#I would have included the authors but the formatting between ao3 and tumblr is a pain

[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.

[ridingforrohan]

War of the Rohirrim Fandom Promo Post

for @innumerable-stars fandom event

Summary: War of the Rohirrim is a 2024 animated movie covering the events that led to the transition from the first to the second line of Rohan's kings. The movie covers some of the events briefly summarized in Appendix A of Return of the King. This story explores the conflict between Rohan and Dunland, gives us a glimpse into Rohan's history told as an epic tale, and gives us a cast of compelling characters. It's a tale of dark times, love and loyalty, and of hope. Despite being animated it ties back to the Jackson Trilogy with visuals and musical themes that have a nostalgic feel. The design choices really feel authentically connected to the Rohan we know from the live action movies and Miranda Otto reprises her role as Éowyn to narrate the tale as if recounting it to her own children. While not perfectly faithful to the book, the changes make narrative sense and overall the story feels at home in Middle Earth. The movie leaves lots of questions unanswered and plenty of room for fan authors to fill in details and humanize the characters by fleshing them out a bit more.

Why should I check out this canon?

For starters the character design is stunning. Héra, her brothers and cousin are incredibly easy on the eyes (and ready to be shipped with your OC). The line of Eorl certainly delivers on looks. The animation is fun, if you can forgive some rather clunky looking horses. I feel like it helps lend to the separation from the characters that helps the story feel like one being told and not being seen. Meanwhile the sound design is spectacular, with a new score that thoughtfully integrates themes from the live action movies. It's a fast paced adventure that packs a lot of action and sentiment into a 2 hour and 15 minute run time. Even if you are skeptical of the anime format, I think the story is worth your time.

Where can I get this?

War of the Rohirrim is available to stream on HBO Max, and can be bought digitally or hardcopy wherever media is sold online. The first 10 minutes can be watched for free on Youtube here.

What fanworks already exist?

At the time of this posting there are 98 works for the fandom on AO3 with some active long fics and a wide range of ratings. The story leaves a lot of room for interpretation, many opportunities for fix it fics, and so much more. There is also some fanart to be found under the War of the Rohirrim tag on Tumblr (including mine of Fréaláf, seen above)! I adore this fandom and would love to see more people engaged.

[rynrising44]

Some fanfiction tips and tricks:

Hi hello how are you- I've been writing a lot of fanfiction recently (shocker) and wanted to make a little list of helpful tips when it comes to formatting and getting thoughts in order. I still fall prey to many of these errors and see a lot of them out there on AO3, which stifles a good chunk of fics that readers, especially English only speakers, ultimately lose interest in/are unfamiliar with.

NOT HARD AND FAST RULES. Just what I've noticed throughout my process.

English speakers/ writers use quotation marks in their writing. They look like this: "I can't believe you've done this!" she screamed. Using << I can't believe you've done this! >> she screamed, OR 'I can't believe you've done this!' she screamed when writing in English are foreign to most readers. If you're having trouble reaching audiences and are using one of the two formats above, it's probably because of the way your dialogue is written.

NOTE: if you are writing in another language which uses <<+>> or '+' keep using those formats. This only applies if you're writing in one language but keeping the structure of another.

You don't have to say, 'he said,' or 'she said,' after every line of spoken dialogue. Have fun with it and go back and forth! Here is an example in present tense:

"You're about to get sacked after being shot by Russian sleeper agents and stealing a helicopter," he says with bad taste. "How does that make you feel?" "Getting shot? Or getting fired?" Mackey asks. "Getting shot and then getting fired." "Seriously?" "Just... taking the piss, alright?" Mackey doesn't bother replying.

Epithets are not your friend. Do not use them. Get in the heads of your characters! Would the wife of your main character refer to him as 'the taller man' or 'the blonde?' NO! We refer to others by their name, nicknames, and pet phrases (don't overuse the pet names though).

Read books! The best way to learn how to write is to read. This will really help you understand the way sentences flow and how to end/begin sentences.

The quotations go outside the period. "Like this."

Pick a tense and stay with it. Don't go back and forth between 'said, went, replied,' and 'says, goes, replies.' This is a mistake I see people do a lot, especially when first starting out.

When tagging your fics, don't use tags like "Bad at tagging" or "This is garbage I don't know what I'm doing." That is YOUR WORK. Your fic is yours and you should be proud of it. If you don't stand by your creativity and ideas, then why should anyone else?

One shot collections should be in a series. NOT in a multi-chaptered fic. Unless they are complete, in the same universe, and follow a timeline, try to post them individually. That way, if someone likes one but not the other, you aren't screwing yourself over.

Use your summaries wisely. Quotes, action scenes, and eye-catching statements will draw a reader in. (Please don't say something like "Bad at tagging and summaries.")

Write what you want to read. Not what others want to read. If you love writing rare-pair F/F fanfiction with established relationships, DO THAT. (Shameless plug there.) Don't go chasing pairings and tropes that you hate just for views/kudos. The good feelings will not last, and you will pigeonhole yourself into things you don't like. (want proof. Try it out and see what happens.)

Get involved in the fandoms you write for. Comment on other author's works, especially if the fandom is small. Chances are, they will click on your fic, read it, and share it with others. Also, you can yell at one another and keyboard smash all day long.

Give each other shout outs on Tumblr.

The summary section for your fics is NOT where you put things like 'taking requests. give me a request. please comment fic recs.' Save that for Tumblr/ Twitter (rolls eyes, 'X') and Wattpad. AO3 is for stories, not algorithms. If you really feel the need, include it in your profile.

WRITE SOMETHING IN YOUR PROFILE. People love personalization. Also, you can give blanket statements about your rules on gifts, inspirational works, and other things.

Do not overtag your works if those tags do not apply. Writing 50+ tags for a 1k fic is a little head-scratching. Focus on the main ships only and the top relevant categories (and any triggers, oc). If it's a 1k fic, people will honestly just get annoyed at seeing all the space taking up their AO3 pages. (I say this with love. We all remember that one 'Untamed fic.')

Don't like. Don't read. Don't bash. Don't be cruel.

Do. Not. Hate. Fics. Publicly. On. Tiktok. Or I swear to the gods I will hunt you down and skin you alive. Save your scathing reviews for private messages and private DMs on Discord. Fanfiction is free and authors don't owe you anything. (YES! This includes drabbles. And incest. And any/all of the clerical errors I have already discussed above.)

Also, comment on older fics.

Comment on all fics, actually.

Also, read WIPs. If you want fanfiction to continue and you want longer works, support the authors that write those works. Don't be greedy and entitled by closing up your mind. If you want to read complete works only, that's your right. But you don't have to brag about it/ moan about not having anything good in your fandom of choice when you refuse to keep an open mind to like, half of the fics on there. (This is not a statement about my works, btw. I have a little group that comments/I know is aware and interested in some of my stuff. This is more for the general public.)

Kudos aren't limited. No one tracks them. Literally no one cares what you like. If you're worried or embarrassed about something you like that's between you and god only, private bookmark it. But kudos everything you like/re-read because if you don't, the author probably assumes you didn't like their work and that will make them sad.

AI is not art and you should never use it. Not even to help you come up with ideas. You're better than that, okay? And if I see/read an AI work on AO3 I will block you and mute all your works ASAP without a second thought.

There are definitely so many other things that come to mind when thinking about AO3 and writing in general, but I feel like this is a good place to stop. Again, not trying to step on any one's toes. Heaven knows I use purple prose and commas and the words 'and/ gods/ absolutely not' like they're candy. But I'm also aware that I am doing so and being aware of my habits and tendencies make all the difference.

(The writers curse does exist btw apologies in advance, but your life will probably go through changes the instant you press that 'post' button.)

[dizzydaisyluna]

STR4Y LI8HT || STRAY KIDS

Summary: K-pop survival shows aren't as perfect as they seem sometimes. 31 student contestants as well as the 8 idols running the show are going to find out the hard way.

Author's Note: I am cross posting this across wattpad, tumblr, and ao3 as an experiment to see which one is does best on. Disclaimer! There are no "couple" relationships between underage students and Stray Kids members for obvious reasons. There is drama between students but nothing overly sexual.

Chapter 2: Fifth-of-Life Crisis

This chapter includes: public spaces, teens making out, uncommitted relationship, (lmk if i need to add more)

Friday, August 30, 2025, 6:29pm

Jesse walks into the sit-down area of the Main Event arcade, the echo of children’s screaming and bowling pins hitting the ground ringing around the building. It doesn’t take a superhuman to find his friends — they’re as loud and rowdy as ever, jumping around the table like children. All the girls are missing, Jesse assumes they’re all in the restroom, and he plops down in the seat with Ngan’s bag on it.

Viet appears and pats his back almost aggressively, not giving him a moment to breathe before commanding him around, hands heavy on Jesse’s shoulders. “Dude, have you texted Chan back yet? Have you requested our group?”

Shaking his head, Jesse pulls out his phone to do just that. “How many of us? Twelve?” He doesn’t bother asking why nobody else has done it yet.

“Me, you, Vishal, Mishal, Jasmine, Ngan, Nguyen, Kevin, Ren, Lina, Alyssa, and Angelica.” Viet reaches over Jesse’s shoulder to grab some piece of fried food someone from their group must’ve ordered.

“Twelve.” Jesse types out all of the names as well as the total number of people in his message. He hits send and puts his phone down on the table.

“Now we wait.” Kevin pulls his chair closer to the table as Ren leans back in his chair.

“We’ve been waiting forever.” Nobody even bothers to listen to Ren. Viet just grab’s Jesse’s shoulders again, pulling him up by his collar, back onto his aching feet, dragging him to the nearest pool table.

Jesse is forcefully given a cue stick as Viet carefully collects the balls from around the table. Jesse waits for Viet to finish arranging them before getting into position, making his move, breaking the balls’ formation and sending a striped ball skillfully into the corner hole.

“Man, this isn’t even fair, you’re too good.”

“It’s not like I practice every day, you just suck.” Jesse leans on his cue stick, watching as Viet leans over the table and promptly misses his shot on the white ball. Jesse laughs at him. He feels lighter.

Then the girls come back from the restroom. Ngan runs up to him, hugging him around his waist from behind. It’s quick, she lets go almost immediately, yet Jesse still feels the weight. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, running back to the table and smiling with the other girls. He takes his next turn and also misses the white ball.

“Man, nevermind, you also suck.” Viet pokes fun at him but Jesse ignores it. Ngan is already laughing with the others, sitting down before looking his way again, waving at him with a smile. He waves back, a forced smile across his face. Viet takes his turn and hits the ball, getting one of Jesse’s striped balls into a hole. “Oh, damnit.”

They’re too far from the group’s table to hear Jesse’s phone go off, but Kevin calls out to them. “Chan texted back!”

Viet rushes back to the table before Jesse can even react. Barely fifteen seconds later, the twelve of them are crowded around a table meant for six, some sitting in chairs, others standing, some sitting on the table itself. Jesse stands at the corner, Ngan sitting in her chair right beside him. Her bright eyes stare up at him along with her happy, bright smile, and Jesse would be lying if he said he felt nothing staring at her. But it’s definitely not the same thing she feels when he smiles at her.

He ignores the staring of the others, opening his messages app and opening Chan’s contact. He’s not all that surprised reading it through, he’d known from the start twelve people was too many. 31 total contestants and nearly half would be in one group. That’s ridiculous.

“Chan says twelve is too many.”

Mishal hops down from where she sits on the table, turning to lean forward, palms flat on the surface. “Can we split into two groups?”

Jesse texts the question to Chan who responds immediately.

“No, he says there are already the four groups needed. We need to pick who we can split off to go to other groups.”

Everyone falls silent. Nobody wants to leave to go to another group, definitely not at the risk of being separated from everyone else into a group with strangers.

Jesse swallows. There’s five of them who are part of the C-crew, their school’s spirit committee, including himself. They’re used to performing a dance for their school’s international festival every year. They’re strong in dance. They wouldn’t have to work as a team to improve that skill at least. In fact, they could help others in different groups instead.

He texts Chan. If they can get the five of them out of the group, then that leaves seven in, a much more reasonable number.

“I think the C-crew members can split off into another group. We can help the rest of you as friends and another group as group-mates. To even out the playing field.”

There’s nods of agreement but no spoken responses. Jesse is used to it. Most of the time everyone goes with what he says whether they like it or not. It’s not surprising when nobody speaks against his idea.

Chan texts back, asking for names of who would be departing from the original group they’d wanted. Jesse types back: “Jesse, Ngan, Nguyen, Alyssa, Ren.”

He sneaks a glance at Ngan as Chan’s typing bubble comes up again. He’d promised her they’d spend more time together. He’s been so busy with school, C-crew, and work. Now he’ll have to juggle the show too. But somehow he’s expected to keep Ngan in his top priorities, when he really just doesn’t care enough.

Chan’s text comes through and Jesse stares at it for far too long. Jasmine asks what’s wrong but Jesse doesn’t answer her. The issue pertains to Ngan, so he turns to her. “Chan wants you to be added to one group and the rest of the C-crew to be put in another group.”

There’s more silence as they all await Ngan’s response, which, of course, isn’t at all what Jesse wanted. “Can’t someone else go to another group?”

Jesse hates this. Her voice sounds hurt, genuinely upset, and if he says anything about it, he’ll look like an asshole. But he can’t ask Chan, because from what he’s heard from Ngan’s rambles and from what he’s seen so far, he’s too nice. He’d switch Ngan with someone and say it’s no problem at all. But Jesse just doesn’t want to deal with her.

He pretends to text Chan back, asking. He stands there for a few minutes, trying to look anxious as the typing bubbles supposedly appear. Nothing happens on his screen. Instead, a notification comes through on everyone’s phone, into the group chat with everyone from the competition. It’s the final group lists. Four groups, three with eight members, one with seven. Ngan is separated from the rest of the C-crew.

“Guess not.” Ngan answers her own question, staring down at her phone screen. Jesse looks up, sees Jasmine, Lina, and Mishal staring at him, and looks back down at his phone. He turns his head just slightly to look at Ngan’s broken expression before his shoulders slump and he drops his phone down to his side.

He grabs her bag and her arm and pulls her to her feet. “I’ll go get you a game card. Let's play for a bit.”

Despite his dry demeanor, her face lightens a bit. She walks beside him, even slips her hand into his. He feels the rest of the group’s eyes against his back, but he doesn’t turn around. He only has one person to cheer up.

