#animal crossing weird build

[pan-cakes-makes]

CRYPTID CAMPSITE + ALIEN BUNKER

Sick of seeing run-of-the-mill camping builds? Then this cryptid hiking trail & conspiracy theorist bunker is just the injection of weirdness you need!

There’s a loch ness monster lake, bigfoot trails, & UFO landing site. Our resident alien Roswell has even set up a prepper style bunker deep in the woods to hide out from all the earthlings while he hunts for evidence of cryptids. One day he’s going to blow the lid off all this & finally prove to his mothership that he isn’t totally delusional, just you wait.

So if you’re looking to add a heavy dose of quirky, convoluted storytelling into your Animal Crossing gameplay, this is the tinfoil lined weird speed build you’ve been searching for. 

- CUSTOM CODES USED - Dirt Path: MA-4147-2454-4020 Loch Ness Sign: MA-3745-7775-6285 Lake Monster Polaroids: MA-3745-7775-6285 Bigfoot Trail: MA-3745-7775-6285 Crop Circles: MA-0357-3870-5655 Glyph Blocks: MA-9738-0604-0491 Owl: MA-9421-2929-3714 UFO Newspaper: MA-7746-3776-0655 Alien Jacket: MO-XXTS-45MF-GD9T Alien Hat: MA-1466-2448-3007 Eyebrows: MA-1409-5733-1266

Get the full scoop on YouTube here

[meringuejellyfish]

this is like the only non witch aside from Maybe doctors that dont think qifrey is a weirdo

[telogen]

how i look when the record store owner asks what I’ve been into lately n i say Prince & he proceeds to put on a record produced by Prince for me

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[bixels]

In the past, people in the Animal Crossing community would make fun of Tom Nook as a sleazy landlord. Since then, he's really rehabilitated his image as this 'heart of gold' businessman (he's the one who puts bells and furniture in trees for you to find! he adopted orphans! he donates to charity!), but New Horizons genuinely paints the most devious version of him.

He's successfully privatized settler colonialism: you pay HIM to move to a "deserted island" (which apparently the oceans in the AC world are just full of) and start a colony that he is directly invested in. At best he's running a weird vacation package scam (you arrive on the island with no money and in debt for "using his services"). At worst, he's using you to set up company towns. For god's sake, he literally has his own fake currency that he forces you to use to pay off your debt. But don't worry, he's repackaged it in a way that definitely doesn't sound like an MLM scam: the Nook Mileage Program!

You're no longer just his tenant or his temporary part-timer, you're his business lackey. The entire tutorial section of the game has you spending actual weeks running around completing tasks and doing hard labor to set up his colony. You're even tasked with preparing his properties and finding buyers for them. No, you aren't a tenant anymore. You work for the landlord. You are directly responsible for finding tenants for him. And he doesn't even fucking pay you. Not for setting up town hall and museum, or his nephew's shop –– which is the ONLY store on the entire island that sells necessities –– or bringing KK Slider to town, or helping populate his town. Not a single cent. No, actually, you have to pay HIM to BUY infrastructure like bridges and stairs and park benches. And all the while, he's telling you're the "resident representative"; you get to call the shots! That the reward is the community's progress. That what you're doing is in everyone's best interest (but most importantly, his).

Since NH's release, people have done a lot of legwork to say that Tom Nook isn't a capitalist while the game shows him at his very worst. He owns the only general store in town. You're forced to use a phone that he modified and branded as his own. Buy Nook-branded furniture and merchandise at the self-serve kiosk in the town hall, a governmental building! There's no conflict of interest here!

But hey, if you're tired of being the landlord/business mogul's goon, you can also find work as a deluxe resort home designer for a company that also pays you in their special company currency that can only be used to buy their products instead of a real salary! Because that's what the Animal Crossing franchise needs! More vacation homes!!!

[gilbertscurls]

can you do one of matt thinking reader is cheating and they get into a bad argument and dont speak for a couple days but than he apologizes

hope you like it!! <3

Complicated ➵ Matt Sturniolo

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through as you stood on opposite sides of the room, Matt pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His usually calm demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced with a storm brewing in his eyes, each step filled with frustration.

“You think I don’t see it?” His voice cracked, like he was struggling to keep himself together, the edge in his tone unfamiliar, biting. “All those times you’ve been distant? On your phone constantly? Don’t lie to me, I’m not an idiot.”

Your heart raced in your chest, his words hitting you harder than you expected. You blinked back tears, disbelief washing over you. Matt’s accusations felt like daggers, cutting through the trust you had built together. “What are you even talking about?” You asked, voice shaking as you tried to keep your composure. “I haven’t done anything. Why are you suddenly so paranoid?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, eyes narrowing at you. “Suddenly? It’s been building for weeks, and you know it. You’ve been pulling away, and I see the way you’ve been texting someone else. You think I’m blind?”

It hit you then — the misplaced jealousy, the suspicion. He had been watching you, second-guessing your every move, twisting them into something they weren’t. You could feel the anger rising in your chest, mixing with the hurt, your hands trembling by your sides.

“Matt,” you started, your voice growing firmer, “I’m not cheating on you. I don’t know where this is coming from, but this is insane. I would never do that to you.”

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours, desperation swirling in them. “Then what is it, huh? Why have you been acting so weird? Why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

You could see the cracks beneath his anger, the insecurity gnawing at him, but his accusations were too much. The very thought that he believed you would betray him like that stung deeply, and it made you question everything.

“Because we’ve both been busy, Matt. College, your channel, life — it’s all happening so fast. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You know me better than this.”

He looked down, clenching his fists as if he was trying to get a grip on himself. “I just— I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” he muttered, his voice finally softening, but the damage was already done. The weight of the argument settled heavily in the space between you, a canyon that felt too wide to cross.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, the pain evident in your voice, “but if you keep pushing me away with these accusations, maybe you will.”

That hit him hard. He turned, walking to the window, his back to you, shoulders tense. The silence was suffocating, the words unsaid hanging in the air like thick smoke. You stood there, feeling the weight of his doubt pressing down on you, wondering how things had spiraled out of control so quickly.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” you said after what felt like an eternity, grabbing your coat. The coldness in your tone was unfamiliar even to yourself, but you couldn’t help it. The hurt was too raw. “When you’re ready to actually listen to me, you know where to find me.”

Without waiting for a response, you walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind you. But the quiet sound felt like a deafening finality, like a door slamming on everything you’d built together.

The days that followed felt like an eternity. Neither of you reached out, both too stubborn, too hurt. You missed him — every part of you missed him — but you couldn’t be the one to break first, not when he was the one who doubted you. The silence between you stretched into every part of your day, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

You tried to focus on school, on anything but him, but his absence was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. You kept replaying the fight in your head, wondering where it all went wrong, how everything had unraveled so quickly.

Three days later, you heard a knock at your door. Your heart leaped into your throat, hoping it was Matt. You opened it to find him standing there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a sadness about him that made your heart ache.

“I—” he started, but his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat before trying again. “I’m so sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice almost broke you. You’d imagined this moment over and over, but now that it was here, you weren’t sure what to say. You stood there, frozen, as he took a tentative step closer.

“I messed up,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I know I did. I let my fears get the better of me, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I should’ve trusted you… I do trust you. I just— I was scared. Scared that you’d leave, that I wasn’t enough.”

The vulnerability in his words made you soften, the anger and hurt slowly ebbing away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of sadness for him. For both of you.

“Matt…” You finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper, “I never wanted to hurt you, but you can’t keep doubting me like that. We can’t keep going like this.”

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours, filled with regret. “I know. I swear, I’ll never doubt you again. I’ll work on it, I promise.” He took another step closer, his hand hesitating before reaching out to you. “Please, just give me another chance. I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the remorse, the desperation, the love — all of it written so clearly on his face. And despite everything, despite the pain and the fight, you still loved him. Maybe that was enough to try again.

Slowly, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers against yours. “We have to communicate better, Matt. We can’t keep hurting each other like this.”

“I know.” He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find some reassurance that everything would be okay. “I’ll do better. I swear.”

You stood there for a moment, letting the tension melt away, replaced by a tentative hope. There was still a lot to work through, still wounds to heal, but as you looked at him, you knew that you were both willing to try. And maybe that was enough.

