#i hope I didn't get their species names wrong

[abunchleoftadishes]

Posting this on tumblr because I'm sending too many of these to my brothers, BUT PLEASE LOOK AT THESE ADORABLE TINY CREATURES!!!

African pygmy mouse!!

---

A fat-tailed gerbil!!

---

And the mongolian gerbil!!!

Look at them all being in a pile 😭

I love these tiny lil creatures 🥺💖💖💖

[cuntyji]

MEOW OR NEVER ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she gave a single chirp in response.

you blinked. "was that a yes?"

another chirp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she purred. of course she purred.

chapter 2: welcome to parenthood, kinda

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

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

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

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

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

“yup. no cats.”

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

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

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

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

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

“brothers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah. she’s pregnant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a reply came almost instantly.

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

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

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

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

“new parents?” you said aloud, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

“what the—did he bake these?”

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

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

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

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

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

you stared at the message, your eye twitching.

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

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

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

-

suguru geto was not having a good day.

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

you. or more specifically, your cat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

geto froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter 3: first we stalk, then we brunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bachelor’s in international law | current student

active member of the debate team and global policy forum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo, being a cat, offered no answer.

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

[beef_boss_69 has followed you.]

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“spit it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you laughed again, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh, no, actually—”

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

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

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

wait, what?

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

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

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

chapter 4: he brought kibble, you brought your heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and you’re gojo?”

“exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"that’s called range, geto."

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you kissed him first. his brain went blank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter 5: justin bieber and other forms of groveling

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

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

ugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“wait, i can explain—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you: door’s unlocked.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“wow?” he echoed, his brows lifting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“suguru—oh my god—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh god.

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

“so, uh... what are we?”

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

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

chapter 6: the class you’ll never forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what was that?” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

“i know!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no way,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“GETO! LAW STUDENTS BUILDING! NOW!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YES!”

and then he started running behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“cats don’t work like that, suguru!”

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

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

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

“support her how?”

“i don’t know! emotional support?”

“she’s a cat!”

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

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

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

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

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“team effort,” he replied with a grin.

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

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

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

ah, the miracle of life.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

feline parenthood? best decision ever.

[thischarmingmandalorian]

A Certain Species of Turtle

Eddie Munson×Reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and you're stuck at your sorority house. Your boyfriend Eddie calls and keeps you company.

Look, people. I don't know. I saw Black Christmas yesterday and that first Billy phone call really stirred something in me and I couldn't get this out of my head fast enough. I wrote this in not a lot of time, barely proofread it, take it away from me I beg you.

Warnings: Copious amounts of dirty talk, phone sex, cool turtle facts.

Rating: Very much E!

Word Count: 1.3k

Christmas Eve should have been a happy time for you - you had just finished your fall semester, your presents were bought and wrapped, and you were all packed for a trip home to Hawkins for the long break. 

Except you're still in the living room of your sorority house because the flight your parents had booked wasn't for another four days. Much cheaper to fly after Christmas, you see.

You sat in front of the fire that morning and watched your sorority sisters flit in and out of their rooms, packing their things and waiting on rides home. You were the only person in the house who didn't live less than an hour away from campus, having opted to attend an ivy-covered New England college. Throughout the day the house got quieter and quieter, until it was dinner time and you and two other girls were the only ones left.

Katie and Molly were cool, and there were worse people you could think of to spend this time with, but the reality of not being home with your friends and Eddie, the boyfriend you left back in Indiana, left you feeling pouty and not super fun to be around. They had a conversation that they had tried to loop you into, but once they realized your mind was elsewhere, they shut you out. 

After dinner the phone rang, making the three of you jump. The sorority house had far too many phones all connected to the same line - the main house phone in the living room, one in the hallway upstairs, and 4 in bedrooms. Some girls had their own phone number, but yours was connected to the main line. Katie was closest to the living room phone and picked it up, grumbling when she shouted your name into the dining room.

"It's The Moaner!"

You blush. The call is from Eddie.

Eddie was given the unfortunate nickname "The Moaner" from a phone call he made during your freshman year. He hadn't realized you didn't have your own phone line, and when one of your sorority sisters picked up, Eddie was… well, he was moaning. He was apparently really putting on a show, you were told later, the squelch of his spit-soaked palm against his cock reverberating into the receiver, his soft moans and near begs to "see you, touch you, fuck you." 

The poor girl who had picked up the phone asked just what the fuck he thought he was playing at, which sobered Eddie up real quick. His tone turned on a dime: "I'm so sorry, ma'am, I must have the wrong number. I'm looking for my girlfriend, you see, and…"

There was a calendar pinned above the phone where girls could request to reserve the line. You'd penciled your name in for that date and time, writing "Eddie Munson" and a little heart next to it. Your sorority sister rolled her eyes goodnaturedly and hollered through the house, "I've gotta an Eddie "The Moaner" Munson on the phone!" 

The nickname stuck and he'd never lived it down. 

You were expecting a call from him tonight, but it still filled you with joy to hear that he was on the line. You'd shouted to Katie that you'd take the call in your room and rushed up the stairs, nearly slamming your door shut. You slid across your silk sheets on your stomach and reached for the receiver on your side table. 

"Hey, Munson." You hope your smile is evident through the phone.

"Sweet thing…" Eddie moans. 

You chuckle, "really living up to that nickname, huh?"

Eddie laughs, "what are you wearing?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing special. Sweatpants, band tee, the usual," you shrug.

"What band? Who you wearing?" You hear Eddie's rings clink against each other, which has you trying to picture his fingers lightly dancing down his chest, gently fisting his cock.

You roll onto your back and pull your shirt taut so you can see the graphic. The band's name is emblazoned on your chest, having been screen printed in an extremely limited merch run. You and maybe ten other people had a shirt just like it.

"Not sure you've ever heard of them, they haven't quite made it big yet, but they're really somethin'. Called Corroded Coffin."

Eddie groans loudly and you hear his head knock the air out of his pillow as it lolled back. 

You giggle. "I miss you, Eddie," you coo, pushing the hem of the t-shirt up and over the swell of your breasts, nipples pebbling as the cold air hits them.

"Miss you so much, sweet thing. Can't wait to see you. Can't wait to parade you around town and brag to everyone about my smart college girl," Eddie says, the clinking of his rings speeding up slightly, making you chuckle.

"That the only thing you can't wait to do, baby?" you chuckle.

"Not even close," he chuckles. "Can't wait to kiss you, can't wait to hold you, have your perfume stuck onto my clothes."

"Eddie…" you sigh, your free hand trailing under the waistband of your sweats, pulling your panties to the side and dragging a finger through your folds, gathering your arousal and swirling it gently around your clit.

"Not done, baby. Can't wait to get you alone. Get my hands on you, get my mouth on you."

You moan loudly into the receiver, not caring that your roommates downstairs probably heard. "Miss your mouth, Eddie."

"Yeah? Gonna let me lick it when I get you under me, baby? Gonna let me lick that pretty pink cunt?" 

Your fingers speed up on your clit and you nod feverishly despite knowing Eddie can't see you. "Gonna let you do anything you want, gotta make up for fifteen weeks away from you."

"Not gonna let you go while you're home, sweet thing. Your friends, your parents, they'll be lucky if they get ten minutes with you before you're sinking that perfect pussy down on me. Gonna waste no time fillin' you up, baby." 

You know he's close when he rambles like this, his horny stream of consciousness broken periodically by breathy moans and whimpers. "Gonna cum, Eddie?" 

"Not alone, sweet girl, gotta cum together, you close?"

You groan, cradling the phone between your ear and your shoulder to reach between your thighs and hastily shove two fingers inside your weeping pussy. You're met with no resistance, matching pace with the fingers strumming along your clit. "Close, Eddie, keep talking."

"Sweet thing," Eddie sighs, breath heaving, "did you know that there's a certain species of turtle that can fuck for three straight days?"

"Eddie, what the fuck -" you begin, confused by his sudden pivot in conversation but too far gone to slow your hands.

"Gonna break that turtle's fucking record, baby. Gonna fuck you for three straight weeks. You're gonna forget how it feels to not be full of me. Shit, sweet girl, gonna cum, please…" he rambles.

"Me too, baby, wanna hear you," you coo, vision whiting out when you hear his strangled moan of release catch in his throat. The clatter of his rings loses all rhythm and you know he's gone, shirt pulled up under his chin and cock spurting up his chest.

The image you conjure in tandem with Eddie's harsh breathing sends you over the edge, cunt clenching around your fingers as you all but scream your release, not caring at all that there are still two people downstairs. 

You both lay in bed, panting into the phone. It feels like minutes before Eddie breaks the relative silence. "Fucking love you, sweet thing."

"Love you too, Eddie. Four more days and I'm all yours."

Eddie starts to say something when Molly picks up the phone in the hallway.

"You two lovebirds almost done? I've gotta call my mom."

Ahhh! That's it! No one look at me!

@strangergraphics made that cute lil phone divider and @ali-r3n wanted to be tagged, so hi!!!

[mingismoralloyalty]

The sweetest scent

pairing: Idol! Mingi x succubus! reader (species implies that the reader is fem bodied)

genre: smut

au: fantasy au, demon au

trope: magical invocation

word count: 3.6k

rating: 18+, Minors do not interact!

summary: Mingi is down bad for way to long now. Good thing his daydreams leading him into your open arms, when you not so randomly appear on the other side of the road, driven by a spell and the delicious smell of his despair...

warnings: smut, pwp, cnc somnophilia, cum eating, unprotected sex (don't!), nicknames (honey, sweetheart, baby, pretty boy, princess, baby boy), soft dom!reader, subby Mingi, demon fucking, praise kink, nipple kink, breast play, cumming inside, kinda getting caught, did I forget something?

authors note: Heyy, this is my first fanfic in a long long while and I've never written something like this in english, so please bear with me. If you find mistakes, let me know, so I can improve myself 🩷 I'm so glad this is now out here. Please let me know what you think. Critique is welcome. And yes, I had to edit some things, I hope you like this version too. Okay that's it for now ✨

songs: BM - bad intentions

~😈🖤😈~

It was a warm friday evening in Seoul, the streets were full of people enjoying their free time, visiting bars with their friends or going out on dates with their partners. This city was full of couples much to the distress of a certain young man. Mingi was sick of this sight. It wasn't like he was envious, but he was just so done that he wasn't able to date, let alone have a one night stand. Dating would even be the safest option for him to blow off some steam, even though that wouldn't be the only reason a girlfriend would be great. Don't get him wrong, he's not an ass, but sometimes there was just something missing in his life.

Having one night stands had the potential to ruin his reputation in just a few days, so this was off the table. But to be honest he had no time to date. He had tried it and it went awful. A week long relationship wasn't even a relationship, it was just something. In the end he even had to be scared that his "ex girlfriend" - or whatever she was - would use pictures of them together as leverage against him.

Sometimes he dreamt of living a normal live, moving freely in public and having a girlfriend. But then again he loved his life like it was right now and he wouldn't trade it for anything else. Just a little adventure here or there would just be a nice addition.

That's why he decided to make the step and - even if it sounds crazy - summon a succubus.

But let's start at the beginning. It all started when he had stumbled across this link to an online forum a few days ago, where people were sharing stories about their encounters with magical beings. Guardian angels, demons, doppelgangers... you name it.

Mingi himself was sure he had seen a fairy in his parents garden multiple times when he was a little kid. He would never forget these images, this extraordinary experience. It would always live inside his head. The magical world was there, he was sure.

It was so interesting to read all of these encounters people had with these other worldly beings, that he couldn't stop reading.

Today at work it was no exception, because these thoughts of being lonely at night reminded him, that he hadn't finished one specific story he had found on that site, where a guy was writing about meeting a succubus. Well, he claimed to have summoned her. What an exciting story! Mingi read and read. Maybe this was a solution he could try for himself? The ritual for the invocation seemed easy enough to do in his little studio. He just needed four black candles (surely it didn't matter if they were scented) and a spell. So he did it.

And now he walked home, full of anticipation. Hopefully he did everything right and it would work tonight. He knew a succubus would only appear when he fell asleep (well, he thought so). How would it feel to be touched in his sleep? Probably pretty hot, he imagined. And hopefully he would wake up? Would it make sense to set an alarm? Surely he would wake up anyways.

As he was walking away from the masses of people to a more quiet area of the city, where the dorm was located, he was dwelling on this thought not paying much attention to his surrounding.

And that's where you came into play. Already from afar you could smell this man's need and desperation. Musky and sweet. Oh so sweet. He smelled like a dessert to you and you would make sure to eat him like one tonight. It was so intense, that you didn't have to look for too long for him. Feeding on humans energy could be tough sometimes, but today seemed an easy feast. But before that, you always loved to take a closer look at your prey and play a little with their mind.

It was a simple tactic but efficient, just looking cute and seemingly absemindedly walking in his way. Him playing into your cards by not looking where he went himself was downright nice of him and... boom! You felt his toned chest muscles on your bare upper arm as you dramatically stumbled sideways, letting out a soft "Oh!" and dropping your handbag to the floor.

"Ah! I'm sorry!", he blurted out instantly grabbing your shoulder so you wouldn't fall aswell. "Oh no, it was my bad, I wasn't looking myself.", you exclaimed, looking up to him with doe eyes. For a second time stood still. He froze, looking at you mesmerised, his mouth slightly agape. He smelled even better up close, like seasalt and sage. This was his cologne, not only his pheromones but the combination smelled even better. You too, were struck for a moment, before he quickly blinked and let go of you. "Sorry. ", he mumbled, before hastily grabbing your bag from the concrete to offer it to you.

"Here... uh, your bandhag...I - I mean handbag!", you grabbed the bag with a sweet smile and he awkwardly laughed while scratching the back of his head. "Thank you and thanks for catching me.", you said softly and put the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

"Sorry again, and sorry I have to go. Have a good evening.", he kind of cutely waved you goodbye and went in the direction of the dorm a bit faster and focused this time.

Your eyes follow him with a bemused face. He would be so fun to play with.

Mingi went home in a hurry, trying not to crash into another person or thing until he was able to close the door of his safe home behind him, before he could cringe in peace.

"Fuck, that was so awkward!", he grunted pulling his sneakers from his feet.

"Hm?", a curious face appeared in his sight when he came back up to step into the appartment. Typical nosey San looked expectantly with raised eyebrows at his flatmate. Mingi sighed. "There was this cute girl I ran into. Nearly knocked her over.", he explained and San snickered. "Daydreaming again, man? What's up with you these days?", he asked, but Mingi just waved it off. "What's for dinner?", he asked instead before he paused in his movement. Was his hand smelling funny? He held it up to his nose to smell it and indeed it smelled fruity, flowery and insanely feminine. It almost made him a little dizzy...

That night Mingi was almost too excited to sleep, hadn't he been so exhausted from work that he fell asleep sooner than he thought.

He had a great sleep. Forgotton was his awkward behaviour and he was only thinking about your beautiful eyes, that somehow found a way into his dream...

You giggled quietly doing a little happy dance on your tip toes, when you materialized in a dark corner of his Bedroom. It was just so easy, but you loved these games every time, before visiting.

Full of anticipation you looked over to Mingi. Black filled your eyes, instantly reflecting some of the moonlight that shined through the window, while also your beautiful black horns came twisting up through your shiny Hair. Unlike on the street today you were now wearing some black lingerie which honestly left nearly nothing to the imagination. Easy excess was important for you so this seemed appropriate.

There he layed on his bed all sprawled out, stripped of his heavy blanked in this hot weather softly snoring. He was deep in his slumber with a raging hard on visibly poking up in his pyjama shorts. You really left an imprint on that poor boy that evening.

Slowly you made your way to his bed eyeing his sleepy form up and down. He looked so cute and peaceful and you were sure the expression of pure bliss on his face would look even cuter... or maybe desperation when you would deny him of his orgasm?

"Hmm, we will see...", you mumbled to yourself, before climbing over your yet clueless prey to straddle him.

Carefully you grabbed his pants on each side and slowly pulled it down. With a little flop his not so little dick slapped against his toned torso creating a small puddle of precum below his bellybutton. A reliefed sound escaped his soft lips, when you freed his boner in the act, which made you smile widely. "My god, he's so big!", you whispered with wide eyes.

The cum looked delicious on his skin dripping from his tip and you wanted to taste it so badly. So you wasted no time and dipped your index finger into the clear fluid and brought it between your lips. Kind of sweet you'd say. Surprisingly. Sadly this wasn't often the case. But this cutie was a special one, you could feel it. You two would definitely have a lot of fun tonight.

With quick motions you opened his pyjama shirt and exposed his bare chest. Now it was your turn to release a content sigh when you viewed his seemingly flawless figure, your gaze cought by his beautiful pink nipples. You loved nipples! Another part of the human body that made so many people squirm when you touched them the right way. They looked so delicate and vulnerable, it was wonderful. Biting your lower lip you softly touched the rosy buds and earned another pleased sound of this strikingly handsome young man under you.

