#Tendou satori | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

biggianteggplant · 2 days ago

Note

Reader getting asked by haikyuu guys to watch over their pets while running some errands ranting and confessing their whole life to the pet lol not knowing the guys heard her

HINATA SHOYO

The room was quiet. A little too quiet.

Y/n sat cross-legged on Hinata’s bed, gently poking at the hamster cage on his nightstand. Inside, a tiny cinnamon-colored fluffball waddled over to the bars, twitching his nose like he knew tea was about to be spilled.

She smiled softly. “Hey, little guy. You probably don’t understand me, but I gotta talk to someone before I explode and eat dry wall.”

The hamster blinked at her. Innocent. Judgement-free. The best kind of therapist.

She sighed, playing with the edge of her sleeve. “Your dad—or whatever Hinata is to you—is kind of… ugh. A lot. You know that, right?”

The hamster tilted his head. A single squeak.

“Exactly,” she said with a weak laugh. “He’s so—so loud. So bright. And he smiles like the sun and gets excited about everything, even vending machines. And it’s annoying. Like… painfully cute. Do you get it?”

Silence. Fluffball stared back.

Y/n leaned in closer, whispering like they were co-conspirators. “I think I’m in trouble. Like, real trouble. I like him. A lot.”

Her face warmed. She hid it behind her hands for a second before peeking at the hamster again. “He gave me strawberry milk the other day and said it reminded him of me because it’s ‘sweet and makes him hyper.’ Who says stuff like that?!”

A rustling sound downstairs made her freeze.

“…If you tell him I said any of this, I swear—”

“Tell me what?”

Y/n froze.

She turned slowly.

Hinata stood in the doorway, holding a snack tray and looking way too curious.

Y/n: “NOTHING I WAS JUST—I WAS TALKING TO THE HAMSTER.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Are you jealous of my pet? Or were you confessing to him?”

“Shoyo I will throw you out the window.”

He laughed—big and bright and so unfair—as he walked over and sat beside her.

The hamster squeaked again.

Hinata smirked. “I think he ships us.”

ASAHI AZUMANE

Y/n side-eyed the giant white bird chilling in its fancy cage like it paid rent. The cockatoo blinked back at her with the smugness of someone who knew all your secrets. Because, apparently, it did.

She leaned in closer, holding a sunflower seed like she was about to make a deal with the mafia. “You better behave today, feathered gremlin.”

The cockatoo took the seed and blinked innocently.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Y/n whispered. “Last week you screamed when I sneezed. You are not slick.”

The bird continued chewing.

Y/n settled onto Asahi’s couch with a sigh. He was out “foraging” a.k.a. getting the bird more organic trail mix from that overpriced pet store. Honestly, she didn’t mind. She got alone time with Mr. Feathers… and the living room that suspiciously always smelled like Asahi’s cologne.

She glanced around, then leaned toward the cage again, whispering like she was about to commit a federal crime.

��Okay, listen,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t know why I keep coming here. I mean, yes I do. It’s him. I’m not proud of it. But here I am. Babysitting a judgmental feathery narc just to hang out with a man who probably thinks I’m here for you.”

The cockatoo tilted its head.

“I mean, have you seen him?” she continued, eyes wide. “Tall. Gentle. Looks like a forest god. Carries groceries with one hand like it’s nothing. And when he ties his hair up—OH, don’t get me started on the man bun. I would marry that man bun. Like, officiate a ceremony right now, bird, I swear.”

The cockatoo gave a soft whistle.

Y/n sighed dramatically. “It’s just not fair. He probably sees me as this weird friend of a friend who’s always here mooching off his air conditioning and pretending not to stare at his arms. Arms, bird. Like—who gave him permission?!”

The cockatoo slowly began climbing up its perch.

“Also, for the record,” she added, pointing, “you’re evil. You look like a cute puffball but deep down you’re plotting my downfall. I can feel it in my soul.”

And that’s when it happened.

A pause.

A blink.

And then—

“SHE THINKS YOU’RE DADDYYYYY.”

Y/n froze.

“…Excuse me?”

The cockatoo strutted across its perch like it had just delivered the winning line of a roast battle.

“HOT MAN WITH JUICE ARMS,” it yelled.

Y/n screamed internally. “STOP—YOU’RE NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO TALK—”

“I WANNA BITE HIS FOREARMS.”

Y/n clutched the couch cushion like a lifeline. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”

The bird flared its crest, proud and majestic and also the devil.

And then—the door clicked.

Asahi, holding a bag of bird food and a reusable tote full of those coconut water drinks no one liked except him.

“Hey, sorry I took long, they were out of the—”

“I WANT TO SIT ON HIS LAP AND CRY.”

Asahi paused. Mid-step. Eyes wide. Brain buffering.

Y/n: buffering harder.

The bird was not done.

“WELCOME HOOOOOME, DELICIOUS TREE MAN.”

Asahi dropped the grocery bag.

Y/n dropped her soul.

She slowly turned toward him, face bright red, limbs stiff, voice high-pitched. “I—uh—I DIDN’T TEACH HIM THAT I PROMISE—”

Asahi blinked slowly. “...Delicious tree man?”

Y/n shrieked. “DON’T REPEAT IT—”

The bird screamed, “CRADLE ME LIKE A BABY—OH WAIT THAT’S HER—”

And that was the final straw.

Y/n tripped over the rug trying to run and slammed to the floor in front of Asahi like a fish trying to escape the tank. She lay there. Broken. Defeated. Possibly concussed.

Asahi rushed over, crouching beside her, flustered and awkward and absurdly hot. “Y/n?! Are you okay???”

She groaned into the carpet. “Do you have a bird-size jail cell. I need a moment with your snitch.”

The cockatoo cackled in the background like it was possessed.

Asahi gently helped her sit up, trying not to laugh. “You know… he only repeats things he hears a lot.”

Y/n blinked.

Realized.

And died internally all over again.

“Oh my god. I’m never showing my face here again,” she muttered.

But Asahi was smiling. Soft. Adoring. Flushed.

“You could,” he said quietly, brushing her hair out of her face, “just say it to me next time.”

Y/n gaped.

The bird chirped in the background, “NOW KISS.”

TIMESKIP! KOUSHI SUGAWARA

Let’s get one thing straight

You didn’t choose to fall in love with Sugawara Koushi.

No, no. That was an ambush.

A tactical, strategic, perfectly executed emotional ambush with bonus dimples.

And it wasn’t fair.

Not when he smiled like sunshine and smelled like safety and had that gentle but I will assign a pop quiz just to humble you energy that made your heart do cartwheels in a full-blown panic attack.

Also not fair?

His pet mous.

Yes, a mouse. In a classroom. Living rent-free in a tiny cage next to the window. Named cheese.

Personality: suspiciously nosy and loves chewing through secrets.

You’d been assigned clean-up duty in Suga’s homeroom all week — and by “assigned” you meant you had volunteered with the desperation of someone trying to inhale proximity like oxygen.

So there you were.

On your third consecutive day of "accidentally" staying late to sweep a room that didn’t need sweeping.

And for some reason, you were talking to the mouse again.

“…I’m just saying,” you whispered, gently sliding your fingers through the bars of the cage as cheese’s tiny pink nose twitched. “He should NOT be allowed to smile at students like that. It’s an emotional hazard.”

cheese blinked.

“And those sleeves?? Rolled up? What does he want me to do, DIE in this room?”

The mouse crawled onto the wheel and started spinning.

“Oh, don’t start with me. You live with him. I know you’ve seen it. He keeps adjusting his tie and looking all put-together and vaguely ethereal like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to my central nervous system—"

Rustle.

Something brushed your hand.

You looked down.

cheese was out of the cage.

You: “What the—how—??”

The little rodent scurried right into your sleeve, like a fuzzy lie detector, and parked itself near your shoulder like it was settling in for the next round of confessions.

You nearly screamed. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE—OH MY GOD, GET OUT—”

The door creaked.

You froze. Mouse in sleeve. Soul in shambles.

Sugawara peeked in, holding a warm drink and a bag of cheese crackers. “Hey, Y/n, you left your—why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

You smiled with the terror of someone harboring secrets and rodents. “Nope. Totally normal. Nothing’s happening. No crimes here.”

cheese, the demon, began moving.

You flinched. Suga noticed.

“…Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer with concern blooming on his face.

cheese, sensing your doom, POPPED OUT OF YOUR COLLAR LIKE A HORROR MOVIE JUMPSCARE.

You screamed.

Suga dropped the crackers.

cheese ran straight up his arm and into his hoodie, like this was just another Tuesday.

A moment of stunned silence passed.

“…So,” Sugawara said, still calm as ever, “Did cheese climb into your shirt while you were—what, pouring your soul out to her again?”

You choked. “YOU KNEW???”

He smiled. “You’ve been monologuing at her like a Shakespearean love-struck gremlin for three days. I thought it was cute.”

He picked up the mouse with practiced ease. “She likes you, you know.”

“Oh, I can tell,” you muttered, face fully on fire. “She cuddled my pancreas.”

Suga laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “She’s got good taste. Just like me.”

Pause.

Your brain: BUFFERING…

“…Wait, are you saying—?”

