#(please @god let the formatting of this post hold)

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[cuntyji]

MEOW OR NEVER ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: when your mom told you to steer clear of men, you didn't think she meant all of them - fur, whiskers, and all. but hey, maybe naming your cat mr. pickles was where you went wrong, considering she's apparently a mrs. now. and oh, she's pregnant. great. just fantastic. enter suguru geto, your drop-dead gorgeous neighbor, who's not just good at stealing glances but also at being a reluctant father - well, kitten father. turns out, his annoyingly smug orange menace named gojo's the reason you're now an unplanned (grand)parent. is this co-parenting arrangement going to end in peace, or in pieces? or worse, feelings? spoiler alert: suguru geto's got more than just child support to offer, and he's about to prove it in ways that'll have you questioning who the real stray here is.

warnings & tags: fluff and crack, eventual romance, no angst, geto is a year older than reader, geto is an (international) law student implied to be rich, reader's college program is not specified, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual smut (oral, f & m + 69). cast: geto, catoru (gojo is a tabby cat), yaga, sukuna, choso, yuuji, shoko, brief mention of utahime and nanami.

author's note: how i feel adding a graphic after not touching any editing apps since eight grade: 🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺. first long-fic on here and it is obviously for my @norikuna <3 i had so much fun writing geto, i hope you like this, and yes i named her mr. pickles after your meet-cute fic/s. ‼️ i recommend reading on ao3, as tumblr's formatting this fic very poorly and often times the fic has long paragraphs mashed together. i'm so sorry, but please enjoy!

chapter one: guess who's expecting (hint: it's not you)

when your mother warned you to stay away from men, you didn’t realize she meant all species of men. in your defense, you didn’t even know mr. pickles was…well, a dudette. a full-fledged woman, even.

judging by her usual air of indifference toward the struggles of life—whether it be a broken mug, burnt toast, or the existential dread and fear of capitalism looming over you—you’d assumed she was male. an assumption, it seems, born of sheer hubris. after all, you’d done thorough background checks on everyone else you let into your life. everyone except the stray cat that had waddled into your overpriced studio apartment one rainy night and decided it was hers.

the truth? you didn’t mind. between cramming for your degree and surviving the post-mortem of your relationships (both romantic and platonic, because apparently humans are terrible at consistency), mr. pickles became the one reliable constant in your life. albeit a hairy, aloof constant who occasionally brought you hairballs and dead bugs as sacrificial offerings to her goddess. you, of course, were said goddess.

any normal, functioning adult would have taken her to a shelter, or maybe put up a flyer: “found: one stray cat, bad attitude included.” but you, lonely soul that you were, took her in. except, it hadn’t been that simple. no, the first night you met her was anything but serene.

you were drunk. plastered. wobbling through the door with a bag of takeout in one hand and your heels in the other, ready to collapse onto your bed and dream about a life where rent didn’t cost your soul. but instead of an empty apartment greeting you, there she was. sitting smack in the middle of your living room like some furry squatters’ rights advocate, tail flicking with utter disdain.

you froze, still holding the doorknob, as your eyes locked with hers.

"what the—" you whispered, blinking hard to confirm you weren’t hallucinating. nope, she was real.

the cat let out a long, guttural “yeowwwwwwwwwl,” like she was just as horrified by you as you were by her.

you screamed. naturally. "who are you?! how did you get in here?! security’s supposed to be good—oh my god, is that a rat?"

she screamed back, launching into an impressive round of yowls that rattled your very bones. it became a chaotic symphony of you, still holding your takeout, pointing at her with your shoe, while she darted back and forth in an apparent panic over your panic.

"okay, okay," you gasped after what felt like hours but was probably five minutes. "just—calm down! i’ll call the cops or animal control or—do i even know animal control’s number? is that a thing people know?!"

the cat paused mid-panic, tilting her head as if considering whether you were worth the hassle. then, slowly and with the grace of a self-proclaimed queen, she sat back down.

you stood there, panting, wide-eyed, and still clutching your takeout like a lifeline. "are…are you done? can i move now?"

she gave a single chirp in response.

you blinked. "was that a yes?"

another chirp.

"okay, cool. good talk," you muttered, inching toward the kitchen counter to set your stuff down. "you know, you really picked the wrong apartment to haunt, bro. you don’t wanna hang out here."

she followed you, hopping onto the counter with zero hesitation.

"oh, you’ve got nerve," you grumbled, waving a hand. "get down. that’s…oh my god, is that chicken grease? you’re gonna get salmonella. do cats get salmonella?"

the cat meowed, which you took as a very sarcastic no.

you sighed. "great. now i’ve got a cat."

let’s rewind back to the future, to the moment you found out mr. pickles had a party of tiny paws brewing in her belly. it wasn’t an epiphany that hit you like a bolt of lightning—no, it was a series of increasingly bizarre events that gradually chipped away at your ignorance until the horrifyingly adorable truth came crashing down.

first, let’s talk about “pinking up.” apparently, around 16-20 days into pregnancy, a cat’s nipples turn pinker and more prominent—a fact you learned after a very awkward google search. not that you were actively inspecting mr. pickles’ nipples. that felt…wrong. but you did notice, eventually. the weight gain started subtly, a little extra fluff around her midsection that you brushed off as the result of switching to a premium brand of cat food. "guess the organic kibble’s working," you mumbled one evening as mr. pickles sprawled on the couch like a spoiled heiress. she blinked at you, unimpressed, before rolling onto her side, belly on full display. it was… rounder than usual. suspiciously so. but denial is a hell of a drug.

then came the morning she beat you to the bathroom. literally.

you were nursing a wicked hangover, the kind that makes you reconsider every life decision leading up to the night before. groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and toward the bathroom, only to freeze in the doorway. there was mr. pickles, perched in your shower cubicle, hurling her guts out like she’d been partying harder than you. "what the—" you started, but she cut you off with another violent retch. you just stood there, slack-jawed, your own nausea momentarily forgotten. "are you… hungover? can cats be hungover?" she ignored you, finishing her business before hopping out of the shower with a nonchalance that screamed you’ll clean that up, right?

and the sleeping? don’t even get started on the sleeping. mr. pickles, your once lively (read: temperamental) companion, now spent her days passed out in the weirdest positions. you’d leave for class, catch her sprawled upside down on the couch with her legs in the air, and come back hours later to find her in the exact same spot. the first time it happened, you panicked. 

“mr. pickles?” you whispered, crouching beside her. no response. 

"oh my god, are you dead?" you poked her back. nothing. 

just as you were about to call your landlord and have him prepare for the worst, mr. pickles let out the laziest, most judgmental yawn you’d ever heard.

then came the personality shift. the mr. pickles you knew—the one who hissed at your laptop every time you opened it, as if microsoft word had committed a personal offense—was gone. in her place was a clingy, purring ball of affection. she started curling up on your lap while you worked, purring loud enough to rival an industrial saw. “awwww, who’s a good kitty?” you cooed, melting into the moment. and then she shed enough fur on your clothes to build a second cat.

but the final straw, the one that shattered your fragile understanding of reality, was the nesting.

you came home one evening to find mr. pickles frantically rearranging your laundry basket, clawing at the clothes and dragging them into a fluffy pile. she paused when you entered, her eyes wild with an intensity you’d never seen before.

"uhh…what are you doing?" you asked, only to be met with a deep, guttural growl. "okay, that’s new," you muttered, backing away slowly. "you do…whatever that is."

it hit you then. the weight gain, the puking, the clinginess, the nesting. oh my god.

"oh my god," you whispered, clutching the counter for support. "mr. pickles is a girl."

your world tilted. memories of every time you called her sir or buddy flashed before your eyes. you were the problem.

you rushed her to the vet the next day, bursting through the door like a contestant on a reality show. "she’s been acting weird," you blurted to the receptionist. "and by weird, i mean…is she pregnant?"

one checkup later, the vet turned to you with a warm smile and uttered the words that changed everything: “congratulations, you’re a mother.”

your jaw dropped. "what? no. no, i’m not. she’s—she’s the mother!" you gestured wildly to mr. pickles, who was now lounging on the exam table like this was all very boring. the vet chuckled. “well, technically, that makes you a grandmother.”

a grandmother. you, a college student, were a grandmother.

as you drove home in stunned silence, mr. pickles stretched out in the passenger seat, her belly looking smugly round. you glanced at her, still reeling.

“does this mean i have to start calling you mrs. pickles now?”

she purred. of course she purred.

chapter 2: welcome to parenthood, kinda

the day after the vet visit, you were a woman on a mission. holding mr. pickles up like she was a fragile artifact, you found yourself wandering the corridors of your apartment building, knocking on doors and attempting to uncover the truth behind your feline’s unexpected condition. sure, your mother raised you single-handedly, but did that mean you had to take on the role of a cat grandmother solo? absolutely not.

the first stop was masamichi yaga, your landlord. you weren’t sure why you started with the most intimidating person in the building, but desperation has a way of clouding judgment. his door creaked open, revealing the towering man himself, wearing a slightly bemused expression. “uhh …good morning, mr. yaga,” you stammered, clutching mr. pickles tighter for moral support. “i—uh—wanted to ask…do you have a cat?” he raised an eyebrow. “a cat?”

“yeah,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your grip on mr. pickles. “because, um, she’s pregnant, and i was wondering if—well, you know…”

yaga blinked at you for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “no, i don’t have a cat. the only thing i house around here is pandas.”

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. “...pandas?”

“yup. no cats.”

you decided not to press further. “right. okay. thanks, anyway.” you shuffled away, cheeks burning, as he closed the door behind you with a definitive click.

next, you made your way to choso’s apartment. you’d seen the guy a few times in the hallway—tall, always dressed like he’d just walked out of a corporate ad, with an aura of quiet exhaustion that screamed salaryman. when he opened the door, he looked down at you with mild surprise, a coffee mug in one hand. “hi,” you greeted, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “i, uh, have a question. do you happen to own a cat?”

choso blinked, glancing at mr. pickles, who let out a disinterested meow. “no, i don’t.”

“are you sure?” you pressed. “because my cat is pregnant, and—”

“i’m sure,” he cut in gently, though his tone held the same weariness you felt every monday morning. “i barely have time to take care of my brothers, let alone a pet.”

“brothers?”

“yeah.” he took a sip of his coffee. “one of them’s a high schooler. the other one…well, he’s sukuna.”

you froze. “wait. sukuna? as in, the scary guy with the tattoos who glares at everyone when he smokes in the hallway?”

choso nodded. “he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

you had your doubts but decided not to argue. “right. okay. thanks anyway.”

your next stop was shoko’s apartment. you’d always admired her cool, no-nonsense vibe, but the dark circles under her eyes told you she probably didn’t have time for a pet. still, you knocked. when the door opened, shoko stood there, looking like she hadn’t slept in three days but somehow still pulled it off effortlessly.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “do you have a cat?”

“a cat?” she repeated, leaning against the doorframe. “no. i’m barely home enough to keep my plants alive, let alone a pet.”

you nodded, biting back a sigh. “yeah, that makes sense.”

“why?” she asked, eyeing mr. pickles. “is she yours?”

“yeah. she’s pregnant.”

shoko raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “congrats, grandma.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned. “thanks anyway.”

lastly, you tried suguru geto’s apartment. according to the building’s handbook, he was your neighbor on the floor above. but when you knocked, there was no answer. “great,” you muttered, glancing down at mr. pickles. “our prime suspect isn’t even home. what now?”

mr. pickles responded by squirming in your arms, clearly unimpressed with your sleuthing skills.

defeated, you trudged back to your apartment, where the reality of impending grandmotherhood sank in further. with no leads and no one to pin the blame on, you flopped onto your couch, setting mr. pickles down beside you. she stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with herself.

“this is your fault, you know,” you muttered, pointing a finger at her. she responded with a purr, curling up into a fluffy ball of indifference.

great. just great. looks like you were in this alone—again.

evening rolled in, and with it came mr. pickles’s dinner time. lately, you’d been overly cautious about her diet and mood—the whole pregnancy thing and all—but tonight? tonight she was testing your last nerve. there she was, stationed by the door like her life depended on it, yowling dramatically with an almost operatic flair. her tail flicked like a metronome, her cries growing more pitiful by the second. “oh, come on,” you groaned, setting her food bowl down with an exasperated sigh. “what’s with you tonight? you’ve eaten like, three times already.”

mr. pickles, naturally, ignored you, clawing at the door with all the determination of someone who just had to get out. “fine,” you muttered, stomping toward the door. “but i swear, if there’s a stray out there, you can explain yourself, motherf—”

you flung the door open mid-rant and promptly froze.

standing in your doorway was a man. a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome man with long, silky black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and bangs that framed his angular face like he’d just stepped off the cover of handsome landlord quarterly. he wore a plain black sweater, dark trousers, and an expression that was equal parts bemused and apologetic. but your attention snapped to the cat he was holding aloft—an orange tabby with piercingly bright blue eyes that were somehow both smug and indifferent at the same time. “uh…hi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth with an edge of uncertainty. “this yours?”

“that’s…not my cat,” you managed, pointing awkwardly at the tabby.

“figured,” he said, glancing past you into your apartment where mr. pickles was now peeking out, her ears perked and tail bristled like an antenna. “he’s mine. name’s gojo. found him sitting outside my door screaming his lungs out, so i thought maybe…” his words trailed off as his gaze flicked between you, mr. pickles, and gojo. then, realization dawned on his face.

“wait.” he looked at mr. pickles, then back at you. “is your cat…?”

“pregnant?” you supplied flatly. “yep. as of about a week ago, thanks for asking.”

geto—because of course you’d figured out that this very handsome man was suguru geto from the floor above—blinked, visibly processing this information. “huh,” he said finally, his brow furrowing as he glanced at gojo. “but…gojo’s neutered.”

“what?” you blurted, staring at the smug orange tabby who looked anything but neutered. “yeah, had it done ages ago.” geto tilted his head, clearly as baffled as you. “so how the hell…?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache blooming. “you’re saying there’s no way it could’ve been him?”

“not unless he figured out how to reverse a neuter,” geto said dryly, his lips twitching in a bemused smile. you both looked at the cats the—gojo, lounging smugly in geto’s arms, and mr. pickles, glaring daggers from the safety of the couch. “okay,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “if not gojo, then who? because i don’t exactly let her out, and she’s been acting weird for weeks.”

“well…” geto began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “he did sneak out a couple of times last month, but i didn’t think—”

“oh my god,” you groaned, cutting him off. “are you telling me your supposedly neutered cat is actually some kind of feline lothario who managed to knock up my cat on one of his escapades?”

“it’s not like i planned this,” geto defended, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. you shot him a look, but before you could respond, gojo meowed loudly, almost like he was bragging. “great,” you muttered, throwing your hands up. “just great. now i have to deal with kittens, rent, and figuring out how the hell to co-parent with the guy next door who can’t keep his cat under control.”

geto chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. “well, if it helps, i’m pretty good with kids. or kittens, in this case.” you stared at him, incredulous. “this isn’t funny.”

“oh, come on,” he teased, his smirk widening. “it’s a little funny.” you groaned again, retreating into your apartment. “this is a nightmare.”

“or an adventure,” geto countered, stepping back into the hallway with a casual wave. “let me know if you need any help. babysitting, moral support, whatever.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving you with a very pregnant mr. pickles, a smug orange tabby, and far too many questions about how you’d managed to land yourself in this ridiculous situation.

-

the realization hit you as soon as you pressed "send." oh no. oh no, no, no. 

did you really just text suguru geto—your neighbor, a man who likely had better things to do than deal with your ridiculous antics a demand for child support? for cats? you flopped face-first onto your couch, groaning into a throw pillow. “what the hell is wrong with me?” mr. pickles, lounging on the armrest, flicked her tail and let out a smug little chirp, as if she’d orchestrated the entire debacle. “you’re no help,” you muttered, rolling onto your back to glare at her.

but it was too late now. the text was sent, sitting in geto’s inbox like an uninvited guest at a party. you imagined him reading it, probably over a cup of coffee in his immaculate apartment upstairs, eyebrows raised in disbelief before muttering something like, what the hell is this?

“what was i expecting?” you asked the ceiling. “a courtroom? with gojo cat wearing a tiny tie and confessing his sins?” mr. pickles yawned, completely uninterested in your spiral.

“ugh,” you grumbled, standing up. “whatever. it’s his problem now.”

-

bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, you shuffled to the door the next morning to grab the newspaper. the universe owed you at least one boring morning after last night’s embarrassment. but as you opened the door, your sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. there, sitting on your front porch, was a 5kg bag of premium cat food, the kind you’d seen in the store once and immediately walked past because it cost more than your monthly grocery budget. “what the…” you muttered, crouching down to inspect it.

taped to the bag was a folded piece of paper with the words “child support :)” scrawled in smooth, confident handwriting. beneath the note was what looked suspiciously like a paw print in ink. you squinted, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “no. absolutely not. did he—did they actually ink up the cat for this?” you glanced down the hallway, half-expecting geto to pop out from behind a corner and yell “gotcha!” but it was eerily quiet. mr. pickles, who had wandered over to investigate, sniffed the bag and let out an excited meow, her tail curling in approval. “of course you’re happy,” you said, picking up the note and reading it again. “this is like winning the lottery for you.”

you flipped the paper over, looking for more, but that was it. just “child support :)” and a smug paw print. “oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “he’s good. he’s really good.” you set the bag inside and grabbed your phone, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. what were you even supposed to say to this? thank you? an apology for being unhinged?

before you could overthink it, a new message lit up your screen.

geto: hope this helps. let me know if you need anything else. gojo says hi.

you stared at the message for a long moment, torn between laughter and mortification.

“what do i even say to that?” you asked mr. pickles, who was now trying to claw her way into the bag of food. she didn’t respond, obviously, but you took her enthusiasm as a sign to type out the least embarrassing reply you could muster.

you: thanks. mr. pickles says hi too. sorry about the text, was half-asleep. really appreciate this though.

a reply came almost instantly.

geto: no problem. wasn’t sure how much to get, so i just grabbed the fanciest one. figured she deserves it.

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are you, cat royalty?”

mr. pickles let out a pleased chirp, pawing at the bag triumphantly, and you couldn’t help but laugh. whatever this situation was, at least mr. pickles was happy. and, okay, maybe suguru geto wasn’t completely terrible either.

you thought life couldn’t get more ridiculous after the whole “child support” stunt. but somehow, suguru geto managed to raise the bar so high that it was practically doing pull-ups in the stratosphere. because when you stepped out of your apartment to grab some fresh air and regroup after being up all night with a cuddly mr. pickles, you realized geto had turned this entire ordeal into a neighborhood event. “did he… throw a party without telling me?” you muttered to yourself, narrowing your eyes as you spotted a small, hand-decorated sign taped to the landlord’s door. it read: "congrats to the new parents: gojo & mr. pickles!”

“new parents?” you said aloud, incredulous.

as if summoned by your confusion, choso’s door creaked open, and yuuji popped his head out, looking entirely too enthusiastic for such an early hour. “hey, neighbor! did you see the banner?” you blinked at him. “banner?” 

yuuji pointed down the hallway. you squinted and, sure enough, there it was — a banner strung across the hallway ceiling that read: "welcome baby kittens!!!" in what looked like glitter glue. “oh my god.” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “he didn’t.”

“he totally did!” yuuji grinned, stepping fully into the hallway. “he came by earlier and told me about gojo being a dad. so cool, right? i mean, gojo’s kind of an idiot, but hey, every cat deserves a shot at fatherhood.”

“yuuji,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “he’s not an actual dad. this isn’t a sitcom. it’s just…biology.” yuuji shrugged. “biology, destiny, same thing. oh, by the way, geto dropped off cookies! want one?” you looked down and noticed yuuji holding a plate of cookies shaped like tiny cats.

“what the—did he bake these?”

“nah, i think he bought them,” yuuji said, biting into one. “but still. pretty neat, huh?” you groaned, muttering, “neat isn’t the word i’d use.”

just as you turned to head back into your apartment and escape the madness, there was a loud, insistent scratching at your door. you froze. “don’t tell me…”

yuuji, still chewing on his cookie, pointed. “that’s probably gojo. he’s been making rounds all morning trying to visit your cat. i think he’s really taking this fatherhood thing seriously.” you stormed to your door and there he was—gojo cat, gojo the cat, his bright blue eyes wide and hopeful as he pawed at the doorway like a love-struck romeo. “oh, for crying out loud,” you muttered, scooping him up and holding him at arm’s length as you entered your house. “what do you think you’re doing?” gojo meowed pitifully, his tail flicking as he looked past you toward mr. pickles, who was curled up on her blanket, looking utterly unimpressed. “she’s not interested, casanova,” you told him, turning to yuuji. “can you take him back before he climbs my curtains again?” yuuji laughed, taking the cat from you. “no problem. come on, gojo. let’s give her some space.”

as yuuji disappeared down the hall with gojo, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. but before you could even sit down, your phone buzzed.

geto: hope you’re enjoying the festivities. gojo’s a little excited, but who can blame him? parenthood changes you.

you stared at the message, your eye twitching.

you: i'm one sleepless night away from snapping. please stop turning my life into a hallmark movie.

geto: don’t be shy. you’re the real hero here, grandma.

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. mr. pickles, who had been watching the entire ordeal with an air of feline superiority, let out a small, smug purr. “don’t you start,” you told her, flopping onto the couch. “at least it’s a long weekend.” but deep down, you knew there was no such thing as peace—not when suguru geto and his ridiculous orange menace were involved.

-

suguru geto was not having a good day.

he sighed, leaning back against his couch as the familiar hum of embarrassment settled over him. gojo cat, sprawled across the armrest, gave a half-hearted meow, probably to mock him. he’d woken up to him scratching at his front door like a lunatic, yowling for his morning ritual of inspecting the hallway for signs of mr. pickles. the normally smug and self-satisfied orange menace had been acting weird for days—restless, meowing at windows, and straight-up bolting every time geto so much as opened the front door. it had taken geto exactly one trip downstairs to realize why.

you. or more specifically, your cat.

geto hadn’t even known you had a cat until he’d knocked on your door last week, with mr. pickles in the background like some furry empress. now, not only did he know, but he also had the dubious honor of being the grandfather of mr. pickles’ unborn kittens. “how did it even come to this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the glittery “welcome baby kittens!!!” banner he’d put up in the hallway. he knew he was making things worse for himself, but honestly, it was better than sitting in his apartment, spiraling. he sighed, looking down at gojo, who was perched on the armrest of the couch, lazily licking a paw. “you couldn’t just chill, could you?” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the cat. “no, you had to go and ruin my already complicated life. do you know how awkward this is? do you?”

gojo blinked at him, clearly unbothered. “of course you don’t,” geto muttered. “you’re a cat.”

the thing was, geto had genuinely thought he’d be cool about this whole situation. sure, it was a little weird to be co-parenting kittens with the girl he’d had a hallway crush on for months, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. except he wasn’t handling it. he’d told yuuji. he’d told yaga. he’d even left cookies for shoko. and now half the building knew about gojo’s escapades. “what am i doing?” he groaned, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “you know, this is all your fault,” geto muttered, glaring at the cat. gojo, unbothered, blinked lazily.

geto had been a lot of things in his years of life—student, aspiring lawyer, occasional cat dad—but one thing he wasn’t was smooth when it came to you. you, the girl from another department who lived one floor below him. you, the one who always looked like you belonged in a wes anderson movie, with your half-hidden smiles and humour. you, who somehow managed to make even the most mundane hallway interactions feel like they had a gravitational pull. geto groaned, pressing his palms into his face. he was this close to becoming a tragic cliché. 

it wasn’t like he’d never tried to talk to you before. he had. there was that one time in the campus library, where he’d psych himself up for twenty minutes only for you to leave before he could string a coherent sentence together. or the time in the cafeteria when he thought about offering you a seat at his table but chickened out because he was certain his friends would tease him for weeks. “this is what rock bottom feels like,” he muttered to himself.

he wasn’t even supposed to live in this building. as an international law major with a full schedule and internships on the horizon, he should’ve been in one of the fancier complexes closer to campus, but fate—or sheer bad luck—had landed him here. not that he could complain. not when you were his downstairs neighbor. he had always figured you were out of reach, though. you had this aura of being completely in your own world—poised, a little reserved, but not in a way that came off as unapproachable. more like you were quietly observing the chaos around you, letting it wash over you like a passing breeze. and he’d been content to admire you from afar. well, mostly content. but now? there was a knock at the door. 

geto froze.

“please don’t let it be her,” he whispered, praying to whatever higher power might be listening.

it was you. standing in his apartment building, holding a note he wrote about “child support.”

“hey,” you said, holding up a piece of paper. “you forgot this.”

“oh,” he said dumbly. “right. thanks.”

you stepped inside, looking around at the various cat-themed decorations geto had somehow acquired in the past 24 hours. “so… big fan of cats, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. geto felt his face heat up. “uh, yeah. something like that.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this. it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” geto repeated, incredulous. “your cat is having kittens with my cat. that’s, like… monumental.” you rolled your eyes. “they’re cats , geto. not royal heirs.”

“still,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “i’m just trying to be responsible here.” you looked at him for a long moment, and geto swore he saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in your eyes. “responsible?” you repeated. “is that why you’ve turned our hallway into a petting zoo?” geto opened his mouth to argue but stopped when gojo jumped down from the couch and strutted over to you, rubbing against your legs like the shameless flirt he was. “traitor,” geto muttered under his breath. you crouched down to pet gojo, a small smile tugging at your lips. “well, at least someone knows how to make a good impression.” 

geto stared at you, his brain short-circuiting. “uh, yeah,” he said finally. “he’s… he’s good at that.” you stood up, brushing cat fur off your hands. “anyway, thanks for the food. mr. pickles appreciates it.”

“no problem,” geto said, trying to sound casual. “you know, if you ever need help with… anything, just let me know.” you raised an eyebrow. “like what? cat parenting classes?”

“sure,” geto said, shrugging. “or, you know, anything else.” you gave him a long, considering look before finally nodding. “i’ll keep that in mind,” you said, turning to leave. “thanks, grandpa.”

geto groaned as the door closed behind you. “what am i even doing?” he muttered again, looking down at gojo, who had jumped back onto the couch, looking entirely too smug. the cat meowed, as if to say, you’re welcome.

chapter 3: first we stalk, then we brunch

later in the evening, you found yourself huddled under your comforter, laptop balanced precariously on your knees. mr. pickles was curled up at your feet, occasionally flicking her tail, as if silently judging you. you ignored her. tonight, you had a mission: to do a deep dive into the enigma that was suguru geto. you weren’t proud of yourself, okay? but curiosity had officially killed the cat—or at least put her temporarily out of commission. like any sensible person armed with curiosity and internet access, you turned to linkedin. not instagram, not facebook—linkedin. because nothing screams “serious investigation” like stalking someone’s professional achievements. “let’s see what we’ve got, mr. pickles,” you muttered, typing “suguru geto” into the search bar on the holy grail of professional snooping. mr. pickles perched regally at the foot of your bed, her gaze judgmental as ever. “don’t give me that look,” you muttered. “i’m doing this for you.”

within seconds, his profile loaded up, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

suguru geto wasn’t just good-looking. oh no. he was an overachiever of the highest order. his profile picture was annoyingly perfect: a candid (but totally staged) shot of him sitting at a café, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while looking thoughtfully into the distance, as if he’d just solved world hunger. his headline read:

suguru geto | international law student | aspiring global policymaker | passionate about justice and equality

“ugh,” you groaned, scrolling further. “passionate about justice? who is this guy?” his bio didn’t help matters. it was filled with phrases like ‘dedicated to fostering positive global change’ and ‘committed to bridging the gap between policy and implementation.’

“committed to being annoyingly perfect, maybe,” you muttered, side-eyeing mr. pickles. she let out a half-hearted meow that you chose to interpret as agreement. his experience section was even worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. a summer internship at the UN where he ‘assisted in drafting resolutions and collaborated with member states on sustainable development initiatives.’ worked as a legal intern at some fancy law firm with a french name you couldn’t pronounce, where he ‘focused on international human rights cases, with a specific emphasis on refugee protection.’ not to mention being a volunteer coordinator for a charity in sri lanka, where he ‘organized relief efforts and distributed supplies to displaced families during the holiday season.’

“okay, mr. pickles,” you said, glancing at the unimpressed feline. “this guy’s either a saint or a robot.” what shocked you most wasn’t his saintly résumé, but the fact that he went to the same university as you. you stared at the screen, stunned. “how the hell did i not know this?” his “education” section confirmed it:

bachelor’s in international law | current student

active member of the debate team and global policy forum

that explains it, you thought. you were a year younger and in an entirely different department—he probably had his head buried in treaties while you scrambled through your own projects. still, the idea of suguru walking the same hallways as you sent your mind reeling. “was he in the cafeteria when i spilled coffee on myself that one time?” you wondered aloud. as you continued scrolling, you stumbled upon his posts. his posts swung wildly between annoyingly inspirational and oddly endearing.

the first was a very cheesy, slightly-too-polished “ringing in the new year” post, complete with a stock photo of fireworks and an unnecessarily long caption: ‘as we close the chapter on another year, let us remember the power of community and resilience. cheers to 365 days of growth, learning, and striving for a better world!’

“uggghhh, gag me,” you snorted, though you couldn’t help but admire how polished it all was.

then there was a post featuring none other than gojo cat sprawled on a cushion, mid-snore. the caption read: ‘cats are not just pets—they are companions, teachers, and sometimes, our greatest confidants. thank you, gojo, for reminding me to appreciate the little joys in life.’

“confidants? really?” you muttered, holding back a laugh. “what secrets are you sharing with your cat, suguru?” the pièce de résistance, however, was a post about his recent trip to sri lanka. it included a photo of him kneeling next to a group of kids, all of them smiling brightly, while he held a giant sack of rice. ‘spending christmas eve here has been a humbling experience. giving is not just about material wealth but about offering hope and kindness. #holidaygiving #payitforward’

“oh, come on,” you groaned. “who even has time for all of this?” mr. pickles let out an approving meow, her ears twitching at the picture. “not you too,” you sighed. just as you were about to close the tab, a final post caught your eye. it was from a few months ago: a blurry picture of the university quad, with a caption that read: ‘sometimes, it’s the quiet moments on campus that remind you why you started this journey. grateful for this space, these people, and this path.’

“quiet moments, huh?” you mused, leaning back against your pillows. “maybe he’s not all bad.” mr. pickles let out a disapproving chirp, as if to say, focus on the fact that he’s responsible for my current condition, thank you. and just when you thought you’d seen it all, there was his international cat day post. gojo cat lay sprawled in the background, his belly exposed, looking utterly unbothered. geto had written an almost poetic ode to feline companionship. ‘in a world filled with noise, cats remind us to listen to silence. they are the quiet guardians of our souls.’

you couldn’t help but snort. “quiet guardians? mr. pickles, your baby daddy is a poet now.” mr. pickles gave a soft chirp, as if to say, better him than some nobody. “fine,” you relented, closing your laptop. “maybe he’s not terrible. just… annoyingly perfect.” but as you lay back against your pillows, a nagging thought lingered: why had he never said anything? you’d walked the same hallways, shared the same campus, yet he’d never even made a passing hello. was he too busy, or something else? either way, you weren’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. probably both.

-

suguru geto prided himself on being polished and refined. and he had standards okay? he wasn’t some creep skulking around in the shadows. he was a man of composure, logic, and discipline. but all of that went out the window when it came to you. he is also an upstanding citizen who just happened to know your spotify account, which he checked semi-regularly. for research purposes, obviously. it started innocently enough—getting your instagram handle. no big deal. he hadn’t even followed you right away, worried it might seem weird coming out of nowhere. it was all very calculated: a "friend of a friend of a classmate of a third cousin" pipeline that eventually led him to your public page. a click here, a scroll there, and boom—your instagram aesthetic was forever seared into his memory.  but social media wasn’t enough. no, geto was too curious (and maybe just a bit too pathetic) to stop there. this led him to your spotify.

now, he didn’t just stumble upon your spotify profile by chance. this particular treasure hunt began at a house party at the start of the year. utahime had made a collaborative playlist for everyone, and while everyone else just added their favorite songs, geto decided to dive deep. deep as in scrolling through over 150 accounts connected to the playlist just to find yours. “there it is,” he had muttered triumphantly back then, his lips twitching into a satisfied smile. “gotcha.” and from that moment, your spotify profile became his guilty pleasure. your profile picture at the time? a blurry photo of what looked like you holding a glass of wine at some fancy rooftop bar. but the playlists were the real treasure.

your “gym rat” playlist was his favorite, with high energy tracks, peppered with one or two questionable choices. seriously, why was there a taylor swift song in the middle of your workout playlist? your “in the clerb, we all cryin’” playlist was interesting to say the least, comprising of indie ballads, heart-wrenching acoustics, and, for some reason, a single abba track. then there was “road trip,” featuring everything from funky throwbacks to an absurd number of songs by chappell roan. “you’ve got taste,” geto muttered to himself, clicking into the playlists one by one. “questionable taste in some areas, but still…” he often scrolled through your profile aimlessly, not necessarily looking for anything new, but just existing in your world, even if it was through music. tonight, he found himself back on your page, like some kind of masochistic ritual.

his eyes drifted to his chrome tabs, where your spotify was bookmarked for easy access. it was right there, sandwiched between his email inbox, an online soba delivery menu, an article titled “10 Tips for Acing Your Next Law Internship” and a tab about international trade law regulations. “no new playlists,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. your gym playlist hadn’t been updated in six months (“what happened to your gym rat era?”), and your grwm playlist was untouched. “slacking, hm?” gojo cat, perched on the edge of the desk, gave him a slow blink. “boring night for you too, huh?” geto sighed dramatically, glancing over at gojo cat sprawled on his lap. the feline barely flicked an ear in response. “don’t look at me like that,” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the feline. “this is completely normal behavior. i’m not stalking. i’m just… maintaining a healthy level of interest.”

“it’s not creepy,” he justified aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “it’s resourceful. i’m just staying informed.” gojo cat stretched lazily, letting out a yawn that sounded suspiciously judgmental. “oh, don’t start,” geto shot back, tapping lightly on the cat’s head. “you’re the reason i even know her in the first place.” geto’s eyes flicked to your “gym rat era” playlist again. still untouched. “what happened to that, by the way?” he asked no one in particular. “gave up? hit your personal best and retired early?” gojo cat pawed at the corner of his laptop, as if trying to close it.