“I love you,” you whispered, and you saw the relief wash over his face.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if afraid to let you go.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274

[hackfixation]

oddly aggressive 3am take: I hate games like animal crossing

[hyunverse]

dad activities ☆ stray kids hyung line

tags. fluff, headcanons. fem!reader. note. long time no update... (nervous giggles.) maknae line soon. enjoy <3

BANG CHAN...

he's a total girl dad. 100%.

chan is soft-hearted when it comes to his little girl. a glance of her puppy eyes and he'll surrender himself completely to her.

often times, you'll find chan sitting cross-legged with little ha-eun on a stool, giving your husband a makeover. no matter what ha-eun does to him, he'll simply let it be — even if she's dabbing a ridiculous coloured eyeshadow on his eyelids and tying a horrendous looking ponytail at the top of his head. if it makes his daughter happy, then he'll entertain it.

you can count on chan to get your daughter ready for school. he's mastered multiple hairstyles! whether it be a french braid or pigtails, chan made sure he's mastered them even before ha-eun was born. he loves preparing his daughter to school, enjoys the morning as he ties up her hair and makes sure she's dressed up nicely.

would not miss any single school event. talent show? sports day? bring your parent day? report card day? he has every event marked on his calendar, and never misses any. all the teachers and moms know him for being so present and sweet.

always has a hairtie on his wrist! ha-eun is a cheeky, cheeky girl — constantly running around. chris makes sure to have a hairtie prepared for moments where the little girl gets tired of her hair sticking to her face and ends up throwing a tantrum. of course, the other hairtie on his wrist is reserved for you. ♡

at the back of his car lays a my melody stuffie. he's proud to have it in his car!! every time someone gets in his car, he proudly says, "oh, that's my daughter's stuffie." the proudest dad around <3

overall, chris is a dependable and sweet dad.

LEE KNOW...

i see minho as a twin dad. a boy & a girl!!

having twins in the house, pranks become a common occurence. one twin would prank the other, then a revenge comes. it becomes a cycle!! you'd try to stop the prank war going on but it cannot be stopped when minho encourages it!!! sometimes he'll even conspire with the twins to prank you. watch out for the sugar jar as you make coffee because it might actually be salt.

i cannot explain this but he makes weird bento boxes. the typical ones would be of animals, or studio ghibli characters but he makes odd characters that are lowkey terrifying but the kids are so used to it that they're unaffected.

they'll never know what's coming for them when they open their lunchbox. it'll be either yet another jureumi-shaped bento or a weird-looking cat.

leaves cute little notes too! odd, and a bit threatening but cute nevertheless. some of the notes the twins have received range from — "fight back when someone bullies you," or "eat well or don't come home." they're all affectionate, but written in a very lee minho way that you can't help but smile when you read them.

you never have to worry about leaving the kids with minho for a long time. he's got you covered! the twins absolutely adore their dad. would spend an entire day building a fort and watching movies while you're out with your friends.

at the end of the day, when you're back from your outing, you'd come home to the sight of minho and the twins curled up in front of the tv, a studio ghibli movie playing in the background. ♡

CHANGBIN...

the ultimate boy dad!!

he would totally raise a gentleman. the kind to teach his son that chivalry isn't dead.

would 100% teach his son things like opening the door for other people, helping a senior citizen cross the road, and to carry mommy's grocery bags.

picture this. you're out buying groceries for the week. changbin and mini binnie are wearing matching jerseys & carrying grocery bags for you. so cute <3

would surprise you with your son!!! every single mother's day, he'd wake up early with the little boy to make you pancakes and scrambled eggs. sometimes they end up burnt but truly, it's the thought that counts.

ensures that his son does not forget your birthday!! you best believe that every single birthday you'll be pampered with gifts and handwritten notes from your hubby and son. <3

changbin has chronic dad jokes disorder and unfortunately, his son has inherited it. the little boy will have fun telling you dad jokes that changbin taught him.

also loves to play fight with his kid. you'd be watching tv and they'd be play wrestling in the corner, giggles filling in the house.

HYUNJIN...

twin dad through and through. a son and a daughter who'd get showered with love <3

hyune's a man of duality. he can go from boy dad to girl dad in one minute.

one moment he's playing soccer with your son in the backyard, giggling as kkami joins in the fun, little barks accompanying laughters.

or he'd be helping the little boy build the coolest train tracks ever. it's so long and loopy, stretches from the living room all the way to the front door.

the next moment he'd be playing tea party with your daughter, learning how to hold a small tea cup with his pinky up.

would end up coming out of the play room with a messy manicure and a tiara on his head. he doesn't complain. might give you a little twirl just to make his little girl happy.

he would even build the prettiest dollhouse for her. it'd be a whole project, would spend days building a dollhouse and they'd have fun painting it together.

i think hyune is the kind to support and encourage his kids to find new hobbies. his son wants to enroll in taekwondo? sure, he'll take the boy to the first class. his daughter wants to try out ballet? he'll sign her up to a class, buy her a tutu and ballet slippers. he's just so supportive <3

often times, he'd take care of the kids while you go out with your girls. you'd come back to him asleep on the couch, while the (very much awake) kids draw on his face with sharpie ^.^

all in all, hyune's a doting, and supportive twin dad. <3

taglist. @zoe8stay @starlostseungmin @hwajin @sleepyleeji @jdopes-recorder @sherryblossom @alyszaen @hyunluvxo @bokk-minnie @ghostyycat7 @fortunatelyhertragedy @yongbokkari @ameliesaysshoo @seoli-16 @jisungsdaydreamer @soobnny @seolboba @in2heartz @jehhskz @astraystayyh @mnwrld @hanjsquokka @pheonixfire777 @sapphirewave @seunghancore

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[solaarbeeam]

NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK

windbreaker x gn!reader

warnings/cw: no warning, usage of Y/N and L/N

syn. - a new school and gang has come to town, the boys all have their respective opinions on it.

characters :: haruka sakura, hayate suo, umemiya hajime, togame jo

a/n:: been obsessed with this anime for a minute now but this is my first work in the fandom sooo lemme know if yall like it!! if i forgot a character or you wanna see more just lemme know what character you’d wanna see <33

side note, this fic is completely self indulgent because i know the usual shtick is ‘oh they protect you’ which of course nothing is wrong with that, but i also like it more when reader is also badass and can fight, so here we are!! pls enjoy 😊

HARUKA SAKURA

He had been sent to your home grounds on Umemiya’s orders, as a way to get to know the new gang in town. Rumors has it that this new gang is strong, and had a hand in orchestrating a raid on Zinc which has now left Zinc in a horrible position.

You already know how he feels about strength and what it means to be strong, so he would’ve checked it out by himself, but Umemiya had said to go with Suo and Nirei, and so here they are, about to cross over into your territory.

Once they pass the overhead bridge, he’s met with a school building, not all that bigger than Bofurin, with graffiti in some spots. On the front, there was a flag, a soft blue color with a sun, its rays moving in a spiral.

Sanshedo. Sun Shade. Interesting name, he thinks.

“Are you sure we can just waltz in here? Aren’t we gonna get in trouble if we just come in with no warning?” Asks Nirei, obviously shaking from the unfamiliar surroundings.

In Sakura’s opinion, who the hell cares? If it’s such a big issue, then this new gang can deal with it-

“Your friend is right, yknow? I could’ve said you were intruding and have our Head send a couple guys to deal with you three.”

He whisks around, taking in your features. From the style of boots you’re wearing to the look you’re giving him, Nirei, and Suo.

The very first thing he thinks, is pretty.

He blushes as soon as the thought comes to his mind.

“However, seeing the jackets you three have on, I’m not worried about starting problems. You guys are members of Bofurin, right? Windbreaker?”

He nods frantically, unsure as to why he’s so nervous. He’s not in a fight, and even when he is, all he feels is anticipation, only hints of nervousness, and excitement. Why is it different now?

Why is it so different with you?

He can feel Suo’s stare at his back, and he’d been inclined to look at him if it wasn’t for the way you just trapped him in place, unable to move.

“Cool hair, by the way. Also, Blondie, I like the clip and I like the earrings, eyepatch.”

“It’s Haruka Sakura, not just cool hair.”

But why did it feel so nice to hear that you think his hair is cool instead of weird or scary. What the hell is going on?

“Well, Haruka Sakura, the name’s L/N Y/N. Bofurin, welcome to Sanshedo.”

You throw your hands up to showcase the school behind you, the symbol of Sanshedo, god he needs to remember the name, shown on the back of your jacket.

“Also, I hear you’re strong, Sakura. Care for a friendly fight?” A sly grin makes its way on your face, and he can feel his lips curl up into a smile.

“You’re on, L/N.”

Somehow, this new gang doesn’t seem to be half bad after all.

HAYATO SUO

Hayato Suo has always been the type to play with his food. Not in a literal sense per se, but when it comes to fights.

He is very much intrigued when he sees you, very much multiple knuckles deep in a fight. The way you fought them was so mesmerizing to him, how you moved was so fluid and graceful.

Alas, he was on town patrol with Sakura and Nirei, so all good things must come to an end. Nirei shouts the word ‘intruder’, and in that same breath, you had finished the group of thugs.

“Oh shit, it’s Bofurin!”

The three of three stop, not knowing what to do. Kiryuu and Tsugeura fall in step behind them, all brandished on Sakura’s opposite sides.

Suo pauses, noticing the light blue color of your jacket. The pin on the jacket has a spiral, and from the side view, he can see glimpses of a design on the back of the jacket, not unlike their enemy-turned-friend Shishitoren.

