#Sorry Anon I accidentally deleted your ask

[puppetmaster13u]

Have a small wip of Down in the Deep Au

(No Sebastian in this, but hey anonymous asker I might've lost your ask about if Danny dimension travelled or was the only one from DP, and the answer is yeah. At least currently)

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   Now, it wasn’t the best idea, but it was near instinctive in his exhaustion and panic, to open his mouth and wail. 

   And wail he did, the sound shrieking forward and tearing through the metal and charging ghost. Not that he saw, eyes clenched closed as he was launched back into the swirling greens of the zone. 

   If he’d kept his eyes open a moment more he’d have seen how unstable the area around him had grown, would have seen the portal sputtering around him. Natural portals were more rare than one would think, a relief to ghosts as the chance of one opening on one of them would be deadly. 

   In fact, for any other ghost, it would have killed them permanently. It would rip apart their very essence and leave the ghost nothing but a shade- they were referred to as unstable for a reason after all. 

   But Danny wasn’t just any ghost, he was one created by the opening of a portal, the blood sacrifice, accidental or not, that fueled that initial tear. No, this gnashing, wild thing would not rip him apart like it would anything else, not when he was made from the same tearing, fracturing force. 

[ask-postcrash-curly]

One of you asked me about cartoons I watched as a child. Not sure what happened to the question, but I’ll answer anyway.

I mostly watched older stuff. I was really into Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse for a while. I did have a few modern shows, though. I liked that cowboy one. Artie’s Pony Adventures. Better than it sounds. Ah, speaking of ponies, there was this magic pony show I watched when I was little. What was it called again? Jim and Anya watched it too, I think. We were just talking about it last haul… Damn, I can’t remember.

[coldslaws]

nat's text in black, bn's in white

slip of the tongue

part 2: here

[plusie]

[ludinusdaleth]

another thing of note: predathos' flares aren't actually red. they're teal, but projected out from a red rocky planet makes them look red! so make that of what you will with ludinus dying himself red

^

[possamble]

Question to a fanfic writer: do you think that, in Marcille’s research ways *And* her love for romance novels… would result in her writing some in-universe fanfics of her own? Like, maybe she hypes herself up on something and get disappointed, or maybe she finds some character decision isn’t as ideal as she thinks it could be? Or it’s as simple as she wants to play around with the characters and see what happens?

I can’t help but imagine a scenario where she’s struggling with some romantic trouble irl and she’s struggling with deciding on what to do, but then the answer slaps itself upside her head when she rediscovers her fanfics and how she LITERALLY made a character or two do the exact romantic decision she needs to do? It would so silly but yet I can’t help but find it so charming. Hell, just the imagery of her writing romance fanfics of her own At All is just… delightful to me hehehe.

you know I've been rotating this in my head since I saw it this morning and. I went through a wild journey of opinions before I realized... Marcille wouldn't think about fanfiction like we think about it. In the modern age, yeah, she'd be a complete tumblrina -- but we're talking about a 17th century-ish fantasy setting.

Writing before the digital age was a physical commitment to investing ink and paper into your thoughts -- and this is even before mass production can make pens and notebooks kind of whatever to buy and use on a regular basis. I'm sure the situation wasn't dire, but I really can't see Marcille, perfect honor student, using her allotted supply of stationery at the academy on super frivolous things.

Fanfiction has been normalized incredibly fast in the past few decades. Think about now normal and popular D&D is nowadays compared to how much people looked down on it 20-30 years ago. Fanfiction was a freakass nerd thing to do until relatively recent history, something that was even considered offensive to the original creators.

Remember, we've already seen Marcille react to adaptations with disgust. She's kind of a hater and an elitist fan. She also considers herself a Reputable Academic. In a setting where a digitized culture hasn't reframed fanfiction as an act of appreciation and creativity, she would absoluuuuuuuutely think that fanfiction was complete loser shit.

If she did write anything about her favourite books... She'd. She'd be one of those assholes who writes huge scathing reviews of Dal Clan translations into Common. She'd be the fantasy equivalent of those Weebs/Japanese elitists on twitter tearing through every single localization choice in anime and JRPGs and being so so annoying about it.

If we're being charitable, we could say she'd be able to appreciate non-faithful translation choices that still do a good job of carrying over the original spirit of what was said. But I think we also have to acknowledge the possibility that, at her worst, she'd really really be like those guys who were malding about the Unicorn Overlord localizations so hard the (correction: Final Fantasy Tactics Creator, not the Unicorn Overlord devs) had to step forward and ratio them. (The silver lining is that she'd never get published in the arts review newspapers/journals that she submits her essays to. those poor editors just have to deal with her being persistent.)

