Chapter Text
Jo has always wanted a cat, something small, soft, and obedient that curls up beside him at night. He finds one online.
Only, it’s not a kitten.
It’s Yuma.
They meet on a dating app after Jo scrolls past dozens of profiles and stops at one that reads:
“Will eat if fed.”
“Likes warm laps.”
“No dogs.”
The first time they meet, Yuma shows up wearing cat-ear headphones and orders milk at the café. He’s quiet, jittery, but curious , the way a stray might be if you left the door open too long. Jo can tell right away that Yuma’s the kind of boy who forgets to eat unless someone reminds him.
So Jo reminds him.
And feeds him.
And keeps feeding him , little by little, bite by bite, until Yuma starts showing up uninvited, curling up on Jo’s couch, sleeping through his alarms, and leaving his socks everywhere.
Jo tells himself it’s temporary.
That he’s just helping.
But then Yuma starts purring when he’s touched.
And Jo realizes he doesn’t just want a kitten anymore.
He wants his kitten.
Yuma sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing one of Jo’s oversized hoodies, the sleeves flopped past his hands, which he kept nervously hidden in his lap. His cat ears (realistic, black, clip-on) tilted slightly to the side, like they were listening in.
Jo was perched on the edge of the couch, typing slowly. Deliberately. The way he always did when something mattered.
KITTEŃ CONTRACT (WORKING DRAFT)
By Jo (Owner) and Yuma (Kitten)
“Do I have to call you ‘Owner’?” Yuma asked, peeking over his knees.
Jo didn’t look up. “No. But you will.”
Yuma flushed. “What if I forget?”
“You won’t.” Jo typed another line. “But if you do, you’ll be punished.”
Then, casually:
“How do you feel about being leashed in public?”
Yuma squeaked.
Jo finally looked at him. His eyes were serious. Curious. Not cruel. “I’m not saying I would. I just want to know your limits.”
Yuma curled further into the hoodie. “I dunno. Maybe? Like, at a con? Not, like, the grocery store.”
Jo nodded and added to the contract:
Clause 3b: Kitten agrees to leash play only in safe, controlled, pre-discussed environments. Grocery stores excluded.
Yuma leaned forward. “Can I write one?”
Jo slid the laptop toward him without hesitation.
Yuma typed with two fingers, sticking out his tongue in concentration.
Clause 5a: Kitten requires treats. Especially fish-shaped ones. Owner must not judge brand preferences.
Jo smiled. “That’s fair.”
He took the laptop back and added beneath it:
5b: Owner reserves the right to taste-test treats for quality control.
Yuma made a tiny growl. “You’ll eat my treats?”
Jo tilted his head. “I’ll share yours if you share mine.”
Yuma blinked. “…what are your treats?”
Jo’s mouth quirked up at one side. “You’ll find out.”
Yuma melted. Visibly. His tail (today, black velvet with a ribbon) twitched behind him on the floor.
Jo kept typing.
Clause 8: Kitten agrees to daily feeding (minimum two meals and snacks if prompted). Owner will monitor intake without judgment.
“Is that one okay?” Jo asked, more gently now.
Yuma nodded, serious. “Yeah. I like that one.”
There was a quiet pause. The soft sound of the keyboard. The whistle of the kettle restarting in the background.
Then Yuma whispered, “Can we add something about naps?”
Jo looked over. “What kind?”
Yuma didn’t answer right away. His ears twitched again. Then:
“On you.”
Jo didn’t smile. But his fingers typed:
Clause 10: Kitten may nap on Owner at will. Head, chest, or lap positions encouraged. Purring allowed. Drooling discouraged but forgivable.
Yuma made a pleased noise and crawled up beside him. Jo didn’t stop him , just kept typing, one hand now resting on Yuma’s thigh. Possessive. Warm.
They worked on it until past midnight.
By the end, it was 4 pages long.
By the end, Yuma had signed it with a paw print sticker.
By the end, Jo printed it out , slid it into a sleeve , and tucked it into a drawer beside his bed.
Then he leaned back and watched Yumo who was curled up at the edge of Jo’s bed like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be there.
Jo didn’t say anything at first. He just turned out the lamp and crawled in behind him, pulling the blanket up like he did it every night.
Yuma didn’t move. Just lay there in Jo’s hoodie, sleeves past his wrists, no pants, tail still clipped to the back. His breathing was shallow. Watching the wall.