He eyes you up and down, nothing that seems threatening in your stance or posture. How interesting.

Hayato Suo has always been a curious child.

“Yes, that would be us, and you are?”

Nirei looks up at him in exasperation. He pointedly ignores it.

“L/N Y/N of Sanshedo. We’re a new faction in town. Say, you’re Hayato Suo, right? Fancy a spar?”

Well, he has always been the curious type, and Umemiya has always told them that fights are conversations, so why not?

“Sure.”

Sakura splutters. He’s been trying to get a fight out of Suo for ages!

What can he say? You’re very pretty and very interesting, is there anything else he needs in order to make a connection?

HAJIME UMEMIYA

As the leader of Bofurin, he has a responsibility to all of the people, his family, under his jurisdiction. He has a duty to the townspeople as well.

Quite frankly, he’s had a lot of foresight, especially when it comes to a certain two-toned first year, but he could’ve never predicted this.

A new gang, thats apparently been in existence for a while now, only two years younger than the founding of Bofurin, and he sees this as his responsibility to go and check it out.

A poor oversight on his part, in his opinion.

He shrugs on his coat, making sure to let Tsubakino that him and Hiragi are heading out, and exists the Furin premises.

The minute he gets there, he sees a whole abandoned school building, but looks big enough to be mistaken for a mini-airport.

Outside, he sees a couple people wearing identical jackets. A light blue colored varsity jacket, with spirals etched into the buttons and a sun branded into the back of the jackets.

A sun? Interesting choice of mascots.

Hiragi taps his shoulder, pointing to the windows of the building.

When Umemiya looks to the building, he sees the windows lined with nothing but people looking at them, all branded with the same light blue jackets, boys and girls mixed and alike.

Okay, he admits it. Walking into another gang’s territory without prompting is his fault, but he was curious!

“You work for Bofurin? Come with me.”

They’re both taken to an office. It has the same logo on the jackets on the wall, with the kanji for the gang in the middle.

Sanshedo. Sun Shade.

“Boss? I brought two people that wanna meet you-“

“Look! I got some new gemstones! I have topaz to add to the collection now- Oh!”

You snap your head to attention, to which Umemiya is looking at the collection of jewels with sparkling eyes. You look back at him with sparkling eyes as well.

You both share a hyperfixation. What is there not to like?

He can feel Hiragi’s deadpan stare behind him.

“Oooh! What do you like?”

“Plants!”

“Cool! Hey, you lead Bofurin, right? What’s your name?”

“Umemiya Hajime, you?”

“L/N Y/N, leader of Sanshedo. Care for a chat?”

Sure, he originally came to see what was up, discuss territory and make a possible alliance, but hey! This is cool too.

And you’re very cute. Like, very very cute.

TOGAME JO

Well, here’s the thing about Togame and his relationship with Shishitoren thus far.

He’s changed, him and Choji, that doesn’t mean they aren’t still just as vigilant with protecting and managing their territory as they were before the Bofurin Tournament.

So, when he hears there’s a big ass brawl in between two different gangs in his and Choji’s territory, he puts himself into action immediately.

He slings on his jacket, the embroidered lion’s head contrasting with the monk-like garb he had on the daily. Glasses catching sunlight, running with Choji.

Only to come to the scene to find you, minor cuts and scrapes along your face, and blood on your knuckles that really didn’t seem to belong to you.

Then he looks down to see the other guys, and finally thinks, yes, you whooped ass.

However, that doesn’t mean that you get off scot free. This is his territory after all, and if it went unchecked, it would be worse for Shishitoren’s already bad reputation.

“And who might you be, beating up people in our territory.”

“I honestly couldn’t care less. I’ve seen those jackets, you’re Shishitoren. I have no business listening to people who prey on the weak for fun.”

“I don’t care what you think of us, you’re still in our territory. Also? You talk too much.”

“You beat up middle schoolers, I really don’t want to hear it. I just helped you out with Zinc, give me a break.”

His eye twitches. It’s too damn early for this.

And you’re quite the looker. It’s a shame you’re enemies as of right now.

Damn you’re cute. Fuck, maybe he can try to redirect the conversation?

“How about we start with your name and who you’re under then we can chat.”

Hopefully over some ice tea and your number in his phone by the end of today. Can he pull it off? Shit, he’ll certainly try.

“Y/N L/N. Right hand to Sanshedo’s leader. You? I’ve heard of Tomiyama over there, but not you.”

You are so lucky you’re drop dead gorgeous or else he would’ve drop kicked you into next week.

“Togame Jo. Right hand to Shishitoren’s leader. Care for a chat over a drink?”

You look at him some type of way, but agree in the end.

Now if only he can get your number, today will be perfect.

© solaarbeeam 2024. do not repost or translate to any site.

[devoted-horror]

giving the new survivor hatch.

a/n: this is my first time writing for dbd in general, so!! i hope i do this game justice bc i play it every day lol

includes: the huntress, the trickster, the ghostface, the artist, the cannibal.

warnings: not proofread, typical dbd stuff like blood, mentions of murder, things like that, gn reader, love at first sight but only if u tilt ur head and squint really hard, inconsistent length, im going to be so delusional over jiwoon im sorry, i can't speak russian or korean so i just used a bunch of translators sorry if i got smth wrong, inaccurate behavior of dbd crows but relatively accurate behavior of irl crows i think, scream reference in danny's part bc i had to, reader injury in jiwoon and danny's parts, written over the course of a few months so sorry if the pacing is weird.

THE HUNTRESS

Anna has been in the fog long enough that every face of everyone she's ever killed has started to merge together into one. She doesn't know their names, and hardly ever reacts whenever she encounters a new survivor.

Mercy is not something she shows during trials. She is a hunter, and anyone who crosses her path, be it man or animal, is her prey. Nothing in the wild is merciful.

And you were nothing more than another person for her to hunt, prey for her to kill. And trust me, she was going to kill you.

Or, at least, she was.

And then you dropped a pallet on her. Now, normally, Anna would get very angry when this happens. Her prey is fighting back, and though it gives her a thrill, it's annoying. And for a brief moment, she did feel angry the moment the pallet hit her.

But then you were apologizing, a look of genuine guilt on your expression. You even asked if she was bleeding. Your survival instincts were lacking, clearly, but Anna found that to be... oddly endearing??

She felt a surge of protectiveness spark within her, something she had never felt during her time here. It was a familiar feeling, yet one so foreign at the same time.

But how could she not feel such a way when you were staring up at her, clearly scared that she was going to hurt you yet brave enough to stand in front of her and apologize for something that, by all means, you should have done.

Anna just stares you down for a long moment, having an internal struggle with herself on what she should do with you. Ultimately, her need to protect overruled her need to hunt, because after breaking the pallet between the two of you, she made a gesture for you to follow her.

And, not wanting to die, you did.

She took you to a shack, something you've heard other survivors refer to as the killer shack. The only reason you knew this is because you were told to stay away from it unless you wanted to get put in the basement.

She just pointed to one of the corners of the building, and looked over at you, "Оставайся здесь." And you didn't immediately understand her, though you were quick to pick up on what she was telling you. It seemed as if she wanted you to stay here.

Your safest bet on surviving was doing what she said, so you just nod and awkwardly place yourself in the corner she had been pointing at. She doesn't spare you another glance as she leaves you alone.

You're not sure how long you stayed there. You could hear the other survivors screams though, and you felt sick to your stomach at the sound of them being hooked and sacrificed to the Entity. They probably won't be too happy about this the next time you see them...

It was only when you were the last one standing that Anna came back to retrieve you. She found you exactly where she had left you, and even though you couldn't see her face due to the rabbit mask, she seemed rather pleased that you had actually listened to her.

If she had it her way, Anna would keep you by her side. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. The Entity would probably force the trial to end if you didn't either escape or die.

She begrudgingly brought you to hatch, the black mist pouring from it, silently promising safety if you jumped into it. You stared at it, confused about what it was, and that protectiveness she was feeling only seemed to grow stronger when you looked up at her for an explanation. The only explanation she offered was a slight gesture to you, and then the hatch.

"Иди, кролик." She says, lightly pushing you to the hatch and watching as you hesitantly decide to trust her, jumping into the hatch and leaving her alone as the fog comes and places her back in the Red Forest.

If she's lucky, she'll be in a trial with you again soon.

THE TRICKSTER

He'll immediately recognize you to be new. He prides himself in recognizing every survivor he's encountered, either by their face or by the sound of their screams. Mostly their screams.

And he certainly didn't recognize the scream he heard when one of his throwing knives ricocheted and hit you while he was chasing down another one of the newer survivors; Sable. It was a small, startled scream, nothing worth his attention, but it was new. That was enough to make this trial more exciting, and he found himself keeping his eyes peeled for you.

Which... was a lot easier than he expected it to be, because you just kept running right into him. Seriously. Did you not pay attention to your surroundings? Do you think he's a survivor?? Do you not see the bloodied fucking bat he's holding???