Mesmerised by your view your hands started to wander downwards on his body, still nibbling on your own soft lips you started to stroke his thick cock up and down where his precum smeared tip was subtly glistening in the moonlight. It felt so heavy in your comparibly small hand and you loved it. Apparently he loved your touch too, because he quietly started to moan. You looked at his face to see the slightly scrunched eyebrows. He was really a sight to see.

His whole appearance made you throb for more and you wondered who was the demon here. Even in his sleep it seemed like he actively tried to seduce you. You were dripping for him. You needed him inside desperately. His sexual energy would last a long time for you to feist on, you were sure.

Still on your knees you propped yourself up on one hand to hover over the sleeping man to rub your wet folds angainst the underside of his shaft. His body felt so hot it send a tingling sensation through your whole body as your core touched it. Your slick arousal gathering on his dick more and more before you finally pushed it inside your hole with a high pitched moan leaving your lungs while earning a surprised but undeniably aroused gasp by your sleeping cutie.

He stretched you out so good that you held still for a moment to adjust your body to his before starting to grind against his hips. Moving in circular motions while rubbing your clit on his pubic area created an appatizing sound to you not to mention a wonderfully energising feeling. And in the magic of the moment you needed to taste his lips. His oh so full and pink lips. So you did and they tasted immaculate. It seemed that there was nothing he couldn't offer you. Maybe you had to come back a few times you thought to yourself, absentmindedly stroking one of his nipples with the thumb of your free hand, never loosing your sensual rhythm.

And you knew the most interesting part would begin now, because all of this different stimulations were waking the deepest sleeper. So you curiously hovered over his face after the kiss and you saw how he struggled to lift his heavy eyelids, his body fighting against the deep sleep.

"Wakey, wakey.", you giggled, still letting you hips circle over his. "Honey, you feel heavenly, you know that?", you sighed and continued to toy with his pretty perky nipples.

"What?", he responded confused and drowsy still trying to get his body awake.

Deep sleep was so heavy on him after such a long day and it took him a little while to get conscious, but finally he opend his eyes and realised that this was not his dream anymore, even though there was the same person in front of him, just slightly different looking.

"What the fuck?!", he gasped and crossed his arms in front of his face.

"Already forgot that you called for me, sweetheart?", you smiled. You were right. Mingi rubbed his eyes and blinked at you.

He swallowed down the initial shock your demonic appearance had caused him and lowered his arms next to him.

"No, I... I just wasn't expecting...", he tried to finish his sentence, but it ended miserably in a guttural moan, when you moved your hips again. You nodded. "That's it, baby. Give in to me.", you said lowly, before you slowed down your movements and took his hand in yours, guiding it to your horns.

"Didn't expect me to look like this, hm?", you asked with a cheeky grin.

Mingi's hand shrugged away for a second when he felt the rough texture of the horn.

"I summoned you.", he simply stated, recalling his memories from the day, his mind now much clearer.

"You did, pretty boy.", you confirmed enthusiastically.

"It really worked.", he whispered fascinated.

"And you know there is only one reason why why you would do that, right?", you asked, trying to get him out of his shell now.

"Yeah.", he nodded, a slight red tint creeping on to his cheeks, before his eyes suddenly got bigger.

"It's you! We- we met on the streets today."

You laughed.

"Yes, we did, sweetheart. And when I found you today ...", you started painting invisible patterns on his chest with your fingers, "you where smelling so delicious with all your pheromones and your nearly dripping desperation. I smelled you from miles away. Haven't smelled this intensity in a while I must say.", thinking about this you put a finger on your chin, pursing your lips.

"You... You could smell my...", Mingi's cheeks changed into an even deeper red now.

"All of your desire and despair, yes.", you, smiled and stroked his cheek with your thumb.

"I knew I had to taste you, pretty boy.", you batted your eyelashes at him.

"I'm sure you're having a rough time, where you can't make room for sex. I couldn't imagine.", you pouted like you genuinely felt sorry for him and you did a bit, just because he was so extra cute.

Slowly you found it was enough of all the talking. You wanted to start the action again and you were sure Mingi agreed.

"So... how about we just fuck now, princess?", you asked him massaging his shoulders a little and you suddenly felt him twitch inside of you.

"Oh, you like that, huh?", a triumphant expression was creeping on your face.

Mingi's body felt hot. This was all he was hoping for. He looked you up and down. From your dark eyes and your horns to your sensual lips, your bare tits, just in reach for him, down to your core where he still was nestled inside of you. This insanely hot woman was already on top of him, calling him by his favourite nickname, when he was now down bad for months. Finally!

"Sure, let's continue.", he smiled back at you and let his hands glide up your thighs to grip your hips.

"Alright, baby boy, show me what you got.", you said with a wicked smile and let your hands wander from his shoulders to his upper arms where you held tight.

Mingi now began to actively push upwards to meet your hips. Oh, how he missed this feeling! It just felt so good. Oh, sooo good. After such a long time, he really needed it. Your pussy felt so hot and tight around him and you were already so wet for him. The slick sounds between you both accompanied an animalistic series of grunts he let out wich made you victoriously puff your chest. Of course this motion didn't go unnoticed by the attractive man underneath you, who took his chance to grab a handful of one of your boobs, squishing and massaging it in his big palm, making you moan appreciatively.

"Ah, fuck me good, pretty boy!", you panted as his movements got faster. You leaned down to get another taste of his plump lips, that felt so soft against yours, you could have done this all night long, but Mingi wanted more. His tongue darted out to catch yours, so you opened your mouth and welcomed him with some soft licks to it, before sucking on it a little. All the while his fingers were playing with your nipples and his hot breath echoed inside your open mouth when you release his tongue again. He made you feel so good, it was incredible.

Finally you grabbed his right hand from your tit to move it down further between your bodies and let his fingers touch your clit. He instantly understood the assignment and started rubbing rough circles on it. You were a mess by now, you really didn't have this much fun in a long time. "Fuck you're so good at this, sweetheart.", you praised him while Mingi gave you half a smirk, already broken asweat. This was extatic. You felt your high coming closer and closer to the point where it was just seconds away. "Oh, I'm coming~!", you whimpered, rutting against Mingi's movements that where going at a rapid pace now. You had completely blown his mind away. He was panting and grunting, pulling your body against his with so much force it made you tip over the edge and come so hard like you haven't in a long while. A stretched downright pornographic moan left your open mouth, everything inside your body contracted hard in waves, your pussy pulsing around Mingi's dick and this incredibly energising and relieving feeling spreading through your veins. Hungryly you looked down at Mingi, eager to see his orgasm face.

His eyes where scrunched up in pleasure, brows knitted, his mouth shaped like an O. He was so close. "Come for me, princess.", you whispered against his lips whilst contracting and relieving your pelvic muscles a few times on purpose. This was it. All this built-up frustration that couldn't be satisfied with his own hands released in one go. A moan left him so heartbreaking you weren't sure if he would literally fall apart under you. You lived for this extasy. All these big feelings releasing from one moment to another.

You could feel the amount of cum getting pumped inside your heat and it was truly the cherry on top for you. This whole act was the essence of your life and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Fuck, I feel so good.", you sighed, every part of your body tingling while you layed your head on Mingi's shoulder.

"Oh, shit!", he laughed, bringing his hands to his face. "This was crazy.", he mumbled and you snickered. "I can't deny it: I really needed this.", he carefully put an arm on your back, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. In this moment it was absolutely weired to see and he didn't know if he could trust his senses, but your eyes turned back to the color he saw this evening and your horns retrieved back between your silky locks.

"What is happening?", he asked confused, looking deep in your eyes. "This is my human form.", you simply stated, "I only have to let it go when I charche my energy.", you shrugged your shoulders and smiled.

"Oh, so you can normally walk around like this.", he nodded. "Right, I-...", rumbling was heard outside his room. Muffled voices. "Mingi?", it was Seonghwa.

"Everything okay with you?", San's voice following.

Panic widened in Mingi's eyes.

"Uh, yeah... Everything's s all right! Don't come in!", quickly he pushed himself up on his elbows. Normally there were no visitors in the dorm and if that was the case, they swore that they would tell each other.

"What happened?", San asked and Seonghwa instantly commented: "You really wanna know, if he says 'don't come in' after those sounds leaving his room?"

"Oh, shush!", San said annoyed.

"You're shushing me?!", Seonghwa retorted and the bickering began outside the door.

"Who are they?!", you giggled, sitting up again. Mingi taking the chance to lift his upper body with you, but also pressing a hand over your mouth in a hurry with a pleading look on his face.

Silence.

"Is there a woman with you?", San's voice sounded confused.

"Uh, no...", great, he sounded way to unsure.

"Can't you just vanish, like you came in here? Or how did even you come in here anyways?", Mingi hissed at you.

"Oh no, this is too much fun.", you laughed when his fingers left your lips.

"Come on in guys!", you chimed happily, you were so curious to see who was living with your little cutie.

Silence again.

Slowly the door handle dipped, the door opened and revealed two very handsome young men.

Hastily Mingi tried to cover your still connected bodies with his blanket. This was even more embarrassing than the incident on the streets with you today.

"Oh my god!", San exclaimed, trying to hide his and Seonghwa's eyes at the same time.

"Mingi what the fuck, why is there a stranger in here? ", Seonghwa tried to say while San's hand accidentally hit his face.

"It's not what you think!", Mingi whined, unsure how to solve this situation without looking like a complete maniac. So you took it in your hands to say something.

You smiled at the two guys who pointedly tried to cover their eyes and exclaimed with glee: "Oh, I didn't know there were more handsome treats living in this household!"

~😈🖤😈~

© mingismoralloyalty

This is my own work of fiction. Do not copy, translate, feed to ai or report.

[seastarblue]

Character Intro: Evangeline Pierce

“I truly hope you will find these… these pathetic excuses for killers, captain.”

Basics:

Pronouns: she/her

Species: Human (warlock)

Age: 23

MBTI: idk

Voice Claim: Chloe Breez (singer on YT)

Physical:

5’3”

Build: Chubby

Skin: Dark brown

Eyes: Dark purple (from warlock pact)

Hair: Dyed a pale purple, normally straightened and worn down, ear length

refs✨

Personality:

Evie is pretty closed-off around people, but she's not one to miss out on a debate. She likes hearing other people's opinions on different topics, and especially likes proving people wrong. She's a little pessimistic, but she considers herself a realist.

Speaking Style: Evangeline is a noblewoman, and as such learned to speak like one. She uses fanciful words and phrases, but she does occasionally slip in slang or a swear here and there.

Likes: fashion, magical studies, her patron Noodle, being right, sweet things, music, wine, flowers, the quiet, autumnal weather, getting (good) attention, debating, being a snooty person (she likes getting on people's nerves)

Dislikes: people without a spine, people who can't put their money where their mouth is, people who cannot see their own stupidity, stupidity in general, people in general, breaking her nails, spicy food, people tricking her, hypocrites, the dark

Main Goal: “I want to be fine. I want to be a better Head of House than my mother was. I want justice, I want, and I want, and I want, but what is it that I need…?”

Backstory (under the cut—tw for descriptions (kinda?) of mutilated corpses):

Ever since she was a child, Evangeline Pierce knew one thing: as a member of the infamous House of Pierce, she was meant to bring honor and prosperity to her family, her country, and herself. 

Evangeline had an older sister, Natasha. The sisters loved each other dearly, though Natasha was the clear favorite. Evangeline didn't mind, though- in her mind Natasha deserved all the praise she got. Certainly more than Evangeline ever did. She was quite content with fading into the background once she successfully completed the Evoking, a tradition passed down for generations in which a Pierce summoned a demon. Evangeline didn't mind the implications of being left obscured and forgotten. Yes she did. She always did.

A few months after Evangeline's Evoking, the unthinkable happened.

Her whole family—mother, father, and dear, dear sister— were found brutally murdered in her office, blood still gushing from the uncountable stab wounds on her head, his neck, her gut, their--

Evangeline wanted to could not grive. She wanted to could not cry, and or scream, and cry some more. But nobility doesn't allow that refuge. Mere days after Natasha's murder, Evangeline was named Head of the House of Pierce.

She was soon put under house arrest at her family’s her estate. She is grieving, so so much, so why can’t the Guard see she’s innocent…?

[fandoms--fluff]

Okay this is going to be Legacies. So, I was thinking Hope x Reader. I was thinking where Reader is a normal human and She has been together with Hope 2 years. But the thing is that the Reader doesn’t know that Hope is a Tribid and she didn’t tell the reader. At night, Reader finds Hope going against vampires and she uses her tribrid abilities and saw it all and Reader was shocked. Angst and Fluff :)

The Secret's Out

Flufftober, October 4th

Female reader x Hope Mikaelson

Warnings: mentions of dead people/killing?

A/n: It's more really fluffy! I hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're taking your usual late night walk. Now it doesn't sound the safest, but nothing bad has happened. Well, not until up to this point.

You hear screams coming from around the corner and being your curious self, you take a peak. Don't get it wrong, your heart is beating restlessly, but you're going to be wondering for the whole night what's going on.

What you see makes you go frozen. You're standing on the street corner, watching as your girlfriend is fighting five people. But in the next second all five of them go down, lifeless. They have veins running up their faces. The way they all fell, it can't be natural, it's as if some force field struck them and now you notice all their hearts are littered on the ground.

You look back over to your girlfriend who obviously caused that. There's no way she didn't, she's the only other person there, and it certainly wasn't you. Except, her face isn't normal, her eyes are amber and veins are sticking out under her eyes.

"Hope?" You yell out. Stupid thing to do, right? But you only live once, you guess.

Hope turns, hearing her name, and sees you, her girlfriend. Her very human, shouldn't have to know about the supernatural, girlfriend.

Her vampire face immediately retracts and a shocked one replaces it. She vamps over to you. You jump from the speed and how she just appeared like that.

"Y/n? I'm so sorry you had to see that" she said, clearly starting starting panic. "Well, what the hell was that?!" You exclaimed.

Hope grows silent, not knowing the perfect way to tell you.

"Well?" You sigh. She just looks at you with this lost facial expression. "Fine, if you don't want to talk about it right here, do you want to come back to my apartment and talk there. There'll be no prying eyes or ears, I promise" you tell her softly.

"Okay, yeah. Are you sure?" She asks, noting how calm you've become. "Yes, I'm sure, I want to know what all of this is. And while we're walking I'm going to come up with some conclusions to what you are and tell you what I thought after your explanation and you can then tell me how stupid I sound, got it?"

"Got it" she gives you a nervous smile. It's extremely confusing to her for how she's the nervous one here, but she just pushes it aside. She walks next to you as you guys walk over to your apartment a couple blocks away.

When you guys made it in your apartment, she follows you to the couch. You motion for her to sit down beside you and she slightly nods, taking a seat.

"Okay, so I kept this hidden, well the best I could obviously. The school I went to, I don't anymore, but you know how I visit my friends and all that stuff. Well, it's not a normal school, it's a school for the supernatural." She starts. You raise an eyebrow, a corner of your lip poking up, but you want her to finish speaking.

"I'm a part of the supernatural, only I'm the only one of them, there is. There are three species, witches, werewolves, and vampires... I'm all three. I was a miracle child between my father, who was the original hybrid - a vampire and a werewolf, and my mother, who was a werewolf before she turned into a hybrid after she gave birth to me." She gulps before continuing. You give a reassuring smile. "They're both dead now, as you already know. I wanted to tell you the moment I fell in love with you, but I was scared and stressed, and thought you'd be terrified and hate me. I thought you'd..I don't know, but I really, really don't want to break up and I don't want you to think I'm an abomination monster and hate me for ever not telling you. Or just for existing, because people have been calling me that since before I was born. But I never want you to call me that." Hope looks to you with pleading, glossed over eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, calm down" you tell her, and you pull her into a hug. She nuzzles into your shoulder the best she can and closes her eyes.

Everything's fine, y/n's not showing any signs of hate or anything, I'm okay, breathe, Hope, breathe. Hope thinks to herself before slowly pulling out of the hug.

You place your hands on her shoulders. "Okay, so you're telling me that vampires exist. And you are part vampire. Wait! Do you sparkle in the sun like it Twilight?" You joke with faux excitement.

"Okay, haha. Are you alright with this? Because you're taking it freakily very well" Hope places her hands on your shoulders as well.

"Yes, I'm one hundred percent alright with this. I just really need to know one thing" You say, a small scheming smile displayed on yourself. "What is it?" She asks.

"What spell, or whatever that was, that you did to those I'm guessing other vampires did you use? Cause that was awesome now that I think back" You ramble with an excited energetic puppy-like face.

Hope chuckles, "Okay, I think it's bedtime," Hope says, but caves when you make your puppy eyes instead. She now sort of wonders if you're somehow a werewolf with how you have that look mastered.

"Okay, how about this, we go to bed, and then in the morning we'll go for a walk to the falls and you can ask me all the questions you want and you'll also get to burn energy" she kisses your forehead.

"Deal!" You kiss her. You guys go to your room. She changes into the pajamas she always keeps here along with a bunch of her other clothing items. Because she probably spends more time here than the actual dorm room she still has at the Salvatore school.