[vincentask]

[ANON ASKED]: “Random lil ask but, what’s your favorite pokemon?

[sunkeji]

i have a confession

-🍫

I'm all ears pookie

[gildalilli]

Ohhh you asked for theories, you're gonna get them! SO. Imagine Aziraphale is up in heaven, not enjoying his job, having a bit of an internal crisis about Crowley, simultaneously trying (and failing) to find a way to stop twomageddon. Anyways, one day he comes across a crucial bit of evidence that Metatron is SUS and not just sus as in "wants to start armageddon again" but SUS as in silencing God and manipulating things with the book of life (1/2)

(2/2) So aziraphale goes off and tries to find someone to help him uncover this, him finally having gotten evidence of things going wrong. of course, no one agrees and this all eventually leads to him seeking out crowley. An awkward, frosty truce with underlying blatant romantic tension happens, and there's finally a breaking point in a quiet moment in the plot (halfway through the season) where they confront each other and go back to "normal". near the end they communicate and clarify THEM -- I love this and I think it will be the logical next steps. I also have noticed a pattern that after they have a blow up fight, crow swooping in to save Zira from danger is usually the reuniting force. They always get a big ol reminder in the form of some kind of crisis that reminds them that nothing is ever worth leaving the other for. Interested to see if neil pays off those expectations or subverts them!!

There are enough pride and prejudice references (esp heavy handed this season esp if you believe metatron is out here trying to shove a regency au into reality, but the bandstand scene last season is also shot for shot from p&p) I would a) find it very funny if they did the colin firth wet shirt scene and b) we got crow doing "MY AFFECTION AND WISHES HAVE NOT CHANGED, BUT ONE WORD FROM YOU WOULD SILENCE ME FOREVER" as their final "getting together" scene. I would die. I';m already dying from the fact it's a possibility?

Cheer me up, send me husband reunion predictions <3

[sugarwarachan]

random horny thoughts about hq men - seijoh + nekoma edition

CHARACTERS: mattsun, iwaizumi, makki, oikawa, kuroo, kenma, shohei CWS: nsfw, smut, all characters 18+, knife play, implied d/s undertones to a lot of these, toxic relationship elements, cheating/cucking if you squint, corruption kink, oral (f!receiving), bondage, spit kink NOTES: continue to enjoy my gross thoughts as i pull myself out of whatever writer's block hell i'm in. thank you to the anon who suggested shohei's - i accidentally deleted it i'm so sorry 😀

mattsun loves knife play. the idea of cutting your tights away from your body, tracing the knife ever so gently up the inside of your thigh before rippppp the metal tears through like butter. the flash of fear and unbridled lust in your eyes bricks him up instantly. he slots his thigh between yours and presses the flat of the blade ever so gently against your thrumming pulse. "ready to play, angel?"

iwaizumi finds out your ex never made you cum and makes it his personal mission to give you as many orgasms as possible. his fingers, tongue, dick, thighs, he wants to get you off in every way possible and erase that idiot’s ineptitude from your brain. “you cum so easily, baby. the fuck was your ex talking about?”

makki loves when you talk back. it’s foreplay for him to take you out somewhere nice and relentlessly tease you all night, each of you trading good-natured barbs that run just a little bit nasty (he likes when you’re mean, what can he say). there’s always a line, though, and when you cross it, his hand grips the back of your neck hard enough to stop you short. "I think we should go home, don't you?"

oikawa is prone to toxic situationships that always result in hurt feelings (his own). he sees you out with other guys and it actually boils his blood to the point where he’s calling you, whining about how you don’t make time for him anymore, and when you come over, he fucks you face down on the mattress to remind you that he’s the only one who knows how to make you cum the way you like

he’s super embarassed about it, but kuroo has a little bit of a corruption kink. like the first time he goes down on you and you get all blushy and embarassed - he’s hard as a rock. soothes you with soft kisses on your neck and stomach as he tells you how beautiful you look, how good you are just for him. he’s gentle in how he eats but he’s determined to make you as crazy for him as he is for you

kenma is lazy this kenma is lazy that - kenma finds out how much you like to be tied up and learns everything he can about bondage play. he buys a dummy to practice on (kuroo absolutely loses his mind over this), he watches tutorials, boy is dedicated to finding out how to make you cum this way. when this skinny streamer guy asks you out, you have no idea you’re gonna be roped into a bondage belt with a happy strap grazing over your clit as you sob into his arms (but you're not complaining)

your first impression of shohei is that he’s never known the touch of a woman but HOO BOY were you wrong. this man is a FREAK between the sheets. you can’t believe that the mild-mannered dude who barely says a word forces your mouth open so he can spit directly onto your tongue. by the time he’s done with you, you’re fucked out of your skull, covered in scratches, hickies, and cum, and being asked if you want to order taco bell

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3

[chloedpdl]

.

