Since I see a lot of people put this sort of 'about,' I thought I'd do it too. Hm, let's see, a possibly mistyped INFP, a victim of the vicious curse called procrastination and eternal boredom. Loves dark chocolate, macarons, durian and all things spicy. My favourite type of spicy is something called Mala, '麻辣,' and there is no English term for it, because apparently, English does not differentiate between different types of spicy.
I suck at punctuation, I never get what goes where, and my writing suffers terribly if I'm sleep-deprived. I'm usually in the habit of just hitting 'post' without double checking, which well, super sorry for that.
And well... that's it!
Oh wait, AO3 writer, prefers AO3 for its stability, because paranoia is a very rampant... I already used curse once. I don't wanna use it again. Scourge. Oh yeah, I'm also on Wattpad and Quotev... but barely. Especially applies for Quotev (ᵕ—ᴗ—). I also have a secondary Tumblr account dedicated solely for fics, aka only one-shots an stuff!
This is Essie. The fish. Behold the cuteness of her fish form🤣🤣🤣
Basically all my works can be tied to a song. Well, I can tie my works to the song, because it is THAT song that inspired me... Current obsession? Anime.
I have dozens of stuff stuck at chapter one, some not even making it to that point, which well... (╥﹏╥)
The reason I haven't orphaned anything is because I've already started it, and my own possessiveness refuses to let anyone else touch it. Ideas are free though, and I'm overflowing with them. So if anyone's stuck, come to me😄
Official favourite animes? Chainsaw Man. Actually.... ehhhhh, I think it might be Oshi no Ko. Hm. Well, Jujutsu Kaisen is a close second. Ooh, but Tougen Anki ranks high up the list too. Kinda. I think.
Just another day of the disastrous life of Saiki K.
Saiki Kusuo was a psychic. He was sixteen, he attended high school, and just a moment ago, he was standing on a perfectly normal building.
Well.
It was rather nice.
Tilting his head slightly, Saiki narrowed his gaze. The air, light and cool, swept through his hair, pink locks curling slightly before returning to rest. Trees covered the terrain. Bushes lined the near non-existent path, the Sun hanging differently in the sky.
Not wrong.
Different.
No one was near him. He was alone. Completely, utterly, only a couple lone birds, and a mouse, dawdling quietly in this… arrested space.
Oh. And an insect.
Space glitched, folded.
Less than a second later, Saiki breathed out a faint sigh, the horizon opening up before him to reveal a sea of green. This time, he wasn’t alone. The being stared back. Two pairs of blood red eyes, muscles locked—statuesque marble—slightly surprised.
This was new.
Very new.
With an expression as flat as the surface of a grazeland, Saiki vanished. Again.
Last song: 'Requiem Varus', a song played in the Barbarians netflix show. It's so damn good...
Favorite color: Hmmmm, let's see.... Right now, it must definitely be maroon, or a reddish-purple, as can be seen from my pfp and my overall account aesthetic XD
Watching: Nothing in particular
Currently reading: I'm basically just re-reading Will of the Many and Strength of the Few by this point, trying to get as many things as possible and reminiscing on certain character moments that feel so hauntingly beautiful and tragic and sad after you have read the parts where they died....
Currently working on: Fanfiction for the Hierarchy series! (Will of the Many and Strength of the Few are it's Book 1 and 2, respectively). Most of my fanfics are leaning towards, ehem, more positive vibes and copium and wholesome alternate endings and divergences in general, plus the ever-present Vis-Aequa shipping, but I've been thinking of exploring a few other things from the series as well, not directly related to Aequa or the Visqua ship or solely wholesome/comedic vibes...
Last google search: How to open a metal cap :). Googled that cuz I was legitimately having trouble pulling open the cap on this bottle. I finally found the way by using a dry towel around the cap; thanks Google!
Oof, well, guess i have been summoned again, duty demands! 😆
Last song: "What you want!" by Asteria
Favourite colour: no, only favourite colour combinations
Currently watching: the summer hikaru died, an anime with a title something along those lines😅
currently reading: Where Personality Meets Wisdom: The Ego, Self & Transcendent Function, by A.J. Drenth
Currently working on: nothing! Chilling near gorgeous waters, fully languishing in the summer heat!