She gets into bed beside you, and immediately cuddles into your chest. "Thank you for not thinking I'm a freak" She mumbles against your soft skin.

"And thank you for not kicking me for the stupid questions I asked. I love you so much and could never think of you that way" You kiss the top of your wonderful girlfriend's head.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowling Bird

Debut: Donkey Kong Country Returns

Hey. Have you ever been in the world? I have, and let me tell you. There's something you should know. In the world, there are Funny Birds. They're basically everywhere. Some people in the world, they might say "I don't see any funny birds. Just regular birds." These people are wrong and are fools, because every bird is funny, and if you don't think a given bird is funny, you just need to get better at perceiving birds!

That being said, some birds are inherently more funny than others. Bowling Bird is one such bird. Species. It's a species.

See? Look how many! SO many! And so funny! They're like a bunch of bowling pins! That is why they are called Bowling Birds. You may be aware that Donkey Kong has a Rolling attack, in which he curls into a ball... uh oh! Bowling Birds exist all for a silly visual gag, and it is quite whimsical, but it's sad that so many funny birds must be sacrificed for it. And yes, they die! They puff into smoke after being knocked away! I think they should land in the water and bob like buoys, but they don't. Maybe they do offscreen? I hope so!

Delightfully, and surprisingly, Bowling Birds are not just ambiguous seabirds, but their Japanese name reveals that they are DODOS! Between these, and Dozy here from Tropical Freeze, Retro Studios clearly has some Dodo Fans. Hooray! This also obviously indicates that, in the Donkey Kong universe, dodos never went extinct, and in fact have continued to give rise to endemic subspecies, around DK Island and further around the world, like in Lost Mangroves! Some stayed pretty similar to Classic Dodos. Some became bowling pins. Clearly, being bowling pins has worked for them, so don't judge!

On the topic of these speculative surviving Dodos, I am now finding Dozies, and their more aggressive variant, the Sour Dodo, to be quite fascinating! Dodos didn't need to adapt any flight or even swimming, and this would eventually be their demise in our world, but THESE dodos have life preservers. I don't know where they got them, but they have them! Already, there's a way to get away from terrestrial predators, at the cost of merely getting their feathers soaked. Now that is indeed preserving their lives! Looking at Sour Dodo, we can also see they are capable of getting aggressive, so maybe they can even fight off threats now!

As usual with DKC enemies, I feel the need to point out that all of these dodos are larger than a gorilla. Even Bowling Bird is! Hooray for island gigantism! Did you know dodos were are pigeons? We all love pigeons!

[monkey-papermoon]

Goblin HRT day 1

Knock!

kNOCk!!

knocK!!!

Dr Erian looked up from the piles of documents on his desk, confused at the unnecessary noise "Um... Come in?" The door slammed open "Ma'am you can't jus-" <lemme through!> "It's alright, Nurse, let her in" Dr Erian mustered, pushing his glasses upwards. The nurse sighed and shrugged before leaving a short disheveled girl in her place. The girl stomped forth excitedly "Ah. you must be Maxin-" <Monkey.> "Right to it, eh? Well, monkey would be a very easy transition process. Afterall, Humans are Prim-" <No, my name, Monkey!> Dr Erian cleared his thoat "Okay... Well, Monkey, how can I help you today?" Monkey sat in the chair awkwardly and grinned as she steepled her fingers on the doctors desk <Goblin. No matter how hard, Goblin.> Dr erian pulled off his glasses and rubbed them with his coat "this is getting out of hand... Okay. But I must warn you, races from a more fictional realm make for a significantly harder transition. You must also realize there are many risks, including but not limited to - Lowering of intelligence, worse attention span, inability to blahblahblahblahblahblahblah." Monkey stared off into space, drool falling from her mouth slightly.

"Did you catch that? I - Miss Monkey?" Dr. Erian softly laughed in disbelief "Nevermind... I see you'll fit right in. Sign here! Wait - did you live as your perferred species for at least 2 y-" He trailed off, returning his sight to Monkey, who was still distracted "Nevermind, a silly question." He snapped his fingers at Monkey and she snapped back to attention "Sign here, Miss" <Oh! that easy... Really!? I'm so happy! You're a life saver Doc!> She squeeled and flapped her hands. Dr. Erian returned the glasses to his face and mouthed 'wow' before responding "Don't mention it. But we're gonna have to take bloodwork before we can prescribe these medications as to prevent complications." <Hey, I said no matter how hard, didn't I? Go for it.>

Monkey entered her home and rubbed her sore arm before quickly kicking off her boots and replacing her clothes with an oversized hoodie, her height always felt wrong, anything that made her feel shorter helped.

She let out an exhausted sigh and layed down amidst her pile of stuffed animals, she greeted every one of them and rolled to stare at the cieling. Pausing for a time before her lip started trembling <babies~ i'm... it happened. I'm... i'm gonna be me!!> She screamed ecstatically, tears flooding her eyes before she pulled a pillow over her face and squeeled into it.

This won't be easy, she knew it, and this would be a long road with difficult changes. But even still. It felt like a massive weight has been pulled from her shoulders. Like she has been running towards something unreachable for years and can finally rest.

She is to pick up her new prescriptions the day after, and she couldn't contain her excitement. With her friends all by her side, she sobbed into the night.

[Thanks for reading! I genuinely hope you enjoyed. This is part one of Goblin HRT, a concept that means a lot to me since realizing my identity. In it's essence it is a lot more comedic in tone but there will be parts that get a bit graphic or gloomy.

Bonus info! This story if it wasn't clear focuses on Monkey, a stand in for me, but I excel at Third person pov. The pov switches between Erian and Monkey to get the full picture, though i'm used to writing limited 3rd person. The arrows '<>' are a callsign Monkey uses online that are meant to look like the outwards facing ears that Goblins are usually depicted with, it became such a main stay that when she thinks or speaks in sentences she imagines the arrows around them.

Also I will likely reupload in the future with art attached and when I make another part but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later.

If you're willing i'd appreciate if you would repost! , Follow for more, it helps me spread reach! ]

[billybatsonbrainrot]

For the WIP ask game!

There's so many fun options! I'd like to know about Raise Your Hopes Not the Dead

"Raise Your Hopes, Not the Dead" Features a necromancer Billy (not really) Also wasn't sure if I should call it "Raise the Dead, Not Your Hopes" instead because no hopes are being raised, just a failed attempt at raising the dead. The current title is more like a warning.

Anyways, here's the plot:

Starts a little after the death of Billy's parents and Billy living with his uncle. Billy is still in the denial stage of grief. Billy hates living with his uncle, so he runs away. He's homeless for nearly a month until he meets the wizard.

After getting the powers of SHAZAM and becoming Champion of Magic, Billy realizes that he has the most powerful magic in existence at his fingertips. (He doesn't have another form, just stays as Billy.) He finds a library in the Rock of Eternity after wandering around because the wizard straight up died in front of him and left him there with no knowledge of how to get back. The library is full of spellbooks that he goes through quickly thanks to speed of Mercury and wisdom of Soloman. Eventually, there's a book that catches his eye, one that is black with purple accents with a skull in the middle of the front cover and decorated with symbols he doesn't recognize. Inside are spells on how to commune with the dead, and more importantly, spells on how to bring back the dead.

The first thought he has after discovering this? He's going to bring his parents back from the dead! He starts with his dad first. However, it doesn't really go as he planned.

He didn't even know if the spell would work. Curiosity got the better of him and now he's here, in front of his parents' graves.

Billy is able to dig up his father's body, whose body has still not decomposed because I looked it up and they decompose fast but the good thing about the fictional city of Fawcett is that time works differently there. He doesn't have the other ingredients for the spell to work. The spell he's looking at is how to put a soul inside a dead body. He went looking for his parents' souls but for some reason he can't seem to find them. Turns out there are millions of different afterlives for different religions, alien species, etc. all across the universe. Billy stops looking after the hundredth one because he was starting to get frustrated. Others wouldn't even let him enter because he's still alive.

The other spell suggests putting someone else's beating heart into the body. Billy doesn't want to kill anybody, he's trying to unkill somebody. So what he does instead is give up a piece of his soul and heart for his dad. He got chosen for his pure heart so there is no way his dad would go through corruption, turn evil, or other things he's heard of people coming back wrong.

And it works! A bright light is shone after the spell is casted and Billy can see the figure of his dad moving. Except, he's wearing something different than what he was buried in. His dad is wearing a red suit with golden boots, golden sash around his waist, a lightning bolt on his chest that looks like the one from the wizard, and goddamn white cape with gold accents. He looks like a superhero!

After one conversation, Billy realizes that he did come back wrong. He doesn't remember who he was or who Billy is. And Billy tries so hard to get him to remember. It hurts to reintroduce himself to his own father. He tries to tell him that his name is C.C. Batson, he was an archaeologist, he had a wife and son, he was murdered. He tries to recreate scenes in his life to jog his memory, but the man in front of him does not remember anything. It actually started to drive him crazy.

It's like Bily created a whole new person that's wearing his father's body.

Thus, Billy had created Captain Marvel, a name he gave the superhero. Marvel has a good spirit, and he inherited some his powers when he gave him part of his soul, he can be a superhero if he wants to. In fact, that's the only thing Captain Marvel wants to do, he's always busy doing some good deed. Billy should be proud of him, but he just hates looking at Marvel. This is nothing like his dad.

Billy leaves Marvel to his own devices as he leaves to try to find a way to "fix" him. That's when Captain Marvel joins the Justice League. He's having fun and making friends. And he's with them for about a year because Billy has been gone for about a year.

Billy comes back and he's more frustrated than ever. He managed to find nothing. He doesn't feel like going back to talk to someone who doesn't remember him in the way he wants them to, but Marvel is still his responsibility. His other half that left him with a literal hole in his heart and soul.

He comes back to see that Marvel has joined the league and he tries to be okay with it. He's trying to make it work and pretend he's fine with everything. With Marvel being Marvel and picking up slack on the duties he ignored. He feels he finally reached a breaking point. He gave up on looking for a someone that wasn't there. Maybe he can have a relationship with this new version of his dad. But there's always something that irks him every time he sees him.

When Billy finally has a moment of clarity, he realizes just what a crazy and cruel thing it was that he did. Captain Marvel shouldn't be alive in the first place and the hole inside of him just keeps on getting bigger and bigger. He ends up coming to the conclusion that it's time for Marvel to go.

It was time to put an end to this ruse, but the Justice League doesn't seem too keen on letting Marvel go. Who was this kid anyways?

I made two endings

Ending #1:

Billy knows deep down he'll always miss his family, but his heart showed him what he really wanted, a hero to come save him. The reason he wanted them back was because he knew he wasn't ready for responsibility the wizard had bestowed upon him. He tried really hard to avoid it, trying to go back to a time where his life was easier. He even went as far as creating a new person to hand it off to. It was never going to work in the long run, it was Billy's role to fill in the first place.

In the end, Billy finally puts his father's body to rest and accepts his position.

Ending #2:

Billy can't bring himself to put an end to Captain Marvel. He became his own person while he was gone. He decides to let him stay but he still wants to let his dad rest in peace. They go on a new journey to get Marvel his own body. They even start to bond, and Marvel agrees to help with the duties the wizard left him. Billy is finally able to go through the stages of grief and accepting their death.

In case you couldn't tell, this was heavily inspired by Betty Grof from Adventure Time and her relationship with Simon/Ice King. Trying so hard trying to make him remember who he was she actually drove herself mad by becoming a wizard to find a solution, while having moments of clarity. But she ended up sacrificing herself for him to go back to normal.

Billy drove himself mad with grief and the feeling that he was under immense pressure. He feels that he didn't have time process anything before he got pushed into such an important role. It was only made worse when he wasn't whole. Marvel's problem was that he wasn't really brought back to life to begin with, it was just Billy's soul inhabiting a corpse.

(I also have a hc that if Billy were to be gender-swapped, his name would be Betty. Billy Batson -> Betty Batson. Magical girl Billy occupies my thoughts sometimes)

[hoiststowline]

winter of our youth

first_prev step eight

The worn leather protested as you shifted within the chair, vying to shake free some of the sleepiness that had overcome sore joints from sitting for a prolonged period. Occasionally, a conflicted gaze would bounce to the phone resting atop the desk, racking an unnerved mind for a good reason to send a slew of texts, confirming your suspicions to be wary of such a rash decision. There would be no convincing enough grounds to message him at such an hour; he'd see through your front without much afterthought, knowing you were scared and insist on coming to spend the night outside.

With an exhausted sigh, a verdict is reached that the last thing that would occur tonight is having any contact with Magnus unless an absolute emergency. The computer screen illuminated, bathing the dark interior in a soft light, silently reminding you of the hour. Blurry words melted into incoherent sentences, forcing you to squint along the lines, recalling dizzy news articles about unknown things that lurked in the woods as well as a slew of unconfirmed sightings of machinery that moved incomprehensibly fast along dimmed horizons. Wisconsin made sense in some aspects, largely because almost half of its acres were populated by forestation, a brilliant cover for impossible-to-explain mechs, the dense trees doing well enough for Magnus the entire time he held out. 

But it didn't make damning gumption to you, finding in countless hours of entrant research that most sightings of the unexplainable occurred out west. This was all conspiracy, basing your hypothesis on shaky studies, but you were also living the collusion yourself. Some credit was due there, as your apprehension was still extremely high and wobbly, no answers coming from the aloof bot himself, the self-proclaimed. 

There was no good reason to deny that he hadn't correctly heard what was said, entirely certain that whoever was on the other line spoke his name and knew that he was trying to reach him. Company aside, it was rather strange that the signal died that swiftly, almost as if they didn't want to reconnect or divulge too much information. "I hate to deploy such a responsibility upon you, but I am alone. Without that device, I cannot contact my allies, meaning I cannot assist them. Your species may be in danger,” He had said, perhaps supposed to be an olive branch, though you had seen it entirely differently, almost fearful to assist in something that could likely get you killed. 

Yet that was over a week ago at this moment, seeing him nearly daily as a natural rapport began to build between the two of you. There were no satisfactory or calming grounds to trust Magnus other than the fact that he told you to do so, fiercely being your protector as he somehow wormed his way into your life. He had not steered you wrong thus far, though as tensions run high, you find yourself dragged further underwater into that ocean of dubiety you swore to stay afloat in. 

Now, you felt as if there was no choice to be made, a clear message that whatever was chasing that night was now stalking the both of you, a frightening concept. If Magnus left without you, there would be no one here to help, no one to call that would even lend an ear to entertain your disordered nonsense. You could hope that he would take whatever it was with him, dumbly pensive that it was he it was after and not you.

That was almost laughable wishful thinking, leaning back into the chair as you move the cursor across the screen, clicking another unreliable website. They were almost overfamiliar in a weird sense; links turned purple as you'd visited them before, a few days back when the idea of Ultra Magnus existing was almost incomprehensible. Having scoured the internet previously, and it containing mostly tangled versions of a half-truth, it could be plausible that the stories from the western United States were just that, fiction. 

There had to be entirely too much that you would never understand, that was obvious, even within first interactions. A terrified heart longed to be part of a commodity and begged to belong, but a rational mind swept all notions of compliance straight out the window alongside the memories of a teary-eyed teenager. 

A light that doesn't belong to the computer seeps under the curtains, bright red as it stretches across the carpet. A gasp leaves you, jumping up from your perch to grab the phone until it passes in the snap of a finger. Your stomach sinks, nausea seeping effortlessly as the notion arrives that the stalker was just outside, playing keep away with your once stable, now wavering sense of security. Slowly parting the curtain with caution, you find red taillights in the distance, nearly out of sight as a breathy sigh escapes you. Wisconsin it is, you suppose. 

"I take it you did not rest well," The morning approached faster than you cared to analyze, opting to blow off sleep as you stuffed necessities into a duffle bag instead. After receiving a message early in the dawn that he would be back to pick you up around eleven, deciding for the both of you to take off an hour earlier than anticipated, you assumed it would be best to just sleep when you could no longer fight it. 

His mirrors move erratically to follow your form as you haul yourself into the cabin once more, faint marbled purple alighting under your eyes as you place your bag in the backseat. "Yeah. Something like that." 

If anyone were to observe Ultra Magnus in a circumstance like this, in such a nurturing and softhearted light, they'd think he'd damaged his helm. To you, he was still standoffish and blunt at times, displaying kindness in a vague enough way that you could not call it such without much thought. At your still withdrawn attitude, he roves to find the root of your troubles. "I am sorry to hear that."

Magnus had hoped overnight some of your hesitation would have subsided. Though try as you may bury it, he's taken notice that you often keep your emotions close yet unguarded enough that the trained eye could decipher them. In that, he was giving up his position to say he could read you so easily, as he cannot, though it was still very clear that something was wrong. 

You're headed straight for the passenger seat, as it is rightfully yours, but after some thought, Magnus had formulated a plan he assumed you'd agree to, but that was too much of an ambitious presupposition. It would make sense in shorter trips back and forth to your home for you to sit there, but in a longer stretch such as this one, it would be more plausible to have a driver behind the wheel. 

