#even if it's just there as a small character detail

[agirlinthegalaxy]

Hi! Fellow person with an English degree, along with working for an academic company that has a short college textbook about AI! One of the things that was discussed was hallucinations, which is incorrect information that AI presents as fact. Because the thing is, AI isn't capable of critical thought on its own. It takes in all of this information from the internet, but, as well all know, the Internet isn't inherently a trustworthy source of information and AI isn't capable of actually verifying this information.

One of the ways that we demonstrated this in our textbook is by inputting "Who won the 2022 presidential election?" This was using a previous ChatGPT model, but it actually would answer the question genuinely as if there had been a 2022 presidential election. Another way that I found personally is that I would begin discussing television shows and push it, and without fail, it always began making a lot of errors about obvious plot points and would be unable to keep it straight. Here's an input where I ask for an explanation of the finale of the Charmed (1998) series. (Spoilers for that ahead, but also the show ended nearly twenty years ago, so.)

While a lot of people probably don't know a lot about the show, here's the most relevant part: the entire Ultimate Power section is a complete fabrication because, while they exist, they're distinct characters with a completely different background. (And before anyone says anything, the point isn't about how recognizable the show is, it's about the AI literally makes up false information and presents it as truth when it's very easily disproved.)

Another way of illustrating AI's hallucinations is asking an either/or question, presuming that an event happens. Now, in full transparency, I have not read Dracula since 2021/2022, but I'm about eighty percent sure that this is an example of a hallucination. If not, my apologies, but I'm sure you can find a hallucination if you input it enough similar statements.

Beyond clearly just knowing what is accurate or not, AI also, like the previous OP said, doesn't know what is important. In many classes, when you're discussing some kind of novel, small details will of vital importance whether it about character, plot, or theme of the book. Demonstrated by one of my professors who asked us about the symbolism of the horse that Thomas Sutpen rode into town in the beginning of Absalom, Absalom only to very loudly proclaim that it was between his legs as a phallic symbol, which honestly was probably correct with the author William Faulkner being who he is. Side note, but he was a weird man, and I still don't like his works. If I was a student in that class today, here are the two different shortcuts I could have gotten.

(ChatGPT)

(SparkNotes)

Between the two, even disregarding that SparkNotes' summary is four paragraphs to ChatGPT's three (since the girl in the og Twitter post used three), SparkNotes just provides so much more information and detail. I'd argue that ChatGPT doesn't even summarize it efficiently anyways. So if you're just trying to cheat for class, ChatGPT still isn't a good option.

But I think the worst thing is that the people in the original Twitter convo aren't even reading for class. They're (presumably) reading for enjoyment, which makes it so much more bizarre to me. Because the thing is, and this is a rare one for me to say, you don't... have to read if you don't enjoy it? Once you've left school, very few places (unless you intentionally opt into it or have a very specific job) will make you read novels in your free time. Furthermore, I really can't fathom problems that ChatGPT solves that, say, an audiobook can't? Discussing these two specific instances individually:

If you're wanting to learn more about what Aristotle said in more readable English, baby, he's Aristotle. I can almost guarantee you that there is some kind of book out there, or even something online if you'd like to use the Internet, explaining his philosophy in easier to understand terms. Also with philosophy, I think that "main gist" can be a bit of a trick in of itself because it's designed to make you think critically about these ideas. Sometimes, the "main gist" is even the opposite of what they may seemingly be arguing because they're mocking it.

As for reading a book recommendation by a friend. ... girlie pop, you literally could just not read the book. I've gotten plenty of book recommendations that I've never read and my friends are not insulted at it. If it's a bid for connection, I'd argue that this is more insulting than simply not reading it because if you don't want to invest the time into it, that's fine but this weird shortcut way as if it's beneath your time is... oof. But especially if you want to discuss it, because AI will not include every beat and a lot of a novel is in the way it's written, the pacing or tension, etc. Things that an AI summary can't define out for you to have an actual meaningful conversation. That's something I do when I see a movie that looks halfway interesting but don't care enough to actually sit down and watch it. And even then, I'd never go back to that friend and act like I actually consumed that media; I'd probably just say that it sounds good because I still have not actually truthfully engaged with it!

This is a very long post, but I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about AI, especially in classes, literature, and media in general. Most of them are very negative, but I mean, please don't hand over your critical thinking of what you're consuming to artificial intelligence. Its intelligence is artificial; yours is not.

what is HAPPENING

[endursent]

WHAT IF astral express sunday would be too nervous to hold readers hand or hugging them bc his brain goes 💥 until he gets used to it and softens up to reader waa 🎉🎉

HES SO SILLY i want him to explode

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , fluff , character exploration, mild suggestiveness in one section , gn!reader 】

【 note; see sunday mention. NEURON ACTIVATED. i have neglected sunday writing for too long, it's time to sunday post more. 】

【 word count; 1.818 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

Even after properly defining your relationship as “definitely happening”, Sunday still struggles to adjust to it—not because he doesn’t know what to do specifically, but because he fails to follow through with a lot of it. 

  As soon as he meets your eyes and feels the warmth of your skin at the same time, his brain halts in place like a deer caught in headlights—something about the affection and love in your gaze causes him to freeze, to hesitate and draw back. 

  He wants to enjoy that warmth, he wants to touch your cheek and gaze into your eyes for hours on end, examining every detail of your iris until he has it mapped better than the back of his own hand… but his heart tightens and his arms tingle when he tries. 

  He’s afraid, scared to overstep thresholds whose doors have long since opened wide for his presence. Afraid to take a wrong turn in the endless hallways of his thoughts and what-ifs.

  You don’t push him, you give him time to consider his movement and actions and proceed in the ways he feels comfortable—but you don’t let him pull back too far either. You grasp his hand as it pulls too close to his chest and he swallows when you bring it to yours, you press his palm against your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat—quickened, excited, yet nervous as well. Sometimes, you’re also nervous. It’s okay to hesitate. 

  Mere moments like brushing his fingers against yours on accident are enough for his head-wings to shoot up into the air. You had simply been reaching for a pistachio in a bowl on a table where you sat with Sunday next to you, and he had coincidentally reached out as well. “A-ah, my apologies,” he pulls his hand back, wings lowering again as one moves halfway up his cheek in a meagre attempt to disguise the dusty red of his cheeks. 

  A small smile tugs on your lips and you take an additional nut to give to him. “It’s okay, here.” He holds his palm open for you to place the pistachio in, but instead of doing so, you peel the shell away with a click and hold it towards his lips. “Open up.”

  Five or so muscles in his face twitch as he leans back, surprised by your sudden approach and the very intimate gesture of trying to feed him—his eyes flicker to the left where Himeko is positively destroying March 7th in a card game, they’re not paying any attention to the two of you at all. 

  Sunday’s lips press together and for a moment you wonder if you might have pushed him a little too far, the red hue of his cheeks deepening as he avoids your eyes… and opens his mouth, just a little—barely enough to fit the small pistachio there.

  Your fingers touch his lips as you manage to set the pistachio on the tip of his tongue hiding only a little behind the bottom row of his teeth, and Sunday thinks he might explode. The way his upper lip lifted a little and a small drop of drool slid under his tongue—thankfully out of sight but definitely not out of mind—when your finger pushed under it to set the nut in his mouth…

  He swallows the pistachio quickly and nervously without chewing it and it almost stops in his throat before he could even realise what he was doing. Sunday might have just perished from embarrassment before the lack of oxygen would kill him were the pistachio to stop in his throat.

  Sunday hasn’t stepped off the Express in a while, he does so rather often, all things considered—usually choosing to at least peek out at the worlds you explore. After all, how can he find himself if he doesn’t look? 

  But he has never experienced a planet like this… you could convince him this is some intergalactically funded horror exhibition if you tried. Long stretches of trees and branches reach into the skies, casting dark shadows on the dull grass that covers the ground as far as one can see. The skies are dark when you hop off the train and practically drag Sunday along.

  He walks close to you, unsure if to reassure himself of your presence among the shadows, or to be ready to give his assistance were you to catch your foot on a root and crash on the ground—you’re walking so fast he can't help but think it’s just a matter of time.

  You feel something touch your thumb and look down, only to see Sunday’s gloved hand retreat. He’s looking ahead and pretending there is nothing strange happening. “Are you scared?” you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

  A small frown tugs at his lips, so faint you could barely see it. “Of course not, but I am concerned about us getting lost—do you know where we’re going?” 

  “Kind of,” you sway your hand a little, seeing if you can fish at where he has retracted his to. “Pom-Pom mentioned there a huge city not far from where we dropped down, this world has some real good puddings if I read right.”

  Sunday merely hums in response, following you along. You did finally find the city—high buildings made of darkened wood, but with bright lanterns and strings of lights hanging between buildings to illuminate the streets in a comfortable orange. All the ambiance needs is rain (and for you two be inside a nice café) and it’s perfect.

  The streets, however, are a labyrinth. 

  You get lost only seven minutes after reaching the city, and no matter how you squinted at your phone, you couldn’t wrap your head around the map—and it doesn’t help that despite the darkness, it’s midday, and thus the streets and crowded near shoulder-to-shoulder. This place must be popular despite the gloomy atmosphere. 

  Having almost lost sight of you wandering around trying to get your bearings in the crowd, Sunday gathers his courage and stomps down his thoughts—and takes your hand. 

  You stop where you’re going and turn to look at him. “Hm? Is something wrong?”

  He still avoids your eyes, but his grip is firm. “You’re… still going in the wrong direction.”

  “I am?” you look back down to your phone and tilt it sideways. “Ah! Like this, I get it now… I think.”

  Sunday sighs, stepping closer to you as a person shoulder past your positions—and suddenly the two of you are standing far closer than planned, nearly pressed against the wall of a building that leads to the corner of the street. He can’t stop thinking about your hand against his gloved one, and he also can’t help but notice that your fingers feel cold.

  As you try to figure out the best path towards the mythical pudding, holding your phone out for Sunday to see as well, his fingers and palm engulf yours and try to move some of his heat to you. His thumb rubs over your palm as you speak and the lack of proper reaction from you, yet still laying your hand out to him, helps him find the gesture more natural and comfortable… something he wouldn’t mind indulging in more often. 

  Sunday is a very passive person when it comes to affections, he’s rarely the one to reach out first and needs a bit of a push to even come up with romantic gestures. He considers the time you spend together and the understanding between you to be much more precious and indicative of his affections.

  However, he gets an idea one time from something he saw when scrolling his phone… to leave notes around. Sunday wasn’t sure of it at first—and a little embarrassed that someone else might find them before you do—but gradually began to find it as an easy way to show his attention. 

  Sometimes, the notes have a small message on them (mostly reminding you to sleep more) but other times, there’s no message at all. He came to use it as a ‘I thought of you’ message, where he leaves a blank, small post-it on something. 

  One time you forgot to buy new toothpaste on the Express’ most recent stop and dreaded having to borrow from someone again—until you opened the drawer to fetch your toothbrush and saw a full tube with a small blue post-it on it… now you need to go over to his room and rub his cheeks and thank him for remembering your complaints about always forgetting to buy a new one. 

  Sunday is a surprisingly good caretaker, you caught some sort of cold or flu on a recent trip off the express and have been miserable in bed for days. Up and down, hot and cold, snot-filled and gross on all ends. But he sits down by your bedside and takes your temperature, lays the back of his hand against your heated skin and does all he can to help. 

  One aspect he struggled with was when you got whiny one evening and reached out for a hug…

  While you might mistake his hesitation for disgust, as you are snot-nosed, puffy eyed and half crying from misery—it’s far from what was on his mind. But Sunday feels his chest tighten at the sight of you so miserable, temporary as it is, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse your embrace. 

  He leans down and lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your clammy forehead rubbing into his shirt as he stiffly pats your head and tries to soothe you. “It’s alright… your fever is going down, you’ll be okay soon, just remember to drink the water on the nightstand, okay?” he mumbles by your ear, and the more you nod and thank him for taking care of you, the more his muscles ease and he shifts a bit to lay down with you, allowing you to burrow into the crook of his neck and find comfort in his presence. 

  Sunday rests his chin over your head and rubs your back. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

  You nod into his shoulder and he closes his mouth to hum familiar tunes, the beginning of a familiar song as the vibrations in his chest rumble against you. His voice is soothing, and his singing is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

  As you drift to well-needed sleep, Sunday stays with you until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep… and then for a while more, just long enough that he can’t imagine tearing himself away from you—or risking waking you up by rising from the bed. Perhaps it’s alright if he stays the night here, after all, he needs to make sure you hydrate through the night.

[michanvalentine]

I was asked if I had any thoughts on Astarion's character development in terms of taking responsibility and making choices. And him coming to terms with that part of his past he's ashamed of. In the past I didn't dwell on it in detail, normally I write down on the keyboard what spontaneously passes through my brain. But I think they are excellent food for thought, so I will try to express what I think about it.

Here’s a little ramble, just because I love psychology and think it’s something to always keep in mind when discussing Astarion. If you’re not interested, feel free to skip ahead!

(Let’s talk a bit about the self.

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

I’ll stop here, or this will turn into a full-blown psychology lecture, diving into every possible personality disorder! xD)

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador. He was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

This is why, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. Astarion is a follower, not a leader—not yet, at least. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him; they terrify him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc. For instance, I think his lack of attention to detail reflects this to some extent—not just his tendency to be dismissive or distracted. In fact, Astarion isn’t stupid at all; his intelligence and wisdom stats in D&D terms are above average. He knows how to move in the shadows, remain unnoticed, and is highly skilled with his hands. Additionally, we shouldn’t forget that Astarion is an excellent observer of bodies, particularly body language. This is especially common when someone has lived in a stressful environment with abusive parents or partners. Recognizing the early signs of what they fear most—abuse—is crucial for trying to avoid getting hurt. The inflection of a tone, the light in someone’s eyes, the posture of their shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Body language is the most direct and primal form of communication and reveals intentions.

This is a skill Astarion has naturally refined, not only through survival but also by interacting with countless partners. It inevitably helps him sense certain things before others do, often saving him from trouble. So, he’s far from just some clueless fool, no matter how frivolous he might seem at times.

Sure, stress kills neurons, but the issue is deeper than intellect. To execute a plan, one needs to make decisions and lead a group—something he simply isn’t equipped to do yet. This also ties to accountability, an inherent part of decision-making—especially when others are involved.

Throughout the game, Astarion grows and begins to reclaim his rights as an individual. He realizes he’s more than an object to be used (he is no longer small, weak, useless, incapable), and he starts to establish boundaries and discover what he truly wants or doesn’t want to do, always alongside Tav/Durge. By the good ending, he even states that with Cazador gone, he can finally find out who he really is and what he wants from the life he’s regained. He’s still afraid—the road to healing is long, and the trauma is deep—but he’s willing to work on himself, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t do before.

A significant part of Astarion’s defense mechanism is dissociation, the ability to separate himself from the terrible things that have happened to him—or that he has done.

This, in my opinion, is how he managed to survive without completely losing his mind. In the game, there’s even a dialogue choice that highlights how Astarion simply repressed everything inside and kept going—a deeply unhealthy way of coping. And rightly so, the vampiric spawn retorts that it’s easy to judge when you haven’t lived through such a situation.

However, when Astarion comes face to face with his victims, that mechanism begins to falter. This time, he’s forced to confront what he has done directly, with all the consequences it entails. He has to look them in the eye, listen to their harsh words, and endure both their pain and his own—without filters, without excuses. The sequence is heart-wrenching, as we all know, but what I particularly love is Astarion’s comment about the Gur children and how, when he delivered them to Cazador, he felt nothing. I love it because it’s followed by an “oh” that speaks volumes more than all the discussions about ascension up until that moment. That “oh” seems to say, “How the hell is that even possible?!”

Astarion is surprised, first and foremost, because what he felt then isn’t what he’s feeling now. Before, he was numb, alienated—a ghost wandering the streets. But now, he’s not. He’s more awake and lucid than he’s been in the last 200 years. This concept is crystal clear when, upon setting foot inside Cazador’s palace, the vampiric spawn states that everything feels different, even though the place hasn’t changed. It’s not the palace that’s different; it’s Astarion!

And at this point, after speaking with Sebastian and Chessa, Astarion is torn.

On one side, there’s ascension, with all the rational explanations—or justifications for Tav/Durge and himself—about why it must be done. The vampire spawn are too many and too hungry; they’ll cause a massacre, etc., etc. On another side, there’s the need to erase the evidence of what he was, of what Astarion endured, and what he inflicted upon others—what these wretches represent as a mirror reflecting his own helplessness and pathetic state. A victim, essentially. And that, for him, is humiliating because he was, in fact, humiliated for 200 years. He’s deeply ashamed of it.

But yet another part of him holds the desire to do the right thing.

In fact, if asked about the prisoners and what he intends to do, Astarion will say he’s weighing his options. Not only that, but Astarion also gives his approval when Tav/Durge tells Sebastian that their freedom depends on whether or not they know how to control hunger. Adding immediately after that they can succeed. Anyway, at this moment, for the first time, the choice and the responsibility are entirely on Astarion's shoulders—and on his conscience. There are no orders from Cazador to carry out, no Tav/Durge acting on his behalf. The most Tav/Durge can do is help him think clearly in a moment when, between fear, the scent of blood in the air, and power within reach, Astarion might not be the most clear-headed being on the planet. But ultimately, the decision is his to make. The first of many more to come.

However, I believe Astarion truly takes responsibility for his actions when, after freeing the vampire spawn, he becomes the leader of the coven in the Underdark in the ending. In this particular case, the transformation is complete—Astarion is a leader who plans, makes tough decisions every day, manages resources, takes care of his people (his old victims, let's not forget), and continually grows in his independence.

Naturally, returning to the concept of the self, each of the endings—whether he travels across Faerûn with Tav/Durge, becomes a nocturnal vigilante in Baldur’s Gate, or even ascends—offers a perspective on how Astarion has changed and how new experiences have added positive aspects to his self-concept. These enable him to increasingly perceive himself as competent and valuable. At this point, I’m afraid I might have gotten lost in the flood of words, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to address the proposed topics thoroughly. My apologies—I tend to lose myself in my thoughts and ramble on freely! If needed, feel free to let me know, and I’ll add a follow-up! xD Anyone who made it this far is a true hero, just so you know!

[neovillains]

GOLDEN CHRYSANTHEMUMS ⋆ NANAMI KENTO

syn. the golden chrysanthemum, a cozy bed and breakfast with raving views ── according to yelp. just the place you need after your car breaks down near a small town | 5.6k words ( minors, ageless, & blank blogs: do not interact )

── vampire!kento nanami/influencer!reader, nanami runs a bed & breakfast, violence, blood, major character death.

note. i enjoyed writing this a lot and i hope you all do, too. please comment down below or let me know in the tags of your reblogs what you think! mwah!

