#moonwalk&talk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hancorys · 2 months ago

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k.lh — fruit punch and stomach bugs

genre: its leehan, ofc its FLUFF, friends to lovers trope, loud leehan !! attempt on golden retriever x black cat trope pairing: friend!leehan x afab!reader wc: 3950 warning: chaotic, lame jokes, hmm lmk if i forgot anything !! listen: apple cider — beabadoobee, perfect pair — beabadoobee

you never really noticed leehan before.

sure, you knew he was part of your friend group. you knew he was the loud one, the one who somehow had endless energy no matter how late you all stayed out. you knew he had a laugh that made everyone else laugh with him, even if they had no idea what was funny. but beyond that? nothing. you never had a reason to talk to him, and you never thought about changing that.

it wasn’t like you were avoiding him—there was just never a need. every gathering, every hangout, every chaotic group chat interaction, leehan was just there. always talking to someone else, always laughing at something stupid, always moving from one conversation to another like he physically couldn’t sit still.

and you? you preferred to stay on the sidelines. observing, commenting only when necessary, giving rei and eunchae unimpressed looks whenever leehan did something particularly dumb, which was often.

like the time he tried to balance three cups of bubble tea in one hand while dramatically reenacting some anime fight scene with woonhak. predictably, all three drinks ended up on the floor.

“dude,” jaehyun had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this is why we can’t take you anywhere.”

“no regrets,” leehan had declared, completely unbothered as he wiped milk tea off his sleeve. “the scene was worth it.”

or the time he climbed onto a shopping cart in the middle of a parking lot, insisting that sungho push him at full speed.

“this is a terrible idea,” you had muttered to rei.

“he’s going to break something,” rei had agreed.

both of you had been correct. he crashed into a curb ten seconds later, and you had simply stepped over his sprawled-out form on the pavement, unimpressed.

“so dramatic,” you had muttered as you passed.

“so heartless,” he had groaned in response.

but despite all of that, you had never actually spoken to him. not directly. not one-on-one. you existed in the same space, floated around the same conversations, but your worlds never really collided.

and you thought that was how it would always be.

until tonight.

it started with a simple realization—both of you were leaving jaehyun’s house at the same time. you wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that when you turned the corner, leehan was still there. walking in the same direction. with you.

but before that, the night had been nothing short of chaos.

jaehyun’s parties were always like this—loud, messy, and somehow both the best and worst decision at the same time. the living room was packed, music loud enough to shake the floors, and the friend group was scattered across the house, each involved in their own brand of mayhem.

wonyoung and eunchae were doing dramatic reenactments of k-drama confession scenes on the couch, taking turns being the heartbroken lead. rei was recording them, hyping up their performances while sungho kept yelling, “oscar-worthy! pure art!”

meanwhile, taesan and woonhak had somehow started an impromptu dance battle, with jaehyun acting as the referee. leehan, true to his nature, was right in the middle of it all—hyping them up, throwing in ridiculous dance moves of his own, and laughing so hard he nearly fell over.

“i don’t know whether to be amazed or horrified,” you muttered, watching as leehan attempted to moonwalk but somehow ended up looking like a malfunctioning robot.

rei, standing next to you, snorted. “knowing him? both.”

at some point, someone suggested a game of truth or dare, which quickly devolved into chaos. woonhak ended up wearing a ridiculous hat made out of plastic cups, jaehyun was dared to text his professor something absolutely unhinged (thankfully unsent at the last second), and leehan?

leehan, of course, had to take things up a notch.

“i dare you to confess to the person you find most attractive here,” woonhak smirked, clearly expecting chaos.

leehan didn’t even hesitate.

he turned, dramatically sweeping his hair back, and locked eyes with you.

“you,” he declared, pointing directly at you.

silence.

then, laughter exploded around the room as everyone hooted and cheered, assuming it was a joke. you, however, just blinked at him, unimpressed.

“you’re not funny.”

“no, but i am committed to the bit,” he shot back, grinning. “also, you should feel honored.”