His holoform was an option, but he'd rather not waste so much energon to keep it active most of the journey, opting to save it for emergencies and them only. "I have a suggestion if you would be open to it," 

You pause mid-action, turning slightly. "Sure. What's up?"

He displays his concern, observing you for any signs of uneasiness or stalling. To his well-kept but present surprise, you agree, actually commending him for such a good idea. "My goal is to make this endeavor uncomplicated," Magnus counters, voice keeping its typical air of firmness but faltering slightly with a familiar gentleness. "I've said it previously, but I feel as if I owe it to you once more. I understand I am asking much of you, y/n. So, anything that I can do to alleviate your doubts do not hesitate to ask." 

"I've done some thinking." The driver's seat was set farther away from the dash than the passengers had been, as if he'd positioned it to his holoforms height and, the opposite side, yours. "And I've concluded after what we've seen I need you much more than you need me. So, if anything, let me apologize for my distant behavior." As you take a deep breath, he waits patiently for you to continue. "I'm sorry."

"That is not true, nor do you need to apologize." His engine turns over just after he clicks your seatbelt in place, trying to ignore your barely there presence on the opposite side of the cabin. "This has been a tumultuous and trying time. Let bygones be bygones." 

He still perceives your lingering general unhappiness but moves with stride as you seem to shake off such feelings for the time being. "I think we’ve kissed and made up a few too many times,” You joke, all seriousness leaving you to ensure the jest didn’t fly over his head this time, but you were too bold to surmise such a thing. 

“Pardon?” Magnus choked, dismayed by your figure of speech.

“Sorry, that was a bad idiom.” Hurriedly said, to not instill more unnecessary confusion, though some laughter trickled through. "I’m game to cast all previous misgivings aside."

He still regards you with a thrum of disbelief and mostly disapproval, the engine idling before turning over. “Very well. Do you have everything you’ll require?”

"For the most part," You cast a look over your shoulder to the duffle bag, running quickly through a mental checklist before continuing. "Schedule pending, I may have to pick some things up along the way." 

This was the part where everything suddenly began to feel real, realizing that you'd just signed your life away even with careful thought. It felt strange to stare at it from this point of view, looking out his windshield and down your street, expertly leaving your home diligently behind you. If anything were to be gained in this endeavor, you'd felt owed an explanation, a legitimate one nonetheless, and set to inquire such somewhere along the journey. 

"Good," He rumbles. "I commend you for preparing ahead." 

Only twenty minutes had passed before you felt a need to mention to him the particulars you had uncovered the night before, only opening your mouth when he had exited your town. "Hey, Mags?" 

"Yes?" He replies simply, the screen blinking. 

"I'm not questioning you, I just...do you really believe your team is in Wisconsin?" For some reason, hearing it this time would disregard all of your previous suspicions. 

After a short beat of silence, he doesn't get angry as you suspect he might. Instead, he gives a hum of thought as if surveying his words attentively. "I have no reason to believe they are not within the borders of Wisconsin." 

You shrug, a small smile forming as you eventually relax into the leather seat. "Good enough for me." 

After directions from you to get onto the major highways, there was little to discuss, the quietness was not necessarily a bother to Magnus himself, but your hushed demeanor was nothing short of unusual. You could not be on your phone, pretending to be the operator, so the most you could do was look out the window, almost entranced by the asphalt and damn all more.

"Am I right to suggest our unknown enemy kept you up?" He asks after the conversation lulls, splintering the peaceful silence that had overcome the cabin. Magnus hadn't wished to break it, but something nagged within his processor to check up on you, just to ensure you were alright, knowing that a facade is so easily constructed. 

Warily, you shake your head no. "I was just...reflecting, I guess."

"Would you like to share what about?" Magnus asks, treading meticulously. "If you are comfortable doing so," 

You toy with the idea of publishing your woes, vying to find a reason to turn down his offer, yet come up empty. "Back when we first met, you'd said something about my species being in danger." A pause, struggling to carry onward. "Is that something that is still 'need to know'?" 

With the trek having just begun, Magnus was not expecting that much of a negative turn so early on but was willing to answer your questions as they came, having extended the idea. "No, no, it is not. It is difficult to explain; I may have to start from the very beginning."  

To his utmost surprise, you lean just a little bit more forward in your seat, a victorious smile toying on your lips as if eager to listen to his droning. "Well, we do have hours of open road ahead of us," 

"That we do," He agrees, relenting. "Yet, I am...unsure if I feel right imparting such death and violence upon you, y/n. I have tried restlessly to keep you separated from such, and I feel as if you are intertwined so far into this I have caused irreparable damage," 

He isn't as stern about it as you'd suspected, more so deflecting in a truth that you could know, but he was protecting you from the substances below the surface. Ultra Magnus was arguably a safeguard, and it wouldn't be the first time it'd crossed your mind that he often puts others above himself, a glaring aspect of his often-blanketed personality. Perhaps it wasn't the best to pry, he'd certainly explain it to you when the right time materialized, though you had hoped to at least be a step ahead whenever the both of you arrived at those coordinates. 

"You don't have to start at the top," You compromise, finally meeting his expectant gaze in the rearview mirror. "I understand there's a need for you to get to Wisconsin, and you are adamant about meeting up with your team there. How does Earth factor into all of that?" 

"Do you recall early on in our first encounter when I mentioned you would be assisting the 'good guys'?" Mildly stupefied that he even entertained your horrible rewording, you nod twice to let him recommence. "Then, I suppose, for lack of a better term, the enemy, the Decepticons, are on your planet searching for something. A team had been deployed here to find them and protect Earth's inhabitants, but they have sparsely been heard from since arriving. When I received word of such, or lack thereof, I took it upon myself to find them." 

"Oh." Mouth suddenly dry, and you fumble to find the right set of words to pick up after that bomb of new information. "You ended up here and hoped to contact them...but your device was broken..." 

"I assumed that the signal would be stronger on-planet." Magnus enters the ramp for the interstate, a soft sigh escaping him. "I did not take into account that the device would break upon my unsatisfactory landing." 

He cannot stand the beats of silence that steadily increase after each sentence, watching as you slowly begin slotting puzzle pieces together. "...How long have you been here?"

"Approximately two Earth years, one hundred and forty-eight days, eleven hours, and seventeen minutes." He rattles off, your jaw inching closer to the floor at each declaration of time. 

That much solitude would leave anybody on tenterhooks, trying to imagine what it would be like to live every waking moment alone on a foreign planet with nobody to talk to. That downright breaks your heart, feeling it thrum forlornly within your chest as a burning sensation overtakes your eyes, foolishly wondering where the sting of tears came from. 

"That is not a significant amount of time." Now he's consoling you, becoming increasingly more demanding to keep the tears at bay. "We do not experience the passing of time on the same scale, y/n, there is not a need to-"

"But you said-" Recognizing you were becoming excitable, you desist from such behavior to take a deep breath until you'd gathered rampant thoughts. "The whole recharging thing, I thought it couldn't have been that long," 

"I was executing the bare minimum concerning recharge, enough to keep me going rotation to rotation." It's sympathetic as if he was talking to a child. "I could not leave myself unguarded for a prolonged period. Especially with what we know now, it could have been too detrimental to the mission." 

Speechless, all you can do is run your knuckle under your cheeks, swiping away the water that had collected there as an impudent sense of loneliness creeps into your mind and begins to camp out there. An unexplainable feeling of such strong guilt appears for someone you had resented initially, yet there was no one to blame for your heightened emotions other than yourself. With what you've come to learn, you now understand his situation and are aware that he needs to see this through to the end to satisfy a two-year-long itch to reunite with those he's searched for that entire time. 

"y/n-" He starts, but the sentence dies and goes nowhere, faltering in his confidence to rectify the problem.  

"Can you please tell me about your friends?" It's warbled, uprooted from trembling lips, and with hazy acknowledgment, you find your fingers had curled around the bottom of the steering wheel. 

Ultra Magnus doesn't have the spark to tell you most bots hardly see him in a congenial light, known for his stoic and unwelcoming presence as a soldier and unforgiving attitude as a commander. Most could begrudgingly say that they respected him, but few could call him a confidant, only a handful could he call a friend. Once this was all over, maybe things would change, but he didn't have the assurance that his impassive behavior and tendencies would ever leave him, in an unimaginable future, something he didn't have the luxury to conjure. 

When you had been so forthcoming about reliance and kindness, it was unfamiliar yet welcomed, knowing varying degrees of the word, but this was a much more guiltless and innocent version. It never bothered him, per se; he had no one to impress other than securing Autobot victories in a tenacious war, but finding such company, he was unwilling to let it go just yet. 

"I wouldn't..." Not much can leave him speechless, but you've somehow left him stumped as of late. "You are upset. Perhaps this is not the right time to carry on this conversation." 

As your touch recedes from the wheel, he immediately misses such a benign and harmless influence. Your means of displaying camaraderie were vastly different than how Cybertronians showed such endearment, firstly finding relief in your hesitation to apply the slightest amount of pressure to his interior, even if you almost weighed negligible to him. Ultra Magnus was the furthest from an affectionate and amicable bot, but your gestures proved that he was not immune to longing for such softhearted deeds. 

He surveys your form as you sink further into the seat, going to curl in on yourself before realizing you are supposed to act as the driver, hands falling unceremoniously into your lap. There is something that longs to be said, he can tell it just by the way your lips purse, shifting uncomfortably twice before surrendering with vast diffidence. 

"Okay," Hushed, making no effort to cover your disappointment. "Maybe later," 

Speaking of, there remains a lot of information he has yet to learn about you. He knows things in a broad gamut, but there was very little that he felt he could describe if someone were to inquire of you. That said, if he could do anything to satiate your despair now, getting to coax unknown verity from your jumbled mind would only discover a newfound yearning. It was almost astounding that you wanted to touch deeper into his psyche, to uncover well-kept secrets and sentiments that he'd stifled there millions of years ago. 

"And what of you, y/n?" At his tone, you pull a glassy-eyed gaze back up to the mirror.

"What about me?" A whisper, after barely hearing his question.

"I would like to learn more about you if you would allow it." He is becoming an expert at keeping your distress at bay, even circling back to it at a later date to ensure you are never left alone with such thoughts for long. "As you've mentioned, we have much time together ahead of us." 

"You're right," Reaching over to pat the dashboard affectionately, you succumb to his query and ascertain to find out a little bit more about the bot, aside from what is already known. "I think you'll be sick of me after all this is over,"

You freeze as a laugh resounds, almost in disbelief. "I sincerely doubt that," 

[trashyreptilian]

And here I am with one reference sheet done! Only a FUCK-ton more to go haha,,,

Reblogs are appreciated! :3

===============================================

Biography (long read):

-General Info-

Full Name: Alfred Thorn Age: 18 Height: 6'0'' ft Gender: Male Sex: Male Species: Human Homeplace: Huntstrail, Michigan (US) Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Greyromantic asexual

-Other Info-

Personality?: Seemingly a nonchalant type of guy, just living his life and avoids attracting attention. Often feeling like he doesn't fit in with society or any kind of community. He's not much for showing strong emotions, not near random people at least. Typical for him to carry around an "I don't care" attitude and crack jokes during bad times, but it also serves as a means of protecting himself. Being well enough taught that showing his vulnerable side to the wrong people, can possibly be used back against him. The calm exterior hides an emotionally struggling artist, who's suffered through past childhood abuse from his own mother. Sometimes that pain rises to the surface, and accidentally shows up through unexpected mood swings or frustrated/defensive outbursts. However, Alfred knows how badly he manages his own negative emotions. This kind of heated temper shows up when heavily provoked or felt like he's backed into a corner. He may seem like a loner, yet in actuality, he's got a few close select people he cares about a lot. And depends on, more than he'd like to admit. But solely because of that, he shows a strong willingness to go far to protect them. Even if it means he might somehow risk his own life in the process. Seen in these instances, his more assertive and bold-self comes out.

Thinks Before Acting?: It's mixed with him, either does or doesn't depending on the situation. Typically, he'll try thinking over his actions and words. Especially when he can sense a bad outcome if he's not careful. Though, he's far from being the most calculated guy.

Positive Traits?: Mellow, modest, imaginative, soft-hearted, protective and audacious.

Negative Traits?: Reserved, insecure, confrontational, defensive, self-destructive and resentful.

Way Of Speaking?: Can talk in two languages, the main one is American English. Has knowledge in speaking Spanish, but it's kinda subpar. Remembers mostly from the lessons he had in school. On the odd occasion only uses it around his closest friend, Simon, who encourages him to improve. His voice is calm and soft, with no particular accent. At times, loves using a mocking or sarcastic tone. (Headcanon voice: https://youtu.be/2rHRztFGOm8?t=1)

Occupation?: Works as a stock clerk at a furniture store. Assists with unpacking delivered items, organizing the stockroom, inspecting inventory and so forth. Also, he takes overnight shifts when possible for extra cash. Of course, the entire job itself is for financial stability. Otherwise, he cares little about it. Had hoped to get into some kind of art career instead, possibly becoming a cartoonist. Sadly, he's never gotten such an opportunity as he grew up. Didn't help that he lacked complete confidence, and still does to this day. So it all remains but a little fantasy he thinks about.

Powers/Skills?: With Alfred being human, don't expect any overpowered abilities like how demons and angels have. However, in his very rare case, having a supernatural being, more precisely a simulacrum, for a parent did unexpectedly help him improve physically, and made him able to defend himself. At a younger age of sixteen, he was gifted his first weapon which was a pistol Glock 19. With help from his father, he trained in remote areas. Shooting useless items that were used as targets. Now, he's well-practiced enough in using it properly, discreetly carrying it when out at nighttime. Of course, not limited to just a pistol. He's also got a metal bat safely tucked away in his bedroom. But for as long as he's known, anything can be a weapon. In a fight, he'll manage some inventive ways to beat someone up. Not exactly a person with a strong-build, yet he makes up for it in endurance. Fairly fast when running, most likely to outrun anyone. The type of guy to pick his fights. Besides all that, survival skills. Learned a few tricks throughout all the times he's gone out camping, moderately skilled living in the wilderness. Particularly good at starting a fire. Maybe a little too good.

Hobbies?: Main hobby is drawing, pretty much remained so since he was a kid. His art style is very stylized, expressive and exaggerated. Taken inspiration from his favorite animated shows and movies. He'll usually use a regular sketchbook with a pencil and pen to draw. But he dabbles in other unique methods like graffiti, and pastel art. A more recent past time is using a camcorder. What he chooses to record is random. Can either be a quick recording of his father’s cat, or footage of activities and ramblings. For whatever reason, he just finds it relaxing. Not to mention, it's his way of better preserving memories besides taking photos. Something else he does to unwind is watching movies and TV series, or playing video games. His favorite genres are horror and thriller. On the lighter side, he loves all stuff that's animated, comedy and adventure fiction. Also, collects merchandise related to his favored media. Considers it a luxury, so he's not gung-ho about it. While these are things he typically does alone. Camping and exploring abandoned places, are done together with his dad. Since they can't hang out together in broad daylight, they always go out during the night. Their activities start regularly, but sometimes end in some sort of chaos when they get overboard. With property ending up mysteriously ruined. Just a not so subtle clue into what exactly happens on their trips.

Habits?: Often smokes and drinks. The first one is easier for him to keep controlled, the other one is an addiction. Possibly inherited from his mother's side of the family. He's aware of that, yet doesn't seem to grasp how poorly it could affect him in the future. Both substances are used when stressed or annoyed, but gravitates towards the alcohol mostly. An insomniac, his sleep schedule has been, and still is, irregular. Tends to be active out of nowhere during later hours, and taking overnight shifts doesn't help him. All coupled together, it's easy to imagine his self-care is kinda non-existent. Not to say he's lacking in it, it's out of sheer tiredness and apathy. Irritability is a rather serious tendency due to trauma, and a main fueling reason for the reliance on bad tendencies. It only worsens when experiencing a chain of obstacles, no matter if minor or severe. There's no clear pattern as he can seem fine in the moment, yet takes but one nudge to tip him off the edge. Resulting in sudden outbursts, causing to shut himself off from others.

Relationships? (Simplified): Alfred's dad has remained an integral part of his life. Who in fact, happens to be a simulacrum from Hell, named Him. It's been the only figure he's ever looked up to and known as family. Same demon was originally supposed to replace his actual biological father. In a rather malicious, literal sense. That never happened, as the target left his family behind during the early years of Alfred's childhood before anything transpired. Then living with an abusive mother got him in a worse vulnerable state. So getting attached to something inhuman, but caring, shouldn't be surprising. Their steady bond continued while no one else had a clue on any of it. Entering his young teenage years, Alfred was unphased about his own father figure not being exactly human, once Him revealed so. Despite the few times he had to see or hear it lashing out onto other members of its own species, he never seemed disturbed by its more violent actions. Him's raw wrathful nature is no secret, for sure. He looks past as it being over-protective since so far, he's only seen it attack out of defense for the both of them. Many times he has wished to be as reliable, strength-wise. Since Him's the only father, best friend, and role-model he's ever had, he holds it up in high regard. Alfred would go to Hell and back for it. But the relationship is far from perfect, both struggle a lot with communication. Opening up emotionally is hard especially. For Him, it's worse. As they say: like father, like son. They stay silent about their relationship, for safety's sake and to avoid unwanted attention. Nowadays, they live together in a little run-down apartment. Finally secure, in a place they can call home.

