ankles. She looks taller, and a whole lot cleaner than the gritty lobby you stand in. “Give me a good offer and I’ll rent him out to you. Shiu is security, he’ll take care of you if and when you need him to.”
Shiu scoffs at Yuki’s joke and takes a step to the left so that she can slot in next to him. Yuki, your boss, looks you up and down. You catch the way her gaze lingers on your dress, though you can’t tell if it’s judgement or approval behind her lashes. She flits her gaze to Shiu. “Are you trying to scare my lamb away, Kong?”
Shiu shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Yuki rolls her eyes and lands her gaze on you once again. Seeing you so out of your element, she gives you a soft smile to try and ease your nerves. “You’ll be okay here. I showed you my office yesterday, I’ll be in there if you need me at any time, okay? You’re never more than a few steps from security and if you have issues with anyone, co-worker or client, you can come to me.”
Weirdly, that does soothe you. Though your moment to take a breath quickly passes when Yuki straightens up and turns on her heels with only a nod for you to follow. “Come then.”
The door she came from leads down a long hallway with dim fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The walls are bare, the paint chipped in spots, revealing patches of old wallpaper beneath. Yuki doesn’t wait for you to catch up; her heels click with purpose on the tiled floor, echoing through the narrow space. You’re almost at the end of the hall before she speaks again, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’m not going to throw you in the deep end, but you’re not getting a soft landing either. I’ll introduce you to one of my angels, Utahime, and she’s going to walk you through our phone sex services. Sound good?”
Without waiting for a reply, Yuki steps through another door and leads you into a big lounge area. Against the back wall are a bunch of mirrors and vanity stations, makeup and hygiene products littered over each tabletop. A few girls in even fewer clothing sit and do their hair and makeup, chatting amongst themselves and shooting you soft smiles as you and Yuki walk past.
Your boss steps over to a cream chaise lounge against another wall where a girl around your age lays splayed across the cushioning. She’s wearing a dress like yours, short and black and very ‘sex-sells’, and is tapping away on her phone with such rapt attention she doesn’t notice the two of you approach until Yuki clears her throat.
“Utahime,” she drawls and gestures to you. “This is our newest lamb. I’d like you to walk her through our phone services tonight. Doable?”
The girl—Utahime—looks you over. She looks a little bored, gorgeous black hair falling over her shoulders and her nails still tapping absentmindedly against her phone screen. Her perfectly arched brow raises, just slightly, before she finally glances at Yuki.
“Doable,” she says with a lazy shrug. “I have the businessman booked in for a call in half an hour… maybe he’d like a session with the new girl?”
You look at Yuki, who looks at you in the same breath. She seems to think about something before ultimately nodding. “If you can get her up to speed before he calls, let her have a go with him.”
“The businessman?” You ask.
Yuki smiles. “He’s a hard worked man, but he’s so unfamiliar with his sex drive that you’d think he was a priest. He might actually benefit from talking to someone new.”
You nod—sex therapy for a businessman couldn’t be that hard. Utahime stands and adjusts her dress before grabbing your wrist and parting from Yuki to pull you across the lounge and into a room off to the side. Utahime’s grip on your wrist is firm but not unkind, and loosens once youre in what she introduces to you as the studio.
It’s so much nicer than you expected. The room is decently sized and lit up with warm fairy lights. Almost like a recording studio, there are doors to a few booths across the wall, each one decorated to the nines with pillows and blankets and a station for water and personal items. A few low tables hold candles, fake or otherwise, alongside a small black box of… what you imagine might be toys. A plush little sofa sits in each one too, for comfort.
“Nice, right?” Utahime hums and gently pushes you into one of the booths. “Everything’s designed to make you more comfortable. Clients pick up on that, even over the phone. It’s all sound-proofed in here too, so if you get into it you can be as loud as you want. Seriously, make it yours. You’ll be in here a lot until you start taking in-person clients.”
Utahime sits down on the floor and tosses a pillow in your direction. You startle a little but look at her with a knowing smile at her efforts to start feeling familiar. “So,” you start, sitting down on the plush sofa and toying with the small headset that hangs from the armrest. “The businessman… tell me about him?”
Utahime leans back against the wall and props her chin in her hand. “The businessmaaaan. He’s sweet. He’s only called in once before, spoke to me but got too nervous to do anything more than talk about his day. He was polite—apologised about ten times for wasting my time, which, by the way, he wasn’t. He’s got this earnestness about him that’s kind of rare. But you can tell he’s not used to this kind of thing. Not even close. It’s… cute.”
You look at her, a soft smile crosses her lips. If it wasn’t just work you’d think she had a soft spot for him. “Do you think he’ll mind talking to me instead of you? Changing things up might make him feel even more nervous.”
Utahime shakes her head. “I think he’ll appreciate someone who’s also new to this. You can learn from each other. He’s booked to call in twenty minutes. We could do some practice calls until then? I’ll show you the ropes.”
She puts her hand up to her ear to simulate a phone and you laugh at the gesture. “Sounds good.”
Meanwhile, in his small apartment bedroom, Kento Nanami—the businessman—paces from door to dresser. Back and forth, back and forth. He tightens his tie, and then loosens it just to feel unmade and tighten it again.
Why did he book a second call? The first was ridiculous, he talked to a nice young lady about officework woes and quarterly reports and hung up after an hour with a call-girl sized dent in his wallet and no sexual relief to show for it. He’s of half a mind to walk over to his mirror and start practicing lines, but he hasn’t yet lost so much of his decorum.
For the next ten minutes, Nanami sits with his fingers drumming over his thighs, dull thuds against his slacks. He’s lost in his mind, is he even aroused? Capable of being aroused? He can’t remember the last time he jerked off—last month?
He’s two minutes late to call by the time he next checks his phone. “Shit,” he mumbles, fumbling to the contact saved under ‘Personal Services.’ Nanami stares at the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. He clears his throat, adjusts his posture, and exhales sharply through his nose before pressing ‘CALL’.
The line rings, once… twice… and then— “Tsukumo’s Angels, what’s on your mind?”
His breath hitches. He shouldn’t freeze like this, but the poor man simply cannot help it. “Good evening,” he sounds clinical, and his mind is working faster than his mouth because he’s talking before he can register the words that leave his lips. “You… aren’t who I talked to last week.”
“I’m not,” the voice says, Nanami picks up on an edge of unsurety that traces your words. “You’ve caught me on my first night… you could get to know me, if you’d like to.”
Nanami nods, and then realises you can’t see him. “I’d, uh, I’d like that.”’
There’s a soft hum of acknowledgement from your side of the call, and Kento stops feeling the need to toy with his tie. “Great,” you say, your voice steadying a little. “So… why don’t we start with something easy? Tell me a bit about yourself.”
Nanami hesitates. “There’s not much to tell. I work in finance. My days are… predictable, for the most part.”
“Predictability isn’t always a bad thing,” you reply gently. “But I get the feeling you aren’t fulfilled.”
"You could say that. It’s a practical job. It pays the bills." He pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, "though I think I’d like a vacation.”
From your spot on the sofa at Tsukumo’s Angels, you lean back and glance at the door. Utahime had stepped out a few minutes ago, giving you space to settle into your first call. “Are you a beach man or a mountain man?”
“Beach,” his reply is immediate. He clears his throat. “There’s something calming about the ocean. The sound of the waves, the salt in the air… it’s grounding.”
You smile at the vivid image his words paint. “I get that. The ocean feels endless in a way that’s comforting, doesn’t it? Like it can hold all your worries for a while.”
“Yes. Exactly that. I’d read, listen to the water, just exist.”
“What does a man like you read?”
“Anything classic. I like things tried-and-true, change is… difficult for me. Hemingway maybe. Or Murakami, if I’m in the right mood.”
“Tasteful,” you reply. “And if I were there on the beach with you, could I distract you from your book, or are you diligent in your focus?”
In his room, Nanami’s mouth goes dry as his cock twitches in his slacks. You haven’t even said anything lewd, but he’s feeling oddly restless nonetheless. “I like to think I’m a focused man,” he starts, shuffling back on his bed to rest against the headboard. He takes his glasses off and rests them on the bedside table. “But under the right circumstances, I could be persuaded to set the book down.”
“Careful, businessman, I could take that as a challenge.”
“I’d hope so.”
He’s blushing at his own words and, in the same breath, reaching downwards with his free hand to palm as his hardening cock. He takes a sharp breath in and prays to every god he’s ever read about that you didn’t hear him.
“You’re saying I’d have to earn your attention?” Your question is honeyed.
“I suppose,” so is his reply.
“Good, I like working for my meals.”
Nanami snorts— “what, you’re going to eat me?”
“Yes,” your voice makes his cock jump. He sighs and pulls his slacks down enough to hook it out. “Have you ever wanted something so bad that you’d consume it whole if you could?”
Nanami thinks for a moment about a promotion, and then shakes his head. His mind jumps instead to the hypothetical beach retreat, with a book in one hand and the back of your head in his other as he pushes your mouth down on his cock so deep you’re gagging and drooling all over the place. Ungentlemanly, but enough of a visual to incite his tip to start drooling precum. He smears it over the head with his thumb, and nearly chokes on his words. “I have.”
“That’s how I feel. There’s an intimacy to taking care of someone, especially when they’re stressed like you. I bet your muscles are so tight they’d be hard under my hands. Being the one to relax you, make you feel good? That’d make me feel good.”
Nanami hums. “Usually I’m the one doing the servicing.”
“I don’t doubt that. You should be the one being taken care of. Poor thing, working so hard every day: carrying all that weight on your shoulders. You deserve a break.”
Poor Kento moans at that—a break. God, the things he’d do for a break. He feels almost pathetic pumping his cock to the thought of reprieve from the monotonous 9-5 he lives, but he hasn’t felt this good in a long time. His breathing grows heavier as your words coil around him. “You’re… ha, you’re good at this. It’s your first day?”
“Don’t distract me,” you hum. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“You,” he exhales. “Your eyes. Looking up at me. Or your hands on my thighs. How you’d touch me like you know me. Like we know each other. Like we’ve done it a hundred times before and still aren’t sick of each other.”
He doesn’t know why he says that, why his fantasy quickly shifts from a beachside blowjob to the domestic life. To lazy morning sex or late nights in the kitchen that turn from snack runs to you hoisted onto the counter with his head between your thighs. He pictures you, whatever you look like, laughing as he kisses your neck and brings home gifts carved out of his paycheck. He pictures a life shared, and feels awful for it.
“Sorry,” his strokes falter. “Sorry I don’t know why—”
“I like that thought,” you stop him from spiralling. “Maybe we have. Maybe in another life you’d come home to me every night, waiting for you… ready to make you forget about everything but the way you make me feel.”
His chest heaves as his hand works faster, stroking his cock at a near brutal pace to the images you plant into his mind. You’re in his bed, you’re bent over his desk, you’re lazing on the sofa with him, you’re up against the wall in his shower. “Fuck.”
“I’d know you inside and out,” you continue on, and he swears he can hear a slight hitch to your breath—are you touching yourself? He pictures phone sex operators sitting bored at a desk as they read from a script. But you sound…invested. Heated. “I’d know exactly how to take care of you. You’d come home exhausted and I’d make it all better—god, you’d know all of me too.”
Nanami’s hips jerk up into his hand as he feels his release start to build. It’s already dizzying, after such a long dry spell, and his head tips forward in want.“You’re—ha—too good at this. How the hell… how are you—”
“Shh,” you soothe him. “Don’t think. Just feel, just let me take care of you… even from here. You’re touching yourself, yea? Imagine it’s my hand, stroking you after a long day, love. Or maybe I’m riding you, letting you lay back and feel me around you… you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing.”
His free hand fists the sheets as he imagines the warmth of your body pressing against his, the way your nails might scrape lightly over his skin. He pictures your head tilted back, lips parted in ecstasy as you moan his name over and over again.
“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he rarely curses like this. Still, he’s never indulged in something like this before—never let himself slip into the raw, visceral need he now feels. The restraint he’s so practiced in every aspect of his life is dissolving fast, leaving him chasing the pleasure you’re pouring into him.
“Good,” you hum. “I want you to let go for me, give me everything you have all pent up. I can take it.”
Nanami’s pace turns frantic, hips fucking up into his fist as he strokes himself at a torrid pace. His mind is hazed with fantasies of a simple life, domestic and passionate and before he can stop himself and force a few more minutes of pleasure he’s cumming—hard. A strangled moan, one made for porn, leaves his lips and is met with a sharp intake of breath from your end. Nanami feels self conscious for a moment, drawing his now-sticky hand from his cock as he listens to the phone—were you uncomfortable?
Far from. You hardly realise you have your dress hiked and your hand under the fabric of your panties until you’re timing your orgasm with the businessman on the other end of the call. This is far from protocol, but the last time you’ve been spoken to about making love was when you and Toji first started dating, when he was still sweet on you. Sex since then has been rough and passionate and bruising and great, but never love-making.
You try and stifle your sounds, not knowing yet if it's appropriate for you to touch yourself alongside your clients. You hadn’t intended on it, that’s for sure. You blink the blur from your vision as you try and regain your composure, sliding your hand out of your panties and holding it up in front of you—your fingers glisten under the soft lights and you scramble for a tissue to clean yourself off.
The silence on the phone between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged. “Are you… okay?”
“Yes,” you breathe out a lot quicker than you need to.
“Good,” he says, and you can almost hear the faint smile in his tone. “I was worried I’d—well, that I’d crossed a line.”
You shake your head, even though he can’t see it, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting out how very far from uncomfortable you’d been. “Not at all. I guess we both… just got caught up in the moment.”
He hums in agreement, his voice still a little strained, and something about the lilt of his voice lays deep inside of you. Maybe this line of work isn’t for you if… after one call with a man you don’t know otherwise, you’re already starting to feel open with him. When he speaks, you can hear the nerves lacing his words. “I’m not unhappy it happened.”
“Me neither. You’re full of surprises, Mr. Businessman.”
“You have a way of coaxing them out of me,” he replies. “If I call again, will I get to speak to you?”
It’s a simple question, yet it still implies something more. There’s no rule against it—not officially—but getting closer than needed with clients has already been explained to you as a messy line. Still, you’ve just fucked your fingers to his voice and the fantasies he spoke of—you aren’t in a habit of keeping straight edges.
“Maybe,” you reply, leaving the door open just enough. “Ask for the lamb.”
“The lamb?” He laughs, you like the sound. “I’ll remember that.”
“Please do.”
There's a moment of silence, and you can see Utahime’s shadow in the frosted window on the door. A quick glance to the clock tells you that an hour has passed already. As if sensing your coming end, the businessman speaks. “My time is almost up. Take care of yourself.”
You stare at the door. “You too, Mr Businessman.”
“Nanami,” he corrects you gently. “You can call me Nanami.”
The call ends with a soft click, leaving you sitting there and rpelaying his correction in your head. Nanami.
You’re so lost in thought that you barely register the door creaking open. Utahime steps in, and it’s only when her gaze drops to your lap that the realisation hits—your dress is still slightly rucked up, and your flustered attempt to straighten it comes a moment too late.
“Oh, lamb,” she drawls, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Caught you, didn’t I?”
Your cheeks burn as you stammer, “It’s not—”
“Relax. It happens to everyone eventually.”
You gape at her, mortified. “This doesn’t happen to everyone.”
Utahime grins, her black hair falling over her shoulders as she dips her head down in laughter. It’s not teasing—moreso friendly. She’s trying to laugh with you, not at you. Though still embarrassed, you feel a little less like you want to melt into the couch as she continues. “And you know what that means?”
You tilt your head at her. “What does it mean?”
“That you’ll fit right in here, lamb.”
taglist: @yemmuisworld @lavenderdaydream97 @hellokittyish @gojoscinnamonroll @medusamara5
@echodead @actuallynarii @fallingpinkstars @sleepyfeliz @beautiful--macabre
@suhsfam @honeybunnnnie @lotties-ashwagandha @simpforajax @sooouth
@hellowoolf @xixflower @valleydoli @kvzcs @yenayaps
@devilsfavouritelamb @tojisgothiccbaby @britt-mf @sukubusss @satorurize
@aldebrana @noooo-onee @domainofmarie @sayastyx @hanham10
@sophi-anna @cladoska @itsinherited @personally4runa @simplyraeblue
@wandaneedstherapy @theh0rnyslvt @tojideckmuncher @lisa-takeshi @aviesnapkindoodles
@sugarcoatedsoul @bleedforferxx @y34rnf0rcc @bmorgonzobean @esvinsevyn
#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#nanami smut#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#nanami x reader#jjk x you#nanami x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk
517 notes
·
View notes
Text
ೄྀsome of you STILL don’t understandೄྀ
you must get comfortable in your god state to really succeed
ೄྀPART I | STOP NEGOTIATING WITH THE 3D
To get comfortable in your god state you need to understand that it is you ALONE that manifests. Stop consuming and spreading misinformation, you don’t have to “meet in the middle”with the 3D for your manifestations.
“If you want your dream bod to be manifested you have to stand firm AND workout”
“If you want to manifest clear skin, it’s good to visualise but you should also be focusing on skincare”
“If you want to manifest good grades you can affirm but you actually have to study”
“You can’t expect to manifest when you aren’t bothering to do anything in the 3D”
bullshit. absolute bullshit
although it’s important to still take care of your necessities, there’s no such thing as meeting halfway for your desires. If you think that you don’t understand what manifestation is. And with the assumption that it is, means that you don’t understand your full potential. As soon as you think of a desire it’s yours, no negotiating needs to be done with the 3D. All you have to do is stand firm.
Why are you making deals with the 3D?, “okay, okay if i workout in the 3d and manifest my dream body in my 4d it will come” that just isn’t needed
“okay but it does help things move faster” “it does help things become a little easier” nope, still wrong!
you don’t have to lift a finger for something that’s already yours. never. same goes for inducing pure consciousness, you don’t have to spend hours saturating your conscious mind in order to shift. You can have the worst day and still induce pure consciousness because that’s all it is: a state of consciousness.
ೄྀPART II | EVERYTHING YOU DO IS PERFECT
To get comfortable in your god state you must also understand that you’re doing it all right. Stop asking dumb questions, you’re doing everything correct. The fact that you rely on bloggers to tell you if you should do this or that as if they’re your god shows that you don’t truly understand (and it’s getting really frustrating).
“will i still be able to induce pure consciousness if I lay on my side rather than in a starfish position?”
“do i have to affirm?”
“what if i don’t do this one blogger’s method to the minute details, does this mean i won’t shift?”
asking stupid questions like these confirms that you still don’t understand the extent of your power, you still don’t understand who you are.
And if you don’t understand, you will never progress, treating this like a chore that you have to perfect is where you go wrong. As a god, everything you do is correct, you could even induce pure consciousness by standing straight up and singing heavy metal at the top of your lungs, because what ever you say goes.
Stop sitting back up after minute 5 of it “not working” to check if you’re doing that method correctly. Why does you living your dream life depend on other people’s rules, are they the gods of your reality or is it you?
And you do know this still counts as you putting the void state on a pedestal? There are people who find out about pure consciousness and induce it that same day. Get your head in the game.