“I like you, dummy,” he said, grinning. “Why else do you think I keep assigning you mouse duty instead of actual cleaning?”

You gaped.

cheese squeaked like she was tired of carrying this ship alone.

Suga offered the crackers with a wink. “Stay for a snack?”

You nodded, dazed.

YAMAGUCHI TADASHI

You loved Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Not in a chill, “aw he’s sweet” kind of way.

No.

You loved him in a stupid, life-ruining, can’t-breathe-when-he-smiles-at-you kind of way. The kind of way that makes you text your friends “he said good morning i am deceased 💀” and then proceed to overanalyze his tone for four business days.

The problem?

Besides your terminal crush disorder?

His frog.

His beloved, sacred, unholy frog.

Sir Croak-A-Lot.

A slimy, smug-looking little demon that lived in a terrarium in Yamaguchi’s room like it paid rent.

Now, were you scared of frogs?

Terrified.

You once cried in 9th grade because a baby toad jumped near your foot.

You saw Kermit and felt genuine anxiety.

So when Yamaguchi asked if you could feed Sir Croak-A-Lot while he and Tsukki were at a training camp for three days?

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve lied.

You should’ve said you were allergic to amphibians. Or Catholic.

But alas. You said, “Sure! No problem :)” because your love was irrational and so was your judgment.

Cut to now.

You’re standing four feet from the terrarium with a pair of tongs, shaking like you’re disarming a bomb.

Inside, Sir Croak-A-Lot blinked once. Slowly. Menacingly.

“…Hi,” you whispered. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Let’s keep it that way.”

He licked his eyeball.

You gagged.

“Listen,” you said shakily. “I only agreed to this because I love your owner. Like. Deeply. He has pretty eyes and a nice laugh and says ‘thank you’ to vending machines. So if you could just not move while I drop this worm in, that’d be great.”

The frog didn’t respond.

You leaned closer, whispering like a therapist. “Do you think he knows? That I like him?”

Sir Croak-A-Lot launched halfway across the tank.

You shrieked.

Fell backward.

And somehow—somehow—knocked over a decorative lamp and landed with your foot stuck under Yamaguchi’s beanbag chair like you were in a live-action episode of FailArmy.

“OH MY GOD,” you gasped. “THIS IS IT. THIS IS HOW I DIE. DEATH BY FROG PANIC.”

And that’s exactly when the front door opened.

“Hey! I’m back early—Tsukki twisted his ankle and—wait, Y/N???”

Yamaguchi dropped his bag at the sight of you lying dramatically on the carpet, tangled in furniture and trauma.

You froze like a raccoon caught raiding the trash.

“…Hi,” you squeaked.

He blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” you wheezed. “Do I have frog-related emotional damage? Yes. Did your amphibious son try to murder me via eye lick and surprise launch? Also yes.”

Yamaguchi covered his mouth, but it was too late. He was laughing. Hard.

“You’re scared of him?”

“I’M SCARED OF ANYTHING THAT CAN JUMP WITHOUT WARNING AND LOOKS LIKE A WET THUMB.”

You tried to crawl backward. The frog stared at you. Probably plotting.

Yamaguchi, wiping tears from his eyes, finally helped you up.

“You know,” he said softly, “you could’ve just said no.”

You pouted. “I was trying to be brave. For you.”

He tilted his head. “Why for me?”

And there it was. The moment.

You took a deep breath. “Because I like you. Like. Capital-L Like. And I was trying to prove I could survive Frogageddon to be worthy.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

And then—

“…You like me?”

You nodded, ready to leap out the nearest window.

And then Yamaguchi smiled.

That sweet, surprised, glowing kind of smile that made you want to cry in the good way.

“I like you too,” he said. “Even if you’re scared of Sir Croak-A-Lot.”

You whispered, “Don’t say his name. He can hear you.”

Yamaguchi laughed again, bright and golden.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s go get ice cream. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “What about your frog?”

He smirked. “He’s already heard all your secrets. I think he approves.”

You glared at the terrarium.

Sir Croak-A-Lot blinked.

You swore he was smiling.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were house-sitting for Kita while he was at his grandmother’s for the weekend. Just two days. Easy.

Feed the plants. Water the dog.

Wait, no. Feed the dog. Water the plants. Right.

You sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, staring into the eyes of Maru, his perfectly polite, unbothered Shiba Inu, who sat like a loaf of judgment on the rug.

“So,” you began, cracking open a bag of dog treats like it was a therapy session, “you ever just… fall in love with your best friend and then try to play it cool but everything about them makes you spiral?”

Maru blinked.

Took a treat.

Did not judge.

“You know what I mean, right?” you continued. “Like, his hands? Always clean. Nails trimmed. Washes rice properly. Says ‘thank you’ to cashiers. Pet a cat once and the cat followed him for two blocks.”

You threw your hands up. “I am but a feral raccoon next to his divine, Shiba-like serenity.”

Maru gave a soft "boof" and placed a paw gently on your leg.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I feel seen.”

You sighed and fell dramatically backwards onto the floor. “He probably doesn’t even know I like him. He probably just thinks I like his dog. Which, like, yes, Maru, you’re perfect—but I would walk barefoot across a LEGO swamp for that man.”

Unbeknownst to you…

Kita Shinsuke was standing at the door.

He had come home early. With dog food. And mochi. And a quiet hope that maybe you’d still be there when he got back.

What he didn’t expect was to walk into a full-blown emotional TED Talk, starring you and his emotionally grounded dog.

He stood frozen for a second. Processing. Emotionally buffering.

And then Maru turned to him. Tail wagged once. Loudly.

You sat up and blinked. “Did—did your dog just betray me?”

Kita cleared his throat gently, holding up the bag of mochi like it could protect him. “I came home early.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Your soul flew out the window and knocked over three houseplants on the way.

“So,” he said, still calm as ever. “You’d walk across a LEGO swamp for me?”

You choked. “I was having a moment with your dog.”

Kita stepped forward, placed the mochi on the table, and gently sat next to you. Maru climbed into his lap like this was all very normal.

“I like you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes with his calm samurai energy. “I was hoping you'd say something. I just didn’t think it would be to Maru.”

“…Your dog is emotionally available,” you whispered, near tears.

Kita smiled softly. “He’s a good listener. But I’m here now.”

You nodded. “Okay. Cool. Casual. Normal.”

Then you fell backwards again.

Flat on the tatami mat.

Kita reached out a hand.

Maru boofed.

The rest was history.

SUNA RINTARO

You didn’t expect to become a ferret mom.

And yet… here you were.

At Suna Rintaro’s apartment. Again. Babysitting Tofu the demon noodle who loved you more than life itself.

“Tofu,” you said flatly, as you tried to pry him out of your hoodie. “Personal space is a concept. Have you considered learning it?”

Tofu squeaked.

And burrowed deeper.

Right between your boobs.

Like it was his God-given right.

You choked. “Tofu, PLEASE—”

He chirped again, did a little death roll (like a dolphin but pervier), and went limp. Fully. Asleep.

Dead center of your chest.

You sat there, frozen, like someone had just shoved a warm tube sock filled with judgment down your shirt.

“Why are you like this?” you whispered. “You don’t even know me like that.”

Except he did.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

Oh no.

The first time was three weeks ago, when Suna left you alone in his room for five minutes, and Tofu took it as a green light to commit chest-based crimes.

Now? It was a routine.

You: *exist*

Tofu: *insert ferret into boob crevice like USB into a port*

You had tried pushing him away.

He bit your pinky and squeaked in betrayal.

You had tried wearing tight shirts.

He dug through the neckhole like a horny mole.

You had tried explaining to Suna that this was technically harassment.

Suna? Had the nerve to smirk and go,

“Damn. Guess he has good taste.”

You wanted to scream.

And now here you were.

Tofu snoring.

You, boob-napped.

And Suna… Suna had just walked back in the room.

With a bag of chips.

And a shit-eating grin.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like a man in a shampoo commercial, “should I be jealous?”

You shot him a look. “Control your ferret.”

He snorted. “He’s his own man.”

“He’s IN MY CLEAVAGE.”

“And clearly thriving.”

You flailed, trying to scoop the gremlin out of your hoodie, but Tofu clung tighter, squeaking in protest like you were trying to rip him from his soulmate.

“Rin,” you groaned. “He’s making muffins on my sternum.”

Suna, now sitting beside you, casually popped open the chips and leaned over to look.

Tofu chirped softly in his sleep.

“…Yeah, he’s definitely in love with you,” Suna said, crunching loudly.

“I am NOT about to be second place to your emotionally needy lint roller.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replied, eyeing how red your face was. “You let him do that a *lot*.”

“I DIDN’T LET HIM—!!”

He held up a chip like a peace offering. “C’mon. Admit it. You like him.”

“…I like you.”

Silence.

You blinked.

OH NO.

Did you say that OUT LOUD?!

Tofu squeaked.

You squeaked harder.

Suna slowly turned his head, one brow raised.

“…Sorry?” he said, too calm.

You swallowed. “I said. I like you. Not just your ferret. Although he is—um—very warm.”

Tofu chose that moment to roll over and kick his leg out like he was dreaming of tax evasion.

Suna just looked at you.