[pineconepie]

This was an ask I got a while back, but either I can't find it or accidentally deleted it. But to the anon who asked for a scenario like this, here you go! :D

TW: Amnesia, parental/platonic yandere, forced infantilization, drugging, implied kidnapping, manipulation

"Help! Please help!" you cry, running as fast as you can throughout the dense forest. Branches and sharp brambles scrape your cheeks and catch onto your clothes.

You stop for a brief moment to pick the twigs out of your disheveled hair. The small cuts sting horribly but it doesn't deter you from pushing onwards.

Sweat beads down your forehead and you wipe at it furiously. Your chest is heaving, desperately trying to take in more oxygen.

"(Y/n)! Stop!" His booming voice echoes throughout the forest.

He's getting closer to you. You have to keep running, keep moving, keep—

Something hits you, something cold and metal. You barely have enough consciousness to realize it was a car, on the dirt road path. Your vision swims, and your head feels ready to burst.

Your ears ring incessantly. All you can hear is that horrible noise, but it doesn't completely drown out him calling for you.

And suddenly there are strong arms around you. "Oh! My baby! What have you done?!" Someone picks you up. They yell to someone else, but their voice is fading out.

Your vision fades to nothing.

...

When you wake up, there's the sound of something beeping. It's a comforting constant rhythm, steady and predictable. You think you know what it is, but your head feels all muddled and foggy.

Something cool and soft presses against your forehead, and you lean into the soothing touch.

"That's right, honey. Nice and easy," a voice speaks above you. Its light, with a subtle hint of an accent you can't recognize. A thumb gently rubs at your temple, massaging it with care and ease. "That must've been a pretty bad fall you took. Don't worry, I've got you."

You open your eyes. Hovering above you, is a man with long messy brown hair, light brown eyes, and a slight stubble of facial hair. He looks to be in his early to mid forties or so.

There's something familiar about him. You should know who this person is... but your brain cannot come up with a name.

"There they are!" the man coos. The corner of his eyes crinkle. He has crow's feet around them. You think those mean someone smiles often. You stare blankly back at him, mind still groggy from what happened earlier. He hums a melody, and gently brushes his fingertips along your arm.

"What..."

"Hush now, don't talk just yet," he murmurs. His other hand is behind your head, propping you up in its palm. "Had quite a nasty fall there. Scared me half to death!"

"Where am I?" You blink, still slightly disoriented.

"Shhh..." He kisses your bandaged forehead. "You're here in the hospital, sweetie. Just got done doing x-rays on your head." The room around you is stark white. There are various machines around you and one is beeping at a constant rhythm. It smells of chemicals and medicine. "I know you hate being scolded, but (Y/n), you know better than to play in the forest so late at night..." He scrubs a hand over his face tiredly.

You squint at him, trying to jog your memory as to who this guy even is. Is he perhaps someone important? Someone you're supposed to know?

As hard as you try, no answers come to mind. And now that you're thinking about it, you really can't remember much at all besides your name and general sense of self.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" you awkwardly ask.

The man freezes. His eyebrows raise up in surprise before furrowing with concern. "Wh—(Y/n), sweetie," he looks at you. "Can you tell me who I am?" You shake your head. He stares at you for a moment, like frozen. Only when you awkwardly look down, does he do too. "The doctors mentioned possible memory loss, but..." He looks so torn; eyebrows twisted up sadly. You almost want to reach out and hug him.

The only thing that stops you is the IV, and the fact you don't know him, despite what he says.

"What's the last thing you remember, baby?" he asks again.

You wrack your brain. "I don't know. I know my name... and that's about it."

A flash of pain shoots through his gaze, though he seems to keep himself collected. "Okay. So, sweetie... I'm your dad." He reaches out to clasp your hands. "My name is Hugo Harrison. You're (Y/n) Harrison."

"You... don't look very much like me..." You realize that might be a rude thing to say. "Sorry, I didn't mean that in a mean way."