1800S TO 1900S — nanami’s point of view

Nanami always says he can’t remember his childhood��� for Heaven’s sake, it was a long long time ago. Whenever he told guests this, they’d chuckle because he couldn’t be no older than thirty, right? And for the most part, he’s not lying. He can’t remember vivid details of his past like he was once able to. However, there’s a certain time period that could never escape him. Something that always stays relevant in his mind— his first time he stepped foot inside of the Golden Chrysanthemum. A two-story pink Victorian home that was nowhere close to what he was imagining. Clinging to his mother, his stubby fingernails dug into the fine fabric of her dull mustard yellow gown and forced the woman to take very staggered steps. Nanami wasn’t typically a stubborn child, but he remembered his mother telling him to stop, and that, “you’re acting like an ass.”

But still, the boy clung onto his mother like his life depended on it. He had known nothing about his father’s side of the family, but ever since his passing, his mother wanted to change that. Getting in contact through a letter, Nanami’s paternal grandmother thought it was about time that her daughter-in-law forgot about all these petty squabbles the two of them shared, and gave her her right to know her grandson. Trudging up the cobblestone pathway in broad daylight, three hefty knocks sounded through the door before a waft of silence passed. 

The Golden Chrysanthemum wasn’t always a bed and breakfast. No, when Nanami first arrived, it was just Nana’s house. Nana’s house was pink with golden chrysanthemums that caged in the beauty. A well manicured garden and lawn that the woman had tended to for years on end even at her age. She would push a gigantic lawn mower with shears that Nanami was always afraid of getting too close to and each blade of grass was shredded to their desired height. 

That beginning week, Nanami didn’t know much about his grandmother except for the fact that she was his father’s mother and mama didn’t seem to like her very much. However, as days came to pass and she had miraculously learned that Nanami enjoyed pancakes very much, he’d stop hiding behind the frills of his mother’s dress and started trekking behind the older lady. 

He thought he was sly with the way he always kept his distance, sitting on the bench while the mower would loudly rev to life. He thought she didn’t see him when he would sit at the highest steps possible to keep away from view, peeking his head out to watch her cook in the wee hours of the morning. Oh, how she wanted to tell that boy to go back to bed, but those brown eyes. . . (He certainly didn’t get them from her side of the family). They were just so cute and innocent that one day she just had to call out his name. Or, something close to it. 

“Boy,” she called out. “Would you just stop all that hiding and come here?”

She figured that she should’ve been kinder, seeing how the boy started to shudder in fright, already on his feet and running back up the stairs to crawl under the blankets beside his mother. She sighed, but like always, found his skittish tendencies to be quite amusing. She only hoped that this wouldn’t be the end of his morning visits.  

And for a week, she had thought they were. The boy hadn’t come out not once in the past seven days, leaving her alone in the heat as she poured the batter onto the blackening pan over the fire. The sizzle of oil filling in the silence and her growing loneliness. Fortunately, that solitude didn’t last too long. On the tenth day, Nanami finally showed face, his footsteps creaking on the wooden staircase as he took gentle steps down. This time, he trudged closer in her vicinity and waited until she took notice. When she turned her head, she beckoned him over with her head and still addressed him as “boy.”

“Come here and learn how to make pancakes with your grandma, okay?” She said something about not having anyone useless in her house, but Nanami didn’t really care for her ramblings. 

It wasn’t until a month after her death that his mother got the idea of turning the house into a bed and breakfast. Nanami didn’t know what that was, but thought it was a terrible idea. He had brought it up a couple of times, always voicing that he didn’t think that’s what Nana would have wanted. However, time and time again, his mother would remind him to stay in a child’s place and dismiss all of his concerns. However, Nanami was growing into a man. Thirteen years of age and having grown a love for the pink home, he didn’t want to see other people— strangers— lurking inside of the place, his home. He tried staying respectful, but his words always fell upon deaf ears with his mom. 

“Have you no concern for our safety?” He knew the abruptness of the conversation would have his mother taken aback. “Strangers coming in and out of the place for a night— who knows what they could do in those couple of hours!”

Nanami couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten slapped. Before this, he remembered being seven when he felt the heavy impact of his mother’s hand. He always remembers the shock of it, and never the physical pain of it. The way his heart beat would quicken and how he gasps. He remembers being hurt, yes, but it was always something emotional for him. His mother always had a tendency to slap him when he spoke too much and had said something she wasn’t fond of. He thought he learned to keep his mouth shut a couple of years ago, but here he finds himself in the same predicament, feeling that same emotional pain all over again. However, the only solution he had come up with at the time was compliance. 

Fortunately for his mother (and unfortunately for him), he had come to enjoy the idea of a bed and breakfast. However, that wouldn’t happen until many years to come. Though, he can imagine how much his mother is smiling in her grave at the fact that he still carries on the Golden Chrysanthemum in her absence. Always keeping it up to pristine conditions— the home still upkeep that same shade of pink that his grandmother had it and the garden of golden chrysanthemums still in its tip-top shape as he tended to them— he no longer does it begrudgingly. Now, he does everything in the memory of his grandmother. However, sometimes he questions if he’s disappointed her with the amount of red that’s seeped into the ground and the haunting stench of death and decay that lies within his wake. 

The dimming sky as the sun continues to set. The twinkling stars that are coming out of their hiding spots, announcing themselves the winner as yet again, the sun hides away in shame. Nanami has matured some more, standing taller than his mother past six feet at twenty-seven years old. His blond hair no longer covering his face and all the hard work outside is paying off as his muscles are well-defined and he has to go to the tailor’s whenever a button’s getting loose. He slouches in his seat to his mother’s dismay, no longer looking him in the eyes with a sense of joy or happiness. She has come to the term that that’s just what happens in adulthood. 

During dinner, his mother had told him to water the flowers, saying that she had forgotten this time around. It was the only thing she said through its entirety and Nanami simply mumbled in acknowledgment before finishing the rest of his plate. He scraped whatever he could for compost while sinking the porcelain plate into the dirty dish water, letting it soak and submerge in the wet mess. 

In that short time, the sky had completely blackened and the man on the moon was his current guardian. Nana had told Nanami just how to tend to the dear flowers, pointing towards the shed as it had everything he needed. His eyes were falling heavy and his vision getting blurry, trudging his way towards it and swinging the door open. With the force, the door quickly shuts as it opens, leaving him in absolute darkness as he maneuvers himself swiftly through it. Reaching for the water pale and the cloth bag full of plant food as he continues on blind to the red-eyed demon that lurks in the corner. 

Nanami remembers the excruciating pain that he felt as he tried to fight the large and bulky body that pressed against him. The crushing grip that was wrapped around his abdomen, squeezing breath from his as two sharp fangs pierced into his skin; the jaw that sunk into his flesh as Nanami screamed out in the distance. How had his mother not here him?

Slowly on the brink of death, when the monster was finished, it flung Nanami’s weaker body to the ground. He heard things tumble and fall as well as the creak of the shed’s door before it was slammed shut. Laying flat on the ground, he felt like he could barely move. However, with the consciousness that he had left, his fingers twitched as he mustered up whatever strength he could to crawl his way through the door. 

Everything in his path started to lose its life, the sharp blades of grass dwindling and turning yellow, the cobblestone pavement smeared in blood and the petals of the golden chrysanthemums quivering to brown as Nanami forced himself to stand. When he touched the door knob, it left a mark and with his heavy footsteps, he wouldn’t know what to explain to his mother. Though, there was nothing much left of her when he woke up the next day, no longer coated in just his own blood.

YEAR 2024, 10:08 PM — nanami’s point of view 

Nanami has come to terms with his life decisions. Finding solace in his mother’s death, he began to take pride in the upkeep of the Golden Chrysanthemum. Spending his days with the curtains shut and tending to any necessary repairs, he made sure that all guests were out by twelve p.m. Despite the daylight ring that was wrapped around his left middle finger, he spent his days cooped up inside the outdated Victorian home finding things to keep him busy and his mind occupied. Circular reading glasses that stuck to the bridge of his nose, his eyes stared at the words on the laptop, going through any bookings and making sure all his books were up to time. He held onto a red-ink pen, jotting down in the notebook alongside him and crossing out the tasks he completed. 

He missed the trivial little human things he used to whine about,especially a headache— a telltale sign from his body silently telling him that he needed a break. Now, he could stand at this desk until the sun goes down, completely unaware of the world around him. Time only seems to be going faster in his presence, nightfall creeping up on his back as a shiver runs down his spine when he no longer feels the ache of the sun through the window. His fingers don’t ache, but when he bends them, he can hear the cracks from each muscle as he shuts down the screen and hops off the round stool. 

Now, he starts to feel it, that hunger deep inside. That hunger eats him up in a way that’s more animalistic than any other ravenous and furry beast to exist. It beckons him to saunter down the wooden floor as his brown leather shoes clunk against the ground and reach for the door knob. Checking the time— ten-o-eight p.m.— he keeps the sign hanging on the door as it says ‘Open.’ He shouldn’t be gone for that long. 

YEAR 2024, 10:15 PM — your point of view ! [ currently filming ]

You remember when you started vehemently watching youtube. You watched videos that primarily focused on lifestyle and vlogs about strangers that you had come to admire. They’d record themselves under certain predicaments that always seemed too private to be shared on the internet and show themselves in low moments. Then, you always told yourself that if you became an influencer of any sort, you’d never do that. 

Now look at you. 

You fix your tripod, making sure that the camera is focused and that the red light is on as it captures the entirety of your vehicle on camera. Internally, you were asking yourself what you were doing. It was ten-fifteen at night and the sky was dark. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere anyone could come out at any moment and murder you. However, that’s why you also convinced yourself that this was a great idea. If you were to die, your evidence will be recorded for the authorities to find. 

You also needed to talk about your current predicament, even if it was ultimately to yourself in this very moment in time. What was so wrong with that? 

“Guys,” speaking to the camera, you sighed. “My car broke down.”

You had made the plans to travel from your hometown all the way to California in a lonesome roadtrip to celebrate graduating from school with your master’s in Occupational Therapy. It was a huge accomplishment and in the time that it took from undergrad to here, you never really took some time to really do something you wanted. You were also considering the possibility of moving out-of-state with California as the place to be, making sure to kill two birds with one stone as you wanted to experience the different climate as a tourist first before becoming a resident. 

You were expected to arrive at your hotel by tomorrow evening, but you fear that this delay with offset your entire plans. Now, you’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in Nebraska, stranded. “I don’t even understand how. I made sure that everything was in good standing before I left. Maybe I was overworking it, but I don’t know… Ugh, I’m just gonna google and see if there are any places open at this time at night to see if they’d help a damsel in distress.”

Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, when you press the power button, the brightness blinds you. You turn it down as your attention quickly becomes glued to the device, praying that the few signal bars that you have won’t result in a time-consuming wait. You perch yourself on the hood of the car as your camera silently watches, recording everything. With one hand scrolling through your phone, you start to gnaw on one of your hang-nails.

You gnaw and gnaw absentmindedly until a harsh pinch makes you hiss. From the light of your phone, you can see the small red dot that slowly starts to expand. Grimacing, you sweep it under the bridge, licking off the light wound. 

The camera catches it, the dark figure that appears from nowhere, looming silently before it comes closer. Their figure becomes more clear in their hauntingly silent steps, standing behind your car before your front door. A teal blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows and an animal-print tie that matches with khakis slacks held up by a deep brown belt, he stands half an inch over six feet. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice that immediately sends you jumping off your car. You immediately catch yourself, using the vehicle to stop your fall. Your phone falls from your grasp, hitting the ground as a squeak leaves your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” the man comes to apologize. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It just seems like you needed some help, that’s all. Did your car break down?”

Your body tenses up, taking in the man from head-to-toe as you stoop down to grab your phone, which now has a cracked screen. You test out the power button, grateful that it still lights up, at least. You nod your head, though still averting your eyes away from him. “Yeah, it did.”

“Could I possibly take a look at it to see the problem?” he offers you assistance. “I won’t be able to do much, but I own a bed n’ breakfast just two miles back. You can spend the night and if it’s something simple I can help get your car back on the road, or I can help you find the closest mechanic right in the morning.”

The prospect of his plan was enticing, but something still made your skin crawl about him. A shiver ran down your spine, the cold breeze starting to run through you as you tried debating this in your mind. It was late at night and truthfully, you should've found yourself somewhere to rest your head at. However, you planned to find somewhere by midnight before sluggishly bringing yourself to whatever place to rest your head for the night. Nevertheless, what was a man like this doing at this time of night? 

You give him another once-over. He seems like he just came off of work, you noted to yourself. Did he say he owned a bed n’ breakfast? 

“You own a bed n’ breakfast?” You ask, to which, he nods. “What’s it called?”

“The Golden Chrysanthemum.”

“Do you have a business card for it?” Immediately, he reaches in his back pocket, pulling one out and handing it to you. You dust off your phone, trying to rid yourself of any fine pieces of glass shards onto your loose-fitted pants before typing in the business name for further verification. You scroll through whatever reviews you can find, all of them seemingly rating the place four to five stars and having all nice things to say. 

Your shoulders fall and your body relaxes a bit as you finally give him the okay to check on your car. He sends you to the front seat, popping the lid and starting the car. He’s able to find the issue in a short manner of time and tells you that it’s an easy fix. “You just need a jump start. You have a jump starter, right?”

You feel ashamed to admit that you don’t. You were living a very frugal lifestyle in grad school, knowing that you needed things but couldn’t afford it at the time. When creating this road trip checklist, you had forgotten to put it on your list entirely. Shaking your head no, the man— or Nanami Kento, according to his business card— shuts the lid. “You should invest in one.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, sheepishly. “I know.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll call for a tow truck.”

After grabbing some of your necessities from your car— your suitcase and a backpack— Nanami does, most, all of the heavy lifting as he drags your suitcase and backpack. The two of you walk in a silence that you feel is uncomfortable as you constantly glance back at him in a wariness. “Why are you out so late?”

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he answers, nonchalantly. He doesn’t give further elaboration, making more questions swirl in your mind as you remember him saying that the Golden Chrysanthemum was two miles back. Usually, when you had a heavy mind and couldn’t fall asleep, you’d walk half-a-mile— a mile at most. However, his tone was laced with such certainty that it was believable. He seemed so rigid that if you dared to question him any further, you probably wouldn’t get anywhere. 

“Wow,” you gawk instead. “You walked for two miles and still aren’t tired?”

“Yeah,” Nanami answers. He’s learned to not overcompensate. Too long of an explanation would leave people suspicious and suspicious people are why the cat gets killed. He never expected to be helping someone stranded on the side of the road tonight, but the deep neck of the woods were bare of any hikers. He always considered himself a dignified person, having a code that aligned with his morals— no women or children. He’d never break that code with himself.

You frown at the dry response, a fog forming when you sigh as you decide to play along into the silent game. The only thing to be heard is the shuffling of your feet against the ground and the wheels of your suitcase spinning smoothly before you’re finding yourself stepping onto a cobblestone path. Nanami starts leading the way as you take a step behind to marvel over the tall beauty as the moon sparkles against it. 

Two-story pink beauty with white accents, wooden panels that seem so brand new and glass that sparkles even in the dark. The sign next to you seems to have been handpainted, the dark letters that were written in such perfect calligraphy that reads of the name. Nanami doesn’t wait for you, hauling your stuff up as you start getting closer to the front steps. It’s then that you come to notice the well-kept lawn and the garden that aligns the building, the flowers that have given the place its name— The Golden Chrysanthemum. 

YEAR 2024, 12:03 AM — your point of view [ filming ! ] 

You jump up in bed with a jolt, your heart thumping against your chest in an attempt to escape your body. You heave, trying to catch your breath as you don’t have the liberty of gradually coming to your senses. In the darkness, you can’t see anything as you kick off the cotton covers and your bare feet land on the cold, wooden ground. 

The moment that Nanami had set up a room for you, you realized how exhausted you are. The mattress of the bed was so comfortable and the pillows so soft, the minute your head hit the pillow, you were fast asleep. But you had barely been sleeping for half an hour when you heard these creaking sounds and the occasional thud, the very thing being the reason why you’re up right now. 

With your heart more steady and coming to your senses, you glance at the clock and exhale. Still obnoxiously exhausted, you reach for your camera as you remember its existence and turn it on. The lens on your face and the red light right on you, you forget about the fact that you’re in the dark. As if on queue, you drag out a huge yawn. “Well… I managed to find a place to stay for the night.

“This guy… I don’t know where he came from, but…” You’re dozing in and out, trying to get your thoughts straight. “But, he offered to help me out with my car and he owns a bed n’ breakfast. That’s—” you yawn once more “—where I’m at right now.

“The bed—” you pat the bed, droning on and on as you recommend the place. Your eyes would lull shut, dozing off occasionally before your body reminded you of the camera in your hand. Unsteadily, the lens was no longer on your face and pointed towards the window. The moon was shining, but very dimly as you were gifted the view of beautiful greenery. In a bedroom that faced the back of the house, the bushes were whistling in the wind along with the cicadas and crickets that sang at night. It was a singular moment, happening within a split second that the camera captured vividly, a figure that resembled a human but moved at the speed of light. Heading towards the shed as the door quickly opens and shuts. 

Focusing and unfocusing before focusing once more, the camera was hoping to capture more until you had finally come to your senses. Fixing your hand, the camera was back on you. “You know what, I’m gonna head back to sleep. I should’ve just… waited for the morning before updating you guys. Um… Good night.”

YEAR 2024, 2:24 AM — your point of view [ filming! ]

You had a dreamless sleep, but at some point in between, you felt a sense of unease. When you wake up again, it’s nearly half-past-two in the morning. You’re kicking your legs off the bed once more, bare feet planted against the cold wooden ground as you roll your shoulders. You don’t have to come to your senses, your anxiety does all of that for you. Heart pressing against your chest and your breathing harsh and uneven. Your eyes are closed as you try to steady yourself before standing up. 

You roll your shoulders back one more time before rubbing your eyes and wiping away the crust that had begun to form. Exhaling, you think the best thing to do is to go out for a walk. Peeking out of the window, the sky still dark and the moon seeming brighter. You slip back on the shoes you were wearing, still in the same clothes that you had driven in for how many hours. Hand twisting the door knob, the hall is dark with an overhead lamp that’s on a dim setting. You hadn’t forgotten your camera, still at a decent charge as the red light shines dimly. You don’t feel like saying a word. 

It’s silent, deafeningly so that it feels eerie. Though, that only seems natural at a time like this. Everyone else must be fast asleep, you easily presume in order to calm yourself down. Including the owner himself as you walk towards the lobby, where a counter sits to your left and the living area to your right. Cream-colored walls and white furniture that helps brighten up the place. The mounted television is off and everything is still. Every trinket and every object seemingly staring you down in an effort to scrutinize and only increasing your panic as you hug yourself, arms wrapped around you as you move forward to the door.