And then—

“You know,” he muttered, voice lower, almost teasing, “I was gonna wait. Say something later.”

You stared.

“But watching you get dominated by a noodle rodent in HD kind of forced my hand.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Am I?” he smirked. “Or are you just embarrassed your cleavage is his new studio apartment?”

You punched him in the arm.

He laughed.

Then leaned in closer.

“…For the record,” he murmured, voice softer now, “I like you too.”

You smiled. Blushing.

Tofu squeaked again in his sleep.

You sighed. “This is gonna be such a weird love story to explain to our kids.”

MIYA ATSUMU

“HEY, SEXY!”

You screamed.

The bird screamed louder.

It flapped into the air like a flying megaphone, doing loop-de-loops and whistling the Jaws theme song, while you dodged for your life and yelled, “ATSUMU, WHY IS YOUR BIRD CATCALLING ME?!”

From the kitchen, he casually called back, “Oh, yeah, that’s just Cap’n. He likes ya.”

Cap’n, short for Captain Miya, had perched on the curtain rod now, head cocked like a sassy little pirate. He whistled again. Twice.

You narrowed your eyes. “…Did he just do the ‘two whistle flirt’ from TikTok?”

“Yup,” Atsumu grinned, walking in with snacks. “Taught him that m’self.”

You stared at the cockatiel. He winked. HE WINKED.

From then on, every time you came over, Cap’n Miya acted up.

He would land on your shoulder like he owned the place, try to nest in your hair, and once—once!—bit Atsumu on the nose when he tried to sit too close to you on the couch.

“Is your bird jealous of you?” you asked.

Atsumu blinked. “Honestly? I think he wants t’fight me for ya.”

Cap’n screeched from the top of the bookshelf and then proceeded to yell

“BACK OFF! BACK OFF! MINE!!”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?”

Atsumu laughed so hard he dropped his cup noodles.

The problem is… you started talking to Cap’n like he was your therapist.

Like—full sit-down sessions.

“Do you think Atsumu flirts with everyone or just me?”

Cap’n Miya, fluffing up dramatically and turning his head upside down:

“OOOH YOU LIKE HIM~!”

“NO I DON’T.”

STOMP STOMP “LIAR!”

You blinked. “Birds… birds can’t stomp.”

Cap’n literally stomped again.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.”

Cap’n

“You wanna KISS HIM~!”

You shrieked and ran into the bathroom.

From outside, muffled through the door, you heard:

“KISSY KISSY! MWAH MWAH~”

You clutched your head and whispered to yourself, “Why do I feel like I’m being bullied by a sentient feather duster.”

The final straw was when Atsumu came home early while you were babysitting the bird.

You didn’t know he was there. So you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, nose-to-beak with Captain Miya, whispering like a deranged villain in a Disney spin-off

“Listen here, you feathered narc. If you repeat one more thing about my feelings for your stupid hot owner, I will personally turn you into an overpriced pillow from Etsy.”

“Uhhhh…”

You froze.

That voice did not come from the bird.

You turned your head so slowly, it might’ve cracked your spine.

There stood Atsumu, gym bag half-zipped, one eyebrow raised, towel over his shoulder, hair damp from shower sweat and god probably—

“Did… did ya just threaten t’commit war crimes on my bird?”

You blinked.

Cap’n Miya, little devil that he was, launched himself from the couch, fluttered dramatically into the air like a WWE entrance, and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“SHE LOVES YOUUUU~!!!”

“YOU’RE HOT!!!”

“KISSY KISSY~!!! MWAH MWAH—”

Your soul left your body. Your brain short-circuited. Your dignity? Deceased.

You backed into the corner like a cornered raccoon, muttering, “Okay I can explain—”

But Atsumu didn’t laugh this time.

No. He grinned.

That dangerous, cocky grin that made you regret every time you told yourself he wasn’t your type.

He dropped the gym bag.

Took three steps forward.

You tried to speak— “I– okay– I– it’s not—” But he cut you off by gently moving your hand off the bird, brushing your cheek with his knuckles, and leaning in close enough that you could smell the orange Gatorade on his breath.

“Shoulda told me sooner,” he whispered. Then—

He kissed you.

Right there. Soft. Warm. Just a little bit smug.

Captain Miya exploded into a cacophony of squawks and whistles like a drunk DJ mashing buttons in excitement.

“WOOOOOOOOO~!!” “Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND! Y/N’S GOT A BOYFRIEND!”

You groaned into Atsumu’s chest. “Can we put him in bird jail now.”

Atsumu laughed. “Nah, babe, I owe him one. He’s the best wingman I ever had.”

The bird fluffed up, preened himself proudly, and screamed:

“YOU’RE WELCOME, LOSERS!!!”

MIYA OSAMU

You didn’t think Osamu would leave you alone with his cat.

But he did.

Bold of him, honestly.

You’d dropped by to bring him lunch at his onigiri shop, only for him to shove his keys into your hand with a casual “Can ya check on Tuna? He gets cranky if he misses his 3PM nap snack.”

And now here you were.

Sprawled on Osamu’s couch.

With a large, judgmental, biscuit-making cat rhythmically kneading your chest like it owed him money.

“Dude,” you muttered, glancing down at the fluffy orange menace. “That is not sourdough. Chill.”

Tuna, the certified loaf, just stared up at you with his half-lidded judgmental eyes and kept kneading.

Right on your boobs. Unbothered. Unapologetic. Purring like a damn engine.

You were frozen. This was NOT what you signed up for when you agreed to babysit a “sleepy little guy.”

“I’m gonna start charging rent,” you warned, hand hovering above his head. “You’re getting way too comfy on my chest. That’s premium real estate.”

Tuna blinked slowly. Then—

Touched your lips.

One soft paw.

Boop.

You went still. He went still.

“Bro,” you whispered. “You did not just—”

Then the paw slipped.

Just a little.

Just enough that one single toe bean dipped into your mouth.

You GAGGED.

You sat straight up, flailing, almost throwing the cat off the couch in the chaos.

“WHY. WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR PAW IN MY MOUTH?! ARE YOU OKAY?? AM I OKAY?? ARE WE DATING NOW???”

Tuna just looked at you.

Still on your chest. Still purring. Like he knew.

Like he’d seen things.

Like he was about to ruin your life with one meow.

And that was when Osamu walked in.

Bag of groceries in one hand. Keys in the other. Stopped dead in the doorway.

Tuna blinked.

Then turned to Osamu and let out the longest meow you’d ever heard. Like he was filing a report.

“...What’s goin’ on here?” Osamu asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

You sat there, hand mid-air, cat still ON YOUR CHEST, guilty as hell, toe bean residue probably still on your tongue, and said:

“…This is not what it looks like.”

Osamu blinked once.

Twice.

Then he smirked—smirked.

“Y’let Tuna put his paw in yer mouth, and I’m the one who gets flirty accusations?”

You spluttered. “It was involuntary mouth-to-paw contact!”

“Oh, sure,” he said, setting the bag down, strolling toward you. “Next thing I know, ya tell me ya kissed him goodnight and shared a milkshake.”

“Tuna’s a menace,” you whispered, as Tuna began biscuit-making again on your chest like a smug fluffy dictator.

“Yeah, well,” Osamu said, now inches from you. “You’re the one lettin’ him feel you up.”

You glared. “That’s it. Both of you are getting neutered.”

Tuna yawned.

Osamu just laughed and leaned down, brushing your cheek with his lips. “You’re cute when you’re panicked.”

“Don’t. Encourage. The cat.”

Brrrrt, Tuna purred, snuggling deeper into your chest.

This was HIS spot now.

ARAN OJIRO

“Just a few hours,” Aran had said, tossing you Sunny’s leash with a lazy grin. “He’s super chill. Loves cuddles, snacks, and sunbathing on the floor. You’ll be fine.”

You believed him.

Because Aran always said things like that — smooth, casual, confident — with that deep voice and warm smile that made you want to believe everything was gonna be okay.

But everything was not okay.

You lasted exactly 3.5 minutes before you realized you were babysitting a golden retriever version of a frat boy.

Sunny — fluffy, golden, tail wagging at light speed — greeted you by jumping straight into your arms like a literal missile, smothering your face in wet, overly enthusiastic kisses. He then proceeded to run full-speed into a wall, bounce off, and happily bring you one of Aran’s used gym socks like it was the crown jewels.

“...You’re insane,” you told him.

He barked once. Proudly.

You tried to calm him down. You really tried.

You gave him treats. He swallowed them whole.

You played fetch. He brought back a shoe from someone else’s doorstep.

You gave him water. He drank it… then sneezed directly into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Sunny—can you please chill?!”

Sunny did not chill.

No. Instead, when you bent over to pick up the sock he left under the coffee table, you felt it.That terrible pressure.

That cursed THUMP-THUMP rhythm on your leg.

You froze. Time stopped. The room fell silent. Eye twitched.

“…No. No no no no—”

You turned your head.

AND HE WAS DOING IT.

Sunny. HUMPING. YOUR. LEG.

Like it was the love of his life and this was the final scene of The Notebook.

“OH MY GOD—STOPPPPPP!”

You shook your leg. He held on tighter.

You screamed. He wagged his tail *faster*.

