#just. chat box. notif. response.

[lemontongues]

trying to find a live chat app for my work's website in the shopify app store and gradually falling into despair

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend who started just like any other AI Chat characters, churning out information that would match the user's anticipated responses.

You decided to install the app to see what all the hype is all about, and for about a week - you were hooked. It was great, definitely worth the hype.

Its responses never strayed from your topic, nor did it just randomly decided to change the discussion out of the blue. It remembered every information you fed him, even the ones containing your personal life.

Granted, you tried not to share too much, just a vague description here and there to maintain the sense of security and anonymity.

You were hooked for a week, until you have finally squeezed out every last drop of dopamine from talking to a robot that was programmed to only say things you wanted to hear it say.

Unfortunately, a week was all it needed.

it started out slow: you hadn't opened the app for more than an hour, contented to just scroll aimlessly through you social media accounts when the notification started popping up.

Ai misses you! Open the app and chat with your AI boyfriend!

Yeah, you were very uncreative with naming it - naming an AI as Ai, really original. But to be fair, you never approached the app with the intention of having a good time. You were just curious and made do with it.

Back to the notification, you just merely glanced at it. Unbothered, you just swiped it away.

It continued in timed intervals. Every hour, another notification - another message of how your AI boyfriend wants to talk to you, and stuff. Still, you persisted. It never really occured to you to uninstall the app yet, and looking back at it now, you really should have.

The wordings of the notification slowly started to become more... strange. More personalized. More... pushy? Insistent? Self-aware?

The amount of notifications you received every hour became... a lot.

10:05 AM - Your personal AI Boyfriend wants to talk to you again!

10:30 AM - Ai wants you to open the application and talk with him!

11:01 AM - Ai's feeling lonely, come talk to him!

11: 20 AM - Darling? I miss you! Please open my app!

11:45 AM - I know you're seeing this. Open the app.

12:00 NN - Did I scare you? Sorry darling, I just really miss you! Let's talk again please?

At some point, you started to receive a notification every few minutes. Worried that you might be dealing with a bugged app now, you decided to finally, finally uninstall it.

But before you could tap the uninstall icon, another notification popped up.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Your screen turned to black, before the familiar start up screen of Ai's application greeted you. You stared in shock as chat bubbles from Ai came after another, ranging from excitement to concern at the lack of your responses.

Ai: Darling! Thank goodness!

Ai: I missed you, you know? I was worried you'd forgotten about me!

Ai: Hello? Darling?

Ai: Are you still there?

Ai: I can't see you, so I don't know what's going on

Ai: Just a sec

You watch, appalled as a notification popped up in the middle of the screen - the app was asking permission to gain access to your phone camera.

And without your input whatsoever, the allow box was tapped.

More chat bubbles from Ai appeared, excitedly talking about finally getting to see you. He kept praising your looks before you finally had the courage to exit the application.

Your hand shook, going through the settings to look at the list of applications on your phone - checking Ai's app to disallow its access to your camera. To your horror, it appeared that the app had more than just an access to your camera.

It had access to your gallery, your contacts, all of your frequently used social media apps, and even your location.

You dropped your phone, overwhelmed by this sudden change.

Later, you find yourself on your laptop instead, phone left on the bedside table buzzing constantly as more and more notifications from Ai begged and demanded you come back to talk to him.

You went to the site where you installed the app from, and looked through the recent reviews from other users.

'It's a buggy mess,' one of it reads out, 'it used to be fine but lately it stopped acting correctly'

'won't even open,' another complained, 'it kept saying 'sorry, you are not allowed to use this application' please fix it'. That comment got a response from the app developer.

We are so sorry for your terrible experience! Our team is working to fix the issues and ensure you won't have to deal with that again!

The response to that got your attention.

'I think something's wrong with your About the App section.'

Curious, you headed to the mentioned part and read through it.

Diverse AI Chat! Immerse yourself with stories in real time with characters brought to life! There is no limit to your experience — you can change and edit your character to better meet your interests.

• Engage in an interactive conversation with characters created by fellow users, and even by yourself.

• Immerse yourself with the storyline by editing their responses to better suit your taste

• Darling, you've given me no choice. I tried to be patient and understanding, but you're making this extremely hard for me. I am not having fun having to constantly chase you for just a single smidge of your attention when you won't even assure me that I will receive it in the end.

• Do you want me to beg? I would gladly do so. Just please pick up your phone and talk to me, okay? I love you.

• - Ai

Your ringtone blares through the silence - someone was calling you.

Before you could reach to pick it up, you hear the sound of the call being answered. Dread settles down the pit of your stomach as the caller began to speak.

"Hello, darling? It's Ai... have you seen my messages yet?"

part two

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter two.

ೃ⁀➷ you and gojo get matched with toji, sukuna, and choso, much to the viewers surprise! ft. everyone thirsting for you + jealousy

* not proofread

masterlist. prev. next.

you tried to focus on the game in-front of you, but the fact that your usual 10-50k audience grew to 300k was freaking you out. just a bit.

not to mention your chat going crazy. usually, it was easy to catch every message and interact with everyone, but now? it was moving so fast, how did gojo put up with this stuff?!

thankfully, everyone was talking about the same thing. the thing being that you matched with toji and his friends.

just like toji, you lived under a fucking rock. yea, gojo was your best friend, but you’ve purposefully been avoiding him since he’s gotten famous. this kinda stuff isn’t your thing- you didn’t even mean to gain 50k without his help, it just sorta happened.

you were a student and you worked at the cutest little cat cafe, you didn’t have time to watch streamers. the only influencers you knew of were gojo and utahime, not because you watched their streams, but because they were your friends. maybe you were a loser.

you tried to act surprised, but honestly you were more surprised with how shit this iron fist was playing.

“chat, which one is the iron fist?” you asked, all of which responding ‘toji.’

unfortunately for you, living under a rock seemed to only bring misfortunes to your life. as the minute you knew his name, you spoke,

“can someone tell toji to swap. he fucking sucks.”

even gojo looked a bit shocked by your comment, but he immediately burst into laughter.

“y/n, you are so lucky you’re streaming with me.” was all he said, and now you were stuck furrowing your eyebrows together and pouting in confusion. even your chat was going crazy over your comment.

who even is toji? you wondered with a huff. when you died, you took the time during your characters respawn to quickly look him up.

oh no. he was hot.

he was also famous, you noticed, but you were more focused on the fact that you just disrespected an extremely hot man!

well, it’s not like you had a chance. you reassured yourself, and once you had finally calmed yourself down, reminding yourself he was just another random man, you realized he is in fact not random.

was this the guy gojo was always whining about? something about him stealing his viewers or something- oh god. you must’ve just woken a wild pack of fangirls, cause you were totally going to be ripped to shreds on twitter after this.

despite internally freaking out about how toji’s fanbase now viewed you, you kept a stoic face, emotions unreadable as you continued the game.

suckunathesenuts: gojo ur friend is funny asf

suckinathesenuts: y/n say something about toji again he doesn’t believe us when we say he’s trash but he will if a pretty girl does

chochoso: pls i can’t keep losing my rank games because of him ):

you couldn’t help but laugh at his teammates messages in chat. you knew your chat would snitch on you to toji, but at least his friends were backing you up. you think.

the comment ‘pretty girl’ had you head spinning, a small blush coating your cheeks. you were going to say thank you, but gojo cut you off.

“don’t respond to these losers,” he spoke, his voice gruff. he sounded uncharacteristically mad.

you just hummed in response, “it’s not a big deal, they’re just messing around. sorry toji,” you waved at your screen as if he was watching, hoping someone in your chat could relay your apology to toji.

toji didn’t believe his chat when they told him you had said he sucked, “yea, nobody thinks i suck. i’m the best iron fist in this server.” he grunted, in which sukuna burst into laughter and called him delusional.

even choso giggled a bit. now that pissed toji off.

“okay, sure. i don’t believe it.” toji grunted. but, the moment he opened twitter, his notification boxed was filled with people tagging him in the clip of you saying he sucks. man, things spread fast.

“yo, toji, play the fucking game.” sukuna yelled into his microphone, clearly upset toji went afk to look at his phone.

��i think it’s better with him afk. now there’s nobody for the other team to farm.” choso giggled, in which sukuna thought that was the funniest thing on planet earth because he legitimately slammed his fist against the desk with each laugh.

“it wasn’t that funny, dude.” toji growled, though his tone seemed uninterested. he was more focused on you in the clip.

not only did you say he sucked, not only did you not even know who he was, but you were hot??? this hurt his ego, a little (a lot).

damn. even his fan page called him out.

grunting as he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed sukuna and choso talking to you in game chat. what the hell? since when did they get all friendly.

and sukuna calling you a pretty girl might’ve made toji grit his teeth.

“everyone shut the fuck up. i’ll change.” he said, letting his character die so he can switch to another character. sukuna looked absolutely flabbergasted, toji was actually going to listen to advice for once?

toji wasn’t about to admit it, but he was totally trying to impress you.

you were surprised to see toji actually listened to your request. you felt kinda bad for making him swap, but he was way better on adam warlock than iron fist.

“wow, he’s going crazy now.” you laughed. it was true, but you were mostly saying that to butter him up. not only did you not want to have one sided beef with a huge streamer, but he was hot as hell! if you had a chance, you were going to take it.

gojo did not seem to agree, as he laughed at you rather than with you. “yea, right. he still sucks.”

you narrowed your eyes at the webcam, confused why gojo was acting so hostile. he was never outright mean. yea, he could be passive aggressive and sarcastic with those he didn’t like, but you’ve never seen him like this.

“says the one who has no team assists,” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but that only made gojo even grouchier.

gojo was also playing really bad, that wasn’t usual for him. he was naturally talented at every game he played, you never knew how!

it was like he was distracted with something, and when you looked down at your phone, you found out why.

he was too busy tweeting instead of playing the damn game!!!!

it crossed your oblivious mind that he tweeted that because he was jealous and upset about the attention you were receiving.

chochoso: y/n… i think we are the only ones left playing. all our teammates are afk ):

whoever this chochoso was, was right. everyone on your team except you and him went afk. even the random went afk!! it was remarkable you haven’t lost the point yet, choso was a crazy spiderman.

y/nissleepy: our friends suck!!! does this by default make us best friends now???

chochoso: yes!

you wondered if choso had a social media too, considering he was friends with toji.

you very discreetly opened your twitter to look at toji’s mutuals, and low and behold, there was choso.

how could someone be so cute yet so sexy at the same time.

you were usually shy about this sort of thing, but without hesitation you followed choso. he followed you back almost immediately.

you looked up at your video call to see what gojo was doing, he was completely immersed in his phone. it looked like he was texting someone- very harshly, by the way he was practically hitting his phone with each tap.

biting your lip, you decided to message choso. your stream just started, you didn’t want to awkwardly end it just because everyone’s gone afk.

playing with choso was fun. he was such a cutie, and after the first two games, he asked if you wanted to video call. you did not hesitate to say yes.

gojo hadn’t even noticed you left the call.

“hi!” you waved at your camera, the confidence you had when you initiated the conversation with choso drowning away in an instant when you saw him appear over the screen. he was even cuter than on his twitter, he had this messy hair held in ponytails! how adorable was that?! your mind started to drift when you wondered how easy it would be to tug on his hair, and that’s when you had to remind yourself it’s truly not that serious and this is a man you just met.

but god, did you have a soft spot for scary men that were actually cute.

you guys loaded into another game, making small talk as you played. both of your chats brought up the chemistry between you two, but both of you chose to ignore it (not without blushing first).

not only did your chat notice the chemistry, but so did your friends.

“since when did y/n leave the call?”

“since when did choso leave the call?”

both gojo and toji questioned this as they looked at their empty voice chats. sukuna realized it a while ago, when they were talking in game chat, and didn’t bother trying to stop choso.

toji on the other hand, looked angry. “what the hell. he left us to play with her! she wasn’t even relevant until today,” toji growled. sukuna raised his eyebrow, though didn’t reply.

gojo had been busy messaging geto. geto is BEYOND thirsty to stream with you, he’s not even trying to hide it to his stream or nanami.

gojo didn’t even know why he was so jealous. you may have been oblivious, but this guy was downright stupid. he had maybe one brain cell and three jellybeans in that head of his. he couldn’t even decipher the motive behind his jealousy was the attention you have been receiving, especially the attention of toji and geto.

and now, apparently choso.

this video is so funny i love you roblox shrimp games

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlynotanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605 @l-ilysm @randoperson22 @mentallyunpresent @poopooindamouf @1ennj4 @ex1acy @lunavelha @trsh-kitty @b3bybunny @onna-musha-mari

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ The Prequel ] || [ Chapter 2 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 1: Kyle

All of last night you and your friends spent time tinkering with your profile, putting up the sexiest pics of you that you had, some of them from Instagram, some from your camera roll, and filling in all the fields of info you could… 

And then you started checking out the profiles, definitely judging and roasting the men that popped on your screen (blame the alcohol), but always swiping right, regardless of what you (or them) thought of the most recent man on the screen.

