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screampied · 1 year ago

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JAILBREAK. — SUGURU GETO. ☆

synopsis. you hate your job as a part time correctional officer. things change once you have to “babysit” one of the dangerous criminals of the a-block floor, suguru geto. but girl, maybe sleeping with an egotistical cocky ass inmate might have been your biggest mistake yet.

wc. 5.5k

warnings. modern au, fem!reader, pwp, inmate geto, corruption kink, degradation, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, geto has a tongue piercing, hair pulling, praise, overstim, reader’s kinda delulu

an. thank uuu @osaemu for beta readin someee!! inmate geto is my new hyperfixation omge

it was as if each shift became longer and longer, your daily occupation, nothing special, nothing fancy, just a correctional officer at some high maintenance prison near the city.

the stench of musk and sweat wafted around you, such a reoccurrence that it was practically normal. it was around midnight, as how most of your shifts were, and as you trod towards the secluded darkened space for only the inmates dangerous to themselves and others, you intake a breath before swiping your key near your hip, preparing to unlock the glass-like metal steel door.

“oh,” you close the door behind you, and that familiar deep voice does something to you.

what…?

you don’t know, but it had such bass in it, you turned to face the inmate, no one other than suguru geto. “…yo,” he mocks, giving you a sly head nod, his eyes scan up and down your body, your uniform and then your own meets his pursed lips. somehow, he managed to find a cigarette. again. “hmpf. they got the newbie watchin' me again? you do know that gun on your hip isn’t a toy, right?”

your eyebrows twitch, and your facial expressions formed into a deadpan as you walked towards him with his daily meal in hand. “yeah and i’m not afraid to use it on you if necessary.”

“ooh. rookie’s got jokes, that’s cute.” he grins.

you murmured, and he only smiles, he knows you didn’t mean that, he pissed you off, even if he wasn’t saying anything exactly. pulling out your staff notepad checklist of where you usually kept track of all the inmates attendance and meals, you uttered, “but anyways…” you blowed, “no one fed you today, suguru. you must be starving.”

“yeah, 'm starvin’ ‘n more ways than you can imagine, princess,” geto hums, and you suddenly freeze once the inmate stands up firm and tall. he’s just so damn big—broad wide shoulders, long slight shaggy dark toned hair, and with a split-second gaze, you look near geto’s orange jumpsuit. the bulge, yeah you spotted that immediately, but his tattoos…

his fucking tattoos.

“can you at least try to behave for a few minutes.” you sighed, and he's already getting on your last nerve. he could tell too…and damn was he was just getting nothing but pure amusement from your sheer irritation.

“eh, depends,” he speaks in a low gruff, his attention was on you and only you, raising his darkened thin arched brows before his lips converge into a witty smirk. “ya gonna feed me my food, babe? oh, you should know. poor inmate like me can’t feed myself when i’m all,” and he pauses while speaking, placing his hands in his lap — giving his wrists a slight shimmy and you hear the metal dance against his skin. “…handcuffed.”

it took everything within you to not smack this arrogant suave bastard, geto flirted with you whatever chance he got, with no shame either. you’re a pretty girl, well mannered, yet never took anyone’s shit, he liked that about you.

your job wasn’t to be taken lightly, it could be considered scary at times with the various inmates you have to deal on a day to day basis, but simply, you were just a girl with an attitude. but he wasn’t fond of brats, especially brats like you.

“…fine,” you mumbled, making your way towards him. he sat on the steel uncomfortable bed that was as usual, never made. geto practically lived in solitary confinement, they don’t call him the suguru geto for a reason. his name was known amongst many, he was feared worldwide. geto wasn’t exactly a good guy, far from it actually.

he’s a criminal and his record was… definitely spine chilling to say the least. “don’t try anything, just open your mouth.”

“hm, alright then.” he happily complies, his demeanor changes just a bit, and he’s more playful. geto opens his mouth just slightly and you spot tiny dimples form near the corners of his lips, and you gradually stick the spoon into his mouth, feeding him whatever food was made for the inmates of the night.

baked mash potatoes, geto stated it was one of his favorites and you just so happened to remember. a smile forms on his lips as you feed him. your eyes darted towards him, and now he’s just staring intimately at you.

that smirk that forever rested against his pink thinly parted lips.

“m-mhm.” he grunts, and your eyes widen just a bit, he was messing with you, and you don’t even realize geto’s got his hand gripped on your waist. stroking a thumb against your belt, you felt the feeling of him rubbing all against the firearm that was strapped tightly on you.

before you could smack his hand, geto swiftly brings you on top of his lap, stealing out a gasp from you at how quick he was with his movements. the silver spoon sticks out his mouth before you take it out, only to return him with an irritated glare.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you uttered, growing quite embarrassed yet trying to maintain a level-head.

“told ya,” he grumbles, swiping a tongue against the excess mash potatoes that remained near his lips. “i’m hungry, babe. that was good, but i’m not satisfied. i need more.”

“inmates in solitary confinement aren’t allowed to have seco—”

“pretty girl, you know what i’m talkin’ about,” geto chuckles, and you shiver a bit from feeling the soft pads of his thumb brush against the belt of your waist again. you were in uniform but this entire position was so dirty. not to mention, it’s not like this place of the prison was exactly secluded. it was, but there was bound to be people were walking by. “i’ve been seein’ the way you stare at me.”

he was just infuriating, but you didn’t know how to reply so…you didn’t. you just sat there on the inmate’s lap, with a quite dumb expression and he’s just eating it up. “geto—”

“it’s just you ‘n me, girl,” he slyly whispers, and his voice drops just a bit as he stops you from speaking. his touch against your waist just gave you more and more goosebumps. all the way up until you felt it. geto infamous boner that hid beneath his jumpsuit. he’s been incarcerated for at least three years now, in and out. he was for sure horny. you could just tell from his seductive gaze. “don’t gotta be shy. was waiting for you to show up if ‘m being honest. you’re not like the rest, y’know?”

that’s when you gasp, realizing his handcuffs were off — he must have took the key from your pocket, because he was just feeling you up now. you let off a surprised noise once you felt geto starting to make you grind against his lap, feeling his hefty bulge.

“sugu-” you mumbled, and he’s just staring at you with a sly grin pressing onto his lips, only before he leans directly up close to your neck, giving a part near your collarbone a soft deep suck.

you whine from feeling the near sharp edges of his teeth lightly dig into your skin, playfully.

“mhm, pretty thing like you isn’t fit to be workin’ here. cutesy little prison guard,” he sung, his warm breath wafts against your skin, “crushin’ on your inmates is real unprofessional, ya know. you could get fired.”

he was right, you could get fired. and perhaps he wasn’t lying about the second part too—you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t find suguru geto the slightest bit of attractive. because he was, he and you both knew it.

“don’t be stupid. i’m not crushing on you,” you denied, yet embarrassingly enough, your eyes widen at feeling geto air your words — his thick stubby fingers, two of them specifically runs down between your legs and you gasp again. “are you…crazy? there could be cameras in here.”

“so.”

“so? you’re trying to get me fired?” you raised your eyebrows, sitting up from his lap, and he’s playing with you entirely. stroking a rough scarred hand down your back. if it was any other inmate, you’d barely give them a second glance.

geto gives you direct eye contact, and he looks so handsome and lean back, but his messy long black strands of bangs nearly covers his eyes, making him appear to be ten times more feared.

“maybe,” then he chuckles. “it’s okay, if it makes ya feel any better. i fantasized about you at least once or twice while being secluded from the other inmates in this hellhole. i prefer you over the other annoying officers who’re always givin’ me shit.”

you were about to speak but suddenly you couldn’t—you realized how close you were to geto, propped up on his lap, propped up on his bulge. were you really throbbing right now? oh you definitely were.

pulsing, itching, aching.

“soooo, when was the last time you got laid?”

this guy.

“excuse me?” you stammer, entirely being taken aback. such smug fell off his tone, he cocked his head a certain way to let you know he was being genuine. in his own way, of course.

geto’s always been one to flirt with you whenever it was your shift to supervise him. his comments were always so bold. he’d purposely pitch his tone a bit low whenever he spoke to you, no one else. perhaps it was the incarcerated felon crushing on you.

“you heard me,” he mutters, giving you a sly glance. he ghosts a few fingers against your waist. you still don’t know why you’re happily sitting on his lap, but you were comfortable to say the least. “with your long hours i pretty much figure you don’t even have time to finger yourself, let alone get laid. poor baby.”

“…just shut up.” you chastised, his soothing warm words, the way he delivered those last two words as a form of mockery. it made you throb, you pinched yourself, feeling yourself grow out to be hot.

“make me, girl.” he faked a pout on his lips, almost as if his speech was purposely dumbing you down, solely from the tone. geto teasingly cocks his head towards the right and a teeny smile stretched against his lips.

and you did.

he was just poking fun at you—you loathed it, the tension between you and geto, his expressions were relaxed and smug like you won’t do anything.

so, what did you do?

you silenced him…with a kiss.

he’s taken aback, you’re taken aback, you don’t know what came over you but you just couldn’t stand him talking.

his sly grin, you desperately wanted to wipe it off his face. geto leans back against his bunk. his breath gets caught in his throat with the way you initiated the lustful kiss, parting your mouth open just a bit.

you can feel geto reaching for the firearm near your hip but with quick reflexes you smack his hand, and he chuckles, pulling you closer towards him.

he tasted sweet, with a tang of spice. leaning his head forward, he felt your warm breath shudder against him which makes him let off a low grunt once he feels you start to rock against his lap.

geto didn’t expect for you to trail a finger down his jumpsuit. the soft nearly wrinkled fabric, unbuttoning it and he shudders at how you’re all frisky and bold.

“easy now officer,” he whispers before pulling away, lips pink and glistening with a bit of spit. his voice was a mere rasp and it made you throb. “when i said make me, that’s not what i meant,” and then he smiles, tugging on your work pants. “but you’re something else. take off those pants, i’ve been meaning to show you something.”

geto wanted to show you his tongue, specifically his tongue piercing. not necessarily show you but make you feel it.

when you kissed him, you felt it tickle against you. the tasteless titanium rubbing against your tongue. it left you all hot and bothered.

he had you currently laid flat on your back, an entire needy mess, despite it only being a few minutes. how embarrassing…

it was just the way he curled his tongue, flicking it against your pussy, he’s sloppy. two big hands squeeze and grip against your inner thighs, long strands prickling against your legs as he swirled his tongue against your slit.

“f-fuck,” you’d gasp out, tilting your neck down to stare at geto. he’s already returning your eyes with a coltish glance, puckering his lips briefly to create kissed everywhere between your legs. your hands rummaged through his long silk hair. giving it a firm tug, that earns a low grunt from geto that makes you pulse even more. “tickles, suguru.”

“does it?” he purrs in a cheeky tone, slowly flicking his tongue against your clit—you jounce, a gasp gets caught in your throat at the way the piercing shifts against your folds. the slight coldness of it makes your thighs ache for more “mhm. can’t get enough.”

you pant, tugging and gripping roughly on his hair, geto’s nose deep, his tongue was so greedy. it was just the way he grazed and moved his tongue against your labia. your two sweet flaps, you grew more whiny by the second.

“s-suguru,” you’d squeak, biting down on your lip. you knew how wrong this was, so why did it turn you on even more? “think…think ‘m getting close.”

“yeah yeah, keep your legs open.” he cuts you off, and you stare down at him. he’s so nasty with his tongue, taking a brief second to spit right on your cunt, dragging a thumb between your slit. “do you get wet like this for all your other inmates?”

you stared down at him, feeling yourself grow more and more aroused by the second—your response was just giving him a subtle head shake. “no, just you.”

“just me?” he repeats, lowering his voice and it’s so attractive. “maybe you really are crushin’ on me.”

“shut up..” you hissed. your breathing started to become more and more erratic, your ears rang and you pulsed from how close you were starting to approach towards your orgasm.

geto’s entire chin was polished with your sweet slick—covered in nothing but all of it. such a messy eater, each time you tug on his long strands of hair. his husky pitched groans continued to make you pulse.

his piercing slowly lapped against your cunt, and you gasped at the feeling of him inserting a finger inside slowly.

“ooh, ‘s close isn’t it?” he teases, peppering kisses near your thighs now, nibbling on it playfully with his teeth. “you gonna make a mess for me? slutty prison guard?”

“y-yes.” you squirmed, your hands idly dragging him closer against your pussy. he chuckles, his technique snatching your breath away quite literally. “suguru… gonna come. wanna cum.”

he lays his tongue flat, lapping and lapping against your clit, giving it a long sweet suck to where his mouth starts watering from the taste and you moan. “ask nicer. where’s your manners huh?”

“p-please,” you whined, growing frustrated, so pent up—your walls clenched around the two fingers he now had buried deep into your cunt. you whimper from the mere stimulation, the way he toys with your g-spot with his lengthy slender fingers had you throbbing pathetically. “let me cum please, s-suguru.”

“oh but i don’t know,” the inmate teases, using his free hand to pry open your thighs a bit more. the cute pout that spread across your lips at his words was so adorable, “aw poor baby,” he hums, playfully blowing against your pussy to watch you writhe in pleasure and utter desperation. “you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”

“suguru, please, please..” you whimpered, not even caring how you sounded. your sweet voice reverberated against the walls of the secluded kept room, own words coiling at your throat.

he smiles. “how about this,” and for a terse moment…he stares right at you. with his tongue going over his lips, savoring your taste. “i let you cum, you promise to get me out of here.”

….

help him break out?

all this so you could orgasm….

you swallowed, chest heaving and your legs felt nearly nonexistent. geto looked serious though, brushing a thumb against your sloppy clit. he awaited your answer and you were deep in pondering thought.

you’d for sure get fired, then again you did hate your job.

the fact that you were even contemplating letting an inmate break out just to cum. you just wanted a release so bad, the way his tongue lapped against your pussy, the smooth texture of it flicking back and forth to where your toes curl. you wanted more, and maybe it was a bit concerning that you started to not even care about your profession anymore.

“promise..”

“oh..?” he slyly remarks, for sure you were gonna at least deny or call him crazy, but a straight answer. he was amused—and the needy look on his face was all he needed to see. “hm, it’s a deal then. go ahead ‘n cum, pretty girl.”

your back arched in ecstasy, he’s holding onto your hips departing his fingers from inside you, and just his tongue’s doing the main finish. you shuddered as you felt yourself vibrate and twitch. the build up had you clenching around nothing but air. “f-fuck…”

scorching, your body radiated and carried so much heat around it, your eyes started to roll and roll towards the very depths of your head. once you came, you slump back against the rickety mattress, one hand still firmly maintaining its grip on geto’s hair.

“there there, ‘s okay,” he slyly purrs, making sure to clean you with his tongue. for a split second his eyes close, and geto brings a few kisses against your folds before sitting up to stare down at you. “c’mere.”

you sit up, giving geto a cute needful glance, you craved more and he knew that. you leaned in to kiss him, and he returns it with such filthy passion. geto’s handsy, his slick-smeared lips ghost against yours before he deepens it. a groan gets caught in his throat, and you whine once you feel him lay you down on your back.

he leans up against you and eagerly, you give the orange fabric pants of his jumpsuit a cute tug, a sign for him to take it off.

“such an impatient little thing,” he murmurs right into your mouth. you whined, wanting him to keep kissing you but he keeps breaking away purposely, watching your lips quiver in desire. “how bad do you want me?”

“s-suguru.” you pouted, your hand finding its way towards his bulge. the strain in his pants, all because of you.

“don’t ‘suguru’ me,” he rasps in a mocking tone, his body pressed against yours. and only then did you realize the size difference, how buff and well toned geto was. he was an inmate after all, he always had a consistent workout schedule. geto’s dark eyes stare into yours before he brushes a thumb against your glossed lips. “talk to me nice in that pretty voice of yours. you want me? say it then.”

the disappointed pout you had displayed on your lips remained there as you spoke, only to hear how whiney and desperate you were.

“i want you suguru, please.” you sigh.

“girl…you’re so unprofessional,” he snickers, a swift snicker leaves from his lips before you hear him shuffle in his suit. pulling down his matched set pants, he tugs near the edge and it goes down. “feel how hard you make me, officer.”

and you let out a soft gasp.

geto lightly grabs you by the neck, and you let off a needy moan once he starts to rub your face against his boxers. the very imprint of his bulge. “all your fault. got me throbbin’ for you...”

“suguru,” you whined, a small pout spreading on your lips each second he continued to tease you. “suguru, s-stop teasing me.”

“just jokin’,” you plop down on your chest, the moment he lightly shoves you forward against the plush-cushioned bed frame. it creaked from the movements, quite rickety. “oh wow,” he utters in a low voice — quickly averting his eyes towards your work pants, briefly pulling them down to come full-view of your ass. “do correctional officers just…not wear panties or…?”

you let off a moan, feeling him skim a few fingers against your ass, holding back a noise once he presses the leaky fat tip of his cock against your throbbing entrance.

“i…i forgot.” you whined, mouth watering — you wanted more than anything for him to be inside already. “i was rushing.”

“uh huh,” geto rolls his eyes, and you stared directly at him. the plump fat head of his swiped against your wet folds, a few taps and you were about to go crazy. “ooh. look at you trying to rush me.”

he was such a tease, you could hear the playfulness in his tone. as geto hovered over you, he took a few moments before slowly easing his way inside you.

his jaw clenches, and it’s sexy…

the way his muscles would tense all because of you. you were panting, legs just dumbly sprawled out. maybe it was unprofessional, participating in sexual activities with an inmate—yet, you just couldn’t help yourself. all the built up tension surrounding between the two of you. perhaps it was bound to happen.

“fuck, ‘s warm..” he grunts, and he’s just barely halfway in. you chewed near the inside of your lip, nails clawing down his buff arms and he starts to pant himself. geto was huge. emphasis on huge.

his happy trail was mesmerizing to look at, the way he had slightly black curly hair coating near the lower half of himself. it was well trimmed, yet much visible to see. the more he gently makes his way inside your cunt, you felt every mean inch. the curve geto had—it was hefty, you felt yourself starting to drool.

a single vein throbbed, and you felt it. geto bites his tongue marginally. and once he’s fully in, he gives you a coy expression.