Last google search: red round smooth pudding thing stuck to this cave rock wall above sea water level slightly, kinda jelly-like but still hard, italian waters, and did not sting when prompted which well, maybe i should have thought twice before poking it but to be fair, it was very poke-able. What is it oh right, it's like really really red and smooth (answer: Tomato Anemone, and yes, it can sting so i got lucky😣 )
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 (or more) people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out <3
For a summoner of positivity, even ya’ll need to get positivity-summoned back... Err, u know what I mean. u-u ✨️
I keep thinking about this one character who dies tragically in each life only to respawn in the weirdest ways possible.
They don’t have a name. Not even a gender or a set appearance. What they do have, though, is unpredictability. Not sure whether that’s a blessing or a curse. On one hand, boredom is a foreign concept. On the other, there is no such thing as stability or a comfort zone.
One second, they could be walking down the streets of modern day Japan, trying to take a bite out of their freshly made, newly bought dango, only to blink and realise they have been dropped in the middle of a zombie apocalypse in the middle ages.
In the form of a slime blob.
On the bright side, at least the zombies wouldn’t be interested in them with that form. No need to worry about being eaten alive. Or to have several bites taken out. A pity they didn’t get a chance to taste that dango though.
They still weren’t certain what killed them.
After several lifetimes, maybe their sensitivity towards death had weakened. Or their memory was no longer enough to hold everything. It mattered not. They only had enough energy for one emotion, and that was irritation.
Pure irritation.
Why couldn’t whoever it was, have waited five more seconds before killing them? That way, at least they could have savoured—some of—the dango. Now it was probably going to waste lying on the ground or something. How annoying.
And apparently you could also die as a slime blob. Don’t ask how it happened, they don’t know.
Weren’t slimes supposed to be resilient? They bounce back from everything. Squashed, spliced, stretched, whatever, and they still survive. Why? Because they are shapeless blobs that can take on any form of any container or mold.
Like water. Just more viscous. So how exactly did they die?
Now, they are a puddle of water. Cursed to watch through hazy eyes as the world distorted around them. Cursed to endure the antics of mischievous children who—Ow! Don’t stomp on me you miserable—
When the Sun came up, they died again. Evaporated, drop by drop. Hey, at least it was painless. But it plummeted them into another life.
This time, a snail.
How lovely. How… Tranquil.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Slow. Okay, maybe boredom was a thing. They were just going to hop over, close to the edge—just a little closer and—
Yay. New life.
Though this time, instead of spawning relatively normally—in other words, quietly—, they fell—screaming—down several layers of the atmosphere, crash landing on a—pink? Purple?—planet. How did they die as a slime, but not as a human who went whizzing through space without a space suit or any form of protection?
Plot armour. Or their unique brand of luck.
This planet was amazing though. Sparkling lights decorated plants, hanging canopies of trees and beautiful crystal clear waters that were covered in glittery algae. There was no night and day, and there were no animals, human or otherwise.
And no insects. Thank goodness. They still remember when they died due to that pesky mosquito.
They were sad when it was their time to go.
The next world brought them to the Victorian era. A Victorian era mimicry. Or the actual Victorian era. They had no idea. It wasn’t like time, labels and such meant much to them. Everything tended to blur a bit after a certain period.
This new world was disgusting. Terrible hygiene, nonsensical gibberish disguised as medicine and the misfortune to have been born a female. The first chance they had, they ran.
Now a fish, they swam free. Drifting down below into the dark abyss, floating up towards the surface bathing in the Sun’s bliss. Sure, sometimes they might have needed to perform some complex acrobatics in order to escape the bigger predators, but it was still leagues better than some of the other lives they had led.
The next life, they were happy to note that they had spawned in Japan again. This time, in a manga. That wasn’t so nice, but at least they could eat the food again. They made sure to buy—steal—and consume a dango as soon as possible.
It really was the best. Rivaling even Tanghulu.
They got caught up in the plot, because of course they did. The last thing they saw was the Demon king’s red eyes, before fire burned through their veins, tearing them to pieces.