And less than an hour later, he’s smiling as well. He’s holding some off-brand Charmander stuffed animal, the thing having derpy, uneven eyes and an off-center, lopsided smile. Still, Ngan coos over it like it’s the best thing in the world, and Jesse can’t help but stare in adoration.

His heart pounds in his chest, his palms begin to sweat, and he has to make sure his throat is clear each time he needs to speak. He just doesn’t want his voice cracking awkwardly. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

They get texts as they’re walking around, each of their friends going home one by one as they either get bored and leave or their parents arrive to pick them up. Each text is either one of them, or Chan in the group chat, sending out updates as to what songs have been picked by each group.

The criteria for the first round is easy: show off what you can do by using a song that’s easy to learn. In other words, as said by Changbin in the original announcement in the group chat, this will be the only round that isn’t centered around K-pop songs, as it’s meant to showcase vocal ability and dance ability, unhindered by the need to learn anything other than notes and moves.

One team has chosen Bye Bye Bye by *NSYNC, while the remaining seven from their original group of twelve have decided on Hall of Fame by The Script. Jesse tries not to worry about what song the ones from his given group would want. They should know from the official lists sent by Chan that they have more members than who they’d originally submitted, but it’s possible for them to enter their song choice without talking to the new people first.

As for the other group, Ngan tells him they haven’t reached out to her but Chan hasn’t sent anything out about them having a song either. Jesse hopes they’re waiting for her as well. It’s all more nerve wracking than he’d want. It’s almost as bad as the day he had two back to back AP tests.

They’re there until the Main Event starts closing. Jesse carries both the derpy Charmander and some random, evil looking duck plushie he’d won from a crane machine. Walking peacefully out into the dark with Ngan skipping at his side, it feels like some stupid, cliche rom-com where the guy gets the girl, the girl gets the guy, everything ends happily-ever-after. He unlocks the car getting inside with the Charmander in his lap.

He doesn’t move to turn on the car, running his fingers over Charmander’s fried facial features. The embroidery yarn sticks up in some places, feeding into the crappy design. He smooths it down with a grin on his face.

Ngan laughs at him, making him look over at her. “What are you doing?”

“He’s just a big derp. Is it really that cute?” He holds him up, making a big fuss over the absolutely stupid grin the tiny thing has.

“He’s adorable! Derpy is cute. Why do you think I’m with you?”

“Wow. And to think I won that duck for you!” Jesse puts a hand over his heart, mock offense plastered on his face. “I’m not winning you anything anymore.”

“What, no!” Ngan laughs and hits his arm, not nearly hard enough to hurt. “Come on, I was just joking!”

Jesse can only laugh. Maybe Ngan is right, they should spend more time together. It’s kind of fun, laughing and joking, poking fun at the knock-off Charmander and the devil duck. But then Jesse feels the energy fade. He looks at Ngan and he doesn’t see what she wants him to, and he knows it. She’s not that valuable. She could up and move away tomorrow and he wouldn’t care. He’d probably look at the Charmander and throw it out.

Still, she leans over and kisses his cheek, grabs his chin, turns his head to face her. She's gentle and sweet, graceful with her moves like she dances on stage. Her hand is warm, like her voice was amidst the cold snow day last February when they’d shared their first of many kisses.

Jesse doesn’t know what he feels. He feels warm but empty at the same time, even when he reaches over, places a hand on her cheek, brings her closer for a sweet kiss. She smiles against his lips, but it feels wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this, leading her on when he doesn’t know what to think.

He doesn’t know how long they’re there, lips moving together like it’s meant to be. His thumb glides across her cheek as her hand rests on his neck. Their free hands hold each other over the center console. The rising temperature inside the car that’s yet to be turned on in the middle of a late August heatwave goes ignored and unnoticed. They’re too focused on each other.

Until Jesse’s phone goes off. Ngan breaks the kiss first. “You should check that.”

Nodding, Jesse moves slowly. He wants to ignore it and pull her back, but that’s not right when he doesn’t know what to feel. He opens his messages to find a new group chat with a text from one of the unknown numbers of the main competition chat introducing itself as Jordan — one of the sophomores in the show.

“It’s one of the group members I've been assigned to.”

“Oh…” Ngan shifts in her seat, picking up her own phone. “I still haven’t gotten anything.”

Jesse types his own introduction and sends it to the new chat. “Well, you’re in a group with Luna now, right? I had her in physics last year, she’s kind of irresponsible.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

Jesse laughs at her, putting his foot on the brake and pressing the button to start his car. He leaves his phone in the cup holder, putting the car into reverse.

“Do you know Rin? Or Morgan? Uyen? I don’t know any of these people…”

Shaking his head, Jesse decides to stay off the highway and go the back way home. “No, I only know Luna, but barely at that.”

“Who’s in your group again?”

“Check the list, I don’t know them, just Sawyer. He’s Mrs. Byars’ son.”

Ngan pulls up the latest message from Chan showing all the groups. “Jordan, Tracy, Sawyer, and Eric. Nope, don’t know them either.”

“Great.” His phone goes off again and he sighs. “Can you check that for me?”

Ngan takes his phone from the cup holder. “It’s Eric. He’s asking if everyone is free tomorrow.”

“Can you tell them I’m free after six?”

“Done.”

“Thanks for driving me home.” Ngan closes the car door as Jesse opens his own and steps out, leaving the car running. He carries the dumb Charmander in his arms as he walks up to the door with Ngan.

“Of course.” He stands there in the dim light of the porch’s lantern. There aren’t any other cars in the driveway besides his own, Ngan’s parents, like his own, taking extra shifts at various hospitals in the area.

She reaches up to kiss him again, like every other time they get carried away in his car. They’re extra clingy for the rest of the day until they see each other next, falling back into that cold, barely-there relationship that others question. The next day they may not even text each other.

“Good night.” Jesse hands her the Charmander, helping her close the door after she steps in. He can’t help but chuckle at her struggle carrying both the Charmander and the devil duck.

When he gets back to his car, he sits there. He stares at the garage door in front of him, illuminated by his headlights. His phone chimes and he takes a full minute to look at it.

Nobody else has spoken besides him, Jordan, and Eric, but Jordan doesn’t seem to care. He proposes a meeting place and time anyway. The Lawn at the mall at 7pm. Jesse texts back, saying that’s fine. Then he starts driving back home.

Saturday, August 31, 1:57pm

“Wel— oh, hey!” Jesse startles when he sees Chan of all people walk into the small boba shop. “What can I get you?”

Chan looks at the menu for a moment before lowering the black mask over his face. The shop is empty so there’s nobody to hide from, at least that’s what Jesse thinks is why Chan pulls it down before ordering. “Can I have a hot, honey lemon tea?”

Jesse forces a smile as he punches in the order. “Rampant allergies? Anything else?”

Smiling, Chan laughs at the allergy comment. “We’ve been adjusting slowly. That’s all for me.”

“Total will be 5.68.”

Chan pulls out his wallet as he begins speaking. “I’ve been going to the workplace of each working student in the competition, just to ask if you guys want to keep working through the competition. If so, we’d rather discuss hours and schedules with your managers beforehand so nothing gets too out of hand. So, would you want to continue working through the show?”

It feels sudden, too sudden. Almost awkward. Jesse takes Chan’s credit card that probably has access to more money than he could ever imagine. They’re one of the few cafes that have the card machine behind the register rather than where the customer can swipe or tap or insert themselves. It’s never made him uncomfortable taking cards from people, they’re just everyday customers after all, but this feels different. This is someone he knows is famous, knows has enough money to buy his house several times over. The card feels heavy in his hands from the moment he grabs it to the moment he hands it back.

He wants to have that kind of money. And he won’t get there working at a boba shop or splitting his time between here and practice.

Jesse stays quiet as he gets to making Chan’s tea. He’s not poor by any means, he’s actually one of the richer ones of his friend group. His parents, like Ngan’s, are both doctors, well-known and respected in the area. He could go without working his entire life and be happy. His parents made him work to gain the experience. It would be up to them whether he quits or not, but the odds of them allowing him to go through with a show for a pop group rather than putting the new free time into school is slim. They’ll want him working or studying, not singing and dancing on stage.

Jesse slides the cup across the counter to Chan. “My parents will want me working, and honestly, they don’t know about the show. If I quit, they’ll want me studying more, not practicing for the show.”

Chan nods before tilting his head. “Your audition was really good compared to some other ones. I think you can make it very far, if not into this group then into a company as a trainee. I want you to have that opportunity and the ability to put as much time and effort into it as you wish. I can try to pull some strings, maybe get an opportunity that’ll be appealing to your parents.

“If you’re worried about being the only one, you won’t be. I’ve offered this to other student workers as well. I want you guys to have the same opportunities as everyone else. I’ll send a message to each of you individually on Monday if I find something, and if needed, I can speak to parents too.”

Never would Jesse have thought he’d have Bang Chan from Stray Kids in front of him, willing to do so much to make sure he’s able to compete in a silly survival show. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Of course. Thanks for the tea.” Chan nods his head and takes a short sip before turning on his heel and walking out like nothing happened.

6:00

Jesse, being the only one on shift, is the only one there to lock up as well. He does so late, the afternoon rush running late. He’s supposed to clock out at 5:30pm, but doesn’t until 6. He’s sure he’ll hear about it from his manager later.

For now, he’s pre-occupied by trying to get to the mall. He has an hour, and luckily by the time the cafe is locked up and he’s getting on the highway, the rush hour of the afternoon has dissipated. He’s able to get to the mall twenty minutes before their agreed meeting time. From what he sees, he assumes he’s the first one.

Quickly, he gathers eight of the scattered lawn chairs into a circle for the eight people in the group. He sits in the only purple one, pulling out his phone just to study one of the physics powerpoints he has access to. He doesn’t come up for air until a person — one of four — sits beside him in the chairs he gathered. “Hey, are you in our group?”

Jesse looks up into the smiling face of a boy not much younger than him. Him and two others are unfamiliar, but one he’s seen before: Sawyer. Jesse smiles back at the boy staring at him. “Yeah, but I don’t know where the others are.”

The boy nods in understanding before holding out his hand to shake. “I’m Jordan. The blond guy is Sawyer, the other guy is Eric, and the girl is Tracy.”

Shaking Jordan’s hand, Jesse glances at the others. The girl is pretty, even without smiling. Both her and Sawyer have backpacks at their feet with their tennis rackets sticking out of the back compartments, hair stuck to their skin with sweat. The other boy, Eric, has an unreadable expression. He’s not fidgeting, not looking around, just staring blankly, completely still.

Jesse turns back to Jordan. “I’m Jesse. Nice to meet you guys. You’re all sophomores, right?”

Tracy answers from beside Jordan. “Yeah. You and the others are all seniors?”

Jesse nods. “I haven’t heard from any of them, so I don’t know if they’re coming or not. Do you guys want to start discussing a song choice now?” It doesn’t matter to him that his friends aren’t here. In fact, it’s better this way. They’re less likely to get off topic. His friends will listen to what he says anyway.

“We should give the others more time to get here.” Sawyer cuts in, immediately opposing Jesse’s thoughts. He then reaches for his bag and stands from his chair, looking at Tracy, unbothered. “C’mon. One on one, quick round.”

She scowls at him and curls up on the lawn chair. “I’m not practicing in the middle of the mall.”

“We’re outside and the mall is closing soon anyway. Nobody is even here!”

“Hard pass.”

Jesse laughs a little at their bickering and Jordan smiles as well. Eric watches them silently, not showing any real reaction. His reaction, or lack thereof, should feel weird, out of place even, but Jesse doesn’t see it like that. It’s like it’s normal. He doesn’t even feel the need to comment. He’s not even worried. He doesn’t care.

Tracy and Sawyer keep going back and forth, Sawyer relentlessly attempting to get Tracy up on her feet. Tracy just keeps shaking her head and kicking at him when he tries to approach. It’s childish but entertaining.

Jesse is too busy watching to notice when Ren and Alyssa walk up behind him, Nguyen trailing further behind. Alyssa, cheerfully herself, startles him by grabbing his shoulders and shoving him off his lawn chair. He hits the fake grass, laughs ringing from both Ren and Jordan as Tracy and Sawyer’s bickering comes to a sudden stop.

Alyssa runs and gives Tracy a hug, squeezing in to sit beside her instead of getting her own chair. Jesse slowly stands from the turf, brushing the black rocks from his jeans. “You two know each other?”

“Tennis!” Alyssa says, short and sweet, draping her arms around Tracy’s shoulders.

Sawyer glares at her, seemingly forgotten. “We know each other too.”

“Barely.” Alyssa sticks her tongue out, signaling they know each other better than she’s admitting.

Shoving Jesse back down into his seat, Ren plops down in the seat beside him just as Nguyen catches up to them all. Sawyer sits back down in his own seat as Nguyen claims the one beside Ren.

“Alyssa, leave the sophomore alone and get your own seat,” Ren whines playfully, waving his arm in their direction dramatically.

In response, Tracy wraps her arms around Alyssa’s waist. “No, mother, don’t leave me!”

“I won’t let the evil man drag me away!” Alyssa plays into the dramatics, throwing her legs over Tracy’s lap, tangling them together.

Wordlessly, Nguyen gets up from her chair to walk over and lower herself into the empty space behind them both. “I’m adopting the child as well. We are family.”

“Well, hell.” Ren rolls his eyes and slumps into his seat.

Eric, still unbothered, finally blinks and leans closer to Jordan, whispering something to him that Jesse can’t hear. He understands to an extent how it would feel to be faced with multiple people he may not know, but if they’re meant to be working together, Eric should be able to say what he’s whispering out loud for them all. Jesse forces a stoic expression while internally his eyes roll hard. He doesn’t want to have to deal with another person who just can’t push themselves the way they need.

When Eric and Jordan finish their hushed conversation, Jordan stands and interrupts the girl’s adoption hearing hosted by Sawyer. “The mall is closing in less than half an hour so we don’t have much time past that. Does anyone have any songs in mind for us to use this round?”

There’s nothing but stares as Jordan waits for a response. Jesse looks at everyone and all he sees are empty heads, no thoughts whatsoever, just people waiting for someone else to answer. So he stands and takes charge as always.

“I believe all of us can reach an impressively high register, just based on our speaking voices, so maybe a song that’s high so we can show that off? Any ideas there?”

There’s more silence until he sees Tracy hesitate. They don’t have time for hesitation, so he calls her out without a second thought. “Tracy, right? You look like you have something to suggest?”