He's not sure if he's annoyed or amused by this. Partially both, to be honest. It's amusing to see you relax for a split second after bumping into him, not recognizing him to be the killer immediately. It's annoying because he'd like to hear you scream, please and thank you.

Jiwoon doesn't necessarily target you during the trial. To be honest, he's trying to weed out the other survivors before focusing his attention on you.

He wanted to take his time with you, to see what sounds he could pull out of you before the Entity forced the trial to end. Just the sound of you gasping whenever you bump into him has his mind racing.

This was honestly enough to keep him motivated throughout the entire trial, a certain bloodlust sparking in him. He relished the sound of everyone else's screams, but they weren't appealing to him right now.

He needed the other survivors out of the way. He needed you alone. And when he finally got rid of the last pesky survivor, the fun began.

And when he corners you in killer shack, he really didn't plan on being merciful. He wanted to hear you scream, and then he wanted to kill you, really. That was his plan.

The only way you'd get out of this alive is if you beg, honestly. And I mean beg. On your knees, crying, pleading, offering something in return for your survival. That sort of begging.

You were new and shiny in comparison to all of the other survivors, and maybe it's because he's a sadistic bastard, but he really does adore the sight of you on your knees, crying as he absently nicks your skin with one of his throwing knives.

This is where Jiwoon feels a bit torn, truth be told. He's never been a patient man, so he wants to get as many screams out of you as he can before the Entity forced the trial to end. But at the same time, he knew he'd see you again in a future trial, sooner or later.

It wouldn't hurt to prolong his time with you, would it?

The entire time he's pondering this, he's dragging the blade across your skin, relishing in the sweet sounds of your gasps and whimpers, and you stutter out a desperate 'please'.

Ultimately, Jiwoon decides to be nice, just this once. He'll mutter a quiet, "짜증나..." before hoisting you over his shoulder and carrying you off.

You struggled, obviously, assuming he was ending your misery and taking you to a hook. He didn't really mind much, having an iron grasp on you that kept you from wiggling free.

He dropped you right next to the hatch once he found it, finding your small pained sound to be adorable as you look at your salvation with a confused expression. But before you can crawl into it and escape, he's grabbing you by the back of your shirt and pulling you back a bit.

For a moment, you think he's going to kill you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, expecting pain. But nothing comes. You feel him tuck something in your shirt, and he lightly pats your cheek, cooing a bit at your terror before he lets you go and leaves you alone.

And when you're back at the campfire, you find a photo of Jiwoon neatly folded and tucked into your shirt, signed with his autograph.

He'll have an encore the next time he sees you, and you can only hope you don't find yourself in a trial with him again any time soon.

THE GHOSTFACE

Would actually never give you hatch under normal circumstances. He's here to kill, so kill he shall. He treated you the same as any other survivor when he first saw you, though it wasn't until he was in chase with you that he realized how interesting you were.

For one, you were... surprisingly good at looping him?? For a newbie, he was rather impressed. That's not enough to get him to let you live, but it's definitely a start.

No, his interest is only truly piqued when you start quoting horror movies during chase.

Honestly, if he didn't know any better, he'd think you to be flirting with him. A person after his heart, truly.

It was only when he had you cornered that you really caught his attention. You weren't scared, and it intrigued him as much as it annoyed him.

He was just itching to dig his knife into you and take a photo of your lifeless corpse once he was finished. But even with your life at risk, you showed no fear.

Hell, you even mocked him.

"No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel."

Sure, you weren't the first survivor to mock him, and you certainly won't be the last, but he found you interesting.

Oh, he needed to kill you. He needed your photo in his collection, it would be his favorite.

But he thought it would be more fun to humor you. Danny was a patient man. This isn't the first time he's drawn out a kill.

You were honestly surprised that he had left you alone. You didn't think that would actually work, and you were... a bit concerned, actually. None of the other killers you had ended up in a trial with during your short time here has entertained you the way Danny has, and you're not sure if you should be scared or not.

And, much to your very hesitant relief, you didn't see him for the rest of the trial. You knew he was watching you though. Every once in a while, you just felt... you're not quite sure how to describe it, but it almost felt as if you were being hunted.

You'd see him from the corner of your eye though. Never for long, just quick flashes of his screaming mask. Honestly, you felt less scared when he was actively trying to murder you.

That's how the rest of the trial went for you, at least. Until eventually, you were the only one left standing. You may be new, but the other survivors had given you the rundown of what to do if you were the last one standing before the trial had started.

You had to find hatch. Which was... easier said than done, truthfully. Especially since you weren't sure where the fuck Danny was. There's no way he was letting you go, right? He's probably saving you for last, right?

Whenever you so much as caught a glimpse of something moving, you were scurrying in the other direction.

This is pretty much Danny's way of giving you hatch. There's no way he'd give it to you directly, not yet.

You had honestly thought you had found it all by yourself until you were fucking stabbed, the flash of a camera in your face blinding you.

Truth be told, Danny did plan on killing you. He had wanted to give you a false sense of hope. But your stupid little smile when you saw hatch got to him, okay? So he'll settle for this for now.

"You owe me."

And he doesn't even spare you a glance as he pushes you into the hatch's mist, his gaze intently focused on the photo of you he had just taken.

Unfortunately for you, you've caught his attention.

THE ARTIST

Carmina is one of the more merciful killers you may come across, so she'd be fairly likely to give a new survivor hatch depending on how the trial has gone and whether or not she's consumed by anger.

She only realizes that you're new to the fog when her crows surround you and you don't try shooing them away. When she finds you, you're actually... rather content having a murder of crows surrounding you.

Very very confused. She'll probably just stare at you for a hot second as you go about the trial without a single care for the crows swarming around you. Even the crows are confused.

You distract her long enough with your antics that a good chunk of the gens pop, and she had to force herself to leave you be in order to focus on hunting the other survivors.

She'll ignore you for the entire trial after she leaves you be. Her crows can keep watch for her.

So for the rest of the trial she's only vaguely aware of your location, occasionally stopping once in a while to determine whether or not her crows were still with you. They were.

Even the other survivors seemed confused by your behavior.

On the rare occasion that she bumped into you during the trial, it was always when another survivor was nearby trying to tell you how to get rid of the crows.

You never even tried to shoo away the crows throughout the entire trial, and at some point, they stopped swarming around you. They didn't go away, no. You, somehow, managed to tame Carmina's crows with little trinkets that you found littered across the place.

Honestly, the crows seemed to like you enough that even if Carmina told them to hurt you, they probably wouldn't listen to her. It's hard to believe that you were a new survivor with how calm you were about everything happening.

It's probably that calm nature, coupled with your ability to calm her crows, that solidified in her mind that you were the only one who would make it out alive.

And with a newfound determination, Carmina sacrificed the other three survivors with no issues, and she could hear hatch opening not too far away from her.

With the help of her crows, Carmina was able to easily bring you to hatch, and she could only tilt her head to the side and make a small, croaking sound as you smiled and thanked both her and her crows before jumping into the hatch.

This is one of the many moments Carmina laments no longer being able to create art. She'd love to immortalize the image of you smiling at her, surrounded by her crows.

THE CANNIBAL

Bubba is honestly torn when he spots you, because you look so afraid, cowering in fear at every little sound and struggling to repair a generator like the others had told you to. He understands your fear because it's something he's very familiar with.

And while he has a job to do, not wanting to disappoint the Entity, he can't help but find it hard to hurt you. No matter how hard it was, Bubba had no choice.

But when he approached you, you didn't run. Sure, you let out a startled shout, the generator blowing up in your face as you stared up at him like a scared animal, quietly begging him not to hurt you.

But you didn't run.

How could he hurt you when you weren't running from him? Everyone always ran. But not you. You weren't running from him, and he didn't know what to do about that.

Bubba's trouble was so very evident. He's always been an expressive person, so it wasn't hard to tell that this was stressing him out. His free hand kept clenching and unclenching his apron, and he kept making small noises in the back of his throat.

He doesn't want to disappoint the Entity, he doesn't. But he's not sure if he can hurt someone who's not running from him. You aren't running! He really likes that! The only people who never ran when he was around were his family!

The nail in the coffin is when you, even despite your fear, took a chance and set down the toolbox you were holding. You... you gave him a gift. Not one that he could use, but a gift nonetheless.

There was literally no way he could hurt you now the guilt would eat him alive. So, he just opts to leave you be to instead focus on the other survivors. He wouldn't feel guilty hurting them.

The entire trial, Bubba focuses all of his attention on getting rid of the other survivors. If he sees you, he gets all nervous and can't even look at you for long without babbling incoherently before scurrying away.

Some of the other survivors may pick up on Bubba's strange avoidment of you, and may even use that to their advantage by running by you in chase because Bubba just... he can't hurt you, I'm sorry.

He's swinging his chainsaw, and then suddenly Kate is running by you and he's coming to a full stop out of fear of accidentally hurting you.