They were surprised to find out that they were still in the same world. They were sure—nearly a hundred percent sure—that they had died.
And they did. Except now they were no longer a cat.
Being a demon was a new experience, The hunger was unbearable. Dango no longer tasted good. The king was tyrannical.
They were glad to leave.
Drifting through the darkness, they blinked in surprise. This was the first time they held consciousness after death, and before rebirth. Humming, they twirled, fluttering their ghostly hands—smoke really, that kind of resembled hands—in various directions, trying to get somewhere.
Eventually their surroundings disintegrated, and gravity stuttered into existence, brute unforgiving force.
Something was wrong.
They—
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
—Memories fractured.
Shattered.
It slipped, one at a time, liquid through the cracks of fingers, gliding, falling—
Disappearing.
"What's your name?" crooned, familiar, eons ago.
“Could bes”
“what ifs,”
different worlds—timelines of loneliness, solitude.
Forget remember, long lost, now gone.
They never clicked with people. How could they, when they knew that they would just leave? That they would be forced to carry memories of those times while the others could happily enter the wheel of reincarnation and come out a blank slate.
—what was the point?—and now someone remembers that they exist?
Did Meng Po finally look through her records or something, and go “oh hey! I missed this guy”—?
Why now? After they had already gotten used to this?
Splat!
Mist.
Fog.
Bit by bit. Little, missing—somehting they knew. But not anymore.
Incomplete.
Niggling, naggling—a favourite colour?
Blue.
Red.
Sand.
Gross.
Dag—dango.
What’s dago?
Pop!
Weightless.
The universe blinked—an endless abyss. Colours sparked, stars flaring thousands of light years away. Dying, growing, shining. Reaching out—oh? They blinked, staring down at the little wispy white thing.
They wiggled it.
It moved.
Wait—THAT’S THEM?!
Another blink.
Darkness.
They were enshrouded in darkness.
They squirmed. Slightly, tentatively. The darkness parted. The slightest bit.
They squirmed again. Froze. Retracted. Pushed—felt it again.
Cold. Cold pushed up against them. Softer—even more yielding than the fluffy substance. It rose, slithering—that felt weird. Really weird.
But… at the same time, it was… nice?
More of it gushed. This time, from… above? It trickled down. Soaking the fluffy substance, pressing down on them. It was… kind of annoying. Scratch that, very annoying.
Hey! they screamed, shaking angrily in the direction of the cold thing. They resumed the struggle, straining to break free from the fluffy—comfortable, and they were going to return, just after giving that–
Singing.
A voice, each second, getting clearer.
For them.
They paused, cocked back—again. Pushed—trying to reach that sound.
kinda obsessed with WHITE LOTUS PREDATOR VS SWEET VILLAINESS WHO IS ACTUALLY INNOCENT like what are we cooking here. is it rlly all caps in ur file.
It issss. It's also completely unwritten.😖 I just really hate the trope of fl transmigrating and suddenly everyone loses brain cells and the og fl becomes the villainness who's bad at her job, cuz if og fl managed to snatch the ml and everyones hearts, she must be a master manipulator so ahhhhhh, it makes no sense. Oh, and i also kimd of hate the girl attacking girl for a shit ml trope so i made it... Yuri.... 😊
Wait. I feel like im kinda judgemental in this post. I swear I'm not! I used to read those all the times and then it started wearing in my nerves cuz well, repeated exposure and now im looking for twists! Yup!
rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it.
Thank you for the tag @brashtea!! This is so fun!
“come get me out of california”
“Brand New Century (working title)”
“michael in the bathroom by himself”
“ITSIST Scenes that aren’t actually in the fic”
And then of course, “i told secrets i shouldn’t tell”
No pressure tags: @halflitpages @buckleybeat @lemonenty @dont-sneeze @anyashappytobehere
• “scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind (the way we were)”
• sevenspins fic which i don’t think i have a name for
• my summer road trip fic which i also do not have a name for
• nameless jancy fic which is essentially a character study
🏷️: @sweetcreatureeternal @idontknowhowtodance @puppydogmike @roseraintears @oliveespineapples @ssentinl (no pressure and i’m really sorry if you don’t have any wips, i’m delirious rn)
I work on all of them simultaneously when I’m procrastinating revising for stuff. I stress write okay??