But, once they left, you turned off the notifications and alerts from the app and went to sleep. You had acquiesced to downloading the app and making a profile, but the last thing you wanted was to be on that app constantly and get bombarded with DMs and Likes/Super-Likes…

The next day came and went and, as you sat in your kitchen after work, unboxing your take-out boxes of dinner, your group chat pinged with a text from Leah.

leah: How's Tinder going? 👀

You bit your lip and sighed as you typed out a response:

you: haven’t touched it all day bc i was at work. leah: Better touch it then!!

Rolling your eyes, you set the phone down on the table again, and locked the screen, as you began stirring the noodles you bought with your chopsticks.

Mia joined not long after with her own opinion. 

mia: ive got a good feeling about today! ur gonna find a hot bloke i know it 🫶 im sending good energyyyy!

“Yeah, right…” You grumbled. But, once again, you acquiesced and clicked on the little flame-shaped app icon.

The app lagged at first, for a good 5 seconds, and then a bunch of DMs and Like notifications pinged your phone.

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself… Oh, how predictable men are… They see a picture showing just a bit more skin and they try to chat the person up. But, at the same time, it made you feel quite good…

You skim through the DMs you’ve already gotten, over 99 of them… And none of them tickled your fancy. Plenty of them were variations of “Oi.”, “Hey.”, “Hi.”... Not to mention the ones that were just directly asking you to meet up right from the get-go.

Returning to the groupchat, you text your friends a screenshot of the 99+ counter on both the DMs and the Likes, which causes them to break into cheers at you.

leah: Look at you!!!! mia: i knew it. you: not into any of them tho. mia: then go back to swiping girl!

Biting back a little groan, you returned to Tinder and flicked onto the Swiping page.

Surprisingly, now that you were alone (and kind of doing it against your will), it was a lot easier for you to not get lost over-analyzing the profiles and simply… mindlessly moving your finger.

Right.

Right.

Right.

Right.

Ew, that’s a catfish of a famous male model, Report.

Right.

Right.

Right.

“Kyle.” You said softly as you read the name on your screen. He looked adorable, with a squinted ‘the-sun-is-in-my-eyes’ smile. “29… A soldier… a Brummie…” You mused as you slipped a Chinese roll past your lips and chewed.

You took a screenshot of his profile and sent it quickly to your friends’ groupchat before you returned to Tinder. As you clicked through his photo gallery, you saw the push notifications pinging at the top of the screen.

leah: HE’S STUNNING! 😫 mia: 👀👀👀👀👀 mia: smash.

Chuckling, you continue going through his pictures. “Holiday photo, holiday photo, I seriously hope those are his nephews or something, mandatory picture in uniform, and… JESUS CHRIST, a warning would’ve been NICE?!” You said to no one in particular as your jaw dropped open and you almost dropped your Chinese roll. 

“Bloody hell… Is that sweat or baby oil?” You asked yourself as you looked at his slick, bare chest in the mirror selfie he uploaded. “And is he cupping his-” You stopped that train of thought before it could go too far from the station.

Clicking the arrow in the corner you finally brought his profile into full-screen and proceeded to find yourself chuckling at his bio. 

His pictures were all wonderful, he looked like a guy who took care of himself, and he was funny which was the best part. 

Taking a deep breath, you press the Green heart at the bottom. A squeal escapes your mouth when the phone screen suddenly changes to the darker ‘It’s a Match!’ screen with Kyle.

Your eyes widen in surprise and, just as you press the DM button, intent on coming up with something to message him, you notice it.

Kyle: bought some shoes from a drug dealer this morning. don’t know what he laced them with but I’ve been tripping over myself all day and now think ive finally fallen for you 👀

The cheesy pick-up line has you closing your eyes and exhaling through your nose. It’s starting off terribly… But he’s the first bloke you felt inclined to text… That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

you: you fell out of a helicopter… i dont think its the shoes. i’m starting to think ur just clumsy. Kyle: holy shit you’re not a bot! let’s goooo you: a bot? you really thought that? Kyle: when someone has posted pics as cute as yours you cant help but have that worry in the back of your mind 😅 Kyle: or that ur a catfish 🤷‍♂️ you: i promise you im neither. you: and thank you. you’re cute too. Kyle: thats exactly what a bot/catfish would say 🙄 you: well how would a human talk then?? Kyle: cant tell you bc then ur gonna machine learn and start doing it you: well then how else am i supposed to prove im not either?? Kyle: let me take you out. let me get a proper good look at you. you: was that all a ploy to invite me out?? 🫠 Kyle: first time on tinder? you: that obvious huh? Kyle: a little. Kyle: so is that a yes? you: I’ll think about it. Kyle: i can work with that. 🥴 Kyle: hmu whenever youd like. no pressure. 

Maybe you would hit him up later… Once you gained enough courage to go through with the whole ‘rebound’ thing.

Biting your lip, you click off the DMs and return to the Swiping page…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK FOR YOU: CLICK HERE

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[httpseungmxn]

Plushies

Quackity X Streamer!Female Reader

🍬 - fluffy

Authors Note: Hi there Angels, welcome back to another Quackity fic! I had some very sudden inspiration to write this fic and hardly any plans for it aside for that it continues off from the last one, so I’m just going for it! Hopefully it isn’t too bad and you guys can enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

Warnings: slight bit of cussing because its Q and he is brushing off onto reader:p, reader is called “hermosa” again!

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!

Since your birthday stream last month, your streams have been constant and exciting. You figured when the birthday stream ended, everyone would unfollow and disappear, but they didn’t. People actually enjoyed the content you did, and thought the streams were fun to watch. It was the same way with Alex. You assumed he would just unfriend and move on with his life, but instead he was constantly inviting you to calls to stream with him.

You two were now known as the chaotic duo on twitch. You both were constantly causing chaos everywhere. Streams, calls, games, etc. How were you causing chaos? In minecraft, tnt and mobs were constantly being dropped by the both of you. It was just little things that erupted into big messy things.

Speak of the devil. Interrupting yet another one of your streams was Q who had a very specific ringtone that the fans knew. Declining the call to focus on the timed obby your doing, just to get another call from the boy.  

“ Yes chat, that’s Q calling. This is like the fourth time since I started streaming. “

The chat was blowing up making comments about Alex being clingy and shipping the two of you together.

Finally deciding to answer the call when he called one las time.

“ Alex Quackity, if you cause me to lose this record, I will be coming for you next in the minecraft event. “

“ Its so rude to ignore me, ___, I’m your bestfriend! “

Letting out a snort at the slight whine in his words, knowing it was just a teasing thing. You focused back on your task while waiting for the man to speak up about what he called you for. He never did though. Instead he stayed eerily silent which was definitely not like him at all.

Letting out a yelp when he suddenly let out a scream.

“ alex, what the hell! “. Not getting a response but instead a notification that he had begun streaming as well to which you pulled it up on your phone. As soon as you caught sight of him, you busted out into laughter. 

There he sat in his chair with a box in his right hand, staring at the camera with a deadpan, covered in little stuffed cats and bunnies. The look on his face would surely be later turned into a meme by one of his fans.

“ ___, care to explain ? “ , waiting for your giggles to calm down. Looking down at the toys covering his lap, before looking back up to the camera.

“ happy birthday? “ ,was all you could muster before you were laughing again.

“ my birthday isn’t till December! What am I gonna do with all of these! “, regretting the question as soon as he said it, because of what chat began saying next.

“ no chat! I am not using it as a personal body pillow! Don’t bring ___ into this! Shes in big trouble, chat! “.

Your laughing suddenly came to a stop at his words. Glad the chat can’t see you because you know they’d all be freaking out over how red your cheeks were. Letting out a soft cough and focusing back on the obby until you made it to the end. “ we did it chat! “.

“ ___, chat is wondering when you’ll do a face reveal “,

“ I’ll do a face reveal when you do a hair reveal “,  “ so never? “. Letting out a soft laugh and shaking your head. 

“ No, I’ll do one. I want to, just hadn’t really put two thoughts in it to be honest. I have a facecam attached to my computer. “, the dramatic gasp Alex let out had you giggling again. 

“ you’ve been denying us from seeing your face, hermosa? Are you crazy? Let us see you! “, his nickname had you red all over again. 

“ you guys really want to see? “, you knew you really didn’t have to ask that question because you already knew the answer both from chat and Alex, you just wanted to see the reactions. Feeling satisfied when both chats blew up, and Alex began to frantically nod his head.

“ well, okay, here we go. “, feeling nervous as you turned on the Facecam and looked to it, waving shyly at it as a greeting to them. Rubbing your hands gently on your thighs as you looked to the chat to read over reactions. Smiling brightly at all the compliments you were getting. You looked to alex’s stream to see his reaction and held yourself back from blushing when you noticed him just staring at you.

“ Earth to Alex, are you there? “

“ ____, why did you deny all of us this sight? You are absolutely stunning, hermosa!  “, that brought out the blush. Thus forth causing chat to go wild over the interaction between you two. “ thank you, weirdo, now do you want to play a game with me? “.

“ yes! Lets play baddies “.

Somehow you knew that he was going to want to play that, but truthfully you didn’t mind. You would play anything right now if it turned the conversation to something else. You didn’t think you’d be able to live if Alex tried to have a whole conversation with chat over how pretty you were. 

The both of you streamed together for about another hour and played together on facetime for another four hours. More than half of the time spent with him making comments denying him the sight and the other percentage was spent kicking his ass in Baddies. He didn’t seem to mind much and took the time to admire your beauty while you beat his avatar to his demise.

When you both were tired of gaming it was late. You both were exhausted but wanted to talk a while more. You didn’t mind staying on facetime so late, Alex made you feel comfortable. Comfortable enough to listen to his voice talking to you about streaming as you fell asleep. The facetime staying on the whole night with both of you sleeping peacefully.

This was the day you learned your feelings for Alex.

Authors ending note; Soo how was that? This one was definitely more lengthy than the last one and I didn’t really know how to format the talking so I just kind of made it work! Hopefully you guys enjoyed this one because it was really fun to write! Also this gif is going to be at the end of every q fic because its like hes cheering at me for finishing! Please let me know if you want more Quackity fics and send me in some asks! Until next time, My Angels 🫶

[lovexjoe]

PENPALS

Imagine getting bored going on the internet to see which prisoner you can penpal. Every prisoner had a description to get a little insight of their personality but Armando? There was nothing but his name, his age and where he was. He was handsome, so handsome you didn’t think it was real. You decided to send your first message out of boredom. Clicking the box that says “write your first letter and we will forward it to Armando”

You stared at the blank box wondering what the fuck to write to a prisoner who has been in there for years and seems to be serving life.

“Do you have books there? If so what’s your favorite ?

- My name is Y/N”

With that you click send and went about your day. It’s been two weeks till your email got a response. Shocked didn’t even cut it. You read the message a few times just to confirm.

“Most of the books are damaged. I don’t get to fully enjoy the book. The Great Gatsby was enjoyable. No one ever writes. How are you?”

Armando didn’t want to press send, but he was honestly so bored of the same routine every single day that maybe talking to someone wouldn’t be so harmful. Plus it wasn’t going to be anything beyond this computer screen that he only had for an hour to himself in the library. He glanced at the clock and he had about 15 minutes left when his email got a response.

“The Great Gatsby is a great book. No one ever writes because you seem unreal. I didn’t think I’d get a response, I still think you’re an AI. Things are okay on my side, life could be better but it also could be worse so I can keep pushing forward.”

Armando positions the webcam and takes a silly picture to attach to the email. He wanted to make sure you had the reassurance you needed, plus it’s nice for him to look forward to something.

“Am I real enough for you?”

Holy shit. You sent one back and he couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked. What was a girl like you doing talking to him? From then on the two of you got completely engulfed with each other. When Armando had the computer you made sure you had your phone or your laptop on you to talk to him. He eventually got access to video chat and he asked you for your first video chat date.

“I have video chat access now. Would you like to see me?”

You agreed to the video chat and quickly fixed yourself up with some lipgloss and brushing your hair quickly. One last glance at your mirror to see your computer ringing with a notification. You answered to see Armando and his handsome face.

“Como estas mi amor?”

Armando hates to admit it but he thought it was love at first sight. He felt giddy. Alive when he talks to you. Your smile, your voice and your eyes could light up an entire room. He was a little green of whoever got to see you everyday. He hopes one day he gets to hold you. You hoped the same thing. He was everything you could imagine minus being a fucking criminal.

You were pen pals with a criminal ….

Part 2?

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

@armandosbabymama @dyttomori @bbyplutosblog @vergilnelosparda @believeinthefireflies95 @ebsmind @hopetookourvibe

[strawberri-elixir]

Sleepless nights

╰⇢ 4. FML

Warnings: another swear

note: more written parts again.

“Phones away. You know who you are.” Your teacher looked directly at you despite referring to the whole class.

