#yes i did use ** to make this but look its innocent

[dajo42]

If you want to kill yourself so badly just do it; you fucking coward. I'm serious, I think you should. All I see on your blog is e-begging and godawful cringe art that looks like something a kindergartener threw up after eating too many crayons. 'Autistic' and 'trans woman' in the same bio is redundant, and so is your contribution to society. Stop pretending to be a woman, stop pretending to be worth a damn, either get a life or end it.

you are such an interesting weird little embarrassing creature because why did you use a semicolon there. thats not where a semicolon goes. "you fucking coward" is not an independent clause lmao.

anyway youre weird. lmao like. shut up lol why are you so obsessed with me but so ableist and transphobic. if i kill myself are you gonna get another tenant to live in your head rent free or will you just board up the place because your head is full of mould and you drank too much landlord white paint

anyways im not gonna kms because YOU told me to lmao if i kms its gonna be because the worlds on fire but yknow. gonna try my best not to.

im also gonna drop my paypal and kofi here AGAIN for FUNSIES and SPITE :3 seeing as thats all i have to do to make such a piece of human garbage angry why wouldnt i!!!

but maybe im gonna go a liiiiiiiiiittle bit further with the retribution today. maybe just being spiteful isnt enough. lemme tell you a lil story my hateful little venomous tadpole

several people have said at this point that whoever is sending me anon hate whenever i make a donations post has to be the same person. which is very interesting because in fact they are correct!! i have enough information now to confirm objectively yes they were right!!!!

so like you say im not worth a damn?? thats crazy because you have spent a LOT of time thinking about me. i know, objectively, youre the same person sending me other rude messages because using technology™ i can literally see your ip address and where you navigated to my blog from and you came to my blog DIRECTLY lmao

you have, on multiple occasions, typed dajo42.tumblr.com into your fucking browser and navigated directly to me to send me some anon hate that has only escalated in severity as weeks have gone by

but not the first time!! the first time you came to my blog from a totally innocent post i made about a pokemon npc who likes trains. this, somehow, filled you with enough vitriol at my existence to send me endless, endless anon hate, regularly. you come back r e g u l a r l y.

so based on all your messages you hate me for being autistic, for being trans, for asking for donations when im struggling, for drawing cute things, for asking for wishlist items for funsies,,,,,,, and youve decided to escalate that to the point of telling me to kill myself when im having a depressive episode??????

so i was gonna ask if theres anything you DONT hate but i cant do that,, because i know theres one thing i made you do enjoy. its another thing i know about you for sure because sometimes just clicking anonymous on these messages isnt gonna fully ensure your anonymity. because i happen to know from the aforementioned list of times you have visited my blog that during one of your visits you viewed a specific post on my blog and,,, liked and reblogged it,,,,,,,,, and yknow, looking through the blogs of the people in the notes on that post, theres only one person who talks with so much hate like you do, acts like you do, and posted recently about the college they attend, which, to the shock of nobody, is in the specific region of the united states of america that your ip address is in

and fuck like, wouldnt it be so funny if you also had your first name and a selfie on your blog and i could just straight up send an email full of fun screenshots to the college you attend who i have to imagine wouldnt be altogether thrilled to know one of their students is actively harassing people online and telling them to kill themselves

wouldnt that be so funny Liam?

:3

anyways,, to piss you off yet again,,,,,,,, if you like supporting disabled autistic trans women online you can via paypal and kofi if you can and want to help me be able to afford food and meds or if your name is liam and you go to salt lake community college and want to make it up to me for being so nasty. go bruins

[yesimwriting]

I can see bestie drunkenly clinging onto Armand and trying to cover his face in kisses and he's like 😃 and Louis is like 😧

The poignant scent of alcohol isn't enough to blur the feel of your skin against his into obscurity, which is...incredibly unfortunate.

Armand exhales, a weak attempt at dismissing the warmth of your fingertips resting against his forearm. The contact is too absentminded to be considered significant. You're likely unaware of the extent of your proximity, the bulk of your attention too dedicated to Louis for you to notice anything else.

Louis keeps pulling your free hand towards him just for you to try to tug your wrist out of his grasp. Every once in awhile he awards your struggle by letting you nearly escape. The game is completely innocent, but the action behind it is feels much too volatile.

Armand frowns. "You two are behaving like children."

You turn your head towards him. "I'm sorry we're not 500-and--" You trail off, brow furrowing as you struggle to keep your response well structured in your current state. "Whatever the other number is."

Maybe Louis wasn't exaggerating when he described all of the work he had to put into getting you home tonight. "Tactful."

You let out a breath that feels more like a laugh than anything else. "I try."

"Ignore her." Louis has yet to let you go, but he's no longer tugging on your wrist. "You don't even want to know how much she had to drink tonight." Armand doesn't doubt that.

"Don't be mean. It wasn't that much."

Louis's eyes briefly narrow at that. "I had to keep you from running off with a stranger." Armand feels himself tense at the response. "And then I had to babysit you through getting ready for bed."

"That wasn't babysitting." You shift, your nails carefully dragging themselves up Armand's arm before you finally let go of him. You press your elbow into the mattress to sit up a little more before reaching for his hand again.

"Then what was it?" There's a sharpness to Louis's humor, but it's almost entirely undercut by the way that he adjusts his hold on your hand.

"It was us--hanging out while I did my skin care."

"Mhm." The sound is far from flat, but completely dismissive. Louis turns his head enough to look at Armand. "Can you believe her?"

Armand squeezes your hand. "She's your friend."

You frown, the set of your mouth coming dangerously close to a pout. "Please, you so love me." The certainty of the response is incredibly grating. "I make your life fun."

Something uncomfortably warm attempts to wedge itself between his ribs. "Yes, by constantly destroying my peace."

You're quiet for a second, assessing him with an openness that borders on unsettling. "You're very melodramatic." There's a gentleness to the response that doesn't suit the argument. You continue to watch him, your wide eyed expression oddly pensive. "And very pretty."

The phantom warmth begins to crawl its way up his neck, as heavy and suffocating as tar. His lips part, but before he's forced to respond, Louis lets out an easy laugh. "We don't need his head getting any bigger, ma chere."

"Don't worry." You're dragging your thumb against his knuckles, back and forth at an easy pace. "I'll ask him about his favorite movies later."

Louis grins before bringing the back of your palm to his lips. "You do that."

Armand sighs, allowing himself to ease against his pillows. "As if everything the two of you watch has artistic value."

The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards at that. You straighten slightly, pushing yourself to sit up a little more before leaning towards him. You press a kiss against his shoulder. "We're joking."

Instead of moving back to your previous position, you relax enough to rest your head against his arm. You pull Louis's hand towards your lap as you settle into your new position. Louis indulges you, letting you extend his arm for him.

Louis remains still for another moment, permitting you to bend and straighten his fingers. Then, with no warning, he moves to sit up fully. "I'm going to get ready for bed." You lift your head slightly, eyebrows pinching together at the thought of being left behind. "I haven't fed yet."

You frown, moving your hand to fully cover the back of Louis's palm, as if that will be enough to get him to stay. "No."

"I'll be right back." When you don't ease, Louis carefully pulls his hand away from you.

You let out a heavy sigh, as if Louis's temporary absence is the kind of inconvenience you'll never recover from. "Fine."

Once you've given your halfhearted approval, Louis pushes himself to stand. "Behave," the warning lacks any real bite, "I mean it. Don't give Armand any headaches."

"Too late."

Louis glares at the response. "Don't start anything." This instruction, though still easygoing, is tinged by an underlying tension that Armand can't quite bring himself to hold against his companion. After all, you're the embodiment of the first rays of sunlight reaching the horizon, and he's the entity that daybreak is meant to purify into nonexistence.

Armand frowns. "No promises."

Louis throws another look in his companion's direction before turning towards the door. Armand's hold on your hand tightens as Louis approaches the bedroom's door.

As soon as you're left alone, you lift your head off of his shoulder enough to look at him. "Hi."

The word is much too enthusiastic. Armand turns his head towards you slowly. "Hello."

You shift slightly, lifting your chin a fraction of an inch as you study him. There's a warmth behind your gaze that implies a fondness he isn't sure how to bear. "What?" The question feels hollow.

"Nothing," the response is easy in its genuineness.

The imagined heat from earlier returns with a vengeance, burning its way through him. Armand permits himself to hold your wide eyed stare. "You're drunk."

You blink, expression morphing into something somber. You adjust your hold on his hand, your fingers pressing into his palm. "Not that drunk." When he's not immediately eased by the gesture, you lift your other arm, holding your wrist out to him. "You can be drunk, too."

The gesture, though clearly just another indicator of the state that you're in, is almost overwhelmingly genuine. You let out a small breath as Armand turns your inner wrist towards him. He lets his thumb settle against your pulse point. Condemning you would be a simple thing.

His companion would hold your pain and the permanence of the change against him for some time, but eventually Louis would come to see it as for the best. Louis can only live in his imagined version of reality for so long, he'll eventually have to acknowledge the limitations of your mortality.