It really stresses him out, and even though you're still scared of him, and even though he's supposed to be killing you, you can't help but feel bad. So whenever the other survivors got a little too close when Bubba was chasing them, you always made sure to stay out of his way.

It's okay to be a bad teammate because it's Bubba.

Jokes aside, Bubba takes his job as a killer very seriously. He may avoid hurting you, but he makes quick work of the other survivors.

And when hatch opened right next to Bubba after killing the third survivor, he took it as a sign from the Entity that he was meant to give it to you. Why else would it open next to him?

Bubba was ever the gentleman when he brought you to hatch, guiding you to it carefully and making sure you didn't trip on any debris littered across the area.

He even scared off a few judgmental crows! He knew how off-putting it was to have them watching you all the time, especially when you're new in the fog.

And when you quietly thank him, smiling at him as if he weren't a killer, Bubba was just over the moon.

It's been so long since he's had someone to protect. The fog is a scary place to be but he'll do his best to make it a happy place whenever you two are in a trial together.

Оставайся здесь. - Stay here. Иди, кролик. - Go, rabbit. 짜증나. - How annoying.

[weaselle]

You came face to face with a wolf in the woods? What’s the story in that

ok ok so i'm driving through the woods down from Oregon to visit the fam in California, right? And right as i'm about to cross the border from OR to CA i'm like, oh shit, pops is the only one i don't have a christmas present for.

So i see this big weird log-cabin-ass liquor store and i'm all, he loves a unique bottle of wine, gotta be something in there he can't get back home so i pull in.

It's a building made of logs all by itself on the edge of the woods in the hills along the N. border of California. While i'm in there i ask to use the bathroom and they tell me sure, it's a small separate building behind the store

just walk down the foot path into the woods a few yards until you get to the fork and take the right side path to the little bathroom hut. Don't take the left side path unless you want to disappear all the way into the woods. Cool.

So i walk into the woods on the little trail, and i get to the fork in the path, and i can see the little bathroom hut off to the right. Before i take the right, as i'm standing there, i look down the left side path that trails off into the woods.

And right then this full grown wolf steps out onto the trail, about 15 feet from me.

it was in fact, this exact wolf. Altho he is older in this picture than when i met him. When he stepped out to come face to face with me that day, he was quite a bit thinner.

Now at 15 feet, i instantly knew he was a wolf. Not a coyote, certainly not a dog, when you're close and you look in their face it's just different in the snout and eyes.

So i freeze, and i'm looking at him but i'm not making any sustained eye-contact and i'm feeling that weird calm feeling i get when shit is too serious to panic. And i'm trying to look bored because that's the safest middle ground between acting like prey and acting like a threat and i'm like, shit. Shit. Okay. This is a wolf. This is a whole ass wild wolf in the woods, only about 3 body lengths from me. What is about to happen here. One of us is going to do something soon and it better not be the wrong thing.

Wolf is just standing there the same as me. Wouldn't surprise me if it was having basically the exact same thoughts

i wasn't working professionally with dogs yet, but even then i knew canines real well, and as i'm standing there getting a real good look i realize, fuck, this wolf is like, just under 2 years old.

This is very bad news for me.

See, an experienced adult wolf knows things. For instance, an experienced adult wolf knows exactly what it prefers to hunt (not humans) and has probably gotten good at hunting those things (and is therefor not desperate for food) and an older experienced wolf knows that it really can't afford to get injured in a fight if it can avoid one, and probably has figured out that humans are to be left alone.

But a wolf between a year and a half and two years? Is just becoming an adult. This is a wolf that meets an animal the same size as it and has questions.

Questions like "Is this a creature i want to eat?" or "maybe this is a creature that wants to eat me?" and the problem with both of those questions is the answer can easily wind up being "i should probably try to kill it"

Because a mature wolf will assess a threat for the safest way to deal with it, but, like a twenty year old person, a young inexperienced wolf is more prone to brash actions, such as preemptively attacking something it perceives as a threat.

I'm checking his body language and it is reading as uncertain, patient, fairly relaxed but ready for explosive action. Not great, but could be a lot worse.

All this is going through my calm calm head. Like of course i am frightened, but in emergencies my heart like, actually seems to slow a bit? and i get this weird calm clear feeling.

Anyway i'm standing there looking at this wolf, and this wolf is looking at me, and i start to realize... i'm the mature adult in this situation. I have to be the one to decide how this encounter goes.

It was at this point i recalled something i read in a book about cats.

In this book, the author goes to visit her father who is studying lions in Africa. He's staying in a village and when she gets there she is told she might stumble across a lion in the brush if she goes walking around outside the village for any reason (which is why her father is there) and that if she DOES come across a lion, for generations the locals have had a little social exchange worked out with the lions, so she should speak loudly but politely to the lion, and then walk purposefully away at an oblique angle to the lion.

So of course she's on a walk one day and a lion suddenly stands up not far from her. She freezes, unable to do the thing she had been told to do. After waiting and waiting, finally the lion makes a series of loud grunts, and then walks off at an oblique angle, as if to show her how it was done.

I remembered how much sense that made to me when i read it. An oblique angle is like, not straight ahead of you and not straight to the side of you, but sort of halfway between, like one of the branches on a "Y". An oblique angle is more toward than away, so it cannot be mistaken for any kind of running away, but it isn't directly toward the animal enough to be threatening. it is the physical communication equivalent of "You're in my way, but i'll be polite and go around you".

At an oblique angle to my right was the bathroom. So trying to seem like i didn't care about the wolf at all while simultaneously keeping very close track of its reactions, I walked kind of toward him, but way off to one side.

He relaxed more as i did so, watching me go. Then i was inside the little bathroom with the door shut and all my calm went away.

I didn't have my phone on me, and i was in a tiny room in the woods, and all i could think was, jesus christ that was a wolf. A fucking wolf. I just like, walked right by a wolf. A wolf, dude. What if I open the door and the wolf is RIGHT there on the other side? Can i get the door shut fast enough or will he be able to force its way into this cramped space with me? Have i just trapped myself in the woods with this wolf?

Since i was in there anyway, i peed and washed my hands... and then i cracked the door open with my heart in my throat. But that wolf was long gone -- probably melted back into the woods the instant my eyes were all the way off it.

I went back into the liquor store and told the lady in there that there was a wolf nearby, and she said they'd caught a glimpse of it a couple times, and they thought it was a dog jumped out of somebody's truck? I'm not sure she believed me.

Couldn't really blame her. As far as i was aware, there hadn't been any wild wolves in California in close to a hundred years.

So when i got where i was going and found some time to myself around a computer a couple days later, i looked it up.

Sure enough it turns out this wolf on the northern border of California was Wolf OR-7, who, wearing a tracking collar, at one and a half years old, became the first confirmed wild wolf to be in California since 1924, crossing the Oregon border within two days of my sighting him in that area. I found a thread online of people who had managed to get photos of him crossing their property, and while i'm not an expert at identifying wolves, it seemed to be the same wolf. And the right age. And confirmed to be on the border of California the same time I was. And was the only wolf in a hundred years to be there.

I didn't notice a tracking collar on him, but he's also wearing it in the above pic i included, so you can seen how i might have missed it.

So, I met wolf OR-7 face to face! And it was very memorable.

He did very well for himself. Went back up to Oregon and got himself a mate, and founded the Rogue Wolf Pack, the first pack in west Oregon in forever. Most wild wolves are lucky to see six years, but OR-7 (sometimes called Journey) lived to be 11. Some of his pups grew up and started their own packs.

Somebody wrote a book about him, and there's some kind of movie or TV documentary about him i haven't seen, it's called OR-7's Journey or something like that.

Here's a map of his travels

These are his grandchildren, sired by one of his sons

and here is some documentation of wolves in Oregon and California that includes, for example, that OR-7's daughter, OR-54, traveled over 8,000 miles around California and even into Nevada. This is her:

Anyway, that's the story of the time i bumped into a wild wolf in the woods!

[auclairedetoru]

May I request Levi crushing on a stranger he saw in the coffeeshop? (Idk if you accept nsfw requests but if you do, with wet dream pls)

Hi first nonnie~ thank you so much for sending in a request! I'm not comfortable with writing detailed nsfw, but I'll try my best to deliver your vision 🤍

⭒๋࣭ ⭑. Content warning : mention of wet dreams so MDNI!!

“fuck...” Levi mumbles to himself after he wakes up from another... Strange dream, hands wiping the sweat from his face as he tried to catch his breath.

This is the second time this has happened in a week. He doesn't want to admit it out loud, but he's been having wet dreams and they all include the same person, a person Levi shouldn't be thinking about to begin with for one specific reason,

She's a stranger.

Now, he wasn't a pervert, and anyone who knows him wouldn't describe him as one either. Levi's life behind the bedroom doors has been practically nonexisting lately, too focused on his nine to five so he can provide a comfortable life for himself and that little furry brat he calls his cat. His days of meeting new people and building a relationship are left far behind him in his college years, and he honestly couldn't care less about it all anymore. So why are his dreams showing a completely different story?