“oh, so honored,” you deadpanned.

somehow, between all the chaos and ridiculousness, time flew by, and soon enough, people started heading out. and that’s when you found yourself in this situation—leaving at the exact same time as leehan. you wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that when you turned the corner, leehan was still there. walking in the same direction. with you.

and then he kept walking. and walking. through the same streets. past the same convenience stores. down the same subway stairs.

you eyed him suspiciously as you both tapped your train cards in sync. leehan, however, just looked amused.

“are you following me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“i could say the same thing to you.”

he let out a laugh, light and easy. “guess we just have the same route home.”

you hummed, unconvinced. but then, as the train arrived and you both stepped into the same car—then sat in the same row—your skepticism turned into sheer disbelief.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

leehan grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “this is kinda funny, though.”

“no, it’s weird,” you deadpanned.

“or maybe it’s fate.”

“don’t push it.”

but then it got weirder. because when you both got off at the same stop and started walking again—this time in perfect sync—it became undeniable. when you reached your apartment building, you could only stare as leehan casually pulled out his key.

“wait. you live here?”

leehan laughed, unlocking the front door. “you sound so horrified. yeah, i live here.”

“since when?”

“for, like, a year?”

you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “this is insane. i have never—not once—seen you here.”

leehan just shrugged. “guess we were never meant to meet. until now.”

“that’s actually creepy.”

he shot you a playful glare. “you’re ruining the moment.”

and just like that, it started. what was supposed to be a one-time coincidence turned into an unspoken routine. you and leehan started walking home together. started taking the train together. started stopping by the convenience store for late-night snacks, where he’d insist on paying even when you threatened to strangle him with a pack of ramen.

“leehan, put the card down.”

“why? i like treating my friends.”

“okay, but i don’t like being treated.”

“that sounds like a you problem,” he said, successfully tapping his card before you could stop him.

you huffed, grabbing your drink from the counter and stomping out of the store. leehan followed, barely suppressing a laugh.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“and you’re an idiot.”

“an idiot who just paid for your snacks.”

somehow, someway, you became friends.

which, apparently, was the most shocking thing to everyone else.

“you and leehan?” wonyoung had stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “you guys are friends now?”

rei had been even more dramatic, clutching her chest like she was about to faint. “the walking golden retriever and the resident black cat? unbelievable.”

“it’s not that weird,” you muttered, stabbing at your lunch with your chopsticks.

“no, it is,” taesan confirmed, shoving a chip into his mouth. “leehan gets along with everyone, but you? you don’t just ‘get along’ with people. you tolerate them.”

“thanks for that.”

“anytime.”

sungho narrowed his eyes. “wait, so you guys really hang out? like, outside of group stuff?”

rei gasped. “wait, wait, wait. have you ever laughed at his jokes?”

you rolled your eyes. “i’m not heartless.”

“so that’s a yes,” woonhak smirked. “wow. history is being made.”

leehan, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered. “you guys act like i tamed a wild animal or something.”

jaehyun nodded. “because you kind of did.”

“seriously, though,” eunchae piped up, eyes gleaming with interest. “do you guys ever, like, talk? or is it just comfortable silence?”

“both,” leehan answered easily, nudging your side. “sometimes she lets me ramble about random stuff. sometimes we just exist in peace.”

rei leaned forward. “and you actually enjoy that?”

leehan just grinned. “it’s okay. i like black cats.”

“it’s okay. i like black cats.”

“it’s okay. i like black cats.”....

“it’s okay. i like black cats.”

this shouldn't bother you, right? at least, that's what you’ve been telling yourself for the past 10 minutes… no, 20 minutes, as you stared at yourself in the mirror. face flushed, red as a tomato.

it was stupid. it was just leehan being leehan—annoyingly charming without even trying. he probably forgot he even said it. meanwhile, you were standing here, gripping the edges of the sink like it had personally wronged you.

“this is stupid. get yourself together,” you muttered, lightly smacking your own cheeks before splashing cold water on your cheeks, as if that would help.

except it didn’t. because the moment you stepped out of your room, your phone buzzed with a message from leehan.

[leehan]: convenience store run?

you stared at the text for a solid five seconds. you could ignore him. pretend you were already in bed. but your feet were already moving before you could think twice.

[you]: fine. be outside in 5.

when you got downstairs, leehan was already there, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, a familiar grin on his face. “you’re five minutes early.”

