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cuntyji · 18 days ago

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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.

815 notes · View notes

ateliersss · 5 months ago

Text

Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

"Thank you, ma'am." The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for "safety measures", according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

"A-And thank you for your service, ma'am!" He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. "D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!"

"Oh." You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. "If that's all, I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen."

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick "Have a nice evening, ma'am." but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them, your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son's naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn't stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil's absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the "rumors" of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn't condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn't participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

"I'm home!" You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil's bedroom. Although it hadn't been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

"How was your day?" Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

"It was…"

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

"…long."

"Mhm." Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. "Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!"

You weren't entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn't care. You weren't very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

"I'm in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Though you didn't expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before, he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away from showing how much he loved his family. Nowadays, he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn't capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking, as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet, and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn't.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress into your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna's body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

"You have to incise into her abdomen."

Not ever.

"No!"

Not in a million years.

"No, Mi'ytiar… you have to, you have to."

You would never put someone else's life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

"Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please."

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitifully at you.

"You are still there, right?" She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. "It's like that every time I come here. I don't know why. She's not the first I watched dying during childbirth."

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

"You liked her, that's why." She started, "I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby."

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. "Why?"

"The baby was stuck." The older nurse sighed, "She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding." She had to clear her throat before she continued, "The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord."

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn't deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now, thanks to her belief in God, soothed your heart a little.

"Go home, (Y/N)." The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

"But I still have six hours to go." You tried to argue but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

"If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn't feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as the head nurse." She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

"I promise I will feel better tomorrow." You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn't find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. "Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?" You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn't get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again did she slowly lift her trembling arm and point past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful not to get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father's chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn't hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart's content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now, you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn't come forward and turn yourself into a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertaining that you hadn't been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn't know, but you for sure wouldn't do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose? You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl's night, but sadly, you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn't feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn't help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender, meanwhile, wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn't died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn't lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day, you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

"I think you should get home." He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. "I no longer have a home." You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

"We close in a few minutes." He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn't let a young woman like you do that to herself.

"Fine." You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. "Here."

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

"Hey, you paid too much!" The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, "Keep it. Where I go I won't need it." and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you're lucky and didn't get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn't hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for a mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

"Hey, pretty lady." The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. "Don't be shy. We were just celebrating my friend's promotion." To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. "Why don't you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment." He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. "I-I'm sorry, but I need to go home. I'm already late."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

"I think you could spare a couple of minutes." The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavyweight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you barely had time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

"Move your ass and hold her down." The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. "And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up."

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

"No… please no." You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. "No!" You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn't move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

"Stop, please! Help!" You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

"Could you please shut her up, for fuck's sake? I'm trying to enjoy myself here." He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn't able to force himself inside you. "When I'm done with her, you get what's left of her."

"No, no, no..." You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had burst into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. Its massive form was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn't dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason, of course.

"H-Hey!" The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. "Wha-"

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material.

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior.

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots made out of metal instead of leather with an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn't hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bled over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold.

You didn't register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was, without a doubt, not human.

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn't going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

"S-S-Stop! I'm warning you!" He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. "I will… I will kill her!"

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now, it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre, turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature's face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr.

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle, it would set the creature off and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature's head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

"You?" You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

"Are you telling me you are married?"

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

"To a cup of tea, I will never say no."

"I can't believe you put the jar in the oven!"

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

"-a cup of tea… tea."

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

"Meetja?" You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

"M-Meetiar. Mi'ytiar."

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, "Now you got it." and his fist hit his chest one last time.

"You. Mi'ytiar. T-That's your name?" You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

"Oh." You softly said, shifted your hips slightly, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I'm (Y/N)."

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn't help the small smile and you nodded. "Yes. (Y/N)."

The creature — Mi'ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs with a laugh. You couldn't believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn't belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

"What are you?" You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

"Hunter." He communicated with the help of his wristband.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sky."

"Sky." You repeated the child's voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi'ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn't hunt humans very often as they weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have continuously developed from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn't the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that was salient and captivating you. They didn't look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but they somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn't removed the mask fully, so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn't exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn't hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn't exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi'ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed its movement, getting closer to his face, and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn't exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn't exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed by you and in awe. He wouldn't be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn't expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn't mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn't like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw, which consisted of his mandible, and followed its length with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically, he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later, his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and, at the same time, his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi'ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi'ytiar's mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

"What you smiling for?"

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn't even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi'tyiar's naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

"Just thought of the night we met." You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. "My hero in shining alien amour."

"My amour does not shine."

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes, you couldn't help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh-so confusing.

"It's a human saying, my love." You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. "A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm."

Mi'ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn't help his body's reaction, he just couldn't. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him, before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You are insatiable." You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble fully embracing it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi'ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

"Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in." You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi'ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn't take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude, he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time, Mi'ytiar showed you his displeasure more vocally when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst with purrs and snuggles rather than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn't get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and ran to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi'ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn't been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now, he was sleeping in his big brother's former nursery, which you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi'ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi'ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

"He was just hungry." You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi'ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son's nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup's crib and whispered, "Dream of the stars, my little Toyah." before you got carried back to your nest.

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zaunite-viktor · 9 days ago

Text

Zaunite Viktor meeting Jayce

I've been thinking a lot about an au where viktor is raised by silco and vander (before the revolution, and after the fight I hc that he is the one who takes silco to singed but that would make this too long) but basically sorta an ep7 universe where silco and vander slowly and eventually work together and raise the children

–Viktor being the eldest sibling is like constantly stopping them from getting in trouble (hypocritically got into more trouble when he was younger)

–So when they get the tip from ekko about jayce, viktor takes one look at them and knows something's up

–They tell him their plan and he's against it but they are adamant on doing this (Vi uses the argument that he has been scamming topsiders and doing small heists since years)

–So realising there's no stopping them he agrees on the condition that he'll come along (he has an academy uniform made for the aforementioned scams and heists so he'll blend in easier)

–They go as planned, he sneaks in and picks the lock of the room while they come in through the balcony. He doesn't let Powder go into the other room though, so they don't get the crystals. He does however stop to read the equations on the chalkboard and getting interested reads over some of Jayce's notes

–He fixates on one minute mistake that's fucking up the equation, wondering whether to correct it or not. Because he doesn't want to leave any evidence but also knows that it'd bother him

–He gets a little distracted so when they hear someone outside and panic, he tells them to leave with the stuff and that he'll meet them at the bridge (the plan was for him to leave through the door before someone noticed but too late)

–He hides next to one of the bookshelves and takes out the switchblade hidden in his cane

–for plot purposes, Caitlyn isn't here with jayce

–So when he sees Jayce notice the open balcony door and walk towards it, he manages to take him by surprise and push him against a wall with the switchblade to his throat (he's not gonna hurt him but he's like he doesn't know that so I'll pretend)

–Basically threatens him not to tell the enforcers anything and it's not like they took anything important

–And because Viktor is like well he already knows we're here so he goes by the way your equation is wrong here

–And Jayce fucking lights up he's like I've been stuck on this for days you're a genius!

–Viktor is equal parts taken aback by the sudden compliment and appalled at Jayce being this excited to someone who has robbed and threatened him

–He admits that the theory is interesting and has potential

–And Jayce obv goes it's not a theory I've seen magic the canon speech yk

–After ensuring that he won't tell the enforcers, Viktor leaves but keeps thinking about how determined jayce was about it and how many people it could help in zaun

–Some days later he is again in piltover for something and stumbles across Jayce again

–For a second he is worried Jayce is going to alert the enforcers standing at a distance, but Jayce just looks excited and thanks him for the help last time

–Viktor is extremely confused

–Jayce, the golden retriever, meanwhile goes do you want to go over it together? There are some other parts I'm struggling with

–And Viktor is like wtf are all topsiders like this or is it just him

–Viktor says what is in it for me to see what Jayce will say, and Jayce surprises him again by asking what he wants in return

–So they basically make a deal that Jayce will get him stuff and tools that he isn't able to easily find in zaun

–Viktor is wary at first but Jayce's earnestness in wanting to help people had already interested him and this is a bonus

–So eventually they start working together and I have more hcs about that but this is already longer than I thought it'd be ajdbdjs

(I sorta want to write this now but I'm so new to the fandom and I'm always nervous about writing for a new fandom ajdbsj)

Edit: It's posted now on ao3 here!

#i guess i can consider this as an interest check too #to see if people would be interested in reading this au #jayvik #arcane #zaunite viktor #viktor #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #jayvik headcanons #arcane au #zaunite viktor au

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inkedtae · 2 months ago

Text

xiii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter thirteen : the mysterious angel of seoul ⤑ ❝ the world is desperate to know who you are, but taehyung is the only voice that matters. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, orgasm control, dirty talk, dry humping, ab riding, begging, grinding, teasing, neck kisses/licking, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very huge, massive thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading late into the night for me and being so fucking patient! please send her all the love because she helps me make this so readable and clear for you and she is just over all the best human in the world 💕

Misty cobalt skies blanket the city. Rain falls steadily, blurring the city lights below. You love watching the droplets disrupt puddles and the sea of coloured umbrellas. While most are black or grey, a few pops of yellow, red, blue and pink still bob down the sidewalk. Perhaps your favourite thing about rainy days, however, is how the pavement darkens, glistening under the streetlights. Like how the vibrant green grass of the countryside invokes a reconnection with nature, the vivid black streets of the city draws you into a quiet, almost meditative stillness amid the chaos.

Flashes– white-hot and blinking.

You blink, disoriented from the all too bright lights on just a gloomy day. Glancing further down the window, you quietly groan at the growing crowd of reporters. A group of perhaps ten photographers and five journalists huddle near the front entrance, bombarding anyone who walks in or out of the building. Arms crossed, jaw tight, you step away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and make your way back to your desk.

You knew you left an impression on the press the night of the ballet performance. The following morning, you woke up with an ache between your legs and a series of reassuring text messages from Taehyung. He said he’d take care of it, but your face, slightly hidden behind your fur coat with loose strands of hair dancing in the wind, was the top story on every media outlet. Glittering makeup, furrowed brows, and annoyed confusion in your gaze– you cannot believe you’re staring at a photo of yourself. You thought they might have edited it, or adjusted the contrast settings to highlight the whiteness of your coat against the darkness in your eyes. But the same picture was posted thousands of times over.

When Taehyung told you that he couldn’t get the photo removed, you weren’t surprised. It had been circling around the web for the better part of the day and he would have to track down every device in the city to permanently erase it. However, he reassured you that the details of your personal life will remain hidden.

You hoped that would be enough. Eventually, Seoul would grow tired of looking at your face, you remember thinking. They will move on to the next spectacle and you’ll be able to go to work on Monday with little to no trouble.

So, you locked yourself in your apartment and decided to wait for this all to blow over. You made sure to stay off social media, as per Taehyung’s advice. He said it’s not healthy getting lost in threads and posts about yourself, having been a victim of his own curiosity once or twice before.

Instead, you watched a handful of movies, avoided Mrs Chu’s prying questions about Taehyung and applied to a few jobs. You baked cookies, brownies and a banana loaf. You reorganized your books, did some laundry, and lost a few board games against Mrs Chu…again. You texted Taehyung until he had a business call to hop on and then tried, with all your might, to finally go to bed. However, the curiosity of how much they knew had finally worn you down. You started with a single thread from a reputable news outlet. But soon, you scrolled too far into toxic netizen territory.

For hours, you skimmed articles and speculations about your identity. Some think you’re an escort, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but most think you’re some nepo-baby, deeming you too well dressed and poised for any other line of work– a sentiment that still makes your eyes roll. They also point out that The Geraldson Group is known for nepotism hires and so if you are anyone, it must be some rich man’s daughter.

And while a Daddy did happen to get you an interview, he wasn’t biologically yours.

This morning, you were sitting in the backseat of the car Taehyung contracted for you. Given your newfound fame, he thought it would be best to have a driver escort you to ensure your safety. While on your way to work, a series of new photos surfaced. You stiffened in your seat as you clicked on the link Taheyung sent you. He wanted to give you a heads-up about the new pictures and reassure you that he is doing his best to take care of it.

The photos, seemingly taken from a hidden angle, were from your day off a couple of weeks ago. You were on your way to the Bangtan Building, the same annoyed, distant look in your eyes. There are frames of you getting into the cab, sitting in traffic, and walking into the building with an air of defiance. You suddenly understood why Taehyung had been adamant on disciplining you then. You looked like a total brat.

The media, on the other hand, thinks you’re some sort of notable figure, absolutely in love with your fashion sense and cold demeanor. From recreating your make-up to your style, you start trending online. More than that, the topic of your identity has everyone hooked. People want to know who you are and why Taehyung won’t share you with them. They want to know where you came from, how you met, and if you are the love of his life.

[V] : I think you might be more famous than me.

[angelcake] : are we surprised?

[V] : Careful.

[V] : Don’t make me come down there and give everyone another reason to talk about us.

[angelcake] : me**

[V] : Behave or I will tear that little dress off.

You suppress a blush at the memory of the conversation.

Now, as you walk through the Research and Development floor, you tug at the long sleeves of your tight, ribbed cotton shirt. The high collar covers your neck from the cold and balances out the shortness of your strapless black dress. The smooth fabric clings to your frame, its tailored cut accentuating your curves. You can hear the soft brush of your sheer, black tights between your thick thighs with each high-heeled step down the hall. With your hair up in a high, sleek ponytail, your dangling silver earrings are on full display. Taehyung sent the delicate diamond set, with a matching necklace and bracelet, yesterday to cheer you up after you confessed you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of googling yourself. You opted for the earrings only today, saving the other pieces of jewellery for another time.

As you near the common area, where an array of desks are meticulously organised for optimal movement and focus, you begin to attract more stares. Some people smirk, others raise brows and the very few you might consider work-friends, draw heavy breaths as they meet your uncertain gaze.

Jackson leans against your desk, arms crossed, while Ethan stands beside him. They both give you tight smiles.

“Morning,” Ethan greets, taking a step back so you can walk around them to your desk.

“Good morning,” you reply with a polite smile, though your voice is shaky.

You look between the two, about to ask them what’s going on when you notice the magazine on your desk. There, on the front page of The Metropolitan, is your original viral photo. Your face dominates the entire cover. By the fur of your coat, covering your chin to the better part of your nose, is the title: The Mysterious Angel of Seoul.

Brows furrowed, you grab the magazine. Taehyung never mentioned anything about magazines, but you feel like you should have known. Your face is all anyone has been able to talk about all weekend. You can't even scroll through social media without someone mentioning you. Rolling up the magazine, you toss it into the trash bin behind your desk and take your seat.

“So–”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You don’t even spare Jackson a look as you log into your computer. You can feel them share a look before Jackson straightens up.

“It’s not about that,” he says, pausing to take a breath.

You chance a glance at the pair of them over your dual screens. They're still rigid, shifting their weight and sharing uncomfortable looks. You lean back in your seat to offer them your full attention, waiting for one of them to continue so you can get back to work.

“We’re actually not allowed to talk about… that,” Ethan clarifies, slightly nodding to the magazine. “Didn’t you get the email?”

Of course you did, and you’re certain it was Taehyung’s doing. But no email has ever stopped anyone from whispering about people before.

“That’s not the point,” Jackson cuts in before you can reply. “Um… Here’s the– So, the thing– uh…”

Face scrunched in confusion, you let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t have time for this. You have a million and one things to do and the last thing you need is Marina finding yet another reason to make your life miserable. You turn back to your computer and open the documents the marketing team had sent over a few minutes ago. With a few clicks, you send them over to the printer. Standing to gather your clipboard and pen, you turn to find Jackson and Ethan still stammering over their words.

“Look,” you cut in, “whatever it is, can it please wait until after the meeting?”

“It’s about the meeting,” Jackson tries again. “Lucas–”

“Yeah, where is he? I’m not prepping for this meeting by myself again,” you interject, already making your way to the copy room.

The two men follow behind you, trying to keep up with your fast strides. “He’s not an intern anymore,” Ethan informs.

You pause mid-step.

Jackson swallows thickly and Ethan rubs the back of his neck as you turn to face them.

“Did he quit?”

He must have quit. In fact– he better have quit. Because if he hadn’t, if he had been promoted to junior coordinator, you might break your stupid clipboard over his head and tear the conference room apart instead.

The guilty look on your friends’ faces confirms your suspicions. Ethan is the first to redirect his gaze to the floor. To his credit, he’s just some research assistant and doesn’t have much say in who gets promoted.

Jackson, however, is your supervisor. He’s well aware of the amount of work you put into every assigned task, no matter how meaningless it seems. He knows you’re the one that constantly picks up Lucas’s slack. You even correct his work. You don’t care much for Lucas’s success, but Marina tends to make his failures your own. So, you come in early to do your workload and half of his. You double check all his reports, emails and documents. You taste all the lattes he makes and often remake them yourself. He can barely pour a glass of water without it splashing all over the counters and floors. Jackson knows this, even witnessing it all himself. He could have stopped this, could have advocated for you.

He takes a step forward. You take one back, blinking back tears. You’re not upset– not sad, but rather angry.

Lucas should’ve used his fucking brain. Jackson should’ve used his fucking mouth. And Marina, with her imitating outfits and mocking tasks, should’ve used some fucking common sense.

“Our evaluation is not for another three months,” you mutter. It’s all you can professionally muster as your anger simmers deep in your chest. You bite back profanities, gritting your teeth to keep from screaming.

Jackson licks his lips. He meets your steel gaze with pity and replies, “I was informed about it this morning. I wanted to let you know before you read it in some email.”

So she’s here.

You look over Jackson’s shoulder to find Marina sitting in her office. You narrow your eyes at the striped black and silver blouse, and black pleated mini-skirt combo. She pairs it with charcoal grey, calf-high socks and velvet black heels. You internally roll your eyes at the replication of your outfit last week. She even has her blonde hair pulled back into a tight clipped bun. Her makeup is a complete copy of yours, from the soft smokiness of your eyes, the rosy highlight of your cheeks, to the pink gloss of your lips. She sits with one leg crossed over the other. Phone pressed to her ear, she stares at her screen.

She’s here, dressed just like you, and she was going to hide behind a fucking email. A good manager would call you into her office and inform you of the promotion herself. She would coach you and explain why the promised evaluation had been bypassed, why you did not receive the position. She would give you the space to ask questions, the resources to try and help you eventually work towards your own promotion.

However, Marina is as good a leader as she is a lover– bitter, vengeful and completely insecure.

It seems it is not bad enough that she has been feeding the press your personal information and embarrassing you in front of your colleagues. But now she’s hellbent on undermining you in front of the entire department. You know she wants to humiliate you, just like she did on your first day when she forced the entire floor to applaud you for the attention she thought you were seeking– over the colour of your outfit.

Her irrational, unprofessional and borderline psychotic behaviour stops now.

Handing the clipboard and pen to Jackson, you push between him and Ethan. They part their lips but you can’t hear anything. You are not interested in their pacifying words. You’ve heard it countless times before– Don’t test her. She’s not worth it. Just keep your head down. You’re tired of the same passive advice. It doesn’t make you feel any better, nor is it working. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you react to her abuse. Nothing will ever be enough for her.

You open the door without knocking.

She glances up at you, green eyes turning cold and uninviting.

Usually, you’d avert your gaze and yield to her superior position, respecting the hierarchy of your workplace. This time, you hold her glare and lock the door.

The tightness of her jaw wavers. She sits up in her seat, attempting to appear intimidating.

While she is around your height, she does not have your powerful frame. With narrow shoulders and hips, she barely makes a threatening impression. She lacks shape, not only your fullness. Perhaps, at one point in your life, that detail might have caused you to internally spiral, wondering if it was her smaller figure that drew Taehyung to her. However, you are thankfully not that person anymore. And the last thing you can ever imagine being, is jealous of Marina.

“Hang up.”

Marina raises a brow. Rolling her eyes, she laughs into her phone. “Yes, of course,” she says before shooing you away with a wave of her hand.

You reach her desk in two strides. Leaning over the cherry oak desktop, you press down on the switchhook, hanging up the call.

“What do you–”

“We need to talk.”

Your voice is tempered, but edged with bitterness. You suppress a smirk as she falls silent, her angry resolve wavering.

“You’re not promoting Lucas.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Bo-peep,” she spits. Her tone carries resentment, but voice ever so slightly trembles.

Tonguing your cheek, you refuse to be baited by the stupid name and continue, “No one is getting this promotion. You will wait until the evaluation in three months and make your decision based on merit and management recommendation, as per protocol.”

Marina sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She humorlessly laughs, the sound jagged and irritating– still, it lacks conviction. “Do you think you can just come into my office and order me around? You think because you made it on the cover of one stupid magazine that you’re untouchable? Let me remind you who is in charge here, sweetheart,” she seethes, leaning forward in an attempt to rob you of your space. "You are nothing but some slutty intern who got lucky. Don’t mistake that for power."

You smirk, shaking your head. “Do you think you can just continue to harass me and I won’t do anything about it? Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to the last couple of weeks with your meaningless tasks and constant manipulation? Three research assistants needed to reschedule follow-ups with their suppliers because you had me chasing an ex-employee all over the building the other day. And what did Lucas do, beside sit around and wait for me to hold his hand through a fucking photocopy?”

Marina swallows thickly. The vehemence in her green eyes falters. She shifts back into her seat, suddenly needing some distance.

“It’s one thing to release information about me, but another to completely fail to do your job as a manager out of pure spite. You have other members on this team that need your support and you’re here bitching because of a man. Get your priorities straight, sweetheart.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I was the one that told them you work here? Everyone knows you’ve been feeding them information yourself. You just love the attenti–”

“I can make one phone call,” you snap, cutting her off, “You’ll be fired within a minute and I’ll take your place within the next.”

The harshness of your tone silences her, but the possibility of your words rattles the mocking smile off her slim face. In reality, you are certain that one phone call to Taehyung won’t grant you her position, even if she did get fired. You would never attempt such a thing either. While you are bratty, you are not spoiled. You respect Taehyung enough not to put him in that position too. But, Marina doesn’t know that.

“You are only here because I am allowing it,” you continue. “So, here is what’s going to happen– You are not promoting Lucas, you will wait for the evaluation and you will base your final decision on professional merit. All that petty, personal bullshit ends now.”

Marina scowls but slowly nods.

You resist the urge to smirk. “Now,” you sigh, “Tell me to sit down.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Sit down.”

You take a seat, avoiding the stares of the entire department. You’ve felt their curious eyes on you the moment you stepped into her office. “Stand up and point your finger at me.”

Marina does so, still clueless as to what you are trying to do.

“Great. Now, tell me to go home.”

“Are you trying to weasel your way out of work again?”

Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you fight the urge to snap at her again. Through gritted teeth, you try to discreetly reply, “I am trying to help you save face. Now, get your head out of your ass and tell me to go home for the day.”

She tries and fails to hide the shock on her face. For a second, you think you catch the faintest glimpse of guilt in her eyes. But then she blinks and her usual annoyance overtakes her avian features.

“Go home,” she whispers. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

Pushing yourself up, you mutter, “You too.”

You avoid the cautious stares of your colleagues as you exit her office. Their eyes follow you, but you don’t acknowledge them as you head to your desk to gather your things. They whisper, scurrying around you, yet you remain unfazed. It seems your attempts at salvaging her reputation were successful if everyone’s content to talk about you, but not to you.

When the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor close behind you, you text your driver to meet you at the back exit—the same place he dropped you off earlier this morning. For the first time since you were hired, you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Mr Zhang stands by the black Rolls-Royce Ghost. An older man in his mid fifties, his posture is rigid and dependable. He carries a degree of composure that makes you want to stand straighter and be worthy of his presence. His silvery-blue eyes, the epitome of calm strength, shrink as he smiles at you. Dressed in a crisp black suit, matching long coat and a pair of shiny loafers, he walks towards you with an umbrella to shield you from the rain, even if you are merely three steps away from the car. You let him dote on you, knowing Taehyung must have ordered him to do so.

While he has only been chauffeuring you for a morning, you have learned that Mr Zhang has been driving Taehyung for about seven years. You were surprised to hear this, but as Mr Zhang explained how Taehyung would often spend his time working in the backseat, you assumed his need for a car service was probably required before he built his self-driving car.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as he opens the door for you.

“My pleasure, Miss ____,” he replies with a tender grin of his own.