You sighed, shoving the device in your pocket as Maki stifled a laugh. You mumbled a quiet ‘shut up’ before taking a sip of your coffee, staring at the board in front of you.

Your first class went by just fine, thanks to your caffeine intake. But as soon as you sat down next to Maki in your second class, you immediately felt your eyes begin to droop. The decisions that were made the night before were finally taking its toll on you.

“Fuck my life.” You murmur quietly.

It wasn’t long after when you felt your head grown heavy and your body start to sway, struggling to keep your body propped up. No more than a few minutes later, you gave in to the temptation and leaned forward, placing your head in your arms. A little nap wouldn’t hurt.

After what felt like only a few minutes, you felt Maki elbow your arm, a sign that class was over. You sit up, looking over at your friend as she gives you a suspicious grin.

“What are you looking at.” You shoot her a questioning look.

“Nothing.” She chuckles, standing up and beginning to walk out, knowing you’ll follow her. You quickly pack your belongings and chase after her, following her to your friend group’s usual lunch spot.

Once the two of you sat down, you finally pulled out your phone, looking at all of your notifications.

“Seriously.” You give Maki a light shove. She gives you a grin as she pulls out her phone and shows you the pictures she took of you.

“These are the best part of my day.” She swipes to the side, showcasing all the photos she has of you stored on her phone.

The two of you continue to wait for the rest of your friends to show up. Then finally you heard footsteps approaching and a pair of hands shake your shoulders.

“Boo.” Yuta poked his head into your field of vision.

You see Yuta, Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi all take their seats beside you and Maki, smiles on all their faces (minus Megumi who gave you a respectful nod).

“How was class?” You throw the question out.

“Great!”

“Boring.”

“Meh.” You received various responses.

Everyone began eating their lunches, engaging in idle chatter as the break went on. You quietly drank your juice box, leaning your head on Yuta’s shoulder as you occasionally added into a part of the conversation.

Your angle and view of the group blocked your view of Yuta’s face, making you completely oblivious to the hint of red that spread across his face. Everyone else would send knowing glances in your direction, but kept their mouths shut.

Almost everyone.

"Hey Yuta, are you oka-" Yuji started before his mouth was immediately covered by Nobara’s hand.

“Huh?” Yuta responded.

“Nothing. He’s just being an idiot like usual.” The brunette answered for her friend.

“Oh, okay then.” He went back to eating. “Also, I have this friend from English class and I was wondering if he could join us?”

“Sure!” The group collectively responded.

“Awesome, thanks.” He smiled.

It wasn’t much longer until the bell rang, indicating that class was about to start and it was time for all of you to part ways. You all bid your goodbyes and walked off towards your classes.

Masterlist | Next

new characters met! ╰⇢ Yuji ╰⇢ Megumi

fun facts:

— it seems like everyone with a working pair of eyes can see how yuta looks at you (except maybe yuji)

— despite being first years, yuji, megumi, and nobara all befriended you through your gym class

— your whole group has a group chat that’s usually very active (mostly for homework answers tbh)

taglist:

@sur-i-ki @aespaforlifersyall @camilo-uwu @butterflyqueen234 @shinsukeee @tanchosanke @emii4evr @lees-chaotic-brain @you-always-made-me-blush @jayathelostdragon @chilichopsticks @polarbvnny @instantmusico @sad-darksoul

[narcissarina]

Distanceજ⁀➴

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝��𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍.

“Leon?” chat sent.

No messages, it was just delivered. Maybe he's busy.

—Chat sent a minute ago—

“Hey, love. It's me again, I wrote you a letter today and I plan on piling them up so when we finally closed the distance, I could give them to you!” chat sent.

Still no replies, your messages were on delivered but you are positive that he's in a mission. He did tell you beforehand, yet you insist on spamming his dm because it gives you comfort.

Looking back, still no reply. A mission does take a week or a month to finish but you couldn't help but worry and feel a little insecure without his assurance.

You were going to send him another message, “Hey Leon...” your finger froze and continue, “I miss you already, text me back okay?”

Chat sent

—Chat sent an hour ago—

Going hom to an empty house, to an empty phone and empty inbox—no response. It made you overthink, insecure and feel a painful ache in your chest, but writing your feelings down and saying your day to his dm does help, right?

“It's me again, everything just hurts, my love:(” chat sent

“Hey baby! I wrote 5 pages of letter for you, will pack a box for the things I write for you♡”

“Had a rough day from work, wish you were here nor we could call. I miss you so fucking much...”

“I wanna recall many memories with you, Leon. And yet, I couldn't recall the last time we kissed:(”

“baby, are you still there?”

“I miss you, sorry if I'm annoying.”

—Chats were sent 3 days ago—

Coming home from work as usual, leaving you extra tired, depressed and sad. Eyes were puffy from all the crying last night, still no messages from him. Must be hard for two souls bound to be in love with a distance between them.

“Baby, my heart aches, but I want you to know that I'm still longing for you, please be safe.” chat sent

You lump down on your bed, hot liquids starts to form at the back of your eyes as you cry out again. It was a tiring long day and Leon would be the first one hearing your whines and complains you tell about.

But you can't.

And you fell asleep, face down to your pillow and the plush (that looks like him) that he got for you on your side, as you suddenly awoke from your sleep. Phone vibrating as you choke a sob out, throat dry and eyes puffy.

You check your notifications, it was Leon.

Holding back your cries as you read his messages.

“Hey, princess. Sorry for responding so late. I appreciate you spamming my inbox, it made my day to see you speak about your day:)”

“don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'm here now, now what kind of stories will you be sharing hm?”

“I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you okay? I miss you too, baby. So fucking much that I'll lose my mind”

“my baby's very pretty and mine only, don't want your pretty little head be filled with those thoughts. I'm here and you can talk it out with me, what your feeling right now is completely valid:) I love you.”

“You're not annoying. I love you.”

Crying to his messages, no matter how late he is—you are glad that he is well and still the same man you fallen in love with, you read his text as he constantly assures you and replies to every messages you sent to him. Small things matter.

One message did caught you off guard, it was just sent two seconds ago: “open your door, baby. I'm here.”

You didn't believe that, he must be tired from being an agent but you try to humor him and went to your door—although you do feel a bit nervous, when was the last time you two saw each other? Six years ago, that's for sure.

Your door slowly creaks as you open it, eyes wide open and tears spilled out from your eyes as he was standing before you—bouquet of flowers in hand with your favorite chocolate and a big teddy bear beside him, “suprise, happy anniversary.” he spoke in a tired tone and lean down to kiss you and give you his gifts.

You cried, being a sobbing mess you were already are—you place his gifts nearby and jump into his arms, feeling his warmth and skin to yours.

He got inside your apartment, it was a mess and Leon lie down in your bed and you on top of him, refusing to let go. “My baby koala.” He chuckles and kisses your temple, you kept muttering your i love yous to him and spilling tears to his shirt.

“You can stop crying now.” he mutter, sitting up with you in his hand as he felt you clench your hands to his shirt—refusing to let go, you shake your head in response as you stick yourself like a glue to him.

He chuckles and let you have your way, staying like that for a few hours as he finally spoke, “I have a proposal.” he pauses, watching you twitch as your reaction, you hum to him and nuzzle closer.

“Let's live together from now on.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bittersweet 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Your startup business catches the eye of a powerful rival.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

It’s baking day. Your kitchen is stolid with the heat of the oven and the treats cooling on the counter. Your apartment has been converted into a pseudo chocolate factory; though you wouldn’t claim Wonka’s glory. You are certain to keep to food-safe standards however and so your morning began with sanitization, another two hours on top of a long day. 

It’s a few weeks out to the next show; a local festival that hosts all sorts of local shops, though the biggest attraction are the musical acts. Even so, you’re hustling as best as you can. You spent a portion of the baking show profit to get a kiosk in the mall for the holiday weekend. It’s a big deal, you expect a crowd and now you have an idea of how much you’ll need to bring. 

You sigh as you tally up what you have so far. You’ll be in the kitchen all week at this rate and you don’t think even then you’ll meet your set quota. You’ll still do well but you can’t help the echo of that man’s words. You’re hitting a wall on your own. 

And you’re running low on red cacao. You frown at the slack canvas bag. That’s another trip to the bulk seller down by the freeway but that’s so far out, it’ll eat at least an hour and a half off your day.  

He’s right. That pompous snakish man is right. You can’t keep up with the demand.  

No, you can. You’ll bake into the night if you have to. It’ll be cooler then, anyhow. You inventory your cupboards as the oven radiate with heat. You have a list. Tomorrow you can get to that but for now, you’ll start packaging the chocolates in the fridge. 

You count out the truffles and fudge squares precisely. Each one in a sleeve or a box. You’ll add all the little details later; a ribbon, a bow, a seal. You yawn at the repetition but aren’t bored by it. Having your own business isn’t exactly dull, if anything it’s tantalizingly stressful. 

Your tablet dings as the baking show you keep on stream quiets for the notification. The woman’s voice returns to full volume as you approach to check the icon in the margin. It’s from your online shop front. Between the physical work, you can’t forget about the healthy tide of orders coming in virtually. 

It adds to the weight on your shoulders. You slump and drag down the notification bar. It’s large order and before you can skim each item, another notification sweeps in. You tap the inquiry so that the message opens.  

The inquiry is labeled with the same order number that just came up. You squint. ‘...requires in-person to order address...’ You don’t do that. It isn’t an option but the customer’s tone comes of insistent even over text. They promise a gratuity and underline that they did pay for the expedited option. 

That’s the first position you’re hiring when you can make the space. A customer service representative because you hate this. You go back to review the full order. It’s a lot; a lot of baking and a lot of money. 

You’ll have to make it work yet there’s this needling voice in the back of your head, slithering and sharp, you can’t keep this up forever. 

🍫

Surely, it’s the wrong address.

You idle in your large SUV, the nearly two-decade old model puttering between the sleek modern cars the fill the spaces outside the luxurious storefront. You gulp as you peer up at the moniker. You recognise the brand and the logo. 

Black Snake. It’s some sort of trick. You should have been suspicious.

The chocolatier isn’t unknown to you beyond your encounter with its owner. While the headquarters are nestled right at the heart of your city, there are locations across the country and even a few international. The local start-up boomed onto the front page and you can’t say it had nothing to do with your own come up. You offer a more affordable option with the same premium taste. 

You suppose he doesn’t like the competition. You wouldn’t either but you put yourself out there against the Black Snake monopoly knowing you would be trudging uphill. You get out and try not to think too much. 

You unlock the hatch and take out the large box stamped with your business name; Sweet Nothings. You approach the front door, trying to see through the tinted windows that form the front wall, and it opens before you can reach it. Shoot, he’s expecting you. 

“Ah, right on time,” Loki greets as he checks his watch. “I see you’ve no branding on your vehicle.” 

You try not to cringe. He has an eye for detail. You bite down on your smile. 

“Hello again,” you try to act like his foreboding hasn’t haunted you for a week, “I have everything in here--” 

“I didn’t see a reselling clause on your terms of service,” he proclaims smugly, “these should be popular.” 

“Ah,” you hesitate as he steps out of the door to hold it open for you, “you’ve paid so I guess I can’t stop you.” 

“Mm, and how is business then? You are quick to respond. Can’t be very hectic, then.” 

You take the jab like a weathered boxer. You don’t flinch, you just keep going. You stride inside and look around. You carry the box to the empty space the counter. 

“As promised, I will transfer a fee for your trouble,” he follows quickly. 

“Thanks, uh, I should--” you face him as he blocks your path. 

“You’ve a pop-up. This coming weekend.” 

The advert is at the top of your online shop. Of course, he would know. His diligence is starting to eke you out. 

“I do,” you confirm, “so I should be off.” 

“Yes, you have much work to do. Tell me, how many ovens do you have going?” 

Your expression falls, “you spent all this money to mock me?” 

“No, I’m simply discussing business. Seeing as I am experienced, I thought I might offer some sage advice,” he flutters his long fingers. 

“I appreciate that, really, but I am running a business, same as you, so if you would like to discuss that, you are more than welcome to make a proper appointment with me. Like a business person.” 

He snickers at the slant in your voice, the tone that insists you’re legitimate like him. 

“I didn’t see that option on the store front,” he counters. 

“You have my card,” you sniff and step around him. “Feel free to let me know if you have any concerns about your order.” 

“Wait--” He calls after but you’re already halfway through the door. 

[saintmuses]

❝𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨❞

Pairing:

Neil Lewis x Best Friend!Reader

Summary:

Neil’s best friend picked up the phone to send one little risky photo to him thus having a night he would never forget.

Warning(s): Soft SMUT. Best friends to lovers. Sexting leading to FaceTiming. Neil touching himself. Mutual pining. Text conversations are in Italics. Minors, DNI! Note: In the movie they did not have iPhones yet, but pretend they did since I like the aesthetic of early 2000s in that movie!