Jo pressed in behind him. No rush. No urgency. One hand on Yuma’s hip, thumb resting in the dip of skin above his waistband.
“You okay?” Jo murmured, voice soft.
Yuma nodded.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
Jo kissed the back of his neck. “You are.”
Silence.
Then Yuma said, barely audible, “I don’t want you to see me weird.”
Jo blinked. “You came to our first date in ears and ordered milk, Yuma.”
“…Yeah but you liked that.”
“I like you.”
That made Yuma shift. Just a little. His back pressed closer.
“You can touch me,” he whispered. “Just, slow.”
Jo didn’t need more. He kissed the nape of Yuma’s neck again. Lower this time. Let his hand slide under the hem of the hoodie.
Warm skin. Soft belly. No tension, just trembling.
He didn’t undress him fast, he peeled Yuma out of the hoodie like something sacred was underneath it. Like layers of nervousness and heartbeats and trust. When Yuma was finally bare, he curled into Jo’s chest like a kitten, one leg slung over Jo’s hip.
Jo’s hand traced his spine. His lips found Yuma’s ear. “You still want this?”
Yuma nodded fast. “I need it.”
Yuma looked at him. All wide eyes and flushed cheeks and something bright and defiant burning under the surface. “ I want you to pet me.”
Jo’s heart did something uncomfortable. His hands twitched.
“You’re not scared?” he asked.
“I’m scared all the time,” Yuma whispered. “But you make it feel good.”
Jo’s breath caught.
And then his hand was in Yuma’s hair, pushing the ears back into place. Stroking slow down his spine. Feeling him arch into it.
“Good kitty,” he murmured. “You waited so well.”
Yuma didn’t answer.
He just purred again.
And Jo, strange, quiet Jo, who never asked for anything, finally let himself take.
Yuma didn’t speak again.
He didn’t have to.
Jo had his hand in Yuma’s hair, and that was enough. The slow drag of his fingers from crown to nape, the way Yuma leaned into it like it fed him. Like Jo could press all the hurt out of him if he just touched deep enough.
He placed his hands on Yuma’s thighs. Firm. Possessive.
Yuma’s breath hitched. He sat still.
“Lie down,” Jo said. His voice was hoarse. “On your stomach.”
Yuma obeyed instantly.
He stretched across the mattress like it was instinct, not a command. Tail bobbing behind him, silly, fake, clipped to a waistband he wasn’t even wearing anymore. His legs parted. His arms folded under his chest.
Jo climbed up after him, straddling his hips, palms skimming over the warm length of Yuma’s back. His skin was soft. Too soft. He could feel every muscle twitch, every breath, every tremble.
“Still scared?” Jo murmured.
Yuma hummed. “Not like before.”
Jo bent forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his spine.
“Meow again.”
Yuma obeyed, soft, higher this time.
Jo’s fingers trailed lower. Over his back, his waist, then ghosting between his thighs. Not touching anything yet. Just claiming space.
“You’re perfect like this,” Jo whispered. “You don’t even know.”
Yuma turned his head, cheek against the sheet. His eyes were wet. Not crying. Just full.
“I think I know,” he whispered back.
Jo kissed the back of his neck.
He reached beneath Yuma, slowly, reverently, and finally wrapped a hand around him.
Yuma gasped.
His whole body jolted, hips twitching like he didn’t mean to move but couldn’t help it. Instinct. Heat. A shudder down to the bone. Jo pressed down with his own body weight, chest against Yuma’s back, keeping him grounded.
“Good kitty,” Jo whispered into the space behind his ear, thumb stroking the underside of Yuma’s cock in slow, deliberate rhythm.
Yuma whined. Not words. Not even sounds. Just heat and tension curled into breath.
Jo moved his hand in long, dragging pulls. No urgency. No rhythm. Just control. Possession. Like he was memorizing every twitch, every sharp inhale, every moment Yuma bucked into his palm and whimpered like he hated how much he loved it.
The bed creaked softly beneath them.
Jo shifted his hips just enough to feel Yuma writhe.
Yuma’s meows had turned to moans, soft at first, then louder, rawer. The kind of sounds that didn’t belong to a person, just a need. Guttural. Desperate.
Jo didn’t stop.
Didn’t speed up.
Just held him. Stroked him. Murmured to him.