“i like to be efficient,” you mumbled, walking past him toward the store.

he fell into step beside you, chuckling. “so efficient that you took twenty minutes to text me back?”

“i was busy.”

“busy staring at yourself in the mirror?”

you stopped in your tracks, whipping around. “excuse me?”

leehan blinked innocently. “what? i just figured, you know, considering how red you were earlier—”

“shut up.” you picked up your pace, pretending your face wasn’t burning again.

leehan laughed, easily catching up. “you’re fun to tease.”

“i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

unfortunately, he was right.

at the store, you went straight for the snack aisle, grabbing a bag of chips and your usual drink. leehan, as always, hovered behind you, dramatically inspecting his options.

“hmm,” he mused, holding up two different ice cream flavors. “do i want strawberry or mint choco?”

“strawberry.”

he gasped. “wow, no hesitation.”

“because mint choco is disgusting.”

he clutched the mint choco to his chest, looking genuinely wounded. “you wound me.”

“good.”

leehan pouted before tossing both ice creams into the basket. “guess i’ll have to get both, then.”

“or you could just make a better life choice.”

“this is a personal attack.”

the next day, the unspoken routine continued as if nothing had changed. but you swore leehan was watching you a little too closely when you met at the station.

“you look extra grumpy today,” he commented, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. as usual.

“thanks,” you deadpanned.

he grinned but didn’t push further. instead, he just walked beside you, the easy rhythm of your steps falling into sync like always.

as usual, you stopped by the convenience store. but this time, something felt different. you blamed it on last night’s stupid moment, on the way your brain kept replaying his words like a broken record. because suddenly, standing next to leehan under the fluorescent lights, everything felt… hyper-aware.

“what do you want?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.

“i can pay for myself,” you said, shooting him a glare.

“yeah, yeah.” he waved you off and grabbed a basket, throwing in his usual snacks. then, without thinking, he plucked a carton of banana milk from the shelf and tossed it in too.

you blinked. “why are you getting that?”

he looked at you like you were asking something obvious. “because you always get banana milk.”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. because—oh. he noticed?

“stop looking at me like that,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow. “it’s just banana milk.”

except it wasn’t. not really. it was something small, something dumb, but it still sent your heart into a quiet little panic.

this was bad.

this was really, really bad.

because of the fact that you kind of liked it.

which was a problem.

—

jaehyun’s house was packed again, music thrumming through the walls, the air thick with the scent of food, alcohol, and too many people crammed into one space. you weren’t even sure what the occasion was this time. knowing jaehyun, he probably just felt like throwing a party for no reason.

you had just arrived, barely setting foot in the living room, when wonyoung and rei ambushed you.

“oh my god, look who finally decided to show up!” wonyoung beamed, linking her arm with yours. “and here i thought you’d become too busy with your new best friend to hang out with us.”

rei snickered. “right? they’re practically attached at the hip now.”

you rolled your eyes, shaking them off. “not this again.”

“you’re not denying it, though,” taesan said, popping up from behind you with a knowing grin.

before you could snap at him, your eyes caught sight of leehan on the other side of the room, laughing at something jaehyun had said.

your stomach did something weird. you ignored it.

jaehyun noticed you staring and smirked. “hey, look who’s here.”

leehan turned his head, his eyes immediately finding yours.

and then—he winked.

you nearly choked on air.

rei and wonyoung let out a synchronized ooooh.

“okay, you guys are insufferable,” you muttered, heading straight for the kitchen, desperate for something—anything—to distract yourself.

but leehan was fast. before you could grab a drink, he was suddenly beside you, leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just almost made you collapse five seconds ago.

“you’re late,” he said.

“and you’re annoying,” you replied, popping open a soda.

leehan just grinned, stealing the drink right from your hand and taking a sip.

“hey—”

“mmm, refreshing,” he sighed dramatically, handing it back to you with an infuriatingly smug look.

you narrowed your eyes. “i should poison you.”

“aww, you’d miss me.”

“debatable.”

you took a sip from the same can, too caught up in glaring at him to realize what you’d done. but the second you did—when you felt the ghost of his lips on the rim—you nearly dropped it.

leehan saw your reaction, and that stupid grin of his widened.

“oh?” he teased. “flustered?”

“shut up.”