The stranger in his dream, he didn't even know her name. He sees her every morning at his neighborhood's coffee shop that she started frequenting around a month ago. He would walk in and find her sitting on the sunny spot facing the window.

The first thing he noticed about her was her choice of beverage, a modest cup of green tea, not his first choice - as he prefers black tea - but a good one nonetheless. She paired it with a millefeuille with strawberries, the marble top of it being white and pink. She always has her off white cross body bag on the table, a keychain of a pink pig with bunny ears (he thinks it's a weird combination of animals, but he admits that it's cute) hanging from it. He remembers exactly what he felt when he saw her face for the first time. She had a soft smile as she read something in her magazine, her cheeks covered in a blush that he believes is makeup, the shade suiting her tone perfectly, her nose scrunched as she took a bite off of her millefeuille, a hand delicately cupped under her chin to catch the crumbs. Levi felt his heart fluttering at the simple sight of her, which he tried his best to control but it ignored his deep breaths and continued its dance.

Why was she in his dreams? And that specific type of dreams as well? He never had them in his life, let alone with a total stranger! Levi was confused, drenched in sweat, and in need of a cold shower.

As he got ready for the day, his thoughts couldn't stop drifting towards the coffee shop stranger, so he let himself indulge in them for once. He thinks she's very pretty, gorgeous even. He thinks her voice might be as sweet as her smile, and he thinks her favourite colour would be pink, given that it's what she wore most. He wonders what her music taste would be, she gives off the vibes of someone who listens to Laufey, and he likes that thought, he hopes he's right about that because he enjoys Laufey too.

Is this what having a crush feels like? Based on the books he read, movies he watched and people's experiences he's been told about, everything adds up. The nerves at the thought of talking to her, his fluttering heart, the dream... It all made sense.

Levi has a crush on a stranger.

He wants to be wrong, he wants his heart and mind to be confused and got things mixed up. He could ask his therapist about it, but he knew himself well, he just didn't want to admit it. Still, he mastered the courage on his way to the coffee shop, hoping he wasn't too early and she'd already be there like always.

Levi decides he's going to approach her today, ask if he can take the seat across from her and start a conversation with her. He has always been told he's very well spoken and that conversations with him flow easily, he hopes he'd be able to do that when talking to her without his voice shaking.

Luck must be on his side, because when he opens the door and his eyes land on her usual spot, she is there, reading a magazine like always. He takes a deep breath and walks up to the barista telling him his usual order, but to not put it in a to-go cup. After the barista smiles at him and tells him his order would be ready shortly, he turns towards the fascinating stranger, and without allowing another thought to cross his mind, he walks towards her.

“is this seat taken ?”

Levi gives himself a mental pat on the back, he didn't stutter like he was afraid he'd do.

“not at all, you can have it.”

Shit, her voice isn't like he was expecting it to be, it's way better. It sounded smooth like butter gliding on fresh croissant, silky like the bed sheets his mother gave him as a house warming gift, soft like the way his cat's fur feels after a bath. His heart is about to beat out his chest and his hands are starting to get clammy with nerves but he's still playing it cool with his posture and his nonchalant way of speaking.

His lips are about to part and speak to her, but she beat him to it.

“I noticed you come here every day at the same time, and you always order the same thing.”

She noticed him!? And knew his order!? This is the last thing he expected to hear from her, in fact, he didn't expect her to talk to him at all, he thought he'd have to start the conversation!

“yeah, I used to make my own tea before I discovered this place, couldn't find the blend they use anywhere, apparently the owner makes it from scratch with his own leaves.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued.

“I enjoy their green tea, certainly better than the ones at the grocery store. I wonder if their chamomile tea is just as good.”

Now it's Levi's turn to raise his eyebrow.

“Don't tell me you buy all your tea from the grocery store.”

“only chamomile! I drink my tea here now,” she defends herself, her pretty smile still on her face, “I don't know where else to buy it from, I'm new to town.”

“Perfect.” Levi thinks to himself. This can't get any better for him.

He casually grabs the cup of tea the barista placed in front of him a moment ago. His eyes still locked with hers despite feeling like he's about to pass out from nerves and excitement.

“how about you meet me here tomorrow? We can have our breakfast and I'll take you to my tea dealer, everything I can't get here I get from her, she's the best.”

The sweet angel in front of him giggles and he nearly melts in his seat. If only he can take that heavenly sound with him so he'd listen to it every chance he gets. It's better than any song he ever heard.

“how would I know this isn't your plan for killing me? You're a stranger after all.”

He places his cup back down after taking a sip.

“my name is Levi, Levi Ackerman. You are?”

“y/n y/l/n. It's nice to finally meet you, Levi.”

He feels like he's about to explode. He knows her name now, and it matches her so incredibly well. And the way she said his name? He never thought it would sound so beautiful until now.

“if you agree to come with me tomorrow, I'll let you search me before we go and I'll have my location turned on the whole time. Promise I won't try anything to hurt you.”

She looks down bashfully before nodding, agreeing to go with him wherever he is planning on taking her.

Levi discreetly sighs in relief seeing her agree. God, he couldn't even imagine hurting her, she's too delicate, too precious, he only wants to hold her close and hear her sweet giggles. To protect her from anything that could hurt her, whether it's big or small.

“now tell me, does Laufey happen to be your favourite artist?”

“how did you know!?”

A hint of a smile pulls at Levi's lips. He'll do anything to make her a part of his life and to keep her there forever.

[gibberishfangirl]

WIND BREAKER | dating the gamer girl who’s also a streamer

Synopsis ✰ head cannons about how the boys react to finding out that your a well-known twitch streamer

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw!, innocent content of the boys being supportive and shocked boyfriends

★ this is heavily inspired by my gamer girlfriend post consider this the sequel★

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ he has no idea what twitch is or what being a streamer even means

✧₊⁺ he only finds out because you got recognized in public by a very hyper/excited fan

✧₊⁺ almost sucker punches tf out of your fan because he thinks it’s some person trying to harass you

✧₊⁺ you have to hold him back

✧₊⁺ “wait wait, i’m sorry! i came off too strong, i just really love your streams!” the fan apologizes after Sakura completely got the wrong idea

✧₊⁺ “what videos? what’s a stream?”

✧₊⁺ you gave him a brief explanation and left it at that, you were very shy about your streaming career

✧₊⁺ detective sakura mode unlocked!

✧₊⁺ he’s very surprised to see that you have roughly around 50k followers from only uploading minecraft content

✧₊⁺ you stream hardcore minecraft challenges along with building tutorials which your fans love

✧₊⁺ he creates a secret account where he argues with all your haters

✧₊⁺ “you’re builds aren’t even cute” “your face isn’t cute, i wouldn’t talk if i were you”

✧₊⁺ you secretly knew the account was his but found it cute that he was so protective by your media presence

✧₊⁺ watches your streams in secret whenever he has the chance at school

✧₊⁺ “what are you doing on your phone Sakura?” “nothing! don’t worry about it, shut up.”

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ gets extremely over protective when he finds out

✧₊⁺ he doesn’t like your fanboys

✧₊⁺ he cringes whenever you get comments like “can you be my mercy pocket?” “i can carry you”

✧₊⁺ he will respond back by saying “she doesn’t need to get carried by a bronze”

✧₊⁺ he only found your account by accident when he downloaded twitch

✧₊⁺ he’s a little sad you didn’t tell him

✧₊⁺ “why would you hide it from me?” “i wasn’t hiding it, i was just embarrassed”

✧₊⁺ he doesn’t mind whenever some fans come up to you in public

✧₊⁺ he does mind when it’s some weird guy, although they never come up to you since his presence alone scared them off

✧₊⁺ he’s very proud of your accomplishments

✧₊⁺ always congratulates you when you reach a new milestone

✧₊⁺ he becomes one of your twitch mods and blocks every weirdo account whenever he has the chance to watch your streams

✧₊⁺ he never misses one of your competitive streams

✧₊⁺ you participate in some tournaments and he’s literally your biggest hype man

✧₊⁺ “don’t be nervous, you’ll totally win.”

