#you are not rotting. staying in bed and doing nothing isn’t rotting

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere Dr. Lee scenario <3

“My love for you is seeping into my bones like cancer. I’m obsessed with your every waking breath. My chest heaves at the idea of you ever leaving me behind to rot like the corpse of an abandoned animal. But you would never. You’re perfect. You’re the balm that soothes my burns and the morphine for when my body breaks. I hope to one day heal your wounds as deeply as you’ve done mine. I’ll start with slitting open your enemies like I used to do frogs in biology.” What? Your head is fuzzy from reading the first paragraph, but you can’t stop yourself. If you never finish reading then it will haunt you, or even hurt you, if this was to be taken seriously. 

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for myself for years. I let you have your social circle because that’s just the little butterfly you are. I know you know how obsessed I can be with you. If not, then, now you know. I’ve been in love with you for years, and every single time you bat those pretty eyes at other men, I want to kill them. I’m not going to make this hurt. This isn’t truly a punishment. I just couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I’m going to make you feel good, over and over and over until you see that I love you, little butterfly.”

You read the letter over and over again. You feel the shaking taking over as the deranged letter trembles in your hands, and your breath feels stuck in your throat. Whatthe fuck was this? Some sick love confession? And from who?! What did it even mean by punishment? You can’t bring yourself to hold onto the paper anymore, tossing it aside as you grasp at your hair. What do you do? Cops are hardly ever helpful with shit like this. Making a report should help, at least a little but- There’s a creaking sound behind you. Your thoughts pause, and your hairs stand on end. It’s an eerie silence as you hold your breath and feel the foreboding feeling behind you. Do you acknowledge it? Do you turn your head and see what made the noise? Or do you simply run away, get in the car and go? What if it’s just nothing? You shake. Deep breaths only do so much, but they’re better than completely flying off the edge. 

It’s fine. You’re just extra paranoid. This is a fucked up prank at the very least, and a crime waiting to happen at worst. You just need to get your bearings, get something to calm down, and take care of it as soon as possible. 

Turning your head reveals nothing. The same old floor, same kitchen and living room. No menacing boogeyman, no scary burglar, just your home. (Is it truly yours if rent is always there? Well, whatever, you need a way to get comfort. Delusions such as owning a home help!) 

Double checking the house isn’t a bad idea. So, you go, checking the cupboards, the cabinets, the pantry, and of course anything that looked like a grown person could be hiding. There’s still that foreboding feeling, but once you finish checking under your bed, and your closet, there’s nothing left to check.  There’s the ruffling of your blanket as you collapse. Deep breath in, slow exhale, again and again, until you feel your nerves settling.

Maybe this will be over by the time you get up in the morning to make a report. Maybe it’s a fucked up prank. You can’t really bring yourself to think past anything other than that. You tiredly drag your hands down your face, sighing out as your thoughts try to become less jumbled.

Your eyes close, and your mind finally starts to go blank. Everythings going to be ok. You’ll be ok.

Then there’s the pinprick burning in your arm, and a gloved hand over your mouth.

“So sorry, dove. I know, I know. Shh shh shh. You did good! you did so so good. Hide and seek with you is adorable! But...You know, just because I wasn’t in one hiding spot the first time, it doesn’t mean I didn’t move! Ah, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

There’s a flicker of light as your eyes struggle to stay open, heavy and weighted as your nails try to dig into the arm holding onto you. It’s no use. Your fight is leaving you fast and so is your consciousness, and while your heart is hammering, it’s slowing down considerably as a few tears leave your drooping eyes.

“Wanted a picture to remember this by. Just relax, my butterfly. Just relax. I’ve given you many shots haven’t I? Never did like when my nurses went to do it. Think those count as flirting? I sure do-”

There’s a pouty, disappointed hum as the intruder watches you fade into unconsciousness. “Damn. Worked quicker than I had hoped. Oh well, I need to get you home quick anyway. If I leave too late, people may notice, and it’s not an easy trail to clean.”

(-Mommabean)

[fatfemmefreaquency]

unironically i’m so fucking sick of the term “bedrotting”

[pencil-n-pen]

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

next

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?���

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[bruisedfig]

best friend's dad!jensen .ᐟ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

okay so bear with me !! this saved as a video but i saw this gif on twitter and (my smut-rotted dilf-obsessed brain) immediately thought best friend's dad!jensen….. 18+

cw: smut, age gap (obvs), perverted!jensen, yearning, icky morals / character dynamics, reader is implied 18–mid 20s.

the way jensen looks at you, practically undressing you with his eyes, the young thing that you are, is foul to put it simply. he knows his perverted thoughts about you are inappropriate, probably verging on immoral—you’re the same age as his daughter for fuck’s sake—but that doesn’t stop the flutter of his heart or the throb of his dick anytime you’re near.

it’s like a compulsion; all he wants to do is teach you how to take his cock, make you yearn for it when he’s not around. he wants you so completely dependent on him that it makes you sick when you’re not with him. the need to slip his slimy fingers into every fold of your brain and manipulate you into a docile little lamb for his own pleasure makes him feel like a goddamn perverted mess.

he’s completely out of line, and he knows it.

but the idea of bending you over and cramming his pulsating chubbed-up cock into your tight young cunt, watching you whimper and blush as you make a mess of his pelvis with your sweet juices? jensen could jizz in his pants at the thought alone.

and the way you squirm under his gaze whenever he looks at you, his piercing green eyes and wolfish smile that shrink you into nothing but a floundering babbling little girl? yeah, he’d be silly to think he’d ever get over this fascination with you.

and the thing is, he knows you want him just as bad.

it’s evident in the way you squeeze your thighs together when you’re sat on his couch, watching a movie with your best friend, trying to find relief for that dull ache between your legs that always seems to linger whenever he’s around. or in the way your pretty eyes always flicker back to him when you think he isn’t looking. you’re such a sweet silly thing, really. he wishes he could just scoop you up into his arms and take you someplace where he could just bury his head between those sweet thighs of yours and pull orgasm after orgasm straight from your core.

you’re such a polite girl whenever you’re over at his house, so you’d deserve it, right? ….right?

and those times when he’s picked you and your best friend up from a party, helping as you stumble into his car drunk, giggling like two little school girls. the way his hand stays a fraction too long on your lower back as he helps you into the car, longing to dip lower and grope at the fat of your ass. and that charming smile he shoots you in the rearview mirror that says “such a good girl, coming home to me instead of going home with a silly boy your own age. that’s my smart girl.” those silent but oh-so-telling glances make your breath falter and your stomach pool with heat.

and jensen’s no idiot. he can see when a sweet young thing like you feels a little… flustered. he’s an attractive man; he knows when a lady has taken a liking to him.