“you totally are.”

you needed to get out of here. fast.

but as the night went on, escaping leehan became impossible. somehow, he was everywhere—pulling you into games, making sure you were on his team during random challenges, always finding some way to be in your space.

it didn’t help that the others were having the time of their lives watching it unfold.

“oh, come on, just admit it,” jaehyun said at one point, slinging an arm around leehan’s shoulder. “you two have something going on.”

“yeah, it’s called friendship,” you deadpanned.

“nah,” taesan interjected. “i’ve never seen leehan act this way with anyone else.”

rei nodded enthusiastically. “he literally follows you around like a puppy.”

wonyoung gasped. “oh my god, he’s a golden retriever boyfriend in the making.”

leehan, unbothered, just nudged you playfully. “see? i told you i like black cats.”

you ignored the way your face burned.

—

later that night, after hours of pretending everything was fine, you finally managed to slip away from the chaos. you grabbed your jacket, heading for the door.

and then, right on cue, leehan appeared beside you.

“leaving already?”

“yeah,” you muttered.

“i’ll walk with you.”

you frowned. “aren’t you staying over at jaehyun’s?”

he shrugged. “changed my mind.”

you eyed him suspiciously but didn’t argue. and so, just like last time, you left together.

and this time, as you stepped out into the quiet night, something had shifted.

the walk back to your building was different this time. quieter. more charged.

a few months ago, leehan had been just another name in the friend group, a background character in your life who never had any real reason to cross paths with you. but now? now he was walking beside you like he had always belonged there, his presence as familiar as the crisp night air wrapping around your skin.

and maybe he did belong there.

you weren’t sure when it had happened—when he’d started showing up in your thoughts even when he wasn’t around, when the stupid things he said began lingering in your head longer than they should. you weren’t even sure when the sound of his laugh had become something you liked hearing, or when the way he looked at you started making your chest feel too tight.

but it had happened. somewhere between the teasing, the ridiculous dares, the way he always seemed to be near you even when he didn’t have to be—it had happened.

and now you were here, walking home together, fingers grazing every few steps.

you pretended not to notice. he pretended not to, either.

but you both did.

the city hummed around you, neon signs flickering in the distance, the occasional car passing by. it was late enough that the usual bustle of the streets had quieted down, leaving just the two of you and the rhythmic sound of your footsteps on the pavement.

you reached your building, stepping toward the entrance, but then—

leehan stopped walking.

you turned to him, brow raised. “what?”

he looked... different. not in the usual smug, teasing way. he was shifting his weight slightly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze flickering between you and the ground like he was debating something.

and then—

“…do you want to come over?”

you blinked.

“…huh?”

his ears were turning red. red.

he cleared his throat. “w-we can, uh… eat? and have a movie marathon?” his words came out rushed, like he was afraid he’d forget them if he didn’t say them fast enough. “o-or, uh… i don’t know, whatever you’d love to do. online games?”

your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. leehan—confident, annoying, always-has-a-snarky-response leehan—was nervous.

nervous about you.

his fingers curled inside his sleeves, his usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.

and that was when it hit you. the way he always found you in a room. the way his insults had softened into something closer to fondness. the way he never actually seemed to mind when you called him annoying.

he had been holding back.

and maybe, just maybe—you had been, too.

you took a step closer, tilting your head. “leehan.”

his throat bobbed. “yeah?”

your lips twitched into a smirk. “silly, of course i’d love to come over.”

before he could fully process your words, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the entrance of the building.

“and while we’re at it, we’ll talk about how we don’t like each other that much.”

leehan let out a strangled noise. “huh—wait—”

you ignored him, swiftly entering his passcode like it was your apartment, pushing open the door. “hurry up, we’re wasting time.”

he stood frozen for a second, blinking at you, before breaking into a wide grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re unbelievable.”

“unfortunately.”

you plopped onto his couch like you lived there, grabbing the remote, already scrolling through movie options. leehan sat beside you, close—closer than usual.

and this time, neither of you pretended to ignore it.

the movie played in the background, its soft glow casting flickering shadows across the dimly lit room. but neither of you were watching. not really.

leehan sat beside you, slightly tense, like he was aware—of the space between you, of the way your knees brushed when you shifted, of the fact that this wasn’t just another night hanging out. this was something else.

you, on the other hand, acted as if everything was normal. because if you thought too much, if you acknowledged the weight in the air, you weren’t sure what you’d do.

but leehan was staring. you could feel it.