“ARANNNNNNN!!!”

Aran strolled in with a plate of sliced mango like he was walking out of a damn cooking show. “Everything alri—HOLY SHIT—SUNNY!! DOWN”

Sunny paused… and let out the most sinful, unholy moan you've ever heard in your life.

“HE MOANED. ARAN, YOUR DOG JUST MOANED.”

“He’s… expressive,” Aran offered weakly.

“He is horny, Ojiro.”

“I—I didn’t think he’d do this to you.”

“Why?! Because I don’t have a leg worth humping?”

“NO—wait, what? Noooo, baby girl—your leg is prime—wait, no, shit, I didn’t mean it like that—”

While Aran was busy fumbling over his words and dying from secondhand embarrassment, Sunny had the audacity to plop his butt on the floor, tongue out, tail wagging, as if to say “Round 2?”

You glared at him. “You’re going to dog jail.”

---

Later, once you’d locked Sunny in the bathroom for some *alone time* and Aran had recovered enough to look you in the eye again, you sat beside him on the couch, both slightly traumatized.

“…He really likes you,” Aran mumbled.

You side-eyed him. “If your version of like involves my thigh being emotionally and physically violated, I’m good.”

Aran chuckled, rubbing his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. He’s never like this. I swear.”

You crossed your arms, fake-pouting. “And yet I’ve become the object of his lust.”

He bit back a grin, leaning a little closer. “He’s got good taste.”

You blinked. “…Are you flirting with me while your dog is humping the air behind the door?”

Aran glanced at the bathroom. “He’s just… excited for us. He ships it.”

You snorted. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he grinned.

You didn’t.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

You were babysitting **TonTon**, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s beloved pet tortoise, while he was out at volleyball practice.

Yes. A tortoise.

He had texted you instructions like "feed him at 4 PM" and "make sure he doesn’t try to climb the stairs." Which, okay, fair, but also why did TonTon have a vibe like he would climb the stairs out of pure spite?

So now you were sitting on Ushijima’s floor, mid-spiral, holding a leaf of lettuce like it was a mic and TonTon was your therapist.

“Okay, listen, TonTon,” you said solemnly, watching the tortoise blink in that ancient, judgmental way. “I know you probably don't care, but I have to say it somewhere or I’ll explode and end up in jail for stealing this man’s hoodie.”

TonTon chewed slowly. Menacingly.

“I have a crush on your dad.”

Pause.

You immediately winced. “Wait, no—not your dad. Your owner. Not that he’s a daddy—oh my god what am I saying?”

You laid flat on the floor. TonTon just kept chewing like the elderly soul he was, showing zero mercy.

“I mean, look at him, TonTon,” you sighed dramatically, lettuce still in hand. “He’s calm. Grounded. Looks like he could crush someone emotionally and physically. And that one time he said my name during roll call? I had to sit down. Sit. Down.”

You fed TonTon another piece of lettuce like you were bribing him to forget everything.

“I’m losing it,” you mumbled. “Your dad—I mean, Ushijima—touched my shoulder once and I accidentally said ‘thank you’ like he handed me money.”

TonTon moved exactly one inch closer.

You stared at him, horrified. “Are you approaching me with judgment?”

Just then.

The door opened.

There he was. Ushijima. Home early. Towering. Holding a bag of lettuce like some divine, stoic salad god.

You and TonTon locked eyes like two criminals caught red-handed in the middle of a crime scene.

“I forgot my water bottle,” Ushijima said calmly. Then.. “Did you just say you have a crush on me?”

You considered becoming a tortoise. Right then and there. Crawling into a shell and disappearing for eternity.

“I—uh—no?” you squeaked.

TonTon chose violence and let out a crunchy CHOMP of betrayal.

Ushijima blinked. “TonTon only eats when he’s calm. He seems very calm.”

You were dying. Dying inside. “He’s… uh… really emotionally stable.”

“I know,” Ushijima said, now kneeling down to give TonTon a little pat. “Just like you.”

Your brain blue-screened.

“…Me?” you squeaked.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “You’re calm. Like a warm day. Sometimes unpredictable. But grounded. I like that.”

TonTon looked smug.

You looked like a ghost.

“I have to go,” Ushijima said, rising. “But… we can talk later. If you want.”

You nodded. Speechless.

As the door shut behind him again, you turned to TonTon.

“Snitch.”

TonTon blinked. Took another bite of lettuce.

TENDO SATORI

You were once a self-respecting human being.

Then you met Monty.

Monty the albino corn snake. Monty the slither noodle. Monty, who lived in a bougie glass tank in Tendo Satori’s room, complete with heat lamps, fake leaves, and a decorative log that looked suspiciously judgmental.

You hadn’t planned on trauma-dumping your entire romantic dilemma to a reptile. But here you were. Again. Sitting cross-legged on Tendo’s floor, babysitting Monty while Tendo ran to get snacks. And Monty was just staring. Unblinking. All-knowing.

“You know,” you said casually, resting your chin in your palm. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Monty slithered halfway out of his log. A subtle movement. A threat.

“Don’t give me that look,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You’re not better than me just because you don’t pay taxes.”

Monty flicked his tongue.

You scoffed. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

There was silence. The kind of silence that made you self-reflect.

“…Fine. I might like Tendo. A little. Like, an appropriate amount. Maybe. It’s not like I doodled our initials on my math notes or anything—” You paused. “Okay, I did. But just once.”

Monty moved closer to the glass.

You glared at him. “Do you have something to say? Huh? You wanna fight me, snakeboy?”

Monty tilted his head.

“Oh my god, you’re judging me.”

Monty stared deeper.

You broke.

“FINE! I think he’s cool, okay?! With his stupid long legs and his weird laugh and the way he remembers everyone’s birthdays even though no one asked?? And he makes the best popcorn and he lets me pick the movies even though I always choose psychological thrillers that mess us both up emotionally???”

Monty flicked his tongue again. A soundless “uh-huh.”

You sighed, lying flat on the floor in defeat. “He has no idea. I am a vault. A secret-holding fortress. A professional actor.”

Monty slithered into his water bowl and just stared at you through the water like a ghost from a horror movie.

“…Okay, you know what? That’s fair.”

The door opened.

You flinched and sat up so fast your spine cracked like bubble wrap.

Tendo peeked in, holding two bags of chips and a bottle of soda. “You two bonding again?”

You panicked. “WHO’S BONDING? I DON’T EVEN KNOW THIS SNAKE.”

Tendo blinked. “You literally named him ‘Monty Python’ last week.”

You froze. “I—Right. Yeah. Sorry. Just… rehearsing.”

“…Rehearsing?”

“For a play. Called *‘Snake Secrets and Stupid Feelings.’* It’s experimental.”

Tendo chuckled and walked in, setting the snacks down beside you. “You’re weird.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Takes one to know one.”

He looked at you for a beat, and then… smiled. The soft kind. Not the chaotic grin. Not the teasing smirk. The kind that made your stomach do a full Olympic gymnastics routine.

“You know Monty likes you, right?” he said, sitting beside you.

You snorted. “What, did he text you or something?”

Tendo shrugged. “Sort of. He only comes out of his log when you talk. Usually he ignores people. Including me.”

You blinked. “Wait. He’s listening?!”

Tendo grinned. “Oh yeah. He knows everything.”

Monty slowly curled into a spiral. Very smug. Very I told you so.

You turned back to Tendou. “Does Monty also know I like you?”

Tendo’s eyes sparkled. “I did.”

“W-What?”

He leaned closer. “Monty’s been telling me everything.”

You pointed at the tank. “You’re telling me you’ve been using your snake as an emotional surveillance device?!”

Tendo laughed so hard he nearly dropped the chips. “You’re just mad he exposed you.”

You stood up dramatically. “I CAN’T BELIEVE I CONFESSED TO A COLD-BLOODED BETRAYER.”

Tendou grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you back down. “If it helps… Monty also told me I should make a move.”

You stared. “What kind of psychic snake is he?!”

Tendou leaned in. “The kind that gets you a date.”

Monty blinked. One. Slow. Judgy. Blink.

And honestly?

Respect.

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi said he’d only be gone ten minutes.

Ten minutes to grab new ink refills and a croissant. Totally harmless. Totally innocent.

Except for the part where he left you alone in his apartment.

With Shigure.

His floppy-eared menace of a rabbit. Who blinked like a disappointed grandma and stomped like an angry roommate whenever you dared to lie in his sacred presence.

You sat on the floor, legs criss-crossed, glaring at the bunny who was currently chewing hay like he knew your whole emotional backstory.

“Okay, so maybe I used to like Akaashi,” you whispered like it was a crime. “But that was, like, two crushes ago. Old news.”

THUMP.

Shigure’s foot hit the floor like a gavel. You flinched.

“I’m serious! It’s just—he’s too polite. Too soft-spoken. Like a sexy ghost librarian. I don’t even like that type anymore.”

THUMP.

“…Okay fine, maybe I still think about his hands when I can’t sleep—”

THUMP. THUMP.

“SHIGURE, I’M LITERALLY BEGGING YOU TO STOP JUDGING ME.”

The rabbit paused. Tilted his fluffy head. Judgmental silence.