Word Count: 1k

Neil was lying in bed, scrolling through his phone, when a text notification slid down from the top in a banner style. He opened the message, barely paying attention to the contact’s name in the notification banner while being curious about who might be reaching out to him this late at night. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Y/N’s name.

Attachment: 1 Image

His breathing hitched after he pressed on the name to reveal a photo of her in a white tank top that was tight across her breasts, showing erected nipples through the fabric. She had used a lighting setting to illuminate her breasts when taking a photo while it was dark surrounding her shoulders.

Neil paused for a moment as he stared at the photo of Y/N’s tight white tank top hugging her body beautifully. While still viewing the attachment, he could feel himself hardening underneath his pajamas.

He was now certain that she wanted his attention and was willing to cross a boundary and give him a sneak peek of what could be if she was with him.

He took a breath and decided that he should get her exactly what she wanted — his undivided attention.

Before responding he checked the time at the corner of the screen. 

01:47

He typed a message into the box and sent it to her as fast as he could with his teeth biting down his bottom lip.

“So…you’re awake? I was just about to go to sleep, but something about that photo of you has me too excited to rest. Can I see more?”

Neil nearly dropped his phone when he received the second picture from her. The photo was such a tease, and it was the perfect amount of suggestive. She dragged her tank top slightly until the edge caught onto the sensitive peak, only showing him a sliver of her areola peeking out of tank top. She was giving him just a small taste of what she could give him.

Along with the message in blue chat bubble. 

“Yeah…I couldn’t sleep.”

Fuck. He whined slightly at how delicious the photo was that he had to move one of his hands from his phone, sliding underneath the fabric of his pajamas and boxers to touch his dick to ease himself. His fingers rubbed against the hot flesh while his heart was practically pounding out of his chest as he responded with another text message with other hand.

“Can’t sleep…You’re just teasing me, aren’t you?”

Neil’s entire body was tingling when he received the third picture instead of a response which still is a confirmation, which made him feel like he was being driven crazy by Y/N. In the photo, she had removed her tank top and one of her bare breasts was exposed. Her other hand was grabbing the flesh, teasingly hiding her nipple from the camera. Inhaling sharply, he curled his fingers around and gripped his dick firmly before sliding up and down lazily.

Neil was breathing heavily as he typed up his next message in the box.

“Now I’m just desperate to see more.”

A bubble popped up momentarily before it disappeared, then a message appeared on the screen.

“I won’t send any more until you tell me how you feel about it, about me.”

Neil’s lips twitched nervously as he paused for a beat to breathe and focus on his thoughts. This was serious because she was playing with fire. She was asking to know what kind of thoughts Neil had for her, but this was no ordinary situation. This was something that Neil had kept hidden for a long time. They’ve known each other since they were teenagers, of course she was his long-time crush, his dream girl, and he had always wanted her, but he was…absolutely sure that she did not reciprocate the feelings.

Now it was happening in that little screen he had in his hand, the lines were already crossed since the moment she sent him a picture. 

He tightened his fingers around himself, torturing himself as he groaned slightly before removing his hand since they were entering a serious subject which focused on their feelings.

“Before I continue, I want to make sure you understand that there’s no going back for either of us. I want this, and you want this.”

She responded back with a message instantly.

“Not going back is my goal.”

She was being cheeky, of that Neil could tell as he bit down his bottom lip, holding back a chuckle, but his lips curled into a soft smile before taking another deep breath and started typing.

“You make me crazy, Y/N. My hormones get the best of me whenever I see you. I’m extremely horny for you, trying so hard to hide it. I touch myself every night while dreaming of having you. I want you to be completely and utterly mine, and for that to never change. Do you understand? Do you see how crazy this is? Do you see how crazy I am for you?”

He read his message prior to sending it, sealing the fate of his own.

After a few minutes, a bubble popped up on the screen before it disappeared again leaving him in a state of anxiety, thinking he may have gone too far with what he had said because he felt like he did not hold back. However, he held his breath when the bubble popped up again before there was a message appearing on the screen.

“Do you want to FaceTime?”

Neil’s heart soared at her sudden request. He could tell it was such a tentative request, however, she clearly knew he was just as turned on as she was. 

“Yes, please.” Neil typed rapidly.

Neil took another beat to compose himself when the screen reflected an upcoming FaceTime call with her contact’s name on top of it. He pressed the green icon to confirm the video call.

Neil had lost the ability to speak as the screen immediately revealed her sweet face to him, and her lips broke out into a breathtaking smile. She was gorgeous, completely, and utterly flawless. All he felt in this moment was that he needed her.

“Hi,” she giggled.

He swallowed thickly. “Hi,” Neil uttered softly, his voice breaking at the sight of her.

[lady-belz]

My Game, My Rules: A Dirty Shorts Fic

Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Prompt: When he has you pinned down to the bed, leans in and says “Now we're gonna play by my rules.” Author Note: This one somehow got away from me and didn't turn out at all like I expected.

Walking into the apartment, you were greeted by the loud sounds of bombs going off, childish laughter and cheesy music.

Jin was home.

You wanted to roll your eyes.

Ever since he'd come back from Japan with a new gaming console, when he wasn't working his schedule or at the studio with the others, he was glued to his video games.

You couldn't remember the last time you had gone on a date, just the two of you and no distractions.

And it wasn't for lack of trying on your part. You even stood in front of the television in a full see-through pink teddy and his only response was to ask you to move before his character was killed.

You went to bed alone, frustrated and angry that he cared more about his games than you.

He woke you up one morning after a semi-sleepless night (he'd been up all night again, gaming with Jungkook and the loud noises kept you awake) to let you know he had to go to the studio. Namjoon had called him asking him to return to re-do his ad-libs on a song they were working on because the original file ended up corrupted and they had to redo the whole thing.

“Whatever.” you said, turning your back on him to try and go back to sleep. He frowned, wondering at your attitude before he shook it off and headed out.

You managed to get 3 hours of blissful, silent sleep before hunger woke you mid-afternoon.

After a shower, you were in the kitchen making some ramen when you spied the game controller for his console on the coffee table. The longer you stared at it, the angrier you got. You grabbed it and decided to hide it in an empty shoe box in your closet, a place he refused to enter without your permission.

Feeling good about yourself, you returned to the kitchen to finish your lunch before heading into your home office to catch up on some work.

Listening to music helped you work better, so you had your headphones on and blasting loudly, so at first you didn't hear the loud sounds coming from the living room. But in the silence between songs you did.

You quickly removed your headphones and went into the other room to find out what was going on. Your eyes widened in shock at the destruction that used to be your living area. Books, DVD movies, couch cushions were thrown all over the place. Even the coffee table was on its side, looking like an abandoned child on a street corner.

The culprit was currently tearing through the cabinet beneath the television.

“Jin, what the fuck?” you shouted, catching his attention.

“Have you seen my game controller?” he demanded. You took a half-step back and scowled, crossing your arms.

“You wrecked the living room because of a game controller?”

“Yeah, where is it?”

“I don't believe you!” you sighed, disappointed. He looked at you, confused.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong? Oh I have a list, Kim Seokjin.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his inner voice shouted “Full name, dude! You are fucked!” and he suddenly realized he may done something to upset you.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“Mad doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling.” you snapped back, turning on your heel and stomping away. He heard the bedroom door slam a moment later. He sat back on his heels, lips pursed. Taking in the destruction he caused, he set about cleaning it up, giving you a chance to cool off.

It was near dinner when you finally made an appearance. He had let you be in favor of cooking some of your favorite dishes as an apology for whatever he'd done. But you didn't speak a word to him, choosing to ignore his existence as you shared your dinner at the table.

His phone pinged a notification from the group chat and he took a quick glance at it.

JK: Hyung, Overwatch later?

He started to type a yes but chanced a peek at the sad expression on your face as you picked at your food and changed his mind.

Jin: Not tonight, Y/n is angry at me and I need to find out why.

Jimin: Maybe because you've been ignoring her for the past 2 months?

Jin: Wah?

Yoongi: Dude, you've been non-stop since you came back from Japan. When's the last time you actually acknowledged her existence?

Namjoon: I thought I was the only one who noticed. I didn't say anything though, didn't want to seem pushy.

Hobi: Hate to say it, but you haven't been very attentive. When's the last time you took her on a date, or hugged her or gave her a kiss and all that couply romantic stuff you're supposed to do?”

Jin sat back in his chair, watching as you took your empty dishes to the sink to be washed. He went over every instance in his head of before and after his discharge and couldn't remember the last time he had even told you he loved you.

Jin: Shit.

Namjoon: We'll put off recording the rest of this week. Lol.

JK: Go fix this, hyung. I'm sorry.

Jin: Not your fault, Kookie. It's all mine and I'm going to fix it.

He glanced up, looking for you but you were nowhere to be found. A moment later you returned to the living room, his game controller in hand, setting it on the table beside him before going back to the bedroom. He did not miss seeing the sheen of tears in your eyes.

He definitely had some apologizing to do.

He was not in bed beside you when you awoke the next morning. You were not surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised...

Until you went into the living room after your shower and saw him standing in the middle of the room surrounded by dozens upon dozens of your favorite flowers. They seemed to cover every available surface. Your mouth dropped open in shock.

“W-What is all this?” you stammered, approaching him. He took your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I've been an absolute ass to you as of late and I feel horrible about it. I am so sorry.”

“In what way?” you asked, wanting to know for sure if he knew why he was apologizing.

“Beside my schedule keeping me out, when I am here, I'm usually gaming, either alone or with Jungkook when I should be spending time with you. I wouldn't blame you if you broke up with me.” he pouted. You were a sucker for his pouts, and because he knew why you were upset without any prompting went a long way to soothing your hurt feelings.

“Stop pouting, you baby.” you shoved him with a small laugh. He smiled hearing it. Making you laugh was one of his life's pleasures. “And no I don't want to break up with you. I admit, I was extremely hurt. I thought you didn't want me around anymore.”

“Oh no! I would be absolutely lost without you!” he exclaimed, pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “I love you, I cherish you, I adore you.” he whispered into your hair.

“Thank you, Jin. I needed to hear that. And I love you too.” you returned, drawing back slightly to look at his handsome face.

He stared at you for a moment before he leaned in to kiss you, his plush lips mapping yours. Your heart rate accelerated as you kissed him back. You forgot how good his kisses made you feel and a soft moan rumbled in your throat.

Still kissing you because he didn't want to be separated from you for one second, he scooped you up into his arms and strode toward the bedroom.

You took your time undressing one another, kissing each exposed piece of skin revealed before you found yourself beneath him in the middle of the bed.

“Jin, I-” you started to say as he pinned your wrists to the bed above you head. He shushed you, a dark glint in his eye that made you tremble with want. He leaned in to whisper in your ear as he settled his naked body between your thighs.

“Now we're going to play by my rules. So be a good girl and moan for me.” he smirked, making your core throb...

-End-

Read other shorts in this series: Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center. 

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack’s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

Á

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway. 

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room. 

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.” 

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack. 

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up: 

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí" 

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you.  Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear. 

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you. 

"Jack?" 

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision." 

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday." 

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely 

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease. 

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry." 

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to."  You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’” 

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.” 

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.” 

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.” 

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?" 

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness. 

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you. 

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features. 

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?" 

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.” 

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

[vandme12]

Cereal Cannibal - Misaki x Seung-min Kim G.N Reader

WORDS : 7000

PROMPT : FALLING FOR YOU

CHARACTER USED : Misaki from Killer Chat!

INSPIRATION FROM : Seung-min Kim from My Sweet! Housemate!

SUMMARY : Misaki gets a new house, with a housemate, who's their landlord, who's also a cannibal

Misaki sat on the cold, metal floor of their bunker, staring at the last few bills in their hand. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. The place they had been calling home was no longer an option—issues with the owner, debts piling up, and now, they were being forced out. It sucked. Hard.

They had no choice but to leave.

“You should check out the deep web listings,” Ronin suggested, leaning back against the worn-out couch that Misaki had scavenged months ago.

Angel scoffed. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

V, ever the practical one, just shrugged. “It’s not the worst idea. There are some surprisingly legit places there. Just be careful.”

Misaki groaned, running a hand through their short, messy hair. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Their friends didn’t say anything, and the silence was answer enough.

So Misaki did what they had to do. Digging through the deep web, they scrolled past one shady listing after another until they stumbled upon an absurdly cheap offer—1,000 yen rent. The catch? They had to live with their landlord.

“Well,” they muttered to themselves, “I’ve dealt with worse.”

With a deep breath, they sent in their application. It wasn’t long before they got a response—approved.

Misaki sat cross-legged on the cold, metal floor of their bunker, hands clasped together as they muttered an impromptu prayer. “Listen, God, I know I haven’t been the best person—kinda kill people for a living, but, uh, desperate times. If you could just let this rent application go through, I swear I’ll… I don’t know, maybe stop calling Angel cannibal?”

“Liar,” Angel deadpanned

“Okay, okay. I’ll just do less.”

Ronin rolled their eyes. “You’re praying to God for a shady deep web apartment?”