“if you keep looking at me like that, i might start thinking you actually like me,” you muttered, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between you.

leehan didn’t even flinch. “what if i do?”

you paused mid-chew.

slowly, you turned to him, raising a brow. “what?”

his expression was unreadable, but his fingers tapped absently against his knee, a nervous habit you’d only recently started noticing.

he inhaled, exhaled, then shrugged. “just saying. maybe i do.”

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline. some stupid joke, a teasing smirk—something to make it feel less like he was turning your entire world upside down.

but nothing came.

he just looked at you, quiet and steady, like he’d already made peace with whatever was about to happen next.

and suddenly, all those months of playful arguments, of lingering glances, of almost-but-not-quite moments came rushing back at once.

you hated him. except, you didn’t.

“you’re messing with me,” you said finally, but your voice lacked the usual bite.

leehan shook his head. “nope.”

“…seriously?”

“seriously.”

your heart was doing something weird. like a stuttering engine, skipping beats it wasn’t supposed to.

you scoffed, trying to mask it. “wow. what a plot twist.”

“right?” leehan hummed, leaning back into the couch. “who would’ve thought? me, liking you.”

“so tragic.”

“a real disaster.”

but despite the words, despite the banter, neither of you laughed.

you could still feel his gaze, waiting... waiting for you to say something.

but what were you supposed to say?

that your heart had been beating like this for weeks now? that you had started looking for him in every room before you even realized it? that you kind of liked being the first person he teased, the first person he looked at when something funny happened, the first person he always, always sat next to?

ugh.

this was so unfair.

so, instead of answering, instead of dealing with the mess he’d just dumped into your lap, you grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it at him.

leehan blinked. “…seriously?”

“seriously.”

a beat of silence.

then, he smirked. “oh, you’re so dead.”

before you could react, he grabbed a pillow and launched it at you, knocking you back against the couch.

“leehan!” you shrieked, throwing another handful of popcorn in retaliation.

what followed was a full-blown war; popcorn flying, pillows swinging, laughter filling the small space between you. the movie played on, forgotten, as you both devolved into something ridiculous and childish and stupidly happy.

somewhere between dodging an incoming pillow and trying to wrestle the remote from leehan’s grasp, you tumbled forward, colliding into him—too close, too warm, too real.

your breath caught.

so did his.

neither of you moved.

his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. your knees were pressed against his. your face was this close to his, close enough to see the way his lips parted, just slightly.

the teasing, the laughter, the noise...it all faded.

for a second, the world stilled.

“…you’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” leehan murmured, voice quieter than before.

“depends,” you said, but it came out softer than you meant it to.

his gaze flickered down, just for a split second.

then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “you like me.”

you scoffed, pulling back. “delusional.”

“you so do.”

“good night, leehan.”

“admit it.”

you grabbed a pillow and threw it at him again before standing up. “sleep well, best friend.”

“oh my god.”

“bye.”

leehan’s laughter followed you as you walked toward the door, his voice light, teasing but different now. like he knew something you weren’t ready to admit yet.

and maybe he did.

either way, it didn’t matter.

because as you stepped out, your heart still racing, you realized—this wasn’t the end of something.

it was the beginning.

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biggianteggplant · 23 days ago

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Sleep Walking With JJK Men

haikyuu ver.

GOJO SATORU

It was 3:07AM.

Gojo was peacefully scrolling through his phone in the dark, blue light reflecting in his six-eyes like a raccoon at a vending machine. He wasn’t sleeping—because of course he wasn’t. He was a night gremlin.

And then he heard movement.

Footsteps. Slow. Uneven. Echoing down the hallway like you were in a horror movie but forgot your lines.

“Babe?” he called out lazily, assuming you were just going to the bathroom.

But instead…

You appeared in the doorway like a Victorian ghost with unresolved trauma. Messy hair. Blank stare. One sock on. Hands covered in something red (strawberry jam? ketchup? blood? no one knows).

Gojo sat up slightly. “Uh…you good?”