You groaned and collapsed backward on the carpet.

“It’s not my fault, okay? He always smells like fresh paper and morally sound decisions. He writes poetry for fun. I found a haiku about tea in his notebook once and I haven’t known peace since.”

Shigure hopped over and sat on your chest like he was claiming your sins.

“You don’t understand,” you continued, eyes wild now. “Yesterday he adjusted his glasses and I blacked out. I looked up and suddenly I had seventeen wedding boards on Pinterest—”

“...Should I be concerned?”

You froze.

Your soul left your body.

Akaashi was standing in the doorway. Holding a small paper bag. And his wallet. And the knowledge that you were a walking, talking, simping disaster.

“I forgot my—” he paused, eyes scanning the scene: you on the floor, his rabbit pinning you down like a fluffy demon, and the look of spiritual regret on your face.

“…what did I walk in on?”

Shigure hopped off you with the grace of a betrayer. Akaashi raised one brow.

“I—I—was—” you sat up, brain buffering, “talking to your rabbit. Like a normal person.”

“Mm,” Akaashi nodded slowly. “Normal people confess how much they love my hands… to my rabbit.”

You slapped your hands over your face. “Please delete me.”

“Can’t,” he said, too calmly. “You’re my favorite file.”

THUMP.

Shigure stomped again. Probably in approval.

You considered throwing yourself out the window. But then Akaashi walked over and offered you a second croissant.

You blinked. “You brought me food?”

“Well,” he said, smiling ever-so-slightly, “it seemed you were having a dramatic meltdown in my absence. I thought carbs might help.”

The bunny sat between you two.

Like a chaperone. Or a smug wingman.

You both pretended not to be flustered. Shigure knew better.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

Bokuto was out buying mango slices.

Why? Because Mango, his actual lovebird, threw a tantrum when he ran out yesterday. Screamed bloody murder. Flung seed. Launched herself off the curtain rod in dramatic betrayal. Bokuto nearly cried from guilt.

So now he was out.

Which left you… Alone. In his room. With Mango.

Who was currently clinging to your shirt like her tiny bird life depended on it.

You poked her gently. “I know you can’t talk. But we need to have a conversation about boundaries.”

Mango squawked. Then shoved her beak under your chin like, Affection now, clown.

You sighed, carefully scratching the top of her head. “This is all your fault. You and your bird dad. With his ridiculous arms and his sparkly eyes and the fact that he smells like coconut and competence—like who let him DO that?”

Mango, uninterested in your emotional spiral, was now climbing up your sleeve like a parrot ninja.

You continued, helpless, “He’s always like, ‘Heeeeyyyy~ Y/N!’ like he doesn’t know that I need five to ten business days to recover. He complimented my shoelaces yesterday. Shoelaces. I thought about it for four hours.”

Mango screamed.

Not just any scream. A direct, judgmental shriek. Bird-language for: “OH MY GOD GET A GRIP.”

“DON’T JUDGE ME,” you hissed. “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.”

Mango took off. FLYING. Circling the room like a feathery drone of chaos, knocking over a water bottle, a sock, and what might have been a protein bar. She landed dramatically on Bokuto’s desk, fluffed up like a warlord, and made direct, soul-piercing eye contact.

Then she STOMPED.

Yes. STOMPED.

A tiny lovebird foot came down in what can only be described as pure condemnation.

“EXCUSE ME???” you shouted. “Did you just… JUDGE-STOMP?”

She stomped again. Then leapt into the air and did what can only be described as an aerial backflip, landed on your head, and BURIED HER WHOLE FACE IN YOUR HAIR.

You screamed.

She screamed.

It was a duet of horror and mutual betrayal.

“I AM NOT IN LOVE,” you shrieked at her. “YOU’RE JUST TOO CUTE AND YOUR DAD IS TOO LOUD AND HOT, THAT’S NOT THE SAME THING.”

Mango flopped over dramatically on your head like a Disney princess fainting on a balcony.

You were about to start a full-on debate with this bird when the door opened.

“Hey, I’m back! They had the good mangoes—” Bokuto stopped. Stared. At you. On the floor. Hair fluffed. Face red. With his lovebird currently nuzzling your cheek like she’d claimed you in a sacred mating ritual.

You froze. He blinked.

Then…

“…She likes you more than she likes me,” he said, grinning.

“I don’t know what happened,” you whispered, internally sobbing. “She screamed. I screamed. There was stomping.”

Bokuto crossed the room in two long strides and offered you his hand, eyes crinkled with amusement. “She only does that when she’s really comfortable. Or when she senses crush energy.”

You took his hand in defeat. “Crush energy isn’t real.”

Mango screeched from your shoulder.

Bokuto: “That was her saying ‘liar.’”

You: “I hate this household.”

Bokuto: “So when’s the wedding? I’ll let her be the ring bearer.”

You: considering becoming a nun

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

You were once a normal person.

That was before Iwaizumi Hajime’s bearded dragon entered your life like a scaly, sunlamp-worshipping therapist with side-eyes sharper than a knife set.

You didn’t intend to talk to the reptile. But here you were. Again. Sitting on Iwaizumi’s couch while he ran to the pet shop for “crickets and calcium powder,” whatever that meant, and you were left with Spike — his little dinosaur son who blinked once every two business days and looked at you like you weren’t good enough for his dad.

“Okay, look,” you muttered, leaning forward on the couch, staring into his soulless yellow lizard eyes. “I know we don’t talk often, but I need to get this off my chest.”

Spike just stood there, basking under his heat lamp like the sun god he thought he was.

You sighed. “Do you think he likes me?”

Nothing.

You scooted a little closer. “Because like… he lets me sit in his spot on the couch. You know the one. The little dent where his butt lives.”

Spike did a very slow blink.

“That’s boyfriend behavior, right?”

Silence.

“Okay, maybe not. But he also gave me one of his hoodies once. Said it smelled like ‘gym and regret’ but I didn’t mind. I wore it for three days straight. Is that love?”

Spike turned his head just slightly to the left.

You gasped. “So it’s NOT love?! Are you telling me I’m delusional?!”

Spike raised one claw and rested it on his rock.

“…Don’t you dare judge me, scaly god. You don’t even pay rent.”

At that, Spike opened his mouth. Not a hiss. Not a squeak. Just an empty void of judgment.

You stood up. “You know what? No. I’m tired of living in fear of you. You’re not better than me. You eat bugs for breakfast.”

Spike moved an inch.

You flinched.

“...Okay. I didn’t mean that. You’re a very respectable reptile. Please don’t curse me.”

Spike turned away like you were beneath him.

You sat back down, defeated. “Fine. Maybe I’m projecting. Maybe I do like Iwaizumi. Maybe I imagine what our kids would look like. They’d be ripped and have moral integrity. That’s terrifying but beautiful.”

Spike looked back at you.

“…You’ve known this whole time, haven’t you?”

The door opened.

You jumped like you got caught cheating on a math test.

Iwaizumi walked in, holding a bag of groceries and one suspiciously specific bouquet of your favorite flowers. “Hey,” he said, walking over. “You good? Look like you saw a ghost.”

You laughed nervously. “Haha, no, not at all, I was just talking to Spike about taxes.”

Iwaizumi paused. “You… were talking to my lizard about taxes.”

“Yup. GDP. Inflation. The whole shebang.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Spike. “You told her, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “Told me what?”

Iwaizumi walked over, leaned down… and pressed the flowers into your hands. “That I like you.”

Silence.

Spike crawled onto his basking rock and nodded.

YOU SAW HIM NOD.

“WHAT IN THE DISNEY PIXAR—” you screamed, nearly throwing the flowers and falling off the couch.

Iwaizumi caught you with one arm, totally casual. “Told you he liked you. He doesn’t nod for just anyone.”

You looked between Iwaizumi and his judgmental dragon. “So you’re telling me… I confessed my situationship brain rot to a magical, semi-psychic bearded lizard… and he’s been your wingman this whole time?”

Spike licked his own eyeball.

“…Okay that’s fair.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “So… dinner? I made yakisoba.”

“Also...you talk to Spike about me?!”

“Every Thursday.”

You blinked. “That’s unhinged.”

Iwaizumi smirked. “So are you.”

OIKAWA TOORU

You swore you weren’t scared of dogs.

But this—this was not a dog.

This was a 4-pound puff of chaos with beady eyes, trust issues, and an attitude worse than your ex.

Her name? Princess.

Her mission? Terrorize anyone who gets too close to Oikawa Tooru.

Her target? You. Always. Without mercy.

You were currently sitting on Oikawa’s couch, legs tucked neatly under you like someone preparing for a war crime, as Princess sat just one cushion away — staring you down like she knew your deepest sins.

She barked once.

Just one.

Loud. Piercing. Condescending.

“Stop judging me,” you muttered, glaring at her. “I haven’t even touched him.”

Princess growled softly, like she knew that was a lie.

You crossed your arms. “I mean—okay. Maybe I look at him. Occasionally. With longing. But like, who doesn’t?”

Princess blinked. You were pretty sure it was sarcastic.

You scooted an inch away. She scooted an inch closer.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “He trained you to hate me, didn’t he?”

She barked again, and you could feel the judgment radiating from her tiny, furry soul.