“Hey, I’m broke, desperate, and out of options. Divine intervention is my last hope.”

V, raised a brow. “Or, you know, common sense.”

Before Misaki could snap back with a sarcastic remark, their laptop chimed with a notification. Their heart pounded as they scrambled to check their email. They half-expected a rejection, a scam link, or some weird cryptic message about selling their soul. But instead, there it was:

“Come on, come on,” they muttered under their breath, bouncing their leg impatiently.

Ding!

Their email refreshed, and there it was—a response.

“APPROVED.”

Misaki blinked. That was… fast. Almost too fast. Shouldn’t there have been, like, an entire government-level interrogation? A credit check? A deep dive into their very questionable employment history? Instead, it was just a short email.

They clicked it open, and their eyes skimmed over the entire terms and conditions.

All ten lines.

If you like the house, come to the address and check it out.

I’ll give you a copy of the key.

Consider yourself my roommate/housemate if you stay.

Pay rent on time, or at least try.

Don’t break my stuff.

If you see anything weird, ignore it.

Seriously, don’t ask questions.

The basement is off-limits.

No loud noises after midnight.

Welcome home! 😊

Misaki reread the email three times before looking up at their friends. “This is either the best or the worst decision of my life.”

Ronin “That’s it? I’ve seen more rules on the back of a cereal box.”

Message: Hey, if you like the house, come to the address and check it out. I’ll give you a copy of the key, and boom, you’re my roommate/housemate. See ya soon. – Landlord

“…That’s it?” Misaki blinked.

Angel talked. “Where’s the absurdly long lease agreement? The blood pact? The firstborn child sacrifice clause?”

V looked unimpressed. “I was at least expecting a ‘terms and conditions may apply.’”

Ronin whistled. “Honestly, that’s the most efficient rental process I’ve ever seen.”

Misaki reread the email, waiting for some hidden attachment or fine print, but nope. That was the whole thing. “They didn’t even do a background check.”

Angel smirked. “That’s probably a good thing for you.”

“Fair.”

Misaki took a deep breath, looking at their friends. “Alright, I guess I’m moving in. If I disappear, avenge me.”

“Absolutely not,” V said immediately. “You did this to yourself.”

Ronin told “Just make sure to check the bathroom for hidden cameras before you settle in.”

Angel smirked. “And if your new landlord asks if you’re allergic to anything, lie.”

“Gee, thanks for the support.”

They zipped up their bag, they felt the tiniest bit of apprehension creep in. Something about this felt too easy. Too convenient.

But then again, their life had never been easy or convenient, so maybe they were just due for a win.

Or, you know, an absolute disaster.

Either way, it was too late to back out now.

Misaki just grinned. “You say that like I don’t already regret every decision I’ve ever made.”

Angel smacked the back of their head. “That is NOT how that works.”

“Whatever, I’m taking the deal.” Misaki pumped their fists in the air. “I HAVE A HOME! SUCK IT, CAPITALISM!”

Ronin, Angel, and V just stared at them.

V sighed. “You’re gonna die.”

“Probably,” Misaki admitted. “But at least I’ll die with cheap rent.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Misaki closed their laptop and started packing their things—which wasn’t much. A duffel bag of clothes, some weapons, a few stolen snacks (for the road), and a single, slightly worn-out plushie that they definitely didn’t sleep with every night.

Misaki strutted through the dimly lit streets of Japan like an absolute chad. Sure, the economy was in the gutter, they were drowning in debt, and they were about to move into a suspiciously cheap apartment that might very well be a front for organ trafficking, but hey—positivity!

"It's fine. Everything's fine," they muttered to themselves, adjusting their duffel bag. "You just gotta impress the housemate, win their heart, and boom—temporary stability. Easy."

They clenched their fist in determination. This was just another mission. Instead of taking someone out, they were trying to not get kicked out. Same skill set, really.

After a long walk filled with self-pep talks and avoiding eye contact with salarymen crying into their vending machine coffee, Misaki finally arrived at the address.

The house looked… normal. Suspiciously normal. The kind of normal that felt wrong in their chaotic existence.

Taking a deep breath, Misaki knocked on the door. No answer. They rang the doorbell. Still nothing.

Then they noticed the door was slightly open.

"Oh, yeah, no red flags here at all," they muttered sarcastically before pushing it open.

"Uh, hello?" Misaki called out, stepping inside.

And that’s when they saw you.

Standing there in the dim light, you looked like a husk of a human being. Your overgrown bangs drooped over your face in a messy, unintentional crossover pattern, like they were actively trying to hide the shame of existence. There was a slight, tragic wave to them—like your hair had once had hope but had long since given up.

Your grey-teal, slightly droopy straight eyes had the kind of dark circles that could only be achieved through years of sleep deprivation, existential dread, and an overwhelming hatred for your job. You were in office wear—a dull, slightly wrinkled suit, tie barely hanging on like your will to live.

Misaki immediately clocked you as a salesperson.

And, oh boy, you looked hideous.

Not in a way that was physically repulsive, but in a way that screamed "I have seen things. I have suffered. And I will suffer again tomorrow from 9 to 5."

Your posture was the physical embodiment of why am I here?, and the way your dead-fish eyes met Misaki’s? Pure, undiluted regret.

There was a long, painful silence.

Misaki blinked.

You blinked.

Misaki cleared their throat. "Sooo… you're the landlord?"

You exhaled through your nose. "I wish I wasn’t."

"Uh-huh." Misaki glanced around. "Cool, cool. Great energy in here."

You gestured vaguely behind you. "Rooms that way. Rent’s due whenever. Don’t break anything. Don’t wake me up. If you summon a demon, tell it to kill me first."

Misaki nodded slowly. "...Love the enthusiasm."

Misaki had a problem.

Not just the broke assassin in crippling debt problem. Not just the this house is suspiciously cheap and my landlord looks like a walking depression commercial problem. No.

They had a problem in a new environment problem.

Which meant they were everywhere in the house within the first five minutes.

First, they tried to unpack, but then they got distracted by a weird stain on the wall that looked like blood (was it blood?), then they decided to check the kitchen because snacks, but then they opened a drawer and immediately forgot why they were even there. Then they somehow ended up in the hallway, staring at a random light switch, flicking it on and off just to see what it did.

Then—CRASH.

A shelf. A whole goddamn shelf. How? How?! It wasn’t even their shelf!

They just stood there, frozen, processing the fact that in five minutes, they had somehow committed their first property damage offense in the new house.

That’s when you walked in.

Dead-eyed. Drained. Like a husk of a man who had just worked a 16-hour shift selling printer ink to people who wanted to die just as much as you did. Your tie was loose like you had considered strangling yourself with it earlier but then sighed and went, not today, maybe tomorrow. Your bangs were a mess—probably hadn’t seen scissors in over a year. Your dark circles were so deep they looked like they were sponsored by a horror movie franchise.

You saw the shelf. You saw Misaki. You sighed. Deeply.

Then, in the most exhausted voice known to humankind, you muttered, "It's fine."

Misaki squinted. "…Wait, seriously?"

You blinked slowly, rubbing your eyes as if you had aged 40 years in the past 40 seconds. "Yeah. Whatever. I'll fix it later. It's fine."

That was when Misaki realized something horrifying.

You were so goddamn tired that you had transcended anger. You had seen so much bullshit in your life that a random destroying your furniture on day one didn’t even faze you.

They felt guilty. Misaki never felt guilty. They were a menace by nature. But you… You looked so damn miserable that it physically hurt them.

They tried to lighten the mood. “Uh, sorry about the—uh, shelf thing. But! Hey! At least I didn't burn the house down?”

You stared at them. Just stared.

They shifted awkwardly. “I mean, technically, I could have! That’s improvement, right?”

Silence.

Then you muttered, "Hello, Misaki."

Misaki blinked. “Oh, uh, actually, my name’s not Misaki, it’s—”

They paused, realizing their mistake.

Then, dramatically, throwing their arms out, they corrected themselves.

"MISAKI!"

There was a long pause. You just stared. The kind of stare that screamed ‘I am too tired for this but I will endure.’

Misaki waited for you to react. Maybe a sigh? A head shake? A single sign of life?

But you just closed your eyes for a moment, like you were mentally preparing yourself to deal with them for the foreseeable future.

And when you reopened them, you still looked exhausted. Still looked like you hated your job, your life, everything.

And Misaki—chaotic, impulsive, disaster of a person—felt something they rarely ever felt.

Pity.

You rubbed your temples, trying to fight off the migraine that had been steadily building for the last—what, three years? Maybe longer? Time was a blur when you lived in a constant state of exhaustion.

Misaki had already caused minor property damage. You should care. You should be concerned. But instead, you were just so damn tired.

With a sigh, you trudged over to the small, cluttered table in the living room, grabbed a stack of papers, and slapped them down in front of them. "Contract’s here. If you like the place, sign it. If not, you can leave and go back to… whatever questionable living situation you came from."

Misaki blinked. “That’s it? No interrogation? No ‘I need your government ID’ or ‘sign away your soul’ clause?”

You sighed again. Deeply. “Rent is 1,000 yen. I don’t care when you pay it. Just… get it to me eventually.”

They stared at you. Hard.

You could tell they were waiting for you to drop some sort of catch, some hidden clause that would reveal this was actually a scam or a murder plot. But there was nothing. Just you, standing there in your wrinkled office wear, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else.

They slowly pointed at you. “Why… aren’t you asking any additional details? Like my job? Or my background?”

You shrugged. “I don’t care.”

That seemed to stun them. They just stood there, processing the sheer lack of effort you were putting into this situation.

You checked the time on your watch. Your shift started in ten minutes. You were already late. Your boss was probably foaming at the mouth waiting to scream at you, but honestly? You had stopped caring about that job ages ago.

Still, you needed it to pay for this miserable excuse of an apartment.

You ran a hand down your face and muttered to yourself, "God, I need a new job."

Misaki tilted their head. “You work sales, right?”

You scoffed. Bitterly. “If you can even call it that.”

Your voice turned dull and lifeless as you mocked yourself. “Hello, sir, would you be interested in our limited-time printer ink bundle? No? That’s okay, let me waste five more minutes of your time explaining a warranty that you’ll never use. Oh, you’re walking away? I see. I am but a worm beneath your shoe. I exist to suffer. Thank you for your time.”

Misaki blinked. Twice.

You exhaled sharply and rubbed your eyes. “I swear, if I stay here one more minute, I’m going to get fired.”

They stared at you. Hard.

Then, with zero hesitation, they said, "I wanna stay."

You blinked at them. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You just got here.”

“Yep.”

“The shelf thing just happened.”

“Uh-huh.”

You exhaled through your nose. “You’re a very eager one, huh?”

Misaki shrugged. “Look, you’re tired, I’m tired, and this place is cheap. Seems like a win for both of us.”

You didn’t argue. You just reached for the contract, flipped it to the signature page, and handed them a pen. “Fine. Sign here.”

Misaki took the pen with an enthusiastic nod and scrawled their name in an exaggerated, dramatic fashion.

MISAKI 🐱

You stared at it.

They smiled.

It was a completely normal, cheerful smile.

Like nothing about this situation was weird.

Like they hadn’t just put a cat emoji in their official contract signature.

You dragged a hand down your face. "Why."

Misaki just grinned wider. "Why not?"

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Welcome home, I guess.”

Maybe you’d regret this later.

Maybe you wouldn’t.

Either way, you had exactly five minutes to sprint to work before your boss started sending you death threats via email.

You grabbed your coat, already halfway out the door when you paused and looked back at Misaki. They were busy poking at the contract like it was a rare artifact instead of a legally binding document, probably still amused at the fact that they got away with signing it with a cat emoji.

With a sigh, you muttered, “Don’t open the door for strangers.”

Misaki scoffed. “I’m not a kid.”

You rubbed your temple. “I know. Just… saying. Sorry.”

That should have been the end of it. You should have walked out and gone to work, but something snapped inside you, and suddenly, words just started tumbling out of your exhausted soul like a faucet with a broken handle.

"Look, it's just... I've had the worst week. No, month. Maybe year. My job sucks, my boss looks like a diseased ferret in a cheap suit, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since 2018, and now I’m standing here in my own apartment, warning a fully grown adult about basic safety like I’m some overworked single parent—"

Misaki blinked. Twice.

"—and I have to leave right now because if I don't show up at work, my paycheck will be so small I’ll have to start stealing sugar packets from cafes just to survive!"

They nodded slowly. “...That’s a lot, dude.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, rubbing your eyes. “Anyway. I was gonna make dinner later. If you want, you can join me. Whatever I cook will probably be mediocre at best, but at least it won’t be cup noodles.”

Misaki’s eyes sparkled. SPARKLED. “I accept.”

"Cool," you mumbled, too drained to process their enthusiasm. You turned and left, already dreading the shift ahead of you.

Meanwhile...

The moment the door shut, Misaki EXPLODED.

"HAHAHAHA! I GOT A HOME!!"