but you? sweet little innocent you?

god, it’s bad. he feels like a sick pervert when he’s laying in bed at night, slowly stroking his cock to the thought of you—thinking about how good your pretty lips would look wrapped around his thick member with those sparkly little eyes of yours looking up at him from your knees, or how tight your walls would hug and squeeze his throbbing dick. the desire sears through him, his infatuation with you setting his body alight. he knows it’s wrong; you’re too young for him, too innocent, too good. but fuck, he needs you so bad. he wants to fucking ruin you, have you babbling as you bounce on his dick, whining about how good it stretches you out and how you’re his girl. his.

little does jensen know, your late-night thoughts mirror his exactly. you need him in a way that is indescribable, insatiable. your fingers dance around your folds, rubbing, pinching, curling up into your hole at the thought of him. but it’s just never enough. the idea of letting him, your lifelong best friend’s dad, split you open and use you however he pleases is another level of daddy issues you refuse to mentally unpack. it’s wrong; you know it’s wrong. he watched you grow up for goodness sake. the countless times he picked you and his daughter up from school. the times he took you both out for ice cream or to see a new movie. the times he’s called you his “second daughter.”

but yet, you catch his stares, the glances, the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip when you enter the room. and you feel the way his hands linger on your skin, branding you with warm tingles and a fire that licks up your spine.

you just wish he’d do something about it.

like folding you in half, knees against your chest, fucking you into the mattress, stealing the breath right from your lungs as he plunges into you, his cock leaking pre into your needy hole. you’d do just about anything to be entangled in his bedsheets, his hand over your mouth, stifling your mewls and whines as he whispers into your ear: “shush, baby… shh shh shh, she’ll hear us. we don’t want my babygirl knowing what we’re doing, do we? keep quiet f’me, sweetheart. that’s a good girl.”

the overwhelming need you have for jensen is soul-crushing cause you know, deep down, he’d never consider stepping out of line with you… would he?

part 2/?

fig yaps: i’m not sorry if this is FOUL !!!! cause like that fucking gif? i cannot. the way his eyes flicker up and down... the fucking smirk??? yeah... i need him so bad. ANYWAYS ENJOY PERVERTED BSF!DAD!JENSEN !!! there’ll be more of him,, and it will be me just typing out my fantasies lmao

feedback and reblogs are welcome and appreciated !! thank yaaaa <3

✦ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @jensenacklesballsack @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @daylighted @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @misatxox @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @littlesoulshine @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @freeluigihesbae @bejeweledinterludes @deanswidow @psychicnatural @ghostlyaccurate @k-slla

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[starboygojo]

IN HIS CASTLE, I WHITER.

sukuna x concubine reader

slow burn ; drabble ; angst with a bit of comfort ; concubine reader ; smut ; everything is consensual.

author note: idk this was a random thought but ugh i love the trope of concubine reader x sukuna 💔 leave a like or comment if you enjoyed reading ^^

You were not the first woman to be brought to Ryomen Sukuna’s palace, but you are the only one who lasted. Originally gifted to him as a peace offering from a broken clan, you were meant to be a disposable concubine. Something to toy with.

But you didn’t flinch. You met the King of Curses with steady eyes and silence. Intrigued, Sukuna kept you close. At first, for amusement. Then, for convenience. And finally because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

He makes you his official consort, a title just shy of wife. The others in his harem fade into the background. You’re the only one he calls for. The only one who dares speak back. But even with all his power and obsession, he never says he loves you.

No, you were not his wife. Everyday you had to remind yourself that you were just a mere concubine. You were not his wife.

But he summoned you more than anyone else. He called you to his private chambers, where no one else was allowed.

Sometimes he took you rough and fast like it meant nothing. Other times, he touched you like you’d break under him, his lips brushing your throat with something that almost felt like restraint. But afterward, he always left.

No words. No warmth. No belonging. You were not his, and you hated how your body still craved him.

You begin to wilt.

The castle is beautiful but lifeless. Cold halls. Locked doors. Endless winter outside. You’re dressed in gold, given jewels, kissed when he wants to but never chosen with his heart.

Your mind begins to fracture in the quiet. You miss the sun. His pride will be the death of you.

You are one of the only living thing in his castle. No birds. No flowers. No warmth. Sukuna keeps you close like a pet, yet never lets you bloom.

Because no flower survives long in his garden. And he likes them best when they wilt.

You and Sukuna fall into a rhythm. Arguments that end in heavy silence, touches that linger longer than they should, nights he stays longer in your bed than intended.

One night, after a rare moment of softness, he almost tells you the truth. That you matter. That he doesn’t want to lose you. But his pride chokes him. Instead, he leaves you shivering in silk sheets with nothing but silence.

You fall ill wether it’s real or spiritual, no one can say. The castle drains you. And still, Sukuna won’t name what he feels.

His servants begin whispering that the King has cursed himself with pride. That the woman in white robes is dying of unspoken love. And then the castle begins to rot from the inside.

1. He calls you after battle, blood still on his hands. You expect his usual cruelty. Instead, he kneels between your thighs and worships you like he’s been starving. His voice is hoarse when he murmurs, “Only you taste like this.”

But when you ask what that means, he pulls away, cold again. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

2. Another concubine tries to seduce him. He brushes her off. But that night, Sukuna comes to you furious, possessive, desperate to remind you who he chooses. A man full of pride and mind full of knowledge melts against your knowing touch. Sukuna wouldn’t dare do something without the go ahead from you.

You look up with your eyes that gleam at him to continue. And continue he did.

“Do you think I’d touch anyone else like this?” he growls, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. “This body is mine.”

3. You try to leave—quietly, without a goodbye. You’re halfway down the palace steps when he appears. “You don’t get to walk away.”

“Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you want me.”

He grabs your chin, forces your gaze up. His eyes burn.

“I need you. Isn’t that enough?”

You shake your head. He breaks.

And when he kisses you, it’s not a demand. It’s a confession his mouth is too proud to speak.

Sukuna begins to linger after. Not every time. But enough for you to hope.

He touches your hair while you sleep. He kills a man for looking at you too long. He builds you a private garden in the middle of a castle that’s never known life.

But still he won’t say the words. Won’t call you “mine” where others can hear. Won’t admit that your absence guts him.

And as your humanity wilts, Sukuna begins to feel the ache of what he’s losing but love might not be enough to undo the rot. Your heart aches for him, you slowly begin to question. Can the man who destroyed your spirit before learning your heart ever love you back?

4. Ryomen Sukuna is not fond of asking for forgiveness. No empathy should ever linger in his head. Although one particular argument between you two finally made something in him change. The silent treatment was killing him.