“hey, no,” geto said, swatting the cat’s paw away gently. “i’m in the middle of something important.” his finger hovered over the profile picture you’d updated—something blurry and vaguely artsy. probably taken at a bar or café. he debated clicking it but stopped himself. what was he expecting? some secret hidden bio like “hey, stop creeping”? he sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “i’m not weird, right?” he asked the cat.

gojo, being a cat, offered no answer.

“right,” geto muttered. “this is perfectly reasonable. i’m just… interested. it’s not like i’m walking past her door at 3 a.m. or something.” a fleeting daydream crossed his mind—what if the two of you had a shared playlist? something intimate and special, where you both added songs and left little comments. “‘thinking of you when i added this,’” he mused in a mockingly cheesy tone, shaking his head. “god, what am i, thirteen?” still, the thought lingered, making him smile despite himself. just as he began to close the tab, a notification popped up.

[beef_boss_69 has followed you.]

his entire demeanor shifted. “beef boss? beef boss?” geto practically spat the name out. “who the hell—what kind of username is that?” he clicked on the profile, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the new follower. it was a faceless account, with no playlists or followers of its own. “oh, great,” he grumbled. “a bot. or worse, some guy who thinks he’s funny.” he glanced at gojo cat, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. “don’t give me that look,” geto said, pointing at the cat. “you’d be upset too if some guy named beef boss was muscling in on your territory.” gojo cat chirped, which suguru took as a sign of agreement. “exactly,” geto said, nodding to himself. “i mean, what’s next? chicken king 420? pork prince 88?” 

he sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “i should just send the linkedin request,” he muttered to himself. “rip the band-aid off. what’s the worst that could happen?” gojo cat let out a loud meow, almost as if to say, you’re never going to do it. “shut up,” geto shot back, though there was no heat behind his words. he closed your spotify tab, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the thought of actually interacting with you. maybe tomorrow, he thought. or next week. or the next time beef boss made a move. as he shut his laptop, he made a mental note: tomorrow, he’d work up the nerve to send you a linkedin request. baby steps, right?

-

you weren’t even sure what had pulled you out of bed that morning. was it the ungodly racket outside your door? the growing guilt of not actually reading the paper you insisted on having delivered? or maybe just the suspiciously human-sounding yowls of mr. pickles as she nested in the corner of your room? either way, you’d dragged yourself out of bed, eyes half-closed, hair resembling a bird’s nest, and shuffled toward the door in your favorite—read: most embarrassing—pajamas. and there he was.

suguru geto, standing in front of your door in the crisp morning light, wearing an athletic jacket, sweatpants, and the expression of a man who was absolutely not ready for this level of chaos. attached to his hand was a leash, and attached to the leash was none other than gojo cat himself, strutting like he was the king of the neighborhood. “morning,” geto greeted, his tone breezy but his face clearly betraying some inner turmoil. you blinked at him. “is that… is that a harness?”

“yep.” geto scratched the back of his neck. “gojo here insisted.” as if on cue, gojo cat let out an overly dramatic meow, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. he looked like a lion surveying his kingdom =—or, more accurately, a spoiled housecat demanding tribute. “you’re taking your cat for a walk?” you asked, still half-asleep and very much regretting this encounter. “yeah, he’s been getting a little… restless,” geto said, glancing down at the fluffball who was now trying to paw at your door. “and by restless, i mean clawing the walls like a maniac at 3 a.m.” gojo cat let out another meow, this one louder, and then craned his neck to peer behind you, as if expecting mr. pickles to emerge in all her pregnant glory. “okay, what’s he doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the cat. “probably hoping to see his baby mama,” geto replied with a dry chuckle. you stared at him, your brain still buffering from the sheer audacity of that sentence. “baby mama?”

“look,” geto started, suddenly looking flustered, “i was wondering if you… i mean, if she … maybe we could —”

“spit it out.”

“do you wanna join us for a walk?” he blurted, his cheeks faintly pink.

gojo cat meowed again, clearly seconding the idea. or maybe he was just demanding that you bring mr. pickles along. you sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the aforementioned queen of your household, who was currently sprawled on her side like a beached whale. “she’s not exactly in the mood for exercise.” “please,” geto said, his tone bordering on desperate. “it might do her some good. and honestly, it might keep gojo from trying to scale your window again.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “fine. but you owe me breakfast for this.”

“deal,” geto said immediately, his relief almost palpable.

after an embarrassingly long five minutes of wrangling mr. pickles into her carrier—complete with angry hisses and a swat to your hand—you emerged from your apartment, looking like you were about to march into battle. “ready?” geto asked, his smile equal parts charming and sheepish. “let’s just get this over with,” you grumbled, hoisting the carrier while mr. pickles glared daggers at everyone in sight. as the four of you set off, gojo cat kept glancing back at the carrier, chirping softly as if trying to woo mr. pickles through sheer persistence. “he’s really laying it on thick, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “like father, like son,” geto joked, then immediately looked mortified at his own words. you snorted, finally cracking a smile. “careful, geto. i might actually start thinking you’re funny.” he grinned, his confidence seemingly restored. “well, miracles do happen.”

mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a low growl from her carrier, clearly unimpressed with the whole ordeal. gojo cat chirped in response, pressing his face to the mesh side of the carrier in what could only be described as a show of devotion. “is he always like this?” you asked, watching the ridiculous display. “only when he’s in love,” geto replied, shooting you a look that lingered just a second too long. you pretended not to notice the way your heart skipped a beat. “well, he better not get his hopes up. mr. pickles isn’t exactly the romantic type.” geto chuckled. “guess he’ll just have to win her over.” as the morning sun climbed higher, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so bad after all.

geto meanwhile, was mentally spiraling. he didn’t know what was worse—the “like father, like son” line he’d just dropped on you or the fact that you didn’t immediately burst out laughing and leave him and his ridiculous orange tabby in the dust. instead, you stayed, which only made things harder for him. literally. his heart was pounding so loudly he was sure even mr. pickles could hear it from inside her carrier. he was trying to play it cool, but how was he supposed to do that when his so-called son was busy embarrassing the hell out of him? gojo cat was living his best life, pulling on his leash like a dog on a mission. his blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he trotted beside mr. pickles' carrier, occasionally pawing at the mesh as if trying to “connect” with his beloved. mr. pickles, for her part, was clearly over it. she sat in the carrier like a disgruntled queen, her ears flat and her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“your cat’s persistent,” you said, watching as gojo cat did a full circle around the carrier before flopping dramatically on the sidewalk, belly up, in what looked like a plea for attention. “he’s… special,” geto replied, attempting to reel in the leash as gojo cat kicked his legs in the air, rolling onto his side to stare mournfully at mr. pickles. “gojo, stop being weird.” gojo cat let out a pitiful meow, his paws pressing against the carrier like he was performing some romeo and juliet reenactment. “is this normal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crouched to take a closer look. “define normal,” geto deadpanned, tugging the leash again as gojo cat started to nudge his face against the carrier. “he’s just... enthusiastic. about life. and apparently, love.”

“mr. pickles looks like she’s about to murder him.”

mr. pickles, indeed, was having none of it. when gojo cat got too close, she raised a paw and batted at the mesh with a low growl, making geto jump. “okay, timeout,” geto said, scooping gojo cat up with one arm while holding the leash in the other. gojo cat squirmed, letting out a series of indignant chirps as if protesting his removal from the “love of his life.” “you’re really committed to this cat dad role, huh?” you teased, standing back up. “it’s not a role,” geto replied, attempting to adjust gojo cat in his arms as the feline twisted dramatically, his tail flicking with determination. “it’s a lifestyle.” you snorted, and geto decided right then and there that he would endure any amount of humiliation for the sound of your laughter.

meanwhile, gojo cat had decided he’d had enough of the timeout. with a sudden burst of energy, he wriggled free from geto’s grip and made a beeline back to mr. pickles’ carrier. he pawed at it again, letting out a chirp that sounded suspiciously like, notice me, senpai. “jesus christ, gojo,” geto muttered, scrambling to grab the leash. “can you give her some space for five seconds?”

“he’s determined,” you said, your lips twitching as you watched the scene unfold. “i’ll give him that.”

“determined to get us kicked out of the building, maybe,” geto grumbled, finally managing to wrangle gojo cat back.

mr. pickles, now thoroughly fed up, turned her back to the carrier door, her tail swishing in annoyance. she let out a loud, irritated meow, as if to say, enough of this nonsense. “looks like the queen has spoken,” you said, nodding toward mr. pickles. “yeah, well, tell that to this guy,” geto replied, holding gojo cat up like a misbehaving toddler. “i swear, he’s got no chill.”

“takes after his dad, huh?” you said with a sly grin.

geto froze, his cheeks heating up. “i—uh—he’s not my biological—uh…”

you laughed again, shaking your head. 

“relax, geto. i’m just messing with you.” but before geto could recover and try to salvage what was left of his dignity, gojo cat let out another loud meow, squirming in his grip. “great,” geto muttered. “and now i’m the guy whose cat ruins his chance to make a good impression.”

“who said it was ruined?” you said casually, your gaze meeting his for a brief, heart-stopping moment. and just like that, geto decided that maybe—just maybe—gojo cat wasn’t the worst wingman in the world after all.

honestly, when you first saw geto on linkedin yesterday—highlighted internships, connections with every fancy-sounding legal firm, and posts that made him look like a diplomatic demigod—you thought, oh, great. another rich boy who probably orders his coffee by listing ten modifications and has never eaten instant noodles in his life. add gojo cat into the mix, and you were sure this guy was going to be the embodiment of an annoying private school kid, complete with a pet who demanded bottled water and artisanal treats. but this? this was unexpected. geto was, dare you say it, fun. the man actually cracked jokes, didn’t have that holier-than-thou attitude, and seemed genuinely nice. how was he even an international law major? weren’t they supposed to be the glorified MUN kids of society?

“so, what do you think of him?” geto asked, glancing down at gojo cat, who was currently doing his best impression of an olympic sprinter, chasing a rogue leaf across the path. “him?” you asked, smirking. “i think he’s a menace to society.”

“hey, that’s my son you’re talking about,” geto said, mock-offended. “like father, like son,” you shot back, and you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. “you wound me,” geto replied dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just dealt a fatal blow. you laughed despite yourself. “i mean, am i wrong? you’re kind of a menace too, you know. showing up with that “like father, like son” line earlier.”

“that line was gold, okay?” he said, defensive but clearly holding back a grin. “besides, it worked. you’re still here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “you got lucky. i needed some fresh air.”

“ah, so i’m just a side quest for your morning routine. noted,” he said, looking mock-wounded again. “don’t make me regret this,” you said, though your tone was light. but then, of course, you had to spiral. because what kind of person just casually smells like bamboo? why were you even thinking about how he smelled in the first place? no, focus. you were not about to develop a crush on mr. linkedin extraordinaire.

“so, um,” geto started, scratching the back of his neck. you noticed he did that a lot when he was unsure of himself, which was oddly endearing. “did you, uh, happen to notice we go to the same university?”

“oh, i noticed,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “what i didn’t notice was how i never saw you around campus before.”

“i keep a low profile,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. 

“low profile? you? with your fifteen linkedin posts about networking events and charity galas?” you teased. he flushed, and you bit back a laugh at the sight of the ever-composed suguru geto getting flustered. “that’s professional stuff,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “different vibe.”

“sure, mr. diplomat,” you said, grinning. “but seriously, why haven’t we crossed paths before?”

“well, you’re a year younger,” he mumbled, “and in a different department. plus… i might’ve…”

“might’ve what?” you pressed, leaning in just slightly.

“might’ve avoided you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “avoided me?” you repeated, blinking. “why?”

his face turned a shade darker. “because i didn’t know how to talk to you, okay?” you stared at him, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of gojo cat rustling through the bushes filling the silence. “well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smile, “you’re doing fine now.” he looked at you, his expression softening. “yeah, maybe.”

and just like that, the flustered energy transferred to you, because how was this guy suddenly so disarming? you quickly turned your attention to gojo cat, who had now returned, proudly carrying a twig in his mouth like it was some grand prize. “your cat’s weird,” you said, hoping the heat in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “takes after his owner,” geto quipped, a little more confidently this time. you snorted, shaking your head. “yeah, well, you’re lucky i don’t scare easy.”

“lucky, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

you groaned inwardly. maybe you were spiraling. if mr. pickles could talk, you’d be subjected to a very long, exasperated lecture right now. and honestly? she’d have a point. because here you were, fumbling in front of what could only be described as a god-sent man—minus his questionable taste in cheesy pickup lines and feline companions. and judging by the way she was scratching insistently against the carrier’s mesh, mr. pickles had had enough. “alright, alright,” you muttered, unzipping the carrier. “but behave, okay? no swatting.”

the minute she stepped out, in all her pregnant, regal glory, gojo cat lost his mind. if there were an olympic event for wooing, he’d be taking home gold, no contest. he was meowing nonstop, his tail flicking like crazy, hopping in excited circles around mr. pickles. “good god,” geto muttered beside you, watching his cat’s antics with a mixture of horror and amusement. “he’s… persistent, isn’t he?”

“persistent? your cat’s acting like he just won the lottery,” you said, watching gojo cat crouch low and wiggle his butt like he was about to pounce. “mr. pickles deserves the best,” geto said with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “she deserves peace and quiet,” you shot back, laughing as mr. pickles calmly let gojo cat have his little moment of excitement before promptly swatting him on the nose.

gojo cat froze, blinking in shock. then, as if nothing happened, he tried again. another swat.

“he doesn’t give up, does he?” you said, shaking your head. “like father, like son,” geto said with a shrug, and you snorted.

“oh, so you’re like that too, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. he froze for a second, his brain clearly buffering. then he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “i like to think i have a bit more self-control.”

“hmm,” you said, pretending to consider. “debatable.”

“harsh,” geto said, placing a hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. things weren’t any better for geto. watching you laugh at his lame attempts at humor was doing something dangerous to his brain. you were so close, and the way your eyes lit up when you laughed…

he couldn’t help it. he felt the same urge gojo cat must’ve felt—like physically shaking, meowing, jumping, doing whatever it took to make sure you were looking at him. but he was a man with poise (he reminded himself), so instead of resorting to anything outrageous, he blushed furiously, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “you okay there?” you asked, noticing his face had turned an alarming shade of red. “yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, waving you off. “it’s, uh… warm out here.” you glanced up at the sky. it was barely sunny with a light breeze. “sure,” you said, smirking. “totally the weather.”

“don’t call me out like that,” he mumbled, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck again. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you said before you could stop yourself, and the words hung in the air for a second too long. his head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “what?”

“i — nothing ,” you said quickly, suddenly very interested in the stray thread on your sweater. “no, no, go on,” geto said, leaning in slightly, his voice teasing now. “what were you saying?”

“i said nothing,” you insisted, but your face was practically on fire. he grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “mm-hmm. sure.”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “mr. pickles, save me,” you muttered, but she was too busy fending off gojo cat’s latest round of attention to care. and next to you, geto was grinning like an idiot, his blush finally starting to fade as he realized he might not be the only one spiraling.

amidst the awkward giggles and blushes, your stomach decided it had enough of the coy flirting and declared war. a low, awkward rumble escaped, loud enough for both you and geto to freeze. “was that…?” geto began, his lips twitching.

“no,” you lied immediately, your face heating up. “that was probably…gojo.” as if on cue, gojo cat meowed loudly, almost like he was backing you up. but mr. pickles wasn’t having it, her head snapping toward you with a “you’re kidding, right?” look. geto, bless his golden heart, didn’t press further. instead, he scooped up a very indignant gojo, who was in the middle of another extravagant attempt to woo mr. pickles. 

“sounds like breakfast is overdue,” he said, grinning. “my treat, as promised.” you hesitated, watching as mr. pickles, the opportunist she was, pranced toward her carrier with the regal air of a queen boarding her royal carriage. she gave you a look that screamed, what are you waiting for? let’s go, servant.

“uh,” you started, scratching the back of your neck. “so, funny story — i didn’t bring my wallet, and even if i did…” you trailed off, remembering the bleak state of your cashapp. $27.53 stared back at you the last time you checked. it was a miracle you even had that much. “...i wouldn’t be able to afford it.” geto blinked at you, as if you’d grown a second head. “what?”

“yeah,” you said, already feeling the mortifying urge to dig a hole and crawl into it. “i’m, uh, broke. like, hilariously broke. economy, y’know?” you added with a weak laugh. “you think i’m letting you pay?” geto said, looking genuinely offended. “what kind of guy do you think i am?”

“a nice guy?” you offered, unsure where this was going. “no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “a gentleman.”

oh god, the drama. you stifled a laugh. “well, excuse me, mister gentleman. i just didn’t want to assume you’d pay.”

“assume away,” he said, already heading toward the nearest fancy breakfast café like he hadn’t just kidnapped you and the cats. “i’ve got you covered.” you glanced down at mr. pickles, who gave you a look that screamed, hurry up, i want my eggs.

the café, of course, was fancy. fancier than anywhere you’d normally set foot in. as you walked in, clutching mr. pickles’ carrier like a lifeline, you whispered to geto, “you couldn’t pick a normal place?”

“normal?” he asked, arching a brow. “what, like mcdonald’s?”

“that would’ve been perfect, ” you muttered. he just chuckled. “relax. it’s on me. besides…” he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “i have a reputation to uphold. international law guys don’t slum it, you know?” you snorted. “you’re so full of it.”

“maybe,” he admitted, grinning. “but you’re here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you followed him to a table, where gojo cat immediately tried to climb onto the nearest chair, only for geto to gently push him back down. “don’t even think about it,” he told the cat, who meowed indignantly. mr. pickles, meanwhile, sat primly in her carrier, surveying the café with a look of mild disdain. she was probably judging the lack of gold-plated bowls. “so,” geto said once you were seated, his tone casual but his eyes warm. “what are you having? and don’t say something cheap to be polite.”

“how’d you know i was going to say that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. he shrugged. “just a hunch. order whatever you want.”

you hesitated, glancing at the menu. everything was overpriced, and you were 80% sure a single pancake here cost more than your rent. “fine,” you said finally. “but if i order the most expensive thing on the menu, i don’t want to hear you complain.”

“deal,” he said, smiling like you’d just agreed to marry him. god, he really was trying to woo you. and judging by the way your heart was doing somersaults, it might’ve been working.

the cafe was everything you imagined a “fancy breakfast spot” would be—muted beige tones, big windows letting in soft sunlight, overpriced art hanging on the walls, and tables filled with people who somehow looked like they owned hedge funds. there were plants too, the kind that didn’t seem real, and a faint jazz tune played in the background. if geto was trying to impress you, he was definitely succeeding, albeit unintentionally making you feel a little out of place. but all of that took a backseat the moment you heard that voice.

“you’re joking,” you muttered under your breath as you caught sight of none other than ryomen sukuna, towering like a goddamn villain straight out of a noir film. the cigarette smell hit first, faint but unmistakable, lingering on his dark uniform. his face twisted into a scowl the second he spotted your table. “ugh, pets,” he grumbled, eyeing the carrier with disdain. “this is why this place is going downhill. who even lets cats in here?”

“good morning to you too, sukuna,” geto said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with a calmness that only pissed sukuna off further. you, on the other hand, were seconds away from panic. this is choso’s brother? you’d seen him before, sure—usually smoking in the hallway and glaring like everyone had personally wronged him. but now? here? as your server? gojo cat immediately picked up on your distress—or maybe he just didn’t like sukuna’s face—because he started growling in geto’s lap. it was the tiniest, most pitiful growl, but sukuna’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing in challenge. “what’s that thing’s problem?” he asked, jerking a thumb at gojo cat. “his problem is you , ” geto said, smiling. “can’t say i blame him.” sukuna shot geto a flat look before turning his attention back to you. “what are you having?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

you panicked, your eyes darting to the menu. “uh… ummm …i’ll have the, uh…” you started, struggling to pronounce the ridiculous name of the dish. “the croissant…something?”

“you mean the croissant aux truffes?” sukuna interrupted, rolling his eyes. “yeah, got it. anything else?” you shook your head furiously, feeling your face heat up. “and you?” sukuna turned to geto, clearly already over this interaction. “my usual,” geto said casually, resting his chin on his hand. sukuna raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mean smirk. “your usual , huh? what’s that again?”

geto froze for half a second, his cool demeanor slipping ever so slightly. “you know what my usual is,” he said, his voice a little sharper. “do i?” sukuna asked, feigning innocence. “must’ve slipped my mind.”

“it’s soba,” geto hissed, his calmness now completely abandoned.

“oh, soba,” sukuna said, nodding slowly like he’d just solved the mystery of the century. “got it. soba. anything else, your highness?” geto glared at him but didn’t say anything, and sukuna walked off, muttering something under his breath about “stupid regulars.” the moment he was out of earshot, geto leaned back in his chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m never coming back here.”

“really?” you asked, raising a brow. “because it sounded like you practically live here.”

“not after this humiliation,” he said, though the way his lips twitched betrayed the fact that he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. you couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away. “for what it’s worth,” you said, “your ‘usual’ sounds pretty fancy too.”

“don’t,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i’ll never live this down.”

from the corner of your eye, you saw gojo cat attempting to claw his way out of geto's lap, probably planning to finish what he started with sukuna. mr. pickles, ever the drama queen, merely yawned, completely unfazed by the chaos. it was going to be a long morning.

sukuna’s approach to serving was efficient, sure, but it was laced with the kind of attitude that made you question why this place hired him in the first place. he practically slammed geto’s soba on the table with a smile so forced it could rival a ventriloquist dummy, and your croissant—although perfect—arrived with a snide comment about “petting zoos” under his breath. you gave him a tight-lipped smile, muttering a quick “thank you,” while geto tried to hide his snicker behind his hand. sukuna walked off, grumbling something about “pretentious cat dads.”

“don’t mind him,” geto said, breaking his chopsticks with practiced ease. “he’s just like that with everyone. well, maybe worse with me.”

“so you’re special, then?” you teased, tearing off a piece of your croissant. “you could say that,” geto replied with a grin, feeding gojo cat a tiny bit of soba under the table. gojo, the shameless flirt, lapped it up happily, ignoring mr. pickles’ death glare from her carrier. things were calm, peaceful even—until the gaggle of women arrived.

they were the type you’d expect to see in glossy magazines: perfectly coiffed hair, subtle but expensive-looking makeup, and outfits that screamed “we brunch in designer clothes.” they made a beeline for gojo cat, cooing and fawning like he was some sort of feline casanova. and, like the attention-seeking traitor he was, gojo lapped it all up, practically preening under their praise. “oh my god, look at him!” one of them squealed, petting gojo as he leaned into her touch. “he’s so cute!”

“what’s his name?” another asked, giving geto a smile that could only be described as predatory. “gojo,” geto said, chuckling awkwardly. “you named him after yourself?” one of the women teased, clearly mistaking him for the egomaniac in question.

“uh, no, actually—”

“oh, sugurruuu!” another one interrupted, clearly recognizing him. “it’s been ages! how have you been?” you raised an eyebrow as the women began circling him like sharks. apparently, they were his seniors from a past internship, which made sense because they had that polished, professional air about them. “we missed you at the office!” one of them gushed. “you were so good at handling those client presentations,” another added, her tone a little too sweet for your liking.

you took a bite of your croissant, trying to ignore the sudden twist in your stomach. it wasn’t like you had any claim over geto, right? and yet, seeing him chuckle nervously and entertain them, even though it was clear he was uncomfortable, made you bristle. beside you, mr. pickles was practically vibrating with irritation, her tail flicking furiously as she watched gojo soak up the attention. she let out a low, guttural growl that you could’ve sworn mirrored your exact mood. “he’s such a ladies’ man,” one of the women purred, gesturing to gojo. “just like his owner, huh?”

“actually,” geto said, his voice cutting through the chatter. he looked at you, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “this is my partner.”

wait, what?

the table went silent for a moment as all eyes turned to you. the women’s faces fell ever so slightly, their previously cheery expressions dimming as they processed the information. “partner?” one of them repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “yep,” geto said, leaning back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile. “we’re co-parenting these two,” he added, gesturing to the cats. you blinked, your mind racing. co-parenting? he wasn’t wrong, technically speaking, but the way he said it made it sound...a lot more serious than it actually was. the women muttered half-hearted congratulations before awkwardly excusing themselves, their heels clicking against the tiled floor as they walked away. once they were out of earshot, you turned to geto, your cheeks burning. “partner, huh?”

“what? it’s true,” he said, a hint of smugness in his tone. “we’re co-parenting.”

“you do know how that sounded, right?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.“sounded perfect to me,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. maybe, just maybe, you liked geto a little more than you thought. meanwhile, gojo cat continued basking in his stolen glory, and mr. pickles finally settled down in her carrier, clearly satisfied with how the situation had turned out.

chapter 4: he brought kibble, you brought your heart

the days following your chaotic breakfast outing became a mix of heartwarming absurdity and mild chaos, all thanks to geto and his ever-determined cat. 

it started with the pet supplies. one offhand comment about needing more for mr. pickles, and suddenly geto was at your door with an entire armful of toys, treats, and nesting materials. “you said you needed stuff,” he shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he handed you a bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks. “this is…a lot,” you said, peering inside. “did you buy out the entire pet store?”

“nah, just the essentials,” he replied, brushing off your comment. “besides, i had to get stuff for gojo anyway.”

the “stuff for gojo” turned out to be a single can of tuna.

then came the vet visits. geto had decided, entirely unprompted, that your vet appointments were now his responsibility. he would show up unannounced, a coffee in hand for you and a carrier for gojo in the other.  “i don’t think the vet needs to see gojo,” you’d said the first time he came along. “you never know,” he’d replied, entirely serious. “what if he has sympathy symptoms for mr. pickles? he’s been sneezing a lot lately.”

“that’s because he shoved his face into a pile of dust bunnies,” you deadpanned. still, you couldn’t deny how much easier it was having him around, even if it meant enduring his occasional attempts to one-up the vet with random facts he’d googled beforehand. “you know, some studies say cats feel pain differently during pregnancy,” geto commented as the vet checked mr. pickles over. the vet gave him a flat look. “that’s…not entirely accurate.”

“huh, weird,” geto said, leaning back with an entirely too smug grin. “i’ll look into it more. it’s good to stay informed, right?”

meanwhile, gojo cat’s relentless courtship of mr. pickles had reached new, unhinged heights. every day brought a new “gift” for her nesting area, ranging from sweet (a soft sock) to outright concerning (a half-dead lizard that had you shrieking and yuuji wielding a plastic lightsaber like some kind of jedi exterminator). “gojo, no!” you’d yelled, trying to wrestle the lizard out of his mouth. “don’t hurt him!” geto shouted, entirely missing the point as he held gojo back. “don’t hurt him?!” yuuji echoed, brandishing the lightsaber dramatically. “what about me? what if it jumps at me?!”

amidst the chaos, mr. pickles remained the picture of serenity, carefully arranging each of gojo’s offerings in her nesting area like some kind of bizarre art installation. she even started tolerating his presence, which was a minor miracle in itself. “look at them,” geto said one day, gesturing to the two cats as they napped side by side. “they’re like us.” you raised an eyebrow. “one of them brings in literal trash and the other barely tolerates them. which one’s supposed to be me?”

“well, obviously, you’re mr. pickles,” he said with a grin.

“and you’re gojo?”

“exactly.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “geto, you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet, here you are,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

despite the chaos, you couldn’t deny that your little makeshift family—complete with a sock-stealing, lizard-catching cat and his annoyingly thoughtful owner—had started to grow on you. mr. pickles seemed calmer, you felt more relaxed, and even geto’s awkward attempts at affection were kind of endearing. maybe, just maybe, these two weren’t so bad after all.

but honestly, you should’ve known geto would take a casual dinner and make it look like an event. the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there, you realized just how badly you underestimated the man’s ability to weaponize his looks. he’d ditched the usual button-ups for a fitted black turtleneck that clung to him like a second skin, paired with tailored gray slacks that looked more expensive than your monthly rent. his hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, but a few stray strands framed his face just enough to be annoyingly perfect. and then there was the smell—some cologne that was equal parts warm and spicy, making your knees wobble like a newborn deer.

“you…uh, look nice,” you managed to stutter, awkwardly gesturing him in. he chuckled, stepping inside. “thanks. figured i should dress up a little since you’re going all out with dinner.” oh, so now it’s your fault for making dinner sound like a five-star experience when it was really just some pasta and garlic bread. meanwhile, your own reflection in the hallway mirror mocked you mercilessly. you were still in your semi-formal college attire: a blazer that was slightly too big, a wrinkled blouse, and pants that had seen better days. you could have changed, but no, you thought you’d save time and effort. bad call.

dinner itself went surprisingly smoothly. mr. pickles and gojo cat managed to coexist at the food station, which was nothing short of miraculous. out of the corner of your eye, you saw gojo nudging a small portion of his food toward mr. pickles, who sniffed it delicately before accepting. “look at them,” geto said with a soft smile, catching your gaze. “sharing like that. think it’s love?” you scoffed, trying to ignore how his smile made your heart race. “or maybe gojo’s just trying to butter her up so she doesn’t swat him later.”

“harsh,” geto replied, leaning back in his chair. “you’re cynical. i like it.”

after dinner, you were about to tackle the dishes when geto, ever the overachieving law student, pulled out his macbook. the glow of the screen illuminated his face as he typed furiously, answering emails and looking like the poster boy for "i have my life together."

“work?” you asked, carrying a stack of plates to the sink. “just a few emails,” he said, not looking up. “one of the partners at my internship sent over some last-minute questions.” you blinked, watching him with mild disbelief. “it’s a friday night.”

“welcome to international law,” he said dryly, fingers flying across the keyboard. against your better judgment, you found yourself… impressed? his focus, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms—it was annoyingly attractive. “ugh, law students,” you muttered under your breath, scrubbing at a plate. “what was that?” suguru asked, looking up with a smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, turning back to the sink. “just saying how dedicated you are.” he laughed, the sound low and warm. “you’re bad at lying, you know.”

“and you’re bad at taking a break,” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

after a few more minutes of typing, geto finally closed his laptop and joined you in the kitchen. “here, let me help,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves further. “you cooked,” he said, taking a plate from your hands. “least i can do is clean up.” you wanted to argue, but the sight of geto, sleeves rolled up, standing beside you at the sink, made your brain short-circuit. “fine,” you mumbled, handing him a dish. “but if you drop one, i’m not forgiving you.”

“noted,” he said with a grin, elbow brushing yours as he worked. as you both washed dishes in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, heart doing a stupid little flutter each time he caught you looking. maybe this dinner wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

geto had never been one to overthink simple things. he prided himself on his ability to stay cool and collected, whether it was during an exam, an internship interview, or wrangling gojo cat after he’d somehow escaped onto a neighbor’s balcony. but here, standing next to you, washing dishes, his heart was doing its best impression of a jazz drummer—completely out of rhythm and far too loud. he tried to focus on the task at hand, scrubbing a plate with the precision of a surgeon, but his brain was too busy short-circuiting over the sheer domesticity of the moment. you, standing next to him, a faint smile on your lips as you passed him a dish. mr. pickles and gojo cat sitting like a mismatched elderly couple in the corner, their rivalry seemingly paused for the evening. this was too much. domesticity was his weakness, and you were unknowingly his kryptonite.

"you know," he started, trying to sound casual, "i’ve been working on my forearms lately. gotta make sure gojo has a sturdy perch when i carry him." your laugh was soft but genuine, and it hit him right in the chest. "oh yeah? is that why you’ve been flexing every chance you get? because i was starting to think you were just trying to flirt." he froze, plate in hand, before turning to look at you with a mock-offended expression. "flirt? me? that’s slander. i’m just a humble man with well-defined forearms doing his civic duty.”

"right," you drawled, rolling your eyes as you handed him another dish. okay, suguru, he thought. focus. this is the perfect moment. ask the question. it’s not that big of a deal. except it was a big deal. because it wasn’t just about asking if you’d like to carpool to college every day. it was about getting more time with you, sharing little moments like this. he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "hey, uh…you know how i drive to college every day?" you glanced at him, a little confused. "yeah?"

"and you, uh, also go to college every day?"

"correct," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

he could feel his palms starting to sweat despite the soapy water. this was ridiculous. why was he nervous? it was just a question! but somehow, the thought of you saying no made his stomach twist. "so," he continued, trying to keep his tone light, "i was thinking…maybe we could drive together? you know, save on gas, reduce our carbon footprint, that kind of thing." you blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. "you want to carpool with me?"

"yeah," he said quickly, nodding. "i mean, it makes sense, right? we’re both going the same way, and i wouldn’t mind the company. plus, i’ve got this playlist i’ve been dying to share." that wasn’t entirely true. his playlist was a chaotic mix of instrumental lo-fi, 90’s rock and songs gojo cat seemed to enjoy, but he’d happily curate something just for you if it meant hearing you laugh and sing along. 

"you’re serious?" you asked, and he swore he could see a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "dead serious," he said, putting on his best poker face. "it’s a purely logistical decision, of course. nothing to do with the fact that i think you’re great company or anything." you stared at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, and he felt his shoulders relax just a little. "okay," you said finally. "sure, let’s carpool." he grinned, feeling an almost embarrassing amount of relief. "awesome. you won’t regret it, i promise." as you turned back to the sink, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, his heart still doing its offbeat jazz solo. yeah, this was going to be good. better than good, even.

the last dish was set on the drying rack, and with it came the awkward silence that always followed. you and geto exchanged a glance, both of you clearly trying to decide what came next. do you send him off with a polite "thanks for the help," or do you suggest something casual? ugh, why was this so hard?

"soooo," you started, awkwardly fidgeting with a dishtowel. "uh, do you…want ice cream?" geto blinked at you, his expression pleasantly surprised. "ice cream?"

"yeah, you know, frozen dairy, sugar, flavors," you said, waving your hands vaguely like you were describing some rare delicacy. "do international law students even like convenience store ice cream? or are you more into, like, artisanal stuff churned by monks in the alps?" his laugh was low and warm, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just won something. "as tempting as alps-monks-churned ice cream sounds, i’m fine with rocky road if you’ve got it."

rocky road. he’s perfect, you thought as you rummaged in the freezer, pulling out a pint. mr. pickles, ever the queen, trotted over and sat primly by your feet, tail twitching as if she expected you to serve her a scoop. gojo cat, on the other hand, had found a stray spoon to bat around the kitchen floor like it was his life’s mission. you handed geto a bowl, and he graciously accepted before pulling out his macbook and setting it on the table. "mind if i put something on?"