The night is chillier, the thin veil of your top doing nothing to keep you warm as your feet shuffle down the sidewalk. Your legs move involuntarily, starting you on an unknown path as your phone sits in your back pocket. If push comes to shove, you have that to rely on. It’s now two-thirty-five in the morning as you trek down the cobblestone path and head down the sturdy sidewalk. Even with the insects harmonizing and the gust of wind whirling by, it’s eerily stagnant outside. You try to keep your breathing steady as you hold yourself tighter, walking past an abundance of greenery. The moon peeking through the trees, playing hide and seek with you as it provides you company. Finally, do you speak into the camera, keeping it facing forward instead of on you in order to capture the beauty of the night. 

“I woke up yet again,” you sigh. “Honestly, a lot of this footage, I might be cutting out, but you guys will provide me more comfort while I’m taking a walk… in the middle of the night.”

The next time you check your phone, it’s seven minutes until three in the morning. Gradually do you feel more at peace as you come to accept that your mind and worries are only playing a game on you, finding your demise to be comical. However, it’s three-eleven when you finally decide to turn back around. 

Your camera catches him first. More silent than a pin dropping, his stance is stiff and threatening as his eyes are darker than the coffee-colored hues they were before. Again, your heart pounds against your chest as he approaches you without a word. You clutch your chest, camera staggering as your nails dig into your shirt. “God, you just keep on scaring me tonight.”

He ignores your fright, head tilting to the right as he clutches his fists, veins protruding from his hands to his forearms. “What’re you doing out so late? It’s not safe at this time of night.”

“I’m just taking a little walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air.”

“I think it’s best that you head back inside, ma’am.” You notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs, seemingly trying to keep himself together. “Like I said, these times at night aren’t very… safe.”

Against your better judgment, you shake your head. “I’ll head back in soon. I just need a few more minutes to myself before turning back.”

“It would be better if you’d head back now, actually.”

Eyes squinting as you keep the camera pointed to him, you take a step back. “I think I’m fine, actually.”

“You’re in a place you’re unfamiliar with,” Nanami goes on to argue, challenging you as he inhales deeply. “Don’t you think the smart choice would be to turn back?”

“Why do you—”

“Look,” he cuts you off. “I’m trying to seek out your best interests. I don’t think it will be particularly smart for you to keep arguing with me—” His eyes soften, silently pleading with you. “—Please, head back.”

Your shoulders drop in defeat as you go to turn off your camera. Underneath your breath, you say, “Fine.”

However, at three-twelve in the morning, your camera lens is shattered as it lies on the ground and the red light is still shining. In the blink of an eye, you’re gone and the device abandoned. 

YEAR 2024, 4:59 AM — omnipresent point of view [ not recording ] 

You don’t know what time it is when you finally return back to consciousness. Hands bound behind your back as thick ropes keep them still. Your eyes flutter open as your chest rises and falls, trying to get a bearing of your surroundings as Nanami is kneeling in front of you. Eyes that still hold that same darkness as he watches you return back to reality. Oh, how hard he tried to keep himself grounded, trying to restrain the hunger within himself. Even now, he tries to keep himself under control.

However, is there any way to keep you alive after this point? He’s no magician. He can’t take away your memories and make you forget. To have you walking around, knowing of his existence, it wouldn’t be safe for him. 

I could paint her as a mad woman, he contemplates. Who’d believe a girl claiming that vampires are real? However, he knocks that question out with, She could, however, paint me a criminal. Nonetheless, in this battle for rationality and morals, time continues to go and his hunger grows stronger. Nails digging into the palm of his hand, threatening to prick into his skin, he stands when a faint gasp leaves your lips. “Wh–Where am I?”

In the basement, he’s got you tied down to a pole. You try to pull at the binding, your wrists already bruised from how tight he’s got the ropes. “Why am I tied up? Who are you— Let me go!”

Your mind whirls as you come to your senses, eyes widening as you try to free yourself. He should’ve thought this through. He should’ve killed you the moment he knocked you out. You’d have a painless death. Now, he’s given you the curse of one that’ll be excruciating. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I tried warning you when I had a bit more self-control.”

When he inches toward you, you try to back away from him. However, that only results in your head hitting the pole as your breathing becomes erratic. He ignores your fright, trying to ignore the guilt that courses through him as he stands behind you, reaching for the man-made manacles— if you can even call them man-made anymore. “You’ve worn me out, however.”

“What do you mean?” you try looking back, feeling the restraints being lifted and only to be replaced with his tight hold. “Please—” You try your luck here, attempting to pull away from his grasp, but he doesn’t budge one bit. “Please, let me go.” 

Your chest heaves, panting heavily as tears prick down your face. One hand holding down your wrists, Nanami reaches to swipe away at the dried blood. He had created a nasty gash in your head, blood still pooling from it as crimson paints his thumb. “I don’t usually prey on women. It goes against my own code, but…”

With a lick from his tongue, the dark veins underneath his eyes reveal his true form. “You’ve left me no choice. I just couldn’t… I just can’t hold back anymore.”

Eyes widening as you know your impending death is near, your mind does the best thing it could conjure. Letting out signals as your body comes to a cold sweat, you let out a blood-curdling scream in hopes to be heard. However, inhumanely faster than you, sharp canines reveal themselves and prick into the nape of your neck. Your cry for help becomes choked, stuttering on the high-pitched wail as you mewl out in pain. 

“Please,” you beg, your body feeling heavier by the second. “I–I don’t… I don’t want to die.”

When he drops your lifeless body, your eyes are still wide open. Nanami gives you the grace of closing them.

YEAR 2024, 5:43 AM — nanami’s point of view [ destroyed footage ]

Nanami considers himself lucky when he’s the first to find your camera. Picking it up, he’s surprised that the damn thing is still on and flashing red. Mouth smeared in a browning rouge, he looks into the camera lens with a dead stare. Then forcing it to the ground, the glass shatters as two heavy stomps crush the device, the sims card still intact. 

THE END.

film credits — thank you to @mitsuwu for basically giving me the idea to make reader an influencer.

subscriptions ── @r0ckst4rjk @kasukuna @satsattoru @blcknebula @tojirin

[norikuna]

MEOW OR NEVER REVIEW alert everyone! u guys need to read this, its the funniest and most well thought out fic everrrrr <3

SUKUNA AND CHOSO MENTIONED I CHEERED. who else cheered (and the crowd goes nuts 🤭)

im afraid i want geto so bad already its not even funny. love how gojo the cat is already a star from his first scene

please know that im cheesing at this point

THEYRE SO CUTE!!!! never settle for less...i can only imagine the struggle of geto trying to get gojo to dip his paw in ink

itadori yuuji cameo i did shed a tear a bit. absolutely obsessed with the little impromptu party thrown for the kittens

from here on out, my ipad ran out of battery aurkay...i fear i have bigger issues w/ that device BUT we continue!!!

gojo the absolute casanova, the cat ladies' man im crying i love his antics so much theyre so fun to read bc why tf is cat gojo wiggling his butt

SUKUNA SCENE!!!! love how hes characterised here, what a grump. just a hater for the sake of being a hater. also i cant even tell u how much it pleases me to see a geto x sukuna interaction bc usually they never cross over in fan works, let alone at all in canon

yuuji is so me bc i would have left the apartment. im 100% a cat person but i would be terrified of having one simply because im so squeamish and seeing a dead rat/bird/lizard would make me hurl and cry

no. 1 haterboy back on the scene, being no help as usual #thatsmywife...i felt sauur bad for reader here like i got the idea that geto would have had a reason but standing someone up is NAWT cool

also i squealed when they finally kissed and stalked each other too a bit. need a man's linkedin to stalk so he can stalk my gorgeous spotify....#when

gojo cat crying???? i love u and this fic soooooo much don't even joke. mr pickles getting a bmw seat 🤩

shoko is so me. bc there's one thing to learn medicine for humans but i get so squeamish and teary when it comes to anything remotely to do with animals or vet med. 😭 also mr pickles keeping gojo in line, oh this diva has him WHIPPED

10/10 fic, i can't even stress enough how much joy this gave me to read. i was laughing, i was crying from joy and also just sheer obsession with how u write everything so witty. and i always love seeing small details about characters in your fics, like how they dress, where they live + even geto's bookmarked tabs. everything is. always so well thought out and clever and believe that i will always come back to this fic

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.

[kawaiiwritingcomputer]

sonic characters when they have a crush on you || headcanons

Sonic 🍄

Sonic is the “doesn’t make it too obvious” king of guy. You give him something, he takes it with grace and a simple thank you and nothing more but behind closed doors he admires it. He holds everything and anything you give him or do for him dearly. His love language is gift giving but makes it seem like it was nothing.

“Oh yeah this old thing? No worries, just had to get rid of it anyway.” Meanwhile he totally thought of you and what you had mentioned. He’s the kind of hedgehog that can’t go too long without your attention without feeling weirdly huffy but refuses to admit he had a crush on you!

“Has anyone seen (Y/N)? I’m gonna go check on them.” Yeah. He totally doesn’t have a crush.

Tails 🍄

Tails makes his crush totally obvious. He’s inventing you things saying you might need them. Tails explain it thoroughly so you’re always well equipped and know what to do! He’s always looking for you everywhere just in case… Just in case what? Well, for just in case. Tails gets a little nervous that you might not like him back so he tries to overcompensate as a true friend! He’s so easy to fluster. He laughs at everything you say! Even if it’s not funny sometimes. Tails listens to every detail of your life and closely pays attention. Tails loves you so much to the point he’ll create anything for you!

Knuckles 🪼

The echidna will treat you with the respect he gives any other, overall being a kind person. He wouldn’t know what do to with himself, caught in your flames of love. He thinks of you often, yearning to have you in a hug. He’s so strong,, but not strong enough to deny these feelings. He is bad with hints, and to be honest he’s rather blunt.

“Y/N, here are these flowers I picked for you; and also some grapes! I think you are beautiful/attractive, and I would like to court you on a date!” He’s so serious, it’s very silly but you think it’s endearing and sweet. He’ll try to impress you and make a fool out of himself, eventually winning you over in the end because he’s such a silly cute guy and he makes you laugh.

shadow 🪼

He pretends like his feelings don’t exist, for as long as he can stand it. Damn, you’re just so cute, doing your own thing and enjoying every moment of it. You’ll try to drag him along somewhere for fun, and he’ll pretend he hates it but he’s loving every minute with you. He doesn’t make eye contact with you and he seems to be blushing a lot. He’ll only start to open up to you in private moments.

Shadow will show you small physical affections, like an awkward hug or simply trying to hold your hand. If you seem even a little bit off he will pull away, fearing you may think of him as a monster. You’ll have to reassure him yourself and make some of your own moves. “You don’t think I’m,,, dangerous?” He’s scared of hurting you, he doesn’t want to lose something he loves,, have it ripped away from him again.

silver 🍄

Oh Silver. He’s so awkward and shy! He can conversate for sure but if you show too much interest with your pretty eyes he starts to shut down. Silver practically melts but tells himself he must keep strong. He doesn’t want to look weak to you. He has everything under control! Including his crush on you… Or so he thinks. He yaps about the future and his special interests to you. Silver isn’t a show off kind of guy but if he thinks something will impress you, he’ll try to impress you for sure! Even if it embarrasses himself. Anything to hear you laugh!

scourge 🪼

Scourge always gets what he wants, even if he has to take it. From the moment he set his eyes on you, he wasn’t gonna give up. He had to have you. You would look so good as royalty by his side, sitting atop a throne. He would shower you with gifts, anything even stuff you wouldn’t care for. You may be flattered, but he’s a bad boy. He’s trouble, a straight up red flag that’s erratically waving!! He would make any comment he could about you, often really lewd stuff. Obviously staring at you from beneath those flashy sunglasses. He does have a hidden gentlemanly vibe on the inside, though, when he’s fallen into your trap instead. He’s like a moth to a flame fr.

“Have anything ya want from me, please, just take my heart already! I can’t stand it, someone like you lookin’ so good, you should be mine! Come on, I ain’t as bad as everyone says!” His huge fanged grin says otherwise, but at least he’s trying to be honest about his feelings. You get to be royalty, and he may not seem like it but Scourge is a very loyal partner to you.

amy 🍄

Amy is sooo obvious about her crush with you. She’s daydream scenarios and sighing dreamily to herself. You can always feel her eyes on you, and even feel her smile from miles away. Amy reads her tarot cards about you weekly to see when the perfect day to confess is but she gets nervous. What if it ruins the friendship? She can’t stand the thought of not being anything at all! Amy makes you home made gifts as a token of her love. You say you want new earrings? She’s on it! You saw a cute blanket? She’s knitting away! You would have to be blind to not see her crush. Will you accept her feelings?

rouge 🍄

Rouge is hot and cold with you. Is she being nice or is she flirting? Is she being mean or is shy flirting? She’s also very touchy, in a sly innocent way. If you questioned her, she would just shrug innocently. “Ya had something on ya, I was just trying to help.” Rouges love language can be hard to pinpoint. She comes and goes when she pleases but she always makes sure to talk to you. She doesn’t gift you anything because she doesn’t buy anything but she might steal you something. Rouge is playing the long game with you, slowly working her way into your life completely. She just thinks it’s cute watching you get flustered.

sticks 🪼

Sticks is attached to you in an endearing way, and she likes to talk a lot, so hopefully you can keep up with her. She’s not a prize to be won, you have to earn her respect and show her comfort before trust. She’s been through a lot,, and will be glad to have someone to finally talk to and lean on! She would make you primitive looking gifts, or go hunting to bring you something. She feels like she needs to give you something to represent her feelings.

She is quite flirtatious, and it could be confused with her also just being friendly- because she talks without thinking a lot. She makes compliments on your appearance, offers to show you new things, and tends to be kinda handsy. “You n me get along so good, we might as well become partners!” She would remark, hoping you’ll get her hints.

blaze 🍄

Blaze is direct. She befriends you and talks to you a lot. She goes out of her to see you then will go see others. You’re like a soft and safe place for her. She’s got a cool exterior and she feels like when she’s with you, it can be dropped. She knows she can be quiet or talkative around you and you’ll gladly just show up for her. Her love language is quality time and sharing things!

belle 🪼

First thing about Belle, she’s gonna stand up for you in all situations. She is very reliable, and also super intelligent and interesting. She’s so cute, she would love having your company,, someone to chat with while fixing up inventions. She longs for a partnership, and a bond where she doesn’t get hurt in the end. She’s a little shy when it comes to her crush on you,, and you’ll notice she’ll be more nervous and blushy, words don’t seem to come out right and she’s scared of messing up!!

When it comes to how Belle would confess, she would try to make it fantasy line for you. A beautiful environment to look upon, stars in the sky, and she would make you something related to your interests as a gift,, to show you she cares and she has a heart even if she is made of wood and other materials. She would protect you with all of her power, and always try to keep you happy.

bonus: robotnik

What?! Feelings?? Ivo has never felt such things, in fact he would rather laugh!! There is no feeling, only knowing, he claims to believe, and being deemed as unwanted all of his life has only driven these thoughts in harder. In truth he’s honestly scared of emotion,, he doesn’t like the way things can hurt him,, he doesn’t like to care. Vengeance against that hedgehog and his friend is his motivation…. At least until you came along.

There had never been any processing,, if there was room for love in his life. He’d try to calculate it into his plans,, but such an unforeseen situation would have his mind scattered. He’s a lil stressed about it, and may give you harsher conditions to try and push it all away- but he realizes he feels bad about it. Remorseful, he’s gonna apologize to you and try to set you free, you’re better off without him. If you try to stay— well he wouldn’t know what to do, but would blindly accept the situation, and fess up to you. He will always put you first and would never judge you. He never realized before how badly he craves touch,, and someone to love.

[theroamingtrashcan]

Is anyone else worried about the next LoL show? Like I know its going to be beautiful, and probably well written, but I don't know if its even going to come close to the majesty of Arcane. Specifically, the line in the teaser they dropped (that Ik is for the next season of LoL) "Piltover was a lesson" is worrying me.

What made Arcane as good as it was, to me, was the intmacy between the characters. From the sisterhood and family Jinx and Vi shared, to the random pianist who joined the war aginst Ambessa and Viktor simply because he felt he had to, to even Marcus just having a daughter. These details, that inconnected the characters, that made them feel raw and human, gave such a weight to all the death and destruction that occured throughout the show.

But, if it was all just a "lesson", what does that mean for the future? It kinda demeans what happened in Arcane in a way that worries me. Yeah, the scope of what happened is relatively small compared to the world of Runeterra, but being small is what made it good. Zeroing in on a select few characters in one city, letting them build that intimacy that was integral to the show's story. I am worried about the next show losing that and just becoming "sexy LoL characters who partake in big magic fights with cool music in the background".

Idk, I hope everyone I've seen interpert "Piltover was a lesson" as a good thing is right. I just cannot get out of my head that it is not inherently a good direction to take the series. Bigger is not always better. However, this all hinges on that teaser being connected to the next show, which I honestly cannot see how it isn't. From literally showing Mel, to name dropping Piltover, I am almost certain that this was meant to give us a taste of what coming.

[pompomchihuahua]

Genya Shinazugawa: A Fish In a Birdcage

It's my favorite boy's birthday and today I want to celebrate why he's possibly one of the most talented characters in the show while still being considered one of the "weakest."

In case it wasn't immediately obvious, Genya is my favorite little guy from Demon Slayer. Everything from his design to his abilities to his personality and story just speak to me.

For this analysis I wanna focus on a little bit of everything, starting with his design.

So from the get-go, the first things you notice about the boy are the huge ass scar on his face and his scrunkly little mohawk. The scar immediately tells you that he has a history. It's an unspoken message of survival and overcoming suffering.

As for the mohawk, well you have to look a little deeper into how Japanese media portrays hair. For early media, it's a sign of refinement and status. To the point that one of the many hallmarks of evil in Japanese folklore is unkempt hair. For the mohawk specifically, it's a symbol of rebellion and a strong, edgy personality.

His clothing is purple and black. Interestingly, purple was, for a long time, banned by commoners to wear as it was exceedingly hard and expensive to get ahold of. By late Edo and early Meiji the tides changed to where it became quite fashionable among common folk to wear purple to the point it got the nickname "old purple" or kodai murasaki. (you can read about it here) But purple can also represent strength.

His sharp eyes, small irises, and furrowed brow all point to a very aggressive design. And! I'd like to note that he's using a katana here, which I'll get back to later in another post!

So! Now, we see Genya's traded out his katana for his iconic gun along with a wakizashi (a shortsword used by samurai primarily for finishing blows, fitting as that's exactly how Genya uses it in canon).