His hands tremble. You’ve never seen him like this. Not when he’s bleeding. Not when he’s furious.

“I love you,” he says again, voice cracked and low, as if he still can’t believe the words live in his throat. You reach for his face, your fingertips brushing the blood on his cheek.

“Then stay,” you whisper. “Stay with me. No more leaving.”

He swears under his breath, breath hitching as he leans in. The kiss he gives you is nothing like the ones before there’s no hunger, no cruelty. Just ache. His lips part over yours slowly, trembling with restraint, like if he takes you too fast, you’ll break.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Tell me if I hurt you. Please.”

Your heart stutters. Sukuna—the King of Curses—is asking. Begging for permission.

You nod, whispering, “Touch me.”

And gods, he does.

He undresses you carefully, reverently, pushing aside silk and lace as if he’s peeling back petals. His calloused fingers skim every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing it just in case.

“You’re so soft,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. “So fucking perfect. How did I not see it sooner?”

When his mouth moves down your neck, over your chest, you feel his breath stutter.

He lingers. He kisses your ribs. Your stomach. Then he spreads your thighs slowly, like he’s opening a gift he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

“You always taste like honey,” he murmurs, settling between your legs.

And then he lowers his head. His mouth on you is worship.

His tongue moves slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on yours the whole time. One hand holds your thigh down while the other slides into your trembling fingers you’re holding hands as he eats you out like it’s his religion.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back. Let me know I’m still making you feel good.”

You whimper. He groans.

He moans into you when you arch your hips, dragging his tongue deeper, flicking it in circles that drive you wild. He’s murmuring against your skin things like

“I should’ve done this every night…”

“No one else gets to hear you like this…”

“I’ll never let you go again…”

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharpit’s devastating. Your body clenches, your chest arches, and you cry out his name, tears slipping down your cheeks as the wave crashes through you.

Sukuna kisses his way back up, tasting you on his lips, his breath heavy.

“I need to be inside you,” he growls, voice ragged. “Now. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly. Too slowly. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. Your walls flutter around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck.

“You fit me too fucking well. Like you were made for me.”

And when he moves, it’s gentle, rhythmic, hips rolling into you in a way that feels like he’s trying to imprint his soul onto yours. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit again, and your second orgasm builds with the pressure of all those unspoken years.

You cry into his shoulder. He whispers into your mouth

“Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I love you—I’ll say it a thousand fucking times. Just don’t go.”

You come with a sob, clinging to him like you’re anchoring him in this world. He follows seconds later, releasing inside you with a shudder, biting down on your shoulder as his body locks with yours.

Afterward, he doesn’t move. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair while the other stays tangled in your fingers.

“Stay,” he whispers again. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

And this time… maybe, you do. For now you are his wife.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: Matt finds out about your self harm.

Warnings: Self harm, mentions of not eating, angst, overall dark themes. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: Please reach out to hotlines if you are struggling, you are not alone <333

With love and big tits, Rose

wc: 1500+

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00: Not-so-sweet escape

Everyone needs an escape. Reality is harsh, too painful to bathe in every second of the day. All you wanted was something you could cope with, something that would make the ache of breathing sting a little less. 

It started small—very small. Sometimes you’d purposefully just not eat, purposefully make your body feel weak. But it escalated. Like everything else, the addiction became lethal. 

01: Fake it

You’re exhausted. Every bone feels like it’s withering away beneath your itchy skin. It’s like your body is reacting to your mind, mimicking how dead you feel. 

The bathroom is dark. You’ve been sitting on the cold tile for ages, wishing that the dark would somehow consume you. But it doesn’t. All it does is mock you in silence, the quiet peace haunting your running thoughts, jealousy burning through your face as you feel tears swell in your eyes. 

“Hey, do you wanna go out for ice cream?” 

Matt. He knocks softly, his brows furrowed as he sees the lack of light illuminating from the door gap from the floor. He’s worried. He doesn’t wanna say anything, he barely has a reason to be concerned other than the fact that he can just feel it—feel something awful as if it’s contagious. 

The lump in your throat is thick. You bite down hard on your inner cheek, letting the back of your head fall against the wall. “Yeah, that… that sounds like fun.” 

You don’t have it in yourself to do anything but pretend. 

02: Pretty Weak

It’s running smoothly until it doesn’t. The way you fake it is sometimes too convincing. You find yourself truly believing in hope until you’re alone again, feening for some sort of relief that you don’t think will ever come. 

The sun is rising, your mind is barely awake. Matt has your face nuzzled in his chest, his hand wrapped around the bottom of your thigh as he pulls you in even closer, kissing the top of your head lovingly. 

“You look so pretty,” he compliments. 

And then it stops. Those words trigger your body to stiffen just the slightest before falling lifelessly. You don’t feel pretty. And it wasn’t necessarily about your body either, it was your eyes. They looked so… dull—like something inside your body had failed, leaving you as some sort of corpse left to rot in reality. 

“I’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? You stay here, I wanna eat in bed with you.” 

His words are sweet, truly. But they make you feel guilty. He’s so full of love, everything good. And you’re full of… well, you’re full of nothing. Your blood feels like dust, your tears caressing your cheeks like dry clouds. 

It’s just so empty, so useless. 

As Matt leaves the room, you can’t help but stare towards the bathroom. You want it. You want it so bad. The relief is all that seems to linger when you recall memories of such a brutal coping mechanism. You can’t find it in yourself to search for the reasons why you stopped in the first place. 

But you don’t. You can’t. 

He’ll see it. 

Anywhere you put a single mark, Matt would always see it. You live together, he constantly helps get you dressed, sometimes you even shower together. But right now? Right now you just don’t care—not when you feel this unbearable urge, an unbearable itch. You need it. 

And the worst part? The worst part is that you feel so weak. Nothing bad has even happened. Your boyfriend’s making you breakfast after calling you pretty and somehow that isn’t enough to make you happy. 

03: Cope 

Relationships are supposed to be built and maintained on bricks of trust. And that’s what you have with Matt. Well, used to. You’ve been lying to him constantly, giving excuses, avoiding him like the plague—even though you feel like you’re the disease. 

But it’s just too much. You can’t put this on him, you won’t. Not when this isn’t his battle to fight, not when you gave into the past addiction so easily. 

“Sweetheart, do you wanna take a bath together? I got all the fun stuff,” he says excitedly, lifting items out of a plastic grocery bag, showing you all the best things—bubbles, candles, scrubs… everything. 

He didn’t do it for any other reason other than wanting to spend more intimate time with you. Physical touch is important to him. It doesn’t necessarily mean sex, but he craves your skin on his, he needs the rawness of being close to you. 