1: You don’t have to lift a finger for your dream life
2: You’re doing everything correct, you are “I AM” trust that and you’ll induce in no time
Both of these things, negotiating with the 3D and asking if your doing it right in YOUR OWN reality are signs that you don’t trust yourself enough. Learn to actually trust yourself and accept your fate as a god and you’ll have everything you dream of
NOW GO GO GO, GO GET YOUR DREAM LIFE
🍵🪷To understand and succeed you must trust yourself
#salemlunaa#shiftblr#reality shifting#shifting#permashifting#void state#loa#law of assumption#success story#the void#void concept#respawning#pure consciousness#loa tumblr#loablr#shifting consciousness#shifting awareness#god state#i am state#the void state#void#void state tips#voidstate#desired life#desired reality#shifters#shifting community#manifestation
702 notes
·
View notes
Text
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.
#works ★#jjk x reader smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#suguru x reader#suguru x you#suguru x y/n#geto x y/n#geto x you#suguru geto x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru x y/n#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk crack#jujutsu kaisen crack
415 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.
warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET
notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)
♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 this man
✰ Index (+ fics here)
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.
You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.
You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.
A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.
“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.
“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”
Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.
Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.
Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.
Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.
“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.
“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”
“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”
The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.
“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.
And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.
…
Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.
You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.
It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.
Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.
Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.
At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.
The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.
He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.
What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.
Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.
His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.
The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.
Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.
So now, was like it was meant to be.
How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.
Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.
With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.
And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.
…
Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.
Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.
“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.
“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.
The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.
“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”
“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.
“You sound like an ethnocentric…”
“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.
“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”
His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.
“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”
“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.
“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.
“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.
Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.
“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.
“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.
The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.
…
Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.
The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.
It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.
He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.
He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.
After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.
Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.
Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.
“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.
The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.
You swore you saw your salesman.
Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.
“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.
“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.
But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.
Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.
And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.
You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.
Your salesman was the attacker.
“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.
His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.
It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.
You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.
There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.
You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.
But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.
Your salesman finally found you.
…
“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.
The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.
Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.
“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.
Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.
“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.
“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”
He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.
“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.
For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.
“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”
His good girl….
What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.
What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”
He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.
“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.
“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”
Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.
“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.
“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”
“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.
He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.
Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.
Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.
Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.
“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.
“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.
His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.
It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.
You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.
At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.
Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.
…
When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.
“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”
“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.
He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.
“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”
He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.
Fuck everything, you thought.
I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).
“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.
Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.
Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.
Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.
Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.
You step forward, confidently eyeing him.
“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”
He gulped.
His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.
Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.
Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.
You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.
Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.
“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.
“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”
“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”
“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.
“I don’t need your money”
“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”
“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”
It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.
“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.
Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.
As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.
_______________________________________________
If you ask for more I will provide
Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.
#gong yoo x reader#the salesman x reader#squid game x reader#squid game x y/n#squid game x you#gong yoo
310 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lily's Touch
Poly!Marauders + Lily x Reader who's experiencing her first heat...
Summary: The reader is experiencing her first heat, and nothing matter how hard she tries, she can't get the nest right.
WC: 1.4k
CW: Omegaverse, grammar and spelling, not proof read, references of intense emotions and the reader is elf conscious.
Remus knew it was coming- everyone did.
Seven years of Hogwarts, two years of living with your mates, and not once had you experienced a heat.
It didn’t bother him, not really. It didn’t bother any of them, but they all knew how much it bothered you. The way your shoulders tensed when Lily went into heat, how you’d quietly dote on her with sweet affections, offering soothing touches and cups of tea. But when it came to yourself, you withdrew, closing in on yourself like you didn’t deserve the same attention. You never said it outright, but they could see it- the way you felt left behind, as though your body had somehow failed you. It broke his heart.
They’d tried to comfort you in countless ways. Late-night reassurances, Remus’s soft words murmured over cocoa, James’s hand squeezing yours with that protective and reassuring energy, Sirius teasing you relentlessly until you couldn’t help but laugh, and Lily’s endless supply of comfort. They’d spent nights making sure you knew that even if you never went into heat, even if your body never did what you expected, it wouldn’t change how much they loved you. You were theirs, no matter what. But words only went so far.
Yesterday, everything changed.Remus was the first to notice.
It started small; little things, like the way you trailed after them through the house, never straying too far from anyone’s side. You clung to Sirius’s shirt that morning as he made breakfast, your fingers twisting in the fabric absentmindedly. Sirius had given you a curious look but said nothing, choosing instead to ruffle your hair and tease you lightly about being clingy. Normally, you’d respond with a sassy remark or a playful shove, but this time, you simply leaned into his touch with a quiet hum.
James noticed next. You curled up beside him on the couch, tucking yourself under his arm like you belonged there, and he didn’t question it. He simply wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple while Lily smiled knowingly from across the room.
By midday, it was undeniable. You were restless, unsettled in a way none of them had seen before. Your instincts were bubbling just beneath the surface, tugging at you in directions you didn’t fully understand. And by evening, it all came to a head.
The last sign was when Remus got up to move. You’d been half-curled in Sirius’s lap, Remus’s fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle. But the moment he shifted to stand, you stared at him, wide-eyed and panicked, as if the simple act of him moving away was too much to bear.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Remus cooed softly, pausing in place. He hadn’t meant to upset you, but the way your eyes began to water sent a sharp pang through his chest.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, your voice small and shaky. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Remus whispered gently, stepping closer again. “Come here.” He opened his arms, and you immediately clung to him, pressing your face into his jumper with a sniffle of a cry.
That night, Remus took you to bed with him, and the simple act of being close seemed to calm you. But it was only the beginning.
The next day, it became clear to everyone- this was it. You were going into heat for the first time.
No one said a word, not wanting to put pressure on you. The human body was strange, and any small thing could ruin this. They wanted you to experience it at your own pace, to live through it without the weight of expectations. But by afternoon, as everyone gathered in the living room, it became impossible to ignore.
You’d gotten it into your head that you needed to build a nest. It started with a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of the room, but no matter how much you arranged and rearranged them, it didn’t feel right. You’d build it up, only to tear it apart moments later, frustration growing with every failed attempt.
Remus had seen it coming- how you were spiraling between uncertainty and instinct, your body and mind at odds with something new and overwhelming. It made his chest ache, watching you struggle to build your nest, tearing it apart moments later as frustration clouded your features. He wanted to reach out, to tell you again that it didn’t matter if it was perfect. That you didn’t need to prove anything to them. You were enough. You always had been.
But he knew better. You needed to figure it out in your own way. Still, he stayed close, crouched beside you, ready to help if you asked.
Lily’s voice was calm and soothing, her fingers brushing through your hair as she murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“But it feels wrong.” Your voice trembled, hands twisting in the fabric of a blanket as though it might somehow yield the answer you were looking for. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“It’s strange the first time,” Lily said gently, her hand never pausing in its soothing strokes. “You’re doing great, I promise.”
You didn’t seem convinced. Remus could see the doubt weighing on you, the way your shoulders tensed under Lily’s touch. It wasn’t frustration anymore; it was fear. Fear of doing it wrong. Fear of not being enough.
“You’re trying too hard,” he said softly, leaning in a little closer. “It’s okay to ask for help.”
“I don’t want to mess it up,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I just… I want to impress you. I want it to be good. I want to do it right for once.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. You didn’t need to impress them. You didn’t need to be anything other than who you already were. He reached out, gently taking your trembling hands in his own, giving them a soft squeeze. “You don’t have to impress us,” he said quietly. “We already think you’re incredible.”
James knelt beside you, hazel eyes warm with quiet affection. “We’re proud of you,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
Sirius plopped down on your other side, grinning as he draped an arm around your shoulders. “Come on then, what is it?”
You blinked at him, confused. “What’s what?”
Sirius shrugged, voice teasing but kind. “What’s that pretty head saying? What’s it want you to do?”
For a moment, you hesitated. Remus could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip nervously. But then, something shifted. You let out a shaky breath, slowly rising to your feet. They all watched in silence as you paused, glancing around the room like you were searching for something. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your breathing uneven.
And then, as though pulled by an unseen thread, you turned and made your way toward the shared room. You hesitated at the door, casting a glance back at them, eyes uncertain, before stepping inside.
Remus followed quietly, stopping in the doorway as you approached Lily’s nest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to disturb whatever instinct was guiding you now. He only watched as you reached out, running your fingers over the soft blankets and pillows that made up Lily’s carefully crafted space.
You knelt down slowly, curling into the nest with a soft, content sigh, as though it was the only place you’d ever wanted to be. Lily covered her mouth with her hand, eyes glistening with unshed tears as she took in the sight of you nestled in her space. There was something unspoken between the two of you, something so deeply emotional that it made Remus’s throat tighten.
Of course. Of course, this was where you’d end up.
Was it really all that shocking? You had always been Lily’s girl. Always gravitated toward her warmth, her comfort. It made sense in a way that felt almost poetic, that your first heat would lead you to her nest, to the place where you felt safest.
Remus smiled softly to himself, heart aching with affection as he watched Lily crawl in beside you, wrapping her arms around you protectively. You sighed again, melting into her hold, and Remus knew- no matter how long it had taken, no matter how difficult it had been for you to get here- you were finally where you belonged.
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#sirius black#james potter#harry potter x reader#remus lupin x reader#harry potter x you#remus x reader#remus lupin#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius x you#sirius x reader#james potter fic#james x reader#james x you#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x y/n#remus x you#remus lupin fic#lily evans x y/n#lily evans x you#lily evans x reader#mauraders fanfiction#mauraders x reader#omegaverse
182 notes
·
View notes
Text
❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞
fuck you, christopher sturniolo
✎ t.w.: sexual tension!
you sighed, throwing your books in your bag. what was the point of studying until you felt physically nauseous if the maximum you could get was always a C?
you didn't understand: you did everything you could think of to memorise and understand the stuff you had to study for your exams, yet it wasn't enough. it never was.
"hey! how..." your roommate turned to face you with a big smile on her face, holding proudly her exam sheet with a big red A written on top of it. her smile faded as soon as she saw your disappointed expression, her eyes falling to the piece of paper you had abandoned carelessly on your desk. "oh, baby..." she cooes, her hand rubbing comfortingly your arm. "it's fine, next time it'll go better, yeah?"
you shake your head, the weight of disappointment sitting heavily on your stomach. you sighed before saying, "i need to get some air. i'll see you at the rink, yeah?"
cherry sighed, but she nodded nevertheless. she whispered a soft "okay," then let go of your arm as you got up and left the room.
the halls were, as always, crowded as fuck. normally it wouldn't bother you one bit, but today...yeah, today you were pissed, to say the least. you just couldn't help it, negativity radiating from every cell of your body.
your original plan of going outside to cool your brain quickly changed, your feet bringing you elsewhere, completely out of your jurisdiction. and before you knew it, you stood at the perimeter of the ice rink, watching as a bunch of hockey players glided left and right across the arena.
your eyes caught the jersey of a man sliding right in front of you, the name "STURNIOLO", the number 3 standing proudly below it.
"yo, ice baby" chris took off his helmet right as the coach blew in the whistle, signaling the end of the practice. your friend shook his head left and right, droplets of sweat flying around. you mentally thanked the presence of the thick plastic walls between you two. chris got out of the rink, stomping his feet to reach you without losing balance.
he sat on the bench near you, putting the helmet down. "so? what are you doing here? you don't have lesson for another hour and a half."
you shrugged, sitting down beside him. "just had to get some fresh air."
chris eyed you, analyzing your face. he clearly didn't buy your lie, and he was determined to find out what was going on in your mind. "yeah, no kid, spill the truth or something cause i'm not buying your bullshit."
you groaned annoyed, well aware that he wasn't going to let it go until he had an answer. sighing, you got up, walking back and forth while explaining to him how frustrated you were at yourself cause no matter how hard you studied, nothing seemed to work and you felt like you were just loosing time.
chris didn't speak, letting you ramble on and on about your problem, eventually nodding to signal that he was, in fact, listening. you took a big breath once you finished talking, feeling definitely better. maybe cherry was right when she told you that speaking does, indeed, help.
"you do know that matt took the same exam, right?"
taken aback by his question, you didn't answer him: did he? he probably took it the year before, cause there was no way you never noticed him. you shook your head, sitting down in front of your friend.
he hummed, shrugging before casually saying "he did. passed with a straight A, maybe he can help you."
"i..."
"it's fine, really. i'll talk to him at dinner, yeah? don't worry, baby, you're gonna ace it." and just like that, he got up from the bench, grabbing his helmet before ruffling your hair and heading outside.
"hey! aren't you gonna shower or something?" you called out, watching confused as chris turned around briefly, exclaiming "water's out!" before closing the door behind him.
you furrowed your brows, clearly not expecting it. you decided to check for yourself, walking towards the door that lead to the locker room.
as you entered the room, you didn't notice the lonely gym bag hiding behind the door, its content spilling from the open zipper. you kept walking towards the showers, wanting to check the water pressure from one of the sinks there.
as you opened the door, steam engulfed you whole, blocking your view. from one of the open showers emerged matt, wrapped in a white towel. you stood frozen at the door, not knowing what to do, but with one thought in mind: fuck you, christopher sturniolo.
right as you turned around to run away from there, matt's eyes caught yours, freezing you on the spot. you couldn't help but admire the way drops of water dripped from his long hair, falling on his face and neck, running down to his exposed torso. and god, was he well sculpted. your mouth dried at the sight, your heart drumming in your ribcage. your hands itched with the want–no, the need– to touch him, to explore his body with your fingers, drawing every crevice and dip and curve of his abs.
"jesus," you whispered softly, almost inaudible, catching yourself in the act and hoping he didn't hear anything. luckily for you, he didn't. and if he did, he acted like he didn't.
he cleared his throat, smirking as your eyes snapped back to his face. "anything you like, baby?" he asked, stepping closer to you to grab another smaller towel he had placed on the sink earlier. he ran said towel through his hair, trying to absorbe as much water as possible, all while not breaking eye contact. for the first time, you asked yourself if he called you by your name or if he meant it as a pet name. either way, you didn't like how much it affected you.
"i- i'm sorry i didn't know you were here," you stuttered embarrassed, trying to regain some decency back.
he bit back a smile, genuinely amused by the situation. "clearly," he murmured, watching you struggle to not let your eyes fall back on his body. he decided to pull a little trick on you, glancing down quickly at his body knowing that the immediate reaction he would get would be a mirror of his own act. and, indeed, your eyes travelled down his body instinctively, a natural reflex of your own body betraying you.
you mentally cursed yourself, realising too late what had just happened. however, you couldn’t help but stare, noticing only now the tent hiding beneath his towel. you didn’t know if it was the steam, matt’s presence or your own arousal, but your mind began fogging like crazy, leaving you dizzy and unstable on your legs. matt took a couple steps towards you, your feet moving backwards until your back hit the cold tile wall of the shower room, effectively trapping you.
you could feel the heat radiating from his body clouding your senses, turning your brain in mush.
“matt-” you gasped, his blue eyes burning holes into your skin from the intensity of his gaze. he slowly raised his hand, caressing so delicately your cheek the same way you would touch a ceramic doll, delicate and careful in fear it might break. you closed your eyes at the contact, so delicate and warm yet so wrong and rushed. you swallowed hard before managing to croak out a soft “what are you…”
at the sound of your voice matt seemed to snap back to reality, his hand dropping by his side. the bubble of tension suddenly bursted, bringing you both back to reality, cold chills running through your arms. “shit, i-” he sighed, running a hand on his face, “you should probably go.”
you stood there paralyzed for a couple more seconds, watching as he turned around and walked away. you nodded slowly to no one in particular before running through the door, leaving the locker room. as soon as the chilled air of the halls hit your face you started breathing again, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
and as you walked towards your room, only one image crossed your mind, repeating on loop: matt sturniolo half naked in front of you, aching to touch you.
© stvrnioloslvt
𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃/𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓
ও a.n: hi guys, i'm so sorry i haven't posted in a while, i have a shit ton of exams to take and way too little time to write :(
ও anyway, hope you liked the little sexual tension between those two, i sure has hell had fun writing it! as always, you're more than welcome in my comments/inbox to ask questions, requests, etc.
ও also... look how cute this little thing is! it's a fennec fox, and i feel like it embodies 100% baby's personality, cute as fuck but also wild and not too keen on physical contact. in love with it, honestly.
love you all, bree ☾
icy taglist: @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @sofieeeeex @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11
#©stvrnioloslvt au[hockeyplayer!matt]#© stvrnioloslvt#🏒hockeyplayer!matt#⛸️figureskater!reader#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo tumblr#matt stuniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt x reader#matthew sturniolo#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader
170 notes
·
View notes
Text
What they wish to tell you
Decks used : I don't care oracle, White Numen tarot, Spirit Junkie oracle
Group 1 ⭐️
"My productivity stems from inspiration. When I focus on what brings me joy, my tasks become effortless actions." The Moon, 4 of pentacles, 5 of cups, Abuse of power rx, Party in your heart, Surprise rx
They wish to tell you that they're afraid and unhappy. That they feel powerless within this connection. They feel like they've lost all chances of being with you and that scares them. I get a lot of sadness from this spread. Sadness and regret. They feel unsafe. Like all the fun has been taken away from them. They can't seem to rejoice about the things they used to like or to marvel at life. They have a hard time focusing on daily tasks, seeing the glass half full. They feel uninspired, unmotivated, lost because things aren't as they used to be. They feel like you've changed, whether that's the truth or not. They feel disconnected from you, from people in general. They have a hard time thinking positively. I feel like they struggle with mental health issues at the moment. At the back of each deck we have The High Priestess, Dopamine ? Dopa-go ! & My friendships support me, nourish me and inspire me. This person feels like they are not supported by the people around them. They have lost the will to fight for what makes them happy, what they believe in. They're going through a dark night of the soul and they're in a lot of confusion right now. That's also something they try to hide from people around them, including you. They put on a façade but the truth is they wish they could tell you how empty they feel without you. This person wishes they could go back to the times where things weren't as complicated and they could enjoy themselves freely. This person feels like they cannot be themselves freely with their loved ones. For some of you, the person you're thinking of may struggle with their sense of identity. I was picking up on the LGBTQIA2S+ community. For some of you, if your person is a masculine, they may struggle with expressing their feminine side because of societal expectations or pressure from family. I was specifically picking up on Drag Queens and Kings. But more than that I just feel like your person is currently struggling to find their path in life and may be questioning themselves a lot. Which is a very tiring and uncertain time of their life. And they wish they could talk about it with you but for some reason they struggle to do so. Their heart feels very guarded. They are very insecure right now. They have a hard time showing compassion to their own self for what they are experiencing. They may be blaming themselves a lot when they have nothing to be ashamed of. I feel like if this person could change their surroundings maybe they wouldn't be going through such a difficult phase.
Group 2 🍾
"I accept the gifts I've been given as a high service to the world." Death, The Chariot, 3 of swords, Stop doing so much, There's no planet B! , Stand up for yourself rx
The person on your mind wishes to tell you that they feel stuck career wise and they don't know where they stand anymore. This person doesn't feel happy with their professional life as of now and they are afraid to leave whatever situation they're in because they have no idea where they would go or what they would do in such case. This person feels like they don't have what it takes to start over again. They wish they could move on and find something better, get closer to you possibly but they lack the strength and courage to do so. This person feels burnt out by their responsibilities and engagements. They're also afraid of criticism from their peers. On the back of each deck we have knight of swords & Close your eyes, close the curtains and sleep & "Attacking others is an attack on myself. I choose to release this now." They wish to tell you that they do not dare to speak up their mind for fear of rejection. They're afraid of their own light and power, as well as the effects their choices would have on the people around them. They're afraid of the unknown, of "losing" what they're used to. They're afraid of change. They're losing sleep over the fact that no matter how hard they try, no matter how much they think about it, they can't seem to find a way out or a way to change the outcome. On one hand, they know that where they're at right now is detrimental to them. But on the other hand, they feel like if they left whatever situation they're in right now, they would be wasting something beautiful and they could not go back. This person is afraid of taking responsibility and they feel very bad about themselves right now. They're in a dilemma and though they sincerely wish to put an end to this cycle, they can't seem to get themselves out of it. They wish they could tell you how exhausted they are and how hurt they are but they keep it to themselves because they do not wish to burden you with their struggles. Also, for some of you, your person sees you working really hard for your dreams and they're afraid that you're overworking yourself. They wish you would take the time to rest and take care of yourself.