"as long as it’s not UN debates or a soba recipe tutorial," you teased, leaning over to peer at his screen. to your credit, you weren’t snooping—you were just curious about what kind of stuff an international law student kept on their homepage. but the minute you saw it, you froze. nestled among his neatly arranged bookmarks for email, law journals, and a soba takeout joint, was your spotify profile. your brain went into immediate overdrive. oh dear god. oh no. oh yes. wait, what?

you fought the urge to gasp, to point, to scream into the void. instead, you settled for the most nonchalant reaction you could muster. "huh. your bookmarks are so…organized." but your awkward tone gave you away, and geto, sharp as ever, followed your gaze. when his eyes landed on the offending bookmark, he paused mid-scoop, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "oh," he said, clearly trying to play it cool. "uh, yeah. that’s—uh, for convenience. you know, for when you share playlists and stuff."

"totally," you replied, nodding far too enthusiastically. "makes sense. who doesn’t bookmark their friends’ spotify profiles?" you were lying through your teeth, and you both knew it. but instead of feeling weirded out, your heart felt like it might actually burst. he bookmarked your spotify. this ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny guy has done something so nerdy and cute, and you think you might die. the silence stretched awkwardly until you couldn’t take it anymore. "so…what’s your favorite playlist of mine?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual but failing miserably.

geto, to his credit, recovered quickly. "probably the one you called ‘in the clerb, we all cryin’.’ it’s got a lot of questionable choices."

"questionable choices?" you gasped, feigning offense. "excuse me, those are carefully curated emotional masterpieces!"

"right, right," he said, nodding solemnly but with a teasing glint in his eyes. "masterpieces like, what was it? ‘torn’ by natalie imbruglia followed by party rock anthem?"

"that’s called range, geto."

he laughed again, and you swore it was the best sound you’d ever heard. meanwhile, gojo cat had successfully cornered the spoon under the fridge, and mr. pickles let out an indignant meow, clearly unimpressed by the lack of attention directed her way. "anyways," you said, clearing your throat and desperately trying to steer the conversation away from how much your soul had ascended, "what are we watching?" he smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "how about a soba recipe tutorial? you know, for research purposes."

"get out of my house," you deadpanned, throwing a napkin at him. but deep down, you couldn’t stop smiling. maybe you did like geto. just a little. or a lot. who’s counting?

-

the youtube video played on, gordon ramsey passionately dissecting the finer points of why "tiramisu supremacy" should be the law of the land, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. instead, you were hyper-aware of the ridiculously attractive man next to you, lounging on your bed, casually eating rocky road like he wasn’t a complete menace to your sanity. gojo cat had stationed himself at your feet, swiping lazily at a loose thread on your blanket. mr. pickles, in a rare display of domestic harmony, perched regally on a pillow next to geto like she was claiming him as her territory. you could almost hear her smug little cat thoughts: this one? yes, acceptable.

meanwhile, you? you were losing it. somehow—through some strange twist of fate or cosmic joke—your head had ended up resting on geto’s chest. his chest. his sculpted, unfairly perfect chest. you told yourself it was for comfort, or convenience, or whatever excuse your brain could scramble together. oh god, is this okay? what if he thinks i’m weird? or worse, what if he doesn’t care at all?

his arm was just kind of… hovering there, like it didn’t know what to do. his bicep flexed every time he adjusted, and you swore it was on purpose. it’s not on purpose, idiot. calm down. "you good there?" his voice cut through your internal spiral, warm and teasing. you cleared your throat, suddenly self-conscious. "uh, yeah. totally fine. just... comfortable, i guess."

"comfortable, huh?" he echoed, his tone light but his heart doing cartwheels. she’s comfortable. okay. don’t freak out. play it cool. meanwhile, geto was absolutely not playing it cool. this is fine. this is normal. people hang out like this all the time. friends. buddies. totally platonic. on a bed. watching gordon ramsey. with her head on my chest. oh god, i’m dying. his arm was still hovering awkwardly, and it was starting to cramp. should he just—? no. too much. but maybe? before he could overthink it further, you shifted slightly, glancing up at him.

"you can, you know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. he blinked down at you, dumbfounded. "can what?"

"put your arm around me," you mumbled, cheeks heating up like a furnace. geto’s brain short-circuited. oh god, she said i can. she actually said i can. is this real? am i dreaming? where’s gojo? he needs to see this. wait, no, absolutely not. this is private. oh god, my arm.

"uh, yeah. sure," he finally said, his voice cracking just a little as he tried to sound casual. his arm settled around your shoulders, warm and solid, and you let out a content sigh. meanwhile, internally, he was screaming. this is the best day of his life.

"you’re stiff as hell," you teased, glancing up at him. "sorry, it’s just—i’m not used to—" he fumbled, trailing off. "chill out," you said with a soft laugh, your hand lightly resting on his chest. "it’s just me."

just you. the girl he’d been pining after for weeks. the girl whose spotify profile he’d bookmarked. the girl whose cats he’d willingly co-parented like an idiot in love. he wasn’t even sure how he was still breathing. "yeah," he said softly, his lips quirking into a small smile. "just you."

"hey, are you even watching?" you asked, gesturing at the screen where ramsey was now passionately defending the honor of cannoli. "uh, yeah. totally," he lied, having absolutely no idea what was happening in the video. "oh yeah? then what’s his stance on panna cotta?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. geto paused for a second, then grinned sheepishly. "panna whatta?" you groaned, laughing despite yourself. "you’re hopeless."

"hopelessly charmed," he muttered under his breath, but thankfully, the loud volume drowned it out. gojo cat let out an exaggerated yawn, curling up at the foot of the bed, while mr. pickles blinked at both of you with what could only be described as approval. and for a brief moment, with you curled up against him, geto thought that maybe, just maybe, domesticity wasn’t so bad after all.

the clock on your bedside table glowed 9:30 pm, the red numbers a cruel reminder that sunday was slipping away. geto shifted slightly, the arm around your shoulders reluctantly moving as if to signal his departure. right. college tomorrow. responsibilities. but neither of you moved. instead, his attempt to lift his arm ended in a poorly executed maneuver that pulled you closer—much closer. suddenly, your face was inches from his, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his breath hitched. oh god. oh no. oh yes. what if he does something stupid? like kiss you? no, bad idea. abort. retreat. pull away. you’ll think he’s weird—

you kissed him first. his brain went blank.

your lips pressed softly against his, a tentative, curious movement that sent every coherent thought in his mind scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. your lip balm—something fruity, maybe peach?—lingered on his lips, blending with the faint taste of rocky road ice cream. his heart stopped, then kickstarted with a force that left him lightheaded. "oh," he murmured against your lips, his voice barely audible. "oh?" you pulled back slightly, a teasing smile quirking your lips. "i — i mean —" he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep pink. "uh, wow."

"wow?" you laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. "shut up," he groaned, but his grin betrayed him as his hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you as you moved to straddle his lap. oh god. oh god. she’s on my lap. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill. "you’re awfully red, suguru," you teased, your tone light, but the way your fingers brushed against his jaw made his pulse race. "yeah, well, you’re—" he cut himself off, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze. "you’re unfairly pretty, okay? and i’m trying not to pass out here."

"pretty?" you echoed, feigning innocence as you leaned in closer, your noses brushing. "is that all?" he chuckled, low and breathy. "pretty, gorgeous, unfairly cute. take your pick." before he could spiral into another wave of self-doubt, you kissed him again, and this time, he responded in full. his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers flexing like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. in the background, gordon ramsey’s voice bellowed something about undercooked risotto, but neither of you noticed. this is what dreams are made of, right? he thought. her lips, her taste, the way she’s holding onto me like i’m her favorite person in the world. rocky road and lip balm and… gordon ramsey? okay, ignore that. focus. focus on her.

"you good there, suguru?" you murmured against his lips, your voice laced with amusement. "good?" he echoed, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "i’m amazing. incredible. best night of my life, no contest."

"you’re such a dork," you laughed, your forehead resting against his. "yeah, well," he said, his smile softening as his thumb brushed along your cheek. "you like this dork."

"i do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart soared. he tightened his hold on you, his lips ghosting over yours once more as he whispered, "good. because i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon." the clock ticked on, but neither of you cared anymore. responsibilities could wait.

-

just as geto’s lips brushed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, a loud, synchronized cacophony of meows erupted from the corner of the bed. you both froze.

there sat gojo cat and mr. pickles, staring at the two of you with matching expressions of feline judgment. mr. pickles, her fur slightly puffed and her eyes narrowed, let out an indignant mrrrow that sounded suspiciously like "get a room." gojo cat, ever the instigator, joined in with an exaggerated meeeooowwww, his tail flicking dramatically as if to say, "seriously? right in front of us?"

“oh my god,” you mumbled, burying your face in geto’s neck as he chuckled, the sound rumbling against you. “i think we’ve offended the fur babies,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly as gojo cat began pacing in circles, yowling like a siren. “offended? they sound like they’re trying to declare war,” you muttered, pulling back reluctantly. “maybe they’re just jealous,” geto teased, his dark eyes twinkling as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “jealous of what?” you scoffed, glancing at the cats. mr. pickles was still bristling like a wronged queen, while gojo cat was now attempting to paw at the edge of the bed for dramatic emphasis.

“of this.” geto smirked, leaning in like he was about to steal another kiss, but mr. pickles let out a sharp hiss, cutting him off. “okay, okay, time out!” you said, waving your hands in surrender. with a sigh, geto released you, though his hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer. “guess that’s our cue.” you followed him to the door, the cats trailing behind like disapproving chaperones. gojo cat let out one last, drawn-out meow as if to say "good riddance," while mr. pickles sat primly by the door, glaring up at geto with all the disdain she could muster. “she’s really protective of you, huh?” geto said, slipping his shoes on. “always has been,” you replied, your hand resting on the doorknob. “probably doesn’t help that you keep bribing her with treats.”

“bribing?” he repeated, feigning offense. “that’s called building trust.”

“sure it is, mr. international law,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “speaking of trust, uh… i’ll pick you up tomorrow? for class?” you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “trying to make this a habit now?”

“well,” he said, his cheeks pinking slightly, “i figured i’d bring you another one of those fancy croissants. and, you know, maybe see you smile first thing in the morning again.” your chest tightened at his words, warmth spreading through you. “smooth, geto.”

“is that a yes?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze locked on yours. “yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. before he could step out, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a quick but lingering kiss that made your heart race. when he pulled back, his smile was uncharacteristically shy.

“goodnight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“goodnight,” you replied, watching as he walked away, his hands stuffed into his pockets but his stride noticeably lighter.

as you closed the door, you turned to find mr. pickles sitting side by side, staring up at you with unreadable expressions. “don’t look at me like that,” you said, pointing at her. “you’re the ones who ruined the moment.” mr. pickles let out a chirpy meep , as if to say "i’m just doing my job," before padding back to her nesting area with an air of smug satisfaction. you shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. whatever this thing with suguru was, you didn’t want it to end. not now, not ever.

chapter 5: justin bieber and other forms of groveling

you swung the door open, expecting to find a text from geto telling you to come downstairs like a normal person. instead, you were met with him. suguru geto, standing at your doorstep, looking like he’d just stepped out of a gq photoshoot. “morning!” he greeted cheerfully, his voice as smooth as his suit. yes, a suit. a dark, perfectly tailored one that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist just right, paired with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing just a hint of his collarbone. the whole look was topped off with a skinny black tie and shiny leather oxfords that somehow made you question if you were even allowed to walk next to him. and don’t even get started on his hair—pulled back into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing his stupidly perfect face. “why—why are you here?” you stammered, gripping the doorframe for support because, honestly, this man might be a health hazard. “thought i’d save you the trip downstairs,” he said casually, though his lips curled into a smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. “besides, i wanted to see you earlier.” great. now your heart was doing this weird fluttery thing, and you hated it. “you know you could’ve just texted me, right? like a normal person?”

“where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

ugh. 

the first thing that hit you when you slid into his car—a sleek black bmw z4 convertible with the top down—was the overwhelming scent of car cleaner mixed with him. “did you—did you just get this cleaned?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “maybe,” he replied, a little too quickly. you glanced at the dashboard, which was spotless and gleaming. the leather seats looked freshly polished, and there wasn’t a single crumb or speck of dust in sight. well, except for the faint trace of orange fur on the passenger seat. “you missed a spot,” you teased, pointing at the fur. “gojo,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “aw, don’t be mad at him,” you said, grinning. “he’s just marking his territory.”

“yeah, well, he’s not paying for this car, is he?” suguru shot back, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. the car smelled like money, honestly. the leather had that rich, almost intimidating scent, and the steering wheel looked like it had been handcrafted by someone with a phd in luxury interiors. but somehow, there was this comforting undertone of suguru’s cologne—spicy, woodsy, and ridiculously distracting. you tried to act normal, like you weren’t suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in this car that felt way too intimate for a ride to campus. “so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, nodding toward his suit as he pulled out onto the main road. “internship meeting after class,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “wanted to make a good impression.”

“yeah, well, mission accomplished,” you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but he still heard. “what was that?” he asked, glancing at you with a playful smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating. as he drove, you found yourself sneaking glances at his hands on the wheel. his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, which looked unfairly muscular for a guy who claimed to “barely have time for the gym.” the veins running up his arms were just… there, taunting you.

“you’ve been working out, huh?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. he chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “noticed, huh?”

“kind of hard not to when your biceps are trying to break out of that shirt,” you retorted, trying to sound nonchalant. “oh, this?” he said, flexing his forearm slightly as he adjusted the gearshift, clearly showing off. “ugh, stop,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “you’re so annoying.”

“and yet here you are,” he teased, shooting you a quick grin before turning his attention back to the road. as you sat there, half-annoyed and half-smitten, you couldn’t help but think that this man was going to be the death of you.

-

the two of you sat in the car outside your campus building for a moment longer than necessary. the engine was off, but the atmosphere buzzed with something heavy, something neither of you dared to name yet. geto had one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, but you weren’t fooled. his jaw was tense, and his thumb tapped nervously against the leather, a small tell that you’d come to recognize. he didn’t want this ride to end. neither did you, if you were being honest. “so,” you started, your voice almost shy. “thanks for the ride.” he glanced over at you, his dark eyes soft but smoldering all at once. “yeah,” he said, his voice low, “anytime.” and just when you thought he’d let you leave, he moved.

his hand—large, warm, and calloused just enough to send a thrill through you—slipped behind your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent goosebumps racing down your arms. the touch was firm but gentle, commanding but tender.

“come here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t even have time to process before he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. this wasn’t just a goodbye kiss; no, this was something deeper, something that spoke of longing and frustration and a thousand unsaid things. his lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he didn’t care that the windows weren’t tinted enough for the scene unfolding inside. his tongue swept against your lower lip, asking, no, demanding entrance, and you couldn’t deny him. the taste of him—coffee from earlier, a hint of mint, and something uniquely suguru—was enough to make your head spin. your hand instinctively came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself. but instead of pulling away, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, and you thought you might actually lose all sense of reality.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. no, he lingered, his lips brushing against yours one last time, as if reluctant to let go. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and when you looked up at him, you saw the faint sheen of your lip gloss smeared on his mouth. his lips—pink, swollen, and thoroughly kissed—were enough to make your brain short-circuit.

“you’ve got—” you gestured vaguely to his mouth, your voice shaky. he raised an eyebrow, smirking in that infuriatingly confident way. “lip gloss?” he guessed, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip like he was testing the feel of it. “yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your own cheeks heat up. “good,” he said simply, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll keep it.” you wanted to scream, cry, and maybe kiss him again all at once. instead, you just sat there, dazed, as he leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“guess i should let you go now,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “yeah,” you managed to say, though your legs felt like jelly just thinking about walking into that building. as you stepped out of the car, the smell of car cleaner and his cologne still lingering around you, you could feel the weight of people’s stares. it wasn’t like fancy cars were a rare sight, but you stepping out of that car, looking thoroughly flustered and kissed? yeah, that was something. you glanced back at him one last time before closing the door. he gave you a small wave, the smirk still firmly in place. “i’ll pick you up later,” he called out, and you swore you heard the faintest hint of smugness in his voice. “yeah, okay,” you replied, trying to sound normal even though your entire body felt like it was on fire. as you walked toward the building, your mind raced with one singular thought: suguru geto was going to be the end of you. and honestly? you were okay with that.

-

as geto shifted gears and eased into a parking spot, he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "oh, suguru, what a smooth operator you are," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his already-perfect hair. but as his fingers grazed his lips, he froze. oh no.

your lip gloss—that faint pink menace—was still there. he squinted into the rearview mirror, tilting his face left and right like he was analyzing evidence at a crime scene. yup, definitely there. and definitely noticeable.

“cool. love that for me,” he said under his breath, grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment. he dabbed at his lips gently, trying to erase the sheen. but no matter how much he rubbed, it refused to disappear completely. a faint tint lingered, stubborn and utterly humiliating. not that he minded, of course. secretly, he was fighting the urge to giggle like a high schooler who just got his crush’s number. she kissed me, he thought, his inner monologue doing cartwheels. and now her lip gloss is on me. does this count as shared property? do i need to buy her a ring now? he glanced at the building where you’d disappeared moments ago. a soft smile tugged at his lips, but then he caught his own reflection again, and the smile turned into a scowl.

“focus, suguru. you’re an international law student, not a lovesick teen,” he muttered, trying to psych himself up. but then, completely unbidden, the lyrics hit him: shawty’s like a melody in my head that i can’t keep out—

“oh my god, no,” he groaned, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. “pull it together.” he sat up straight, fixing his tie like he was about to walk into court, not class. still, his thoughts wandered back to the kiss. he could still feel the warmth of your lips on his, the way you tasted faintly of coffee and lip gloss. “yeah, okay, maybe i’m a little lovesick,” he admitted to no one, sighing dramatically. a loud honk snapped him out of his reverie, and he jerked upright, eyes darting around. some guy in a beat-up sedan gave him a look as if to say, get moving, pretty boy.

“right, right, focus,” geto muttered, putting the car into park. but the distraction had already done its damage. in his daydream, he’d nearly considered driving through the building instead of parking near it. and not for the first time. last semester, there’d been that unfortunate incident where he’d been too engrossed in memorizing legal jargon to realize he was barreling toward the curb. it wasn’t his finest moment, but hey, everyone made mistakes. this time, though, it wasn’t legal jargon messing with his head. it was you.

after ensuring his car was perfectly parked (and double-checking for rogue curbs), he checked his reflection one last time. hair? immaculate. tie? sharp. lips? …still faintly pink. he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "well, if anyone asks, it’s my new look," he muttered, smirking to himself. but deep down, he wasn’t bothered. in fact, the idea of walking into his building, pink lip gloss and all, knowing it was from you? yeah, he could live with that.

-

you glance at your phone for what feels like the millionth time, the lock screen mocking you with its time: 6:45 p.m. every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity. where the hell was geto? the man who swore on rocky road ice cream and cats that he’d pick you up after class. “ugh, liar,” you grumble under your breath, clutching your phone tighter. you dial his number again, half-hoping, half-dreading, that he’d pick up. the line rings once, twice, and then straight to voicemail. “figures.”

the campus courtyard is thinning out now, with most students heading home or to their dorms. you, however, are still standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking like the poster child for loser-core chic. a group of girls you vaguely recognize from your department walk by, their giggles low and conspiratorial as they glance in your direction. one of them nudges her friend and whispers loudly, “see? i told you. you can’t trust law guys. they’re always playing games.” you stiffen, feeling your cheeks heat. okay, rude. but also…they might have a point?

“poor girl,” another one says, her voice dripping with pity. “she probably thought she was special.” your jaw tightens as you resist the urge to shout back, no, actually, he’s probably just late! maybe traffic, or… or… you groan inwardly. even you don’t buy your excuses anymore. just as you’re debating whether to crawl under a bush and live there forever, your deskmate, nanami kento, approaches. ever the epitome of politeness, he clears his throat softly before speaking. “hey,” he begins, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. “are you, uh, waiting for someone?”

you force a smile, trying to appear less like a rejected rom-com protagonist. “yeah, uh… my ride’s just running a little late.” nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he glances at his watch. “it’s been over thirty minutes.”

ouch. okay, way to rub salt in the wound, kento.

he sighs, looking almost…sympathetic? “i could drop you off if you’d like. it’s on my way.”

normally, any sane, self-respecting woman would jump at the chance to be chauffeured home by nanami kento—a man so punctual and reliable, he’s basically a walking swiss watch. but alas, you are neither self-respecting nor particularly sane at this moment. “thanks, nanami, but i’m good,” you say, waving him off with a grin that’s probably more pained than reassuring. he nods slowly, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue. “alright. take care, then.” as he walks away, you let out a long sigh, your earlier bravado crumbling. “ugh, geto, you’re so dead,” you mutter under your breath, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. by now, the campus is nearly deserted, and the idea of taking the bus home looms over you like a dark cloud. with a resigned sigh, you check the bus schedule on your phone. the next one isn’t due for another 15 minutes. just perfect.

the bus ride home is as glamorous as you’d expect—fluorescent lights that make everyone look vaguely ill, the faint smell of stale chips and rubber, and the occasional bump that sends you jerking forward. you plop into an empty seat, your bag clutched tightly on your lap. a group of teenagers in the back snicker about something, and the guy across from you is humming off-key to whatever’s blasting through his headphones. yeah, this is way better than being driven home in a bmw z4, you think bitterly, rolling your eyes.

the faint scent of orange fur clings to your bag, and you wonder if it’s from gojo cat sneaking into geto’s car this morning. the thought makes you irrationally mad all over again. i bet the car is fine. he probably just forgot or something stupid like that. you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. the rhythmic hum of the bus is oddly calming, but your thoughts are anything but. what if he’s hurt? a small, worried voice pipes up in the back of your mind. but you squash it quickly. no, he’s just being an idiot.

-

geto is convinced this is how he dies—not by some massive legal scandal or a tragic car accident, but by sheer embarrassment. the moment the clock hit 6:00 p.m., he knew he was doomed. when the hands of time ticked past 6:45, panic set in. it’s fine, he had told himself, gripping his steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. she probably hasn’t even noticed yet. but she had noticed. oh god, had she noticed. every missed call and unread text was like a dagger to his heart. he could practically feel your disappointment vibrating through his phone. the sheer audacity of his internship, requiring him to sit through endless discussions about treaties and bylaws while you were out there—waiting for him like some rom-com protagonist.

and what does he find when he finally arrives at campus? absolutely nothing. a deserted lot, the soft hum of crickets, and not a single trace of you. he rubs a hand over his face, groaning as he slams his car door shut. great, suguru. really great. not only do you make law students look unreliable, but you’ve also officially cemented yourself as a clown in front of the only person who matters.

so, he does the only thing a desperate man can do: breaks every traffic law ever invented, zipping through yellow lights and cutting corners like it’s his goddamn personal mission to get to the apartment before you disappear entirely. “please don’t hate me,” he mutters under his breath as his bmw roars down the street. “i’ll get on my knees if i have to. maybe not in public, but like…if it comes to that.”

meanwhile, you’re trudging through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment complex, the bus ride home having sucked every last ounce of life out of you. your feet ache, your bag feels heavier than ever, and your faith in men has plummeted to new depths. he didn’t even call back. the audacity, you think bitterly, fumbling for your keys. wasn’t i just defending international law men this morning? god, i’m so stupid.

you’re too busy cursing geto to notice the looming figure leaning casually against the wall by the elevator—sukuna. he smells like croissants and cigarettes, an objectively weird combination that somehow works when it’s him. his uniform—a black button-down rolled up to the elbows and an apron slung lazily over one shoulder—is dusted with flour. “yo,” he greets, his voice low and gravelly as always. you freeze mid-step, praying you don’t look like a drowned rat after that miserable commute. “uh, hey.”

“late night?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in your obvious exhaustion. “something like that,” you mumble, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. sukuna’s sharp eyes flick to your bag. “bus, huh? thought you were too fancy for public transport these days. what happened to prince charming?” oh great. just what i needed, you think, rolling your eyes internally. “prince charming is currently on my list,” you snap, more to yourself than him. “yikes.” sukuna lets out a low chuckle, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “guess mr. perfect isn’t as perfect as you thought.”

“okay, first of all,” you shoot back, “i’m not having this conversation with you. second, why do you even care?” he shrugs, clearly unbothered. “i don’t. just funny to see you slumming it with the rest of us peasants.” before you can muster a witty retort, the sound of rapid footsteps echoes down the hallway. you both turn just in time to see geto rushing in, his tie slightly askew and his expression one of pure panic.

“there you are,” he blurts, skidding to a stop in front of you. his eyes dart between you and sukuna, his brows furrowing slightly. “oh, now you show up,” you say, crossing your arms. “did you have fun ghosting me for two hours?”

“wait, i can explain—”

“can’t wait to hear this,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a glare from you.

geto runs a hand through his hair, his words spilling out in a rush. “i got stuck at my internship, and they don’t let us use our phones— stupid rule, i know—but i swear i tried to get to you as fast as i could. i even broke, like, five traffic laws. maybe six.” you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“no! i mean, yes! i mean…” he groans, clearly flustered. “look, i’m sorry. really. i’ll do anything to make it up to you. please don’t be mad.” sukuna snickers, leaning back against the wall. “wow. anything, huh? bold move, law boy.”

“can you not?” you snap at sukuna before turning back to geto. “fine. you can start by explaining why my calls didn’t matter enough for you to pick up.”

“they did matter!” geto insists, his voice rising slightly. “i swear, if i could’ve answered, i would’ve.” sukuna snorts, muttering, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“dude, seriously?” geto snaps, finally losing his patience. “guys, enough!” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “i’m too tired for this. suguru, if you’re really sorry, you can start by leaving me alone for the rest of the night.”

geto’s face falls, but he nods reluctantly. “okay. yeah. i’ll go.” as he turns to leave, sukuna shoots you a smug grin. “guess prince charming isn’t so charming after all.” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

-

you’re sprawled out on your couch in the most dramatic fashion imaginable, mr. pickles perched on your chest like some kind of feline overlord. her tail swishes back and forth, slapping your face occasionally as if she’s judging you for your life choices. can’t even secure a law student, her gaze seems to say. and honestly? fair. lanas haunting voice croons “the other woman” from your speaker, because of course your brain thought this was the perfect soundtrack to your misery. who is the other woman, his degree? you wonder, staring blankly at the ceiling while mr. pickles kneads your collarbone with zero regard for your comfort. maybe it’s the un charter. maybe she’s prettier than me. you groan, picking up your phone to scroll aimlessly, only to see it light up with a string of notifications. it’s geto.

geto: hey. geto: i’m so sorry, seriously. geto: please don’t hate me. geto: gojo cat is crying.

and there it is, a picture of gojo cat edited with comically large tears streaming down his face. you snort despite yourself.

geto: i can explain. geto: the internship is evil. geto: satan himself probably drafted those treaties. geto: and i had to read them all. geto: sorry :((((

you roll your eyes but feel your lips twitch. the messages keep coming.

geto: look, i even made a playlist called “my apologies” to make it up to you. geto: song 1: sorry by justin bieber. geto: song 2: call me maybe by carly rae jespen. geto: song 3: i’m a fool by cee lo green.

you’re this close to laughing when another message pops up.

geto: please forgive me, i’ll do anything. geto: i’ll even let mr. pickles sit in the bmw.

now you’re grinning. typing back, you send:

you: door’s unlocked.

the next sound you hear is heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway above. you blink. “he’s running,” you mutter, barely containing your laughter. within seconds, there’s a knock at your door, and when you yell for him to come in, the door swings open to reveal a completely disheveled geto. his hair’s a mess, his suit jacket is halfway off his shoulder, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “you’re serious about leaving your door unlocked?” he breathes out, a hand on the doorframe for balance. “why are you out of breath?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “you live one floor up.”

“sprinted,” he replies, straightening up. “priorities.”

mr. pickles hops off your chest with a disgruntled meow, sauntering over to sniff him. she gives a little approving chirp before settling down by his feet. “even mr. pickles forgave me,” he says, grinning like an idiot. “so, am i forgiven?” you lean back into the couch, trying to look unimpressed. “you sent me a justin bieber song.”

“a classic apology move,” he counters, stepping closer. “and gojo cat cried. that’s how sorry i am.” you roll your eyes but hold out your hand. “fine. you’re forgiven.” he takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch into his arms without hesitation. “good. because i’m never missing another ride again. next time, i’m picking you up in advance, like a whole hour early.” you snort. “you’d probably park outside my window and text me to hurry up.”

“absolutely,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll even bring coffee. and croissants.” mr. pickles lets out a loud, approving chirp. ah, love.

-

it did feel a little ridiculous, the way you were sprawled on top of geto on your couch, both of you tangled together in a heap of limbs. but neither of you seemed to care. he had one arm slung around your waist, keeping you steady, while his free hand lazily traced circles on your thigh. you were lying chest to chest, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "you know," he said, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair, "if i ever screw up like that again, i’m giving mr. pickles full authority to end me. claws out, no mercy." you lifted your head to meet his gaze, one eyebrow raised. "oh, she’d do it too. and with that belly of hers, she’s got some extra power now."

as if on cue, mr. pickles let out a loud, approving purr from her spot at the other end of the room, delicately grooming her very pregnant self. her tail flicked in what you could only assume was satisfaction at being included in this hypothetical revenge plot. geto chuckled, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. "there you have it. mr. pickles as judge, jury, and executioner. i’m officially terrified." you smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "as you should be. she takes no prisoners."

“and neither do i,” he murmured, his tone dipping as he tilted his head up to kiss you. the shift in mood was sudden but not unwelcome. his lips pressed against yours with the kind of determination that made you forget how to breathe for a second. his hands slid to your hips, holding you in place as he leaned back against the cushions, taking you with him. "you’re really trying to prove a point, huh?" you teased, breath hitching as his grip tightened. "i don’t think words are enough," he said between kisses, his voice low and smooth. "actions speak louder, right?" and speak they did. his hands wandered lower, firmly grabbing the soft curve of your ass, earning a surprised squeak from you. "suguru," you warned half-heartedly, though your hips involuntarily shifted against him. he grinned up at you, the picture of smug satisfaction. "what? i don’t hear you complaining."

“yet,” you shot back, but your body betrayed you, rolling your hips again as heat pooled in your stomach. "thought so," he said, voice dipping into a near growl. his hands guided your movements, holding you steady as he kissed you again, deeper this time. it wasn’t just apologetic; it was hungry, desperate, and laced with a promise to make up for every missed second. mr. pickles, ever the unbothered queen, yawned loudly from her perch. apparently, the impending chaos was none of her business. 

things were absolutely peachy—literally and figuratively—because there you were, straddling geto on your worn-out couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. his tie had been discarded somewhere (you’ll probably find it wedged under the couch cushions next month), and his usually crisp shirt was wrinkled beyond salvation.  his hands, warm and firm, roamed over your thighs and hips, eventually settling on your ass, which he seemed determined to commit to memory with the way he kept squeezing. it was flattering, really. all those squats and lugging around mr. pickles’ oversized carrier had not gone unnoticed.

“you’re really into this, huh?” you teased between kisses, nipping at his bottom lip just to feel the soft hitch in his breath. he grinned against your lips, shameless and unrepentant. “what can i say? i’m a man of taste.” his hands squeezed again, making you jolt slightly. “and damn, this is a masterpiece.”

“oh my god, suguru,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified. “you sound like a bad rom-com character.” he tilted his head back, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh that made your stomach flip. “hey, i call it like i see it. can’t help it if i’m honest.”

“yeah, well, your honesty’s about to get you kicked off this couch,” you shot back, though your hands betrayed you, sliding up his chest to cup his face. “oh, c’mon,” he said, leaning up to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was trying to remind you exactly why you hadn’t kicked him out yet. “you’d miss me too much.” and then, because suguru geto couldn’t let a moment of peace exist, he smirked and said, “besides, you’re the grandma of the house. gotta respect my elders.” you froze, pulling back just enough to stare at him with a look that could melt steel. “excuse me?”

“grandma,” he repeated, entirely too pleased with himself. “you know, since you’re mr. pickles’ mom and all. technically makes you—”

“i swear to god, suguru,” you interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp pinch to his side that made him yelp. “do you have a death wish?”

“what? it’s a term of endearment!” he tried, though his laughter betrayed him. “you’re lucky i like nerds,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile as you leaned down to kiss him again. “lucky indeed,” he murmured, hands finding their favorite spot once more. mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a loud, judgmental meow from her perch, as if to remind both of you who really ran this house.

and geto? geto was panicking. like, full-blown, internal monologue of doom panicking. sure, he looked calm on the outside—well, except for the faint pink creeping up his neck and the way his hands were starting to tremble just a bit against your hips. but inside? oh, it was a mess.

he loves ass. he loves your ass. in fact, he loves you. and while those three facts should be enough to keep him focused and confident, they were doing the exact opposite. because—plot twist—he hasn’t exactly been in the game for a while. “okay, breathe, suguru,” he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to keep his cool as your hands idly played with the collar of his shirt. but your superwoman instincts picked up on everything , and your raised brow as you looked down at him only made things worse. “you good?” you asked, voice soft and teasing, but laced with genuine concern. “yeah, totally,” he replied too quickly, clearing his throat like that would erase the way his voice cracked. “i’m just—uh. just, you know... thinking.” you tilted your head, watching him with that infuriatingly cute little smile that made his stomach flip. “about what? you’re usually a lot smoother than this, geto.”