You feel bad rejecting the offer. In all honesty, it sounds so nice. But you can’t. Not when you know he’ll see it. Then he’ll worry. And he doesn’t need to worry. This helps you, he wouldn’t understand that. 

Matt’s shoulders slump as he tries to spare a small smile, not wanting to seem too disappointed. The awful guilt crawls up your chest, creating a lump in your throat. 

And there’s only one way to cope. 

04: He Knows

His heart feels like it’s ripping out of his chest. The more hints he slowly picks up on, the more he realizes what’s really going on. He doesn’t want to believe it. Denial is logical to him. Afterall, you’d tell him, right?

The trust he has for you is unfathomable, immeasurable. He’s certain you’d tell him. He’s certain he’d know immediately if things were that bad. 

And then he stops feeling the ripping of his heart in his chest. Instead, he hears it—a loud cry leaving his lips. 

Matt was never one to snoop. He respects your privacy more than anything. But he saw pink water resting above the shower drain after you had exited fully clothed. You’re not on your period, he knows that for a fact. And—you didn’t really shave in that quick of a shower. 

He knows. 

05: Lose

They’ve gone missing. Every tool you’ve ever used and hidden in your bathroom drawer—they’re just… gone. 

Your stomach drops, your fingers aching as you furiously shuffle through the miscellaneous products in your drawer, trying to find anything. But it’s not there. 

Matt couldn’t bring himself to fully confront you without knowing more. The pink water haunted him as he flipped through the pages of your journal, his stomach twisting in knots when he saw the dates trace back further and further.

How did he not know sooner? 

What if he had never known until it was too late? 

Even the thought makes him sick. He can’t fathom the thought of you completely out of his everyday life. He needs you. 

Matt hears you rummaging through the drawers, his chest shaking as he tries to take a deep breath. 

He’s just not ready to lose you. 

06: Lost

Horrified fear. The look on your face is viciously distraught, your hands twisting into fists as you sit on the edge of the bed, Matt’s voice ringing through the air. He explains the pink water, how he didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy, he was only concerned. 

Part of you is angry. You want to snap at him for going through your stuff. But he had a valid reason—he wasn’t wrong. 

“-and I’ll help. We can look into therapists, I’m here every step of the way–”

“You don’t understand, Matt.” 

Your words are bitter. Matt’s face scrunches, almost as if he’s in pain. It hurts to look at someone you love suffering—especially when they’re looking at you with pure hatred. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. 

Although, you don’t hate him, you hate how he makes you see yourself. You’re weak. You couldn’t even reach out for help to your boyfriend who has never failed you. 

It could’ve been worse. He could’ve lost you. But as you walk out the door, it kinda feels like he has. 

07: Escape

Oh god it hurt his heart. The pain in his chest is the most brutal violence of emotions he has ever felt in his life. And he just wants it to stop, but he knows it won’t. Not when he’s holding you, consoling you as you scream at him. 

“I know it’s bad! I’m not fucking stupid, I just-”

Your words fall weaker, your fists hammering against his chest starting to unclench as you let out a sad cry.

“I just needed an escape.”

08: Revolving Door

Your cheek is raw from how often your teeth seemed to knaw into the muscle. Matt’s sitting on the desk chair, trying to not stare at you as you write down in a journal. 

You refused to go to therapy. The thought of saying everything out loud made you sick. So, this is the best he could come up with—put it on a page so it doesn’t have to rest in your mind. And honestly, it helped. It helped more long term than anything else.

But you just missed it—the immediate relief. 

Matt assures you that you’re not weak when you explain this to him. He’s there to let you cry and sit numbly, as long as he’s there to make sure you’re safe—not walking into the revolving door until you’re so scattered that you don’t even know how to get back out. 

He loves you—even if it’s not as a lover and just as a soul. He’ll hold open any door, take you places that make it easier to breathe. He makes you feel strong—strong enough to not turn back to that revolving door.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

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

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

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[tender-rosiey]

sick — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: taking care of gojo cause he deserves it my baby :((

satoru forces his eyes open with a great struggle, but seeing your face makes it worth it. he presses a kiss to your forehead, before, reluctantly, peeling off the covers and heading to the bathroom.

his steps are heavier and his mind is a bit hazy. he figures quickly that he‘s caught a cold. but, like the idiot he is, he brushes it off cause what’s a little cold to the strongest sorcerer?

small coughs escape his lips every now then as he gets ready. he applauds himself for being able to do everything—despite the coughing fits—without waking you up.

finally, he tiptoes his way to your sleeping form to give you a kiss on the forehead once again. he takes a last look at your face and he smiles, one reserved for you only.

and so the routine is done! he is satisfied as he walks to the door, ready to act like his normal self that definitely doesn’t have a fever that is worsening by the second.

his hand reaches for the doorknob and, “satoru, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

he turns to you, a grin plastered on his face as he tries masking his coughs, “hey, hun! lovely morning, isn’t it? I was about to—“

“sit your ass back down.”

“yes ma’am,” he mumbles, looking like a kicked puppy.

you roll your eyes before pulling him back to bed. but, of course, he tries to fight it, “y/n, I am fine, really!”

“no, you’re not,” you huff as you make him lay down on the bed and cover him with the blankets, “your breath is heavier and your face is flushed.”

you press a hand to his forehead before gasping, “satoru, you’re burning up! and you wanted to work like this?”

“hey! nothing the strongest—“ he coughs in between, “—can’t handle,” he smiles, trying to assure you, but you don’t buy it.

and you are about to retort, but satoru’s phone rings, cutting your thoughts off. the caller is one of the higher ups.

before your husband gets the chance, you snatch the phone and answer the call instead, “can I help you?”

satoru has given up fighting about it anymore and simply accepts his fate. he snuggles closer to your chest while you listen to whatever the old man is yapping about.

then you respond, “satoru’s not going anywhere,” you tighten your hold on him and he feels his flutter a little at your secure hold. when was the last time he felt protected?

the old man’s yapping turns into barking and his voice is like chalk scratching the board so you sigh and reply, tone giving no room for further discussion, “he is sick. also, why don’t you up your game a bit? you’re maybe double or triple his age? shouldn’t you be able protect yourself? anyways bye! rot in hell!”

you end the call with a smile before tossing the phone to the side. satoru smiles into your shirt, “that was hot of you.”