Group 3 🎀
"My friendships support me, nourish me and inspire me." 10 of wands, 2 of wands, The Magician, I dare to declare my love, Please leave a message, Spread the love
I really like the energy of this spread. It's such a stark contrast to the other groups. They wish to tell you that, though they have a lot on their plate, you do not leave their mind and they still have a lot of hope for your connection. You are a source of motivation and inspiration to them. You are the reason why they get up in the morning and do their best every day. They wish to tell you that whatever you are going through, they still appreciate you and care for you. That should you need them, even if they're busy with their own things to deal with, they'll make time and space for you, to comfort you and guide you. They wish to tell you that you are so dear to them and that they're working really hard to be able to be closer to you. That may be true especially for those of you that are in a long distance connection. This person hopes to travel so that they can meet you. They're constantly day dreaming about you. They wish to tell you that you're all they care about and that they only have eyes for you. At the back of each deck we have Ace of pentacles, You are here & "Compassion is my compass. I am willing to hold space for the experience of others." The "You are here" card show an arrow pointing to the Earth from an outer space perspective and the Earth is right at the center of the galaxy from that angle. So they wish to tell you that you're at the center of their Universe. You occupy their thoughts at every moment of their life. I get the same vibe from the compassion card. They are willing to adapt and change things in their life so that you can better fit into their world. With this ace of pentacles, they wish to tell you that they would like to start anew with you or give your connection a new turn by making you an offer. I feel like this person would like to be in a relationship with you, regardless of what people may think and despite the challenges this may rise. It's like, no matter what, they're willing to make it work because you mean so much to them. Honestly this is so sweet.
180 notes
·
View notes
Text
aftercare - c.s.
pairing: fwb!chris sturniolo x reader
summary: you teach your fuck buddy, chris, how to care for you after he rails you
cw: mentions of sex and bodily fluids (mdni), aftercare, pet names (baby, pretty girl, etc.), educational maybe?, fluff
word count: ~1.2k
you and chris had been "together" for a while. when you broke up with your ex 6 months ago, you missed his dick more than anything. fortunately, your friend, chris, offered up just what you needed. you two weren't technically dating, but everyone knew you were fucking each other and only each other. chris was great in bed, he knew exactly what to do to make your back arch and your fists grab the sheets. however, he didn't have nearly as much experience as you do. his lack of experience didn't seem to affect his performance much, but his aftercare skills were shit. and today was no different.
"fuck, you did so good for me baby," chris says in between heavy breaths. he slowly lowers himself to lay next to you as he gently brushes your hair off of your face, both of you sticky from a combination of bodily fluids.
all you could release was a soft hum in response as the blood pumping through your ears began to quiet. you attempt to open your eyes only for the exhaustion to drag your lids back down.
chris laughs, "damn, it was that good?" you could practically hear the smirk in his voice before he let out a soft laugh.
"i'll give you a minute to recover, pretty girl." he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to check his phone on the night stand. after seeing his notifications, he begins rambling on about something sports-related, but you were still much too fucked out to comprehend any spoken language. once your senses returned to normal, your eyes fluttered open and you slowly turned towards chris, cringing as your lower body vibrated from even the small movement.
"guess what time it is," he grins laying against the pillow while facing you.
"what time is it, chris?" you ask trying to mask the discomfort.
"it's… CUDDLE TIME!" he yells suddenly before throwing himself on top of you, forcing you to lay on your back, and engulfing you in his arms.
you groan and attempt to push him off quickly receiving a pout in response.
"heyyy, what's wrong? why won't you cuddle with me?"
"dude… i literally have your cum dripping down my ass crack right now," you roll your eyes.
"oh," he pauses. "um. do you want me to get you a towel or something for that?"
"uh, yeah, that'd be nice," you say passive aggressively.
he doesn't respond as he quickly shuffles to the bathroom to grab a towel.
"do you want a big one or a small one?" he yells from the bathroom.
you sigh. "either is fine," you grumble just loud enough for him to hear.
he returns with a small towel.
"what's wrong baby?" he says as he climbs onto the bed putting the towel next to you.
"have you ever heard of aftercare?" you ask using the towel to soak up as much of the leaking fluid as you could, grimacing at the friction on the sensitive area.
“aftercare? like when a parent forgets to pick their kid up from school?" he jokes.
"no, chris… like for after sex," you state bluntly.
"no? am I supposed to know what it is?"
"do you wanna keep fucking me?"
he looks at you with surprised eyes not expecting that kind of question.
"of course I do, I mean─fuck─look at you," he gently slides his hand up your side as his eyes follow, taking in each inch of your skin on the way up.
"well, if you wanna keep fucking me, you need to learn how to take care of me after. you can't just fuck me the way that you do and expect me not to be in pain afterwards…"
"wait, you're in pain?" he furrows his brows in concern. "why didn't you tell me, angel? i can be more gentle whe-"
"no! fuck, no. i love the way you fuck me. please, don't be gentle. that's not what i want"
"so what d-"
"christopher, you can't learn if you don't let me talk."
"oh right, sorry, i'm listening," his expression turns serious suddenly.
"aw, what a good boy," you smirk teasing him.
"yeah, yeah, yeah, let's get on with this so I can keep fuckin' you, pretty girl."
"my pleasure," you grin. "first, you're usually pretty good with this one, but after you practically abuse me with your dick, i need you to tell me how good i was for you. because it's a lot of work taking you like i do, and i deserve the praise."
"you do deserve it princess. i can─no, i do do that. easy. next," he responds confidently.
"next, the towel. non-negotiable, and honestly, put it down before we even start 'cause once you pull out, sometimes even before that, it all just…"
"yeah, yeah, makes sense. i definitely should've thought about it when i was washing the sheets every single time we fucked," he admits sheepishly.
you laugh, "yeah, maybe."
"what else can I do for you, baby?" he cups your face with one of his warm hands, softly gliding his thumb across your cheekbone.
"now… i'm gonna need some help getting to the bathroom, 'cause i don't think i can even stand up on my own right now," you laugh softly, thinking about the less-than-natural positions chris had just put you in.
He laughs, smirking. "i really fucked you good today, huh?"
"just shut up and help me up."
“yes ma'am," he salutes jokingly before standing up and reaching his hands out to lift you out of bed and to the bathroom.
"you didn't have to carry me," you tell him.
"i know, but i like carrying you," he admits as he gently places you on your feet in the bathroom. once you're standing with the support of the counter, chris can't help but look you up and down.
"are you just gonna watch me piss or can i get a second by myself?" you tease him.
"oh shit, right, sorry. i'll be- um, i'll be out here," he says clearly flustered by your comment while backing out of the bathroom and closing the door.
You laugh, shaking your head.
After finishing in the restroom, you call chris's name softly.
"yes, baby?"
"can you help me get back to the room?" you giggle at your own sad state knowing it was partially your fault for begging chris to go harder.
he opens the door, quickly scooping you up and carrying back to the room.
"so, when do we get to cuddle?" he asks laying you down on the bed,
you roll your eyes playfully at him. "now, we can cuddle now, chris."
"fuck, finally, i've been waiting years to hold you," he exaggerates as he lays next to you, pulling your frame against his chest.
"chris, it was like 10 minutes."
"yeah, and I was going through withdrawal."
"you're so dramatic."
he nuzzles his head into your neck, releasing a content sigh. "you trust me to take care of you now? i can keep fucking you? please say yes."
You laugh. "yes, you can keep fucking me, on one condition."
"anything for you. what is it?"
"you promise to always cuddle me after."
"i promise to always cuddle you, whether we fucked or not."
a/n: love y/all and thanks for all the support! enjoy :)
🏷️ taglist: @y3sterdaysproblem @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan
reply/msg/inbox and ask to be added to the taglist!
cake divider by @dollywons, apple divider by @ithemes, and heart divider by @cafekitsune
#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo#the drawing board 𓂃🖊#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#mdni#comfort#dividers not mine
272 notes
·
View notes
Text
PINK HAIRED SWEETHEART! pt.2
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 some hc’s about thanos x fem reader! after the squid game <3
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ; since everyone wanted part two with thanos and pink haired reader, here you go!
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 what you didn’t expect was, during the squid game, thanos went in length to take a pen from those pink soldiers, just so he can write your number on his hand, he promised you two will go to a pretty cafe—didn’t he?
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 but when you, him and like—four more people finally got out, with shit tons of money, your paths were separated—afterall they left every single one in different places. and you didn’t even know where he lives, you thought it was just his little joke.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 you were chilling in your room, two days later-figuring out your plan, and then you got a call from an unknown number, you thought nothing of it—just picking up mindlessly
“hello?” you mumbled softly
“missed that annoying voice of yours, not gonna lie.” your eyes widened—it really was him, he wasn’t playing around.
“you jerk! you weren’t joking” you said with a giggle—and you couldn’t help but notice the way your heart did a flip at his laugh.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 you two soon made plans that consisted of just chilling, you two found a cute cat cafe and he said he’d be waiting for you there tomorrow at 8 pm
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 you actually put some effort in looking pretty (you always are pretty!) but it was kind of strange when he saw you bloodied and messy.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 when you entered the said cafe, you saw him there—cigarette in his mouth, your eyes got glassy for whatever reason as you sat across from him, his eys widening and his grin to his eyes.
“your hair is hard to miss, angel” he said, smirking and you rolled your eyes—mumbling a little ‘says you.’
“soo how you doing after all of..this.” you contemplated his question.
“i still don’t feel anything, it’ll take a few days for me to realize what the fuck happened.” you said, honestly.
“i mean…for a pretty little thing like you—you were fucking ruthless.”
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 you two talked and talked, and you couldn’t help but notice there was something different in his eyes rather than annoyance
“y’know, you should wear your hair in two braids more often, suits the pretty pink that’s going on.” he said, his eyes ranking over you shamelessly
“you think so?” you mumbled softly, looking up at him all shy and pretty
“yeah—yeah i think so, angel.” he mumbles, his tattoed hand softly tilting your chin up at him, his face getting dangerously close.
#choi su bong#choi su bong x reader#squid game#squid game fic#thanos x reader#thanos#thanos squid game#squid game thanos#squid game thanos x reader#squid game x reader
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
Nothing lasts forever
Summary: Being a dedicated McLaren engineer with a cold demeanor means one thing: judgment. Trusting and opening up to a certain driver leads to a bigger mistake.
Reader x Oscar Piastri
Genre: Angst
I had always dreamed of working for McLaren.
The team’s history, the legacy, the championships, everything about it had captivated me since I was a kid.
I’d spent years idolizing the drivers, the engineers, the people who made it all happen.
And then, there I was.
Standing in the paddock, a part of the machine I had once only watched from the sidelines.
The air felt thick with history, with success, with the roar of engines and the buzz of anticipation.
It was everything I had ever wanted.
But, as much as I tried to convince myself it was everything I had dreamed of, there was something that gnawed at me.
There was an ache deep in my chest that no amount of triumph could soothe.
I had arrived, but the reality? The reality was a constant weight on my shoulders that I wasn’t prepared for.
I’d imagined walking into the garage, feeling the excitement of the team, and being welcomed as one of their own.
But instead, there were whispers.
Quiet, cutting whispers that followed me like a shadow.
I could feel the eyes on my back, the scrutiny, the judgment.
It didn’t matter how many hours I put in, how many sacrifices I made.
The rumors about me spread faster than the engine roar on the track.
I wasn’t the “right” kind of person.
Too focused, too ambitious, too cold.
Too much of everything that didn’t fit their ideal.
And it stung.
Every word. Every glance. Every offhand comment.
I tried to tell myself to ignore it. That they were wrong, that I had a place here because I earned it.
But each passing day, each race weekend, it felt harder to believe that.
The weight of their expectations, their judgments, it was like suffocating under a blanket of misunderstanding.
The worst part was when the comments came from the people I thought I could trust.
From the people I worked alongside. The people I shared ideas with.
How many times had I stayed late, just to make sure everything was perfect? Just to be sure I was giving it my all?
And yet, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
The world outside the track didn’t care about my dedication.
They cared about who I was, who they thought I was, and who I wasn’t.
It felt like every tiny detail of my life was scrutinized, dissected, and criticized.
So, I built walls.
Higher and higher, until they were towering around me. I kept my head down, kept my focus laser-sharp, kept to myself.
No one was going to see the cracks forming inside.
No one would ever know how often I lay awake at night, replaying everything, questioning my worth, wondering if all those whispers were true.
Was I too cold? Too intense? Too much of something that no one could accept?
Could they see me as I truly was, or was I just a puzzle piece that didn’t fit the picture they had in mind?
Then came Oscar.
The new guy, the fresh-faced rookie with that infectious energy.
He had that spark of hope, that belief in things I had lost along the way. He didn’t see the walls I built.
He didn’t seem to care about the rumors. To him, I was just another teammate. Another person to work with.
He didn’t judge me for how I carried myself, didn’t dismiss me for my focus. Instead, he laughed with me.
He challenged me in the best ways, without making me feel like an outsider.
For a while, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was someone who didn’t see me through that lens of judgment.
Someone who saw me.
Oscar didn’t care about my reputation or the harsh words spoken behind my back.
He saw the work, the effort. And for the first time in a long time, I felt... like I mattered.
We started talking more.
Late-night debriefs, sitting alone after everyone else had gone to bed, dissecting the race, talking about what went wrong and what we could have done better.
I listened to him, really listened.
He told me about his journey to Formula 1, about his struggles to prove himself, about his dreams.
And in turn, I opened up. I shared my frustrations. My doubts. I talked about the battles I fought every day just to be here, just to be seen.
I never expected him to understand, but he did.
He didn’t judge.
He listened.
One night, after a particularly brutal race weekend, we found ourselves alone in the garage.
The others had already left for their rooms, and the garage was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the equipment.
I was staring at the car, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and what-ifs.
Oscar walked up to me, leaning against the tool chest, arms crossed, his usual easy smile softened.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.
I didn’t turn to him immediately.
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“I just... I just can’t stop thinking about what went wrong. There were so many little things that could’ve been fixed. If I had just—”
“Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh.
“You’re one of the best at what you do. Don’t let one bad weekend define you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Easier said than done, right?”
He chuckled softly, pushing himself off the tool chest and walking closer to me.
“I get it. But you can’t carry that weight on your own. You’ve got a team here. Me included.”
The sincerity in his voice hit me harder than I expected.
I finally looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw not just the rookie but someone who genuinely cared.
Someone who wanted to help. It was almost too much to take in.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he added quietly, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me away.
I swallowed hard, feeling something stir inside me, something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
Hope.
I nodded, unsure of how to respond. “I... I know. It’s just hard.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes softening.
“But you don’t have to have all the answers, all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to lean on others.”
His voice lowered.
“Especially if that means leaning on me.”
I felt a warmth bloom in my chest, a sensation I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in so long.
Maybe it was okay to let someone in.
Maybe Oscar was the one person who could help me see things differently.
The next few days were full of more small moments that made my walls tremble.
We found ourselves in those quiet spaces between races, just talking.
I’d laugh at his dry humor, and he’d listen as I explained things I thought only made sense in my head.
He didn’t rush me. He didn’t expect anything from me except honesty.
One evening, as we sat on the pit wall, watching the sunset after another long practice session, he nudged me gently with his shoulder.
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the ice queen,” he said with a teasing grin,
“you’re actually kind of fun to hang out with.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
He raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over.
“Maybe just a little. But that’s what makes it fun.” He nudged me again, this time making me laugh out loud.
It was a soft, genuine moment.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel it, really feel it.
The connection we were building was something I didn’t expect, something that was slowly chipping away at the walls I had so carefully crafted.
Oscar was breaking through, piece by piece. And it scared me. But in the best way possible.
But nothing lasts forever right?
The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, amber-hued shadows over the paddock.
The air was still cool, with a slight breeze stirring the flags and team banners fluttering gently in the wind.
The hum of the pit lane was just starting to pick up as teams were making their final preparations for the day’s race.
Oscar and Lando stood by the car, both immersed in the quiet but urgent task of fine-tuning the machine that would carry them into the competition.
Oscar, his focus unwavering, leaned over the rear wing, adjusting a setting on the aerodynamics.
His fingers moved with practiced precision, checking measurements, recalibrating.
He didn’t take his eyes off the components as he made the final tweaks.
The team relied on him to deliver his best performance, and he wouldn’t let them down.
Lando, on the other hand, leaned casually against the car, arms crossed, watching Oscar work.
There was an easy-going air about him, a stark contrast to the intensity radiating from Oscar.
Lando's eyes followed his teammate’s every move with a small, amused smile on his lips.
It wasn’t that Lando wasn’t focused; it was just that he had a different way of working, more laid back, like everything was under control even if it wasn’t.
After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke, breaking the quiet concentration.
“I have to admit,” he said, his tone light but thoughtful, “Y/n’s not as bad as I thought.”
Oscar glanced up from his task, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah? I’ve noticed that too. She’s... unique.”
Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully with his elbow.
“Unique, huh? You mean cold and distant?”
he teased, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Oscar’s expression softened, and he straightened up from the car, wiping his hands on his overalls as he met Lando’s eyes.
His smile faltered for a second, but only for a moment.
“She’s not cold,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious.
“She’s just... guarded. And I think once you get to know her, you’ll see a different side.”
Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, and took a step toward him, crossing his arms as he leaned in slightly.
“Really? You’ve spent a lot of time with her, huh? I didn’t think you’d put up with her cold demeanor. I mean, how do you even manage it? She’s like a brick wall sometimes.”
Oscar’s fingers tightened on the tools he was holding, but he didn’t let the tension show on his face.
He took a breath before speaking. “It’s not like that. She’s actually very sweet once you get past the walls she’s built.”
His voice softened, as if speaking about something fragile.
“There’s more to her than people realize. People don’t take the time to see that.”
Lando frowned, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Oscar, clearly unconvinced.
“Sweet? Dude, you’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know if I’m buying that. I mean, have you seen how she reacts to people? Most of the time, it’s like she’s trying to push everyone away. She doesn't smile, doesn't really talk unless she has to.”
Oscar hesitated, the flicker of unease in his chest threatening to break through, but he pushed it down.
He didn’t want to let Lando’s skepticism affect his thoughts about Y/n.
He could feel something real there, something that couldn’t be captured by just looking at the surface.
“I think you’re wrong,” Oscar said, his voice firm, though the unease lingered at the edge of his words.
“She’s just... been through a lot. I can see it in her eyes. She’s been hurt before, but she’s not who people think she is. She just needs someone to understand her.”
Lando’s face darkened slightly, his expression hardening as he stepped closer, his voice lowering to a more serious tone.
“You’re really going to let her fool you, huh? What if she’s just using you, Oscar? What if she’s trying to win you over for something, like fame, or to get information out of you? People like her, they’re good at manipulating others. They know how to get what they want, and you might just be her latest target.”
Oscar’s pulse quickened at Lando’s words. His grip on the tools tightened until his knuckles went white.