Hugo chuckles. "It's okay, there's not a mean bone in your body, kiddo." He pauses, like contemplating his next words extra carefully. "I'm your adoptive dad. Now, we could go into a lot more detail, but let's not strain that noggin of yours for today, hm?" He tenderly touches your wrapped forehead. You must have injured it severely, which explains the splitting headache and memory loss.

"Oh, that makes sense," you murmur. You take in his appearance more. He has a tattoo peaking from below his collar shirt, and looks a bit rugged, with muscular arms that have a few scars. He even has an eyebrow piercing on his left.

Despite that, he seems so... sweet.

"Do you have any photos of us?" you ask. Part of it is genuine curiosity, but mostly just because you don't know what else to say.

His eyes soften, and he pulls out his phone to immediately show you his lock screen.

Sure enough, there the two of you are, smiling at the camera. It doesn't look like it was too long ago. You're both indoors, wearing some kind of brown and periwinkle uniforms.

Noticing your confused expression, he explains, "I own a cafe, sometimes you help out. That's where this photo is from. One of my favorites."

He scrolls through his camera roll and shows another picture of the both of you. In this one, you're sleeping on his lap, his hand covering the side of your face in an apparent attempt to block you from seeing the flash.

You nod mutely, trying to soak it all in. All you know of this man is from these two images.

So far, there's nothing overtly suspicious. Nothing that triggers alarm bells or raises red flags. At this point, you have no reason not to believe him.

So why do you feel so unsettled?

"How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Not good," you mumble, bringing a hand up to your head, cringing from the pain.

He presses a kiss to your hair, holding it for several seconds before pulling away. "Oh, sweetheart..." His voice wavers with emotion. "I'll talk to the doctors again. For now, you rest up, okay?"

With such a splitting headache and sore body, you have no trouble obeying his commands. Your eyes flutter shut, and the last thing you hear is a sigh coming from him, as well as something about wanting to take you home.

...

"Easy," Hugo soothes, letting you lean on him heavily as he walks you to his house. Everything hurts from your body to your head. The medication from earlier wore off halfway to his home.

Speaking of his house, it looks pretty much like a standard home, if not kind of cute, almost reminiscent of a cottage. It's beige with dark brown trimmings. Ivy climbs around the windows.

Flower beds line along the pathway to the front door and a vegetable garden sits near the shed in the back. There's wind chimes hanging near the entrance.

"I wish I could remember any of this," you mutter as he situates you on the couch. "Sorry."

"No, no," he reassures, rubbing your upper arm. "Don't apologize, okay? It's not your fault that this happened."

"What was I doing out in the forest, anyway? You mentioned something about that... is that something I typically do?" you ask.

Hugo looks confused for a moment, then nods. "Ah. Well, it was something you'd usually do, but hopefully that will be the last time. Sometimes you get... impulsive. You do things that are reckless. That's why I'm so protective of you. This isn't the first time you got injured like that." He shakes his head and laughs. "Stubborn kid you are..."

"I see." What else can you say, really? You wish your brain would hurry up and recall something. Right now it just feels blank. All you have to go off of is Hugo. "I know I can't remember, but I'm still sorry. For what I did. Or, uh, do."

His gaze softens even more, looking like the definition of fond. "Like I said, sweetie, you don't need to worry about a thing. It's all in the past now. What matters is that you're here now, safe with me. How about I take you up to your room? You can get a nap in while I make dinner. Sound nice?" He brushes his thumb over your temple.

You wordlessly lean against him. He chuckles and helps you back up, mindful of your injuries, and leads you upstairs.

Again, it looks like a completely normal household. Nothing stands out to you besides perhaps the large number of photographs littering the walls.

Your bedroom has pastel blue wallpaper with stars decorating the top half of the wall.

There's a bunch of stuffed animals lining the bed, as well as pillows with galaxy themed pillows. The carpet is plush and your feet sink slightly in them.

"This was... mine?"

"Yes!" He seems less happy about it when he sees your expression. "Do you not like it? You decorated it yourself..."

"Isn't it kind of, uh, childish? Nothing wrong with that, of course, just doesn't seem like something someone older would want," you lamely explain.

Hugo takes another moment to mull over his words. "Well... you've always been a bit childish for your age, sweetie. I think it's adorable, and you seemed content with this room before... but if you really want to change it up, I don't mind at all." His strained smile tells you that he does, in fact, mind it.