“oh shut up,” you grumble as you pat his head, “how did you get sick anyways?”

satoru takes a deep breath, brows furrowed before he replies, “one of the curses was related to ice…or whatever,” you hum in response and he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

seeing satoru all weak, maybe even helpless breaks your heart. he is usually so loud, so bright, but now he looks so tired, frail even.

you sigh as your fingers card through his hair. you would’ve preferred if his day-off was spent with him being his usual self rather than all sick like this.

though you can’t deny that a part of you feels a little happy because he trusts you enough to be completely vulnerable with him.

so you press a kiss to the top of his head and he stirs around a bit, words a little slurry, “…what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing, but I have to go and make you some soup, satoru,” you say while trying to get up, but his hold on you tightens.

he voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, “…stay.”

your heart clenches at the soft plea, but you know that he needs to be well fed so he can recover quickly, “satoru, honey, you need to eat so you can get better,” your hear him groan before reluctantly pulling way.

still, his hand is holding onto your own, and he looks up to you, eyes barely open, oh how you missed seeing those blue gems shinning as usual, even if they scared the shit out of you at night, “just don’t take long…please.”

you nod and press a kiss to the top of his head, “look at you being so polite.”

he grumbles, making you giggle.

you finally make your way to the kitchen. you hope that satoru can sleep a bit till you’re done with the soup.

you don’t feel the time as it passes, already invested in making the best soup for your sick husband.

after a while, you’re finally done. you give yourself a pat on the back before carrying it to the bedroom. you speak, voice low, “satoru?”

he turns in his sleep and slowly opens his eyes, smiling a little, “you’re back?”

“of course, I am, silly. I would never leave you,” and both of you know that those words hold much deeper meaning than it looks like.

you set the soup on the nightstand, “come on, you need to eat, honey.”

he stretches a bit before sitting up—the movement seems to cause him pain but he hopes you don’t point it out—, a wide smile on his lips as he looks at you, “my pretty wife made soup, just for me?” he coughs a little, “I am flattered.”

he sounds better, you note. that sleep must’ve done him good so you hope the soup will make him feel even better.

you take a hold of the bowl and satoru opens his mouth, expectantly. you quirk an eyebrow at him, “what are you doing?”

he closes his mouth with a pout, “you’re not going to feed me?”

he is finally back to his antics, you think as you narrow your eyes, “and why would I do that?”

“because I am your very sick husband who only wants to be pampered by his pretty—“ he is cut off by you shoving the spoon in his mouth.

he swallows the soup, satisfied, and with a grin so wide you’re thinking of smacking him for looking so smug yet so cute at the same time, “thank you, honey!”

you roll your eyes, albeit fondly, “yeah, yeah,” you huff as you feed him another spoon and the smile never leaves his face.

you also notice the little kicking of his feet. does being spoon-fed by you really make him this giddy?

“y/n, you know how everyone boasts about my strength?” you feed him another spoon and he hums in contentment before continuing, “I think my only weakness is you.”

“doesn’t that make you scared?” you inquire as you set the empty bowl aside and satoru wastes no time as he hugs your waist as snuggles into your chest, his favorite place, “having a weakness and everything.”

he shakes your head, “nope, it just makes me want to get even stronger so I can protect you.”

he thinks for a moment, “you got me wrapped around your pretty fingers and I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he then grins, looking up at you.

it’s silent for a while before you speak up, “satoru.”

“hm?” you practically hear the smirk his voice.

you deadpan, “did you just fart?”

“honey, I could never!” and satoru thanks the heaven that he is sick cause he knows that he would’ve been hit by every single pillow on this bed otherwise.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[literaila]

I seriously love the relationship between Megumi and reader. He is in fact, a mama's boy lol

But Dadgojo and Megumi moments are cute as hell too

So herw you go a small oneshot: Little Megs would always go to reader's or Tsumiki's bedroom when he has nightmares. He already trusts you enough to see him vulnerable and goes to seek for your protection, and of course you never complain and comfort him.

But this time is different. He had a nightmare and you were on a mission and Tsumiki is staying at a friend's house.

There is only one person left in the house: Gojo.

So, with the greatest shame and irritation in the world at having to depend on his annoying and childish dad, he goes to Gojo's room because at moments like these he can't stand being alone. So he eats his shame and goes to seek for him.

You can imagine reader's surprise when she comes back home in the morning and finds Satoru and your son cuddling together on the bed, Megumi's hold on Gojo's shirt tight as both sleep peacefully.

You swear you are not like Satoru, but you can't help it but to pick up the phone and take thousands of pictures of this rare moment, knowing it wont happen again (because Megumi won't do it twice after Satoru didn't stop mocking him about it.)

honestly you might as well just write the series for me. like do you wanna look in my inbox? you can write all of the one shots currently rotting away (i’m not asking im pleading)

this is so correct though.

megumi’s just not used to not having you home. when this arrangement first began you took some time off, let satoru handle everything (as per usual) so you could take care of the kids. adapt.

when you resume your former busy schedule, both of the kids are slightly thrown off. and satoru too—because he misses you. he’s known the caress of your absence and isn’t fond of the feeling.

and now it’s megumi’s turn.

but the boy doesn’t start having serious nightmares till around seven or eight (despite the…lack of an upbringing, the rotting apartment and cuddling with tsumiki in bed so neither of them froze in their sleep).

when it happens the first time, he sits there, waiting for some answer to come. he’s a quiet, stoic kid—and he doesn’t get scared. he’s not like his soft, kind sister. he doesn’t even flinch when others would jump.

he lays there until he falls asleep again. and he won’t mention it. megumi doesn’t need to worry you or satoru (mostly you) with this.

then it happens a second time.

this time he’s woken up on the verge of tears—already passed that breaking point—and he can’t stay in bed. he can’t lay there and recall images of monsters no child should understand.

so he gets out of bed—but just for a glass of water. he’s still not scared.

though it just so happens that you’re already in the kitchen when he gets there, and it just so happens that you know things about him—just because you know—so there’s nothing he can do to hide any of it.

still, you’ll only tilt your head at him, giving him a half-sleepy smile. “hey, megs. you okay?”

“i’m thirsty.”

so you get him his glass of water and you watch while he takes tentative sips.

again, somehow you just know. the same way that megumi knows that you know.

“are you having a hard time sleeping?” you ask him, after a minute of silence.

megumi shakes his head on instinct.

you’re still smiling. “bad dreams?”

and he could lie—he’s so very used to lying about things like this. megumi doesn’t want people to see him as this little boy who needs their help. he wants an equal playing field, and he doesn’t want to be scared.

but he is.

and when it comes to you, and only you, megumi is a terrible liar.

so he nods, and your smile remains—sure as always.

“i get ‘em too,” you whisper to him. “even when i was a kid. especially then.”

“you do?”

“yup. all the time.”

“what…” megumi furrows his brows. “what do you do?”