@alexazucchie @justluchii @orcaraminga @temisjanaina @potatoanarchist @penningbookwurm @ponderingpen @vulpyabby @trulysarcastic @housemasterwilkes (I’m so bad at tagging people I was actually stressing oh my god)
Thank you for the tag! And don’t you stressy-depressy fren because stressed spelled backwards is desserts ✨️🍰 ;D (sending u anti-stressing hugs! >w<)
Also! I’m kinda of a "folder-inside-folder" kinda writing-storing style 😅 and I like them being separated by context n stuff... because my drafting style isn’t stable, since stability removes motivation from perfectionism, so... I write chaotically
there’s my main 3-big folders, and their stuff inside :P I just hope I didn't misunderstand the tag game’s requirements lol. because by "folder of WIPs", this is the only honest way I can reply with it because of my draft-storing style.)
• My tiny projects: (serves for lightweight work)
Tiny Happiness
Sharp Edges
Human Monstrousity
Grey Riddles
SCARLETTE (empty folder)
• D&T (stands for Draft&Test) (it is not an official WIP, its just a chaotic vault of me spamming my writing/self-made prompts/thought-of scenes of random WIPS or WB pieces here until I find what to do, helps alot for a motivation-driven-only writer.)
• Recap T,G,H. (by "recap" it's just another form of D&T for T,G,H. specifically...or relatedly.)
And...tags...idk really, so sorry if they’re few, and +open tags!!
The first time you met Geto Suguru, it was the antonym to an ordinary evening.
First curse, first sorcerer.
and then you got attached
Who called you a good judge of character?
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
The first time Geto Suguru met you, it was a completely normal evening.
Curse, deep in the mountains, seaside villa. It was supposed to be a quick stop, Grade 1 at most, exorcise, return back in time to meet up with Satoru and Shoko for a midnight snack.
It was Grade 1.
A sort of possession. Easy to take care of.
But—
Suguru’s eyes widened, balance faltering, wind whistling, rushing over skin. Your hand, cold and wet, clamped around his wrist, tugged him into the pool with a deafening splash!
He whirled, air bubbling, a sharp gasp, gaze clashing with your own dark ones.
Disbelief. Annoyance. Emotions flashed, too fast, your lips parting to finally spit out a—“What the hell- how did you get- you know what, nevermind.”
Suguru blinked. Once. Slow as a cat caught off guard.
“That thing is afraid of water. Just—stay here, don’t get out, the last person who refused to listen ended up a chewbone so hopefully, you’ll have more sense than that nincompoop.”
Harsh.
Bitter.
Glare so scorching, it burned.
“It’s… fine,” Suguru felt the words leave his mouth. “I was called in to deal with it.”
A truthful statement, one awarded with a sharp, dare he say it, scornful, appraisal, a drag of the eyes up and down his figure, brimming with so much judgement it was impressive, considering the fact that you, toes barely brushing against the bottom of the pool, was clinging onto him, who stood easily in the pool.
Suguru didn’t force you off.
With a flick of his fingers, a shadow rocketed, carrying his command of exorcise.
You didn’t see it.
Normie.
But as time slipped, gold slithering over black, melting into a lighter navy, then blue, dazzling orange and yellows—
Sirens rang, hours too late, non-Jujutsu Sorcerers rushing to the scene.
Your eyes stayed on him, slight tilt of your head following his leaving figure.
Suguru was late.
Very late.
He sighed, raising his head to stare up at the morning sky.
Satoru was never going to let him hear the end of it.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
The second time he saw you, it was a completely normal afternoon.
The sun shone, sparkling high above, baking the entirety of Japan in a sauna of hot. Pedestrians ambled along, oblivious, enclosed in their own world, as usual.
Except for you.
A moment of static, dissonance between chase or not, you stumbled before him, hand closing around his wrist—again.
And there it was again.