She looks taken aback, shocked, nervous. She shouldn’t be so surprised that someone can catch on to her wish to speak. “Umm, like, Ariana Grande?”

Jesse forces down his own second-guessing. “Yeah, like her. Some song that has high parts we can all do.”

“But not too high,” Jordan adds suddenly. Jesse gives him a look as if asking him what the hell he’s talking about. Before he can actually ask, Jordan leans over. “Eric has a voice, I would say, a little lower than yours. I don’t know if he can go all that high.”

That’s understandable to Jesse. He wants to push the underclassmen, but as seniors they should help them as well, not force them to do something that they won’t excel in. But Eric should be able to say something himself. He nods and turns to face the girls again anyway. “A song that’s higher but has parts that aren’t overwhelmingly high.”

He clears up practically nothing, but Tracy seems to get it well enough. “How about Bloodline?”

Alyssa shakes her head. “No cursing. Our friends doing Hall of Fame tried to do 24K Magic by Bruno Mars but were rejected for curses and suggestive content.”

Jesse didn’t know about any of that but he assumes it’s true. Alyssa has no reason to lie about it and she had stayed at the table when he and Ngan left to play games. “Okay, any other ideas?”

“Same album, Bad Idea?” Tracy puts a second finger up like she’s simply listing all of her ideas one by one.

“I like it.” Jordan speaks quickly, before Jesse can say anything else. Truthfully, Jesse feels there could be far better options, but when Nguyen and Sawyer both agree, he feels outnumbered. He locks eyes with Alyssa who nods as well.

“That’s one of the better songs. If nobody else has a good option, I’m in.” Ren nods as he speaks, tapping his foot on the ground.

The only person who hasn’t spoken is Eric. Jesse stares at him for a moment before the boy looks up as if sensing he’s being glared at.

Jesse meets his eye for a grand total of ten seconds before Eric talks, shortly and coldly. “Bad Idea is good.”

“Good.” Jesse responds in the same manner. He feels Jordan and Sawyer glaring at him as the girls go back to muttering to each other. He can see how the others may think he’s out of line, but Eric has said a total of four words out loud, simply approving the idea someone else came up with. There’s no energy, no effort to even seem willing. Jesse doesn’t know how he’s going to work well with Eric this round.

Still, he sticks around as the other sophomores get picked up to go home and the other seniors leave together as they arrived. The sun is barely peeking out over the horizon, shadows long and reaching over the stilling lawn. Jesse already texted Chan their song choice and it’s already gotten approved. All he does now as he waits for Eric to get a ride home is read through the same physics powerpoint he’d looked at that afternoon.

He looks up every now and then, seeing if Eric is still alive. He couldn’t care less, but he can’t have police asking him where some sophomore kid disappeared to.

The last time he looks up, he sees Eric looking at him as well. He holds eye contact until Eric looks away and scratches the back of his head. His voice is barely audible when he starts talking. “My mom can’t come pick me up anymore. Could you give me a ride, please?”

Sighing, Jesse stands. He may not favor the guy, but he can’t leave him alone like this. “Yeah, text me your address so I can put it in my GPS.”

Author’s Note pt.2: Saved this and posted it for my birthday!! Happy birthday to me 🥳. I hope y’all reading enjoyed!

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[tadcbigbang]

FAQ'S

What is a Big Bang? It’s a collaboration challenge between writers and artists to produce a long fic with accompanying artwork. This BB will be run on Tumblr, discord, and AO3. All updates will be posted here, and the fic will be hosted on AO3. If you’ve never used AO3 before and need an invite to sign up, please send us a message! You can reach us on this blog or at our mods’ personal blogs at @rumoredtoexist and @SquiishiiChaos 

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[double-u-qed]

Hello! idk if the valentine's requests are still open,but if they are here are my suggestions :D (also if you don't like any of the ships feel free to ignore,i gonna put more than one in case i put one you wouldn't like to write :p)

Drift(Deadlock)/Ratchet- IDW

Breakdown/Knock Out- Prime

Knock Out/Starscream- Prime (This one is a guilty pleasure,believe it or not,but this was my first ship of the tf fandom,i wasn't even part of the fandom yet!)

Megatron/Ultra Magnus(Minimus Ambus)- IDW

Wheeljack/Ratchet- Prime

(no joke, part of the reason i took so long with this was because i rewrote it 5 times. i'd get to the 2k word mark and suddenly decide i didn't like it jakldgs. thank you again for your continued patience with me, and sorry again this is so late!

this sort of became angsty?? i wasn't even trying?? it just sort of happened... there was also a bonus scene where they kissed but the ending worked a little too well, so i didn't know how to include it TT)

as always, my formatting is completely gone on tumblr, so here is the AO3 link!

The day had already started off badly, so sure — why not progressively get worse? It wasn’t like he had things to do, or an army to command.

First, it had been menial, little things such as getting assigned to pointless tasks that were far beneath his rank—scouting out the middle of nowhere for signs of Autobot negotiations was a grunt’s job. Hardly befitting work for a trained Second in Command, if he may say so. Having to stay grounded, unable to fly, was perhaps the most demeaning aspect of it at all, no doubt intentional on Megatron’s part.

It was a game between them, a dance. The second Starscream did anything to piss him off, to the ground it was. He was Second, but nobody would be mistaken to say he was also the example, the blueprint. The picture of what to not do, for a punishment—public humiliation—soon followed.

After that, it was dealing with said disposable grunts, which was always a helmache in itself. One thing after another until it festers. They were fools, but — lacking in bulk and armor, Starscream’s always been more… dismissive than their leader. Forgettable. Easy to ward off. Strategy and quick thinking tends to only go so far when the simpletons team up, outnumbering him.

Their leader played ignorant, turning a blind eye to it all. It’s not like he trusted Starscream with any real authority away from his prying eyes. The fact his Second’s rank was always a constant struggling question of power never seemed to faze him at all. It wasn’t respect that anybody felt obligated to give, if not for fear of what Starscream could say to Megatron. Or, rather — what lies he is capable of weaving.

So, in other words, Starscream’s day was already bled dry and miserable, full of snide comments and insubordination that only gave way to compliance through the use of threats. As usual.

And, following suit, of course, Megatron would think it apt to make his day even worse. How typical.

That pesky little message was all it took to send the Seeker’s teeth gnashing, claws curling, and eyes downright murderous. Sudden calls for his presence were never a good thing, and he would be the galaxy’s biggest fool to think of this one as any different.

Everyone, for once, gives him a wide berth as he stomps his way into the central control sector, all the way into the Command Room.

The second he’s there, he’s prepared to put on a show of antics; a strut, a complaint, something deceitful spilling out of his mouth, full of dramatics — the works.

But he doesn’t get that far.

He steps into the room and almost immediately stops. Stops as all eyes turn to him at his sudden (and noisy) arrival. Two new sets of eyes are among them, tracking his movements. One curious, perhaps a bit bored; the other oddly intense and borderline unnerving. The inner ring of lenses and lights contract, an odd look crossing the face they belong to.

That’s all it takes to send Starscream’s entire mood crashing down from the small ledge of sensibility it had been clinging to. The promise of a helmache is imminent, blossoming of little halos that would leave a lesser mech gasping flooding his vision.

He nearly pivots on out on his heel right then and there, determined to head right on back from the direction he just came from. But instead, he locks eyes with Megatron, sparing only a simple, curt nod for the room’s other occupants.

He swears Megatron’s smirk is more malicious than usual as he briskly walks over, pulling his leader by the arm, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“Have you gone mad?” It slips out of his mouth with zero discretion or tact, hissed between teeth. A distressingly common occurrence, that.

“Now, Starscream, what could possibly be the issue?”

Aft. All of this was most certainly intentional. A foolish, childish ploy at annoying Starscream.

“Surely you’re joking.” He once again locks eyes with those peculiar eyes. It dawns on him that perhaps they never left to begin with, following him around.

Attention pulled back towards Megatron, the Seeker watches as his leader’s eyes slide over to him with the utmost disingenuous regard. As if he ever takes his Second’s words that seriously.

His tone, his words, they’re all predatory and so frustratingly calm, as if there wasn’t anything upsetting going on at all. “Have I ever been someone known to joke?”

No. That was so very much a ‘no’.

Something cold and bitter splashes around in Starscream’s spark chamber, a sour and acidic taste coating his tongue as he internall scowls. This wasn’t a part of their game, their dance. It was nothing more than trying to make an even bigger fool of Starscream; despite the fact he had yet to step out of line in a breem or two.

The only thing keeping his glare locked up tight is the fact he’s sorely acquainted with what happens when he isn’t so careful, when something slips through the cracks. His wings the typical victim, phantom twinges serving as a reminder. Even now, they pull flat against his back with the unspoken threat lying between those words. Flicking, rising, and falling in spastic little circles.

Irritation clamps down, taking a bite out of his patience.

He detests change — especially impromptu, impulsive bouts of it like this. His leader, however, seems to find it funny, not telling his Second in Command of such changes to the point he’s often the last to know. Go figure, really; Megatron thought himself infallible, above the opinions and input of others. The most classic example of hubris with the power to back it up, nobody daring to take a stand. Safe, secure, spoiled in riches — that was Megatron at his core. Everything else be damned.

But above all else, to Starscream, the most infuriating thing making his head pound was the very sight of these new… recruits Megatron seemed to have brought along. Without negotiating or discussing the idea with Starscream in the slightest. It would no doubt be up to him to show them around and tutor them in the most basic of things as well.

His grip on Megatron’s arm grows more urgent, a little more violent. “What are you trying to pull? How long have you been planning on having more people onboard the Nemesis?”

Perhaps, in a better world, Megatron would answer him. As it stands, he merely gives Starscream’s hand a little condescending pat. It lacks any pleasant quality. “Now isn’t the time.”

And it never was, was it?

By now his scowl has become very much real and openly malicious when he looks back over to where Megatron’s staring. The red racer—because of course it was an annoying grounder—practically beams at him, something appraising and potentially happy swimming around in his eyes. In response to a glare, no less. That made it bizarre and a problem that needed to be dealt with. It’s mocking is what it is, mischievous with something No Good hidden beneath the surface.

Not caring at all that he’s causing a scene at this point, Starscream leans closer once more into his leader’s space, hissing, “They’re incompetent fools merely looking to reap the glories and spoils of war. You can’t rely on them in the slightest to get work done. The—“

“Like yourself?” Megatron easily disrupts, voice loud enough that the Seeker is certain the two walking hunks of metal must have heard it. Amusement radiates off of them. Well, one of them, at least; the red one had his head tilted and pulled towards his shoulder in a rather haughty manner, face weirdly contemplative. As if he wasn’t sure what to make of the entire sight before him, but wanted to.

Stupid, stupid Megatron. Feelings aside, such disregard for rank in front of newbies like this was downright dangerous. It put his command into question, encouraged mutiny and insubordination.

Not that Megatron ever seemed to care.

The claws of Starscream’s hands brazenly clasp themselves impossibly tighter around the rusted fool’s arm, pulling him down to his level. Eyes never leaving their newest recruits.

“As I was saying, the big one there is no better than that foolish Autobot Wrecker. He no doubt thinks with his fists instead of his head, impulsive and brutish in all the ways that work against us. And the red one — don’t even get me started. It’s a wonder he can see anything past the size of his own ego. Racers like him are always vain, obnoxious, and a liability. He’s not the type to get his hands dirty.”

“Then it’s a good thing he won’t have to, isn’t it?” Before Starscream can ask, he’s already answering the unspoken question, yanking the Seeker’s hands far away from himself. It makes him yelp before he can help it. “So unless you have a better solution, Starscream, I suggest you shut your trap. You’re not as irreplacable as you seem to think you are.”

No threat from Megatron was ever an empty one, forcing the Seeker to fully pull away, reluctant.

He’s aware that he must appear to be pouting now, arms crossed and pointedly avoiding eye contact. He finds that he doesn’t care. “Did you at least verify their credentials? Backgrounds? Training?”

Now it’s Megatron’s turn to lean in real close, sharp teeth glinting. Starscream takes a step back. “You’ve made the mistake of thinking me an incompetent fool once,” the Decepticon leader begins, voice low, calm. “I don’t think you want to make that mistake twice.”

With that said, he goes back over to where the recruits are still standing up nice and tall, hands folded behind them like good little soldiers who had definitely not been eavesdropping.

Behind Megatron’s back, Starscream sneers, petulant until the end. It annoys him when that makes the racer smirk a little, before having his eyes dart back over to pay attention to whatever it is Megatron’s prattling about.

Sat in his usual chair, Starscream doesn’t bother reading the files Soundwave sends his way, continuing to scowl. Head in hand, the other tapping out an annoyed little song into the surface of the table. It amuses him, the way Megatron has to pretend it isn’t happening at all, carrying on with his dull spiel.

The only thing that occasionally interrupts him is whenever he catches the red one looking at him some more. The fourth time he catches it, he almost misses his cue to take part in the conversation.

Lucky for him, he’s used to slipping in and out of roles, playing his part well: offering up a hand despite his inner reluctance, all cordial smiles. First impressions matter, after all.

“Starscream — Second in Command of the Decepticon cause, as well as Aerial Commander,” he introduces himself, straight to the point. “Your integration into our ranks will be overseen by myself, so should you have any questions…” He leaves it open-ended, sweeping his hand out a bit and back around to himself in place of words.

Taking his offered hand, the large and brawn of the two firmly grasps the Seeker’s much smaller, more delicate hand. It’s a crushing hold, something internal protesting. It’s all Starscream can do to maintain his composure.

“Breakdown,” the recruit says, oblivious. “And this here is—“

“Knock Out,” the racer all too blithely interrupts, the very definition of chipper. That fox-like smile is back, his eyes closed. His grip is less firm, but no less unpleasant. “The pleasure is all mine.”

The Seeker is stunned, not daring to speak.

Knock Out’s companion, on the other hand, rolls his eyes.

It’s quiet, making Starscream realize all of the sudden that Megatron is no longer in the room. That left him, the recruits, and Soundwave.

Not that Soundwave counted much for company.

Collecting himself, Starscream gives Knock Out a look comprised of a raised optic ridge, trying to cow him with a look alone. He didn’t expect it to work, and it doesn’t.

Shameless — he adds it to his files accordingly.

Eyeing their newfound medic openly, Starscream is all too quick to pull his hand back towards his chest, more grimacing than smiling at this point. His hand feels strangely warm. “I’m sure.”