"That's okay. I think I do like it, now that I've seen it longer," you reassure him. Part of it might be because you feel bad. You hobble over to the bed with his assistance, and watch him choose a cutesy beige pajama set. The sleeves are longer than your arms and the pants are covered in sheep patterns. "Do I normally wear that to bed?"

"More like just your typical lounge wear," he answers. "Do you need help, or can I leave you to it?"

"Um, you can leave me to it." You watch him open the door to leave. "Oh, by the way... what do I call you? By your name? Dad? Papa?"

A large smile stretches across his lips. "You call me 'Papa', but really anything works with me. Just want you to feel comfortable, bud. Oh, and dinner'll be ready soon. Tomato, chicken noodle, or cream of mushroom?"

You look down at your lap, where your pajamas lay. "What ever I liked most, I guess."

He hums in affirmation. "Sounds good."

Before long, you've changed and situate yourself on your bed, the stuffed toys huddled around you like a cocoon. Though everything seems fine and cozy, it all feels too new, too strange, for it to feel exactly right. It's supposed to be yours, you know this. And yet, it feels so... foreign.

This should make sense. Logically, it does. But your intuition keeps whispering doubts, despite Hugo giving you nothing but warmth.

...

Two weeks pass, and go by pretty uneventfully. He cares for you like you are a toddler, but he assures you this is how he used to act around you.

Still, your memory seems stubborn in recovering, and each night you pray for the morning to finally reveal a clue as to your past.

So far, nothing has shown up.

And being confined within the house doesn't help, either. Hugo refuses to let you go outside unsupervised, claiming how he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if you wound up in danger again.

And really, who are you to refuse him? You don't have any memories, any other friends (he's told you they've moved away years ago), and you have no money to sustain yourself. He's all you have.

"Where are you going?" you ask one morning, to see him slinging on a jacket. His hair is also tied up, which you've gathered he only does when he's going out somewhere.

"The cafe," he replies, though you can tell something is off by the way he smiles. "There's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, okay? Stay inside, and I mean it."

"Can't I go with?" you suggest. Maybe seeing the place could bring back some recollections. Plus, sitting alone all day isn't fun at all, especially when there's nothing to distract you with besides watching TV or reading. Neither of those interests you that much, not to mention a majority of the books and shows catered to people less than half your age.

"Not with those injuries," he chuckles, but there's some firmness in his tone.

"I feel fine! My ankle isn't sprained anymore, and my ribs hardly bother me," you counter. Your face isn't bandaged anymore, either. Instead, only faint scars remain.

"Honey, the answer is no."

"I just want to leave the house!" you blurt. His eyebrows raise up at your outburst. "It's boring staying cooped up all day! I don't want to watch cartoons again or read a comic book or play with action figures."

He purses his lips. "But you love doing those things..."

"Yeah, sure. I don't doubt that I like those activities. But maybe sometimes I'd like to do something more, I dunno, mature." It's not that you hate the stuff Hugo's given you, but you aren't mentally ten years old or whatever age he's assuming you are. So reading picture books and playing with kiddie games get dull real fast. "Please? I don't have to do any physical labor, just wanna get outside the house..."

"(Y/n)..."

Maybe it's a tad bit manipulative, but you've found it works pretty well on him. "I just wanna spend time with my papa... if I can't remember old memories, I was hoping we'd have more time to bond..."

Hugo looks torn for a split second, before giving you a gentle grin, reaching out to pinch your cheeks. "Allllriiight," he drawls. "Wear something warm. It's chilly out."

"Why not my uniform?"

"Because I don't want you working, silly."

The drive there is an hour long, and has you wondering how on earth he makes these long treks there and back five times a week.

By the end, you're yawning and leaning against the window. He laughs, shaking you awake, helping you walk inside the cafe.

In the break room, he situates you on the couch. "I'll get you something to snack on soon. Banana bread, blueberry muffin, brownie, or chocolate chip cookie?"

You weakly smile. "What ever was my favorite?"

He snorts. "Gotcha. I'll be back soon. Don't leave this room, 'kay?" He doesn't wait for a response, quickly busying off towards the counter, throwing his apron back on.

When he's out of view, you try to relax, but as time passes on, you get bored with the things he's given you.

A coloring book, a children's storybook, and crayons litter around you. Sure, they're fun for a little while, but then you're back to square one.

You briefly contemplate if this is the reason why you kept running off to the forest often.

If he's been anything like this normally, you can imagine why you've been searching for more fun things to do.

You peak your head from the break room, to see him tending to another customer, making conversation.

"Oh, (Y/n), that you?"