Interacting with a simulacrum for nearly his whole childhood didn't make Alfred the most extroverted person. After frequently having trouble socializing, he gave up trying to befriend people his age. At some point, he simply preferred hanging about on his own. However, one person managed to start a friendship with him, Simon Belrose. A new student that had joined the same high-school, and class, as Alfred. They were both young teens, around the same age, when they first met. His outgoing and amicable personality had Alfred spooked, he reasonably assumed that he'd be left alone by him. Having not much thought about the new guy, becoming friends with him was even less on his mind. Up until they both had an interaction, in which Simon had shown genuine interest in his art. While the compliments were validating for Alfred, he was wary of the other anyway. Took a bit to get acquainted properly. Over the years, they've grown a lot closer as friends. But Alfred still remains secretive on a lot of stuff happening in his personal life. Usually for understandable reasons, yet Simon would appreciate it if they were more open with one another. Nonetheless, they get along pretty great. Both admire certain qualities the other has, that of which they don't themselves. They enjoy pissing each other off until someone breaks first. Random screaming matches over absolutely nothing happen frequently. And their silly scuffles always get hectic.

Moving back onto otherworldly beings. Due to Alfred's long bond with a simulacrum, a certain figure grew interested in finding out more about the two. One way or the other. After a major event, involved with a rather unpleasant (putting it lightly) "person". A series of unusual circumstances followed suit for Alfred. Which all led to meeting a theraangel, called Xanthan. When their first proper interaction happened, there was nerve-wracking tension. He wasn't sure what to make of them, or what the angel's true intentions were. Heavy convincing was needed to earn Alfred's trust. To his own surprise, a mutual respect developed as they bonded over certain grievances each had. Later on a different date, Xanthan becomes his guardian angel. Part of a deal made with his father, Him. Solely due to this guardianship, they find more things in common. Eventually gaining a deeper understanding of each other. Their shared connection with art helps them be more open and start an eventual friendship. Alfred slowly views them as a sort of mentor. Maybe even as another father figure. Seeing how he appreciated Xanthan's longer living experience, once he felt comfortable he'd seek out advice from Xan alone on the rare occasion. Very few people manage to break down all the high sturdy walls that angel puts up, Alfred managed to be one of those people. He proved to be pretty insistent in making that guy a close part of his life.

Speaking of enemies, there's no one in particular who really fits in with this definition for Alfred. Besides perhaps some bitter students from his high-school that he got into fights with, or his mother and sister he has distanced himself away from. Still none of them fit such a defining strong label as "enemy". As he just wants to forget about these people entirely. Yet, that doesn't mean he won't make adversaries in the future.

================================================

General rules for all of my FCs and OCs:

-While I'm fine with getting inspired by my work, please do not just steal the designs. -I am uncomfortable with my characters being unknowingly shipped with other people's characters. -Fanart is all well, great and welcomed! As long as it isn't sexual. I'm fine with gore but please, keep my characters away from your own sexual material.

[anakin-pilled]

𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 - anakin skywalker x fem! reader (part four)

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem! reader

wordcount: 7.1k

warnings: no use of y/n, alchohol consumption, reader gets drunk/tipsy, rushed ending

rating: 18+

author's note: i literally didn't mean for this to come out so late. life got in the way (again). i was super excited to write this chapter but the more i wrote it the more i was like UGH lowkey don't like the way this turned out but i hope you enjoy anyway! when will reader and anakin finally fuck? reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated xx

side note: i read on wookiepedia that in the sw universe, they refer to alcohol as "hooch" so i used that in the story...not sure if i like it but i wanted it to be immersive lol

creds to saradika for the divider!

The party was in full swing by the time you and Anakin arrived at the party. He knew Coruscant’s rich and famous lived lavish, but he would’ve never imagined attending a party of this splendor. A live jizz band was playing in one corner of the room, their shiny instruments reflecting off the chandelier lights. People of all species flocked to the living room, where protocol droids served an abundance of hooch and fanciful hor d’ourves. The people, dressed in the latest galactic fashion trends, laughed and danced with each other like they had no care in the world. Like there wasn’t a war happening throughout the galaxy–a war that threatened the very comfortability of their lives. Where there was much pain and turmoil in the galaxy, there was none in this room. Anakin was disgusted by this.  

The host, an acquaintance named Jackson Wang, lived in an expensive high-rise located in Coruscant’s entertainment district. The three-story apartment was built with the most expensive materials in the galaxy. The windows were composed of reinforced clari-crystalline, and the floor was constructed out of white Wayland marble embedded with specks of Kallistan gems. Gold, shimmery streamers decorated the grandiose columns supporting the apartment, and there was bright, colorful plasto confetti strewn across the floor. The very presence of this room went against the Jedi code–it was an attachment to wealth and materialism. Even if Anakin never joined the Jedi, he still would have found this party revolting. How could people live like this when there was still so much wrong with the galaxy? Slavery, poverty, species discrimination, etc. were all happening under the Republic. Being born a slave radicalized Anakin. It was harder for him to ignore the galaxy’s rampant class differences. It proved to him even further that politicians could not be trusted–because how could they allow such a disparity to run rampant?

Anakin’s eyebrows furrowed as he took in the sight before him. You weren’t sure what he was thinking, but the creases between his eyebrows told you it was nothing positive. You noticed Anakin looked out of place in his humble, dark Jedi attire. You knew this wasn’t his scene, and he might feel out of place, but Anakin insisted on coming. What business did a Jedi have doing at a party like this? “For your protection,” he defended.

“You okay there? You look like you’re about to shoot lightsabers out of your eyes with that glare.” It was true. Anakin’s eyes were a dark, stormy blue right now.

You thought he would have laughed at your stupid joke, but Anakin’s glare only became directed towards you. You shivered in response. His glare was intense which was exacerbated by the scar on his face. His presence exuded authority, it was raw and powerful. You would gladly give into it every time.

“I’m fine. I think this party is ridiculous,” Anakin replied. “Look at all the food just sitting there, no one is eating it, and they’re ignoring the servers. The least they can do is acknowledge the servers. Do you know how many planets are starving out there? Entire systems wiped out by the Separatists? Just for the rich to parade here and let good food spoil.” He scoffed at the end of his sentence.

You had no idea Anakin would feel so strongly about this. However, what Anakin was saying made complete sense. You felt guilty–even if he wasn’t directly speaking about you, these were still your “people.” You always tried your best to not be wasteful and treat all workers respectfully. Even so, it couldn’t be denied that rich people, more often than not, were the opposite of you.

“I agree with you. I don’t know why they order so much food, especially when they know that most people will be too busy drinking, talking, or dancing. Why don’t we make sure that the food doesn’t go to waste by having some?” you offered as a solution. That wasn’t Anakin’s point, but he conceded anyway. The both of you walked towards a table where a pretty spread of food sat like decoration.

After fixing yourselves a small plate of food, you began speaking again. “Thank you, Anakin. You and the Jedi are doing your best to ensure the safety of the Republic and all of the galaxy’s inhabitants. We shouldn’t be allowed to parade here, not while others are struggling to survive.”

“I didn’t intend to insult you. It’s just an observation that I made. You can’t help but become cynical after witnessing war crimes being performed on innocent people.” Anakin was slightly embarrassed. He didn’t mean to group you in with everyone else, especially after you and your team have graciously treated him these last few rotations. But still, he meant what he said.

“How is it being on the battlefield? It must be so hard to be in constant chaos. Anakin, you are so brave, ” you innocently wondered.

Anakin didn’t know how to describe it to a civilian, mainly because Anakin rarely found himself around civilians nowadays. The only civilians he encountered were those who needed saving, those who understood the brutality of war. Anakin knew that not everyone in the Jedi organization agreed with their current roles under the Republic. Some Jedi believed that the Republic was interfering too much with Jedi affairs and that the Jedi should relinquish their roles as generals. Others, including Anakin, believed that the Jedi were too constrained by the Jedi principles and teachings to effectively fight in this war. Though there were many wins for the Republic, almost every loss encountered could’ve been a win, if only the Jedi could see past the teachings for a moment. On top of that, the Senate’s constant feuding and bickering rendered it useless. They could barely fund the war at the moment, hence a select group of Senators decided to host a concert charity benefit to raise credits for the war effort. There was so much uncertainty. If Anakin was certain about one thing, however, it’s that he belonged on the battlefield.

“I hate war…but I love being on the battlefield.” Anakin hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I was a slave, along with my mother, before the Jedi found me. I had only heard of the Jedi. They were mythical to me, they sounded too good to be true.” Anakin never thought he would be revealing this information to another soul, especially not in the middle of a party with one of the galaxy’s biggest singers. 

Your breath slightly hitched at Anakin’s confession. A part of your heart shattered, and an overwhelming feeling of empathy and sadness washed over you. Anakin felt the shift in your energy. 

“Being a Jedi is an honor, and being on the battlefield allows me to be the type of Jedi that I pictured as a young boy. As a slave, I was subjected to my former owner’s rule, never allowed to act on my own. On the battlefield, I act on my own and make my own decisions. I’m using my power for the greater good, ensuring that the galaxy doesn’t tumble further into chaos and destruction. I can be myself on the battlefield. There’s a sense of independence from everything when it’s just you, your padawan, and your legion. It’s a reminder of how far I have come in life,” Anakin finished with a hard edge to his voice.

“Anakin…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you used to be a slave,” You said gently as if the words you spoke were made of glass. Who would have thought that one of the galaxy’s most powerful Jedi used to be a slave? Hearing those words come from Anakin’s mouth shocked you. 

“Don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known.” Anakin didn’t want you to feel bad. He looked off to the side, suddenly feeling like his flustered nineteen-year-old self again. This wasn’t information he easily divulged, nonetheless to someone he met only a few rotations ago. Anakin hoped it wouldn’t change your view of him. 

You grabbed Anakin’s hand and reassuringly rubbed your thumb on the top of his hand. Your thumb felt the ridges and lines of his veins. “You didn’t deserve that. Neither did your mother–no one ever deserves to be a slave. I’m picturing the young version of you, and my heart is breaking. You were just a child, too innocent and pure to be in that situation. I don’t want you to think I’m pitying you, Anakin. If anything, I think you’re even braver now after learning about your past. Thank you for sharing that with me. It couldn’t have been easy.”

What you were saying was the truth. An image of a small Anakin flashed through your brain. You imagined he had golden hair that illuminated his face like a halo and brilliant blue eyes that contrasted against the rugged, red monochromatic terrain of Tatooine. If Anakin looked like a god now, he must’ve looked like a cherub when he was little. Your awe for Anakin grew tenfold.

 He had been dealt life’s shittiest stack of cards and managed to overcome it all. 

It was silent for a moment. It’s not that Anakin didn’t want to respond, but he didn’t know how to respond, so he simply nodded. Anakin couldn’t verbalize any words. He felt vulnerable right now. It was as if Anakin responded to your words, it would solidify the fact that he shared one of his deepest secrets with you. He wasn’t ready to confront what that meant, so he stayed silent. 

 You took note of Anakin’s silence and shifted the conversation to yourself. You understood how daunting it was to reveal a part of yourself that you often kept hidden away.

“Per my contract, I’m not allowed to voice my opinion on anything polarizing. I can’t speak on politics, the economy, war. It was half a shock to the public when the media announced that I would be headlining the benefit concert. On one hand, it made sense because I’m one of the more popular artists in the galaxy right now. On the other hand, people were shocked I was taking a political stance, even if indirectly,” you explained to Anakin. You grabbed a glass of the ambrosia-colored liquid that was stationed next to you and Anakin. It was bitter but had subtle notes of sweetness. You took a few sips before continuing.

“It’s unfortunate that it has to be that way. There are so many times when I wished I could’ve spoken up and used my influence for something that matters. Sometimes I feel like a coward because I see everything happening in the galaxy and I’m voiceless. The truth is I am a coward, just like every other person in this room. We have all this wealth and influence, just to do what? Let it sit in a bank account or spend it carelessly? It’s pathetic. We should be doing more.”  Just because you weren’t allowed to publicly speak about certain topics didn’t mean you had no opinions on it altogether. 

You took a few more sips of your drink before finishing it. You placed the glass back on the tabletop and gave Anakin a sheepish smile, “I’m rambling now, aren’t I? Sorry about that. I ramble when I get nervous. Anyway, my point is I’m glad that I took the opportunity to headline the benefit. I think my team was slightly against it at first, but after some convincing from the chancellor, they changed their minds and allowed me to do it. People like you, those who have actually witnessed the spoils of war, remind me of why it’s so important to take a stand. I don’t want to be voiceless anymore–not at such a crucial time in politics. If I can’t do the actual fighting, then I’m glad to support those who do by lending my talents. I’ll milk those suckers for all the credits they have.” 

Anakin chuckled at your last sentence. He appreciated your sentiment. “Not many can say the same as you. Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Anakin. I’m just doing what any person in my position should do. I probably pissed off some people, but oh well.”

You heard your name being called from the side. Your conversation was interrupted by your friend, Cressida, a fashion designer from a small mid-rim planet who made a name for herself through her unique and stylish designs. Her skin was dyed pink (you knew her natural skin tone was a lifeless pale), and her hair was coiffed in an elaborate bun with pastel ringlets falling over and small curls sticking to the nape of her neck, appearing messy yet sensual. She came from a planet inhabited by humanoids known for their allure caused by specially produced pheromones. 

“Cressida, it’s so lovely to see you! How’s your latest line going?” you faked a smile before greeting her with two kisses on either side of her cheek. Your mother always told you to play nice since playing dirty resulted in getting burned. 

“Oh you know, the critics are having a heyday with it. They say I might even win my first fashion award. And who is this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before at one of these parties. Our little singer here rarely brings anyone around anymore,” Cressida stated. Her bright green eyes landed on Anakin as if he was something she wanted to lay claim to. 

“Friend” was an overstatement. You had known Cressida for around two years, but you wouldn’t consider her a close friend. She was someone you partied with to have fun–a member of your social circle but not your inner circle. You had yet to determine her trustworthiness. While Cressida had never crossed you directly, her catty remarks now and then signaled a radar in your brain. 

“This is Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi assigned to watch over me for the upcoming benefit concert,” you explained.

Cressida’s eyes widened slightly. “The Anakin Skywalker? My, you’re even more handsome in person than in the holograms they project on the billboards. I almost didn’t recognize you with that serious look on your face. You shouldn’t glare so much, it’ll only age you faster.” 

The fake smile on your face was beginning to hurt. Why did it annoy you so much that she found Anakin handsome? It was an objective fact that most people would agree with. You ignored the nagging feeling in your stomach. You were here to relax your mind and push away the racing thoughts of Anakin from your mind. If Cressida wanted to flirt with Anakin, so be it. It’s not like he could do anything about it, even if he wanted to. Anakin was a temporary occurrence in your life, something that would only last a short time, just to be forgotten as life moves on. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. And you are?” Anakin responded with a short nod to show his thanks for her compliment. Anakin was used to people fawning over his looks. This wasn’t the first time a stranger, female or male, complimented him mere seconds after meeting him. The compliments did fuel his ego, but he never took them to heart as he only cared about what Padme thought. Now that Padme was gone, he indulged in the occasional compliment. Still, this compliment did not sound right coming from the pink lady in front of him. Cressida looked at Anakin like an object, a feeling he very much detested. It reminded him of the way Watto used to look at him. 

“I’m Cressida Calpurnia. I know some people who would love to meet you Anakin,” Cressia announced. “Do you mind if I steal him for a few minutes? I promise I won’t be long. I believe I saw Chione somewhere upstairs waiting for you.” A sickly sweet smile appeared on Cressida’s face as she batted her white eyelashes at you. You knew most people at this party did not give a damn about the war, for they were all vapid and too consumed by the drama in their own lives to think about anything else. It was hypocritical to think, considering you were also one of them, but it was also different because most of the people in this room were nepotism babies born with silver spoons in their mouths. You knew the value of hard work and had some sense of reality, though altered over the last few years as you came into superstardom. 

You knew you couldn’t refuse Cressida’s offer. What grounds did you have to refuse? A twinge of childish jealousy? You were afraid if you denied Cressida’s offer, she would think something was happening between you two. The last thing you needed was Cressida’s gossipy mouth spreading a rumor like that to your social circle. You didn’t care if it affected your reputation, but you didn’t know what Anakin’s consequences could be if the HoloNet tabloids captured a rumor like that.