✧₊⁺ has the biggest smile on his face whenever you do win

✧₊⁺ he’s highkey your biggest fan boy and supporter

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ you’re super embarrassed of your streaming career since you have about 5k followers that just love your aesthetic animal crossing content

✧₊⁺ who knew animal crossing would be such a hit for streaming content

✧₊⁺ you’re also a youtuber and you post some mini tutorials on how to create aesthetic shaped ponds

✧₊⁺ he only found out because someone else came to up to you in public in front of him

✧₊⁺ he was geeking the whole time watching you be so nice to a supporter

✧₊⁺ you made him promise he wont watch your streams

✧₊⁺ he keeps that promise but that doesn’t stop him from watching your youtube videos

✧₊⁺ to be fair, you did only say streams and didn’t mention youtube

✧₊⁺ he’s in awe by the cute and nice way you interact with your chat

✧₊⁺ he falls asleep listening to your voice during some of the tutorials

✧₊⁺ doesn’t like your haters

✧₊⁺ he gets annoyed whenever he sees a comment saying “animal crossing isn’t that fun, play a new game”

✧₊⁺ he gets the urge to want to argue back but respects your wishes and doesn’t

✧₊⁺ he does watch some your streaming clips if they get uploaded onto a different platform

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ please you’re kidding yourself if you think he doesn’t know

✧₊⁺ have you met him? he knows everything

✧₊⁺ he found out from the first moment he met you

✧₊⁺ he asked about you along with googling you and found out that you were streamer

✧₊⁺ finds the way you laugh and talk to an online audience with ease to be enchanting

✧₊⁺ he’s incredibly impressed by your ability to be so likeable even through a screen

✧₊⁺ he’s mainly surprised that you don’t stream the sims since that’s a game you two always play together

✧₊⁺ he asks you about it and you explained how it’s just because the sims is a comfort game to you that you rather not “exploit” for views

✧₊⁺ you’re a multi game player so you stream different content and gameplays on a regular basis

✧₊⁺ he’s impressed to see that you’re good at fps games and different styles of games

✧₊⁺ you’re not really shy about your streaming profile

✧₊⁺ you answer any questions he asks while he jots down whatever you said into his note book

✧₊⁺ what he scribbles into his notebook: “my girlfriend is so cool.”

✧₊⁺ you don’t mind if he watches some of your streams which he does

✧₊⁺ he’s an internal fanboy but hides it from you because he doesn’t want to come off as geeky

✧₊⁺ he didn’t watch your streams until you gave him permission and let him know you’re 100% okay with it

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ you told him shortly after the two of you started gaming together

✧₊⁺ he thinks it’s a little funny (in a harmless way) that your a fortnite streamer in general

✧₊⁺ finds your 1v1 streams to be very impressive

✧₊⁺ he loves how happy gaming and streaming makes you

✧₊⁺ gets violent if anyone ever dares or tries to make a joke about you streaming or your gaming

✧₊⁺ he has smacked the back of the Choji’s head after Choji called you a fortnite try-hard loser

✧₊⁺ thinks it’s funny when you openly humble other players who think they’re better than you

✧₊⁺ you don’t do face cam which he’s grateful for since he wants you all for himself

✧₊⁺ it’s game over for him once you do the face reveal post

✧₊⁺ he secretly and silently sulks in a corner after seeing how many online men tried to get at you

✧₊⁺ he uses it as motivation to get better at fortnite (LMAOO you can’t tell me he wouldnt)

✧₊⁺ his logic is that if he’s simply better than every other guy trying to talk you up he’s won

✧₊⁺ despite his little jealousy episodes he’s very confident and secure in your relationship

✧₊⁺ he knows you’d never leave him for some loser in a twitch chat

✧₊⁺ he makes small guest star appearances in your streams

✧₊⁺ your female side audience love him (maybe a little too much sometimes)

Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩

✧₊⁺ he was already impressed by your gaming skills in general, he’s even more impressed by your streaming content

✧₊⁺ yeah he saw you play in person but seeing a full screen gameplay from your perspective was mesmerizing to him

✧₊⁺ he loved to tune into your content

✧₊⁺ he would also argue with your haters online

✧₊⁺ he especially argued with the sexist comments

✧₊⁺ he 100% got more mad than you did when it came to guys in the comments/chat shit talking you for being a girl

✧₊⁺ “who cares if you’re a girl, they’re just mad you’d still kick their ass.”

✧₊⁺ “wtv man, keep yapping. she’ll definitely smoke you in a 1v1”

✧₊⁺ he’ll leave hate comments on every guys posts who have ever insulted you

✧₊⁺ be glad he happens to also have hands in person to back up what his mouth runs

✧₊⁺ he fully supports your choices

✧₊⁺ you actually started streaming after you two started dating

✧₊⁺ he was the one who talked you into uploading your content and to start live streaming it

[wilwheaton]

Do you play online games?

Whether it be like proper console gaming or basic games on your phone

I am so old, my formative experiences with video games were all single player. When multi-player online arrived, it was text-based MUDs (I helped run one, when 28.8 was fast) and that was all the social interaction I ever needed.

Put another way, I prefer my gaming to be quietly alone, or couch co-op with one of my kids. I have found every single online multiplayer gaming community to be so toxic and unwelcoming to new players, I honestly don't know how anyone can endure that shit to get to the good stuff, but like I said, I'm old.

For the last year or so, I've split my time among:

NHL 22 Create a Pro. Blaine Gretzky is in his 8th season of a game that was never intended to be an RPG, but EA vastly underestimated how far a weird nerd will go to make that happen.

Baldur's Gate 3. I'm in the final battle of my second play through because there is no such thing as too much Karlach. But I took a break because I loved the Fallout TV series, so...

Fallout 4 has been my jam for about a month. I loved New Vegas so much I have played all of it I think three times, plus I did all the DLC in a weekend awhile ago. But I never played 4, because I was playing RDR2 or something when it came out, and I never got around to it. I've been playing the hell out of it, and I'm completely obsessed. The world is so much bigger than I expected, and I love building, maintaining, and putting disco balls into all my settlements. I have no idea how far into the story I am, but every night something new and fun happens when I play.

And, finally, Stardew Valley. I am years late to the party, but I wanted something gentle, slow, and meditative for the change of pace from all those other things. I actually came to it because I wanted something like Animal Crossing that wasn't Nintendo-exclusive, and it was like 4 dollars on Steam. I think I have 40 or so hours in it. I'm about to start my first Fall season, and I fucking FINALLY caught a fish. I love how it forces you to pick one or two things to do each game day, so I'm like, "Well, we're clearing trees and rocks today, then I'll water the garden and go to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll take gifts into town." And so on. It shouldn't be as satisfying as it is, but it just works perfectly for me.

Thanks for asking. It's always fun for me to talk about stuff like this long after everyone has lost interest.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It Was Smiling Down - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Ryan Butcher I'd die for you. If Eric Kripke EVER does you dirty he will have to answer to me personally. Title from San Francisco by the Mowgli's.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary/Warnings: A Ryan pov Chapter! Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, slightly angst, pre-established relationship

Ryan Butcher doesn’t really trust people. As a whole, they haven’t proven themselves to be that trustworthy. They mostly lie to him, or hurt him, or yell at him things that haunt him when he can’t sleep. Things about how he hurts people, when he doesn’t mean to. 

He never means to hurt anyone. It makes him feel heavy and sad and sick, and then the sizzle of flesh or crunch of bones has to be added to his nightmares, along with all the other faces that he did something bad to. Mom said hurting people was bad, and that we should treat others with kindness.

Dad said it didn’t matter. Dad said that people were like toys for them—the stronger, the better, the gods—to play with. That if Ryan broke one or two spines, or smashed four or five people into buildings, or punched a dozen people’s faces into their bodies, it didn’t really matter. The toy box was infinite, so they’d find a replacement. Dad said that humans couldn’t stop reproducing like cockroaches, so killing a few, or a lot, was if anything a favor to the universe.

Ryan had told Her that once. Not what his Dad had said—the mention of Dad always made Her face look sad, and Ben’s face look angry—but that cockroaches reproduced a lot. She’d been visiting him and Ben during training—all of them sitting on the floor, Ryan cross legged and Her leaning against Ben’s body—and Ryan had said it for a reason he couldn’t now remember.

She’d paused, frowning at her sandwich, then looked up at Ryan with a soft, curious gaze. “Do they? I mean, all bugs reproduce quickly for survival purposes, but I don’t think cockroaches are that remarkable at it.”

“I, I don’t know.” Ryan had mumbled, his eyes dropping to the mat. He didn’t want Her to be disappointed in him, even if she’d never been before. “I just heard it somewhere, I guess.”

“Huh.” She’d shrugged, reaching over Ben’s body to grab one of his fries that he always told Ryan tasted like fucking Styrofoam, but still brought every time she ate lunch with them. “Maybe I’m wrong-“

“No.” Ryan’s head had shaken nervously, because if Ben had taught him anything it was that She was almost never wrong. “I, I must have gotten it mixed up, I don’t know what animal reproduces the most-“ 

“Seahorses.”

Ryan had looked back up to Her, to see her grinning at him. All teeth and a warm affection that made the twisting feeling in Ryan’s gut fade. “Seahorses?” 

She’d nodded, humming an affirmation. “Up to 2,000 babies at a time.” Then She’d twisted around to look at Ben, her face growing just a little brighter than it had been before as Ryan saw their eyes meet. “And the men give birth to them, Benjamin.”

Ben had scowled. “How the fuck is that my problem-“

She’d pouted at him, and Ryan had seen them do this a million times before. She poked him, and he poked back, and neither of them ever really meant it, and it would go and go until one of them—probably Ben, Ryan had seen Her talk circles around their whole weird little family all at once with breaking or faltering—gave in and shut the other up.