You walked up to him. Very close. Too close.

You stared him dead in the eyes.

He blinked. “Okay… this is either gonna get really weird or really illegal.”

And then you whispered:

“I’ve hidden the body… where they’ll never find it.”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t breathe. You just stood there like a sleepwalking cryptid with secrets.

Gojo froze.

“…Whose body.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave the faintest little smirk… turned around like a Sims character glitching… and walked straight into the wall.

Then you turned again, moonwalked out of the room like a cursed Michael Jackson, and curled up on the couch… snoring softly like an innocent baby.

Gojo did not sleep.

He sat there for three hours like a raccoon trying to do math, holding a baseball bat in one hand and his phone in the other, halfway through texting Nanami, “If I die, avenge me. Also check the backyard.”

He checked the fridge.

The bathtub.

The toilet tank.

There was nothing.

Except a single spoon buried in a potted plant and a note that said: “Shhh.”

The next morning.

You woke up refreshed. Radiant. Ready to eat waffles and threaten democracy.

Gojo was staring into the distance, sipping coffee with the energy of a man who’s seen too much.

“You okay?” you asked cheerily.

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded slowly and said:

“…Where’s the body.”

You blinked. “What body?”

His grip tightened on the mug. “You told me you hid a body where they’ll never find it.”

You laughed. “Ohhh. That. I was sleep-talking.”

Gojo slowly turned to face you.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

He still checks under the bed once a week.

Just in case.

You? You still sleep like a baby. A baby that knows exactly where the evidence is buried.

NANAMI KENTO

Nanami Kento does not scare easily.

He has fought curses, bureaucratic hellscapes, and Gojo’s unfiltered nonsense at sunrise. He has survived working overtime. He has survived Shibuya.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for waking up at 2:03AM to the sound of faint, wet-foot shuffling and whispered prophecy.

He stepped out into the hallway, only to see you—mid-spin, barefoot, eyes closed, arms raised like you were conducting an invisible orchestra of ghosts.

And then, in a calm, gentle murmur:

“This is how the rats taught me to summon rain.”

You twirled again. Whispered, “They squeak… in prophecy.”

Nanami just stood there, mouth slightly open, the kind of stunned silence only a man at his psychological limit could produce.

He turned. He walked back into the bedroom. He did not speak. He did not blink. He closed the door behind him like he was sealing away evil.

It rained the next day.

The forecast said clear skies. And yet—thunder. Torrential rain. Flooding.

You stirred your tea that morning and said softly, “They were right on time.” Nanami just stared at you, then slowly walked away and added “sage” to the grocery list.

He has not spoken of it since.

But sometimes… you catch him bowing slightly at rats.

It’s subtle. Barely a nod. A respectful incline of the head.

“Sir,” he murmurs once under his breath as a rat scurries past. You ask, “Did you just bow to a rat?” “...Don’t worry about it,” he says. His eye twitches.

He’s not the same man anymore. He walks with the quiet dignity of someone who knows the rats are watching.

He avoids cheese, not out of dislike, but respect. He lights incense at odd hours and mutters, “For the council.” He no longer questions things. He just… obeys.

Nanami Kento, First of His Name, Bow-King of the Alley Rats. Long may he sigh.

GETO SUGURU

It was 2:19 AM when he heard the shuffling.

At first, Geto thought you were just turning in your sleep. But no. There you were—kneeling on the couch, half-asleep, mumbling with all the intensity of a doomsday prophet:

“The portal… it has to be here somewhere…”

You were digging. Through the couch cushions like a raccoon with a mission. Your eyes half-lidded. Your hands frantic. Your whispers growing more panicked by the second.

“They said it would be here. They said the signs were clear. Where’s the Dorito rune??”

Geto blinked at you from the hallway, completely still. Completely horrified.

You didn’t stop. You just gasped dramatically and declared:

“They lied. The couch has betrayed me.”

Then you collapsed like a defeated knight and went back to sleep. Face-first. Still halfway inside the cushions.

The next morning, Geto stared at the couch like it owed him rent and answers. He moved it. Cautiously. Slowly.

Underneath, he found:

One (1) lone sock.

A singular, dusty Dorito.

A button that didn’t match anything either of you owned.