“may i move, officer?” he snickers.

“p-please.” you whimpered.

“okay.” he hums, and the bass to his voice was just enough to get you wet. far wetter than you already were. such smoothness dripped from it, it was a deep pitch that always made your heart flutter and sink.

once he starts up just a single thrust, your body jolts back and you gasp—finding your arms to suddenly grab onto him.

geto chuckles. “dramatic thing, aren’t you.” you moaned, nails continuing to drag down how skin as you’re laid flat against your back. the angle was so deep and thorough, each hit against your pussy had your kind spasming. in an entire frenzy of you will.

he leans in to pepper kisses all over your face, strands of his hair that was out tickled against your skin. by this point, he’s buried deep. your head goes back a bit and…oh, that same curve that he had, it continuously made an appearance.

geto was buried between your legs, hefty sack just thwacking against you. your legs were perfectly bent, shoulder width apart. “f-fuck,” you’d stammer, suddenly clamping all around him. it took a few deep vigorous thrusts, but at this point he’s got your pussy memorizing his lengths size. geto spreads his knees for a more thorough base, his movements were so sloppy you could barely think straight. let alone process anything. “suguru, ‘s right there.”

“right there what?” he teases, leaning in to nibble near the bottom of your lip. the thin fabric of his jumpsuit brushes against your skin—you were just a mess. pulse after pulse, you wouldn’t be surprised if your brain was short circuiting. “i can’t hear ya when you mumble, baby.”

“fucking-” you spat, and he chuckles once you’re cut off with a deep kiss. geto vary’s his stance against you, and slides his tongue all throughout your mouth. it’s a rough and passionate kiss—so much so to where, he has you catching his breath. once you pull away, you moan, being brought back to reality from his ruthless smacks he’s making with his dick. “keep…keep hitting me there.”

he hums, giving your bottom lip a slow playful bite again, still ramming his hips against you at such a filthy pace. “is that an order?”

he was so annoying, that two second glance he’d give you—a smirk pressing against his lips, he definitely knew how to get under your skin. “please,” you corrected yourself, nails still running down his back. it pierced against his skin, earning a low husky grunt from him. “keep hitting me in that s-spot, suguru.”

“since ya asked so nicely,” he purrs, sneaking another kiss. this time near the very corner of your mouth. the taste was just glacé, sweet and all. simply divine.

you moaned into his mouth, and as his body weight pressed against yours — you shivered. he’s such a tease, geto starts to lightly ghost your cell keys against your bare tummy. your back arched immediately, the coldness of it just grazing against your skin. “you’re so sensitive.”

his soft, teasing words rang throughout your ears, and as you clung onto him—you felt yourself coming closer and closer. he gripped onto your legs, slightly raising them upward and you moan from the deep deep angled. “o-oh my god.”

geto’s shallow mean strokes had your eyes rolling all the way back….way back to the very depths of your skull. if you weren’t drooling then, you certainly were now.

the moment he sees you pouting from how he cockily starts to slow down—geto pushes a bit more deeper, grinning from your legs now locking around his waist.

moments later though, you both freeze at hearing the sound of footsteps approaching near the solitary steel door.

right when you about to orgasm, you both stare at each other — and it’s another officer. you could tell by the loud echo of the keys dangling against their hips.

“officer, you alright? been in there a while. we’re finishing up roll call then it’s time for the inmates to sleep.”

shit.

you couldn’t stay quiet, that’d be suspicious, and you knew you had to say something. geto chuckles, still buried balls deep inside of you, leaning in to give your neck a long suck. your hands ran through his hair and you bit your lip, trying to muster up what to say.

“your subordinate’s talking to you,” geto teases, and you gasp from how he suddenly pistons his hips, such sloppy ruthless thrusts your breath was merely taken away. “don’t be a rude girl.”

“s-shut up,” you whined, putting a hand in his face and he playfully kisses it. you stop a moan from escaping your lips before you project your voice lightly. “uh, yeah. everything’s good. inmate suguru geto’s asleep. i’m just—just finishing up then i’ll take care of his dishes.”

“alright,” the lower rank replies, and your legs start to shake and jostle against geto. he’s staring at you, just wanting for you to slip up. a few awkward seconds pass before the officer continues to speak. “are we still on for tonight?”

you gulped, and geto raises his brows before whispering into your neck. “…oh, tonight, yeah?”

by all means, you felt so embarrassed, heat rises up to your cheeks as if your entire body wasn’t already burning up from his weight pressing down against you.

you ended up cumming mid-convo, and had to cover your mouth to not be so noisy. you clenched all around geto, just a twitching and spasming mess.

“y-yeah, we are.”

“good, good,” he speaks through the other end of the closed steel door. poor officer, he sounds so ecstatic, a bit of confidence running through his tone. “i’ll see you then, pumpkin.”

geto blurted out laughing and you had to slap a hand against his mouth. the moment the coast is clear and he walks away, you glare and he simpers.

“pumpkin,” he repeats, mimicking your co-workers accent. “i didn’t know you had plans. have me looking like a fool, hmpf.”

“my private life isn’t your busin—” and you get cut off once geto abruptly sits you upright, to where you’re just straddling him. you moan, your cunt still being stuffed full of his thick inches — and for a moment, you felt his vein prod against you.

geto groans, seeing how your pupils were all dilated from your recent release. “yeahhh, it isn’t,” he says, grabbing ahold of your waist. you’re rocking back and forth and he’s so thick that you’re just completely cockdrunk and dizzy. “but ‘m having too much fun with you.”

you gasp once you feel the back of geto’s hand roughly smack your ass again, and again, and again. he loves the recoil — you hiss from the sting as your hips roll and maneuver against his lap. “you’re such a dirty girl. i don’t want you to go on that date. stay with me.”

“y-you can’t be serious.” you muttered, arms thrown over his neck. and for a brief moment, it was almost as if you heard a faint of jealously lingering on his tone. it made you throb, this high and mighty notorious inmate feeling this way…for a nobody like you.

“dead serious, baby,” he utters, and you can sense geto’s close too from the way his jaw tightens. his head tilts back and he bites down on his lip. “that way i won’t be less lonely. talking to the wall ‘n everything.”

oh right, he was in solitary confinement. purposely secluded from the other guards and inmates. geto was considered a danger, yet here you were — stupidly bouncing on his dick.

“but ‘m not so lonely now that you’re here,” he coos against your ear, and you whimper once he drags a hand down between your legs. he gives your pussy a few mean spanks and you whimpered. “fuck, keep moaning in my ear like that ‘n i’m gonna give you so much of my cum.”

“i need it.” you pleaded, tears swelling up in your eyes, you genuinely didn’t know what got over you — your body was so achy, each time he traced his fingers down your body, you whined. you didn’t care anymore, you just wanted to be filled.

geto groans, and his hefty base kept smacking back against you, your hips jerked as you tightly held onto him, marking up the very inner part of his neck with soft bite marks.

“f-fine,” he grumbles, and his voice gets a bit high, he’s growing out to be sensitive from the pressure building up. he even gets a tad bit whiney himself. the constant skin smacking makes him kiss his teeth, and his head throws back yet again—long pretty hair flowing against his shoulders. “god, you’re so fuckin’ nasty. riding me this g-good.”

you even start to tug on his hair, and that makes him moan even more. not like he minded. it turned him on, needless to say.

once geto came, it was thick, so much that it instantly spilled out of your cunt. you paused your hips, and he silenced his groans by grunting against your neck. he’s shaking just as much as you were — and it came out in velvety ropes, spurting and spurting.

“take it all,” he hisses, gripping onto your waist tightly. you whimper, grinding against him just for a few seconds and he’s for once speechless. “damn, those hips of yours is so deadly, fuck.”

you whined, sitting up and he pulls out of you, watching his own cum spill and drip out. geto brings a thumb towards your clit to smear it all over your pussy, an image that was a something he’d never erase from his mind.

you panted, hitting your back against his bunk while geto leans in to kiss you deeply. you kissed back, dragging your tongue against his, feeling his warm breath fan against yours before he pulls away with a weary expression.

“good girl,” he murmurs, peppering a soft kiss near the side of your mouth. “remember my promise?”

“yeah.” you exhale, trying to catch your breath. your legs felt like jello — head clouded and entirely empty, not a single thought in your mind.

he smiles. “good. because i forgot to tell ya something else,” and you stare at him, a soft confused head tilt, watching him re-adjust his jumpsuit, pulling his boxers and pants part up. “have fun being in solitary by yourself.”

“wait w-what?” you stammer, and reaches the door, your own keys in hand — and you couldn’t have felt anymore stupid. geto chuckles, with a sly shrug. “princess, you were so gullible. letting me take your keys,” and he unlocks the huge latch before grinning. “but hey, don’t feel too bad. you have a date tonight.”

you glare, overwhelmed with emotions before spitting out a, “fuck you.”

“you literally just did,” he wriggles his eyebrows. “don’t worry. i’ll come back for you,” and then he opens the steel door.

yet before slamming it, he gives you a wink and that same sly grin. “nah i’m just kidding, no i won’t. sorry.”

#★vegasbaby.#geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jjk x you #jjk smut #anime smut #anime x reader #female reader #tw sex #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut

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theonottsbxtch · 8 months ago

Text

MILLION DOLLAR WOMAN | OP81

an: i head to france tomorrow guys, today is my final day of freedom rip. this was so fun to write because imagine just finding out your partner is a millionaire fr, based off of this request

wc: 2.5k

Oscar could see her sitting at the dining table through the floor-to-ceiling windows as he parked his car. The quiet of their home in Monaco always took him by surprise—no revving engines, no buzz of the pit crew. Just her typing away on her laptop with her usual cup of tea. She looked up as he walked in, gave him a quick smile, and then returned to her screen. Always so relaxed, even as he walked in carrying the tension of a bad training session.

"Good day?" she asked, barely looking up. He nodded and mumbled something about a corner he'd taken too fast. She listened but didn’t pry. She never did. That's how she was. She was more interested in weekend hikes than race standings, in cooking simple meals than joining him at fancy team dinners. It was a refreshing kind of simplicity, though sometimes a little mystifying. She didn’t ask about the sport or his schedule, never got jealous over the fans, and didn’t seem to care about the lifestyle that came with dating an F1 driver.

In a way, it was...perfect. He didn’t have to worry about her growing tired of his schedule, or about her expectations getting out of hand. She worked her 9-to-5, met him after, and never asked for more. The fact that she paid for her own things when they went out had caught him off-guard at first, but she’d laughed and shrugged it off when he offered to take care of the bill. "I’m used to it," she’d said. And that had been that. No strings, no expectations.

Tonight, she must’ve been finishing something for work, because she was typing away with focus. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, glancing over his shoulder at her every now and then, content. The glow of her screen was the only light in the room; the apartment was quiet but comfortable, like this was all they’d ever need.

“How’s work?” He asked as he shut the fridge.

She briefly looked up, “Long” she sighed but smiled at him.

As he walked past her he placed a brief kiss on her forehead and slid onto the sofa, stretching out and letting the quietness of home sink into his bones. She was already back to her typing, nodding to herself as she worked through whatever was in front of her. It was one of those things he found himself both fascinated by and grateful for—she didn’t need him to fill the silence. She seemed just fine with her job, her laptop, her little rituals that didn’t have anything to do with him.

Oscar watched her for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling through emails and messages. A lot of them were about his upcoming sponsorship deal, a whirlwind of numbers and logistics. He thought about calling his manager to check the final figures but decided against it. Just thinking about it wore him out.

He read email after email as he heard the scrape of a chair, he looked up to see her stand up and take a call in their terrace, something he adored about this house.

Then his phone rang, Mark, he picked up automatically. “Yeah, hey,” he said, voice still soft from the calmness of the evening. As he talked through the details with him, he realised he needed to jot something down. With no pen or paper in reach, he glanced over to the dining table where she always kept a notepad beside her tea.

Oscar rose, walking over to her seat, quietly picking up her pen. But as he did, his eyes fell onto the screen of her laptop, where her banking app was open.

It was one glance, just a flicker of his eyes, but enough for him to catch sight of the balance there. He paused mid-sentence, his own words catching in his throat.

That number didn’t look right.

Surely it was missing a decimal.

Wrapping up the conversation with Mark, he wrote down what he needed, and looked at the screen once more. In that time, she’d walked back into the room, her feet padding on the cool granite of their dining room floor.

Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

"Hey," he said, voice a little strained, still trying to process what he was seeing. "Uh…how much money do you make?"

She blinked, the corner of her mouth lifting in that effortless way of hers. "Enough," she said with a little laugh. "Why?"

Oscar blinked, struggling to wrap his head around it. This was his girlfriend—quiet, low-key, not a trace of the usual high-gloss life he’d always associated with wealth. He’d seen people obsess over money, hover around him just because of it, make a whole lifestyle out of it. But her? She was the woman who insisted on bringing packed lunches to work, who chose thrift shops over boutiques, who still wore her decade-old watch without a second thought. She was content. Comfortable. But this…

"That’s…a lot of ‘enough,’" he said, pointing at the screen, unable to mask the amazement in his voice.

She just shrugged and closed her laptop, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I guess I don’t really talk about it, huh? Not exactly first-date conversation."

He leaned back against the table, watching her with a strange mix of awe and curiosity. "Not even, like, fourth-date conversation."

"To be fair, I didn’t ask what you make, either," she pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Money’s not really…our thing."

He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. She was right, and yet, here he was, dumbfounded. She’d been living in his world all this time, never asking him for anything, never trying to claim any part of the lavish life he could provide. Now, he realised, maybe she didn’t need it at all.

"So…why not mention it?" he asked, still trying to understand. "I mean, I just assumed…" He trailed off, feeling a little sheepish.

"I know," she said, her smile turning gentle. "I guess I liked that you assumed. It made things easier. It let me be just…me. No expectations, no need to fit into any box."

Oscar nodded slowly, taking that in. It made sense, but it still felt surreal. Here was someone who, from the very beginning, hadn’t wanted anything from him other than his time, his company. She wasn’t here for his lifestyle or his status, things he’d been conditioned to believe were a part of every relationship he’d ever have.

He glanced at her laptop again, unable to stop himself from wondering. “So, wait—what exactly do you do? Something like…senior management?” he asked, half-joking, his tone teasing.

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head as the absurdity of it all settled in. He was still trying to wrap his head around the whole idea—his girlfriend, his laid-back, thrift-shop-loving girlfriend, was apparently not only financially secure but really well off.

She raised her eyebrows, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Something like that,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.

He squinted at her, suspicious. “Oh, come on, don’t leave me hanging. How high up are you, really?”

She glanced away, as if considering her words, and then said it, almost like a casual aside. “I’m the CEO.”

He blinked, the statement hanging in the air like a punchline he hadn’t quite caught. “Wait…CEO? As in, like, the CEO?”

She laughed, shrugging it off like it was nothing. “Just of a mid-sized company, Oscar. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Darling,” he said slowly, realising dawning. “What company?”

She paused, her eyes darting away, and he could see the hint of mischief there. “Ever heard of Catalyst?”

“Catalyst…wait, as in Catalyst Dynamics?” he asked, his voice growing louder with shock. “The same Catalyst Dynamics that sponsors my team?”

She pressed her lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Do they?”

“Oh, you are kidding me!” he exclaimed, grinning in disbelief. “You’ve been secretly spoiling me this whole time!”

She shook her head, looking away as though he’d accused her of something scandalous. “Oscar, it’s a sponsorship, not a…spoiling thing. Besides, that’s business. I keep it separate from…this.” She gestured between the two of them, clearly trying to play it cool.

But Oscar wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “Oh, no you don’t.” Before she could say another word, he leaned down, scooping her up and carrying her toward the sofa.

“Oscar!” she yelped, laughing, half-protesting, but she didn’t resist.

He set her down on the cushions, pinning her playfully as he hovered above her, grinning with that spark of mischief that usually only showed up on race day. “You’ve been keeping this a secret, haven’t you? The big boss lady, looking out for me, pretending you’re just this regular 9-to-5 woman…”

“Oscar, I’m not spoiling—”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He grinned wider, fingers finding her sides as he started tickling her, his hands relentless. She burst into laughter, twisting and squirming, but he didn’t let up.

“Okay, okay!” she managed between laughs, her breath coming in gasps as he kept up his assault. “I admit it, I admit it!”

“Admit what?” he asked, pausing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he waited for her to say it.

“Fine!” She was breathless, cheeks flushed from laughter. “Maybe I had a tiny bit of a hand in sponsoring your team, maybe. But it wasn’t to spoil you! It was just…good business.”

He chuckled, finally letting up, settling beside her on the sofa. “Good business, huh?”

She took a deep breath, still smiling as she nudged him. “I mean it. I didn’t want you to feel any pressure…or obligation. This—us—is different.”

Oscar looked at her, his heart feeling fuller than he’d expected. “Different is right.” He slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Guess I’m just lucky to be dating a CEO with a secret soft spot.”

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder, content. “And I guess I’m lucky to be with someone who never needed me to be anything but…me.”

As they settled into a comfortable silence, Oscar’s mind was still spinning, pieces clicking into place one by one. He glanced around their beautiful apartment—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sleek, minimalist design. The place had always felt like an oasis, calm and understated, like Anna herself. But something new was nagging at him now.

“Wait…” He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “That’s why you won’t let me pay rent, isn’t it? You said this place was your dad’s, but it’s not, is it?”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile, but the faintest hint of a smirk gave her away. “Well…okay, maybe it wasn’t technically my dad’s. He…may not have anything to do with it.”

“Sweetheart!” he said, laughing as he sat up, staring at her in mock betrayal. “So you’ve just been letting me think I’m staying at this family-owned place when all this time you’re the one paying for it?”

She shrugged, looking at him with playful innocence. “It’s already been paid for. Besides,” she added, her smile widening, “I like the idea of you feeling at home here without any pressure.”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m onto you now. You may be this relaxed, low-key CEO, but you’ve secretly been spoiling me this entire time. Admit it!”