“hmm…” you go and stand beside him at the counter, leaning your chin on a hand. “well, it depends on the dream. sometimes they’re… smaller. and i can usually sleep through those ones, but i always remember them in the morning.”

megumi nods; he has all sorts of dreams.

dreams of running around with tsumiki, of going on missions with gojo. he dreams of you in the kitchen, you telling him to keep going. and he dreams of the dark. of a house that could never be a home.

he dreams of being all alone, and when he wakes up, it feels so real that he can’t help it.

he begins to believe that it’s true.

“when i have bigger ones, though, that i can’t sleep though… well, usually i just wake satoru up.”

megumi frowns. “why?”

“he’s so irritating that i forget all about the dream.”

“oh. yeah.”

you laugh. “or i just ask him for a hug. he always says yes. or i wake him up and we steal a car and drive around for a bit,” you add, almost absentmindedly.

megumi blinks, about to interrupt, but you continue.

“sometimes i just lay in bed until i fall back asleep. or i get up and do something else—get some water,” you give him a pointed look, “so that it feels less real.”

“does it work?”

“most of the time,” you answer, so softly. and you’re right there next to him, still smiling. “wanna watch a movie or something? i’ll let you pick.”

megumi frowns. you don’t like to let them stay up late (despite satoru’s many attempts to go out for gas station ice cream at three in the morning). “really?”

“sure.”

and you sit with him on the couch, not cuddling, but close enough.

megumi listens to you laugh at the random movie he put on—something tsumiki likes—and it feels a little bit better. he feels a little less alone.

and later on, just when he’s falling back to sleep, almost slumping on you, you’ll whisper to him: “the thing about nightmares, megumi,” your hand is in his hair and your voice is almost a lullaby. “is that you can always wake up.”

so megumi gets in the habit of looking for you when he’s had a nightmare—the bad ones, like you mentioned. he doesn’t ask you for a hug, or ask you to sit with him, but you do anyway.

and somehow the two of you will end up on the couch, or in his bed, so close together that megumi can’t have another bad dream (because he’s suffocating).

but on this night—the one night where you’re not home—megumi isn’t sure what to do.

because he doesn’t want to be alone. he doesn’t want to feel trapped in his room, and there’s no way he’s falling back asleep now, and why did he forget that you weren’t going to be home tonight, and—

“psst,” a voice says, a little bit amused. “why are you awake, kid?”

almost immediately megumi straightens. his arms cross like it’s a habit. and when he looks to gojo, he’s already expecting the grin. “why are you?”

“i was calling y/n. or she was calling me. it’s hard to be away from me, you know,” gojo is sprawled out on the couch, taking megumi’s spot.

“it can’t be that hard.”

gojo shakes his head, pouting. “are you awake because the guilt from all of the cruel things you say is keeping you up?”

megumi rolls his eyes. says a curt: “no,” and then pauses.

if you’re not here then what…

“what else could it be?”

“nothing,” megumi answers, immediately defensive.

gojo purses his lips, considering megumi. “why do you look weird?”

“why do you?”

“is that the only insult you’ve got?”

and finally, the boy gives in. he steps over to the couch, sitting down next to gojo (ten feet away) with his arms still crossed. “it’s late.”

“that’s no excuse, young fushiguro.”

they both sit there for a moment, staring off.

then gojo speaks up: “you know y/n would kill you if she knew you were awake, right?”

“no. she would kill you.”

“that’s…” gojo huffs. “true.”

at this, megumi lets out a grunt—it could be a laugh, could be a cough.

he doesn’t want to tell gojo about the dreams, he decides. because he doesn’t want to be ridiculed, and he doesn’t want gojo to tell you and then—

he’s not even scared. you’re gone, tsumiki is sleeping, and gojo is… staring at him.

“are you going to answer my question?”

megumi merely grunts again.

“c’mon, don’t make this awkward.”

“can’t. you already have.”

gojo scoffs, leaning back again, crossing his arms in a poor mimic. “we’ve been letting nanami watch you too much,” he says, but continues. “fine. don’t tell me. i can call y/n back right now and you can talk to—“

“no,” megumi looks over to him, wide eyes.

“then speak, kid.”

he sighs, annoyed. at least you’re right about one thing. it takes a moment, but megumi relents because he has to. “i had a bad dream.”

gojo’s face goes slack. “oh.”

megumi feels like crawling into himself, for just a moment, and then: “do you want to talk about it?”

blue eyes meet blue, and megumi frowns. “what?”

“do you want to talk about it?” gojo repeats, but… weirdly, this time. awkwardly.

“um..” is all the boy says, feeling like he should move away. like to his room away. like he should probably find someone else to live with, a random stranger, even, because that would be easier.

“i don’t know, okay?” gojo blurts out, like it was killing him not to. “that’s just what y/n asks me when i have a nightmare.”

“you have nightmares?”

gojo is running his hands through his hair, looking like he’s about to go on a tangent. but when megumi asks his question, gojo pauses. he gives megumi a look. “doesn’t everyone?”

megumi scowls. “i don’t know.”

“huh. well, i have them. sometimes.”

“and you tell y/n?”

gojo snorts, shaking his head. “there’s no telling y/n anything. she just—“

“knows.”

gojo nods, giving megumi a small wink that makes the little boy want to throw up.

“so…” gojo taps his fingers on the couch. “do you want to talk about it?”

“why would i want to talk about it with you?”

“well you came out into the living room looking all… surly.”

“surly?” megumi repeats, with a face.

“down. upset. sad.”

“i’m not sad.”

“people who aren’t sad don’t need to deny that they’re sad.”

“y/n isn’t here,” megumi says, shaking his head. “i could hit you and be fine.”

gojo laughs, again, relaxing once more. because the man cannot be serious for any longer than three minutes. it’s biologically impossible. “i’d like to see you try,” he whispers, and it’s just enough.

megumi falls asleep on the couch that night. he spends another half hour arguing with gojo about whatever he says—forgetting about his dream, the reason for coming into the living room in the first place.

and when you get home, you open the door to the sight of two boys, both drooling.

megumi has his head pressed against satoru’s shoulder, hair smushed against his face. satoru is crossing his arms, face tilted towards the ceiling as he snores.

…it’s pretty obvious what happens next.

[the-traveling-poet]

House-Husband’s Love

When life becomes too overwhelming, maybe even simultaneously underwhelming at times, sometimes you just need a break. Just a day off to lay around and do nothing; give your brain a chance to calm down and reset. With Levi as your partner, you can bet he would be the one to ensure you got your breaks. And some attention, of course.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader (relationship isn’t specified, so imagine how you prefer!)

Warnings: SFW, hurt-to-comfort kinda, themes of depression/disassociation/sensory overload, fluff ending

A/N: Needing some modern!househusband!Levi rn cause I’m nearing my breaking point again and needed to write some brain rot to completely disassociate again. I guess also to distract myself from writing my fics? I dunno man.