You settle into the backseat with a gentle sigh. After buckling yourself up, you take in the interior all over again. You still cannot believe he accented the sleek black leather with gentle notions of pink. From the trimming of the seats, to the door pockets, to the seat belt button, Taehyug has customised the car to reflect your favourite colour. The ceiling is a beautiful replica of a starry night, only instead of silver, rose-white stars twinkle instead. Even the system lights are pink, the same shade EDEN switches to when she talks to you. And if he didn’t outdo himself already, he also made sure to stock the car with your favourite snacks and drinks. Mr Zhang encouraged you to take some with you before helping you out of the car earlier this morning.

“Where would you like to go, Miss___,” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Can you please take me to the Bangtan Building?”

He nods, flashing you a fond smile as he shifts the car into drive.

One of your favourite things about the car, besides the celestial ceiling, is the fact that all the windows are tinted. You sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment of peace without the fear of being photographed or talked about, even if it is for a fleeting five minutes.

When the car slows down, you blink your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the absence of the steady pitter-patter of the rain against the car, the soft beat ceasing as Mr Zhang pulls into a garage. You sit up, looking out the window to find a collection of luxury cars neatly parked in several rows. You recognise two of them: Taehyung’s personal, sleek black car and the black Jeep he used the weekend you went to meet his family.

You wonder if this is possibly the sub-level of the Bangtan Building when Mr Zhang parks the car in front of an elevator. He circles around the back of the car to open your door for you. You tried to open it for yourself this morning when he dropped you off at work and received a gentle scolding.

“Thank you,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he helps you out.

Mr Zhang replies with a polite nod. He shuts the door and asks, “Would you like me to wait?”

“Um,” you hesitate, looking at the elevator as if it holds the answer. If Taehyung is free, Mr Zhang has no reason to stay and wait for you. But if not, then it would be best if he hung around for a few minutes, right?

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here. You can’t go back to work, you don’t want to spend another second locked in your apartment and it’s not like you can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or at a bookstore. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile until this chaos about your identity gets buried by the next news spectacle.

The Bangtan Building feels like your only opinion.

“How about this,” Mr Zhang suggests, noticing your hesitation. “I will stay for ten minutes. But, if in eleven minutes you change your mind and decide to leave, I am a text message away.”

You let a small smile spread on your pink-glossed lips. Nodding, you thank him again and head towards the elevator. The car door opens and shuts as you look for the buttons only to realise it requires a keycard instead.

Digging through your purse for the pink pass Taehyung gifted you, you wonder if it will work here. It is an all-access authorization card, however this level of the building seems more personal than professional. Twirling the card between your fingers, you wonder if he will be upset that you’re trying to use it to access this elevator.

Maybe I should text him, you think, pulling out your phone by the pink and white charm that dangles from its matching case. You unlock it and stare at his name, wondering what you should even say. You know that if you ask him if he’s busy, he’ll tell you he’s not and demand to know what’s on your mind. He might be able to manage a few minutes away from his work to promptly answer a text. However, you doubt he has enough time to entertain you.

You sigh heavily, growing tired of the overthinking. You just want to see him, to be in his presence and let his musky, intoxicating cologne soothe your erratic heart. You want to hug him, to be engulfed in his warmth and feel his muscles flex under his clothes as he tightens his grip around you.

So, without a second thought, you toss your phone back into your purse and scan your card.

DING!

The elevator chimes, doors opening.

“Good morning, Angel,” EDEN greets.

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voice. “EDEN,” you reply through a breathy chuckle as you step in.

“Mr Kim is currently on the fitness and wellness floor. Would you like me to guide you there?”

You smile fondly at the speaker. “Yes please,” you nod before adding, “I’ve really missed you.”

“Should I send you a reminder of my capabilities, or would you prefer a more heartfelt digital hug instead?”

You laugh as the doors shut, the elevator whirling as it moves upwards. If you didn’t know she was created by Taehyung, that comment alone would have given it away.

Tone slightly teasing, you reply, “I suppose I can use a hug?”

“I sense you are mocking me,” EDEN responds. “Mr Kim says you enjoy teasing. As always, he is correct.”

You freeze.

“Taehyung talks about me?”

“Mr Kim often talks about you. He worries about you when you are at work. He says he cannot stand that you are miserable there.”

You know you shouldn’t ask, but your curiosity is louder than your conscience. Biting your lip, you twist your fingers nervously and whisper, “What else does he say about me?”

“He says you’re beautiful, Angel. More than that, though… he believes you’re precious—something to be protected.”

Swallowing thickly, you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself. A shaky exhale escapes as you ask, “He said that?”

“You sound confused. Would you like me to relay Mr Kim’s exact words?”

“Yes.”

“On numerous occasions, Mr Kim stated: Angel is beautiful, EDEN. She’s delicate and thoughtful, even after everything she has been through. She’s strong. She has a nasty attitude, but I like that she doesn’t yield to just anyone. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Taehyung doesn’t just talk about you, he dwells on you. He didn’t just tell her all this at once, but rather on numerous occasions. He went on and on about you to his AI system, telling her what he liked about you and how you’re one of a kind. There is a certain degree of reverence in his words, even when reiterated through EDEN. It’s as though he is revelling in your existence.

Your heart pounds so fast in your chest, you can feel the heavy beats in your throat. Gulping, you try to settle your nerves at the new revelation. He really does like you– or at least enjoys your company. All those times you thought you were bothering him, or worried he was obligated to reply based on the origins of your relationship were ignorant and short-sighted. You should have believed him when he told you that you could never annoy him with your messages.

“Would you like to hear more?”

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

You’ve invaded his privacy enough. In fact, you should probably try to erase this from EDEN’s history. If he finds out you’ve been snooping, he might not find you so charming and endearing anymore.

“Is there a way to delete this conversation?”

“Yes.”

You wait, hoping she will give you options. When she doesn’t, you ask, “Can you delete it then?”

“Unfortunately, only Mr Kim is authorised for this action. Would you like me to request his approval?”

Panic surges through you. “No!” you shout, worried that if you take too long to answer, she might ask him anyway. “Can you just not tell him about this conversation?”

“You are not authorised to lock information. However, it sounds like you would like me to omit this conversion from my communications with Mr Kim. Is this correct?”

You raise a brow at her words. Is she… finding you a loophole?

“Yes, that’s correct,” you confirm.

“Understood. The previous conversation will be omitted from future communications with Mr Kim.”

Fighting off a smile, you look up and tease,“EDEN, if I could kiss you right now, I would.”

“While I am flattered, Angel, I do value my job.”

You’re about to ask what she means, when the elevator dings again.

“I’ll leave you to your visit. Let me know if you require further assistance,” EDEN says.

The doors open to reveal an expansive gym. You step out of the elevator after thanking EDEN, heels softly clicking against polished concrete floors. To your right is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an impressive view of the city below. It’s not as breathtaking as the view from Taehyung’s office, but still looks beautiful. You imagine the sun flooding the space with light, wondering how peaceful it would be to come up here every morning and stretch under its golden warmth.

The sound of a distant, deep laugh draws your attention to the main section of the room. You cast your gaze over the row of state-of-the-art equipment–treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights all set up to accommodate any fitness routine– and catch a glimpse of three dark-haired heads by bench-presses. You immediately register one of them as Taehyung, his soft mullet easy to spot even from a distance.

The little smile playing on your pink glossed lips flatters at the sight of his board bare shoulder. He looks so strong and big. You suddenly miss being in his arms, whether you are being hugged or disciplined, you just want to be held against his strong frame and feel safe.

“So, who is she?” an unfamiliar asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Save your breath, Guk. I already tried.”

You tiptoe down the pathway, between treadmills and stationary bikes, straining your ears to catch Taehyung’s reply. A pang of guilt engulfs your conscience at your sneaky behaviour. You’ve already extracted more than enough information from EDEN. You don’t need to eavesdrop on his private conversations with his friends either.

But Taehyung is so… reserved. He doesn’t share his thoughts unless you bear your own to him first and you’re tired of the emotional drain of doing so. You just want to hear what he thinks of you, without the pressure of trying to comfort your insecurities or fulfil your desires. And talking about you to his AI is one thing, but talking to his friends….

That must mean something, right?

“Why are you being so secretive?” Guk presses, despite Taehyung’s silence. “I promise I won’t try to take her from you.”

“One more word, Jungkook, and I’ll make you lift this last set on your own,” Taehyung threatens.

His friends laugh, loud and giddy. You can imagine Taehyung’s small smile as he tries to maintain an annoyed look, but cannot resist the teasing comradery around him.

“Apparently, she’s precious,” the second voice chimes in again.

“I told you that in confidence.”

Taehyung’s voice is rough and deep, resonating within your bones even from a distance. You catch the slight notions of betrayal. The twinge of hurt in his tone triggers your guilt. It gnaws at you all over again. You shouldn’t have hidden your presence or attempted to violate more of his privacy. It’s bad enough you didn’t tell him you were coming over but you’ve also overheard more of his private conversations than he’d probably want you to.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks.

“For like a second— she was sleeping in the back of the limo. Which reminds me,” the second voice says, a hint of conviction in his tone, “Are you ever going to tell me why I had to fire the driver?”

“Are we going to work out or continue to ask stupid questions?” Taehyung snaps.

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet Jungkook manages to find some. “That sounds like a stupid question,” he jokes.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing along with his friends. Rolling your shoulders back, you try to regain your composure. Perhaps this is a good place in their conversation to subtly announce your presence. Jungkook’s joke has diffused the tension enough to build your confidence and finally silence your conscience.

With a deep breath, you put one foot before the other and allow the rhythmic click-clack of your heels to echo in the now quieting room.

Taehyung peeks his head down the pathway, brown eyes distant and cold until they meet yours. A soft glow of recognition softens his gaze. Then it darkens, trailing up and down your voluptuous frame, taking in every curve, every roll. You notice his attention lingering around your swaying hips. A small smile tugs on his lips.

His gaze alone is often enough to rattle your senses, sending shivers down your spine. One look, and the world fades–every thought quiets, every doubt diminishes and you’re left with only his name burning on the tip of your tongue. However, when that intense gaze is paired with his bare, toned chest, you cannot breathe. Your steps falter as he makes his way towards you, black basketball shorts sitting low enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes slowly fall down from his broad shoulders, to his buff pecs– where that celestial tattoo is inked, then drop to his taut abs.

Heat creeps up your neck and spreads across your cheeks as a wicked thought whispers– what would it be like to grind on them?

“Hey,” Taehyung greets, smile widening as he nears.

You blink out of your thoughts as he pulls you into a hug. His usual clean scent, a soothing blend of sage and crisp white tea leaves, is muskier from this sweat. His soft skin feels damp too, but you embrace him tightly all the same, letting his warmth and strength ground you. For the first time since your photo has gone viral, you release a heavy breath.

Sensing the tension in your posture, Taehyung holds you tighter. His fingers brush up and down your spine, relieving the tension from each vertebrate until you are a puddle in his arms. Then, after a few more seconds of peace and security, he slowly untangles himself from you.

Taehyung lowers himself a bit to properly meet your gaze. A teasing smile plays on his lips as he quietly asks, “Playing hooky again, sweetheart?”

The gentle tone of his velvety voice lights your nerves with giddiness. Your body buzzes with desire, and you can’t help giggling–especially when he calls you such intimate terms of endearment.

“Not exactly.”

Hope twinkles in his eyes. He raises a brow, standing back to his full height. “God, Angel, please tell me you quit,” he says.

You bite your lip, a guilty look settling upon your features.

Before you can properly explain, Jungkook’s loud voice carries in the empty gym.

“Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s hot.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hearing such a shameless declaration from his friends startling you. While you don’t think you’re unappealing, you wouldn’t necessarily define yourself as ‘hot.’ You’re not sure what you were expecting from his friends but you can confidently say you didn’t anticipate them to be so… open. Taehyung often maintains a tough exterior and doesn’t let it soften for just anyone. His friends, who flash goofy smiles asTaehyung turns to glare at them, seem more comfortable speaking their minds, even when most are better left unsaid.

You look over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at them. You do not recognise the taller one. In a tight, black tank top and shorts, he stands with most of his weight resting on his right side. His toned arms are covered in colourful tattoos. He winks at you, though his long hair slightly obscures his gaze. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, turning your attention to the slightly shorter one.

He’s a bit thinner, but still just as ripped. Also shirtless, with the word nevermind inked across the right side of his body, he gracefully stands with his weight evenly distributed and hands in his pockets. You recognise his prominent, full lips and soft brown eyes from the ballet you attended a coupe of days ago. His earlier comment about the limousine driver suddenly starts to make sense.

Upon meeting your curious gaze, he offers a sweet smile and nods as a way of greeting.

“Can you give us a moment?” Taehyung asks.

The taller one, who you realise is Jungkook based on the sound of his voice, smiles, seemingly complacent before replying, “No.”

Without missing a beat, the shorter one adds, “So, you must be the girl Tae won’t shut up about.”

You raise a brow, feigning your surprise. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but you try to fight it off. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. He studies your reaction for a moment too long then finally turns back to his friends.

“Why does he always tell you– Why do you never tell me anything?” Jungkook complains. He furrows his brows and returns Taehyung’s half-hearted glare. “I’m always the last to know.”

“That’s cause I’m his favourite,” the shorter one teases.

You tilt your head up at Taehyung, whispering, “I thought Wooyoung was your favourite.”

Within seconds, Taehyung’s glare softens, twinkling with amusement as he looks down at you. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and you’re close enough to watch a droplet of sweat slide down his temple. Without thinking, you reach up, wiping it away with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his throat bobbing. You bite your lip, about to avert your gaze to the floor when he parts his lips to say something. You lean in, eager to hear the vibrations of his deep voice resonate down to your core.

“You met Wooyoung?”

Jungkook’s voice shatters your fragile bubble of closeness.

Blinking yourself back into reality, you take a small step away from Taehyung and turn to face his friends. “Um–” you start, cutting yourself off when you notice a shift in their demeanour.

Once foolish, their attitudes become serious, rooted in confusion or perhaps concern. You don’t have much time to decipher it before they share a look and, soon, knowing smiles.

“It’s not–” Taehyung starts only for Jungkook to fearlessly cut him off.

“You’re his girlfriend,” he states through a chuckle.

You stiffen at his emphasis on the label. “We’re just friends,” you correct, ignoring the sting of that truth all over again. Keen on changing the subject, you step forward with an outstretched hand and introduce yourself.

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Taehyung quickly says, pointing to each one as they shake your hand. “And they were just leaving.”

“No–”

“Yes.” Taehyung hisses, silencing Jungkook.

His friends share an annoyed look, attention flickering back at you for a moment. Jimin sucks in his cheeks while Jungkook’s tongues his and scratches the back of his neck.

You awkwardly shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest. Regret twists in your gut and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come. You should have told him you wanted to see him before showing up here. Instead, you let your fear of rejection overrule your mind. You bite your lip as shame heats your face. He just wanted to hang out with his friends– they were having such a great time before you arrived. And now a blanket of thick tension settles over the room as they try and fail to silently convey their disagreement with not only Taehyung’s decision, but his tone.

“Fine,” Jungkook finally sighs. As he grabs his water bottle and walks by Taehyung, he adds,“I want details later.”

Jimin pushes Jungkook along, with a chuckle. “Don’t be gross,” he half-heartedly chastises.

You stifle your own laughter with a bite of your lip, earning an amused look from Taehyung. He pulls you towards his chest as the elevator dings and his friends' voices eventually fade.

Once he is sure they are gone, he dips his head into the crook of your neck and presses soft, wet kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Finally,” he groans against your throat, then drags his tongue up to your jaw.

You lean your head back. A breathless gasp escapes you when he kisses his way back down your neck to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You clutch onto his strong biceps, feeling them flex under your touch. With a quiet moan, you arch your back and push your full chest against his.

Taehyung groans in reply. His hands slide down from your waist to your rear. He grabs handfuls of your cheeks, kneading your supple fat like a stress ball. His nose nestles up into the space between your jaw and ear, then he whispers, “You like it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You know you should tell him to stop. You should explain what happened at work, what you have been seeing online and how suffocating it feels to be locked in your apartment all weekend. Instead, all you can manage is an eager nod and a strained whine as he smacks one of your cheeks and nibbles on your earlobe.

Trembling, your knees almost give out. Taehyung holds you tighter to keep you from losing your balance. It seems to pull him out of whatever feral state he was previously in. The tenderness in his eyes is so overwhelming, it stirs a quiet ache deep within you. Fraught and breathless, a fragile moan falls from your pouty lips.

“Trying to spoil me,” he teases, rubbing your back.

Your brows furrow, pout prominent as you peer up at him in confusion.

His smile widens. Nudging your nose with his own, he asks,“What did I do to deserve your company this morning, Angel?”

Your face is so hot, you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. You try to fight off a smile, but he holds you tighter and you can’t deny your heart the satisfaction of giving into him. “Things got complicated at work, but I worked it out and gave myself the day off,” you explain in the steadiest voice you can muster. Running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, you continue, “I didn’t want to go home yet though. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, princess,” he reassures. “You’re welcome whenever, you know that.”

He has told you that countless times over text, but you always thought he was just being polite. You’re starting to realise that you should’ve known better. Taehyung never says anything he doesn’t mean– especially not for the sake of being polite.

As his words settle in, your hands instinctively slide up and down his biceps. They’re so big, barely fitting in your grip. The solid strength beneath your fingers draws your attention, and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze. He flexes in response, and you gasp.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You playfully glare up at him. He never misses an opportunity to tease you, deep voice dripping in condescension. The urge to tease him back is strong, and you find yourself having to bite your tongue to keep from spewing your most disrespectful remarks– like how he pushed his friends out as quickly as possible to get a chance to touch you. It would be so easy to rile him up, to trigger his unyielding dominance. Instead, you opt for a tamer response. Or, you at least try to, unable to completely subdue your snarky tone.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” you ask, echoing his words. You squeeze his arms again, cinching a moan in the base of your throat.

Taehyung leans his head back to get a better look at you. His eyes darken, mischief shifting to authority. With a lick of his lips, he adjusts his grip to your hips and holds you steady.

“I think you like touching me like this.”

“Way to answer the question, genius.”

“Is this you flirting?” he smirks. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and resonates deep in your core.

You press your legs, clenching your jaw as your face flushes. “Do you ever get tired of mocking me?” you ask, slightly raising your voice.

Taehyung tongues his cheek. A hint of quiet challenge flashes in his gaze, but he stifles it, likely giving you a chance to correct your attitude on your own. You swallow thickly and resist the urge to sink into his hold all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of drooling over me?” he questions.

You’re about to tell him not to flatter himself, surely earning a swift spank but he caresses your chin. Using his thumb, he gently wipes the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. He then brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean.

You gape up at him, lips quivering.

He fiercely maintains your gaze, holding your chin again, and leans forward. “How come every bit of you always tastes like desperation?” he whispers, feigning curiosity. When you don’t answer, voice shackled in awe and submission, he tightens his grip and hisses, “Do you want daddy’s help?”

“Yes, daddy,” you immediately murmur, nails digging into his muscular biceps.

“Beg for it,” he orders. “Tell me what you want.”

His voice is so husky and raw, you can’t help the roll of your eyes as it vibrates through your body. Your arousal pools between your thighs, panties clinging to your folds as you squirm and whine. Your attention drifts down to his broad chest, lingering on the intricate tattoo, before settling on his tight abs. Your shaky hands follow the heated trail of your gaze, moving up from his biceps to his shoulders, down his pecs and finally finding their place on his stomach.

“I–” you start only to cut yourself off.

Just like when you asked to ride his thigh, your body burns with desire, but you can’t find the words to voice your fantasy. You can see the image so clearly in your mind– he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling his waist. Hands steady on his chest, you drag your wet folds against his abs. But to vocalise it, all needy and weak, feels somewhat embarrassing. Is this normal? Is this something people do– rub themselves against someone’s stomach?

Taehyung tilts your head by the grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “What do you want?” he asks, gentler this time.

“I don’t know how–”

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Furrowing your brows, you internally groan. While a part of you is glad he’s not willing to let this go, you’re still worried you might sound stupid. What if he gets turned off by your request, or worse– what if he thinks less of you?

You part your lips, about to tell him you just want his fingers when you notice the intensity of his gaze. He stares at you with such deep certainty, like you are the only thing grounding him to this moment. Your doubts diminish under their sincerity.

“I want to grind on your abs,” you confess before you can second guess yourself again.

A throaty, rough groan sounds in response. Your knees buckle and Taehyung pulls you closer by the arm wrapped around your waist.

He… likes that?

“Say please,” he orders.

And now he wants you to beg for it. Your breath hitches and you search his eyes for a hint of mockery or mischief, but only seem to find desire.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, shifting your grip from his waist to his shoulders. Your long, blush pink nails dig into his soft skin as he backpedals towards the bench-press. “Please let me ride your abs. I’ve been trying to be good.” Your voice wavers with desperation, much to his amusement.

“I know you have, princess,” he mutters, pecking the tip of your nose. Slowly detaching himself from you, he nods towards your hips and orders, “Take those off.”

You step out of your heels immediately. Hiking up the tight skirt of your dress, you hook your thumbs in the waistbands of your tights and thong, then tug them down your legs. You quietly gasp at the brush of friction it causes, biting your lip.

From his place by the weighted bar, Taehyung snaps his attention back at you. He watches your garments roll into each other as he lifts the heavy bar resting over the bench. You pause with your tights off one leg, gawking at the flex of his biceps, the veins that protrude along his forearms. His gaze meets yours and he winks, like he isn’t carrying a massive amount of weight in his hands.

Your core clenches, clit throbs reminding you of your desire. Swallowing thickly, you hastily return to your task and yank the remainder of your tangled tights off.

Taehyung sets the bar down with practised ease, thumbing his nose with a little sniffle.

You nervously clutch the hem of your short dress, thick thighs tightly pressed together to relieve the tension between them.

He smiles at your shy posture, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. “Come here,” he softly beckons with a nod.

You obey, reaching him in no more than two steps.

A teasing smile plays on his lips. Stationing his hands on your hips, he maintains your gaze and presses a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach. “You’re so cute when you’re shy,” he whispers, then kisses your hands on the hem of your dress.

You tremble under his delicate touch.

His attention snaps up to your face again and his gaze is a dark abyss of feral desire. Licking his lips, he looks ready to devour you.

You open your mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he lies back against the bench, gesturing you to mount his waist with a causal wave of two fingers.

You don’t need to be told twice, eagerly straddling him. Needy tears prick your eyes as you press your slick folds against the ridges of his stomach. A strangled whine tears through your throat, and you attempt to steady yourself by pressing your hands against his chest. Your clit is aching for stimulation, but you hesitate to put all your weight on him.

Taehyung gently soothes you with soft shushes, gripping onto your hips. “Take a seat, Angel,” he encourages.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sit.”

You seat yourself on him without another word.

His back slightly arches, as if responding to your full weight with a desire for more.

You tremble at the pressure, sinking your nails into his strong pecs. Your hips start to move on their own, slow and unsure. You assumed it would feel good, your heat, all wet and sticky, gliding against his soft skin. But the lines of his abs, sturdy and tight, add a layer of texture that causes your toes to curl and eyes to roll.

“Oh, god,” you cry as your thrusts gain some confidence. “D-daddy!”

Taehyung groans beneath you, his stomach rising and falling against your fervent hips. He shifts your dress even higher to watch your pussy move.

“That’s it, baby, just like that…” he whispers, trailing off with a quiet hiss under his breath.

Your vision blurs with desperation. You’ve never been this needy for him before, your walls clenching, longing for the familiar stretch of his fingers. It’s just the act of claiming his body this way, sitting on such an unconventional part of him, a part you’re sure none of the others have sat on, and using it–using him–to get yourself off.

And he encourages you to do so, helping you with your thrusts and guiding you towards a faster pace by the rough hold on your hips. His jaw is clenched tight, attention captivated by the slick sounds of your wetness rubbing against him.

“You feel so g-good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you scratch his nipple.

Your eyes round at the slight tremor in his voice. Hips still grinding steadily under his guidance, you thumb his right nipple and watch him bite his lip. He meets your gaze and you expect to receive a silent warning. Instead, he gazes up at you with… adoration?

“I can’t take this,” he growls, shoving your hips down to his crotch.

You’re about to whine, furrowing your brows and nudging his shoulder in protest at the lack of contact, when his clothed cock presses between your folds.

Taehyung sits up and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist and you cannot sit still another moment longer. Your hips shift forward and back, slow and hesitant. You don’t want to receive a scolding for not asking for permission, but holy fuck you need to do something, anything.