She laughed, a bright, carefree sound. “Fine, I admit it—I may have bought this place. Technically. But it’s still your home, too.”

Oscar pulled her close again, marvelling at how effortlessly she balanced everything—her high-powered job, their quiet, easygoing life together, her uncanny ability to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world. “You know what?” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “I don’t care if you own half of Monaco. You’re still my love.”

She grinned, leaning her forehead against his. “Good,” she whispered. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

They stayed like that for a moment, her nestled into him, the quiet warmth of the room settling around them. But Oscar couldn’t resist one more question, the thought gnawing at him.

He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, one last thing, Miss CEO.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Is your net worth bigger than mine?”

She tried to stifle a laugh, her eyes darting away as if avoiding the answer itself. “Oscar…”

He gasped, leaning back in exaggerated shock. “Oh my god, it is, isn’t it? You’ve got me beat!”

“I’m not answering that,” she said, biting back a smile as she pressed her lips together stubbornly.

“You don’t need to,” he replied, grinning even wider. “The silence says it all. Here I thought I was the big shot, and my girlfriend’s out here just quietly sitting on an empire.”

She laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Well, maybe I just like watching you think you’re the fancy one.”

He pulled her close again, laughing softly. “Alright, fine. But don’t think I won’t bring this up anytime you try to sneak the bill.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

Oscar chuckled, still shaking his head in disbelief. He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling as if he’d just pieced together some incredible mystery. “You know, our kid is going to be spoiled,” he said, the words slipping out with a grin.

He felt her shift beside him, and when he looked down, her expression had softened, her eyes faraway, a little spark of excitement in them. “They won’t,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Humble start, just like we both had.”

“Oh, so you’ll be the strict parent, then?” he teased, arching an eyebrow. “The one laying down the law?”

She laughed, giving him a gentle shove. “So I’m the bad cop?”

“Absolutely. I’m not budging on this.” He grinned, taking her hands in his as he leaned in close. “You’ve been lying to me for four years about practically everything. I think that officially makes you the bad cop in this relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was warm, even a little shy. “Fine, I’ll take ‘bad cop’… but only if you’re ready to be the softie who gives in.”

Oscar laughed, wrapping his arms around her, feeling that sense of joy settle in even deeper. “Deal, I was already planning on it” he whispered, his voice full of promise. And as he held her close, he realised he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Oscar pulled her even closer, his hands resting gently on her cheeks as he took in the warmth of her gaze, her face illuminated softly in the low light. The playful edge between them softened into something deeper, and the laughter faded into quiet, shared breath.

Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss that held all the words they hadn’t said. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling there as she melted into him, and for a moment, everything—the teasing, the surprises, the whole world around them—faded away.

the end.

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leyavo · 5 months ago

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Wife/girlfriend series, I already done Ghost, Price & Soap. I think Gaz wouldn’t be married yet, but have a girlfriend… [Wife/Gf masterlist]

Gaz had his eyes on you ever since you stood up in court. The way your voice did not falter as you asked the difficult questions and got the defendant to crumble.

That and the pantsuit that was tailored to your body like perfection. Modest, but worn well.

You’re a military lawyer, Gaz watching over you, a favour to Laswell.

Gaz approached you as your hurried steps echo down the corridor. “If you have any notes, just send them to my assistant.” You brush him off, handing him your business card without looking up from your phone.

It’s not till he’s sitting in your office do you realise he’s there to assist you on the case and make sure no one tries anything. A particular messy political affair that you were more than capable to handle.

“I fear you’re wasted here sergeant Garrick.” You sway in your office chair, eyes on the paper in your hands.

“Don’t waste it then, I’m not only here for brute force.” He sifts through the folder beside you, “leave this guy till last, all talk and won’t last long towards the end.”

He’s a couple years younger than you, knows his people. Every now and then he’s making comments about the people you’re researching. Unknowingly helping you come to conclusion who can be trusted.

Late night researching and compiling information leads to you letting your guard down. He’s easy to talk to, charming without even trying. You end up ordering take out each night so you can work through all the details of the case. Gaz bringing you and your assistant a coffee each morning, he even remembers your specific order.

How could you not feel something for him? When his hand is on your back guiding you through the crowd or the way he shields you with his body when he thinks there’s a threat. You tell yourself he’s just doing his job, pushing down those feelings.

It’s not till you’re in a car crash, a targeted hit that he admits his feelings, but it takes time apart for him to do it. You’re arm broken and few grazes, whilst he’s lying unconscious in the hospital and later transported to the army base infirmary to get better. So you don’t see him for a while, finishing up the case by yourself.

Gaz entering your office days after, your assistant rushing after him. You nod for her to leave and she closes the door.

Turns out your not the only one that’s been holding back.

His arms wrapped around you, chin resting on the crown of your head. “Thank fuck you’re alright,” he said, wincing as you hugged him back. His ribs are bruised, bandage still on his head as if he’s discharged himself as soon as had the energy to come to you.

“There’s nothing to worry about now, those bastards won��t be walking free.”

His hands frame your face, “who would have thought you’d be saving me,” he said, nose nudging yours as his lips gently met yours.

You take Gaz out to dinner to thank him, a fancy restaurant that the portions are too small. The date going on all night and Gaz asking you have breakfast with him at a cafe.

Months pass and he’s away on a mission speaking to you via the webcam of whatever laptop he could get a hold of.

“How my girl?” He says, watching you at your desk as you scribble on your notepad. He likes that you’re always awake at random times and that 90% of the time you answer his call.

“Trying to clear this soldier, the systems so messed up Ky’ just so…” You rub your eyes, shaking your head and smiling back at him. “I’m good nothing I can’t handle, you look well. Guess you’re going dark soon if you’re calling me like this.”

Well, being the only word you can think of, the deep rims under his eyes and graze on his chin telling enough. He didn’t like dwelling on things, his positivity influencing you to see things on the brighter side too. He’s alive and breathing which is more important.

Gaz sighs, nodding. “Yeah, babe. Hopefully not too long this time. Make sure you look after yourself and take a fuckin’ break. You’ve got this though baby, I know you’ll win it and help the guy out.” Always reminding you how capable you are and trying to get you to rest.

“Look after yourself big guy, I can’t save you over there.” A smile tugging at both your lips. “I’ll book us some massages once you notify me of your travel.” The connection cuts out, your reflection staring back at you as Gaz’s screen goes blank.

The more you wait for him to contact you, the more you learn of how impatient you are. You’re checking your phone, emails and the old fax machine you got in case he’d communicate with you that way. You’d learn morse code if you had to.

Gaz surprises you with his return though. You’re at the military ball, glass of champagne in your hand as you swish it around in your hold. He stops at the top of the stairs and your breath hitches. Black suit and tie, his broad shoulders and cinched waist complimented by the tailor you’d recommended him.

As he descends the stairs you just stare, you can’t believe he’s really there. His hand finds the small of your back, lips pressing against your temple.

“Missed me, baby?” He whispers in your ear. You don’t have it in you to scold him for not telling you, he looks healthy and this time he’s returned with no marks.

It doesn’t take long till Gaz is moving into your apartment. He’s buzzing about the communal gym and swimming pool. Dragging you to do some self defence and weight lifting so you can look after yourself when he’s not there.

When you finally meet the rest of TF 141, Price is talking your ear off and asking about some big profile cases you helped run. Ghost already knows you through another mission, you over saw the legalities of transporting something as evidence on his solo mission. Soap is encouraging you as you talk about the broken system of protecting soldiers and how he knows others that haven’t been able to afford a good lawyer. Gaz not interrupting or telling them to shut up. He knows how passionate you are about your job and justice.

You give them all your business card “hopefully you won’t need them boys.”

Gaz collapsing on the sofa once the guys have gone. You curling into his side with a glass of red wine each.

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cherry-coffees · 5 months ago

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Silk Ribbons and Captured Hearts

Caitlyn x girly girl!reader

cw: 2K words | no warnings, just Caitlyn and her lovely femme <3

Caitlyn is infatuated with you.

Your relationship with Caitlyn is somewhere on the line between acquaintances and friends, running in the same high circles. Your family, much like the Kirammans, is respected and known within Piltover. You've met Caitlyn on many occasions: galas, banquets, other fancy events your parents had dragged you to.

Most of your time spent together had come from conversing casually at events, or during council meetings whenever you both had been waiting for your parents to finish their work. You’re a few years younger than Caitlyn, so she had offered to help you with any work you had been doing at Piltover Academy. You were a good student as well, matching her intellect. Caitlyn, despite trying to focus on your homework, would find her gaze drawn to you. Watching your eyes light up whenever you talked about something you were interested in, a small, unconscious smile gracing your lips, had easily captivated her.

That was when you were both younger, though. Now, she can't help but take notice of the beautiful woman you had become. All short skirts and fitted tops, sundresses and carefully chosen accessories, you’re like a warm sunbeam that Caitlyn can’t draw her eyes away from.

It all starts with Caitlyn going shopping in the main streets of Piltover, and she steps into a local boutique filled with cute clothes and handmade jewelry. It's not really her style, but her eyes catch on a stand filled with silk ribbon, and it reminds her of the ribbons you occasionally wear in your hair. And oh, you'd just look so pretty in that shade of purple and-

She leaves with three of them.

A few days later, you’re at a statue unveiling of some old general in Piltover’s army, and Caitlyn sees you again. And fuck you just look so pretty in your white maxi skirt and cropped tank that shows off just a hint of midriff, and Caitlyn can’t stop staring. She finally gets herself together, glancing down at the lavender silk ribbon in her hand. Should she give it to you now? Should she wait? What if you didn’t like it? Worse, what if you don’t like her even after figuring out she’s smitten with you?

Caitlyn immediately clams up, deciding it’s better to give it to you anonymously. She darts off to the area where everyone’s bags and coats are under the guise of finding something she had forgotten in her bag. Once there, she grabs a notepad from her own bag and writes a note:

I thought this would look lovely on you.

Yours,

Anonymous

After attaching it to the ribbon and quietly slipping back into the crowd, Caitlyn can’t really focus on the ceremony. She tries, she really does, but the sound of your casual laughter in conversation unwillingly draws her attention. She also tries not to eye you when you politely make conversation with Caitlyn’s own parents, but, well, she’s long since given up on that one. Maybe she’ll have better self-control in the future.

|------» ~~~ «------|

Any thoughts of self-control die the moment you step into the coffee shop where Caitlyn is sitting with Jayce. Because you’re just so beautiful, wearing some lavender sundress and sandals and holy shit is that-?

Caitlyn’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the silky lavender ribbon in your hair — the one she had bought for you — tied around two pigtails hold your hair half-up. She can’t tear her eyes away, even as you step up to order and smile brightly at the barista. So much so that Jayce turns around to see what she’s looking at before turning back to her with a puzzled expression. “Uh, Cait? You good?”

She snaps her jaw shut, nodding tightly. “Yeah,” she lets her eyes linger on you for a second longer. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”

Jayce glances in your direction once again before a knowing smile dawns on his face. “Oh,” he turns back to Caitlyn, eyes smug and teasing. “You like-"

“Shut up,” Caitlyn hisses, glaring deeply at him, half because she doesn’t want you to overhear this and half because she doesn’t want Jayce to have another thing to hold over her.

Jayce just raises his eyebrows, taking a sip of tea as if waiting for her to explain.

Caitlyn just sighs, glancing down at her own pristine teacup. “I- how can I not?” She mumbles, glancing at you. “She’s, well…perfect.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

And because you just had to go and look so ridiculously, effortlessly, beyond gorgeous in the lavender ribbon, of course Caitlyn has to go and buy five other colors. Because who is Caitlyn if not willing to spend her seemingly endless amounts of money on the little things her love crush likes. A tiny part of her also preens at seeing you so happy to wear something she gave you, as if she’s subtly showing everyone that you’re hers. But she’d never admit to that, of course.

And every time she manages to slip you a ribbon, she leaves another tiny note.

These suit you so much, I thought it would be a shame not to have more.

I think this color will look so nice with your hair.

Please take these ribbons as my way of telling you how beautiful you are.

Your ribbon collection continues to build: baby pink, forest green, crimson red, the lightest grey that reminds you of clouds on a cozy winter morning. You smile every time you find a new one in your bag, keeping the notes safely tucked away in a small box in your closet. You read them from time to time, gently tracing a finger over the words as if you can feel the affection they convey.

Experimentally, with all this ribbon, you don’t confine it to just your hair. You tie it around your ankle, thinking it looks cute (Caitlyn agrees, smiles way too long when she sees it on you in passing). Then, around your wrists: a pair of bows. And when you show up at her house to drop off something from your family to the Kirammans, Caitlyn’s eyes go wide when she catches sight of the ribbon carefully tied around your upper thigh — just peeking out from the short skirt you’re wearing.

Holy fucking shit is all Caitlyn manages to register in her mind. She doesn’t pay attention to whatever you’re talking about with her mother. She just pays attention to the gift she gave you, a symbol of her, tied around your thigh. She’s highly tempted to step forward and grab the end of it, untying it just to replace it with her hand and squeeze-

Pull yourself together.

And she does, barely. Manages to mumble out a few weak words as you depart, missing the smug smile that graces your features as you turn to leave. Misses the way you turn a little faster than necessary so your skirt spins and she gets another view of the ribbon wrapped around your thigh. You leave, Cassandra goes on with her business, and all is normal again.

You’re a strong presence in Caitlyn’s dreams that night.

|------» ~~~ «------|

And then one day, there’s a knock on Caitlyn’s office door, and she calls an official-sounding “come in” only for you to enter. Caitlyn stands up a little too quickly, clearing her throat and straightening her uniform. She moves out from behind her desk to face you. “This is- uh- a surprise,” Caitlyn murmurs, eyes flitting to the navy blue ribbon laced through your high ponytail, your hair half up. She’s sure she hasn’t bought you a navy ribbon yet.

“My father sent me to ask if the gala for your mother’s birthday next week will still be in your ballroom?” You ask, shifting nervously. It’s a simple question, one that you don’t really need an answer to.

Luckily, Caitlyn is too distracted to notice. She just blinks, forcing her mouth to move. “Um, right. Yes, it’s going to be held there.”

You nod, your eyes locked with her piercing blue ones. “Okay. Yeah. Sorry for the interruption, I just happened to be nearby and he, uh, wanted to know.”

Even still, Caitlyn only half registers your weak excuse. Her eyes narrow at the ribbon. It’s different than the silky ones she’s bought you: thinner and less shiny. So, instead of formulating one of her usual, sensible responses to you, she can’t help but let her curiosity spill out. “Your ribbon.”

“My-" you touch your hair lightly. “My ribbon?”

“Where is it from?” She asks, flatly. For the past weeks, the only ribbon you've been wearing has been the ones she's been giving you. Was this an old one of yours? Did you buy it recently? Or is it from someone else? Something in her chest tightens at the last idea.

She’s not prepared for the smile you flash her. “Well” you sigh, tilting your head a little as if the answer is obvious. “I thought that since my anonymous gifter keeps buying me ribbon, I should have one in her color.”

…

Wait.

It takes a second of blank staring before Caitlyn’s jaw drops. “You-" she stumbles in her wording — an extremely rare occasion she’s been taught to avoid. But all her composure is lost with you.

“Me,” your smile holds a hint of satisfaction that Caitlyn kind of just wants to scream at. Or kiss off your face. Either one.

“You knew?!” Her tone is incredulous, like she’s been so secretive that she can’t conceive how you found out she was the one gifting you these ribbons. “How?!”

“First of all, I know your handwriting. Remember how you gave me corrections on my schoolwork when we were younger and our parents had council meetings?”

“I-" Caitlyn stutters, a hue of pink dusting her cheeks.

“And second,” you continue, not quite done. “You haven’t been very subtle about it. You seem to forget something in your bag at every event we’re at together, and then the ribbon happens to appear in mine after you come back.”

Caitlyn’s quiet for a few moments. “Oh.”

You smile. "Yeah, oh."

Caitlyn's blue eyes meet your own, devoid of her usual composure to show her slight nerves. "So...?" her voice is almost anxious.

"So," you repeat, gently reaching up to touch the navy ribbon in your hair again. The one that perfectly matches her navy Enforcer's uniform she's wearing right now. "I wore this...for you."

Caitlyn takes a shaky breath, heart pounding. "Does that mean-?"

She's cut off by your soft lips against her own. Your kiss is gentle and chaste, just a peck, and she barely has enough time to process what's happening before you pull away. "I like you," you say, your smile turning shy.

Caitlyn blinks at you, dazed. She's normally always so in command, so in control of her every action — whether that's in her Enforcer duties or her sharpshooting competitions or just her life in general — but with you, all hope of control always seems to fade.

She steps even closer to you, gently reaching out a hand to trail along your cheek. "I like you too," she murmurs, and this time, you fear you're the one that's losing your composure because her gaze looks so loving and tender that it makes your cheeks burn.

And when Caitlyn kisses you again, deeper this time, you allow yourself to sigh against her lips. She kisses you as if you're something fragile, something to be treasured and cared for. And you know, in that moment, that she'll do anything for you. That, if you asked for the moon, she'd personally find away to fly amongst the stars to take it for you.

"Are you mine?" Caitlyn asks the second she pulls away with a gentle nip to your bottom lip that makes you shiver.

"I always have been," you mumble, letting yourself bury your face in her shoulder to hide your flushed cheeks.

And Caitlyn just smiles, her arms snaking around your waist to pull you against her chest. "That's all I could ever ask for, darling."

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #arcane #cherry writes 🍒#caitlyn kirraman x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane caitlyn #kiramman #lesbian #jayce #jayce talis #arcane jayce #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #me writing girly girl!reader bc she is me #inspired by my love of ribbons (and caitlyn)

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wonderjanga · 2 months ago

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Billy’s Sidegig

Billy has a side gig. It’s something he’s recently cooked up as a way to get cash.

He’ll help ghosts pass on!

Now, granted, ghosts don’t carry cash, but! But, they can lead him to cash. Or food. Or safe shelter! Point is, it’s a very lucrative job. A job that Billy takes very seriously.

Female Ghost (FG):“Well, aren’t you just a dear?”