“oh god, i’m blowing it,” he groaned, letting his head thump lightly against the back of the couch as he finally let the words tumble out. “it’s just... it’s been a while, okay? i’m out of practice or whatever, and now i’m worried i’m gonna, like, disappoint you or something. and that grandma joke? yeah, that was supposed to kill the mood so i could avoid all of this.” you blinked at him, caught between laughter and disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“painfully.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand still planted on your hip. “you’re amazing, and i just... i don’t want to mess this up.” for a moment, you just stared at him, and he could feel himself shrinking under your gaze. but then, the smile that spread across your face was nothing short of wicked. “oh, suguru,” you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed against his ear. “you have no idea what’s coming, do you?” his breath hitched as your hand slid down to the buttons of his shirt, popping one open with a practiced ease that made his heart skip a beat. “w-what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you said, voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine, “i’m about to make sure you never, ever doubt yourself again. you’re gonna be too busy thanking me to think about whether or not you’re ‘out of practice.’”

he swallowed hard, trying to think of a coherent response, but all that came out was a strangled, “uh — okay.”

“good,” you said simply, shifting your weight and sliding down his lap. and as he looked down at you, wide-eyed and completely at your mercy, one thing became crystal clear to suguru geto: he was absolutely, 100%, in over his head.

-

diva down? diva down. the diva in question being you.  you, the self-proclaimed diva of the century, were currently on your knees, ready to turn suguru geto’s jittery, bashful energy into something far more relaxed—well, if relaxed meant completely wrecked. and honestly? you were thriving. “oh god,” geto let out a breathless laugh, raking a hand through his loose hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his eyes hazy with anticipation. “you don’t have to—”

“stop,” you cut him off with a teasing smirk, fingers already working on his belt with the precision of someone on a mission. “don’t ruin my moment, suguru.” he laughed again, that soft, breathless kind that made your stomach do flips. “right, wouldn’t dream of it.” as you slid his belt free and popped open the button of his slacks, you couldn’t help but notice how his chest rose and fell just a bit faster, the faintest hint of nerves lingering in his gaze. “you good up there?” you asked, giving him a little grin. “y-yeah,” he stammered, licking his lips. “just... uhh, taking it all in.”

“oh, you’re gonna be taking a lot more than that in a second,” you teased, tugging at his slacks. he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch as he laughed again, but he still lifted his hips eagerly to help you slide the fabric down. and holy shit.  those slacks had been doing a lot of heavy lifting, and now, with them out of the way, you were faced with undeniable proof that suguru geto was not just hot, but also packing. “damn,” you muttered, your eyes widening just a bit as you took him in. “what?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness, but also curiosity. “nothing,” you said quickly, though your smirk betrayed you. “just... wow.”

“wow?” he echoed, his brows lifting.

“wow,” you confirmed, leaning in closer. “you’re full of surprises, huh?”

he chuckled softly, his hand coming down to rest gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that was almost too sweet for the situation. “i could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “oh, suguru,” you said with a teasing lilt, your hands bracing against his thighs as you leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him. “you have no idea.” and as you finally got to work, suguru let out a sound that was half laugh, half moan, his head tipping back as his hand slid into your hair. yeah, it was definitely going to be a long night—for both of you. and honestly?

bless men raised by their mothers. or at least men who respect women beyond a surface level, because suguru geto? he was proving himself to be a certified sweetheart even with his brain turned to mush. "god, you're...you're so good at this," he babbled, voice pitched just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "like—ohhh, fuck—you’re perfect. seriously, i don’t know how—fuck—you’re even real."

you couldn’t help but smirk around him, though the sheer earnestness in his tone was making your head spin. suguru wasn’t just moaning—no, he was giving you a running commentary like his life depended on it. and honestly? the mix of his praise, his ridiculous vocabulary, and the raw honesty of his reactions were doing more for you than you cared to admit. "shiiit, babe," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips shifted just slightly, like he was trying to hold himself back. "you’re incredible. so... so fucking—god, you’re beautiful." you hummed against him, letting the vibrations travel through him, and the broken moan he let out in response was almost enough to make you moan.“i—fuck,” he stammered, his free hand clenching and unclenching on the couch cushion as though he was trying to ground himself. “i can’t even—fuck, you’re amazing. you know that, right? like, amazing.” 

it was ridiculous, really. this level of detailed, horny babbling shouldn’t be hot, and yet, suguru’s desperate, unfiltered honesty was doing a number on you. you’d kiss him if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. “you’re gonna—oh fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his words punctuated by a low, shaky laugh. “like, actually. no coming back from this. you’re—shit—so perfect, babe. i don’t even know how you’re real.” you glanced up at him briefly, catching the flush on his cheeks and the dazed, almost reverent look in his eyes. he looked wrecked already, and you weren’t even close to finished. yeah, men raised right were a blessing. and suguru geto? he was living proof.

suguru was going to cry. or die. or both. maybe at the same time. because when a simple, god-loving, god-fearing man like him thought of you—his girl, his love—his mind didn’t stop at the surface. no, it wandered far, far into the future. he dared to dream big: marriage, a nice house with you, gojo cat and mr. pickles running the place with their eventual brood of kittens, and maybe, if he let himself get really carried away, a kid or two of your own. but this? this was not in the script. not the way he imagined this happening, not this soon. was he complaining, though? no, not one bit. still, suguru couldn’t shake the way his brain was short-circuiting. what if you thought this was weird? not the moment itself—because, holy shit, this moment was unreal—but the way he couldn’t control the ridiculous rambling bubbling out of him.

“god, you’re... you’re gonna be the death of me,” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly as his hand tightened on the couch cushion beneath him. “seriously. i’m done for. you’ve—fuck—you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. literally, figuratively... h-hell, every way there is.” he let out a shaky laugh, his other hand brushing the edge of your jaw, his touch featherlight like he was afraid he’d break you—or worse, wake up and find out this was all a dream. “you have no idea, do you?” he murmured, his tone softening even as his breaths came uneven. “how much i—fuck, how much i love you.”

that admission was supposed to stay locked in his chest, hidden away alongside the future house and the diary full of thoughts he would probably never admit aloud. but there it was, laid bare in the open. his throat tightened as he watched for your reaction, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free. his mind raced with every possibility—what if you thought he was moving too fast? what if this ruined everything?

you were going to die. or cry. or both. maybe not in that order, but the emotional whiplash was real. because while you were—let's face it—giving the performance of your life, suguru geto had the audacity to play the wildest card in his hand: he told you he loved you. the words hit you like a sucker punch, making your brain screech to a halt. you paused, pulling him out of your mouth with a slick, obscene pop, a strand of spit still connecting the two of you as you gaped at him like he’d just told you the earth was flat. “wait, what?” your voice was hoarse, a little breathless, and full of disbelief. your hands remained steady on his thighs, but you weren’t about to let that slide. “say that again.”

suguru blinked at you, his flushed face half-covered by the messy curtain of his hair. and yet, somehow, he still looked every bit the breathtaking dork you fell for. “i... i said i love you,” he mumbled, his voice soft, but you could see the telltale signs of his nerves in the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. oh, you knew you won now. your lips curved into a sly, wicked grin, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons that had nothing to do with what you were doing moments ago. “good,” you said simply, your voice low and teasing, before brushing your thumb over his hip bone in a way that made him shiver. “because i love you too, suguru.” the way his eyes widened, his chest hitching in disbelief, was almost enough to undo you completely. but you weren’t done. oh no, not by a long shot.

you leaned in again, doubling down on your efforts with a newfound determination, your mouth warm and eager as you took him back in. this time, you didn’t hold back, letting him feel just how much you meant those words. the soft noises tumbling out of him turned into broken, desperate moans as you let him slide deeper, letting him bump against the back of your throat with a confidence that made his hips jerk. “holy—fucck, baby, ” he gasped, his voice trembling as his hands instinctively tangled in your hair. “you’re—oh my god—i can’t—”

and just like that, he was gone. the way his body tensed, his hand gripping the back of the couch like a lifeline, was all the warning you got before he tipped over the edge, his release hitting you with an intensity that left him trembling beneath you. you pulled back slightly, swallowing and smirking as he looked down at you with dazed, love-struck eyes, his chest heaving. “you okay there, lover boy?” you teased, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you crawled up to straddle him. he groaned, dragging his hands over his flushed face, but even through his embarrassment, you could see the adoration shining in his gaze. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but the small, lovesick smile on his lips said he wouldn’t have it any other way.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of his mind, suguru was thinking about reciprocity in customary international law—something about how states are expected to treat each other in kind. why this popped into his head as he helped you up from your knees, he had no idea. maybe his brain was short-circuiting from everything that had just transpired. or maybe it was just his nerdy coping mechanism for the sheer intensity of what was about to go down. either way, he shelved the thought because all he knew—clearly, distinctly, and beyond a shadow of a doubt—was that you needed help. erm, his girl needed help. and suguru geto? he was nothing if not a gentleman. “alright, up you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he hooked an arm around you, effortlessly lifting you.

before you could even fully process what was happening, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed. “oh my god, suguru!” you squealed, smacking his back, but there was no real heat behind it. " shh, this is for your benefit,” he said, laughing softly as he adjusted his grip. and with a surprising amount of precision for a man who had just been thoroughly flustered minutes earlier, he tossed you onto the bed. somehow, miraculously, you landed gracefully—no awkward angles or unflattering positions. before you could catch your breath, suguru was already yanking down your pajama shorts, his movements sure and deliberate. his hair, still a little messy from your earlier efforts, framed his face as he looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of affection and hunger. you smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “you know, if you’re really feeling sorry, there’s one thing you could do.” his brows raised, intrigued. “oh? what’s that?”

“sit down,” you said casually, leaning back against the pillows. “because i’m sitting on your face.” suguru froze for half a second, and you could swear you saw his soul leave his body. but then he let out a low, almost reverent laugh, his hands already sliding up your thighs as he knelt onto the bed. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts adoring and wicked. “but if you insist…” and as he settled himself beneath you, looking up at you with pure devotion, he thought to himself—if he had a ring right now, he’d propose without a second thought.

sit on his face? seriously? where the hell did that confidence come from? because let’s be real—have you ever sat on someone’s face before? no? yeah, that’s what i thought. so it really serves you right for hovering over suguru’s face in the most awkward, hesitant way possible after you practically tore your underwear off like a woman on a mission. and suguru, bless his sweet, sweet soul, was waiting so patiently. expectantly, even. until he let out this deep chuckle—low and warm and way too sexy for your own good—and before you could spiral any further into overthinking, he reached up and yanked you down onto his face. oh. OH. there was no time to process, no moment to think, because suddenly the same mouth that usually went on and on about laws, treaties, and whatever international nonsense was now french kissing your cunt like it was his one true calling in life.

you moaned—loud and borderline pornographic—but could you really help it? suguru groaned against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you as his grip tightened on your thighs, holding you firmly in place like he had absolutely no plans of letting you escape. you tried. god, you tried to play it cool. tried to pull a geto on him with a little bit of horny babbling of your own, figuring he’d appreciate the effort. but every time you so much as opened your mouth to string a coherent sentence together, suguru would double down on his actions—his tongue flicking or curling in ways that had you seeing stars—and whatever you’d been planning to say vanished into the void, replaced by high-pitched whines and breathy moans.

“suguru—oh my god—”

he hummed in response, the sound smug and almost teasing as he looked up at you from between your legs, his dark eyes practically glowing with amusement and pride. “you talk too much,” he mumbled against you, the words muffled but clear enough to make your face heat up. and honestly? you’d be offended if he weren’t so goddamn good at what he was doing.

geto was putting in the work. the work. and you? you were trying not to cry or completely lose your mind, but if you did, you had a sneaking suspicion he’d love it more than anything. the man had a thing for drama—especially if it was drama he caused. but in the middle of all this face-sitting, tongue-lapping, thigh-gripping madness, you noticed something else.

geto was hard. painfully so. the sight of him below you was already sinful enough, but the way his erection strained against his boxers, twitching every time you moaned his name, was almost too much. his response time to recover was unreal—maddening, even—but considering it was you on top of him, you liked to think you deserved the credit. and since a wise saying says to love your neighbor as yourself, you decided to help a man out. literally. your hand snaked down between you two, wrapping around his length with a touch that had him freezing for a split second. “what are you—oh, fuck, ” geto choked out, the sound muffled against your thighs as you yanked down his boxers and started stroking him.

he let out a garbled groan and—you couldn’t make this up—spat. he outright spat onto your cunt, the hot slickness dripping between your folds, and you? you loved it. the move earned him a sharp gasp, followed by a breathless laugh as you sped up your hand, squeezing him just enough to draw out those pretty whines you loved so much. “oh my god, suguru,” you teased, voice shaky but teasing nonetheless. “did you just—?”

“shut up,” he grunted, his words nearly swallowed by a low moan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. “you’re the one—fuck—driving me insane right now.” and judging by the desperate way he buried his face against you, tongue moving feverishly as his hips bucked into your hand, you’d say he was enjoying this just as much as you were. but the real kicker? when you came, your body instinctively pressed down against his face, your thighs squeezing tight enough to almost cut off his air supply. geto didn’t complain. not once. if anything, the muffled groan against your cunt and the way he jerked against your hand as he came told you he’d gladly die like this if it came to it. but luckily for both of you, you lived to tell the tale.

once the both of you had managed to throw on some semblance of clothing, clean up, and collapse into the bed, that’s when reality hit geto like a brick wall. what. the. hell. just happened. as he laid there, his arm slung lazily around you, your soft breathing against his chest, his brain decided now was the perfect time to spiral. he glanced over at mr. pickles, who sat perched on the counter in the kitchenette, her tail flicking in judgment. the cat looked like she was debating calling the authorities on him for defiling her beloved owner. oh god. what does this make the two of you?

no, scratch that. the real panic set in when he remembered: he told you he loved you. not in some subtle, cute, roundabout way either. no, it was the full-blown, l-o-v-e type of confession. the kind he wrote about in his secret diary he kept under his bed. the kind that implied white picket fences, shared dreams, and a life together. and judging by the way you were pressed against him, one leg draped over his, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his bare chest (because yes, the formal shirt had been entirely ditched), you were either about to let him down easy or...

oh god.

“you okay?” your soft voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, your hand pausing its movements as you tilted your head to look up at him. he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally fine.” you squinted at him, your lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “you sure? you’re looking a little... out of it.” well, there was no way out of this now. in all his dorkus glory, he blurted out the dreaded question:

“so, uh... what are we?”

the words hung in the air for a second, and geto wanted to melt into the mattress. but instead of laughing or teasing him, you smiled, your expression soft and fond. “what do you want us to be?”

“i mean...” he swallowed hard, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “i said i loved you, so... maybe something serious?” you grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “good. because i’m not letting you go after that performance, lover boy.” and just like that, geto decided he could die happy. even if mr. pickles never forgave him.

chapter 6: the class you’ll never forget

geto woke up feeling like the main character in some rom-com where everything had finally fallen into place. the sun was shining directly on his face, his skin was clear, the tension that had been tying his muscles in knots for weeks was gone, and most importantly, there was you snuggled up next to him. your soft snores were music to his ears, and mr. pickles' contented purring from her nesting area completed the picture. everything was perfect. except for the yeowling.

it started faint, like the distant sound of a car alarm, and grew steadily louder. groaning, geto rubbed his face. “what the hell...?” he suddenly bolted upright, realization hitting him like a freight train. “oh no. oh no, no, no.” you groggily stirred beside him, blinking up at him in confusion. “what’s wrong?”

“gojo,” he groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “i left him alone in my apartment last night. he probably thinks i’m dead.” you blinked, then snorted. “that’s dramatic, even for a cat.”

but geto wasn’t joking. he’d seen gojo cat throw tantrums over him leaving for ten minutes to grab milk. this? this was abandonment on a grand scale in the eyes of the overly dramatic feline. as if on cue, the voice of your landlord, yaga, boomed from the other side of the door. “keep that cat quiet, or i’m calling animal control!” you gasped indignantly, sitting up. “excuse me! mr. pickles would never—”

“it’s not mr. pickles!” geto groaned, already throwing on his pants. “it’s my overly theatrical—”

just as he was about to open the door to go upstairs, a loud thud echoed from the direction of your fire escape. the two of you froze.

“what was that?” you whispered.

geto peeked out the window, his jaw dropping. “oh my god. no.”

there, perched precariously on the fire escape outside your window, was gojo cat. his tail swished furiously, and he was glaring through the glass like he had just tracked his runaway owner down on sheer willpower alone.

“he... jumped from my window to yours.”

“that’s, like, one story up!” you exclaimed.

“i know!”

gojo cat let out another ear-piercing yeowwww! that sounded suspiciously like he was cursing geto out in feline language. “okay, okay , i’m coming!” geto sighed, sliding the window open to let the cat in. gojo cat pranced inside with all the dignity of someone who had just won an olympic gold medal, ignoring you entirely as he hopped onto geto’s torso and began aggressively kneading his shoulder. “i’m sorry, okay?” geto muttered. “i didn’t mean to abandon you.” gojo cat meowed smugly, his forgiveness conditional.

“so... how mad would you be if i told you yaga still thinks this is mr. pickles’ fault?” you asked, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. geto groaned, flopping back onto the bed, gojo cat still perched on his chest. “this is my life now. cat dad, tenant offender, and boyfriend to the world’s most beautiful woman.” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “and don’t you forget it.”

gojo cat, ever the drama queen, was about to make a grand display of his wrath, his tail swishing like an emperor preparing to deliver a royal decree. but then, he saw her.

mr. pickles. lounging in her nesting area, belly round with her impending litter, she cast him the most witheringly judgmental side-eye known to catkind. it wasn’t even subtle. her disdain radiated like heat off asphalt, and for a moment, gojo cat’s indignant rage faltered. but then, like the suave rogue he believed himself to be, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and strutted toward her with a confidence that could only be described as delusional. it was all tail flicks and exaggerated steps, as though the very floor beneath him had the privilege of bearing his paws.

and then—smack. the grand feline tumbled, face planting into the ground with all the grace of a wet noodle.

you tried to stifle your laugh, but the sound still slipped out. geto choked back a snort, muttering, “that’s my boy.” mr. pickles, however, did not laugh. no, the dignified queen merely let out a single approving chirp, a sound that might have translated to "pathetic, but amusing." gojo cat, undeterred by his embarrassing mishap, rose with renewed determination. and with the kind of courage that made you question if he had a screw loose, he approached mr. pickles once more, his intentions clear.

“no way,” you whispered.

“he wouldn’t,” geto added, equally mesmerized.

but he did. gojo cat, in what he undoubtedly believed was the ultimate gesture of love, began grooming mr. pickles. grooming her. and she let him.

for a moment, you thought she was going to swipe at him with all the fury of a hormonal mom-to-be. but no. she actually closed her eyes, her purring like a soft motor. it was... surreal.

“did we just witness the biggest romance of the century?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “bigger than us?” geto teased, pulling you closer. “way bigger,” you deadpanned.

as you both watched the unlikely duo share their moment, you couldn’t help but laugh. gojo cat was clearly putting his all into his attempt at love, and mr. pickles? well, she looked like she was actually enjoying it.

“ah, love,” geto sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your head. “even dumber than us,” you added, shaking your head in disbelief.

-

you were on cloud nine, feeling a level of peace and contentment that only came from having a hot law nerd boyfriend and a cat with enough sass to rival gojo cat himself. geto's bmw hummed quietly beneath you as the two of you cruised toward campus. it wasn’t just the morning coffee kicking in; it was the knowledge that if this man dared to be late—even by two minutes—mr. pickles would end him. like, not even metaphorically. she’d leap on him, claws out, and make him regret. because mr. pickles loved his hair. she loved kneading it, curling her paws into his long, luscious locks as if claiming her personal throne. and honestly? you got it. if you were a cat, you’d do the same. hell, even as a human, you’d do it (and did, regularly).

as he pulled into the parking lot, the goodbye routine began. “don’t forget to text me when your class ends,” he said, already pulling you into a warm hug. “don’t forget to pick me up, or we’re breaking up,” you countered sweetly, earning a laugh from him. “you’re scary, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “and you’re my very gorgeous, very whipped boyfriend,” you shot back, leaning up for a kiss. he wouldn’t dream of ghosting you—not when you were this beautiful, amazing, kind, and, obviously, a little unhinged. as he opened your door and helped you out like the true gentleman he was, he insisted on walking you all the way to the front entrance. his hand rested at the small of your back, a gesture that had you swooning even as you teased him.

“you do know you’re going to be late, right?”

“worth it,” he replied with a grin, bending down to kiss your cheek. but just as you were about to part ways, a booming voice shattered the moment.

“GETO! LAW STUDENTS BUILDING! NOW!”

you both turned to see a very exasperated professor waving frantically at him from across the quad. you couldn’t help but laugh as geto sighed, muttering under his breath about how “love is a battlefield.” he gave you one last kiss, muttered a promise to pick you up later (or else), and jogged off. you watched him go, smiling like an idiot as you whispered, “ah, love.”

the day started fine. better than fine, actually—you left geto’s bmw with a kiss and the knowledge that your cat, mr. pickles, was safe and sound in her nesting area, glaring at gojo cat with the fury only a pregnant feline could muster. but halfway through your lecture on post-modern feminist theories (a riveting topic, truly), your phone buzzed. it wasn’t a normal notification. no, it was the cctv feed suguru had installed as a “gift” to keep an eye on your “queen” (read: your absolute dictator cat). and there she was—mr. pickles—kneading her nesting area with an urgency that sent a chill down your spine.

“oh. oh no. oh dear god.” you whispered, staring at the screen as she let out a war cry that could only mean one thing: grandmahood was happening. you shot up from your seat so fast your desk screeched against the floor. “is everything okay?” your professor asked, startled by your abrupt movement.

“uh, yeah! just — cat emergency! she’s — uh — giving birth!” you stammered, already halfway out the door.

“congratulations?” someone in the back called out, earning a round of laughter you had no time for.

you sprinted through campus like a woman possessed, your backpack bouncing behind you as you cursed yourself for not realizing mr. pickles’ morning mood wasn’t jealousy but labor. and then—because fate had to test you—geto appeared, casually strolling toward the law building with his usual unbothered grace. “babe?” he called out, watching you bolt past him like you were auditioning for the olympics. “no time to explain!” you yelled over your shoulder. he frowned, putting two and two together because, let’s face it, the man’s a genius. “is it mr. pickles?!”

“YES!”

and then he started running behind you.

“suguru!” you wheezed, already out of breath. “GET YOUR CAR!”

“why?” he shouted, effortlessly keeping pace with you.

“because we’re running across a campus that’s like thousand acres and I WILL DIE!”

he paused, muttering something about how you were so dramatic, before pivoting on his heel and sprinting toward the parking lot.

you barely made it to the main road before suguru’s bmw skidded to a stop beside you.

“get in!” he barked, throwing the passenger door open.

“i swear to god, if she starts delivering while we’re stuck in traffic —”

“she’s not gonna start without you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“cats don’t work like that, suguru!”

“well, neither do women, but here we are,” he shot back, pulling into the driveway of your building.

you bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time while suguru trailed behind with all the urgency of a man who knows he’ll be the one cleaning up whatever mess awaited. when you burst into the apartment, mr. pickles was mid-contraction, glaring at you like, finally, my useless human has arrived. gojo cat, meanwhile, looked terrified, hovering at a safe distance as if he was considering calling 911. “okay, okay, we’re here!” you panted, dropping to your knees beside mr. pickles. suguru followed, looking at the scene with wide eyes. “do...do we call a vet?”

“no! she’s got this. we just have to support her!”

“support her how?”

“i don’t know! emotional support?”

“she’s a cat!”

mr. pickles let out a low growl, silencing suguru’s protests. “okay, okay, i’ll shut up,” he muttered, backing away slightly. the door creaked open, and there stood shoko, still in her scrubs and sporting the exhausted yet curious expression of someone returning from a night shift only to walk straight into chaos. “what’s going on here?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. you barely spared her a glance as you clutched suguru’s arm. “mr. pickles is in labor. it’s a whole thing. prayers are appreciated.”

“prayers?” she scoffed, stepping closer. “i’m a doctor. i got this.”

relief washed over you. “thank god, shoko! we could use an actual professional!”

but the moment she peeked over the edge of mr. pickles’ nesting area and caught sight of a tiny kitten halfway out, her calm demeanor shattered.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!”

“what do you think it is?” suguru deadpanned, visibly unimpressed. “i don’t know! i didn’t sign up for this!” shoko shrieked, stumbling backward and holding her hands up as if warding off an unholy demon.

you blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded. “aren’t you a doctor?”

“a human doctor! this is nature gone rogue! ”

mr. pickles, clearly unamused by shoko’s dramatics, let out a low, guttural growl that sent the so-called professional scurrying back to the doorway. “you’re on your own,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the events unfolding in your living room weren’t directly her problem. meanwhile, gojo cat, always the overachiever, decided he needed to help. unfortunately, his idea of help involved attempting to paw at the nearest kitten. “don’t even think about it!” suguru warned, his voice laced with exasperation.

but it was too late—mr. pickles, mid-contraction, turned her fiery gaze on gojo cat, who froze like a deer in headlights. one wrong flick of his tail, and mr. pickles let out a feral hiss that could have sent shoko back to med school. gojo cat, realizing he had crossed the line, slinked back to the corner, tail tucked between his legs, his usual swagger replaced with what could only be described as embarrassed defeat. “well, that’s one way to keep him in line,” you muttered.

“this is insane,” shoko said, still watching from the doorway. “how do you people live like this?”

“we manage,” suguru replied, his tone completely void of humor as he massaged his temples.

the next hour was a whirlwind of cat screams, your whispered words of encouragement, and suguru pacing like an expectant father in a sitcom. “should we name one after me?” he asked at one point, earning a glare from both you and mr. pickles as she finally let out one final push, and another tiny kitten entered the world. you let out a relieved sigh, and suguru finally cracked a smile. he was crouched beside you, holding your hand as if you were the one giving birth. “you did amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“she did amazing,” you corrected, motioning to mr. pickles.

“team effort,” he replied with a grin.

and as mr. pickles began cleaning her newest babies, shoko muttered from the door, “you’re all insane. call me when it’s over.”

“you’re the godmother, shoko!” you called after her, earning a muffled string of curses as she disappeared down the hall.

“we’re gonna need so much cat food,” he muttered, pulling you close.

ah, the miracle of life.

-

a few weeks had passed since d-day—delivery day, or as suguru had renamed it, “domestic chaos day.” the kittens were growing faster than you thought possible, transforming your once peaceful apartment into a battlefield. mr. pickles ruled the roost with an iron paw, while gojo cat’s ego took a daily beating as the kittens bested him at every turn. every time one managed to leap higher, run faster, or swipe his tail just right, his tail would puff up in indignation like a furry balloon. you’d managed to rehome a few of the kittens, starting with shoko.

her kitten—affectionately dubbed “roach” for her uncanny ability to survive despite zero effort—was the perfect match. low-maintenance, unfazed, and perpetually napping. shoko had initially protested, but now you’d catch her sending you pictures of roach curled up in her sink or casually perched on her liquor cabinet.

then there was yuuji. poor, sweet, persistent yuuji. he’d campaigned harder for a kitten than some politicians do for office. the boy went through hoops — begging you, suguru, choso, sukuna, and even mr. pickles. you weren’t sure how he’d pulled it off, but eventually, he was deemed worthy of a black-and-white troublemaker he promptly named “gumi.” the kitten adored yuuji and spent most of his time riding on his shoulders like a parrot, though you suspected yuuji let him get away with far too much.

sukuna, on the other hand, had reluctantly taken the runt of the litter after it refused to leave him alone. “don’t need some damn cat,” he’d grumbled the entire way home. now? the tiny kitten followed him everywhere, even sneaking into his apron pockets after he came back from work. he pretended to hate it, but the soft grumbles about “stupid runt” were always followed by careful, protective pats on the kitten’s tiny head.

but the biggest surprise of all came when suguru decided to make your relationship public—on linkedin. linkedin, of all places.

it had started as a joke. you’d teased him about not “properly asking you out” after all this time, and before you knew it, he’d crafted a three-paragraph-long post about you. “in a comitted relationship with the love of my life, and no, this isn’t a humble brag — it’s a masterpiece,” he’d typed with the fervor of a man defending his dissertation. the post included references to romantic literature, quotes from classic movies, and, somehow, a detailed analysis of how mr. pickles and gojo cat played pivotal roles in your story.

you’d wanted to die of second-hand embarrassment, but the post blew up. colleagues, professors, and even strangers commented, congratulating the two of you. “you’re insane,” you’d told him, hiding your face in his chest as he laughed. “insane about you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

life wasn’t perfect — it was loud, chaotic, and occasionally overwhelming. but with mr. pickles, gojo cat, and your ridiculous yet lovable boyfriend, it was better than you ever imagined.

feline parenthood? best decision ever.

[konpeitonom]

Pookie I'm BEGGING YOU for a curly x fem reader smut but like he has a rough day and reader asks her to take it out on her so he's like rougher with her than usual 🤭🤭 then there's some nice fluffy aftercare afterwards. As usual take ur time and take breaks!

-🌺 anon

a long day of work, captain grant curly.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader — content warnings for light choking, degrading.. he’s a bit mean. some creative liberty was taken..

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; i don’t like to write full length one shots n such and don’t plan too.. just not my style. so i’ll write this in sort of a headcanon-ny / drabble formatting. just a quick heads up for anyone who requests me! i also.. forgot the fluffy aftercare part.. perhaps another time, or a little pt2 if i feel so inclined..

but this might have been my favorite to write for today. this is my 6th piece for the day (posting in the morning..) thank you for ur request anon..

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

— curly after a long, tiring day of work, all he wanted was to see your pretty face. it always made him feel better. everytime he opens that door, he’ll hear, “welcome home!!”, “you were working for so long, can’t you cut back your hours?”, “i missed you so much. quit that stupid job, please?” .. you get the point.

— he seems extra tired today. even after dinner, a nice bath, some tv, he still looks so stressed! you have to do something. isn’t there anything you can do?

— eventually he ends up venting about work, how stressed he is. he doesn’t like to but he knows you don’t mind. one thing led to another and he was on top of you.

- ♡

“curly.. you know, you don’t have to hold back as much as you do..” you say, your hands on his arms. your fingertips trace his muscles just slightly, as a way to ease him into the idea.

he groans at that thought. god, he really needs to let it all go. but he can’t do that. he really can’t, “what are you talking about?” he said, playing dumb. but you were able to see through him, of course you were.

“curly..”

“no, i can’t.”

“please.. you can take it all out on me. please? i want it. i really do. don’t you want it too?” you respond so desperately.

- ♡

— you knew your husband well. he’d only do it to make you happy. and if that was it? then he can’t say no.

— he’s a bit soft at first. he’s still holding back. just be patient with him, it’ll take awhile for him to get a bit rough the way he does.

— one of his hands holds tightly onto the bed frame, the other on your shoulder keeping you down. his pace is regular but his thrusts are much rougher, you can feel his dick bruising your insides.

— please be vocal.. it tells him you’re enjoying it too. even all pent up and stressed, he’s prioritizing you’re pleasure. even like this, he’ll make sure you cum first.

- ♡

your mouth is wide open, the prettiest noises coming out of it. he looks down at you, his eyes a bit squinted as he places a hand on your neck. you nod gently as to reassure him it was okay, and that’s when he pressed down.

he lets out a low groan, “fuck, do you like that? seriously?” he teased, his tone mean. you didn’t expect that from him, but it was more than welcome.

“god, should’ve told me sooner.” he said, as he pushed down just a bit- pushing the boundaries of what was you’re regular, “look at you. you’re such a mess. i wish you could see your face right now, it’s fucking pathetic.”

- ♡

— you can tell he feels bad, but small reassurances fuel him. so just nod and smile and he’ll continue.

— at this point his pace quickens and he’s rough with it. his hand that isn’t wrapped around your neck like a vice, is on your hips- digging deep into your skin.

— he’d then turn you over to your tummy, making you go on all fours as he pulls your hair back. kind of like a leash. his dick balls deep into your pussy still.

— god, he was so rough. it hurt, you can’t lie. but it felt so good, so good to know that the sensitive man you married has a side to him that only you have the pleasure of feeling.

— “fuck. seems like you enjoy being used like this. yeah? like a fucking toy? why didn’t you say so before then?” he’d whisper into your ear.

— he cums at the sight of your eyes rolled back to make eye contact with him, your tongue a bit out as you moan uncontrollably. maybe it was also the teardrops that stained your face. you looked pitiful, really.

— “are you okay?” he’d whisper in your ear. he felt bad for cumming first. but he couldn’t help it. he could only hope you wouldn’t be too upset.

— that’s when he’d turn you over to your back to see your face much more clearly. if you tell him now that you need a break, he’s happy to do so- then please you. no harsh words, just love.

— but if you nod, tell him it’s okay- and that you want to continue. you’re in for a long night, because at that slight nod he’s already shoved his dick back in you. he’s desperate, and you’re willing to give it to him.

[lippyispunk]

When the World Is Quiet, What Thoughts Remain

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately.

Dying.

-

A near-death experience provides Astarion some clarity.

Word Count: 3.7k

fluff, realized feelings, developing relationship

a/n: Hello all!

I wrote this to take place in Act 2, after the Yurgir battle but before Astarion's confession. I believe it is gender neutral, but if anyone finds something that says otherwise, please let me know! First time posting on here, so I apologize for any formatting errors.

-

Gods, he remembers this feeling intimately. 

Dying.

Despite the centuries that had passed since his mortality had been lost to this plane, the experience was seared into his mind. Back then, it had been horrific. The excruciating pain. The paralyzing fear of what was to come, as his body was drained of blood and his heart thumped erratically in his chest, desperately trying to keep his blood flowing- his body alive.

 

This time, the pain is ever present. He lies on his back in the mud and puddles, the yawning storm above continuing to release torrents of rain. His ruby eyes blink slowly, despite the droplets landing in them. Twin daggers have been abandoned at his sides, pale elegant hands having to hold his innards together instead. His white lounge shirt clings to his trembling frame, now dyed rusty brown and crimson red. 

 

The fear, however, is blessedly absent. His thoughts trudge through his mind like oozing honey. It’s almost peaceful. Cazador. The parasite. His never ending hunger. All seemed so far away now; the normally constant concerns looming at the forefront of his thoughts, now caught in the sticky trap of insignificance. 

He had been hungry earlier. Always so hungry. The small respite he received immediately after feeding never lasted as long as he wished it would. His condition had been even more bothersome as of late. Ever since he and the little group of misfits he traveled with had entered the Shadowlands. Prey was sparse. And any blood he lost during battle needed to be replaced somehow. That was how he found himself here tonight.