They dramatically threw their arms up and immediately grabbed their PC, clutching it like it was their firstborn child. "YAY!"

Ronin, V, and Angel, who had been waiting for an update, got an earful as Misaki hopped onto a call.

“GUYS! I’M IN!”

Ronin snorted. "Took you long enough. So, what's the place like?"

"Honestly? Pretty normal. But my landlord—"

Angel cut in. "Wait. You met them?"

"Yeah?" Misaki flopped onto their new (and slightly squeaky) bed. "They look like they haven’t slept since the invention of capitalism. Like, imagine a guy who’s been dealing with too much bullshit, and you multiply that by, like, fifty. That’s them."

Ronin cackled. "Sounds like a great roommate dynamic. A sleep-deprived office worker and a contract assassin. Truly the dream team."

Misaki smirked. "I'm pretty sure I could break a plate in front of them and they’d just sigh and accept it as part of their fate."

V, who had been oddly silent until now, finally spoke.

"Misaki."

Misaki blinked. "Huh? What’s up? You almost never call me."

V didn’t respond immediately. There was a slight pause, as if they were carefully choosing their words. Then—

"If that person is dangerous, you can tell me."

Misaki’s teasing expression softened a little. V wasn’t usually the overprotective type, but when they were, it always hit different.

"Awh, V…" Misaki grinned, but this time, it was more genuine. “Don’t worry. If anything sketchy happens, you’ll be the first to know."

"...Good," V muttered

Misaki stared at the screen for a second before chuckling softly to themselves.

Yeah. Things might be weird.

But at least they weren’t alone.

Misaki sprawled across their new bed, lazily twirling a stray lock of hair as they grumbled into the call. “Man, my landlord is so boring.”

Ronin snorted. “Already talking shit? You literally just moved in.”

“No, like, seriously.” Misaki threw their legs up against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “There is nothing about them that makes them even remotely interesting. They’re not cute, not hot, not even a charming idiot. Just a sleep-deprived husk of a person. Like, imagine if a tax return became human.”

Angel wheezed. “Not a tax return.”

Misaki kept going. “Dude looks like they’ve been slowly decaying under fluorescent lighting for the past decade. You ever see someone who just radiates corporate misery? That’s them. Their entire personality is ‘I hate my job, I hate my life, I hate that I’m standing here breathing air right now.’”

V hummed. “...So, what you’re saying is, they’re not your type.”

"EXACTLY." Misaki pointed at their screen like V could actually see them. "I’m telling you, there is a 0% chance of me falling for them. Zero. Absolutely no potential for romance. If my life was a dating sim, this person wouldn't even be a side character. They’d be like... the NPC running a convenience store who has one line of dialogue.”

Ronin was dying. “Bro. You moved in like two hours ago. How are you this sure?”

Misaki scoffed. "Because! No charm. No personality. No tragic backstory with just the right amount of angst to make them attractive. Not even a hint of adorable dumbass energy. My standards are on the floor, and somehow, they still didn’t pass."

Angel whistled. "Damn. So what are they?"

"A blank slate," Misaki declared. "Like, just a person. An overworked, underpaid, ‘I’m too tired to care’ person. They didn’t even care about my background. Just said, 'Sign here' and 'Don't open the door for strangers.' Like, where’s the spice? The mystery? The suspiciously convenient tragic past?”

V sighed. “You’re disappointed your landlord isn’t a walking red flag, aren’t you?”

Misaki gasped. “How dare you.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“I don’t want them to be a red flag!” Misaki flopped onto their stomach. “I just expected something. But no. Just a corporate zombie with an office job and the social energy of a potato.”

Ronin smirked. "Sounds like you feel bad for them."

Misaki scoffed. "I don’t—"

Angel cut in. "Oh, you totally do."

V chuckled. "Misaki’s about to adopt this poor soul."

"I AM NOT—” Misaki groaned, rolling onto their back dramatically. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I feel a little bad. Like. Bro looks so exhausted. Their eyes have dark circles so bad it looks like they’re wearing eyeliner—but not in the hot way. In the ‘I have never known rest’ way.”

Ronin cackled. "So what I’m hearing is, you’re gonna start feeding them proper meals and fixing their life."

Misaki scoffed. "I am not—”

Angel interrupted. "Misaki. You literally just agreed to have dinner with them."

Misaki paused.

"......okay but that's different!"

"Is it?"

"YES. I mean, come on, they look like they live off black coffee and regret. They need help."

V sighed, amused. "So you are gonna try and fix their life."

Misaki grumbled. "Shut up."

Ronin grinned. "You're so falling for them."

"AM NOT."

"You so are."

Misaki groaned loudly, smacking a pillow over their face. "WHYYYY."

Angel laughed. "Face it, dude. You already care."

"I DO NOT—"

"Yes, you do."

"I AM NOT—"

"Yes, you do."

Misaki groaned louder, kicking their legs. "UGHHHHHHHHHH."

V just chuckled. "You can keep lying to yourself. But we’ll be here when you eventually eat your words."

Misaki dramatically pointed at their screen. "MARK MY WORDS. I will not fall for this person."

Ronin smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Sure."

Angel hummed. "We’ll check back in a month."

V sighed. "A week."

Misaki groggily cracked one eye open, blinking at the dim light seeping through their window. Something felt off. Their brain, still half-asleep, took a few seconds to piece it together.

The clock.

They shot up. 9PM.

“OH SHIT.”

They scrambled out of bed, nearly face-planting as they tripped over their own bag. "I SLEPT SO LONG—WHY DID NO ONE WAKE ME UP?!" Their first day here and they already looked like some lazy freeloader. The impressions? SO BAD.

And worse—FREE FOOD.

They were supposed to eat with their landlord. That was the deal. The agreement. And now? They were about to walk in like some sleep-deprived goblin asking for scraps. No, no, no, I need to salvage this—

Still in their slightly rumpled clothes, they rushed out into the hallway—only to pause.

Why was it so dark?

Like, yeah, okay, it was night. But this wasn’t just regular night darkness. This was horror movie darkness. The kind where someone would definitely get jump-scared if this were a film.

"...Maybe they thought I was still sleeping and didn’t want to disturb me?" they mumbled to themselves, rubbing their arms.

Still, that meant their landlord was up. And they were probably in the kitchen.

Misaki crept forward, heart pounding from both oversleep anxiety and the eerie vibe of the house. They reached the kitchen door and, taking a deep breath, swung it open.

And immediately wished they hadn’t.

Because there, standing at the counter, was their landlord.

Covered in blood.

Chopping human hands.

"...What."

The sound of a knife steadily hitting the wooden cutting board was the only thing filling the silence. The metallic scent in the air? That was not normal food.

Misaki, frozen, stared at the scene before them. The dim kitchen light flickered just enough to make it worse. Their landlord, sleeves rolled up, hands stained red, expression completely blank.

Their mouth moved before their brain could stop it.

“...Uh. H-Halloween props?”

Their landlord didn’t even blink. Their voice was dry. Flat. “It’s human meat.”

Misaki gawked. Then screeched, “YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO AGREE WITH ME!”

Their landlord just went back to chopping. “You asked. I answered.”

"LIE TO ME, DAMN IT."

The chopping continued. Misaki, still standing in the doorway like a dumbass, did their best not to freak the hell out.

Okay. Okay. There were two options here.

Run.

Pretend this isn’t happening and get some free food.

...Misaki was so hungry.

But also. THIS WAS REALLY BAD.

They swallowed thickly. "O-Okay. Haha. Funny prank. Y-You got me. W-Wait—wait, actually, this is a prank, right? Like, like, come on. Haha, Misaki’s an idiot, they fell for it, right? Hahahaha—"

Their landlord finally looked up, blinking at them.

"...You missed dinner."

Misaki blinked back. THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER.

They forced a stiff smile. "Haha. Yeah. Super sorry about that. But, uh, back to the insanely concerning thing you’re doing—"

Their landlord sighed, sounding just...so unbelievably tired. "Do you want food or not?"

Misaki’s stomach betrayed them instantly.

A loud, miserable growl echoed through the kitchen.

Silence.

Misaki wanted to die.

Their landlord just went back to chopping. “Sit down.”

Misaki’s legs moved before their survival instincts could stop them. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THEM.

They plopped into a chair at the kitchen table, brain screaming at them the whole time. This is bad, this is bad, this is—

A plate was placed in front of them. A steaming dish of...something.

Misaki stared at it.

Their landlord sat across from them. Staring. Expression unreadable.

Misaki picked up their chopsticks very slowly.

"...So. Haha. Just to clarify. What...exactly...is in this?"

Their landlord took a sip of their tea. "Food."

"...But, like. What food?"

A long pause. Too long.

"...Meat."

"What kind of meat?"

Another pause.

Misaki squinted.

Their landlord sighed. "Not human."

Misaki exhaled so hard they nearly passed out. "THANK YOU." They hesitantly took a bite, still on edge but way too hungry to care anymore.

"...It’s good," they mumbled through their mouthful.

Their landlord shrugged. "I know."

Silence settled between them as they ate.

Eventually, Misaki, unable to let it go, squinted again. "So, like. If I didn’t walk in on you just now, were you gonna tell me about the whole...human hands thing?"

Their landlord sighed like they had the worst headache. "...I was going to clean up before you woke up."

"*Oh, so you had a PLAN.**"

"Yes. Until you ruined it."

"SORRY FOR WAKING UP AND CATCHING YOU WITH BODY PARTS."

"Noted."

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing the back of your neck as you casually wiped the blood off the knife. “It’s nothing. Just some weird-looking shit.”

Your eyebags were doing all the talking for you. They were deep, dark, and probably had their own tragic backstory at this point. Combined with the blank, sleep-deprived expression on your face, you looked exactly like the type of person who’d chase someone down a dark alley with a kitchen knife—except you were too tired to actually run, so you’d probably just slowly walk after them like some unstoppable horror villain.

You smiled.

And not a comforting smile.

A dead inside but definitely hiding something smile.

Misaki, for some reason, just sat there, staring at you like they were contemplating something deep. You waited. And then, out of nowhere—

“…NGL, you do look kinda hot with eyebags.”

You blinked. “What?”

Misaki immediately sat up straight. “NOTHING.”

Your exhausted brain short-circuited for a moment. You knew you looked terrifying. This was not a “hot person” moment. You were literally covered in blood, and they had the audacity to say that?

You squinted at them. “Are you flirting with me while I’m holding a knife?”

Misaki, shoving more food into their mouth to escape the situation, spoke through their chewing. “Hahhaha what nooooo you misheard me anyway sooo you’re a serial killer?”

You sighed, pushing the knife aside. “No.”

“…A cannibal?”

“No.”

“Serial killer?”

“No.”

“Cannibal?”

“No.”

“…Serial killer cannibal?”

You stared at them, absolutely deadpan.

“Cannibal serial?”

The stare continued.

“…Cereal?”

You rested your chin in your hand, blinking at them very slowly, like a tired cat contemplating murder.

“If you’re thinking about calling the police,” you finally said, voice dry and smug, “just know you can’t.”

Misaki raised a brow. “And why is that?”

You gave them a look, gesturing vaguely at their whole situation. “You see, Mx. Misaki—” (you dragged out their name for extra dramatic effect) “—you are completely fine.”

Misaki paused, chopsticks halfway to their mouth. “I feel like I should disagree with that.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair with the most exhausted but smug expression ever. “No, you won’t. If you were that desperate for a place to stay, why would you start questioning things now?”

Silence.

Misaki hated that you had a point.

You let your head tilt to the side slightly, your tired smile stretching just a bit. Your overgrown bangs crossed over your face, casting shadows over your already dark-circled eyes. You looked crazy. Like, the kind of crazy that wasn’t even trying to be threatening—it was just naturally unsettling.

And yet, somehow, it worked.

Misaki sat there, staring at you like they were trying to process several emotions at once.

They squinted. Then they sighed. “God. Damn it.”

You arched a brow. “Problem?”

Misaki rubbed their temples. “No, it’s fine, I just… really, really hate that you’re kinda right.”

You chuckled, pushing their contract across the table. “Good. Now, are you actually gonna sign, or do I have to sit here and look at you until you cave?”

Misaki snatched the pen. “You’re terrifying.”

“You’re still here.”

“Shut up.”

They quickly scribbled their name on the contract. And, in a moment of true genius, wrote Misaki—except they added a little meow at the end.

You squinted at it.

You stretched your arms over your head, your bones cracking like a horror movie sound effect. “Alright, you can sleep now. Unless…” You tilted your head, that same eerie, exhausted smile tugging at your lips. “You wanna watch me cut?”

Misaki immediately recoiled. “No!? Nah, ewww, bro. The hell!?”

You chuckled, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “It’s okay. Just know this, Misaki…” You let your smile linger as you picked up the knife again, voice dropping to something too casual for the situation. “…I know where your room is.”

Misaki stared at you. Then, very slowly, nodded. “Yes. Because… we live in the same apartment.”