And if Louis's anger were to impact your perception of him, it wouldn't matter. You'd be bonded to him in a way that no amount of friendship, or hatred, or affection could undo.

Armand exhales, forcing himself to replace distorted fantasy with reality. He drags his thumb against your pulse point, allowing himself to dwell on the warmth of your skin. He pulls your arm forward, pressing a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

The contact affects your pulse, your blood inching its way up your veins and towards your chest. "I'm alright."

You aren't eased by his response. "Are you sure?" You pull your wrist out of his grasp before shifting to sit up a little straighter.

You then extend your arm again, placing your hand against his shoulder. Armand recognizes the contact as an attempt at comforting him.

He lets himself reflect on the question. Why wouldn't he be alright? What right do you have to impact him in any capacity? He's an ancient being who could end your existence because of the vaguest impulse to do so, and you're only...who you are. Why should your proximity, or your distance, or your intentions behind either matter to him at all?

"Why wouldn't I be?" He stares at some vague point just beyond you as he answers.

You drag your thumb down his shoulder, the side of your hand moving past the collar of his shirt and onto his bare skin. "I don't know," the response is much more uncertain than you would be if you were sober, "You didn't want to go out with us, and you seem tense."

Armand angles his head towards you, permitting himself to look at you again. "I'm sure you managed enough attention without me there."

You squeeze his shoulder, the warmth of your skin bleeding through the thin material of his shirt. "I like when you're there."

He's studying you with a repulsive transparency, his mind taking in each aspect of your expression. There's nothing cruel or mocking or even uncertain in the way that you're looking at him. You're staring at him with an unbridled affection he's underserving of.

Armand lifts an arm, his hand coming to rest against your shoulder. "I don't know what to do with you."

Your brow furrows at that. It takes you a moment to respond, "I don't think you need to do anything with me."

Everything must feel so simple, so easy to you. Armand's lips part, but before he can speak, you lean towards him. You press a kiss against his shoulder. You then shift again, giving yourself the space needed to kiss the exposed skin just above his shirt's collar.

You still, as if waiting for him to do something that indicates disapproval. When no warning comes, you place another kiss against his skin, this time a little closer to his collarbone.

He exhales, pressing his lips together to keep from reacting. The hand not holding onto your arm grasps at the bedding in a desperate attempt at remaining neutral. When neither attempt at reducing his tension work, his adjusts his hold on your shoulder. He bears your proximity for another moment before pulling you back.

You're quick to comply, straightening your head enough to look at him. Armand holds your stare. There's a gentle curiosity to the way that you're watching him, a fragile interest as you wait for his reaction.

It wouldn't be a difficult thing to push you away, to redirect you towards something less tarnishing. He doesn't look away from you as he tries to will himself to do the right thing for you. When the strength needed to commit to creating necessary distance doesn't find him, Armand brings a hand to the collar of his shirt. He pulls the material out of place, revealing more of his neck.

You blink, your focus shifting between his features and the newly revealed skin. It takes you longer than it should to understand the implications of the gesture.

Slowly, you shift forward again, pressing a chaste kiss against his collar bone. He allows his eyes to fall shut as you make your way up his neck. You don't stop until you've reached the start of his jaw.

You stop as suddenly as you started, moving far enough away from him to rest your temple against his shoulder with no warning.

It would be easy for things to remain quiet between the two of you, but after a long moment, Armand speaks, "Are you tired?"

You give no indication of discomfort as you take his hand again. "A little." Hm. It's the kind of half-truth you'd only use while completely exhausted.

Armand squeezes your hand to his. "Then maybe we should go to sleep."

"Maybe." Your mutual agreement isn't enough to convince either of you to move.

----

a/n lowkey have mixed feelings on this but it's been nearly done in the drafts for a minute so <3

[brittle-doughie]

me again with the victorious infected y/n stuff I had an idea for an interaction between PV and y/n so tell me what you think :D

(ps: this is my first time doing a villain monologue so this might be garbage)

SAVED FOR LAST:

all pv could hear as he came to was laughter, a gravelly maddened laugh that pierced him down to his soul.

as his vision cleared all he could see around him was destruction as the once grand throne room was now a ruined battlefield. Claw marks lined the floor and walls alongside magical burns and the crumbs and jam of those foolish enough to challenge the infected lord/lady.

the laughter died down to a cruel chuckle as pv finally locked eyes with its source. The massive looming figure that was now y/n stood before him their eyes, once filled with blind bloodlust, now looked down on him with a predatory, almost playful look, the look of someone who already knows they’ve won.

y/n: ahhh~ so the fool lives! HA I was almost beginning to think I hit you too hard and already killed you! That would’ve been so very disappointing but here you are. So the real fun can truly begin!

pv: Y/N what did you do to the other ancients?!

y/n: well well well~ if you really wish to know it’s simple look around you~

pv looked around in horror as what he originally thought to be rubble from the decaying ceiling turned out to be his friends with various different wounds.

hollyberry slumped onto her side, the arm that once bore her mighty shield torn from her body

dark cacao slammed against a pillar, his sword broken in two and the left side of his face rended by y/n’s claws

golden cheese face first on the floor, her legs crumbled to pieces

and white lily figure pitifully slumped against y/n’s throne, cracks covering her entire body

pv’s focus shifted back to y/n as the laughed once again at pv’s horror

y/n: I wonder how many this makes it?

pv: what?

y/n: I wonder how many cookies have died because of your failures…

pv: wha- what are you talking about?!

y/n: don’t play dumb with me you useless ball of dough!

y/n: don’t you remember the academy?

pv’s jam ran cold: WHAT NO! I tried to help them!

y/n: and what good did that do? They died because you failed to stop white lily, they died because you egged on her mad research, they died because of you…

pv: I-

y/n: and let us not forget the war! The war where thousands of cookies died and a dark age was ushered in because you failed the one thing you were ment to do and didn’t end the war sooner

(y/n circled around pv like a panther sizing up its prey)

pv: THATS NOT MY FAULT! I tried ev-

y/n: and now yet again hundreds of thousands of cookies are dying because of what you did.

pv: wha- what do you mean?

y/n: oh don’t play coy with me! Those zombies that are tearing those innocent guards that you brought along limb from limb, the swarms that lay siege to your pathetic kingdoms, the spores in the air that suffocate life and add it to my army? None of it would be here if it weren’t for your all consuming pride.

pv: no- nonono!

y/n: yes, every single time you dragged me back to that hellscape no matter how much I begged to be left alone, and each time I returned from fixing YOUR problems with a little less of my mind intact you brushed it off and left me to rot

pv: I-

y/n: well it seems your sins have caught up to you~ I became this monstrosity because of your pride! Your friends are dead because you wanted them to clean up your mess for you! Thousands of families have been torn apart because of your failures!

pure vanilla couldn’t say anything. They sank to their knees as the weight of all this crushed him his will to fight on had faltered

y/n grabbed him by the neck and brought him up to look y/n in the eyes

y/n tore pure vanillas soul jam from his chest before impaling him with their claws spreading the disease throughout his body

y/n: how pathetic

(wao that was long as hell I hope you enjoyed it! I was really trying to go for the vibe of y/n is bitter towards pure vanilla and the infection only served to blow up these emotions leading to the events of the scenario above)

Neat read!

[isyluvsbigboys]

𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖞𝖊𝖊 - 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖇 𝕷𝖆𝕯𝕾

ꕥ Synopsis: After months of working under Caleb, you made a catastrophic mistake that led Caleb to punish you fittingly

—Character: Caleb

—Series: Love and Deep space

—Word count: 1,3k

You've worked under Caleb for almost a year now, doing boring, mundane paperwork as an office lacky. You couldn't complain, the pay was extortionate making city life comfortable for you. You didn't grasp what Caleb's exact job was, you knew he was a colonel of the fleet space, other than that he kept his work life quite secretive. Your interactions with the colonel were kept minimal, there was an aura about him. Dark, obsessive, eerie. You couldn't put your finger on it, your peers say to not cross him, they say to keep your head down and just work. They say he looks at you a certain way, like ownership, like you're prey and he's the hunter. You couldn't help but enjoy the non-existent powerplay your peers had created, like some cat and mouse game, but you keep silent and do your paperwork-- until the unfortunate mistake you made.

"Are you serious?" Caleb scowled, visibly angered. His eyebrows furrowing and hat ever so slightly hiding his eyes. He stood tall over his desk. "Do you even realise what you have done here?"

You had no clue what to say, he made you be at a loss for words in this moment, you tried looking calm- looking serious, not as if you were about to burst into tears at this very second.

"This is multiple emails, top secret government plans, leaked" Caleb exclaimed "LEAKED". Caleb was furious, his fists balled tightly and jaw clenched. Your mistake was catastrophic for his secretive plans he had going on. You set him back months if not years. You tried to think about anything else other than his anger. Like how anger suited him, or his leather gloves, or his stern expression. Anything to make this feel better for yourself.