No portal.

Or… maybe that was the portal. The Dorito did look suspicious. Like it had seen things.

He picked it up. Sniffed it. Instant regret.

He sat back, rubbed his temples.

“Y/N, what the hell were you—” You looked up from your cereal and calmly said, “They moved the entrance. Again.” “They…?” You gave him a look. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He doesn’t sit on that couch anymore. He leaves small offerings between the cushions now—just in case. Cheese cubes. Crystals. A picture of Nanami looking disappointed.

Sometimes… the Dorito comes back. And that sock? It vanished again.

He’s started locking the living room at night.

Just in case you return to the mission.

Because Geto Suguru has seen curses. He’s seen monsters. But nothing compares to you in full sleep-portal-searching mode.

And he knows better than to interfere.

Not again. Not after Couchgate.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

It was 2:46 AM.

The house was silent. Peaceful. The kind of silence Toji liked—the kind where nothing screamed, bled, or owed him money.

He was half-asleep on the couch, shirtless, remote on his stomach, barely conscious with some re-run playing in the background. Bliss.

Until the TV clicked off.

Not by the remote. Not by a timer. It just… clicked.

Then flicked itself to a channel of pure static.

Toji sat up like a war veteran who just heard a landmine. "The hell…?"

And then he saw you.

Standing in front of the glowing TV screen, hair wild, eyes half-open, wearing mismatched pajamas and looking like a cursed oracle.

You stared into the static. Completely still.

Toji squinted. “Ma?”

No response.

You leaned forward, so close your nose almost touched the screen. Voice dead calm. Whispery. Ominous.

“This is how they talk to me.”

Toji blinked. “Who??”

You didn’t answer. Just tilted your head and let out the faintest, creepiest little giggle like you were possessed by a haunted Victorian child and an alien conspiracy theorist at the same time.

Then you turned around. Smiled sweetly at him. And went straight back to bed.

Like you didn’t just deliver a scene straight out of a found footage horror movie.

Toji stood there in silence.

Then unplugged the TV. Burned sage. Burned it again. Burned your socks for good measure.

He even called Megumi to ask if “the house always had that weird hum at night.”

(It didn’t.)

He didn’t sleep again. Just sat on the couch with a knife in one hand and his phone flashlight on in the other, watching static like it owed him money.

The next morning.

You came into the kitchen, stretching, yawning. “Morning, baby—”

Toji didn’t even look up. “Unplugged the TV.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

He stared at you. Unblinking.

“You said that’s how they talk to you.”

You paused. “...Well, maybe they do.”

Toji stared harder. “Who’s ‘they’.”

You smiled. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Toji’s eye twitched.

You made pancakes.

He sprinkled salt around the doors just in case.

SHIU KONG

It was 2:12 AM.

Shiu Kong had just finished filing yet another report on “unauthorized infinity-related incidents” and was thinking about how much paperwork it would take to get Gojo Satoru legally muzzled. Again.

The apartment was silent. Too silent.

Then he heard it. A whisper. Soft. Creepy. Like a cursed doll haunting a Victorian orphanage.

“Soup time…”

He froze.

“…No.”

Shiu tiptoed toward the bathroom, phone flashlight on, because only idiots turn on the light when things sound possessed.

He cracked the door open slowly.

And there you were.

Sitting in the dry bathtub like it was your throne. Clothed in pajamas. Eyes glassy. Cradling a rubber duck like a newborn and rocking it gently. Voice soft and serious:

“Soup time…”

Shiu stared.

You looked like you were summoning a broth-based deity.

He backed out of the bathroom slower than a cursed spirit sensing a Special Grade and said nothing. Locked the door. Lit incense. Read five pages of a cursed safety manual he didn’t believe in. Prayed. Twice.

He hasn’t used the bathroom since.

Day 4.

He’s brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink. Still refuses to touch the duck that appeared on his desk this morning. Wearing sunglasses. The Post-It on it simply said: “He’s watching.”

He doesn’t know who “he” is. He doesn’t want to.

He just wants to clock out in peace.

HIROMI HIGURUMA

It was 2:39AM.

Hiromi had just gotten out of bed to get water and silently question his existence like the tired man in a courtroom drama. The apartment was dark, quiet... peaceful.