You look to see one of the customers. He's a person about your age, smiling at you like you guys are friends. When you return the look awkwardly, it morphs into confusion.

"Hey, you alright?" he asks, walking closer to you. "Don't tell me you're working. Hugo told me you had a nasty fall, dude."

"Oh, I'm just here while he works," you shrug. "My memory is a bit weird, still. Who are you...?"

He blinks. "Oh. I'm Weston. We're friends. You must have it pretty bad if you can't remember me."

This is all so confusing. Hugo told you that you didn't have any friends... "Oh. Well, I'm just in the break room while Papa works." You cringe at your own wording. Still feels a bit weird, despite having grown more accustomed to calling him that now. "After he's done, we're probably just gonna go home."

Weston frowns. "Your dad? Are you talking about Hugo?" When you nod, he gives a dry laugh. "(Y/n), he's not—"

"What are you doing?" The deep voice startles you both. You turn around to see Hugo staring between the two of you, jaw tensing with some suppressed emotion. He forces a smile at Weston. "Hey, Weston, sorry, they're going through a lot as you can tell. Still in a state of constant confusion. Sorry. Did you want your usual? Croissant and cappuccino?"

He takes a small step back, but is still clearly defensive, like he's waiting for something to happen. "Yeah, no worries, Mr. Harrison. I know they hit their head hard."

Hugo nods. "I'll get started on that in a sec." He drags you back to the break room, almost slamming the door shut behind him. "Kiddo. What did I tell you?"

"I didn't technically leave... I just poked my head to see if you were busy, and that guy... Weston, I think, recognized me..." You realize his breathing sounds labored. "He said he's my friend."

"That kid?" he says incredulously, laughing. It doesn't sound humorous. It's dry and cold. "No, no, no. Sweetheart, I know everyone in this town and he most definitely isn't friends with you. (Y/n), look, you really can't trust your judgment right now." He grips your shoulders. "You gotta understand that you're hurt. Your head's not working correctly. Okay?"

You wish you could let it go, but something else he said makes you anxious. "He sounded like he was about to say you aren't my dad..."

"He's misinformed. Don't let him fill your head with lies. Now, I gotta get back to work."

"But—"

"For the love of God, just shut up, will you?" he snaps. "I barely let you come along! I should've followed my instincts, why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?"

The glint in his eyes scares you. It reminds you of something terrible, even if you can't remember. You flinch so hard you fall off the couch.

As soon as Hugo's anger came, it dissipated when he saw you trembling, backing up. You shield yourself away with your arms, expecting him to explode.

Even though you have no memory in your head, it's like your body remembers, judging by the way you recoil away from him. It's all instinctual. Even when his expression turns from angry to worried, to guilty.

"Oh no..." He kneels beside you. "Oh, I am so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. Here, take my hand," he offers. You reluctantly take his calloused, scarred hand. "Shh... I know, Papa can be scary, huh? I shouldn't have yelled like that. It's just that you made me so mad, scaring me like that... he's a bad person. This town is filled with them. That's why I'm so protective of you."

He's always making up excuses.

"I just wanna be left alone," you rasp. "Please."

"Okay. That's fair. If that's what you want." You expect him to fight it, but instead he gets up slowly and leaves after mumbling one final apology. After the door closes, you exhale, burying your face into your hands.

Something about what happened triggers a flashback.

"You just never know when to stop, do you? How many times have I asked you not to hang out with them?"

"Hugo, come on, you can't dictate who I hang out with. I can handle myself just fine. Now please, let me just do my job. People are staring."

"Keep up with this attitude, (Y/n), and we'll have problems."

"If you're going to fire me, might as well do so. I'm close to quitting myself."

You don't remember anything after that.

But whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

The ride home is relatively silent. Not that it's much different from his normal quietness, but it's a different kind of quiet. Deafening. Tense.

All because he lost his cool earlier. Your shoulders hunch as you try to avoid eye contact.

Finally, Hugo speaks. "Still upset?"

"Why do you care?" you mumble.

His fingers tense against the steering wheel, before relaxing. "Of course I care. I care about you more than anyone else." His eyebrows furrow with concern. "Just because I got a bit snappy back there doesn't mean I love you any less. If you weren't so reckless... but even then, I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that." He sighs deeply. "I'm sorry."

Something tells you if you don't forgive him now, he'll give you hell about it later. "It's okay."

That seems to quell his stress immensely, and he breathes out shakily, like a huge weight was taken off him. "Thank you," he murmurs. "We'll do something special tonight, okay? Movie night, maybe a pillow fort?"