His initial instinct was to push back, to tell Lando that he didn’t know Y/n like he did, but the words hit a little too close to home.
He tried to control the rising heat in his chest, not wanting to let it spill over.
“No,” Oscar finally said, his voice quieter, though the defensive edge was still there.
“I don’t believe that. She’s not like that. You don’t know her the way I do.”
Lando’s gaze shifted, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his tone shifting to something more insistent, more urgent.
“Come on, man. I’m just looking out for you. You’re still new here. She’s smart, and she’s got a way of getting people to like her, but it’s all for a reason. Maybe she’s just trying to get close to you for some advantage. I’m just trying to warn you before you get too deep in. You should keep an eye on her.”
Oscar felt a tightening in his chest, a flicker of doubt threatening to cloud his judgment.
He wanted to trust Y/n, to believe that the connection they had was real, but Lando’s words were like a seed planted in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore.
He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling.
“I don’t think I need to be worried about her,” Oscar replied, his voice firming again, though his hands were still clenched.
“She’s been nothing but professional with me, and I trust her. I’m not going to let something like this ruin that.”
Lando sighed, his posture relaxing just a fraction, though his concern was still evident.
“I hope you’re right, mate,” he said, his voice quiet but serious.
“Just keep your eyes open. You might be seeing things through rose-colored glasses right now, but trust me, people like her don’t change easily. Don’t let yourself get hurt.”
Before Oscar could respond, the team was called for practice, the urgency of the situation pushing the conversation aside.
Both drivers were pulled into the whirlwind of final checks and preparations for the race.
But even as they walked toward the garage, Oscar couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Lando’s words had left behind.
He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but the doubt lingered, simmering beneath the surface.
He caught a glimpse of Y/n as they made their way to their cars, and for a moment, he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, Lando was right.
Could she really be hiding something?
Or was it just the fear of getting too close to someone who had built walls around herself for so long?
Oscar didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wanted to figure it out, he couldn’t just dismiss her like that.
He took a deep breath and forced the thought away.
The race was about to begin, and there was no room for distractions now.
But as they took their positions for practice, Oscar couldn’t shake the lingering doubt that now danced at the edge of his mind.
Later that afternoon,
after the chaos of the post-race debrief, I was given a simple task, one that I had done countless times before.
I was asked to grab some papers from the drivers’ room that had been left behind after a last-minute meeting with Oscar.
It's an easy. Simple. Routine. Right?
I pushed the door open to the driver's room, the quiet atmosphere inside making me feel alone for some reason.
I started sifting through the papers on the desk, the disarray mirroring the mess in my head.
Coffee cups, race schedules, notes from the meeting, all scattered in a haphazard way.
Then, my hand brushed against something, and before I could react, I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone hitting the floor.
A loud thud.
I froze.
Oscar’s phone.
My heart skipped a beat as I bent down quickly, my fingers shaking slightly as I scooped it up.
I checked it over anxiously, my mind racing.
It seemed fine, no cracks, no shattered screen. Just a small scratch on the corner, nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief and, for a split second, considered just leaving it there on the desk.
Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened would be easier than facing him.
But before I could even make the decision, the door swung open.
Oscar stood in the doorway, his gaze immediately locking onto the phone in my hand.
His eyes flicked from the phone to my face, his expression shifting in rapid succession, surprise, confusion, and then something darker, something colder that made my stomach churn.
“What are you doing with my phone?”
His voice was tight, almost accusing.
I felt a lump form in my throat.
“I—I'm sorry, I knocked it over, and I was just checking to see if it was okay.”
His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they hardened.
His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt like the final barrier between us.
“Why were you going through it?”
His words cut through the air like a knife, and I could feel my pulse racing in my ears.
“I wasn’t going through it,” I quickly explained, trying to remain calm despite the panic rising in my chest.
“I swear, Oscar. I wasn’t—”
But he wasn’t listening. He cut me off, his voice rising with frustration.
“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
“Lando was right, wasn’t he? You’re just trying to get something out of me. Trying to manipulate me.”
I stood frozen, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.
My head spun as I tried to process what he was saying.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Oscar’s gaze was cold, distant, like a stranger’s.
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“I know what Lando said,” he spat, his words laced with frustration.
“You’re trying to win me over, aren’t you? Maybe you just want to get close to me for some advantage, information, fame, whatever.”
Each word stung like a slap. I felt my chest tighten, the weight of the accusations suffocating me.
I had spent so long building trust with Oscar, trying to make him see the real me beneath the walls I had built.
But now, it was as if all that effort had meant nothing.
“Oscar, I don’t know what he’s told you, but I swear, that’s not it. You have to believe me,”
I pleaded, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
But his gaze hardened further, like an impenetrable wall had been built between us.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Y/n. I thought I understood you. But now… I don’t know.”
The words cut deeper than anything he had said before. I felt them settle in my chest like a heavy stone, each one sinking further into the pit of my heart.
The silence that followed felt unbearable. Neither of us moved, the air thick with unspoken words and hurt.
Finally, Oscar broke the silence with a sharp exhale, his frustration palpable.
“I don’t want to argue with you right now.”
And just like that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.
The sound of the door closing felt like the door between us had been shut permanently.
I stood there for a long moment, frozen in place.
My mind raced, but the only thing that kept repeating in my head was how completely shattered I felt.
It wasn’t just the argument, or the mistrust, it was the way everything I had worked for, everything I had built with Oscar, had just come crumbling down in an instant.
And for the first time in a long time, I was completely alone.
Hours had passed since the argument, and the weight of it sat heavily on my chest.
The tension between Oscar and me still lingered in the air, suffocating and sharp.
I had kept to myself in the aftermath, buried in data and numbers, trying to escape the clamor of my own thoughts.
I needed the distraction, anything to keep my mind from spiraling further into the uncertainty of everything that had unfolded between us.
But as I walked down the narrow hallway, heading toward the garage, I heard the familiar voices of Lando and Oscar in the distance.
Their voices cut through the stillness of the hallway, and without meaning to, I found myself slowing down, drawn to the conversation like a moth to a flame.
I tried to stay calm, but something in my gut told me I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.
“…She’s just so cold,”
Lando’s voice was low but carried a certain finality, like he was trying to convince Oscar of something he already believed.
“I’ve tried to get close to her, man, but it’s like she doesn’t even care. She’s got this wall up that I can’t get through. It’s exhausting and childish.”
Oscar’s response was quieter, but still audible.
There was a hesitation in his voice that I hadn’t expected. “She's cold... but I guess that's just how she is”
My heart thudded painfully in my chest, the pressure of the situation suddenly too much to bear.
I thought, no, hoped, that Oscar might defend me, at least show some understanding of who I really was, what I had been through.
But instead, it was like he was agreeing with Lando.
And with every second that passed, the pain inside me deepened, unbearable and raw.
Lando’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time.
“Whatever, man. Just keep an eye on her, alright? I’m telling you, she’s got her own agenda. You can’t trust someone like that. She’s been playing everyone, and I’m sure you’re next.”
I stood frozen in place, my heart sinking.
Oscar was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the crackle of tension in the air, even from where I stood.
Was he really considering what Lando said? Was he starting to doubt me too?
Finally, Oscar spoke, his voice quieter than before, but there was an edge to it now, like something had shifted inside of him.
“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her. She seems suspicious and untrustworthy.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
My stomach twisted painfully, and it was like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.
That was it. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t trust me.
He was agreeing with Lando’s words, buying into the idea that I was some sort of threat, someone who couldn’t be trusted.
The space between us that had once felt so close now seemed impossibly vast, like an insurmountable chasm had opened up between us.
I felt the sting of betrayal rush through me, even though I tried to swallow it down.
My mind raced. How could he believe that? How could he think that of me, after everything we had shared, the small moments of connection?
It didn’t make sense.
It wasn’t like me to be the one who couldn’t be trusted, but here I was, questioning everything.
Turning on my heel, I quickly walked away, the sound of their voices echoing behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them.
I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall.
Not now. Not when it felt like I had already lost everything.
As I made my way back through the hall, my stomach twisted with a kind of emptiness I couldn’t describe.
That was it. Oscar had chosen Lando’s side without hesitation. And that hurt more than anything.
The realization settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely alone in a place I thought I had found some semblance of belonging.
I had hoped for more from Oscar, but now, I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.
What had we even shared if it could be so easily dismissed by someone who barely knew me?
Later that evening,
I found myself walking toward the tech area, my mind still reeling from the aftermath of everything.
The weight of the argument earlier that day had left me hollow, like a piece of me had been torn away and I couldn’t find the strength to patch it back together.
I wanted to drown out the pain, to lose myself in the data, in the work that always kept me busy.
But then, as I rounded the corner, I saw him.
Oscar.
We came face-to-face in the hallway, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly between us, the world around us fading as the air between us thickened with unspoken words.
My heart raced, pounding in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a thousand-ton brick.
The silence felt suffocating, every second of it making me feel smaller, more exposed, more vulnerable.
I could barely breathe.
Finally, he spoke, his voice hesitant, as if testing the air.
"Y/n, I want to talk about earlier. Please."
I couldn’t even look at him. His words felt like a distant echo, like something I couldn’t quite reach.
The sting of everything he’d said to me earlier, the doubt, the mistrust, burned too fiercely in my chest for me to react calmly.
I shook my head, my throat tight as I tried to hold it together.
My voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.
“What’s there to talk about? You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.”
Oscar’s face softened, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, but it didn’t matter.
The pain in my heart was louder than anything he could say. He stepped closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance between us.
His voice was pleading, desperate for me to listen.
“That’s not true. I said those things out of anger, out of frustration. Lando’s words... they got to me. But I swear, I don’t think you’re using me. I—”
I cut him off, my voice breaking with the weight of my emotions. I couldn’t let him spin it.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head furiously.
You’re just like everyone else. You heard one thing, and you turned your back on me.”
His steps faltered, and for a moment, I saw something like regret flash in his eyes.
But it didn’t change anything. Not anymore.
The damage had been done, and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.
“Y/n, please,” he said softly, reaching out, his hand hovering near my arm.
“I didn’t mean it.”
But his words felt hollow now.
I didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not when everything I had worked so hard to build between us seemed to have shattered in an instant.
I felt the tears welling up, burning my eyes, threatening to spill over.
My chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of everything I had been trying to keep buried.
“You did,” I whispered through the tears. “You believed it. And now I can’t trust you either.”
Oscar’s hand dropped as if the weight of my words had physically knocked it from him.
The space between us seemed to stretch, a chasm that no words could bridge.
His eyes flickered with something like frustration, but I couldn’t find the energy to care.
“You’re always so defensive, always so closed off,” he said, his voice sharper now, tinged with anger.
“It’s exhausting. I can’t keep up with this anymore.”
I felt the sharp sting of his words, but there was something else beneath it.
Something that twisted in my chest.
“Maybe it’s because you don’t want to,” I choked out, my voice cracking with emotion.
“Maybe you just don’t want to understand.”
Oscar’s eyes turned cold, and his voice rose, filled with a rawness I wasn’t prepared for.
“You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you? You act like you don’t care, but deep down, you’re just scared. Scared that you’re not good enough. You’re scared of getting hurt, so you push everyone away. And it’s pathetic.”
I froze.
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my breath caught in my throat.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.
I was frozen in place, each syllable echoing through my mind, digging into the parts of me I tried so desperately to keep hidden.
The parts I had tried to lock away from everyone, including myself.
And now, here he was, exposing them in the worst way possible.
I trusted him, but he used my trust in him against me.
My worst fears, my deepest insecurities, laid bare before me in the cruelest possible light.
I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. But the tears came, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them.
I had built so many walls around myself, so many layers to protect the fragile parts inside, and now they felt like they were crumbling away with each word Oscar spoke.
Oscar’s expression faltered as soon as he realized what he had just said.
His eyes widened in horror like he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. This wasn't him.
He reached out to me, but the instinct to pull away was stronger than anything I had ever felt.
My body jerked back, my anger and hurt boiling over in that single moment.
“No,” I spat, my voice venomous and raw. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped like a stone, and I saw the regret washing over his face, but it didn’t matter.
Not now.
Not after everything.
It seemed like he was regretting everything the minute he realized he was losing me.
But the damage was already done, and there was no taking it back.
I turned away from him, the weight of everything crashing down on me as I walked away, the tears falling freely now.
My heart felt like it had been torn in half.
I didn’t look back, because I knew if I did, I’d crumble.
The pain was too much.
I was almost out of the hallway when I heard his footsteps behind me.
He was following me.
“Y/n, please,” Oscar called again, his voice breaking through the distance between us.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, just let me explain.”
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t listen to him anymore.
I had trusted him and believed that he saw me for who I was, and now… now he had shattered everything.
My heart felt raw, bleeding from the wounds he had inflicted.
I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him.
“You want to apologize now?” I asked, my voice trembling with the pain I could no longer hide.
“It’s too late, Oscar. You’ve already made your choice. You’ve already believed the worst about me.”
Oscar stepped closer, his face full of regret. “Y/n, I—”
“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head, my heart breaking in two.
“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trusting people who turn on me the second something goes wrong. I’ve had enough.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
The silence stretched between us, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. But it didn’t matter.
The damage was already done, and I couldn’t forgive him, not now.
Not after everything.
With a final, bitter glance, I turned away and walked off, the tears still falling as I left him standing there, his apology hanging in the air between us, unanswered and unaccepted.
But one thing was for sure: I had to put myself first.
The end
#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#oscar piastri angst#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar x reader#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#op81 x reader#op81 fic#op81 imagine#oscar piastri au#f1 angst#f1 au#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic
242 notes
·
View notes
Text
See you on the podium, sweetie!
*pairing: Lee Heeseung F1 Ferrari driver x PR
*trope: only one bed-bad boy Heeseung?
*driver: Lee Heeseung=Charles Leclcer
*synopsis: Being the PR of Ferrari has always been one of your biggest dreams but you would never have expected to find yourself working with Lee Heeseung, the representation of the driver that no sports PR would want to have: flirts with all the girls, is always paparazzato to parties around the world from MonteCarlo to Bali, breaks the heart of his fans miliary both because it is really beautiful and knows that he is but also for his aura untouchable because he is the chosen in house Ferrari. But there is a secret that is coming more and more to the surface, he can't sleep peacefully for months now both because of the countless haters he has in social media but also because he doesn't win a race for almost 6 months and from a driver Ferrari everyone expects more from him. What if the PR of Ferrari was the only one to calm him and put him to sleep? a shared bed, various hotels to travel around the world, beautiful tracks and countless podiums to win...
*tags: A lot of tension,fluffy, pervy Heeseung, a lot of humor, teasing, kissing, sucking, shower sex, unprotected sex (don't horny people) minor don't interect + 18, fingering, pubblic scenes,masturbation, pet names (sweetie, PR,good girl) (Hee) jealousy, possesion
11.4k (🌹)
Heeseung has just stepped out of his red-hot car, his eyes are tired but full of determination and while he takes off his helmet he sees his companions or "friends" on the podium while they spray rivers of Champagne and take a thousand photos for various social content with their trophies. He is trying to hide his frustration after another disappointing race by coming in P4, while reporters surround him when he enters the post-race space of the reporters. You were always flawless in your role as PR, and you make your way through the crowd with a firm step, a smile that hides a veil of sarcasm. As soon as Heeseung sees you, he smiles and looks up at you with his hair ruffled by sweat and helmet, trying to keep his "womanizer" attitude under control.
«Here’s my favorite PR, you’re always by my side, Y/n. I was wondering if this time you would cheer for me, or if I would see you clapping your hands for your little friend Jake or whatever for Jay» He said, leaning towards you as you were going to get in line to answer the questions of an Italian journalist.
"You don’t look like someone who needs my support, if you want I’ll show you how many girls cheer you up on ig sending you pictures at the osè. Rather, it seems you need a miracle both for how you drive and for your appearance. But don’t worry, I’m good at fixing things...at least those that aren’t about your ego." Heeseung smiled maliciously leaned on a slab leaned his head and looked at you with a defiant expression
«Ah, my ego. I didn’t think you liked it so much. Or maybe it’s just that you’re afraid I’ll win, so you should stay up like 24 hours a day to check every social or your mailbox if you find some pictures of me with not only my prize but also with girls and I do some shit?»
You took a step closer and looked him straight in the eye
"I don’t care to be in the middle of the action, Heeseung. I’m interested in you winning, finally, and bring a little joy to this team that works its ass every weekend. But the miracle you’re referring to is becoming more difficult. You are tired, aren’t you?"
«I’m not tired, Y/n. Just frustrated. I want to win for Ferrari, you know. But... it’s not easy.» closed his eyes for a moment because he was tired and could not wait to lie down on the plane.
«It’s not easy... when things don’t go as they should.»
You sighed and looked at him, he looked like a helpless puppy put in a cage of lions who would eat him and did not help the thick dark circles under his eyes.
"I know. But the pressure won’t help you run faster. Neither will your ego. Maybe you should just take a break... and maybe sleep a little since you haven’t slept more than 8 hours?"
Hee looked up at the sky and with an ironic smile said to you
«Yes, because sleep is the solution to all my problems, right? It’s not like I’ve been trying to sleep for the last couple of months... I tried natural herbal pills, medicines, anti-stress pillows, hypnosis, sleeping with Jungwon, sleeping in the motorhome, and other shit»
sighs and shakes his head
«But, of course, you keep giving me advice and making fun of me. I’m sure that another 'everything is fine, surely this evening you will be able to sleep' on your part will do me miracles.»
"I never made fun of you Heeseung and you know better than me that I’m worried about you. But since you’re so stubborn, maybe you should stop being a superhero and accept that even champions need a shoulder to lean on. You’re human too, Heeseung and sooner or later you’ll find a solution to your insomnia problem and you need to sleep at least a couple of hours even on the shoulder of a random person."
«So, are you suggesting that I fall asleep on your shoulder, Y/n? Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to be touched by anyone, would you grant me such an honor?» he looked at you amused as you raised your eyes.
"You’re a lost cause, Heeseung was a way of saying what I told you to sleep on someone’s shoulder. But don’t worry, if you want to fall asleep on my shoulder later in the plane, go ahead"
Heeseung looked at you amused and raised his hands in surrender
«Okay, okay, I give up. Let’s do it then. But if I can finally sleep, I’ll buy you a ticket for a concert of those Korean bands that you listen to.»
You opened your mouth slightly surprised by how much she knew about you and smiled but in a genuine way.
"Let’s give it all Heeseung, there is nothing to lose!"
The plane is almost empty, with a few team members sitting in the back of the cabin, some chatting, others resting. You were sitting by the window, immersed in reading a romance book that they were all talking about on #Booktok. The soft light of the plane illuminated the pages and your face was focused, as if you were living every word of history. Heeseung was sitting across the row and bored himself to death. He needed a distraction, so he got up and stood by you and took a sneak peek at the book.
«So, Y/n.. another of your love novels? I hope Prince Charming comes soon to save you because otherwise, you will find yourself at 50 years old still fantasizing in your house in the countryside full of cats»
"Are you always so sarcastic, Heeseung? Better to stay in a house full of super cute and cuddly cats than having a person like you in the house! You better not have your ego ever come up to the level of one of these books' protagonists, or you will never find your white horse or sword fighting to save your princess." You said without lifting your eyes from the book but with a funny smile
Heeseung made a gesture of stabbing his heart and looked at you with a grin.
«But come on, Y/n! Let’s be clear. Do you think that the Prince Charming of these books is really what happens in a relationship? With broken hearts and promises of eternal love? Please, what you read is practically unreal in this society»
You finally raised your eyes, raising an eyebrow and looking at him badly.