There's a modern misconception that samurai were wholly against the use of firearms during their active periods, but history and art show quite the opposite (here). And seeing as Demon Slayer takes place during the Taisho era, when Japan was seeing a lot of "modernization" and were specifically adopting a lot of Western values, it makes sense to implement a character using a more modern and Western weapon (even his outfit is more of a western style with his pants being a straight cut instead of the traditional samurai hakama that the others wear!).

His hair is grown out and more tamed though still in a mohawk style showing that while he's softened, he still has a strong personality and rebellious edge. Another thing I find cool is that the author gave an in canon reason for Genya's hair length in the Kimetsu Gakuen extra; he uses it to gauge the strength and direction of the wind to redirect his shots.

We also see that he's shot up in height and filled out in physique, a very nice nod to how his demon eating abilities affected his body in the long term.

Overall, Genya's design is efficient without giving everything away. It leaves out the subtle details like his hidden gentle nature and his sharp mind and good heart; which I'll elaborate on now.

One misconception I see floating around a lot is that Genya is below average intelligence. This is probably for three reasons: the extra in the Kimetsu Gakuen universe where Sanemi tells Genya to "get better at his math" and the part in the data book where it says Genya is "never calculating." The third reason is that there's a bit of a stereotype that thug/punk=stupid.

But in Kimetsu Gakuen proper we see that Genya is actually making really good grades.

But test grades aren't everything! Even in canon we find out that Genya is incredibly observant. During the Hashira training arc, Genya says this: "Well, not that Himejima-san is exactly good at teaching it. You need to watch and learn and swipe it for yourself, all right?"

This implies that Genya taught himself the Repetitive Motion technique by just watching Himejima do it. He is a master marksman and described as the ace of his high school shooting club able to make real time adjustments to his aim based on how the wind blows his hair.

Not calculating just means he's not one for scheming, not that he's incapable of critical thought. And Sanemi getting onto him for his math scores is him being a hardass as Genya is within the top 15 in his grade.

He is still a child at heart, something he desperately tries to hide and that is readily apparent in the Japanese version. Specifically in the way he oscillates between using "Nii-chan" (the childish way you'd refer to your older brother, as expected in especially young children or women) and "Aniki" (the rougher way of saying it, translates more as "big bro").

As for his gentle nature, I already made a whole post on how I believe Genya stepped in as the homemaker of the Shinazugawa family. (Which you can read here) He's also described in the data book as regaining his "gentle nature," telling the audience that he was a soft hearted boy growing up.

Look at his soft smile here when he sees that Nezuko is okay! He genuinely cares about their well-being despite Tanjirou having what Genya desperately wants but can't have: family, strength, the ability to use breathing.

He apologizes to Kanata and steps in to help the caterpillar girls in one winged butterfly. He may have a brash exterior, but he's got a heart of gold.

However, out of anyone, no one hates Genya more than Genya hates himself.

Which brings me to my next and main topic: Genya's abilities and how it makes him a fish in a birdcage.

From the very first introduction of Genya's ability, the very narrative sets Genya up as "talentless." "He doesn't have the physical talent to use breathing techniques." As a result, his nichirin blade never changes color. He makes up for this by using his gun, but when he's put into a tight situation, that's when his more unique ability comes into play.

Before we get into that, I want to delve into what the breathing techniques are and what they're supposed to do. For that we go all the way back to the beginning where we meet Makomo who says this: "Total Concentration Breathing accelerates your blood circulation and your heart rate. That causes your body temperature to spike, making you as strong as a demon while being human." So we can conclude that the goal of TCB is to achieve demonic strength.

Which brings me to Genya's most unique and prominent ability; Genya can eat demons to temporarily gain the powers of a demon without fully becoming one. So, if Genya can't use breathing but can gain the strength of a demon anyway, then there should be no problem, right?

Well, it seems that the demon slayer corps is built upon a rather strict honor code and places a heavy emphasis on tradition. Genya not being able to use breathing and having to rely on tainted, evil power, to have to stoop down to a demon's level and consume flesh, in the corps' eyes it makes him lesser. And Genya seems overly aware of this.

He says that Shinobu makes a disgusted face when she sees him and he likely relates it back to him being breathless and eating demons. In one winged butterfly, after he's unable to find the words to reassure another demon slayer he thinks this: "He really was broken. He couldn't do a single thing properly. This was probably why his brother wouldn't look at him."

Hell, even Inosuke throws in his two cents, calling Genya a "wimp" for being unable to use breathing techniques (of which Genya gets really defensive about and starts a fight). He thinks of himself as weak in the infinity castle and unable to really do anything until he remembers Tanjirou's encouragement.

It's safe to say that Genya's self esteem is in the toilet.

He, arguably, has access to a technique that's far more potent than TCB in that it not only gives him the strength of a demon but also gives him the healing and abilities of a demon without the downside of actually being a demon. But because it isn't TCB, he's constantly put down and belittled.

He's meant to fly to the top of the cliff when his real strength lies in swimming up the waterfall. He can still get to the same places but he's looked down upon for his methods.

But there's a legend about a carp that swam upstream against all odds, that leapt up the falls of the Yellow River at Dragon Gate and became a Dragon. It's a story of perseverance and transformation and it's one Genya achieves in his last moments.

Genya achieves his ultimate power; unlocking a blood demon art of his own while still retaining his humanity (and yes, he is still human at this point, Kokushibou confirms as much). It's the ultimate demon hunting technique, parasitic roots that paralyze the target and suck the blood, preventing the target from unleashing their own BDA.

His only thoughts in that moment being that he won't let any of them die. Genya sacrificed everything for his brother, ultimately achieving the goal he had when he was just a child: to protect his Nii-chan. And his brother finally lets his guard down to, switching to the more babyish language (he refers to himself as Nii-chan, saying "Nii-chan will fix this") and it's only then that Genya lets his guard down too. In his last moments, Genya got to be his true self.

A kind, fiercely protective, and loving boy with strength that went beyond what was ever expected of him. He is, possibly one of the strongest characters in theory with so much unexplored potential. His design is solid, telling viewers a lot without giving everything away, his story is compelling (especially to people who are gifted in the "wrong ways") and his personality is complex.

There's a reason I can make so many posts about this character alone and why I have more planned for the bestest boy. But for now! Happy birthday Genya!

[arafainsilver]

Taking my leave from the Tolkien fandom.

I have been quiet lately and the reason for this is my own conflicted feelings about if I should just leave the fandom or stick and keep defending Celeborn.

I decided to no longer defend him, I give up and I am tired of the hate he has gotten but also other characters in Tolkien his book work has gotten.

I just don’t like the vibe that rop has brought/increased to this fandom, I know that it has been around even before Rop but ever since that series came out it has spiked, I know it is only a small amount of them that do so but it is almost on every platform now and I don’t want to be part of that any longer. I will always hold a grudge against Amazon and the show writers for not following the timeline or keep to the way the canon events have been written.

I don’t want to get to get more negative so I won’t go into further details about how I feel.

I do want to say that I appreciate everyone who has defended Celeborn or any other character in Tolkien his works or any fandom that gotten more hate than needed.

Thank you and I wish you all the best for the future and even to all the rop fans I hope you keep enjoying the show even if I don’t like the show I am glad you guys do.

[thunderlina]

Words cannot express how much I utterly despise Fem Scout. Like not as a concept, genderswapping the mercs is fine, hell I don't really even mind people being horny about her, but god the popular Fem Scout models are ugly. Her proportions don't make any sense, especially in the game's art style. Compare her to Miss Pauling or Scout's Ma and she looks so out of place.

Just look at those proportions... her torso is stupidly massive compared to her arms and her head looks way too small.

And more often than not her face doesn't even look finished. It's so flat and plasticky looking compared to the official models which have more detailed shading in their face textures

And I think the real kicker is that, for a character who's supposed to be a female version of Scout... she doesn't even look like him at all! Scout's got such a distinct nose shape that's just completely thrown out in favor of a generic thin pointy nose. And don't tell me "oh it was just made smaller to feminize it" because SCOUT'S MA HAS THE SAME NOSE not just in fan models but in canon art too!

It's not even just Scout either really, a majority of the popular fem merc models have the same issues.

The fact that they consistently remove their male counterparts hooked noses too is a crime

Also I don't even know where to begin with Fem Sniper but she's honestly even worse than Fem Scout like what even is this because that sure as hell isn't Sniper bro 😭

I guess it just boggles my mind that there are so many gorgeous fan made models of TF2 characters out there and yet somehow, after 17 years, no one has come out with new fem merc models that actually look good.

I did try my hand at making my own FemScout a while back, just by editing Scout's original model. Her face is a little wonky but I'm mostly pretty happy with how she came out. I'd put her on the SFM workshop if I knew how to export Source models.

I just really wish we as a fandom could move past those garbage models already honestly there's no reason they should have stuck around as long as they have 😭

[ruumiinlaulaja]

So I rewatched Mastermind, specifically the court scene. It's interesting to observe this near constant back and forth between Andrealphus and Vassago. It's quite obvious they know each other. But it's unclear how well they know each other. Just how deep is the connection between them, I wonder?

When we first see them, Andre hasn't even started talking yet, and Vassago is already glaring directly at him. Andre might be looking at Vassago too, it's hard to tell, but it feels significant that they’re directly opposite from one another, on the opposite ends of the room. At this point nobody knows Andre is going to be in the spotlight, but Vassago certainly seems to pay attention to him. Therefore, he absolutely knows this bitch and he knows he's up to something. There is history between the two of them.

The "okay, Vassago, shut the fuck up" line is the most obvious implication about their familiarity. I also find it interesting how Vassago is the only one standing up to Andre and has no problem challenging him or yelling at him. And yet, after Andre's emotional burst, Vassago pretty much dismisses him, apparently knowing there's no point arguing with him. This also implies there is deeper familiarity between them.

After Blitz blurts out ”if I wanted to kill Stolas I would have done it myself” and unintentionally incriminates himself, Andre is looking directly at Vassago to see his reaction. And he smirks. At Vassago. Nobody else. Why does he need to convince Vassago of all people? 🤔 Sus. Also, when Satan sentences Blitz, it’s interesting how they show Andre and Vassago and their reactions almost back to back like that.

Idk it all feels very intentional. It feels like there’s a small story being told through these small details. At least to me it feels significant, because these moments show how they notice each other and watch each other throughout the whole scene, even when neither of them are in the spotlight.

So, what's up? Are they frenemies? Enemies to lovers? Lovers to enemies?? Lovers to enemies and back to lovers??? Ugh just fuck him and shut him up, Vassago.

Of course I might be reading too much into this (probably because I'm pretty desperate to see my silly ship together lmao), but I certainly hope the connection between them is more than ”they know each other from goetian social functions”.

Also, why confirm them as gay if this detail is not going to get explored in any way? Sure, the subject of their sexuality can be handled in many ways (and potentially never get "explored" in canon, as characters can just exist as gay without it being a big deal), and it certainly doesn't have to automatically lead to romantic storylines. I just find it interesting how out of all the goetias it's these two specifically that have been confirmed as gay (in addition to Stolas) - and Vassago's sexuality got confirmed before he even appeared in the show. Surely, that has to mean something?

....please?

tl;dr: I’m going to be really sad if there won’t be any sort of established (past or future) relationship between these two in canon. I really want to see more scenes between Andrealphus and Vassago.

tl;dr2: I really want them to fuck.

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 36

Maybe I Have Gone Mad

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 7.3k+

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: Arrow Pierce My Heart ~ The Bonnevilles | Rabbit Hole ~ Why Mona

Summary: Your first date with the first born prince leads you to a hint of hope, yet it's hard not to focus on the first man that stole your heart. The Cross Guild tries not to fall through a hole in the world while the Emperor tries to be a villain. All they can do is hope that they're not too late to chase their little rabbit.

Ch. 35 Recap: Detailed recap is directly below the cut!

Author's Note: Hi! I miss y'all so much, I hope I can come back more regularly soon. I'm okay! Thank you for all the love and interactions even when I'm in hardcore hermit mode, I adore you so much! 🥰🙏

Dark Content Warning: I haven't marked any untagged dark content for this chapter. Hopefully I didn't miss anything big for you, but I will say that Iceburg is showing up more, so be prepared for reader's conflicting feelings for her first crush/hunter.

Also, I hope everyone remembers the tag/warning: Cross Guild Boys are VILLAINS. It’s been there since day one, so 🤷‍♀️

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for up to chapter 1064 or episode 1093. As we get further into Egghead Arc where our lovely boys are showing up more, there will be more spoilers as time goes on. Sorry y'all, I'm trying to keep most spoilers small details, but Cross Guild is endgame, lol.

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Hospitals, Doctors, Mental Health Treatment, Toxic Family, Childhood Trauma, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Relationship Drama, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Death of an Unnamed Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

Chapter 35 ~ Recap:

Buggy dealt with guilt and fear over keeping your lie a secret. He watched Crocodile and Mihawk falling apart without their Numbers Girl, and decided not to tell them what you said to your sister: that you "never wanted to see those murderers, those monsters again."

Crocodile kept watching his sweet girl's worst memories while his old agents sailed closer. He saw a memory of you practicing speaking with a transponder snail in the asylum, but crumbling when your uncle called, taunting you by saying that your sister was sailing during storm season. Crocodile held onto his little clown while all of his lovers fell to pieces, and realized that he didn't care if they lied. He just wanted them back.

Mihawk fought to stay hopeful while he hunted for answers, but he kept finding reasons to be a monster while he followed the trail of underground casinos, and people that were using your pain for their pleasure and their pockets.

Shanks struggled, every move he made seeming to push you further away. He couldn't speak openly on this snail-covered island, but he wouldn't stop fighting for you.

You were trying to be numb, trying not to feel anything, but Uncle Cedrick kept tearing you down. You drank through your date with Giberson, then broke his arrow at Cedrick's command. You decided to enjoy your time as much as you could, but couldn't help thinking about the upcoming date with your first crush, Mr. Iceburg.

But that was tomorrow. Today, you were flown into a tower of roses with the first born Vinsmoke prince. Your old trauma snuck out when his brother almost hurt a surveillance snail, but now your date with Ichiji was about to begin.

You told yourself "that nothing mattered, so you might as well enjoy this."

Chapter 36 ~ Maybe I Have Gone Mad

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“Oh my, it seems you’ve drained my pockets dry,” The Concealer chuckled, pushing the last of his chips toward Shanks’ pile. “And before our lucky lady has even emerged from her tower.”

The Emperor of the Sea gritted his teeth at the reminder of the distant image on the projector screen. Y/N had been flown into a tower of pretty thorns while the leeches around him placed bets on which of the three brothers she’d choose to keep, if her ugly dress would still be intact when they freed her from the roses, or if she’d be crying for mercy from that inhuman prince’s inhuman cock.

Y/N’s mask had shattered for just a moment, but the terror in her scream meant nothing to her guests. His wealthy companions had only praised or laughed at her for her concern for the cam-snail, most of them just lamenting that she hadn’t kept it with her in that cage of thorns.

“Mind accompanying an old man to his quarters,” Giberson interrupted his inner rage with a cheerful wink. “I need to restock my funds so I can keep filling your pockets.”

Shanks wanted to carry the old man to get out of that room before he snapped and nearly spat at the staff that stopped him from leaving the mound of chips he’d won.

“I’ll watch your winnings, chief,” Benn grinned, nudging him toward the ex-suitor that was hobbling out. “So long as you don’t mind buying me, and my new friend a drink?”

“Better be some left when I come back,” he forced a laugh, sparing just a glance toward the young woman his first mate had charmed into sitting on his lap. Benn had always been skilled at enjoying himself while he gathered information.