Traitorous, his mind screams. That smile, that look, those mannerisms — they were all those of someone who would betray you in a heartbeat. He finds you weak, easy prey. He’s already assessing the ways in which to kill you.

He’d have to keep an eye out and open. To protect himself, of course; whatever happens to Megatron is likely of no consequence to him. What will be, will be.

“Follow me,” Starscream eventually says after a moment of unsteady silence. He tosses the words over his shoulder, already turning and about to leave. “I’ll show you where you are both to stay for now.”

To his surprise, there aren’t any obvious hang-ups from there on. The two of them appear compliant enough, respecting the agreed-upon terms of their allegiance and everything else in between. Their questions are easy to answer and astute, showing that they actually pay attention to his words.

That is, until Knock Out ruins it all.

It was just the two of them now, Breakdown settling himself in his suite. Perhaps that was Starscream’s first mistake.

“Sooo…” Knock Out drawls, dancing his fingers along the surface of the medical slab, radiating an out sort of coyness as he smiles. “Do you visit the medbay often?”

The question stops Starscream in his tracks, blinking. “What.”

A shrug. “Exactly as I said.” Up and up his fingers go, distracting. Especially the way Knock Out was leaning over it, acting so languid. It makes Starscream feel odd, something giddy warming his insides as the other’s eyes lock on to his. The smile certainly doesn’t help. “Pretty bot like you, I’m sure you find yourself in all sorts of trouble.”

What sort of harassment was this? That’s what this was, right? The alternate option felt too out there to be true.

“Are you challenging the authority, the strength, of your superior?”

That makes Knock Out jolt, adjusting his posture until he’s upright again. Again, the inner lenses of his optics contract, expanding and narrowing in rapid succession before focusing once more. “Not at all. That- that wasn’t what I meant.” He scoffs a bit, but it isn’t mocking. It’s incredulous. “I- haven’t you ever been complimented before?”

Yes — plenty of times, in fact. Starscream was aware of what he looked like, thank you very much. But a pristine, brightly-colored mech like this doing such a thing? Someone so vain, self-absorbed? Starscream wasn’t forged yesterday.

If only he could truly convince all of himself of that. If only he could stop that part of himself that’s curious enough to wind up dead. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, I suggest you stop it right now. I won’t accept such behavior in the future; you would do well to remember that.”

The medic’s quiet, something passing over his features too quickly for the Seeker to process. “You don’t believe me.”

It isn’t phrased like a question.

“No,” Starscream snorts, “I don’t.”

Damningly, Knock Out drops the matter altogether, every question after respectably professional.

Still, Starscream thinks about it, mulling the words over. Rolls them around and around in his head until they’re worn down.

The only thing he’s certain of is this; he doesn’t intend on visiting the medbay for as long as possible.

Starscream was determined to keep his promise to himself, but as always, life had other plans. Really, it was foolish to think he could avoid it forever. Didn’t stop him from hoping, however.

In the beginning, it was just small injuries here and there, nothing too major. But every visit was followed by all sorts of flirting, sometimes small gifts.

Starscream never knew what to do, the bottles of polish and paint accumulating on his desk. They were exactly the sort of gifts he had expected someone like Knock Out to give, and that alone was a puzzle.

Since when had he thought about something like that?

Why did it feel like he couldn’t help himself whenever the other was around, always acting foolish and outside his normal guidelines? It was disgraceful and- and….

It made him happy.

He found himself smiling to himself, recalling something inane the medic had said. Some sort of joke that no one else had laughed at. It was a bit of a surprise, just how obscure and ridiculous Knock Out’s taste in humor was.

It was also charming.

And that was the problem.

Starscream onlines to find himself in the medbay.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

Uncomprehendingly, he stares out at the ceiling, searching for an answer that doesn’t come.

There’s nothing holding him down, but he still feels too heavy to move. Too exhausted.

Lulling his head to the side, he sees Knock Out staring at his own hand, looking bored. A bottle of polish was beside him, giving off an odd fragrance. Not a bad one, per se, just. Odd.

“I wouldn’t move around too much if I were you,” Knock Out suddenly says, not even looking up from his inspection of his fingers. He picks at the seam. “You took a rather nasty hit to the head. Your gyros and systems are probably still recalibrating your coordination units. Or something. It’s not like I’m a medic with training or anything.”

Starscream blinks.

Seeing his confusion, the medic—still refusing to look up—juts his head in the direction of the slab next to the Seeker’s.

Lulling his head over, Starscream sees a Decepticon he never bothered to learn the proper designation of. Their wrists are bound, optics off.

“Had to initiate forced stasis when they refuse to take my advice. Who knew losing a limb could be painful.” Knock Out shrugs, looking completely unbothered.

“And the bindings?” Starscream asks, wincing a little at how hoarse his voice comes out.

Now Knock Out looks up, propping his head in one of his palms as he twirls the polish bottle on its corner. “He scratched my paint.”

It’s said so simply, as if it were only the most logical course of action. Starscream kind of gets it. He never claimed to not be a little shallow himself. “Huh.”

“As for you, I’m sure you’ll be out of here in less than a day. Just have to wait for the dizziness to mostly pass.

“And that will be…?”

“Are you that eager to leave?” Knock Out asks. It’s clearly meant to be teasing, but there’s something genuine woven in.

Starscream considers his answer, placing his head back in the middle, staring straight up. Time had passed — he knew Knock Out’s character a little better now. He was, without any doubt, the most vain and confusing mech Starscream had ever known.

But he was also useful and didn’t seem all too fond of Megatron himself. He teetered on the kind of self-serving Starscream needed if he wanted to be anything at all. To seize control and take over. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Knock Out only joined because it was most convenient for himself, offering protection. Being a medic had its downsides, too.

Lost in his own head, he fails to answer. By the time he realizes, it’s already been too long. Knock Out merely sighs, playing it off as if it were some sort of inside joke between them.

It’s blurted out anyway. “You’re… vexing.”

“Oh?” Knock Out asks, already back to his annoying habit of playing innocent. He plays around with — something in his hands. It almost looks like string, which only adds more questions to the whole pile of them Starscream has. “How so?”

Deadpan, Starscream just stares. It’s oddly effective.

Knock Out laughs. “Hmmm, point taken.”

“So you’re aware of your flirting.” There was a crack in the ceiling. Since when?

“That was the intention, yes.”

“Hm.” That would need to be fixed, soon. Maybe Breakdown would do it.

“That’s it?” Knock Out sounds strangely disappointed.

Starscream doesn’t shrug; just closes his eyes. “Is there anything more to say?”

Nothing. Nothing for a klik too long.

“You’re rather odd yourself, you know. First you think I’m joking, then suddenly you’re aware of it and acting like it doesn’t mean anything. Do- do you not want it to mean anything? You didn’t seem the type, no offense.”

That was true; Starscream was normally the flirtatious type. It used to get him into all kinds of trouble, in the past.

But something like that is also a distraction, an obstacle. Starscream wants power, devotion. People listening and obeying. Romance and the like is tricky, messy. It’s so disgustingly delicate and expectant.

“You’d flirt with anything with wheels,” is what Starscream eventually lands on.

“Trust,” Knock Out concedes, a smirk in his voice. “But you don’t have a set of wheels, so what does that tell you?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Is this funny to you?” Starscream asks, dodging the question entirely.

“A little,” the medic admits. “But only because you’re rather cute when you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused,” Starscream snaps. Even he can tell it’s lacking in bite, though. “I’m irritated.”

“Then say so. If you really want me to stop, I will. No more. I can respect boundaries.”

But that left the question that Starscream doesn’t know how to tackle; does he want him to stop? It did his ego plenty of favors whenever Knock Out would smile at him over the table during meetings, or the way he’d press a kiss into his hand, bowing and acting as if Starscream was a noble. It always left his hand warm for days.

“I don’t know.”

The Autobots were becoming infuriatingly clever as of late. Broken wings were proof of that, sticking out at odd angles they were not meant to, low to the ground.

It hurt. A lot.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt — energon spilling out between claws. It stains the hallways in long streaks across the walls, down and out through the labyrinthine maze of twisting corridors. Little splish, splashes echo as droplets hit the ground.

None of it hurt quite as much as the feeling of being defeated, of not doing enough. He’d been meticulous in this plan, practically obsessing over it. He tried to find faults to correct, so self-assured that he’d finally accomplished what he wanted.

Such is life and the way of war, he supposes.

It doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

Curses fall one after the other as he uses the wall for support. Step by pitiful step, his destination the medbay, so tantalizingly far.

After what felt like an entire day, he does manage to pull himself to safety. A quick scan of the room reveals nobody else. Perfect.

He scurries over to the racks of jars and bottles. He didn’t have a clue what anything was, or what tools would fix a broken wing despite the numerous times he’s been here for that very thing. He didn’t even know how Knock Out kept track of all the clutter. Did he just have it all memorized?

Picking up a blue-tinted liquid, Starscream brings it up to eye-level for a better look.

“What… are you doing sulking around? In my medbay, at that.”

The sudden presence of someone else makes Starscream flinch. Unable to keep a steady hold on the bottle, it falls; bits of glass fly, slicing, rolling and falling, sliding and going. It’s quite a mess, blue liquid everywhere.

It sort of makes Starscream feel like crying. Everything’s already gone to shit, so why not? Why not indulge himself and allow a bit of weakness? Fall to the floor, hand over face, laughing until it becomes a sob?

But Knock Out’s still here, and he’s staring. Staring with bare, stark and liable confusion, an optic ridge raised and — something on his face. Something soft and inexplicably concerned.

Concern? Starscream does laugh then. Oddly, he doesn’t hear it, feeling it, knowing it, from the force of his shoulders moving.

Concern… Knock Out? It didn’t suit him, nor did it feel right; that urge to bow and break under the strain of too much growing in intensity. Like a string pulled taut, waiting to snap. To fray and break, pieces torn and everything else unraveling.

Knock Out was many things, but he wasn’t generally concerned over his patients. He had an odd fondness for the science itself, never shying away from the more gruesome parts of it, even though it left him dirty and dingy. He was fascinated with every aspect of the field. A little sadistically, maybe.

But he’d never been rough with Starscream, oh no. It leaves him confused, spiraling.

His hands feel so cold right now.

The medic still makes no move to clean up the mess. Somewhere in the chaos—the static encroaching and clawing at the edges of his vision—somehow, Knock Out’s gotten closer. Close enough to touch, to reach out; to try and try and try. To try and fix the wound.

But he doesn’t. The spilled energon keeps on flowing, Starscream’s plating pressed tight as he’s all wide-eyed and feeling clueless and unsightly, backed into a corner. He can’t help it, the way he stutters, stopping and starting sentences without lift-off. Nothing feels adequate, processor too tired and sluggish to explain himself.

How was he meant to, really? When he’s already been caught messing around and not where he’s meant to be. Everyone had surely heard the ruckus he and Megatron had caused, voices loud and words cold.

Yet, Knock Out’s acting like he heard nothing of the sort. As if this was exactly where Starscream was meant to be.

Hands splayed, every movement broadcasted televised, slow and measured. It’s a silent offer, one that — Starscream doesn’t have within him to take. He just sort of — stares, really. Follows every movement Knock Out makes with wide, warning eyes.

The only thing that feels real about all of this is the look of disdain that momentarily flashes across Knock Out’s face as he sidesteps the still-spreading puddle of solvent and something medicinal. It’s the only expression he really allows to slip through, everything else controlled.

His lips move — probably a quip of some kind — but Starscream’s too focused on that throbbing feeling behind him, not quite brave enough to turn.

Shock. That’s what this is. He’s so presently aware of that fact, even when the rest of him feels adrift.

But why? What was so shocking about today, really? Megatron was a fool. A fool’s kind of fool, leading his men into danger. Starscream tried, he really did. Tried to make the plan of a fool work.

It hadn’t.

So why is Knock Out now smiling?

It’s there again when the soft tugging of fingers begins after nothing but staring, the other bottle the Seeker had been holding seized in a manner that’s all too gentle for such a petty crime.

It’s not what he deserves. He’s not much the type to wallow in self-pity and deprecation, nitpicking faults and feeling sorry for himself. But the truth of the matter is that he fucked up, defeat tasteless and like dust lodged in his throat, suffocating.

But it’s what Knock Out gives.

“Back with us now?” Knock Out asks once the room stops being so indiscernible, so squiggled and shapeless.

“Yeah,” Starscream answers, out of breath. Why?

“Good, good.” Knock Out’s movements are still so blatant, so obvious as he reaches out, hand hovering over Starscream’s. Eyes searching for approval.

He relents. The why doesn’t matter.

“Your wings, huh?” Knock Out says, looking them over, leaning a bit against Starscream’s shoulder. Starscream’s never put much thought into it before, only now noticing the way Knock Out has to stand on the tips of his toes to really see. Even then, he’s mostly leaning to the side to truly see the damage in full.

“Are you really making fun of my height right now?”

Starscream puts his hand down.

“Thank you,” Knock Out dryly says. Fondly. So, so fond. Relieved.

Maybe that’s why Starscream doesn’t resist as he’s gently guided to sit down on the slab, Knock Out repairing his wings.

“Hey… why don’t we try?”

“Hm?”

“You and me.”

A pause. A sharp, tugging pull of his wing. It makes him hiss, a small, soft ‘sorry’ coming from behind.

It doesn’t change in volume or tone at all as Knock Out asks, “What made you change your mind?”

“You’re nice,” Starscream says, looking up at the ceiling. The crack had been repaired.

“That’s… that’s it?”

“There’s not many people I’d call nice.” He gives a half-hearted shrug, suddenly exhausted. “It’s simple, being around you. No expectations, no pretenses. You do things like this. So yeah: nice.”

And so, so much more. You make me feel wanted, alive. You’re always so fast, so intense; never hesitating.

When the silence stretches on, he can’t help thinking that maybe Knock Out left. That maybe it hadn’t been enough after all.

But then warm, spotless as ever arms gently wrap around his middle. It’s a little too gooey and soft for Starscream, but — he allows it, patting Knock Out’s hand when he feels it begin to tremble ever so slightly.

The entire thing was uncharacteristic of them both, but then again, wasn’t that what it was all about? Or something like that — Starscream can’t remember the last time he ever bothered with something like a genuine relationship.

Throat straining, constricting, Starscream barely manages to get out, “You’re going to ruin your paint.”