“Well, I can’t speak for Anakin.” You turned towards Anakin and reassured him, “You can go ahead if you want. I think everyone would be excited to meet someone so famous (ironic considering most people in this room were famous or at least famous adjacent). I’ll just go find Chione upstairs.”  

Anakin didn’t want to go either. He rather stay by your side the entire night. You were the only reason he went to the party in the first place. Anakin only used the excuse of protection to spend more time with you. You didn’t have much time together left, and Anakin knew that once this mission was done, the Council would send him to the farthest corners of the galaxy. Anakin didn’t know if he would ever be able to see you again, so he wanted to soak up your presence as much as possible. He was about to protest and explain to Cressida that he would prefer to stay with you, but she drew her talons in him before he could speak. 

“I promise we don’t bite,” Cressida flirtatiously said before grabbing Anakin by his gloved arm and pulling him toward a couch filled with mutual friends. You mentally swore that you would bite her instead. Cressida’s flirtatious nature normally did not bother you, but she was slowly getting on your nerves now. 

Anakin looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with you, an apologetic look gracing his face before he turned his attention to Cressida and walked away with her. 

“That nerfherder bitch!” Chione exclaimed to you as you recalled the recent interaction between you and Cressida. You both looked in the refresher’s mirror as you retouched your makeup. You already downed a flute of some fizzy hooch, a warm feeling settling over your stomach as you spoke. Drinking always made you loose-lipped, which is why your best friend was currently cursing Cressida.

“You should just avoid him,” Chione shrugged. You could trust Chione with all your secrets, including your crush on the Jedi. You recounted the dilemma–how attracted you were to Anakin, but you couldn’t do anything about it because the Jedi code forbade any attachments. Your forced proximity to him made the situation worse. You couldn’t escape him over the past few rotations. Each day somehow brought the two of you closer together. It was agonizing. The Maker was cruel and taunting. How dare they throw your life into even more of a whirlwind by introducing Anakin Skywalker? Maybe if Anakin was a regular man, you would have pursued him. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Your whole world has shifted off its hinges since Anakin came into your life. You didn’t know what could fix it, except for Anakin being yours. 

“What a load of bantha shit…I don’t know if I can avoid him. That’s what I’ve been telling myself to do! But every time I try, the galaxy pulls us closer. When Gido first told me that they were assigning a Jedi to me, I was scared because I thought it would only bring more trouble. But Anakin…he’s so sweet. We don’t fully know each other yet, but each interaction has brought us closer. I guess I could even consider him a friend. A very handsome friend who I think about more than I should…” you trailed off.  

You intentionally left out your earlier conversation with Anakin. Chione didn’t need to know that sensitive information. A deeper part of you disagreed with Chione’s advice; you didn’t want to avoid Anakin, not when you were slowly unraveling the puzzle that he is. You wanted to know him, even if meant you would eventually break your own heart. You hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a few years, and even then, no one had ever made you the same level of intensity that Anakin did. It was intoxicating, and you wanted more of it. 

“I love you, but it’s for the best. There’s no way you two could possibly be together. Don’t let yourself fall for him, only for you to be disappointed when he won’t leave the space monks for you. You’re better off finding someone else at this party.” Chione gave you a sad half-smile. You returned her smile with a small eye roll. “I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

Another part of you, a more conscious one, flashed blaring signs in your mind. “Stop! Turn around! Imminent danger ahead!” they said. Perhaps it was out of fear. As much as you wanted to fall head first into Anakin, you didn’t want to deal with his aftermath. When he inevitably leaves, there will be no one to pick up the pieces of your heart. You didn’t even think it was possible to fall for someone so fast. Yet here you were. The signs knew this, and so they warned you of the danger slowly encroaching on your heart–heed Chione’s words.

You knew your best friend was right, even if you didn’t want to admit it out loud. You bit your lip and nodded in agreeance. 

Chione then grabbed your head and the two of you walked out of the refresher. You smiled at a few people on the way to the main room. Parties like these were the one of the only few places where you felt normal nowadays. Everyone here was someone, and if they weren’t someone then they were en route to becoming someone. There was a mutual understanding between everyone here–no fawning, no fangirling, and certainly no spilling gossip to the HoloNet. Of course, some people ignored that rule though. 

“Wouldn’t that be rude of me to just leave him? I’m the only reason why he’s here. Plus, I don’t want to leave him with Cressida. She’ll dig her claws into him and never let go,” you questioned. 

“I don’t know. Anakin appears to be having a great time with Cressida. He’s laughing and smiling,” Chione gestured toward the couch.

You whipped your head toward Anakin’s direction. Chione was right. Anakin was sitting there as he told the story of how he had to crashland on the planet of Mygeeto, only to be met with mastiff phalones. Every single person was focused on Anakin, their eyes never leaving his person. You saw a look of wonder on all of their faces. The feeling of jealousy washed over your body for the second time that night. 

You turned away from the sight before it could enrage you anymore. With a nose turned up in the air and a dramatic hair flip, you grabbed Chione again and dragged her to another room in the apartment. If she wanted you to avoid Anakin, fine. You would do exactly that. 

You dragged Chione until you reached the new room where lively, upbeat music was playing and a plethora of people danced together. 

You quickly grabbed two extra flutes of hooch with your free hand and handed one to Chione. You chugged the flute down, slightly cringing at the taste, before placing it on the silver tray of a server passing by. Chione did the same before hollering, “Let’s dance!”

You shot her a flashy smile, and the two of you made your way into the crowd of energetic, sweaty bodies. 

Anakin Skywalker was bored and wanted to get as far away from these people as possible. He thought one or two stories would satisfy their curiosity, but an hour and a half passed since he first sat down and no one was satisfied yet. They wanted to know everything about Anakin. How was life at the Temple? What was it like fighting in the war? Anakin understood their curiosity. He was once a curious boy, and he used to love hearing the tales from the deep space pilots that were stationed on Tatooine. It wasn’t every day that civilians encountered the Jedi, especially now that the Jedi were more off-world than on-world sometimes. It slightly boosted his ego to have an audience so enthralled by him. 

At the same time, they all looked at Anakin like a commodity. They didn’t truly care about what Anakin had to say, or about the war at all. He was simply bragging points to them. Everyone would run to their friends and brag about how they met the famous Hero with No Fear after the party ended. Nothing he said would impact them. Whenever you asked Anakin questions about himself, it was different. You were genuine like you wanted to know more about him and not the persona the Republic created. Anakin was captivated by you, which is why he revealed his origins to you earlier. Not even Ahsoka learned the truth about Anakin’s past directly from Anakin–she learned it from Obi-Wan before their mission on Zygerria. Each moment between you two was marked by a saccharine tenderness. It was a type of tenderness that Anakin missed and craved all the time. Despite being a Jedi, Anakin thought of himself as a loverboy. He loved wholly and completely. And although you two were not in love, Anakin could picture himself harboring deep feelings for you. He was at the edge of the cliff, ready to fall into the deep descent of love. 

Anakin couldn't escape his current company. His jaw was starting to hurt from fake smiling. As a representative of the Republic and the Jedi organization, he couldn’t exactly be rude towards them just because he wanted to escape and spend time with you. Several times throughout his time on the couch, Anakin saw you interacting with other people as you made your way through the party’s various rooms. Each time he tried to make eye contact with you, you adverted his gaze and turned your attention elsewhere.

You couldn’t possibly be avoiding Anakin, could you? Except for Anakin,  it felt like you were avoiding him. You were talking to everyone else but him. Every time he wanted to reach you, he was whisked away into another story. He could have sworn that you purposely turned in the opposite direction every time you made eye contact. But maybe he was overthinking it? Did you see him differently now that you knew he used to be a slave? He felt insecure. No, that couldn’t be it. The way you spoke to him with such empathy signified to Anakin that it wouldn’t affect the way you saw him. He felt it.

Anakin felt paranoid, and he didn’t know why. Why did he care so much anyway? Anakin rationalized with himself. He was supposed to be your protector which is why he was so eager to return to your side. Not because he wanted to talk to you and get to know you more. And definitely not because you were affecting him way more than he would like to admit. 

“...so it true that Jedi aren’t allowed to have sex?” asked a Twi’lek woman to Anakin’s left. Anakin’s eyes widened at the question, and a pretty blush rose to his cheeks. Before he could answer, another woman around the couch protested.

“You can’t just ask people that, Almathea! It’s rude…but do you have sex?” she asked with a seductive raise of her eyebrow. 

Anakin took this moment as a sign to end the conversation and get back to you. He stood up from the couch in all his 6’2 glory. He was so statuesque, his statue and demeanor demanded attention from everyone he encountered. It was no wonder he was being held hostage by Cressida and her crew. 

“My deepest apologies everyone, but I must return to my original duty. I appreciate your curiosity in the Jedi and hope we can cross paths again one day. May the Force be with you all.” Anakin then flashed one last fake smile to the audience before stepping over a few tangled legs and towards the next room. He closed his eyes and narrowed his focus to locate your person. You were still at the party, just in a different room located somewhere in the apartment’s east wing.

The Jedi made his way through the different rooms trying to find you. He passed through people dancing, people playing roulette, some were crying, and some were laughing. It was like a scene from one of Canto Bight’s deluxe, elite casinos. Snippets of gossip and whispers of amazement filtered through Anakin’s ears as he walked closer to your location. 

Anakin finally stopped in another room filled with people socializing. The deep baritone notes of a saxophone mixed with a catchy melody danced around the room, shrouding it in a sultry aura. The lighting in this room was low, and the chandelier hanging from the roof was set to the lowest setting possible. If it weren’t for Anakin’s keen eyesight, he almost didn’t make out your figure. Years of dealing with Tatooine’s sandstorms made Anakin’s eyes adept at finding people and objects in otherwise difficult situations. As a child, Anakin always looked toward the colorful fabrics flying at the top of the slave quarters when an incoming sandstorm was happening. If he could find those colorful fabrics flowing in the wind, then Anakin knew he would be safe for another day. Additionally, Anakin had to have a good eye for whenever he worked on his pod racer or tinkered with droid parts. 

You were in the far corner of the room, dancing with another male. His hands were on your lower back, resting very closely to your tailbone. Your body was pressed against his and your arms hung tightly around his neck. Anakin couldn’t spot the male’s face because his face was buried in the side of your neck as he whispered something into your ear. Anakin desperately wished he knew what the male was saying to you. You giggled in response. Chione was nowhere to be seen. She separated from you as she conversed with one of her other friends. 

Jealousy was the common theme of the night. Earlier in the night, you were jealous at the site of Cressida oogling Anakin. Now, it was Anakin who was jealous. He was jealous that someone else held your attention while Anakin had been craving it all night. Who was this guy? Anakin wondered to himself. Did you have a boyfriend that Anakin didn’t know about? Did he read any signs wrong?  Well, there weren’t too many signs to begin with. Anakin did catch one of your stray thoughts from your initial meeting in which you said he was “kriffing gorgeous.” And Anakin may have felt changes in your emotional state around him, but who was he to assume that was because of him? Like that time he was teaching you how to drive your air speeder and he had placed his hands on top of yours as a guide. He felt a spike in your force signature. Everything else consisted of lingering stares, subtle blushes, or conversation Anakin didn’t want to end.

 Anakin wouldn’t have been wrong to assume you felt something for him, because you did. He just didn’t know it yet. 

The male in front of you was another mutual friend who you met before at a different party. He, Rigel, was a famous musical producer who worked with some of your other musician friends from time to time. Much like Anakin, Rigel had stunning blue eyes. You ran into Rigel with Chione—who decided to play matchmaker by leaving you two alone. You offhandedly mentioned before how you thought Rigel was cute, but that was before Anakin waltzed into your life. 

If you were sober, you would’ve never been caught nearly grinding on someone like this in a public place. It may have been a private party, but just one picture could spread rumors like wildfire. You were more media-trained than that. Plus, it wasn’t in your character to randomly become so intimate with another person so quickly. It looks like you took Chione’s advice a little bit too seriously. Well, that was the goal of coming to this party anyway, right?

Truth be told, you could barely understand what Rigel was whispering in your ear. It didn’t matter either way. Your brain was somewhere else, thinking of Anakin. How badly you wanted to grab him by his face and smash your lips together in front of Cressida. You wanted to run your hands through his silky curls. How did he manage to have perfect hair? What type of shampoo and conditioner did Anakin have access to on the field? After you kissed him, you would lead Anakin away from the party and into an empty bedroom where you would lay him on the bed and straddle him then—Wait! What were you thinking? The hooch was having the opposite effect on you. You drank to forget, not to remember. You opened your eyes and furiously blinked as to forget the thoughts. When you closed your eyes again, your brain automatically went to your previous dreamland. It’s almost like you could hear Anakin’s voice from right next to you. 

“Excuse me,” interrupted a harsh voice. 

You once again opened your eyes only to be met with the site of an annoyed Anakin. You quickly separated yourself from Rigel, who removed his face from your neck and stared unimpressively at the Jedi. Your heart skipped a beat—you weren’t expecting Anakin to appear. 

“A-anakin! This is Rigel…” you sheepishly introduced the two. Karking hell, this was so embarrassing! You hated that you were caught in such a compromising position, especially from the person you were trying to avoid. You then pointed to Anakin and took a deep breath before finishing, “Rigel, this is General Anakin Skywalker.” Your body turned into an inferno as the embarrassment rose. You were too drunk for this right now. 

The two men sized each other up through their stares before nodding to acknowledge each other.

“We were…um…we were just-“ you stumbled over your words as you tried to find the right ones. Anakin noticed your eyes looked glazed over and a little droopy. 

Rigel stepped in to save your sentence. “We were just getting to know each other. Perhaps you can go back to telling your little Jedi stories? I heard they were very entertaining.”

“Perhaps not. Pop star, I believe it’s time we retreat back to your apartment,” Anakin responded with as much sass as possible. Anakin rather freeze alive on Hoth than allow himself to leave you with some seedy character. Anakin asserted dominance by calling you by the nickname he gave to you. He was saying to Rigel that he knew you enough to have a nickname, which was more claim than Rigel had. Not that you were anything to claim, but Anakin’s possessiveness jumped at the sight of you two. Had you told Anakin that you wanted to stay with Rigel, he would’ve left you alone. You were a grown woman after all. However, Anakin’s statement left no room for argument. 

You bid Rigel goodbye, before turning to Anakin and hiccupping. You were annoyed. Was this the Maker’s way of telling you that you were meant to be with Anakin? If it was meant to be with Rigel, then it wouldn’t have been interrupted, right? Or was that just your drunk mind trying to rationalize what just happened? It was definitely the latter, you just didn’t recognize it yet.

“Let’s go,” you stated flatly. You began walking. You regretted your choice of wearing such an elaborate floor-length gown, seeing as you had to lift the dress so it wouldn’t drag on the floor. It was no issue earlier, but now that you were drunk, it was becoming a hassle. You couldn’t balance yourself and hold your dress at the same time, especially in the heels you were wearing. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Anakin asked as you stumbled to the entrance of the party. Your lipstick was smudged from all the drinks you had, and in your drunken stupor, you failed to reapply it. You couldn’t count how many drinks you downed. Was it seven or ten? It didn’t even matter anymore because five was your usual stopping point. 

“I don’t even know. Probably too much for my own good.” You weren’t watching where you were walking as you said that. A piece of your dress slipped under your heel causing you to almost tumble toward the floor. Anakin caught you by your waist before you could fall. It seemed Anakin had a knack for catching you. You straightened yourself off and continued walking.

“Come here for a second,” Anakin said from behind. He stood with his weight on one side, hips beckoning you toward him. 

“Why? I thought it was time for us to go,” you rebuttal.  

“It’s in your best interest to come back, not mine.” 

You turned around and faced Anakin with a sassy look on your face. He only bent down and grabbed a hold of your ankle, “If you must know, I’m doing you the pleasure of taking off your footwear so that you can walk in comfortably. You’ve had too much to drink to walk in these without injuring yourself.” He was talking about a few moments ago when you almost faceplanted into the floor. 

Instead of being grateful for Anakin’s chivalry, you decided to tease him instead. It was the only way you knew how to react to his kindness without instantaneously combusting. You were embarrassed still, but you tried to push those feelings aside. You hated dwelling on embarrassment—sometimes it was best to move on without acknowledgment.

“Why do you speak like that?” you asked with a tilt of your head. 

Anakin was confused by your question, “Speak like what?”

“You know. You speak so…melodramatic. Like everything you’re saying is a declaration. Your cadence is so fancy. Why If I didn’t know you were a Jedi, I would mistake you for a wealthy socialite,” you giggled. “It’s quite funny actually. You belong on the Opera stage, ready to declare to the entirety of Coruscant. You would be the Hero of the play.” 

Anakin looked at you with a deadpan stare. “Do I really speak like that?” It’s something he had never noticed before. Obi-Wan’s mannerisms must’ve rubbed off on Anakin more than he noticed. As you were speaking, Anakin was undoing the straps of your heels. “Well, If I’m the hero, then you must be the damsel in distress.” 