"Sure." You're too tired to argue.

...

The next day, he leaves to get groceries, taking another day off work. You take that as an opportunity to snoop around, for the two hours or so he'll be gone.

Maybe something is fishy about Hugo; the way he keeps trying to keep you restrained from leaving the house is suspicious enough. And the lack of communication to the outside world, even before the fall.

No computer, internet access, cell phone... maybe your memories won't have to return for you to discover some clues.

Searching his bedroom provides nothing useful, so you continue towards his desk area.

Opening drawers, there's lots of random papers inside, which you flip through and scan through as carefully as you can.

That's when you realize one of the letters is a letter of resignation... from you, addressed to Hugo. The date isn't too long ago; in fact, it's the day before you remember having the accident.

You read through it, each sentence causing you more and more distress, until the paper is trembling in your grip.

Hugo,

I appreciate everything you've done for me since I first started working with you, but unfortunately our differences are causing more trouble than it's worth.

The incident last week truly opened my eyes. I didn't realize how toxic and controlling you were. You have isolated me from society, refused to allow me freedom, and tried to control who I hang out with and what I do.

You're my boss, but you insist on acting like my father, despite how many times I've told you that is crossing a boundary of mine.

Therefore, I regretfully inform you I will no longer work with you. This will be my two weeks notice. I'm sorry.

(Y/n)

The paper flutters to the ground. You're sweating. Isolating, controlling, manipulative behavior... it fits to a T of what Hugo's been displaying to you since the accident. Except it started long before that.

You glance around the hallway, suddenly feeling like you're in enemy territory rather than your home. But can you even call it that anymore?

All's you know, is you need to get out of here.

Running back downstairs, you begin planning what supplies to bring with you, but movement from outside catches your attention.

Rushing to the window, you see a familiar figure walking up the driveway. Your blood runs cold.

It's Hugo, carrying bags from the grocery store.

You must've lost track of time. You stumble to your room and pretend to be asleep.

Listening carefully to the noises coming from downstairs, he brings in the bags and rustling follows.

Now that you know the truth, every tiny noise causes anxiety. Why is he doing all this? Was this really all an elaborate lie, this entire situation?

And the most chilling part... was he responsible for your accident? Has it ever been an accident in the first place? As these thoughts race in your mind, your ears strain to listen to what he's doing below you.

Footsteps approach the staircase. Your heartbeat quickens and you burrow further underneath the covers. They ascend slowly.

Eventually they're right in front of your bedroom. Then, it sounds like they turn and head towards his room instead. You have to stifle a relieved sigh when he doesn't enter your room.

The relief doesn't last long.

Did you put everything away where you found it? Did you shut the drawers properly, did you cover up your tracks?

A few minutes go by, until there's a knock on the door. "Sweetheart, I'm getting started on dinner. How does mac 'n cheese sound?"

"Sure," you say, so quiet he almost doesn't hear you.

You wait until you hear his footsteps descend, then sneak into his room to make sure you put everything up.

To your relief, it looks like it, so you shuffle back downstairs, trying to put on the best neutral expression you can manage.

The last thing you'd want him to suspect is that you're onto his twisted game.

"There they are! Come sit at the table. Almost ready." He ruffles your hair gently when you take a seat. It takes everything in you not to squirm away from his touch. To keep pretending that you're blissfully oblivious. "How long were you napping for?"

"Not too long." The less you talk, the better.

"That's good." Hugo serves you a bowl full of macaroni and adds a glass of juice next to it, sitting across from you. Something about his demeanor seems different. You're sure that's just the anxiety talking. "Is something wrong, buddy? You're quieter than normal," he notes.

"Just... still kinda tired." You pick at the macaroni, hoping he doesn't press on about this.

"Awww... well, eat up, okay?"

Despite the lack of appetite, you force down the food. Every bite tastes like mush.

But if you don't finish it, you have the sinking feeling he'll know something's up. So, you force everything down, as well as the juice, which washes it down easier.

Within moments, a sudden wave of dizziness washes over you. "H...Hugo..."

Hugo gives a lopsided smile, somewhat apologetic. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't want to do that, but found you messed with some of my stuff. My fault, I've been putting off getting locks for it. I swear, I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on!" He laughs. It borders on hysterical. "All I want is to be your dad... for you to let me care for you." He reaches out, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead. "But no need to worry. I doubt you'll remember any of today, anyway."

"No..." You try to stand, but end up collapsing forward. In the haze, you register being pulled upwards.