At least someone was having a good time here.

~~~🔴~~~

“Come on in, my boy,” Giberson welcomed, ushering Shanks into his opulent suite. “Care for a drink before you rob me of all my berry?”

“How could I refuse?”

Shanks’ body was burning with tension, his prey within his sights.

The old man set his tall hat onto the coffee table after pouring them each a glass, leaving Shanks to wait with the liquor in his hand. The great pirate was shaking.

Pull it together, shithead.

The tiny smile his thought had given him dropped in confusion when Giberson pulled out a small, horned snail from the inside of that large hat.

“Why­– “

The Emperor of the Underworld tapped a bony finger over his lips, gesturing toward the snail until its eyes turned red.

The silent humming of surveillance that had become a constant itch faded away while the red-eyed creature swayed.

“A jamming snail,” Shanks breathed, tapping glasses with the smirking, old man.

“Congratulations, my boy. I really thought it would be Katakuri or Iceburg, but I was so hoping it would be you.”

Shanks couldn’t read his intentions, so he just sipped his drink.

“The mighty Red Haired Shanks is still cautious, eh,” Giberson laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as though he had no sense of caution himself. “That’s probably how you got to be so mighty. Don’t worry, I’ll answer any questions you have, and my little friend will keep our words quiet. Although, with all the surveillance here, my pet might not be able to hold up for too long. Best get started.”

“But why,” Shanks trailed off, fighting to wake himself up and get to work. It can’t be this easy…

“That lovely heiress would never pick an old ghost like me,” Giberson chuckled. He topped them both off before leaning back, eyeing Shanks with a satisfied grin. “I came to play the game, and I knew that whichever hunter found me first would be the one most determined to win. I may not have luck with cards, but I always bet on the winning horse. You really want to win that little bunny, don’t you, Shanks?”

The snail blinked slowly, and the Emperor of the Sea remembered that he had to breathe, had to fix this.

“Tell me about the Vinsmokes— wait,” he sputtered after he swallowed his liquor too fast, the rye whiskey burning his lips while he wasted more precious time. “Why did you think it would be Katakuri or Iceburg?”

Giberson’s patronizing laughter took too fucking long, but he cut Shanks off before he could hurry him up.

“You haven’t been paying attention, have you,” the Concealer chided. Topping off their drinks was the only thing that kept violence from tearing through the room. “Just wait. I’m sure our little doe is having fun with the young buck tonight, but you should be more worried about the older competition. Especially the one that she’s admired for so long.”

“Aren’t we on borrowed time, Gibby?” Shanks’ smile seemed to chafe his own lips. “Don’t you wanna give your chosen horse a fighting chance?”

“Too right you are,” he laughed, wiggling a finger in the air to scold himself. “The older you get, the more you like to hear yourself talk, I’m afraid, but let’s get on with it. You may be an emperor, but you’re going to need all the help you can get if you want to compete with that gentle giant, and the lady’s first crush.”

Shanks needed all the help he could get.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

The handsome prince sat close enough to you to still watch your face, your breath, while trailing his hand along your back. Your heavy gown added to the building warmth in the dimly lit tower of roses he’d trapped you in.

Ichiji had eaten from the same serving plates, so you had filled your own, fighting off sleepiness while you sipped the cool champagne.

“So, it’s true that you worked at a bank, huh,” he purred. You fought to focus on his handsome face, and not the same old small talk you always hated.

“Mhm,” you nodded, nearly blowing out the pretty candle on the table, tired of its dancing light. “I know it was a unique hobby— “

“Vinsmokes aren’t useless royals, you know.” He pulled you toward his gaze with gentle fingers on your chin, pausing to stare at your parted lips before continuing. “If you enjoy being useful, I’m sure we can find responsibilities for you in our kingdom. It takes a lot of math to craft our tech.”

You couldn’t risk these feelings, couldn’t humor the slivers of hope for a decent life that you kept stumbling upon. All you could do was try to enjoy the ride and land in the softest place.

Kat wanted to see their tech… Maybe—

 “But I wouldn’t mind pampering you if that’s what you’d prefer,” Ichiji teased along your cheek.

You’d gone still too long while you hoped for a less shitty existence, but it didn’t matter.

“My princess,” he seemed to beg, kissing down your neck before pulling away. That word had always pissed you off. It wasn’t true, whether it was said with love or disdain.

He pulled his glasses off, shoving red hair from his face to stare down at you. “Just tell me what you want, gorgeous. Anything… Do you wanna stop?”

“Why pick just one,” you breathed, watching confusion move those strangely cute eyebrows of his. Blowing out the candle instead of answering his questioning sound, you let yourself enjoy everything the moment had to give. “What if I’d like to be useful and pampered?”

You were glad for the other lights in the dim tower, because the hungry flare in his eyes when you kissed the inside of his wrist was delicious. The red-haired prince was shaking, nearly panting, and his need might have been frightening if you still gave a fuck about anything besides going numb.

“Can I please pamper you, princess,” Ichiji begged, his fingers gripping into your thick skirts. A puppy struggling to obey while it waited to snatch up its treat.

That word might be growing on you.

“Yes, please—Oh, Ichiji!”

The prince shoved the table away, dishes crashing to the ground along with that luckily blown out candle. He knelt at your feet, and you almost regretted your choice as the need in his eyes seemed violent. The tightening of your body only reminded you of how fucked up you were.

“You’re gonna look so pretty on a throne,” Ichiji threatened. His hands felt too strong when they lifted your dress, yanking your panties down your legs. He tucked them into his pocket, and you smirked, about to tease the desperate prince.

You couldn’t smirk, or tease, or do anything but moan and let your eyes roll back when his fingers found you dripping. He teased over you, circling your clit before shoving one, then two fingers in, curling, taking.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” the prince panted while he made you twitch. “I didn’t think you’d be so… You fucking want this, don’t you?”

You reached for his hair, wanting to be sure you were seeing him right. The prince looked more wrecked than you were.

“Ichiji,” you whined, coming when he brought his other hand to tease your clit, coming while he moaned along with you. His body thrust toward yours from where he knelt on the floor, but he managed to keep pampering you with his fingers while his eyes rolled back.

“Mm, Ichiji, that felt so good.”

The air that had been too hot went cold as the prince pulled away. His jaw was clenched, a tension in his body that made you still, until you remembered.

“That was so fucking hot,” you purred, trailing your hands along your thighs, and his eyes couldn’t seem to resist the pull.

“Yeah, princess,” he asked as he cleared his throat, still holding himself away.

“Yes,” you bit your lip. You hoped you were reading this prince well. “I love that you came just from touching me. You really liked making me feel good?”

A hint of a snarl touched his lips.

Fuck. Don’t be mad. Don’t—

“Does my princess want more,” Ichiji growled, and your body went loose with relief and delicious want.

Your breathy, ‘yes,’ left you squealing when that hungry prince launched himself at you. His red hair disappeared beneath that stupid dress, and you cursed the bells that rang closer and closer while he left sloppy, then focused kisses and licks along your core. You felt him whine around your clit before he pulled away, and the sight of him licking his fucking lips had you beaming at him.

“We’re gonna finish this later, right, gorgeous,” he teased, pointlessly smoothing your skirts into place.

“What would a princess say?”

“My princess can say whatever she wants,” Ichiji promised, his sticky clothes covered by his raid suit again, and soon you were carried through the circle of thorns toward his waiting brothers. They flanked him again, but you didn’t hear their light bickering now.

The wind teased your flushed skin, and he let you touch the top of another tree before you were brought back down. Down to reality, where you still had to think, instead of letting a handsome prince, or the lovely wind whisk you away. Daydreams of flying free brought a soft smile to your face while they kissed your hands, until you were stuffed into another fluffy robe and dragged back to your less-pretty cage.

~~~🌲~~~

Kat was waiting, letting out a soft sigh after she barked at the servants to leave you with her. The worry returned, but your sister started humming softly while she helped you out of that ugly gown, and you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“Are you… happy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she ordered, but there was something in her narrowed eyes that woke you up. “I am capable of happiness, you know.”

Snorting earned you a scowl, but you’d seen it. All you needed.

“But I won’t be happy again until you are,” Kat declared, the words stated as a fact, like she was merely reciting the time.

Her voice said it so clearly, but her eyes held just a hint. Only a sister could have seen the light there.

The hope.

“So, how was your date?”

She frowned at your reaching hand, but didn’t stop you from snagging the lovely clue from her sweater.

“How was yours,” you teased, holding it up to the light. She made so many faces so quickly that you laughed, until she snatched it from you.

A strand of pretty, pink hair.

“It wasn’t a date, it’s not like that,” Kat lied, but you let her.

Your sister had never talked to you about that before, but you had come out to her ages ago. If she wasn’t ready, then you wouldn’t push her. You’d try really hard not to push her.

“Gods, you’re still annoying,” she sighed at the grin you couldn’t wipe off your face. “There’s not a lot for sisters of the stars to do, so we’ve been hanging out. We might be sister-in-law’s soon anyway.”

“Hanging out pretty close, huh,” you smirked, flicking your eyes toward the pink hair on her lap. She wiped it away to drift toward the plush carpet.

“Reiju didn’t have a spare set, alright,” Kat explained, anger barely covering the like quirk to her lips. “I told her I wanted to hover, so she flew me around for a bit. It was— “

“Fucking awesome, right,” you laughed, reaching for her hands now.

“I told you,” Kat gave in, matching your true smile now. “Unless someone else has hover boots, the Vinsmokes are my number one choice. Unless you really like someone else, I guess.”

“Well, I have three to choose from, so they’ve got a forty two point— “

“You fucking nerd!”

This wasn’t numb.

You hadn’t felt this feeling in years, and it was more than you deserved.

This moment felt like connection, like you were being a real sister to her.

It was fucking stupid. Naïve.

You couldn’t risk feeling happy or hopeful for either of you, just fight for the least shitty option. Weigh the pros and cons.

But if you could keep Kat safe, and give her a chance to be genuinely happy, then you’d slaughter every fucking person on this island to do it.

“Go take a shower, nerd,” she ordered, breathless from tackling you. “Your hair looks fucking stupid.”

~~~🌲~~~

No fucking favorites.

Mr. Iceburg…

You had shoved him out of your mind as much as you could, but waking up to the prospect of his undivided attention this evening reminded you of how sweet and soft obsession could feel. You had always wanted him.

Nothing matters anyway. If he is a monster, I can kill him too.

After.

~~~🌲~~~

You’d never been happier to be scowled at.

Kat sat across from you at breakfast, neither of you paying attention to the drivel that Uncle Cedrick and Vinsmoke Judge kept spoon-feeding each other. The other brothers were competition, so they weren’t invited. This left you with the eldest brother purring along your neck all morning, his constant praise and promises nearly becoming background noise.

Ichiji’s affection just couldn’t compete with the sisterly delight you felt watching Kat squirm beside the beautiful Vinsmoke princess.

The grace that Reiju held herself with was dreamy, somehow weightless, even without her hover boots. She’d shrugged off her red cape, but her pink hair seemed to sway in its place each time she moved, dancing along the high collar of her white dress. It seemed mimic the frilled shirts her brothers wore but hugged her body all the way down to her thighs. You couldn’t see them below the table now, but Reiju’s lovely thighs each held a large tattoo of the number six.

Reiju flaunted those numbers that sent fear through their enemies.

Germa 66. The conquering kingdom. This stunning woman came from a family that was said to be superhuman, vicious, evil.

Your sister had hardly touched her plate, too busy watching the possibly evil princess’ every move.

Bad guys aren’t always so bad…

“So, Y/N,” Reiju hummed, her fingers playing along the side of her empty glass, “you were a pirate, weren’t you? That seems like a lot more fun than— “

“Kidnapped by pirates,” your uncle corrected, not seeming to care if she believed him while he went back to glowing at his new “friend.”

“That could still be fun,” she winked at you before turning her gorgeous, violet eyes toward your sister. “What do you think, Kat? Would you rather have a pirate or a prince?”

Your sister glanced toward Uncle Cedrick, but he was too busy laughing at his own joke.

“Are those my only options,” Kat asked. Her voice was quiet but held enough of a flirtatious lilt that you had to look away to keep from cheering her on.

“Let’s hope not,” Reiju chuckled, and you let Ichiji distract you now, giving as much space as you could.

~~~🌲~~~

Another hunt was about to begin, and the locket didn’t fit the theme. You managed to shove it into the tight, striped dress before endless hands pulled and prodded at your skin, your hair, and your fucking sanity.

Regretting the question before it left your lips, you reminded yourself that these people were just trying to survive. They weren’t leeches, just tools and toys for the rich to control so they could keep living their pampered lives.

That was hard to remember while the servants dressed you up like a lamb to slaughter, but everything went back to him. Uncle Cedrick would never let you go. You would never be free from his games.

“Why are you painting stripes...”

Fuck. That fucking asshole.

“It’s part of today’s game,” your mother cooed. You were surprised that her perfect smile hadn’t shattered the mirror.

“Today’s hunt,” your corrected, daring her to falter, to let that mask fall just a bit.

That smile of hers grew sharper and a small part of you wondered what words she had swallowed down. The rest of you was fighting not to scream and claw at the servants that were painting lines across your chest to match that red and white dress. Those stripes were curved around a center point, a lovely, red heart painted over where your real heart was pounding with rage.

Don’t show it. Don’t let it in.

Sick laughter almost escaped, but you swallowed it down to return your mother’s sharp smile.

~~~🌲~~~

Vultures gasped in delight when you stepped into the courtyard. There were always so many eyes on you, but today felt like it was about to be a rough fucking day, and the wave of their laughter almost crushed you. Your body thrummed with the desire to pierce every single one of their greedy hearts until the white on your dress was stained red.

Uncle Cedrick had made you a target and painted you to match your fate, and his twisted pleasure was met with applause.

You had never wanted to be a monster. All these years you had tried to run, tried to hide from the words you’d been branded with.

Broken.

Sick.

Damaged.

Crazy.

Psycho.

Unwell.

Uncle Cedrick dragged you to the little stage, fingers pressing into your back until you smiled.

The strength it took not to snatch the arrow from his grasp and try to end as many leeches as you could before you disappeared was physically painful.

You had really thought that you were holding it together. You thought that you were strong enough to pretend.

But today was a rough day, and just standing there in that debasing dress was almost enough to make you tear at your hair, struggling against the disgusting, abhorrent feeling of living your fucking life.

Buggy.

It was just a name, a small, painful sound in your mind, yet it shifted the weight of your soul for a moment.

Your uncle’s words were white noise while you swallowed the lump in your throat. Kat’s concerned gaze caught yours from her spot at the Vinsmoke’s table, and you couldn’t let him win. If he broke you that deep, if you gave in to that rage, then the consequences would hurt more than just those you wished to end.

A twinge of resentment touched your selfish mind, but you forced yourself to breathe it out.

Just shut it off. Disappear inside.

Pretend.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Once again, Shanks fell in line beside his enemies. The Concealer had filled his mind with so many words, so many secrets and weaknesses, but not a single plan.

How could he plan when Cedrick Sylvad had his hands on her?

“Another hunter has failed the hunt,” Cedrick chided, and Shanks couldn’t keep his fingers from twitching when Sylvad pressed the point of an arrow to her heart.

Her lovely heart that this monster had painted a fucking bullseye on and encouraged his greedy friends to aim their weapons at.

“However, our little doe is so sweet that she wants to give each hunter one last chance,” he lied. Shanks had heard the leeches complaining while they lounged and bet on this game. Some wanted more drama, more romance, more tension.

Cedrick was giving his “friends” every twisted thing they wanted, and they adored him for it.

“One of you will still be going home, but she may change her mind on who depending on your next few words,” he teased as he stepped down from that moving platform. “Tell her why she should be yours.”

That fallen star was frozen, a perfect smile breaking his heart while she was lifted, gliding through the air until she reached the end of the line.

Vinsmokes.

All three of those cocky princes promised her a pampered life, and Shanks would have laughed at their weak attempts if he didn’t have three of them to deal with.

He held himself taut, needing to hear the next hunter’s every word, but Iceburg’s promises were hard to catch over the laughter beside him.

“Did you hear them, brother,” Cracker asked loudly, craning his neck to catch Katakuri’s gaze. “Didn’t we make their daddy cry his eyes out a month ago? How do they expect to protect our little bride when they can’t even—“

“Enough,” came that deep voice from above, but Katakuri was too late.

“Alright boys,” Cedrick scolded with a laugh while the Vinsmokes glared from behind their colored glasses. “That’s enough tension for today. My dear niece deserves a little romance before you sink your arrows into her.”

Glancing back at Y/N turned Shanks’ rage into icy fear.

Y/N’s smile looked just a little more real, and she hadn’t seemed to have heard her uncle’s words while she gazed up at the blue haired shipwright.

Iceburg kissed her hand after taking a mouse from her palm, tucking it into his pocket.

“I hope you don’t send me home before our date tonight, girlie,” Iceburg whined, “I don’t wanna leave before I show you your gift. It took so much work.”

She laughed.

Fuck.

The Emperor of the Sea watched helplessly while that star shined just a bit. She shined for someone else.

And she kept shining when the platform lifted her into the air.

“No matter what you choose, you are already mine,” the merman prince promised.

His voice sounded hushed, but it was too large to hide from the air. Fukaboshi kept softness in what could almost be a threat.

“I will do everything in my power to help you lead the joyful life that your kind heart deserves.”

If Y/N gave a reply, it was lost while the platform pulled her down, but she was still high enough for the Sweet Commander of the Big Mom pirates to gaze at her with those crimson eyes.

“I am meant to tell you why you should be mine,” Katakuri purred, tracing the side of her face with his large fingers, blocking the piece of her that Shanks could see from this angle. “But I want to be yours, Y/N. I want to be your family, and I hope that you’ll give me another chance to show you how much family means to me.”

“Thank you, Katakuri,” Y/N said, giving a small yelp when the platform pulled her away from another enemy Shanks would have to defeat.

“Cracker?”

Y/N waited for the other Charlotte to look her way, the man tilting his head up toward his elder brother before snapping back to her.

“You should keep me here so I can protect you from those spoiled princes down the line. They don’t care about family, and that makes them weak. If you choose—“

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who—“

“Don’t worry hunters, you’ll have plenty more opportunities to test yourselves against one another. For now, I believe that our Emperor of the Sea still needs to say his piece,” Cedrick gestured to him before Y/N was set down before him.

She was so close.

Right there.

Lightyears and lightyears away.

There were so many things he ached to say, but Shanks wasn’t done playing the villain.

He pulled her off the platform, catching her against his chest when she stumbled. The crowd gasped in surprised titillation while Shanks held her chin to keep her gaze trapped on his.

The red-haired pirate was silent during his turn. Instead of imploring her to keep him, Shanks just stared down into those swirling depths.

There were noises and voices around them, but Shanks was drowning in her, drowning in his desperate need for her to wake up. He tried to look the villain, to convince her with his eyes, or to read anything from her, but all he could do was drink in that emptiness.

The nothingness she gave him nearly broke him. No one could carry all of this with such a lovely smile.

Unless she was already gone.

Finally, those cursed bells, and Cedrick’s entitled fingers, tore the shell of that shining star from his grasp.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I knew those soft, brown eyes were a lie…

You couldn’t recall ever feeling grateful for Uncle Cedrick’s controlling touch, but anything was better than the cage that your enemy had cornered you in.

Disappearing was the only way you could withstand the force of that powerful pirate’s gaze.

Those eyes had held more than flirtation, desire, or anger. Shanks had let that mask fall away, letting the world watch the predator claim what was his. He was a greedy monster, and the chaos in his silent demand felt like walls closing in. You felt a sudden fear for your other buyers as the heat of his grip still seemed to burn into your skin.

Shanks isn’t just playing.

The Emperor of the Sea wanted to own you, and he was the kind of man that got everything he wanted, no matter what he had to do to get it. It was no wonder why Uncle Cedrick seemed to like him so much.

“Well, dear niece,” he called you back to the world, making you gasp when he broke the arrow beside you, pressing it into your palm. “Time to say goodbye. I wonder if these lovely promises were enough to change your vote…”

It seemed that the crowd of vultures was growing louder every day, but the heaviness in your next words was enough to drown them out.

“Prince Fukaboshi,” you called out with that practiced calm, your voice carrying through the courtyard until they shut the fuck up. The platform tore you from the ground, until you tried not to shake before this terrifying man that you could have been safe with.

This man that appeared to be the most monstrous of them all yet might be the only hero in this line of hunters.

His soft smile with those sharp teeth forced you to breathe. You couldn’t show favorites, not even at the end.

“I am sorry, Prince Fukaboshi,” you told the truth, dropping the splintered wood of the arrow into his massive palm. “I’m afraid that your arrow failed to pierce my heart.”

“It has been an honor to try,” he started, his brows furrowing when the platform began to lower before he finished his sentence. His deep voice rolled down over you until Uncle Cedrick guided you away from a life that might have been.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Doerena was a lovely, little kingdom.

Its smuggling ring was particularly delightful, although Mihawk didn’t care about the weapons, the drugs, or the power.

The swordsman only cared about the snails and the little rabbit that he was always too late to catch.

Mihawk had woken up too late. Changed too late.

The rage that gripped him every time he caught someone using Y/N for their own pleasure was a force of nature, cruel and mindless. It cracked open the ground beneath him, sucking everything into his destruction while he fell through a hole in the earth.

The swordsman cleaned his blade, ignoring the rest of his mess while he watched his love on the big screen.

His darling was smiling with a hideous target painted over her beautiful heart, but he swore that he had caught a hint of fight in those gorgeous eyes when her uncle brandished an arrow at her.

“We’ll paint it red, darling,” Mihawk promised while he watched his red-haired lover chase his little rabbit.

Mihawk promised endless red in that room that he’d already painted for her, his sword the only clean thing in sight. Promises were all he could give her while he waited for his chance.

I won’t be late.