“Keep going,” he whispers against your jaw. “Faster, Angel.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. Running your hands through his hair, you gently tug at the ends to ground yourself against his hard, throbbing cock. Your legs are already shaking, entire body quaking in his arms as you snap your hips as fast as you can against him. You know you are no match for his speed but the friction stimulates your clit all the same. You can already feel your gut tighten and knot, orgasm building from the impression of his thickness.

You didn’t come here for this. You didn’t plan to get lost in his touch, or be on the verge of crying for his attention. You just wanted a new place to escape and recharge. You wanted his comfort, sure– but his cock was not the goal.

So, why the fuck are you salivating at its thickness, at the fact that it barely fits between your folds? Why are you scratching at his back, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to let you feel it against you, unclothed and raw? Why are you on the brink of shattering at the mere thought of it?

You promised yourself you’d set more boundaries and you really do have every intention of doing so. But… Taehyung is just so magnetic, so alluring. You cannot stop yourself from craving him. And what were you supposed to do when you walked out of that elevator and saw him shirtless? How could you really expect yourself not to get distracted?

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Quick study, huh?”

You cannot hold back a giggle at his teasing tone. Pride blooms in your chest at his words and you find yourself putting a bit more force into your thrusts in response. “I learned from the best,” you moan.

Taehyung chuckles darkly in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of shivers right down to your core. Your smile falters and you tighten your core to keep from releasing, a loud moan tearing from your throat. The rippling vibrations of his laughter almost put you over the edge, but you know if you cum now without his permission, you will receive a harsh punishment– the denial of a future orgasm.

“I need to cum,” you whimper.

“So?”

Your eyes roll from the coldness of his tone, and for a second you think you might just let go, but you hold onto your release even tighter, tensing up in his arms.

Taehyung is relentless. Noticing the hesitance of your hips, he grinds up into you, faster than you have ever been able to move. He’s testing you, pushing you further towards the edge.

“Please,” you cry, tears finally splitting, rushing down your face. “I-I can– Daddy, please! Please!”

“Please what?” he coos, the mocking tone not doing you any favours.

You part your lips to give him what he wants, to scream for his permission but you cannot hold back any longer. Your orgasm ripples through your shaking body. You throw your head back, almost falling off his lap as you squeal and gush all over his shorts. Eyes rolling, jaw slack, you can feel yourself drooling, but cannot be bothered to care when he’s still thrusting.

While your mind feels foggy, blood rushing to your head and muffling your ears, you still catch his whispered profanities. Suddenly, his hips jut forward with renewed force before tensing. You feel a bout of warmth between your folds as he growls your name.

A shuddering sigh falls from your gloss-smeared lips as you lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder, limp and exhausted as your pussy still clenches sporadically. You should feel ashamed for abandoning your decision to keep things professional, but all that fills your thoughts is the aftershock of his touch, the overwhelming ache of your body still quivering from the intensity of a delayed orgasm. His name lingers on your tongue and you cannot deny how sweet it tastes. Even as you try to gather yourself, willing some semblance of strength back to your legs, your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth.

You want to apologise for losing control, but the words don’t come, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re too far gone or because deep down, you don’t want to. Because right now, it’s just you and Taehyung, panting and clinging onto each other.

Because right now, you feel whole.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #bts v #v smut #v x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #taecember 2024

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midnight-mourning · 2 months ago

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Midnight's DCA December Masterlist

Hello! This post will have the links to all the requested stories as I complete them. I'll eventually reupload to ao3, with grammar and spelling fixes, and share the link in this post once I do so. For now, please enjoy!

Edit: Here is the ao3 link!

Day 1: Mistletoe Mishaps

Day 2: Under the Lights

Day 3: Snow Frights & Snowball Fights

Day 4: What's This?

Day 5: Sugary Sweet

Day 6: Not Soon Enough

Day 7: (Unexpected) Season's Greetings

Day 8: One Winter Night

Day 9: Thaw My Heart

Day 10: Sneaky Santa

Day 11: Holiday Fun

Day 12: Christmas Spirit

Day 13: Cookie Crisis

Day 14: Special Santa

Day 15: Winter's Chill

Day 16: Sleigh Bells Ring (Are You Listening?)

Day 17: Not Santa

Day 18: Comfy Cuddles

Day 19: Snowy Snuggles

Day 20: Up on the Housetop

Day 21: Not Even a Mouse

Day 22: Icy Sights

Day 23: Night Ride

Day 24: Stave off the Cold

Day 25: Santa's Helper

Day 26: Holiday Stalling

Day 27: All Aboard

Day 28: Fishy Traditions

Day 29: Smoke & Stars

Day 30: Snow Fever

Day 31: Holiday Party

Bonus Day 32: Holidays on the Open Seas

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #x reader #moondrop #dca fic #sundrop #MM dca december

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humblefryingpan · 8 months ago

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Au where Bruce doesn't adopt Jason (because it never crosses his mind) but, after getting away with stealing Batman's tires and hitting him with a tire iron, Jason comes to the conclusion that B ain't shit and he can absolutely do more petty theft and mild inconveniences.

Batmobile is left unattended? The tires are gone. Batman drops a batarang/grapple gun? That's Jason's now. Batman tries to talk Jason into giving his stuff back? He clearly doesn't have them, you're crazy Bruce (the collection is visibly right behind him, he is literally holding a batarang as he says this).

Bruce tried to complain about it to Dick but he laughed so hard, he gave up. Dick thinks Jason is hilarious and after making sure he isn't dangerous helps him get into the manor. (Alfred won't say it out loud but he also clearly finds the kid funny so he let it happen)

Bruce eventually has a thought of "oh He's just looking for a family! I should adopt him!" And asks Jason if he wants to be officially adopted. Jay laughs in his face and throws a pillow at him. Bruce realises he was wrong.

He doesn't die, just goes out of town for a month or two to visit a friend and B immediately goes "all of my stuff is here wtf where'd Jay go?" and after looking around gotham he comes to the conclusion that he's dead. He tells Dick and Alfred that Jason died in an 'I'm absolutely certain' way so they assumed he double checked and didn't just overreact to a few weeks of absence.

Everyone was shocked next time he came to the manor (including Jason because he didn't think they'd care that much and didn't realize that B would assume he was dead) and it's just

"Jason?!? I thought you died!?"

"I was literally just at Roy's house?? Did you not think to check before assuming I died???"

Everyone is incredibly happy, Jason is just confused (and kind of flattered)

The other kids still show up, Tim came over to be B's fill in for Jason like a week before he came back and became a hero a few months after Jay came back. (They don't fight in this au because Jay didn't consider himself Bruce's son and neither of them were robin)

Damian is very concerned about the random dude that drops in and out of the manor (stealing random shit every time, from mugs and snacks to an entire TV) but B and Dick just go "nah he's basically family dw" like no that's our random theif.

Do you see my vision? I've been thinking about it for like an hour and finally decided to just post it. If this is a thing or if someone writes a fanfic or smth pls show me

Edit: I've actually started writing this! I've only got two short chapters out and I'm super slow but it's "an open birdcage" on ao3 if anyone's interested <3

#dc comics #batfamily #alternate universe #fanfiction #fanfic prompt #dc au #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #batfam #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #dc robin #au

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partially-controlled-chaos · 9 months ago

Text

Indulgence

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: No spicy moments, but implied horny Halsin.

Summary: Halsin has always struggled with indulging in the more pleasurable aspects of life. However, with the shadow curse lifted and your group now on the road to Baldur's Gate, you and Halsin find time to indulge in a bit of fun and a sweet treat before retiring for the evening.

Word Count: 9.3K

an: It took me too many weeks, but I finally have the fully fleshed out story related to this poll and this little WIP! As it stands, I only have plans for this to be a oneshot, but considering I went back and forth far too many times on if I wanted to add a spicy scene to this, I might write a quick spicy follow up to this if I can find the courage to actually post something smutty.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Edit: I decided to write a spicy update for this and you can read it here.

Masterlist

The night air was pleasantly warm against your skin as you stepped from the confines of your tent. You stretched your arms above your head, thoroughly exhausted from the traveling the day brought, and you wanted nothing more than to slip into your bedroll and sleep away the stiffness in your body. But a light rumble to your stomach and a tingle on the tip of your tongue for something sweet kept you awake. Your camp was mostly quiet as you strolled across the grounds from your tent to pillage through the crates of supplies, save for the sound of githyanki longsword grinding against a sharpening stone and the playful barks and hoots of your furred companions. Most of your companions had retired for the evening, either by going to their own bedrolls or simply sitting in the mouth of their respective tents and unwinding from the day. The walk from the now former shadow lands had been quite the journey, taking a handful of days to get to where you were now, and still had another day or two of walking ahead of you before you reached the town of Rivington just outside of Baldur’s Gate.

You strolled along the supply crates along the edge of camp, peeking through your rations to find something to satiate your sweet cravings. The crates were filled with plenty of cured meats and cheeses with handfuls of fresh vegetables scattered about, but not the first pastry or bit of chocolate in sight. You grumbled to yourself as you continued rummaging, but you eventually found the small jar of honey you had collated a few days prior. Your skin tingled at the memory of the few dozen bee stings you’d received as punishment for cutting away a chunk of the honeycomb, but for now it was more than worth the trouble. You slowly poured part of the jar into an empty bowl, watching as the sweet, thick substance flowed from the mouth of the jar. By the time you’d coated the bottom of your bowl, you rotated the jar just a bit to stop the stream and wiped the rim with your finger.

You popped your forefinger into your mouth and cleaned off the bit of honey that lingered, humming in satisfaction at the first taste of the fresh honey. After the lid had been secured, you slotted the jar back in its spot and continued your search for your late night craving. You would need something of substance to eat with the honey to satisfying the gnawing in your stomach and you finally settled on two tart apples. You plucked a clean paring knife from the camp cook station and added it to your small stash of goods.

As you turned from the supply boxes to return yourself to your tent for the evening, you spotted Halsin sitting alone by the dying fire, quietly thumbing through a rather large book. He always made it a habit of sitting off to the side or just in the mouth of his tent, forever reluctant to join the rest of the group when it came time to relax. So, by sitting at the campfire, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would mind a bit of conversation before bed. But, then again, you weren’t sure. Halsin had always claimed that duty and responsibility kept him from truly enjoying down time; feeling that he should be out doing something about the issues at hand instead of sitting idly by. Ever since you plucked the bear from the clutches of the goblins, you can’t recall hardly ever seeing him actually relax or indulge in anything remotely pleasurable. With this in mind, you didn’t want to disturb the few moments of peace and self indulgence he allowed himself by disturbing him.

The stress of the grove weighed heavily on his shoulders, but not long after he left the grove to join your group you had started to see his stoic demeanor begin to bend ever so slightly. Of course the little bit of reprieve he had was short lived once you finally made it to the shadow cursed lands. His duty and sense of responsibility while there was heightened beyond belief and you couldn’t pry him from lifting the curse if you wanted to. So, the look of absolute joy and relief on his face once the curse had finally lifted was certainly a sight for your eyes. He actually seemed happy.

Halsin was reclined by the fire with his legs stretched out in front of him and an elbow supported on an old log behind him. A heavy book resting in his lap, the thumb of his free hand lightly ran along the corners of the pages repeatedly as he read. You caught yourself staring as he flipped to the next page and used his fingers to smooth out the pages before returning them to their ministrations of the corners. You still wrestled with yourself on if you should approach him or not, truly not wanting to bother him, but also not wanting him to feel left our from the group. Eventually, you found yourself walking towards the druid and stopped a few steps from where he was seated.

“Care for some company?” You asked as you approached with your bowl of treats in hand. Halsin looked up from his book, greeting you with his usual, gentle smile.

“Always.” He extended his hand to offer you the seat beside him, softly patting the ground. You carefully stepped over his legs as you made your way to the spot offered to you. You sat on the ground beside him, your lower back resting against the log. You crossed your legs in front of you, placing your bowl in the space between your thighs, giving yourself a suitable spot to rest for the evening until you retired back to your tent. Your leg lightly brushed against Halsin’s thigh as they crossed and you felt him shift slightly, clearing his throat as he adjusted.

“Good evening, my friend.” He said as he adjusted the opened book in his lap, his hand rested atop the pages, securely keeping the book against his thighs.

“Good evening.” You said as you gave a final wiggle to your hips so you could fully settle, “Care to indulge?” You offered him one of the two apples you had brought with you. He graciously accepted the piece of fruit, sinking his teeth into the flesh with a satisfied crunch as you showed him the bowl of honey.

“Do you want some? I know they’re not the sweetest of apples.” He shook his head as he chewed his bit of apple, holding his hand up to stop you from pressing the bowl closer to him.

“No, thank you, though,” he said after he had swallowed, “I certainly pulled enough bee stingers from you the other night that you’ve earned it all for yourself.” He gave a slight chuckle and a gentle nudge to your elbow.

“It was worth it.” You said sheepishly as you recalled having to ask Halsin for help with healing the welts and pulling the stingers from you that you had difficulty in dislodging.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the serenity of the evening in each others company. Halsin turned his attention back to his book as he continued to bite away at his apple and you focused on cutting yours into slices. You took the paring knife you’d brought with you and used it to cut the apple in half, making it easier to cut away at the flesh. With each piece you took off, you dropped them back into the bowl and tossed any bits of seeds or core into the fire ahead of you.

“You don’t have to sit by yourself, you know.” You said as you sliced off another chunk of apple, “I mean if you want to that’s fine, of course, but you don’t have to. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else.” You glanced to him as you spoke, having finished your slicing and placed the knife on the ground beside you.

“I thank you for the sentiment, but truthfully I don’t feel like that’s the case.” Halsin looked up from his book once again, meeting your gaze in a way that made your skin tingle.

“Why not?” You asked as your brows knitted together, “Has someone said something?”

“Not at all,” he said calmly, “but you know as well I that I haven’t exactly been present for the more…bonding moments that others have enjoyed. I seem to have made myself an outsider. Aside from your company, of course. You’ve always gone out of your way and for that I thank you.” His voice was genuine as he spoke, which relieved any worry that there was trouble among camp members.

“Ah, well, I guess that means you’re stuck with me around the campfire from now on.” You leaned over slightly and nudged him with your shoulder as he chuckled at your response.

“You will always be most welcome.” With a final bite he finished off his apple, tossing the core into the fire ahead of him before returning back to his previous position. He reclined against the log once again, putting his weight against one arm on the log and the other returning to rest along the book spread across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly running along the lip of the cover.

You were blissfully unaware of the hungry eyes watching your every move as you indulged in your sweet treat. Halsin’s gaze was transfixed on the movements of your wonderfully nimble fingers as you selected a slice of tart apple from your bowl and coated it with a generous amount of the honey you’d procured earlier in the day. You twirled the slice in your fingers, trying to break the sticky strings that came as you tried to scoop the thickened treat onto the fruit. Halsin was unsure if time had slowed or if it was simply his own desires fogging his mind, but watching this relatively mundane task had become almost intoxicating.

Your attention was quickly pulled from your snack before you had a chance to bite into it, the call of your name from across camp making you pause. You still held the slice in your fingers, hovering over the bowl as you spoke to your companion about an event from earlier in the day. The honey that rested at the tip of the apple slice began to drip, slowly making its way along the fruit and onto your thumb. Halsin was sitting close enough that he could smell the sweetness and the light floral notes that came from the honey, the scent alone being enough to have his mouth watering for a taste. Although he couldn’t help but wonder at how the taste would change when mixed with the taste of your skin as he watched the honey continue to drop down the length of your arm.

He had longed for your touch for some time now, but ever since the group had parted the shadow lands, the longing had become incessant. Unbeknownst to you, Halsin wanted more from you; more than just friendship. He wanted companionship. He wanted you. And in this moment he wanted nothing more than to clean the honey from your skin with his own tongue and kiss your dexterous fingers that had been teasing him all day. The impulsive urge to act on the idea was tempting, but given that he had yet to approach you about wanting more, he tried to push the thought from his mind.

Realizing the sticky mess that was now running down your arm, you quickly popped the apple slice covered in what remaining honey that wasn’t dripping down your arm into your mouth. You searched the small area by the campfire for any sort of cloth to wipe your hands on, but ultimately decided to simply lick it off when you couldn’t find a suitable rag and the sticky honey was now nearing your elbow. With a turn of your head and twist of your arm, you found the large drip of honey on your arm and pressed your tongue along the sweet trail. Starting near your elbow, you slowly pulled your tongue along your inner forearm, collecting the fallen honey in the small well created by your tongue. Given just how sticky the honey was, you found yourself going over the same spots multiple times in an attempt to get every drop that had made its way down your arm.

Halsin could feel his heart pick up speed and almost threaten to beat out of his chest the more he watched you clean yourself of the honey and the grip on the book in his lap tightened with each swipe of your tongue. The tips of his pointed ears had grown warm in a flush and his throat had suddenly gone dry. Despite the growing tension and the tightening of desire growing in his muscles, he found himself simply unable to look away from you. It had been so long that he’d been able to indulge in desires of his own that he had become complacent with pushing away his wants until he had completed his duties. But now those duties had been fulfilled, with your help of course, he was now free to purse any desires he’d denied himself for so long. And the druid was dangerously close to losing any and all control over keeping these wants at bay until the proper moment.

By the time you’d made your way to your honey coated thumb, you finally picked up on the eyes that had been focused on your movements for so long. Your own gaze flicked to Halsin, whose face was a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place, and couldn’t help but smile in embarrassment as he’d caught your blunder. What you couldn’t notice, however, was the heat rising along Halsin’s neck and the thread of tension in his chest that was threatening to break at any second. However, when you stuck the entirety of your thumb into your mouth and slowly pulled off the honey while still holding his gaze, that delicately held together thread finally snapped.

Without a word, Halsin sharply shut his book, practically flinging it from his lap, letting it drop into the dirt as he abruptly stood. Your head tilted upwards, curiously watching as his frame loomed over yours as you remained seated against your log. His legs stepped over yours as he started to leave the campsite, stomping into the ground beside you. You watched as he made off for the inner depths of the trees, walking as fast as his legs would carry him. You had half a mind to follow him, now afraid that you had done or said something to offend him, or even anger him. However, your intentions to follow him into the woods were short lived when you were quickly bombarded with a snout and beak clambering over each other to have a bite of your apples and honey.

Halsin walked quickly into the expanse of the forest, easily slipping between trees and shrubs as he tried to make it as far away from camp, and your teasingly delightful movements, as he could. He could feel a deep rumble in his throat threaten to let loose and a flutter in his heart before it turned into a steady, yet quickened pace. The memory of you oh so deliciously cleaning up the honey from your fingers was burning hot in his mind, causing heat to course through his body and settle in other areas. But laced within this arousal was also an equal amount of anger for himself.

He wanted you more than anything he had wanted in so long that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He was elated and almost giddy whenever you graced him with your company, although he was usually good at keeping his demeanor calm and collected. A solemn, unwavering wall he had built to control his emotions and desires while still trying to work a way out to rid Thaniel’s realm of the curse while also not drowning in the stress and strain that the grove demanded for over a century was beginning to crumble, letting a playful youth and optimism begin to break through. The cracks in the wall were caused simply by you and your kindness, your generosity, and your unwavering determination to simply do the right thing for those in need; for those like himself. Halsin wanted to take things further with you, to see if there could be more than just a friendship and a battle alliance, but he was finding that he had issues in taking the next step.

He himself was always susceptible to holding off on acting on desires until more pressing, mature tasks like the shadow curse had been dealt with, finding that he couldn’t enjoy indulging in more carnal or whimsical pleasures until the work was over. He knew you were not like that, but he still felt the same guilt whenever he even considered approaching you for something more. The Absolute was now marching towards Baldur’s Gate with an army of enthralled and tadpole infected and the threat of the Elder Brain becoming in control was ever pressing. He simply couldn’t justify indulging in his own selfish wants and pleasures when something that important was a looming threat. Halsin could wait. He would wait. But that didn’t mean that his own feelings and desires weren’t too much to handle at times.

Halsin gritted his teeth as he walked, nose flaring in a snarl as the overwhelming heat that engulfed his body was becoming too much to control. He had gotten a decent ways away before he felt the urge become all consuming, stooping over in a hunch before erupting backwards in a flash of golden light and a burst of magic. A large cave bear landed on all fours, crushing the hard earth underneath heavy paws. The bear shook his shoulders, releasing a bit of tension before galloping deeper into the forest. Primal urges and instincts always seemed to win out in the end, no matter how hard Halsin tried to control them, and they wouldn’t be tamed easily.

It wasn’t long before the galloping bear eventually came to a stop, breathing heavily at the exertion and arousal still burning through his veins. A pristine, quiet pond stopped the bear in his tracks, a wonderfully calming spot deep in nature that could soothe and subdue the beast running rampant through the woods. Halsin took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the algae clinging to the edge of the pond and listening to the sounds nearby. Crickets chirped loudly all around, sounding off out of sync so there was almost always one singing into the night.

Beautifully luminescent fireflies lazily bobbed around the surface of the water and high into the trees, their glow mixing with the moon that was still high in the sky; well past midnight, but still a few hours before the sun would rise. The serenity of the pond was still not enough for Halsin to be able to regain control of the beast. He stepped into the water, feeling the icy cold water beginning to finally tame the fire almost boiling in his veins. Another step in and the beast was becoming easier to control, but still needed just a bit more.

You stepped quietly through the trees, effortlessly weaving your way through foliage and over gnarled tree roots poking up from the ground as you searched for the druid. A few hours had passed since his abrupt departure and with all of your companions now sleeping peacefully in their bedrolls, four footed ones included, with the exception of one particularly cryptic druid. Something about Halsin’s sudden urgency to leave didn’t sit well with you and after he had not yet returned, you were concerned. You knew good and well he was in no real danger and could easily handle himself, but you knew there was something gnawing at his mind and if it was something you could help alleviate, you were more than willing to miss out on a few hours sleep.

Realistically, you were walking blindly into the forest. You had no sense of where Halsin could have wandered off to and your tracking skills were less than ideal. But nonetheless you pushed forward, taking time to enjoy the silence of the night as you meandered your way through your surroundings. You didn’t bother to bring a torch given just how bright the moon was and only had to fumble a bit under the thickest spots of the canopy. After some time, you picked up on the steadily increasing sounds of crickets and stopped to marvel at the blanket of fireflies that thrived in the darkness.

Between the chirps of the cricket hiding in the grass, you heard the sound of something lightly splashing against water. You redirected your course to head towards the sound and soon stumbled upon a small pond. A symphony of croaking frogs began as you neared the water, surprised to see such a quaint little pond in such a thick forest. The splashing came again, this time the sound seemly skipping across the surface of the water, and as you reached the end of the trees, you could see the remaining ripples riding against the water.

Halsin was standing up to his shins in pond, his trousers rolled to just above his knees and his shoes had been long forgotten in the grass leading to the water, yet still mysteriously wet. His back was to you and he had yet to hear you approach, too engrossed in skipping stones across the water than to hear you coming up behind him. You could see the muscles of his arms flexing and releasing in the soft glow of the moonlight, an obvious tension in the thickness of the muscles. Something had set the druid on edge and you feared that you were the catalyst of his frustrations; although you had no inkling of a clue that you were also the solution.

You watched as he wound his arm slightly before flinging a stone from his hand. The rock skipped beautifully across the water, jumping ten times or more before finally sinking to the bottom of the pond. He waited for the water to quiet once again before throwing another stone, but his one much more forceful. Instead of skipping across the water, the rock simply splashed on impact and sunk. There was a frustration in his throw, a side you didn’t see from Halsin very often out of battle, but you still hadn’t determined the cause. You hesitated in your spot, thinking it would probably be best to simply turn away and let him work through his feelings in this state, but part of you wanted to stay. You’d helped him with many issues thus far, so why stop now?

You took another step towards the pond, purposefully stepping on a branch so it would snap and give away your position. Halsin’s head turned the trees, alarm quickly giving way to relief when you saw you stepping from the foliage. You noted how the scrunched expression on his face melted at the sight of you, making you believe that perhaps he wasn’t angry with you. He gave you a single nod as you approached the edge of the lake, his blood still running too warm for his liking and he wasn’t sure he could speak without a sense of desperation to his voice. You nodded in response, taking the opportunity of finding a body of water to rinse your hands.

“Is everything all right?” You asked as you knelt by the shoreline, dunking your hands in the cool water to wash away any sticky remnants of the honey you’d eaten earlier.