Cold, calculating logic. The trait that had kept you alive, while your friends’ guts littered the grounds.
Without courtesy, preamble, or a simple notice, you tugged him—yet again—-towards a nearby… cafe.
The bell jingled softly, the door swinging shut with a muffled thump, and before he knew it, Suguru was seated at a round table, off the side of the room, enclosed by the rounded walls of the booth. A coffee, and tea, was set in front of him, your eyes, one raised brow, set on him.
“Tea, or coffee?”
Suguru’s gaze flicked over the options.
“Tea.”
The murmur of the masses, while still loud, was shielded somewhat by the private corner you had found.
Convenient.
Maybe fate.
“What was that.”
Well, you certainly did not beat around the bush.
Suguru leaned back, sinking into the cushions. His hand closed around the cup, tapping, once twice, against the ceramic. It resounded, resonating, the tea trembled, little ripples blooming at each micro disturbance.
You did not twitch. Did not move. Just stayed, a solemn statue, waiting—expectant.
One tap, another—he stilled.
“What was what?” he feigned, legs unwinding, back straightening as he placed his elbows against the table’s surface. It dipped, slightly, droplets of coffee spilling over its rim.
Nothing. Not even a flicker crossed your features. Pure granite, weathered stone.
Impassive.
Possibly traumatised, that day hadn’t been easy for you.
“That wasn’t rabies.” You paused, gaze locked stubbornly, head on, on his. “That- thing, was intelligent.”
Nowhere in the world did rabies create intelligence. Nowhere in the world did it create an apex predator. Nowhere in the world did an infected animal stalk, bait, watch, and reap. No infected animal would hold up a pair of car keys, challenging, mocking.
So why was that lie told?
Believe and forget. Over and done. Never again.
And lies were so much easier than the truth.
But that wasn’t what you wanted.
“The full truth, or the simplified one?”
You stared.
And the truth, it slipped out so easily. Too easily.
The skies darkened. The tea cooled. Around, chairs screeched, pushed in, back out, one batch gone, another to replace them. Bell jingling, orders flowing.
Your face—blank. A pure white canvas, hallowed space, as vast as the universe, just as undecipherable. His fingers resumed their pattern, tracing the swirls of the cup, sending vibrations through its surface.
“Thank you.” You stood up, “For your time.”
Suguru inclined his head. His gaze dropped, a strand of hair falling into his face, the tea’s surface reflecting his own distorted image back at him. His gaze shot up, catching on you, in front of the counte—
In one fluid motion, the table fell from view. Distance closed, drawing nearer, his fingers closed over your arm.
You didn’t blink. One hand reaching into your bag, you slid the bank card in.
“Consider it as thanks,” you hummed. “You did, after all, save my life.”
Suguru’s grip loosened.
The bell chimed, fading sunlight casting a rich honey halo. It hovered, clung, warm as you were cold, your shadow vanishing behind the door’s echo.
Suguru stood.
The crowd parted, muttered apologies, wandering glances.
“Excuse me…?”
Light washed away entirely, ink seeping in from the horizon. Dyeing clouds, creeping along the edge of buildings. His footsteps landed, firm, certain, moving with a sense of purpose he didn’t quite registered. Blipping in his periphery. Crisp air mirroring your frost.
Ah, he blinked. The rotten taste in his mouth has lessened.
Crickets chirped, song vibrating along the beat of the wind’s susurration. Moonlight, drifting above, eclipsed the trees’ silhouettes. The stairs rose, each stone block by block, weathered moss lining every crack and indent, torii gates bracketing the entrance.
For the first time in quite some time, his burden does not feel quite as heavy. Jujutsu High the same as it was before, before everything happened, before—
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
The third time he met you, it wasn’t a coincidence.
Not really.
He’d felt you, in his orbit, an alarm sounded. And- followed.
You were in the library. Books out, pen out, notebooks sprawled, a mess over the round wooden tables, completely dominated by your frazzled energy. Hair tossed half-heartedly up into a mimicry of a bun, half of it ghosting over the skin of your shoulder, glasses, large and rectangular, sat pressed into your face.
Studying.
Right. You were his age.