Billy: “Thank you, miss.” *takes out little notepad* “Now, can you tell me anything about yourself?”

FG: “Well, I was born in ‘09!”

Billy: “19?”

FG: “Yes, 1909. And I was a dancer when I was alive. The only thing I think I’ll need to pass on it for me to perform one last time.”

Billy: “I see, I see.” *scribbles down in notepad* “I’ll see what I can do, miss.”

Billy proceeded to get her a gig at a restaurant. It was safe to say she was floored when Billy corral her inside. She just thought the boy would gather a group of people and have her perform in front of them in the street. She didn’t think he’d get her anything professional!

Then there was a really fancy British guy. He’d been ran over by a train, and Billy could see his innards as he floated in front of him.

He wanted Billy to find a monocle. It left him digging for hours near a train track.

British Ghost (BG):“I believe it was a little further to the left.”

Billy: *digs around there*

BG: “Or was it the right…?”

Billy: *groans and digs over there*

BG: “Don’t groan at me. You are the one who decided to undertake this job, chap.”

It was three hours of searching until he found it. Thankfully, for all his trouble, the British man told him of a nice abandoned building that still had running water.

It was actually in the abandoned building that Billy got another job helping a ghost.

This time a ghost doggy.

Billy: “You want belly rubs?”

Ghost Dog: *barks and rolls over*

Billy: “Don’t mind if I do.” *tries to pet it but hands go through it*

It was through this that Billy went on an epic quest to find ectoplasm. He then dipped his hands in it and was able to eventually give the doggy belly rubs.

It passed on after giving a Billy a few licks on the cheek.

Billy didn’t get anything from the dog, but that was one of his favorite jobs ever.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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adelliet · 2 months ago

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Harry Castillo x f!reader

WORTH THE RISK

Summary: Your best friend offered you a job at the restaurant she worked at. It was your last chance to climb out of the hole you’d been stuck in for way too long. But along with the new job came someone new.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, age gap, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), nicknames, praise kink, aftercare, prejudices, reader is poor (sorry)

A/n: Hi! So, this is not that long (I hope) than my other fic's, but it's still good, trust me. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

“Can you take that guy’s order?” your friend asked, pointing discreetly at a man sitting alone at a round table draped in a crisp white tablecloth.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the fact that he was sitting at a table meant for six, completely alone. But hey, this was a fancy place, and he looked like a fancy guy. What did you know about rich people and their habits anyway?

“Sure,” you muttered, grabbing your notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. As you approached, you put on your best customer-service smile, stopping at a polite distance, close enough to hear each other over the background noise, but not so close that it felt inappropriate.

“Good evening. What can I get you?”

The man was still holding the menu, one finger resting against his lips, visibly lost in thought. It took him a second to register your voice. When he did, his eyes flicked to yours, then did a quick double-take.

His pupils dilated slightly. His previously distant expression softened. And then, just the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

You wouldn’t call him unattractive. Not at all. His sharp features were framed by a neatly trimmed brown mustache and slightly wavy hair that fell just past his ears. His eyes, deep and warm, like freshly brewed coffee, held a certain weight, an intensity that was hard to ignore. He looked like comfort. Like stability.

But you weren’t about to fall for that.

A man with money was a dangerous thing. You knew that all too well. So you pushed down any flutter of attraction, forced yourself to focus on what mattered.

He was just another customer.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet… Do you have any recommendations? Maybe the most expensive wine on the menu?”

Ah. There it was. The casual flex. You inhaled deeply, suppressing an eye roll.

“Yes, we have a few top selections. There’s the Château Margaux for $1,500, the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon for $3,000, and—”

Before you could finish, he nodded, already deciding.

“I’ll take the Screaming Eagle.”

Of course he would.

You gave him a polite nod and jotted it down, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the first or last time someone ordered it. Not because of the taste, but because of the price.

“Anything else?”

“Not for now, thank you.”

You nodded once more before walking away. The second you were out of his sight, you let out a deep breath, pulling a face, something between Are you kidding me? and Of course he did.

By the time you finally had the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine in your hands, you knew you had to be extra careful. One wrong move and you’d be responsible for spilling a small fortune onto the restaurant floor.

In one hand, you held the bottle. In the other, a wine glass, filled just about a quarter of the way, some weird restaurant tradition, offering a ‘preview’ sip before pouring the rest.

Anyways, you weren’t sure what did it.

Maybe it was the chaotic energy of the restaurant, the tension in the air. Maybe it was the way your manager had been snapping at everyone all night, dumping his stress onto the staff. Or maybe, maybe you were just having one of those days.

Either way, the second you opened your mouth to speak, the glass slipped from your fingers. And the wine? Right onto his lap.

“Oh, fuck—” you cursed, immediately realizing your mistake.

Not only had you just sworn, loudly, in a high-end restaurant, but you had also spilled a glass of the most expensive wine on a man who, with one phone call, could probably have you fired and blacklisted from every fine dining establishment in the city.

Oh, you were so getting fired.

“I—I am so sorry!”

In a rush, you set the now-empty glass and the bottle onto the table, grabbing the nearest napkin in sheer panic.

He just chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over. But it was definitely not okay.

Before your brain could fully process what you were doing, you had already dropped to your knees in front of him, frantically dabbing at the fabric of his pants with the napkin. It wasn’t until a second later that you realized how it looked.

How bad it looked. How absolutely, utterly humiliatingly wrong it looked. Oh, you were definitely getting fired.

“Sh— I am sorry, I—”

The panic in your voice was impossible to hide. He definitely noticed. But somehow, he didn’t seem the least bit upset. If anything, he looked… amused. Which he shouldn’t be. Not after getting drenched in the most expensive wine on the menu. Not after his server nearly touched his-

Oh god. You wanted to die.

You shot up from your knees so fast, you nearly lost your balance. Your face was burning. Absolutely on fire from the sheer humiliation of it all.

But no. You were not about to let your embarrassment control the situation. It was time to act like a real server. A professional. Definitely not a panicked, flustered mess.

“Sir, I am so, so sorry,” you started, quickly pulling out your notebook and pen, trying desperately to salvage the situation. “As compensation for this incident, you have the right to order anything on the menu, completely free of charge.”

Before you could jot anything down, you suddenly felt his hand on your wrist, stopping you.

“Sweetheart, it’s fine. I don’t want anything.”

He looked like he didn’t want anything. Unlike you, who was still visibly spiraling, he seemed completely unfazed. Relaxed, even.

“Sir, it’s my responsibility to—”

“Really, it’s nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice carrying that effortless confidence. “Money’s not an issue for me.”

Well, that was obvious.

His face held that same unwavering calm, like he could simply talk his way out of this, and honestly? He probably could. But your conscience wouldn’t let you walk away that easily. You had ruined his expensive suit pants. An apology alone didn’t feel like enough.

“Alright, sir, but there must be something I can offer you. I can’t just—”

“You know what? There is something,” he leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the backrest as a slow, knowing smile curled at his lips. A smile that was dangerous. A smile that could strip a woman down to her lingerie with just a single glance. And god, you were so close to being one of them.

But no, you held your ground. Barely.

“Dinner,” he finally said, his voice smooth as silk. “That’ll make up for it.”

You froze. Like, actually froze. Did you hear him right? You blinked, still frozen. Did you understand him right? But when he kept looking at you with that same flirtatious expression, you realized. Oh, you definitely understood him right.

“Oh—no, no, that’s—”

“It’s the only offer I’ll accept,” he cut in, leaving you zero room to argue. Which made this so much harder. On one hand, this man, this incredibly rich, insanely attractive man, had just asked you out.

On the other hand, he was a customer. A snob. And men with money? They were dangerous. And yet against your better judgment, your head gave the tiniest nod.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. His eyes lit up. His smile stretched wider. Still confident. Still composed. Still oozing wealth and charm.

“Great. Tomorrow, 8:00 PM. Dinner at this place. Don’t be late.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card, which he handed to you. You took it carefully. It was fancy. Even the texture of it felt expensive. A white business card with bold, black print, the name of a restaurant you had never even heard of.

You stared at it for a second, studying it. Then, finally, you nodded, shifting your eyes back to him.

“Harry, by the way. Harry Castillo,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. You quickly tucked the card, your notepad, and pen into the pocket around your waist before shaking his hand in return. It was more out of politeness than interest.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The moment your hand slipped from his, you practically fled from his presence. And judging by the heat in your cheeks, you were definitely as red as a tomato.

“Hey, what the hell just happened out there?”

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, your friend was on you. She looked way too eager, like she was dying to hear whatever mess you’d gotten yourself into, just so she could laugh in your face. Honestly? You couldn’t even blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d laugh at her too.

“That guy just asked me out to dinner,” you admitted, breathless but also, exasperated. Your tone completely threw her off.

She glanced back through the small window in the kitchen door, looking at the man in question before turning back to you, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re joking, right?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the nearest table. She let out a short huff, then took a step closer. “Him? He asked you out?” There was a clear emphasis on who asked who, and that, unsettled you.

“I can’t believe it either—”

“So why aren’t you screaming right now?! He’s probably a multimillionaire, and instead of jumping for joy, you’re—what? Having a meltdown?” She grabbed your shoulders, looking way more excited about this than you were.

You just sighed, shaking your head, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know… it doesn’t feel real.”

You shrugged, finally meeting her eyes. And she got it. She understood why you weren’t letting yourself be excited. Because you’d been broken one too many times. And if you just expected nothing, you wouldn’t be disappointed.

“I get it,” she said, softer now. “But listen to me-he means it. That guy comes here all the time, and not once has he asked a server out before.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, turning you toward the door, both of you peeking through the window. “And, ugh, god, he’s so sexy.”

You nudged her playfully with your shoulder, but deep down? Yeah. You agreed, he was sexy. Maybe a little older than what you’d typically go for, but still, workable.

The two of you watched him, not-so-subtly, until more men approached his table. Black suits. Slicked-back hair. Money so rich you could smell it all the way from the kitchen.

And just like that, the excitement. That tiny flicker of hope. Gone. Your stomach dropped. You turned away immediately. Your friend lingered at the window for a second longer before following after you, now completely confused.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Frustrated. “I knew this was bullshit,” you muttered, adjusting your uniform, glancing at her again. But she still didn’t get it.

“The guys sitting with him,” you nodded toward the door. “I guarantee he made a bet with them. A bet to see if he could land the most pathetic desperate whore in the area.”

Your friend’s face went blank before she groaned, rubbing her hands down her face in pure frustration. Then, she fixed you with a deadpan stare. “You cannot be serious right now.”

You stared at the floor, still fussing with your uniform, still seething.

“Oh my god. Do you have to overthink everything? Babe, that definitely didn’t happen—”

“You don’t know that.” You cut her off. She could see how pissed off you were. But more than the anger, it was fear showing in your eyes. Fear of another failure. Another rejection. And whether she believed it or not, you just didn’t have the capacity for that.

Not again.

She sighed, then pulled you into a comforting hug. She didn’t say anything at first. Just held you, tightly. Then, when she finally pulled back, she started speaking.

“Listen. Go to that dinner. Take the opportunity. And if that asshole hurts you in any way? I swear to god, I will break his fucking face.”

You laughed, even though you knew she meant every word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, smiling as the two of you hugged again. And despite the doubt clawing at the back of your mind, despite wanting to pretend like you never even got that stupid little card, you decided to take her advice.

To ‘Take the opportunity’ or however she said it.

The evening air was cool, streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet city. The sky was a deep navy blue, speckled with the first few stars peeking through the clouds. A gentle breeze kissed your skin as you stepped out, the distant hum of traffic blending into the soft rustling of leaves.

You looked breathtaking.

The black dress you wore wasn’t anything extravagant, but god, did it know how to hug your body in all the right places. The way it shaped your waist, the way it flowed down your thighs, teasing just enough skin to be dangerous. Every curve was perfectly framed, every movement of yours had a new level of grace and temptation.

And your makeup? Flawless.

Even after all the failed attempts, the frustrated groans, the “I’m not going!” breakdowns, the questioning-your-entire-life-choices moment, you pulled through. And damn, you looked stunning. Before stepping out, there was one last thing left to do. Selfie, and a private one for your best friend.

Her reply never miss.

A text so filthy you nearly threw your phone across the room. Something about how she’d absolutely devour you if she were into women. You gagged. You laughed. You loved her.

But right now, it was 7:50. According to Google Maps, the restaurant wasn’t too far. Except, you didn’t have a car. And a taxi? With what money? So, your only option was to power-walk like your life depended on it and pray you’d make it in ten minutes.

Even though you felt like every second of running had stripped away another layer of makeup and drained the last bit of life from your body, you made it.

You stood before the entrance. And yes, this was the place. And damn, it looked the part.

Marble stairs. Massive wooden doors that looked like they belonged in a palace. Golden accents along the walls. Flower-shaped lamps. A fountain right at the entrance. It was the kind of detail that made you feel both impressed and slightly terrified.

With a small stumble in your heels, which thankfully, no one seemed to notice, you approached the reception desk.

“Reservation under… Castillo,” you said softly.

The receptionist smiled, as if he’d been expecting you all along.

“Of course. Table fifteen. He’s already here.”

“Thank you,” you murmured before making a sharp turn toward the restroom. A quick pit stop was absolutely necessary.

Facing the mirror, you launched into full recovery mode. Fixing makeup, fluffing your hair, making sure you didn’t look like you had sprinted here. A touch of gloss, a final tug at your dress, and there you were again. Put together. Ready.

Then you stepped inside the dining hall and everything shimmered.

The chandeliers sparkled like frozen light. The pristine white tablecloths, the waiters in their spotless uniforms, the golden silverware—it was overwhelming in the best and worst way. Moving carefully, like someone who both belonged and absolutely did not, you scanned the room. Searching.

And then, there he was. Harry Castillo.

Sitting effortlessly poised, elbow resting on the table, finger near his lips, just like yesterday. He looked composed. Unreadable. Devastatingly attractive. You inhaled deeply and walked toward him.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not late,” you said, voice softer than you intended. It took him a second to register your presence. But when he did…

His entire demeanor shifted.

The moment his gaze landed on you, his thoughts simply ceased to function. That dress. The way it sculpted around your curves. The delicate line of your neck. The subtle, hypnotizing sway of your chest as you moved, yes, he noticed. It was right then that he realized: keeping his thoughts entirely proper tonight? Yeah. Not happening.

Fuck. If this was your backup outfit, he'd kill to see what plan A looked like… without the dress.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, standing immediately like a gentleman from another era. Taking your hand, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. A shiver ran down your spine.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot how to breathe, and when you finally managed words, they came out in a breathless, “Thank you.”

You settled into your seat, praying the chair wouldn’t make an awkward screech, and picked up the menu, doing your absolute best to not embarrass yourself in the first five minutes.

“Was it a long trip?” he asked, reaching for his glass of water.

“Uh… no,” you lied smoothly. Absolutely no way you were going to tell him you walked here, face half-melting and muttering curses under your breath.

“And you?” you asked in return.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Nah, I live just around the corner. I know most of the restaurants around here.”

“I believe that. This place is… a different level.”

He nodded, leaning in just slightly. “Yeah, but you know what? People forget that food is just food. Great company is what makes it unforgettable, even in the smallest, messiest little pizza joint.”

That was surprisingly sweet. And unexpected.

“So you’re telling me you could’ve taken me to a kebab place by the train station?”

“Exactly. And if I’d known you’d show up looking like my most expensive investment, I’d have worn a tux.”

You laughed, glancing down at the menu. The tension in your shoulders was starting to ease. For the first time tonight, you felt… comfortable.

“I swear the food here’s good,” he added. “But if you ever want real pizza—I know a guy. One tooth, slaps the dough with his bare hands.”

“That sounds… hygienic.”

“It’s the best pizza in the city. But yeah, I only take people there if I know they’ve got a strong immune system.”

You laughed again. And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to play a role. To impress, to overthink, to be perfect. You just felt like yourself. And that was refreshing in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Have you decided yet?”

You shook your head, lips pressed into a tight line. The menu was a battlefield of options. So many dishes, so many exotic names, and those prices? Just looking at them made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to come across as some broke girl who had no idea what foie gras was, but also not like a high-maintenance snob who’d order truffle oil on a toothpick just to impress.

Making a good first impression was hard, though technically, you already blew it the moment you spilled wine on his very expensive pants and ended up scrubbing his legs like some panicked Cinderella with a death wish.

“I get it,” he said with a slight nod. After a few seconds, you let out a quiet sigh and finally gave up. “Pick for me. I’m sure you know what’s good way better than I do.”

He looked up at you with the sweetest puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and your heart melted.

“Are you sure? It’s only polite to let the lady choose.”

“I’m sure, Mr. Castillo,” you said with a soft smile and a small tilt of your head.

“Well then,” he replied, closing his menu with a confident snap, “let’s hope you won’t regret it.” And just like that, he turned his full attention to you.

The dinner went surprisingly normal. Actually, scratch that—wonderfully.

Harry wasn’t the snob you half expected him to be. He didn’t name-drop luxury brands every two sentences, didn’t mention his bank account once. In fact, he didn’t flaunt anything at all, except maybe the way he actually listened to you.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him everything.

Like the fact that your restaurant job was the only thing keeping you from ending up on the street. Or that your family had basically washed their hands of you. Or that you’d once come dangerously close to selling weed just to afford rent.

Those charming little details didn’t need to make it to the dinner table.

But your favorite color? Rose type? Chocolate preference? You gave him those happily.

By the time you were halfway through your second glass of wine, your tongue was definitely loosening up. Your boldness had grown legs and was strutting confidently across the room.

“Mr. Castillo,” you said, setting your glass down, eyes twinkling. “I have a question for you.”

Harry turned toward you instantly, his posture subtly shifting as if bracing for something wild.

“This…” —you made a slow circle with your finger, gesturing at everything around you— “this whole thing. Is it… a bet?”

He blinked a few times, clearly not expecting that. Then a slow smile curled on his lips. But when he saw how serious your expression was, his smile faded slightly. “No… Why would you think that?”