“That’s what the bottles I gave you for. We wear the same red,” comes the muffled reply, Knock Out’s face pressed up against his armor. It was like he never wanted to let go.

“Did you seriously give me a gift I was meant to use on you?” He tries twisting around to catch Knock Out’s expression, but stubbornly, the grounder refuses to let him.

All he can see is his finger as he points, gesturing. “It’s cute. Couples do cute things like that all the time.”

“You’re impossible,” Starscream says, laughing. It doesn’t even hurt when his wings bob in tune.

[feedthefandomfest]

Hiya!

I love this blog and just wanted to ask- do you know any advice on formatting and tagging for AO3?

Or just general etiquette!!

I'm not new to AO3 (reading or writing) but I haven't interacted with the actual community much and would love to know more :)

oof, I still feel like a newbie posting stuff on ao3, and tagging is something i've always struggled with. and actually formatting is also on ongoing issue 😅 so with that in mind, here's what i try to consider:

TAGGING

relationships -> tagging the main is obvious, but i'm sometimes torn about tagging side relationships that feature in the fic, especially since it's annoying to be searching for that pairing and get a bunch of results where they're not the main focus; unless the other pairing is a prominent feature, i leave it out of the relationship tags and at most add it to the additional tags

characters -> i remember updating the character tags on my early fics every time another character popped up in the story, but now i'm of the same mind as the side pairing issue; unless the character is prominently featured, i leave them out of the tags

content warning/advertising -> if i know the fic features an element that some people might wish to avoid, i always tag it and also always fret that i've forgotten to tag something in that regard. when it's more about advertising what's in the fic, especially sexual content, i sometimes feel silly listing every flavor of physical encounter unless the fic is pwp/smut (in which case i gleefully list all the depravity); i sometimes worry that over-emphasizing the sexual content in the tags is misleading? like of this 100k fic, if 15k is spent fucking, how do i get the tags to reflect that while also tag cw appropriately? is there an established tag for that?

sometimes i see fics with TONS of tags, like an exhausting amount, and sometimes i see fics with very minimal tags... sometimes frustratingly few. i also know some writers add chapter-specific warnings in the author's notes. in the end, so long as you're making it possible for people to find or avoid your fic as needed, then you're good. Here are some good posts that dive into it more!

(i remember when people on tumblr would scold writers for monologuing in the tags on ao3 like we do on here, claiming it was a strain on the system, but i believe that's been debunked?)

FORMATTING

i've noticed some MEGA annoying quirks with copy & pasting over from Google Docs and Word, and I know there are some tricks to get around them, but i tend to just slog through the Rich Text window fixing everything manually 🙃 OKAY I FOUND SOLUTIONS LINKED BELOW.

spacing problem #1 -> pet peeve of mine, but i dislike it when the paragraphs have massive spaces between them (ditto for indented paragraphs). idk why, but it's tiring for my eyes to constantly leap the chasm between paragraphs. so whenever i copy and paste from Word, which for some reason ALWAYS appears with double spacing between line breaks, i go in and manually fix it. SOLUTION

spacing problem #2 -> when copying over from Google Doc, whenever there's a punctuation mark following an italicized word, a random space appears between them. and yep, i have to go in and fix every one because typos make me twitch. (this might not be an issue for everyone; i overuse italics and dashes like it's my job) SOLUTION

spacing problem #3 -> again probably a me issue, but i tend to include song lyrics a lot, and it's always a headache to format because when pasting from the doc, ao3 embeds these spaces between the lines that i can't remove by backspacing. only fix i've found is to copy and paste lyrics directly from a website, and then it formats fine. random and annoying and weird. (no solution 😔)

since this section has just been me whining about finding SOLUTIONS for formatting issues, i'll offer one tip that's more about general editing: i try to proofread best i can in Word/GDocs, but it's always easier to spot errors when i'm reading the draft on my phone. the typos always jump out at me from a phone screen. it's now my favorite way to edit!

every writer has their own preferences on formatting, and every reader has their own level of tolerance for formatting quirks. in the end, so long as the formatting doesn't interfere with the reading experience, you're all good.

[hitmanexchange]

Welcome to Hitman Halloween Party, a Trick or Treat Prompt Fest for the Hitman Fandom! 🦇

This is this year's intro post for the concept, the general timeline of this event, all important links, and of course the rules.

General Links

Hitman Exchange on Tumblr | Dreamwidth | Twitter

2023 Collection | 2023 Tag Set

Schedule

September 15 – Nominations Open

September 30 – Nominations Close

October 1 – Collection Opens for Prompts

October 30 – Sign-Ups Close

October 31 – Gift Reveals (16:59 UTC)

November 6 – Creator Reveals (16:59 UTC)

All times are 23:59 UTC unless otherwise specified.

The Basics

Hitman Halloween Party is a Trick or Treat Prompt Fest for the Hitman Fandom.

Prompt fills should have a minimum wordcount of 500 words.

What is a prompt fest?

A Prompt Fest is a challenge in which participants can submit one or more fanwork prompts that other participants can choose to fill.

Who can participate?

This event is open to everyone who wants to participate in good faith.

You need an AO3 account to participate. If you don't have one yet, request an invite as soon as possible.

Should your estimated invite day make it impossible for you to nominate characters, pairings or additional tags before nominations close, leave a comment and I'll add them for you.

Nominations

The first phase of Hitman Halloween Party is nominations, where you submit the characters, relationships and additional tags that you are interested in writing or receiving in this prompt fest to the tag set.

Each user can nominate ten character or relationship tags and 20 additional tags. The tag set is what participants can use for their prompts later in the process.

What fandoms are eligible?

Hitman (Video Games), Hitman (Comics), Hitman: Enemy Within, Hitman: Damnation

Nominations format

You can nominate characters, relationships, and additional tags.

Nominating characters

You may nominate named canon characters that don’t have a tag on the Archive yet. Please use the name order "Given Name Family Name" as usual for Western canons.

Nominating Relationships

You may nominate / or & relationships. "A/B" is a romantic or sexual relationship; "A & B" is a platonic or familial relationship.

Nominating mixed groups (A/B & C) is allowed.

Please alphabetise ships by family name.

Nominating Scenarios

You may nominate additional tags to add scenarios, situations and details to the tag set. These can be used as inspiration and to later craft the prompts. 

Prompts

How many prompts can I add?

You can add up to two prompts to the collection. If you add two prompts, one of them should be for a Trick and one should be for a Treat. If you only add one prompt, you can choose if you’d rather receive a Trick or a Treat.

Additional Tags

For each prompt you can include up to 20 additional tags from our 2023 tag set. If you’d like to suggest a specific scenario, add it to your prompt’s description.

Try to find the right balance between an interesting idea that gives authors something to work with and a too restrictive prompt.

Characters and Ships

Requests for individual characters can be gen or shippy. You may request a single character and mention in your optional details what scenarios or ships you would enjoy them in; however, a ship is not guaranteed.

If you absolutely want to see the character interacting with a specific other character, make sure to request ship tags — A/B for romantic or sexual interactions, A & B for platonic or familial interactions.

Trick or Treat

Please add the tags Trick or Treat: Trick or Trick or Treat: Treat to your prompt, to make sure you receive the kind of gift you were looking for.

A trick should be more angsty, nightmarish, or scary. A treat should be more sweet, sexy, or fluffy. These are a bit vague to give the writer room for how they interpret trick or treat.

Mature and Explicit Prompts

If you are under 18, please don't request prompts with mature or explicit scenarios. Please follow common internet safety rules and don't mention that you're a minor, but simply DNW mature or explicit fics in your sign-up.

DNW and Letters

You also have the option to add a link to a letter. These can be very useful to give your writer ideas for possible tricks and treats. It can also be invaluable for telling them what you do not want at all.

If you have anything you Do Not Want (DNW), it must be in the prompt directly to be enforceable. Authors should respect the Do Not Want list; however, the requester should not abuse it to try and force the author into a corner. Do Not Wants that appear only in an external letter will not be enforced.

If you are under 18, please DNW mature or explicit fics in your sign-up.

Am I guaranteed one (or two) gifts?

No. This is a prompt fest, not a gift exchange. Prompt fills are not guaranteed, but we can work together to make sure everyone gets a gift. 

Can I stay anonymous?

You can add your prompt(s) anonymously, but I’d recommend de-anoning before October 30th, to give your author the option to gift their work to you.

Prompt Fills

Minimum Requirements

To go with the Halloween theme of a quick treat (or trick), the minimum requirements are intentionally low: 500 words. If you want to write more, you can.

Prompt fills need to include the requested character(s) and character dynamics, as well as the scenario suggested in the prompt. They also need to be themed trick or treat according to their request. Works need to be newly published for this exchange and created by you in good faith. AI-generated works are not welcome.

Mature and Explicit Prompts

If you are under 18, please don't fill prompts with mature or explicit scenarios.

Posting

In order to post, go to your AO3 claims page and click the "fill" button on your claimed prompt. That will take you to a new-works form with the prompt already tickied. If the prompt you picked was not anonymous (or is not anonymous anymore by October 30th), please gift your work to the person whose prompt you picked. You might need to add the username yourself.

Deadline

There is no hard deadline, but since this is a Halloween themed prompt fest, you should aim for having your prompt fill ready before is October 31st.

Anonymity

Works are anonymous until creator reveals, the Monday after work reveals.

Extra Tricks and Treats

You may claim a prompt that has already been claimed by someone else. Since this is a prompt fest without assignments, please try to also claim a prompt that hasn't been claimed yet, to make sure everyone who participates receives at least one gift.

Be friendly!

Make sure that your prompts and your fanworks do not contain any hostile elements towards people you disagree with in any part of the fanwork (title, tags, summary, author's notes, body text). Refrain from adding DNI notes.

If you shame or harass other participants, or if there are signs that you have deliberately caused problems in multiple exchanges, the mod will delete your signup.

[sparkwhorunswithwolves]

Hey, so I just kind of fell into this fandom a few weeks ago and you seem like a really nice person :) Do you maybe have some fic recs?

Hi! Welcome to the fandom~

I have a lot of fic recs (ft. my own not that helpfull summeries), so in no particular order:

Running with Wolves

Stiles goes back in time and becomes a werewolf.

Odnowione życie 

Stiles goes back in time, twice.

The Tragedy of Achilles Hale 

petopher— Peter is looking for Chris’ and his bio son he thought had died shortly after he was born— while he accidentally starts parenting Jackson. His biological son. Not that either of them knows that.

A Beauty, a Beast, and a Stiles

Stiles gets bitten instead of Scott ft. stallison

A New Start

post canon pre!stira

Adult Supervision (Position Open, Searching for Responsible Adult)    

Kira and Stiles get eaten by a giant evil dimension traveling turtle and complain about the adults

Missing Scenes 

missing... well, scenes

Similarities 

IED!Liam bonds with ADHD!Stiles

Afar 

stallison bonding over Skype while Stiles stays with family recovering from the nogitsune

Curious pup 

Stiles’ curiosity is a perfectly good reason to go to Eichen and ask Peter an Valek about organ transplants

Shatter

Stiles and Scott bond over Deaton being an ass and Stiles not being able to be Scott’s emissary 

And the Walls Come Crumbling Down

stallison joining Peter’s pack while Scott is losing control and going after Allison

Conscience 

the parking garage scene, but Stiles’ dad was involved in covering up the fire

It's All In Your Head 

more ADHD!Stiles

Stained Glass Windows 

petopher— Peter and the kids survive the fire, and struggles to keep the kids alive and happy while finding the one who killed their family, with help of Chris

Give You the Sunset 

Peter leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles helps

The Argent-Stilinski Household 

Chris/Noah— Stiles and Allison find out their dads are secretly dating, kill everything that tries to kill them witout them finding out, Peter helps and becomes an alpha again. Also: a wedding, aliens, and Tony Stark trying to kill Stiles because he told Steve to hide his coffee

Nothing Ever Happens in Sioux Falls 

Stiles stays with Bobby Singer, and, Stiles being Stiles, gets involved in the local drama

foreverish and selfsubtracting 

Stiles, Lydia, and Danny lose their friends in Beacon Hills, get abducted by a carnivorous, space-bending library, and meet some Avengers. 

^^I’d add my own summery but that’s pretty much it

we've been here before 

Stiles accidentally resurrects a bunch of people. Whoops?

the sound of iron on stone 

Stiles goes back in time, but get cursed and can’t go anywhere near the supernatural

Right, wrong and everything in between 

Peter bonds with bb!Stiles over gummybears and selfworth

Inevitable 

Stiles and Scott get trapped in a time loop, kill people, get killed, call each other a monster, and Stiles gets the pack he deserves.

i looked at you and saw forever

stallison s1 rewrite ft. soulmates

Triumvirate Outtakes 

sequel to I looked at you, warning for very big spoiler if you havent read it first

Mirror-and-Steve Boy 

Stiles is Steve’s and Bucky’s grandson. Because science.

I am no sidekick 

Stiles Stilinski & Peter Parker oh my god they were roommates

dust off these cobwebs 

unrelated, but same concept as the one above

Hard to Believe it's Not Dead and Gone 

tw/soa zombie crossover

There Are Many Names In History (but none of them are ours)

petopher²— Peter and Chris are stuck with their teenaged selves for the foreseeable future, ft past relationship, current feelings, and me still crying about that one scene 3 years later

you're never too much of an old dog to teach a duckling a new trick 

Chris offers to train Stiles. Stiles isn’t Allison

Bet You Didn't See That Coming 

The pack takes Stiles’ memories, thinking it’d keep him safe. Except he’s a Winchester who doesn’t need protecting

Mothers And Fathers 

Stiles is Bruce Banner’s son. It goes about as well as you’d expect

Normal Adolescent Lycanthrope Behavior 

all the teens are in a polyam relationship, ft alive Hales, asshole Wittemores, and trees used as baseballbats

Tell Me No Lies 

Peter gets hit by a truth spell, Stiles is the only one who isn’t an ass about it

Those Who See 

Stiles threatens Peter who’s trapped in a mountain ash circle

Not a Spark, But a Burn 

Stiles goes back in time to before the Hale fire (haven’t read this one in ages so I can’t be more specific)

another pretty vein (just dies) 

Stiles is psychic

Allies

missing scenes between Derek and Chris

You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side 

Chris wants to train Stiles because of hunter politics, Stiles thinks mutual kidnappig is the perfect way to bond with his new mentor, and Derek is just genrally bad at feelings.