Which meant—national exams. University admission examinations.
Could you really focus on that, after knowing what you know now?
You were a normie. This was yet another example of the lapse in worlds. A brief blurring of boundaries, distance that snaps right back after the sun rises again.
Two dimensions. Completely separate.
Pivoting on his heel, Suguru vanished.
Not forever.
Like an itch, he—didn’t get it.
“Hello.”
You lifted your head, rubbing your eyes dazedly. “Hello,” you replied, voice drenched in fatigue.
“That looks like hell.” Suguru motioned to the mess, ink blots dotting your palms, formula sheets, math equations that made him glad he specialised in Jujutsu Sorcery.
“It is.”
Flat. Monotone. But laced with disgust, a scathing glare boiling with so much wrath, thrown at a textbook, sporting a cute caricature of a character. However, looks were deceiving, and Suguru had heard the saying repeated time and time: do not judge a book by its cover.
Somehow, it became routine.
Suguru didn’t need to learn math. Or English. Or chemistry, physics, or the other subjects normie schools so loved to preach.
Suguru was a Special Grade Sorcerer.
Yaga will be happy.
You were relaxed. Muscles uncoiled, shoulders slumped naturally, no longer drawn taut. Explanations trickled, then poured, spark flickering in your eyes. Your fingers flitted, moving from one diagram to the next, a page flipped to the human body. When, Suguru didn’t know. Sometime between ten minutes ago, and a couple sentences into your rant.
Suguru was learning things.
He—academics was something he excelled at. But he had never, before, understood its usefulness. Somehow, even in your grudge against the system, a burning desire to tear it down, managed to do something even Yaga had never managed to before.
Maybe he should introduce you to Satoru.
The thought was pushed away as fast as it came.
Suguru found himself here. Again, and again.
You were alone.
Always.
Your friends were dead.
Perhaps—
“Does anyone blame you?”
You tilted your head, cheek lolling flat onto your palm, half-opened eyes peering at him. “Hm?”
“For...”
Surviving.
“Mn.”
Monkeys.
Why was he surprised?
The skies dimmed, people flocking out of the library in droves, chairs pushed in, bags slung over shoulders.
You reached out, gathering loose papers and pens, folding them neatly into binders, pencil cases. Textbooks slid in, the strap of your bag, worn and soft, the only thing that made the weight bearable.
You refused his offer.
Of course you did.
The weight wouldn’t be anywhere near as harsh on him. You were so small, the bag was half your size! One bad breeze away from a snapped spine, honestly, it would be—
“I can carry it,” you bit out, staring daggers at his fingers.
Suguru sighed. He settled for holding the library door open, and escorting you home.
It wasn’t safe.
Not at this hour, not in this city, not as a lone girl.
Didn’t you have family looking out for you? Who would let their daughter stay out after dark, knowing the predators roaming the streets?
“I’m not helpless,” you rolled your eyes the next day, his concern slamming straight into an obstinate, arrogant wall. “It might seem like it, oh so powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer, however-” you held up a finger. “I’ve survived months, years, without a self-appointed protector so hush it.”
݁A frown creased Suguru’s brow.
“Really, I’m fine. Our first meeting? Totally a once-in-a-lifetime jackpot. If that happens again, well, I’ll admit my fate.”
Suguru stared. “That isn’t funny.”
“You’re right. It was hilarious.”
Talking to you was useless.
You didn’t understand the horrors of the world. Sure, that night, you had glimpsed it. But true monsters didn’t bare teeth at you, didn’t growl, didn’t drool, didn’t stroll right up to you, announcing their presence.
True monsters hid. Camouflaged under the skins of prey, lingering behind the loud beasts.
It was good.
Suguru didn’t want you to learn this truth. No, it was far too harsh.
He’ll take on that burden, like all others.
Exorcise, consume.
A never-ending cycle.
“Geto-san?”
Suguru blinked, lifting his gaze to meet your own. “I’m fine.”
You nodded.
You held out a thin, geometric bar. Glossy black.
Chocolate.
“One chocolate a day chases sorrow away,” you said, the shyest flash of a grin.