Then he heard it.

The fridge door creaked open.

He paused mid-sip. Slowly turned toward the kitchen.

There you were—standing in the glow of the fridge light like some kind of culinary cryptid. Dead asleep. Hair unhinged. Clutching the cat like Simba being presented to the heavens.

Hiromi blinked.

“[Y/N]?” he said cautiously, taking one step forward like you were a bear and he was trying not to die.

You turned slowly.

Blank stare.

Dark under-eye circles (fashionable). Slight drool.

And then, with the slow, ominous confidence of someone possessed by a baking demon, you whispered:

“He’s the secret ingredient.”

You reached forward.

The cat screamed.

Hiromi screamed.

You? Unbothered. Enlightened. Probably still dreaming of Gordon Ramsay petting a raccoon.

You began shoving the cat—gently, lovingly—into the vegetable drawer.

“[Y/N], no—no—he’s not an ingredient, he’s—” Hiromi rushed forward, caught the cat mid-slide, and yelped when it latched onto his shirt like Velcro trauma.

You blinked, still not quite conscious. “He needs to chill before we cook him.”

“WHAT?!”

You let out a sigh, dreamy and distant, as if you were about to recite poetry.

“Meow soufflé…” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed like a satisfied villain. Then, like your body’s mission was complete, you slumped gently against the fridge and passed out.

The next morning.

You were eating toast, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, completely unaware of the psychological warfare you had unleashed.

Hiromi sat across from you, holding the cat like it was a traumatized war veteran. Both of them looked like they’d seen things.

“So,” he said, sipping his coffee without breaking eye contact, “do you remember trying to bake our cat last night?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He pulled out his phone and showed you a blurry photo: you, half-asleep, holding the cat in one hand and opening the fridge with the other. The caption read: "Meow soufflé in progress 😭💀"

You gasped. “No way I tried to—oh my god, is Mochi okay?!”

Mochi, the cat in question, was hiding under the couch with nothing but his eyes showing. He flinched when you looked at him.

Hiromi leaned back in his chair. “He’s traumatized. I’m traumatized. There’s cat hair in the fridge. And I had to Google ‘Can cats sue?’ at 3AM.”

“I was SLEEPWALKING!”

“I know. Which is why I’m asking this lovingly…”

He stood, walked to the fridge, and slapped a massive neon pink sticky note on it that said:

"THIS IS NOT A MICHELIN-STARRED OVEN. STOP."

You haven’t slept without supervision since.

Mochi now sleeps on Hiromi’s pillow.

And Hiromi?

He keeps one eye open at night.

Just in case.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

It was 3:02AM. Sukuna had just settled in with a bottle of sake and the blessed silence of a cursed-free night… when he heard the slow screeeech of metal being dragged.

He turned the corner—and there you were.

Squatting in front of the floor vent. Sleepwalking. Muttering. Unscrewing the vent cover with a fork like this was a prison break.

You were whispering to the air:

“Hold on, little guys. I brought cheese crackers this time. The crunchy kind. You’ve earned it.”

Sukuna blinked. You reached your entire arm into the vent like you were offering snacks to some kind of feral void goblin colony.

He watched in disbelief as you carefully pushed a granola bar through the slats.

“No crumbs this time, I promise. Forgive me for the marshmallow incident.”

You paused, nodded to the vent like something responded, then yawned and slumped sideways onto the floor, peacefully snoring.

The next morning, he stared down at the vent. Then at you.

“You know I can hear everything in this apartment, right? Who the hell were you feeding last night?”

You blinked blearily at him, sipping coffee like nothing happened.

“They were hungry.” “Who??” You pointed to the vent, dead serious.

He stared at you. You stared back. The vent cover was missing. Again.

Sukuna doesn’t ask anymore. He sealed the vent with a cursed talisman. You peeled it off and replaced it with a sticker of a smiling carrot.

One night he swears he saw a tiny hand reach out and take a piece of jerky.

Now he keeps offerings near the vent just in case. Mostly out of fear. Partially because he suspects you’re the leader now.

He still doesn’t sleep right. Every time he hears crunching in the walls, he just sighs and mutters:

“I hope it’s the crackers this time. Not my damn mochi again.”

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