1.2k words

It must have been one of those days; where everything felt off-balance. Levi always saw. He could tell by just a glance your way the morning before.

Another day of feeling as though every sight before you became dull and muted in appearance. Unnoticeable, nearly, while you disassociated. And yet somehow, all at once, the more noticeable everything became, making you paranoid and panicked.

He could figure out your tell-tale signs well enough by now, from his own curious observations over time. Occasionally, after some time of letting you sort it out yourself, he’d talked it over once or twice with you. He’d asked you how exactly you felt on days like these; days where your eyes stayed wide and brows raised in an expression of alertness, even as your jaw clenched and hands shook, your eyes glazed over as you kept yourself in near constant motion. He knew the signs, and what they meant.

You were spiraling again. Sensory overload, dissociation…He hadn’t seen it so bad in you before.

Always moving, always forcing yourself to focus no matter how shallow it made your breath...He hated seeing you in such a state, when you wanted to focus on anything but your own thoughts.

Sometimes these moments lasted a few hours, sometimes even just one. But often, they progressed into days of forced hyper focus and constant activity to draw yourself away from your own mind, busying it with tasks and work.

But this time…this time, it had been weeks.

It hurt him to see you so stressed, no matter the situation.

And so, one such morning, following another rough night, he took the liberty of disengaging your alarm for the morning. The simple press of a button, he hoped, would keep you asleep for just a tad longer. Your mind needed the rest of a couple more hours, he reasoned.

After only a second’s hesitation in which he still held your phone, he also sent a quick email to your employer; some excuse about being unwell enough to not clock in today, and warning about a possible similar hinderance for the following day.

'If you need more information, feel free to message my emergency contact, as he's looking after me today while I recover.'

He sent the email, slightly smirking to himself as he turned your phone off and set it back onto the nightstand.

He would handle it for you, as much as he could.

Pulling the covers up over your shoulder, Levi slid out of the bed soundlessly.

With you still soundly asleep, he went about tidying up what he could around the apartment, keeping any noise to a minimum to ensure you stayed asleep.

'A clean space helps clear the mind,' he'd always believed, and as such he wanted to provide you with such a fresh start today. Whenever you chose to wake up, that is. He wouldn’t enforce it today.

It wasn't until late morning he heard movement from the bedroom, your weight shifting over the creaking bed as you stumbled out in a panic moments later.

"My alarm, I must not have set it-" You'd started, obviously anxious as you raced to throw on a new top and a pair of jeans.

Before you could get to slip anything off, Levi’s hand found your shoulder, softly holding you in place.

"Don't worry about it, love. You have today off. Maybe even tomorrow, unless I get a call."

He mumbled, gently taking a jacket from your shaking hands.

You stared up at him blankly for a moment, completely in disbelief.

"...It's Wednesday. I work a 9-5, babe...I'm not off today; it's not a holiday." You tried to protest weakly, but once again were silenced by a slender finger against your lips.

"I know. I called off for you, though. Besides, the shift started three hours ago, so there's no need to bother going in now. Just take a seat, breakfast is half done."

Still regarding him in complete bewilderment, you hesitantly took a seat on the couch and watched him meander back towards the kitchen, returning his attention back to the stove. It was only then you noticed the array of pans neatly set on the hot surface, and the toaster on the counter already slotted with bread. The smell of frying foods wafting over to you, causing your stomach to protest weakly.

When was the last time you’d focused on a full meal, instead of eating a few small bites here and there throughout the day?

It wasn't long until he'd plated the meal, and brought you a plate with a cup of tea to pair it. Once you were settled in with your plate and utensils, he sat down on the couch beside you with his one of his own. He'd never been fond of eating on the couch, you knew, so this must be a 'special occasion' of sorts.

"...Why?" You eventually mumbled between bites of toast and sips of tea, digging in the moment he’d sat.

He swallowed the bite of scrambled eggs from his own plate before answering, a napkin already in hand to wipe away any invisible cooking greased from his lips.

"You're stressed out, baby. I've seen it for several days now. Relaxing evenings after work weren't doing it, so I wanted to give you a full day's worth, instead."

"...I'm fine. Life is just rough sometimes-"

You'd started, setting down your mug to weakly protest his concerns; but he easily held a hand over your wrist, lowering the warm beverage from your lips.

"Then isn't it my job to try and make life a little less strenuous? One day off won't kill you, and won't impact the income too greatly. We can manage; but your mental health can’t, not like this.”

He sighed, setting your mug down onto the coffee table for you.

“Just relax, yeah? Relax, and let me handle today for you. It’s the least I can do, for all that you always do.”

Huffing quietly in muted amusement, you smiled his way, eyes welling with unshed tears. Tears of silent relief.

“…I haven’t had a work day off in ages, maybe months. Two days a week are nice, but…”

“…But not enough sometimes. I know sweetheart. I know. I can see it in you. So just relax today. We don’t have to be productive every day.” Levi reassured softly, keeping his hand around yours.

“Hell, I’ll bully your boss into giving you another day off-“

“Levi I need this job, you can’t,” you giggled, leaning against his side and curling up onto the couch.

“…But thank you, my love. I think I needed this,” you finished in a whisper, briefly closing your eyes.

“I know you did.” Levi stated calmly, running his free hand’s fingers through your hair.

“Just rest…I’ve got everything else. I’ll deal with it for you.”

(A/N: I’m a whore for the idea of Levi calling us ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ leave me alONE-)

For mroe Levi Ackerman content, feel free to check out my other masterlists!

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— melted hearts, and your chest’s so warm.

contents. suguru geto x gn!reader. fluff. tooth-rotting fluff.

★ jiah’s notes. they’re very much in love, if you can’t tell.

“you’re cold.”

it’s not a question, like you’d hoped. just a flat—voiced observation that suguru makes, blank—faced, albeit with a hint of a smirk on his lips. and that one glint in his eye that makes your cheeks flush just a tad more, this time— not from the cold.

(the very same spark in those honeyed pools that tells you i told you so.)

you want to despise it; you really do.

but it doesn’t really help when all he does is smile and shake his head, like you were a child caught stealing cookies at midnight out of bed.

doesn’t really help when all you do is accept it all wordlessly anyway— letting his fingers linger on your icy skin as he softly coos the frost away, warmth seeping into your shivering bones so easily that you wonder if you’re that cold or it’s just his warmth.

(probably the latter, but you don’t exactly want to acknowledge it.)

especially right now.

“silly thing,” suguru murmurs.

(you silently bottle up his voice in your head so you could gulp it down whenever he’s not home.)