Some days he couldn’t make it. You never asked. On the days he did, you handed him a thermos. Hot chocolate. Less sugar. Bitter, dark, enough to render taste buds ineffective.
Exactly how he liked it.
“I have a mission.”
“Again?” you tutted, shaking your head. “You should sue them for child labour.”
“Maybe I will.”
No he won’t.
Instead, he’ll do one better.
He’ll burn Jujutsu Society to the ground, and remake it anew.
Monkeys.
All of them.
Twin eyes. Huge, shining, stared up at him. Kids. Children.
Younger than Riko.
Consume.
All.
˖Ი𐑼⋆
Water ran through his hair, down his back, past his legs. Bubbles floated, popped, the rest circling down the drain. With a twist of the knob, the water sputtered to a halt.
He slung the towel over his hair, dragging on a pair of sweatpants, before exiting. The twins, Mimiko and Nanako, gazed soulfully at him.
His responsibility.
“Let’s get you something to eat.”
You were there. At the library. Like clockwork. You didn’t realise anything. No doubletake, nothing. Of course not.
What was he thinking?
“Chocolate?”
Suguru smiled.
You were the same.
He was—no, he was still the same.
“What subject today?”
You slouched, grimace twisting your features. “Math.”
“Ah,” Suguru nodded solemnly. “Well,” he held out an arm. “Ladies first.”
The days settled into monotony. Blurring into the passing of time, your examination finals drawing nearer and nearer, initial panic soon drowned under the weight of get this over with.
“You know, I think I’ll pick bullying non-human entities over this-” you grumpily poked the chemistry textbook, “-anyday.”
“Oh?” Suguru laughed. “I’ll do one better. How about you drop out and I raise you?”
You hummed, tilting your head. “Sounds great! No take backs!”
You would be great with Mimiko and Nanako. The girls needed another female influence in their life.
Suguru froze. The plastic bag slipped, cookies crashed onto pavement. His vision whited, breath hitching, fury soaring like a tsunami’s rage. His eyes locked, the familiar white mop, sunglasses perched high, shielding icy blue eyes.
Satoru.
Satoru laughed, half sprawled over you, far too close, nose nudging into your business.
Suguru’s jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened, fists curling. His foot moved, one—stiffened.
This was a trap.
Satoru.
Sometimes, Suguru really hated him.
Gritting his teeth, Suguru spun around, and disappeared around the corner.
No longer safe.
Suguru was an idiot.
How did he ever think—
He was a wanted man.
He needed–
The girls needed you.
You didn’t deserve to rot amongst the monkeys. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess, this cesspit of filth, it was corrupting.
“Girls,” Suguru smiled. “We’ll have an honoured guest with us soon. An addition to this family. Let’s be on our best behaviour, yes?”
˖Ი𐑼⋆
When Geto didn’t show up, you didn’t think anything of it.
When a random stranger popped up, louder than life, obnoxious and shiny—yeah, you took notice.
“Good morning! I’m Gojo Satoru! What a pleasure to meet you!”
You would have ignored him. Dialed the music up to max, turned back to your books, if it wasn’t for the presence he carried.
The weight.
Like Suguru’s.
But colder. Less clingy. The weight didn’t undulate like thousands of hissing snakes, it lingered, undisturbed, silent as a lake’s surface.
And just as deadly.
Blinding grin. And as fake as a disco ball.
“What do you want?”
Gojo, the second Jujutsu Sorcerer she had ever met—and were they all so tall?—smiled even brighter.
“Oh nothing much,” he chirped, “Just, you know a Geto Suguru?”
You stared.
“Of course you do! He’s been coming ‘round here quite often,” Gojo continued. “You know, technically speaking, you're like, a criminal by association. You watch TV shows? Yeah, I’m the good cop, and I’m here to-”
You plugged the earphone back in. You had a trigonometric equation to solve, and finals were not slowing down for anyone.
“Hey! Y-”
Gojo’s voice dipped in and out of focus.
In hindsight, maybe you should have paid more attention.
“Geto?” you blinked, rubbing your eyes blearily, squinting in absolute confusion at the figure chilling on your bed, in your bedroom. “How’d you get- nevermind. Why are you here?”