You hesitated, then shook your head and waved it off. “Never mind, it’s nothing—”

“No, wait. If something made you think that, I want to know.” He wasn’t letting it slide. And honestly? That little fire in his eyes? Kind of hot.

You paused. Should you say it and sound like a complete idiot? The wine in your bloodstream whispered, screw it.

“I saw you yesterday. With a couple of guys. And I just… thought maybe you bet with them about this. About… me.”

Harry laughed. Not just a polite chuckle, he actually laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep, warm, and ridiculously contagious.

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing too. Not at the situation, but because his laugh was so good, it practically reached inside you and pulled it out of you.

“Oh no,” he said, still smiling, “those were some of my coworkers. And I promise you, we don’t do things like that.”

The relief hit you like a wave, and you nodded slowly. Sure, he could be lying. He could be playing a game. But in that moment, you chose to believe him. No overthinking. No spiraling.

Just a beautiful dinner with a man who made you laugh, who looked at you like you mattered, who, somehow, made you feel like the main character in a life that wasn’t always kind.

And tonight? Tonight felt like it was finally giving you a break.

You laughed. You weren’t even sure what at anymore, but laughter had become the most natural reaction to anything that came out of his mouth.

Harry was… different. Unpredictable. Smart. And most of all, he listened. Not the fake ‘I’m nodding but thinking about steak’ kind of listening. No. He actually paid attention. Remembered things. Asked follow-up questions.

And the more you opened up, the easier it felt. Like you didn’t have to be anyone else to be enough.

You laughed at your own awkward moments, told him stories from your childhood, even admitted you used to eat sand when you were little, with chocolate ice cream, of course.

And he listened like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.

And one thing you had to admit, throughout the whole dinner, you caught him stealing glances at your chest more than once. At first, he tried to be discreet, quick flicks of the eyes when you were sipping wine or looking at the menu. But later on? Yeah, he didn’t even pretend anymore.

But it wasn’t a gross, sleazy kind of stare. No. It was something else entirely. It was elegant, intense… reverent. Like he admired you, every curve, every breath, the way your collarbones caught the light, the subtle movement of your chest when you laughed.

It didn’t make you shrink. It made you pulse. Around nothing, yet. And if something shifted down there, let’s just say a full-blown waterfall was now a national emergency.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted you gently. “But we’re closing in ten minutes.”

One of the waiters had appeared beside your table. He spoke softly, his voice almost trembling. You didn’t blame him. You were, in a way, just like him, same position, same nervous awe around someone like Harry.

“Oh!” you gasped. “God, we’re so sorry! We totally lost track of time.”

Harry looked at you with a smile. But not the usual charming, practiced one. No, this one was warm. Genuine. The kind that makes your heart flutter… and maybe something else too.

You both started gathering your things. Harry reached into his coat, pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them on the table, no counting, no hesitation.

You almost choked. What you’d give for that amount of money? Better left unsaid.

“Thank you. Keep the change,” Harry said, patting the waiter gently on the shoulder.

You gave the poor guy a quick smile and followed your dinner date like he was leading you into battle… or heaven.

He walked with ease. Command. Confidence. You? You felt like a princess being led by her knight out of the ballroom. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in ages, you actually felt like you yourself.

The moment you stepped outside, cold air slapped your skin.

“Are you cold? Where’s your coat?” Harry asked, brow slightly furrowed.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, unintentionally pushing your boobs up a bit more in the process, bonus points, apparently.

“Oh… I forgot it at home,” you said innocently. Truth was, you didn’t own one. Couldn’t afford it. But he didn’t need to know that.

Harry gave you a look. The kind that didn’t need words. Then, like a man on a mission, he took off his jacket.

“Oh wait, you really don’t have to—”

“Yes I do,” he cut in gently. “Can’t have you freezing, can we?”

Before you could argue, he was already draping the warm fabric over your shoulders. No asking. No drama. Just… doing.

And suddenly, you were warmer. Not just from the jacket, but from the man himself. And yeah, another point for Harry Castillo. And damn, was he stacking them up fast.

You pulled your phone out of your purse, pretending to check the time, but in truth, you were stalling. “I should probably go,” you murmured, still a little breathless from the whole evening.

Harry tilted his head. “Let me take you home. I’ve got a car waiting.”

Shit.

Panic crawled up your spine like a vine. You couldn’t let him see where you lived. It wasn’t horrible, but it also wasn’t this. Not this golden-drenched world of chandeliers and silk napkins. You bit your lip.

“Actually,” you blurted before you could stop yourself, “what if we went to yours instead?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly—just a flicker—but enough for your face to burst into flames.

“Wait, no—I didn’t mean it like that!” you rushed out. “I mean—God, I’m not trying to come off like… like one of those girls. I’m not, I swear, I just…” Your words tangled into a panicked mess. “It’s just complicated. My place is, well, complicated.”

Harry blinked once, then twice, and slowly, smiled. The kind of smile that made your stomach dip and your pulse skip a beat.

“I get it,” he said softly. “Believe me, I’m not one of those guys either. I don’t usually bring someone over after the first night.”

You exhaled in relief, feeling like your entire soul unclenched.

“That’s why,” he continued, stepping closer, “I booked us a suite for the night. Neutral territory.”

Your heart did a front flip.

It sounded crazy, no, was crazy, but in that moment, it somehow made sense. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way he said it with zero pressure in his tone, like it was just a comfortable, no-expectations solution.

The drive was smooth and silent, your heart hammering against your ribs the closer you got. And then the hotel. Oh. My. God.

From the outside, the hotel didn’t just whisper wealth, it screamed it, elegantly. The building towered above the street, wrapped in sleek black glass that reflected the city lights like diamonds scattered across velvet. The entrance was framed by golden accents that shimmered under the glow of artfully placed spotlights, and a long crimson carpet stretched from the sidewalk all the way to the rotating glass doors, guarded by men in tailored suits and pristine gloves.

It wasn’t just a hotel. It was an experience. And you were suddenly part of it.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were swallowed by soft lighting and opulence. The marble floors gleamed under your heels, catching little stars from the massive crystal chandelier that cascaded from the ceiling like frozen rain. There were velvet armchairs in deep emerald green, tall indoor plants trimmed like they belonged in a palace, and staff that glided across the space like well-trained shadows, every movement graceful and hushed.

The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air, sweet, musky, seductive. Even the air conditioning felt richer here.

You couldn’t help but glance at Harry, who walked beside you with that calm confidence like he owned the whole damn place. And honestly? He might as well have. And of course, everyone at the front desk knew him. Knew his name, his favorite drink, his room preference. Harry Castillo wasn’t just rich. He was a regular.

When you reached the elevator, the doors opened with a soft chime, revealing an interior wrapped in mirrored gold and black marble. You stepped in first, and the second the doors slid shut, something shifted.

The air between you thickened, like velvet, like smoke, like something unnamed but entirely understood. It was silent, except for the hum of the elevator. And yet your heart beat like a drum.

Harry stood next to you, close but not touching, his cologne crawling over your skin like a secret. His reflection in the mirror caught yours. He smirked slightly, nothing cocky, just that quiet kind of power that says I know exactly what I’m doing to you. You could feel it in your chest, in your stomach, between your thighs.

The elevator didn’t just take you up floors. It lifted something else. Something electric. Something that buzzed under your skin and begged to unravel.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, Harry stepped forward, pulling a sleek black card from his wallet. In one smooth, practiced motion, he swiped it through the lock. There was a quiet click, and the door unlocked.

“Ladies first,” he said, voice low and velvety. You stepped inside and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

The suite was massive. Not just hotel-room massive, penthouse massive. The kind of place you only see in movies or on Instagram when influencers casually spend the night with billionaires.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, revealing the glowing skyline of the city. Thick ivory curtains were pulled back like theater drapes. The bed wasn’t just king-sized—it looked like it belonged in a palace. Silk sheets, a gold-accented headboard, and pillows that probably cost more than your entire rent.

A marble bar gleamed in the corner with tiny gold bottles lined up like jewelry. Plush velvet sofas sat near a sleek fireplace, and a massive flat screen was mounted on the wall. There was even a balcony, shimmering with the reflection of city lights.

Jesus Christ.

You turned slowly, breath caught in your throat. “This place… I don’t think I could afford it even if I lived five lives.”

Harry stepped in behind you, quietly shutting the door. He leaned against it with that signature casual confidence. “Do you like it?” he asked, watching you, not the room.

You turned to face him, still half in disbelief. “I mean, yeah. It’s like stepping into a dream. I didn’t even know places like this existed outside of Pinterest.”

He chuckled, stepping further inside. “I figured if we’re not going home, we might as well do it right.”

You nodded, heart fluttering in your chest like it had a mind of its own. “You really know how to set the mood, Mr. Castillo.”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “I try.”

You both wandered through the space, giggling and pointing at ridiculous features like the heated floors or remote-controlled curtains. He poured you both glasses of champagne from the minibar, something expensive you couldn’t pronounce, and you toasted to, whatever this night had become.

Then it happened.

You turned too quickly mid-laugh, champagne in hand, and your heel caught the edge of the rug. You stumbled, not dramatically, but enough to make your stomach lurch. You gasped and instinctively reached out for balance. Harry was already there.

One hand caught your wrist, the other your champagne glass, and in the span of a breath, your bodies were inches apart. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell his cologne. Your laughter faded.

The air between you thickened. Your heart thudded in your chest as your eyes met his. Time slowed, or maybe just stopped. You weren’t thinking anymore. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t holding back.

You leaned in.

So did he.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle, uncertain. But it deepened quickly, growing warmer, more assured. It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t rushed. It felt like everything that had been building between you had finally reached its breaking point.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was release. Tension melting. Electricity sparking. Breath shared between two people who, for some reason neither of you could explain, felt like they needed this moment. And maybe each other.

The kiss deepened with every passing second, slow and simmering, yet charged with a hunger you hadn’t realized was burning under your skin all night. His lips were soft but confident, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had, maybe longer.

His hands slid to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, and yours found their way to the collar of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

There was no fumbling. No rush. Just the smooth, dangerous rhythm of something that felt inevitable.

He pulled you closer, guiding your body against his with a quiet, reverent care. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, or maybe it was your own pulse echoing everywhere, especially in places it had no business being so loud.

It was too much. Too good. Too fast.

You pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, your fingertips pressing lightly against his chest. He looked at you immediately, concerned, respectful, but still burning.

“I—I can’t,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “I mean… I don’t sleep with someone on the first date. That’s not… me.”

His expression didn’t falter. He didn’t pout or try to convince you. Instead, he smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your knees weak all over again.

“I don’t either,” he said softly. “Which is probably why I don’t go on dates often.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your nerves starting to untangle. Then he leaned in, kissed your forehead gently, and looked into your eyes like he was seeing straight through you.

“But… maybe tonight we both break a rule.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, your hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled him in, youd lips met again, hungrier, messier. Passion had cracked open the surface, and now it poured out like wildfire.

You felt wanted. Desired. Seen. And above all—you felt alive. Tonight wasn’t just a night. It was a beginning you hadn’t expected. And it was burning.

Your heels tapped softly against the polished floor, the long black dress hugging every curve as you let him guide you toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but reverent—like he couldn’t believe you were real, and didn’t want to risk you slipping away.

He guided you backwards, one slow step at a time and you let him lead.

The soft lighting from the minibar flickered behind him as you moved through the luxurious apartment, every step closer to the bedroom thickening the air between you. Your hand slid up to his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt as your fingers moved to the buttons, undoing them one by one, never breaking the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair and the other settled firmly on your waist, fingertips pressing into the silk of your dress. You gasped softly, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss, growling just enough against your lips to send a jolt straight through you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered between kisses. You smiled into his mouth, pulling him closer.

“I could worship this mouth all night,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, “and still not get enough of you.”

With each step back, your bodies collided, heat to heat, and he couldn’t stop touching you. His hand slipped behind you, running down your spine as the zipper of your dress gave way under his fingers.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, his voice lower now, thicker. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping it just enough to make you bite your lip, and his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and grazing teeth just enough to pull a shaky moan from you.

“I want to ruin you,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.” Every word made your knees weaker, every kiss made your pulse wilder.

Your dress slipped off one shoulder. His bowtie came undone and fell somewhere behind you. Buttons popped open under your fingers as you walked, kissed, stumbled your way to the bedroom.

And just before the bed, he paused. Pulled back. Looked at you like you were carved out of stardust.

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” he said, his hands gliding down your waist, then gripping your thighs. “So fucking good. Like a dream I didn’t know I had.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he kissed you again and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. The world tilted, and the next second, you landed on the bed in a pool of silk sheets and undone kisses.

Looking up at him, shirt halfway open, hair slightly messed, and desire radiating off his skin, you knew. You weren’t just about to be touched. You were about to be fucked, in the most sweetest way possible.

You still technically had your dress on, but it was a complete mess by now—half-unzipped, one strap hanging loosely off your shoulder. Harry didn’t look much better; his usually perfect hair was tousled, and a few buttons of his shirt had been undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his toned chest.

But what truly caught your attention was the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his tailored pants. It knocked the air right out of your lungs.

Your pulse stumbled, your breath hitched, and you felt your mouth go dry, yet somehow flood with need at the same time. You tried to say something, anything, but words failed you. You were completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Harry caught your stunned expression and simply smiled, a quiet, knowing smile that made your core pulsating ever more. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your skin as he carefully slipped the rest of your dress down. The fabric pooled silently around your ankles, forgotten.

The moment you laid there, almost fully exposed to him, he dropped to his knees without hesitation. Soft, open-mouthed kisses landed against your legs first—hot, wet, and breathtaking. His lips traveled up slowly, lingering in places that made your whole body shiver and gasp. Some kisses were featherlight and ticklish, others deep and lingering, stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

By the time he reached your hips, your entire body was burning, vibrating with anticipation, and you realized just how desperately you craved every single touch he gave you.

As his mouth traveled over your body, Harry’s hands didn’t stay idle. They roamed your curves with a deliberate, possessive touch, sometimes gliding smoothly, other times gripping firmly enough to make you gasp his name and let out a soft, high-pitched squeal that made him chuckle low in his throat. Every reaction you gave him only seemed to encourage him more, fueling a dark gleam in his eyes.

Every so often, he murmured things against your skin, his voice rough with arousal.

“You’re unbelievable… so damn beautiful,” he whispered into the hollow of your hip, sending shivers rippling up your spine.

“I wanted this the moment I saw you.” His words fell like hot velvet, wrapping around you and making you feel even more helpless under his touch.

After what felt like an eternity of teasing and worshipping your skin with kisses, he leaned in again, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly reached behind you to unhook your bra.

The moment he threw it away, he let out a low, appreciative breath. His hands immediately found your breasts, cupping and caressing them with a mixture of reverence and hunger, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks until you whimpered and arched into him, desperate for more.

Harry took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you like you were the most exquisite treasure he’d ever laid eyes on. His kisses grew hungrier, his hands a little rougher, but always careful, always worshipful.

When he knelt again to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his gaze flicked down and caught sight of the wet patch soaking through the delicate fabric. A wicked smirk curled his lips.

“Already this wet for me, darling?” he murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn with embarrassment and excitement all at once.

He peeled the panties down torturously slow, making you shudder with anticipation. Once they hit the floor, you were completely bare for him, trembling under the weight of his gaze. Harry looked at you like you were something rare, precious, something he could never get enough of.

And despite how exposed you were, you had never felt more wanted, more craved, than you did in that moment, laying there trembling, your skin marked with his kisses and your heart racing wildly in your chest.

“You have the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen,” Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and molten with desire, as his hands slid slowly up from your ankles, gliding along your calves and thighs. His touch was firm, claiming, yet never rough. When he reached your inner thighs, he gripped them tightly, split them, grounding you, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

It wasn’t painful—far from it. It was commanding, reassuring, a silent way of saying you’re mine right now. Your breath hitched, your body trembling with anticipation. You were already so sensitive, so worked up, that even the brush of his fingers made you whimper.

Soft, desperate sounds slipped from your parted lips almost constantly now, tiny moans and gasps that Harry drank in like a man starved. His smirk deepened, pride flickering in his gaze at just how undone you were under his touch.

He gave you one last, heated look, a look so intense it made your stomach flip, before lowering himself between your thighs, disappearing beneath you with a predatory grace.

The moment his mouth met you, you nearly sobbed. His tongue was hot, deliberate, and devastatingly slow. He tasted you with a reverence that made your head spin, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter whenever you tried to move away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“F-fuck Harry—“ one hand of yours flying to his hair, gripping it as if it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

Harry wasn’t in a hurry. He explored you like he had all the time in the world, dragging his tongue through your folds, pausing only to plant slow, sucking kisses that left you panting his name. When you cried out particularly loud, his hands tightened just a little more, keeping you firmly against his mouth.

His tongue was thorough, not missing a tiny spot, licking all your juices from just the surface of your labia. From time to time, he looked at your expression, at your tightly shut eyes, eyebrows furrowed upwards, how hard you were trying to be quiet by biting your lower lip, and how you were trembling under his touch.

You could feel his pleased growl vibrate against you, the sound shooting straight through your core and making you arch off the bed. The world blurred around you, your only focus the man between your thighs, the relentless, exquisite way he worshipped you with his mouth.

Harry groaned low in his throat as he pressed his mouth harder against you, his tongue slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your entire body jolt.

You let out a desperate, broken moan, as he moved his tongue deep and slow at first, teasing, exploring, savoring every reaction he dragged out of you.

Every time he curled his tongue just right, your hips bucked involuntarily against his mouth. His hands on your thighs tightened their hold, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, utterly at his mercy.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against you between strokes of his tongue, the vibration of his voice sending new waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. “You’re doing so fucking good for me. Tasting so sweet…”

You couldn’t even form words. Only desperate whimpers and high, keening moans fell from your lips, one after another, growing louder the deeper he went. Your whole body trembled beneath him, your fingers tugging harder at his hair in a silent plea for more, for everything.

Harry’s cock strained painfully against his trousers, throbbing with need, but he didn’t stop. No, he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Watching you fall apart under him, hearing those beautiful sounds pouring from your mouth, feeling the way you clenched around his tongue—it was better than any release he could imagine.