"I guess you’re more realistic. Instead of waiting for the prince charming, maybe you should accept that you are not invincible. And a Ferrari is not enough to change who you are, I know that inside you hide a boy with a thousand fears and that it could be the "prince charming" for at least one girl out there if you open your eyes and behave like a normal guy and not a womanizer." You said, touching slightly the part of his heart covered by a wide sweatshirt
Heeseung laughed, shaking his head and staring at you
«I wouldn’t say that I’m a 'prince charming' type, but at least I’m a driver. And with my talent when I have the high-performance car I’ll be the king of the track and maybe of history. There is no white horse, only racing tires and a roaring engine.»
You were slightly amused by his answer and returned with your eyes on your book.
"Ah, well, everyone has their way of feeling like a hero, but this year there is another hero on the track and that’s not you but Sunghoon with his Red Bull. But you can still think it’s all that easy if it makes you feel better."
Heeseung slightly leans to see the title of the book and looks for it on the internet and starts laughing reading that is a sport-romance about a hockey player and a kind of singer and the trope is "Enemis to lovers and Tutoring". While he was reading he felt his eyes getting tired and he hands his face and is jealous to see you so alert and focused even after countless hours of work.
«I will pretend not to have read the plot Y/ n, meanwhile I comment that it will be another book where the boy is perfect and has 0 weak points and represents perfection»
"If you think I’m looking for perfection, then you don’t know me at all, Heeseung."
With a fun air, moves a little closer to you, trying to peek better at the pages and have the opportunity to observe you.
«So what are you doing with these books, Y/n? It seems that you are waiting for your 'knight' but you know better than me that he does not exist in real life»
You looked at him for a moment, amused but also a little annoyed by his insistence. He moved even closer and kept on making jokes until you closed the book and looked at it with defiance.
"You’re unbearable, Heeseung. I read these books to escape from reality and find some peace and to have some laughs for what happens in these super romantic books but someone named Lee Heeseung does not leave me alone"
Heeseung raises his hands in surrender, but he can’t help laughing. After another minute of silence, he realizes that you had put on headphones and you were leaning with your eyes closed at the window and his expression softens, although it still does a little cynical fake.
«Okay, okay, enough with the jokes. Just... you’re right. I’m tired, and maybe I’m talking in vain. But seriously... a little rest would not hurt me.»
You felt his sincerity hidden under his facade, you can not help but shake your head.
"It was just a joke, Heeseung. I know you don’t like the idea of admitting that you need a break. But if you want to sleep, maybe you should get comfortable, instead of being condescending with me. Try to close your eyes and relax a little we have almost 3 hours more flight"
Heeseung, who has never liked to admit that he is vulnerable, tries to appear uninterested. But, after a few more minutes of tension, without thinking too much, it lets go and leans on your shoulder inspiring your sweet scent but at the same time floral.
Heeseung sighed, almost whispering.
«All right, all right... I give up. I don’t expect miracles... but maybe a little sleep.»
You were not completely surprised by that gesture but you looked at it for a moment and you said nothing. It’s more of a spontaneous gesture from Heeseung, who finally seems to admit he needs some peace.
After 10 minutes you were listening to Taylor Swift and chanting it in your head until you felt a slight breath next to your neck and opened your eyes and watched Heeseung sleeping, who breathed with a relaxed breath and even his face seemed relaxed rather looked completely abandoned to his sleep. You looked at him incredulously and a small smile formed on your face, and at that point, Jungwon, his teammate who had seen the whole scene from the other side of the plane, came up with a look of pure surprise.
<< Can’t believe it... really. This is a miracle, maybe we found the right cure or person for Heeseung. We were all completely stupid or unaware you were always here with us>
You looked slightly at Jungwon and I did no with my head
"I didn’t do anything he's just tired, Jungwon"
Jungwon shakes his head, watching Heeseung sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks, and looks at you with a grin.
Heeseung wakes up slowly after 3 hours, stretching with a slight groaning. He slept like he hadn’t done in weeks, but as he moved he felt a discomfort around his neck. He sits better in the seat and looks down...only to realize that his arm is wrapped around your waist. Even worse, her head is practically resting on your breast.
It freezes and the eyes open. His mind runs fast, trying to figure out how to make up for it and how he got to sleep leaning on you for hours. The image of him, sleeping in that position, seems compromising: He, the "great flirt", now transformed into a puppy that clings to you as if you were his pillow.
«Oh, my...sorry! I don’t know how... I didn’t mean to... I mean, it wasn’t intentional!» pulling out the arm with an unnatural speed
you had been motionless not to wake him up and you looked at him with a mixture of irritation and disbelief.
"It’s not like you can use people as a human pillow, Heeseung. I hope you slept well at least because I... don’t."
Hee looks at you with fawning eyes, a little embarrassed but sincerely sorry.
«I swear, I didn’t notice! It’s... well, you were comfortable and I hadn’t slept like this for an eternity...»
Before he can say anything else, the sound of a giggle interrupts him. Jungwon, sitting a short distance away, turned with a funny expression and a smartphone in his hand. It’s not hard to guess that he was watching the scene for a while.
<< Well, good to know. The solution to your sleep problems was not complicated Hee: you only need Y/n next to yourself as a human pillow!>> With a mischievous smirk looked at you and Heeseung
You gave Jungwon a look that could burn up a Ferrari engine, but he doesn’t seem to be the least bit intimidated. On the contrary, he turns completely towards you by placing his chin on a seat, ready to continue teasing.
"Don’t put yourself in it. It’s enough to put up with him, let alone you."
He raised his hands in surrender but with a glaring
<< Hey, come on Y/n, it was just a joke. But seriously, look how he’s been born again! I haven’t seen him this calm in months. Maybe your problem is already gone, Y/n is a kind of sleep talisman."
Heeseung, still red in the face, tries to answer but he gets stuck, clearly in trouble. He doesn’t know how to react: on the one hand, he would like to continue to be a bad boy, on the other hand, he feels like a child who has been caught in the act.
«Stop it Jungwon. It’s not like that! It’s not my fault I fell asleep and Y/n was just... there.»
<< Ah, sure. 'Just there.' So much 'just there' that you were wrapped like a koala around her. >> he said with a clever smirk
You were unaware of the situation and got up from your seat with a strong gesture, the book under your arm. She’s tired of both and ready to leave that embarrassing scene behind.
"Fantastic. You are a dream team I understand why everyone says that you are made for each other as a duo in Ferrari. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to prepare myself mentally for a new race weekend, who knows what dramas will come out." You said looking at Heeseung in particular
Jungwon turned to Heeseung and spoke
<< You know, I think Y/n could really be your medicine. Or at least, your antidote against insomnia. >
«But stop... It’s not like that. It was comfortable. And then maybe you’re right. I don’t know how, but I slept well."
Jungwon takes another photo with his phone, this time of Heeseung who seems thoughtful, and shakes his head laughing.
<< I don’t know, Hyung. I think Y/n is your good luck pillow. Maybe we should patent it as part of the team>>
«Come on, Jungwon. Let’s get off and stop taking pictures before Y/n finds you and destroys you.»
As they head for the exit, Heeseung is surprisingly in a good mood, despite the embarrassment. He would never admit it openly, but for the first time in a long time, he feels rested and even a little happier.
Montreal GP (Canada)
The afternoon light is perfect. The clear sky reflects on the calm water of the river, creating a dreamy backdrop for the Prada photo shoot. Heeseung and Jungwon, dressed in elegant suits and luxury shoes, pose with a surprising naturalness for two F1 drivers.
You were there as always on the go: setting up contracts, managing fans huddled behind the barriers, and overseeing every detail to ensure everything went smoothly. But as you turn, you notice Heeseung with an absent-minded look, sitting on a chair between one shot and another. The fatigue is on his face as the makeup artist approaches him with a flirtatious smile. Gently, he fixes his hair, then bends slightly to attract his attention.
'Looking forward to seeing you on the track, Heeseung. You’ll be great as always. Maybe you could bring me a special pass?'
Heeseung looks up, but can’t even pretend to smile. He puts his hand on his face, sighing.
«Yes, sure... thank you. But first I have to sleep at least five hours in a row without waking up if I want to be great on the circuit.»
The makeup artist, surprised, laughs nervously, thinking she is joking.
Well, then stop going out and about! That’s why you’re so tired, right?'
At those words, Heeseung slightly straightened up on the chair and looked at her with a serious expression, almost exasperated and a little annoyed because he wanted to be remembered as a Ferrari champion not as an obsessive from the parties.
«I haven’t been to a party in weeks. The last time I saw a club, they were still playing songs from last year. My problem is not dancing too much... it’s that even when I’m still, I can’t turn off my brain.»
The makeup artist seems to not know how to respond, and she quickly moves away, a little embarrassed.
On the other side of the set, Jungwon, who witnessed the scene, burst into a low-pitched laugh. You were engaged with a contract, lift your eyes in time to see Heeseung lean tired on the chair.
<< Hyung, I can’t believe it. You were so rough on her! You’d usually be the first to flirt with me, but I know your charm is slowly disappearing. >>
«Ah, yes? Flirting? Not even the way that word is written, Jungwon. I’m too tired to even think about it.» He said, standing with his hair and slapping himself on the face to wake up,
Jungwon keeps laughing but the joking tone fades when he sees how exhausted his teammate is. You approach him by observing.
"Heeseung, maybe you should take a day off after this shoot. It wouldn’t help anyone to see you collapse on the track Sunday, I’ll cut you off at a small event in Montreal"
«Thank you, Y/n. But every time I try to rest, it seems to me to waste time. As if I was wasting an opportunity to improve, I could train or I know how to watch the telemetry of the machine but the problem is that I am exhausted.»
You crossed your arms, looking at him with an expression that is halfway between reproach and understanding.
"You’re not wasting anything if you take care of yourself. And for the record, you look more dead than alive. Even the products and make-up artists of Prada cannot cover certain dark circles."
Jungwon laughs again, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
<< Y/n is right. Maybe you should seriously ask for a set of Prada pillows made extra-sized for you, maybe those help you sleep better. >
Heeseung giggles slightly, shaking his head. Despite the fatigue, he is grateful for the presence of the two. He would never admit it openly, but Jungwon’s irony and Y/n’s concern help him to keep his feet on the ground.
Heeseung stands up and stretches and looks at you.
«Don’t worry, I’ll sleep. Sooner or later and when I’m well rested before I beat all the competition on the track and then I’ll go to celebrate, Y/ n is for a while that there are no dramas about me or gossip!»
The free practice had gone surprisingly well. Heeseung had found a good pace, the team was satisfied, and even the journalists seemed less insistent. However, as he walked in the paddock towards the Ferrari camper, he looked like a rag. The dark circles were deeper than ever, and his movements showed how tired he was.
In the living room of the camper, Jay and Sunghoon were waiting for him and both had noticed that something was wrong, but they also knew that Heeseung hated to admit his weaknesses.
'Hey, Hyung. I got to show you something. Maybe I’ll give you some advice on how to be Pole tomorrow.' said Jay smiling with a grin
"I hope it’s a new race strategy because everything else is a blur."
Jay hands him the phone, showing a photo taken by Jungwon. In the image, Heeseung sleeps soundly with his head resting on your shoulder, his arm around your waist, while you look completely stiff and visibly uncomfortable.
'Look at this. The real winning strategy: it’s the human cushion. Maybe we should add it to the race plan for Sunday.'
Sunghoon, sitting a short distance away, bends forward to look at the picture better, bursting with laughter.
<< Oh my God, Hyung, you’re like a baby who can’t sleep without his favorite blanket! >>
"It’s not what it looks like! It was just... boh, a coincidence. I was tired and she was there."
'Sure? Because you don’t look so random in this picture. You look rather... comfortable.'
Sunghoon with a clever smile
<< Maybe you should do a scientific experiment. You know, to see if it’s your antidote. But to do it right, you should sleep with it. And I mean really sleep, not do the usual things you do with girls>>
Heeseung looks at him with an expression between amused and disoriented.
"You two are impossible. And no, it won’t happen. It’s Y/n, okay? She hates me enough without me asking her that."
But later that night, as he looked at the clock at 10:30 p.m., something stuck in his head. He really needed to sleep, and against all logic, he couldn’t get out of his mind the possibility that you could help him in some absurd way.
With a sigh and against his "values", he stood up and headed for the door of your room. Knocked twice, then leaned on the doorframe with his usual flirtatious grin, trying to look casual despite the heart beating hard and opened the door, crossing his arms and looking at him suspiciously
"What do you want, Heeseung? It’s late. Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?"
Hee bowed his head, a Playboy smile.
«I was thinking... maybe you want to keep me company. You know, let’s talk, read one of those romance books or something.»
You stared at him, raising an eyebrow. You know that tone and smile, and you usually can’t stand it but there’s something different in his eyes: there’s no usual security, and under that mask, he looks really tired and vulnerable.
"Heeseung, spit the toad. Why are you really here? I don’t think to talk about books."
«Okay, okay. You’re right. I just... can’t sleep, and the last time, on the plane, I slept so well. And I thought maybe...» he looked down, scratching his neck.
"...that sleeping next to me might help you again. I understand?"
«More or less. But don’t get me wrong! Nothing else, only of course if you also do not want to try something as beautiful as me. But this evening I just want to sleep. I swear.»
You would want to kick him out because you can’t stand him but at the same time he seems hurt if he came to you, one of the few people who stood up to him and that you didn’t fall into his flirtations. You sighed and opened the door to let him in.
"God, what am I doing wrong to deserve to see it 24 hours a day? If I agree, promise not to snore and not invade my side of the bed. If I catch you touching me"
Heeseung raised his hands in surrender and smiled at you
«Promised. I’ll be more discreet than a cat»
"If I regret this decision, I swear you will never see a contract signed by me again."
Heeseung smiles as he enters the room, but this time it’s a genuine smile, lifted. Maybe for once, she will let herself be helped.
You were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, with a seemingly endless collection of bottles and creams arranged neatly on the shelf. The Weeknd resonates in the background from your phone, filling the environment with the sensual notes of "Earned It".
On the other side of the room, Heeseung was leaning against the bathroom door, watching you with a funny curiosity. He’s not sure what he’s looking at: the complex skincare routine or you with only a slightly wide shirt and short shorts that made him go crazy.
«Are you sure you want the ticket for that Korean band of K-pop? Can I give you all this, god how much money are you spending on skincare, are you sure that everything you’re putting on your face is not... excessive?»
You raised an eyebrow while gently smearing a cream on your face
"Heeseung, if you could understand something more than soap and shampoo, maybe you wouldn’t have the skin of a 12-year-old under stress. These steps are necessary."
«Don’t overdo it. My skin is perfect as it is. But, tell me, is this all for me? Are you trying to impress me or is it for your future prince charming?»
You puff silently but can’t help but giggle as you grab another bottle.
"For you? Don’t make me laugh. I do it for myself and when I’m old I won’t need to get my face punctured. Although maybe you could learn something instead of standing there humming The Weeknd like a teenager in love."
Heeseung pretends to be offended, taking a hand to his heart.
«First of all, The Weeknd is also one of my favorite artists. Second, I’m not humming... I’m singing with passion.»
With a mischievous smile, he begins to hum the refrain of "Earned It", emphasizing the words with an overly intense look towards you:
«Cause, girl, you’re perfect... You’re always worth it... » Isn’t this a perfect song for both of us? You know, with your obsession for perfection and my natural charm?"
You stopped for a moment, staring at him with an expression that was somewhere in between fun and disbelief.
"Maybe you mean it’s a song about how hard it is to win someone’s favor? Yeah, maybe he’s in. But trust me, you’re not exactly the romantic protagonist he describes."
Heeseung laughs and leans over the sink next to you, staring at you as you put on eye cream with extreme precision.
«You know, if I were your romantic protagonist, I would be much more convincing than those perfect guys that you read in your books, I could make you feel the same things they make their "loved ones" feel but in a real way. And you wouldn’t need all these creams, I would make you shine naturally!»
You stared at him with an exasperated expression, but you could not help blushing slightly.
"Can you stop flirting for five minutes? Amazingly, you can find the energy to say this nonsense even when you seem on the verge of collapse."
Heeseung chuckles, raising his hands in surrender.
«All right, all right. But I know that underneath you like this whole Y/n thing, and you’d be super bored working with people like Jay or Sunghoon, right?»
You didn’t answer, just turning off the bathroom light and heading for bed. And he still follows you smiling.
As you lie down, with Heeseung visibly calmer but also a little stiff, you observe him from the underside.
"Why do you seem so uncomfortable? Has anyone ever asked you to just sleep with someone or do you always chase them away before trying to sleep?"
Heeseung moves slightly, staring at the ceiling. It’s hard for him to admit things, but you don’t let him out.
«It’s not exactly... what I’m used to.»
You can’t help laughing, covering your mouth with a hand so as not to wake up any neighbors.
"Relax, Heeseung. I won’t jump on you. You can relax for once in your life."
He turns to look at you, with an expression between the amused and the mortified.
«Thank you for the reassurance. Not that I was afraid! , you would rather sleep with a wolf than with me knowing you, Y/n»
"No, of course. You’re not afraid of anything. Except maybe to admit that sometimes you need someone."
That phrase leaves him speechless for a moment. But as he closes his eyes and finally lets go, he realizes that Y/n may be right.
The morning light was filtering through the window, illuminating the hotel room. You had been awake for a few minutes, but it hadn’t moved yet. You were held back by a strange feeling. Perhaps it was the weight of Heeseung’s arm that, while sleeping blessed beside you had moved too close to your breast.
You sighed, trying not to think too much. You simply had to move it without waking him, that’s all, and gently took his wrist, but at that moment Heeseung moved.
Instead of walking away, he murmured something incomprehensible and pulled you even closer to him, as if you were his personal stuffed animal. His hand, meanwhile, slipped under your shirt caressing the skin of your side in a distracted way, until its fingers reached your back, gently touching your spine.
You felt a shiver all over your body. It was a completely unexpected feeling and not to happen especially with Lee Heeseung.
"I can’t believe it. This is a nightmare. "
He, meanwhile, was sleeping soundly, with a puppy-like expression completely unaware that his head was resting close to your neck, the messy hair touching your skin and tickling you. You tried to move a little bit more but the grip tightened slightly and you held your breath. Heeseung moved slightly, his face sinking a little deeper into his neck.
«Where do you think you’re going?» He murmured in a husky voice, still soaked with sleep.
You felt a shiver running down your back. "I didn’t want to wake you," you whispered in a neutral tone.
He chuckled softly, a low laugh that vibrated against your skin. «Don’t worry... I wouldn’t wake up for anything in the world if it wasn’t for you.»
You looked up because even in the early morning he was flirting and there was always that usual pinch of mischief in his voice. Before you could answer, you felt his hand slip under your shirt, so slowly that it seemed studied.
"What are you doing?" you asked, trying to keep his cool.
He caressed your side uncovered, the touch light but enough to make you feel the skin burning. «I’m thanking my miracle cure» he replied. «I haven’t slept so well in months... and you made it all possible.»
You stiffened, but you did nothing to stop him. You felt Heeseung’s hand move gently as if he were trying to memorize every line of your body. The warmth of his fingers was almost hypnotic, and for a moment you let go, closing your eyes.
«You know, you should relax more often» he continued, his voice soft and sweet. «You are not like the others... And I like this.»
"Don’t be stupid, Heeseung, they’re not like those perfect models you hang out with. And anyway, I don’t like physical contact, so..."