“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
Yuma nodded, breathless. “Y-Yeah, Jo, please, ”
“Such a needy thing.” Jo’s voice was low, tight, sweet with danger. “Begging to be owned.”
Yuma’s hips stuttered.
Jo gripped him tighter, just slightly, slowing again. Forcing him to feel it.
“Say you belong to me.”
“I, I do,” Yuma gasped, barely able to speak. “I belong to you, ”
Jo squeezed, just enough to make Yuma choke on a moan.
“Say it again.”
“I belong to you,” Yuma whimpered, voice breaking. “Jo, I’m yours, please, ”
Jo leaned down, pressing a kiss to Yuma’s temple, then to the edge of his mouth. He tasted salt and breath and something rawer, something fragile.
His hand kept moving, slow, steady. Unrelenting.
Yuma’s whole body trembled.
“I see you,” Jo whispered. “Every version. Every time. Mine.”
Yuma let out a sob, beautiful and cracked, and pressed his face into the mattress, hips jerking helplessly as Jo finally gave him what he wanted. Faster now. Rougher
“I belong to you,” Yuma said, voice cracking, desperate. “Please, please, Jo, ”
Jo kissed the shell of his ear. “You’re mine.”
Yuma nodded furiously, ears askew, back arching under Jo’s touch.
Jo stroked harder, faster now, until Yuma was biting the pillow, trembling, coming undone in Jo’s hands with a sharp, helpless cry that wasn’t a meow anymore; just his.
Afterward, Jo laid down on top of him, still dressed, still quiet, hands gripping Yuma’s wrists and holding him in place.
Yuma was panting. Soft. Spent. Happy.
Jo whispered, “I’ll never let anyone else see you like this.”
Yuma just smiled into the sheets. “Good.”
Jo meant to stop.
He really did.
He had told himself he’d get Yuma cleaned up, pull the blanket over him, maybe brush his hair off his forehead like he always almost did, and then go take a shower. .
But he didn’t.
Instead, he sat back on the mattress, legs spread slightly as he caught his breath, watching Yuma slowly push himself up onto all fours again. The cat ears were barely clinging to his head now, but they were still there. Tilted, crooked. Ridiculous.
Jo opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but then Yuma crawled closer.
“Let me,” Yuma whispered.
Jo’s breath caught. “You don’t have to, ”
Yuma shook his head once. His palm slid up Jo’s thigh. His eyes never left Jo’s. “I want to.”
He reached for Jo’s waistband and tugged gently. Jo lifted his hips without thinking.
It was strange, how fast he stopped pretending.
His cock was hard, aching, actually. The kind of need that had been simmering for weeks. Months. Maybe longer.
Yuma stared at it like he was mesmerized.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he ducked his head and licked.
One soft, kittenish lap from the base to the tip. His tongue was warm and shy and experimental, and the sound Jo made wasn’t human.
Yuma licked again. And again. Each time slower. Each time messier.
Jo’s hands gripped the sheets. “Yuma…”
But Yuma just mewed,and kept going.
His tongue flicked against the tip, little cat licks, his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring the taste. Like he was learning Jo. Tasting what belonged to him. Worshipping in his own strange language.
“Fuck,” Jo breathed. “What are you doing to me?”
Yuma didn’t answer. Just circled the head with his tongue and purred against Jo’s skin.
Jo reached down, threading his fingers through Yuma’s hair, guiding him. Not pushing. Just holding.
“Good kitty,” he whispered, voice thick and breaking. “Just like that.”
Yuma licked the underside slowly, teasing. Relentless. It wasn’t about pressure, it was about submission. About being Jo’s.
His tongue dipped lower. Licked around Jo’s base. Soft kitten kisses. Meows between strokes.
Jo was going to lose it.
He pulled back Yuma’s hair and made him look up.
“I can’t, if you keep, fuck, Yuma, ”
Yuma blinked up at him, mouth spit-shiny, breath heavy. His lips brushed the tip of Jo’s cock again. He licked one more time. Dainty. Precise.
Jo groaned.
Then came, hard, across Yuma’s cheek and lips and the corner of one crooked cat ear.
They both froze.
Jo’s heart thundered.
Yuma sat back on his knees, smiling, breathless, face painted and proud. “I like making you feel good.”
Jo stared at him.
There were no words left in him. Just this strange, raw ache in his chest and the terrifying, beautiful fact that he might never want anyone else again.