"Are you even listening to me? I had high expectations for you." He said, in somewhat defeat. He stepped back from his desk with those darkened, lustful eyes. The eyes you were warned about. He walked around behind you and you heard the door lock, you did nothing but look in front of you, heart quickening. You heard his footsteps behind you stopping at the chair, he leaned over you- one hand on the chair, his head next to your ear. "You know, I've been thinking..." Caleb began. "...about you... and how a sweet, innocent, lady like you would work for me?"

You swallowed, you looked up to him "All the bad, bad things your co-workers say about me... and yet my sweet, little lamb stays... here in my grips.." Caleb says slowly, dragging out his works, almost to tease you. He grabs your chin with his index finger and thumb and turns your face to him, moving the chair as well. "C-Caleb i-" You tried to speak. "no. its sir to you, or colonel if that suits you better" Caleb interrupted . You froze in your place as a grin appears on his face. The dynamic grew stronger.

"Every rule you break? any future defiances?. it will be repaid in full." He spoke lowly, almost a whisper. Both hands travelled down your body, landing on your breasts, applying sweet pressure. "Don't you agree, darling?" He asked. You nodded, words intimidated to leave your mouth. "... use your words"

"Y-yes, sir" You replied to him as the smirk turned sly. "Good girl."

Caleb hands massaged your breasts through your clothes, your clothes too thick to feel him, but the warm seeped through. He tucked his head into your neck, placing his lips against your bare neck. your body fell warm incredibly quick, he left wet, open kisses up to your jaw, he bit gently on your ear lobe, tugging it slightly. It hated to admit it but it felt so good. You knew what you were doing was wrong in every way possible, But you let it happen.

Caleb unbuttoned your top from behind to open up your bra to him, he slid his hands underneath the fabric, hands being trapped between your breasts and the fabric of your bra. He shifted his fingers so they rubbed against your nipples, betraying you as they hardened. he gently used his middle fingers to flick your nipples, the sensation of pleasure running like electric through your body. "Oh, darling likes this, huh?" He says cockily, as your head leans back on the headrest, biting your lip. He kisses slow again, from your jaw to your collarbone as he toys with your breasts in all the right ways.

Getting more lustful caleb pulls up your bra, a little hastily, he kneads your breast before giving them slight pinches alighting whispered moans from you. He kisses you on the cheek, as if you were being rewarded for making noise. Before spinning you around to face him, his hand went up to stroke your face. "Do you want more, darling?" you merely looked up at him and he knew your answer. Caleb lifted you up and carried you over to the sofa, he stood you up just before it and sat down, pulling you on him, back against him.

Caleb used this to his advantage and unzipped yours skirt, pulling down your underwear and off, which he pocketed. You lied back half naked on Caleb's rough, leather clothes as his hands run down your now dampened hole. your breath hitched as you felt his warm hand touch you where you only touch yourself. He was teasing, circling around your clit and hole slowly. Dipping hid fingers closer every time. "How would my darling like me to touch her?" He asked, dipping his head in your neck, latching on, sucking your neck. The only noise you could make was shameful moans as he was toying with you, you wriggled your hips, trying to align yourself with his fingers. the tips of his fingers now in your hole. "I see, you are a naughty one, ain't ya" Caleb teased playfully "If you want it, let me see you do it"

You could practically melt away at the moment, knowing what he asked you to do. you moved your body down, swallowing up his middle two fingers, you let out a delightful sigh being ever so slightly filled. you moved your hips on him, using his arms as leverage. his free hand was toying with nipples as you used him for pleasure. It was bliss, it was dirty, you felt so dirty for doing this with your boss. maybe you should fuck up more, right? You let out an array of dirty moans, getting off on the faint groans Caleb was letting out. you moved your hips faster, his hand moving slightly at the same place, making you feel him deeper.

"Do you wanna cum, darling?" He asked you, ever so casually, in a low and sultry voice, his voice could practically make you finished if he kept talking. He didn't even wait for a response, he could feel you wanted it. Caleb adjusted slightly making you pause, he took this advantage to hold down your pubic area with his free hand and move his fingers himself, at a somewhat rough pace, hitting you as deep as he could. "Mmhn~ shit, Caleb" You moaned out, in shudders clearly out of breath. Caleb tortured your sopping hole as he quickly shoved his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds felt like they were echoing around his office, filthy moans alluding from yourself as deep grunt from Caleb were heard, his hardened member pressed tight against your back. "Shitshitshitshi--" You swore repeatedly as it begun becoming too much, craving release.

"Touch yourself, finish princess" Caleb spoke to you in such disgusting sweet way, you reached your free hand down and toyed your clit, pinching it, tapping gently to tease yourself more. Swiping over it slowly, Caleb's hand snaked around your neck gently as he sped up his fingers, now in a 'come hither' motion, your mouth gaped open and a deep moan fell out your mouth, your fingers moved in a circular motion building up friction and coming closer to that release "Oh Caleb~" You moaned out, as you released all over his fingers. your hand went limp as his thrusted slowly, letting you ride out your orgasm slowly "Good girl" He whispered "You're such a good girl"

[alexblakehusband]

prompt: junksen kissing

[theconfusedartist]

Des and Alex would be soooo domestic. Alex comes back after beating the shit outta infected and Balckwatch troops and just. Collapses on Dana's couch.

They argue over who's allowed to use the controller first and end up watching horror movies for about half an hour before the power and signal cuts out bc all over the island bc they're making sure nothing gets in or out.

They banter over how the movie should or will end, when Des knocks on the door and Alex is all over him when he opens it up, like a massive koala bear. Des is so used to Dr. Mercer doing this, then trying to pretend like it was Des that jumped him like he was losing his mind that it's actually refreshing how Alex is unabashedly cuddling him.

They go over to the apartment that Des took over since most people left the vicinity of Penn Station days after Balckwatch was shooting people in broad daylight and Alex asks "wanna see something I just learned? It's cool as hell". Ofc Des agrees and it's just a montage of them play fighting as Alex shows off ALL of his abilities bc he knows Des won't be scared off or scream, with crashing and ungodly noises of destruction.

Dana peeks in hours later when things are finally silent and sees the two of them snuggled up on a completely destroyed couch (that was destroyed last time they did this, is the damn thing respawning?) and assumes they just got done doing some of the most disturbing sex stuff ever. She doesn't wanna know, doesn't ask, but can't get away without them seeing her and saying hello. It feels like the worst experience every time this happens to her bc she assumes that they're having ungodly weird virus on human sex, and they do, just never the time she peeks into the apartment. They're just playing.

[ktempestbradford]

I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

[reiding-writing]

Heyy!! i was wondering if you could perchance do a drabble with dad!spencer and mom!bau!reader where they've gotten into the rhythm of calling each other mommy and daddy in front of the kids and one of them accidentally slips up and does it work without realising. And then the team is like "hold on 🤨" (probably morgan) and they have to defend themselves. Just something i've been thinking about and i don't have the artistic ability to right it myself but you do! Thank youuuu! xxx

SLIP UP. /spencer reid/

your at-home naming habits find their way into the office.

bau!mom!reader 1.1k fluff masterlist.

a/n | this is so funny i love it.

The bullpen hums with its usual energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations weaving through the space.

It’s late, and exhaustion weighs on everyone like a heavy fog. Cases have been stacking up, the paperwork never-ending, and you’re all running on caffeine and whatever sugar-laden snack Garcia has left in the breakroom.

You and Spencer, despite being used to sleepless nights—courtesy of two small children at home—are still feeling the burn.

Parenting while profiling is a delicate balance, and some days, it feels like you barely hold it together. But you've found ways to cope, to slip into a rhythm that works.

Spencer leans over his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he scans a report. His hair is slightly disheveled—likely from running his hands through it—and his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looks exactly how you feel, drained.

You, seated across from him, are going through another file when you sigh and reach for the next document. “Pass Mommy the file, please,”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the bullpen stills. For a brief second, no one reacts. Not even Spencer, who doesn’t hesitate to slide the file over to you, his tired brain not even registering what just happened.

But then—

“Hold on, what?”

Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Across the table, Morgan is staring at you with wide eyes, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. JJ’s eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline, and even Rossi has paused his paperwork, looking mildly amused.

Hotch looks like he’s trying very hard not to react.

You glance at Spencer, who is blinking rapidly, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh my God.” Your stomach drops. Heat rushes to your face. “I didn’t mean—”

Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table, his smirk growing. “Did you just refer to yourself as Mommy?”

Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It’s— It’s not—”

“Because I swear I just heard that,” Morgan continues, clearly enjoying himself.

JJ covers her mouth, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not what you think,”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think.” Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Reid, you calling her Mommy at home?”

Spencer makes another choked noise, shaking his head furiously. “No! I mean— yes, but not like that!”

JJ snorts, and even Hotch finally cracks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to intervene.

You lift your head, groaning again. “We have two kids under four. There’s a lot of third-person referencing, okay?”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, amused.