Before you could finish the sentence you felt his slightly calloused fingers touch a cape and unintentionally you raised your back and he lifted his head, his dark eyes staring at you with an unexpected seriousness. «Don’t say nonsense», he slowly lifted your old pajama shirt and began to kiss you from the navel with light kisses until they reached your breast with one hand he squeezed it slightly and then laid his lips and started to tease you; he would lick it, slightly nibble it and hold it for you «You are beautiful, Y/n. More than you can imagine. And I don’t want you to get paranoid about these things, do we understand?» you nodded your head and Heeseung kept leaving little kisses all over your body and with his big hands he held one side of you and the other always a tit
You looked down, trying to hide the blush that was coloring your cheeks. "Heeseung..."
«Shhh» interrupted you, placing a finger on your lips. «I’m not flirting. Not this time, god this breast is made for my big hands and I want to make you feel like my dick is already hard just because of you, Y/n.»
You look uncertain, But there was something in his expression that made him soften and he laid slightly above you with a quick movement he rubbed his length into your pussy still covered by some short shorts and succinus misery was hard, and for those few seconds. You heard it could have been imagined that it was also great. "Look, if you want to thank me, do it by winning on Sunday, okay?"
He laughed softly, a laugh that seemed to dispel all tension. «All right, boss, but if I win I want something in return» You saw how he looked at your whole body and after a while stood up and winked at you before leaving.
Heeseung, who has just left his P2 qualification, heads to the interview area with contagious energy, ready to do his usual show. He’s smiling, charming, and was terribly annoying to you.
You were a few steps away from him, with your phone in hand, recording every word to avoid misunderstandings or fractions that could turn into tabloid headlines. But as Heeseung was getting in front of the cameras you knew he wanted to make a show.
The first journalist hands him the microphone, smiling.
Journalist 1 :
"Heeseung, you missed the pole by a few tenths. Do you think the race step will be enough to turn things around tomorrow?"
Heeseung :
'Sure, tomorrow I’ll give it all. But if you want to know my strategy in detail... I promise that I’ll explain it to you, as long as it brings me luck.'
The emphasis on the word "luck" is accompanied by a wink that makes half of the room laugh. You snort loudly, attracting the attention of one of the press officers who looks at her confused.
With the second journalist, however, Heeseung is at his best.
Journalist 2 :
"Tomorrow will be a tough race. Sunghoon seems to have an advantage, but do you think it will be a duel between the two of you?"
Heeseung :
(with a mischievous smile)
'My duel is always with Sunghoon, but you know what? If I had you by my side at the wall box, I would win without problems.'
You put down the phone with an incredulous expression, mumbling.
"Eight hours of sleep and he’s already turned into the usual serial flirter. I should have kept him awake."
When Heeseung comes back to you, visibly satisfied with himself you stare at him.
"Congratulations on the qualification, Casanova. But if you don’t win tomorrow, I swear I’ll take that microphone and make you eat it."
«Calm Y/n, you should be as refreshed as you were this morning with me! It was just to keep the atmosphere light, in this place they are all so boring and obsessive with the coldness of Sunghoon."
You slapped him lightly and pursed his keys.
"Relax, of course. Too bad I have to answer your fans in delirium on Twitter.»
You were a bundle of nerves sitting in the Ferrari box watching the race of Heeseung. From the start, Sunghoon had taken the lead, taking full advantage of the straight speed of his Red Bull but Heeseung, however, kept calm, studying every corner of the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, known for its technical braking and the famous "esse" of the Casino.
The decisive moment came in the last ten laps, when a small collision caused two cars to come out and the Virtual Safety Car came out that allowed Heeseung to switch to softer and fresher tires. Upon returning to the track Hee flew with his red fire car and showed all his power and agility, bend after bend began to gnaw the advantage of Sunghoon.
With three laps to go, the overtaking reached the final chicane just before the Champions Wall. With a breakaway at the limit, Heeseung joined Sunghoon and, despite fierce resistance, took the lead in the race with an impeccable trajectory.
Crossing the finish line in first position, you had tears in your eyes because it was 6 months since you did not win and the whole team hugged you and you ran under the podium.
On the podium, his smile was brighter than the sun reflecting on the gold trophy. He sprayed champagne with a contagious energy, wetting Sunghoon, who laughed defeated, and Jungwon, who occupied the third step. You watched from the edge of the track, crossing your arms but with a smug smile.
"He’s finally back to win, at least now he’ll stop tormenting me for how much he missed winning." You muttered in a low voice
When the celebrations on the podium ended, the group headed towards the river near the circuit, a special tradition to celebrate Canadian Grand Prix victories. The crowd of fans had already gathered along the banks, shouting and cheering as the drivers and team approached the water.
Heeseung was euphoric, almost in a trance. With a sure gesture, he unlaced the top of the pilot’s suit, letting it fall on his hips and with a fluid movement, he also took off his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and toned muscles under the sunlight.
The crowd exploded in shouts and applause, as dozens of phones took photos and recorded videos.
You stopped suddenly when Hee took off her shirt and your eyes were fixed on the slightly tanned skin but especially in his toning muscles that covered all of his toned body.
"Oh. My God. Really? Did he have to take off his shirt? Wasn’t the Playboy smile and the Greek statue body enough? This is ridiculous, tomorrow there will be all the social media invaded by him." you said in a low voice not making you heard from anyone.
You tried to look away, but your eyes inevitably returned to follow every movement of Heeseung. The sun was shining on his skin, and the champagne drops from the podium were still visible. He ran his hand through his hair, wet and messy, before approaching the edge of the river.
Heeseung turned to you with a provocative smile, having noticed your eyes following him before he jumped into the river and yelled at you.
«Y/n! What are you doing there all serious? You’re not judging me, are you? Come on, admit it, this physique is not bad, right?»
"I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out if you have a social media contract, since every move you make ends on the net!"
Heeseung gets up, diving into the water with a spectacular dive. When he emerged, he passed his hands over his face and hair, casting another amused look, and winked at you.
When he got back to the small wooden pier he came close to you who had a light towel and looked at you with a smile that would have made thousands of his fans crazy but it was only for you at that moment and with a little laugh she undid her head and small drops of water mixed with champagne they flooded your body and a slight redness took possession of your cheeks and you thought:
"This guy will drive me crazy. And not in the professional sense of the term."
«So? Have you seen something that you like?»
"Yes. Your suit, which for some reason you’re not wearing. Do you want a tip? Get back to putting it on, before someone makes an awkward photo montage."
Heeseung laughed
«You’re too stiff, Y/n. Should you relax a little bit by maybe taking a bath... with me?»
You pointed your finger at his still-wet chest.
"Keep it up, Heeseung, and you’ll see that the next bathroom is with the whole PR team, but to save yourself from trouble."
«All right, all right! Only because today you were my medicine even off the track.»
When you returned to the hotel, you promised yourself to ignore him for the rest of the day. But as he walked before you, you could not help but take one last look at his carved back.
"There is no hope. This guy is a continuous temptation the red devil."
It was Saturday night and you were finally enjoying some relaxation at home, away from the chaos of paddocks, interviews, and especially Heeseung. You had dinner with your friends and after weeks of going through the circuits, you felt like a normal person for a moment. But, of course, your phone decided to remind you who you really were: the PR of the most problematic (and irresistible) driver of the moment.
While your friends were laughing at another joke you saw the phone screen light up with the name you feared most: "Heeseung".
With a heavy sigh, you already know that you would never spend a quiet evening.
"What do you want, Hee?"
On the other end of the line, Heeseung seemed agitated, almost desperate and there was music in the background.
'Y/n! Thank goodness you answered. Look, I went out with Jake and Jay at the Twiga, just to relax a bit, nothing like that... but a paparazzo caught me with a glass of wine while talking to a fan.'
You closed your eyes, holding back an exasperated groaning
So? Where’s the problem, Heeseung? It’s not the first time you've ended up in these situations, by now people know that you have lived off the track and that you go to have fun and I doubt it will be the last.'
'Y/n, it’s not like it seems, and don’t get mad! I was just having a chat, I swear. The fan came over, asked me for a picture, and then he said something to my ear. But I promise you, nothing strange! Just that, you know how paparazzi are, It seemed... well she was kissing me"
You feel a mixture of frustration and resignation grow inside you.
"Heeseung, I don’t need to know the details. Really. You can do what you want with girls, it’s not my business but I’m just tired of this situation..."
On the other side, there was a moment of silence. Then, Heeseung spoke in an unusually serious tone.
'Y/n... Nothing happened. Really. You know I don’t want to ruin everything with this nonsense especially now that I’m adjusting the rhythm on the track." You got up from the restaurant table, away from your friends to find a quiet corner.
"So, if there was nothing, why are you calling me? You know I’ll do what I always do: I’ll fix the situation, I’ll make the photos disappear, and keep your image intact. But, honestly, I’m starting to think you enjoy making me feel bad, every time I’m not with you you always do one."
On the other side of the line, Heeseung looked almost wounded.
'This not so. I know I give you a lot of work, but I didn’t want this thing to come to you. I just... I trust you. And I don’t want you to think bad of me.'
"I don’t think badly of you, Heeseung. It’s my job. Only... sometimes it would be nice to spend a Saturday without having to make up for something."
Sorry. I do. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again."
"All right. Send me everything: photos, videos, anything that can help me solve it. And, Heeseung... Maybe next time you won’t get too close to anyone, even just to talk. You know that it takes one click to blow up the internet."
Heeseung laughed slightly but in a sincere tone
"Promise. Thank you, y/n. You’re the best, you know?"
"I know. And now leave me alone, I want to finish the evening without any more surprises."
All right, all right. Good evening...and don’t think too much, see you in Belgium.'
You hung up and snorted, god could not stand it when it was like that and the words of Jay resonated in your head << You know that Mercedes is looking for a PR for next season, if Heeseung makes you work even when you shouldn’t think about it because I don’t cause trouble and my other teammate too>
Spa Gp (Belgium)
The Friday and Saturday passed quickly, between technical briefings and free practice. Spa was a track that gave many riders the creeps, but Heeseung loved it. The fast curves, the slopes, the iconic Eau Rouge: it was everything he loved about racing and gave him that adrenaline that made him vibrate with its light.
When the time came for qualifying, Heeseung looked like a man on a mission. The atmosphere in the paddock was tense, dark clouds over the circuit threatened rain, but he was as concentrated as ever. He got into the car, ready to give his all and take another pole position because he was a magician in the dry ride.
In the first fast lap, he had already shown that he was fit. He was clean, precise, and almost surgical in his trajectories and his radio engineer was enthusiastic.
Engineer :
"P1 for now, Hee! Great job, but Jay is behind by a tenth."
His second lap was even more impressive. He passed the Eau Rouge with the gas completely open, the car seemed to dance under him. In the final part of the track, under a sky now black as ink, he managed to gain more fundamental milliseconds.
When he crossed the finish line, the clock was clear: he was in pole position.
Engineer :
"P1 ! Pole position! Heeseung! You’re a monster!"
Heeseung banged his hands on the steering wheel for happiness and when he turned on the radio he shouted 'P1 baby! The car is a lightning bolt I can’t wait for tomorrow to fight for victory.
At the finish line, Heeseung raised his fist as he stepped out of the car in victory, while everyone in the Ferrari pit was exploding with cries of joy.
After qualifying you were back in the Ferrari motorhome, watching the replay of Heeseung’s lap. It was amazing, as always. But you couldn’t share the team’s enthusiasm.
When he came back, still euphoric, he approached you with that smile that usually could melt anyone.
«So, my favorite PR what does she think about the ride? Impressive, right?»
He passed you to go up in his motorhome with crossed arms.
"Yes, it was a good lap. But we’ll see tomorrow in the race. Pole doesn’t count if you don’t take the result home."
Heeseung froze, slightly surprised by the coldness in your voice.
«Wow, you are the queen of the tifo, eh? Come on, Y/n a little enthusiasm! I gave everything today and it’s not everyone to pole at Spa!» You raised an eyebrow, keeping your icy gaze.
"Heeseung, you know that what you do on the track is great, and don’t need me to tell you, you’re fated and if it’s not this year next year you’ll be fighting for the world championship."
He stopped, surprised by your voice. He had noticed the hardness of your words and never had seen you so distant.
«Come on, don’t do that. What’s wrong?»
You were unable to hold back, opened the door of his motorhome room, and entered both.
"You’re treating me like a puppet, Heeseung! Every weekend it’s the same! You get what you want, flirting with everyone, and you always get in trouble, the executives of Ferrari call me to solve your problems even during weekends off. I’m tired of being your PR!"
Heeseung tried to approach, but you stopped him with a cold look.
"I want to look around. Maybe it’s time I had a chat with someone like Jay or Sunghoon, see if in Mercedes or Red Bull they treat me as a person and not as a slave of your ego."
Your words struck Heeseung like a stab. His heart stopped for a moment, and an unexpected wave of jealousy swept over him without warning. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The idea that you could look around, away from him, drove him crazy.
Hee this time approached you and with a low, furious voice said to you
«Don’t make me say what I think. Don’t test me.»
He had an expression of anger on his face and you did not back down, rather challenged him with your gaze with the same intensity. The tension between you was palpable, the air seemed to overheat. Then, in a sudden and determined movement, Heeseung grabbed you by the wrists and pushed you against the wall.
«If you think that someone else looks at you like this or that you deserve in their life you are wrong, now I’ll show you what it means to be with me, Y/n.»
His warm breath touched your skin, and you were paralyzed for a moment. But there was no fear in his eyes. Only anger and frustration.
"What do you want from me, Heeseung? Why can’t you treat me like a person?" And I pushed him slightly to run away from him
His body was contracting, but at that moment something in Heeseung snapped. He wanted you, only you, and felt the anger grow inside him like a fire. He came even closer, so much so that his breath felt caress your skin. Then, without warning, he kissed you with force.
The kiss was intense, almost violent as if trying to communicate everything we could not say. Heeseung’s mouth moves against yours with a rush that surprised you but however much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t ignore the attraction between you two, that tension that had bound you from the beginning.
He gently pulls your hair with one hand and holds your jaw with the other, deepening the kiss, practically sticking his tongue in your mouth and establishing dominance from the beginning, Your hands fall on his muscular shoulders and you draw him closer to you and your hips come desperately close to his to quench your thirst. It is a huge boost to his ego of Heeseung when he hears you moan something indestructible and with his big brawn lifts you slightly and puts you in the small raised bed where before the race they did the massages, you slightly spread your legs with one hand and stands between you two. You had the perfect hair, the cherry lip dye that you used to use in your face, the chest that lifts and lowers, and the icing on the cake for Heeseung was to see you wearing a bra as sexy and red as his car as well as his favorite color.
« Fuck, did you do it on purpose to wear this bra? Who would have thought that my PR wore sexy braces so short that she didn’t look like a good girl anymore.»
Heeseung had begun to attack your neck, his lips clinging to every inch of your skin and leaving beautiful red marks. You would tell him to be careful not to make them too evident but you were in a state of trance and pleasure when you felt a hand of Hee come down where your little skirt was to slightly pinch your thighs full, Until he made little circles inside your already slightly wet panties and starts rubbing against his hand, not caring how Hee couldn’t help but smile as he moved his lips towards your full bosom.
He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible before catching one of your nipples in his mouth and slowly pulling him into the tufts that he had long for his mullet haircut.
"I am not your property, Heeseung. You do not own me. I will never be." You heard a light laugh coming from the boy who was sucking your nipples in his closet and this time he pinched the flesh of your thigh and screamed from pain but also from excitement. " Heeseung"
Hee laughed and his hands found the edge of your red Ferrari skirt that you had to use as a uniform during the summer gp and thanked the stylist for giving him this opportunity to touch you thanks to that skirt.
«Mmm, if you weren’t mine you wouldn’t be here moaning my name Sweetie! See your panties wear my favorite PR» Heeseung saw that you had a red lace outfit even underneath your panties and formed a grin bowed slightly and took one of your legs if he put it over his shoulder and with his fingers slightly calloused you he moved his panties and smiled when he saw you were already totally soaked for him.
You leaned against the cold wall while Hee put two fingers in. At first, he was slow and careful. He wanted to give you the chance to back off if you didn’t feel comfortable enough to do all this with him but when he realized that you really wanted it, he allowed himself to relax and start his work. His steady rhythm did not last long: every second that passed, he pushed only faster, wishing to hear you groan again and again. He kept looking up from your chest, watching your expressions and smiling to himself as he alternated sucking your breasts, especially your full and hard buds, and left marks everywhere in your body. You began to move your hips towards his hand, desperately chasing even more pleasure.
His fingers went deeper and from your mouth came sounds that Heeseung was ecstatic and thought every time he touched himself when he thought of you.
«Tell me,» said Heeseung. You heard it but did not answer. «What it’s like to get fingered by a guy you can’t stand but at the same time that makes you feel all these feelings and we’re doing it where everyone could hear or see us, Y/N!» you have silenced Hee by quickly pulling his hair, your free hand clings to his shoulders, your nails are embedded in the skin exposed by his toned and muscular physique for the many hours of training.
"Hee...it’s so beautiful" you replied moaning and the boy next to you was overwhelmed with adrenaline and groans for praise. You were soaked and with the thumb tickled even more your clitoris and did not stop giving pleasure just as you were about to reach orgasm Heeseung believed that he came too while he felt liquid wet boxer shorts and had slightly hard balls. It hides its face in the hollow of your neck, now stimulating your clitoris with its thumb and making you go into a frenzy.
«Come for me», mumbles right against your ear. A shiver runs through your back before you succumb and the knot in your stomach melts. Heeseung kept you while you were coming, trying with all his might not to go with you because not only would it be embarrassing but also because you would surely have made fun of him.
Heeseung pulled out his fingers once you calmed down. You smiled because you still did not have the energy to talk and say what you thought about everything that happened in that closet...nor did you have the energy to do anything else. Heeseung smiled at you with a grin as he was busy wiping his fingers using his mouth, naturally and winked at you and his look became darker, more intense, and without saying a word, he slowly released it. He pulled down your skirt and went to get the shirt that he had taken off and put it back on you as if you were his favorite doll and put in your ear gently a fluttering tuft that you had in your hair and slightly lowered to your ear and said «It doesn’t end here, Y/n. You are mine and you will be forever»
In Belgium Heeseung won the race and in Hungary, things went well for Hee came p3 but Y/n did not want to sleep with him or stay next to him for that 2 gp pretended that nothing happened between them two and stayed as much as possible with Jungwon. In Holland, Hee felt very tired and wanted to sleep with Y/n but both he and she were embarrassed and they were mostly stubborn, which was a disaster for the Ferrari in general Hee went crashed and when he came back in his boxer pissed and looked coldly Y/n, He absolutely wanted to talk with you but before there were the briefing and interviews to do and when he arrived in the room was exhausted and slept and no 4 hours, on Sunday they arrived in the points area miraculously both him and Jungwon. He just wanted to relax and find a way to talk to you and perhaps knowing all your habits knew where you were at that time and a small smile took possession of his face.
He knew you were probably in the pool, as you often did after a hard day, trying to relax. When he arrived he saw you swimming smoothly, your arms drawing elegant lines in the water, fully concentrated as if you were trying to clear your mind. Heeseung watched your body move, as usual, but this time it wasn’t just admiration. There was desire, anger, and a strange feeling of possessiveness that he could not suppress.