His tongue moved faster now, plunging and flicking, occasionally circling your clit just to hear the wrecked cries it tore from you.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you know that?” he panted between kisses, his voice rough with hunger and awe. “So fucking perfect for me, angel. Look at you…”

You glanced down through heavy, lidded eyes and the sight of him between your thighs—his dark hair tousled, his lips slick and red, his eyes burning with adoration and hunger—nearly broke you.

The pressure in your core tightened unbearably. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth against your sensitive skin, every whispered praise in that low, sinful voice pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Your moans turned into cries, your body tensing, hips rocking against his face as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter, until you were right there, teetering on the brink, completely and utterly lost in him.

It was messy. It was wet. It was dizzyingly perfect. And Harry seemed addicted to every second of it.

Your body was trembling uncontrollably, every muscle tight, every nerve alight with pure, overwhelming pleasure. With a final, deep stroke of his tongue, Harry sent you flying over the edge.

You cried out his name, back arching off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair. Waves of ecstasy crashed through you, one after another, leaving you gasping, moaning, trembling beneath him.

Harry didn’t stop. He slowed, soothing you through the aftershocks with soft kisses and gentle strokes of his hands along your thighs, grounding you, worshipping you.

“There you go, beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked but so full of love. “Tasted even better than I though… fuck, you’re everything.”

You could barely catch your breath, your entire body humming, still quivering. Harry pressed a few more soft kisses to your thighs before slowly rising, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

It was only then that he began undoing the rest of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders with slow, deliberate movements. His skin was flushed, muscles flexing under the low light, and you couldn’t look away.

When he kicked off his pants too, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, the sight of him nearly made your heart stop. Something primal lit up inside you.

The exhaustion from before was gone, replaced with a burning need so fierce you didn’t even recognize yourself. Hormones raged through you, clouding every thought except for him.

When he crawled on top of you, you barely gave him a chance to react before you grabbed him and flipped him onto his back, your body moving on pure instinct.

Harry let out a surprised, delighted laugh. “Oh, so I’ve got a little dragoness here, huh?”

You just smirked down at him, your eyes dark with lust, and then you began your own form of sweet revenge.

You kissed down his chest slowly, teasingly, making sure your lips barely brushed his skin, feeling him shiver under you. You trailed even lower, biting gently at his hipbone, smiling when he let out a low, desperate groan.

His hands fisted the sheets, muscles straining as he tried to keep himself still for you.

“Tease,” he rasped, but there was nothing but pure worship in his voice. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane, baby.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, painfuly slow. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed and so ready for you, making your mouth water.

You took your time, pressing soft kisses along his thighs first, deliberately avoiding where he needed you most. He kept murmuring under his breath, calling you “so good,” “so beautiful,” “my perfect girl,” between ragged breaths.

Finally, finally, you let your mouth wrap around him, slow and deep. But only at his pink tip, already leaking with pre-cum.

Harry threw his head back with a broken moan, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, like he needed you to stay connected.

Then you went deeper, making him hissed and jolt. You moved at your own pace, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, occasionally pulling off just to tease him with slow licks along his length. Every time you did, he cursed under his breath, voice rough and needy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart… fuck, keep going,” he gasped, hips trembling as he fought not to thrust into your mouth.

You loved it. How undone he was for you, how he melted under your touch, how every sound he made was raw and real and just for you. The more you moved, the louder his breathing grew, the more his thighs tensed under your hands. His praise became broken, desperate:

“So good… my good girl… my sweet, sweet girl—ah, fuck—don’t stop—”

You could feel him getting closer, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a bowstring, his dick twitching inside your spongy mouth. His hands gripped you tighter, his voice wrecked and pleading.

“D-darlin' I am gonna cu—“ but before he could finish his warning, he threw his head all the way back and with every force in his body he tried not to move his hips upwards and pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

When he finally came, it was with a loud, wrecked cry of your name, his whole body shuddering violently beneath you.

It was messy and hot and overwhelming, and you didn’t mind it one bit. You stayed there, swallowing every bit of him. He tasted sweet yet bitterly, but the combination itself was tasty. You felt his fingers stroke through your hair in shaky, adoring motions as he tried to catch his breath.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” he panted when he finally managed words, looking down at you with a gaze so full of love and awe it made your heart ache. “You were absolutely insane…” you chuckled, before pulling him out of your mouth, slowly, but he still groans. The sudden cold air touching his swollen tip, it's always a shock.

You slowly licked your lips and fingers clean, tasting him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor of him. Harry’s gaze darkened instantly. He looked absolutely wrecked, completely undone by the sight of you. Wild, messy, glistening just for him.

Without warning, he couldn't help himself and he surged forward, grabbing your face and kissing you hard.

The kiss was filthy and desperate, your mouths colliding, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you both tasted each other fully, the unique mixture of your essences fueling the fire even higher.

Harry groaned low in his chest, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough. His dominance returned in full force, his hands strong and sure as he rolled you onto your back, covering your body with his own.

His eyes locked with yours, burning with love and raw hunger. He cupped your cheek, breathing heavily, giving you a moment.

“Are you ready, beautiful?” he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough. “You’re doing so good for me. I'm so proud of you.”

You nodded breathlessly, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. He kissed you once more, softer now, full of unspoken promises, before positioning himself carefully at your entrance.

His tip brushed youe folds, your juices served as a natural lubricant, so it wasn't really hard for Harry to go in. The first push was slow, cautious, his body trembling with restraint. You whimpered at the initial stretch, clinging to his shoulders.

Harry immediately started stroking your cheek, murmuring against your skin. “That’s it, sweetheart. Doing so good for me. Let me in, yeah? Breathe, baby… I’ve got you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, from the intensity, from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to him. He moved slowly, giving you time, whispering soft encouragements, letting you adjust to the fullness of him.

You felt like he was endless. He kept pushing deeper and deeper, reaching places you could only dream of, stretching you out so much, that he left no room for anything else, barely for air.

When he was fully inside, he stilled, pressing kisses along your jaw and neck, both of you panting heavily, your bodies trembling from the connection. For a moment, it was pure intimacy, your bodies fitting together perfectly, hearts beating wildly against each other, soft whimpers escaping both your mouths.

Harry rocked into you with slow, shallow thrusts, just enough to keep you connected, to let you feel every inch of him.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re mine.”

But as the minutes passed and your body relaxed around him, the pace shifted.

Harry’s movements became deeper, stronger, pulling moans from your throat you couldn’t have held back if you tried. The bed began to creak with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room alongside your gasps and desperate cries.

Harry didn’t let up with the sweet words. If anything, he poured them over you even more, his voice hoarse and wrecked with feeling.

“My beautiful girl… so tight, so good for me… fuck, taking me so well.”

Inside, you felt completely lost—lost in him, in the pleasure, in the overwhelming love radiating from every touch, every thrust. You clung to him like a lifeline, nails digging into his back, head thrown back in ecstasy as he hit deeper, harder, dragging whimpers and desperate moans from you.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Harry shifted one hand between your bodies, expertly finding your clit with his fingers. You gasped, your body jolting under him, the added stimulation sending electric shocks of pleasure through your entire being.

“That’s it, baby… let go for me,” he murmured against your neck, his voice shaking with how close he was too. You were spiraling fast, the pleasure building higher and higher, unstoppable.

But then Harry suddenly slowed, breathing heavily, and with a gentle grip on your hips, he flipped you over onto him, guiding you into his lap.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, smiling up at you, still breathless. “Ride me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You were shaky, overwhelmed, but Harry’s hands on your hips steadied you, supporting you as you sank down onto him again.

The new angle was deeper, more intense, and when he reached down and found your clit again with his fingers, you nearly sobbed from how good it felt. He was doing regular circles, at the same speed as you were bouncing on him, creating a perfect balance that won't hold you back for too long.

You moved together, messy and desperate, the sounds of wet skin and desperate gasps filling the room. Harry’s praises continued, slurred and broken with pleasure:

“So good… so fucking beautiful… look at you, riding me like a goddess.”

You clung to him, barely able to keep moving as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your nails dug deeply into his shoulders, definitely leaving a bruise there, but he didn't care. He takes it as a souvenir from this night. You screamed so loudly, your core clenching around his twitching dick, every muscle, every nerve in your body tensed and you swear in one particular moment, you saw white stars.

When you finally came, your entire body locked up as you shattered around him. The clenching of your walls around him pulled Harry over the edge right after, his hips jerking up into you, his arms wrapping tightly around your trembling form. He buried his head in your shoulder and growled loudly, his voice stammering and jerky.

He held you close in a bear hug, not letting go, grounding you as you both rode out the aftershocks together. Breathless, sweaty and completely ruined.

Your body feels like it’s melting into his. The aftershocks are still rippling through you both, and neither of you moves for a long moment. Harry’s chest rises and falls against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breathing uneven.

Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are soft, a little dazed, full of something so raw it makes your heart ache.

“Hi,” he whispers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. You laugh quietly, feeling shy and overwhelmed all at once. You reach up and brush a strand of hair off his forehead.

Harry kisses your fingers and then, with a soft grunt, carefully pulls out of you, making sure he’s gentle, murmuring soft apologies against your skin when you wince at the sensitivity.

Before you can even blink, he’s scooping you up into his arms, carrying you like a princess, strong and secure. You squeal softly, burying your face against his neck, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.

The bathroom is warm and steamy within seconds. You step into the shower together, the hot water raining down, and he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He treats you like you’re made of glass, tender, slow, patient.

Neither of you says much.

It’s just quiet touches, soft kisses along your damp skin, the shared breaths between you. He washes you gently, his hands steady, his touch reverent. You tilt your head back against him, letting your eyes close, feeling completely weightless in his care.

Every once in a while, he whispers something into your ear. Sweet things, praises, promises you can barely catch over the sound of the water. You feel worshipped. Safe.

When you’re both clean, Harry grabs a towel and dries you off himself, smiling softly the entire time like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. Without a word, he lifts you into his arms again, carrying you back to the bed.

He lays you down gently, crawling in next to you immediately, not letting you go for even a second. He pulls the covers over both of you, wrapping himself around you like a protective shield.

Your head rests against his chest, and you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat, feeling your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Harry’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your back.

“I’ve got you.” he whispers against your hair and without minutes, you fall asleep wrapped in him, both naked, both tired but both happy.

The morning sun beamed into your room, which still smelled like sex. It hit you right in the face, so you had no choice but to wake up. You opened your eyes, sunlight spills across the room, highlighting every little detail: Harry’s messy hair, his relaxed face, the way he’s still smiling even in sleep.

And suddenly, the guilt hits you like a tidal wave and you can't breath. You slept with him. On the first night. Harry Castillo.

He belongs to a different world—wealth, fame, endless connections—and you’re barely scraping by, struggling just to keep up with bills. What if he wakes up and realizes? What if he thinks you used him?

Your chest tightens painfully. You need to leave. Before you ruin everything. Slowly, carefully, you begin to untangle yourself from his arms. The cool air prickles against your bare skin as you quietly pick up your clothes from the floor, trying not to make a sound.

Just as you slip into your dress, you hear his sleepy voice behind you:

“Where are you going?”

You freeze. Turning around, you see him blinking up at you, completely disheveled and adorably confused, reaching out a hand to pull you back into bed.

“I… I have to go,” you whisper.

He frowns, sitting up, the blanket pooling around his waist. His bare chest is bathed in the soft morning light, and he looks almost too good to be real.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “Just stay…”

You want to. God, you want to. But the guilt is too heavy. It weighs down your every breath.

“I… I have to,” you say again, voice shaking. You grab your heels with trembling fingers, your heart breaking with every step away from him. But Harry is already getting out of bed. He walks straight to you, no hesitation, and cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them.

“I feel awful,” you manage to say. “I feel like… like I used you. I don’t want you to think I’m only here because of who you are, because of your money, your name, your connections. I don’t want to be that person.”

For a long, terrifying second, he says nothing. And then Harry smiles. A soft, heart-melting smile.

“I would never think that about you,” he murmurs. “Not for a second.” His thumbs brush away your tears, his touch achingly tender.

“From the moment I saw you — messy apron, tired smile, kind eyes — I knew you were different. I knew you were good. You have no idea how rare that is.”

He pulls you into his arms again, holding you tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’m not letting you go just because you’re scared,” he says quietly, meaning every word. And this time, you let yourself stay. You bury your face into his warm skin, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, and you finally allow yourself to exhale, to trust.

When he finally pulls back a little, his smile is soft and teasing.

“You’re not seriously thinking about sleeping in that, are you?” he says, glancing pointedly at your half-buttoned shirt and crumpled jeans.

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “No,” you murmur.

“Good,” he grins as you drop your things on the floor, not caring where they land. Holding intense eye contact, you start removing your dress.

He helps you, his face once again filled with surprise as he sees you bare—like it’s the very first time all over again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whimpers, brushing his nose against your neck and making you laugh.

Before you can even catch your breath, he lifts you up and throws you both back onto the bed, your laughter echoing through the room.

When you wake up, again, you blink sleepily and stretch, only to find Harry already awake, propped up on one elbow, smiling down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. You can’t help but smile back. He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head. “I’m making you breakfast.”

You pad after him into the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but his white shirt, that hangs down to your thighs. Harry looks completely at home, hair messy, only wearing boxers, barefoot on the cool floor.

He moves around the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times, making pancakes from scratch, humming under his breath. Every so often he steals a glance at you and smirks when he catches you staring. You sit on the counter, legs swinging, watching him.

And somehow, sitting there in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, laughing with him like you’ve known him forever, you realize you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

Hi!! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! This was my very first fic about Harry Castillo and I’m absolutely freaking out because he’s just so RAAA. Anyway, if you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a beautiful day,

Love ya🦋🩵

#smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #zaddy pedro #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro smut #pedro pascal smut #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo smut #materialists #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #harry castillo x f!reader

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witherby · 4 months ago

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36 REBLOGS ON FLIGHT OF FANCYYYYYYY

AYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA

—🦈

Yayayayayayayay! Enjoy!

Flight of Fancy

Part 3 of Damian x Winged!Reader

Masterlist is Here!

You spend a while in the air, examining bats while trying not to disturb them. The first couple clusters you approach all scatter with panicked squeaking and fly out of the cave's multiple exits. Damian watches you readjust your strategy, trying different speeds and distances, until you figure out that you can watch them peacefully if you don't beat your wings so hard and don't get closer than about six feet away.

You're so polite as you watch them, holding Damian's words in mind. You keep your hands laced together behind your back, content to simply observe, and Damian does the same of you but on a more professional scale.

Armed with a pad and pen, he takes down all the information he's collected of you so far:

Bleeds gold

Physiologically a teen/young adult

Wingspan approx. 2x their height

White wings, full range of motion

Capable of long-distance flight

Limited world knowledge (didn't know the word for bat)

Learns languages via salivic exchange

Kidnapped from home (unknown location)

Real name unknown

Date of birth unknown

Species - winged metahuman

Dubbed "Project Angel" by Le—

Damian is about to finish writing, but the notepad gets snatched out of his hand by his older brother Jason.

"Whuh'ssits?" He mumbles around a mouthful of burrito, holding his snack in one hand and the pad in the other, high above Damian's head.

"Red Hood!" The boy snaps, irritated and embarrassed. He jumps for the pad but it's too far, and elects to start climbing his brother like a jungle gym. "Give me that! I'm making important observations about my ward!"

"Ward?" He smirks, after swallowing. "What ward? Looks like you're cooking up another OC to draw."

Damian's cheeks flush a brilliant red. The domino mask barely conceals his embarrassed, wide gaze. Even if he was doing that, which he wasn't, it never hurts to plan out his concepts before following through!!

"Look up, genius! And go put on something to cover your stupid face!"

"Am I a genius or stupid?" Jason asks, shaking him off. "Are you gettin' shy on me? You love showin' off your art when it's done, what's the problem —"

The pad gets ripped from his hands and Jason goes flying when a powerful gust of wind knocks him backwards. You land protectively in front of Damian, with your wings fully extended to make yourself look bigger, and bare your teeth. Distantly, he notes that you have pointed canines.

"Are you injured?" You ask Damian.

"No," he says, lifting a hand as if to place it on your back. He hesitates, unwilling to hurt or disturb your wings, and drops it again. "Stand down. That man is my brother, not a threat."

"Brother..." you mutter, frowning.

"Kin," Damian tries, which you seem to understand. "Hood, are you injured?"

"Am I in— I just got blown across the fucking room!" Jason snaps. When he sits up, he's got the red, half-mask on that covers him from nose to jaw, and he's aiming a gun at you. The severity of his appearance is significantly dulled by the burrito innards splattered all over the front of his hoodie.

"Who are you."

"This is your kin?" You ask, dubious. "He is aiming a weapon at us, from which you could be harmed. That's normal?"

Damian's mouth forms a thin line. There isn't time to cover the family's overcomplicated dynamics right this second, so he just kind of shrugs and nods.

"Mostly, yes," he admits. "Let me by."

You fold one of your wings against your back so Damian can step past you, then re-extend it and continue glaring at Jason. Jason glares right back, finger hovering over the trigger.

"Put the gun down. I rescued them on my patrol tonight." Damian steps right in front of the pistol. Jason eases his finger off immediately, but doesn't lower it. "Batman has tasked me with keeping them safe until they can be relocated in the morning. They're not a threat."

"Tell that to my busted back," Jason grunts, but he does eventually concede to putting his weapon down, and climbs to his feet. "Jesus, my favorite fucking hoodie is wrecked. If I can't get these stains out, you owe me a new one, Winx Club!"

"That's not my name," you scowl, feathers ruffling. The rippling effect it has is mesmerizing.

"Do I look like I give a shit? I'm heading upstairs, this blows." Jason stuffs the gun in the pocket of his hoodie lackadaisically, then points a finger at Damian as he takes his leave. "It's bad enough you've got a whole petting zoo of animals. Don't start collecting humanoid strays, too."

"Go to bed, Red Hood," Damian grumbles, turning to you. Your eyes trail after Jason, maintaining your threatening stance until he's completely out of sight. You straighten up and relax your wings, slowly folding them up again.