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Only three hunters had yet to have a private date, but that still left too many more days before Shanks could claim another for himself.

Another chance.

“All hunters are welcome to play,” Cedrick announced, charming the crowd, “but today’s prize will be claimed by a Vinsmoke or a Charlotte. Which one of you will pierce her heart?”

The Emperor of the Sea twirled an arrow in his fingers, ignoring the bow beside him while the other hunters prepped their shots.

“Pathetic, little boys can’t do shit without their fancy suits, huh?”

“Cracker,” his brother warned. Katakuri had sat this hunt out, offering his shadow to Y/N while she watched her hunters try to sink their arrows into her beautifully carved doppelgangers.

Those wooden dolls were painted with that matching bullseye over their hearts, but their perfect smiles had to be more real than the one on her lips.

“I wouldn’t need my suit to end a freak like you,” Niji sneered, leaning around his younger brother.

Cheers interrupted their tension and Shanks frowned up at the replay of one of those perfect dolls being perfectly shot through the heart.

Iceburg was annoyingly skilled with a bow.

“All these years of friendship and I never knew we shared a hobby,” Cedrick chuckled while the old shipwright pulled his shirt back on, disappointed sounds floating up from the audience at the act. “If you pierce my niece’s heart like that, we may have some family hunting trips to plan soon.”

“Ooh, but look at the prince,” one of the leeches called out until Yonji’s image filled the screen. The green-haired Vinsmoke lifted his chin, too proud of winning with his second place shot.

“At least the green shit has some energy. That prissy, blue boy is fucking worthless. Our cute, little bride already forgot about them, huh,” Cracker taunted too loudly, his overconfidence boiling over while he drew all eyes to his. “I bet she can’t even feel them after she’s had a Charllotte. Not unless they use their fancy toys.”

Cracker’s grin spread wide, thick and vicious across the screen until he got what he wanted. Niji had shoved past his younger brother, his crackling energy shattering a few graham cracker soldiers before the remaining brothers stopped the fight, and Cracker didn’t stop laughing until Katakuri loomed over him.

Shanks had taken the moment to show off, appearing between his little bunny and the would-be battle between failed hunters. Niji and Cracker were reigned in almost instantly, but the disappointment from the crowd reminded Shanks of what a show they were all trapped in.

“I am surprised we made it this far,” Cedrick chuckled as he took center stage again. “I wonder if anyone made a killing on these two being the first to fight…”

A smattering of groans left the crowd, with one voice lamenting the fact that they hadn’t put more berry down.

“Excuse me, Emperor,” he purred, grabbing Y/N’s wrist to guide her before the fighters. He snapped his fingers in the air, and a servant brought him two arrows in an instant, the tyrant beaming while he broke them over his knee. “I’m afraid you two have broken the rules, and it wouldn’t be fair to let you stay. Do you have anything you’d like to say to my dear niece now that you have failed to pierce her heart?”

Shanks fought not to let hope creep into his stupid, selfish heart while he watched two of his enemies disappear so easily.

Those two had never been a real threat.

“You like my brother, don’t you,” Cracker taunted, although his manic grin seemed more earnest than before. Y/N didn’t answer soon enough to stop the man’s next few words from spilling out. “Big brother likes you too. Don’t make me kill all these fuckers to make you my sister. I’ll make them suffer first, and—“

“Brotherly love,” Cedrick laughed while Katakuri dragged his cackling brother away, “and what about you, Prince Niji?”

The blue-haired prince stared at her for a long moment, too much satisfaction in his gaze.

“It’s alright. This little princess is coming home with us, aren’t you?”

“She’s coming home with me,” Yonji declared, kneeling to kiss Y/N’s hand. He was now the last hunter left without his first, private date.

Y/N gave the green-haired prince a lovely smile, and Shanks fought not to celebrate.

The day after tomorrow. Shanks could win another chance the day after tomorrow.

I just need one more chance.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

Dad’s fingers tapping on his desk might have distracted you if a certain someone hadn’t answered his call.

“How’s my favorite shipwright?”

“Mm, well, I’ll be better once the season passes,” Iceburg complained, and you chewed on your pencil while you fought off your grin at his deep voice. That silly whine of his came through your dad’s snail so clearly, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to focus on your homework now.

You were good at pretending though, so you scribbled random numbers onto your notebook while your dad chatted with your favorite shipwright.

“Really,” your dad chuckled, “I thought storm season was good building time for you. You’ve already got another East Blue boat for us to look at, don’t you? Plus, that extra project?”

“Of course,” Mr. Iceburg assured while you imagined his lovely hands making lovely things. “You and our little numbers girl can swing on by after the season ends. Kokoro’s throwing Tom another execution extension party. Last year’s was—”

“I think the worst is past, don’t you,” your dad grinned, winking before you buried your face in your work again. “I might swing by for that little project soon, but we’ll be back for the party once Y/N’s out for spring break. If she gets good grades, of course.”

Sticking your tongue out at the tease saved you, because you would have swallowed it at Mr. Iceburg’s next words.

“I know she will. Y/N’s smarter than both of us, Arbo.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dad beamed, embarrassment heating your cheeks while you tried not to groan. “Thanks, Ice. I’ll see you soon.”

“Not too soon, friend,” Mr. Iceburg scolded. “The season’s almost over.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

It didn’t matter that his enemy seemed to be a good man. From everything Shanks had already known about the CEO of Galley La, and all he’d heard from the Concealer, Iceburg appeared to be a genuinely decent person. He was well-loved by his people, adored, and admired.

The only potential flaw he could find was that Iceburg was here.

“This is quite the boat, Mr. Iceberg. It hasn’t even been two weeks since the hunt started,” Shanks whistled, finally catching his enemy alone. “How’d you make this for our girl so fast? Or was it meant for another sweetheart?”

Staff were still milling about the edge of the lake, setting up tables so the leeches could dine while they watched this man steal her away.

The man in question stepped off the gorgeous, little sailboat, a slight crease to his brow before he answered the red-haired pirate.

“It wasn’t,” Iceburg noted with a smile when he looked back at his work. “I made this for Y/N a long time ago, with a little help from a friend.”

“Would that friend of yours be pleased about your date tonight,” Shanks taunted, leaning close to knock on the boat. “Last time I drank with Arbo, he wasn’t keen on the idea of his little girl with an older man.”

Iceburg hardly moved, but the shift was impressive, his eyes going as cold as his namesake while he assessed the man before him.

“I suppose we’re both bad friends then,” the shipwright drawled. He moved to walk around Shanks off the dock, glaring when the emperor stood in his path.

“A man in your position has a lot to lose here,” Shanks breathed, frustration and fury rising at the lack of fear showing in that icy gaze. “Everyone expects pirates to be the bad guys, but mayors? I don’t think your constituents will be too pleased about what you’re up to.”

Nothing. This man could hold himself quiet, and Shanks couldn’t risk using Haki to make him kneel.

“If you’re not going to attack me, please get out of my way.” Iceburg finally clenched his jaw, eyes flicking over Shanks’ shoulder toward the growing sounds of vultures. “I don’t want to keep my date waiting.”

“She’s leaving here with me,” the desperate pirate vowed, hissing while he let his enemy walk away.

“I don’t think she likes you very much, Emperor,” Iceburg arched a brow. Applause met the shipwright when he walked toward the show, both of their forms displayed across the projector screen while the snails captured the small boat, and the symbol of a tree framed by the sun painted on its sail.

Shanks stared at himself on the distant screen, his stupid hair too bright to try to sneak onto the ship with so many eyes on him now.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“No, I…”

Fuck. The scarred man had been too frightening again.

His pretty clown left his bite of a too-syrupy pancake dangling over his plate when Crocodile interrupted him, shaking his head at all the breakfast’s for dinner he'd been having.

At least he's eating.

“You’re not ‘fine,” Crocodile attempted to soothe while he scolded, “you’ve hardly slept in days. I’ll watch over you if you like. Wake you up if you say anything interesting.”

Crocodile could hardly sleep himself. Not when he had more recordings of his sweet girl's torture to watch. Watching over Buggy pushed some of that useless rage aside, at least for a moment.

“Thanks… daddy.”

The guilt that was rotting through the clown’s bones had twisted today. He had already decided. It wasn’t even a question.

Buggy would do anything to save his star, even lie.

“I don’t like it if you don’t mean it,” Crocodile teased, finally breathing when his final, little lover cracked a smile for him.

“Sorry,” Buggy huffed a laugh, stretching so taut that his joints slipped apart.  

Buggy would do anything to save her.

But what if she really…

“What do you—uh,” the clown cleared his throat, almost losing his voice before these words could meet the air. “If I told you she was happy, would you believe me? Would you leave her alone?”

The ice in Crocodile’s veins kept the rage from moving too fast.

 “She’s with Iceburg, isn’t she?”

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Help me,” you begged, your voice high and desperate while you tried to calm your racing heart.

“You look amazing, sis,” Kat shook her head while you held up another dress against the midnight blue one you kept gravitating toward. This was the one time you wished that your outfit would be chosen for you, but Iceburg wanted you to "be yourself," so you were digging through piles of expensive fabric on your own.

Nothing felt right.

“You’re really excited about tonight,” she asked softly, and you flicked your eyes toward the staff in the corner, but they were far too professional to look like they were listening while they waited for you.

“I’m not sure,” you gave up, dropping heavy garments onto the back of the couch before sitting close. “He’s a hunter, and I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t…”

“If you want Mr. Iceburg, then I will cheer you on,” your sister whispered in your ear as she stood to give her seat to the makeup artist. “But if you don’t want him here, then I’ll go shove that mouse up his—”

You laughed so hard you choked, and Kat gave you her water to sip while she tilted her head, waiting for your answer.