“Oh, yes I’m fine. Just needed some space to think.” Halsin said as he tossed another stone across the quiet surface of the water, “With the city drawing nearer, I fear a peaceful spot like this will be difficult to find. I wanted to savor it while it lasts; try to process recent events and what comes next.”

“Ah. Well… I won’t keep you then.” You said as you stood, flicking water droplets from your fingers in an attempt to dry them, “We both know peace rarely stays for long when I’m around.” You gave a half hearted smile, still unsure if you had done something to upset the druid. Your mind had been settled at the very least, knowing he was safe and had seemingly calmed himself enough to sate your troubled mind.

“Nonsense,” Halsin’s voice was almost surprised, “there is plenty of space in nature for the both of us. You are no bother to me, my friend.” You hesitated for a moment, but eventually spoke.

“You’re certain?” Halsin’s head cocked slightly, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice and realizing that his sudden departure might have offended you in some way.

“Will you join me?” He asked softly as he extended out his hand, offering you a rock to skip yourself.

You felt your heart begin to pick up pace at his offer, having very few times in memory where he’s specifically asked for your company. Normally you asked if he would mind if you joined or he would offer you a space next to him, but very rarely had he specifically asked you to join him. Because of this, you happily obliged and began unlacing your boots to join him in the water. Halsin could feel that familiar warmth beginning to creep into his chest again as he watched your ever teasing fingers quickly unlace your boots. He shifted in the water again, finding a colder spot to stand in as you rolled your trouser legs up to your knee before stepping into the water yourself.

“Good gods.” You muttered as you stepped further into the water, the sudden chill on your legs making your skin seize up and a chill go down your spine.

“Quite brisk tonight, despite how warm the air is.” Halsin said as you stood by him in the water, which had already soaked well past your knees given the depth of your section of pond. You nodded in agreement, still trying to adjust to the temperature change.

He offered you the stone again and you happily accepted it, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the stone. You did a double take and took his hand in both of yours, marveling at how unbelievably warm they were when considering he’d been standing in cold water for quite some time now.

“Do you always run so warm to the touch?” You asked as you finally pried your hands away from his, realizing just how long you had lingered.

“I have lately,” Halsin admitted as you turned the stone in your hand, “the beast tends to run hot and emerge more often when I have something pressing on my mind.” Halsin flicked his wrist and sent another stone skidding across the water, ending with a satisfying plunk as it dipped below the surface.

You were never sure why he always referred to his bear form as a beast. Sure, the bear was a formidable opponent in battle and could show quite the fury when angered, but ultimately the so-called beast was still Halsin. To you, the bear was as much Halsin as Halsin was the bear; one in the same. And admittedly, as much as you admired Halsin, you were also rather fond of the bear.

“Anything I can do to help ease your mind?” You asked softly, “I won’t pry, but if I can be of some use, please, let me know.”

“Some use?” Halsin asked through a hearty chuckle, “You’ve helped me more than I could have imagined. You’ve greatly exceeded any expectations I could have possibly had when I met you. I do hope you know just how grateful I am for you, my friend.” You found yourself blushing at his praises, a warmth stinging the apples of your cheeks.

“Well, how about more use, then?” You offered after your blush began to die down, still wanting to offer help for the druid if you could.

“I won’t burden you with an old druid’s ramblings.” He said softly, turning his gaze to yours, “You have your own matters to worry about that are much more important.”

“Well,” you sighed when you realized he would go no further, “if you need whatever worth my opinion has on a matter or even just an ear to vent to, I’m here.” Halsin nodded to you as a way of thanks, taking a brief moment to simply admire you before sending another stone across the water.

You both stood in your respective spots for a long while, taking turns to throw stones across the pond. The stones Halsin skipped were always fluid and elegant, easily surpassing a dozen or so skips before finishing off. Yours, on the other hand, were much more choppy. You didn’t think you’d managed to pass more than two skips and most of your stone ended up simply splashing in the water the second they left your fingers. You weren’t the most skilled stone skipper in Faerûn, but you were admittedly enjoying yourself.

“Are you competitive, Halsin?” You asked after a while, wanting to fill the silence between you and still try to find a way to lift his spirits. If you couldn’t help him with his burdens, then you’d at least like to let him enjoy the night.

“I can be,” he said with a playful glint to his eye, “when I have time to indulge in more light hearted activities. And with the right company, of course.” He motioned to you with his finger.

“Well, in that case, care to indulge me? How about a fresh jar of honey for the winner? Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing it earlier.” You tossed the rock in your hand and caught it with a touch of flare. Halsin was thankful that the cool water he was standing in kept his heart from racing and his blood from once again running too hot. His eyes focused on the stone you twirled in your fingers as you awaited an answer, your digits once again testing the limits of his self control.

“I can’t say it’s not tempting,” he spoke slowly, trying to regain a steadiness to his voice, “but, given the circumstances, I’m not sure if indulging is the right thing to do. Not right now, at least. The threat of the Absolute takes priority, does it not?”

“It does, but there’s no harm in indulging in something you want, especially now.” You stopped twirling your stone, opting to simply look out across the water as you spoke, “ The Absolute will be there tomorrow just as it was there today. What happens in our downtime will happen if we’re abstaining from joyous things or giving in completely. So, my thinking at least, is let yourself indulge. The world could end in the morning, so I’m going to enjoy tonight while I still can.”

How Halsin wished he could simply take your view on the world. He couldn’t help but think of all the stress and strain that could have been avoided if he had simply taken one night off here and there to just live. The responsibilities the grove suddenly presented to him all those years ago when the shadow curse first took hold had locked his mind in a constant battle for balance. He always strove to find balance in the natural world, but never took the time to find balance within himself. Instead, he allowed himself to be burdened and live almost as a ghost of his former self for the better part of a century. Until he met you. You were the balance he so desperately craved and wanted.

“Are you always so convincing?” He asked after a moment with a soft grin, finally relenting and decided that tonight would simply be one of indulgence and a bit of fun.

“I have my moments.” You said with a shrug and a cheeky smile.

You each took a handful of smooth stones from under the water, taking time to find ones that were just the right size and weight for your little game. You had decided that the winner would be whoever could skip a stone the furthest across the surface of the water before you decided to head back to camp. The moon had started to lower, the darkness beginning to lighten ever so slightly, signaling that sunrise was merely an hour or two away.

You once again took turns tossing rocks across with water with very similar results. You clearly knew Halsin would win your little competition and while the more competitive side of you wanted to win, you were simply happy with watching Halsin actually enjoy himself. The feeling was only boosted by the idea that he was enjoying spending his very little free time with you of all people. The thought brought you back to the moment you had shared earlier in camp when he abruptly left, the feeling of guilt once again returning with the thought that you had annoyed him.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you earlier,” you said as another one of your stones plunked into the water on the first toss, “I should have let you enjoy your evening in peace.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” he said almost immediately, “I always enjoy every moment of your company. It’s just that… long suppressed emotions are bubbling towards the surface. Left unchecked they’re liable to break the tension and I’ll lose any sense of self control.” He sent another rock across the water, this one a bit more forceful, and it skidded across the water to reach his highest number of skips yet.

“Well, sometimes it’s good to let those feelings out. Cry, scream at the sky, go on a rampage. Seems to help Karlach well enough.” You threw a rock and had to catch yourself before losing your footing and falling in the water, “Hells, if you want to go stomping around as a bear for a while if you think it’ll be of assistance, have at it. I’ll be here when you get back and maybe I’ll have figured out how to properly skip a damn stone by the time you return.” He chuckled at your response, truly appreciative of the admiration of the bear, but also at your very sorry attempts at throwing rocks.

“Widen your stance,” he said as he pointed to your legs, “it’ll give you more stability so you can focus on tossing the stone and not toppling into the water.” You adjusted your leg slightly, pulling one leg just a bit from the other before looking back to Halsin for approval. He simply shook his head and pointed to the side, hinting that you should adjust more. The same cycle repeated for a few rounds with the same result.

“May I?” Halsin said after a few tries and finally gestured to your leg, wanting permission to help you adjust your stance before touching you.

“Of course.” You said softly, finding your heart had begun to give the slightest flutter in your chest as Halsin trudged through the water to stand behind you.

You felt Halsin’s foot nudge yours from under the water, encouraging you to shift your legs further apart. You obliged, shifting your leg until you felt the druid stop his movements. Admittedly, you felt more secure in your posture as you dug your toes into the sandy bottom of the pond. Your breath involuntarily hitched as you felt a pair of large hands on your hips, pulling back slightly and encouraging you to angle one hip further back. As before, you complied. Taking one small step back with one foot until you were at a slight angle.

“Good,” Halsin said softly against your ear, “just like that.” He could feel his own chest begin to tighten as you melted under his touch.

With his own lips close to your ear, he could hear the skip to your breath and could see the prickling of your skin as his warm breath tickled your neck. When you angled your hips with Halsin’s movements, your upper back softly rested against Halsin’s broad chest, fitting together almost seamlessly. The warmth of his body so close to yours was a welcome reprieve from the cold water you’d been standing in and you had to resist the urge to lean back more than you already had. You could each feel the others heart beat begin to increase, the pounding steadily increasing the longer your touch lingered on the other.

You had the quick touch here and there in the past, whether it be through healing or exploring or even a quick pat on the back for moral support, but it had never been anything more. Nothing had ever lingered for more than a few fleeting seconds and none had ever set your heart ablaze like it was now. Although not inherently sexual, there was a sexual tension in the air around you. Your seemingly simple offer to skip stones had quickly turned into something much more intimate. And admittedly, you were beginning to think that maybe there was more to Halsin than to just be a traveling companion. Perhaps you wanted more.

Shamelessly, you had flirted with him many weeks ago with the tiefling celebration with the aid of half a bottle of a wine, and had very gently been turned down. As much as it had disappointed you at the time, you respected his decision. After all, you were little more than strangers at the time and Halsin had his own share of problems to deal with first. But, now that the shadow curse had been lifted and his duties at the grove were nonexistent now, then just maybe something could happen between the two of you.

“Now for the stone.” Halsin said after clearing the lump of excitement from his throat. He took the stone from your hand, turning it over in his hands to ensure it was the correct size and weight for skipping.

You watched as the stone moved through his fingers, noting just how small the stone looked in his hands when the same stone looked large when compared to yours. You had expected his calloused hands to be rough against your skin, but as his fingers brushed against yours, you noticed how exceedingly gentle they were. You had seen his very hands decimate enemies and battle and rip foes apart when in wild shape, but in this moment his hand cradled yours as if you’d break if he were any rougher.

“Curl these fingers into your palm,” Halsin’s voice brought you back from your thoughts, “and use them to hold the stone steady until you’re ready to throw.” Halsin’s opposite hand was cupping yours, gently pushing your last three fingers with his own so they would curl into themselves. With his hand on yours and the other still holding the stone, you found yourself engulfed between his arms, each of his resting on either side of you.

“Good. Now, use your thumb to hold the bottom of the stone and let it run along the length of your finger. Hook it at the tip.” Halsin effortlessly spread your thumb and pointer finger with his own, giving him the change to slot the skipping stone into your grasp.

Halsin hesitated for a moment, but his other hand eventually settled on your side, keeping your hips aligned with how they had been previously positioned. He felt your skin prickle at his touch, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his heart thumped even harder against his chest. He had to step back just slightly to keep you from feeling the same warmth he felt begin to grow in other areas of his body.

“Arm back.” He said as he pulled your arm back at a bend. You allowed him to move your arm as needed until your arm was completely nestled against his. You could feel the tightness of his muscles as he moved his arm in tandem with yours and you could actually feel just how strong his hulking arms were.

“Now I throw?” You whispered, finding your voice difficult to get out.

“Yes, but there’s a trick,” Halsin’s voice was once again at your ear, his breath tickling the outer shell as he spoke, “you’ll throw outward, but angle it down just slightly. It allows for a slight spin on the stone when you flick it from your fingers and it’ll skip along nicely.”

With your hand in his, he adjusted the slant of your grip until it was perfect. He kept his grip on you as he helped you toss the stone, his body moving time with yours as he used his arm to guide your own. With a flick of his wrist, and subsequently yours, the rock was thrown perfectly from your grasp and quickly skipped across the water. You both watched in a bit of amazement as the stone surpassed two dozen skips before finally coming to a stop. It was the furthest a rock had been thrown that evening and you were suddenly faced with a dilemma.

“So,” you drawled out as Halsin’s grip remained on you, “who gets the credit for that throw?” The druid couldn’t help but chuckle at the question, not quite sure how to answer it himself. He then realized that he was still holding onto you as you stood in the water and he hesitantly broke away. His fingers lingered ever so slightly on your skin, relishing the contact he’d so greatly been craving.

“I supposed we could call it a tie,” he said eventually, “and we’ll just have to see who can break it.” You nodded in agreement, satisfied with his answer, and readied yourself to begin throwing more stones now that you’d had just an exhilarating lesson.

You and Halsin spent the next few moments searching the pond for more suitable stones, the bulk of the ones at your feet having already been tossed. With sloshing at your legs and dirt between your toes, you walked as best you could to a new spot, hunched over as you inspected the ground for smooth, rounded rocks. Very soon you were joined by Halsin, who had yet to find a good rock, and you both simply searched the pond in silence.

“You know, it’s nice to see you like this.” You said eventually, still having come up empty handed for a decent rock.

“Like what? Hunched over and looking for rocks in the middle of the night?” Halsin asked with a chuckle as he continued looking himself. You found yourself standing across from each other, bent over and faces close to the edge of the water, but also rather close to each other. Half a step forward and your nose would be bumping into his.

“No,” you said with a giggle, “relaxing and, dare I say, even happy. It’s a good look for you.” He glanced up to you, offering you a gentle smile.

“I have you to thank for that. You’ve helped me far more than you probably should have already. It’s not fair of me to always burden you with my troubles; they’re not your burdens to bear. Pardon the pun, if you will.” His familiar seriousness had returned to his voice as he spoke, but he was nothing but sincere.

“Well maybe not, but my tadpole problem isn’t yours either. It’s okay to rely on others when you need help, Halsin. I know that what you had as Archdruid forced you to bear your burdens alone, but you don’t need to anymore. You’ve got an entire camps worth of people that would do anything to help. And if all else fails then you’ll have me. Please know that my hand is extended if you need the help.” You instinctively reached forward, not realizing just what you were doing until your slightly cold fingers ran across his burning cheek. You were committed by that point and simply cupped his cheek for a moment to show your sincerity before dropping it back to the tops of your thighs.

“Another night, perhaps.” He finally said after a brief moment of silence, “For tonight I’m too occupied with besting you at a bit of stone skipping.”

“You seem rather confident.” You said with a huff, being met with a similarly wide grin from the druid.

“After as many stones that you simply threw into the water? I am rather confident.” You responded by playfully dipping your fingers in the water in front of you, bringing them up sharply to splash a small amount of the chilly water on Halsin’s face.

You had expected some sort of witty remark, but instead, you were met with a very large and very cold splash of water to your own face and chest. Halsin had used both his hands to deliver a rather large amount of pond water to you, easily soaking your already thin camp tunic. You stood up straight, the chill going straight to your spine and making your skin prickle once again at the sensation. Your rock skipping competition had now been forgotten and you were both now splashing each other back and forth in the pond. You circled each other, trying to evade the onslaught of water heading towards each of you. You would let out a shriek turned giggle each time you were doused with another handful of water, folding in on yourself momentarily until the initial shock wore off. Halsin was much more dignified when he was splashed by your much smaller handfuls of water, but was no doubt feeling just a chilled after some time.

You continued to circle each other, steadily splashing each other more and more quickly as the game progressed. That was, however, until you finally lost your footing on a smooth rock that you hadn’t seen earlier, and started falling backwards. Thanks to his reflexes, Halsin was able to realize that you were falling much faster than you were, and reached out to grab a hold of your arm in an attempt to keep you from fully submerging yourself in the water. His hold certainly helped you from fully dunking into the water, but you were too far gone for it to save you from getting wet, and you inadvertently pulled the druid down on top of you as you fell into the pond.

You let out a hiss through your teeth as your bottom collided with the rocks and dirt underneath you, cold water immediately soaking your shirt and wetting your entire back. Halsin had come close to falling on top of you, but thankfully caught himself on his hands and knees before colliding with you. What he couldn’t prevent, however, was where he landed. You soon realized that the druid was looming over you, one of his massive legs was sandwiched between yours and the other rested along your outer hip. His hands were near your sides, not quite close enough to touch, but enough to fully cage you underneath him as your nose sat mere inches from his. You both simply froze in your spots, realizing the precariousness of your situation, yet somehow enraptured by it.

You could feel Halsin’s warm breath come out in strong bursts against your face, faintly smelling of the apple he had eaten earlier. Your eyes locked to his, unsure of what to do or say in the moment, and you were hoping he would be the more reasonable of the two. However, you were simply met with a tension filled silence, the druid also not sure of what to do or say next. His eyes slowly trailed down from yours, eventually settling along your lips. You let out the slightest of gasps as you felt his hand cup your cheek, much like yours had done to his just moments before, and you felt your heart pound harder than you could image as his thumb made its way down your cheek bone. You were fully expecting his lips to press to your own moments later, but instead you were surprised with a different move.

Halsin slowly ran his thumb across your bottom lip, starting at the corner of your mouth and gently pulling until he came to the center, your lip bending to his movements as he went. When his thumb left your skin after what felt like an eternity, he lifted the digit to your line of sight and revealed a small amount of honey. Your tongue instinctively licked your lip where his thumb had just been, searching for any remaining bit that had apparently been stuck to your mouth all evening. Before you could thank him for removing the sticky mess from your lip, he popped his honey covered thumb into his mouth, licking off the treat as his eyes remained locked onto yours.

You felt your heart pound against your chest and in your ears as you watched him lick off the teasingly small taste of honey from his thumb. There was something fiery in his eyes as he meticulously cleaned his thumb, something you had never seen so potent and strong before; desire. It only just dawned on you that your own honey licking earlier was what sent him into such a frenzy and caused his urgency to leave. Halsin wanted you and wanted you enough to drive himself mad with desire. Your breath suddenly came in pants as you felt a desirable warmth spread across your abdomen. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him just as desperately in this moment.

“There’s more,” you said breathlessly, “if you want.” Your voice was just a whisper against Halsin’s skin. You weren’t sure if the sudden lack of oxygen in your lungs was from the cool water now engulfing your chest or if it was from the sudden proximity of the druid hovering over you. You also weren’t sure yourself if you still only referring to honey.

“I do, more than anything, I do.” There was desperation in his words, but also a hint of hesitation in his voice as he spoke.

“But…?” You said after a moment, knowing there was more to his statement than just desire. Like that night at the tiefling party, you felt as if you were about to be gently turned down once again.

“But not tonight,” his gaze was soft as he spoke, understanding the delicate nature of the topic at hand, “the sun is rising and very soon our companions will stir for the day.”

Halsin wanted more than just a quick night to simply satiate primal needs. He wanted companionship from you, but wasn’t sure himself if you shared in his desires. He could tell you wanted at least one night with him, and until he was certain you also wanted more, he wanted to make the one guaranteed night to be memorable for himself at the least. Halsin needed an early evening and a long night so he could take his time to properly savor you; the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin against his, the scent of your arousal. He wanted to etch it all into memory.

If you didn’t want more time with him, he wanted to be able to remember your night together over and over again to satiate his own desires when alone in his tent. To recall the way your body moved and arched with his touch, to replay the wonderful little noises that would come from your lips when he found the right spot, and, most importantly, to reminisce about the way you felt around him. Your touch had teased him for so long now and he needed to feel you against every part of him more than he needed anything else. But, he needed a proper night. One where he could take his time with you without worry of being interrupted either by your camp mates or the rising sun.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. You also knew that if your companions noticed that you both were missing, they would surely coming looking for you and interrupt any bit of fun you and Halsin had decided to enjoy together.

“And,” he said as he brought his lips to your ear as he whispered, but not enough to touch, “if I’m going to indulge in something I’ve wanted for this long, I want to take the time to savor the taste.” You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the promise of something more to come in the following days was enough to subdue the raging warmth you felt in your abdomen and legs. You nodded in response and were greeted with a thankful smile.

You both remained there for a moment longer before the chill of the water was too much to bear. Halsin stood first, climbing off of your frame before helping you to your feet. You each wrung out as much water from your clothes and hair as possible before picking up your long forgotten shoes and making the long walk back to camp. You walked in silence as you returned to camp, your soaked clothes sloshing about filling the void of silence.

The sun was beginning to crest just as the crickets and fireflies had quieted down for the morning. Orange light filtered through the leaves of the canopy above as morning birds began their songs for the day, the rays of sun slightly warming your overly chilled bodies. By the time you made it just to the edge of camp, you were relieved to see that no one had yet stirred for the day. The last thing you wanted to do was explain why you and Halsin were returning to camp soaking wet after being gone for most of the night. Halsin stopped you before you could step into the camp, a soft touch lingering on your skin. You turned to face him, getting lost in the softness of his eyes as he spoke.

“Get what rest you can,” he whispered to you, “we’ll let ourselves indulge in the other after the sun sets for the day.” You smiled at the promise, already wishing for the day to go by as quickly as possible.

“Until tonight, then.” You said softly as you began to make your way towards your tent.

“Until tonight.” Halsin replied as he followed suit to his own living quarters.

You stepped quietly through the camp, hoping the sound of wet cloth rubbing against itself wouldn’t be enough to wake your companions, especially the camp animals. Halsin had made it to the mouth of his tent long before you’d made it to yours, considering yours was the furthest from the pond. You took a quick glance back towards his tent and found that he had not yet gone inside, but was waiting just in the threshold. He wanted to ensure you had gotten inside before he retired for a few moments rest himself. You met his gaze as you gripped the flap to your tent and were met with a quick wink before the druid ducked inside his own tent and out of sight. Your heart fluttered at the gesture and you quickly stepped inside your dwelling space and closed the flap just as you heard the tent next to you begin to stir for the morning.

Tag List: @thoughts-of-bear ,@beardedladyqueen, @pixie-in-a-moonlantern, @ur-friendly-nbhd-cardassian

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #halsin #daddy halsin #halsin x reader #reader x halsin #halsin x gender neutral reader #halsin romance #still very seriously considering smut #halsin fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #halsin fanfiction

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queenimmadolla · 2 years ago

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀

(eddie munson x secret admirer!reader)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • eddie edit © @fefemunson! • ao3

Summary: After four long years of pining, it’s high time you tell your crush you like him and quite possibly your last chance to, luckily there’s no better time for love confessions than Valentine’s Day. If only you hadn’t chosen to do so anonymously, because you’re pretty sure Eddie Munson is hoping his secret admirer is someone else.

Warnings: pining, angst, misunderstandings, very brief (blink and you miss it) descriptions of oncoming panic attack (doesn't happen), Heather Holloway being a sweetie, and a whole lot of fluff

authors note: no, you're not imagining things. i'm reposting a story i already have up. unfortunately, i seem to have an anti who has been flagging anything of mine that gains traction as content that it is not so it's hidden to those who don't have the settings on (most people) and goes to die away, never to be interacted with again. they're attempting to do the same to Magical Mysteria, as they had the original flagged and, therefore, hidden. because everyone seemed to really relate to reader and enjoyed reading this particular fic, i've decided to give that anti the finger, so here's a repost.

word count: 10k

You stood posted by a row of lockers, peaking around the corner of the hall to watch as the longtime object of your affections laughed at something one of his friends said.

“Are you stalking him again?”

You jumped, clutching your biology book to your chest as you swiveled around to face Heather, your best friend.

“Geez!” You hissed out, voice low as you checked to make sure you hadn’t attracted his attention.

But it’s you, so of course you hadn’t. Eddie was still leaning up against his locker and chatting away, face framed by the mane he called his hair. His curls were defined much more than usual—clearly he’d washed his hair before school which meant he must have been up early. Why did you know that????

“I’m not stalking him,” you grumbled and Heather giggled. “I’m just observing him.”

“Well, stop observing him and go talk to him.” She nudged your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile.

“I’m gonna—,” You answered with false bravado that soon wavered, “. . . eventually. Look, I have a plan. Okay, today is a new day, Valentine’s Day and the perfect day for romance. No more watching from the sidelines─”

Heather coughed out a stalking, followed by another cough, all of which you ignored.

“No more quietly pining, I’m telling him how I feel.”

Heather raised her eyebrows, tongue clicking.

“Let me get this straight, you’re not only going to actually exchange words with him, you’re actually going to tell Eddie Munson about your feelings?”

Your heart fluttered just at the mention of him.

Edward Wayne Munson. Eddie.

