Gin-A cat's life [Detective Conan fanfic, Vermouth x Gin]

Chapter 2 Privacy, woman!

Disclaimer: Detective Conan belongs to Gosho Aoyama and associated parties. I do not make money nor own anything with the exception of my own original characters.

Author's note: Happy New Year! Update chapters 2 and 3 as of 3/1/2023.

Visit me on Tumblr for artworks and interesting tidbits: wormwoodwine

Chapter 2 Privacy, woman!

At the break of dawn, Gin woke up amid the darkness with heavy feelings in his bowel. He smirked at his furry tail on Vermouth's face and made a beeline for ... the bathroom. Although his feline instinct called him to the litter box, he gritted his teeth and fought the urge to bury unspeakable things. Damn his cat brain! However, his human soul was still intact, and he would reserve every last bit of his dignity. He proudly flicked his tail upright and jumped on the porcelain toilet bowl.

He had never been so grateful to Vermouth for having the toilet seat down. He took all of his past complaints back. Balancing on the rim, he let out a soft sigh of relief and felt a tad more human when a blinding flash lit up the bathroom. To his horror, a smiling blonde was leaning against the doorframe and capturing everything on her phone.

He growled at the top of his lungs. "GET OUT!"

"Sorry, sweetie. Are you shy?"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Who took pictures of people on the toilet?

"Alright, I'm leaving. I'm leaving." Vermouth smiled and backed away. A hint of mischief lingered in her eyes.

***

It's over. I'm done. Only death could cleanse this shame. Gin lay deflated on a spare actor chair next to Vermouth. His droopy tail perfectly reflected the state of his soul, devoiding of life, meaning, purpose, and will to live.

It wasn't just the pictures. If only. Oh, no. It got much worse.

A bunch of actors and crew members formed a small crowd around Vermouth. Their eyes were glued to her phone. The cooing and chattering echoed nonstop through the set.

"He knows how to use a toilet?"

"Such a smart boy!"

"Did you teach him?"

"He even flushed." Vermouth beamed with pride.

He contemplated tearing off Vermouth's designer clothes with his bare teeth one by one. Then again, considering the sheer quantity, he might spend the rest of his life in her closets.

"Really?"

"Amazing!"

"Aw, now I want a cat."

"What's wrong with him?" Finally, a fellow actor noticed his defeated expression. In the memory of everyone here, he was an energetic cat, bouncing around nonstop, making a ruckus.

"He's been sulking all morning." Vermouth sighed and stroked his head. The reason she brought him along was to keep an eye on him. "How about salmon for dinner sweetie? Nice fatty salmon."

Fine, I'm due for a last meal anyway. He lifted his head and yowled. "King salmon."

As if Vermouth understood his meows, she scratched the special spots at the base of his ears and said, "Sure thing."

***

Gin didn't bother sparing a glance at the bowl of tuna that Vermouth's assistant set in front of him. The early morning trauma killed his appetite. Instead, his attention wandered to the filming. He scoffed at the adoring eyes of the spectators. Why people kept falling for that woman's performance, he would never understand. He could smell her lies from a mile away.

He watched the actors, extras, and crew members hurry back to their positions and restart the scene for the umpteenth time. He couldn't fathom how someone could say the same line over and over again. It had been nine hours already. Surely, there must be an end to the madness.

Lisa, who was standing next to him, sensed his shifting focus. "Don't worry, sweetie. This is nothing. Some scenes take two weeks to film."

Two weeks? Insanity.

As soon as the scene wrapped, Vermouth made a beeline for him. Her gaze instantly landed on his food bowl. A faint frown appeared between her brows. Her eyes darted to Lisa, who answered by shaking her head. Vermouth stroked his head and asked, "Are you not feeling well, sweetie?"

It was a cool autumn day that made his eyelids heavy. But the scents of her sweat and the sound of her racing heartbeat didn't escape his keen senses. He snorted and jumped off the chair.

Tsk, woman, I'm doing you a favor. He scoffed and dug into his tuna. At least the food wasn't half bad. The wine and dine at Vermouth's place never disappointed even though the bills pissed him off.

"Looks like you've got your appetite back." A faint smile bloomed on Vermouth's lips as she scratched the base of his tail.

Where are you touching me, woman? However, his objection didn't last long. His mind went into overdrive when a tickling sensation quickly spread throughout his entire body. Before he came to his senses, a purr echoed from his throat as he subconsciously presented his rear to her touch.

A flash of clarity disrupted his train of pheromone-addled thoughts. Slumping down on the floor, he calmly mumbled and resumed eating. "This never happens."

He was taken aback by his own reactions. A fresh yearning for scratching and petting bloomed in his heart which his human form couldn't care less about. A brand new horizon of possibility opened in front of him. He sort of understood why women liked cuddling now, as strange as it might sound.

"Cats do love fish," Vermouth said, warmth and gentleness exuding from her person.

Wait, when have I ever liked tuna or salmon this much? Or fish, for that matter? His taste bud was seemingly inducted into a fish cult. His eyes slowly widened as he grasped the extent of his change.

***

His eyes zeroed in on one fatty belly filet king salmon all the way from the market to Vermouth's house. He stared unblinkingly as she repaired his dish. And the moment she served the beautifully baked salmon, he pounced.

In the back of his mind, he knew that his desire was governed by a feline instinct, not his own. But the rich, fatty, almost creamy taste oozing on his tongue was too much to resist. How had he never noticed before? This was heavenly.

"You've got quite an appetite today, sweetie?" Vermouth sat at the dining table and watched him eat with an uncanny amusement while her own dinner was barely touched.

Showing off his fat-covered and shinier-than-ever whiskers, he thrust his empty dish to her and meowed. "Not bad, woman. I'm tempted to forgive you."

"You want seconds? I'm sorry, sweetie. You can't have more."

He yowled, his gaze intensifying. "Tread lightly. I can make your life hell."

"How about a treat instead?" Her eyes were twinkling.

"This better be good." He tracked her every movement suspiciously as she went for her purse.

She returned with a bag of ground-green herbs. The enticing scent emitting from the open bag instantly consumed him. His mind became blank and was monopolized by one thought—getting the good stuff. He stood on his hind legs, pawed at her hands, and desperately tried to knock the bag off. "Give me! Give me! Give me!"

"Here you go." Vermouth sprinkled a spoonful of catnip on the dining table, sat back, and watched the madness unfold with a glass of red.

He dunked his head on the small pile of green and lured every last bit in his mouth. Suddenly, he was transported to a meadow on a warm sunny day. He could feel the light hitting his fur, bringing out a slightly burnt hair smell. Delighted and toasty, he rolled and rolled on the imaginary grass. The coarse texture beneath him served as a massager, scratching his back. Then, a black hole appeared out of nowhere and sucked him down. Before he realized it, he had fallen off the table and flat on his butt.

What have I become?

***