Spencer, still red-faced, starts rambling. “It’s a psychological phenomenon, actually. When individuals—particularly parents—are frequently addressed in a particular way, their brains develop an associative response, reinforcing the use of the terms even in situations outside the expected context. It’s entirely innocent. Just an unconscious linguistic habit.”

Morgan whistles low. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You really just tried to profile your way out of calling your wife ‘Mommy’ in front of us,”

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands.

Your face feels impossibly warm. “We’re tired, Morgan. We haven’t had a full night’s sleep in—” You glance at Spencer. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, three months, and sixteen days,” he answers automatically.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn,”

Emily places a hand over her heart. “That’s actually kind of adorable,”

Garcia practically vibrates with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I need to hear more,”

“There’s nothing more to hear,” Spencer says, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just a habit. Strictly innocent,”

“Oh, we believe you,” Rossi says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go,”

“Not a chance,” Morgan agrees.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This is never going away, is it?”

“Nope,” JJ says cheerfully.

Spencer sighs, rubbing his temples. “Great.”

And just like that, the teasing begins.

For the rest of the day—and likely for weeks to come—you hear variations of:

“Daddy, can you pass me that report?” from Emily.

“I don’t know, Mommy, what do you think?” from Morgan.

Garcia, of course, takes it the farthest, occasionally referring to you both as “Mommy and Daddy dearest,” complete with exaggerated winks.

By the time you make it home that evening, you collapse onto the couch with a groan, Spencer falling beside you.

“I’m never going to live this down,” you mumble.

“At least they think it’s funny,” Spencer says, leaning his head back against the cushions.

You sigh. “This is your fault,”

He turns his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “My fault?”

“You didn’t even hesitate when I said it. You just handed me the file like it was totally normal,”

His lips twitch. “To be fair, it is normal,”

You nudge him with your foot. “Not at work, it isn’t,”

He chuckles, then tilts his head, considering. “Maybe if we just… pretend it never happened, they’ll drop it,”

You snort. “You really think that’s going to work?”

“…No,”

“Exactly.” You groan again, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Spencer smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “At least we’re in it together, Mommy,”

You open your eyes just to glare at him. “You better not start doing that on purpose,”

He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a grin.

“Spencer,” you warn.

His grin widens. “Yes, Mommy?”

You grab a throw pillow and smack him with it, and his laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.

Exhausted as you both are, you wouldn’t trade this—your life, your family, the teasing from your team—for anything in the world.

[classyrbf]

we need shy freak I beggg, he ain’t seen this coming🙈

ᯓ★ FREAK LIKE ME! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...being the quiet girl sometimes has its perks and gojo satoru is in for a hell of a ride

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, quiet!reader, handjob, edging, kinda sub!gojo, dom!reader, establish relationship, reader reads smut/watches porn, overstim, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon, I hope you enjoy!

Gojo Satoru was known for being the rich, handsome, popular kid who always had girls fawning over him everywhere he went. He’d get any girl he want just by flashing a smile and before he knew it, they’re panties dropped to the floor. College was fun when you were going out every other night, fucking this girl and that girl, because who cares? Surely not him. But one thing no one anticipated, not even Gojo himself, was getting a girlfriend who was quite literally the opposite of him. You were so adorable to him, different from the rest, too buried in your books and work to care about anything else going on.

Gojo noticed very quickly that you were the shy, quiet type. Everytime he’d try to kiss you, even compliment you, you’d turn away with a flustered look. “Awe, is my baby shy?” He’d chuckle, kissing your cheek. It was something he wasn’t used to at all, but he liked it.

You’d bought a new dress from the mall and Gojo demanded that you show him, practically pleading on his hands and knees when you shrugged your shoulders. Eventually you gave you in, walking out from the bathroom, hands clasped together and head hung low. “Do you like it?” You quietly asked.

“Like it? Baby, I love it! I’m resisting the temptation to just bend you over and fuck you right here!” His eyes widen in surprise. He chuckles at the way you turn your head away from him.

“Toru! Don’t say stuff like that! You scold him while hiding your face. Gojo thinks you’re the most innocent thing known to man, getting all shy over the smallest things. But what your clueless boyfriend didn’t know is that you weren’t some innocent, quiet girl who had zero clue about sex or intimacy in general. You watched porn, read smut, and fantasized about all the nasty things you wanted to do to your boyfriend.

It wasn’t until one day you decided it was time to get over your fears and show your boyfriend what he was missing out on.

“Baby—nnngh, ah—s-slow down…fuck!” His voiced cracked, head falling back into the crook of your neck as you pumped his cock from behind, his precum messily smearing over his length. “W-where—mmph—did this even come from?” He chuckled, hips stuttering when you squeezed the head of his cock tighter. His body slouched between your legs, chest heaving up and down. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum already!”

You wickedly giggled in his ear and Gojo absolutely has no idea how to feel in this moment. Who were you and what did you do to his sweet girl? “You’re leaking so much, Toru. You’ve been thinking about this, huh?” You darted your tongue out, licking a stripe on his skin. His entire body shuddered in your hold, eyes clenching shut when you ran your thumb over his throbbing red tip.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been thinking about it—hah!” He nods his head, his nails digging into the plush of your thighs as you bring him on the brink of his orgasm before slowing down your movements. “No, no, baby don’t tease me like that!” He whines, bucking his hips into your hand.

“You’re so needy! Does my pretty boy wanna cum?” You smirk against his skin, peppering small kisses from his jaw to his neck. He quickly nods his head, whimpering like a bitch in heat. Your hand firmly wraps around his throat and Gojo swears he’s sent to another planet. Where did you learn all this from? From who? From what? It’s like you switched personalities. But he loves it, craves it even.

“Oh my god,” he groans, eyes rolling back when you squeeze the base of his cock and slowly drag your hand up his shaft in circular motion. “Please, please, please,” he begs. His cheeks flushed a baby pink while drool forms at the corner of his mouth.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you? Already begging to cum.” You began to pump your hand faster, his legs shaking and hips stuttering. You wrap your legs around his, restricting him from moving any more than he already is.

His abs tense up, body jolting while his lewd moans echo off the walls of your bedroom. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna—shit, shit…gonna cum,” he whimpers. His brows in a concentrated furrow, too focused on the way your hand is wrapped around his thick, veiny cock. “C-cumming,” he’s barely able to groan out, his entire body going limp when you squeeze his throat harder. Your mischievous giggles send the blood rushing straight to his dick and milliseconds later spurts of his cum shoot from his aching tip. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His hips are shaking, globs of cum coating his abs and your hands, using it as lube.

“You’re still cumming,” you chuckle, his hips writhing beneath you. Gojo has never came this hard in his life and his dick was still pulsating in your hand.

“S-so sensitive,” he cries out, gritting his teeth as tears form in the corner of his eyes. His breath hitches and he swears he could see stars in his vision.

“Want me to stop? Is it too much, baby?” Your sultry tone sends shivers down his spine. He shakes his head no, biting down on his bottom lip, a metallic taste filling his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

a/n: y/n is boughta make me bust and I’m the one writing her lmaoo

taglist (comment to be added):

@valleydoli @zxnxy @screechingbasementprincess @lexluthorbutnotbald @lynxslokley @briyah0

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

The Cranberries - Zombie 1994

"Zombie" is a protest song by Irish alternative rockband the Cranberries. It was written by the lead singer, Dolores O'Riordan, about the young victims of a bombing in Warrington, England, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The song was released on 19 September 1994 as the lead single from the Cranberries' second studio album, No Need to Argue. While the record label feared releasing a too controversial and politically charged song as a single, "Zombie" reached number 1 on the charts of Australia, Belgium, Denmark, Germany, and Iceland, and spent nine consecutive weeks at number 1 on the French SNEP Top 100. It reached number 2 on the Ö3 Austria Top 40, where it stayed for eight weeks. The song did not chart on the US Billboard Hot 100 chart as it wasn't released as a single there, but it reached number 1 on the US Billboard Alternative Airplay chart. Listeners of the Australian radio station Triple J voted it number 1 on the 1994 Triple J Hottest 100 chart, and it won the Best Song Award at the 1995 MTV Europe Music Awards.

The Troubles were a conflict in Northern Ireland from the late 1960s to 1998. The Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), an Irish republican paramilitary organisation, waged an armed campaign to end British rule in Northern Ireland and unite the region with the Republic of Ireland. Republican and Unionist paramilitaries killed more than 3,500 people, many from thousands of bomb attacks. One of the bombings happened on 30 March 1993, as two IRA improvised explosive devices hidden in litter bins were detonated in a shopping street in Warrington, England. Two people; Johnathan Ball, aged 3, and Tim Parry, aged 12, were killed in the attack. 56 people were injured. Ball died at the scene of the bombing as a result of his shrapnel-inflicted injuries, and five days later, Parry lost his life in a hospital as a result of head injuries. O'Riordan decided to write a song that reflected upon the event and the children's deaths after visiting the town: "We were on a tour bus and I was near the location where it happened, so it really struck me hard – I remember being devastated about the innocent children being pulled into that kind of thing. So I suppose that's why I was saying, 'It's not me' – that even though I'm Irish it wasn't me, I didn't do it. Because being Irish, it was quite hard, especially in the UK when there was so much tension." The song was re-popularised in 2023 after it was played after Ireland games at the 2023 Rugby World Cup. It was picked up by fans of the Irish team, with videos of fans singing the song in chorus accumulating hundreds of thousands of views on social media. This offended other Irishmen, who identified it as an "anti-IRA" anthem, and said that that the lyrics failed to consider their experience during the Troubles.