You’d had a crush on him since your freshman year of high school, and contrary to your best friend’s earlier statement, you had exchanged words with him already. Sorta. Basically.

Freshman year you’d ate shit in the hallway, tripping over literally nothing and all your belongings had scattered, he’d stopped walking to help you pick your things up before he was off again. It wasn’t much conversation, but he did say something about those invisible rocks people left lying around.

Then your sophomore year, he’d sat behind you with his club at the school’s mandatory pep rally. One of his friends had accidentally jostled you and Heather a little too roughly when he was finding his seat and Eddie had apologized on his behalf.

Then last year he’d held the cafeteria door open for you and your friends when you slipped in. That time, you’d been the one to thank him and he had said you’re welcome. Almost unprompted!

So, yeah. Maybe you were a little delusional, it didn’t matter though. What mattered was you were running out of time.

Somehow, Eddie had managed to fail the past two years, allowing you to catch up to him but that meant you were now a senior as well. You’d let the other chances to approach him pass you by because you were too scared of rejection, this was your last chance.

The college acceptance letter you’d received at the start of the week also spurred your bravery, if he rejected you, you only had a few months left until you were on your way to California, there’d be all those states between the two of you.

You had nothing to lose, so today was gonna be the day.

“Yes,” you took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as the determination sank deep into your bones. “I’m gonna tell him.”

“How are you gonna do that?” She cocked her head, the curls of her side ponytail bouncing.

“I’m glad you asked, my friend.” You grabbed her hand, dragging her down the hall to your partially opened locker. You pulled the door open fully to reveal a bouquet of roses, set on top of your books.

Her face wrinkled up in confusion, “You bought yourself flowers again?”

“No.” You glared at her, a hand scratching your head as you hissed out through gritted teeth, “And we promised not to bring that up anymore—these are for Eddie.”

Heather perked up at that, a hand resting over her chest as she fawned, “Dude, that is so cute! When are you gonna give them to him?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not actually going to give them to him directly. I need your help. You’ve got history with him, yeah?”

You already knew she did so it didn’t surprise you when she nodded. You slipped one rose from the bouquet and handed it to her.

“Can you leave this on his desk?”

“Sure! Wow, I can’t believe I get to be part of your love story,” she marveled, twirling the stem between her fingertips.

God, you hoped it’d be a love story and not a tragedy.

“And these are for you.” You pulled out a smaller bouquet of pink roses, and Heather just about burst into tears.

The two of you had been best friends since middle school, and often spent your free time watching corny teen movies, usually living through the main characters of the romance ones. You’d had a couple of almost-boyfriends, in the end you hadn’t been interested in them enough to accept when they’d try to make it official. And Heather simply hadn’t caught the eye of anyone, which was ridiculous to you considering how pretty and nice she was, so you were usually her valentine on Valentine’s Day. This was the first time you actually got her flowers instead of a bunch of chocolates to eat the night away, you’d figured she deserved them.

She’d had a crush on Steve Harrington, but he hadn’t noticed her and ended up dating and getting dumped by Nancy Wheeler. Then he’d dated every other girl except her. You feared your non-existent relationship with Eddie might go the same way.

“Dude,” Heather yanked you in for a hug, squeezing you to the point you thought your ribs might be bruised.

“Uhm. Heather. Ow.”

“Oh, sorry.” She released you, holding you by your shoulders, “Okay, so I just give it to him?”

“No, no, no, no, no. There will be no interactions. Just leave it on his desk.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

You were about to reply when the first bell cut you off and threw you into a panic, nudging Heather in the direction of the classroom so she could beat Eddie there. Heather took off running once she realized the reason for your worry, only you both failed to remember Eddie was late to everything.

You reluctantly made your way to your first period, plagued by thoughts of Eddie’s reaction to the first rose.

Would he like it? Oh, you hoped he liked it.

What if he thought it was some prank? What if he threw it away? Would he do the same to the rest?

Oh, well. There was no backing out now.

Your carefully thought out plan was put into action. You’d made sure to play sick the last 15 minutes of every class to get an excuse note to the nurse, only you didn’t go to the nurse. Instead, you ran around leaving a rose in Eddie’s various hang outs. One at the creepy old bench you knew he did business at. Two roses with the stems placed through the slits of his locker, three on his windshield wipers, one of the younger students in your art class was in Hellfire with him and after swearing him to secrecy, Will had promised to deliver three to Eddie personally, without revealing your identity.

During lunch, you found yourself behind the stage of the cafeteria, in part of the drama department. It’s where Hellfire took place.

You’d been there a handful of times, only when your curiosity for the metalhead got a little too overwhelming for you and you wanted to feel closer to him without having to face him. It was only ever set up on Fridays, the day Eddie got to school early enough to do so.

You made your way over to sit in the chair closest to his throne, casting it a couple of nervous glances.

This would be where you left the last rose, so of course, everything about the set up, the throne had to look daunting to you now; a representation of how you were seeing Eddie as your confession grew nearer. If things didn’t go as planned, it’d be the last time you could come here.

The thought made your stomach hurt, a large void beginning to form there.

The last rose was much too personal to leave just anywhere, where someone without a key to the room would find it. No one but the Hellfire club would occupy this area today. Attached to the rose with a ribbon was a note with a simple message that meant more to you than you cared to admit. You’d written it when you first came up with your plan at the start of the week and had been debating on whether or not to sign your name since then.

The answer should’ve been obvious, right? This whole thing was to let Eddie know how you felt about him, and your romantic intentions were clear with the red roses. This note would finish implying the rest. And if you wanted Eddie to know it was you who admired him, you just had to write your name.

Yeah, simple as that.

You clicked the pen in your grasp, placing it just over the paper.

You wavered, licking your lips as you tried to convince yourself to just own your goddamn name. That’s all you had to do. Write on the paper.

Just write on the paper.

Your hand was beginning to shake, and with a heavy heart, you realized your name wouldn’t be going on this note.

You weren’t brave enough for that. You set your purple pen down, staring down at the words written in pink ink before you rolled the paper up, making sure the ribbon was secured (you’d used a hole puncher to slip the ribbon through) and left it on the seat of the throne before scurrying out of the room as fast as you could.

—

Eddie was at a loss, completely stupefied.

When he’d arrived at his history class, after having mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of boredom he’d face, he was surprised to find a single rose on his desk. By surprised, he meant incredibly suspicious. A glance around the room confirmed he wasn’t being watched, everyone was gossiping about Emmy Switcher’s upcoming party, so he’d settled into his seat and marveled at it.

Eddie wasn’t one to ever really get things on Valentine’s Day, not counting the mandatory valentine’s cards in elementary and middle school. The last time he’d gotten a card was his first senior year, and it had been a prank by a couple of girls on the softball team and their boyfriends. Embarrassed the shit out of him. The following Valentine’s Day he’d faked being sick to avoid falling victim again—god, he craved affection so much it made him pathetic enough to still hope for something gross and cheesy to happen to him.

A rose was harmless though, right? Unless it was poisoned or something. Eddie lifted it to his nose, but all he could pick up was the seductive floral scent and when he didn’t immediately pass out from chloroform, he figured it was just a rose.

He glanced around again in vain, hoping someone would somehow stick out and when no one did, he held it in his grasp, rough fingertips stroking over the soft petals for the duration of the class.

He’d been stunned when he arrived at his locker to find two roses hanging out of it. A few people were staring at him as he carefully pulled them from their place, but they looked more curious rather than shy or mischievous. He had a feeling whoever was leaving the roses for him wasn’t around.

He refused to leave them in his locker, the stems clutched in his hand as he went about his day and found more. Eddie was more than proud to display them, somewhat smug at the attention they were garnishing him.

Yeah, fuckers. Someone finally liked him. Eat shit.

He’d spent his English class convincing himself he’d never find out exactly who this someone was. He was pretty fucking stressed after that. He tried to come up with a roster of sorts, girls he thought might be interested in him enough to maybe leave him pretty flowers and woo him right out of his Reeboks.

He’d only been able to come up with four—impressive—but his first pick he was quick to scribble out. He hadn’t had a decent interaction with her and he figured it was creepy of him to put her at the top of the list all because of his wishful thinking.

The second girl listed was possible, maybe. Chrissy Cunningham. He’d had a crush on her for as long as he could remember since she was always nice to him. She’d dumped Jason a couple of months ago and he’d been dealing to her for a short amount of time, but she seemed pretty flirty to him. Although, flattery did work on him.

The third name made him nervous, and not in a good way. Tina Sawyer. They’d both got pretty drunk at her Halloween party and hooked up in her bathroom but she avoided him like the plague afterwards, obviously embarrassed about interacting with him, which was typical for the lot of Hawkins.

He’d been sure it was a drunken mistake but sometimes, he’d catch her staring at him, and she didn’t look all that disgusted with him.

The last name on the short list was that of Tammy Thompson. She had made her interest in Eddie pretty clear his junior year, always trying to sit behind him in classes so she could play with his hair. Unfortunately Tammy was very, for the lack of better words, aggressive with her affections. He’d made out with her once and it had been sloppy and messy in the most unattractive of ways. It was like tonguing a dog.. Then he remembered she’d actually been able to graduate, unlike him, so he was spared.

By lunch, Eddie was ready to try to figure out who his secret admirer was. Out of the two remaining girls on his list, he was leaning more towards Chrissy, who he felt wouldn’t be ashamed to hold his hand in public.

He and his lunchbox full of drugs—and some snacks—made their way to the Hellfire lunch table where he spent a significant amount of time studying the two girls.

“Uh, are you okay, Eddie?”

Eddie glanced up at the concerned face of Will Byers, who’d arrived much later than the rest of the guys and Stephanie, one of the two girls in Hellfire. The question drew the attention of the rest of the table and Eddie internally sighed.

“Yeah, I’m fine—what are those?” Eddie asked, eyes honed in on the roses resting on Will’s tray.

The younger teen handed them over, “A girl told me to give you these.”

Eddie felt his heart skip a beat, “You know who she is?”

Will nodded and before Eddie could demand a name, he rushed, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy!”

Eddie scowled, carefully setting aside his roses so they wouldn’t be involved in his annoyance.

“Byers, I’m gonna level with you. I’ve been in this miserable prison for six long years. While I’ve had my fair share of hookups, I have not ever had a girl like me enough to leave me roses and do cute shit before. And I fear I never will again. That’s why I’m actually gonna need you to tell me who it is so I can have a girlfriend by the end of what is supposed to be the most god awful romantic day of the year. ‘Kay?”

Eddie’s eyebrows dart up, face set in an intimidating glower but Will remembers how scared you looked when you trusted him with this task. He also knows, very well, how it feels to love someone without them ever knowing because you fear what their response will be. He’d also seen Eddie eyeing both Chrissy and Tina.

Will knew what it was like to have that special person interested in someone else, too. So, he’d protect your secret.

“I swore.”

Eddie groaned, head dipping forward in a brief moment of defeat before he slammed his fist on the table, making the other occupants jump.

“Whatever, I’ll find her myself.” Just as Eddie stands, an idea occurs to him. Will said he wouldn’t tell him who it was, but the youngest Byers hadn’t said he wouldn’t tell him who it wasn’t, “Is it Tina?”

Will shakes his head, nose wrinkling. Nothing against her, she just wasn’t the nicest to him or his friends. Not the meanest, still.

Eddie breathes out a sigh, mumbling an oh, thank god as he makes his way to the cafeteria doors. That only left one possibility, and he was due to meet up with her in just five minutes. He couldn’t fight the grin off his face.

──

Your heart was racing a mile a minute, having witnessed everything transpire at the Hellfire table.

You’d selected your lunch table four years ago because of the perfect view of Eddie it provided you, but right then it was killing you. You’d ruined your manicure, picking aggressively at the polish as you watched Will and Eddie, breathing out a sigh of relief when it looked like Will hadn’t revealed your identity.

Eddie hadn’t seemed too happy about that.

Then he stormed out and you fought very hard with yourself to not follow after him because then Heather would be right and you’d be a stalker.

“Regret it yet?” Heather asked after she’d swallowed a bite of her sandwich.

“No.” You sorta lied. Yeah, you kind of regretted it but at the same time, knowing Eddie wouldn’t have to let you down gently made you less anxious. Besides, it wasn’t like you could just climb up the stage and duck past the curtain leading to the hellfire room without one of it’s members spotting you from their table. They’d tell Eddie in a heartbeat, especially if they found out the last rose and that damn note was there.

“Sure,” Heather drawled, glancing over her shoulder as you picked at your food, appetite suddenly gone.

Maybe you really should have written your name on that love note.

“Well, I hope you mean it, because Dream Girl is on her way to meet Ice Cream.” Your head snapped up at the mention of Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie’s code names you’d given them so both you and Heather were free to talk without either of them suspecting anything. You referred to Chrissy as Dream Girl because you’d known all about Eddie’s crush on her (while Heather had been depressed about Steve and Nancy, you’d eaten your weight in ice cream over Eddie and Chrissy’s more than friendly interactions with each other, which had nothing to do with Eddie’s code name—he was ‘ice cream’ because you wanted to lick him all over).

Sure enough, you looked over Heather’s shoulder, following her gaze to see Chrissy bidding her friends goodbye before she walked right out of the doors Eddie had pushed past minutes ago and as you watched her exit through the double doors, something inside you withers and dies a bit.

You knew Eddie sold to her (gave her a discount because she was pretty and because of their flirting, hearing him say that made you want to drive a knife right through your chest), you and Heather had followed them out a couple of times which is how you were both aware of the flirtationship.

After the first time you’d spied on them, the two of you had gone back to your home where Heather held a mock funeral for you. Now, you wished it had been a real one because you were sure Eddie had not only loved your roses, he also assumed they were from Chrissy. They would send him right into her arms at that shitty ass bench. And when he’d get a hold of the love note, well, you’d be the reason behind why Eddie and Chrissy would be hand in hand come Monday, canoodling by their lockers and kissing like no one else was watching. All the things Eddie should have been doing with you.

You should have signed your name on the fucking note.

─

Eddie had paced a pathway, disturbing the mounds of fallen leaves surrounding the picnic table.

His stuff, another rose he’d found waiting for him included, was on the table and he’d taken off his jacket, despite the chill of the February air. He was working himself up in his head, overheating in the process.

“Eddie?”

His head shot around, grinning as Chrissy—who apparently left him roses—approached him, face broken out in a smile.

“Hey, Chris.” Eddie’s heart was racing a mile a minute, palms sweaty as he rested them over his hips, then quickly realized he looked stupid so he crossed them instead.

She laughed at his nerves with absolutely no malice and they sat down at the bench, getting down to business. She’d been about to hand him a twenty dollar bill after he slid her the ziploc bag of nugs, but he held up his hand.

“On the house.”

“Eddie, it’s always on the house. I feel bad.”

“Then stop.” He emphasized the demand with bulging eyes, smirking when she giggled. She had to like him, right?

Eddie tried to be discreet about it, plucking one of the roses from his growing pile. He played with the stem, even sniffed the petals again in hopes she’d comment about it, maybe look a little excited about it or just give him any sort of reaction to indicate it had been her.

Chrissy was too busy moving things aside in her backpack to make room for the baggy. When she finally did look back up, she smiled, but gave no hint she was even familiar with them.

“Ooh, pretty flowers. Where’d you get those?”

Was she playing coy?

“Uh, someone’s been leaving them for me all around school.” Was it you?

Chrissy’s face lit up and Eddie thought it was finally the moment of truth.

“That’s so sweet! Do you know who it is? Or is it like a secret admirer sort of deal?”

Evidently, not the moment of truth. She had to be toying with him, trying to prolong the reveal. Because if it wasn’t her, he was out of ideas. And he really, really didn’t want to be out of ideas. Not when there was someone out there, maybe thinking about him.

“I actually have no idea who it is,” he sighed out, hoping, if it was her, she’d just put him out of his damn misery already.

Chrissy glanced down at the table and Eddie perked up. Nerves? Was she finally gonna come out with it?

“It wasn’t me, Eddie…but, I wish it had been.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say, mouth dropped open a little as his eyebrows quirked up in surprise.

Okay. Hadn’t been expecting that. He was expecting a yes it was me or a no it wasn’t me but not Chrissy confirming it hadn’t been her while also telling him she liked him.

“So, you haven’t been leaving them for me?”

Chrissy shook her head and reached across the table to place her smaller hand over his, palm warm against his skin. Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, head falling forward to rest against the table.

“Eddie?” Chrissy asked, concern lacing her voice.

He let out a very long sigh, a little miffed at how messy this whole thing had gotten. Now, there was his, Chrissy’s and someone else’s feelings in the mix. Christ.

“‘M’sorry, Chrissy.” Eddie sat up straight, face grim as he slowly pulled his hand out from underneath hers. “You’re great, fantastic, actually. You’re really nice and really pretty, but… I’ve been going crazy all day, trying to figure out who’s behind these.”

He gestures to the roses at his side, the sight of them filling him with an intense wave of longing.

“It’s been like years since I’ve gotten anything with real meaning behind it for any occasion—” he wasn’t counting the hellfire club or Wayne, referring to romantic intentions—“let alone Valentine’s Day, and someone in this school seems to be thinking about me.”

Eddie thought about what it must have taken to do something like this, it may have seemed like a trivial thought, something simple to others. He knew it wasn’t. He had no idea who it was, but he put himself in their position. They had to know enough about him to know his schedule, where he spent time, and then make the time to leave them in those spots just before he got there.

He’d spent the time waiting for Chrissy considering the anonymity of it. On the chance it wasn’t her, there was someone else in the school who was too afraid to approach him directly. He’d thought it might be out of fear of being seen with him, seen doing anything remotely romantic with him. Then, why even bother? They had to be afraid of his reaction, it’s what he would be nervous about if the positions were flipped.

And god, he’d never felt more alive before, more seen and all it took was a couple of roses. He felt like those fawning girls in John Hughes movies.

“Before today, I never would have approached you about this, you know? I know we flirt, but I never would have been brave enough to cross that line.” He admitted, looking into her shiny blue eyes. Aw, man. Eddie hated making girls cry but it was true, he would have been waiting for her to make a move, or for Tina to make a move. Any of his past hookups, really. He’d have been with any of them—having craved affection and everything that came with it so bad—if they had just been the ones to initiate things on a more permanent basis.

He would have. Past tense. They could all form a conga line and confess their undying love for him but, unless they were the one who left him the roses—the one who made him brave enough to actually go around confronting people in an attempt to seek her out—he’d let them down.

“She made me brave, makes me feel really wanted and I don't even know who she is. It’s not you, it’s just─”

“I’m not her.” Chrissy finished for him, wiping under one of her eyes. “It’s alright, Eddie. I mean, I’m obviously a little sad, but it’s not your fault or hers. I do hope you find her, though. She’d be lucky to have you.”

She gave Eddie a sad smile, making him feel even guiltier but it’d be pretty shitty of him to try to be with her when he’d be thinking of someone else.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” Eddie stood up and gathered his things. It was clear she was upset and would probably need some time to gather herself, he didn’t want to force her to leave first or linger around and make it awkward.

He left her with a small, parting smile, relieved that he hadn’t charged her. Would have felt like a douchebag to make her pay for weed and turn her down in the span of five minutes when she’d been nothing but pleasant to him.

Eddie shook it off, determination setting in once more. Sure, he was back to the drawing board, but if all else failed, he could corner young Byers again until he finally gave him a name.

He’d come up with a pretty good list of ways he could force Will to give up the name by the time school let out and he got to the Hellfire room.

It wasn’t until he set his little bouquet and the lunchbox down (he didn’t bother with backpacks, just shoved whatever he needed in his pants pockets or the box), walking around the throne in a circle like some fucking animal because he was so restless, that he saw the rose.

The flash of white had caught his eyes and he dove down to grab it, trying to be as careful with pulling the piece of paper away from the stem of the rose, only he realized whoever left it had hole punched the thing together so he ripped the ribbon with his teeth rather than rip the note.

The ribbon was stuffed into his back pocket as he eagerly sat himself down, rose clutched in one hand and the note in his other.

Eddie,

Please excuse my lack of eloquence in this note and also in our real life encounters.

Eddie felt a shiver of excitement wash over his skin, cheeks a bright shade of pink at the confirmation he’d indeed interacted with his secret admirer before. Fuck, she’d talked to him! It made her feel even more real.

She was a real person, someone he could probably hold hands with and kiss. Unless, this was done in a purely platonic way which would be a little fucked up. Red roses to be friends? C’mon. He read on.

I hoped you liked the flowers. I was actually debating on getting you different ones, something a little more personalized to you, but I ended up going with roses because, well, they convey romance better.

Eddie leaned over the arm of the throne, sagging back as he allowed himself to completely collapse with relief. Just for a few seconds, then his eyes were glued to the pink penmanship.

I’m trying really hard not to sound creepy because I’m totally not creepy and I know what you're thinking, ‘that’s what a creep would say’ but I swear I’m not, I just. I admire you. A lot. I have for so, so long. I admire the way you keep going, even when things are absolute shit for you, I like how you watch out for the underclassmen that come in and don’t really have anywhere to go. I like the way you dress, how pretty your hair is (even when it’s frizzy which is so unfair), how passionate you get with your rants (even though sometimes you’re an asshole about it).

And I like your laugh I LOVE your laugh. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had what feels like the worst fucking day of my life and I’m ready to breakdown and cry and scream, but I don’t. Because I can hear you laugh your ass off at something one of your friends said in the cafeteria, by your locker or even when you’re just walking past me. And I wish I was there, laughing alongside you or making you laugh. I don’t know how your laughter makes me feel better, it just does. I get all smiley and I feel warm inside and I want to give you a hug for it, for making me feel better without even trying.

But I can’t. You kind of scare me. Not in the mean, scary way, I’m just not sure you’ll like me. Or that it’ll go anywhere, or even if it should.

You’re so confident, Eddie. And you’re stupid attractive (you are, and I’m sure you’re aware but I’ll go ahead and tell you I’m also physically attracted to you) and it’s so overwhelming that I can’t contain it anymore and I don’t really want to. We only have a couple of months before we’re out of here (I have a feeling this is gonna be your year, you’ll be free of this sentence, too), and I don’t want to have any regrets. The only way I’d ever regret you is by not telling you how I feel.

So, here I am, Eddie Munson. Never thought I’d ever be confessing like this, but for the first time in my life, I feel brave. And it’s all because of you. Thank you, Eddie. I’ll be running around— dodging teachers and detention write ups— like Rocky in his training montages to get these roses to you because you deserve your flowers and I’d be delighted to give them to you today, and every single Valentine’s Day after. Actually, I want to give you even more than that. If you’ll have me.

Love,

What the fuck?

Eddie hastily searched the bottom portion of the back side of the paper, where the note ended for a signature, a name, initials, something but that’s where it ended.

There was no name.

“NO! FUCK! NO! No, no, no, no, NO! I’ll have you, take me, just tell me who you are!” Eddie groaned out, note dropped into his lap so he could clench the roots of his hair with both fists as he doubled over.

This had to be a nightmare. It was the only reasonable explanation for someone to say all those wonderfuckingful things, just for them to disappear.

His heart hurt and he blinked frantically to ward off the onslaught of water and sniffed to deter the tingle in his nose.

The unmistakable sound of his own little rat pack making their way towards the room wasn’t enough to get him to pull himself together.

“Eddie, dude, are you okay?”

Eddie recalled his final option, head shooting to glance around at their faces in search of one in particular.

“Byers. Where’s Byers?”

“His mom picked him up after lunch, wasn’t feeling good,” Mike informed him, completely unaware his grand Valentine’s gesture for Jane had been the cause of his sudden illness.

It was the final straw for Eddie, he snatched the lunchbox and flowers and grumbled out, “Sessions canceled.”

He must have looked pissed as none of them protested, probably having something to do with most of them having dates afterwards.

He almost made it out of the room when Gareth called him back, holding up a purple pen he’d found on the table and figured Eddie was about to forget.

“Is this yours?”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“No.” Then he walked out.

Before promptly storming back in, swiping the pen out of Gareth’s meaty hands. Eddie clicked the pen and scribbled furiously over the side of his fist until the ink finally ran. It wasn’t purple. The ink filler was pink.

His secret admirer’s pen.

“What a cruel parting gift,” he sighed, shoving the pen in his pocket before making his exit. Again.

The really sad thing was Eddie couldn’t even sink into depression in the peace of his room. Emmy Switcher had approached Rick about wanting some herbal refreshments at her party and since he was still under house arrest (how Rick managed to deal and supply in his circumstances baffled him) the job fell upon Eddie. He’d driven to Rick’s restocked, then hit the party.