Long Lost 

Stiles is Harvey Specters long lost half brother. It goes a lot worse than expected

Falling into place

teen wolf/suits crossover, but this time they’re all werewolves

The Hotel Key 

petopher— Chris gets kidnapped; the hotel key in his wallet has nothing to do with it

The Inconveniences of Being Dead 

petopher— Chris helps Peter with the, well, inconveniences of being dead. Or as I like to call it: the accidental sugar daddy au ft. cats

[sanerontheinside]

Do you have any Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan fic recs? I have ready many of your fics several times over and figure I will like whatever fics you like. 😀

You are most kind! Though, I will warn you that it is not necessarily true that you will like what I like 😅 for various reasons! 

1) I ran out of deadcat’s ReEntry series and then tore through the Q/O tag in search of more content. and then MA Archive, somewhat. 

2) there were misadventures 

3) I have many, many recs. there is, if nothing else, certainly variety here

Also, you reminded me that I haven’t updated my stash of pdfs and live links in a while, so I got lost in the sauce for a bit there. 

h’okay, so—here’s the rules: 

in some cases I will only list a username, because I have lived in the author’s works and well and truly recommend all of them. 

this means also that it is entirely up to you to mind the tags and ratings. 

I may highlight some favourite works. I will try not to highlight more than 4. or 5. 

Some works are viewable to registered users only, and I am sure they were marked that way for a reason, so I have some slight reservations about publicly recommending them?

ETA: I forgot to add the things that only exist as tumblr snippets, so we’ll be coming back to this conversation at some later date

ETA2: I will probably end up making a whole page on my blog for recs, the way I keep forgetting and adding stuff after the fact 🙈 and anyway, the formatting is.. painful

Authors: 

3jane/Jane St. Clair - poetry. in prose, but pure poetry. classic. 

Darkisrising, @darkisrising - everything. you will not regret. 

davaia, @davaia​ - everyone deserves to experience reading all of davaia’s work for the first time. 

Flamethrower , also @deadcatwithaflamethrower​ (whose fic got me into this ship to begin with) Some special highlights: - Both the Re-Entry series and Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills are viewable by registered ao3 users only, atm. This is what brought me to this ship, so there we go. - In a Lonely Place is a particular highlight for me, and inspired the frankenfic (my series, Silent enim leges inter arma) - Speaker of Valaeanath - Letters to Qui-Gon Jinn - everything there is. 

Firondoiel , @firondoiel - Recovery, a special highlight for our collaborative work with @happygiraffe and @luvvewan - everything. I live here now. It is truly impossible to believe that I met Firo and first read their work only about a year ago. 

DraloreShimare, @hobbitystmarymorstan​ - Waiting at Thresholds (😭 )

elayna - particular favourites include: - Love Me Do - The Hunter and the Rose - Thief of My Heart - The Big Deception

extraneous_accessories,  @extraneousaccessories

- The Wind in the In Between

handhellbasket

ilcuoreardendo , @ilcuoreardendo-fic

- particular favourites include Joy and Solace - A Matter of Positioning - and check out these series: Another Space and Time and Fantasy Verse

Kototyph - Through Night Forests

kettish, @kettish​

Lady_Saddlebred

Littlelynn - Lessons in Translation 

LuvEwan, @luvvewan​ everything. however, special highlights for: - Deserts and Trees - Sacred Things - What Else - rainwater - We Will Always Know - you asked for slash fic recs, but I will say that if you are comfortable reading both gen and slash for this pairing, I would very much recommend reading luvvewan’s gen Q&O works. 

meggory, @meggory84​ all works. you will not regret. 

Mrs. Hamill , @mrshamill many works here. particular favourites include: - The Senator and the Jedi - Son of the Empire - The Ghost and Mr. Kenobi (😭  my god, this one) - The Jinn Identity (aaaaaa ❤️ ) - The Seduction of Obi-Wan Kenobi

oddlyexquisite, @oddlyexquisite​ - I have discovered that some of the most powerful quotes have come to me from oe - the one that came to me at the right time, in the right place, came from Once More, Plainly - but I am in love with all of oe’s works (aaaa the lighthouse fic—!!!) - oe is responsible for the appearance of poetry in my own work, so there is that

outpastthemoat, @outpastthemoat​ - everything - Prisms - Detours - Arrivals - and again: if you are comfortable reading both gen and slash for this pairing, I would very much recommend reading outpastthemoat’s gen Q&O works. 

psocoptera - A Duel With Fate

punsbulletsandpointythings, @punsbulletsandpointythings​ - special highlights: The One That Got Away

Randomalia look here for the poignant and the bittersweet. - Currents is a true classic - Apogee (randomalia is also the one to go to if you are in the mood to shred your heart with unrequited pining) 

Salmon_Pink - To Bend - Sized Up

scarletjedi, @scarletjedi - The Rules omigod - and Pineapple, of course 😏 

jessebee, @skyywalkerfen​ - just. everything 

torch - Gardening at Night - Crystallize - Whispers, Remains 

Tohje , @tohje  - Litanies - hold life like a face - momentary lights - Malalignment - say them very quietly - and another time I will add, the gen works are a wonder 

treescapes, @treescape​

wrennette, @wrennette - a very special shoutout to utterly ensnared

writestufflee, @masterwritestuff​ - Ever Since Happiness Heard Your Name - The Rewards of Patience - Creature Comforts - A Distant Refuge 

Single works, assorted:  

Akathecentimetre ( @akathecentimetre ), agarthanguide ( @agarthanguide ), and TheCrackedKatana - Counterpoint a Scordatura

canis_m - desert bloom 

FayJay - Free

Nimori - Lacuna is absolutely haunting in the best way. 

Ruslight - A Matter of Perspective 

Valmouth - Backwards

wickedwords - Waiting Place - (it’s not that I don’t recommend Cutwork, but that’s up to you.) 

Yahtzee - Surfacing (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

I will add, though, that if you are willing to explore the MA Archive, that’s a task you will now only be able to carry out with the Wayback Machine, and it’s a bit spotty. That’s a project for a later me, too. 

[the--descension]

i would die for a "how to use html and css to format ao3" lesson from you 👀 no pressure but i'm genuinely in awe :)

Hello! So sorry it’s taken me ages to get to this. 

It's no pressure at all! I have tried to cover the basics of HTML/CSS on AO3 here, and instead of writing very extensively about the syntax which is very Google-able, I have tried to include little tips and tricks that have come in handy for me. 

This, by no means, is a complete guide but I hope it can get you started with HTML and CSS on AO3!

It got pretty long, so the answer’s below the cut.

Okay, so let’s start at the very beginning, shall we?

What is HTML and CSS?

Well, HTML is Hyper Text Markup Language and CSS is Cascading Style Sheets. 

But that is something that probably doesn’t help a lot, so to put it very simply, HTML provides the structure of a webpage while CSS does the styling, that is, fixing how and where the elements should exist, how to shape them, how to space them, all so that the webpage looks great.

Something to keep in mind is that all web pages can run only on HTML but the end result is not going to be something that’s nice to look at. In fact, without CSS, the page might not even make a lot of sense. Here, take a look at Tumblr itself with all CSS disabled (there’s a very useful extension called Web Developer that allows you to do this):

Not very nice to look at, but all the elements of the page are here only with the help of HTML.

And look, this is what the above section looks like with CSS enabled:

This was just a brief visual walkthrough to show what HTML and CSS really do, but let’s move on to HTML and CSS in the world of AO3.

Where does the HTML and CSS go on AO3?

The HTML part of the code is put into the text box when you post a new story/new chapter. You must have noticed the two options — Rich Text and HTML — and it’s important to have HTML selected for AO3 to identify the HTML tags that you’ll be using.

All your content goes into this textbox. Whatever text you may be writing, whatever images you may be hosting, whatever links you might want to add— everything goes here.

Now, for styling all the content that you’ve put into the textbox, you need CSS, and that happens through work skins. It’s super simple, and all you have to do is go to Skins on your AO3 panel and then to My Work Skins, and then create a new work skin where you can dump all of your CSS code.

Okay, so onward we go.

How to HTML and CSS?

I’m no expert in web design and my knowledge mostly comes from Coursera, one summer internship, one class in college, and extensive online searching. And, I’ll tell you this, the most I have learnt is from extensive online searching.

Because at the very heart of it, web design is not so much about understanding and applying concepts (as with other coding languages) but more about visualizing elements and testing them out. I must add that this is completely my opinion as a person who rather enjoys data structures and algorithms as compared to web dev, and I’m certain that seasoned web developers will disagree with my views here. 

Right, so the online searching. The best in the business when it comes to explaining HTML/CSS is www.w3schools.com. They have sample code, short and sweet explanations, and an online IDE to test your code. Really, it’s a win-win situation.

Alrighty, so now you know where to look for your HTML tags and CSS properties but how do you figure out which ones to use?

HTML Tags

I’ll talk about the HTML that’s required for coding on AO3 exclusively.

But before that— every HTML document has two main parts: the <head> and the <body>. But here on AO3, we only code the <body> which, as its name suggests, holds the content that’s going to appear on the browser. The <head> part is not required for AO3 work skins at all.

Okay, so how to code HTML on AO3? Well, your best friends are going to be the container tags such as <div> and <span>, and the paragraph tag <p>. What these tags do is they create areas on your browser — you can imagine them as small rectangles and squares — where you can put in your content via HTML, and then later style using CSS.

See this? The entire shaded area belongs to a <div> which is styled by a CSS class called “tumblr” (to keep things simple, we’ll only focus on CSS classes, and not id’s. It won’t really hamper developing a workskin in any way.)

This above belongs to a <p> that is styled by a CSS class “tumblrbody”. And, this <p> exists within the <div> mentioned above.

Here’s a <span> styled using the CSS class “tumblrtags”, which comes within the <div> and <p> we just discussed.

Basically, the idea is that the entire page will have to be divided into all these subsections, nested within each other if required, so that they can then be styled using CSS.

Other HTML tags that come in handy are the <a> and <img> tags.

The <a> or anchor tag is used to embed links. Want your reader to be led to a separate page while they’re reading your story? This is it. (This one’s quite common, and authors use them quite frequently in their notes to link to their Twitter/Tumblr etc.)

The <img> tag is used to embed images as the name suggests.

See how the picture is within an <img> tag styled by a CSS class “tumblrimg”?

Again, I’m not talking about the syntax of these tags or how they have to be written because that’s something which can very easily be found on w3schools or any other web dev tutorial website.

So, that’s pretty much about HTML. Now, CSS.

CSS Properties

So, when I talk about how most of my web dev happens through thorough internet searching, I’m mostly talking about CSS. Because HTML tags aren’t difficult to remember, they stay in memory when you keep designing web pages, but CSS properties... ugh.

But before we begin, a short note on CSS classes. To simplify matters you can look at them as labels given to your HTML container tags (<div> for example). Once you assign the label to your HTML element, you can then style that label in your CSS, and introduce properties to it which you want to see in your HTML. It basically forms the link between your HTML and CSS. 

Say, I have a <div> that I want to style, then I’ll give it a label like this: <div class=”mongoosesurprise”>Your code</div>. The class name is mongoosesurprise, and when I have to style that particular <div>, I’ll have CSS code that looks like this:

Now, about CSS properties. 

You see all the words in white followed by a colon? max-width? border? background-image? That’s it— CSS properties. I can never remember if it is maxwidth or max-width, whether it’s margin-right or right-margin, whether it’s padding-right or right-padding, and that’s where the Googling comes in.

Again, like with HTML, I’ll only talk about CSS on AO3. Unlike regular CSS, CSS here always has to start with #workskin. And then, #workskin can be followed by our class name. (The class name must be preceded by a fullstop though, like in the picture above.)

My CSS design procedure is all over the place. I entirely work on the basis of trial and error. I keep adjusting properties like max-width and padding and margin to see how the elements fit best. (It doesn’t take me as long as it did four-five years ago to estimate these values and I’d attribute that to practice and inspecting a lot of web pages. On a related note, it’s great to learn web design by inspecting other pages.)

I realize this isn’t great advice but like I said, it’s always been about trial and error when it comes to CSS. What I can say conclusively is that with properties width, height, display, position, padding, and margin most of your HTML tags will be placed properly. But when it comes to styling, the list is really quite endless. From a number of font-related properties to border, there’s a lot— and, thus, Google.

And, finally, what you must know for HTML/CSS on AO3 is how to host images.

Hosting Images

If you want your work to contain images, it’s best to host them somewhere online. Imgur is a great option; it’s free and really simple to use. Once the image is uploaded, you can get the share links and put it in your HTML <img> tag (under the src attribute— again, very syntactical so I’m not getting into that), or if you want you can put it in your CSS as an attribute for the property “background-image” (like in the code above).

You’ll have to make minor changes to the share link though, that is, add the image extension (.png or .jpg) to the end of the link. Also, sometimes the image doesn’t render if there’s no ‘i’ preceding ‘imgur.com’. Here’s a sample link that works perfectly: http://i.imgur.com/aSMSztl.png.

And, I think that’s pretty much it.

This covers the absolute basics of how to code HTML/CSS on AO3. But I’d like to repeat that by no means is this everything. If there’s a particular area you’d want me to explain, please feel to drop in an ask!

Happy coding! 

[tossawary]

The MXTX Remix 2021 event has just revealed its works! Lots of fun new SVSSS, MDZS, and TGCF fics and art just hit AO3! The authors will stay anonymous for the next week, so let’s play a game. 

My gift to someone is somewhere among the SVSSS, MDZS, and The Untamed works (not TGCF, because I haven’t read TGCF yet). Yes, it’s true, I write MDZS/Untamed fanfiction too sometimes! 

If you can guess which work is mine, I will draw you a cute-and-quick-doodle-style SVSSS or MDZS/Untamed sticker with the character of your choice (again, not TGCF because I haven’t read TGCF yet, sorry). I will not be mailing you a sticker, just posting a sticker design here on this blog. 

Depending on how many people guess correctly and how busy I am, stickers may be slow to roll out, but I’ll get to every one of them eventually! 

Rules:

- You have to have been following me before I made this post. Sorry, but this is a game for my Tumblr followers! I’m not really interested in having this post reblogged and gaining new followers who just want to make an art request before vanishing into the blue. 

- You guess by sending an ask along the format of: “My guess for your MXTX Remix work is the [fandom] fic: ‘[fanfiction title]’.” Or: “MXTX Remix fic: [fanfiction title]. Hey, Tossawary, this you?” It doesn’t have to be that phrasing exactly, but you have to include “MXTX Remix” (so I know what you’re talking about*) and the title of your guess. Don’t send me links or vague descriptions. 