The music video, directed by Samuel Bayer, was filmed in Belfast, Northern Ireland, in the heart of the Troubles with real footage, and in Dublin. To record video footage of murals, children and British Army soldiers on patrol, he had a false pretext, with a cover story about making a documentary about the peace-keeping efforts in Ireland. Bayer stated that a shot in the video where an SA80 rifle is pointed directly at the camera is a suspicious British soldier asking him to leave, and that the IRA were keeping a close look at the shoot, given "the British Army come in with fake film crews, getting people on camera.” While "Zombie" received heavy rotation on MTV Europe and was A-listed on Germany's VIVA, the music video was banned by the BBC because of its "violent images", and by the RTÉ, Ireland's national broadcaster. Instead, both the BBC and the RTÉ opted to broadcast an edited version focusing on footage of the band in a live performance, a version that the Cranberries essentially disowned. Despite their efforts to maintain the original video "out of view from the public", some of the initial footage prevailed, with scenes of children holding guns. In March 2003, on the eve of the outbreak of the Iraq War, the British Government and the Independent Television Commission issued a statement saying ITC's Programme Code would temporarily remove from broadcast songs and music videos featuring "sensitive material", including "Zombie". Numerous media groups complied with the decision to avoid "offending public feeling", along with MTV Europe. Since it violated the ITC guidelines, "Zombie" was placed on a blacklist of songs, targeting its official music video. The censorship was lifted once the war had ended. In April 2020, it became the first song by an Irish group to surpass one billion views on Youtube.

"Zombie" received a total of 91% yes votes!

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[invincibledc]

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐌𝚰𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐒𝐏𝚰𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

Protege of Peter Parker, in their dimension/universe, Peter Parker use to babysit them. But due to the curious mind of a fourteen year old, they followed Peter when he left them. Thinking that they were asleep but really was following him. Looking over a cornered they didn’t notice a spider crawling its way to them in weird colors. It bites them, making them yelp. That currently caused the attention of a certain spider human who webs then up. Long story short, y/n whines to be his sidekick, I mean who wouldn’t want to help THE Spiderman! And especially when he use to watch them.

And you became Webster, you’re still working on the name. But still! You found out how the spider you got hit by gave you powers… but it’s kinda freaky to shoot out your own webs..

It all happened when you were patrolling with Parker, making small little web cobs in your neat spider suit that apparently was made by some stark guy. He’s kinda like an uncle to you perhaps? Like those rich uncles that let you go crazy and but whatever you want to just get you out of his hair.

Either way, your adhd is off the charts as you suddenly focus due to a very loving smack to the back of your head. The patrol goes wonderful, with just webbing up muggers, thugs, and robbers.

Dusting your hands off, smirking behind your expressive lenses of your mask, you couldn’t help but web a guy to a wall.

“Better think twice before mugging innocent civilians!” The mugger grunted with annoyance. “You little sh—” you web his mouth shut, cupping your ear. “What’s that? Yeah let’s not, we’re keeping this friendly.” You then looked at yourself that’s holding your device reading this as of now. Yes you. You pointed to yourself, but let’s stop breaking this wall. “Can’t believe this guy is actually wanting to ruin this. I mean can you believe it?!”

The mugger gave you a weird look as you were.. talking to yourself? He struggled against the webs, you finished your monologue and web swing off. “Bye bye mug man!” Childish giggling was echoed into the air.

“Man! Another night another— PORTAL?!” You looked to see a weird portal infront of you. You let go of your web, going to shoot it at another lamp post to avoid it. I mean literally, it wasn’t the usual portal Miguel would forced open for you. But the portal said “SIKE!” and grabbed you up.

Now here you are in some dark city that looks like New York… but more gloomy and stinks! Covering your nose through your mask, you gagged. “Ugh! Is this how it smells when changing babies diapers?” You walked around, before web shooting. As you were web swinging, you pulled out your less dominant arm and looked at the watch to contact anyone.

“Wonder if I can contact Peter from here..” you swung yourself into a street lamp, landing with a crouching formation. You dial around the thingy, “cmonnn.” Nothing. Groaning annoyed, you covered your face into your hands. You then looked at the readers reading this now.

“It’s not like I’m gonna be in some trouble in the top of five minutes.” You smiled as you gave the readers a peace sign before swinging off.

“WHY DID I JINX MYSELF!” You exclaimed, swinging through anything your webs can grab onto. You were being chased some 10 year old! You’re fourteen for crying out loud, no way you are being chased by some midget, but this kid got a katana! And the only person you know that has a katana is either Deadpool or your best friend who idolizes DP.

Each web was cut down with these bat shaped boomerangs or whatever you thought they were. You didn’t care, not at all. Only thing you cared for was just surviving this angry kid who got mad at you calling him a so called “midget”. You started to get tired, swinging yourself around a corner and hiding behind a dumpster. You listened closely to footsteps, for a few minutes you don’t hear anything.

Lettting out a breath of relief, you get up. “Hah, no one can catch the ultimate spider—” and you were captured in a net. The boy with a R on his costume glared behind his mask. “You’re infuriating.” “Hey that’s a big word for you.” Being cocky, the kid kicked your rib which made you groan. Okay, now you wish you had spider senses. You were then dragged to some cave?

So…. Why in the world where you tied up by some kid with a katana. And why were they’re like four other guys staring them down weirdly.

What’s going on?!

[biggianteggplant]

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

HINATA SHOYO

The room was quiet. A little too quiet.

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

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

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

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

The hamster tilted his head. A single squeak.

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

Silence. Fluffball stared back.

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

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

A rustling sound downstairs made her freeze.

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

“Tell me what?”

Y/n froze.

She turned slowly.

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

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

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

“Shoyo I will throw you out the window.”

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

The hamster squeaked again.

Hinata smirked. “I think he ships us.”

ASAHI AZUMANE

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

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

The cockatoo took the seed and blinked innocently.

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

The bird continued chewing.

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

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

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

The cockatoo tilted its head.

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

The cockatoo gave a soft whistle.

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

The cockatoo slowly began climbing up its perch.

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

And that’s when it happened.

A pause.

A blink.

And then—

“SHE THINKS YOU’RE DADDYYYYY.”

Y/n froze.

“…Excuse me?”

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

“HOT MAN WITH JUICE ARMS,” it yelled.

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

“I WANNA BITE HIS FOREARMS.”

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

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

And then—the door clicked.

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

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

“I WANT TO SIT ON HIS LAP AND CRY.”

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

Y/n: buffering harder.

The bird was not done.

“WELCOME HOOOOOME, DELICIOUS TREE MAN.”

Asahi dropped the grocery bag.

Y/n dropped her soul.

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

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

Y/n shrieked. “DON’T REPEAT IT—”

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

And that was the final straw.

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

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

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

The cockatoo cackled in the background like it was possessed.

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

Y/n blinked.

Realized.

And died internally all over again.

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

But Asahi was smiling. Soft. Adoring. Flushed.

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

Y/n gaped.

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

TIMESKIP! KOUSHI SUGAWARA

Let’s get one thing straight

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

No, no. That was an ambush.

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

And it wasn’t fair.

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

Also not fair?

His pet mous.

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

Personality: suspiciously nosy and loves chewing through secrets.

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

So there you were.

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

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

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

cheese blinked.

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

The mouse crawled onto the wheel and started spinning.

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

Rustle.

Something brushed your hand.

You looked down.

cheese was out of the cage.

You: “What the—how—??”

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

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

The door creaked.

You froze. Mouse in sleeve. Soul in shambles.

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

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

cheese, the demon, began moving.

You flinched. Suga noticed.

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

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

You screamed.

Suga dropped the crackers.

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

A moment of stunned silence passed.

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

You choked. “YOU KNEW???”

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

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

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

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

Pause.

Your brain: BUFFERING…

“…Wait, are you saying—?”

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

You gaped.

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

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

You nodded, dazed.

YAMAGUCHI TADASHI

You loved Yamaguchi Tadashi.

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

No.

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

The problem?

Besides your terminal crush disorder?

His frog.

His beloved, sacred, unholy frog.

Sir Croak-A-Lot.

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

Now, were you scared of frogs?

Terrified.

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

You saw Kermit and felt genuine anxiety.

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

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve lied.

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

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

Cut to now.

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

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

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

He licked his eyeball.

You gagged.

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

The frog didn’t respond.

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

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

You shrieked.

Fell backward.

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

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

And that’s exactly when the front door opened.

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

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

You froze like a raccoon caught raiding the trash.