You cleared your throat and began mimicking Anakin again, “I do suppose that you speak like that. Why I go by Anakin Skywalker, and I’m a Jedi Knight. I’ve been on many perilous journeys, but the most perilous of them all has been to watch you. No battle droid or distant planet could compare to the chaos of handling an intergalactic singer.” You tried replicating the huskiness and cadence of Anakin’s voice. Instead, it came out sounding like you were recovering from a nasty cough. You poked fun at yourself too.

Anakin laughed at your brazen attempt to make fun of him. He dropped your ankle and grabbed your heels. They hung by their straps as his fingers gripped them with care. 

“Very funny. Are you sure you weren’t written by a playwright? You should be more comfortable now that we’ve removed these atrocious heels. You should be able to walk without any hassle now.” You didn’t get a chance to say thank you to Anakin as he started walking toward the entrance.

You lingered behind for a second, taking in the moment. Anakin was too sweet. It was an action so simple yet it had your heart bursting all the same.

Anakin turned around when he felt you weren’t next to him. “Where are you going, pop star?”

You sent Anakin a small smile before responding, “Sorry, I’m coming.” You began walking to him. The two of you exited the party and walked toward the landing bay, where your airspeeder was patiently waiting for you.

When you and Anakin got home, it was dark. The apartment lights were off. The only light that filtered through were the lights from Coruscant’s skyline.  A delicate moonlight washed over the apartment, creating a serene and safe atmosphere. 

You felt exhausted. The effects of the alcohol wore down on the way home, and you were mostly silent. Chinone left you a message stating she got home safely, so you had nothing to worry about. 

You recalled tonight’s events as you rested your eyes. From the intimate moment with Anakin at the start of the party, your scathing feelings toward Cressida, to Chione telling you to forget Anakin, and then being caught with another male by Anakin. Your head was all over the place, and the fast pace of the airspeeder did not help. You would have a lot to think about in the morning. You just wanted to get home for now and drift into Lalaland. 

The speeder came to a slow halt as Anakin lowered the vehicle onto your landing platform. He helped you out of the speeder and the two of you went inside your apartment. This night completely drained you and you wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

Before retreating to your room, you wanted to say one more thing to Anakin.

“Anakin? I just wanted to give you my thanks—not only for coming to the party with me but for opening up and not letting me go home with Rigel. And for the heels,” you confessed

“It was no issue. That’s what my job is for—ensuring your comfort and protection for the time being.”

“Still…thank you. When you first came here, I was scared that it would bring trouble, but you’ve been nothing but helpful and kind. Your mother raised you well.” 

In one final act, you leaned and placed a gentle kiss on Anakin’s cheek. You let your lips linger for a moment before separating. You would tell yourself it was the last remaining bits of alcohol in your system tomorrow, but you knew better than that. It was an intentional act you hoped could convey your feelings when you could verbally not.

i saw someone on tiktok say they saw jackson wang host a party in a harry potter fanfic and somelse commented they made jackson wang a senator in their star wars fanfic so i thought i would do the same...iykyk

taglist: @angie2274 @bunnylovesani @0709fullofstars @js-favnanadoongi @payton-dixonreader @attheairportbar @doplit

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

[fantasticarcadefan]

Teyvat and the Ascended Pt.2: Discovering yourself

Warning: Religious worship, bad descriptions.

STC - Skin tone color

------------------------------------------------------------

You didn't know what to say. Too much was going through your mind. Who are the ascended? Why do they refer to you as a god? A million more questions race through your head before a voice calls out to you. "Your Grace?" It was Alexi's voice. "Y-Yes, Alexi?" You respond, unsure of what he asked. "Are you okay? We're not going to hurt you." Alexi says in a rough yet soft tone. A million thoughts go through your mind, unsure of what to say. Do you tell them the truth? Do you lie to them? Do you make up a story? You eventually decide that, due to the ability to transport yourself elsewhere, it was better to admit the truth before you find yourself in a worse position than in Teyvat. "Look, I-I think you got the wrong person. I don't know anything about the "Ascended Species" or me guiding you in person." You say, bracing yourself for a mixture of emotional, psychological, or physical abuse. Alexi looks at you and then smiles, "I'm afraid that's not the case my lord. The soul seeker was set to your soul, and in addition, we're passing through a nebula right now, and usually when we do,we often find ourselves going through what is known as turbulence. And ever since you've arrived, the storm has calmed down." Alexi explains to you. "And it makes sense for you to not know of the Ascended. After all, you're only made aware of the world you'll be descending into, with you starting to get visions of the other worlds you created later on from your past."

You're shocked. How are you supposed to react to that. One day, you're running from hunters in Teyvat who're claiming that you're an imposter, the next, your soul, if what they say is true, is abducted by aliens from various species who're claiming that you made each of their civilizations. But another question came into mind. Are you able to get home? And how many other lives have you abandoned when you descended onto each of their worlds? "Crowner of Champions." The beetle alien says,breaking you out of your existential crisis, getting your attention. "My name is Kul-Tan of the Backatta species, representing the Legion of Hantakka. My people and I pride ourselves in being able to find worthy opponents in all fields, originally in just strength, but your descent into our world showed that there are other ways of combat. And I couldn't help but wonder what great beasts you've slayed at your new creation!" Kul-Tan says, ignorant about what you've been facing on Teyvat. "It's not as glo-" You say before stopping mid sentence as you are looking at your skin.

Instead of the (STC) on your skin, your body's instead a mix of a bright white, a void black, a gleaming gold, and a shimmering purple all jump across your body. "Wha-,ho-, the he- what?" You say, unable to form a word about your body's situation. "And that's another reason we see you as our divine creator." Alexi says, slightly amused at your situation. "The creator, you," Alexi says, as he points at you. "Have been known to be both the kindest of souls, devoting time to help those that need it, both before and after your discovery on each of our worlds, and a nightmare to those incurring your wrath." Alexi continues. "The white and dark energies, I assume, are part of your emotions and part of the balance of the galaxy, what the golden and purplish energies represent, however, may be representative of the balance of the world you descended upon." Alexi says, hoping to help you understand. If you had to guess, the golden energy represented Celestia, and the purple energy represented the abyss. "I wonder," you tell yourself, if I knew about this sooner, would the hunt for me have never occurred?" You ask yourself as you get out of Mary's arms and wander the room while you start to think what this could do. After all, if that was true, then you could reveal this form to the Teyvatians and hopefully convince them that you're their actual god, or at least cause enough debate in Teyvat that the hunt could be cancelled or postponed for a while then- "Your Grace?"

You hear Mary call out your title in a concerned tone. As you turn to face her, you can see a mixture of horror, concern, sadness, and rage on the crew's faces. "What do you mean, the hunt for you would have never occurred if you knew about that form?" Mary asks in a cautious and worried tone.

[anincurabledisease]

╔═════════════╗

╚═══════════════╝

HI-HO !

Here it is! I'm finally free from exams, so I can write! The awaited info-dump about my delicious in dungeon OC. This includes general information, and perchance— hints of her lore, then character dynamics and what she thinks of the said characters, so it'll be very..very long.

Helena's open to interactions with other ocs or [official characters & ocs] roleplay accounts, and I plan to make a blog where I'll roleplay as her and you can ask anything or just talk to her.

P.S : I'll be treating her as if she's a canonical character in the show, and took the prompt in the wiki for the gen info and status.

Please don't mind to any grammatical errors I've made, English isn't my first language. ^^;

Info-dump is in the cut, I hope you'll check it out!

➤ [ GENERAL INFORMATION ]

NAME : HELENA

KATAKANA NAME : ヘレナ [feel free to correct me if i'm wrong!]

SPECIES : DEER/BEAST-KIN [she uniquely only has her hinds, though..like a faun, but with deer-looks.]

TALL MAN [BEAST-MAN] [TEMPORARY]

[She swapped races with Izutsumi!]

GENDER : FEMALE

AGE : 25 [I cannot for the life of me figure her estimate age in human years, but do know that she's an adult.] [I might make her older]

BORN : NOVEMBER 5TH 489

BIRTHPLACE : SOUTHEAST ARCHIPELAGO

· ·───── ·𖥸· ─────· ·

HEIGHT : 5'2

There's some implications she may like all genders, as she said she doesn't mind who or what her soulmate is, as long as they're both happy and well.

➤ [ STATUS ]

STATUS : ALIVE

AFFILIATION : KABRU'S PARTY [TEMPORARY]

LAIOS' PARTY

OCCUPATIONS : ADVENTURER

ARTIFICER

RELATIVES : UNNAMED TWIN BROTHER

UNNAMED FATHER [WHO'S OFTEN REFERRED TO AS A FRENZIED MAN]

UNNAMED MOTHER [WHO'S OFTEN REFERRED TO AS THE ONCE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN][DECEASED]

At the very start of things, not much is said about her nor her past from her own mouth or other people's. All the others knew is that she's just a young cervitaur who's an undeniably skillful craftswoman. It was a mystery why she straight up disappeared at the beginning, implying she got separated from the others very far or purposely avoided them- to assumably get some fresh air and clear her mind from the sight of her close friend getting eaten by the dragon. It's clear that she doesn't like opening up about her past, even acting like she has memory loss and dumb.

From time to time, the party hears heavy boot footsteps echo throughout the dungeon halls, and they don't know what it is..but Helena has a nagging feeling it's something..no, someone bad. Someone she doesn't want to see, someone she's been trying to escape for too long.

[I won't be saying much, as how heavy, dark and violent it all really is It'll be posted in a separate post, if i have time]

╔═════════════╗

╚═════════════╝

" Weird, it makes him oddly handsome. "

Once Laios had given Helena the invitation into the team, in which she eagerly accepts..almost like she's running away from something; she had took notice of him frequently glancing at her, but didn't think too much of it and shrugging it off. However, after reuniting with the rest and seeing his weird obsession with monsters with her own two eye-balls, a slow realization dawned onto her that the reason why Laios had stared is because she's a demi-human. A human mixed with a deer. The amount of times he's tried to reach out to her, and her thinking it was him trying to swat a fly or something, was to try and touch her deer-ears. She didn't know how to feel, hell- what to feel, even. Fondness? Gods, she hoped not. Disgust? That's harsh. For the rest of the night, she just stared at Laios like he's a three-headed monster..but he'd probably like that.

Although the more they spent time together, Helena started to like hearing about his rambles [yapping] about monsters and propely listened. It always seemed like she's the one who's 'interested' enough to 'listen' before anyway.

" I like her alot! Sometimes, it's like we're the only sane ones in this party..Chilchuck too, of course. "

Upon their 'first' meeting, they silently stole glances to one another. Finally, breaking the silence, Helena had greeted her and it felt like things and pieces just clicked at the right places. It was near to damn beautiful, I say!

They exchanged a few more words after, and before they knew it, they end up closer than before. Marcille had expressed her admiration for Helena being a craftswoman, and she'd done the same for the elf being a mage.

..but sometimes, Marcille can't help but wish Helena would recognize her and see the bright look in her face like the way things were before.

" Sweet-faced, but with a sharp tongue. That's Chil for you! He's very cute though, I like him! "

Upon their first meeting, Helena's very own first thoughts about him was..'He's short- I hope he can't read my mind.'

There were a few times, maybe once or twice [more than that, according to the half-foot], where he caught her staring and her shoulders tensing as they made eye contact, breaking it as quick as she could and looked away. Slowly, despite their contrasting differences in personalities, they got closer and had gained respect for one another. Chilchuck even helped her out of a trap, and Helena helped fix his tools.

" So talented! I'm glad he lets me help out when he's cooking. "

Upon their very first meeting, Helena seemed to be pleased that they had a new member in the party. But her enthused output and pleasantry turned to horror-struck as she saw he's cooking monsters! Helena's aware that desperate times times call for desperate measures, but she didn't think they'd stoop this low!

However, her features couldn't help but soften and turn to curious, seeing as Senshi wasn't being passionately creepy about monsters, unlike a certain tall-man, but was more passionate about cooking and providing food on the table. As more time went on, Helena couldn't help but grow nearly vulnerable seeing this dwarf feed them and eventually offered to help him cook. Senshi was hesitant, but she smiled reassuringly, saying that she doesn't mind..and is a little bored waiting around with the rest.

[ I'M SO SORRY I HAD NO MORE MOTIVATION TO DRAW THEM ]

➤ FALIN

Helena thought she was pretty. Tall enough to look at her features properly, she envies Toshiro juuust a little bit for being romantically intwined with her.

Regardless, Helena can't help but admire Falin, truly. She finds it nice that the tall-man's so talented in magic, and Falin admires her too. For not only making such craftmenship with her very own hands, but for Helena's..cuteness.

➤ TOSHIRO / SHURO

Helena doesn't know what to think of him. She wishes he knew she understood him more than she shows of, and respects his decision the very same. She wishes him well, and for him to start taking better care of himself, reminding him that he shouldn't neglect himself so recklessly.

➤ IZUTSUMI

HELENA TREATS HER LIKE A LITTLE SISTER SHE NEVER HAD!

It annoys Izutsumi to bits, and Helena had received her own fair share of cat scratches from her, but she's resilient.

Near to begrudging, however, Izutsumi respects and somewhat admires Helena's strength, or what she's shown, anyway. Unfortunately for her, the cervitaur won't stop seeing her as a little sister soon.

Thank you so much for reading <3 ! I'll be uploading more information soon, and especially her dynamic with Kabru, etc.

[thewholekittyandkaboodle]

Day 2 Savior

'Diana…!'

Akko's weak voice echoed through Diana's mind while Akko herself laid motionless on a sterile hospital bed. They were both incredibly lucky to have avoided the worst outcome today. Neither of them could have truly been prepared for how everything could suddenly go wrong.

Lotte and Sucy had gone into town to get some potion ingredients for a class project and Akko had told them she was going to meet them in town later. She said she wanted to go to the outskirts of Blytonbury to practice flying by herself for a bit. Diana didn't mean to eavesdrop on that conversation, she really didn't. After being unable to even leave the ground on her own for so long, could Diana blame Akko for being over the moon for having finally lifted off on her own? Ever since then she had been practicing flying every chance she got. The small victory only strengthened her drive to master flight. Diana didn't want to make Akko feel coddled, not when Akko felt she was so close to her dream of soaring through the air like a splendid witch. Still, Diana just couldn't shake the feeling that something could go terribly wrong. After all, as much as Akko accomplished she was still the most accident prone witch in the school. Just last week she nearly flooded the school after miscasting a teleportation spell, Scintalia, in the bathrooms. It couldn't hurt if Diana happened to be there in case something went wrong. She could come up with an excuse if Akko noticed she was following her out of town. Admittedly, that didn't take long.

"Diana?" Akko inquired. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

Diana found herself akin to a deer in headlights, ironic considering her namesake.

"I-I'm…here to get ingredients for the upcoming potion assignment." Diana suddenly blurted out.

"Really? There's things that can be used in potions right outside of Blytonbury?"

"O-Of course! I-I can even show you if you would like!" Neither of which were a lie, Diana might have omitted her true intentions for coming here, but there were a number of previously extinct magic plant species that had sprung up in the area thanks to the revitalization of magic in the world.

"Really? Thanks so much Diana!" Without a second thought Akko hugged her. Diana's mind went completely blank. Despite herself, all she could think about was how soothing it was in Akko's arms. It came to a halt when Akko suddenly pulled back.

"Sorry, I got a little excited." Regaining her focus, Diana finally noticed that Akko's face had turned a bright shade of red.

"Are you feeling well? Your face is awfully flushed." Diana reached out her hand to feel Akko's forehead, but Akko hopped backwards.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally fine! Honest!" Akko hid her face as she abruptly ran off.

"I'll meet back up with you in a bit! Good luck getting ingredients for your team's assignment!" Akko was quickly out of Diana's sight. Diana hoped Akko didn't run off because she was upset that she followed her to her training session and was trying to hide it to spare Diana's feelings. Diana silently promised herself that if she had offended Akko she would make it up to her as soon as they met back up. Maybe she could treat her to ice cream, Akko seemed to like that ice cream parlor somewhere in town. Come to think of it, she'd never been there herself. She should probably get some directions to the place first, maybe get some napkins too in case of an ice cream spill…

"Diana?!" Diana snapped back to reality hearing Akko's panicked voice.

"Hold on Diana! I'm coming!" Akko's shouts were getting more distant.

"Akko?" Akko didn't seem to hear her, her shouts calling out Diana's name got farther and farther from town, from anyone that could hear her. Diana felt chilled to her core as she rushed after her.

"Akko! I'm right here! Where are you?!" Diana desperately cried. No one responded. No matter where she looked, Akko was gone. Diana couldn't accept this, there had to have been a clue somewhere! Then she found something, Akko's shoes left some prints in the dirt. She took off after them immediately. She came into another dead end when the tracks suddenly stopped. Or maybe…they were being hidden…She drew her wand.

"Illumina!" With a flick of her wand, her fears were proven correct. Illumina countered the cloaking spell that was concealing a magic forcefield. Diana could finally see inside. Akko was desperately kicking against two massive eagle-like birds pinning her to the ground. Standing over her was a scruffy looking woman wearing a weathered green cloak. Diana drew her wand again.