( * It’s just that if you drop someone’s song-lyrics-title in my inbox without context, I’ll probably end up squinting at the ask late at night like, “What... what does this random assortment of words mean?”) 

- Anonymous asks will be disqualified. Otherwise, I’ll have no idea how many guesses people have made. You can guess anonymously if you like, sure, but I won’t be making you a sticker, sorry.

- Do not write “Tossawary, is this you?” in AO3 comments. If you’re wrong and that’s not me, it’s going to be really awkward, so Tumblr asks only.

(Please do comment on people’s lovely works if you have the time and energy, though! It’s not required, it’s just appreciated! If you’re feeling shy or tired, it’s cool to sign out and comment on works anonymously with a simple: “I really liked this! Thanks for sharing!” I’ve been there.) 

- Reblogging this post with a guess or replying to this post with a guess won’t count either. I would like to keep all the guesses in one place so that I don’t lose any, so again: only Tumblr asks will count.

- You only have one guess. I will allow guess retractions in favor of a new guess, but that means that your final guess is the only one that matters. If you guessed right the first time but retracted it, it doesn’t count. You only have two retractions before I start ignoring new guesses.

You can retract your guess by sending another ask along the format of: “WAIT! Retraction! My NEW guess for your MXTX Remix work is the [fandom] fic: ‘[fanfiction title]’.” If you’re vague about which one is your final guess, I will take your most recent guess (under the limit of two retractions) and ignore all the others. Please try to guess just the once, though, to keep it from getting too confusing for both of us. 

- I will not be responding to any of these guesses until after the creator reveal. Then I will respond to these guesses privately with whether you were right or not. If you were wrong, no one but me and you need to know you participated. (If you guess right and don’t want your username attached to your sticker request, that’s fine too, and I will respect that.) 

- You have until the creators are revealed to make your guess. That’s Sunday, March 14th, 2021 at 12:00AM EST (the coming midnight between Saturday and Sunday). Try not to slide under the door at 11:59PM.

- Do not include your sticker request with your guess. After the creators have been revealed and if you were right, you may send me your sticker request via Tumblr ask. I will not seek your out; you have to come to me. I will post details on a preferred format and limits for sticker requests closer to the reveal. 

I think that’s everything. 

Best of luck! Happy reading! Enjoy! 

😘💕❤️

[maxbegone]

AND WE ARE BACK! 

Part two of the Schitt’s Creek Community Fic Rec is here! This time, we focused on celebrating our favorite AU’s! Once again, this is dedicated with love to the the authors of this community! Every participant chose one AU (which was a little hard to do for some) to share and why they enjoyed it.

Thank you to everyone who submitted!

@bestwisheswarmestregards​ // @brighter-than-sunshine​ // @danieljradcliffe​ // @devilstelephone​ // @fishyspots​ // @imargaery​ // @justwaiting23​ // @patrickbrewsky​ // @rockinhamburger​ // @roguebabyinyourstore​ // @rosebuddsmotel​ // @stuck-on-your-heart​ // @the-13th-wheel​ // @thedidipickles​ // @thisbuildinghasfeelings​ // @yourbuttervoicedbeau​

And a very special thank you to anyone who has ever written anything in this community! 

Everything is posted below the cut, and you can check out part one here! 

**As always, if I missed an author’s tumblr handle, please let me know! 

@bestwisheswarmestregards​

Odd Man Rush by @samwhambam​

It’s David and Patrick and Hockey! Three of my favorite things! Also the ending is one of my favorite endings. It’s so sweet! It’s part of the series score and all of the stories are so cute but this one is my favorite!

@brighter-than-sunshine​

Thanks For Choosing Bagged! by dinnfameron

I love this one because the dialogue is so adorable, and true to David and Patrick! I can totally see the characters getting involved in something like this, like a different version of a rom-com.

@danieljradcliffe​

Going Down by concannonfodder

This is one of the best stories of NYC!David and recently out Patrick while they're both trying to find themselves. It's beautifully written and my favourite part is that each chapter switches between David and Patrick's POV. It does a great job of highlighting the aspects of their personalities that we know and love but shows them to us in a new light.

@devilstelephone​

sustineo by @rockinhamburger​

The contemporary art discussions between Patrick and David are interesting and important to the story. Patrick still cares for and emotionally connects with David In a world that is so different than Schitt’s Creek. I liked that Sebastian Raine was the evil force without being included as a character.

@fishyspots​

Welcome to Cabaret by @vivianblakesunrisebay​

It's lovely from start to finish! In this 'verse, Christmas World didn't pull out, so David didn't get the lease for the general store. Instead, he gets roped into helping Moira with Cabaret, and meets Patrick (kind of) through that. I love the way this author writes. The dialogue is in-character, and the plot is wonderful and pulls out moments from canon and reimagines them in some truly inspired ways. I'm such a fan of all of this author's works; this was the first one I read, and it remains my favorite.

@imargaery​

David.; or, a Tale of Misapplied Sense by Siria

A Jane Austen D&P AU and it is BRILLIANT. If you're an Austen fan, you will be able to immediately pick up on how well this author adapted Austen's style, wit, character descriptions, and ability to whack you over the head with romance when you're not even ready for it yet. Siria is a very experienced fanfic writer, but writes for many fandoms, so I think that's maybe why it doesn't have that many hits? I'm so glad I clicked on it. I want to wrap myself up in this story. I want to make a podfic out of it. I want to put it on a t-shirt and wear it every day. Also, it's in a regency AU where homophobia isn't a thing, so you don't even have to worry about that. I want to tell you more, but that would spoil it. Just read the damn thing and thank me later.

@justwaiting23​

You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone by @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons​ 

The image of a curly haired fisherman Patrick is enough but this whole fic is such a sweet concept. Their interactions in this are so reminiscent of the show but also so different because they already know each other vaguely, and I come back to this fic over and over just because it's the perfect mix of angsty miscommunication and fluff.

@maxbegone​

Known and Be Known by ahurston

As someone who tends to lean toward canon/canon-divergent stories, this was a refreshing take on an AU. Beautifully written and wonderfully raw, ahurston conveyed the vulnerabilities between both David and Patrick so wonderfully. “The mortifying ordeal of being known,” personified in fanfiction format. With humor and some wonderfully hot scenes peppered throughout, this fic was just brilliant from start to finish. I love when authors explore Patrick's insecurities and vulnerabilities - they aren't written about as often as David's are. I implore you to read this, if you're able.

@patrickbrewsky​

Bound by Symmetry by barelypink

They say write what you know. I instead read what I know. David is the accidentally fantastic teacher we all wished we'd had in high school, and some of us wish/hope we are or might be one day. This fic is a great exploration of combining everything David knows he is (creative, bright, v.knowledgeable about art) and all the things he thinks he's not (empathetic, a role model, great with kids, selfless, kind, & big hearted) The selling point quote: "And it feels good, David realizes, to have a job that means something, a purpose beyond himself. A place where he feels like he belongs, just like his students." (David Rose proves he is both a good and nice person).

@rockinhamburger​

Blackbird, Fly by distractivate 

This is a post-apocalyptic story about love, connection, and hope, with a central theme of growth from destruction. I could not put this one down; I read it feverishly in one sitting, desperate to soak up every word. I love this fic because it is what I like to think of as an exemplar for transformative works (one of ao3’s top values). I love the way the fic stretches toward the light in the dark. It makes me think: about the quintessential elements of these characters, what remains the same despite changed circumstance, and what inevitably shifts when these characters we know and love are faced with a situation far outside their experience or comfort. This story likely hits differently in 2020, when post-apocalyptic narratives feel much less distant than they might have just a year ago. And yet, all the more reason to read an incredible work about hope and resilience and transformation.

@roguebabyinyourstore​

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman

Where do I even begin with this fic? I was at first skeptical about what reason David Rose would have to willingly subject himself to a trek through the wilderness out of his own volition. Well I’m so glad I ignored that admittedly stupid part of me because this is one of the mostly beautifully crafted stories I have ever read. Patrick and David are individually on their own journeys of self-discovery, but the way they help each other find what they sought... It’s breathtaking. Their feelings for each other bloom so organically over their time together that despite the circumstances laid out before them, the miles that they stumble and walk and run bring them miles closer to each other. Closer to the love that they both didn’t know they needed. The characters come alive and are identical to their canon selves. The dialogue and banter are spot on David and Patrick. The writing itself is superb. The tropes are incredible, the pining and *oh no there’s only one tent.* The slow burn is tantalizing but in a way that feels true to a genuine love story. The way the setting somehow breathes in tune with the characters, the way they leave messages behind in the trail register—conveying more than they can utter aloud— and the way their families communicate with them throughout their time on the trail through letters. All of the elements of this story ground it in universal truth, in feelings that are not only relatable, believable but demand to be felt. I can wax poetic until I am blue in the face, but really... Read this story. And then reread it a million times.

@rosebuddsmotel​

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You by @ladyflowdi​ and @ships-to-sail​

There are over 180,000 words in this WWII AU, but not one of those words is wasted. It is gorgeous in its prose, and incredibly romantic without romanticizing the very real pain and tragedies of the era in which it exists. It's not an easy read by any means, but it's the kind of cathartic emotional journey that is more than worth it in the end.

@stuck-on-your-heart​ 

kiss from a rose by mihaly ( @davidroseshusband​ )

What can I say about this very special fic that would do it justice? In this story, Alexis stars in a Bachelorette-style dating show and it’s every bit as brilliant as it sounds. On top of the incredible characterization, there are little surprises at every turn, there’s pining, and of course, there’s love. Secret love, even. This fic is truly addicting – I promise you won’t be able to stop once you start reading, and it will leave you feeling so satisfied (and if you’re like me, a little misty)!!!

@the-13th-wheel​

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by @mooodlighting​

It is a wonderful short AU where Patrick and David where they meet at an airport after they get snowed in. It is cute, there is longing and pining that just make it a wonderful read!

@thedidipickles​

Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate

The writing is so utterly gorgeous all the way throughout that I frequently needed to take breaks to breathe. The author *perfectly* builds an Olympic world that I can totally see my favorite characters inhabiting, and the resolution is gorgeous. All of Distractivate's AUs are amazing, but this one still stands out.

@thisbuildinghasfeelings​

How Do We Get Back by @unfolded73​

This one deals with a literal alternate universe, which is the first thing I loved about it because I had never read a fic quite like it before. It's a beautifully written 60,000+ word masterpiece that definitely makes me feel ALL the feelings. In addition, it is absolutely riveting. I could not stop reading until I got to the end.

@yourbuttervoicedbeau​

Make It To Me by figmentof ( @rosesdavid )

Epistolatory fic is SO hard to pull off and the author does such an incredible job with the way the characters shine through even though we only see them interact via text message. This fic is my comfort food and I reread it regularly <3

Anonymous Recs:

Just Breathe by olivebranchesandredwine

I love this one because it's got Patrick as a yoga teacher (hot!) and shows David being proactive about anxiety and it's just such a lovely story.

Shall I Stay? by alladaydream ( @maybewecandreamalittle​​ )

This is so worth the 100k wordcount. 18-year-old David and Patrick sweetly leaning into first love, a lot of angst and pining in the middle that allow them both to heal and grow, and a heartfelt reconciliation. Plus, two bonus cherries on top with artist!David and a beautiful epilogue in which they (spoiler) live happily ever after. The tone and pacing of this fic is so good, and I always go back to it when I want to read something comforting.

Your Heart is Keeping Time with Me by @yourbuttervoicedbeau​

I haven't seen 50 First Dates, but this fic is better than the movie could ever be. The author's writing is so beautiful and her David who has amnesia and her Patrick who wants to help him are just PERFECT. I want more and more and more of this.

Once again, thank you to everyone who participated and thank you to every single person who has written something in this community! It would be wonderful to do a part three, but for now, enjoy some alternate universe fics! 

[holidaysat221b]

The 12 Days of Sherlolly 2020 Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who participated in this winter/holiday fest.  We had twenty-four submissions from eight different authors and artists.  Nine photo edits, thirteen fics, a custom Funko Pop, and a video this year!

Thank you to @mel-loves-all, @simplyshelbs16xoxo, @goodshipsherlollipop, @mizjoely, @girlysword, @englandsgray, @sundance201 and… me.

Below are the links to all twenty-four submissions.  Please pop in and leave a comment, kudo, or like.