"I dislike him," you say, crossing your arms.

"He's a... difficult personality," Damian says, fully aware of the hypocrisy of that statement. He barrels forward, curious. "You stood up for me, even when he was seconds from shooting you. Why?"

You tilt your head like he's asked a particularly stupid question.

"You saved me," you state simply. "I am indebted to you."

"It's my job to save others. I protect this city with my family."

"I am not from your city, and you helped me all the same."

"You're in it, however temporarily, which makes your well-being my priority."

You hum, head gently tilting one direction in contemplation. Damian absently compares it to a bunny, or a curious puppy dog.

"Even so," you conclude, "I will repay your kindness. If it's in my power to do it, you will have it, Robin."

"I don't need anything from you," Damian says, not unkindly. "There's no debt I'm owed. I wanted you safe, and that's the long and short of it."

You don't argue it further, but there's still a small frown on your face. Again, Damian's eyes are drawn to your lips. He feels his heart rate get a little faster.

"Would it sate you if I asked for knowledge in return?" He offered. "You can still say no; I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want."

You perk up a bit, nodding. You both snap your heads when Jason shows back up, shouting.

"HEY, DID YOUR NOTEPAD SAY "LEARNS LANGUAGES VIA SALIVIC EXCHANGE" BY THE WAY? HOW DID YOU FIND THAT OUT?"

Damian turns back to you with burning cheeks. He notices that you blush gold, too.

#damian wayne x reader #winged reader au #flight of fancy #damian wayne #jason todd #robin #red hood #damian x reader #🦈

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biolumien · 1 year ago

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heya!! Saw you had open requests. And I was wondering if you could do something with Hoshina with the trope of Opposites attract?

Like maybe reader could be shy and quiet type. Who is strangely not a fighter like he is. Reader could be a sweet civilian or something and it'd be nice to see how the rest of the characters react to their relationship. Though of course, feel free to change it as you wish. Whatever you write I'm sure it'll turn out amazing.

Feel free to ignore this if it isn't your fancy :DD

notes: ahh repeat it with me now the fic got away from me and took on a life of its own... i hope this is okay ;-;!!

cafe latte

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no content warnings necessary. i think word count: 1752

the first time you were saved by soshiro hoshina was in front of the wreckage surrounding your cafe.

the smell of blood was overwhelming as you stepped out warily, wincing as a drop of the kaiju carcass’s acidic blood dripped onto the pavement in front of you, carving out a hole in the concrete.

“careful!” a voice called out from somewhere above you. “it’s still not safe for civilians.”

you watch as the vice captain of the third division, soshiro hoshina, lands deftly on the ground, sheathing his twin katanas at his back. his closed, smiling eyes crack open just a tad, and he hums, his voice muffled by his respirator.

your eyes go wide.

the third division was legendary among the defense force, after all, and it was soshiro hoshina in the flesh in front of you! your body seemed to move of its own accord, and--

“um–can i,” you stammer out, pulling out your notepad for taking cafe orders. “can i get your autograph?”

“huh?” hoshina wipes a bit of blood from his suit. “i mean, sure, but wouldn’t you rather get an autograph from captain ashiro? i’m sure the resell value on that is far better.” even as he said this, though, he’d reached out to sign your notepad, scribbling a haphazard signature.

“i mean–everyone likes captain ashiro,” you say nervously as hoshina hands the notepad back to you. “but—you kept the kaiju from wrecking my—my shop.” you shift your eyes to the front of your cafe, and then back to hoshina, covered in blood and still wearing his respirator mask. “so i wanted your signature specifically.”

“oh, i see,” hoshina says. he sounds teasing. “business will be slow for a bit, though, with the cleanup. are you going to be okay?”

“oh? i—yes, i… it’ll be fine. the cleaners usually take… two weeks, i think. so… it might be a bit slower.”

“hmm.” hoshina hums, removing his mask. you’d seen hoshina’s face on the news, largely in the background as mina ashiro spoke on eliminating the kaiju threat—so you’d known he was handsome, but something about seeing his face in person was different. he felt more—tangible. real.

“i’ll have to stop by some time,” hoshina says with a smile.

“i…” you lift up your notepad to hide your face. “i-i mean… sure. i… i don’t know why you would… but—”

“think of it like me paying you back for the slow business,” hoshina says.

“okay,” you say, your voice hitching slightly.

[…]

business was slow the next week, as you’d told hoshina. the kaiju carcass outside was pretty bad for business, really–something about the bad vibes, or something like that. so you go through the motions, cleaning up tables, ordering new coffee beans and stock for the next few weeks when business would pick up again. it was hard work, but it was made a little easier based on the fact that there was hardly anyone in the cafe right now.

you look outside the window, resting your elbows on the counter, sighing. looks like it’d be another slow day after all.

you raise your head as the cafe door jingles.

“welcome to the—it’s you,” you stammer out as hoshina walks through the door. off-duty he wears fairly loose clothes, a sharp contrast to how sharply dressed he looks during press conferences. he’s dressed in a loose black jacket with a tight turtleneck, and loose pants with a pair of reasonably-fashionable looking sneakers, with a black mask over his mouth. “you really didn’t have to—”

“not like i had much better to do,” hoshina says easily, waving a hand, pulling down his mask now that he was inside. “it’s not often i get time off. and i gave you my word, so i might as well make good on it.” he walks forward, examining the cafe menu. “what’s good here?”

“umm—the… americano, is… okay,” you say. “i… think.” “you think?” hoshina blinks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, teasingly. “does that mean you don’t know?”

“i–no, it’s–it’s good,” you say more assertively now. hoshina laughs, and your heart skips a strange beat.

“hm… i’ll admit i don’t really drink that much coffee, so i’ll give you free reign to do whatever you think i’d like.” hoshina smiles.

“i–that’s too much freedom,” you protest. “what if you hate it–” “i’m not gonna hate it,” hoshina says. “i came here out of my own free will after all! just go with the flow.”

so you end up making him a latte, doing a bit of latte art on the top using some cream. it’s a small fox with closed eyes and a sharp smile, and you slide it across the counter for his approval. he picks up the cup, spinning it gently–and you try not to look too hard at his hands. he hums.

“looks almost too cute to drink,” he says. “cheers, though.” he takes a long, slow sip, and you feel your heart pound in your throat as he lowers the cup.

“is—”

“it’s good,” hoshina says with a smile. “i’ll have to keep coming back here. i can’t believe i’ve missed out on this place.”

[…]

he just… keeps coming back during his off duty hours, dressed sharply and plainly each time. you make him new animals in his lattes—cats, dogs, bunnies, mostly cats and foxes.

a few times you attempt a very crazy looking kaiju, but by the time you hand over the cup it’s deflated already, and you slide over the drink with shame on your face and he just laughs, and you try not to think about the fact that his fingers brushed against yours as he takes the cup each time.

you learn a bit more about him each time, but it’s mostly surface level things. how his day’s going, what’s annoying him—mostly what’s annoying him, but said in a conversationally light way.

but he asks a lot of questions about you. favorite color, animal, food—innocuous at first, down to grittier questions about good memories, lasting regrets and the like.

you answer to the best of your ability, hesitantly and nervously each time.

“not that i don’t… appreciate the conversation, but…” you say one day as you’re scrubbing down a particularly messy table, “why do you ask all these questions anyway? i-i doubt my answers are… anything interesting, so—”

hoshina takes a sip from his coffee.

you made him a penguin today.

“i’m just curious,” hoshina says, in a tone that almost sounds apologetic. “work habit. gotta know everything about everyone. your coworkers, the officers, kaiju…”

he watches out the window for a moment, and you think about the large gap between the two of you—two completely separate worlds as he fights to defend the world from a threat so foreign and massive that it seemed utterly inconceivable—and here you were, wondering about how you might sell enough cafe lattes to make ends meet and pay rent.

“but more than anything,” hoshina says after a long moment, and you nearly startle hearing his voice again, “i just want to get to know you because you’re interesting.”

and in his eyes is a weighted, assured sincerity that makes your heart flip nervously.

[…]

the second time you were saved by soshiro hoshina, it was a smaller, less dramatic affair.

you’re carrying out trays to some other customers while hoshina sits at one of the tables, his laptop open as he’s working on some paperwork.

and then suddenly you trip on one of the floorboards, falling forward with a yelp, and you brace yourself for the utter worst—spilled glassware and maybe a really bad fall—but then you gasp out as hoshina pulls an arm around your waist, keeping you from completely planting on your face.

he lets go soon after, his eyes scanning yours for a moment. you wonder why your side feels a little bit colder, why you wished for the pressure of his hand against your side to stay for a little longer. surely it was nothing.

“careful now,” hoshina says, a teasing lilt to his voice, but then he seems a little more contemplative, slightly more concerned. “nothing spilled too bad, right?”

“no,” you say, a little dazed as you check the trays to find that thankfully, everything seemed in place. “thank you, hoshina.”

“mhm,” hoshina says, his eyes flitting back to his work. a smirk crosses his lips for a moment as his eyes flit back up to meet yours. “can’t save you all the time, can i?”

you sputter for a moment, and he laughs, and it’s not long before you’re laughing too.

[…]

there are people huddled outside the street as hoshina enters into the cafe today. he seems a little weary, running a hand through his hair.

“you look out of it,” you comment.

“i… the…” hoshina glances back at the people outside. your eyes widen when you notice the telltale ponytail of—

“is that mina ashiro?” you exclaim, slamming your hands against the counter. “seriously? out here?”

hoshina looks wearier at the excitement in your voice.

“sorry,” you say. “but why is she here?”

“i…” hoshina looks up at the ceiling, exhaling for a second. “do you want to go out with me?”

you think your heart stops beating.

hoshina’s watching you, and his eyes flit to yours, before trying to look at anything else.

“where—where did this come from?” you ask. you want to hide behind something. your ears feel hot, and he coughs.

“it comes from… ah, i’m not good at metaphor,” hoshina says, spreading his hands. “it’s so much worse than being straightforward—so i’ll just put it plainly. i like you. i come to the cafe a lot because i like you. i want to go out with you. and some of my… coworkers,”

hoshina turns to glare at some of the people outside, who seem to scatter at his stare.

“…were interested in seeing the person that has captured my attention. so… i hope that’s clear.”

does he seem ever-so-slightly nervous?

your face feels hot.

“yes,” you say, reaching out to clasp his hand. “of course.”

hoshina exhales, loud.

“okay. good. not that i was nervous or anything, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold out there, with those clowns,” hoshina says, squeezing your hand back, cool as ever. you smile, leaning up to kiss hoshina quickly, and he laughs, brushing his nose against yours.

and out of the corner of your eye, you see mina ashiro taking a picture with her phone.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months ago

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ok but office supplier is even funnier if jason hasn't been declared legally alive again and danny starts dating him thus allowing him to both be and not be part of the wayne family

"I have a date," Danny says one random morning as he refills the office snack bar. Danny, in his own words, is one of the highest-paid employees. He has chosen to create a snack center for all Wayne employees. He has one on every three floors, filling it with fruits, chips, chocolate, pudding, and drinks.

And a cabinet with free samples of stationery supplies he thought more people should know about. Next to the supplies, he wrote the name of the product, where to buy, and even recommendations of

Everyone felt really touched by this and started bringing snacks and drinks to help him. Half the time, Danny only refilled the stationary since everyone was happy to have a community snack bar.

"A what!?" Jack from accounting gasped. Danny didn't pay him any mind; he was too busy picking between the flower and moon mini-planners.

Both were pocket-sized, but one had a workout addition, while the other had a section to track books for readers. He felt like there were more readers than gym goers, but he didn't want either to miss out if he picked one over the other.

"A date," he responded after placing both options inside the basket. He'll have to wait to introduce the amazing erasable pens he found, but he could make it up next month.

"With who?" Demanded Sara. She worked in PR and had been attempting to have him attend at least three parties with the Waynes in the past month alone.

"Peter. I met him a week ago at a street fair. One of the personal pen makers I follow would have a booth, and I was dying to see them." Danny pulls a box from his pocket, showcasing the fancy navy blue pen. "This is the George Washington Battle of Princeton edition. It has the painting of the battle wrapped around it, with careful silver-golden details on the cap to resemble the colonial era and a golden-edged nib; this is one fine fountain pen. It cost me five thousand and nine hundred dollars."

"Danny, please focus- five thousand? You spent five thousand on a pen!?"

Danny puffs out his chest, smiling broadly. "It was worth every penny!"

"That's-never mind. Are you sure Peter is a good person?" Jack pressed, "Because I know a great man. Mr. Drake-Wayne! Wouldn't you rather go on a date with him?"

"But Peter bought me easrsers that were shaped like fried chicken. They came in bucket. See." He ramages through his bag until he pulsl out a palm-szed bucket with chicken shaped earses inside. "Isn't it cool?"

"I'll admit that's pretty cool," Sara conceded but shared a quick glance with her coworkers. Danny wonders why they all look so worried. This wasn't that expensive. Peter only used ten dollars for it. "Do you like Peter?"

"I don't know. It's just a first date." He shrugs. "I don't usually have those. Not many people are willing to listen to me ramble about stationary."

"You know who would love to listen to you?" Jack throws an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Drake-Wayne!"

"Mr. Grasyon-Wayne!"

"Mis Wayne!"

"Mr. Wayne!" Everyone turns to stare at Gary, who flushes, "Bruce Wayne, not Damian!"

That caused some head nods and a few scattered comments about how the age gap was still alarmingly large, but if both were consenting adults, who were they to oppose it? Danny stared back as everyone debated whether Danny and Mr.Wayne should date.

He glances down at his heart-shaped notepads and figures they are right. It's not like he has any feelings about this date. He just agreed to get the passers.

Taking out his phone, he sends Peter a message to cancel their date. He should go out with someone because he likes them, not because they may allow him to discuss his interests.

Jason despairs somewhere on the other side of town as he reads the text for his second persona- a living citizen Peter Todd- from the guy who he saw at the street market going gaga over pens. The guy was so cute, too.

#dcxdpdabbles #Marriage trap the Office Supplier!#Part 2 #Danny doesn't care much for dating #The WE employees are losing thier minds #Jason will be so mad if he ever founds out they blocked him

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saffusthings · 2 months ago

Text

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-five: normal people

word count: 4.6k

warning: just tooth rotting fluff? pls lmk if i missed anything!

thirty-four | thirty-five | thirty-six

She’s standing in the kitchen, barefoot on tile, a half-filled grocery list balanced on her palm and a pen tucked between her fingers. There’s a smudge of ink near her knuckle where she pressed too hard writing “milk (again)” and a half-eaten apple next to her elbow.

She tapped the pen against her chin and called out it in what she hoped was his general direction. “Anything you want? I’m headed to the shop today.”

The man didn’t even glance over. “Nah, don’t worry about me. I’ll eat at home.”

She blinked. “What home?”

“Mine?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Bold of you to act like you don’t live here part-time.”

“I don’t live here. I just visit. Often. And sleep on your couch sometimes. And eat your snacks.”

“Right. Like a polite, British raccoon.”

She could hear the dull thump of him flipping a cushion over and resettling. Y/N shook her head and capped the pen before turning, leaning her hip against the counter to get a better look at him.

He was sprawled on the couch, hoodie slightly askew, curls crushed on one side from a nap he definitely took while she was in the shower. He was watching her lazily now, like she was some interesting artwork he still hadn’t decided the interpretation of yet.

He raised a brow at her, unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh.” She jotted something else down. “With my fridge.”

“Your fridge is elite. It feeds me. It listens when I talk. It’s never judgmental.”

“It’s empty,” she replied, dry. “Because you keep eating all my stuff!”

“That’s on you, really. For buyin’ food that tastes good.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes on principle. “So, again. Anything you want?”

He yawned, blinking the leftover sleep from his eyes. She tried not to stare at them too long.

“Don’t fuss, I’ll live,” he waved her off.

She looked at him over the top of her list, unimpressed. “Look, either you tell me what you want, or you come with me and pick it out yourself.”

That certainly got his attention. He blinked, propping himself a bit more upright against the back of the couch.

“You want me to come… grocery shoppin’?”

“No, I want you to stay here and text me cryptic things like ‘grab snacks’ and then complain when I don’t buy the right ones.”

He grined. “Hey, that was one time.”

“Three times,” she insisted. “And I still don’t know how you made that much of a fuss over cheerios. Cheerios!”

“They were sad circles,” he muttered.

“You’re a sad circle.”

He smirked. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“Fine. Come with me then. Pick out your own stupid cereal. Or snacks. Or whatever it is you pretend you don’t want and then steal from my cabinet.”

She expected some sarcastic brush-off, or a mumbled excuse about being busy. Instead, he stretched his arms above his head and yawned theatrically.

“Alright. I’ll come.”

That made her pause. She glanced up from the list, surprised to find him already looking at her. “Wait, really?”

“You said I could come.”

“Like, for grocery shopping.”

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yeah, but you’re agreeing. Without protest. That’s usually grounds for suspicion.”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Now why would I deprive you of my wonderful company, hm, sweetheart?”

She makes a face and flips her notepad shut. “And look at that, he’s humble too.”

“I know! I’m the total package, really.”

“Oh, you’re something, alright.” She’s trying not to smile, but it sneaks through anyway. “Also you have to wear proper sneakers. Those fancy dress shoes of yours won’t save you from slipping in the produce aisle.”

“Oh?” He grinned, finishing the last of his morning tea before he got up to put his shoes on. “That sounds a bit specific. You gonna tell me the story behind that, or will I have to force it out of you?”

“It was a tactical slide,” she mumbled quietly, already defensive. “I was testing the floor.”

“You fell, didn’t you?”

“...Into a stack of lemons.”

“Well, now we know they bruise easily,” he laughed, watching her cheeks turn pink.

She shook her head, turning away before he could see the way her expression softens. He was coming with her. Maybe that didn’t mean anything.

Or maybe it meant enough.

The sliding glass doors of the grocery store swooshed open, and Lando hesitated on the threshold like he’d stepped into another country.. He stuck close to her side, trying to act casual, but his eyes flicked around like a tourist in a new city.