He approached slowly, his heart beating fast and when you noticed him you stopped looking at him with that mix of confusion and challenge that he liked so much but now it seemed more difficult to face. Without thinking too much, he took off his shirt, despite the back pain, and immersed himself in the water with determination. Every fiber of his body cried against his physical state, but he wanted you close.
«Don’t run away, Y/n. I’m tired of playing these games»
You tried to get away but Heeseung reached out, took you by the wrist, and held you firmly. His warm breath touched your skin and you felt a shiver run down your back. You were trapped, but not in the way he thought. It wasn’t fear, you were confused by all the feelings you had for him.
«Why don’t you look at me? I won’t let you go and you know it. I want to see you give in.» You stared at it, and the beating of your heart increased while your body struggled between the desire to escape and the attraction that felt growing. Then, without warning, Heeseung came even closer, his hands touching you gently, but with an intensity that left no doubt. It slid down your skin, from arms to hips, and you couldn’t help but feel that sensation.
«You are mine, Y/n. You always have been, only you don’t want to admit it.»
His words were a sweet poison, a game you no longer knew how to play. You felt Heeseung’s hands touching you in a possessive way, as if he wanted to mark you as if he wanted to remind you that despite your attempts to get away from him you had never been truly free of him.
You tried to push him away but Heeseung wouldn’t let go. With a quick movement, he kissed you. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, but a violent one. His lips pressed against yours with urgency, while Heeseung’s hands went into your legs and carried them around her waist. You pushed him slightly, but he, with a cry choked by desire and frustration, pulled you even closer and you tied your arms around his floor.
«Don’t pretend that it doesn’t drive you crazy. I know what you want. I can see it in your eyes.»
You looked up and started to pull his hair slightly while he sucked your neck and bit it slightly and between the breathless breaths you said:
"You can’t... you can’t... not with me, I don’t want to be another one of your stupid awards. I’m more than this Heeseung."
Heeseung kissed you again, but with a fierce rage as if he was trying to take possession not only of your body but also of your soul.
«I need you Y/n, not as my prize but as my girlfriend. God, from the first day I saw you, you drive me crazy, you’re the only one who can hold my head, the only one who hates my flirting, and the only one who can understand me and see not only the F1 driver but also my most vulnerable part» You felt your heart beat like crazy and you did yes with your head and while accompanying you in his room he never took off his hands from your body and when you reached his room immediately pushed you into his large bathroom where from the large window of saw all the panorama of the city and the sunset in the darkness.
You could feel the heat radiating from his body, feel his gaze crossing your face. His eyes stopped on your lips and smiled again, With the air of fun and when he put you under the jet of water shivered a little until you felt the big hands of Heeseung soapy gently all over your body and made you a small soap bubble by pressing lightly a jar of soap to relieve the tension between you two and when he saw you laugh slightly he hugged you and washed your hair gently. «God, how good it is to feel the bath foam I use on you Y/n, I can not wait to fuck you and to smell your scent against mine» he leaned forward, catching your lips in another kiss and you moaned needy in his mouth, pressing your hips against his and he unlaced the little triangle costume you had and when your breast came out with one hand he held you still and with the other started to bite your sensitive bud both because of the excitement but also of the hot water coming down and It gave you slight chills After a while he moved to release the piece under your bra and bent slightly. You groaned as his teeth sank into your thigh, giving a strong sucking so as to leave its mark. " I guess I won’t wear skirts and shorts so soon I’ll have to put on the autumn uniform even with 30 degrees..." You didn’t mean it because God, wanted everyone to see the signs that he left for you.
«I guess not, every time I saw you in that red-hot skirt I always felt my cock getting hard because of you» he growled as he left you some more lollipops along the inside of your thighs, enjoying how you were writhing under him and groaning his name.
His tongue slid along the outer part of your pussy, flattening against the length, then sliding his tongue up and down the crack, plunging just past the entrance to your core. The little jolts and tremors that flowed through your body, together with your choking moans and high-pitched whimpers were absolute perfection for his ears, and Hee turned off the hot water and buried her face as deep as possible. It was intoxicating, the taste of your pussy, sweet and slimy with your excitement, and practically drooling on it was seriously fucked by your body, how you moaned his name, how you teased him every day, and how only you could understand it and have it all for yourself.
«I thought you couldn’t stand me or to be honest that you hated me at the beginning of the F1 season but now look at you are here moaning my name» You pulled Heeseung’s hair slightly and said, "I never hated you, but sometimes you’re so damn annoying that it’s hard to be your PR or stand by you."
"God, please," you complained, the voice that grew faint in a slight groan at the end as Hee ate your soggy pussy as if there was no tomorrow. Until then you had forgotten what pleasure was. His long callused fingers surrounded your wet pussy hole, pushing past your folds to massage against the tensed muscle with every dive of her mouth.
"Hee is even more beautiful than last time, please!" Your back bowed against the cold shower tiles, eyes closed and a low moan in your throat, your body quickly reached the point of no return. «Come for me, Sweetie, only for me»
You pushed your hips forward, rubbing you but you were ripped from that moment of pure bliss when he stuck a long finger inside you and shoved it back and forth quickly pumping it.
His name slipped from your lips in a whisper, his fingers stopped half-thrust. Your pussy was shaking around his finger and kept moving his hand through the bedtime shocks, letting the moment of bliss last as long as possible, watching you keep on wailing and wailing as you came.
«You are so beautiful, Y/n», he whispered as he slowly kissed your lips, his eyes kept wandering up and down the length of your naked figure and he turned on the water and trembled at the contact next to him. " I need you, Hee, please" You started to pump slightly its length and smiled at you «Mm, my favorite PR that asks me to be his, who would ever have thought that my impure dreams become real?» He smiled and leaned forward again, kissing you with small kisses on the neck. His free hand wandered on the lower part of your back caressing your bottom.
«Do you trust me?» you made a sign of yes and slowly took you in his arms and slammed you against the cold shower tiles and slowly with a dry push slid its full length inside you in one single strong and decisive blow and you yelled slightly for the cold contact of the wall and its length within you.
"Hee" you mumbled his name, your legs were wrapped around his hips, and his cock kept diving into you, encountering your desperate whimpers as your hands clenched around his strong biceps that held you tight. Heeseung cursed and dropped his face in your neck and drops of boiling water fell between your bodies and moved a lock of hair from Heeseung and groan pressed against your neck when he took another push.
«Holy shit, why we have not done it before, this body, this pussy is made only for and for no other man» You writhed in place as his hand was clinging to your thigh and around the curve of your back. "Heeseung".
«Fuck Y/n, say my name again, like that. You’re so fucking beautiful with my dick inside of you.» His forehead leaned against yours, nibbling your lower lip, and told you something you would never think of hearing in your life «I love you so much, you make me crazy from morning to night, only you can» He pushed his hips into your tighter hole stronger.
"I love you too, I don’t know...how it happened or when" his lips kissed you avidly, passionately, moving as sharply as her thrusts, Water slippery and you felt his thumb tickling your clitoris, and small moans of pleasure came out of your lips when with a sharp push hit your G-spot.
«Let go, Sweetie, come everywhere on my dick like a good girl you are!» It takes a couple of long, powerful thrusts before you find yourself yelling his name, coming hard on his dick. Your hips are contracting as his cock is sticking deep inside you, The sperm splashes into you and you feel so good after so long after a while Heeseung comes out of you and holds you against his chest, and leaves you some slight caresses that start from the bottom of your back to reach your hips.
«Are you all right? Or was it too much for you, sweetie?» Look up slightly and see him for the first time with a sincere smile, his hair all ruffled and attached to the forehead and with red cheeks because of the heat.
"it was perfect but don’t get your head in the sand, already your ego is big enough, and maybe something else too" You looked slightly down embarrassed, and after a little bit felt Heeseung’s hands take your face and kiss you with lips. «I have to tell you a secret but also you, don’t get too excited» You looked curious and felt his breath next to your ear and said «You’re better than a race won on the last lap»
OMG🌹 i hope you enjoyed this story. Heeseung in my head gives me too many vibes from Ferrari driver, comments are appreciated and also reblogs.
©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2025.
#enhypen x reader#enha x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen fanfic#enhypen heeseung#lee heesung x reader#lee heesung smut#lee heeseung imagines#lee heeseung#heeseung x reader#heeseung enhypen#heeseung smut#heeseung imagines#jake sim x reader#jay x reader#sunghoon x reader#jungwon x reader#sunoo x reader#niki x reader#enha imagines#enhypen smut#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hyung line#kpop x reader#kpop fanfiction#kpop smut#enhypen#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love you the same and to the moon and back | Hyun Ju
Summary: After Hyun Ju came out as woman, it seemed like hope was lost as she lost everything. The military, her family and her friends. When dating you, she’s afraid she’ll lose you too. Or will she?
Pairing: Hyun Ju x GF!Reader
Warnings: angst, fear of coming out, fluff
Word Count:
Author's Note: This was requested by countrybarbiegalss from my book titled “Squid Game Imagines” on Wattpad. If you’d like, please check it out I’d really appreciate it. Don’t forget to vote, comment on what you think and share!
Feedback is always appreciated!
Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!
Read on Wattpad & AO3 here
Hyun Ju could have not expected her life to take a turn like this. Discovering she’s transgender was a question she was able to solve. But the problem was what it came with after.
Shortly not long after she came out, she was kicked out of the military, struggled to find a job for at least almost two months. A lot of her family members cut her off and she lost friends she knew for years.
It seemed like everything was lost, until she met you. You were in the light in her eyes she needed. She met you while she was running late for work and you were jogging and accidentally bumped into her.
She remembers it all well the moment she met you, what she and you were wearing. You were so beautiful and hope was found again.
Hyun Ju hoped to see you again when she came to work and she did. Days turned into weeks and eventually a month. She really wanted to ask you out but was terrified of the relationship not lasting long as she was hiding herself, her true identity.
But something told her to ask you out. So the morning that she got ready for work, she told herself, she’s going to ask you out when yiu see her. As usual, she saw yiu again. She put a hand up as if she was going to raise a hand but it was to capture your attention.
You stopped running, took out your phone to pause your music and took out a earbud from one of your ears.
“Hey, how are you?” Hyun Ju asked
“Good and you?” You replied breathing heavily from the running.
“I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes, what it is”
Hyun Ju took a pause and took a deep breath
“We’re always seeing each other when I’m going to work and you’re running. I just think you’re really pretty and I wanted to know if you would like to maybe get a coffee together or go out sometime?”
After what Hyun Ju said to you, you had to think of what she was saying to you. You also found him (because at the time you didn’t know that she identified as a she even in that moment)
Hyun Ju took your silence as a possible rejection. It wasn’t until you replied
“Sure, I would love to” You nodded
“Really?” Making sure of what Hyun Ju was hearing right now.
“Yeah why not?”
Hyun Ju couldn’t believe it. Was her life finally turning around for the better? Was this a sign?
“What time and day works for you?” You asked
“I get out at work around 6:30. 6, if my boss is merciful.”
“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Sounds great”
Hyun Ju nodded and smiled to herself. This was really happening. She asked out a girl.
“See you around then” You said about to go back to your daily running
“See you” Hyun Ju exclaimed as she was going to head to her work. She realized one thing. She didn’t know your name and you didn’t know hers
“Wait!” She turned around to face you hoping you didn’t run off already. Luckily, you just about to put your second earbud in when she called out. You turned around.
“I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Y/N.” You smiled and Hyun Ju didn’t forget that
“Hyun Ju” She said
“That’s a pretty name. I hope you don’t leave me hanging tomorrow Hyun Ju.”
“I won’t.” She shook her head and laughed.
You chuckled too as you ran off, looked back and waved to him her. She waved back to you as she looked at the time and realized she’s running late. “Crap!” She ran off to her work.
A few hours passed and she was done with her job. She took the subway home and was tired. Your smile wouldn’t leave her mind. When she got back to her apartment, she prepared something to eat, watched TV and went to sleep. A few more hours and she’ll be going out with you, she thought to herself.
The next morning and she was more than ready to get out of bed to see your face again. Everything she was doing in her daily routine was fast paced as she was so excited. She always double checking herself, to see if her hair was fine in every reflection she could see. While she was fixing her hair while walking looking in a shop glass, she bumped into someone. She looked at who she bumped into, it was you again. Time felt like it stopped. She was going to apologize but you did first.
“We, well I gotta stop bumping into you. I gotta be more careful when running.” Yiu chuckled putting a hand to your mouth
“It’s alright,” Hyun Ju nodded smiling.
“Tonight’s still on?” You asked playfully
“What? Oh yes, it is.”
“Great!”
“Here,” Hyun Ju took a notebook and pen out of her bag and wrote down her number to give to you. “You can text or call me if anything comes up”
You took the paper and looked at what she wrote.
"Ok will do. I'll let you get back to you going to work."
"And I'll let you get back to running."
Both of you nodded and parted ways. A few hours have passed and Hyun Ju finished her shift. She rushed home to get ready for her first date with you.
It was going to be at a small restaurant, nothing fancy. When she saw you at and what you wore, it felt like her heart was going to fall out her chest.
The date has gone well and you started seeing each other after work more often. Both of you not long after started dating each other.
This was the happiest Hyun Ju been in a long time. Being with someone, finding peace and security. But while dating you, still being happy, there was something eating at her.
Her wanting to come out to you, telling you she's transgender. Over the course, you have been dating her, you notice his her hair would get longer and would paint her nails.
You seen other guys done the same as it was a trend mostly among Gen Z, so you thought nothing of it.
Every opportunity Hyun Ju had to tell you, she would shut it down quickly as she was afraid of losing you. She hated lying to you. It wasn't right, but she was afraid of your reaction of her telling you.
She believed that you would cry and yell at her, never wanting to see her face again. Tonight after work was the night she was going to tell you.
When she came home to your shared apartment, you came running to you excited to see you, her boyfriend girlfriend again.
"Hey babe, how are you doing? How was work" You said smiling
"Good thank you. Work was good. How are you?"
"I'm good thanks, just reading a book. I made dinner for both of us. I waited for you to eat togther."
Your kindness. That was the thing Hyun Ju was going to miss when she tells you the truth tonight.
"I need to tell you something, Y/N."
"Yes, what is it?" You asked without looking up from your book.
"I don't know how to say this. And when I do, you might not wanna be with me anymore."
You put your book down at what she meant by this.
"What do you mean?
"I have discovered something about myself. And I'm trans. Transgender."
"Are you being serious right now?"
"Yes I am. I won't be known as your boyfriend anymore. I probably won't even be yours anymore after I have said this."
Putting your book down, you got up and went up to him her.
"Hyun Ju-"
"Listen," Hyun Ju's voice starts breaking up as she looks down. "If you want to break up with me, that's fine. But this is who I am."
"I loved you as the man you weren't meant to be. And who doesn't say I won't love you as the woman you're going to be?"
"You're still going to be with me? People will look at us and I don't wanna damage your reputation."
"So what? Screw those who are going to judge, that's not make me change my mind or make me love you any less."
Hyun Ju tried to hold it in but she was crying. You held her close and sat down on the couch. Her sobs broke your heart. You probably didn't realize how hard this must have been on her, keeping this a secret from you.
"Do you want to go to the bed and just lay down?" You asked softly
"Yes, yes" She took her hands from her face and nodded.
You helped Hyun Ju up and went to your shared room. The room was dark as you turned on a lightly dimmed lamp.
You sat down on the bed first and waited for Hyun Ju to come. She hesitated a bit, but eventually sat down next to you. She wrapped her arms around you. Both of you went further into the bed as you both laid down.
Her broad arms were firm but soft on you as she laid her head on your chest. Trying to match her breathing to your heartbeat. You still felt her tears fall on your tank top and some on your arm.
"It's ok, it's ok. I got you" You whispered kissing her forehead.
Hyun Ju was shaking under you. This wasn't the reaction she wasn't expecting. She was sure you were going to break up with her. This all had to be a dream, like too good to be true.
But she felt safe here. Like her past and everything else didn't exist. It didn't matter.
"I don't deserve you" Hyun Ju said so faintly as shell break.
"Don't say that. Whoever made you feel like you weren't deserving of love just because of the way you identify, don't deserve you. Not the other way around."
After what you said, Hyun Ju just wanted to continue laying and not say another word. You kept kissing. Her forehead, her neck, slow and soft with your lips.
"I love you Hyun Ju. I'll always love you the same and to the moon and back."
Hyun Ju now knows it was indeed a sign you were the one for her. She gets up a bit to face and kiss you on the lips sweetly and gently.
A tear dropped down and you tasted her salty drops. You pulled back and just smiled.
"I love you too Y/N."
"We can take a nap and eat dinner later. Or we don't have to, tomorrow's the weekend. We can stay in, lay like this all you want."
Throughout the night, you guys talked nonsense until you both fell asleep holding each other. This was all Hyun Ju wanted and needed.
Safe and sound in your arms. She was ready to become a new person. But in your eyes, she was the still same.
She was still yours, and you were hers.
Taglist:
@itsnznn, @soultyun, @hobinistaworld, @happyfrog7681, @Tiuhiatus, @star2008, @magicalconnoisseurcoffee, @fyraevya, @ninahorikoshifr, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @iidontwannadiealone, @idontreallyexistyet, @gigglingkickingmyfeet, @hollxe1, @uuhhtt, @bludzk1llzyuzu, @maymustdie, @bahoglobot, @bread-crum206, @lovesickxmina, @galactict3a, @livelaughlovekuni, @petrrraaa, @sackgirl666, @grimminiecricket
Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Women Masterlist | Hyun-Ju Masterlist | Join my taglist
#creamecafe#squid game x reader#squid game season 2#squid game 2#squid game#hyun ju#cho hyunju#transgender#transfem#trans#wlw post#wlw#x fem!reader#x f!reader
158 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you write something about Harry, where his girlfriend is accompanying them on tour or maybe she is a 6th member of the oned (you choose how to do it) and they keep finding a way to escape without the people seeing to sleep with each other or he tries to take her to his bunk bed on the tour bus or to his hotel room... smutttt please
“My boyfriend is literally on stage.”
kofi!
cw: public sex, slight daddy kink
There was something about being surrounded by tens of thousands of teenage girls screaming your boyfriend’s name that made you feel so good that after all of this, it was your arms he was running into. Not theirs.
Liam, Zayn, Niall, Louis and Harry were the most desired men on the planet right now, but little did the fans know that you and Harry were exclusive for a while now and there was nothing they could do about it.
The guys had been nice to you for the most part. You’d joined their North American tour to get as much time with Harry as you could. But they were always busy, between rehearsals and recording sessions you didn’t have any time together. Most of the tour was you just watching the shows and exploring the city on your own, it wasn’t exactly what you had expected.
You took a quick snap of Harry performing a solo verse on stage during the last song, before slipping away to make it backstage before the crowd dispersed and so that you could greet Harry as soon as he came off stage.
He was so insanely attractive on stage, the way his jeans clung to the same legs that you’d straddle him on, and that hair that you’d tangle your fingers in…
You stood in the wings of the stage, watching as Harry skipped off towards you, a towel in his hand that he used to wipe the sweat off of his head.
He ran into your arms, grinning, lifting you up and spinning you around.
You hand him a hair tie, and he swiftly ties his hair into a tight bun, keeping the hair away from his face. He knew you liked it when his hair was tied up, it meant you could see all his features properly.
“Good show once again, rockstar.”
“All for you, baby.” Harry said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I put on that show and you’re the only thing on my mind.”
You grin at him, your hands on his waist pulling him closer to you.
He quickly bucked his hips against your stomach, showing off the hardness forming under his pants, you look up at him, eyes wide and mouth watering.