“Evening,” he greeted, voice curling softly, warmly. Light as a feather, soothing and melodic.
Wrong.
Something was wrong.
“Whatever you want, it can wait till morning. Shoo.”
You flicked your fingers outwards, a universal movement for scram.
Suguru didn’t move.
“Ah,” he frowned, “Satoru said something, didn’t he?”
“Said what?”
The skin between his brows furrowed, each flutter of his lashes, mournful in tone.
Sad.
Why the fuck was he sad?! No—why the fuck did he look like a victim?!
“Geto, whatever it is, I’d really appreciate not doing it in my bedroom.”
His gaze, flickering purple, locked onto you. Pinning you in place. The rest of his features were gentle. Faint smile an invitation, faint lines suggesting harmlessness. But his eyes—they told a completely different story.
You backed away. One step at a time. Geto mirrored you, tracking every minute movement. Your hands reached behind you, scanning, searching.
Nothing in here was a threat to him.
You posed no threat.
Your heel brushed against the wall.
Tension thickened, dispersing, spreading. It hung, cloaked so heavy it near choked you. At last, Geto shifted.
“You wound me,” he uttered. Sliding off your bed in one smooth motion, Geto stalked towards you. Body angled slightly forwards, legs about one and a half of yours, arms thick—muscular—enough to constrict a grown man to death.
You weren’t beating him in any fight.
Your eyes flicked to the door.
Neither in flight.
He knew it. You knew it.
But he was a man. Male. And if there was anything you knew, it was how to take one down.
You bent your knees, heel pressing further into the wall, sole flat against it.
“Come on,” Geto sighed. “Let’s not do this, okay?”
Oh no, we’re totally doing this.
“You can’t beat me. Even if you were to slip past, you would never make it out of this house.”
“Geto-san,” you said flatly. “Please stop talking.”
The more you do, the more you sound like a second rate villain.
You liked to think that you were a good judge of character. But this, you never saw coming.
Betrayal comes from those closest to you.
You thought Geto was different.
But at the end of the day, he was male. Even worse, an overpowered one. Fuck. You really wish you hadn’t ignored Gojo earlier in the day.
Instant karma.
Hilarious.
This was fine.
Just fine.
You blinked.
Nevermind—not fine.
You pressed your lips together, eyes widening.
The air tasted different.
Sweet.
You hadn’t noticed it.
Hadn’t clocked it.
Until it was too late.
“You play—dirty.”
Blood rushed to your brain—dizzying, nauseating.
Your legs weakened. The muscles of your back tensed, twitching, feebly, body sliding down, flat against the wall. The weight of your head pressed down on your neck, gravity’s pull stronger, force exerted—you opened your mouth, wheezing in a rattling breath.
Really dirty.
Geto stepped closer. His hand came up, palm reaching up to cradle your face. Your breathing, shallow, rapid rise and fall of your chest, strained against his embrace. Your eyes moved, sluggish, gazing into dark indigo abysses.
The curtains fluttered, breeze wisping through the air.
The smile that tinged Geto’s face was soft.
Adoring.
“Sleep,” he hummed, hand smoothing over your hair. “I’ll take care of everything.”
The worst part was, this was his truth. All you could see, past the heavy haze of your closing eyelids, was his unwavering conviction. He truly, utterly believed—
okay yeah it'll def be very very toxic, and Nie Mingjue will still butt heads with Mengyao so I dunno if it's really "x" (as in romantic pairing) but..................... omg the tension, and yeah it'll be doomed, and it'll never bear fruit, Nie Mingjue might not even realise it.......... Mengyao might still kill..................................
Is it bad that I caught one glimpse of the red haired 6th LI leak (fake, not actual) and instantly drafted a whole scenario? Qiu Linxiao, autumn to Xia Yizhou's summer, evol, wood, which lends to healing, and maybe first meeting something like just vines piercing through Wanderers, saving MC, a still moment of gorgeous untouchable vibes, one that shatters the instant he opens his mouth.
Aka a total douchebag, but red flags are hot in fiction😭.