“…Hi,” you squeaked.

He blinked. “Are you okay?”

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

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

“You’re scared of him?”

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

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

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

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

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

He tilted his head. “Why for me?”

And there it was. The moment.

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

There was a beat.

Then another.

And then—

“…You like me?”

You nodded, ready to leap out the nearest window.

And then Yamaguchi smiled.

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

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

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

Yamaguchi laughed again, bright and golden.

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

You blinked. “What about your frog?”

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

You glared at the terrarium.

Sir Croak-A-Lot blinked.

You swore he was smiling.

KITA SHINSUKE

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

Feed the plants. Water the dog.

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

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

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

Maru blinked.

Took a treat.

Did not judge.

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

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

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

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

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

Unbeknownst to you…

Kita Shinsuke was standing at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Dead silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you fell backwards again.

Flat on the tatami mat.

Kita reached out a hand.

Maru boofed.

The rest was history.

SUNA RINTARO

You didn’t expect to become a ferret mom.

And yet… here you were.

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

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

Tofu squeaked.

And burrowed deeper.

Right between your boobs.

Like it was his God-given right.

You choked. “Tofu, PLEASE—”

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

Dead center of your chest.

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

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

Except he did.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

Oh no.

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

Now? It was a routine.

You: *exist*

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

You had tried pushing him away.

He bit your pinky and squeaked in betrayal.

You had tried wearing tight shirts.

He dug through the neckhole like a horny mole.

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

Suna? Had the nerve to smirk and go,

“Damn. Guess he has good taste.”

You wanted to scream.

And now here you were.

Tofu snoring.

You, boob-napped.

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

With a bag of chips.

And a shit-eating grin.

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

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

He snorted. “He’s his own man.”

“He’s IN MY CLEAVAGE.”

“And clearly thriving.”

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

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

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

Tofu chirped softly in his sleep.

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

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

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

“I DIDN’T LET HIM—!!”

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

“…I like you.”

Silence.

You blinked.

OH NO.

Did you say that OUT LOUD?!

Tofu squeaked.

You squeaked harder.

Suna slowly turned his head, one brow raised.

“…Sorry?” he said, too calm.

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

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

Suna just looked at you.

And then—

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

You stared.

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

“You’re the worst.”

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

You punched him in the arm.

He laughed.

Then leaned in closer.

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

You smiled. Blushing.

Tofu squeaked again in his sleep.

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

MIYA ATSUMU

“HEY, SEXY!”

You screamed.

The bird screamed louder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“BACK OFF! BACK OFF! MINE!!”

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

Atsumu laughed so hard he dropped his cup noodles.

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

Like—full sit-down sessions.

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

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

“OOOH YOU LIKE HIM~!”

“NO I DON’T.”

STOMP STOMP “LIAR!”

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

Cap’n literally stomped again.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.”

Cap’n

“You wanna KISS HIM~!”

You shrieked and ran into the bathroom.

From outside, muffled through the door, you heard:

“KISSY KISSY! MWAH MWAH~”

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

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

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

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

“Uhhhh…”

You froze.

That voice did not come from the bird.

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

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

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

You blinked.

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

“SHE LOVES YOUUUU~!!!”

“YOU’RE HOT!!!”

“KISSY KISSY~!!! MWAH MWAH—”

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

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

But Atsumu didn’t laugh this time.

No. He grinned.

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

He dropped the gym bag.

Took three steps forward.

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

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

He kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU’RE WELCOME, LOSERS!!!”

MIYA OSAMU

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

But he did.

Bold of him, honestly.

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

And now here you were.

Sprawled on Osamu’s couch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuna blinked slowly. Then—

Touched your lips.

One soft paw.

Boop.

You went still. He went still.

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

Then the paw slipped.

Just a little.

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

You GAGGED.

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

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

Tuna just looked at you.

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

Like he’d seen things.

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

And that was when Osamu walked in.

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

Tuna blinked.

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

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

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

“…This is not what it looks like.”

Osamu blinked once.

Twice.

Then he smirked—smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuna yawned.

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

“Don’t. Encourage. The cat.”

Brrrrt, Tuna purred, snuggling deeper into your chest.

This was HIS spot now.

ARAN OJIRO

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

You believed him.

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

But everything was not okay.

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

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

“...You’re insane,” you told him.

He barked once. Proudly.

_

You tried to calm him down. You really tried.

You gave him treats. He swallowed them whole.

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

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

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

Sunny did not chill.

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

That cursed THUMP-THUMP rhythm on your leg.

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

“…No. No no no no—”

You turned your head.

AND HE WAS DOING IT.

Sunny. HUMPING. YOUR. LEG.

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

“OH MY GOD—STOPPPPPP!”

You shook your leg. He held on tighter.

You screamed. He wagged his tail *faster*.

“ARANNNNNNN!!!”

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

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

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

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

“He is horny, Ojiro.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

“…He really likes you,” Aran mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he grinned.

You didn’t.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

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

Yes. A tortoise.

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

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

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

TonTon chewed slowly. Menacingly.

“I have a crush on your dad.”

Pause.

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

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

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

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

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

TonTon moved exactly one inch closer.

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

Just then.

The door opened.

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

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

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

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

“I—uh—no?” you squeaked.

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

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

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

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

Your brain blue-screened.

“…Me?” you squeaked.

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

TonTon looked smug.

You looked like a ghost.

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

You nodded. Speechless.

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

“Snitch.”

TonTon blinked. Took another bite of lettuce.

TENDO SATORI

You were once a self-respecting human being.

Then you met Monty.

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

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

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

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

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

Monty flicked his tongue.

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

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

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

Monty moved closer to the glass.

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

Monty tilted his head.

“Oh my god, you’re judging me.”

Monty stared deeper.

You broke.

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

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

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

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

“…Okay, you know what? That’s fair.”

The door opened.

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

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

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

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

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

“…Rehearsing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Wait. He’s listening?!”

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

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

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

Tendo’s eyes sparkled. “I did.”

“W-What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monty blinked. One. Slow. Judgy. Blink.

And honestly?

Respect.

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi said he’d only be gone ten minutes.

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

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

With Shigure.

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

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

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

THUMP.

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

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

THUMP.

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

THUMP. THUMP.

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

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

You groaned and collapsed backward on the carpet.

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

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

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

“...Should I be concerned?”

You froze.

Your soul left your body.

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

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

“…what did I walk in on?”

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

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

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

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

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

THUMP.

Shigure stomped again. Probably in approval.

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

You blinked. “You brought me food?”

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

The bunny sat between you two.

Like a chaperone. Or a smug wingman.

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

BOKUTO KOUTARO

Bokuto was out buying mango slices.

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

So now he was out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mango screamed.

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

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

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

Then she STOMPED.

Yes. STOMPED.

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

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

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

You screamed.

She screamed.

It was a duet of horror and mutual betrayal.

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

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

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

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

You froze. He blinked.

Then…

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

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

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

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

Mango screeched from your shoulder.

Bokuto: “That was her saying ‘liar.’”

You: “I hate this household.”

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

You: considering becoming a nun

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

You were once a normal person.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

Spike did a very slow blink.

“That’s boyfriend behavior, right?”

Silence.

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

Spike turned his head just slightly to the left.

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

Spike raised one claw and rested it on his rock.

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

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

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

Spike moved an inch.

You flinched.

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

Spike turned away like you were beneath him.

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

Spike looked back at you.

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

The door opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Told me what?”

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

Silence.

Spike crawled onto his basking rock and nodded.

YOU SAW HIM NOD.

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

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

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

Spike licked his own eyeball.

“…Okay that’s fair.”

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

“Also...you talk to Spike about me?!”

“Every Thursday.”

You blinked. “That’s unhinged.”

Iwaizumi smirked. “So are you.”

OIKAWA TOORU

You swore you weren’t scared of dogs.

But this—this was not a dog.

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

Her name? Princess.

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

Her target? You. Always. Without mercy.

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

She barked once.

Just one.

Loud. Piercing. Condescending.

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

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

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

Princess blinked. You were pretty sure it was sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

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

You blinked. “...No?”

Princess barked so violently she fell off the couch.

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

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

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

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

“She has taste.”

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

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

You opened your mouth to respond, but paused.

“…Wait. You knew?”

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

“She doesn’t speak English!!”

He leaned closer. “But I do.”

You panicked. “Forget everything you just heard—”

“I like you too.”

Silence.

You and Princess both turned to him.

“…You do?” you whispered.

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

Princess barked once.

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

You gasped. “YOU’RE STILL A CHEATER.”

He shrugged. “I cheat with style.”

Princess barked in agreement.

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

And for some reason?

You felt home.

KYOTANI KENTARO

The first thing you noticed was the size.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s his love language.”

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

You swallowed. “…Okay.”

---

To be fair, Kiba didn’t attack you.

Nope. What he did instead?

Stalk you.

Everywhere.

Like a tank-sized shadow with a possessive streak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Kiba climbed up beside you like he paid rent.