"Murowa!" Diana shouted.

The magic bolts she summoned fizzled uselessly against the barrier. Nobody inside reacted to her attempt to break in either. The barrier must be soundproofed on the inside.

"Careful now dearies." The woman cooed at the massive birds of prey.

"Don't bang up the kid too much. After all, it's much easier to extract memories from a healthy victim's brain." Akko glared up at the woman.

"What did you do to Diana?!" Akko demanded. The woman let out a hearty chuckle.

"Aww, did you hear little Beatrix Jr. cry for help? I'm afraid my little pets have no manners, so things get a little hairy when they sink their talons a little too much into their catch." Akko's eyes widened in horror.

"No!" Akko caught the birds off guard with her angry pushback and it finally gave her some wiggle room against them.

"I swear, if you've hurt one hair on her head-" Her attacker's boot dove into the ground mere inches from her face.

"I have no real reason to hurt the Cavendish girl. That is, unless you give me a reason to." Akko froze.

"What do you want from me?" Akko gulped. In turn her attacker reached into a pocket inside her verdant cloak.

"Oh, I'm not asking much. Thanks to the wonders of magic and science it's now possible to create wands that can mimic the properties of even the most infamous and powerful ones mankind has ever known. The only catch is that one who seeks to make such a wand needs to have the memories of someone who wielded it at one point. You see as the previous wielder of the legendary 'Shiny Rod', as you call it, you're the last component necessary. It'll never be as potent as the real thing, but even a fraction of its power is enough to accomplish feats no witch could ever dream of."

Diana eyed the black vial the witch took from her pocket and her blood turned cold.

"You don't need to do anything but lay back. With just a drop of this potion you'll be in a magic made stasis. You won't feel any pain or need sustenance to stay alive. In essence, your aging and biological processes will freeze in time. It'll make this much easier for both of us." The woman said as she towered over Akko. Diana frantically kept firing every spell she could think of against the barrier blocking her from running to Akko's side. Each spell proved fruitless. After unscrewing the cork, the assailant pried Akko's mouth to pour in the contents of the vial. Akko bit the woman on the hand and she jerked back in pain before she spilled a single drop.

"I'll only cooperate with you if you let Diana go!" Akko spat at her face for good measure.

"Fine by me." the woman coldy replied. The woman drew a wand from her coat and waved it to show Akko what appeared to be a vision of Diana asleep at her dorm. Diana recognized she was showing Akko an illusion. She probably used illusion magic to mimic Diana's voice earlier too.

"See? She's back at your precious Luna Nova safe and sound." Diana gave up on spells and started banging her fists against the forcefield, desperately trying to get Akko's attention, to stop her from throwing her life away. Akko none the wiser sighed in relief believing that Diana was safe. She turned to look her attacker in the eye.

"…Okay, you can take me. Just don't drag Diana into this."

As time was rapidly running out Diana internally pleaded with her ancestors for a miracle. She would give anything to take Akko's place, to get to Akko before it was too late.

"You have my word Miss Savior of Magic, Diana will be spared."

Diana blinked as she remembered a spell that could help her get to Akko, but she had to work fast.

"…I'll drink it."

Accepting her fate, Akko put her lips to the bottle and swallowed the black concoction even as she gagged at the taste. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the effects of the potion were already taking over her.

"Scintalia!" With a resolute shout and a big burst of light Diana warped inside the impenetrable force field and tackled the green cloaked witch away from Akko. Diana's vision spun in wildly different directions all at once. Diana surmised that the magic resistant barrier scrambled Diana's magic and mind when she broke through, but a small price to pay for Akko's safety. In retaliation the older witch angrily pushed Diana to the ground and the girl shouted in pain as she hit the dirt.

"Diana…!" Akko feebly cried out terrified for Diana's safety.

"How disappointing." The woman planted her foot at Diana's head as the heiress struggled to glare at her through the disorientation and pain.

"I thought your family would raise you to be smarter than this, Miss Cavendish."

"I will not let you take Akko!" Diana spat. The woman smiled with a sarcastic grin.

"Oh dearie, I think I already have. What could you possibly do to stop-"

"You promised Diana would be spared…!" Akko desperately coughed out as her strength was failing. The woman kicked Diana to the side to deal with her rebellious prisoner.

"Stop being such a pest. You need to keep your end of the bargain if you want me to keep mine and I don't have all day, I'll force it down your throat if I have to!"

The woman wrestled Akko's jaw open and shoved the vial inside. Her rough approach earned her another swift and painful bite on her knuckle. With a newfound opening as her captor recoiled in pain, Akko spit the contents of her mouth right into the woman's eye and she shrieked in agony.

"It burns!" she screamed as she fell to the ground.

"It all burns! It's everywhere! Kill it! Kill it all!" her agony all fell on deaf ears.

Diana clung to the ground for stability and crawled toward the direction she heard Akko's voice coming from in all the confusion. She was quickly pinned down by a large body, she'd probably recognize it as one of the birds if she could think straight. She desperately reached out for something to reorient her. She reached Akko's trembling hand. Looking upwards she could make out Akko's fading smile.

"Please…Diana……Save yourself…!" Akko whispered before her eyes fell and her body followed.

"No…" Diana weakly cried. The weight of Diana's failures hit her all at once. She was too late to save Akko from the spell. Akko would be trapped in her own mind forever. If only Diana thought of something faster. If only Diana didn't let Akko go off on her own. Diana wanted to scream, if only it would wake Akko up.

"Scintalia!" was Diana's final desperate use of her strength. The world spun faster than it ever had before and when Diana opened her eyes again her spell had brought them back to the halls of Luna Nova. She clung to Akko even as her magic caught up to her and she lost consciousness.

"Diana! What happened?!"

"Akko's unconscious!!"

"Go get the professors! Quick!"

Everything after the incident was a blur. The woman apparently fled the scene soon after they escaped her forefield. The doctors that came to help had reassured Diana that both her and Akko were stable, but there was nothing they could do to wake Akko up. Diana was left to watch each of Akko's friends look upon Akko's unconscious body in horror, despair, and sadness. Hannah and Barbara tried to reassure Diana that she did all she could, but she vehemently disagreed. She may have stopped the kidnapper from taking Akko, but she didn't stop her from casting her horrible spell in the first place. Perhaps they were right in a sense, Diana didn't see how she could have done anything differently in that situation. Even the magic she trained for years to master couldn't break through the attacker's shield without discombobulating her. In the end, all she did was get trapped in the same situation Akko was in. If anything, Akko was the one that saved her, and she couldn't even repay the favor. All she could do was lay in bed and wallow in her pathetic failure. Her guilt plagued her even as she drifted into a restless sleep.

"Diana…" she would recognize that normally cheery voice anywhere.

"Akko!" Diana found herself standing in a white void. She looked all around her, but saw no one else.

"Diana…" Diana spun around to the direction of the sound. Off in the distance was some sort of figure against the ethereal backdrop.

"Akko I'm coming!" She raced after the person she saw in the distance, only to be stopped by a stream of black goop. No matter how she struggled against it, it quickly enveloped her faster and faster.

"Diana….I'm right here…." was the last thing Diana heard as she was swallowed by the darkness.

When she woke up again the sparse sunlight indicated it was early morning. No one else was likely to be awake yet. She turned her head to see Akko's sleeping form once again. At that very moment she made a decision. The key to saving Akko was out there somewhere and she was going to find it. Everyone would probably be worried about her leaving so suddenly, but she didn't have time to dwell on that. Diana grabbed her wand and jotted down a note for her bedside detailing where she went. Once she was satisfied she slammed the door behind her. When she came back, Akko would too.

Author's note:

Fun fact, I originally wrote this for last year. But a combination of running out of time, feeling like the direction I wanted to go for this story didn't fit the prompt anymore, and having work in the morning caused me to shelf it. Maybe I'll make this into a full fanfic if I can think up a good plot for it. Don't worry, I won't leave it on a cliffhanger! I will make some sort of conclusion to this. If not a chapter fic then a shorter fic at the very least. Anyway, feedback would be appreciated from readers! If you have any, no pressure if you don't Heck, let me know if you have ideas for how this story could go. Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

@dianakko-week

[fallout4-reacts]

Companions (Any you want, but i do request Strong and X6) with a sole who has a mutation like a Big Horner's horns from FNV? Romance, smut if that's alright (I read the rules, but there wasn't much i could find against it) Please and thank you very much!

Woh...

It’s a very unusual request, at least—

Ok, it's true, I said I'll never do Strong in a romance, and I don't know what I worth in smut... but ... With a Big Horner's horns? How can I genuinely resist?

I can't

But I admit that I have a little difficulty with smut… I had only written one before

I do not know if I will meet your request… if you will like it

Also, I admit that I have trouble finding the right mind set to do this ask, and it also explains a little why I take so much time...

It’s a good request though…

Hope you enjoy reading

(Note that for this one I have suppress Codsworth and Dogmeat.......)

Part 1

Cait - Curie - Danse - Deacon

Cait : At first glimpse, she shouted in terror when she saw Sole appear in the cage with their massive horns.

She was convinced she was dealing with an unknown species of Deathclaw, and despite her experience as a warrior, she didn't want to beat it with her bare hands.

However, they showed traits that were human.

And Cait's contract was passed on to them.

Cait had a long time to get acclimated to Sole, but she eventually grew fond of her companionship.

In all honesty, she would like to take things farther.

Much farther.

Cait frequently dreams about this large, curved horns.

Cait doesn't like to crave without getting.

Her best approach is to attack, so she basically throws herself at Sole one evening when they make up camp in a reasonably well-protected attic.

Sole actually backs up and attempts to get ride of the young woman, but clearly doesn't want to harm her. Once they manages to mobilize her on the mattress, they expresses their astonishment.

"What's wrong with you?"

"These horns! It's really sexy! I want you to take me, and I want to ride you like a beast."

To say Sole is surprised is an understatement given how unexpectedly Cait threw them out of the blue.

"God, you're even more insane than I expected. So, yes, I am flattered, but I am not a beast. Two, there are many other ways to flirt."

"Name me others!"

"Candlelight supper?"

"How will a candlelight supper give me a good fuck?"

"OK, that's enough. You stay here tonight, I'm going on a walk, and I'll free you tomorrow morning."

Cait realizes she has entirely lost the game, and despite her high on psycho, she falls very steeply on earth.

"I'm sorry," she says sadly.

Sole hesitates with their hand on the doorknob, head between their shoulders.

"Look, Cait, we can talk about this again tomorrow morning with a cool head."

"I really acted like a fool, and I screwed up my only chance of being with the one good person I met in my life!"

Sole lets out a long, deep sigh before turning to the young woman, who is still on her knees after falling on the floor mattress. They approach carefully and kneel before her.

"Let's just say you caught me completely off guard. We'll say you're quite cavalier. I'll admit that I reacted terribly.

"What difference does it make, explanations…"

Sole reaches out and gently touches Cait's cheek.

"I reacted quite poorly. I won't lie and say you're not an interesting woman. I've had, for myselft, maybe indecent thoughts on multiple occasions."

Cait looks up with a mixed expression. She seemed to be trying to understand, to find hope, yet skepticism dances in her eyes.

"Indecent?"

Sole smiles heartily.

"Very indecent…"

Cait raises her head slightly and looks into Sole's eyes.

"How indecent? Will you show me?"

Sole leans in and gently embraces Cait. Even though it is far from Cait's intended assault, she literally melts under the kiss. Her hands come to rest on Sole's shoulders, then one gently rises down their neck, cheek, and eventually hangs one of these unique features that tickles her so much. She heaved a shacking sigh.

Sole doesn't waste any more time on their side, passing an arm behind the young warrior to lie her on her back, caressing her chest.

"I'll show you," they finally reply, their voice raspy with desire.

Curie : The young synth's laughing once again warms Sole's heart. They can't help but be drawn to her fresh and pure personality. They slowly lean towards her at the table, pushing their dish slightly.

"And if not, you never thought of finding a company… in every sense of the word?"

"A company? You mean a companion?"

Sole smiles casually, allowing the young woman to draw her own judgments.

"You know, the only person I feel very deeply about…"

She pauses, blushing intensely as she glances down. Sole tilts their head sideways with curiosity.

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"I…indeed…someone very special."

"Danse?"

Curie busts out laughing once more, and Sole feels the last barriers to their heart melt, even if hearing what comes next may hurt them.

"Oh no! None of it! I'm talking about a very remarkable individual. So special that even nature couldn't help but give it a distinct appearance."

"Nick? I am not surprised. He's very charming."

Curie laughs a little more, feeling ashamed this time.

"No, a little more special."

Sole gazes around, amazed.

"I had no idea you had a super mutant affinity. But it's true that Strong is fascinating."

This time, Curie appears to be perched on thistles, writhing in all ways.

"Oh no, Sole. I'm referring to a close and exceptional person who helped me escape isolation and expand my horizons. I'm talking about a person whose life has graced adorable horns that raise a lot of questions but also attracts me."

Sole remains utterly silent in amazement. Even in his wildest hopes, they never imagined they'd be able to entice the synth. It's utterly crazy. Nonetheless, the bright expression on her face when she meets their gaze is undeniable.

"Despite my…difference…you don't feel rebuffed?"

"On the contrary, sweetheart, I am quite excited. Is that the term? I feel quite excited."

Sole's eyes widened with amazement. They would be lying if they pretended not to be excited.

"So…uh…"

They are looking for a way to go deeper, to express themselves more fully, but they are entirely out of words. Curie appears to be lost in her own boldness.

"I recommend exploring feasible possibilities. What do you think?"

"The…possibilities…"

Without further ado, Sole leans close to the young woman and kisses her passionately. She is unable to resist and prolongs the kiss with incredible ardour, sighing under the caresses that accompany the conquest.

Danse : Many thoughts pass through his mind. He attempts to take stock, but nothing comes to mind. His thoughts got entirely invaded by the succubus's naked body in front of him.

He shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the concept of the succubus. It's very disrespectful. Sole is not a demon who seeks his soul.

But the horns!

These horns sparked so many questions.

He fondles these exquisite horns carefully, lost in thought for a few moment.

But Sole delicately bites his neck, immediately bringing his thoughts back to the present moment. He shivers even more, pressing closer to the seductive creature's flawless form.

 “Oh Danse,” wimps his friend, who writhes beneath his hands.

"Sole, you are so…perfect."

His hands let go of the magnificent mutation for a time, allowing them to focus on their lover's beautiful curves and chiselled musculature.

“Perfectly horrible," they say with a small recoil, feeling self-conscious.

Danse doesn't let them fall back into their unhealthy doubts, suffocating their words with a passionate kiss as he gently descends his hands into the intimacy that opens up to him.

"Horrible is what we've gone through. You are wonderful."

Sole moans once again as two fingers of Danse are inserted into the most sensitive part of their body, causing them to bow their back in response to their bestial wants.

"Hmm…take me, oh beautiful Paladin."

"No more Paladin at all, but knight at your service, my love."

Sole's gaze is fixed on his own, and Danse feels his lover literally melt in his arms. He slowly turns them on their backs, kissing them on the neck, shoulder, back, and hollow back.

He continues to softly caress Sole's buttocks, which are round and lovely.

"I'm so glad I didn't succumb to my horrible preconceptions the day we met," the fallen Paladin softly whispers. "I would have made the biggest mistake of my life."

He slowly penetrates his lover, allowing time for the other's body to adjust to his member.

“A deadly mistake,” chuckles Sole, but their laughter turns into panting as Danse penetrate them, skimming to find the most comfortable posture.

"Indeed."

Danse immediately grasps Sole's two horns in his hands, leading the charge with renewed fervour, to which his lover's groans reply in bliss.

He can't help but moan with ecstasy as he feels the intimate walls close in on his sex, leaving him panting even before his companion delivers the first jolts.

When they eventually lie down beside each other, breathless, Danse is unable to hold back a wide smile.

"Indeed…"

Deacon : Sole has no way to control their laughter. Deacon fainted from being insulted.

"For someone who has horns on their head, I think you're pretty cheeky."

Sole is taken aback for a moment, wondering if Deacon is joking or genuinely offended. For any response, they just clutch the amazing tail hanging from the agent's lower back.

"You haven't found anything better? But God, it's a true one!"

"My mother was a Deathclaw and my father was a gossip."

Sole laughs so hard this time that their tummy hurts.

"You had a tail surgically placed just to get me in your bed?"

Deacon appears increasingly disappointed as he picks up his tail from Sole. Obviously, he lacks the nerve to control her. However, his falsely insulted expression is funny.

"We do not mock the attributes of others!"

"Come on, my little spy, come here. A guy who can be sliced up for flirting must have some in his pants, and I want to see it for myself."

"My mother should be turning in her grave…"

"Deathclaws have graves?"

"This one, yes."

Sole begins to question whether Deacon is kidding or serious. But somehow, this whole situation is quite thrilling.

"So come and show me what else your mother left you…"

"My other tail, it's from my dad."

"You're insane, but I love it."