 

He had hunted further from the group’s campsite than he normally would, in search of the few living creatures that had not yet been felled by this accursed land. He had been ambushed by shadow beings, caught unaware due to his weakened, dulled senses. Their claws had cut through him so easily. His lack of armor was another mistake, but a decision made in hopes to be quick and quiet enough to catch a meal.

 

His head slowly lolled to the side, eyes attempting to focus in the direction of the camp. The monsters that attacked him had begun to slither that way before vanishing into hazy mist. His breath wheezes from his lungs, chest shuddering. Breathing wasn’t a necessity for him, but a habit nonetheless. Even now.

 

He wonders, idly, if any of his companions will be awake at this hour to intercept the attack. His muddled mind cannot bring forth who was supposed to be on watch tonight. He even admits to himself, perhaps his blood loss getting to his head, that he would not wish to see them come to harm. Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart…

 

His drifting thoughts were brought to sudden clarity. A breathtaking, wondrous, kind creature unexpectedly ensnaring his thoughts.

You.

 

Gods, how could it have taken this long for you to flit back into his mind? You were all he seemed to think about anymore lately. Your smile, your laugh, your boundless good heart. But also the confusion he felt that always seemed to twist whatever lovely feeling you inspired in him.

 

He may not wish to see the others harmed, but you… you’re different. The way he feels for you is- different. He cares for you. In a way that he cannot recall ever feeling for someone else. You understand him in ways that he doesn’t understand himself. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. The most alive he’s felt in, well, ever. 

 

But it wasn't supposed to end up this way. He’s comfortable pretending. Seducing. It’s as familiar as the back of his hand. And the facade had worked with you too, for a brief time. Until that second time he propositioned you at the tiefling party. What had you called his seductions? ‘Honeyed words’? And then the complete dismissal of his fraudulent love confession. He had recovered well in the moment; he’s used to pivoting his tactics when the occasional target gets antsy with his persuasions. Even still, you had rejected him that night. You let him down easy, of course, with a compassionate smile and a sweet whisper of ‘perhaps another time'. 

 

Later that night, when he was alone once more, he contemplated. You were on to him, in one way or another. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of his ploy, but you could tell his flirtations were… insincere. Why else would you turn down another night with him? 

 

He had expected repercussions, a growing distance between the two of you that would put all his progress with you to ruin. You didn’t seem the type to settle for this feigned romance. You'd push him away.

But you hadn’t. You were just as warm and welcoming to him as you had always been. Attentive. Friendly. Hells, even laughing at his irrelevant, snarky quips. He was surprised. And in that surprise, he found himself off guard. You still wanted to spend time with him, despite everything. Maybe… maybe he didn't have to try so hard with you. 

 

Since that revelation, Astarion had found himself just enjoying existing . He had fun around you, and the others too, he'd be loath to admit. Now that the metaphorical weight of seducing you had been lifted. But inevitably, at night when he was alone, the pesky question returned, cycle after cycle. If not his body, what did you want from him?

 

More recently, there had been the battle with the Orthon, Yurgir. Astarion was still befuddled, even now. No one in his extensive time on this plane had ever gone to such lengths for him. When Raphael had offered the deal: one very dead devil in exchange for information on his scarred flesh, there had been no question, no doubt from you. Just resolve and an all encompassing respect for Astarion and his decision making. It made his chest ache. 

 

He's not entirely sure what to call the emotion he feels for you. It goes beyond simple lust for your form or an appreciation of your personality. And Gods knows he's scared to Avernus and back of what this all might mean. But he's not scared of you. Never of you. He realizes that whatever comes, he wants to explore this. With you, if you'll have him.

 

Returning to the present from his recollections, one conviction finally banishes the wandering thoughts in his mind. You deserve better than this. These pretty lies he had been trying to feed you. This mask that he had used for so many years, so many decades. You had given him some of the most important parts of yourself. Your trust, your belief in him, your patience.  It was time he did the same.

 

Ruby irises shift skyward once more, a newfound purpose and vitality clear in his pupils. He has to get back to you. To explain. To apologize. Hells, to bathe in the warmth of your presence just once more would make this endeavor worthwhile.

 

He steels himself before his body begins to twist, rolling to his stomach ever so slowly. An agonized cry peels itself from his throat, unbidden. The fresh wave of pain that crashes over his stomach ripples through the rest of his body, leaving him shaking in its wake. He keeps one hand underneath him, continuing to hold as much pressure on his gaping wounds as he can. The other arm is bent in front of him, poised for what he must do.

 

He begins to crawl.

 

He grunts with the effort, free hand scrabbling in the mud for purchase as he drives his legs into the ground to push his form forward. This is far from the worst thing he has ever endured. But Gods, hasn’t he endured enough in this lifetime?

 

Tears spring to his eyes as he continues his plight. His beautiful white curls are drenched, flattened to his head and dropping into his field of view. His anguished gaze is so unfocused that it doesn’t matter. He’s moving on instinct now, forcing his limbs to respond by sheer force of will alone. The will to live.

 

Somewhere distantly his mind registers that his voice has become an endless stream of moans and broken sobs. Blood continues to slip stickily between the fingers clutching at his stomach. He doesn’t care. He will do anything to make it back to you. He has to. He owes it to you. Hells, he owes it to himself.

 

Time moves in slow motion; he loses all sense of it. He knows not how long he’s been dragging his body forward, just that finally, finally , he reaches salvation.

“Astarion!”

 

He hears you as if he’s underwater, but he would know your voice anywhere. His mind is fuzzy, consciousness fading from his being quickly. He stops crawling and lifts his blood-red gaze. You’re here. His breath hitches in his chest, a new sob rending itself from within. Though this one was not brought out from pain, but rather relief. He's never seen a more welcome sight.  

 

You’ve come for him, battleworn and bloody. Your feet pound the sodden land, racing toward him as you pay no heed to the slick mud. You drop to your knees in front of him, hair plastered to your cheeks and eyes wild with adrenaline and some other emotion he is unable to wrap his disoriented mind around. His eyes trace your face with his last remaining strand of focus.

Astarion had long given up on praying to any deity. What was the point? They never answered him anyway. But you- you are divine. The sight of you here, now, almost has him reconsidering his stance. 

 

“Gods, Astarion! Just hold on, okay? Please!”

 

Your hands flutter in his vicinity for a moment, unsure of where to touch without causing more harm. He watches you, the barest hint of his lip tilting up at the corner.

 

“I don’t think you can make it much worse, darling,” he breathes, tone sounding brittle in his own ears. “Just do it.”

 

He sees you wince before you brace yourself. Ever the leader, doing what must be done. Your hands rest on him gently, but firm. Warm. Comforting, despite the circumstances. He wants those beautiful, lively hands to touch him again after all this. He wants to savor it. To feel them carding through his curls. To rest gently on his arm to catch his attention. To pull him in close, a secret for him alone dancing on your lips. He wants to- he doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He just knows-

 

He cries out sharply when you turn him onto his back, the pain rocketing his thoughts out of his musings.

 

“I’m sorry,” you grimace, eyes scanning over his torso, cataloging the damage. 

 

Carmine eyes are glazed with agony, but he fights to stay conscious. He grunts when you move him again, swiftly tucking your legs underneath you. His head lays in your lap, face tilted skyward and ivory neck lengthened by the newly created slope of your legs. A healing potion appears at his lips, your hand holding firm as you tip it towards him.

 

Normally he’d have some smart comment, he’s sure. Something about being a damsel in distress, perhaps. Or maybe something about how this isn’t what he means when he says he wants to take a drink from you. But exhaustion takes hold, and he follows your lead mutely.

 

The effect is instantaneous; the healing potion is a glorious balm for his wounds. The pain numbs to a background throb, much easier to withstand. The gashes across his stomach begin to seal, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. Astarion sighs through his nose, relief radiating through him down to his fingertips.

 

The rain has abated to a lazy drizzle. It’s the only reason Astarion can hear your faint confession.

 

“You… you scared the shit out of me, Astarion,” your voice wobbles, such a far cry from the fearlessness he is accustomed to hearing from you. He blinks up at you, his gaze taking in your anxious expression as you lean over him. Seeing your expressive concern for his well being is still something he's getting used to.

 

He finishes the potion, licking the remnants from his pale lips as you pull the vial away.

“Apologies, my sweet,” his voice comes out stronger than before, but roughened from his earlier painful overuse. “You know I have a flair for dramatics. What better way to keep things lively than almost dying. Again,” he does his best to smirk, to don the mask of devil-may-care that comes so easily to him.

 

“Gods above, Astarion. ‘Dramatics’? That’s all you have to say? You were nearly gone when I got here. I was almost too late,” your voice tapers off, ending in a near whisper.

 

He blinks again, shocked. The facade slides off his face. Truth be told, your vulnerability is making him… uneasy. He doesn’t know what to say. Why are you so distressed? This is hardly the first time one of the group has come up gravely injured. He doubts it will be the last.

 

He will recover eventually, as he always does following a particularly nasty battle. It may take a little extra healing from Shadowheart, and a belly full of blood would absolutely go a long way in fast tracking the process. But regardless, his body will endure.

He’s painfully aware that his usefulness has… limitations. It extends to his body alone. His battle prowess, his dexterous fingers, his ability to deliver pleasure. But that’s it. He has nothing substantial to offer you. No worldly possessions, no powerful connections, just… himself. His biting nature, both literally and figuratively. His trauma, broken pieces with razor sharp edges. He's not even sure if you are interested in something like this with him, something deeper. No, he thinks. No one could want this. Not truly. His growing feelings for you are one sided, of that he is certain.

 

But then you throw his world off its axis again.

 

“I can't- I can't lose you. You mean the absolute world to me.” 

 

His eyes soften, rounding out as he searches your gaze. For what, he’s not entirely sure. Deceit? Twisted humor? But all he finds is tenderness along with the shine of unshed tears.

You pause for a moment, swallowing. He can see you're trying to continue so he waits, eyes rapt.

“I would miss how you always manage to make me laugh, even when I'm having a horrible day. And getting to hear your laugh in exchange when I do something you find particularly impish,” your serious expression finally gives way to a small amused smile. ”The little sweets you sneak into my bag whenever you manage to get your hands on some, just because you know I love them.”

 

Astarion's eyes widen imperceptibly. Shit. He didn't realize you knew he was the sweets supplier. It was…nice for him. To be able to provide you something you enjoy and a brief respite from all the weight on your shoulders. If only for a moment. To see the stress evaporate from your face for the few minutes it took you to chew. You'd only indulge every so often, when camp was quiet and nothing urgently needed your attention. He'd watch silently from his peripheral vision on occasion, not wanting to ruin your contentment but also needing to witness it for himself.

 

But he hadn't exactly wanted to mentally unpack what this absurd little habit of his might mean beyond the superficial. Hence, the secrecy. He was going to eviscerate whichever loudmouth at camp had clued you in. 

 

“You're there for me, in ways that I could never begin to fully describe. I know we don't always agree entirely, but I'm never afraid to tell you how I feel, or what I think. Because at the end of the day we'll still support each other,” you glance away briefly, and he sees the heated flush on your cheeks. 

 

Embarrassment. Always so delicious to him. For anyone else it means he'd get to loosen his tongue on some provoking quips. How he loves to rile people up from time to time. But now, he finds it enticing for an entirely different reason. Gods, you're beautiful. 

 

You find your courage again quickly, making eye contact with him once more. “I could probably go on, but what I'm saying is… I would miss you endlessly. I can't do this without you.”

What a novel concept. To be wanted, needed beyond anything he could provide carnally. To be desired purely for his presence will take some adjusting. But, if you truly believe everything you said about him, then who is he to disagree? Maybe there is some truth in what you say. If you can see some good in his wretched soul, then perhaps he can try too.

 

“I'm… I'm not going anywhere, my love,” he promises.

 

It flows from his lips so naturally, ‘my love'. It hadn't even been a conscious thought. Anxiety spikes in his gut at the admission, his mind already beginning to spiral. Love? Is that what this is developing into? He doesn't know how to tell; there's no past memories in his mind to pull reference from. 

 

But the smile that splits your lips at his vow is radiant, and he finds that his racing thoughts slow immeasurably. Regardless of the unintentional reveal, the moniker fits. He feels it in whatever remains of his soul. 

 

He smiles then, all honey and warmth. For you.

 

“I'll be here long after you tire of me, I'm sure. Vampires always tend to overstay their welcome, you know,” he jests softly, voice lacking his usual edge. 

 

You gasp quietly and he recognizes it as the familiar sound of you remembering something.

 

“I’m so sorry, Astarion. You've just reminded me, I can't remember the last time you've eaten,” you immediately brandish your wrist, pulling your sleeve up. 

 

He freezes, the roiling, constant hunger in his gut flaring at the sight of your wrist. He knows how close the veins are to the surface there, just how deliciously easy it would be to sink his teeth into that soft skin. His mouth waters at the thought. But he is no animal, and neither are you for that matter. He comes back to himself, muscles uncoiling and gaze connecting with yours again.

 

“I appreciate the offer, darling. But you need your strength. Moonrise Tower won't storm itself, and having our fearless leader stumbling over their own two feet along the way won't instill much terror in our foes, will it?”

 

He can't bring himself to say the truth in its entirety aloud. He truly doesn't want to weaken you before the battle at Moonrise. But it has less to do with fearsome appearances and entirely more to deal with your safety. His feedings always take a toll on you. You smile and wave him off every time, but he sees the effects. Reflexes just a touch slower than usual, stamina not quite up to par with the rest of the group. 

 

It's not your fault he's starving. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about his lack of successful hunts since arriving in the Shadowlands. And you were absolutely overwhelmed with everything going on. Between the deadly shadow curse, Ketheric Thorm, and the Absolute, it was a miracle you could ever focus on anything else. No. He doesn't blame you. He wants you to be okay.

 

He can't be the reason you become injured, or worse.

 

But you insist, your wrist gravitating closer to his plush lips and aching canines. 

 

“I'll be okay, I promise. I'll even ask Shadowheart for a little healing incantation if I really need to. Please, you need to be healthy too,” you plead, eyes doing just as much of the convincing as your words. 

 

He breaks. He might be embarrassed at how quickly he bends to your will if he wasn't so hungry. 

 

His hands close gently over you, one a little ways up your forearm and the other on your hand. You know it's to hold you steady when he bites, but the way his cool thumb runs pleasing circles into your palm sends shivers coursing through you. He presses a kiss to your inner wrist, featherlight and fleeting, but it lights a fire under your skin all the same.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs before his fangs pierce your flesh. He is as gentle as possible, retracting his canines from the wound immediately. He keeps his lips attached to your wrist, sucking in a saccharine mouthful.

 

He’s uncertain of how much time passes while he drinks, or when his eyes drifted shut, but the feeling of your fingertips sweeping his soaked curls off his forehead pulls him from his reverie. He finishes his feeding, tongue caressing the new puncture wounds as they begin to clot.

 

His irises are vibrant now, a livelier red more akin to a pulsing wound than the darkened burgundy shade they become when he is ravenous. 

 

“You're wrong, by the way,” you begin softly. “When you said I'd tire of you. I could never.”

 

He would look back on this night later on and distinguish it as the exact moment his dead heart began beating once more. But for now, he smiles up at you- one full of genuine adoration.

 

“The feeling is mutual,” he murmurs, unwilling to shatter the moment. His tone is low, husky. More sincere than he's heard his own voice sound in centuries. Despite all that had occurred this evening, he finds a bone deep contentment in himself. He could stay here for a decade in the comfort of your arms.

 

A few moments later, however, the world kickstarts back into motion, voices carrying on the wind to your positions and popping the seclusion around the two of you.

 

Your head perks up at the sound, eyes scanning through the darkness.

 

“Ah, must be the others looking for us,” your attention returns to Astarion. “Think you can make it back? I can help if you'd like.”

 

He can definitely walk on his own, the potion and your invigorating blood have him feeling almost as good as new. But the idea of feeling the curve of your body pressed into his side is too intoxicating to turn down. So he won't. 

 

He breathes deep and nods, resolve settling into his very being.

 

“Yes, I think I've had quite enough of this mud bath. Darling?” He pauses, it's now or never. “After we settle back in at camp, come find me when you have a moment. Please. I think we need to talk.”

-

a/n: Thank you for reading! <3

[chishiyaisasnack]

Watch me

Here’s the small thingy I wrote for you anon! Sub! chishiya was really hard for me to imagine so it didn’t come out the way I wanted to, but I still want to post it. I hope you like it! (I’m working on a more detailed one for the Dare series but it’s taking forever).

Disclaimer! This is very nsfw and pure smut. Sub! Chishiya x dom! fem reader. It’s not very realistic either haha. As usual, be safe and use a condom irl.

It’s written and posted on mobile so I apologize for any errors or formatting issues.

God, he was pretty like this. Laying on his back, arms tied together over his head, his hair a mess over the pillows below him. His skin was glistening with beads of sweat and every time you tasted it you just wanted more. His whole body was trembling as he tried so hard to be good for you, to get you to finally touch him.

His futile attemps to get out of the satin restraints tying his hands to the bed was getting fewer as the minutes went on. They looked good on him, red on pale skin, leaving marks for everyone to see tomorrow. His cheeks matched the red colour, exhaustion covering them as he panted.

”Ugh.. y/n, please..”

Your name sounded so good when it left his lips. His moans had turned into whimpers, his demands into begging. Begging for you to touch him, begging for you to let him come, begging for you to sink down on his cock and draw out every drop of cum in him. But you didn’t.

His cock was so hard, oozing with precum that pooled on his stomach as you neglected it. Your fingers were on yourself, circling your clit, pleasuring yourself while he watched. If he was good, if he whined for you in that lovely way that only he could, he got to feel how wet you were, grinding on his thigh, showing him what he was missing out on.

You never missed a chance to praise him, to tell him how good he was and how pretty he looked for you. You used your hands to stroke over his body, caressing every part of him except for where he wanted to be touched, thanking him for being so lovely. You couldn’t help but to move down and kiss and lick stripes up his torso, leaving him begging for you to do the same to his cock.

He was shivering below you as you moved up to hover over his mouth, and then attacked your pussy with his tounge, like he was dying of thirst and only you could save him. You rocked your hips, using his mouth for what it was the best at. His tounge went deep inside you, fucking you, curling to press on every good spot he could reach. Fuck, you couldn’t help but to push his face closer, to tangle your hands in his hair and grip it like it was the only thing holding you to the bed.

He was gasping for air when you got off him, face wet from you, lips tired and eyes hopeful that finally, finally you’d touch his cock as a reward. He should’ve known better.

When you slid your way back down you made sure to hover over his cock for just a second, to make him think that you would give in. The desperation in his eyes when you continued to move down his body made you chuckle. You watched as he once again tried to pull his hands free, and once again failing to do so.

”Hmm, do you really want me to fuck you that bad, Chishiya? Do you want to see your cum dripping out of me?” You watched as he shivered under you, his whole body begging for you.

”Or do you rather want me to suck you off? To let you cum in my mouth?” He let out a groan that sounded like he was on the verge of tears. You ignored his pleas and drew a line over his v-line with your finger.

”Maybe I’ll just leave you like this. You look so fucking good right now. So good for me.” Your words mixed with your touch made his cock twitch and you were so tempted to lean forward and place a kiss on it. Not yet.

”I even brought you a gift today” you told him and reached behind you and picked up your favourite bullet vibrator, one that had never failed to make you come. This time it wasn’t going to fail to drive Chishiya to the edge, you would make sure of that. His eyes turned wide open when you turned the vibrator on on the lowest setting, holding it in the air like you were inspecting it closely. His back arched when you dragged it along the middle of his chest, from the center of his collar bone and down just above his navel. A moan left his mouth when you moved it in circles over a nipple, suprised to see how sensitive he was there. You used the tip of your tounge to flick over the second one, pulling out another groan from him. Finishing with a bite that was going to leave a nice mark on him, you rose back up and let the vibrator continue its journey over his body. You layed it flat as you moved it to his hip, then using only its tip when moving down the v-line towards his cock. He rocked up into the sensation, instantly trying to get more, but you didn’t let him. You continued down his inner thigh, just to move back up and placing it right below his balls without touching anything but his thigh. You watched his eyes roll back in his head as the vibrations spread over him.

”Do you want it? Do you want to come with my favourite toy?” Teasingly you drew tiny circles on his skin with it. He was so on edge, not knowing if you were finally going to give him what he wished for or if you were going to take it away. You, however, knew exactly what was going to happen.

You removed the vibrator completely off him and was rewarded by a needy whimper and a barely audiable ’please’. He probably didn’t know what he wanted anymore, he just wanted to be touched and didn’t care how. Just as you liked it.

”I lied, this isn’t my favourite toy.” You said while looking at him fondly. ”You are. I love fucking myself on you. I love seeing how bad you want to drive into me, how bad you want to bend me over and fuck me into pieces. I love to see the look on your face when I use your cock as my own dildo. And I know that you love it too.”

Then you put the vibrator on the base of his cock and Chishiya sounded like he was going to explode.

”Y/n… fuck. It’s too much.” He whimpered while trying to both move away from the toy and to let you use it on him.

”I know you can take it. You’re doing so well.” You answered, letting your eyes move between his hips and his face - to make sure that he could in fact take it. You had a safeword and you trusted him to say it if he wanted to stop. No matter what the reason behind it was. You always told him how it would never disappoint you or make you angry if he said it. And you believed him when he promised that he would be honest with you. That trust made it so intimate, you felt closer to him that you ever thought that you could.

With a smile on your face you moved up and placed yourself on top of the vibrator, sandwiching it between your clit and Chishiyas cock. His breathing became heavier, probably from seeing you on top of him, desperately hoping that you’d sit down on him instead.

”Ahh, I could come like this. All over you, getting you all nice and wet.” You gave him an amused look. The despair on his face was always so nice to watch. You felt so desired, so wanted, and it felt incredible. It filled your body with warmth and affection, affection only for him.

”But it would feel much better coming on your cock.”

”Please, let me make you come.” Chishiya pleaded in a hurry, trying to move his upper body towards you.

”I can make you come so hard, so good. Please.” His voice was trembling with need, the need to be good. The need for you.

”You want to see me come?” You answered him, still grinding against the vibrator that felt so good against you both. Chishiya huffed out a ’yes’ and his whole face was painted with anticiption. You smiled and the hope in his eyes immediately left as he understood that he wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

”Okay, I’ll come for you. Since you are being so good to me.”

You raised your hips, making sure that the vibrator left Chishiyas body and only touched you from now on. He wasn’t happy to lose the only stimulation he had and you watched as he grieved the loss of the vibrations by rolling his hips up, chasing the touch he desperately wanted. You were prepared every time he tried to push up into you, knowing his body and moves so well that you could do it in your sleep. Instead of punishing him for it you let him get away with it this time, he had been so good so far so you decided to let it go. Only this time though.

You bent forward and placed a hand on his neck, putting your thumb on his throat. No pressure at all, just laying there as a reminder of who was in charge here.

”Then watch me.” You sat back up and closed your eyes, letting the wonderful feeling between your legs fill your body, while the pants from Chishiya filled

your ears. It didn’t take long for you to come, and you did so while moaning his name, hearing his breath hitch as a response.

You must have grown soft because when your breathing finally stabilized you leaned down and pressed your lips against his. You felt his arms yank the ropes in another attempt to touch you while your mouths opened to let your tounges intertwine. You kissed him deep, letting him carry you away with his soft movements that were coated with desire. He was inhaling every movement, pouring his all into your lips, relishing in the love you gave him. Then sighed when you moved your head back to hover right above his. You stayed there, breathing into his mouth and gazed into his brown eyes.

”You’re doing so well, Chishiya. Thank you.”

With a final kiss you rose up and moved back down his body. Without hesitating you lined up his cock under you and sank down onto it.

The groan Chishiya let out almost sounded painful, and if it wasn’t for the twitching of his cock, the way his back arched and the feeling of warmth filling your insides you might have thought he was hurt. He came hard, his cum filling you up as you clenched around him. You let him buck into you, pushing himself in as far as he could as he emptied himself.

”Did it feel that good?” You hummed, caressing his cheek with your hand when he was coming down from his high. He looked exhausted, his chest heaving while trying to find enough air to fill his lungs. Then you rolled your hips.

”I’m sorry.. Ugh.. I couldn’t.. you feel so good” Chishiya pleaded.

”Do you like being inside me that much?” You kept teasing him. ”Think you can come for me again?” You ground down on him with the next roll of your hips, his eyes rolling back into his head from the overstimulation. He was still really sensitive, but you didn’t care.

”Y/n.. please… too much..” he whined, but still not asking you to stop.

”Hmm, but I just started. I thought you wanted me to fuck you. That’s what you’ve been begging for all night.” You kept riding him, slow rolls of your hips, dragging his cock back and forth inside you. His legs were shaking and his fists clenched tight as he fought through the overstimulation.

He was panting, chest raising and falling in hurries movements, and tried his hardest to keep his hips from moving away from you.

”I know that you can handle it. Let me take care of you Chishiya.” You placed your hands on his chest, using it to steady yourself as you started to move up and down instead.

He groaned as he shut his eyes and rolled his head back into the pillows. Your hand was in his hair only a second later, pulling his head back up so that he was looking at you again.

”Watch me.” You told him while letting go of his hair, caressing his cheek, then placing the hand back on his chest as you picked up your pace. ”Watch me as I fuck myself on you.”

His moaning sounded like music to your ears, every bounce on his cock drew out a different sound.

”Shit, I’m coming again” Chishiya hissed. ”Please, come with me. Let me touch you y/n.” His stuttered under your as he tried his best to stop himself from thrusting up into you. He knew what would happen if he did.

”But I’m not ready yet.” You cooed, not slowing down. ”You can come, but I won’t stop until I come too.” Instead of giving him a chance to stop himself, you clenched hard around his cock, making him moan as he released himself inside you once more. You stopped your movements to give him a chance to breathe, while looking down and watched as your mixed liquids pooled at the base of his cock, making it so wet and slippery.

”Look what a mess you’ve made.” You ran a finger through it, collected the liquids, and then used it to easily run your finger over your clit as your hips went back to slowly rock back and forth on him.

”Y/n…. Please … fuck, please let me make you come.” Chishiya was visibly exhausted, but he didn’t tell you to stop so you kept going. You kept rolling your hips, kept making his cock slide deliciously inside you while you touched yourself, and kept loving the sounds coming

out of Chishiyas mouth. You were close too, feeling that warm feeling in your core heating up even more, tightening and waiting to break loose. Chishiya always felt amazing inside you, he fit so perfectly, reaching all the right spots, just as he did right now.

”Mmm.. Chishiya… Can you give me one more?” You closed your eyes and just listened to his groan, the perfect response. You clenched tighter around him and moved your hips a bit faster.

”I.. y/n… please.” He begged, barely able to form words anymore.

You could barely believe that he went through this much for you. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was so gentle, so fragile and he only let you see that side of him. Only you, no one else. Feeling a surge of warm emotions you reached up over his head and swiftly untied his hands.

”Touch me Chishiya.” You whispered, taking one of his hands in yours, braiding your fingers together. His other hand went straight to your clit and you let him take over.

Two more rolls of your hips and one long groan from Chishiya was all it took for both of you to finally share an orgasm so strong that you couldn’t hold yourself upright. You leaned down over him, placing your forehead against his as you both weakly moved your hips in unison to try and bring out every ounce of pleasure as you could. Your breaths and moans mixed from how close your lips were, far too out of breath to kiss, but too captivated by eachother to not stay that close. His eyes were staring back into yours, tired and barely open, but still so dark and sparkling beneath his lashes that you never wanted to look away. He was so beautiful.

You stayed there for a while, just catching your breaths. Chishiyas hands were stroking your back while you used one to hold yourself up so he could breathe, and one to brush over his cheek and jaw.

”How are you feeling?” you finally asked him and lift your face up a bit to see his reaction.

”Great.” He smirked, showing you that he, thankfully, wasn’t passing out anytime soon.

You rolled off him and laid down on your side, facing him as he did the same and put his arms around your waist. You grabbed one of his hands and held it up in front of you.

”Do your wrists hurt?” You ran a finger over where the rope had been, a red line covering a small part of it. You couldn’t wait to stare at it all day tomorrow.

”They’re fine.” he answered as you placed a kiss on the redness before letting him put the arm back around you. You shuffled your way closer to him, burying your head under his, letting his breath tickle your hair. ”Next time I’m going to make you regret this.”

[cerberuscomms]

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟗𝟑 –– 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌.

below are lyrics from the artist halsey, from her albums room 93, badlands, and hopeless fountain kingdom. feel free to change pronouns to fit the ask better! tw for s*xual innuendos/situations/content, drug references, and mental health issues. if you could please give the post a like / reblog, that'd be great! it helps to spread the resource around. this was also made without using a traditional bullet list format to help out mobile users who have been having a hard time copying/pasting from them!

&. ❛ flashing those eyes like highway signs. ❜

& .❛ light one up and hand it over. ❜

& . ❛ i promised myself i wouldn't let you complete me. ❜

& . ❛ i didn't mean to fall in love tonight. ❜

& . ❛ you're looking like you fell in love tonight. ❜

& . ❛ can we pretend that we're in love? ❜

& . ❛ feel like we've been falling down like these autumn leaves. ❜

& . ❛ don't let winter come, don't let our hearts freeze. ❜

& . ❛  would you bleed for me? lick it off my lips like you needed me? ❜

& . ❛  i bet you kiss your knuckles right before they touch my cheek. ❜  

& . ❛ would you lie for me? cross your sorry heart and die for me? ❜

& . ❛ i wouldn't leave you if you let me. ❜

& . ❛ now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. ❜

& . ❛ already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it. ❜

& . ❛  there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut. ❜

& . ❛ if you want to break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised. ❜

& . ❛ my demons are begging me to open up my mouth. ❜

& . ❛ i sold my soul to a three piece, and he told me i was holy. ❜

& . ❛ what kind of dough have you been spending? ❜

& . ❛ what kind of bubblegum have you been blowing lately? ❜

& . ❛ all we do is think about the feelings that we hide. ❜

& . ❛ all we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign. ❜

& . ❛ sick and full of pride. ❜

& . ❛ california never felt like home to me until i had you on the open road and now we're singing. ❜

& . ❛ would it really kill you if we kissed? ❜

& . ❛ i remember the fear in your eyes. ❜

& . ❛ could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive to queens? ❜

& . ❛ because i remember the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the backseat. ❜

& . ❛ you're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope. ❜

& . ❛ you're dripping like a saturated sunrise. ❜

& . ❛ i know i've only felt religion when i lied with you. ❜

& . ❛ everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink. ❜

& . ❛ how your hands felt in my hair, if we were high on amphetamines. ❜

& . ❛ we chain smoked until three. ❜

& . ❛ you gripped my hips so mean. ❜

& . ❛ they know you walk like you're a god –– they can't believe i made you weak. ❜

& . ❛ when his hair falls in his face and his hands so cold they shake. ❜

& . ❛ his lips like tangerine and his color coded speak. ❜

& . ❛ i'm such a fool for sacrifice. ❜

& . ❛ every single time make a compromise. ❜

& . ❛ i was pure as a river but now i think i'm possessed. ❜

& . ❛ you put a fever inside me and i've been cold since you left. ❜

& . ❛ you've got your mistakes in a bed back home. ❜

& . ❛ you've got a fire inside but your heart's so cold. ❜

& . ❛ i've done some things that i can't speak. ❜

& . ❛ i try to wash you away but you just won't leave. ❜

& . ❛ i came here so you'd come for me. ❜

& . ❛ i'm begging you to keep on haunting me. ❜

& . ❛ do people whisper about you on the train like me? ❜

& . ❛ you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me. ❜

& . ❛ you can't wake up; this is not a dream. ❜

& . ❛ i think there's a flaw in my code. ❜

& . ❛ these voices won't leave me alone. ❜

& . ❛ i sat alone in bed 'til the morning; i'm crying: 'they're coming for me'. ❜

& . ❛ i tried to hold these secrets inside me. ❜

& . ❛ i can't help this awful energy. ❜

& . ❛ i couldn't stand the person inside me; i turned all the mirrors around. ❜

& . ❛ i'm meaner than my demons. ❜

& . ❛ drowning the thoughts out with the sounds. ❜

& . ❛ don't get cut on my edges. ❜

& . ❛ my tongue is a weapon ❜

& . ❛ if you want to go to heaven you should fuck me tonight. ❜

& . ❛ i find myself alone at night unless i'm having sex. ❜

& . ❛ he can make me golden if i just show some respect. ❜

& . ❛ if i keep my eyes closed he looks just like you. ❜

& . ❛ can you hear my heartbeat fuckin' kicking? ❜

& . ❛ you call me 'sweet thing'. ❜

& . ❛ this is heaven in hiding. ❜

& . ❛ when you start to look at me, a physical fatality. ❜

& . ❛ i can tell you mean it 'cause you're shaking. ❜

& . ❛ as soon as you meet me, you'll wish that you never did. ❜

& . ❛ i got a problem with parties 'cause it's loud in my brain. ❜

& . ❛ i want you to love me now or never. ❜

& . ❛ i can sometimes treat the people that i love like jewelry. ❜

& . ❛ i can't believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me. ❜

& . ❛ i run away when things are good. ❜

& . ❛ i never really understood the way you laid your eyes on me in ways that no one ever could. ❜

& . ❛ so it seems i broke your heart; my ignorance has struck again. ❜

& . ❛ someone will love you, but someone isn't me. ❜

& . ❛ i gave you the messiest head. ❜

& . ❛ i think you make me a maniac. ❜

& . ❛ i'm thinking, 'damn if these walls could talk'. ❜

& . ❛ i'm about halfway through a cabernet. ❜

& . ❛ told my new roommate not to let you in, but you're so damn good with a bobby pin. ❜

& . ❛ now you're going to play me like a violin, hitting these notes. ❜

& . ❛ i told him i never really liked his friends. ❜

& . ❛ i always make the same mistakes because i'm bad at love. ❜

& . ❛ i never got the chance to make her mine because she fell in love with little thin white lines. ❜

& . ❛ we're not lovers, we're just strangers with the same damn hunger. ❜

& . ❛ i woke up to another mess in the living room, broken bottles all around my feet. ❜

& . ❛ they talk and drink and laugh about things and fall in love in my backyard. ❜

& . ❛ i'm faded away; you know i used to be on fire. ❜

& . ❛ i'm standing in the ashes of who i used to be. ❜

& . ❛ i flew too close to the sun that's setting in the east. ❜

& . ❛ now i'm melting from my wings. ❜

& . ❛ it's my own anxiety that makes the conversation hard. ❜

& . ❛ i still let everyone down when i change in size. ❜

& . ❛ i went tumbling down trying to reach your high. ❜

& . ❛ i scream too loud if i speak my mind. ❜

& . ❛ you said i'm too much to handle. ❜

[t4kara]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I'll be honest, I don't exactly know how to write any of this properly. Since this is my first time writing it will most likely be quite bad so I'm sorry if there are any spelling errors or if it doesn't make logical sense, I'm also writing on mobile so the formatting might be different on other devices than how it is for me so, please keep that in mind! However, I'm open to any criticism in the comments! Also please don't post my content anywhere else (without giving credits)!