12 Days of Sherlolly Drabbles - Written by @darnedchild A series of 200 word drabbles inspired by one word prompts. Written for the 2017 “12 Days of Sherlolly”.   (Repost from 2017′s 12 Days of Sherlolly, On Ao3, Complete in 12 Parts, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Baby, it’s cold outside   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Be Mine   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Happy Holidays   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Merry Christmas   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Sherlock loves Molly   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The 2020 12 Days of Sherlolly - Created by @mel-loves-all Sherlolly   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

The Adventure of the Abbey Grange - Written by @girlysword By sheer happenstance, none of the cases I covered in the main “If ACD Created Molly Hooper” storyline take place during the winter, so I thought to rewrite one of the winter cases in the ACD-Molly universe for 12 Days of Sherlolly.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

The Arrangement - Written by @mizjoely When the acerbic Mr. Holmes comes to fellow university classmate Molly Hooper’s defence, it comes as quite the surprise to her! Even more surprising is his later visit to her to clarify things between them.   (On Ao3, Complete in 2 Parts, Rated G)

The Christmas Caper - Written by @simplyshelbs16xoxo Sherlock and Molly haven’t spoken in months since the phone call. Though both are aware of the other’s feelings, they’re at a standstill. Enter: Mycroft Holmes with an elaborate plan to bring them together.   (On Ao3, Complete in 7 Parts, Rated T)

Christmas During COVID - Written by @goodshipsherlollipop Molly Holmes is disappointed that the plans she had made for a lovely family Christmas had to be set aside due to the change in COVID guidelines for Christmas. But she counts her blessings as Christina turns one and Victoria excitedly awaits Father Christmas. Parentlock x 2, Sherlolly (COVID-19 sub-series, part 18) If you are interested in reading what comes before this, look me up on fanfiction.net. A continuation of my Journey series.   (On Ao3, Complete in 5 Parts, Rated T)

Christmas Plans during a Pandemic - Written by @goodshipsherlollipop With the guidelines allowing three households to mix freely for the Christmas holiday, Molly wants to have a special Christmas as well as celebrate Christina’s first birthday with family. In the midst of these plans, an important milestone occurs for Christina. Includes a “breaking the fourth wall” scene near the end. Parentlock x 2, Sherlolly (COVID-19 sub-series, part 17)   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated T)

A Cryptic Resolve - Written by @englandsgray Sherlock might not subscribe to the kind of giddiness Christmas seemed to bring out in others, he considered the fact that he dispensed with believing in fantastical dream-granters at an earlier age than most, as one of his greater strengths. But what he did believe in, with all of his heart - such as it was - was Molly Hooper.   (On Ao3, Complete in 9 parts, Rated T)

Fireworks for a New Year - Written by @goodshipsherlollipop After some fun family time in getting their daughters to bed, Sherlock and Molly are ready to watch the television display of the London New Year’s fireworks. But will watch it all before creating their own fireworks? Rated a light M for some of my clean, flirty, yet sensual brand of married Sherlolly love. Parentlock x 2, Sherlolly. (COVID-19 sub-series, part 19) If you want to view more of my writing, please go to fanfiction.net where I have the rest of my collection. Posted here for 2020_Twelve_Days_of_Sherlolly.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated M)

Happy Holidays from Molly and Sherlock - Created by @darnedchild Funko Pop Molly and Sherlock wishing you Happy Holidays   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

Home for the Holidays - Written by @sundance201 Despite loving her family very much, Molly is not looking forward to being at home for the holidays and enduring the jabs at her once again single status. But when Sherlock shows up as her “boyfriend,” the holidays start looking up.   (On Ao3, Complete in 4 Parts, Rated G)

Make A List, Check It Twice - Written by @mizjoely tumblr Prompt of the Day - 12/18/20 from holidaysat221b: Christmas – I would also look for England-specific things too – Christmas crackers, puddings, panto, wassail - gettingovergreta   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

Naked Santa and Fornicating Reindeer - Written by @darnedchild Molly and John share a love of festive Christmas jumpers. Sherlock … doesn’t. (Written for a Fandom Christmas in July thingy on Tumblr)   (Repost from 2018′s 12 Days of Sherlolly, On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

Sherlollipops – Goodbye, Hello - Written by @mizjoely Two short scenes that should have been at the end of HLV, as Sherlock tells Molly good-bye…and then hello again.   (On Ao3, Complete, Rated G)

To Be With You, That’s All I Want - Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo ‘He didn’t want to let her go—the thought of doing so made his heart ache. The fact she didn’t seem to be in a rush to get away settled his pulse. It told him she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted to hold her. Sherlock breathed her in, the scent of spiced honey and wildflowers filling him with warm familiarity. It was like finding a place he belonged—like home.’ From my fic, The Christmas Caper   (On Tumblr, Complete, Rated G)

Twelve Days of (Sherlolly) Christmas - Written by @darnedchild Twelve completely (probably) unrelated Sherlolly ficlets in a text script sort of format that are only connected by the Twelve Days of Christmas in some way.   (Repost from 2016′s 12 Days of Sherlolly, On Ao3, Complete in 12 Parts, Rated G)

Wrapped In Red - Created by @simplyshelbs16xoxo A throwback video of mine for the 12 days of Sherlolly   (Originally posted as a companion to 2017′s “Wrapped In Red”, On Youtube, Rated G)

[awesomeladiespodficanthology]

Awesome Ladies Podfic Anthology XI Introduction

It’s time for the eleventh annual Awesome Ladies Podfic Anthology! As always, we'll be collecting short lady-centric podfics by different readers in different fandoms to release as an anthology and as a collection of individual files. This is our first year promoting on tumblr, but you can find all of the prior anthologies here on Dreamwidth.

The submission deadline for 2021 is February 14th, and we will post on February 28th.

Changes this year:

We have simplified the formatting for our written metadata, and we have changed it from being required to being optional. (Please note that the audio guidelines are still required.)

We are now requiring warnings included in the audio for the following: sexual assault, major character death, racism, slurs, depictions of hate crimes, and graphic violence.

Participants now have the option to use auphonic.com for volume leveling, as we have aligned our benchmark volume file to auphonic’s default volume settings.

The theme for this year's anthology is representation. It's optional—all podfics are welcome as long as they follow the rules laid out in the Submission Guidelines—but feel free to let it inspire you if you'd like. If you are not familiar with this project, you can see the previous ten anthologies here.

To Podficcers: Interested in participating? We'd love to have you. This should be a low-stress project, even for people who are new to podficcing, due to the word-count: 1500 words or less (with many being as short as 1-2 minutes). If you'd like to record something for this anthology, please fill out this quick google form and we'll send you the link to the spreadsheet where we'll be keeping track of all the podfics.

Here are some good places for finding short fics about female characters:

The Women Being Awesome, Female Characters, Female Character of Color, POV Female Character, and Female Relationships tags at the AO3, limited to word counts of 1500 or less.

The Misses Clause Challenge from Yuletide

Femslash Minis

Awesome Ladies Ficathon (original LJ ficathon deleted, but these works crossposted to AO3 remain)

Real Women Fest

Female Character Trope Fest

The Bechdel Test Comment Ficathon

The Bechdel Test Comment Ficathon II

I am the Plot, Babe: A Villainess Ficathon

Where No Woman: Un-erasing the women of Star Trek and Women of Star Trek

Femslash Kinkmeme

The Femslash February Collection

Focus on Female Characters Collection

Since this project has a relatively quick turnaround time, you may want to refer to this database of authors who have posted blanket permission statements and/or install this browser extension that highlights all blanket permission authors from that database in green.

To the Podcurious: If you have ever thought you might like to create podfic, this is a really great starting place. It's low pressure, you might get listeners you wouldn’t otherwise reach, you're contributing to a cool fanwork that celebrates our love for female characters, and it's not too intense of a spotlight, because your piece is in the company of many other voices.

To Everyone: Feel free to reblog with links to other fests or specific works that you think would be a good fit for this anthology. Additionally, we are looking for beta listeners who can absolutely commit to at LEAST two hours of beta listening between February 17th and 24th. Please let us know if you'd be available and interested; we'd be very grateful!

To Authors: We've had some awesome authors get involved in the past, in style, to create short female-centric pieces for the anthology in collaboration with podficcers. If you’re an author who’s interested and is seeking podficcers to work with, feel free to comment at the info post on Dreamwidth. Podficcers who would like this sort of collaboration, please reply directly to the authors.

See this post for the rules and submission guidelines. If you have any additional questions, please let us know!

[incomprehensiblelentils]

@dollsome-does-tumblr​ does this and opened it up to anyone and I am feeling chatty today SO!

Because I co-write a lot with my lovely wife, I might answer some questions including those co-written stories, or I might not, depends on how I feel when I get there.

name:

Megan but I go by Lentils most places on the internet, Shadowcrawler over on AO3

fandoms:

at the moment: MCU, especially Agents of SHIELD and Daredevil; Terminator: Dark Fate; Halt and Catch Fire. Oh and I wrote Dollhouse fanfics a thousand years ago. Sometimes I will watch a movie/show and think “those two girls should be gay” and bang out 2k of fic about it and then never write for that fandom again. (I THOUGHT this was going to be HACF but as it turns out, no, it’s not done with me yet.)

where you post:

AO3, at Shadowcrawler. I also have a tumblr @lentils-writes​ where theoretically I post links to fics/advertise them in the tags, because I used to be real precious about not putting porn on this blog, but fuck it.

most popular multi-chapter fic:

Co-written, it’s definitely mallverse, which is I think the reason most writers definitely hate us because it’s very long and there are a lot of tags lmao. The problem is that every tagged character HAS shown up in a significant fashion at some point so we can’t just...untag them! It doesn’t update weekly anymore because we’re exhausted by life lmao so at least there’s that???

As for a multi-chapter fic that was just me, I don’t tend to do that so much, so actually it’s say you will, my 3-chapter Endgame fix-it where Clint dies instead of Natasha and Natasha and Laura have a past. It actually has over 1000 hits which is very exciting! I feel like it’s...niche in a way that is frustrating but understandable lol. I put a lot of my heart into it and some people really liked it, so that’s gratifying.

favorite story you’ve written so far:

Co-written, I think our SHIELD Dollhouse AU is very underrated for the amount of work we put into it. Author bias evident here because I love Dollhouse warts and all, and it’s a lot of fun translating episode plots as well as the general trajectory of the show into stuff that will work with SHIELD characters. We don’t just rewrite episodes, we really try and rework them as needed. Also it features both Skimmons and my beloved rarepair Bobbi/Kara, though of course they won’t get together until later.

Of my own stuff, I’m still really really proud of the AU where Kara Palamas didn’t die. I think that was a pretty severe misstep of the show and I think I did a good job of fixing it. (I haven’t forgotten Kara, promise!)

fic you were nervous to post:

lolololol I wrote some uh. Terminator pornography last year and. They are very porny! I had co-written a bunch of smut obviously, but that was the first time I’d posted like, PWP all by myself on purpose??? and that was TERRIFYING. Also I was very nervous to post the Engame fix-it because that was my own personal goodbye/tribute to Natasha.

how you choose your titles:

They are always either song lyrics or jokes (such as Three Lawyers and a Baby, my Daredevil Accidental Baby Acquisition fic). My WIP docs are always titled either obvious shit like “RoseJannah horse girls” or memes like “what if we belonged to a fire cult and we fucked haha just kidding unless...?” or “Morgan has two mommies.”

do you outline?:

B and I typically outline for the co-written fics, although it’s more often chapter-by-chapter outlines since that’s how we write them. On occasion we’ve fully planned multi-chapter stuff out in advance but that’s less common. Oh and the one-shots are nearly always outlined as well, just to keep ourselves organized.

When I have written planned multi-chapter fics in the past I have used outlines - particularly for the Kara one and I had to do that for the SHIELD Kill Bill AU because I was trying to follow the format of the movie. For things that are allegedly supposed to be one-shots I almost never outline, which turns out to be a terrible idea when they inevitably balloon beyond my control and become 45k like say you will. That one, I wrote out a list of scenes I thought needed to be in it and then I wrote about 75% of those scenes and then I wrote a bunch more scenes I hadn’t planned for. Don’t be like me, kids!

complete fics:

According to AO3, 89 as of right now. Uh, you do not want me to list all of them, here’s a link, I guess!

in progress:

I don’t understand what the difference is between this question and the WIP questions lmao help????

posted WIPs that I have active plans to continue at this time:

Cowritten: mallverse as I said, and its femslash smut oneshots spinoff and character flashbacks spinoff and older characters/teachers spinoff (these get updated, uh, irregularly), the first half of a Piper/Snowflake SHIELD s7 fic that we are planning on finishing the second half of soonish, SHIELD Dollhouse AU, SHIELD Teen Beach AU, SHIELD Buffy AU. You may notice a pattern!

By myself, I have: Have Your Elf a Merry Little Christmas, a Terminator Hallmark Christmas fic that I ambitiously posted the first chapter of in 2019 and then lost steam immediately (I am going to go back to it sooner or later bc I had some cute ideas for it); the SHIELD Fate of the Furious AU that has one chapter to go and which I do intend on finishing eventually; Three Lawyers and a Little Lady, the Daredevil Accidentally Baby Acquisition AU that is literally just cute kidfic and poly avocados and which I have a bunch of ideas for and just need to buckle down and finish some.

posted WIPs that I have given up on:

Lol so there’s a Dollhouse Caroline/Bennett Doctor Who AU that I wrote purely as idfic and which nobody ever cared about except me, and I think that ship has sailed! RIP darlings. I also had an ongoing Skimmons series waaaay back when where I posted oneshots that were like missing scenes or gay readings for each s1 episode, and I just feel like it would be inauthentic to even try and finish it at this point. (It does include the first ever Skimmons fic to be posted on AO3! Really truly, there’s one fic that shows up as older but it’s an ongoing fic and was updated with the tag way after I posted mine.)

exchange fics due soon/unrevealed:

I haven’t done an exchange since like 2015 lololol I am so bad at them. I am currently working on finishing up my MCU Femslash bingo card, very late, and I do have plans for almost all of the remaining squares!

WIPs that live in my fanfic folder and are incomplete and who knows when they’ll be finished:

“RoseJannah horse girls,” which has been put on hold temporarily but is literally just Rose and Jannah being gay while riding orbaks

half of a Daisy/Gwen fic from Marvel Rising because I know they’re not making any more of those but I stg those two were really gay

multiple fics about Elise Nelson-Page including: avocados Halloween with smol Elise, Aunt Elektra very reluctantly taking smol Elise shopping until she realizes smol Elise also likes weapons (she buys her a fake katana), Uncle Frank is a pushover and spoils the shit out of Elise, and baby Elise has a high fever and everyone freaks out but then she gets better and smile at them for the first time (inspired by baby me lol).

coming soon/not yet started:

“Morgan has two mommies,” yet another Endgame fix-it where Maya Hansen did not die in Iron Man 3 and she resurfaces and she and Pepper kiss and eventually she adopts Morgan

Claire and Colleen go on a nice date to get coffee/tea where Danny doesn’t interrupt them goddammit

Bobbi/Kara Warehouse 13 AU which is sort of like “For the Team” but gayer ft. grappling hook

X-Men: Evolution Tabby/Amara fluff

Cameron/Donna character study disguised as smut

Grace proposes to Dani with a ring made out of the metal from her power source and Carl officiates the wedding 

Dani gets horny watching Grace eat a peach and jerks off and Grace ends up hearing her and then they fuck (I have been calling this “the peach fic” in my head but I gotta stop being delicate about it lmfao it is just porn)

B and I have plans to do a Nico/Karolina Jasper in Deadland AU but we keep forgetting

I MUST WRITE FOGGY AND KAREN SADLY FUCKING IN A CHURCH WHILE THEY MOURN MATT THIS YEAR I STG

do you accept prompts:

uhhhhhh I have on occasion written a prompt for someone before but it’s pretty rare and I have enough trouble writing the shit I come up with in my own head lol. but never say never?

upcoming story you are most excited to write:

I’ve got a bit of the Bobbi/Kara Warehouse fic written and it’s nice to go back to that world. Also I’m weirdly excited about the Cam/Donna smutty character study I mentioned above, I have a lot of what I think are good ideas for it and it’ll be fun.

tagging @unwind-myself @swiftzeldas @swashbucklery @loved-the-stars-too-fondly and, if you want to, you!