It was a horn fest, couples everywhere he looked. All heart-eyed and attached at the tongue. It was disgusting.

Eddie was pouting, quietly fuming that it wasn’t him and his secret admirer making out or cuddling or doing something equally romantic but noooooo. Just had to take the ‘secret’ aspect to its extreme.

He banished himself to a dark corner, only interacting with people when approached for drugs or weed. He’d caught sight of Chrissy and it had looked like she wanted to come over but he’d purposely shifted his gaze. Despite the gaping hole left where his heart was, it wasn’t Chrissy or Tina, or the girl in the upstairs restroom, who’d thrown herself at him when he’d been searching for a free bathroom to piss in, that he wanted. Eddie wasn’t in the mood to rebound.

Which was kind of crazy considering he hadn’t even been in a relationship, hadn’t been dumped. He wanted everything in that note, especially the promise of more and only with its author.

Now, Eddie hadn’t been in love before. Some serious lust and want, yeah, however, reading that note made him feel like he was falling a little bit in love and he wanted, very badly, to dive headfirst the rest of the way. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

Once he’d sold out the rest of Rick’s inventory, he stole a beer and headed for the front door.

Once outside, Eddie took a minute to breathe. He hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been in there until he was no longer engulfed by the claustrophobic displays of affection.

He trudged down the pathway and paused when he saw the figure of a girl sitting on the lawn. Her head was directed down towards the ground and she was most definitely not wearing the right clothes for the outside weather.

Eddie cursed under his breath, plans to immediately drive home and get crossed put on hold as he walked over, noting the dew already coating the grass.

“Hey, you okay?”

─

Drinking your sorrows away probably wasn’t the best idea, considering how much of a lightweight you were.

Originally, you’d wanted to lock yourself away in your room for the night—and probably the rest of the weekend as well as maybe the next school week; nothing wrong with playing sick to avoid facing reality and your problems─to cry and pass out. Heather, on the other hand, had plans for you. She’d dolled you up, having to force you to wash your face and re-do your makeup once when you had started crying—put you in a cute outfit and dragged you to Emmy Switcher’s party.

You knew her intentions were pure—as pure as underage drinking could be—but she knew her mistake when the party started to couple up. You’d been approached multiple times and she’d try to encourage you to go for the decent acting ones, you just hadn’t wanted to. When Chrissy Cunningham showed up, you’d gone for shots of the hard liquor (over the sink of course in case you gagged it up, which you did a decent amount of), sure that Eddie would soon follow and you’d be forced to witness their affection.

Obviously, you ended up shitfaced and somehow lost track of Heather. Or maybe she lost track of you. You’d very briefly attempted to find her, accidentally spotted Chrissy, now making eyes at Eddie who’d shown up, and you’d promptly headed outside, eager for some fresh air and an escape from the madhouse. The high alcohol level in your blood kept you from feeling how chilly it really was and you settled into the grass, twirling strands of it around your fingers.

You weren’t sure how long you were out there when someone approached you.

“Hey, you okay?”

You looked up, ready to ask them to just leave you when you locked eyes with Eddie Munson. Most of the liquid courage coursing through your veins evaporated, you couldn’t look at him for long, gaze moving back to the grass. What a way to start sobering up.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause,” Eddie sat down next to you, one leg crossed and his other, knee up with his arm resting over it. His unopened beer was at his side, “You’re outside, alone, in the cold and you look pretty fucking sad.”

You scoffed, fingers still playing with the strands of grass as you tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make you seem pathetic. In that time, Eddie took you in.

He knew you, he’d seen you around school and you were nice enough to greet him. Pleasantries in passing. Pretty Hallway Girl, as you’d been dubbed—though never referred to as—until he knew your name. It had been the first one he had jotted down on his list for his secret admirer’s identity, of course he realized with your lack of interactions, it wasn’t likely. He entertained the idea of dating you often, you’d just never shown any real interest in him. Eddie thought about it a lot. Anytime he caught sight of you, really. Your pretty face didn’t make it easy for him to stop. He was a really, really big sucker for your eyes and that smile you’d give him during those brief interactions; like the two of you had some sort of secret between each other. Warmed him up inside.

And here you were, all sad at a party. He didn’t really mind not getting crossed if it meant he got to comfort you, keep you company.

“I’m just drunk,” you finally blurted out, unable to come up with anything else, “And bummed.”

Try devastated.

“You look it,” he joked, nudging his shoulder against yours.

“You don’t look that much better.” You shot back.

“That’s fair,” he sighed, breath visible in the night air as he tilted his head back. “I’m pretty bummed, myself.”

You really didn’t want to ask, figuring he’d already had some sort of lover’s quarrel with Chrissy and you didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

But you were an idiot, so you asked, “Why are you bummed?”

You watched him dig around the pockets of his leather jacket, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out of the pack, clenching it in between his teeth as he shoved the pack back into the pocket before he shrugged off the jacket entirely—denim vest included—putting it around your shoulders.

It caught you off guard but you were grateful, your body having decided to become once more susceptible to the chill of the air and dewy grass. Eddie must have been a freaking space heater because the lining inside was blissfully warm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, shimmying around in it until you could slip your arms into the long sleeves of it, your fingers barely poking past the hem.

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, flicking the lighter to life as he lit the cigarette. After he’d taken a drag, he answered you.

“Love,” Eddie blew out along with a wispy plume of smoke, “Didn’t expect it to be so complicated.”

You wanted to mime the action of staking yourself in the heart. Of course he was in love with her. She was wonderful! And on top of that, he thought she’d been the one leaving him roses! Had he read the note? Assumed it was her, too? DUH! You were definitely playing sick next week.

“Yeah, well. Join the club,” you grumbled, hugging his jacket around you. It was as close as you were ever gonna get to actually hugging him.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, hoping to school his disappointment. While he wasn’t looking for anyone else tonight, it was still displeasing to hear you were taken but of course you were. He couldn’t imagine you dating sporadically, you seemed much too wonderful for someone to even consider giving you up. No, he was gonna hurt himself with ideas involving you and a high school sweetheart stemming back to your freshman days, probably.

“Ah, I see. Is he here?”

You froze for a moment, “Uhm, yeah. He is.”

“Then why come? Or did it happen in there?” He jabbed a thumb behind him, gesturing to the party inside.

“No, it didn’t happen tonight, it was earlier. In the day. I didn’t really want to come but my best friend dragged me out here. I thought I was doing good, apparently not ‘cause here I am. I’m mostly bummed because of myself, though. I didn’t follow through on something I sort of promised myself and I messed everything up. For me. Not for him. I think he’s pretty happy, so I don’t want to ruin that. He deserves to be happy.”

Eddie could tell you meant it, you were vague as hell but whatever you’d done, however it ended, you genuinely seemed to want your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) to be happy. He hoped it wasn’t something you had to cave into for one of those meatheads. You deserved better than those jerks.

“That’s pretty selfless of you if you ask me,” Eddie raised the cigarette to his lips, admiring you.

“Eh, I guess. I fully plan on punishing myself for it, though. Really make sure to rub the salt in there, you know?” You finally turned to grin at him, despite the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Eddie thought about how he couldn’t just stop going to school so he could avoid having to look at all the faces in the crowds and wonder if his admirer is one of them.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m right there with you.”

Sweetheart. He really was trying to kill you.

“Eddie, get your ass in there and make up with her.” You lightly slapped his arm and jabbed your finger in the direction of the house. You were not about to let your sacrifice be in vain and he’d better stop unknowingly torturing you like this.

“I can’t!” He laughed, amused with your sudden bossy attitude.

“Why not?” You whined, eager to just get him away from you. It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t being fair.

“Because I have no idea who she is.”

Once again you froze, eyes widening. Luckily for you, Eddie didn’t look too much into your reaction. He figured most people would be surprised over him nursing a heartbreak from someone he didn’t quite actually know, or was aware that he knew.

“What?” You asked, trying to seem as uninterested as possible as you played with the ends of his jacket sleeves.

“Fuck it. Someone left me roses all around the school and this really amazing love note.” For a moment, Eddie entertained the idea of trying to convey exactly what it meant to him, then he thought better of it. He’d either seem crazy, desperate or like some pathetic guy in love (which, he kind of was on the cusp of), “Pretty sure it was a girl.”

Not a single dude in the high school was romantic enough to pull it off, maybe leave him an entire bouquet, but not expand upon it like she had.

Eddie licked his lips, raising the cigarette to them once more and ready to admit that he had no fucking clue who she was, but he figured he might as well make one last rally.

“Wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”

“Not me,” you lied flawlessly, with a gentle shake of your head. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Sorry I’m a big liar because HOLY FUCKING SHIT, wasn’t expecting that.

“I figured. Still had to try, your boyfriend probably would have kicked my ass, though.” Yeah, Eddie hated Valentine’s Day.

He stubbed the cigarette out into the wet grass, and laid the rest of the way down, hands covering his eyes as the back of his head met the ground.

You frowned down at him.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Hello.

Eddie peaked at you through his fingers, “No?”

You shook your head and as Eddie moved to push himself back up, he yelped.

He shifted onto his side, digging around his pocket for whatever it was that stabbed him.

“Ouch,” He hissed, yanking the purple pen out. “Damn, that hurt like a bitch.”

Your eyes squinted at it in suspicion.

“Is that my pen?”

“Huh?”

“My favorite—and pricey—pen. I lost it at school today.” In fact, you were sure you had and you were sure that was your pen. You’d broken off the clip of it by accident and you recognized the large crack in the body of it, having once given into an intrusive thought regarding whether or not you had the strength to break it while you were bored in class. You did have the strength and luckily for you, it still worked.

When Eddie made no move to give your pen back, you figured he didn’t believe you so you added, “The ink is pink, right?”

Eddie continued to stare at you, mouth slightly parted in awe, and you suddenly felt very nervous, glancing behind you to see if there was something that caught his attention but all you could see were the empty lawns.

“What?”

He finally blinked, licking his lips again.

“You’re a really good liar.”

“What?” You repeated, this time your question was laced more so with confusion than panic. He was right, but why was he saying that?

His lips slowly parted up at the corners until he was grinning at you so wide, his dimples were showing and you could feel your heart beating wildly against your rib cage, as if it was trying to break free to fly right over to him.

“This is your pen?”

“Yes!” Is that what his happiness was about? That he was holding your prized pen hostage?

“This is your pen?” You could tell he was having fun at your expense now, getting more giddy by the minute.

“Yes!” You laughed out, his joy contagious even if he was teasing you with your own belongings. “That is my pen. Give me my pen!”

He clicked it closed with his thumb, “I found it where we hold Hellfire sessions, same pen that was used to write my love note.”

And just like that, your heartbeat seemed to stop all together, smile dropping instantly as you wished a giant hole could form in the ground below you and swallow you up.

“That’s not my pen,” you denied, shrugging off his jacket as you quickly rose to your feet. “I gotta go, bye, Eddie.”

When you saw him starting to hastily rise, you bolted, literally running back into the house to try to find Heather and get the hell out of there.

You heard Eddie frantically calling your name but you didn’t stop, forcing your way through the bodies as you desperately searched for your best friend.

Luck was finally on your side because you were soon smashed into her back by a passing group.

“Whoa,” she laughed, turning to steady you, “There you are, I’ve been searching for you everywh—hey, what’s wrong?”

You were sure she must have noticed the panic on your face, eyes shiny with tears you refused to let fall in public.

“I wanna go home, we have to leave.” You grabbed her hand, pulling her into a secluded corner as your head darted in the direction of the front door. You wanted to make a run for it but you feared running into Eddie on the way.

“What happened?” Heather asked, voice initially soft before hardening as her protective nature came out, “Did someone do something?”

You shook your head, chest heaving with your breaths. You were so close to having a panic attack.

“Eddie. He knows. He knows, Heather.” And because she was your best friend, she understood, mouth and eyes going wide.

“Holy crap. Wait—isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No—yes—I don’t know! I can’t face him!” There was a reason you hadn’t written your name down on the note, regardless of how badly you wanted to. You were just scared.

“Why not?” She bent down, leaned in closer to hear you. This girl and her twenty questions.

“It doesn’t matter, he didn’t want it to be me, anyways. He would’ve asked earlier, and he only did it now because of that stupid pen!” You should have kept your mouth shut and just gone to buy another over the weekend, “Can we just please get out of here? We can try the side gate in the backyard.”

“Is Eddie looking for you?”

“Yes, that’s why we have to leave!” Whatever Eddie had to say, you didn’t want to hear it. Yeah, maybe he could want you but if he didn’t, was searching for you to let you down gently you’d be heartbroken.

“He knows and you don’t think he wanted it to be you?”

“Yes!”

“Then why would he be looking for you?”

You refused to answer her, pushing her towards the back door instead. She went willingly for a few steps, then Heather stopped and you bumped into her back again as she craned her neck to look over her shoulder.

“I think it's too late for that.” She pointed at something behind you and you followed her finger.

Eddie was standing on top of the kitchen table a bunch of guys had carried into the living room to play beer pong on, eyes searching the room with his lips set in a frown.

He was attracting attention, a multitude of heads turning to peer up at him in curiosity.

Oh, god. He was looking for you, you were probably going to get rejected at a fucking Valentine’s Day party in some stranger’s living room.

Eddie must have caught the attention of someone near the sound system because the volume of the music was lowered and you could hear everyone muttering amongst themselves, asking what had happened to the music before they noticed Eddie.

He glanced around, not even a little nervous at the amount of people staring at him. He hadn’t planned on making a huge show of it, figured they were all too drunk to pay him any attention, luckily he was used to being a spectacle.

Eddie used it to his advantage, calling out your full name.

The crowd muttered, everyone looking at each other in confusion or maybe trying to catch sight of you.

It wasn’t long before someone recognized you, head turning in your direction, followed by many more—a domino effect—until just about everyone was staring at you, including Eddie.

He hopped off the table and made his way towards you, crowd parting to allow him. Heather slipped her hand into yours at your side, giving you a reassuring squeeze before she too stepped away, leaving you to finally face Eddie.

Eddie didn’t look at anyone else, gaze trained solely on you.

“Hi, again.”

You blinked, unable to keep yourself from glancing at the crowd around you, curious—nosey—to see what would happen next.

Guess you were going to have to finally face reality, no more running. You didn’t think you could break through the crowd, anyways.

“Hi,” you whispered but you knew Eddie had heard you, his lips pursed into a smile, eyes lighting up when you didn’t shut down.

“You ran away before I could tell you how I feel.” Eddie took another step, pretty much invading your personal space but he was desperate to be close to you and maybe body block you in case you tried to flee. He didn’t want you to run away again, to disappear like he feared you had when you hadn’t left your name on the note.

“It’s only fair, right? Since I know?”

You nodded again, the drum of your heartbeat loud in your ears. You were surprised you could hear Eddie over it.

Eddie stared down at you, lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t look upset or frustrated. It looked like he was thinking about something.

Little did you know he was reciting the note in his head to give him some courage, he’d memorized it.

He didn’t leave you waiting for long.

“I admire you. A lot.” Your breath hitched as the words you’d jotted down were repeated to you, “So much that I want to stand on expensive looking, antique tables and crash parties for you. I like the way you get animated when you talk, the way you give into your intrusive thoughts at the most random of times—yeah, I saw you trying to see if your finger fit in the pencil sharpener in the library once—I like how kind you are, even when people don’t deserve it.

“I like how you’ve never made me feel ostracized, never made anybody feel like that and I like how dramatic you are—storming off, making an exit, falling flat on your face in hallways then staying there like a dead body before you decide to reanimate again once you’re done being embarrassed. I like how you beat up your locker when it won’t open and then you give it a couple of pats to apologize once it finally does.”

Eddie chuckled at those particular memories, having been thoroughly amused when watching you and you feel your face get hot at being the cause of his cute laugh.

“And I really like your face, your pretty eyes, all of this,” Eddie gestured to you, to all of you from head to toe, “… you’re beautiful. Although, I gotta say, you drove me really fucking crazy today. Made me feel emotions I didn’t know I was capable of feeling and you scared the shit out of me when I thought I’d never get to know who the person I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with is.”

Okay, maybe you didn’t want the ground to swallow you whole.

“I know we only have a couple of months left of school and you’re probably going off to continue being amazing at some college in some big city a million miles away—‘cause that’s my luck—but I’m willing to work with that. I want to drive those million miles to give you flowers and hold your hand, kiss you, listen to you complain about your bad days, hear you brag about your good ones, kill all the bugs you’re afraid of—even though some of them freak me out, you make me feel brave, too—and just be all around disgustingly domestic with you.

“And yes, that includes all the not so fun domestic stuff like fights—which we’ll get over, I’ll do just about anything, even cave first, if you give me those big, coy eyes of yours—and taxes. I want to do it all with you. If you’ll have me.” Eddie ended, eyes wide and just a little out of breath.

There it was. He’d thrown it all out there, everything he wanted to offer (because he wanted to give you everything, even though it kind of terrified him).

And you—you were just staring at him, left to gape at him since you’d expected… well, you hadn’t really known what to expect since you usually ran from the consequences—be they good or bad—of your actions.

He wanted to be with you. Holy crap, Eddie Munson wanted to be your boyfriend. Wanted to do boyfriend things like visit you at college and hold your hand. You’d thought, the whole time, it had just been you observing him. You never thought he’d be observing you, too. It all sounded too good to be true, you couldn’t really think, couldn’t really form words.

You didn’t have to, Eddie grew anxious, maybe even a little impatient despite having decided the moment you’d run away from him in the front yard that he’d chase after you for as long as it took him to get you to give him a chance.

He found himself blurting out his strongest desire, “Can I kiss you?”

This was it, you were faced with another opportunity, and this one was the actual last opportunity you had to tell him how you feel, without any anonymity. No more hiding, no more running.

“Yeah,” you breathed out and he was on you before you’d even finished saying that singular word, his surprisingly soft lips pressing desperately against yours as his hands moved to frame your face, one of his thumbs stroking along your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as you returned the kiss and just like that, what he intended to be a simple but firm kiss, turned into your lips moving against each other, a little wet and enough to have Eddie want to pop his leg up like in the fucking movies.

The only reason he kept himself from introducing his tongue to yours like he so badly wanted to was the sounds of encouragement around him; cheering and hollering. You broke away, having also heard your peers whooping and wolf whistling, to hide your face in his chest, bashfulness returning full force.

Eddie laughed and kissed the top of your head, unable to contain his grin and joy. He definitely wasn’t used to this, more accustomed to jeering, not cheering. A couple of people even clapped him on the shoulder.

“You know what, I think they’re rooting for us, sweetheart.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, offering a small, pleased smile of your own.

“They’re not the only ones.”

Well, he had to give you some tongue for that one. The cheering and sounds of excitement got louder as he did.

— You hadn’t walked into school hand in hand with Eddie when Monday came around—though you’d spent pretty much the entire weekend with him, driving around town, lounging around your room (he’d come in through your window) and making out—he hadn’t mentioned anything about meeting up in the parking lot and you weren’t offended in the slightest. While you wanted to see him, you appreciated the extra time to calm your excited nerves before you did.

Heather ran up to you the second you made it to your locker, grin stretching from ear to ear.

“I still can’t believe it. It didn’t even happen to me and I’m pinching myself because of how romantic it was!”

“Imagine how I feel,” You were all smiles as you turned the combination for your locker. But of course, since it was openly known as one of, if not, the shittiest of lockers in the school—having belonged to several wrestlers and football players before you, who’d evidently cared for it on the rough side—it didn't budge when you tugged at it.

You wouldn’t miss it when you graduated.

With a sigh, you pulled the straps of your backpack off of your shoulders and handed it to Heather. Then, you yanked aggressively at the small locker handle. It was your routine though, so you knew it wouldn’t open then, either. It was only when you slammed your fist against it, after all the yanking, that it opened.

Roses immediately flooded out of it, piling onto the ground at your feet. You and Heather watched with open mouths, glancing at passersby, who also looked on in surprise, until your stuffed locker finally finished its floral avalanche.

“Like ‘em?”

You jumped up, and then internally scolded yourself for almost trampling a couple of your flowers. You carefully twisted around to face Eddie, who was leaning back against the row of lockers behind you, smug smirk on his handsome face.

“Yeah, what are all of these for?” You asked, still marveling at them as he pushed himself off the lockers to wrap his arms around your middle and press a kiss to the side of your head.

“I realized I never got to ask you to be my Valentine or give you flowers. So, I bought some Saturday morning,” They were on sale so he’d gone purposely overboard, “used my uncle’s collection of mugs as vases to keep them alive, then woke up at the asscrack of dawn this morning to get here before you did. I probably broke your locker even more, by the way. So, be my Valentine?”

“I’m pretty sure it was part of the terms and agreements of our relationship, but yes. I’ll be your Valentine.”

Eddie closed your locker for you, pressing his weight against it to make sure it was secure and no more roses would escape before he scooped up the ones that had fallen out, arranging them into a large bouquet which he handed to you, leaning in to give you a kiss.

You hummed happily against his lips, nose wrinkling in glee when you felt him smile.

Eddie let out a content sigh when you parted before glancing to his side at your gawking best friend.

“Hey, Heather.” Eddie wasn’t at all bothered by the audience. “Nice shoes.”

“Thanks! They’re new. You done sucking face?”

“For now,” he promised, then turned his attention back to you. “I’ll see you later, beautiful. I’ve got a test to barely pass. Gotta make sure I walk that stage with you.”

Eddie pinched your cheek, pressed another kiss to your forehead and rushed off down the hall. You’d barely locked eyes with Heather when Eddie came running back, taking your face in his hands as he muttered something about one more and gave you a kiss that had you a little shaky on your feet.

‘One more’ actually turned out to mean a couple more pecks before he really forced himself away, blowing you a kiss just as he disappeared around the corner.

“He’s whipped,” Heather stated.

“Pretty sure I’m falling in love with him.”

“That’s appropriate.” You both nodded before you turned to face your closed locker, arms full of sweet smelling roses.

“. . . You still need to get your books, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Heather slid her arms through the straps of your backpack, over her front, so she could hold your flowers for you as you prepared to battle your locker again. It was totally worth it.

─

Eddie never ended up giving you your pen back, it’s the one he used to write love letters to you while you were away at college.

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year ago

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Ghost!Robin Arc 2 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! Ghost!Robin was the clear winner of last week's poll. Check out this week's poll if you want a say in what gets posted next. For any newer followers who aren't aware, the entire dinner scene has been written. I'm still working on getting it cross posted to AO3, though. That's going to be my next focus (once I finish editing the last chapter of The Two Ghost Motel, my EctoImplosion fic).

Story Summary: Jazz and Jason have been dating for a while. Long enough that it's time to meet the families. So a dinner at Wayne Manor is set up. Danny took great pains to manage all his Ghost King responsibilities so nothing ghostly would interrupt the meal.

But he wasn't expecting to see the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off Jason's shoulders.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

Jason stared at the ceiling and counted his breaths. Next to him, Jazz’s breathing evened out as she slipped into sleep. Every time he let his mind wander, he saw the ghost grinning back at him. Signing with Bruce and Dick. Hugging Alfred.

Trying to take back his place in the family.

And of course everyone responded well to him! Bruce always hated the ways he’d changed since his death. And the ghost looked to be everything Jason had once been. Green shaded his vision and he grit his teeth.

A glance at Jazz, her face soft in sleep, made him let out a quiet breath and ease his way out of bed. A light in the living room proved he wasn’t the only one awake and, for a moment, rage burned hot in his chest. Why did Jazz’s brother have to come to Gotham and fuck everything up?

But he pushed that thought away. Danny hadn’t broken anything. Just revealed that Jason was even more broken than they had thought.

He stepped into the light and froze again when he saw the ghost sitting in front of Danny. The two looked over at him, silent.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunted.

Danny huffed a laugh. “It’s a lot. Especially if you haven’t grown up around this stuff.”

Jason glanced back at the ghost and felt the pits rumble under his skin once more. They hadn’t been this active in years. Not since well before he’d met Jazz.

But there was a ghost who looked like him, was him if Danny was to believed, and he was trying to take over Jason’s spot in the family.

He let out an angry huff of air.

Only for the ghost to roll his eyes and sign for him to get over himself.

Jason was throwing a punch before he was even aware, only to almost fall on his face when his hand passed right through the figure. Who decided to point and laugh at him.

Jason scowled and made his way to the window. “I’m going out. I’ll be back eventually.”