“Alright, fine! I like him, okay? Happy now? I like your stupid perfect owner with his stupid perfect face and his stupid little hair flips and his STUPID little wink when he wins at Mario Kart even though he’s CHEATING—”

“Is she threatening you again?” came a familiar voice from the hallway.

You froze.

Oikawa casually walked into the living room, holding a bowl of popcorn and two sodas. He raised an eyebrow as he caught the tail end of your emotional meltdown.

“Wait, back up,” he said slowly, placing the snacks down. “Did you just call me perfect?”

You blinked. “...No?”

Princess barked so violently she fell off the couch.

Oikawa laughed. “Wow, sold out by a dog. That’s rough.”

“She’s a traitor!” you yelled. “I’ve done nothing but feed her organic duck jerky and talk about how fluffy she is and she BETRAYED ME.”

He shrugged and plopped down beside you, grinning like a man who had just won an emotional lottery. “Well, I mean, Princess has high standards. She hates everyone. You should feel honored.”

You pointed at the tiny beast, now curled on your leg like she hadn’t just tried to destroy your life. “She literally growled at me when I complimented your volleyball highlight reel.”

“She has taste.”

“She BIT ME WHEN I SAID I LIKE YOUR SMILE.”

“She’s a wingdog,” Oikawa said smoothly. “And she’s working overtime.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but paused.

“…Wait. You knew?”

He smirked. “You confessed to my dog, Y/n. Loudly. For three separate visits in a row.”

“She doesn’t speak English!!”

He leaned closer. “But I do.”

You panicked. “Forget everything you just heard—”

“I like you too.”

Silence.

You and Princess both turned to him.

“…You do?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Duh. But I had to make sure *my daughter* approved.”

Princess barked once.

Oikawa scratched her chin. “She says yes. But also that you need to stop lying about my Mario Kart skills.”

You gasped. “YOU’RE STILL A CHEATER.”

He shrugged. “I cheat with style.”

Princess barked in agreement.

You stared at the two of them — a beautiful, chaotic man and his demon dog daughter.

And for some reason?

You felt home.

KYOTANI KENTARO

The first thing you noticed was the size.

Kyōtani’s rottweiler, Kiba, was less of a dog and more of a small horse. Muscles like a linebacker. A jaw like a bear trap. Eyes that said, “I’ve done some things. And I’d do them again.”

You stood at the door, holding the leash Kyōtani had just handed you, heart pounding.

“You sure he’s friendly?” you asked, eyeing Kiba, who was staring at you like you were either prey or his new mom.

Kyōtani blinked, utterly unbothered. “Yeah. He likes you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He’s growling.”

“That’s his love language.”

Kiba, beside him, let out a low rumbly *gruff*… and licked his lips.

You swallowed. “…Okay.”

---

To be fair, Kiba didn’t attack you.

Nope. What he did instead?

Stalk you.

Everywhere.

Like a tank-sized shadow with a possessive streak.

You went to the kitchen? Click-clack — he followed.

Sat on the couch? Whomp — his head was on your lap.

Went to the bathroom? Scratch-scratch-scratch — your personal bouncer was outside the door like, “You good in there, princess?”

It was cute, in an I’m-a-little-afraid-he’ll-eat-me kind of way.

You peeked out of the hallway. “Kentarō… your dog keeps watching me like he wants to marry me or maul me. Or both.”

Kyōtani, lounging shirtless on the floor doing pushups (because of course he was), just shrugged. “He’s protective.”

“…So is he gonna let me leave? Or nah?”

“Nope,” Kyōtani said without looking up. “You live here now.”

---

Later that night, you tried to chill on the couch and maybe binge some trash TV.

Kiba climbed up beside you like he paid rent.

Then, without warning, he planted his whole body on your lap, head under your chin, grumbling and nuzzling. Like, “Pet me. Praise me. I own you.”

You glanced at Kyōtani.

“He’s… affectionate,” you said slowly, patting Kiba awkwardly as he snorted against your chest.

Kyōtani looked up from his phone, watching the two of you with that unreadable face of his — and then… smirked. Just a tiny one. Dangerous.

“He doesn’t do that with anyone else.”

“…Oh.”

Then, Kiba did something terrible.

He made a noise — like a low, dramatic sigh — and gently shoved his entire snout between your thighs.

“KYŌTANI.”

“I saw nothing.”

“YOUR DOG JUST WENT FACE-FIRST INTO THE TRIANGLE OF SIN—”

“He’s just sniffin’.”

“SNIFFING WHAT—THE MEANING OF LIFE?!”

You tried to push Kiba back, but he just grumbled, adjusted, and fell asleep with his whole body weighing down your legs and his chin casually resting on your upper thigh like it was a goddamn pillow.

“Great,” you muttered. “He’s crushing my femurs. I’m never walking again.”

Kyōtani got up, walked over, leaned down—and gave your cheek a light kiss.

You blinked. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Kiba claimed you. So I’m claiming you back.”

You stared at him, brain rebooting.

Kiba let out a satisfied grunt in his sleep.

And from that moment on, you weren’t sure who was scarier

Kyōtani, his jealous rottweiler, or how much you liked both.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You were terrified the first time Sakusa introduced you to his cat.

No fur. All wrinkles. Piercing, judgy stare.

It was like meeting the ghost of a rich widow’s ex-husband who died under *mysterious circumstances*.

“This is Hairball, ironic, I know ” Sakusa had said, like the creature hadn’t just hissed at you from its silk blanket throne.

That was six months ago.

Now?

Now you were at Sakusa’s apartment, laid back on his couch in a hoodie and shorts, with a completely naked, wrinkled, and slightly moist sphynx cat draped across your chest like a dramatic scarf.

Hairball, the emotionally unstable hairless gremlin, was aggressively purring—because you were giving him little chin scratches and whispering sweet nothings like

“Don’t worry, baby. I’d never let Omi cut your nailbeds too short again. That was emotional damage.”

Hairball purred louder, his alien-looking body vibrating like an angry cell phone. You were his safe space now. His chosen.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you hate that lavender shampoo. It makes you smell like a haunted grandma. I said go for the cucumber melon one, but did Omi listen? Nooooo—”

“Excuse me?”

You yelped—literally yelped—and whipped around.

Sakusa stood in the hallway with two mugs of tea and a very flat expression.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

He looked at you.

Then at Hairball.

Then back at you, still pinned by a naked cat whose eyes were smug now.

“…Are you gossiping with my cat?” Sakusa asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You immediately panicked. “NO. No. I was just—ventilating. Verbally. It’s a self-soothing technique. Therapists recommend it.”

Hairball looked Sakusa dead in the eyes and let out a single, long hiss.

Then licked your cheek.

Sakusa blinked. “Did you just get kissed before me. By my cat.”

“I—I didn’t ask for it!” you squeaked.

“Is that why you’re stroking his little gremlin belly and calling him your precious wart baby?”

Your jaw dropped. “I didn’t call him—!!”

“Oh, you did,” Sakusa said flatly, walking over and setting the mugs down.

Hairball stretched across you like the most dramatic runway model alive, paw smacking your boob like he paid rent there.

Sakusa stared.

“You’ve officially become the only person he lets touch him,” he muttered, almost bitterly.

You blinked. “Wait. Really?”

He narrowed his eyes. “He bit my aunt. Twice. He refuses to sleep next to me unless I put a heated towel down first. But you—he lets you stick your face in his belly folds and call him ‘my little wrinkly ass wart.’”

You coughed, trying not to laugh. “You heard that?”

Sakusa just gave you a look.

“You’re jealous,” you accused, grinning.

“I am not jealous of a cat.”

Hairball sneezed in Sakusa’s direction.

“...Okay, maybe a little,” he muttered.

You patted the space beside you. “Come cuddle with us, Omi.”

“No.”

“You can be the big spoon.”

“No.”

“You can be the little spoon.”

“I’m going to burn that hoodie if it smells like cat.”

Hairball meowed sweetly and patted your cheek with a wrinkly paw.

You smirked. “You’re just mad he got to second base before you.”

Sakusa blinked slowly.

Then sighed.

“…You’re both annoying.”

But five minutes later, guess who joined you on the couch with a clean towel so hairball wouldn't touch him directly?

Damn right.

KUROO TETSURO

Being roommates with Kuroo Tetsuro wasn’t bad.

Sure, he left hair gel on the sink and his dirty socks migrated to places no socks should be — like the microwave. But otherwise? Chill dude. Paid bills on time. Didn’t hog the bathroom. Made bomb curry.

And he had a cat.

A sleek, smug black cat named Tetsu who was, quite literally, his twin in feline form: sharp eyes, mysterious vibes, and a talent for making people feel like they were the pet.

Y/n didn’t mind him. Until this day.

“Kuroo,” she called from the kitchen, already regretting everything. “Your little demon just knocked over the tampon box again. WHY is that his favorite toy?!”

From his room: “He respects your womanhood.”

“HE ATE A PANTY LINER.”

“Okay. Disrespectful.”

She groaned, then froze as she spotted something.

Oh no.

Laundry basket. Top layer. Lacy underwear.

Tetsu was staring at it.

“No. Nope. Don’t even think abou—HEY!”