Enjoy~

Word count: 591

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

~ Cha Hyun-su (dating) Scenario ~

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Based on Season 1:

A Blessing

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You're both sitting in the quarantine room on the couch after Hyun-su came back from getting supplies due to Eun-hyeok and some of the other survivors request, during the supply run he had gotten injured by an monster.

Although he regenerates quite quickly you still decided to place some bandages over some of the wounds that would take a little while longer to heal. He told you not to waste them since he would be healed soon enough, you insisted saying it was the least you could do for him since the others didnt seem to pay his injuries any second thought, although you knew they were just scared of him and the chance he could possibly hurt them, you thought it didn't excuse the way they were treating him.

Once you had finished bandaging his wound the two of you simply sat in a comfortable silence, while you leant your head on his shoulder and gently tracing the scars on his right wrist, his gaze was following your hands movements, you knew the story of how he had made the scars and the reason as to why. When he first told you the story of them, he expected you to look at him disgusted at how he had done that. He thought you'd see him the way he saw himself but you assured him that it wasn't his fault for doing that to himself and that you loved him regardless of his scars and in fact you had even said you found them beautiful, like you did every part of him.

You'd never forget how flustered he was in that moment you told him that his scars were beautiful, his face was bright red even his ears were too. He couldn't even look at you, far to embarrassed since he wasn't used to compliments in general, yet one about something such as his scars, something so personal to him had made his brain go into overdrive and he had became a complete flustered mess. (although of course you couldn't complain because he looked adorable)

You were just subconsciously tracing his scars with your fingertips. You hadn't yet noticed how his eyes had shifted from watching your hands movement to simply admiring your face, the way your lips looked so soft, the gentle expression that your face held, the unspoken love that was swirling around your (beautiful) eyes.

He was sure of it at this point, you came into his live at the toughest of times, like a small light that had chased away a darkness that was trying to consume his soul and mind, he was convinced you was a blessing sent by a unknown god that had heard his silent prayers for something, someone, to save him. He was forever grateful for whatever god had sent you. He felt as if he didn't deserve you but he didn't want to let you go, he didn't know if that made him selfish but rightfully he didn't care either, he was grateful to have someone like you, someone like an angel and he was even more grateful that you had chosen him to hold your heart, to keep it safe.

He was sure that you were his one and only, his other half, his light to his own darkness that plagued his soul, you were his reason to survive, even if he was infected you was his reason to try and survive this new formed world. As corny as that sounded in his mind, he was sure that was the case.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

END

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I have no real idea if this even makes any logical sense since I finished writing this at around 3am on a friday! But if it does and you'd like more leave a comment and a heart! (Or don't nobody will force you too!) Please remember not to copy or repost my work on any other sites and claim it as your own thank you!

Have a good night/day, lovelies!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ~ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[wobblyficwriter]

I'm posting this from my tablet, and I'm struggling with formatting. Also, this is my first ever fic. Please be gentle, though polite constructive criticism is welcome.

Firefighter Next Door

You cut your hand and bang on your neighbours door in a panic.

Trigger warnings: Blood, injury, anxiety attack.

You bang on your neighbours door frantically, praying he was home. His car was there but you weren't sure when he'd gotten home. You hoped you weren't waking him up just as he'd come home from a shift.

The door opens after a minute and a sleepy looking man stood there with a questioning look on his face.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! I've woken you up!" You babble in a panic. "I-I should have just taken the bus or cab to urgent care!" You keep talking in your panicked state, not looking up at the man in front of you, but down at your heavily bleeding hand. Just as you're getting to your third round of apologies he speaks over you.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! What can I do for you?" He asks before following your gaze down to your hand. Upon seeing it he reaches down and gently takes your wrist in his hand, bringing it up to inspect it. He quickly invites you in, guiding you to his kitchen table and sitting you down. By this point you're pale and starting to have trouble taking a breath, tears welling in your eyes.

He notices but decides to run and get the first aid kit from the bathroom before calming you down. It takes him less than a minute to return, he places the kit on the table and crouches in front of you.

"Alright" he says as he takes your injured hand in his own after putting on some gloves. "I need you to take a breath. You're having an anxiety attack." He speaks calmly in a soft voice so as not to overwhelm you. "You're okay, breathe with me." He takes a deliberate slow breath, looking you in the eyes as he does. He takes a couple more before you're able to copy him. After you've taken a couple he counts to four, then tells you to hold for a count of four before telling you to breathe out again.

He does this a few more times, and it isn't until you've calmed your breathing that you realise that he's also been cleaning up your hand the whole time. The bleeding seems to have slowed and he was currently inspecting the cut to make sure there was nothing in there.

"How'd this happen?" He was still speaking in that calming voice while he reached with his other hand to grab a dressing and bandage from the kit.

"I was doing the dishes and I dropped a knife…. Then caught it, by the blade.." you looked down at the floor, feeling stupid now that the panic had worn off. "I'm so sorry I banged on your door like that.. I should have just dealt with it myself, I just saw the blood and panicked. I don't drive so I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry I woke you up for this."

Your speech was getting faster as you went, almost talking yourself into another panic attack.

"Hey, it's okay, I promise. I'm glad you came here rather than pass out on public transport. I'm Eddie, can I get your name?"

You looked up at his face again and saw that he was smiling as he finished wrapping up your hand and securing it.

"Y/n" you mumbled.

"Alright y/n, it's nice to meet you. It doesn't look like you've done too much damage, it should heal up on its own, no stitches, but if you're worried you should head to urgent care to get it looked at. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, juice, water?" He removed his gloves and started to clear up the gauze and wrappings scattered around the table.

"Just water, please." You spoke quietly, still a little embarrassed. He nodded, tossing the wrappers and gauze in the bin before filling a glass and setting it in front of you.

"Are you okay? Not hurt anywhere else?" You shake your head to let him know you're not hurt anywhere else. He found himself assessing you out of reflex. He sits on the chair beside yours and reaches to your wrist to check your pulse while he watches you breathe. Once he's satisfied that you're no longer panicking, he lets go of your wrist and smiles at you reassuringly.

"Honestly, it really is okay that you knocked on my door. You're welcome to come to me for help anytime. I've not seen you around before, did you just move here?"

You nodded again and took a sip of water before speaking. "Yeah, I moved in last week. I've seen you a few times, firefighter, right?"

He smiles and nods. "Yeah firehouse 118, before that I was a medic in the army, so this really was the perfect door to bang on. How's the hand feeling? I can grab you some Tylenol if it's hurting too much."

You shake your head. "It actually doesn't hurt too much right now, just stings a little."

He nods again. "Yeah, I bet. Look, you're welcome to bang on my door anytime you need help, or even if you just want some company, but… I just came off a 24 hour shift, and if you're okay, I really need some sleep." He says apologetically.

You nod and jump up. "Of course! I'm sorry again for waking you, thank you so much for your help!"

"Don't mention it." He smiles as he walks you to the door. "I can come by later, if you like, to check on you, and maybe lend you an extra hand if you need it? You shouldn't do much with that hand for the next couple of days, you don't want to reopen the cut."

"I'd like that, thank you, Eddie, sweet dreams." You smile and walk off to your own house as he waves and shuts the door. You could get used to having a firefighter as a neighbour.

[sapphiresgarden]

oh my god i just KNOWW furina is the best at dancing a waltz.

such a fine lady she is. <3

summary ☾⋆⁺₊ how would dancing with her look like, you ask? notes ☾⋆⁺₊ furina x gn!reader, this work is meant to be read as sapphic. very short drabble + hcs. can be read as a second part of this post. and omg anon you are SO RIGHT. i wrote 90% of this at night and just formatted later in the morning so it is terrible not proofread AJSHSJ men dni.

Given lady Furina's dramatics, you expected her to try to show off while dancing, try to make herself the main attraction but... it turns out she was a great, great dancing partner.

She led you carefully, a gentle but firm hand on your back while smiling at you all the time. She twirled you with a laugh, and you couldn't help but laugh too, enjoying the dance far more than with anyone else in the ballroom.

You weren't the best at dancing, but with Furina holding your hand and leading you across the floor, it felt so natural that you didn't worry about misplacing your feet or tripping.

And despite not even trying, she still caught everyone's attention with how happy she seemed while dancing with you.

→ just imagine her dancing. so effortlesly leading you across the floor... she wouldn't mind letting you lead, but i feel like majority of the time it's would be her in the lead. i think she'd be happy just dancing with you! it's such a fun thing to do, maybe one of her favorites to do together <3

→ if you don’t know how to dance a waltz, she’s happy to teach you the steps and once you fall into the rhythm, she'd remind you to not worry about misplacing your feet and keep your eyes on her, voice dropping a little lower, just between you two. did your heart just skipped a beat? you think it did.

→ she wouldn’t let you fall if you happen to trip, instead she would secure you and totally make it look as if it was a part of the dance all the time. yes, you were meant to twirl right now and then step here. yes, it was planned. she liked being a little extra, so what wrong in adding a little more to the dance?

(you didn't miss how she told you to be careful, though, because she doesn't want you to trip and fail, alright? that'd be no good. her voice was really pretty, a thought passed your mind. you wished to hear it more.)

→ do you think she talks while dancing? because i think she does. she’d be so happy to dance with you, it'd be hard to stay quiet and so she wouldn't. you'd probably get distracted by her voice and colorful words, but it's alright.

→ the move where the leading dancer twirls their partner is her favorite. if she was leading, she'd think that you looked really pretty during this move and she would grin, compliments slipping past her mouth. if you were leading, she would laugh and think how funny it is, to twirl around the room while holding your hand.

→ be it in the privates of her room or in front of everyone, if furina gets the chance to dance with you, she will take it and enjoy it to the fullest. please, indulge this little lady!

[books-and-strawberry-tea]

New Words this Year(ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Thanks to my kindle, its easy for me to keep track of new words I come across while reading. I look at the definitions and keep the word highlighted for later. So here are some of the words I came across this year that I either have heard but dont know what they mean, or new words entirely.

Tumblr seriously hated me while I was making this post. Nothing but problems. Wouldn’t let me post it. Undoing all my formatting multiple times. So if you see any mistakes please let me know 🥹 (ugh it’s gotten rid of my numbered dot points too. I’m so sorry this post is a nightmare)

The Scarlet Veil ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Egad

Expressing surprise, anger, or affirmation. First recorded in 1665–75; euphemistic alteration of oh God!

Herculean

Requiring great strength or effort. 1590–1600; < Latin Hercule ( us ) of, belonging to Hercules + -an. Digging the tunnel was a herculean task.

A Court of Thorns and Roses ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Conflagration

an extensive fire which destroys a great deal of land or property. A destructive fire, usually an extensive one.

First recorded in 1545–55; from Latin conflagrātiōn- (stem of conflagrātiō ), equivalent to conflagrāt(us), past participle of conflagrāre “to burn up”; con- ( def ), -ate 1( def ), -ion ( def ). Latin flagr- of conflagrāre is akin to fulgur “lightning,” flamma ( flame ), Greek phlóx ( phlox )

A Court of Mist and Fury ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Odious

Extremely unpleasant; repulsive. Deserving or causing hatred; hateful; detestable. Highly offensive; repugnant; disgusting.

1350–1400; Middle English from Latin odiōsus, equivalent to od(ium) “hatred,” odium + -ōsus -ous

House of Roots and Ruin ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

curlicues

A decorative curl or twist in calligraphy or in the design of an object. An ornamental, fancy curl or twist, as in a signature.

trellises

A framework of light wooden or metal bars, chiefly used as a support for fruit trees or climbing plants. late Middle English word dating back to 1425–75; trellis, -ed

Charm ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

compunction

A feeling of guilt or moral scruple that prevents or follows the doing of something bad. A feeling of uneasiness or anxiety of the conscience caused by regret for doing wrong or causing pain; contrition; remorse. Any uneasiness or hesitation about the rightness of an action.

An Education in Malice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

proffered (Proffer)

Hold out or put forward (something) to someone for acceptance. Put before someone for acceptance; offered: Thanks for all the proffered advice. He concluded that something was better than nothing, and agreed to the proffered terms. Proffer = to put before a person for acceptance; offer.

milieu

A person's social environment. Surroundings, especially of a social or cultural nature: a snobbish milieu. Synonyms: setting, sphere, background

dour

sullen; gloomy:The captain's dour look depressed us all. Synonyms: moody, sour, morose

severe; stern:His dour criticism made us regret having undertaken the job.

Scot. (of land) barren; rocky, infertile, or otherwise difficult or impossible to cultivate.

bacchantes

A female bacchant. Bacchant -

a priest, priestess, or votary of Bacchus; bacchanal.

a drunken reveler.

First recorded in 1690–1700, bacchant is from the Latin word bacchant- (stem of bacchāns, present participle of bacchārī to revel). See Bacchus, -ant

matriculate

to enroll in a college or university as a candidate for a degree.

to register (a coat of arms), used especially in Scottish heraldry. 1480–90 for earlier sense; < Medieval Latin mātrīculātus (person) listed (for some specific duty), equivalent to mātrīcul ( a ) list ( matriculant ) + -ātus -ate

peaty

Of, pertaining to, resembling, or containing the substance peat.

Peat -

a highly organic material found in marshy or damp regions, composed of partially decayed vegetable matter: it is cut and dried for use as fuel.

such vegetable matter used as fertilizer or fuel.

equivocation

the use of equivocal or ambiguous expressions, especially in order to mislead or hedge; prevarication.

an equivocal, ambiguous expression; equivoque: The speech was marked by elaborate equivocations.

Logic. a fallacy caused by the double meaning of a word.

Mephistopheles

Medieval Demonology. one of the seven chief devils and the tempter of Faust.

succinctly

In a concise or verbally brief manner: Students must demonstrate the ability to correctly and succinctly communicate research findings.

pedagogy

the function or work of a teacher; teaching.

the art or science of teaching; education; instructional methods.

tempestuous

characterized by or subject to tempests:the tempestuous ocean.

of the nature of or resembling a tempest:a tempestuous wind. Synonyms: stormy, violent

tumultuous; turbulent:a tempestuous period in history.

Temptest -

a violent windstorm, especially one with rain, hail, or snow.

a violent commotion, disturbance, or tumult.

subjugated

Subjugate -

to bring under complete control or subjection; conquer; master. Synonyms: overpower, reduce, vanquish, overcome

to make submissive or subservient; enslave. Synonyms: overpower, reduce, vanquish, overcome

magnanimous

generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness:to be magnanimous toward one's enemies. Synonyms: kindly, charitable, big

high-minded; noble:a just and magnanimous ruler.

proceeding from or revealing generosity or nobility of mind, character, etc.:a magnanimous gesture of forgiveness.

wizened

withered; shriveled:

a wizened old man; wizened features.

impervious

not permitting penetration or passage; impenetrable:The coat is impervious to rain.

incapable of being injured or impaired:impervious to wear and tear.

incapable of being influenced, persuaded, or affected:impervious to reason; impervious to another's suffering. Synonyms: closed, invulnerable

Belladonna ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

mirth

gaiety or jollity, especially when accompanied by laughter:the excitement and mirth of the holiday season.Antonyms: gloom

amusement or laughter: He was unable to conceal his mirth.

First recorded before 900; Middle English mirthe, Old English myrgth. See merry, -th

Leather & Lark ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pyroclastic

Geology.

composed chiefly of fragments of volcanic origin, as agglomerate, tuff, and certain other rocks; volcaniclastic.

First recorded in 1885–90; pyro- + clastic

Multifaceted

having many facets, as a gem.

having many aspects or phases:a multifaceted problem.

saccharine

of the nature of or resembling that of sugar:a powdery substance with a saccharine taste.

containing or yielding sugar.

very sweet to the taste; sugary:a saccharine dessert.

cloyingly agreeable or ingratiating:a saccharine personality.

exaggeratedly sweet or sentimental:a saccharine smile; a saccharine song of undying love.

nonplussed

completely puzzled or perplexed by something unexpected:She blows a hole in the wall and escapes, and the nonplussed aliens are left wondering what happened.

not dismayed; indifferent or unexcited; calm:I hadn’t yet told my girlfriend I was leaving—I didn't want to risk being crushed by a nonplussed response to the news.

First recorded in 1600–10; nonplus ( def ) + -ed 2( def )

flummoxed

Informal. utterly bewildered, confused, or puzzled:

When I walk into a store to buy video equipment and see the multitude of options, I’m befuddled and flummoxed.

The Thirteenth Child ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

wedgelette

I...I have no idea what this means and when I google it only the book comes up XD

perdition

a state of final spiritual ruin; loss of the soul; damnation.

the future state of the wicked.

hell ( def 1 ).

utter destruction or ruin.

Obsolete. loss.

The Pale Dreamer ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

mercurial

changeable; volatile; fickle; flighty; erratic:a mercurial nature.Synonyms: indecisive, inconstantAntonyms: steady, constant

animated; lively; sprightly; quick-witted.Synonyms: spiritedAntonyms: phlegmatic

pertaining to, containing, or caused by the metal mercury.

(initial capital letter) of or relating to the god Mercury.

(initial capital letter) of or relating to the planet Mercury.

milliner(s)

a person who designs, makes, or sells hats for women.

First recorded in 1520–30; variant of obsolete Milaner “native of Milan, dealer in goods from Milan” ( Milan was formerly accented on the first syllable); -er 1

haberdasher(s)

a retail dealer in men's furnishings, as shirts, ties, gloves, socks, and hats.

Chiefly British. a dealer in small wares and notions.

1275–1325; Middle English haberdasshere, of obscure origin; compare Anglo-French habredache haberdashery, hapertas perhaps a kind of cloth

trepidation

tremulous fear, alarm, or agitation; perturbation. Synonyms: disquiet, apprehension, panic, alarm, fright, fear, dread, anxiety

Archaic. trembling or quivering movement; tremor.

craven

cowardly; contemptibly timid; pusillanimous.

Synonyms: timorous, fearful, dastardly

assent

to agree or concur; subscribe to (often followed by to ):to assent to a statement. Synonyms: acquiesce

to give in; yield; concede:Assenting to his demands, I did as I was told. Synonyms: acquiesce

perfunctory

performed merely as a routine duty; hasty and superficial:perfunctory courtesy. Synonyms: uninterested, thoughtless, heedless, negligent Antonyms: diligent, careful

lacking interest, care, or enthusiasm; indifferent or apathetic:In his lectures he reveals himself to be merely a perfunctory speaker. Synonyms: uninterested, thoughtless, heedless, negligent Antonyms: diligent, careful

Spark of the Everflame ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

raucously (raucous)

harsh; strident; grating:raucous voices; raucous laughter. Synonyms: raspy, rough Antonyms: dulcet, mellow, soft

rowdy; disorderly:a raucous party.

Glow of the Everflame ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

reticence

the state of being reticent, or reserved, especially with regard to speaking freely; restraint:

His natural reticence seemed to disappear under the influence of alcohol.

apoplectic

of or relating to apoplexy or stroke.

having or inclined to apoplexy.

intense enough to threaten or cause apoplexy:an apoplectic rage.

extremely angry; furious:He became apoplectic at the mere mention of the subject.

Hopefully you learnt some new words! I definitely have!

(These words have been collected since May 2024 when I got my kindle and are whats listed in my kindle as of posting on the 29th Dec 2024.)

[abandoned-anemoia]

A Flower a Day Keeps the Sadness Away

☯ Pairing: Joshua x gn!reader, Jeonghan x gn!reader, (ft. Minghao, Seungkwan, Lee Youngji, and Itzy's Ryunjin) ☯ Genre: fluff with a tiny bit of angst, slow burn! ☯ Word count: 16k ☯ Summary: When you start receiving flowers from a secret admirer, your forced to use the hint cards attached to figure out who it may be. Struggling with your own feelings, you overlook an obvious suspect. Will you ever figure out who your secret admirer is? Or will you discover hidden feelings for someone else along the way? ☯ Warnings: Accidentally cutting your hand while cooking, cursing, Ryunjin is very flirty, uses of pet names for everyone (darling, love, sweetheart, beautiful, babe, handsome), Minghao being a menace to society, mentions of sex (jokes), allusions to murder/guns (jokes), drinking, jealousy, mention of "god" ☯ A/N: I hate that Tumblr fucks with my format, so I'm sorry if it's a bit odd looking. Please Let me know if I need to add any warnings! ☯Disclaimer: None of my work represents any of the idols included in any way. This is merely fictional and all based on my opinion as a joke! I have nothing against any of these idols and love them all dearly.

Please do not copy, translate, or post as your own!

Day 1- Monday in front of the mirror, preparing yourself for work. Rushing through your routine, you speed to the kitchen to see Jeonghan is standing by the counter, looking out the window with a mug between his hands, the steam making itself visible. His hair is done, looking well kept, and sunlight peeks through the window and bounces off of his skin, making him look as if he were glowing. He looks at you as you walk further into the room and smiles, "Good morning, Darling."

The pet name never ceases to stop you in your tracks, never being prepared for the sweet pet name to leave his lips. You turn to Jeonghan as he hands you another steaming mug, "Good morning, Love."

"Are you ready to go?" He watches as you wander around the kitchen, grabbing something you can eat quickly before gathering your things for work. You nod before tossing him the car keys and making your way to the front door.

You pull the door open, the sun not quite reaching you as you start to step onto the small porch. A flash of pink catches your eye—it being a stark contrast to the plain brown of the porch. When you look down at your feet to see a single pink flower lying on the ground, confusion hits you. Reaching down to grab the flower, noticing a small beige card with a hole punched into the corner, a piece of twine tying it to the stem. Holding the note card in your hands, it reads:

In 14 days, it will be the one year anniversary of you moving in to this house. Every flower has a meaning and you'll receive a flower a day that acts as a hint to who I am and how I feel about you.

In the language of flowers a pink Carnation represents a secret admirer.

You have to admit, the note seems a little ominous. Someone you know, or who at least knows you, has given you a flower and a hint as to who they are? It is a strange, yet oddly sweet gesture. If the card were threatening in any way you would have gone to the police, but it seems harmless enough, right?

Jeonghan simply places a hand on your back and lightly presses into you to get you to move from your spot. Shooting him a questioning look, he shrugs before walking to the car, you following not far behind.

Climbing into the passenger seat, you pull the seat belt around you as Jeonghan starts the car, pulling out of the driveway and heading down the road. Every morning, Jeonghan drives the both of you to work, dropping you off at the clothing store before driving down the street to the local coffee shop. Often, after particularly long days, you both use the car ride to decompress before getting home, only to complain about the people you both encountered when you arrive.

Holding the flower in your hand as you say goodbye to Jeonghan, you turn to enter the building that provides you with money before making your way inside. Walking your way to the back, you wet a paper towel, wrapping it around the stem of the flower before putting it with your stuff. Clocking in and settling behind the register, you start your morning conversation with your friend, "Good morning, Minghao!"

"You're very cheery today. Anything special happen?" He cocks his head to the side, wiggling his eyebrows in suggestion, a smirk playing on his lips.

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head at the man that is now leaning against the counter that separates the two of you, "If you're insinuating that I slept with Jeonghan, then no, nothing special happened. How many times do I have to tell you that he's my best friend?"

"Babe… he lives with you, makes you coffee every morning, drops you off at work, will occasionally bring you lunch, takes you back home, and he is drop dead gorgeous. He is the whole package and you expect me to think you two are 'just friends'? Yeah, no." He chastises you about your close friendship with Jeonghan, using air quotes when he says the two of you are just friends.

Before you can respond with an equally sassy response, the door opens and a few young girls walk in, beginning to look around. Minghao pouts, raising his eyebrows, silently telling you that he will be coming back to this topic later.

The day is filled with people coming in and out, stocking the shelves and racks, and the usual banter with Minghao. Time flies by, not noticing closing time ticking closer until Minghao snaps his fingers in front of your face and points to the door, "Your boyfriend's here."

Sending him a glare, you gather your things, clock out, and head out the door while waving goodbye to your friend. He waves to you as you get into the car, Jeonghan giving him a small smile as he drives the two of you home.

Jeonghan looks down to the flower resting in your lap, "I see the flower survived the day. Did you?"

"It wasn't a bad day. It moved by quite fast. How was your day?" You glance at him, noting the way his eyes never glance over to you but stay on the road.

He smiles at your question, pulling into the driveway, "It wasn't the best, but it wasn't bad so I don't really have anything to complain about."

As you both get out of the car, making your way up the few stairs to your front door, you notice Jeonghan wave at someone. You look in the direction of Jeonghan's attention, seeing your neighbors, Seungkwan and Joshua, getting home at the same time as the two of you.

This is usually how it happens–everything closes around the same time, so Seungkwan leaves the flower shop around the same time that Jeonghan leaves the cafe and you leave the clothing store. Joshua more or less makes his own schedule and usually takes Seungkwan to work in the morning and picks him up in the afternoon.

"How was your day? I noticed the cafe was pretty crowded today." Seungkwan smiles, teeth on display and eyes bright.

Jeonghan nods, chuckling lightly, "It was very busy but not all that bad."

As the two continue to talk about their day and make casual conversation, you stroll over to Joshua, who is standing with a smile on his face as Seungkwan raves about his day. Once closer to where he is, you joke with him about his job, "How was your day? Any closer to being CEO?"

The once bright and cheery smile on his face turns into a bashful one as a slight puff of air escapes through his nose, "Unfortunately, I doubt that will happen any time soon." He glances down, noting the single flower in your hand, "Do you like flowers?"

"I love them! This one was sort of a secret surprise of sorts, but a nice one nonetheless." You look down at the flower you held, smile now matching his.

The sudden laughter that flows from a few feet away catches your attention. Jeonghan and Seungkwan are folded over, melodic laughter escaping their lips.

Joshua is the first one to let his curiosity get the better of him, "What's so funny?"

Wheezing out the best that he can, Seungkwan responds with a simple, "Nothing."

Jeonghan, finally catching his breath and wiping his eyes, looks to you, "Are you ready to go in? We can order food. I'm too tired to cook."

As you nod, Joshua waves to the two of you and leads a still giggling Seungkwan into their home. Walking inside your shared home, you and Jeonghan discuss your food options as you find a vase to place the flower into.

Day 2- Tuesday

Waking up the next morning and going through your usual routine, you had forgotten about your secret admirer until you stepped outside, finding a long green stem with yellow blooms lining the upper half. The familiar twine loops around the flower, a card dangling from it:

I consider you to be a close friend of mine.

In the language of flowers a yellow Freesia represents friendship and trust.

Jeonghan reads the note from over your shoulder, having stepped out of the house just a moment after you, "Another flower to add to the vase, huh?"

Smiling at the beautiful flora, you rush back inside to add it to the vase before meeting Jeonghan in the car. Your drive to work is quiet, only filled with light music before you say your goodbyes to Jeonghan and he drives off.

"Look who has an extra pep in their step today!" A voice rings out as you walk through the door.

Continuing your walk to the back to place your stuff down and clocking in, "We're still just friends, Hao!"

Minghao rolls his eyes, "Then what has you so happy?"

"Well… I got a flower yesterday and it had this note with it and-" You continued to recount what had happened and explain the situation to the best of your ability.

Minghao has a smirk on his face, "You know, this person has to know your schedule in order to drop the flowers off without you noticing them. Like a certain someone we know."

"Wouldn't I notice Jeonghan putting these things together though?" You hadn't thought about the possibility of the one leaving you flowers being Jeonghan.

"Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe it's Seungkwan? He's your neighbor right? Plus he's on a very similar schedule to ours! He would know when you leave AND he knows flowers from working as a florist!" Minghao, excited by his own discovery, claps his hands together.

You're quick to put a damper on his excitement, "That would be too obvious, wouldn't it?"

"Hiding in plain sight." He shrugs, eyebrows raised as he walks around the empty store, tidying up and organizing things as he goes.

The day is filled with you exchanging theories with Minghao about who your secret admirer could be. Being quite empty, the store was silent except for your excited banter.

You are locking up when Jeonghan pulls up to the front of the store. Minghao smiles at him and turns to you, leaning in and whispering, "Think about it. It's possible."

Nudging him away, you give him a nod and climb into the passenger's seat of the car. Before Jeonghan pulls away from the curb, he glances over at you, "Seatbelt."

Pulling the seatbelt across your body and hearing the click of the buckle, you look to Jeonghan, who nods and starts down the road, "How was your day?"

"It was very dead today." Was all you respond with, not wanting to tell him about all of the theories you and Minghao had come up with about your mysterious suitor. Jeonghan gives you a nod and hums in agreement before telling you about his day like he always does.

When you get home, Jeonghan offers to cook dinner but you insist on helping. The scene is quite a domestic one—you washing and cutting vegetables while he gathers more ingredients, prepping the centerpiece of the meal. You have time to think over Minghao's words, staring over at Jeonghan as he stands in front of the stove. You're so distracted by the thought that you don't notice how close the knife is to your hand before the blade slips across your finger, leaving a sting in its wake. Wincing at the pain and quickly turning back to your hand, you set the knife down in the sink, turning the water on and pushing your hand under it.

Jeonghan was quick to notice the pained noise that slips out, turning off the stove so it is not forgotten and rushing over to where you stand, "What happened?"

"I wasn't paying attention…" Your voice was quiet, ashamed at your lack of caution.

"Let me see." Jeonghan gently pulls your hand out from under the water and cradles it in his own, inspecting the wound before grabbing a small rag and placing it in your hands, "It's not bad. I'll go get a bandaid."

He walks away, leaving you standing in the kitchen, shocked by his actions almost as if he has never done such a thing before and your clumsiness isn't a common occurrence. Coming back around the corner with a band-aid and ointment in hand, he pulls your hand toward him as he works on wrapping the band-aid around your finger. Maybe it was what Minghao had suggested or maybe it was hidden feelings seemingly coming to light, but the way he holds your hand so delicately makes your heart race.

"Be more careful." He fusses, moving you to the stove and pointing at the still uncooked food, "I'll finish the vegetables. You work on that and try not to burn yourself."

Letting out a small laugh at his jab, you turn to finish the food he was cooking while he finishes washing and cutting the vegetables. You'll have to think about the possibility of having feelings for Jeonghan later.

Day 3- Wednesday

The single pink flower sitting on your doorstep catches you off guard once again. Its seemingly flawless petals are neatly lying across one another, a small beige card strapped to its stem:

I always wish you the best.

In the language of flowers a pink Tulip represents good wishes and love for friends.

Taking the flower inside, placing the card in the growing stack, before slipping the Tulip inside of the vase. Jeonghan waves you on, catching you in the kitchen as he makes his way out the door.

Following behind him and climbing into the car, you ask if he thinks today will be a busy day for either of you. It being Wednesday, he tells you he thinks it will be another slow day for the both of you.

"Do you want to stop by the cafe for lunch today?" The smile on his face rivals that of a kid on Christmas morning when you nod, agreeing to have lunch with him. It is always like this, the happy and calm mixing to make the perfect atmosphere between the two of you.

The day was pretty much just a repeat of the day before. Nothing too exciting or ground breaking happened before lunch rolled around. You had spent the majority of the time gossiping and theorizing with Minghao again.

Walking down the street to the cafe, you spot Seungkwan through the window as you make your way inside. He excitedly waves you over to his table, offering you the seat next to him. Joshua sits across from Seungkwan, clad in a white dress shirt and black slacks, the matching black tie dangling down the center of his chest, a bright smile on his face as he greets you.

Before you can say anything Seungkwan is waving someone else over. As you look to where his attention is placed, you see Jeonghan, happily making his way over. Seungkwan motions to the seat next to Joshua and Jeonghan sits down.

"What a small world!" Seungkwan places his chin in his hands as his elbows rest on the table, successfully making everyone at the table laugh.

He offers to go and order for everyone if they knew what they wanted. Being given the order and ready to walk to the counter, Joshua pulls out his wallet and hands his card to Seungkwan telling everyone he will pay. Seungkwan happily takes the card and continues to the counter, having somehow memorized what everyone wanted.

"You didn't have to do that, you know." Worried eyes meeting his as you speak.

Joshua shrugs, waving you off, "It's no big deal. We all do things for each other all the time, this is no different."

"It was still really nice of you. How about we treat you to dinner at our place next week?" Jeonghan speaks softly as he smiles at the man sitting next to him.

"That's genius! Then we get to spend more time together and catch up since we have all been run ragged recently." You add to Jeonghan's invitation, earning a bright smile from Joshua, his cheeks tinting pink as he accepts the invitation.

Seungkwan skips over to the table with drinks, sandwiches, and pastries lining his arms, "What did I miss?"

Helping him disperse the food, Jeonghan extends the invitation to Seungkwan, who happily agrees as he returns Joshua's card, "I'm always down for free food."

"Who isn't?" You laugh as you all converse and joke about anything and everything while eating.

Realizing you lost track of time, you quickly gather your things, "Oh, shit! I need to get back to work. I'll see you guys later."

"I can drive you so you aren't late." Joshua's suggestion catches you by surprise.

"It's just down the street, I can walk it." Sending him a smile as you make your way to the door.

"You'll be tired from the walk and then you won't have the energy to work well." Joshua had followed you to the door, grabbing the handle and pushing in open for you.

Though his comment seemed like an excuse, you let out a laugh and agree to allow him to drive you down the street. His smile widens as he opens the car door for you, just as he had the cafe door, before running around the other side and starting the car.

Pulling up to the door, you hop out of the car, turning to him before you shut the door, "Thanks, Shua."