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

You glanced at Kyōtani.

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

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

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

“…Oh.”

Then, Kiba did something terrible.

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

“KYŌTANI.”

“I saw nothing.”

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

“He’s just sniffin’.”

“SNIFFING WHAT—THE MEANING OF LIFE?!”

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

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

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

You blinked. “What was that for?”

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

You stared at him, brain rebooting.

Kiba let out a satisfied grunt in his sleep.

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

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

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

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

No fur. All wrinkles. Piercing, judgy stare.

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

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

That was six months ago.

Now?

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

You yelped—literally yelped—and whipped around.

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

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

He looked at you.

Then at Hairball.

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

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

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

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

Then licked your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sakusa stared.

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

You blinked. “Wait. Really?”

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

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

Sakusa just gave you a look.

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

“I am not jealous of a cat.”

Hairball sneezed in Sakusa’s direction.

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

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

“No.”

“You can be the big spoon.”

“No.”

“You can be the little spoon.”

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

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

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

Sakusa blinked slowly.

Then sighed.

“…You’re both annoying.”

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

Damn right.

KUROO TETSURO

Being roommates with Kuroo Tetsuro wasn’t bad.

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

And he had a cat.

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

Y/n didn’t mind him. Until this day.

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

From his room: “He respects your womanhood.”

“HE ATE A PANTY LINER.”

“Okay. Disrespectful.”

She groaned, then froze as she spotted something.

Oh no.

Laundry basket. Top layer. Lacy underwear.

Tetsu was staring at it.

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

Too late.

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

“TETSU. GIVE. IT. BACK!”

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

She got it back.

But at what cost?

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

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

He purred. Innocently.

Then reached a paw up…

And touched her lips.

“…What.”

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

“PPPFFFTTT—TETSU, YOU NASTY—”

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

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

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

She looked down.

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

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

*Tug tug.*

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

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

And that’s when Kuroo walked in.

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

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

He froze.

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

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

A long pause.

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

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

Kuroo: “...Was it mutual?”

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

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

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

“YOUR CAT VIOLATED ME.”

“That’s how I show trust too.”

“KUROO.”

He just grinned.

AONE TAKANOBU

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

you did not think he meant a literal pig.

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

No.

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

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

She loved you.

—

At first it was kind of cute.

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

"This is mine now. I’ve claimed you."

Aone just blinked and nodded.

“That means she trusts you,” he said.

You smiled, thinking,

“Aw. Sweet.”

WRONG.

Yuki was not here for a casual fling.

Yuki was in it for eternity.

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

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

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

And the real problem started when you tried to pee.

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

You heard his deep, quiet voice from the hallway.

“She doesn’t like closed doors.”

“She’s THUMPING on the door.”

“She thinks you’re trapped.”

“She’s right.”

“I’ll… talk to her.”

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

Yuki headbutted her way in like a battering ram.

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

While you were still peeing.

You wept.

Yuki oinked with satisfaction.

From then on, you had no peace.

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

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

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

“You’re in MY spot.”

Aone just sighed and gave her a gentle pat.

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

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

“She likes you.”

“She peed in my shoe.”

“She really likes you.”

But then—

The day came when you had to leave.

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

Yuki.

Staring.

With wide, glistening, dramatic pig eyes.

She let out a long, slow, tragic oink.

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

And then she…

flopped over. Belly up. Arms out.

Like she had died of heartbreak.

You gasped. “Is she okay?!”

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

You blinked. “So she’s—”

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

You stared at her.

Yuki stared back.

She knew what she was doing

You still came back the next day.

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

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

[ponderingmoonlight]

Oh, to be trapped with Dante

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,3k

Synopsis: What's worse than getting trapped with Dante? Getting trapped with a stripping Dante.

Warnings: this is hilarious and fluffy at the same time, I'm still begging for Dante requests so get in my inbox if you have one, hope you like it @veijdana

You’re not sure what sets it off.

Maybe it’s the faulty lock. Maybe the door was always a little off its axes. Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour when it comes to you and that guy.

What you do know for sure is this: the door slams shut, there’s a sharp click, and no amount of jiggling the handle is getting you out of this storage room-slash-death trap. No windows, no signal, and the only light is from a flickering overhead bulb that looks like it could give up at any moment.

Perfect.

So much to being the greatest demon hunters of them all.

You turn slowly to Dante, who’s lounging against a metal shelf stacked with boxes labeled “Supplies” like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just help trap you both in a glorified closet with a single bottle of water and a half-eaten protein bar. Like he did something except for watching you struggle with that heavy ass door.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?”

“The door’s locked.”

“I noticed,” he replies, utterly unbothered.

“Dante.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, barely able to hold it together any longer.

“Please don’t call me that right now.”

“Noted,” he declares, in a tone that means absolutely not noted.

He strolls over, casually tests the door for himself, then shrugs.

“Yeah. We’re stuck.”

“No kidding.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait until someone finds us.”

“Which could be hours. Or days.”

He grins, shameless.

“Even better.”

You sit down hard the cold ground. It creaks threateningly, but you’re too irritated to care. He paces once, twice, then flops down across from you like this is a vacation, arms behind his head, one leg draped over the other ready to sunbathe.

Except this isn’t Miami beach but a mouse trap.

“Are you always this calm when you’re locked in small spaces with people you annoy for fun?” you question innocently.

“Only when it’s you.”

You narrow your eyes, gaze spitting thick venom at him.

“Do you actually enjoy pushing my buttons this much, or is it just some kind of defense mechanism?”

“Little column A, little column B,” he thinks out loud, flashing you a lazy smile.

“But if we’re being honest… you're kind of cute when you’re mad.”

You throw a balled-up wrapper at him. He ducks it easily, still smirking.

The minutes stretch. Then an hour. The silence tries to creep in, but Dante won’t let it. He talks. About nonsense. Old missions, weird dreams, things he overheard once that he probably wasn’t supposed to. You try not to laugh. You really try.

Eventually, you’re sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, legs stretched out, head tilted toward him without meaning to. He’s closer now, somehow. At some point. The distance between you shrunk while you weren’t paying attention.

“I think you like being trapped with me,” he mutters, voice quieter now.

Less teasing, if that’s somehow possible.

“You haven’t told me to shut up in, like, ten whole minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“That’s because I’ve accepted my fate. Resistance is clearly useless. And somehow I get the feeling it turns you on even more.”

“Exactly. Might as well enjoy yourself.”

He bumps your knee with his. You don’t move away. No, somehow, this faint touch has a comfort to it, a warmth you haven’t felt for quite some time by now.

The silence now is different. Thicker. Weighted. Like you’re both suddenly aware of how still everything is. How alone. It’s just you and him. You and the walking sex symbol itself Dante.

Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

“This is the part where you make some dumb joke about body heat, isn’t it?”

He chuckles, low.

“Tempting. But no. Not yet.”

You glance at him.

“Yet?”

He shrugs.

“I’m giving you a few more hours before I wear down your defenses. I’m not a complete monster.”

You shake your head, lips twitching despite yourself.

Another stretch of silence. Then:

“You ever think about it?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard by that strange and unexpected question.

“About what?”

“Us. Like - if this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so ridiculous. If it was… different.”

Your stomach does something complicated. You turn your head to look at him, your palms starting to get sweaty. Why do you always feel like this when he’s around?

He’s watching you, eyes dark and serious for once. No smirk. No teasing.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” you admit quietly.

A beat.

“I like the idea,” he confesses.

You nod.

“Me too.”

He shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours now, solid and warm and real. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Still not sharing my blanket, though.”

You snort.

“I’m not cold.”

“Yet.”

You laugh. And this time, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Just a little.

Just enough.

Bonus:

You're curled on one side of the room, using your jacket as a pillow. Dante's a few feet away, stretched out like he owns the floor, arms folded behind his head. The silence has gone companionable, easy. You almost forget where you are.

Until he moves.

You hear the rustle of fabric first. Then the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

You lift your head, every single alarm going off inside your head. No, he isn’t about to strip…Is he?

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to sleep,” he remarks like it’s obvious.

Which it isn’t.

At all.

Because his shirt is coming off, and now he’s unbuttoning his pants in the dim light of the room, clearly visible to your accustomed to dark gaze.

“Dante-”

“What?” he interrupts, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I always sleep naked.”

You sit up straighter, just the thought of seeing him naked, let alone shirtless...

“You are not - you can’t just strip.”

He shrugs, already stepping out of his jeans like this is just another Tuesday with a pizza waiting on his desk for him.

“It helps with thermoregulation. Look it up.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, turning away.

“You’re the worst.”

“You say that, but you’re not telling me to stop.”

You don’t. You don’t want to. Which is the worst part.

He stretches out again, now under the thin blanket you both agreed to not share (but he’s already claimed half of), bare chest barely hidden in the dark, a picture of shameless comfort.

You try not to look. You try.

He catches you anyway.

“See something you like?”

“See something I want to throw a box at.”

He laughs - low, satisfied, like he just won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Relax. It’s not like I’m gonna pounce on you.”