Too late.

He lunged like a perverted shadow gremlin, grabbed a black lace thong like it was the last Horcrux, and bolted under the couch with a speed that could shame Olympic sprinters.

“TETSU. GIVE. IT. BACK!”

Cue Y/n on her knees, arm deep under the couch, bargaining with a feline underwear thief while waving a piece of rotisserie chicken like a hostage negotiator.

She got it back.

But at what cost?

Later, she collapsed dramatically on the couch, flinging an arm over her eyes. Tetsu, satisfied with the chaos he’d unleashed, hopped onto her chest like he owned the lease.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Sit on your throne, you fluffy war criminal,” she mumbled.

He purred. Innocently.

Then reached a paw up…

And touched her lips.

“…What.”

Another paw. Gentle. Testing. Then—boop. Toe bean to mouth.

“PPPFFFTTT—TETSU, YOU NASTY—”

She choked, flailing, as the little bastard slid deeper into her cleavage like it was a heated blanket, tucked in with the confidence of a man who paid rent.

“Oh my god—you’re not even subtle. This is harassment.”

Then, just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, she felt a tug.

She looked down.

His tiny claw had hooked her camisole strap and was gently trying to pull it down.

“Are you trying to undress me?! ARE YOU A PEEPING TOM IN A CAT COSTUME?!”

*Tug tug.*

“NO. STOP THAT. YOU CANNOT SEDUCE ME FOR FUNSIES.”

She was too stunned to fight. The camisole shifted slightly, and Tetsu nuzzled closer with a little sigh like this was just a Monday for him.

And that’s when Kuroo walked in.

The door opened mid-camisole-tug, mid-purr.

“Hey, I just got back from the groce—”

He froze.

Y/n. On the couch. Camisole half-yanked down, cheeks red, hair messy.

His cat? Kneading her chest like it was artisanal sourdough.

A long pause.

Kuroo: “...I leave you alone with my son for ten minutes and you let him motorboat you?”

Lea: “I DIDN’T LET HIM—HE TOUCHED MY MOUTH AND STARTED UNDRESSING ME—”

Kuroo: “...Was it mutual?”

“WHAT THE HELL—KUROO, GET YOUR PERVERT CAT OFF MY BOOBS!”

But Kuroo just set down the groceries and laughed so hard he had to lean on the counter.

“He likes you,” he said between wheezes. “He only gets freaky with people he trusts.”

“YOUR CAT VIOLATED ME.”

“That’s how I show trust too.”

“KUROO.”

He just grinned.

AONE TAKANOBU

When Aone said, “You can meet my pig,”

you did not think he meant a literal pig.

Not like…"Haha my dog eats like a pig!"

No.

This was a full-bodied, pink, snorting, cloven-hoofed, emotionally co-dependent mini pig named Yuki.

Mini, as in "not farm size," but absolutely not emotionally mini because this pig?

She loved you.

—

At first it was kind of cute.

Yuki trotted over, sniffed your leg, and immediately collapsed on your foot like,

"This is mine now. I’ve claimed you."

Aone just blinked and nodded.

“That means she trusts you,” he said.

You smiled, thinking,

“Aw. Sweet.”

WRONG.

Yuki was not here for a casual fling.

Yuki was in it for eternity.

You couldn’t sit without her flopping next to you.

You couldn’t walk without her trotting behind you like a shadow.

She screamed—squealed like a banshee—when you went into the kitchen without her.

And the real problem started when you tried to pee.

“Aone,” you whispered, trapped in the bathroom as Yuki oinked aggressively from the other side of the door, “She’s breathing under the crack. I can see her snout.”

You heard his deep, quiet voice from the hallway.

“She doesn’t like closed doors.”

“She’s THUMPING on the door.”

“She thinks you’re trapped.”

“She’s right.”

“I’ll… talk to her.”

But before Aone could come save you—the door opened.

Yuki headbutted her way in like a battering ram.

She trotted in, made DIRECT eye contact, then promptly sat on your foot again.

While you were still peeing.

You wept.

Yuki oinked with satisfaction.

From then on, you had no peace.

Yuki followed you around Aone’s house like a little judgmental ghost, occasionally making low snorting sounds like she was taking notes on your sins.

At one point, you caught her trying to climb onto Aone’s bed after you’d already sat on it.

She flopped between you both and let out a sound that somehow said

“You’re in MY spot.”

Aone just sighed and gave her a gentle pat.

“She’s never like this with anyone else.”

“I feel like I’m being held hostage by Peppa Pig.”

“She likes you.”

“She peed in my shoe.”

“She really likes you.”

But then—

The day came when you had to leave.

You were at the door, hugging Aone goodbye (the best 3-second hug of your life), when you heard a sound from behind:

Yuki.

Staring.

With wide, glistening, dramatic pig eyes.

She let out a long, slow, tragic oink.

You knelt down. “Yuki, I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise—”

And then she…

flopped over. Belly up. Arms out.

Like she had died of heartbreak.

You gasped. “Is she okay?!”

“She’s guilt-tripping you,” Aone said calmly, already holding her treat jar.

You blinked. “So she’s—”

He tossed her a banana chip. Yuki IMMEDIATELY sprang to life and snatched it from mid-air like nothing happened.

You stared at her.

Yuki stared back.

She knew what she was doing

You still came back the next day.

Because you were pretty sure this pig would hunt you down if you didn’t.

AHH GOOD LORD I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS DFNTLY ENJOYED ASAHI AND SUNA'S PART

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1intrusivethoughts1 · 4 days ago

Text

Fate and all that Jazz

Link to list

Tendou Satori x photographer!reader

chapter info: enemies to lovers, time skip where Tendou is a chocolatier, descriptions of chocolate (I got hungry so it’s a warning), reader is a photographer, gender neutral

Chapter 1

WC: 2.6 k

“Over here, over here!” the bride said excitedly, leading you towards a table.

“Here is where the food and desert are going to be. Feel free to eat, I know some people don’t let the photographers eat, but I do!” she grinned, placing her laced gloved hands together.

“I appreciate it.” you smiled softly, before her friends came to steal her away. She smiled apologetically before waving at you.

You waved her off and turned towards the table. It was beautiful. The set up and display was carefully thought and planned out, resulting in you raising your camera. The chocolate table was your best interest, it was the best wedding food display you had seen in your career. You shifted your footing, attempting to find the best position. There. That was perfect.

“Uhm, excuse me?” a voice called from behind you, disrupting the perfect shot. You frowned, letting out a sigh as you turned around. Your eyes met a tall man, who sported a red buzz cut. Very interesting…

“Yes?” you responded, not sounding very happy. You let go of your camera to hang from your neck, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I haven’t finished setting up the display yet.” he smiled, holding his plate of chocolates higher to your view. Eyeing the plate for a few seconds, you said a quick apology and stepped away. Your eyes remained on him, traveling to the gloved hand that delicately placed chocolates on the plates. Well, that was a bit embarrassing. Your tone was a bit too harsh for your liking, but it didn’t matter in the end.

He glanced over at you, catching your eye and smiling once you looked away. He placed the last few chocolates and stepped back a bit.

“Impressive, aren’t I?” he said proudly, placing his gloved hands on his hips. Isn’t that a bit unsanitary?

“The display is nice.” you hummed in return, which caused him to grin at you, placing a hand on his chest.

“Only the display? Not the one who made it?”

Although it was a bit embarrassing at first when you totally disregarded the fact that he could’ve been the one making the display, you decided to keep up with it. He was a bit annoying, so it’d only be fair to sass this man back.

“Are you fishing for compliments or something…?” you raised a brow, your lips pressed into a thin line.

He, the ever dramatic person, placed his gloved hand against his heart. Also unsanitary…

“Wow, that hurt! I just want recognition for my greatness.” he frowned, acting like you’d wounded him or something.

“Well, yes the display is great. You do know how to show.” you admitted, fiddling with your camera as you met his eyes. “It might taste terrible, usually if it looks good it tastes mediocre. Just how chocolate is.” you spoke as though you yourself were a chocolatier. You took this moment to raise the camera to eye level, taking a few shots. He’s finished after all.

“Oh, I see~ Is this a challenge? Don’t worry your pretty little head, I have some samples!” he responded with a smirk, triumphantly pulling out a small box, he opened it and motioned it towards you. “Pick one, they’re all good.” he shrugged, trying to hide his buzzing energy.

You looked at him with a judgey look, before dropping your camera to hand around your neck, and grab one with a sigh. If he stops pestering you, then you’ll totally eat one. He watched intently as you popped the mini chocolate into your mouth. You tried to keep your expression emotionless, but honestly it was one of the best chocolates you’ve had The outer shell was just the right amount of bitterness, and inside, was filled with a silky smooth texture, the sweetness perfectly balancing out the bitter outside. Your eyes were slightly wide as you ate it, no longer aware of his prying eyes, smirking slyly as you enjoyed the chocolate.

“Sooooo, how’s my rating? Five star review?” he hummed, removing you from your trance. You hummed, finishing the chocolate before shrugging.

“It was decent, i’ve had better. I’d say a 6/10.” you pursed your lips together, putting on a neutral face. That was one of the fattest lies you’ve ever told someone.