He nods, waving goodbye as you close the car door and watch him drive off. Walking into the empty store, you're thankful to not be late coming back from your lunch break.

"Who was that?" Minghao's voice comes from behind a clothing rack, eyes peeking over to look at you.

"Oh! That's my friend Joshua." Your answer sparks a light in Minghao's eyes, as if he had connected something in his head.

"He's your neighbor right?" Minghao steps out from behind the clothes where you can see a smirk on his face.

Nodding, you roll your eyes at your nosey friend. Minhao is quick to notice, "He could be a suspect!"

"A suspect?" You question, confused by the ominous wording.

Minghao nods slowly, making his way over to where you stand behind the counter, "Yeah, you know, your secret admirer."

Cocking your head to the side, you lean on the counter, "What makes you think that?"

"You walked down the street to have lunch with Jeonghan and ended up getting dropped back off by a very pretty friend of yours who happens to also be your neighbor. See where I'm going with this?" He knew what he was saying was obvious to him, but you had only taken it as a kind gesture, not noticing how strange it could look from an outside perspective like his.

"I guess it is possible." Minghao lets out a dramatic puff of air at your response.

You and Minghao finish the day off by discussing new possibilities in Joshua being your secret admirer while wandering around the store. When Jeonghan stops to pick you up, it's the same old routine—waving goodbye, getting in the car, and talking about your day while driving home only for nothing eventful to happen once comfortable inside said home.

Day 4- Thursday

Running slightly behind, you found yourself dashing to the door to find your next flower before caring about getting yourself ready. Bright orange petals splay in a circle as you stare at the flower in your hands, then look to the card wrapped around it:

The energy you radiate never fails to bring a smile to my face.

In the language of flowers an orange Aster represents energy and enthusiasm.

The small notes always manage to bring a smile to your face, not always because of the note itself, but the meaning behind it all. Taking the beautiful flower into your home, you rush to the kitchen, placing it in the vase with the others and admiring your growing collection for a moment.

"Why aren't you ready yet?" A voice comes from behind you.

Turning to look at Jeonghan, you note the extra mug in his hand and the look on his face that tells you you're running later than you expected. His presence had gone completely unnoticed when you entered the room, too focused on getting the flower to the vase to realize Jeonghan was patiently waiting on you with your morning coffee and conversation.

You hurry to apologize, hoping Jeonghan wouldn't be upset that you completely dismissed his presence a moment ago, "I'm so sorry, Hannie! I was a bit distracted. I promise I'll be quick."

Scurrying to your room to get ready and gather anything you may need for the day, you seem to manage the time quite well. You quickly make your way back to the kitchen where Jeonghan has moved the coffee that was in the mug to a to-go cup and is now staring at the flowers on the table.

"Admiring the flowers?" You joke as you pick up the cup of coffee, the liquid warming your hands through the material of the cup.

"Mm, yeah," he pauses for a moment, looking as if he is dissociating before snapping back to reality, "Are you ready to go?"

Nodding your head, you both exit the house. You want to question his strange mood but decide not to prod too much and instead thank him for thinking of you, "Thanks for the coffee, Han. There honestly isn't a better way to start my morning than drink your master concoctions."

Your joking praise is enough to bring a bright smile to Jeonghan's face. Lightly chuckling at your blatant attempt to knock him out of whatever funk he seemed to be in a few moments earlier, "It's a different necromancy potion every morning because you look dead."

Gasping dramatically, placing a hand over your heart in fake disbelief, "I compliment you and you turn around and insult me? What a great friend you are."

You didn't miss the slight fall in his features after mentioning your friendship. The same thought in the back of your mind keeps pestering you: Is Jeonghan the one leaving the flowers?

Pushing the thought back to the back of your mind, you glance over at Jeonghan, noticing one of his hands is resting on the center console of the car. Giving in to your impulses, you link your hand with his, squeezing it lightly before letting your hand rest in his.

He sends you a small smile, his thumb softly drawing shapes on your hand as he turns his gaze back to the road ahead. Your own gaze is intently watching your hand, how well it fits in his and how gently he runs his thumb along the back of yours.

Looking through the windshield to see you have almost made it to the store you work in, you lean further against the seat, not wanting to leave the comfort of the car. When Jeonghan parks in front of the store, you both sit in silence for a moment, hands still linked together, unwilling to let go.

You let out a sigh, slowly dragging your hand from his grip and unbuckling your seatbelt. Jeonghan looks at you, eyes wide and hopeful, "Have a good day at work, Darling."

Smiling brightly, you nod in agreement while slipping out of the car, "Don't work yourself to death, Love."

…

Your phone screen lights up next to you, a simple text from Jeonghan reads: "Have you had lunch yet?"

Picking up your phone, you text him a quick response: "Probably won't be able to. Too busy."

You place your phone under the counter you're standing behind just before a customer comes to check out. The day has been the busiest day in weeks, people filing through the doors of the store, one right after another. The groups of people leaving the store are replaced by other groups coming in.

The store is already low on staff, with today only being managed by you, Minghao, and one other co-worker. You are all being run ragged by the amount of people that swarm the store. You had covered for Minghao earlier so he could eat, but it was far less busy at that time so you doubt that you will be able to take time for lunch.

Only half an hour passes before you see Jeonghan walk through the door, a small brown paper bag in one hand and a white to-go cup in the other. He weaves his way through the sea of people, walking up to the counter as he smiles at you before handing the items to you, "I brought you some small things to snack on so you won't have to wait until it's less busy to eat."

You let out a relieved sigh, "You're an angel, Hannie."

The girl standing at the counter eyes Jeonghan and smiles softly as you ring up her items. Her eyes are soft and swirling with emotion as she turns to look back at you when you start speaking again. As if you snapped her out of her daze, her eyes seem to lose the emotion they showed prior as she pays and quickly scurries away.

You wonder if the slight spike of jealousy that ran through you was that of friendly nature or that spurred on by the growing adoration you have for Jeonghan. The jealousy doesn't last as you glance back to Jeonghan, his eyes already on you, seeming as if they never left.

"I won't bother you while you work, but make sure you eat. I'll cook something filling for us tonight." The smile on his face is bright and holds more love than it seemed to ever have.

Nodding your head in silent agreement, you watch as he leaves the store, walking down the street to get back to work himself. You peek into the paper bag, spotting a few of your favorite foods from the cafe, and let a smile spread across your face.

You snack on the foods he brought you throughout the rest of your shift, barely getting more than a bite in before yet another customer was asking for assistance with something. The store settles down just as closing time rolls around, as if everyone simultaneously decided to give you a break.

After turning off all of the lights, Minghao closes the door, "So are we going to talk about how Jeonghan was looking at you today, or not?"

Crossing your arms over your chest, you quirk your eyebrow at him, "What are you on about?"

Minghao looks at you as if you had just told him the grass is blue, "Are you really that dense?" He pauses as you continue to stare at him, "Oh, come on! He brought you food when we were busy and totally ignored the girl that was swooning over him, just to continue looking at you like you drew the whole universe for him."

As Minghao's ranting comes to a close, Jeonghan pulls up to the curb. Smiling at your friend, you turn to Minghao, "I wasn't really paying attention."

"I know. You were too busy murdering that girl with your mind." Minghao laughs at the memory.

You are mortified, you had not thought you had reacted, at least not noticeably. Minghao seems to notice your embarrassment, clapping a hand on your shoulder and smiling, "You are hopeless."

Day 5- Friday

You stare at the new flower sitting in the vase alongside the others, the dark orange petals staring back at you. The small card that was once attached to the stem now sits on the counter:

I appreciate even the smallest details about you and I hope to learn to understand these things about you even more one day.

In the language of flowers an orange tulip represents understanding and appreciation.

You can’t help but to smile at the note, now even more encouraged to find out who has been leaving them on your doorstep. Jeonghan walks into the kitchen, snapping you out of your thoughts, “You ready, Darling?”

When you turn to look at him, he is smiling brightly, eyes sparkling with what one could only assume is glee as he bounces on the balls of his feet, “What’s got you so giddy?”

Jeonghan only responds with a shrug, the happy smile never leaving his face, “It’s always a good day when I wake up in the same house as you.”

“Hannie, that’s every day. And I know for fact that you do not always have good days.” You poke at Jeonghan’s side as you both head out the door.

He lets out a laugh, climbing into the drivers side of the car, “I was trying to be sweet," he pauses before continuing, “Are you stopping by the cafe after lunch today?”

Climbing into the car, you nod along, “Yeah, I get off early today. After I get lunch with Youngji and Ryujin, I’ll meet you at the cafe and wait for you to get off. Is that okay?”

Jeonghan nods, his smile never leaving his face. It is hard to truly tell what’s got him so happy, but something inside you says it isn’t you. There is another part of you that believes and wants the reason for that beautiful smile on his face to be you.

…

Getting off early will always be a godsend, especially when you see your friends waiting for you at a table settled in a corner of the small restaurant. Rushing over to your friends, Youngji happily stands to greet you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and laughing loudly at what seemed like nothing. Ryujin smiles brightly, remaining seated so you could slide into the seat next to her, "Glad you could make it. It's time to catch up on these past few weeks."

Once Ryujin and Youngji had caught everyone up on their lives, they both looked at you expectantly. Excited to have two more people who could help you sleuth out who was giving you flowers, you spoke, "I don't have much to tell, but I do need to tell you guys about my secret admirer."

"Your WHAT?! That's so cool!" Youngji's loud voice travels farther than you would have liked, causing you to wince and hide your face from onlookers.

Ryujin was quick to both settle and berate her for her word choice, "Cool? That's it? Ji, come on, it's more than cool!"

Youngji scoffs, turning to give you her full attention, "So? Any idea who they are?"

Before you can speak, Ryujin smirks and moves a piece of your hair behind your ear, "They have taste."

Chuckling and swatting Ryujin's hand away, you shake your head, "That's what I was hoping to ask you guys about. I have a few people in mind but I honestly have no idea who it could be."

Ryunjin lets out a short laugh, giving you her full attention, "Alright. Who are you suspecting?"

"Well, Minghao and I have come up with three: Jeonghan, Joshua, or Seungkwan." Counting off the names on your fingers as you spoke.

You notice that you now have both girls' attention, as they look deep in thought. Youngji is the first to speak, leaning herself against the table, "The real question is who do you want it to be?"

"What?" The question catches you off guard.

Sighing, Youngji begins to explain, "If it ends up being someone you don't want, then does it really matter if you figure out who is doing it?"

"That's the smartest thing I've ever heard her say. She's lucky she's pretty." Ryujin's comment earns a loud complaint from Youngji.

Youngji is quick to zone back in on you, "Answer the question."

"I don't know. I'm not sure I understand my feelings for Jeonghan. I'm just his best friend. I love Seungkwan, sure, but not as anything more than a friend. I think he sees me the same way I see him. And Joshua… he's perfect, isn't he? But I think he just sees me as a friend."

"So you're telling me that you don't think any of these men like you? They would have to be stupid. I mean, look at you! Stunning. You are the perfect one, Beautiful."

Before you can respond, a waiter comes to take your order. As he walks away to give your order to the kitchen, Youngji's eyes widen and move to settle on you and Ryunjin, "He was pretty."

Ryunjin crosses her arms over her chest, pouting her lips, "So am I, but you never look at me like that."

Youngji is quick to point out Ryujin's flirty behavior, "For all we know, it could be Ryu!"

Ryunjin sends a flirty wink your way before a more serious look crosses her face, "As much as I would love to take credit, it isn't me."

When the food arrives, the conversation pauses, but only for a moment. As soon as everything is settled on the table and the waiter is out of ear shot, Ryujin continues, "Youngji, aren't you friends with Seungkwan?"

Youngji nods excitedly, "Yeah! I'll be sure to find out if it's him. But for now, we are going to explore the possibility of it being your best friend and roommate."

Ryujin nods her head animatedly, agreeing with Youngji, "That is the elephant in the room that we completely skipped over."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just don’t know what to even think about it.” You let out a sigh, shrugging at their questioning glances.

The conversation was pushed to its limits with both of your friends not willing to give up on the idea that you may harbor feelings for any of the men that were suspected to be your secret admirer. The three of you went over every possibility, including the notes that were left with each flower, trying to sleuth out who it could be. With Youngji agreeing to pester Seungkwan, you feel a little better about figuring out who your secret admirer is, despite refusing to talk to Jeonghan about him being a possible suspect.

Day 6- Saturday

A sliver of light forces itself through your curtains, piercing your eyes and pulling you from your peaceful sleep. Luckily, you and Jeonghan had convinced your manager’s to let you keep Saturdays to yourselves. For you, Saturdays are for sleeping in. For Jeonghan, Saturdays are for spending the day doing anything but going to work. He never lets you sleep in for too long because Saturdays are for spending time together.

Crawling out of bed and checking the time, you decide noon is definitely too long to sleep any more than you already have. Feet padding to the door of your room before exiting and slowly walking to the kitchen.

A voice comes from the living area, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I was starting to worry you needed true loves kiss.”

Scoffing at his comment, you turn to see him wandering into the kitchen behind you, “How long have you been up?”

“Since about eight.” He pauses, pointing to the vase of flowers, “By the way, I got your funny looking flower from the doorstep. I put the note on the counter next to the vase.”

Looking to where he is pointing, there is a new flower added to the vase. It looks far more different than any of the other flowers. The bright red flower looks like a firework of some sort, petals spiked up like a 90s hairstyle. You grab the note from where it sits on the counter, reading the words carefully.

I hope to be the one to make you feel safe when I am around.

In the language of flowers a Scarlet Bee Balm represents protection and prosperity.

The first person you think of when you think of feeling safe is Jeonghan. He is always around and is only ever a phone call away if you need him. He has always been your shelter from every raging storm of swirling thoughts or any scary situation you have ever been in. He isn’t the only one though. You feel safe around Seungkwan, Joshua, Minghao, Ryujin, and Youngji.

Even after your conversation with Ryujin and Youngji yesterday, you could still be very wrong about who this secret admirer may be. Ignoring Youngji’s advice, you decide not to ask Jeonghan if it is him gifting you flowers. Hinting wouldn’t be so bad though, right?

“You know, I still have no idea who these could be from.” You turn to look at Jeonghan, who only shrugs and turns away from you.

Just as you are about to speak up again, he asks, “Do you want coffee? Or something to eat?”

While you declined Jeonghan’s offer to make you coffee, the two of you decide to discuss food options for lunch. With neither of you wanting to go out, you settled on ordering takeout and binging the rest of the show the two of you had recently started.

You gather utensils and anything you could possibly need from the kitchen while Jeonghan sets up the living room. Carrying what you need into the living area, you spot Jeonghan, who is spreading your favorite blanket across the couch. He would have had to go and get said blanket from the closet for this occasion because the blanket that is bound to the living room is draped across the back of the couch, where it usually sits.

The wait for the food was not as long as either of you had expected. Or maybe it was and neither of you had noticed exactly how long it had taken—too caught up in random conversation to even notice the time roll by until the doorbell rang, alerting you of the food's presence.

Jeonghan gets up from his spot on the couch, lightly tapping your leg to let you know that he could get it himself before leaving the room. Only a moment later, he reappears in the doorway with two bags in hand and a smile on his face.

Pressing play on the TV, you dig through the bags he sat on the coffee table, placing the food in front of the two of you. While eating, you and Jeonghan discuss the events of the drama playing on the TV. Too caught up in your own theories and the plot of the show, you hadn’t noticed the sun lowering itself to the horizon.

“The sun is already setting?!” you feel as if you had wasted the day.

Jeonghan is quick to settle you worries, smiling brightly at you, “That’s okay! Now we can call it a movie night!”

The sun beams peek through the window, showering Jeonghan in a golden light. His skin shines and his eyes sparkle. His smile is still present on his face, not a hair on his head is out of place. If someone had told you to reminisce on your favorite picture it would be him in this moment.

“You okay, Darling?” his voice breaks you out of your daze.

Nodding your head, you move to close the curtains a bit more in hopes that you would not get caught staring at Jeonghan again. When you take your spot next to him again, he pulls you into his side as the credits to the last episode of the show drift across the screen.

Jeonghan scrolls through the movie choices, his arm draped across your shoulders and his thumb gently drawing shapes on your arm. This was anything but out of the ordinary, but part of you couldn’t help but feel that this time was different.

Pulling your legs up to your chest, you lean further into Jeonghan’s side, resting your head on his shoulder. He decides on a movie and tosses the blanket over your laps, laying his head on top of yours.

By the fourth movie of the night you have managed to find yourself lying down, Jeonghan pressed between you and the back of the couch, a blanket draped over the two of you. One of his arms is draped across your middle while the other rests under your head. Your eyelids feel heavy, sleep trying to overcome you. Jeonghan’s breathing is evening out behind you, his body warm against yours, lulling you to sleep.

Day 7- Sunday

When your eyes open, you notice that the warmth of the body behind you was no longer there. Sizzling sounds and a delicious smell make their way to you, making your stomach growl. You slowly sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and making your way into the kitchen. No matter how many times you see it, the sight of Jeonghan standing in front of the stove, strands of hair falling over his face as he moves food around a hot pan, will never fail to take your breath away.

His voice travels through the air, soft and still sounding tired, "Good morning, Darling."

"Good morning, Love." Sending him a smile, you walk over to where he stands, looping your arms around his waist and pressing your body to his back.

With your cheek resting against him, you can feel the laugh that reverberates through his body, only serving to make your smile widen. He covers your arms with one of his own, silently warning you about the hot stove only inches away. He draws shapes on your arm with his thumb, the room silent except for the sizzling of breakfast.

After a few moments of silence, you pry yourself away from Jeonghan, slowly moving to sit on a stool next to the bar. You have the perfect view of Jeonghan as he plates the food, turning slightly to slide a plate towards you.

When he moves to sit next to you, he plants a short kiss to the crown of your head, softly brushing the hair down with his hand, "I got the flower off of the doorstep by the way."

You hum in response, letting him know you heard him, more focused on the food than the new flower. There was never really a time when you thought Jeonghan could be more than a friend, but everything about this morning has seemed so natural. Neither of you have to try to feel comfortable with each other. Comfortable with affection. Now that you're on a mission to discover who your secret admirer could be, the possibility of Jeonghan being the one leaving the flowers is exciting.

The two of you ate in a comfortable silence. Once you are both finished, you reach to grab Jeonghan's plate from him, willing to wash the dishes since he cooked the food. He gently swats your hand away, grabbing your plate and moving toward the sink, "I dirtied them, I'll wash them."

Rolling your eyes at the man in front of you, you make your way over to the vase, spotting the new flower added to the vase, the deep red petals that fade into yellow spread evenly around the center. The small card sitting in front of the vase reads:

You bring joy to my life.

In the language of flowers a red and yellow Gaillardia represents joy.

Placing the card on top of the growing stack, you turn to see if Jeonghan is done with the dishes. You move to the other side of the sink where he is rinsing the dish he just washed, starting to dry the dishes and put them away. The two of you work as a seemingly effortless machine, the dishes being done and put away in a short amount of time before the both of you move back to the living room, ready for the lazy day to begin.

…

You spent most of the day rambling on about some of the funny meanings behind flowers, Jeonghan joking about getting you flowers that mean he hates you. While you felt bad for burying him in your research, he had soon joined you in your research, telling you about the random flower meanings he had found.

So here you are, lying across the couch, legs draped across Jeonghan's lap as the two of you go over the different meanings of flowers. A knock on the door catches your attention, groaning as you lift yourself off of the couch and make your way to the door.

As you open the door, Seungkwan comes barrelling in, flowers in hand, "I brought flowers! The store was going to throw them out because they weren't selling! Can you believe that!? They would throw away perfectly good flowers! Shame on them."

"Please, do come in." The sarcasm rolling off your tongue as you close the door completely flying over Seunkwan's head.

His ramblings continue as he makes his way into your kitchen, setting the bunches of Tansies on the counter. You get a good look at the flowers, recognizing them from your research, "Kwannie! Aren't these flowers meant to symbolize war?"

Seungkwan's eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "Yes, because I'm declaring war on you," he rolls his eyes, "You're really reading into this whole secret admirer thing aren't you?"

Jeonghan snorts, a smirk making its way onto his lips, "We have been researching flower meanings all day."

You're too focused on Seungkwan's comment to pay any mind to Jeonghan's sassy response, "How do you know about that?"

Seungkwan let out a loud laugh, "Youngji was being weird and eventually just asked me if I was leaving you flowers with cute notes. While I do love you very much and I truly cherish our friendship, I'm not your secret admirer."

A puff of air comes out of your nose, a small laugh following. The newfound relief of only having two possible options for your secret admirer taking over you as you launch yourself at Seungkwan. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he laughs, wrapping his own arms around your middle, "I'm not sure if I should be offended that you're so happy that it isn't me or if I should be happy?"

"Kwan, I love you, but not like that. I was so worried I would end up hurting your feelings." You sigh, pulling away from his embrace and chuckling along with him.

Seungkwan happily lets you know that he never told Youngji that he wasn't your secret admirer just to keep her on edge as the three of you carry the flowers out to the backyard. Jeonghan said he would order dinner for everyone if Seungkwan was staying for a while, in which Seungkwan nodded and smiled happily. The two of you stayed outside, placing the Tansies around the edge of the back door while Jeonghan went inside to order food.

"Oh! Is Shua home? We could invite him over?" Your sudden excited voice shocks Seungkwan, his head snapping to look at you.

He shakes his head, "He won't be home for a while. He's working late today. But don't worry, I'll make sure he eats."

Seungkwan seems to notice the way your face falls slightly at the knowledge of Joshua not being able to join you, "He's off tomorrow! I can let him know to visit you at the store?"

Smiling brightly, you turn to look at Seungkwan, "I'm off tomorrow too! Do you think he would want to hang out tomorrow?"

A bright smile appears on his face, his cheeks bunching up under his eyes, "I'm sure he would! Send him a text later and ask."

You nod, making a mental note to text Joshua later on, before getting back to making the flowers look pretty. You joke with Seungkwan as you both discuss flowers and all of the new meanings you have learned. The two of you now had another thing in common that you could talk about and that made Seungkwan more excited as the conversation went on.

Day 8- Monday

A hand on your shoulder shakes you awake, a soft voice calling out for you to wake up. Groaning, you role yourself over, facing away from the assailant.

"Don't make me play What Does The Fox Say on repeat until you get up." Your body shoots up upon hearing the threat, your head knocking into Jeonghan's.

The two of you simultaneously place your hands on your heads and let out a pained moan. Jeonghan is the first to start laughing, the ridiculousness of it all getting to him. Your laughter soon follows, the pain in your head becoming less and less.

After settling down, Jeonghan lets you know that he is leaving for work and that he left you some coffee on the kitchen bar. He makes his way to the door, you quickly following behind him at the thought of the coffee waiting for you.

Shortly after Jeonghan leaves, there is a knock at the door. You half expect it to be Jeonghan coming back because he forgot something, so when you open the door to Joshua, you are a little surprised. He stands on your doorstep, his dark hair swept away from his face, some strands making their way onto his forehead. He looks casual—comfortable even—with an oversized flannel falling over his shoulders, a soft smile on his face as his eyes sparkle even though the sun is nowhere to be seen. The cloudy sky doesn't need the burning star for light, you have it standing in front of you. He lifts his hand toward you, a light pink bloom settled in it, "This was in front of the door."

You thank him, moving to the side to let him in. He heads to the kitchen as you follow behind him, too busy staring at the odd looking plant to notice the bag of food in his hands. You grip the card attached to the flower, reading over it as you walk to the vase on the other side of the kitchen:

I am ready to start showing you my true feelings.

In the language of flowers Valerian represents readiness.

You place the card with the others, a soft smile on your face as you turn to talk to Joshua but he beats you to it, "I brought breakfast in case you hadn't eaten yet."

The nervous smile on his face warms your heart, "You're the best, Shua."

"Anything for you, Sweetheart." He chuckles, pulling food from the bag and setting it on the counter.

The pet name wasn't a new addition to your conversations, but it causes a blush to spread across your cheeks, your heart rate speeding up and the smile on your face uncontrollable. You make your way over to stand next to him. He hands you some food and motions for you to sit down, soon taking a seat next to you with food in front of him.

…

Joshua smirks, eyes lighting up with glee as he places a yellow draw four card down on the table in front of you, "Uno."

"Oh, come on! That's so unfair!" You throw your hands into the air in exasperation.

He tilts his head to the side, looking like an innocent puppy, "How so?"

"You saved that till the very end to fuck me over." Your whining did nothing to startle him.

"That's just strategy, Sweetheart." His voice is calm, never wavering despite you trying to rile him up.

Practically growling at him, you slam your hand down on the deck, pulling four cards from the top. You stare at the four new cards added to your hand, mumbling under your breath, "You're lucky that you're pretty."

You hadn't expected him to hear you, but you must have spoken louder than you thought because he is quick to turn the compliment on you, "I'm not the pretty one here."

Laughing at the absolute absurdity of his comment, you shake your head, "Liar! Have you seen yourself?"

He is quick to join your laughter, refusing and throwing compliments back your way. All of the anger you had regarding the intense game of Uno the two of you were playing quickly dissipates. It isn't anxiety inducing to compliment him or to receive compliments back. Though the tone of your voices is light and joking, the both of you know that every flattering remark made is nothing of the sort.

This is the most competitive you have seen Joshua, completely ready to throw more praise your way if you don't back down. Though determined to win, you know this war would never end if you didn't accept his flattery soon, "Fine! You win," pulling out the draw two card you had pulled from the stack earlier and placing it down on the table, the smirk never leaving your lips, "Now, draw two."

Joshua's jaw drops, a bright smile soon taking over, "Buttering me up just to shoot me down, huh?"

Forming a finger gun with your hand, you pretended to shoot him. He brings a hand up to cover his heart, falling back onto the couch. Laughing at his antics, you fake a very posh English accent, "Even if you die, you cannot escape the infamous draw two."

Joshua sits up, pretending to cry as he sniffles and picks up two cards from the deck while copying the accent you used, "I shall avenge my own death."

The two of you had managed to finish the game despite the laughter that often overcame the both of you. You had made a victorious comeback and though you rubbed it in Joshua's face, he was a gracious loser. The conversation between you had somehow turned to discussing how to spend more time together. With both of you being busy, it felt like your friendship had grown apart. Spending the day with Joshua had proven that feeling completely wrong.

The front door opens, Jeonghan walking in and pausing your conversation with Joshua, "Oh. Hi, Joshua."

Joshua smiles at Jeonghan, greeting him back before Jeonghan disappears from the room. Quick to excuse himself, Joshua stands, "I didn't even realize I had been here this long. I better get going."

You walk to the door with Joshua by your side, "Thank you for hanging out with me today, Shua."

"The pleasure is mine, Sweetheart," He steps through the threshold of the door before continuing, "Let me know anytime you want to do this again."

You're quick to extend an invitation to spend more time with him, "You and Kwan could come over tomorrow evening for dinner if you want."

"That sounds great! I'll let him know." Joshua smiles and gives you a nod before turning to walk home. You close the door behind him and let out a sigh.

Day 9- Tuesday

You spend most of the day talking to Minghao about your possible feelings for your friend, "Listen to me, Hao. He is too perfect."

"I have two words for you: down bad." He holds up a finger after each word, emphasizing his point.

Throwing a soft punch into his arm, you let out an annoyed groan, "I'm serious. I don't think I want whoever this secret admirer is to be anyone else."

Minghao sighs, placing his hand over yours, "That still leaves you to figure out who you have feelings for."

You gave him a confused look, unsure as to what he meant after all you had just told him. He looks at you as if disappointed, "You always talk about Jeonghan like he hung the moon. Then you start gushing about Joshua. You tell me that you can't see yourself wanting it to be anyone but either of them, so you need to figure out who you really want it to be if it is one of them."

Unsure about confirming your own feelings, you stayed silent allowing Minghao time to talk. He goes through every moment you have mentioned either of the men you felt for, letting you interrupt whenever you wanted to confirm or deny a deeper meaning behind them.

When it seemed that you no longer wanted to discuss your feelings, Minghao changed the subject, "You were given a white rose this morning, right? What did you say the card said again?"

Nodding your head, you pulled out your phone—having taken a picture of the card that was attached to the flower—showing it to Minghao.

I have always felt a spark with you, but maybe now you feel it too.

In the language of flowers a white rose represents new beginnings.

Minghao raises an eyebrow, "Do you think it's just a coincidence that this sounds like Joshua?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The note insinuates that you may not have had feelings before, meaning they feel like they could have made that change recently." His words stuck in your head, forcing you to think over the possibility.

…

When Joshua and Seungkwan show up at your door, you are quick to let them in, leading them into the kitchen and conjoined dining room. Seungkwan swiftly makes conversation with Jeonghan who is standing in front of the stove, finishing up the meal. Noticing how easily the two fell into conversation, you turn to Joshua, “Those two will ignore us if left to their own devices.”

Joshua laughs at your accusatory tone, “Honestly, I don’t doubt that, but what are we to do?”

“Let them know we are not to be left out.” You place your hands on your hips, dramatically tapping your foot like a disappointed parent. Joshua breaks into a fit of giggles as you make your point so loudly that the two men standing on the other side of the kitchen turn to look at you.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, copying your stance, “Damn, we can’t leave you alone for five minutes, huh?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, the frown on his face apparent, “You have Joshua to talk to.”

“The point of us having dinner together was to all spend time together.” you pout at the two men.

A slight glare comes from him, “Oh, really? I thought it was so you could spend more time with Joshua?”

Jeonghan’s comment sounds less like a joke and more like his feelings are hurt but before you could address it, Seungkwan cries out, “Yeah, you don’t love us anymore.”

“My poor babies. I love you both very much.” You cradle Seungkwan as he holds you close, continuing to fake cry.

The odd tension was successfully broken by Seungkwan’s antics. Jeonghan turns to pull the food off of the stove eye, portioning it out onto the plates next to it.

As everyone sits around the table, eating and making conversation, the topic of all of the different flowers adorning the vase that sits on the counter in the kitchen comes up. Jeonghan only shrugs after the vase of flowers is mentioned, "It's a bit creepy, don't you think?"

Quickly snuffing out the negative light brought to the flowers, you smile, "No, I think it's sweet."

Joshua's face contorts into that of visible relief, though his words seem to relay the opposite, "It is a bit random, is it not?"

"Yeah, and only one of each flower?" Jeonghan adds.

"Oh, yeah, and the notes about how meaningful each of those flowers are, so stupid," Seungkwan's voice is nasally and his head tilts sassily as he speaks, "Let them fucking live, guys. It's a cute gesture."

You send Seungkwan a thankful smile, him returning one much brighter than yours. Joshua and Jeonghan are practically silent despite the sound of utensils hitting the plates as Seungkwan jokes about the two men just being prudes. He once again cuts the tension in the room, not allowing it to bring down the night and allowing everyone to finish up their food.

After stacking the plates and moving them to the kitchen sink, you say goodbye to Joshua and Seungkwan before Jeonghan moves to walk them out. As you begin to wash the dishes, Jeonghan joins you to dry and put them away. It's calming, being close to one another and not having to speak, yet seamlessly working together even after the awkward tension felt earlier in the night.

Day 10- Wednesday

You gently place the new flower into the vase, pleasantly surprised by how perfectly it fits in with the other flora. The white petal curls at the end, looking like snow on a mountain peak. The card dangles from the stem:

Your beauty is unspeakable, yet it is only one of many things that made me fall for you.

In the language of flowers a white Calla Lily represents attraction and beauty.

A voice sounds close to your ear, successfully making you jump, "Well at least the card isn't wrong."

You look at Jeonghan, who must have read the card from over your shoulder since he's so close to you, confusion drawing your features together. He stares at you expectantly, "You are beautiful."

Your cheeks burn, the compliment seemingly heating your entire body as Jeonghan's face lights up with a smile that could cure the world. He lets out a small laugh, so soft and airy that it sounds like it comes from an angel. Something about Jeonghan in the mornings is so peaceful, so domestic, so perfect that you couldn't seem to see yourself without him.

…

The day has been a long one with customers complaining left and right about things that were completely out of your control like prices and sizing. You are just ready to go home. You glance at the clock to check the time. Three more hours, you tell yourself, just three more hours until you're free. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

"Would you want to come over after work? I could pick you up, if you want?"

The text from Joshua was completely out of left field, not introduced by even a simple hi. That didn't make it any less enticing, so you give him the time he can pick you up and text Jeonghan to tell him you wouldn't need a ride home.

"Why are you smiling at your phone?" Minghao's voice rings out in the momentarily empty store.

When you turn to look at Minghao he has a shit eating grin on his face as he stalks toward you. You hadn't even noticed you were smiling until he said something about it, "Joshua asked if I wanted to come over. He's gonna pick me up from work."

The excited smile that made its way onto Minghao's face rivaled that of a kid on Christmas, "You're gonna make a move right?"

"No. No way. I don't even know if he likes me like that." Your voice was stern, letting him know just how much you like Joshua without even realizing it.

Minghao looks nothing short of annoyed as he runs his hand down his face with an exasperated sigh, "You're an idiot."

Those are the only words he says before walking away from you to finish sorting through the racks of clothing. This only leaves you to mull over your feelings and as tempting as they are, they are also terrifying to come to terms with.

The last three hours of your shift seemed to go by faster than the beginning of the day had. You weren't sure if that was caused by your excitement to spend more time with Joshua or if it was a simple coincidence. But now that you're sitting next to him on his couch, watching a movie and sharing the popcorn that sits between you, it seems a bit more clear as to what made your day go by a bit easier.

…

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" His question comes out of the blue.

You glance at the window before turning to face Joshua, "In the dark?"

He shrugs, "Why not? It's pretty peaceful at night. If you don't want to, we don't have to."

Quickly shaking your head, you assure him that it wasn't really a concern, "No, that sounds nice actually."

Standing from your spot next to him, you wait for him to join you. A smile makes its way onto his face, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm. Both of you make your way out the door, the cool air hitting your skin.

You're not sure how far from home you are or how long the two of you have been walking. All you know is that you never want this moment to end. The conversation was effortless and when there was nothing to be added, the silence was peaceful. Joshua turns in the opposite direction of where you two are walking and pauses, "We should probably head back."

Turning in the same direction, ready to head back with him, you give him a nod. He slips his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, gently swinging them between the two of you.