“I’ve been waiting all day to get my hands on you, gorgeous.” Harry breathes, his hot breath hitting against your neck.
“Then you can have me. Where’s the hotel?” You ask.
“No hotel tonight, sweetheart. We’re overnight on the bus tonight, Dallas to Kansas City.”
“The bus?” You question, disheartened that you wouldn’t be getting the night in a hotel together like you expected.
“Don’t look so sad, baby.” He says, whispering in your ear, quiet enough that no one else in the room will hear him, “I’ve been waiting all day for that sweet cunt of yours, hotel or no hotel, I’m still gonna have it.”
Your heart skips a beat, “Harry, you share a bus with Niall and Zayn. They’ll hear us.”
Harry smirks. “Then you’re just gonna have to be a good quiet girl for me then, aren’t ya.”
You’d never had sex in the bus before, nothing had went further than a make out.
Harry joked around about how notoriously loud you were in bed, he joked around about how all the other guests at night would be kept up at night when he fucked you.
You had no idea how he expected you to stay quiet on a bunk in a tour bus.
“Get to my bunk,” Harry says, “I gotta pick my stuff up from my dressing room and I’ll meet you there.”
You done exactly what Harry said, you made your way to his tour bus and got straight into his bunk, pulling the curtain closed. It was as small as you would imagine, considering it was a bed in a bus.
You heard the door open soon after, with the guys making their way onto the bus and walking straight up to the small living and dining area at the front where the TV was. Harry however, kicked off his shoes and jumped straight in the bunk with you.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He grinned, pulling the curtain closed once again, and placing a fierce kiss on your lips.
“Hey.” You replied.
“I’m not wasting any time with you.” He said, “Sit here in between my legs, angel.”
He lifted you into position between his legs, brushing his face against your neck, his lips then attaching to your skin.
“Remember and be quiet.” He whispered into your ear, before returning to the soft skin of your neck.
You felt his hands on your thighs, moving closer and closer up your skirt, until his fingers brushed over the fabric of your panties.
You’d been soaking wet all night for him, watching him up on stage in those damn jeans, knowing damn well what was underneath and in store for you later.
It was soon after that Harry tore the panties from you, ripping them in half for his fingers to gain access to your pussy, your toes clenching as his fingers moved in rapid circles, the tension building between your legs.
He had to put one hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Gagging you already and I don’t have a finger inside you yet, nevermind my dick.” He lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “How you gonna last, huh?”
You moan into his hand as he brings you to an orgasm. You feel your body quiver as he continues to pump his fingers into you, soaking them in your sticky cum.
“That’s it baby.”
This was one of the longest orgasms you’d ever had from just his fingers- something about the anticipation and naughtiness of being so dirty just feet away from his bandmates, paired with his hand firmly pressed over your mouth was too much for your body to deal with.
You were still processing your high when Harry moved so he was balancing on top of you, moving your body so your head was rested on the pillow. You watched as he slid his pants down his legs and shoved them at the end of his bed, and began to palm his cock over his boxers.
He was so big- it shocked you every time how he actually fit inside of you.
“Sorry for rushin’ baby, but I need to be inside of you,” He said quietly, “Just stay nice and quiet for me, okay?”
You nod, and he discards the underwear, and you hike your skirt as far up your hips as you can.
Balancing above you, he sunk his cock slowly inside of you.
“Harry, oh!-”
He slammed his hand over your mouth, keeping you quiet.
“Quiet, princess. We have company, remember.”
He stayed very still for a short moment, his cock still buried inside of you. He enjoyed watching you squirm, watching your eyes beg for him to move. Your sweet, sweet eyes. Those eyes he got to stare at while he performed, the eyes which were the last thing that he saw before he kissed you, and those eyes he got to see when he fucked you.
When he started to move his dick, thrusting his hips, your eyes squeezed shut.
“Darlin’” He whispered, “You open your eyes when I fuck you. Understand?”
You nod, opening your eyes again.
Harry was moving faster, his thrusts deep and hard. You had no idea it was possible to cum in five minutes purely from a man’s dick until you met Harry. He knew exactly what to do with your body in bed.
Your walls began to clench around him, your body shaking with every moment. By now you’d be screaming his name, but his hand was still firmly over your mouth. Any possible sound you could make was escaping through your nose as Harry’s dick pounded into you.
Harry’s bunk was small. It was crazy how little space this man needed to make you feel like this. This good.
“Cum on daddy’s cock.” Harry whispered. The tour bus TV was loud enough that hopefully they wouldn’t be able to hear the two of you by now, “Make a mess all over for me, baby.”
Harry reached for your clit, rubbing fast circles around your swollen bud until you reached your orgasm.
“Oh, god. Oh baby.” Harry groaned, indicating he was coming.
You moaned into his hand louder. The feeling of his cum filling you up.
“My sweet girl.” Harry moaned.
He felt so good.
So fucking good.
The thought of the others listening just made it all so more exciting.
#harry styles#harry styles one shot#harry styles x reader#harry styles au#harry styles smut#fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#smut#one direction
151 notes
·
View notes
Text
Billy’s College Adventure Part 2
Samuel:
“Oh fuck!!!”
I scream out as Billy’s body pours out cum all over his slim chest. I stare down at cute dick I know have possession over.
That’s when the doorbell starts ringing. Well he’s quicker than I thought. I better get his body cleaned up. I quickly wipe off Billy’s chest and grab his shirt.
The doorbell rings over and over again.
“I’m coming! Just hold on a sec!”
I look through the peephole and my body waiting outside for me to open the door.
“Who is it?,” I say just to mess with him.
“YOU KNOW WHO IT IS!”
“Hmmm… well I wasn’t expecting company. Not sure who you could be. Have we met before?”
“Dude! I’m in your body, you’re in mine. Can we just cut to the point and you let me in!”
“What’s the secret password?”
“Purple! Now let me in!”
“No… the password isn’t a ‘word.’ It’s a gesture…”
“Hey it’s me! In your body, what’s up? Is this good enough?”
I bust out laughing, I thought he was going to flick me off.
I open up the door and Billy comes storming in.
“You know! It’s one thing for you to highjack my body! But it’s another for you to LITERALLY LOCK ME OUT,” says Billy who’s now in my (our I should say his) face.
“Oof! You got a spicy side! I like it!,” I say back with a big grin.
“Are got to be kidding me! You know what, I’ll fix this.”
I watch as Billy tries his hardest to switch us back. He tries for about a minute before giving up.
“Fuck! Why can’t I switch us back?”
“Oh Billy, you really don’t know the first thing about your powers do you? You’re a swapper. A swapper can’t un-swap somebody who’s also a swapper. Now you can swap others that I’ve swapped but you can’t swap us. Only I can now.”
I watch as Billy paced around the room struggling with the fact that I’m in control here.
“So I have a few questions,” he says to me.
“Sure!”
“First off, who the hell are you?!?”
“Well currently I’m you. But normally I’m Samuel, Sam for short.”
“Great. So you obviously are a—”
“Swapper.”
“Yes, you’re a swapper. Like me which I didn’t even know others existed outside of me.”
“Well other swappers are a little more quiet about their abilities. You just have yourself away earlier today.”
“I know, I figured that out pretty quick. This feels weird, normally it’s me hitting someone with the body swap surprise. Wait a minute, why did you swap that guy and that professor?”
“Great question! That Dufus really pissed me off. And I don’t really care for that professor so freaking him out too was just an added bonus.”
I watch as he tries his hardest to get a good read on me. It’s so refreshing to even talk about this someone who’s not my family. Granted the only other swapper in my family was my great uncle. He was kind enough to leave me a rule book.
“So you just did that to be petty?”
“Well yeah I guess, sounds terrible when you put it that way. But trust me that guy had it coming.”
“That seems pretty immature of you.”
“Oh so you’ve never just swapped with someone for the hell of it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying… I mean of course I have but it’s been years!”
“Geez Billy, didn’t know you set the roles for the swapper community.”
“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying you really freaked those two out. Maybe like a simple prank could have worked.”
“Billy, I don’t think you understand how different the two of us are from the rest of the world. Most swapper do way worse things— sides I would have eventually swapped them back.”
Billy gets quiet for a second. I watch as he flops down on his couch. 
“So now that you kidnapped my body, what’s your plan here?,” says Billy.
“Finally! That was the question I’ve been waiting on. So I’ll be honest with you. I’ve personally never met another swapper outside of a family member who I really didn’t get to know. But he did leave me with a lot about our powers. And I want to start really using mine. But the kind of stuff I want to do is hard to do alone. So I guess in the nicest way I can say this… I’ll give you your body back as long as you join me in my exploration. Thoughts?”
“Ummm… is this going to be dangerous or potentially hurt someone?”
“Ahhhh no, at least not directly.”
“What do you mean by not directly?”
“Well I guess you can either find out and get your body back or just stay as me until I decide to swap us back. Which could be a very long time… years maybe.”
“Ugh fine! I’ll do whatever.”
“Cool!”
2 Hours Later…
Billy and I crashed out on his couch. It took him a bit to speak to me but once he got going he had so many questions about me. I let him ask me about my life, my family, etc. and he eventually started to open up about himself as well.
“So let me get this straight? You forced your babysitter to swap bodies with you like every time he came over??,” I ask him.
“Oh yeah! Honestly, I feel a little bad about it now because he’s so nice. Literally has no hard feelings. I was just a nightmare growing up. I could never stay in my body when I was young and trust me my dads tried hard! I even ran away a couple of times with his body. They of course found me every time. It sounds terrible but I really enjoyed being him.”
“That’s funny, I used to get really annoyed easy at family functions. I was a very emotional teen and my dad’s brother was a bit of a prick. Always thought he was jealous since he didn’t get the swapper trait and I did. I would literally swap everyone around just to piss all of them off. I’d even make sure everyone swapped with someone who I knew they would hate to be… oh this one time. I swapped my uncle and our dog for like a week. I got into sooo much trouble but it was so worth it.”
“Oh god not the dog!!”
“Yep! Even took my dog to the park. It was hilarious!”
We went back and forth on our swap stories for hours. I door dashed us a bunch of food (on Billy’s card of course, I knew he would be cool with it the second I heard his parents are loaded lol).
“So do you have like any booze here?,” I asked him.
“Oh yeah! Want a glass of wine?”
“Sure!”
“Any preferences?”
“I mean I have your pallet so whatever you like lol.”
“Trueee, I guess I should asked for me haha.”
“Well I prefer red wines.”
“Gross!”
“You’re gonna like it I promise.”
We both crack open two bottles of wine and turn on a movie in the background. After a couple of glasses I started to feel a little frisky and maybe a little too open
“So I have a confession to make,” I say to him.
“Oh god, what is it?”
“It’s nothing bad! Oh god, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“Sit it out Sam!”
“Well before you got here, I um… I may have enjoyed your equipment.”
Billy sits up and for a second I thought he was going to be mad at me.
“Sam did you jerk off in my body?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Are you kidding? I haven’t even explored your body, especially since I just rushed over here. And you explore all of mine huh?”
“Yeah I don’t know, it’s been a minute since I’ve swapped with a cute guy. I may have just lost control.”
“Ohhhh so you think I’m cute?” he gives me a cheeky grin.
“Ugh, don’t get too excited.”
“Well, I think it’s only fair for me to have my turn,” he says with a bigger more cynical grin.
“What?!?”
“You heard me! I’m forced to be you so it’s only fair for me to have my fun too!”
“Fine!,” I say back. I feel a rush hit me. I’ve never been around a guy that’s in my body talking about using my body that way. It’s kinda hot.
“So what you’re gonna go to your room or do it right here?,” I say to him sarcastically.
He takes a big swig from the bottle of wine and pulls my shirt off.
“You wanna come watch the show?,” he says winking at me.
Before I can answer Billy grabs my hand and pulls me up. I follow him to his bedroom.
Billy pulls down my sweatpants and hops onto his bed.
“What do you think? Do you look… sexy?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Okay… here is the big reveal!,” he says to me slowly lowering my underwear.
“1..2..3…”
Billy pulls my underwear down and my dick flies out. It’s completely hard.
“Nice!! 10 out 10 dick right here,” he says holding my dick.
“You gonna…”
“Slow down cowboy! It’s my turn to explore.”
I watch Billy gently fondle my goods. I can feel his dick pulsating— I can barely hide the fact that I’m just as turned on.
“So Sam, now it’s my turn to give you two options. You can hop into bed with me and we can full around or you can stand right in that exact spot with my hard on all night. Which one will it be?”
“Bed.”
“Good, now get over here!”
Billy nearly rips the clothes off of his body.
“Is it weird that I want to kiss you right now,” he says to me.
“Nah, just a little self love,” I say back.
We start making out and he’s such a great kisser. I feel him reach down and he starts fondling his dick.
“You’re so sexy,” I say to him.
He kiss my neck and says, “your body or me?”
“Your presence, your body. But you all around.”
“So are you, even though you’re a bit of a dick.”
“What turns you on the most Billy?,” I ask him.
He lifts up his head, “you really want to know?”
“Yeah I do.”
“Feet.”
Somehow, someway, I got even harder from the words that came out of his mouth.
“Is that weird?”
“Fuck no because that’s what turns me on too.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Nope! Your feet are so sexy…,” I say to him.
He looks at mine and grins.
“You have cute feet too.”
“Would it be weird if we…,” I say gesturing to his toes.
“Nope!”
I use Billys feet and wrap them around my dick. I start stroking back and forth. He lets out grunts in between.
I maneuver back and forth using his toes to grip.
“Don’t stop Sam! Fuckkkk,” he yells out.
I go faster and faster…
Billy is moaning sooo loud…
And then he screams out, “IM CUMMING!!!”
Cum squirts out on to his feet covering them.
He grabs his foot and does something so hot. I watch as he licks foot clean with my mouth.
“Shit… that was amazing…”
166 notes
·
View notes
Note
At first, Belo believed his Goddess was just really affectionate physically. She frequently cuddled up to him, burying her face in his chest, or absentmindedly stroking whatever area of his body wasn't covering his soft fur, sighing happily as her hand moved. However, every time she's had a friend over, they'd hug briefly, then… hang out on opposite ends of the couch. Between the short greeting hugs, there was little to no physical contact.
…Does his Goddess only enjoy touching… him?
(while not exactly touch-averse, the Goddess in question just generally prefers to have her own space and tends to show affection in different ways. excluding Belo, obviously. his fur is so SOFT and COMFORTING to touch, it feels like her heart will explode from PURE JOY)
[Adorable! I like this. Fem reader.]
He's always thought he was unworthy of such attention.
Powers like him are only meant to guard and fight for their Lords and Ladies. It's not even their job to worship, not to the extent of other casts, but Belo still likes to think he can perform decently in that field... His kind isn't meant to be showered in attention and rewards, they're taught not to expect such for simply executing their duties.
Yet, since shortly after Belo found his place at your service, you've done nothing if not treat him with endless kindless, endless love.
Part of him had wanted to caution you that touching him is beneath your status. That he didn't deserve it.
Hardly ever would those words manifest, because Belo simply couldn't stop himself from enjoying it. He'd hate himself if he said something that made you truly not touch him anymore.
He's always wondered why you did it.
There's no doubt you enjoy the feeling of his fur. He's memorized the way you like to lace your fingers on the tufts that warm his chest, the way you'll slide from the top of his wings to his arms, leaning onto him just so you can feel more of it. Belo often forgets he tends to lean during those encounters, chases after the hand that pets him, forgetting who he's meant to be and who he's in front of. There's no way to describe the way his heart hammers behind his ribcage, how his eyes will flicker everywhere and he tenses all over -Puffing out that fur you seem to love- before he's floating in his own Eden.
Do you like to touch Belo simply because he's, as you put it, "fluffy"? Do you enjoy touching him because you seek to reward him? Do you touch him because you think he should be the only one who gets to receive that privilege?
Selfishly, he silently wishes you'd touch him more. Many, unfortunately, were the times Belo would get distracted throughout the day, daydreaming of you running your hands all over him, unhindered by his outfit, feeling everything everywhere just because you could, because he's your angel and his body is also yours to keep, to order. The blood in his body would rush elsewhere and the celestial would curve to hide his own shame, even as it continued to throb and demand attention until he succumbed.
Pervertedly, Belo did such an experiment once. He dressed casually. It felt wrong, felt inappropriate to present in such a relaxed manner around the most important figure in his life... But you had expressed delight in his supposed drive to adapt a little bit more, so the guilt was ever so slightly lessened.
That day, there was hardly a limit to your boldness. He remembers you embracing him from behind, arms coming forward to squeeze at his chest and rubbing the soft clumps over his abdomen. The knee-length sports shorts he picked were pushed down slightly. Belo had done it on purpose, and it yielded results. You had, perhaps in distraction, perhaps knowingly, massaged the fur-dense spot right above his slit. The angel couldn't breathe in that moment, he feared he might even collapse if your digits wondered just a tiny bit further. He knew that he would react shamefully but the notion wasn't strong enough to make him prevent such.
He was ready to be punished, if it meant having this small guilty pleasure.
Your phone, that blasted electrical contraption that you love so dearly, rang so jarringly loud in that exact moment that Belo nearly yelped. Your hands were off his overheated body in a blink, and the interaction ceased there, with his Lady none the wiser to the state she left him in.
He could barely feel a shred of indignity for the way disappointment radiated off him in thick waves.
Belo hasn't had the courage to try that again, though it's more than safe to say the memory is engraved in the forefront of his mind.
It got him to... Think about you.
Your actions, your behavior around others.
It's not often you allow people into your sanctuary anymore. Belo insists that you shouldn't invite those beneath you into such close quarters. This ground is pure and protected for the sake of your well-being, to allow ignorant outsiders to disrespect and desecrate this location is an act of self-harm the power will simply not stand by!
Yet still, his Lady's word is final on a lot of matters. There is faith in some people, who you see as good and deserving of your holy presence. The celestial sees naught but lessers in delusion of your supposed "normalcy", but if you believe these individuals are somewhat excusable, then he'll try to see things through your eyes.
You've always tended to keep your distance from them. Not emotionally, physically. This was something Belo was initially quite relieved by, he didn't have to warn you not to put yourself in such unsightly positions. Just the thought made him itch in an unnatural way...
Now though, he wonders why, if you're aware of the distance you should keep from others, you still choose to touch him frequently? Belo is still beneath the honor of such, yet never once do you hold the hands of the people you invite, refuse their embraces, look uncomfortable at the slightest unintentional brush... In contrast, you appear to be greatly comforted by the sensation of his physique.
He freezes, mind running so wild with possibilities that the angel's fingers tremble.
You have clearly made a choice.
There's no one you'd ever like to touch, except Belo.
In your eyes, in your actions, in your mind, he's the only one worthy enough.
He's the only one who can reach your standards!
You only need contact from him.
Belo understands now.
He feels his chest tighten with delight, feels weightless for a second, the rush of euphoria clawing its way up his spine makes his wings flutter and he emits some sort of noise entirely undignified of his cast.
He remained in a state of barely concealed hysteria until you arrived home that day.
For once in his life, he commits something unthinkable.
" Welcome back, my Lady. "
He greets when you step through the door. Instead of standing by your side as he typically does, the angel crowds you, ruffled and tense. You don't get to answer before Belo summons the courage to reach out, to ghost his hands across your soft face and ever so gently, so carefully -like you'd shun him forever otherwise- embrace you in a comforting hug.
He feels as if he broke a thousand rules in one moment alone, but it was worth it.
Because he felt you smile against him.
155 notes
·
View notes