“That… might not be a good idea.”

He paused, one foot on the window frame, and asked, “Why the fuck not?”

“It’s just… Robin’s tied to you. He can’t be too far from you and with the power I gave him, I don’t think he can turn invisible again yet.”

Jason growled and pulled himself back from the window and slammed it shut. He glared at the ghost. “Why the fuck do you have to come in and ruin my life now, just when things are starting to work out?”

The ghost, of course, glared back and signed that Jason had ruined his existence first by pushing their family away. All the while, he was making angry-sounding chirps and trills that had Jason bristling even more.

Then Danny was between them, holding out his arms. It felt like something was pushing down on his anger, trying to ease the pits away. He tensed, not trusting the feeling even as he couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay,” said Danny. “Clearly there’s more strong feelings going on here than I first expected. So, um, should I start explaining what I suspect now or should we wait for Jazz to wake up?”

Jason sat on the edge of an armchair, still tense, and waved him on. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Danny nodded. “So I’m no doctor. We’ll have to go to the yetis for real answers, but I can start with the basics.”

“Yetis?” Jason couldn’t help but ask.

Danny blushed. It tinted his skin green. He’d blushed red earlier, what did the change mean? “The yetis of the Far Frozen,” said Danny. “They’re the doctors I mentioned earlier. Their leader is named Frostbite and he’s been helping me out since, like, six months or something after I died. They’re the experts in part-dead, part-living biology simply by taking care of me. I don’t even think the fruitloop knows as much as them, no matter how much he likes to pretend.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a breath. Sometimes talking to people not trained in giving reports by Batman was a test of patience. He decided to let the fruitloop comment go. It didn’t sound like it’d be relevant to what he wanted to know—at least not yet. Maybe he could find out more and get a second opinion after meeting these Yetis. “So not only will you be taking me to another dimension, you’ll be taking me to a place called the Far Frozen where I’ll be looked at by yetis.”

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, basically. Jazz mentioned you liked to read. If you like, I could take you to the Ghost Writer’s lair after. He’s got a library that contains every book ever written and many that never got published. I’m not allowed in it after an incident the year I died, but he likes Jazz so I’m sure he’d let you in if you promised not to damage any of his books.”

Now Jason was staring for an entirely different reason. There was a place like that? That he could just go to?

A questioning trill made his attention snap back to the ghost and he tensed again.

“Yeah, Robin,” said Danny. “You, too, of course. Can’t bring Jason somewhere and not you, after all! Especially since you’ll both have to be present for the medical examination.”

Jason grit his teeth and forced himself to not flinch at Danny’s use of the name “Robin.” He refused to take his gaze away from Jazz’s brother and ignored the sounds the ghost was making. “When will we go?” asked Jason.

“Soon as Jazz wakes up, if you want. No reason not to. And there’s a few things I’ll have to do in the Realms anyway. I was expecting to be away a single night, not however long this”—he gestured between Jason and the ghost—“will take.”

“But they can fix me, right?” asked Jason. He needed the answer to be yes. That ghost couldn’t be allowed to ruin the fragile peace he’d established with his family or the life he wanted to start with Jazz.

To his frustration, Danny just shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, Jason. I don’t know what they’ll find when they examine you. But they’ll know more than anyone else in either this dimension or the Realms.”

“But you have suspicions.”

“I do.” Danny took a breath. “Remember the sensor? Actually, let me just pull it up now.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled it out.

Jason made an annoyed grunt at the delay, but didn’t say anything as the seconds dragged on while Danny turned it on.

After what felt like ages but was really less than a minute, Danny moved closer so Jason could see the screen.

“See, here’s me.” Danny pointed to a bright orange blob on the screen. “And that’s you, he pointed to a mostly purple blob, half as bright as Danny. But mixed through the purple were shoots of orange and blue. The three shades turned mostly orange as they extended from his body to a mostly blue shape. But orange and purple twined as inextricably through the ghost as it did through Jason. Danny pointed to the blue. “And that’s Robin. You’re mostly purple which means you’re liminal. And a brighter purple than I’ve ever seen outside of Jazz and my closest friends. Robin is mostly blue which marks him as an unknown ghost. I’ll be updating the system soon so he shows up as a friendly, known ghost. But what’s interesting is this part between you. You’re connected by ectoplasm that most closely mimics halfa ecto. And there’s currently only three known halfas in existence.”

“You think we’re a halfa, like you.”

“Either that or you have the potential to be a halfa. But, really, we’ll need to go to Frostbite to know for sure.”

“I just want him gone.” Jay would argue to a second grave that it wasn’t a whine, but he was glad none of his siblings were here. Or Jazz.

The ghost let out a series of angry trills and signed at him. Which Jason easily ignored by simply closing his eyes and cradling his face in his hands as he worked on forcing back the pits.

“I don’t think it’s going to work that way, I’m afraid,” said Danny, echoing Jason’s worst fears.

-----

Jason is having A Time™️. Will it get better?

I've finally gotten around to making a Subscription Post for this fic, so this will be the last update I do the tag list for. Especially since it's been so long since I've updated, I feel kinda bad tagging all of you! But if you still want update notifications, please check out the subscription post.

Tag List Part 1:

@addie-lover-of-stories @justwannabecat @gin2212 @amercurio @regonold @overtherose @readerzj @sjrose1216 @echoednonny @deeterzz @blu-lilac @number-one-jew @rowanaway-fromthisbs @vythika96 @tired-yet-awaken @themirrorghost @emeraldcorpral @all-mights-asscheeks @darkhinauniverse @blep-23 @phandomhyperfixationblog @larkcoe1 @thegatorsgoose @job-ross-the-second @britcision @lenacraft @bubblemixer @androgynouslordofescapism @purefrickingspite @leftmiraclechaos @lizisipancardo @starlight-sparks @miraculousandmore @gildedphoenix @sometimesthingsfallapart @letmesayfuxk @phoenixcatch7 @skulld3mort-1fan @abaowo @dhampir-princess @idkmrpianoman @sarina-elais @ballzfrog-blog @undead-essence @spookytragedyshark @flyingpansaurus @akintoabitch @marivictal @8-29pm @justreadingthefanfics @happybear135 @kisatamao @spoopyspoony @adorablechaos @sara0055 @screamingtofillthevoid

#dpxdc #anger management ship #jason todd #danny fenton #ghost!robin #jason feels like things are falling out of control #just when he finally managed to get himself settled #and happy #so he is not having a good time #what will frostbite think of his situation?

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flowerandblood · 10 months ago

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ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

#one year anniversary #celebration

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tremendouscreationperson · 5 months ago

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Logan x Reader pt.13

So my mate and I took my little brother out and he was like guys can we watch Deadpool/Wolverine so I watched it a fucking 3rd time

Upon my 3rd time watching I'm disappointed that Origins!Wade/Deadpool wasnt with the Deadpool core

And also I've realised how much dialogue I've like messed up 🤣🤣 thank y'all for sticking with me for chapters 1-3, if I ever post this on AO3 I'll have to spend years editing

This is like a part 1 of 2, the chapter was getting really long sorry

<<Part 12 Part 14>> Masterlist

The phone buzzed next to your head causing you to jolt upright.

You grumbled, eyes half open, patting the bed in hopes to stop the infernal noise.

It was your alarm, the one you had set to get up and go. Only you had set it when you didn't have to spend half the night rearranging your room.

“Morning sunshine.” Logan's voice made you turn. Where was he? He was normally right next t- right. He wasn't here. He was heading towards Nebraska.

“Logan?” You muttered, eyes barely blinking open.

“Hello baby.” He purred.

“Hi.” You smiled, God, his voice could just ease you back to sleep.

“It's pretty early for you to be up.” There was the tiniest echo to him.

“Where are you?” You pulled the phone closer, clearing the morning voice out of your throat.

“On route.” He revved the engine.

“Y-you're on your bike?” You squeaked. “Logan! That's dangerous!”

“It's fine, bub. You're on Bluetooth.”

“It's too early for me to even begin to learn what that is.”

He chuckled, the noise warning your chest. “You're fucking cute.”

“No, you're fucking cute.”

“Mm, wish I was.” He drawled, you could picture the smirk on his face.

Eventually you heaved yourself up and dragged your feet over to the drawers. Pulling out a suitable outfit. Some cycling shorts and a large shirt, no one would know it was Logan's but you.

You contemplated putting a bra on but you really couldn't be bothered with it, spending years in the Void with a broken one - snapped wires were a menace - you had grown accustomed to wearing what essentially was a sports bra so now as you looked at the padded cups they felt stuffy. The shirt was a thicker material - you think it was maybe loungewear? - it had long sleeves and a loose neckline where Logan had worn it.

Your hair was washed yesterday in preparation for today, wanting to look your best, so you didn't have to worry about looking scruffy. No, you looked comfortable.

You were put together well enough and when you looked in the bathroom mirror it was an outfit you would see other women wearing. Not that you cared. Maybe a little bit.

You stuffed your feet into some trainers, seriously debating sliders - you had thought socks and sandals were a big no no but the kids these days loved them - but decided on the trainers in case you needed to run. Preparing for some issue or display or anything.

You chucked your half full backpack over your shoulder, tossing a phone charger into it, and went to find the others.

As you opened the door Blade’s back was leaning against the frame.

“Fuck me!” You jumped, hand over heart. “Blade, you're actually going to kill me one day.”

He hummed. “Why has your bitch ass husband stolen my bike?”

“I did tell him not to.” You shut the door behind yourself.

“Mother fucker has a bike.” He tutted. “Ain't as pretty as mine.”

“Blade, I am sorry, I-” You shrugged, having no clue what to say. “He's an ass.”

“If he scratches it…”

“If he does, you have my permission to fight him.” Mock knighting him as you said 'permission'.

He laughed lowly. “We did fight once. Ended up on the same side. He gave me his coat.”

“Who were you fighting?”

“Some bloodsucker. Had an M name.”

Blade hadn't told you that. He hadn't mentioned he had once known a Wolverine. Not even when you had cried on his shoulder as Laura joined your party. You had mourned her, as well as the rest of your family, so seeing her alive and well really did mess with your psyche.

Laura's door opened to your left and she let out a surprised sound. “I was coming to see if you were awake.”

“Me and uncle Blade were just talking.”

“Anything interesting?” Her pupils fluttered between the two of you.

“A wolverine gave him a coat.” You repeated. “I didn't know he had met one.”

She crossed her arms. “Me neither.”

“I don't jabber like you.” He winked, a sly smile revealing his fangs.

You rolled your eyes and passed the man to knock at Gambit's door.

“Why are you up?” Laura asked Blade just in your earshot.

“Wanted to see you off.” He patted her shoulder. “Seeing less of you nowadays.”

She wormed her way into hugging him, not that he really resisted, and squeezed him. “It's strange being here.”

“I know.”

You wish you hadn't knocked at Gambit's door because the fucker opened it pulling your attention from them. “‘ey.” He nodded at you. “Who' ready for some drivin’?” Gambit ruffled your hair and shot passed you to the others. “Didn’ kno’ you'ere comin’.”

“I'm not.” Blade informed.

Gambit shrugged and tugged at Laura, “C’mon!”

You all trotted towards Logan's Jeep and climbed in. Your baby had the back row to herself and she had been clever enough to pack a small pillow in her bag.

Laura was wearing a Megadeth tee on top of a long sleeve with a pair of jeans. Gambit had opted for jeans as well but his seemed to be intentionally low waist. He'd paired it with a shirt that you're sure he had done a DIY crop job on.

All in all none of you looked like you were going to the same place but you looked good and you all felt comfy, all were able to decide what to wear. Not forced into the same outfit day in and day out. Laundry day in the Void was hilarious.

Everyone - bar Laura of course - had seen everyone else naked. You remember Magneto scoffing at yourself, Johnny and Gambit for sitting playing checkers in practically nothing, the odd sock and a ratty old shirt for modesty.

Y/N: setting off now x

You knew Logan would want to know so as Blade tapped the side of the car and Gambit pulled away from the curb you sent the text.

Your phone was sitting on your lap, Waze telling him where to go interrupting your playlist.

The Killers were your newest conquest. They were brilliant. You loved everything they performed, so dancy and fun!

Waze instructed you to get onto the highway you and Logan had had your hot steamy car sex and you had to fight the blush. If you were anywhere else people could've spotted you, well, they probably saw your car rocking… could you get a ticket for public indecency if they didn't have actual proof?

What if the car rocking was on camera?

“She's ‘sleep.” Gambit whispered next to you.

You turned back to see Laura spread out, sparko. “I hope she has fun at the Mansion.”

“Why wouldn' she?” He flicked the blinker on.

“I dunno, she hasn't been there.”

“Neither, chere.”

Gambit merged.

“Well, I know she had herself a Charles, I know he died in front of her. And yeah she's seen the one here for a millisecond, she had him look into her mind, but that's different. This will be informal, this will be- oh, I don't know.”

“You jus’ ‘ave to let things be things.” He shrugged. “You're worrying for her, when you don't need to. She strong. If she need you, she'll ask.”

You let that sit with you. He was right of course. She was tough and she would ask but since your little incident you were worried she had taken a step back. “It's just hard. We've lost so many people, I want to keep you all safe.”

“No such thing as safe.”

Again he was right. Say, right now, someone could have a brain aneurysm and crash their car into yours. There was literally no such thing as safe in a world of ever increasing variables. You, even, still entertained the notion that this was Cassandra toying with you.

“I don't think people give you enough credit, Remy.”

He chuckled. “Yo’ kno’ it serious when you use're my name.”

You laughed with him.

The mansion came into view and you felt a nervous twinge in your stomach. “Laura baby.” You nudged her knee.

The girl cracked an eye and realised where you guys were. “We're here?”

“Yeah, love.”

She sat up and eagerly undone her belt.

“Laura, Gambit, this is the X-Mansion.”

The building was the same, there were slight differences in the foliage but it was eerie how exact everything was. You could see Colossus was standing like a statue at the door to greet you.

Gambit pulled up in front to the entry stairs.

He turned the car off and you all exited.

“Y/N, Laura, Remy.” Colossus greeted in kind. “Welcome, welcome.”

The three of you trotted up the stairs and into the front doors.

Fuck me, even the chandelier had it's one flickering bulb. This was your mansion. Your home. Your sanctuary.

“You needn't fear, Miss L/N.” Charles spoke above your head to your mother. “Y/N will be safe here.”

You could hear giggling to the left, giggling and stomping. There were kids having fun. Craning your neck you could see one kid floating mid air whilst the other had their hands extended.

They were using their powers… they were allowed to use their powers.

“Hey.” A feminine voice caught your attention. It was a young girl - a year or so older than you, maybe seventeen? - with bouncy ginger hair and a kind face. “You're new.” She spoke without moving her lips. “I'm Jean.”

“Y/N.”

The girl gave you a bright smile. “I was asked to show you your room.”

You turned back to your mother who was still engaged in conversation with Professor Xavier. She looked different. Her shoulders weren't sagging and her eyes seemed hopeful. She wanted you here. Wanted you to be safe and, well let's face it, she'd be safer without a fucked up child.

“You're not 'fucked up'.” Jean rolled her eyes. “You're just something new.”

Your eyes widened. “Can you hear my mind?”

“Yeah, sorry. I can't turn it off all the time.” She had genuine embarrassment splattered on face. “I don't mean to, I'm still practising.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “I'll try to keep my thoughts quiet.”

The familiar sound of wheels pulled you from the memory. “Ahh.” Charles came into view. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The others had clearly picked you as the spokesperson so you smiled. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course.” His eyes crinkled with glee. “It was your home previously and apparently it hasn't changed. Would Laura and Remy care for a tour?”

The others looked at each other before nodding, unsurely.

“I'll call you both a guide.” He spoke before just sitting still. To an onlooker it would look rude, sarcastic, to say that and then sit motionless but you knew otherwise.

A girl with dead straight, long blonde hair and an unearthly feel to her sauntered into the entry. “I take Laura to Ellie and Yukio.” She spoke with a thick russian accent.

“Thank you kindly, Illyana.” Charles spoke over his shoulder.

You weren't 100% comfortable with Laura leaving but she had an eager expression on her face so you let her go with nothing more than a “call me if you need me.”

The two girls walked up the first flight of stairs, there were many in this labyrinth of an estate, and as they did they passed Rogue. She had darker skin than your Rogue but there was no mistaking that hair. Her hair was thick, voluminous and curly.

Her hips swayed as she strutted down the stairs. Adorned in ‘people clothes’ but looking every bit the X-Man she was.

“Y’all alright Sugar?” She placed her gloved hands on her hips. “I'm Anna Marie, they call me Rogue.”

“Remy LeBeau.” He bowed next to you. “They call me th’ Gambit.”

“Mmm. A Cajun, I can't wait to get some recipes outta you.” She waved him along, towards the right of the stairs and then disappeared underneath them to the kitchen.

Gambit clapped your shoulder before he jogged after her.

You were left with Charles. He was still smiling sweetly at you, it was a little unnerving.

“So…” You clapped your hands. “Who's my tour guide?”

“You don't need one, dear.” He told you simply. “You're free to explore, if you need me, call me.” He then whirled and zoomed off.

You were just left.

Again, to an onlooker it was rude. But maybe he knew you’d feel awkward paired with a X-Man. You would have to pretend to be in awe of the jet or the grounds or even just them. You knew a lot of these people but they had no clue you even existed.

If the TVA really went back and altered the reality was it still the same universe? How could they take their Logan out of it when he was the original Anchor being to the whole thing?

You pushed those thoughts aside and stomped through into one of the sitting areas.

It was large and decorated warmly. There were four sofas, three of which were in a square by the fire and the other was behind the one adjacent to the flames. There were coffee tables with board games and empty cups, messy bookshelves stacked high with trinkets and more games.

Two kids were playing chess, one had wings and the other was orange. Both were humanoid and young. Maybe 12?

You didn't care where you landed but you needed to sit by a fire. Stomping the light sleet off of your boots, you slipped out of your wet coat and scarf. Abandoning them on the floor - no one would be awake now - you rushed through into the first sitting available room. You flipped over the back of the sofa, face buried in pillows as your socks felt vague embers of warmth.

It was dangerous that it was still roaring but you didn't give a flying fuck.

“You alright bub?” A voice asked, opposite you.

You scrambled into a more presentable position and saw it was the new guy. What was his name? James? Jackson? Jonathan? It was definitely a J-Name.

He was sitting on the sofa opposite, in an X-Men hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, his feet were bare. The clothes led you to believe he had come from his bedroom.

“Yeah.” You nodded, hands outstretched to the flames. “Sorry, didn't realise anyone would be up.”

“It's alright.” He moved his hand to show that he was nursing a drink.

You questioned in disbelief, “is that bourbon?”

“Don't rat me out and you can have some.”

Now, that was an offer too good to pass up. “Sure thing. I saw nothing.”

He didn't have another glass so emptied the liquid into his mouth, wiped the rim and handed you a full glass. “Don't mind the-”

“It's fine.” After the day you had sharing a glass with a handsome man was nothing. “Working here I'm immune to any disease you could imagine.” You took a healthy swig, the liquid burning your throat. Immediately warming your insides. “I dunno if this is good stuff is but it's fucking strong. So cheers to that.”

He raised the bottle and took a gulp. You both sat in silence. After a while you had to shed your jumper, the heat making you sweat. He waited for you to fold your jumper before asking. “How long you been here?”

You did the mental maths. “Seven years.”

He hummed, the fire casting shadows that danced beautifully against his skin.

“Used to be everyone's favourite student, now I'm their favourite teacher.”

“Pretty thing like you, I'm sure you're right.” You had to pull your eyes away from him as he smirked. “What’d you teach?”

“Self defence.”

“Maybe I'll pop by.”

You took another sip. “You should. It'd be good to show the kids how to take down a bigger opponent.”

He sniggered. “It's a date.”

You prayed that the heat in your cheeks was from the fire.

“Why're you getting in so late?” One of his brows met his hairline. His hair was bonkers but endearingly cute, he looked like a little kitty cat. You wanted to see if it was as soft as you imagine.

You heaved a sigh. “I had to walk, the bike packed in.” Scott had loaned you his bike, drilling into you that you needed to refill it after using it. Well the fucker hadn't because it had conked out halfway through the journey.

The man opposite gave you a guilty smile. “Scott's?” You nod. “I might borrow it without his permission every now and then.”

You rolled your eyes. “So you're why I had to trek in the storm for 30 minutes. You owe me more than a drink Mr.”

“Logan.” He offered. Huh, you could've sworn it was a J-Name.

“Y/N.” You replied.

“I'll make it up to you Y/N. Somehow.”

A buzz in your pocket centred you back to reality.

Logan: Picked up his scent a while back. He's walking in circles

Y/N: Why? X

Logan: Classic misdirection, maybe shield weren't so careful

Y/N: Just be safe baby x

Logan: Course

Logan: How's the mansion?

Y/N: Memory lane has nothing on this place x

Logan: That good?

Y/N: Think so… just remembered meeting Logan for the first time. We'd sorta been introduced before but actually talking was a while after

He had read the message but didn't reply immediately. Perhaps he had to put the phone away to track Victor?

Logan: I'm here if things get overwhelming

Y/N: I'm not gonna call you on a hunt, love x

Logan: You're allowed. No one else.

Logan: You have any sort of 'wobble', you call me. No tears without me knowing

Y/N: Okay x

Logan: I gotta go but I love you Y/N

Y/N: You more baby x

The kids kept giving you confused side eye so you carried on into the next room. Surely they had seen a random person before, your mansion had a new person daily.

“Big brother is watching you.”

“Please, I beg you, I will do anything. Please do not spoil this.” You begged. He had found you sitting on the floor in a small crevice, 1984 clutched in hand. “This is the only book the students haven't read. ‘did you like that part miss?’ no I haven't got to that part yet, Sanhu!”

“I won't.” His hands met his hips. “What are you doin’?”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm Hiding.” Your eyes scanned the room before you eased yourself up, Logan caught your hand and steadied you.

“Sorry to pull you from your spot.”

“It's okay, wasn't you I was hiding from.” You dogeared the page and closed the book. “They keep finding me. There's only so many inane questions I can stomach.”

Logan chuckled. “It's ‘cause half have a crush on you and the rest are trying to imitate ya.”

You scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“Bub, trust me.” He rolled his eyes at your expression. “Here.” He handed you a blank CD case. “I came to give you this, it's the band that sings Sexical.”

“Oh cool!” You accepted the CD and flipped it. It looked man-made; ‘She's an angel’, ‘fuel to run’ and ‘cream’ scrawled in Logan's messy scratch. “You made this?”

“There are some songs I don't think you'd like, so I thought I'd put the good ones together.” He shrugged, the wall behind you becoming interesting.

You opened the case to see he had thankfully written the band's name - Love/Hate - with the same marker on the disc.

“Well, thank you. I'll dig my Walkman out.”

Logan gave you a nod and stalked off.

Christmas was wholly celebrated in the Mansion as there were those who couldn't return home. Storm and Jubilee had convinced you to help with the decorations and it took little to no convincing to get a certain gruff man to assist.

“Every year there's more.” You gestured to the decs.

Logan was leaning against the wall, he had helped you with the foil garlands, arms folded. “You love it.”

“Of course I do but taking it all down haunts me.” Last year it had taken four days to rid the Mansion of every last bit of tinsel. Angel had found a missed snowflake in the middle of June, it had fallen and landed on top of a portrait frame.

“If you had it your way, they'd stay up all year.”

“No.” You were adamant. “Halloween trumps Christmas.” Logan's brows rose to his hairline. “What? It's the superior holiday.”

“Wow, I knew you liked Halloween but hearing that from little miss kringle is something else.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove. “Shut up.”

Logan caught your wrist and placed it back down to your side, pulling you closer as he did. “Don't start things you can't finish.”

“Oh, we all know I can take you.” You gave him a smug smirk, spurred on by his intoxicating gaze - there were flecks of green hidden in his dark eyes - you added, “And in a fight.”

Logan's eyes bugled yet they slipped to your lips and back up.

“Hey, tweedle Dee and Dum!” Ororo’s voice called. “I'm seeing a lot of gazing longingly into each other's eyes and not seeing a lot of decorating.”

You turned to see Storm standing at the opposite side of the room, box in hand, one brow raised.

“Gazing longingly?” Logan scoffed as you called out: “We needed a five minute break!” You gave a nervous chuckle at his response and the situation in itself before trotting over to Storm, Logan let your wrist go a second too late, causing another awkward laugh.