“Leave the mouse alone, sis,” you beamed at her, letting yourself be dolled up for your favorite shipwright.

~~~🌲~~~

Mr. Iceburg was here. He was using you. He was a leech. A monster.

Repeating those truths like a mantra didn’t kill your stupid hope, your naive ache for that gorgeous, silly man to be anything but a vulture, here to pick the flesh from the carcass of his dead friend’s family.

No favorites. No least favorites.

You couldn’t school your features, couldn’t fix your fucking face when you saw it. You wished that you could hate him for tearing down your mask like this, but it was too beautiful, too perfect.

Drawn toward the docks, it felt like the world had disappeared. You were entranced, shrinking down and down until you touched that perfect ship in a bottle, one of the small works of art that your dad had spent so many hours on.

He’d spent so many hours telling you stories about sailing on those tiny boats, hours working out the travel time between your favorite places on a ship the size of a shoe.

Daddy had asked how you wanted this ship to look and had painted it just for you. This was the little boat that he promised you would sail to the top of the Sunlight Tree Eve someday, if you could just figure out the math. If you found the top of the Eve tree, you knew you could find an Adam tree too.

At least, you had believed that when you were playing, when dad was sharing his stories, his perfect toys.

You’d smashed that particular toy boat so long ago, stomping on that sail with the Sunlight Eve Tree. There had been no more sunlight to be found after your dad disappeared.

But here it was.

“There’s my numbers girl,” Mr. Iceburg hummed, leaning down to brush a dangerous tear from your cheek. “Wanna take a tour of your boat with me? Eve's been waiting a long time for you.”

Gentle fingers, rough from decades of his craft, reached for your hand. He offered you a chance to step into a dream, and the air around you felt timeless and soft.

Laughing to yourself, you followed your dream and his little mouse onto this ship in a bottle.

Maybe I have gone mad.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: My "all or nothing thinking" tells me that I shouldn't interact with y'all if I'm not posting chapters regularly. Brains are dumb. I won't promise that I can get back to my old schedule soon, but I really flippin want to. This entire story is constantly on my mind, as well as all the others I have planned that have to wait until the end. All of your support makes me so happy. Hopefully I'll see you very soon, either by answering old ass comments that I adore, or posting Chapter 37. I hope your dreams are lovely tonight 💜 ~ Lynna ✨

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Chapter 37

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[bullet-prooflove]

Next Time: Endeavour Morse x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @caffeinatedwoman

Companion piece to:

Bruises

Morse meets you at the university, during one of his cases. He’s just leaving an interview with one of the fellows when he spots you on the lawn outside, dismissing your class. There’s a radiance to you he’s never seen in another person, a confidence that he envies. He can’t seem to tear himself away as the gaggle of young women filter past him, a copy of The Feminine Mystique tucked neatly under each their arms.

“I’m surprised there hasn’t been a riot amongst the old boys.” He says as he finds himself crouching down to help you pick up the discarded copies of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. “They don’t usually like this sort of thing.”

“They don’t really get a choice in the matter.” You say as you tuck another book under his chin, on top of the stack he already has resting against his chest. “Our Pro-Vice-Chancellor is a woman, I’d like to see them argue with her about the validity of feminist studies.”

“Oh I’m sure some of them would try.” He says as he trails after you back into the building. The books bounce uncomfortably against his ribcage as he takes the steps that lead through the entrance way. “I doubt they’d get very far.”

“Oxford boy yourself are you?” You ask as you remove a key from your pocket, jamming it into the lock of your classroom. Odd, he thinks considering everyone else leaves their doors wide open or ajar but then he sees the note that’s been shoved under the door, the cursive letters written black fountain pen ink.

WHORE, it reads.

“Comes with the territory.” You tell him as you scrunch it up in your fist before tossing it into the bin. “Some of the men here don’t like the fact that I’m educating young women to think for themselves instead of reinforcing the patriarchal message of shut up and be a good little wife and mother.”

“I could track them down for you.” He says as he sets the books down upon your desk. “Tell them what will happen if they persist.”

“We both know all that will do is pour fuel on the fire.” You say as you begin to file the books away onto the shelving against the back wall. “Besides I’d like to handle it my own way.”

He’s inclined to ask exactly what that is but you’re interrupted by the arrival of your next class of students.

“Until next time Mr…” You gesture for him to supply his name.

“Morse.” He tells you, reaching out to shake your hand. “Detective Constable.”

It’s a few weeks later that he reads the paper to discover a scathing assassination of Professor Jonty Montgomery’s character. The piece details years of blatant plagiarism on half a dozen of his works and the persistent sexual harassment of several female students.

“They’ve been forced to fire him.” You tell him when you join him for dinner later on that evening. “They’re more annoyed about the plagiarism than the harassment. They could ignore the complaints but they can’t ignore him making a fool of their academic reputation.”

There’s something in your voice, a slight inflection that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He tilts his head towards you, his gaze meeting yours over the piece of chocolate fudge cake you're sharing.

“You?” He asks softly.

“It started small.” You tell him stabbing the cake with much more force than necessary with your fork. “The odd accidental grope here and there, when he became more forceful I gave him a bloody nose. He responded by pissing on my desk.”

“And then you destroyed his reputation.” He summarises, nodding his head agreeably. “More fool the next man that crosses you, you’d skin them alive and wear their pelt.”

It’s a half joke really, but there’s a seriousness to it. You’re a woman fighting against the tide of a man’s world, it wouldn’t do not to showcase the spoils of war. You’d made sure your name was used in that article, you wanted your colleagues to know what would happen to the next man that laid a hand on you or your students.

“Does that scare you?” You ask him as you dab at the corners of your lips with a napkin.

“No.” He says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile. “I much rather admire it.”

He takes you to bed that night, his palms chasing over the black lace you wear underneath that starched white shirt as he makes love to you with the sound of Nino Rota in his ears. You climax together as the music hits it’s peak, the violin breaking off as the record ends and he finds himself drowning in the ecstasy of you.

He wakes up alone the next morning, a copy of The Feminine Mystique left upon his side table with a note that reads “I look forward to hearing your thoughts next time.”

He smiles as his fingertips trace over the cover, the scent of your perfume still clinging to his skin.

Next time…

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[ravetillyoucry]

THE OVERTURE

hiiiii this is the writing I promised. LMK if you would like a continuation of their Thing because now that they’re Established they are very open to Situations and whatnot. No set story just a sandbox of Scenarios type characters. 😛 the Logic of the shrinking is inspired by The Shrinking Man by Richard Matheson- maybe they’re in the same universe idk we’ll find out later

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The thing that stood out the most about that night wasn't what had actually occurred, despite how impossible and surreal it was on paper, but just how hot the whiskey tasted before Cassidy came stumbling out of that bar and into the rickety old gas station on the other side of the street- that's what he always remembered when he thought back on it. It still burnt the back of his throat as he half-hazardously drove the block back home, almost enough to mask the taste of his stomachs contents as they churned their way up into his mouth, pooling and waiting until he swallowed back down with a shudder. He would've just walked it if he hadn't found what he did- or, found who he did. Drunk driving was one of the few crimes he was adamantly against, not just because of the needless risk it imposed onto the people of the hick town he hated, but because he cared far too much about the Chevrolet C/10 Cheyenne he'd spent a year and a half fixing up after his father died and left it to him. It was far too cold to walk a block home whilst drunk for who he had found, however, so he'd just have to take the risk and pray to God his truck would make it back without a scratch on it.

Cassidy didn't actually know who it was that laid, all shaky and damp like a newly born fawn, on his right thigh as he drove- but what he did know was that if he would have left him out on the pavement, bathing in the fluorescence of the gas station's neon 'OPEN' sign, he would be dead. To put it bluntly, the person Cassidy had found didn't seem to be human at all. He looked like a human, sure- with straggly brown, almost black hair that stuck in strands to his face with sweat, pale sickly olive skin splattered with freckles you'd have to squint to make out properly, arms, legs, eyebrows and eyelashes, an absence of any kind of beard, a nose, both eyes, a mouth and teeth too. Undoubtedly, he looked the part of a human man- or maybe a teenaged boy- but there was one, minute detail that threw Cassidy off entirely: he was no taller, maybe even a little shorter, than his very own pointer finger. The same finger in which he'd used to hold up the little man's head, that way it didn't nearly get taken off as he'd wrapped the rest of his hand around the man's form and taken him into his truck for the ride home. Cassidy had previously been against kidnapping too, but tonight, it seemed paramount to the little freak of nature's survival.

He shivered and he shook like the leaves he was similar in size to that surrounded his little body on the corner of the pavement, but the sight was comforting to the drunken Cassidy that took him home- if he was shivering, he was alive, and that's all he wanted to preserve in his fleeting act of heroism. It wasn't a long drive at all, and if it wasn't for the little man trembling like a wind up toy using every cog and mechanical part in its equally little body just to do as small of an action as take a step, or in his case, the rise and fall of the chest as he took in what shallow breaths he could, Cassidy probably would've found himself nose first into someone's letterbox. By some miracle, he'd ended up back at his house parked as perfectly as he could on the pavement, just fifteen feet from the front door of the little bungalow he'd bought five years back with what little money scraped together after the divorce. Cassidy may not have had his children, or his dog, or even the goddamn goldfish- but he'd say he had done a mighty fine job with the place, with or without them. Despite this, as he laid the tiny man down on a throw pillow of which he couldn't remember the origin of, Cassidy found himself doing a little tidying up whilst rifling through the kitchen for the hot water bottle.

Since the birth of his daughter, Cassidy had taken a vow to never handle a person as delicate as a newborn baby was ever again. He barely trusted himself to hold any of his children, at least for the first month or so, but he was better a man than to let his wife do all the dirty work after child labour. Now here he was, swearing to himself under his breath as he- drunkenly, with one finger at a time- went to cradle the little man in his hand, the most reasonable form of transportation in order to move him onto a newfound warmth. Cassidy hoped that in soon enough time, he would stop the shivering all together and wake up, just as he was when he found him. If he hadn't have been letting out such sounds of pure terror and pain, Cassidy probably wouldn't have found him lying there. He wondered desperately who he was, if a person at all- maybe an alien or some supernatural entity with fairy powers. Being a person seemed to be the most reasonable title for the man, but that left the question of how one person could be so small lingering along with it. It couldn't be true, Cassidy would rather believe in folk tales and conspiracy theories than what he saw in front of him: that a man sort of similar to himself in some capacity could be so incredibly small.

A part of him really, really wished it was all a hallucination- that he was completely wasted and imagining as ridiculous a thing as a thumb sized man fighting for his life atop of a hot water bottle big enough to fit two or three more of him by his side- but there was nothing more real than the dampened skin and hair that tickled against the grooves of his fingerprints, than all the components that made the unreal man so inherently humanoid. Even the laws of physics couldn't deny it- there was a tiny person in his house, and Cassidy had brought him there off of his own volition, his own deep rooted need to be the hero, even for just one night. It was safe to say he didn't plan on spending any sleepless nights with his ass planted on a barstool, neck-deep into a beer bottle, anytime soon.

-

There was nowhere in the world Adam hated more than Hutchinson. Nothing good came out of it, nothing good came into it. There was nothing good about the place at all, and when there was, it'd run away faster than he could catch it. He had decided on the night of his nineteenth birthday, he would run away too. He could chase after the good things, as fleetingly as they came, and be free of the chains that kept him forged to the shit-hole of a town he had lived in his whole life. As a child, he recalled hiding under the blankets and praying to God to make him an adult, to make him twenty-five and living in some place like New York or Toronto, in an apartment with his best friend doing a job he loved, surrounded by people that didn't know or care about who he was or where he came from. That was the plan, even after his nineteenth birthday had passed, and is twentieth, and even his twenty first.

Adam had vowed to himself that he wouldn't get to twenty two if he still lived in Hutchinson, even if it meant leaving his mother to fend for herself against her new, and yet identical to the last couple of hundred, boyfriend. He was sick of taking punches for other people, it was about time he took a few for himself, as long as it meant getting the fuck away from the place he was supposed to call home. So he did. All he needed was a backpack to hold every one of his worldly possessions, and then he was gone.

Three days, that's how long he'd been hitchhiking before something had gone terribly wrong. He'd gotten only two rides in that time, the first leaving him at some motel in Abilene, and the next... Adam wasn't an idiot, that he was sure of, but he'd fallen asleep by accident essentially seconds after fastening his seatbelt and settling into the backseat of the sleek white car. A 1989 Rover 800, he was told- Adam never really cared much for cars, but he could appreciate a nice one when he saw it, especially given how new it was. Surely, a guy driving a car this fresh off the market wouldn't risk getting blood and brain stuck between the leather of the seats just to rid the world of one more sleazy queer hitching a ride for no longer than an hour or two, so Adam felt it safe enough to rest his eyes, even if just for a moment.

If he was half dead and half naked on the side of the street, he'd probably be far less panicked than he was right now. At least then he'd be able to sort of decipher what happened to him, where he was and how he could recover from it- but as he lay, fully clothed yet freezing cold on some sort of endless plain of concrete- he realised he had no idea what could have lead to his current predicament. Adam had no recollection of how he could have ended up here- he couldn't even recall how much time had passed from when he must have fallen asleep in the back of that strangers car to that very moment- but that didn't really matter, not then, at least. No, there were far, far bigger things for him to worry about.

If he was drugged, he didn't remember it, although he assumed he must have been given the sight he saw right in front of his eyes. Out of it wasn't the right descriptor for how Adam felt- he was aware, more so than usual, and he could perceive the depth of the world around him as acutely as he could whilst sober. It was impossible to see what he was seeing, but there was no other explanation- not only were there leaves and cigarette stubs as long as he felt tall at either of his sides, but there was a boot big enough to snub him out just as effortlessly, attached to a leg taller than he could comprehend, attached to a man taller than life itself. Adam couldn't hear for how hard his heart was beating, but he could tell from the dry rawness of his throat after the fact that he was screaming. Who wouldn't have been? He'd never felt such sheer terror in his life- even when faced with boys he once knew from high-school and their newly earned gun licenses, paired with their father's rifles in the back of their pickup trucks- Adam had never been so fearful for his life, until now.

Before he could see much else of the man the leg and the boot branched up to be, Adam had fainted with fear. He was eight years old again, the only thing visible through the patchwork sheet he'd had on his bed since he was a baby being the warm orange glow of the overhead light that he wasn't supposed to have turned on after he was put to bed. Maybe this was it, maybe Adam had woken up to be twenty five, and maybe the corner he had awoken upon was right outside of his city apartment. Maybe he'd fallen down the stairs and hit his head, blacking out for no longer than thirty seconds, having no worse than a concussion, being able to return to the life he'd always dreamed of.

It was apparent that none of the above was his reality when Adam awoke for a second time. At least it wasn't so cold, and at least the surface he laid across wasn't quite as uncaring as the concrete pavement, though not much less. The weight of his body sank into the silicone, forming an indent that did no good for his back, but was comfortable enough to not want to sit up from regardless. He made sure to wait a moment before opening his eyes, to listen to his surrounding, to gauge whereabouts he could possibly be just from every other sense but sight that he possessed. Unfortunately, by the end of his hardly thorough investigation, Adam had concluded that he still knew absolutely nothing about where or when in the world he was, and he'd just have to look and see for himself if he wanted to know any better.

His visual surroundings didn't clue him in much more than he'd already gathered, although they made one thing more apparent than ever: he was small. Not just small, in fact, he was tiny. Smaller than the half empty glass of water beside him, smaller than whatever it was he was laid upon, smaller than the handkerchief draped around him like a blanket, but most importantly- far, far smaller than the man sat in front of him. Screaming was no longer an option, he'd lost his voice by this point, but he could certainly stare up with his mouth agape and his pupils shrunken just as his whole body had become. The man didn't say much at first- for a minute or so, he didn't say anything at all. He just stared with equally as wide eyes as Adam's own, mirroring his expression, except with far more wonder and curiosity than the fear captured upon Adam's fingerprint sized face.

A million different questions flurried through his head- where was he, what was the date and time, was he just really small or was the man from some unknown, mythological giant realm? Now wasn't the time for questions, however. Adam couldn't think straight, let alone see clearly, or speak a word of English. Maybe he hadn't just shrank, no, it could be far worse than that. With how stiff and rigid his body felt, the most logical answer to Adam's new form was that he must be some sort of ornament or action figure. The thought was almost a nice one- that someone would want to keep him up on a mantle piece, pretty enough to be looked at, but too pretty to be touched in case he shattered into a thousand, even smaller glass pieces across the hardwood floor. That must be it- it had to be.

If he was going to be a display piece for the rest of his inanimate life, Adam thought he might as well get to know the house he'd be living in, and who would come and dust him off every now and again when said house called for some spring cleaning. The face of the man in front of him was one Adam recognised. He didn't know him personally, God no, he was certain he was far enough away from Hutchinson to see anyone who knew him as well as he knew them- but he knew what kind of man stood, or, more accurately crouched and bent down, before him. Your average small-town, mid-western, middle aged, pick-up truck owning hick with half of his brain located in his mullet and matching dickies cap- or, alternatively, cowboy hat.

Whilst the man didn't quite have the haircut, or matching sideburns and handlebar looking moustache the kinds of men Adam knew from his hometown sported, he certainly carried himself like a Hutchinson guy. A forever furrowed brow hiding behind strands of unwashed, uncut and uncombed brown-grey hair, a dirty button-up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, calloused, hairy hands and equally as hairy arms. The type of men that would run him out of bars and off the road if they knew a man like Adam even so much as glanced in their direction for a second too long. Either way, none of what he had left behind in Hutchinson mattered anymore, and the topic soon left his mind when said giant man began to speak.

-

Cassidy thought it'd be best to let the little guy get whatever he had on his chest right off of it in the form of panicked yells and cries of confusion, but the longer he stared with vacant, glossy eyes- as if he were not in this world entirely, completely absent with just his physical form left behind- he decided it'd probably be best to give him some sort of explanation to what exactly he was doing here and who had brought him to this point. He was owed that much. He opened his mouth to speak, but in all honestly, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. What could he say? 'Hi, sorry I kidnapped you, you're in my house and I'm willing to help you return back to whatever fairy door you crawled out of once you're back to health'? No matter what Cassidy said, he knew it probably wouldn't be the best, or even the right thing to come out with given just how bizarre the circumstances were. Instead of mulling it over in his head for any longer, he decided he was better off just getting on with it and praying he didn't offend the small man and end up with a cursed bloodline for generations to come.

"Look," He started with a sigh, instinctively moving to shield his face with a thumb driving between his brows. "You're scared, you're in some unknown place with a... Well, fuck. With a fucking- giant you don't know," God. This would've been much easier if he weren't also drunk. "But, listen, I'm not gonna-hurt-cha. Okay? I wouldn't have fuckin'.. Destroyed my kitchen looking for that hot water bottle you're all cozied up on for'ya. If you understand what I'm 'tryna tell 'ya, nod your head."

And by some miracle, after a brief moment, the little man nodded his head. Not only was he a real, living breathing person, but he could understand Cassidy. They could communicate. For the first time in a long time, a rush of some unfamiliar relief and excitement crashed against his body like an incoming wave. It was something worth celebrating.

"So you understand me." Cassidy smiled wide, the small gesture of a nod from the little man bringing as much joy as hearing his own children utter their first words. Now he was sort of grateful he was at least a little sloshed- the highs were way higher this way. "That's great, that's really, really good. You don't know how relieving that is, Jesus Christ, alright. I get it if you're.. too frightened to talk or, if you can't talk at all- that's alright by me- just,"

His head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic pounding causing his stomach to churn and his eyes to water. Cassidy had almost forgotten why he ever decided to get sober.

"I'm gonna go... to the bathroom. Stay there, you've probably caught a cold at the very least with how I found you. Just, don't move. Rest up. It's late enough." By this point, his speech was slurred and his head was reeling. If he didn't take some ibuprofen in the next sixty seconds, Cassidy was sure he'd drop dead right there.

Weirdly, as he rushed off to his own bathroom and locked the door behind him, he felt the same kind of fast bumping in his chest as he did when he was feeling particularly nervous. He had no reason to be nervous at all- he was in his own home, having brought the little man in by his own volition- but nevertheless, here he was hiding out and washing his face by the sink like a teenaged girl on her first date. It would've been more humiliating hadn't he noticed just how dirty his hands were in that moment, the underneath of his fingernails being black with grit and grime he'd picked up throughout the day. Oh God, he'd held the man in these hands, he'd probably dirtied his little clothes and skin with his lack of basic hygiene.

Dampened hands scrubbed at the aged face they belonged to, no wrinkle and scowl line going untouched as Cassidy pulled and squeezed his skin, hoping to sober himself up at least a slight bit before going back out to address the elephant in the room. He didn't notice the droplets of water from his beard as they fell into the sink, he stared back at himself through the clouded, de-silvered glass of the mirror for far longer than he had intended to. This couldn't be a lucid dream, the reflection in front of him was far too accurate, too familiar to be mustered up by his unconscious subconscious mind. Cassidy took a deep breath through his nose, which proved to be a mistake once the water dripping down his face blocked his airways as he keeled over with a splutter, desperately pinching at his nostrils in an unnecessary state of panic. What he really wanted was to pass out on his bed, shoes on and all, but he couldn't. Pushing the stray strands that stuck to his forehead back, Cassidy hoped to God that the little guy did as he was told and stayed put.

Cassidy stumbled down the hallway with newfound clarity- he wasn't sure what specifically he would do in regards to the scientific anomaly sitting in his living room, but he was absolutely certain things would work out just fine. With time, he could learn where the man is from and take him back home to his family, or- in the case of which he didn't have a family at all- he could turn him in to a group of doctors or scientist that would foam at the mouth upon being given the opportunity to study such an impossibly small individual. The latter wasn't Cassidy's favourite option, but he was entirely certain that they would do a far better job at caring for the man than he would ever be able to do, so that gave him some peace of mind when mulling it over.

There would be bumps along the road, Cassidy was fully aware of that, but what he hadn't predicted was that they would come so soon after the journey had just began. Turning the corner at the end of the hallway, one small and yet remarkably alarming detail instantly caught his eye- there was no little man atop of the hot water bottle. He wasn't standing around on the coffee table, or lounging on the throw pillow Cassidy had laid out for him previously- of course he wasn't, the jump from the table to the couch was far too wide for a man of his size- and from what he could see, he wasn't on the floor nearby his feet either.

This couldn't be good, none of this could be good. Cassidy went to call out the little man's name, but he soon realised he didn't know what it was to do so. Panicking wouldn't do anyone any good, the man had probably run off due to being so scared in the first place, ranting and raving and raising his voice would only worsen their predicament. Before making any rash decisions, Cassidy let out a slew of curses under his breath, freshly slicked back hair forming into clumps in his hands as he racked through a series of options he had. He could freak out and scare the poor thing to death, or he could calmly go about finding him across the- what he previously thought to be a relatively small- expansive bungalow floors. The absurdly little legs of the man couldn't have carried him off too far, surely.