“Liar, that was the face of someone thoroughly enjoying my chocolates.” he pouted, furrowing his brows as he looked down at you, taking a step closer. His voice lowered, almost like he was telling you a secret.

“I’ll just have to bring you some better chocolates next time!” he hummed, dusting off his gloved hands, as if he had finished a hard task. He grinned—he loved a challenge.

Your eyes were mid-roll when something about his expression made you pause. You turned, brows furrowed, as Tendou simply grinned.

“Next time?” you spoke, your voice holding more bad than good.

He smiled, man you must really hate him! He laughed softly, bending down a bit.

“Yes, I do believe that we’ll cross paths again. Y’know, fate and all that Jazz.” Tendou grinned, tucking the little box back into one of his pockets. You rolled your eyes at him, taking a step back.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” you spoke plainly before glancing around, and smiling sweetly. “Looks like i’ve gotta go, nice seeing you.” you spoke before rushing off, leaving him at the table.

He stood up, placing a hand on his hip as he watched you leave. Oh, he was definitely intrigued, and he was definitely enjoying this. He had that stupid smirk on his face, as he watched you leave, before turning back to rearrange his chocolates. Maybe you’d come back and take more pictures.

You walked around the venue, appreciating how beautiful it was. They were definitely rich, but it made taking pictures easier. The more decorations, the more shots you could take that were satisfactory. You walked alongside the garden, catching a glimpse of the dance beginning. Perfect! Shots of the groom and bride dancing were always gushed at, and motion shots were your speciality.

You smiled as you settled around, moving every now and then to readjust the shot. You found some pretty good shots, and as you zoomed in a bit to the bride, your lips curled into a smile. Perfect. You took a small breath, clicking a few shots. You smiled eagerly, glancing at the photos.

The bride was laughing, bringing out her beautiful smile, and the groom stared lovingly into her eyes. It was so adorable, you smiled as you glanced at the shot. It was perfect.

“That one’s really good.” a voice, no, an annoying voice said from close behind you. You glanced up, and to your dismay you saw that stupid smirk and red buzz cut.

“Shouldn’t you be attending your chocolates?” you asked, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. He placed a hand in his chin, as if he was thinking.

“Nahhh, I finished! Done until they start getting empty. Might wanna take pictures before people start eating them.” he suggested with his hands on his hips, and honestly he was right. It wasn’t lunch yet, and once everyone went inside, the beautiful display of chocolates would be ruined. You sighed and shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.” you hummed, not wanting to give him acknowledgment, or the fact that he was right. After you took a few more pictures of people dancing, you walked toward the building which held all the food.

What bothered you was that Tendou was following you. Great. This random dude won’t leave you alone, and he’s weird. You tried to ignore him, and once you reached the table you were reminded how nice it looked. You began taking pictures, moving in various positions to create the perfect shot. He simply watched you, not seeming to be bothered when you’d catch his stare. Once you finished you sighed and looked at him.

“Is there a reason you keep hovering over me like a stupid puppy?” you asked, and he laughed at your words. You didn’t think it was funny.

“Not at all, just wanted to see your pictures.” he smiled, eyes studying you. You rolled your eyes, and he seemed to be amused by your attitude. You removed the strap that hung around your neck, and flipped through the images of the chocolate with Tendou watching. He hummed as you got to a certain one, and spoke.

“That one’s really good.” he complimented, you nodded in response, it was the best one in the bunch. You feel him glancing at you, so you met his eyes, raising a brow.

“I just realized, I forgot to ask for your name, photographer-chan.” he looked at you expectantly.

You couldn’t decide what was worse, him calling you “photographer-chan” or actually telling him your real name. You grimaced at the nickname, and he grinned at your reaction.

“Don’t call me that, it’s stupid.” you huffed, avoiding the question. You pointed your camera elsewhere, strapping it back around your neck and raising it towards your face. You refocused some shots before he continued to talk.

“I’m Satori Tendou, you should come over to my shop.” he paused, as if he was eyeing you again.

“I’d rather not.” you spoke, your eyes away from him, and focused on the camera. He persisted, and kept talking as if he didn’t even pick up the signals that you were not interested. Can he even take a hint?

“Tell you what, if you take some shots of my shop for some new advertisement, i’ll pay you with some chocolates!” he spoke with a grin, leaning a bit forward next to you. You sighed, putting the camera down and glancing at him. He was stupidly close to your face and you shifted away from him. Jeez, does this dude even know the concept of personal space? It’s like he doesn’t even care.

“Not happening, plus…your chocolates aren’t even good.” you lied, almost smiling in amusement as he placed a hand against his heart, a dramatic look in his face.

“You wound my fragile heart with your words!” he pouted, and you remained indifferent. You glanced at him, placing a hand on your hip. This guy…

“Oh my gosh you’re so annoying.” you mumbled under your breath, averting your eyes from him. Anywhere but him. It’s almost like his actions were embarrassing. He definitely was funny…that’s it though.

You sighed before glancing at him, narrowing your eyes slightly as you pointed a finger at his chest.

“Look, I have a job to do here, and so do you. I don’t want to get a bad rep cause of some random guy.” you huffed, and he seemed to shut up. He looked…intrigued though. Great. So this guy likes getting bashed on? Freaky. He grinned at your words, leaning in. Your finger made contact with his chest from how close he leaned in. Again, no awareness of personal space. Jeez. As he leaned in, you caught a small hint of cocoa. It was strangely addicting, with the combined smell of other flavors like caramel or coffee. You quickly snapped out of those thoughts, his next words bringing you back to reality.

“Where’s the fun in that? Cmon, being boring won’t give you a good reputation either.” he said, almost teasingly. He looked at you like this was fun to him. Grinning with a glint in his eyes you couldn’t quite out your finger on. You moved your hand away, placing a hand on your hip.

“Don’t really care.” you hummed, shrugging. Your eyes found a decent setting for photoshoot, and you left. No goodbye, cause let’s be real, he’ll come back anyway.

Eventually, people started to pile in for food. The food looked incredibly delicious, and by the amount and variety there was, you were sure that these people were filthy rich. Man, you’d probably marry for money too if you got stuff like this! Kidding…mostly. The food consisted of mainly appetizers, but it was insane. There were so many, and the variety was what made it amazing! It ranged from savory appetizers like onigiri, quiches and mini sandwiches to deserts like fruits, chocolate and puddings. It was a great opportunity for pictures. Especially when the food looked great!

Over the few minutes of peace you got, you were able to get some decent shots. The line died down after a grueling 30 minutes, and you were finally able to sit down and eat yourself. The food looked amazing! A voice that called you rather enthusiastically was less amazing. You sighed, turning your head to find someone walking up to you.

Tendou waved his hand at you with a grin, smoothly pulled a chair out to take a seat next to you. Of course he had food. Oh no. Was he expecting to sit next to…you?

“Sorry, the seats taken…” you smiled softly at him, and he shrugged.

“It’s fine, i’ll just warm it up for them while they’re gone. No biggie, I know i’m nice.” he grinned, eating some of his food. His eyes missed the annoyed expression, and glided down to your plate. His grin widened as his eyes met none other than his delicious chocolates. Slowly, his eyes crawled back up to you with a despicable grin.

“Someone liked my chocolates, hm~?” he hummed, leaning against the palm of his hand. You slid your place away, like it’d somehow make the chocolates disappear.

“I’m just hungry.” you half assed an excuse and he just laughed, shaking his head. “Why are you sitting here anyway? There’s so many seats.” you protested, turning your gaze to him.

He simply shrugged, taking another bite of his food which delayed his response. After the comically long pause, he spoke “well, you looked lonely.” Thats it? This guy is driving you insane.

You didn’t protest further. Partially because you didn’t have enough energy, and because you didn’t despise his presence. After dinner, you met up with the brides parents to discuss the photos, because the bride left to their honeymoon. They loved the few photos you showed them, and discussed payment.

“Thank you so much, it was honestly a pleasure to be here. Have a good night!” you thanked the parents and waved them off before heading back to your car. Tendou was still there, loading up his truck. He shoved the last box in, wiped his hands on his apron, and gave you an obnoxiously big wave. You gave a half-hearted one back, hoping he couldn’t see the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. He just had to leave the same time as you. It made sense, but you just wanted to be mad at him. Annoyingly persistent till the very end.

You popped your trunk and started loading your gear, glancing once more at the venue. It had been beautiful—the kind of gig that reminded you why you loved your job. You slung your camera bag over your shoulder, thinking briefly about those photos. The chocolate table. The garden shots. That one candid of the bride laughing like she’d never been happier.

You sat in the driver’s seat, flipping through the camera roll. Your best shot, hands down, was the one with Tendou’s display. Naturally. Of course he would be part of your portfolio now. You sighed, biting your thumbnail as you drafted the email to your boss, attaching the best shots. You’d send that email once you got home, but for now… Your eyes drifted to his truck, his logo on display. Maybe you could search his store…

For a second, just a second, your fingers hovered over the search button, debating if you should search his shop. Just to, you know, see what it looked like. You rolled your eyes at yourself.

“Absolutely not,” you muttered, shutting your laptop. You’d rather not see him again.

...At least not so soon.

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