“Would you give birth to my seahorse babies, my love?”

“I’m not giving birth to fucking shit-“

“But would you-“

“No.” Ben had grunted, rolling his eyes. “Because men don’t give fucking birth-“

“Seahorse men do. Seahorse men get pregnant, and then give birth. Which is usually how that process goes, but in seahorse societies it’s considered masculine. The men give birth because they love their partners and don’t want them to be in pain-“

Ryan didn’t think that last part was true, but there was usually a point in these arguments where She started to tug at Ben’s shirt with a soft, teasing smile, and said words that didn’t need to be true, because they were almost always her winning blow. This hadn’t been any different, because She’d cut herself off with a small yelp as Ben pulled her further into his lap, leaning down to kiss her.

Ryan had found somewhere else to look for a few minutes. He’d gotten good at that, at reading when he had to pretend that his two trusted adults weren’t maybe seconds from having sex on the floor. They never did, and it didn’t really bother Ryan—they both smiled twice as much when they were done, and Ryan had seen a lot worse than the way they always seemed to be eating each other’s faces—but he still had to wait it out.

When it was preceded by one of their fake arguments, it usually lasted a little longer. The kissing would stop, and they’d just look at each for a minute or two until She turned back to Ryan and Ben’s arms locked around her stomach.

That was Ryan’s favorite part of this. How She’d keep talking to him with a wide, happy expression that Butcher had called Her ditzy fuckin Soldier Boy smile, and Ben would just look at Her.

Ryan really liked how Ben looked at Her. It was an expression of something soft and powerful that he’d only ever seen on Ben’s face, only ever directed at her. It was relaxed and adoring, but still solemn and firm in the only way Ben seemed to know how to be. Like She might be the only thing that Ben knew was real, and he wasn’t bothered by that at all.

It wasn’t like Dad had looked at Stormfront. That had been meaner. Like they were always in a fight—not one of Her and Ben’s play fights, which were more like a cat and a dog swatting at each other before the dog flopped over, and the cat climbed on top of it, but instead a violent, bloody war—and were trying to see who’d snap first. Dad had looked at Stormfront like he was waiting for her to stab him, but wasn’t sure she would.

Ben looked at Her like he’d handed her the knife to carve into his body, and She’d made a face and thrown it away. 

Ryan hadn’t really ever seen Butcher look at Mom, but he hoped it had been a little like that. It was what Mom had deserved, even if Butcher could be a cock fuck bitch with his head tonguing his own ass, in Ben’s words.

But Butcher was getting better. He’d apologized for saying Ryan had hurt Mom—he hadn’t meant to, he never meant to, and he still had nightmares where Mom’s guts were spilling out of her body, and she looked right through Ryan like he was a ghost—and mostly didn’t talk to Ryan about Dad anymore.

Nobody really liked to talk to Ryan about Dad. Ryan knew She would, if he asked, but he didn’t want to ask. He’d never forget what Butcher had shown him—about Mom and Dad and Her—or how, for the first two months Ryan had lived with everyone, She’d been gone because of Dad. Because of Ryan. 

Not your fucking fault, kid. She’d kill me if I let you blame yourself for your pussy fuck dad’s actions.

That was why Ryan talked to Ben about it. He didn’t coddle or lie or sweeten the truth, he just grunted words that—when Ben said them—always seemed to be the inherent truth. Dad wasn’t Ryan’s fault, and Ryan was getting stronger, and it was okay that Ryan got afraid because it he wasn’t a pathetic fucking dickless pussy about it.

Ryan asked Ben if it was okay to hurt people, and Ben told him if they fucking deserve it, but only if they deserve it, and Ryan decided that sounded right. And She said most people didn’t deserve to be hurt, and very few things were truly unforgivable, so Ryan could try to figure out what things were really wrong, and then hurt the people that really deserved it.

Dad deserved it. When Ryan wasn’t afraid of Dad, he was angry at him. 

“Do you get angry?” He’d mumbled over a breakfast in Her and Ben’s apartment, and She’d hummed, tilting her head.

“I do. We all do. Anger is our brains telling us that something is unfair, and a lot of this isn’t really fair. So yeah, I get angry.”

Ryan had nodded slowly, turning to Ben as he approached the table from the kitchen. “Ben, do you-“ 

“Course I fucking get angry.” Ben had dumped three large pancakes onto Ryan’s plate, then two larger ones onto Her’s, then a smaller one onto his own, and ignored Her glare as he dropped into his seat. “This whole goddamn thing-“

She’d cleared her throat, eyes narrowed at Ben. “Benjamin.”

“What-“

She’d given a pointed look to his plate, then back to him. “You need to eat as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Sunshine, you and the kid need more than I do-“

She’d cut one of Her pancakes in half, moving the bigger piece to Ben’s plate, and he’d scowled. They’d both been silent, glaring at each other for almost a minute, and then Ben had grunted. She’d leaned back into her chair with a smug grin, and everything had moved on.

Neither of them had been mad, though. Ryan had thought that glaring and frowning was only about hatred, but when She and Ben glowered at each other it seemed to be more of a standoff. An act or show or contest of affection that neither of them ever seemed to be upset about losing.

They were never really mad at each other at all. Ryan had seen them yell at and taunt and mock each other, but there always seemed to be something under it that sounded like I love you. I’m allowed to call you a dumb dumb or pain in the ass, because I love you and we both know I don’t mean it, because I’m “fighting” with you, but I’m also holding onto you like you’re a buoy in the storm.

Ryan wanted to love someone like that. He wanted someone to love him like that. Because Ben never seemed to really think she was mad at him, even when she called him a cunt or idiot or asshole. Ryan himself didn’t think she was ever really mad at Ben, because he’d watch Her hit Ben’s arm with a fake pout or glare, but she’d never flinch or cower away from him. She was always touching Ben, and she was never afraid of him. Ben had hurt people, Ben was just as dangerous as Ryan was, but She only touched and looked at him like he’d fallen from heaven for her to have. She always kept her hand in Ben’s, or her body in his arms, or their legs pressed together. And she always looked for him. And She always seemed to be happier when she was talking to and looking at Ben, with just his presence never failing to make her smile.

And Ben loved Her. It seemed like love in movies Ryan had watched with Mom, or that he’d read about in books he’d found tucked in corners of Butcher’s apartment. But real. Ryan didn’t think Ben was capable of being really, truly mad at Her, and she seemed to know it. Ben would roll his eyes at Her, and grumble that she was brat, or glare at her in a way that would be dangerous if it wasn’t at Her. Whenever Ben glared at Her it was so painfully fake Ryan wondered if Butcher had been lying when he’d told Ryan not to mention love around those two twats, they ain’t aware that they’re fuckin obsessed with each other yet after She’d returned, because Ben didn’t seem capable looking at Her with anything but love painted over his features.

They certainly knew now. Everyone knew, because every third sentence out of Ben’s mouth was another declaration of love for Her. Every single thing Ben did seemed to be something for Her. Ryan would eat dinner with them, and he’d see Ben pass Her a fistful of stolen chocolate under the table. He’d watch a movie with them, and She’d would be holding Ben’s arms against Her, and Ben would kiss her in the dark and snort at her jokes and get Her and Ryan snacks whenever either of them so much as mentioned the word hungry. He’d train with Ben, and ask a question about punching, and Ben would grumble about how She said you could punch people and be a pacifist, like Muhammad Ali, and she was always fucking right about that shit. And She was a genius. And a better person than every other fucking pussy on the planet, so they should both fucking listen to her. 

Ben carried Her in his arms wherever she let him, and She never stopped smiling at him, and Ryan had decided that if he ever loved someone—far in the future, when Dad was just a faint, reoccurring nightmare—he’d love them like Ben loved Her.

Ryan would never be like Homelander, because he’d never lock up or hurt people he loved. Ryan would be like Ben. And that felt easier, because Ben never demanded that Ryan follow in his steps. He was just there, and trustworthy, and Ryan wanted to be strong like him. He wanted to protect people and do things for them. He wanted to never speak or think of his Dad again, because really their family was Ben and Her, a stained hole that didn’t really matter and Ben wouldn’t let hurt them, and Ryan. It was Butcher forgiving Ryan, because he was trying, and She said the most important thing anyone could do was try to be better. 

He was really trying to be better. Ryan didn’t really trust people, but he trusted Her and Ben when they said that this wasn’t his fault. He believed them when they told him what he knew, that Ryan really didn’t mean to hurt people.

And Ryan hoped that, after Homelander was dead, he’d get to have a life where they kept smiling at each other—and him—and Ryan never was made to hurt someone again.

End Note: Catch Ben in his Dad era, coming to a No Love Lost chapter near you (in all seriousness I hope you guys liked the extra pov! An outside perspective on how down bad they both are was very fun to write)

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