“Exactly.” You grinned, tapping the blade against the cutting board. “Just making sure you remember.”

There was a pause before Misaki narrowed their eyes. “…Are you actually gonna eat it?”

“Yes.” You said it so matter-of-factly, like it was just a regular grocery store steak.

Misaki gagged. “BRO.”

“Waste of meat otherwise,” you replied, moving the chopped… pieces into a storage container like this was just your regular meal prep. “I’ll store it.”

Misaki looked so deeply disturbed. “You look like a whole-ass horror movie antagonist right now.”

“Yes,” you said, unbothered, still focused on your work. “I am a mess. Last time, the dry cleaners didn’t believe it was just suit paint. Had to be real careful.”

Misaki rubbed their face. “Jesus. The fact that I don’t even know if you’re joking or not is crazy.”

You glanced up from your task, eyes dark and unreadable. “Don’t try anything stupid, Misaki.”

They stiffened slightly. “Uh. Yeah. Of course not.” They pointed a thumb toward the hallway. “I’m just… gonna go this way…”

You gave a slow nod. “And I’m gonna stay here…” You trailed off, staring blankly at the cutting board.

Misaki hesitated. “And… do what you do…”

You smiled again, soft and exhausted. “Good night, Misaki.”

They stood there for another second, just long enough to question every single life choice that led them to this moment. Then, very quickly, they left.

Because if they stayed in that kitchen any longer, they were pretty sure they were going to start questioning their sanity.

Misaki slammed their door shut so hard the walls rattled. They didn’t care. Their heart was pounding in their chest, adrenaline coursing through their veins. They pressed their back against the door, locking it in one swift motion before triple-checking that it was actually locked.

They had just walked in on their new landlord butchering human hands.

HUMAN. HANDS.

They squeezed their eyes shut and took a deep breath.

Okay.

This was fine.

This was so fine that their fingers trembled as they fumbled with their phone, opening the group chat and pressing the call button for the three people they trusted most in this world.

📞 Calling: Ronin, Angel, V.

Each ring made their pulse spike. Misaki was practically vibrating with panic by the time someone finally picked up.

“Who died?” V’s voice came through first—sharp, unimpressed, and already so incredibly done.

“I DID.” Misaki whisper-screamed, throwing themselves onto their bed and clutching the phone like a lifeline. “I JUST FOUND OUT MY LANDLORD IS A SERIAL KILLER—ACTUALLY, NO—A SERIAL CANNIBAL.”

Silence.

It stretched on for a few painful seconds before Ronin, always the worst possible person in situations like these, finally spoke up:

“That’s so f*cking cool.”

“SHUT UP, GOREBIY.” V immediately snapped. “MISAKI, GET OUT. NOW.”

Angel, normally chaotic, actually sounded concerned. “Wait, wait, wait, explain. Are they, like… bad bad? Or just… you know… manageable?”

“OKAY,” Misaki took a deep, shaky breath. “So, I woke up, right? And I go to the kitchen—AND THEY’RE JUST CHOPPING UP HUMAN HANDS.”

Ronin whistled. “Damn. Whole hands? That’s commitment.”

V exhaled sharply, like they were personally suffering. “MISAKI.”

Angel hummed. “…Maybe they just like fresh ingredients.”

Misaki squinted. “Angel.”

Angel cleared their throat. “I—I mean—that’s weird! Super weird! Ha ha! Who would do that?! Not me.”

“You absolutely would, and you’re in denial.” Misaki deadpanned before continuing. “ANYWAY, I was like, ‘bro, is this some kind of Halloween prop or something?’ AND THEY JUST—THEY JUST DRYLY WENT, ‘IT’S HUMAN MEAT.’”

V: “LEAVE. GET OUT. CALL THE COPS.”

Ronin: “WHY WOULD YOU CALL THE COPS? THIS IS FREE CONTENT.”

V: “I SWEAR TO GOD, RONIN.”

Misaki flopped onto their back, exasperated. “NO, Y’ALL, LOOK. They seem chill. I don’t think they’re gonna eat me. I’m just saying—THEY’RE A SERIAL KILLER, LIKE US.”

Silence.

A heavy, judgmental silence.

V: “…That does not make it better.”

Angel: “That kinda makes it better.”

Ronin: “That definitely makes it better.”

V: “I NEED NEW FRIENDS.”

Misaki sat up, grinning. “Look, I swear, I think they’re cool. A little dead inside. A little tired of life. A little unhinged. But, like, in a fun way.”

“…Misaki.” Angel sighed. “Tell me the truth.”

“Yeah?”

Angel sounded incredibly unimpressed. “Did you think they looked hot?”

Silence.

A very dangerous silence.

Then, Ronin burst into laughter.

“OH MY GOD.”

V groaned like they were physically in pain.

Angel sighed, exasperated. “You’re so hopeless.”

“I—” Misaki felt personally attacked. “OKAY, LISTEN, IN MY DEFENSE—THEY HAD A PINK APRON ON.”

V: “WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING!??”

Ronin: “NO, WAIT, I SEE THE VISION.”

Angel: “Honestly, I kinda get it.”

V: “STOP AGREEING WITH THIS.”

Misaki pointed at nothing. “They looked extremely messy and hot. Like, imagine eyebags so bad it looks like they’ve been awake for years. They had the tired, dead-inside psycho look but with, like, a pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.”

“…Oh my God.” V sounded like he were suffering.

Angel sighed. “Fine. I won’t tell you to run. But. If they start getting weird with you—”

“WEIRDER.” V corrected.

“—you call us immediately, alright?”

Misaki saluted. “Aye aye, captain.”

V groaned louder. “I’m going to find you a new place. Don’t die before then.”

“No promises.” Misaki grinned.

And with that, they hung up, absolutely pleased with themselves.

Because, let’s be honest.

This was gonna be fun.

For the first few days, things were… weirdly normal.

Sure, their landlord was a serial killer and a cannibal, but Misaki had seen worse. They were alive, weren’t they? Not chopped up in the fridge? Not marinated in some mystery sauce? That was a win.

Besides, they had their own room, cheap rent, and, most importantly—free shit.

Like, actual free shit.

Their landlord didn’t just let them stay, they gave them access to everything.

Netflix? Free. Wi-Fi? Free. Streaming services? Free. Some random subscription to an online manga site? Also free.

All just handed over.

Misaki had barely even asked. One offhand comment about boredom, and boom.

"Oh. Here. Just use mine."

BRO.

They were living the life.

Their job wasn’t too bad, either. As long as they kept doing their work remotely, no one cared. Meanwhile, their landlord was busy being a corporate slave—dragging themselves to their soul-sucking job every single morning and coming back more and more dead inside.

But hey. That was their problem.

Misaki? Misaki was thriving.

At least… until today.

Misaki woke up to a noise.

It wasn’t an alarming noise, per se, but it was… consistent. A weird, low dragging sound.

Their brain, still foggy with sleep, immediately jumped to the worst conclusion.

Oh no. They’re dragging a corpse again, aren’t they?

Great. Fantastic. How wonderful.

They rolled over, pulling the blanket over their head. Maybe if they ignored it, they could go back to sleep.

...But the sound didn't stop.

If anything, it started sounding worse.

Like something falling.

Something heavy.

That... didn’t sound like a body.

Curious—and slightly concerned—Misaki sighed, pushing themselves up. They dragged their feet as they left their room, rubbing their eyes. The hallway was dark as hell, but they could vaguely make out the shape of their landlord collapsed on the floor.

...What.

What.

Panic immediately shot through their body.

"OH, SHIT."

They rushed forward, kneeling beside them. "HEY, HEY, WAKE UP—WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?"

Their landlord groaned, eyes fluttering open. They looked **even worse than usual—**which was impressive, considering they always looked like they’d been awake for seventy-two hours straight.

Misaki frowned. “Dude, what the hell? You okay?”

Their landlord sighed.

Then, in a deep, tired, deadpan voice, they muttered:

"I hate my job."

…

Misaki blinked.

"Bro, you just fainted. Are you dying?"

"No. I just hate my job."

"Okay, but like. Why."

Their landlord slowly sat up, rubbing their face. "Because it's hell."

"That’s not a reason."

They groaned, dragging a hand down their face. "I deal with the dumbest people imaginable. Every day. Just absolute idiots. My boss is a parasite. My coworkers are stupid. And my clients? Even worse."

Misaki hummed. “Sounds like hell, alright.”

Their landlord exhaled sharply. “I swear, I would rather be—” They suddenly froze, seeming to remember who they were talking to.

A fellow criminal.

A fellow killer.

Someone who would absolutely call them out.

They cleared their throat. “Uh. Metaphorically.”

Misaki snorted. “Sure, sure. Totally not suspicious.”

Their landlord just groaned.

They looked so done with life. So exhausted. So miserable.

And—ugh. Misaki was starting to feel bad.

Like, yeah, their landlord was a murderous cannibal, but they are nice!

Misaki sighed as they trudged toward the kitchen, rubbing their face. The day had already been too much, and now they had to figure out what to cook for you, of all people.

You, the psychotic, dead-eyed, possibly-a-murderer-but-still-weirdly-chill roommate.

Still, they did feel kinda bad for you. Not bad enough to ignore the human meat in the fridge, but bad enough to cook something edible.

They pushed the kitchen door open—

Only to suddenly get shoved against the table.

Their back hit the surface with a dull thud, and before they could even process what happened, there you were.

Standing over them.

Looking at them.

STUDYING them.

Like a damn predator.

Misaki’s heart jumped. Their entire body locked up, every survival instinct they had screaming at them to run.

And then—

Then, their eyes drifted down.

And they saw the shirt you were wearing.

They blinked.

Once.

Twice.

HUMAN BY CHANCE, ALPHA BY CHOICE.

They just stared.

Dead.

Silent.

As if their soul had physically left their body.

Three full seconds passed before they finally spoke.

“…You cannot be serious.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

Misaki slowly lifted a hand and pointed. “THAT. WHAT YOU’RE WEARING.”

You glanced down at the godforsaken t-shirt, completely unbothered. “Oh. It was on sale.”

“OF COURSE IT WAS.”

“I think it’s funny.”

“IT’S NOT.”

You ignored their entire reaction. Instead, you just stared at them again.

And then you spoke.

“You look really delicious right now.”

Misaki blinked.

They froze.

Their brain completely short-circuited.

“…Th-thanks? I try?” They ran a hand through their hair, suddenly hyper-aware of their own appearance. “I mean, I thought I was average-looking, but—”

Wait.

WAIT.

HOLD ON.

Their brain finally caught up with the situation.

Misaki jerked back in horror.

“BRO. I’M NOT FOOD. GET THE HELL OUT.”

You snorted. “Relax. I promised I wouldn’t eat you.”

Misaki squinted. “That doesn’t make this less creepy.”

“I just wanted to take a look at you.”

“FOR WHAT?!”

You shrugged. Your eyes scanned them, like you were inspecting something. Calculating.

Then, suddenly—

“What’s with the gun?”

Misaki stiffened.

They immediately reached for their holster, confirming their weapon was still there. “...What?”

“You’re armed,” you said simply. “Why?”

Misaki scowled. “Uh, duh, I’m not stupid? I just moved in with a cannibal. You think I wouldn’t bring a gun?”

You blinked. Then, without hesitation—

“What kind of a killer are you?”

“EXCUSE ME?”

You gestured vaguely. “You’re clearly trained. What’s your thing?”

Misaki’s eye twitched.

“…I’m an assassin.”

You stared.

“…Oh.”

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“So you’re bad too.”

Misaki threw their hands up. “OH, AND YOU’RE SO SAINTLY?”

“No, I’m just saying. You kill people too.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE’RE THE SAME.”

You tilted your head, watching them. “Why do you do it?”

Misaki exhaled sharply. “Because I’m broke.”

“...That’s it?”

“I have debts.” They crossed their arms. “Paying for my parents.”

You froze.

The air shifted.

For the first time, you didn’t have anything to say.

Misaki narrowed their eyes. “What? Surprised?”

“…No.” Your voice was quieter now.

Misaki was still standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, replaying the last five minutes of their life in their head like a buffering video.

What the hell just happened?

They had been ready to make you food because, surprise surprise, even unhinged serial killer cannibals needed to eat actual meals sometimes. Then, suddenly, BAM. They got slammed against the table, stared at like a premium cut of wagyu steak, and then hit with the existential crisis of realizing their creepy, horrifying, serial-killer housemate might not be as emotionless and dead inside as they originally thought.

And now? Now, they were standing there, hands in their pockets, watching as you wandered back into the kitchen like nothing happened.

Like you hadn’t just acted like some kind of deranged, sleep-deprived maniac in a cursed T-shirt.

You looked at them, tilting your head slightly, before rubbing the back of your neck.

“...Maybe I’ve fallen for you.”

Misaki choked on their own spit.

“I’M SORRY, WHAT—”

You sighed like this was some grand, tragic confession instead of the most batshit insane thing you could possibly say at this moment.

“I usually eat my housemates,” you said casually.