-

At first, Adam was going to comply completely with whatever he was told. His body was far from the appropriate state to cause a scene or go into any kind of frenzy, despite how badly he wanted to do either of those things, and it wasn't like he stood a chance against the giant either- he wouldn't have even if he was at his full height and in peak physical condition. Adam wasn't exactly sure what specifically made him change his mind, but the moment the sink started to run in the next few doors over, well, he got up and ran too.

Where he would go from here wasn't something he had thought about, his body overtaken with the fatal combination of fear and adrenaline, causing him to jump straight down from the coffee table and onto the rug below. Falling from an equivalent height at his normal size would've left him with a pair of broken legs at the very least, but as Adam's shrunken figure bounced about a dozen equally shrunken feet across the carpeted floor, he realised he couldn't feel even the slightest bit of pain- at least, not anything he hadn't already felt after waking up. Without wasting a second, he pushed himself up off of his stomach, slightly winded but ultimately unharmed, and began walking towards a goal he wasn't certain of just yet. The fibres of the rug reached about half way up his calf, with each step through the meadow of multicoloured threads being just as painfully difficult as the last. It was like trying to walk directly through a hedge- the microscopic branches, leaves and thorns clinging to the fabric of his tattered pants, creating a clinging static that tried to pull him back down onto his knees every time he tried to move forward.

Adam would always be far more stubborn than sorry, he'd come to realise that by the time his treacherous, tedious journey through the rug had concluded. Having stable grounds to stand on was not something he originally pictured himself being grateful for when planning his getaway from Hutchinson, but by God did he want to kiss the hard wood panelling beneath him the moment his socked feet landed flat against the floor. A moment of bliss, pure unfiltered and unbridled joy. Adam could stand still and straight in this giant world, albeit fleetingly. As short lived as it was, he wouldn't forget how happy he'd felt, even as the ground began to tremble with soft, yet steadily incoming footsteps. So, the giant was the owner of the boots Adam had taken notice of before after all. There was no time to sit and stare at the craftsmanship heading towards him, Adam didn't want to be yelled at- or worse, but mostly he feared being yelled at, at least in the moment- for directly going against the giant's wishes, so he did the only thing he could think of doing in the split second he had to take a thought process into account with his decisions.

The couch was elevated about three inches off the ground, meaning Adam barely had to lower his head in order to run straight under it. He knew all too well of how disgusting the underneath of sofas could get, but he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard at such a size. Dust and grime flew up into the air like sand in a desert as he skidded to a halt on his heel- if he wasn't being looked for in the moment, he wouldn't have tried to hard to hold back the coughs and splutters that sat in his chest.

"Hey, where'd you go?" The voice wasn't nearly as gruff as it was before, and the delivery of each word was surprisingly coherent, even through the layers of cushions and fabric it had to break through to get to Adam's tiny ears.

With eyes shut tight, Adam held his breath, one hand over his mouth, the other rubbing his irritated eyes as they threatened to spill over with tears. Even if it was just due to the dust, crying would be giving in. Adam hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't about to let a little completely illogical supernatural interference change that.

"You're already in bad shape, and I can't imagine wherever you've run off to will do you any favours." Loud creaking in the floorboards followed by brief yet powerful thuds not too far away suggested he was kneeled down now, clearly searching for him. Another thud- a hand, resting right beside the couch. Big enough to encase Adam entirely, yet not too big to slide under and into his hiding spot.

He regretted his choice before, but now- Adam was certain it was the last decision he'd ever get to make. The giant won't have any sympathy for him after such a blatant display of disobedience, surely not.

A grumble. Low and chesty, congested enough to sound almost like a growl to paranoid ears. "I'm trying to help you here. Please. Let me help you, will 'ya? That's all I'm trying to do."

Adam fully expected his words to come out all frustrated and angry, but instead, the giant sounded sort of hurt. He was pleading.

It was around now Adam had forgotten he'd been holding his breath entirely, his body desperately gasping the filthy air of the sofa's underside. He choked on his own breath, a tear rolling down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose as he bent over into a tiny, crumpled pile on the ground. If the giant was speaking, Adam wasn't listening, far too focused on the scratching of his dry throat as he gasped for some sort of clean air. Things were probably better working out this way- it was either get caught now or go forward with the nonexistent escape plan, and the latter of the two seemed so illogical and impossible that Adam would have ended up having died trying. What could he do anyway-? Open the front door and walk out? Scale fifty feet up the wall and drop down from the same height out the window? He was fully aware of his own stupidity, skating through his years in education by just barely clinging on to passing grades by the skin of his fingers, but he thought himself to have at least some amount of common sense somewhere within him.

No matter how badly Adam wanted to crawl out from his hiding place and accept whatever soft comfort or lashings that awaited him, the magnet that was the core of the earth kept him completely still- paralysed and grounded in place with fear of what was to come. What if it was all just an act, a rouse to get him to trust the giant, that way it hurts far more when the real intentions behind Adam's presence here came to light-? He couldn't think about it, especially not when the dust had already sent tears streaming down his cheeks, because now he couldn't tell if he was actually crying or not. It didn't really matter, he supposed, since it all looked the same anyway.

-

There were very rare times in Cassidy's life in which he'd felt so desperately helpless. He didn't like to think of them, he didn't associate with the person he once was, with the person that once felt that way. It was funny in a sick sense, that he was the one on his knees, calling out in a barely disguised frenzy for a man barely taller than his thumb. Holding him may have been frightening, a daunting task that quite literally put his life in Cassidy's hands, but the thought that he might be doing something good here made it worth the nerves. He cursed to himself. Of course, he was shit out of luck when it came to opportunities that proved to even just himself that he could be good. He'd been a terrible host, he ran off from the man about three sentences in and didn't even offer him anything to drink. No wonder he ran off too. Cassidy would've given himself a well deserved punch in the face if his fists weren't occupied, stuck to the ground with the weight of all the pressure he put into balling them up, hoping it'd stabilise every other part of himself by extension.

He'd almost given up entirely- having chalked the man up to being a figment of his drunken imagination after all- when he heard it. Just barely. To his left, a sound no louder than a squeak. It was him. Without wasting a second, Cassidy acted before he could think of the best course of action. He sat up from his knees, lifting the raggedy old couch with a single arm.

"What are you doing under there?" Cassidy didn't mean for it to come out so hushed and whiny, but it did just that.

Now that he could see the little man with the overhead light beaming on him- his own nerves not making him look everywhere but at his face this time around- Cassidy realised how sick he really was. Big wet eyes with even bigger circles beneath them, red nose and cheeks that had become damp with tears, his tiny body wracking with either fear or the cold, Cassidy wasn't sure which it was though.

He let out a low tut, his mouth turning to a line. "If you hadn't gotten sick before, you definitely will have now. I don't remember the last time I hoovered under there, come on out now."

Thank God there wasn't a language barrier between the two, they'd figured that part out already. After a brief moment of silent staring, the tiny man fulfilled Cassidy's request, tumbling out from under the couch with a slight limp. Had he hurt himself? Now wasn't the best time to play doctor, not after Cassidy had been hidden away from once before, not to mention how clumsy he got after drinks. It'd have to wait until the morning. Either way, any injury the man might have sustained didn't seem to slow him, and before his arms had started to ache, Cassidy was able to lower the couch back to its original position.

There it was again. Another sound that could've very easily been missed hadn't Cassidy been listening. He spoke, his little voice clearly strained, but one word: "Sorry."

If he were sober, Cassidy wouldn't have found the word quite so entertaining, so satisfying, just so pleasant as he did. The fact the word was an apology didn't matter- Cassidy wasn't mad, he wasn't even annoyed. The only thing left was the satisfaction of hearing his voice, of seeing him- for the most part- safe and sound, still in the house, where Cassidy knew he would end up alright in the end.

"So, you talk." If he were sober, Cassidy would've also felt like an idiot as he manoeuvred from his knees to lying on his stomach in his own home, on his own floor. Even if his face was small, Cassidy could still see the blank look of confusion plastered across it. He supposed he should elaborate on what he'd actually just been told rather than focusing on the obvious.

"You don't have to be sorry. I just don't want y'getting hurt, that's why I picked you up off the side of the street." Cassidy really wanted to reach out in that moment- to give a reassuring pat or something of the sort- but he didn't have the guts. He was far too afraid of his own strength.

Instead, Cassidy watched as the cogs turned in the little man's head. A tiny furrowed brow and open mouth as he processed the words that had just been spoken to him. "Side of the street..? What- what street? Where in the world?"

Cassidy frowned. The poor guy didn't know where he was or how he got there at all, did he? "Uh, Ottawa..?"

The tiny man wasted no time to interject, "Canada??" he asked, wide eyed and, weirdly enough, smiling. So, he was from this world after all. Geographical knowledge was a good sign, Cassidy supposed.

"No, Kansas." Cassidy almost felt bad telling him the truth as he watched the tiny face drop with disappointment. "Canada is a long way away, did you come from there?"

It was certainly a long ride to get there, but he'd feel bad for not offering to take the man home, especially when he was in such a state. It was the least Cassidy could really do for him, after all.

With a sigh and a hand to brush back the hair that stuck to his forehead with sweat, the little man shook his head. "No. I was hitchhiking for a couple of days before, but I came from Hutchinson."

"Oh, that's a relief. I can take you back tomorrow-"

"Please- Don't take me back." The already strained voice sounded so desperate. Cassidy had almost began to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into when it continued, "I don't know how I got like this, or if I'm gonna be like this forever- but, even if I was.. well, how I used to be, I wouldn't be able to go back. Don't make me, I'm- I'm pleading with you."

"Jesus, okay, you can calm down, I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go." Cassidy raised his hands to surrender. There was no way he'd bring the man back to a place that clearly caused him so much panic- he might as well have just left him on the pavement if he would do that- but there were a lot of things to consider before making any set plans. "You weren't always so.. small, then?"

"No." He said it so matter-of-factly, in a way that made Cassidy feel like a bit of an idiot for asking. "I don't remember shit. I got a ride off the side of the road in Abilene from this dude in a white car- a Rover, a new one. I thought, you know, you don't kill people in cars that shiny and new, so I let myself fall asleep for a while."

"And then you were on the side of the street."

"No, actually. I woke up a couple of times, but, like, briefly. We were in the middle of nowhere, just road and.. I don't know- nature I guess, and I stuck my head out of the window for a bit." He bit his lip briefly, looking around as if there were anyone else to hear what he was about to say.

Cassidy assumed he was on drugs, that he was about to be told the man had seen a UFO or something of the sort fly overhead, and that would be when he awoke. He supposed it wasn't too far fetched, especially when looking down at the man in all of his miniature glory.

"If I tell you what happened, can you not think I'm crazy?" he finally asked, quite literally trembling as he had began to pace around the floor. He looked like a little toy solider, going back and forth in his mechanically decided patterns after being wound up and set off.

Cassidy imagined himself from an aerial point of view, hunched down on the floor speaking to a man of such impossible size. It would've been funny hadn't it been his reality. "I promise, I don't think I could perceive you as any crazier than I feel right now."

"Okay." He swallowed. The man was surprisingly audible despite the difference in scale, which made Cassidy think he was probably a very good public speaker before, well, this. He didn't even know his name, but he still allowed himself to smile at the bundle of nerves and personality in front of him. Even in one of the most frightening times of his life, the little guy could project.

"There was a massive cloud out. The skies were clear, other than the one cloud- that's why I remember it. I was probably just delirious after just waking up, but.. I don't know. It- it glittered. When we passed it, I felt my whole body react. It was like one of those itchy sweaters, but it was everywhere- even on the inside, I felt it."

Cassidy didn't really have an answer. He wasn't sure if he believed it to be possible, but it wasn't like there were any other possibilities to buy into. What the hell, sure. A magical cloud made the unnamed man tiny.

"Right." He didn't mean to sound like he didn't believe the story, but.. "I know y'can't stay here forever, but there's no way I'm letting you out on your own whilst you're like this."

Of course, Cassidy didn't realise it at the time, but his words would come back to bite him in the ass a little later down the line.

The part the tiny man seemed the most perplexed about was the part Cassidy assumed to be the obvious, asking with a pitiful level of uncertainty in his voice: "You're really gonna let me stay?"

Cassidy smiled. He hadn't had someone so grateful to be in his company for a long while, if ever really. It was sort of cute, but he wouldn't say that out-loud. "If you tell me your name, sure."

"Oh, right- it's Adam." He didn't look or sound so frightened anymore, that was a good sign.

"Adam." Cassidy tested his name on the tongue. There was something so great about it, so fitting. The first man on earth, the beginning of everything. Cassidy only really started to take ideas of God into great consideration when it was late and he'd had enough to drink, in times like this one now- when he was still trying to swallow down the hot taste of whiskey that struggled to settle in his stomach.

It churned as he looked at the little man- at Adam. A gut feeling that they'd be in each other's lives for a very, very long time. "I- Well," Cassidy cleared his throat, his mind elsewhere when enough time had passed for him to return the gesture of sharing his name. "I'm Cassidy."

Saying his own name aloud always felt so strange. Introductions on the whole had always been awkward, now that he thought about it- especially when said person you're introducing yourself to is all but a couple of inches tall. He went in for a handshake before really considering the impossibility of it, leaving his open hand lingering around in Adam's vicinity, frozen as his brain short circuited on how to approach him. Cassidy closed his hand into a fist with a hiss of embarrassment, discreetly placing it back down beside Adam in an attempt to come back from such a miscalculation.

"I'll set you up a more comfortable place to sleep. Who knows, maybe you'll grow back overnight or.. Something."

Cassidy didn't really believe such kinds of miraculous miracles could occur, and he wasn't at all surprised the next morning when Adam was laid there exactly where and how he'd left him. He could say he didn't expect each of them to play such significant roles in each other's lives from that point onward, but that would be a lie. Adam couldn't stay forever, but God would he make a good go of it.

[nicktremblaywayfu]

I've seen Outlast x Pokemon but i have yet seen Outlast x Monhun so IT'S TIME TO SHINEE (if you like dragons in general this post also for you)

Also, I wrote this as general as possible so non-fans can read it as well don't worry hehe. I also open request for this MH x Outlast for your OCs even if you haven't played Monhun so feel free to drop in your oc references and some details of their personality/behavior ;)

Leland Coyle - Zinogre

An electric k-9. There are many other thunder element monsters that I also think fit for him, like how Rey Dau uses his horn the way Coyle uses his baton or Kirin as his pride ride

But Zinogre would fit as this cop's best friend. With the biggest size length of 21 m, this giant electric puppy would be a pet that Coyle flexes 24/7. This wolf-dog monster also has a symbiotic relationship with Thunderbugs, which is the source of his electricity. This also means Coyle would use those bugs for his own power as well. So basically These two shares are similar in having electric source power for their ability (Coyle with his Pontiac Battery and Zinogre with its Thunderbugs). And bonus point Zinogre is canine themes

Mother Gooseberry - Rathian

Mother's knows best. And these two have strong mother instincts in their respective game. Rathian, just like any good mother, is very protective towards its younglings. The same goes with Mama Goose. They are equipped with deadly weapons to defend their nest, a sharp poison sting, and a drill. Oh and, did I mention in MH we have quest stealing Rathian's eggs and in Trials, we have MK kidnapping Goose's children?

Alternatively, the Pink Rathian variation also fits Goosebery's aesthetic

As for Futterman, I think he would be YiantKut Ku for shit and giggle lol (Although Yian Kut Ku is also treated like a bird mascot in MonHun like how Futterman exists in Trials)

Franco Barbi - Yian Garuga

I kinda struggled to find the perfect monster that fits for him but I think Yian Garuga fits him perfectly. Both have a purple color palette, and both have a precise aim of attacking the intruders. Franco aimed his Lupara to shoot the Reagents, while Yian Garuga launched itself from the sky and targeted unaware Hunters with its beak. Yeah, afterward you'll see the poor Wyvern got its beak stuck on the ground lol. Also, they have balding hair/fur around and are overall small-sized compared to other characters/monsters (listen, I'm gonna pretend Franco is dialogue-accurate considering Coyle mocked his height and Franco was insecure being small). Both Yian and Franco scream a lot in the game and they are very, very loud.

Alternatively, Shogun Ceanataur also fits for him as it uses its bottom (yes. Bottom), acting like a water pistol to shoot Hunters. Not to mention it's a crab monster and Franco has Dock map with sea theme inside.

Danny the Big Grunt - Nergigante

Listen, this one is very biased I'm (not) sorry. But also like, just look at his device and that dragon's spike. It fits the aesthetic (trust me). And the implication of Big Grunts eating reagents as meals with Nergigante titled as Elder (fellow dragon) Eater, yeah both fit. Also, this is because he shares the same VA with MonHun Stories 2' villain, Zellard. And that villain wears Nergigante armor so, yeah

Both Nergigante and Danny rely on raw power, with their muscle as their source of power. Nergigante was also considered big for his class, with muscular and meaty bodies he would body slam Hunters standing in his own way. Just like how Danny grabbed a reagent and threw them out of his way. They are also packed with strong punch and are able to inflict large damage on their enemies.

And bonus: Danny in MH Wilds

Pusher - Chameleos

There are three monsters that fit him, but I pick Chameleos because of its goofy googly eyes, Pusher's, and Outlast's theme connected with reptilians (Which Pusher also mentions about Tuatara, a lizard species). Chameleons is a chameleon dragon that has the ability to emit fog from its mouth (and steal your stuff), which reminds me on how Pusher gassed the Reagents. Chameleos are also able to spit poison smoke, which also reminds me of psychosis damage as both inflict damage on the player.

The rest of the candidates for Pushers are Volvidon and Congalala, two monsters that weaponized their stinky gas

Night Hunter - Malfestio

I think it's already obvious. Owl themed. Both prefer dark areas and swift enough to attack unaware foes in their dark lair. Just like owls, Night Hunter and Malfestio rely on pivoting their head and neck as they can't move their eyes like other people/monsters. There's not much I can think about it other than them being owl-based, but if you are both NH and jester/clown lover, this monster is for you.

Another monster that i think fits for NH would be Nargacuga, a dark cat-bird monster that hides in the dark to ambush its prey. Narga often pictured having its eyes glowing in the dark

Pitcher - Rathalos

Listen. This is very obvious. Both breathe fire. The iconic fire-breather in the game. Pitcher also speaks nothing but roaring and spitting fire on you, the same as Rathalos. Despite there are other fire-breathing monsters in MH, Rathalos is just the most iconic one and I place him with the Pitcher, our iconic fire shaman of Trials.

Berserker - Brachydios

Look at Berserker's gauntlet, then look at Brachy's fist. They shared the same vibe. Go punch punch, tho Brachy is not blind. The two use their fist to flatten their foes, except Brachy's fist leaves up green acidic slime that will explode on impact.

Although we do have a blind monster, I doubt this one looks like Berserker

That would be for Dave the Naked Big Grunt

I think that's all! if you want to request any outlast character / your oc with MH monsters I would associate with them, feel free! ;)

PS: if you are fellow Hunter-Reagent, let's play MH someday

[cursedtrans]

Stars in Lobotomy Corporation and Libary of Ruina

Spoilers for Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina

Stars in Project Moon are a incredibly eldritch and horrific concept, and they have massive implications for the story of Limbus and Project Moon as a whole.

Let's start with the origin point of the Project Moon universe, Lobotomy Corporation, and the references to Stars and the Galaxy as a whole there.

Note: While many Lobotomy Corporation abnormalities are based on mere trauma or city lore (such as W Corp inspiring Dimension Shredder or the Head inspiring the Bird Trio), I believe there is extremely important info thanks to several real characters and events having references to the Cosmic Trio's events in their logs.

There's three specific abnormalities that call out the concept of Outer Space and everything it contains. In my opinion this is very notable, as other groups like the Wizard of Oz, Magical Girls, and Bird Trio are all highly important abnormality groups that take up multiple abnormality slots.

First off is the TETH level abnormality Fragment of the Universe.

They're the lowest risk rating of their outer space related brethren, but subsequently have some of the least cosmic horror. While their cry is enough to damage both the mind and body, and is incomprehensible to mortals, it's not that relatively dangerous compared to other concepts.

Likewise, it's by far the most innocent of it's kindred. It's a mere part of outer space that is trying to 'sing' to mortals to convey it's love to them, and it's entire physical form is created by it's connection with a small child. (it wanted to make the child happy, and thus took on the form it uses now)

It doesn't seem to understand the damage it's doing, but it seems to have a permanent effect on certain individual's in it's lobotomy corp logs. All of them seem to be repeating the phrase "coming, coming, still coming" and other incomprehensible noises, and staring into the sky.

Second off, Child of the Galaxy, HE Level.

Child of the Galaxy is a very interesting abnormality that never breaches, but does get extremely violent when someone they care about seems to forget them by instantly killing them. While not uncommon in Lobotomy Corporation, it is a significant thing for them to have the instant kill at any range and no limit on their number of targets.

Additionally, it seems aware of what it's doing. It's extremely possessive in it's log and seems to know that it's very presence and pebble is haunting the person writing the log. Of note is his final two logs, which will show some themes that repeat over and over. I can't take it anymore. I can't escape him. I thought I was in charge, but the truth is I was just a pebble in his hands the whole time. Whatever I do, wherever I go, I hear his whispers. (I have to end it, but I’m not even sure if I can.) -- "...I came from afar. I'm so glad to meet you. Become a pebble, and let's walk the galaxy together..." I hear his whispers and breath. Pitch black darkness follows... just like the night I met him."

Finally, Blue Star, the Aleph level.

Blue Star is an extremely potent abnormality that seems to break out if the person working it is not competent enough, and is capable of massive areas of sanity damage. Even moreso, when they do finally wear down someone's sanity, they absorb them into themselves.

Their abnormality log details some very important details, including the rising of a cult that is infected with certain thoughts, that want to willingly throw themselves into the center of certain abnormalities (read:blue star). Additionally, one of these infected members writes a letter detailing some very important info.

"We are all sinners, and our Blue Star is the only sanctuary that accepts us. We will be cleansed of our sins there. We all go back to that place someday. This is an instinct. You thought Emily died when she threw herself into the Star, but she simply returned to her rightful place. She's a martyr. She has become an eternal star. The rise of a star is a brand new beginning. Don't you hear the everlasting sound of the trumpet? When you stand close to the Star, you can hear the welcoming cheers and singing. If every employee returns to that place, only Blue Star will remain here. Let us meet again as stars."

This begins some of the themes of Stars and Outer Space as a whole in Project Moon, and one of the key ones is rebirth. The employee writing a log ends up being requested to become another pebble by the Child, and each of the cultists of Blue Star firmly believe that they will be reborn as stars when they end up in Blue Star.

Ruina compounds on these cultists by showing us them and their idol in tandem. Notably, Blue Star is not fought, a trait shared solely by Apocalypse Bird (a symbol of the omnipresent and invincible head that rules over the City) and WhiteNight (a symbol of the omnipresent ghost over the City that distorts people into monsters) The only way Blue Star is beaten is by destroying it's Shrine, which ends the fight immediately. Additionally, Blue Star's only action in this is to emit a simple sound through it's Shrine. It does not slam the floor like Apocalypse Bird or emit circles of hell like WhiteNight. It's so far out of our reality that all it can do is show itself and sing through it's statue. Blue Star is also arguably even more important in Limbus, because of the host of connections it has to both the Blue Man Group and several different Star related abnormalities, but that's a post for a different day.

All that is to say for now is, don't be afraid of the stars in Project Moon. All they want is a new life for you...

(as usual thanks to @lu-is-not-ok for inspiring posts and getting me to think about the unregistered abnormalities in Limbus, and sending me down a Star rabbit hole)