“You can't tell me this room isn't festive enough.” Your voice was slightly higher than usual, no one commented but you knew they knew.

“It isn't festive enough.” Storm deadpanned, handing you yet another box, she did crack a smile at your ‘wtf’ face. “This is the last one. I promise.”

You didn't believe her in the slightest but let her vacate the room as you opened the storage box. It was faux greenery, garlands and wreaths and mistletoe.

“Ooh, Logan look!” You presented the herb. “Poisonous to werewolves.”

Logan was still standing by the wall but took a couple steps forward to look. “Lucky we don't have any.”

“Yet.” You added. “With all us mutants it wouldn't surprise me if we got a Vamp or an Undead being. I mean you're pretty grizzly, not far off a wolf.”

A familiar smile settled onto Logan's face, it was the same one he wore whenever you went on a tangent. You suppose being the silent watcher he was, he must be used to people yapping around him, hopefully you didn't annoy him too much.

You tried to refocus. “Where should we put it?”

“Depends on who you want to catch out.”

“Well, Jean won't tell me that her and Scott have a thing… but they totally have a thing. Maybe we try to catch them.”

“‘We’ yeah?”

“Are you backing out of my incredibly complex and well thought through plan?”

“Never.”

“Get out!” You screamed. “Go!”

The children behind you sprinted. They didn't wait for another order.

The humans had decided that they'd start out their New Year by killing children.

Your fields held strong against their bullets but you had known they would - if they could last against Adamantium they could last against a few bullets - creating bubbles of safety.

You were defense. Always on the lookout, always trying to hold back the onslaught so that the others could either fight or flee.

The footsteps behind you were out of earshot, meaning the children had got to safety. An underground tunnel would get them to a safe point. They would wait there for an adult.

You had done many drills and tests but you never thought this was a possibility. Fucking ridiculous!

You made a huge bubble and shoved the humans back, most of them being flung out of windows, glass shattering everywhere, but some hit the walls being knocked unconscious.

You were in bed, meaning that you had no shoes on so you tried to avoid blood, glass, bullet shells and any other debris as you examined each room.

You needed to get back to the others, you were protecting them from afar when a child screaming interrupted your flow. Logan's eyes had made contact with yours from his position in the garden and he gave you a few frantic nods. You didn't need permission but it was good that one of the team knew you weren't hit. If your fields suddenly vanished without explanation they might think the worst.

Shouting across the hall severed the silence and you jumped right back into the action. Jogging down the corridor, keeping low as you passed exposed areas.

Entering the room, you found nothing. It was just some of the teenage bunks. There were no children, no enemies, nothing.

Where had the shouting com-

Hands wrapped around you and you struggled, snarling as they strapped something to your neck. You tried to shove them off and create a field to prevent the rope? from winding around your neck. To stop it getting tighter.

No.

It wasn't a rope.

It was cold.

Metallic.

Why weren't your fields working?

“Not so strong now, cutie?” A masculine voice spoke from behind, he circled you and gripped your jaw with one hand. “It's a shame you're one of them, you're fucking hot.”

“Is that a gun in your pocket?” You sassed. “Wouldn't want mommy to know you liked a freak like m-” He yanked your hair, making your neck click as he pulled you backwards.

“Tsk, tsk. A girl like you should know what comes out of your mouth should be prettier than what goes in.”

You spat in his face.

“That's it, bitch.” He struck you across your face - releasing his grip on your hair - with such force you landed on your knees.

He looked unimpressed as he stalked over to you and yanked on your arm, dragging you along with him. You fought back of course but felt inadequate without your powers. What sort of technology did they posses to force the Mutant gene into submission?

He groaned at the top of the stairs before you were tossed down them.

Your vision was blurry when you came to, he was dragging you again, bruised and aching. You could feel warmth flow from your hairline, down to your eyebrows, also leaking from your nose. Moving your arm was painful but you wiped your nose and found a blurry sticky red substance on your hand.

“Oit!” He yelled.

You were yanked down another few steps - each one sending a new jolt of pain through your body - but as you felt the floor it was hard. Small cold stones met your bare legs.

Outside. You were outside.

“You Muties, stick together right?” He presented you, slumped on the floor, squinting up at him. “Sorry, one second.” The man threaded his hand back into your hair and pulled you up, deciding kneeling wasn't good enough and forced you to stand on throbbing ankles. “What's her mutant name? You all have one, right?”

Your eyes focused and refocused trying to make out who was on the field. Storm was easy to see because of her hair but you could also see Hank and Scott. You knew Logan was there earlier but couldn't see him now.

“What? No one wants to play now?” He turned your head towards him and gave you an over exaggerated frown.

You had just enough sense in you to spit in his face again.

“That's it you fu-” he didn't finish his sentence because he was too preoccupied with punching you straight in the face.

You, again, landed on the ground but this time you were giggling.

“What's so funny?”

“You got-” You wheezed, closing your eyes. “Mutant spit in your mouth.”

He turned back to the others, addressing them. “I was going to bargain with her life but she's pissing me off, so I'm just going to kill her instead.” He chuckled. “Uh-uh-uh Cyclops. You can't kill a human under the new bill.”

“What?” Scott voiced the question you all thought.

“No mutant can kill a human, not even in self defense. Starting on January 1st. It's too bad for your lo-” He cut himself off with a choked gargle.

“No, it's too bad for you.” Logan taunted. “You had 6 minutes.”

The clamp on your neck fell away and hands were on your cheeks.

“Y/N?”

You tried to open your eyes but it was agony. “Hey, bub.”

“That's my line.”

Laying on the grass had become somewhat a passtime of yours now. For some reason you found comfort in the field.

When you had nightmares of that sadistic man and the bill and the humans and everything in your life, coming outside and laying on the dewy ground recentered you.

Charles and Erik had called a truce and began battling political opponents instead of each other. The bill was bullshit. It had passed and been withdrawn within a month.

It was odd classing Erik and Raven as enemies again when you knew ultimately you wanted the same goal but you would have to get used to it.

“I thought I'd find you out here.” You extended your neck to see Logan standing behind you.

“Hey, Lo.”

He collapsed next to you, sitting with one leg bent, his elbow resting on the knee. “You alright?”

You'd been the only mutant in the Mansion so far to have a collar fitted around your neck. You'd been the only one truly defenceless. Truly useless!

“I like the stars.”

He hummed, falling into a weighty silence with you.

There was no denying the two of you had grown closer, hell, he was probably your best friend at this point.

The two of you were paired together in training drills and in your lessons because you could really fight each other. Neither holding back. Your power could stop his. You were evenly matched.

He had gifted you more CDs and you had let him borrow a David Bowie LP. If he found you laying on the sofa reading he would sit next to you and keep you warm. He was so warm. Once, he even read to you. Your eyes were so tired and he plucked the book from your hands and finished the chapter.

You would never tell anyone, least of all him, but that was one of your fondest memories. His voice was so soothing and, bless him, he had even made up voices for the characters.

Logan always sat next to or opposite you as you ate, he was usually the main reason you ate, saving you a plate or bowl.

He was… well, like every other person with eyes here you'd formed a crush on him. He was just so kind. So generous. And it didn't hurt that he looked like that.

“I was thinkin’,” He started. You looked over, expecting him to still be sitting but he had moved. He was lying next to you, watching you. His nose inches from yours. “Tomorrow, I'll take you to to the bar I like.”

He was known for sneaking off premises at night. Coming home smelling like booze and smoke.

“The bar you like?” He had never confirmed he went to a bar - he was oddly secretive about certain aspects - but you all knew, it was something for him to admit it.

“It's a real shit hole but it's cheap and close.”

Your lips upturned at his blunt response. “Okay. You and me tomorrow. It's a date.”

“It is.” His face was serious. “I am taking you on a date.”

Oh.

“Me?” You were flabbergasted. There were goddesses like Jean and Ororo and Raven and Psylocke knocking about and he wanted to take you on a date?

“There was only so much rolling about in the simulator we could do before I asked you out.” He joked but you could see an undercurrent of fear in his eyes.

“Yeah. Okay.” Your cheeks were warm. “I'd really like that.”

His cheeks pinkened and he looked up at the stars trying to suppress his smile. “Good.”

You felt his hand intertwine in yours and tried so hard to act natural. Tried to keep your breath steady and appear calm and collected.

“So, uh, what does one wear to a real shit hole?”

Logan's shoulders shook with his laugh.

It wasn't easy to take things slow when you lived and worked with the person.

Logan was ever the gentleman and gave you space but it was a strange mixture of wanting to be with him platonically and wanting to be with him romantically.

He was your best friend. You wanted to talk to him about your newest date but you also needed to act cool and casual.

You failed miserably at both of those things.

In fact you almost had a heart attack when he kissed your forehead for the first time.

He was yet to actually kiss you.

Which was good because it meant he liked you enough to listen and wanted to be around you without getting into your pants but you wanted him in your pants.

Which brought you to the present.

You were currently standing outside of his room - having knocked - waiting for a response.

“Lo, it's me.” You called through the wooden door.

“Come in.” He answered, slightly muffled.

You entered the room, he wasn't in view but the door leading to the bathroom was open, and flopped onto his bed. Letting out an exaggerated sigh - definitely not to inhale his smell - you spoke against his duvet, “I'm bored.”

“Yeah?” His footsteps got closer and you lifted your head and took a double take.

The fucker was glistening, a towel sitting far too low on his hips. His torso was gorgeous, he looked spectacular. He had strong pecs and chiselled abs, dusted with a coating of soft hair and there was one vein that disappeared into the towel that you ached to lick.

“Bub?” When your forced your eyes onto his face you saw a cocky grin.

“Yes?” You blunk, trying to figure out if he had spoken anything else. How long had you been ogling him?

A droplet of water fell from his hair and ran down his neck, passed his pecs and journeyed further- no! Don't look again.

Do not get caught twice!

“It should be illegal to look like you.” You spoke to your hands. They were resting on the duvet where your face had been.

“Kettle. Pot. Black.” One of his hands settled onto the towel, he usually had a belt to hold, so the movement could've been innocent but with the way his eyes scanned you, you knew it wasn't.

You eased yourself up, sitting on your folded legs and stared at him. Maybe you shouldn't. No either way you win. Either you call his bluff or... “You got a condom?”

The smile could've split his face in half, he licked his teeth, walking closer to the bed. Leaning down to open his bedside table he presented you with an unopened pack.

“Just for you.”

“I feel so special.”

Logan's right hand met your cheek and his thumb caressed the flesh. He was taller than you in this position so he lent down to kiss you. He was slow about it, giving you time to back out, but once his lips met yours he fastened the pace.

Your hands didn't know where to rest. One was fiddling with his chest hair whilst the other clawed at his back. You didn't want to be the one who disrobes their partner after less than thirty seconds of kissing but there was no robe. Can't disrobe someone who isn't wearing one, right? A mere piece of fabric barely covered him.

Oh my god.

He was naked.

Naked under the towel.

Fuck.

His tongue brushed against your bottom lip and you eagerly allowed access. Logan's chest rumbled, vibrating your hand, and you pulled back eyes wide.

“Do that again.”

He complied and you kissed your way along his chest. Sometimes you forgot how animalistic you were. How primal you could be.

Your cavewoman brain liked big strong man making noise.

Logan's nose nuzzled your neck, kissing your jaw and he ran his tongue across your jaw downwards to your collar bone.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you were but the steadily growing length poking your thigh made you feel better.

“I can smell you.” He ran his nose by your neck again. “Can always smell you. You're so sweet.”

“Always?” That better not be a hint.

“I know if you've been in a room.” He nipped your cheek. “I'm tuned into your frequency but now,” his voice deepened. “I can smell here.” The touch was phantom but his fingers were where you wanted him most.

You only had on a baggy shirt and ratty pj shorts so you were quick to slip out of the shorts, tossing them behind your shoulder.

“Towel.” You ordered.

“I-” He paused, conflict flashing behind his eyes. “If we start I'm not su-”

“There is nothing that could make me not want this.” You didn't know how else to say it. "I would do a lot of bad things to do a lot of bad things to your body."

He smirked and allowed you to tug on the towel, it loosening, revealing his dick.

Oh, it was fucking fantastic.

You couldn't help but kiss his abdomen, dragging your tongue along the low vein. Wrapping a hand around his length you kissed the tip and he shuddered.

“You're beautiful.” You spoke to his dick, licking the slit.

“Take your shirt off.”

You grumbled, ignoring him, and licked the underside from shaft to head.

“Y/N. Shirt. Off.” His hand held your neck, halting your movements - you were stopped, your tongue poking out just shy of him.

Pulling up you made a show of removing the shirt and his hands were instantly on you. One was at your hip whilst the other kneaded your breast. He dipped his head and captured a nipple between his teeth, making your spine arch.

“You, er, you experienced?” He questioned releasing your nipple from his lips, his eyes gazing up at you.

Why did it feel like he was embarrassed to ask?

“I've had a couple not great fucks,” You shrugged. “Prefer my own company.”

“That's about to change.” He captured your lips again.

You were snuggled up in your bed watching the credits roll on a VHS you'd finally got your mitts on.

Logan slipped into your room and under the covers, wrapping a hand around your waist and dipping himself to kiss your cheek.

It was wet. Why was your cheek wet?

“Y/N?” What had happened?! Who did he have to kill?

“Spock fucking died!” You explained, frantically wiping your cheeks. “He just like sacrificed himself?”

If you had known that would happen you wouldn't have watched the movie at this particular time of the month.

Logan gave you a sympathetic noise and rolled you onto your spine, kissing your nose.

“It's okay.”

“No, it isn't.” Your eyelashes were wet but your eyes were no longer glossy. "Jim is alone, now."

"We'll get through this together."

Logan's palm found your abdomen and he kept his hand there, warmth radiating through easing some of the pain. “That's really nice.”

“I always get a fright each month when I can smell blood on you.” He nuzzled his face into your neck, placing delicate kisses to your flesh.

“How was the mission?” Your lips grazed his ear.

He had told you that your neck was his favourite part of you because it smelt the most. He was eager to mark and claim your as his own because it mingled the scents and apparently that was amazing. Logan seemed to get off on your scent alone so when there were hints of him on you he was wild.

“Distracted.” He sucked the junction between neck and collar bone. He had been chosen because of his unique sense of smell. It was a gift that he could track so easily. “Could smell you on my fingers, I didn't want to get bad guy blood on my hands because it would fuck it up. You'd smell wrong.”

Your body twitched as his tongue soothed the sore flesh. “That why it took longer?”

“Hmm.” He produced a small navy box from his jeans pocket, laying it on your chest. “This is why.”

You frowned but opened the lid to see the most beautiful pair of earrings imaginable. Diamond studs, each with three individual chains dangling, covered in more diamonds.

“O-Logan?”

His face was buried into your neck for an entirely different reason now. It was fucking adorable that this big strong man still blushed around you. “Was gonna wait til your birthday but…”

“Thank you, Lo.” You kissed where you could reach on his cheek. “They're beautiful.”

“I brought them because…” He pulled back, his hazel eyes studying your face. “I want to take you out more. Take you to places that aren't natural or manmade disasters. I want to show you off to the world. I like having you on my arm, I really want to show you off. I think we should go out more. You and me just see the world, maybe? Travel? And, well, I've also realised that I fucking love you.”

Neither of you had quite admitted that yet. There were close calls where you almost did after a bad mission but it felt wrong to tell him on your deathbed. Felt like you'd cheat him. He deserved more than a ‘hi and bye’.

“I love you, too. I think I might even love you more, Logan.” Your fingers stroked his temple, gruff hair itching your hand.

He let out a sigh of relief and you almost laughed because how could you not replicate the feelings? Then you considered the way he rambled. How much this must have meant to him, he always wanted to do it right; to make sure everything was perfect for you but it was when he stuttered and said things out of order that you really saw how much he cared. He was unable to form literate sentences because he loved you so deeply. That was true, real love. Not the smooth talking, lady killers in the movies.

“No you don't.” He pecked your forehead.

“Who wants to see me kick Mr Logan's ass?” You cockily placed your hands on your hips.

Logan was standing next to you, hands in his hoodie pockets.

He was wearing matching grey sweatpants and you were dying. How did grey sweats look that good?

“He can't die.” Marcus - a little shit - sassed. “What's the point in fighting someone that can't die?”

“Well, self defence isn't about killing.” You set him straight. “It is about protecting yourself. Being able to keep yourself safe in this world is the most powerful thing you'll ever learn.” Hopefully, they would never know the hopelessness you felt when that collar locked around your neck, hopefully they could live in peace. Live freely.

Marcus just rolled his eyes.

“She's right, kid.” Logan backed you up. “There's a lot to fighting that isn't killing. I've been around a long time, I'd know.”

“Then shouldn't you fight someone more evenly matched?” He raised a brow. You knew this was coming. He had grown up in a very strict household. His parents were cultists, if he hadn't been a mutant he would've been the next leader. Shame. Women were beneath men in his eyes - which wasn't necessary his fault and you were trying to carefully show him but the fucker was pissing you off.

“She's kicked my ass more than any other opponent.” Logan shrugged playfully but you could see the twitch of his jaw.

“That's because you fight often. It's a matter of quantity and not quality.”

“Okay.” You clapped your hands before the kid would get on Logan's nerves. “Who wants to show me their skills?”

The lesson went smoothly after that. You saw a lot of potential in Erica and begged Winston to keep practising.

Marcus refused to show you - or anyone - his ability.

You had assumed it was because ‘mutant is wrong’ was drilled into him as a child but perhaps he just didn't trust you. You'd have to figure out how to bring him out of that shell.

The students left your class with a varying amount of glee.

“I don't know how you're so nice.” Logan lit a cigar. “You just put this smile on and keep going.”

“He's a kid.” You answered. “A stupid kid but a kid.”

“I think we're evenly matched.” He winked.

You scoffed and tidied away some of the equipment.

It was nagging at you.

It had been all class.

‘I've been around a long time’

Yeah, you knew.

Everyone knew.

But woul-would you be old and shrivelled and he'd still be the same?

Would he look at you in disgust once you started greying?

“What's the most dead you've been?” The words were sudden and far from eloquent.

Logan blinked, his brows meeting. “The most dead I've been?”

You nodded.

He pondered the question. “I was a skeleton at one point. My skin and organs regrew it was trippy.”

You considered the answer.

He could literally operate as a skeleton and you were out for a week because of a bad cold.

Was this the first chip?

Was this something that would slowly become a larger crack?

Would your relationship survive this?

You plastered a grin on your face. “Okay.”

“Hey handsome!” You strutted straight up to Logan. He looked amazing, wearing a dark button down and black dress trousers. You wanted to take him straight upstairs.

“Baby.” His arm automatically wrapped around your waist, kissing your hairline before reconnecting with Kurt.

You didn't catch what they were talking about, too drunk to care but sober enough to nod along when they looked at you.

Kurt poked your nose before he disappeared and you sneezed.

“Bless you.” Logan bent his neck to look at your scrunched face.

“That was so tickly.” You rubbed your nose, hoping your makeup stayed in place.

“Have I told you you look beautiful tonight?”

“Only a thousand times.” You grinned upwards, tiptoeing to capture his lips. “I know it's Hank's birthday but you look so yummy. Want to take you upstairs.”

Logan growled at your words, wrapping his other hand around you, “I won't say no.”

“Let's go then.” You kissed his chin.

“Hey lovebirds!” Bobby called across the room. “I need another teammate.”

“Go on.” Logan nudged you, you had all night and the rest of your life to fuck. Maybe you should enjoy your friends company. Linger in the room too long. “You'll be terrible but it'll be fun to watch.”

He was standing next to Sunspot at one end of a Beer Pong match. Jubilee, Kitty and Rogue were at the other.

You mock gasped but knew he was right.

The game was rigged, you were sure of it. You had to drink every time and barely managed one cup. Logan took pity on you after the second beer and downed your drinks, the others weren't best pleased but no one was going to argue with the Wolverine about his girl.

It was so good to let loose.

After having your hysterectomy and being without your best friend for months this was bliss.

You hadn't realised how much he was a part of you. Removing him from your life left it cold and empty.

It was cliché but you had slowly tumbled into a depression without him. Much like any teenage lead in a shitty romcom being without your boyfriend was agony.

He understood your reasoning, didn't condone the actions but was able to see it from your perspective.

You were rarely allowed to be out of his eyeshot, now. He had become even more protective of you, wanting you to feel loved and supported even if you told him you didn't need that. He wanted you to come to him with any issue, to trust him, no matter how big or small.

And you wanted to be strong.

You wanted to prove that you were okay.

But being carried up to bed and coddled was fucking lovely.

“It's Alice in Chains!” You excitedly clapped Logan's arm. He had played you this song more than once, you think it was called Nutshell. Did Hank borrow some of your CDs? “This is your favourite song!”

He smirked. “Not my favourite but it's a good one.” He wrapped himself around your body, his front to your back, watching Jubilee sink one for Bobby.

“What is your favourite song?”

He hummed and you felt his shoulders move. “I don't know, I'd have to think on it.”

Okay, you'd allow that. It wasn't an easy question so you reworded it. “If you were dying right now what would you want to listen to?”

“You humming in the kitchen.” He answered without a second thought.

You giggled, turning in his hold. “No, come on, seriously.”

He rest his forehead against yours. “When you hummed Elvis… making those flapjacks… the sun was-it made you look ethereal, you were an angel. I want that.”

You remembered that day. Everything had gone wrong even though you followed the recipe to a tee! He had walked in on you mid tantrum and made life better. If he thought you looked angelic covered in sugar and chocolate then imagine what he thought when you made an effort.

“You always leave me speechless.”

He kissed your temple.

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow.” You spoke seriously.

Logan looked up from the papers he was grading. His eyes squinting slightly in a silent question.

“I never meant to cause you any pain.” You injected sadness into your voice, it cracked slightly.

“What's happening?” He looked really worried, taking off his reading glasses.

“I only wanted one time to see you laughing.” You used your hands animatedly.

“Y/N?”

“I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.”

He heaved a sigh of relief. “You had me worried. I was trying to figure out if I'd missed a birthday or an anniversary.”

“I can't grade these papers. The song is rattling around in my head.” You thunked your head against the desk. “Why did we say we'd help Jean again?”

“You told her you could grade more papers in a day then she could.”

“Pathetic fallacy this, juxtaposition that.” You groaned. “Why do I get so competitive?”

“I don’t know.” He spoke honestly. “We could be spending our evening any other way but you have us reading shitty analysises on An Inspector Calls.”

You didn't answer him. You wouldn't let him goad you. Wouldn't stoop to his level, despite wanting so badly to stoop in front of him. Biting the inside of your cheek you stood. “Nope, sorry, I have to play the record.”

He watched you wander to the shared pile of music. Your LPs and his CDs intermingled in the corner of his room.

“Is the Prince album in here?” You flicked through the LPs.

“All our music is. Did you let anyone borrow it?”

“I don't know.” You knelt, opening the cupboard underneath the record player, he panicked, jumping up.

“Don't look in-”

“Ha!” You waved the cover smiling but your enthusiasm ebbed away making room for suspicion. “Don't look in here?”

A hand stretched his face. “Please don't ask questions.”

“If you're hiding a present somewhere make sure it's not somewhere I'd look, Howlett.” You closed the doors. “That's like the first rule.”

“I don't have that many hiding places.” He defended. “We live together.”

That was technically true and untrue.

You still had a room.

You just spent most of your time in his.

“I can vacate i-”

“Shut up.” He took the record from your hands and secured the vinyl onto the spindle and placed the needle accordingly. He flipped the machine on and the last chords of ‘baby I'm a star’ played before the familiar strum.

He offered you his palm and you took it, easing up from the floor. “Dance with me?”

“Always.”

The two of you swayed to the music. It was the last song on this side of the record so you'd have to change it soon but just leaning against him, listening to Prince sing and play his guitar was heavenly.

Logan's nose was buried in your hair. He would tell you later on that he wouldn't have minded if you found what he was hiding.

He would've just got down on his knee then and there.

He didn't want to propose publicly but he wanted to make the day special. Make you feel loved like you deserved.

“Y/N?” You turned your head. You were upstairs. Outside of Logan's room.

It was empty. Unoccupied.

“Storm.” She looked amazing. Had she even aged? Maybe she was born later in this universe.

“The professor asked me to check on you.” She spoke with ease but it wasn't the friendly chatter you were used to.

“Yeah sorry, I've just been wandering like a ghost around this mansion.” Your cheeks warmed. “I'm absolutely fine, though, thank you for checking up on me.”

Part 14

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