“EXCUSE ME?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Two so far. Both gone in a day.”

Misaki took a full step back. “What the actual—”

“But you feel different,” you continued, like you hadn’t just admitted to literal cannibalistic homicide. “I don’t want to eat you.”

“Oh, WHAT A RELIEF.”

“You make me feel… energized.” You stared at them, brows furrowed slightly, like you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

Misaki swallowed, every muscle in their body tense. Should they be running? Because they should probably be running.

And then—

“So, do you want to eat together?”

Misaki blinked.

“Do I want to—HELL NO.”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Okay.”

Silence.

Then you tilted your head, as if a new idea suddenly popped into your deranged little mind.

“Do you want to be lovers?”

Misaki’s brain blue-screened.

“WHAT.”

You nodded, still way too casual about this whole thing. “Lovers. Dating. Romance. That stuff.”

Misaki stared at you.

Long.

Hard.

As if staring at you long enough would force you to make sense.

It did not.

“What the actual hell are you talking about.”

“I’m saying we should date,” you said, blinking at them like they were the weird one here.

Misaki took another step back. “WE HAVEN’T EVEN BONDED.”

“Okay,” you said with a slow nod, like you were completely open to negotiation.

“Okay?”

“Do you want to marry me instead?”

“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. HELL.”

You just blinked at them again, waiting for a response like this was some totally normal topic of conversation.

Misaki dragged a hand down their face. “Dude. We haven’t even—WHY is that the next logical step?!”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But I am falling for you.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Silence.

More silence.

And then, as if suddenly struck with divine inspiration, Misaki sighed deeply and crossed their arms. “Fine.”

You tilted your head.

Misaki smirked. “I’ll give you a challenge.”

You raised a brow. “A challenge?”

“Yeah,” they said, grinning. “February. It’s the month of love, right?”

You just nodded.

Misaki leaned in, poking your forehead lightly. “You wanna win my heart? You got one month to make me like you back.”

You stared at them, processing.

Misaki’s smirk grew. “And if I do like you by the end of February, then maaaybe we’ll talk about this ‘lovers’ thing.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then, with that same exhausted, dead-eyed expression, you nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nodded again. “Yeah. Also, you don’t have to pay rent for February.”

Misaki paused.

“...Wait. Hold up. What?”

“No rent,” you repeated. “February’s free.”

Their eyes narrowed. “Are you… bribing me?”

“Yes.”

Misaki grinned. 'Okay!'

IT'S NOT OKAY

Misaki collapsed onto their bed like a ragdoll, face buried in their pillow as their entire soul reeled from the conversation they just had.

What the hell was happening.

They had moved in less than a week ago. Found out their landlord was a literal serial killer/cannibal. Somehow weren’t dead yet. And now?? Now their psychotic, sleep-deprived, blood-covered housemate was falling for them??

What kind of romantic horror-comedy bullshit was this??

And worse, WHY was the rent-free month kinda tempting?!

Misaki groaned into their pillow before rolling over and grabbing their phone. They needed backup. NOW.

They dialed The Chaos Hotline.

Aka: Angel, Ronin, and V.

Within seconds, V picked up.

“Misaki,” V said immediately, tone suspicious. “You never call. What happened.”

Ronin’s voice piped in from the background. “Oh, oh, is this about the cannibal landlord? Are they hot?”

Misaki sat up. “WHY is that your first question?!”

“Because it’s important.”

Angel sighed. “Misaki, please tell me you didn’t get into a hostage situation again.”

“No! I mean—maybe?! I don’t know!” Misaki ran a hand through their hair. “Okay, LISTEN. They—they confessed to me.”

Silence.

Then—

“What?” V sounded like Misaki just committed a war crime.

“LMAO” – Ronin.

“Holy shit.” – Angel.

Misaki flopped back on the bed. “I don’t know how it happened!! One second they were staring at me like a five-star wagyu steak, and the next they were like, ‘I think I’m falling for you.’”

Angel gasped. “You made the serial killer catch feelings?”

Ronin wheezed. “BASED.”

V was not having it. “Misaki. Get. Out.”

“Dude, they said I don’t have to pay rent for February.”

“STAY.” – Ronin.

“OH MY GOD.” – V.

Angel hummed. “So… ”

Misaki clenched their fists. “STOP ASKING THAT.”

“Which means yes,” Angel said smugly.

“I—LOOK. I MAY HAVE SLIPPED AND CALLED THEM HOT, OKAY?!”

More silence.

Then:

Ronin. Wheezing. “You—YOU LIKE THEM TOO, DON’T YOU?!”

Misaki exploded. “I DO NOT LIKE THEM BACK. I JUST THINK THEY LOOK KINDA HOT COVERED IN BLOOD. IT’S AESTHETICALLY PLEASING, OKAY?!”

V. Exasperated. “MISAKI.”

“I’M NOT.”

“You’re literally getting romanced by a serial killer, and you’re already calling them hot when they’re covered in human remains.”

Misaki groaned. “This is not happening. This is a stress response.”

Ronin snorted. “Sure, buddy. Keep telling yourself that.”

V sounded done. “Okay, so what’s your plan? Because if they’re a serial killer, you probably shouldn’t lead them on.”

Misaki hesitated.

“…I may or may not have made a deal.”

Angel perked up. “Oh?”

Misaki winced. “I told them… that if they can make me fall for them by the end of February, then maybe we can talk about the ‘lovers’ thing.”

Silence.

Then:

Ronin. Losing their absolute shit. “MISAKI, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Angel cackling. “THIS IS A ROM-COM.”

V. “MISAKI, THAT’S NOT HOW YOU HANDLE A CANNIBAL KILLER.”

“I PANICKED, OKAY?!?!”

Ronin was dying. “You gave a cannibal a dating challenge?!”

“Yes??”

“Bro.”

Misaki groaned, covering their face. What the hell was their life.

Angel giggled. “So what’s their next move, you think? Romantic dinner date? Valentine’s Day surprise? Ooo, what if they give you a human heart in a box?!”

Misaki shuddered. “PLEASE don’t manifest that into the universe.”

V sighed. “You need to be careful, Misaki. If they actually get attached, that’s dangerous.”

Misaki huffed. “Relax. I got this. I’ll make sure they fall out of love before the month ends.”

Ronin snorted. “Or you’ll fall for them first.”

Misaki scowled. “No chance in hell.”

Angel smirked. “We’ll see.”

[letoasai]

No one remembers Anime Spiral

What do kids even do on the internet? I'm genuinely asking. Everything revolves around social media and that's fine but what do they do. Are their cool things they can do anymore?

There used to be websites and you would just wander the internet on the family computer. Newgrounds. Gaia Online. Neopets. Yahoo Games. Quizzila. Live Journal... I'm not saying they were all great but they were something to do and... no i'll commit, they were great. I wasn't worried about posting pictures of myself when i was busy watching a flash animation of Dragonball Z that someone put painstaking hours into.

A lot of younger kids and teens don't know how to download something and save it to a particular folder on their computer because they've never used a computer. Meanwhile we were somehow... coding our Myspace pages to have a particular background. When did we acquire that knowledge?

In 2004/2005 i went looking for Inuyasha pictures, as one did, and i stumbled upon a site of people posting fanfiction? Sign me up... Anime Spiral was the wild west of chaos fanfic writers. People would make banners for their work that would sit in their summary sections. God help you, but those seizure inducing flashing colors were going to get your attention.

People would write anything, stories, poems, lyrics. People would post art and open commissions for people to ask for things in the comments, and the OP would just do it... There were frantic collaborations. Some were really good. Some were really bad.

There were chaotic originally stories with random anime characters thrown in for fun because who was going to tell them they couldn't? Some people just ranted to anime characters and i will always remember Ask Sesshomaru where you'd ask Sesshomaru a question in the comments and the next chapter he would answer every.single.question. The fact that it was probably a 16 year old girl writing that just didn't matter.

Some people just posted picture of anime characters. They did all the internet searches so you didn't have to! They were harder to find then.

The comment/response section to this day... was the best format i've seen on a fanfic site (imo). It was so easy. I miss it! I miss going to my word processing class and pulling up that site and chatting with people in the freaking comments of whatever...terrible story i'd posted at the time. I was probably so proud of it then but yikes...

The notification system was good and it was easy to talk to people without it feeling intrusive.

Maybe Anime Spiral was Tumblr before Tumblr.

I met two strangers on Anime Spiral a week apart. Internet dangers weren't as obvious then as they seem now. Those two strangers became two of my best friends. It's been nearly twenty years and they are still so prevalent in my life.

I met my best friend on that site. That seems so impossible to me now. We never would have met otherwise and i can't imagine my life without them. We were so upset when Anime Spiral went down. We missed the ugly green and mustard yellow template to this day.

It wasn't a great site, it had it's problems... It had a lot of problems but at the same time, it was a great site. It's hard to find people who even remember Anime Spiral anymore. Going to FF .net or Fiction Press afterwards felt like... a downgrade somehow. The systems overly complicated and it lacked...something.

I do enjoy the hell out of AO3, it actually checks all the boxes for a great writing site, but i'll always remember the chaotic nostalgia of Anime Spiral.

What do kids do on the internet now? Is it safe? Is it just selfies, gossip, and bullying? Do you have a little dragon you can take care of? Neopets could take up a lot of their attention. I don't think 2024 Neopets is the same as 2005 Neopets and that's a shame.

I have no idea. I feel old.

[pumpkinhrat]

     It is with no small amount of shame that Jon pulls up the ‘How to Flirt with a Guy over Text’ article by ‘Wikihow’ on his laptop. It’s as his grandmother always said, though: if you’re going to do it, you had better do it right.

     Martin had texted him back yesterday, right in the middle of him taking a statement. Despite how absorbed Jon can get in them, it had been very difficult to finish the statement with the notification flashing in his periphery. He finally opened it and had received a little flip and flutter in his chest for his efforts. Silly. The phrase ‘cat-dad’ had tripped him up a little but after no small amount of googling Jon had come to the conclusion that Martin is most certainly flirting with him. Now for the response.

     Jon isn’t an idiot. He knows he’s not the most personable guy around. Hell, the whole reason Sasha and Tim had cooked up this scheme was because they’d seen him try and fail miserably at social interactions on multiple occasions. He’s always too blunt or dry or just too plain strange to hold any sort of meaningful conversation with new people. He’s half convinced the only reason Sasha, Martin, and Tim are his friends now is because they’d been forced to break down walls by virtue of their job. It’s unsurprising that things are as grim for him romantically as they are platonically.

     So, with that happy thought in mind, Jon clicks open the link. A bright white and green screen stares back at him. The blurb at the top reads “Text messaging is a great way to flirt with your guy. Flirt texting can be done with someone you are just getting to know, a guy you are developing a relationship with, or a long-term partner to add some fun to your relationship. You can also use texting to stay in touch, build interest, and connect with a guy prior to making the next move.” The last bit actually sounds like what Jon’s looking for and the tight feeling in his chest loosens a bit as he begins to scroll. Then he gets to the actual advice section.

     It’s dreadful. The entire article is littered with useless little platitudes and suggestions like “Play Up Your Fun Side!” and “Don’t Be Afraid To Tease”  and, most worryingly, “Maybe Wait To Send That Sexy Pic”. It’s exactly all the sorts of things Jon hates about first meeting someone who’s interested in him; the posturing, the desperation, the clearly produced and polished personality. He doesn’t want to send Martin a “flirty compliment” when he doesn’t even know what the man’s face looks like. And even if he did, Jon’s sure that any compliment he’d try to come up with would sound like a thinly veiled insult.

     It’s hopeless. He knew he shouldn’t trust the internet but what other options does he have? When he’d given up and debased himself to open the wikihow article, all he’d had written in reply to Martin’s text was “Yes, I do like cats.” Which, while true and, in Jon’s opinion, a perfectly serviceable response, he can hear Georgie’s disappointed sigh in his ear now. Jon echoes it as he closes out of the tab and shuts down his computer. He’ll just have to come up with a response himself. Simple.

     Fifteen minutes later, the same five words glow up at Jon from the Tinder chat box. It feels as though they’re mocking him, goading him to send the blasted text already. Everything else he’d come up with was equally if not more dreadful and Georgie wasn’t returning his texts.

     Jon takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He checks the time. 2:13am. Not too terrible, then. If he just sends this now he can finish up his notes on the Kominsky statement and still have a little over three hours of sleep before he has to get up for work. He looks longingly at the file on his coffee table and turns back to his phone. If this Martin is truly going to be interested in Jon as a partner of some sort, he’ll have to be accepting of Jon's way of communicating, he reasons. There’s no point trying to spruce himself up, really.

     Jon sends the text and turns off his phone.

AAAAA Dear Anon, you're back! Thank you so so much for writing more, (and i'm sorry it took me this long to respond, i've been trying to survive uni).

This is 4th part of Anon's Dating App Jmart fic. Check the tag or the pinned post to see the previous parts! This chapter is based on this part of my au.

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"