"You just can't help but be stubborn," he chastises. "Guess you got it from your old man."

"You aren't..." Your tongue begins to feel heavy, just like the rest of your body. "Not my..."

"Sleep, baby. Sleep. When you wake up, this will all just be a silly nightmare. Papa's got you. He'll always have you."

And despite your desperate attempts to stay awake, sleep eventually claims you, as black engulfs your vision.

The last thing you sense is your head being tucked underneath his chin, and hearing him hum the same melody he hummed in the hospital.

[churipu]

jjk men & their sleepyhead gf !

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, nanami kento x fem! reader

warnings. none, just them being all soft and whipped for you

note. first of all, anon i am so sorry, i accidentally posted your request on the queue list and fml, i'm so embarrassed but idek how to edit the queue list so out of desperation i deleted it— but i ofc screenshotted this before i deleted the og post, so i am so sorry :(( i hope you enjoy this, and i hope you get to find out i didn't delete your ask and it's here in a form of a screenshot :((

GOJO SATORU. i feel like he doesn't mind most of the time— he does mind it if you fall asleep when you're supposed to be paying attention to him >:(

but whenever you fall asleep, his camera's always on standby, snapping pictures of you from every angle. whether you look good or bad (you never look bad btw), from up above, from below, from the left, from the right, with 0.5, i can go on.

and when you wake up, you find your phone blowing up with notifications from shoko, geto, and him, especially with the notification "@gojosatoru tagged you in a post" and it's just a slideshow post of you sleeping, a few close up shots, and your face with different instagram filters.

you don't even bother at this point since he's not going to stop, and not gonna lie, you did find it a bit funny. and the comments from shoko and geto made you laugh, so... good luck trying to sleep around him, you'll wake up to a whole album of you sleeping on his account.

"satoru, what the fuck is this filter?" it was a filter that made your face a little distorted, and gojo'd just sitting there innocently, blinking his white lashes up at you.

"you look adorable, princess."

"i don't want to sleep around you anymore."

"no, please sleep— how am i supposed to continue my daily updates of you sleeping?"

mind you, he has 200 posts on instagram and 150 of them are just you sleeping + with the cheesiest captions like "my baby is sleeping, pls tell her to wake up bcs i miss her 🥺🥺🥺"

and shoko is all up in his comments like "wake her up yourself, dumbass she's literally in your house."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. the first time you fell asleep around him was when he went out to get a glass of water, but he didn't think of it as anything and thought you were just tired.

but no— you fall asleep anywhere, whenever and most of the time. he gets pretty frustrated when you both spend time, and in a bit, your head leans onto his shoulders and sukuna checks on you, and you were out like a light.

"y/n?" soft snores.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance but doesn't push you away or get angry, although he finds you cute. sometimes snaps a few pictures to keep, but you don't know about that.

and at times, you wake up all tucked in your bed—your favorite plushie beside you, and sukuna nowhere in sight.

you open your phone and there's a few text messages from him.

[ you fell asleep, so i left ] he didn't leave, he said that to make you feel bad and for not giving him enough attention— he stayed in the same seated position for a few hours before prepping you onto your bed, tucking you in and not forgetting to place a smooch on your forehead.

[ call me when you wake up ]

[ love you ] awww.

he's so in love with you.

NANAMI KENTO. he's such a gentle soul, he won't mind if you fall asleep or is asleep whenever he comes over. in fact, he enjoys it when you fall asleep.

he read somewhere that if someone feels tired or sleepy around a person, it's because they feel safe. so nanami just concludes that his girlfriend feels safe around him, safe enough for her to get sleepy and fall asleep on him.

"kento," you murmur half-asleep, stretching your arms.

"hm?" he hums out, opening his arms for you to fall into — which you did, and he craddled you in his arms, placing his cheek onto your head.

"night night." it wasn't even night time, you just had to say it before you go to sleep, and nanami finds you so cute he couldn't help but to squeeze you a little.

"night night," he replies back, kissing your forehead.

nanami just sits there and continues craddling you in his arms, and if he needs to go, he would put you on your bed (on his bed when it's his house), and writes you a short message why he needed to go and when he will be back.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[samishin]

For the anon that requested Reed900 in tank tops and boxers.✨

I'm sorry, I accidentally deleted your ask somehow😶

[that-one-raccoon]

Fem kunizai goofing off for the anon in my inbox (i'm so so sorry, i think I accidentally deleted your ask I hope you see this <3)