She, on the other hand, pulled her trolley with practiced ease. It was a little squeaky, but she simply kicked the wheel, and it was suddenly good as new. She started to throw a few basics into the cart — butter, milk, bread — before she had to turn back when she noticed that Liam was still frozen like a deer in headlights.

“...This is it?” he asked.

She looked over, eyebrow raised. “What were you expecting? A red carpet? Spotlights?”

He blinked up at the fluorescent lighting. “I don’t know. I guess I thought grocery stores had, like… more drama.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Dunno. Thought there’d be a big wheel of cheese or something. That’s what I imagined as a kid. This place is kind of underwhelming.”

“That’s because it’s a supermarket, not a Bond film.”

Still, she couldn’t help the grin pulling at her mouth as he trailed after her, pushing the cart with more focus than strictly necessary, eyes darting across shelves like he was trying to figure out the logic of it all.

“Why are the carrots all in bags?”

Liam squinted at the wall of orange like it was a code he was supposed to crack, before he made a disgusted face. “And why are some of them hairy?”

“They’re not hairy,” she said, amused, nudging the cart forward. “They’ve just got roots. It means they’re fresh.”

“Right,” he says dubiously, poking at one with his index finger like it might bite him. “That seems fake.”

She furrowed her brows, shooting him a worried expression. “What, you think carrots come waxed and perfectly orange from the ground?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says honestly, and she glanced at him, more curious than judgmental.

She watched as he trailed behind the cart, gaze drifting over shelves like it’s a museum, eyes snagging on price tags and multipack deals like he’s never seen a grocery store before. He doesn’t reach for anything himself, just keeps pace with her, occasionally making faces at the labels.

Idiot.

He looked so serious standing next to the pasta.

“There are… so many kinds.”

She tries her best to hold back a laugh, but with limited success. He just looked so adorably lost.

Liam picked up a bag of rigatoni, turned it over like it might give him directions.

“What do you even do with these? They look like pipes.”

“Cook them, Li. Like a normal human person.”

He put it back, unimpressed. “Too much work.”

She rolled her eyes, already grabbing a box of fettuccine and tossing it into the cart.

They kept moving, and he noticed things.

Little things.

The way she’d linger at one shelf and then trade whatever she picked for the store brand. Or how she’d turn something over in her hand — cookie butter, frozen berries, good Greek yogurt — look at the price, and then gently set it back down without another glance.

She never said anything about it. Just… kept walking, focused and practical.

But whenever he picked something — sugary cereal, overpriced fruit, dumb snacks that just looked fun—she never said a word about those, never even glanced twice at them let alone put it back.

Sometimes she teased his tastes, sure – “That’s not trail mix, that’s a cry for help.” But she never once made him switch his things out for something cheaper.

It sat weird in his chest. He wasn’t sure why.

They were halfway through the produce aisle when he nudged her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t grab that yoghurt you like.”

She blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe next week. Not this time.”

“What? Why not?”

She snorted. “Because I like paying rent.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she’d already turned to inspect a bunch of bananas. She looked over her shoulder and saw the furrow in his brow.

“Relax. I’m not dying, Liam. I’m just budgeting.”

Beside her, he went quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“You’ve really never done this, have you?” she asked softly, halfway down the spice aisle.

“I mean, I’ve been inside a grocery store,” he defended. “Just not… this part. Not with a list. Or a trolley. Or… the intent to budget.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, smiling faintly as she placed the store-brand cheese in the cart and put the fancy one back on the shelf.

But when she turned, he was still looking at her.

“Do you always do that? Swap stuff out for the cheaper version?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, when you’ve got six bucks left in your bank account, you do a lot of math in the cereal aisle.”

Lando furrowed his brow.

“That’s... that’s a thing? I mean, does it really matter?”

She shrugged, tossing something else into the cart. “If it’s only a few cents, not so much. But if you’re on a budget, it adds up. It’s the difference between getting snacks for the week or just dinner.”

He paused, watching her. She had the same neutral, measured tone she’d use when she explained the different drinks to a customer at the café — like it was all no big deal, just the reality of things. But to him? It was like he’s seeing behind a curtain he never noticed before.

“Weird,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Seems exhausting.”

She rolled her eyes, but there's a softness in her smile.

“You get used to it. Don’t tell me you’ve never had to budget for something.”

He gave her a look. “I... no, not really.”

She snorted, amused. “That explains a lot.”

She’d laughed of course, but for once, Lando’s mind wasn’t focused on that. Something flickered across his face — shame, maybe, or perhaps realization. But he didn’t comment on it. At least, not out loud.

Instead, he glanced into the cart again.“So why haven’t you told me to swap my stuff out?”

“You mean like the bougie almond chocolate clusters you added?”

“They’re elite, thank you very much” he said, clutching the bag to his chest in mock offense.

She laughed, shakes her head. “I figured if you're coming, you get to pick what you like. Budgeting is my problem, not yours, Liam.”

It landed heavier than she meant it to, but he didn't call her on it. He just walked a little closer after that, watching her more carefully. He let his arm graze against hers, choosing not to comment when she picked up avocados and then put them back because they were too soft. He noticed her pause at her favorite crisps, and then reach for a cheaper bag instead.

By the time they both reached the checkout, he’d gone noticeably quiet. Not in a moody way, just thoughtful.

She started pulling items from the cart onto the belt, muttering totals under her breath like it’s muscle memory, making sure each item was accounted for. He zoned back in only when she got to the end and started fishing for her wallet.

As the cashier continued to scan, she pulled out her card without hesitation. And Lando, just as casually, reached forward and tapped his before she could blink.

He stepped forward casually, card already out. “I’ve got it.”

She blinked. “No. No, you don’t– Liam– no, seriously–”

“I insisted on the elite chocolate clusters, yeah?” he said breezily. “Consider it my penance.”

“You can’t just pay for my groceries like it’s a takeaway. This stuff’s expensive—”

“Sure I can.” His tone was still light, but there was a hint of something else in it, a bit of quiet determination. “You feed me. Let me feed you back.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t just about food at all – made her stop.

He went ahead and put in the security pin for his black American Express card, the register beeping once in confirmation. She exhaled, torn between touched and annoyed, but mostly just a little soft.

“Liam.”

“Y/N.”

“That wasn’t a competition. I can pay for myself, you know.”

“Wasn’t trying to win. Just figured if I’m gonna live in your fridge, I should at least pay rent.”

“You—” she stared at him, speechless for a moment. “You are so annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Don’t care.”

She tried to frown but it came out crooked, somehow fond.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he liked having her look at him like that.

And when she looked at Liam, he just looked smug. But quiet, too – he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t expect some grand thank you or a gold star.

They walked out side by side, her bag slung over one shoulder, his hand casually holding the other.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re still carrying everything up the stairs!”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dare think otherwise. Anything else, princess?

She rolled her eyes as they headed for the exit, but once again she couldn't quite bite back the smile tugging at her lips. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, she’d noticed – smiling like an idiot over stupid things, things she didn’t remember finding nearly as amusing before.

Lando noticed. There wasn’t much he didn’t notice when it came to her. She laughed, and this time, it was him who turned to look. Just for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing — shopping carts, pasta, her — was a dream that might not feel so far away after all.

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, shoving him playfully with her elbow since her hands were a bit preoccupied.

He looked over at her, his expression softening for a second as he grabbed the receipt.

“Oh, please. You love it.”

She smiled to herself, like a secret just for her

Maybe she did.

She stood at the counter, staring at the ingredients she'd just bought. Dried basil, tomatoes, a bottle of parmesan, and even fresh garlic, which was definitely a step up from the stale garlic powder she’d just finished using last week. A warm, homey feeling settled over her as she inhaled the earthy smell of the herbs. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the quiet, but something about it felt tangibly comforting.

The rain had settled into a steady rhythm outside her windows, soft enough to be soothing, loud enough to justify a cozy evening in. Her kitchen, small and usually quiet, felt suddenly full—with the scent of fresh basil and garlic, and the presence of one very unhelpful young man.

“Do not touch that,” she warned, pointing a wooden spoon at him without turning from the stove.

Behind her, Lando froze mid-bite, a suspiciously square cube of cheese caught between his fingers.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You literally were already doing it.”

“I was testing it. For poison. Very noble of me, really.”

“Right. My hero.”

He popped it in his mouth anyway, shameless, and leaned back against the counter like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just eaten a chunk of the cheese she needed for the pasta.

She grabbed the cutting board and started mincing garlic, her mind wandering.

"How does pasta sound for dinner?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "It's been a while."

From across the kitchen, Liam poked his head around, looking a bit too much like an excited puppy, just without the wagging tail.

“You makin’ food? I can help.”

She glanced over her shoulder, met with his eager eyes.

“It’s alright, Li. I’ve got it.”

“Nonsense.” He drawled, his voice teasing, but his expression was dead serious. “I am a pro in the kitchen.”

She chuckled, turning back to the garlic on the cutting board. “Right. You’ve cooked before?”

“Uh... well.” He hesitated. “Here n’ there, you know how it is. Probably more than you though.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You want to bet?”

He walked over and leaned on the counter, watching her chop, completely ignoring the pan on the stove where the oil was already heating.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could teach you a few things. Like how to avoid burning garlic,” he said, a smug little grin curling at the corner of his lips.

Before she could respond, she heard a faint crinkle, followed by a too-loud sizzle.

“Shit!”

He only laughed, while Y/N quickly scrambled to turn the heat to the lowest setting so that she wouldn’t end up burning dinner before dinner had even started. Once she was able to take a sigh of relief, she pressed a relieved palm to her chest, breathing deeply.

Maybe if he wasn’t so distracting–

Wait.

It was way too quiet.

“Liam!”

When she turned around, he was halfway through a slice of mozzarella cheese, the piece he’d swiped clearly meant for the sauce, his face lighting up with satisfaction.

“What? You said you were cooking. Thought that meant I was in charge of quality control. I’m bein’ helpful, you know.”

“That was for the pasta, dumbass!”

“It’s delicious, though.” He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “No big deal. I’ll just, y’know... fix it.”

She turned back to the stove just in time to smell the garlic before it could start to sizzle too much again. In a panic, she grabbed the pan, shaking it slightly to cool the oil, while Lando watched from the counter.

“You do realize, that was your fault, right? I was just getting into my groove.”

“Your… groove?” He pretended to contemplate for a second before shaking his head, a wide grin splitting across his face. “Sounds fake.

She shot him a look, but he was already back to the counter, grabbing another small lump of cheese.

“You really want to help, don’t you?” She sighed, exasperated but fond.

“Of course I do.” He came over, dropping a few more chunks of cheese into the sauce pot. “S’what I’m doing,” he said, in the same tone someone would say duh.

“You’re helping? That’s news to me.”

He blinked owlishly, with exaggerated innocence. “M’ taste testin’ everythin’, of course.”

Y/N glared at him, but that only made him laugh. “I’m just trying to help. I’m a good guy, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for a wooden spoon. “Yeah, I remember. You’re a ‘good guy’ who swipes my cheese and tries to burn my food. Useless, you are”

“You wouldn’t even know how good I am unless I helped, though.” His grin was teasing. “I mean, look at this sauce. It’s gonna be perfect, angel.”

She glanced at him just in time to catch him swallowing the last of yet another bit of cheese. She turned back to the stove with a muttered, “Unbelievable.”

I give up.

“You’re welcome.”

“For what? Sabotaging my dinner?”

“Enhancing it. With flair. Personality. Drama.”

“You’re about to enhance the floor with your face if you keep talking.”

“Aww, you flatter me.” He grinned and strolled over, peeking over her shoulder. “What’s this bit?”

“Garlic. I’m sautéing it,” she explained, her eyes flitting to his, the flecks of gold glimmering back at her as something soft and weighty settled over her. Like a nice comforter, she thought.

“Looks like it’s about to catch fire.”

Shit. How does this keep happening?

“Because you’re distracting me!”

She hissed and quickly turned down the flame, stirring the garlic before it blackened. Lando winced, hands raised in surrender.

“Sorry. Sorry. Very serious chef business. I’ll shut up.”

He did not, in fact, shut up.

He was still talking as she chopped tomatoes, still talking as he offered to stir and then immediately flung sauce onto the backsplash. He was still talking when she asked him to hand her the pasta, and he held it hostage until she agreed to let him pick the playlist for dinner.

But eventually – finally, eventually – she softened. Especially when he leaned a little too close trying to smell the sauce and got tomato on his shirt.

“That’s what you get,” she said, the sternness in her voice not matching the care with which she dabbed his sweater with a damp paper towel.

I’d ruin a thousand expensive sweaters if it meant you’d touch me with such gentleness each time.

“Didn’t even flinch. You’re getting used to me.”

“Or I’m building a resistance, like a virus.”

“Romantic.”

She snorted, giving him a playful shove with her hip.

As she plated the food, the rain picking up in a gentle percussion outside, he watched her with a quiet curiosity. Something softened in his gaze. He noticed, maybe, how methodical she was. How calm. How she hummed without realizing. How this, all of it—dinner, rain, soft light—felt like a life.

Not something he’d ever known, but something he was beginning to desperately want to know more of.

She handed him a dish and flopped into her favorite armchair. He’d told her a thousand times to get rid of that ancient thing, that he’d happily take her to get something better, yet ho couldn’t count on two hands the number of times he’d found her curled up in that same spot, study or scrolling or dozed off unintentionally.

He liked knowing her favorite spot.

“My sister always used to ask for this when it rained,” she said casually, interrupting his thought as she swirled her fork in the pasta. “Said it was ‘good food weather.’”

“She’s right.”

“You didn’t even taste it yet.”

“I meant the vibe. But yeah, probably the food too.”

She laughed softly. The kind of laugh that felt like an exhale. Then:

“When I moved here, I used to cook too much. Like… way too much. Didn’t know how to portion for one person. Used to give the rest to the neighbors or just eat it cold the next day.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I like cooking. Makes the place feel… alive, I guess. Kinda like a real home, you know?”

Lando took a bite then, chewing thoughtfully. He looked up at her, eyes warm.

I wonder what it’d take for me to give you a real home.

“Well, this one’s perfect. Even with the distinct lack of cheese.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, it could use a bit more cheese—”

She threw her napkin at him.

The TV flickered in the corner, casting slow, shifting light across the room. Some wildlife documentary murmured in the background—lions in tall grass, a monotone narrator talking about territory and belonging—but neither of them were really listening. They were stretched across the couch, tangled by comfort rather than touch: her legs curled under her, his shoulder tilted back against the cushion, her head resting against his chest.

Lando wasn’t even sure when they’d gotten like this. He just knew he hadn’t wanted to move. Still didn’t.

The room smelled faintly of garlic and basil from earlier. Rain still tapped gently against the windows. It was the kind of night that didn’t need much. Just presence.

She was stretched out across the couch, limbs heavy from the rain and pasta and comfort. He hadn’t meant to stay this long, but the hours had blurred into each other, soft and quiet and safe.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It rarely was. If anything, it was the kind of silence that felt rare — like the world forgot about them for a while. Like they could exist in this small pocket of space and not have to explain themselves.

After a long pause, she murmured, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever think this is strange?”

Lando shifted slightly, looking down at the top of her head. Her face was turned slightly toward him, half-lidded eyes catching his. He blinked, slow.

“No. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, fingers gently playing with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “Just… do.”

“We’re not strange,” he said, a little too fast. He tilted his head, brows drawn slightly. “It makes sense.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “How do you figure?”

“Dunno. It just– just does.”

She laughed, her whole body shaking gently against the weight of him. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

He smiled, that lazy crooked kind he did when he wasn’t trying too hard. “I just mean, like… we talk, right? And it, like, works. So, y’know…”

“Gee, just what every girl dreams of hearing,” she teased, poking him.

“I’m serious, though!” he insisted, shifting a little under her. “I tell you loads of things all the time.”

She turned her face into his chest slightly. “No you don’t, dummy. You like being mysterious too much for that.”

“I’m not mysterious,” he protested, offended in that fake way he knew would make her laugh. “I’m, like… normal.”

She laughed then—soft and a little wistful. “I’m not sure anything about us is normal.”

She laughed softly at her own words, but he didn’t laugh with her. He went quiet instead. And when the silence stretched a little too long, she shifted, heart thudding faintly at the idea she’d struck a nerve.

The room went still. The flicker of the TV washed over them in dim pulses. She noticed he hadn’t replied.

She blinked, worried suddenly that she’d struck something too deep. So she pushed herself up a little, reaching instinctively for his shoulder.

“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that—”

“If this isn’t normal…” he interrupted, voice softer, smaller than she’d ever heard it, “…is that bad? I kinda like it like this. Not normal.”

The words landed somewhere deep in her chest.

She paused. Lando didn’t look at her. He was staring straight ahead, as if admitting that was hard. As if he wasn’t used to speaking things that close to the heart out loud.

“I kinda like it like this,” he added, voice quieter still. “Not normal.”

She couldn’t help it. Her heart melted at the honesty of it.

She settled back down beside him, this time a little closer as she exhaled softly, more a thoughtful hum than anything. Her features softened instantly, lips curling into a sleepy smile, her body resting back against him.

“Hmm,” she whispered. “I can do not normal.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She settled back down against him, head resting lightly on his chest now. His hand moved almost instinctively to her back, warm and slow and steady.

She dozed off with her arm wrapped around his torso, her hand resting on his ribs.

Still, he stayed awake longer than he meant to, watching the way her face relaxed into sleep. He didn’t move – he couldn’t bring himself to.

A few minutes passed. Maybe more.

And when he was sure she was asleep — eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely—he dipped his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Let it linger.

Then, quieter than a prayer:

And then, when he was finally absolutely sure she was asleep – her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely – the room grew quiet and the storm softened outside. Only then did he lean forward, just enough to press the barest, most gentle of kisses to her forehead.

“I’m not a religious person,” he whispered, so low it felt like a prayer, “but sometimes I do think God made you for me.”

She didn’t stir. But his heart did something dangerous in his chest.

He didn’t stop it.

a/n: another chapter! i originally had this chapter plotted totally differently, but it felt too forced, so this happened instead. what do we think?

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