When you're just a few minutes from your houses, small raindrops begin to fall from the sky, bouncing when they meet the sidewalk. You hold out your free hand, letting the rain hit your palm.

The rain comes down harder with every passing moment. Just as the heavens seem to open, Joshua pulls on your hand and begins to speed up. Taking his hint, you pick up the pace until the two of you are running down the street, hand in hand and giggling at the absurdity of it all.

When the two of you make it back to your houses, Joshua pulls you onto his porch. The two of you attempt to catch your breath, your laughter making it more difficult than it should be. His hand is still laced with your own as you both calm yourselves. You weren't aware of how close you were until your laughter calmed down and you could still feel his breath on your face.

When your eyes meet his, your breathing stops. It's almost as if the world stops turning, everything around you ceasing to exist. You're unsure of how long you've been standing there, but you're snapped out of your trance when he moves some of the wet strands of hair behind your ear. You're closer now. So close, you're sharing breath.

Joshua blinks as the clap of thunder that sounds through the air seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. His voice is low when he speaks, "It's late. You should head home and get some rest for work tomorrow."

Nodding your head, though disappointed, you agree with his statement. You turn to walk off of the porch, Joshua stopping you with a hand on your elbow, "I can grab an umbrella for you."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head, "I'm already soaked. Two more feet to my house won't do anything."

He chuckles at his own proposition, noticing how silly it sounded, "You're right. Have a good night, Sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Handsome." Smiling brightly at him, you jog down the stairs and over to your own door, waving at him when you see him still standing on his porch, watching to make sure you get in.

Day 11- Thursday (different pov? Main focus is Jeonghan)

He stares down at the flower in his hand, debating on leaving it in front of the door to be found. He holds the bloom of small white flowers on a single stem in his hands, the words on the small card hanging off of the stem stare back at him:

You are the sweetest soul I have had the pleasure of knowing.

In the language of flowers white Alyssum represents worth beyond beauty and the sweetness of the soul.

They are words that Jeonghan wishes he could say. Words that he feels could never come out of his mouth. He decides to take the flower inside, placing the card on the top of the stack of others, and setting it in the vase.

Preparing for the day ahead, he waits for his favorite person to join him in the kitchen. He hands you the coffee he brewed only moments earlier as he watches happiness bloom on your face when he points to the new addition to the vase. He can't help but feel his heart swell at the sight of how excited you are about the simplicity of a flower. Jeonghan lets you have a moment to read the card that was once attached to the stem before motioning for you to head to the door.

The ride to work was filled with a comfortable silence between the two of you, soft tunes flowing from the radio. Jeonghan drops you off at the shop door, watching you smile and wave him goodbye as he pulls away.

Work was slow for Jeonghan, but he knew that at the end of the day he would get to go back home with you. The plan was for the both of you to go out to the bar with Joshua and Seungkwan tonight. Jeonghan just had to get to the end of his shift.

…

Music blasts from the bar and into the streets. Jeonghan's arm is linked with yours as he leads you into the bar, Seungkwan and Joshua rushing to sit at a table in the corner.

Joshua had greeted you with a compliment, successfully making you smile brightly. That's when time seemed to stop. The jealousy that swarms Jeonghan's brain gets the best of him, a seemingly permanent frown settling on his face.

The night was lively and fun with people dancing around and laughter filling the air. Jeonghan had tried his best to keep his cool while listening to Joshua's hopeless flirting. A few drinks in and Seungkwan is dragging you away from the table and to the middle of the dance floor.

Jeonghan is sweltering in his calm rage, "I know what you're doing."

Joshua's eyes light up in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"You're trying to win them over. You suddenly have time to spend with them and they always want you around." Jeonghan's voice is just loud enough to be heard over the music, but stays stern as he stares directly into Joshua's eyes.

Wanting to salvage his friendship with Jeonghan and his chances with you, Joshua struggles with how to respond, "Look. I don't mean to cause any sort of strain between you and me or in your friendship with them."

Jeonghan sighs, knowing that this shouldn't be changing how he feels about Joshua, "I don't want this to turn into a competition. That won't do anyone any good. You're both my friends, but they are my best friend, and I don't want them hurt."

"I understand that you're just looking out for them and being cautious, but I know you love them too." Joshua's statement makes Jeonghan's next words catch in his throat. He suddenly wasn't so sure of his own motives for talking to Joshua. He knows he loves you, but he assumed the jealousy he felt was caused by his fear of his best friend no longer feeling the same for him. In reality that jealousy was caused by his fear of his best friend not feeling for him the way he does.

Joshua slides out of his seat, nodding his head toward the dance floor. Jeonghan takes the hint, standing from his chair and following Joshua, easily slipping next to you and Seungkwan.

You grab Jeonghan's hand as he easily falls into pace with you, hips swaying with yours and bodies pressed closely together. Anyone could see that you were comfortable with Jeonghan and that makes him swell with pride, knowing that you chose to stay close to him even when Joshua is an arms length away from the two of you.

Jeonghan's focus is on you. The way your hand holds his. The way your body moves with the beat of the music. The way your smile reaches your eyes. The way you're so close to him that he can hear your joyful laughter, something he deems far better than the music playing.

Seungkwan and Joshua join the two of you. Your four bodies are moving so closely together that it causes all of you to laugh at the ridiculousness of how you may look to outsiders looking in. Jeonghan notices that your hand never leaves him, whether it be grabbing his arm, resting on his chest, or holding his own hand.

The night was still young, but the alarm set for work the next morning limited what your group of friends could do so Jeonghan gathers your things and ushers you out the door, making sure Joshua had a hold of Seungkwan before exiting the bar. After getting you into the backseat of Joshua's car, he rushes to the other side and climbs in. Joshua pushes a whining Seungkwan into the passenger's seat and then moves to get in the driver's seat.

The drive back to the house was filled with Seungkwan arguing about needing the music on the radio so loud that it bursts eardrums. While Joshua tried to convince Seungkwan to leave the radio alone, you sat in the backseat, head on Jeonghan's shoulder, giggling like a maniac. Jeonghan knows you're not half as drunk as Seungkwan is, so he isn't worried about how you'll feel in the morning. Jeonghan makes a mental note that Seungkwan would most likely not make it to work tomorrow.

When Joshua pulls into his driveway, Jeonghan thanks him for driving as he helps you out of the backseat. Joshua nods to Jeonghan, trusting that there was no animosity between the two of them as he is left to struggle with getting Seungkwan inside and in bed.

Day 12- Friday

"Does your head hurt?" Jeonghan's voice comes from down the hall, he must have heard you open the door to your room.

You laugh, making your way to the kitchen, "Not as bad as it could be."

Jeonghan stands next to the counter, flower in hand, "This one looks like it came from a bush instead of a root."

His comment is nonchalant as he gently hands you the flower. He's right, the stem is thicker and has more branch off points than the others had, but there was still a note attached:

Soon enough you’ll know who I am, when I hope my secret love will no longer need to be hidden.

In the language of flowers a white Gardenia represents secret love.

Jeonghan must have come back into the kitchen as he now leans against the doorway, "Are you ready, Darling?"

Nodding your head, you slide the card off of the stem and place the flower into the vase with the others. You follow Jeonghan out to the car, slipping into the passenger seat.

Jeonghan drives down the road in silence, his right hand resting on the console in between the two of you. You place your hand on top of his, slowly lacing your fingers together. Jeonghan squeezes your hand, the smile on his face becoming a permanent stain for the rest of the ride.

…

"You're telling me that you went out last night and didn't dance with Joshua?" Minghao's statement sounds more like he is shocked than annoyed.

"I mean, technically, we all danced together." You defend yourself while working through the racks of clothes.

Ryujin's voice rings out from where she leans against the counter, "Babe, are you serious right now?"

Youngji speaks before you have the chance to respond to Ryujin's rhetorical question, "So who did you dance with first?"

Your voice is quiet when you answer, "Jeonghan."

Minghao's groan is the first response you hear, followed by Youngji's facepalm and Ryujin's head hitting the counter. This has been what the day has consisted of so far. Youngji and Ryunjin had come to bother you at work and Minghao decided that would be the perfect time to corner you into realizing your feelings for someone.

"When are you going to realize that you two would be perfect for one another?" Minghao's exasperated tone proves his belief that you should be with Jeonghan.

Youngji hums in thought, "I don't know. The way they talk about Joshua seems like they would be perfect together."

"I see Jeonghan drop them off every day," Minghao turns to direct his next words at you, "The way he looks at you is something that would make fairytales envious. When he drops you off. When he picks you up. When he brings you coffee in the middle of the day or brings you food when you forget your lunch. He's in love with you and I think you're in love with him too."

Ryujin smiles at your shock, "That sounds like something, huh?"

"I hate to be that person but… Seungkwan is a close friend of mine. Therefore, I am always around Joshua because they're roommates. Joshua never shuts up about them," Youngji moves her attention to you, "He talks about you like you hung the moon and the stars. Like you make the world turn. Like you are the soul reason for his existence. And every time you talk about him, there is this light in your eyes that is just a little too bright to be friendly."

You had never noticed or paid much attention to the things that Minghao and Youngji just told you. The idea of Joshua or Jeonghan liking you as more than a friend had only crossed your mind a few times.

Groaning in frustration, you rest your forehead on the clothing rack, "That doesn't help, guys."

"Even I am conflicted at this point. Maybe just let things happen? Don't try to figure it out but don't suppress your feelings either?" Ryujin's comment is the most helpful one of the whole conversation.

You send her a smile, "Thanks, Ryu."

She nods, returning the smile. Youngji sighs in defeat and understanding while Minghao looks deep in thought. His features are sharp, eyes focused in a glare and lips pursed. It's silent for a moment, everyone letting Minghao compile his thoughts before he speaks, "That's better than falling for the wrong person under a false pretense of feelings influenced by us."

It takes a lot for Minghao to admit that his idea isn't the best or most important so you take his words to heart. Deciding for yourself to just let whatever happens happen. As they say: Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.

…

When you get into the passenger seat of Jeonghan's car, he has the brightest smile plastered on his face. Curious, you nudge his arm, "What's got you so happy?"

Jeonghan only shrugs in response, the smile never leaving his face as he pulls onto the road. Though you're still somewhat confused, you just assume he will tell you when he wants to.

As he continues to drive down the road, you notice he doesn't pull off on the road that leads you both home, "Uh, Hannie? Where are we going?"

A giggle escapes him as before he responds, "It's a surprise."

It isn't long until he pulls into a small parking lot that leads into the park. You look at Jeonghan, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion and waiting for him to answer your silent question of what you are doing here. He gives you no answer, only gets out of the car and opens the back seat, pulling out a blanket and a brown paper bag. He points to the two cups of coffee in the front cupholders, "Will you grab those, Darling? There is a cardboard holder in the console."

"Sure thing, Love." You don't ask questions and grab the two cups, finding the cardboard holder and placing both cups inside before getting out of the car.

He drapes the blanket over the arm that's holding the bag and holds out his other hand for you to take. With the convenience of the cupholder, you grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. He lightly swings your hands back and forth as he leads you to a spot close to the river. Releasing your hand, he spreads the blanket out over the ground before sitting down on it and patting the space next to him.

You take your seat next to him as he begins pulling out some of your favorite pastries and snacks from the paper bag. Smiling happily at the display of food, he looks up at you and gestures to it, "Surprise picnic!"

The way the light shines down on him makes him look like an angel, the only thing missing is his halo. His eyes sparkle with so much love and happiness. His hair falls over his eyes as he looks at you, his toothy grin never leaving his face.

You just have to see those beautiful eyes of his. Before you can stop yourself, you gently move the hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. It isn't a gesture that is uncommon between the two of you so he doesn't mind, nor does he say anything about it. He just continues to look at you like you are God's greatest creation.

You both spent some time eating and talking before Jeonghan suggested going for a walk along the river. After helping you fold the blanket up, he drapes it back across his arm, quickly moving to the nearest trash bin to throw away the trash you have.

When you are coming to the end of your walk, you spot an older lady sitting on the bench near the river. She is about to get up when her cane falls from where it was leaning up against the bench. Both you and Jeonghan rush over. Jeonghan grabs the cane and hands it to the old woman, smiling politely and offering her his arm to also help her stand.

She takes his arm, patting his hand as she stands, "Such a nice young man."

When she looks in your direction, she turns back to Jeonghan and then back to you. A bright smile spreads across her lips, "And such a lovely couple."

Neither of you correct the old woman as she nods to herself and shuffles away from the two of you. Jeonghan chuckles lightly, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to the car to head home.

Day 13- Saturday

The bright yellow bundles form a solid sheet of flowers on top of a singular stem. You gently run your hand across the top of the plant before looking at the card attached:

As the day where you find out who I am comes closer, it is time for me to become braver. I have loved you despite everything and will always continue to do so.

In the language of flowers a yellow yarrow represents being brave and courageous as well as saying I love you in spite of everything.

You place the plant in the vase, noticing that some of the other flowers are losing a bit of their color. Jeonghan clears his throat from behind you. When you turn to face him, he nods his head toward the door, "You ready to go?"

The day had been spent sleeping until noon and then lounging around the house for a few hours until you both had to get ready to go to the cookout Seungkwan had planned. That is when you finally went outside to see the plant on your doorstep. Nodding, you follow him out the door, walking over to the fence separating your yard from Joshua and Seungkwan's.

The gate separating the two yards is cracked open, allowing you to enter their yard. Seungkwan is yelling at Joshua about how he's grilling the meat as Joshua looks shocked at Seungkwan's accusations of him being a bad cook.

Walking closer to the grill and looking over Joshua's shoulder, you shrug, "It looks like he's doing fine?"

"You're here! I didn't notice you guys come in!" Seungkwan's attention is now on you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him in a very warm welcome. Soon after, he pulls Jeonghan in for the same hug he gave you.

Everyone sits in chairs that are placed in a circle, eating the meat that Joshua grilled. The conversation moves along without effort, ending with Seungkwan suggesting you all play badminton together.

Joshua's confusion was apparent on his face as he spoke, "We don't have a net though?"

"We can use the chairs!" Seungkwan's excitement was not to be squandered as he had already planned an answer.

After setting up the chairs as a boundary, Seungkwan splits everyone up into teams. Team one consists of you and Seungkwan while the second team is Joshua and Jeonghan.

You made a deal to end the game whenever a team made it to seven points. With every missed birdie, Seungkwan would scream. No words, just a pterodactyl screech of disappointment. It didn't matter if you missed it or if he did, his frustration knew no bounds. Needless to say, your team lost.

When Joshua scores the seventh point for his team, Seungkwan dramatically falls to the ground as Joshua and Jeonghan celebrate their win with a high five. Seungkwan demands he switch teams with Jeonghan, who happily agrees. Jeonghan makes his way to your side, Seungkwan getting up and going to stand next to Joshua.

The start of the next game seems to be a loss from the start for you and Jeonghan. The birdie seems to fall perfectly in bounds every time you seem to think it is out. It takes one close call for you to lunge for the next one, successfully falling to the ground after hitting it. Seungkwan's gasp was all you heard and though you knew he was dramatic, you feared you may have hurt yourself worse than you thought.

You didn't feel any serious pain so when Joshua asks if you are okay, you fall into a fit of laughter, "This was actually a genius attempt at a distraction so we could get a point."

You pull yourself up from the ground with Jeonghan's help. He dusts some of the grass off of your shirt as he looks you up and down, checking for injury. When he finds none, he lets out a small chuckle which leads Seungkwan and Joshua to do the same knowing you really are okay.

Joshua speaks up, pointing to the birdie that fell perfectly within the border on their side, "We'll give you that point."

"We will?" Seungkwan seems scandalized by the thought of letting us have the point.

Only slightly offended by his lack of etiquette, you glare at him playfully, "I earned it, Kwannie!"

Seungkwan groans in fake annoyance, "Fine! I guess I cared about you too much and lost sight of the game."

Somehow, your fall was like the last bad omen of your game had been broken. There wasn't a single birdie missed by your team, but it seemed like Joshua and Seungkwan couldn't get their game together.

When the seventh point was given to you and Jeonghan, Seungkwan was back to screaming, demanding another team change. You trade places with Seungkwan, now teamed up with Joshua while Seungkwan tries to make a game plan with Jeonghan.

This game runs longer than the others with the four of you finally getting into a good rhythm. You and Joshua work well as a team, successfully keeping the birdie in the air when it comes to your side. Seungkwan is running circles around Jeonghan, determined to win.

Finally, the winning point is scored in your favor. Joshua runs to you and lifts you into the air, spinning you around in a show of victory and excitement. You lock eyes with him as he sets you back on your feet, both of your breathing quite labored from the badminton game and the laughter that spilled out after your win. It is as if the world stops moving, neither of you focusing on anything but one another and how close you are.

Seungkwan's screaming as he runs to the two of you, grabbing your arm and shaking it as he whines, is what breaks you out of the sort of trance you are in. Smoothing down your shirt, you pretend that your heart isn't beating out of your chest as you focus on Seungkwan being a sore loser.

After pouting about how he lost every game, a light bulb seems to appear above his head as a bright smile spreads across his face, "Do you wanna see my flower bed?!"

His question is directed at you so you nod your head, returning a smile. Seungkwan bounces excitedly and grabs your hand, dragging you to the side of the house. As soon as you walk around the corner you are bombarded with a plethora of exuberant colors. The flowers almost cover the entirety of the ground.

"This side of the house gets the best sunlight." Seungkwan's enthusiasm seeps out through his voice.

Smiling happily at how proudly he shows off his flowers, you pay them a compliment, "They're beautiful, Kwannie."

That's when you notice it. Some of the flowers look oddly familiar. The pink Valerian that was on your porch earlier that morning are spaced out around the other flowers. The tall yellow Yarrow, Roses, Tulips, Asters, and bushes full of Gardenia's work so effortlessly together that it is unmistakable that those flowers are in a vase on your counter at this very moment.

You and Seungkwan discuss the different flowers and how he takes care of them. You keep your sudden realization to yourself, not wanting to jump to conclusions or even ruin anything that may be planned.

Day 14- Sunday

A single red rose stares at you from its place on the ground. You pick the flower up, flipping the card on the stem in your hand:

I love you.

In the language of flowers a red rose represents love and desire.

The morning sun hits your skin, warming your body on the outside. You read the note over and over again, the voice in the back of your head knowing who left it and causing a different kind of warmth to spread in your chest.

Walking back inside the house, you take the rose to the vase and place it inside with the other flowers. You know that this is the last day you will receive a flower as it is the one year anniversary of you moving into this house with Jeonghan, but you aren't sure of what exactly that means. Will you never know who your secret admirer is? Will they finally reveal themselves to you? Will you have to confront whoever you think it is?

Choosing not to think too much about it, you start making breakfast for Jeonghan and yourself. As you're shuffling around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and moving food around in pans on the stove, Jeonghan shows up in the doorway, "This is a pleasant surprise."

The look on his face is not one of surprise, but one that tells you he is teasing you. Before you can complain about his teasing, he comes over to you and helps you finish the food.

After breakfast, you lounge around the house, not wanting to do much of anything. Jeonghan sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone as the TV plays in the background. Occasionally Jeonghan will show you what he has scrolled upon and you do the same.

…

A knock at the door forces you to stand from your spot on the couch and make your way to the door. You pull the door open, the sight in front of you bringing a rosy tint to your cheeks.

Joshua stands on your porch, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a nervous smile on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. He doesn't say a word, he doesn't have to. He simply gestures for you to take the flowers. That's when you notice that every flower you have received in the previous two weeks is in the bouquet.

The voice in the back of your mind is screaming at you, telling you that it was right. You aren't sure what to say, but that doesn't matter as Joshua finally speaks, "You don't have to say anything. I know this is kinda strange. I just needed you to know that I'm so very thankful that you moved in next door. That you became my friend–one of my best friends even. I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me anything. It has been killing me not to tell you."

His nervous laughter is enough to tell you that he's worried about your response. You aren't even sure what you want to say and nothing that pops into your brain properly conveys your feelings, so you quickly pull Joshua into a tight hug. He wraps his arms around you, one hand softly running up and down your back as you both stand there in silence.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you causes the two of you to pull away from one another. You turn to see Jeonghan standing in the doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed parent, "So it was you."

It isn't a question, but a confirmation of a suspicion. Joshua's nervous laughter is back, eyes frantically looking around for a way out of the situation causing Jeonghan to respond with a sigh, "I know we are friends, but if they ever have a complaint about you, your ass is grass."

You can see Joshua's shoulders slouch, visibly more relaxed by Jeonghan's words, "You don't hate me?"

His eyes were hopeful as Jeonghan let's a puff of air out through his nose, "Not unless you fuck up."

The two men smile at each other—one of understanding. Jeonghan rolls his eyes, taking the bouquet from your hands, "Come in when you're done. I guess I'll start making lunch."

He closes the door, allowing you and Joshua time to yourselves. Joshua still seems nervous when you turn to look at him, smile still showing as he plays with his own fingers. Your words escape you before you have time to get nervous, "Are you gonna kiss me or what?"

Joshua lets out a laugh, the nerves seemingly dissipating as he grabs your hands to pull you closer to him. His hands lead yours to his sides, your bodies now pressed against each other. Both of his hands cup your face, thumb softly gliding across your bottom lip before reaching your cheek. His forehead presses against yours, noses bumping into each other and breath fanning your lips before he finally leans in and presses his lips to your own.

His lips are soft against yours. Your hands grip the front of his shirt as your lips move together. The way he holds your face in his hands as if you painted the sky just for him makes you melt in his palms.

Slowly pulling away from one another, you both begin giggling like school children on a playground. His fingers trace the side of your face, seemingly committing it to memory, "So does this mean we're together now?"

You playfully scoff at his question, grabbing his hand and leading him inside, "I sure hope so."

Jeonghan's voice sounds from the kitchen, calling for the two of you. When you follow his voice, you see him stirring a pot on the stove before he turns to face both of you, "We are setting ground rules. Rule number one: no fucking when I'm home."

Joshua's face reddens as you burst out laughing. Jeonghan's face is stern, slightly offended by your laughter, "I mean it, you guys!"

Both your lunch and the rest of the day were filled with Jeonghan giving rules and lecturing Joshua on how to treat you. Knowing your best friend will always have your back, you feel the world around you come together as you glance to see Joshua sitting by your side.

[laceandsilkhandkerchiefs]

The Tutor Part 2 (Snzfic, Original Characters)

Part 1

It has been entirely too long since I promised to write a second part of this story, but that's often how it goes for me when I'm writing snzfics unfortunately.

Anyway, you can follow the link above to read the first part of this tale, but as a general reminder this takes place in the 1770s and features two of my OCs- Kit (Christopher) Annesley and Eleanor Seton. Kit is a tutor for Eleanor's younger cousins, and she lives with a wealthier branch of her family after her parents passed away.

And as an additional addition, my laptop has broken and I haven't gotten it fixed yet, so I'm posting this from my phone. Please let me know if there's any formatting weirdness, I know Tumblr mobile can be difficult.

I think that's all... enjoy!

If he had thought he could make it through the day with only minimal discomfort, Kit was proven decisively wrong by midday. As his pupils sat down to eat their meals, he ducked out into the hall where he could tend to his nose in relative privacy.

Sitting on a window seat with a heavy sigh, Kit took a handkerchief from his pocket (Eleanor's, he was reminded yet again by the embroidered border) and pressed it to his already much-abused nostrils. Over the course of the morning his efforts to hold back his need to sneeze had caused the congestion in his head to build until he had a pounding headache and wished for nothing more than to be able to curl up in bed and sleep off what was proving to be a monstrous head cold.

Giving his nose a quick blow did little to make him feel better, although it did rekindle a tickle which had him sneezing into his elbow rather forcefully. Thank goodness he was alone- he wouldn't want to disturb anyone with his sneezes, and he could feel more brewing behind his eyes.

"Mr. Annesley?"

Kit's head shot up at the sound of Eleanor's voice, his cheeks rapidly darkening as he saw she was standing in front of him. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed her draw near, and now he was at a loss for what to do or say.

"Miss Seton!" he managed to squeak out. "I, um, that is..."

"I don't mean to offend, but you look awful," Eleanor interrupted. "Surely you don't still believe yourself to be fit to teach?"

Kit, more than a little taken aback at the forcefulness of her statement, briefly contemplated lying and claiming he was alright. However, the pulsing ache in his head and sinuses reminded him that not only was he decidedly not alright, there was also very little chance he could convince Eleanor that he was.

"I admit, I have been contemplating setting the boys to study on their own for the afternoon," he conceded. "My cold does seem to have worsened slightly."

"More than slightly, I would say, but it hardly matters now. Please, tell me if there is anything I might do to assist you."

Kit's cheeks now felt as though they were on fire, and as he doubted he had developed a fever in the last two minutes it was no doubt due to embarrassment. He hoped Eleanor hadn't noticed, though it was difficult to tell from the sympathetic look she was giving him. It could've meant anything.

"I would not wish to trouble you, as I am quite sure you have more important things to attend to. However..."

Eleanor raised one eyebrow as Kit's voice trailed off. "Yes?"

"E-excuse... m-ihh..." he held up one finger as his nostrils flared, the need to sneeze halting any further attempts at speaking.

"Hih-ish'uh! Hihh... heh'zschew! Heh-esch'uh!Huh..." Kit took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing as his nose threatened to send him into a dizzying fit of sneezes once again. God, but he wished he could climb into bed and never emerge again.

"God bless you, Mr. Annesley." Eleanor's voice was soft, her eyes holding an emotion Kit couldn't quite place. Not pity, not sympathy, and concern wasn't quite right either. Perhaps a mixture of all three? Or something else entirely?

The feeling of a soft, cool palm pressed against his forehead startled Kit out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see that Eleanor had pressed her hand to his forehead. Now at a complete loss for what to do, he sat very still, and when she removed her hand after another moment he immediately wished she hadn't.

"You don't feel feverish to me, thankfully."

"Indeed, I, ah, I thought as much."

"What is it you wished to ask of me before we were so rudely interrupted by your nose?" Eleanor asked, a touch of humor in her tone.

"Oh! Well... perhaps I might prevail upon you to check in on your young cousins this afternoon? They are quite capable of working on their own, but I fear they will see my absence as an invitation to be rowdy."

"Certainly, I would be glad too. I know only too well what they can be like." Eleanor grinned at him. Kit smiled back sheepishly.

"I thank you, Miss Seton, truly. I shall have to repay your many kindnesses as soon as I am able."

"As I fear I am growing tired of saying, it is no trouble at all, sir. Now-"

"Ehschiew!" Kit interrupted her as he bent into the handkerchief with a sudden sneeze, more forceful than any that had come before. He blinked, having startled himself.

Eleanor chuckled. "To bed with you, Mr. Annesley. I believe your nose agrees with me."

[goodmode]

does ANYONE know how to get rid of empty blocks in tumblr mobile text posts?

i have a draft with like 9 miles of empty space between paragraphs

i can't backspace to delete them because they're considered different "blocks" by the absolute garbage tumblr post formatting

i can't highlight paragraphs and drag them in to fill those spaces, even though it looks like i'm holding the paragraph and can drag it around the screen loosely it won't actually let me put it anywhere

please god

[theharrowing]

A Very Harrowing Halloween

after much deliberation, i have decided that i am going to make an attempt to accept drabble requests, headcanons, and games for the spooky season! i will only honor requests that are sent in a very specific format, so be sure to read below before popping into my ask box.

first, some disclaimer stuff:

you must be over the age of 18 to submit, and your age or age range must be displayed in your bio. i will not write for you if it is not, even if you are not asking for a smutty drabble. for this reason, anon is turned off through the month of october, so if you need to make a burner account to display your age and participate, please do so.

i will only write about members of bts and a reader character. i am not accepting requests for any other groups or celebrities, nor am i making up original characters.

you absolutely must fill out your request the way it is specified below. copy and paste into the ask box. asks sent without these specifications may be deleted or ignored until i feel the urge to write in another 6-12 business months.

just because you submit, does not mean i have to write. i have no idea how stressful the next month is going to be, and i may end up fulfilling only half of them, or only one of them. if something seems fun, i might hold onto it to fulfil it another time. (i still have headcanon and drabble requests in my inbox from god-knows-when i was asking for them.)

now onto the fun part...

drabble request details:

your request must contain the following information:

pairing: (can be member x member, member x reader, multiple members x member, multiple members x reader.) genre/au: (any type of relationships, tropes, or alternative universes; smut, angst, fluff, crack. if you want to leave this open for me to decide, just say so!) what makes it halloween themed? (vampires, werewolves, black magic, horror film tropes, etc. you must include something that makes the fic scary, but if you are undecided and want my assistance to decide, just let me know!) are you okay with dead dove? (graphic violence, murder, etc. if yes but there are things you are absolutely not okay with, let me know!)

you may provide a summary of no more than 20-30 words. keep all details out; this is a drabble request and will not be a very detailed piece of writing.

i will not be posting your original ask, so you can divulge things to me that you may not want the public to know, especially in the dead dove area. i will tag you in the post once the request is fulfilled.

headcanon request details:

headcanons are pretty straightforward. just be sure it is somehow halloween themed or it will be ignored!

i will be posting your original ask attached to headcanons.

game request form:

this-or-that games that are somehow halloween themed are accepted! those not on theme will be ignored! here is an example of one of my past this-or-that games! (i am currently working on some carnival/circus ones, so no need to ask if that is something you are into!)

all you need to tell me is what the topic/theme is and whether you would like it to be explicit or not! i will take care of the rest.

i will not be posting your original ask. you will be tagged in the post once the request is fulfilled.

no other kinds of requests are accepted!!!

i reserve the right to change this information at any time, and i will be sure to reblog with updates if i do! if you have any questions, feel free to sound off in the comments or shoot me a dm!

[bloodtwin]

❝ 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌 . . .          ⸻ 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌 ！！！

# 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 ; independent, selective 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 from 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈. oc, crossover & multimuse friendly. fellow durges welcome. 21+. n.sfw. durge-typical violence & the like. written by 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌. he/him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ！！！ this blog contains HORROR, GORE, 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄, a RABID DIRTY DOG that bites, the RELIGIOUS TRAUMA of god's favorite son, ridiculously UNHEALTHY SIBLING DYNAMICS, the feeling of being HAUNTED BY A PAST YOU CANNOT RETURN TO, CANNIBALISM as a source of nutrition (not a metaphor for love), SELF-DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCIES, & mentions of NECROPHILIA.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄.

𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆: accultant , bloodyarn , grief-worn , lovepvnch , silvertiefling , sleetkissed , zalimbane . . .

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: alurlssrinbled , ambitiousness , bloodsoakedurge , caniasfire , crimesought , estarion , faebhaal , fleshcarverfugitive , h3llslinger , murderreign , relentlessgrief , speculor , starcunin , whomuses , writtenmisfits . . .

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐒 & 𝐀𝐑𝐓 ©: @bleedingspiral , @bernardsbendystraws , @accultant , @bloodyarn , myself :3 & here ！

⸻ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 ⸻

𝟎𝟏. 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐘: No, seriously. This blog is a dark comedy first & a Greek tragedy second. There are always shenanigans happening here. We are just having fun & playing dolls together. :o)

𝟎𝟐. 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: That being said, I did say dark comedy. There will be blood, guts & gore with a dash of cannibalism & necrophilia on this blog. I will always tag cannibalism, necrophilia, & any graphic visuals.

IF WE FOLLOW EACH OTHER, PLEASE TAG ANY MENTIONS OF C.OCKROACHES SPECIFICALLY, ESPECIALLY IMAGES.

𝟎𝟑. 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: I use glitter gifs in my replies. PLEASE let me know if I should not use them, or any other kind of formatting I have, in threads with you. I will always tag them as "cw f.lashing g.if" ！

𝟎𝟒. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: I am very chatty both in the tags of replies & in general on the dashboard but tend to be shy in DMs at first. I promise this is nothing to do with you. I'm just autistic, hehe.

MUTUALS: I know I just said I'm shy in DMs, but feel free to ask for my discord. It's easier to chit-chat there. :o)

𝟎𝟓. 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗: Best way to get something going with me. It's always open & you're always free to turn asks into threads. Get in there, champ ！

𝟎𝟔. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆: I'm a sucker for ships & am always open to them. However, if you are interested in shipping with Puck, I would strongly suggest reading this post beforehand. 

𝟎𝟕. 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖: Mun & muse are both 21+. There will be suggestive content on this blog, including smut. Do NOT follow if you are a minor or do not have your age range somewhere on your blog. I will block you.

𝟎𝟖. 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄: Puck is an extremely powerful character. I created him with the idea that he is, in theory, an unstoppable force of violence. The only thing holding him back from destroying the world is the fact that he is kind-hearted. Please keep in mind that he is very strong & I will not water him down. I do my best to keep him as balanced & fair as possible while not compromising the story I've written for him, but please do not assume your character can land a hit on him.

𝟎𝟗. 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍: This blog is heavily associated with accultant , my friend's RP blog for Puck's twin Iago. A lot of Puck's lore involves them & I refer to them in threads ALL THE TIME, so please check them out too ！！

[kagakumo]

a study of ... APATHY, the love for everyone, in search of lilies, the messenger, raised as god, inhumanity, the beauty in being human, the fear of death, welcoming death as much as life, craving family.

kimetsu no yaiba DEMON SLAYER multimuse frozen by nami

basic rules!!

this blog is not spoiler free!! i will be tagging all of my threads and posts that have spoilers with "kny spoilers" so just block that if you aren't caught up!!

i am not my muses!! please don't equate the beliefs of my muses to my own :'D

i won't hold back my muses, especially my villains.

you are welcome to injure and kill my muses!! all i ask us that we plot it out!!

formatting wise i use small text and i italicize my dialogue. let me know if you need normal sized text or anything else adjusted c:

nami is a freelance animator actively looking for jobs, so my activity might be spotty!!

i will never rush you for a reply. i will wait forever and a half and even longer!! we all have lives outside of rp and this should be a hobby, not a job! so no stress c: let's have fun and write our silly guys!!

muse list

canon.

doma | upper moon | primary

rui | lower moon | primary

kagaya ubuyashiki | demon slayer corp | primary

aoba hashibiri | botanist | primary

muichiro tokito | hashira | secondary

kokushibo | upper moon | secondary

oc.

silva | sun-eyed demon | primary