“You better not.”

“Unless you ask nicely.”

You grab your jacket and hurl it at his face. He catches it one-handed, grinning like he’s thriving on your outrage.

“Goodnight, Dante.”

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

You lie back, trying to will your pulse to settle. But you can still hear him breathing across the room, steady and slow, and you swear you feel the heat from him bleeding across the short distance between you.

The night settles heavy. And you're very aware you’re trapped with a half-naked Dante, no door, no escape, and a dangerous lack of personal space.

Sleep is going to be impossible.

And you think he knows it.

“I still feel you staring-“

“Shut the hell up, Dante.”

[lovebugism]

ok reader x eddie having a casual conversation about sex, talking about what they're both into, leading to some smut??? just hearing what eddie's into sounds so hottttt (i imagine its filthy,, sorry)

ty for requesting! hope you like it!! — a failed date with eddie leads to a night in and several confessions (established relationship, mostly fluff, talks of sex but no actual smut 18+, 1.6k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie Munson is a hopeless romantic.

Not because he loves like it’s breathing (though some would argue otherwise), but because his attempts to be affectionate with you are complete and utter failures.

He had a whole romantic day planned. A late lunch, a quick walk, and then sunset at the park. Honestly, it probably would’ve been a pretty metal date if it was any day other than this one — the biggest flood of the whole goddamn year.

You got to the diner just fine but had to rush back to the trailer in the rain since he didn’t have his van. Thankfully, it waited to outright pour until he got you home. Now, his leather jacket — which you’d used as a makeshift umbrella — hangs beside the opened window to dry.

The orange autumn breeze rolls over your bare bodies like silk (because, of course, an innocent shower after getting drenched in the rain couldn’t not end in getting dirty again).

“Was all this just a ploy to get me into bed?” you tease, tracing the freckles on his back with the tip of your finger. “’Cause you coulda just asked, you know? I would’ve said yes.”

Lying flat on his stomach, Eddie laughs into his folded-up arms. His deep brown hair brushes his pale shoulders when he turns to look at you. His smile is swollen and rosy and crooked.

“You got me, princess. Making my girlfriend walk in disgusting weather was all a part of my evil plan.”

“I wouldn’t say it was evil.”

“No?”

“Sinful, maybe. Sexy, even,” you joke with a lopsided grin. “But no, not evil.”

“Is that so?” he lilts as he rises on his elbow to prop his cheek on his fist.

You shake your head and roll onto your back. Your eyes flit to the spotted ceiling. A smirk blossoms on your lips. “I feel like evil would imply that it was hurtful in some way. And that thing you did in the shower felt way too good to be evil.”

“What thing?” the boy wonders with pinched-together brows.

You shoot him a look. “You know…” you hum vaguely, expectantly.

“No. I don’t, actually,” Eddie laughs, mostly at himself. “I’m kinda dumb, in case you forgot.”

“You’re not dumb, Eds.”

“Stop being sweet. You’re deflecting.”

You concede with a small huff. “That… That thing. With your mouth. When you pressed me against the wall and— please, don’t make me describe it, Eddie,” you ramble, then cut yourself off to whine.

He meets your grimace with a boyish grin. “I don’t know. I kinda like hearing you talk about it.”

“I’ll die,” you deadpan.

“You’re so dramatic.”

His words are harsh, but his pink smile is kind. He kisses you with it after — a smacking peck to the corner of your mouth that migrates rather quickly. He sprinkles his lips along your jaw and chin and neck. 

That’s where he lingers. 

Eddie finds your pulse point and goes a half-inch higher, just like he did while he was fucking you against the shower wall. You nearly came the first time he kissed you there. 

He sucks at the delicate skin until he leaves another faint mark. The feeling of his tongue and teeth on your newfound sweet spot makes your toes curl. It has you moaning out loud before you mean to.

His lips audibly smack when he pulls away.

“That thing?” he wonders, smiling down at you like he already knows the answer.

Your thighs clench together. Your bones are made of mush. “That thing,” you repeat in the affirmative.

“Well, if we’re sharing secrets…” Eddie singsongs, then leans in all close like he’s about to spill the latest gossip. His fingers spread out along your bare waist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I really liked it when you got all mean.”

You hadn’t thought much of it, then — when Eddie edged you on the counter with his fingers and laughed when you writhed. 

You didn’t even let him make it up to you after, just sucked him off and told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you. “Don’t cum ’til I tell you to, understand?” you’d said. “Or I’m gonna get myself off, and you’re gonna watch.”

He was a good boy for you, though, and you let him fuck you in the shower.

Your nose scrunches in muted embarrassment. “I wasn’t being that mean, was I?”

“No. I mean, you could certainly get meaner…” Eddie assures with a shake of his head, then grins as his fingers crawl up your ribcage. You fight back a shiver. “Which I think could be preferable from time to time.”

“So, you want me to be more… dominant?”

He shrugs a pale, freckled shoulder. “Yeah. Sometimes. I like watching you get all dumb for me, don’t get me wrong, but every time you get a little mean, I almost cum in my pants.”

The blatant confession makes you go slightly stupid. You just nod at him, lazy and unblinking. “Yeah. I can do that. You know, if that’s what you want.”

“I do want,” Eddie hums, matching your sloppy head shake. His nicotine-coated breath fans across your cheek. “Very, very much.”

“But not all the time, though, right?”

“No. Not all the time. Just… sometimes— when the moment’s right or whatever.”

“Sure…”

Eddie’s grin broadens when you trail off. A faraway look glazes over your eye. His brows raise expectantly. “What’s that look for?”

You blink rapidly as you descend from the clouds. Shaking your head, you dismiss him. “Nothing. Nothing— I just… I did kinda like not letting you come right away.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Eddie concurs, suddenly breathless.

Your gaze flits to his, mousy and twinkling. Your hands fidget above the covers. “And I kinda wanna try letting you cum and maybe… not stopping…”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens to respond, but he forgets how to speak. He barely remembers to breathe.

“Is that… Is that weird?” you ask, forcing a laugh at his unusual silence.

“No!” he blurts, sounding much louder in the honeyed quiet of his bedroom. “No, that’s… That’s really hot, actually. Like, really hot.”

He zones out just like you had. The imagery of it all makes his stomach whirl. He’s done it to you a number of times — brought you to the edge and kept on pushing you over until you pushed him away. But he’d never thought about ever doing it to himself till now. 

Actually, there’s quite a lot of things he’s done to you that he might enjoy himself if he thinks about it.

The thought alone opens a world of possibility in his wild, wild head.

“Can I tell you about something I was thinking about the other day?” he wonders suddenly.

Though slightly startled by the blurted question, you nod. “Of course.”

His gaze flits away from yours. His hand fidgets at your waist, fingers softly scratching at your burning skin. “You know my handcuffs? The ones I clip on my jeans sometimes?”

Again, you nod.

“Well, I— I have the keys, you know? So it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if we— you know— if we used them…”

“On me?” you press, brows pinched in distant concern.

Eddie shakes his head immediately. “No. I know you don’t like that.”

“So… on you?”

“Yeah. Maybe. If you want,” the boy mumbles, suddenly shy in a way you’ve only seen a handful of times — including earlier, when he was begging to cum in your mouth. “I just think it could be cool, you know? Like, you could tie me up and just… use me. If you want,” he repeats.

“Use you?” you repeat with a soft laugh.

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t— I don’t really care about getting off as much as I care about you getting off, you know? I just… wanna take care of you. Want you to take what you want.”

You open your mouth to respond only to find that all words have lost meaning. Your brain is a jumbled mess of alphabet soup. So you just nod, dumb at the very thought.

Eddie’s hand rises from the covers. His palm settles warm at your jaw. His fingers smell faintly of sex as his calloused thumb smooths across your chapped lips. “You could, like, rub yourself on my cock. Get yourself off on top of me,” he murmurs lowly to you, a quiet and crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “Wouldn’t that be metal?”

“Yeah…” you answer with a sigh, getting lost in the daydream right along with him. “Wouldn’t put you inside me at first, either. Not until you’re begging for it.”

His smile widens. “Exactly.”

“Then I’ll ride you until you make me cum.”

Eddie nods, egging you on. He tucks his face into your neck, if only to conceal how ardently he’s blushing. He hides his pink cheeks between your jaw and shoulder and kisses you where he knows it’ll drive you crazy. 

“Mhmm?” he urges, muffled.

You sigh a faint moan. Your fingers curl in his wild hair. You press your lips to his temple and continue. “And I’ll let you come, too. Eventually… But I won’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he groans into your pulse.

“Not until you’ve filled me up three times—”

“Oh, fuck…”

You tug at his hair with a soft, stern touch you think you could learn to master for him. His lips click faintly when he parts from you. He blinks down at you with glassy chocolate eyes.

“Something like that?” you wonder, feigning innocence with a sweet-sounding lilt.

Eddie nods, sloppy and stupid. He stammers. “Yeah… Yeah. Some—Something like that.”