“you should’ve worn a scarf, at least,” he huffs, but there’s no malice behind it. just an endless need to take care of you. “wear mine— ah, ah— ” his eyes narrow when he hears your protests, and you go quiet immediately, “no buts. i’m afraid you’re in no position to speak right now, baby.”

(so much for feeling like a kicked puppy.)

you don’t want to throw a tantrum, don’t want to kick about aimlessly and make a fuss out of nothing— you really don’t. it’s just that a little part of you hesitates when you see you’re wearing a scarf and he isn’t.

“but— but you’ll be cold too,” you find yourself stammer, despite yourself.

suguru actually feels his heart stop for a good second.

(what did you say?)

he doesn’t say anything.

he just stares.

you feel your heartbeat pick up its pace a little more, cowering and running away like a deer frightened by just a clatter of stones.

(but then again, his stare seems much more than a stone or two.)

did you say something wrong? is he mad at you for spilling out words that you don’t even know you shouldn’t have said? surely not, suguru isn’t mad at you, no matter what you do. it’s really hard to actually get on his nerves when it came to you. did— did you even say any such thing? or perhaps—

you barely register being pulled forward by your arms, and your face squishes against something.

(warm, you think, your eyes fluttering close against suguru’s chest. grounding.)

you breathe in his scent, marvelling at how blank your mind goes from just catching a whiff of it. like that raging inferno of the trembling voices in your head just now was a distant, fever dream.

(you stick to the thought that it might have been.)

“you’re just so. . . precious, you know that?” you blink, staying still for a moment, not quite registering the crack in his voice as he says it. “silly, silly thing.”

(his silly thing.)

you hum against his chest, idly smoothening out the creases in his overcoat— trying not to think about the way his hands seem to pull you closer, closer, closer still— even if you aren’t looking at him.

“tell you what,” you tilt your head upwards, and suguru’s eyes catch you before you fall into them, “we’ll share.”

(share? that’s a first.)

you probably might’ve said that out loud, because that teasing grin is back on his face— golden cheshire eyes catching the misty sunlight and reflecting it all back on the doubtful little shadows that your moon created.

“don’t sweat it. i’m only saying it because i don’t want to hear you whine—”

“i don’t whine,” you huff out, arms crossing over your chest in childlike petulance, and oh the way your heart stutters when he laughs. laughs such a hearty laugh that you can’t help but succumb to its irresistable pull as well, a muffled giggle escaping you despite yourself.

“of course you don’t,” suguru hums, and you feel him wrapping one end of the cozy wool round your neck, “of course you don’t, darling.”

(he wraps his presence round your ribs while he’s at it too.)

(and you’ve never felt so warm.)

@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.

[grimm-writings]

moments

…ft! touden party, falin x gn! reader, izutsumi & reader

…tags! tooth-rotting fluff, drabbles

…wc! 70 ; 87 ; 95 ; 92 ; 108; 106 = 558

…notes! i feel like a negligent parent with my lack of works lately. here’s something small.

Laios enjoys napping with you under the shade of a tree.  In this moment, there’s nothing stopping you and him from understanding one another completely.  With a gentle breeze flowing, Laios finds his hands resting on your back as you turn to collapse on top of him, earning a small wheeze from him.  But he laughs, and he holds you.  It's time for rest.  Forget your responsibilities for a while.

Marcille will come to you every time she finishes a book in a daze.  She recalls the ending to you, as she usually does when she has finished a few chapters for the past few days.  However, in her post-book stupor, she finds herself more prone to rambling and such.  Still, she isn’t anxious about ‘talking too much’ or otherwise.  The way you engage with her and help ground her, especially if an ending is particularly stressful, is her favourite routine.  She shan’t trade it for anything.

Chilchuck gets busy on workdays.  With his shop and representing his fellow half-foots, his hands can get very full, very quickly.  This is why he’s thankful for your presence, welcoming him home with open arms, a tasty meal, and a hot bath prepared just for him.  You get to watch as the furrow in his brow relaxes in the midst of you.  When all is said and done, when you lay in bed together, he finds respite in this moment.  That at his age is a rare feat.  You’re really something to behold, aren’t you?

Senshi finds the time spent after a hearty meal to be some of the most tender.  Standing beside one another, Senshi plunging cutlery into suddy water only to hand it to you to dry, is like something out of a dream.  Momentarily, not only is he doing what he loves, but he’s doing it with someone he loves too.  Someone he might consider spending the rest of his days like this, washing the dishes.  He’s always sure to thank you for helping, his beard barely disguising the wide smile on his face.

Izutsumi is hardly one for staying relaxed in a perfect moment, but she still lets her guard down around you no matter how many times she tries to catch herself.  It’s a slow process.  First slouches against your arm, before turning to nuzzle into it, and then she rests her head on your shoulder and finds herself curling into you entirely.  It’s hard not to pet and scratch her, but don’t be surprised when she finally realises what she’s doing and pulls away entirely, embarrassed and acting like you’re the problem.  It’s but a moment, though a peaceful one she wouldn’t mind falling into the trap of again.

Falin sees her whole world in moments.  Little treasures to be looked back on with a tenderness and fullness unlike any other.  That’s why, with you, she holds all the time you spend together close to her heart.  From the first time your fingers brushed against one another to a late night conversation, Falin remembers each and every one, all committed to memory.  That way, when you see each other again, Falin is flooded with a feeling of bliss.  The thoughts and yearn for your smile directed at her is a moment in itself.  When you wear that glowing expression, how could she ask for more?

[brittle-doughie]

Go Smell the Flowers (Flower City)

“Well, just let me know if the medicine I gave you isn’t giving you the desired effects. R-Remember, medicine may be sour, but it can also be sweet!”

Bitter Candy Cookie tried to lift up your spirits with her optimistic tone, but it was clear that she wasn’t confident in saying them. She sheepishly giggled before leaving the room and closing the door. Dumpling Cookie was waiting on her, leaning on the wall next to the door as she adjusts her glasses.

Heya @/iatemitomt0day

“How is Y/N?”

Bitter Candy Cookie sighed as she took her medical helmet off, brushing her sour belt hair.

“I’ve tried plenty of medicine, but nothing seems to be working to cure the sweating or the tiredness. They look like they’re sleeping well and their chambers are at normal temperature, it’s a real headache…”

“I see…you can run back to the infirmary. I’ll take it from here, ‘kay?.”

“Okay, but you better let me know if their condition gets worse or anything. It’s my job to heal!”

“Please make your way out…”

Bitter Candy walked down the hallway and out of sight, Dumpling standing up from the wall.

…

…

“I know you were listening, general. You can come out now…”

Salsa Cookie popped around the corner from a nearby hallway.

“Skip the formalities, Dumpling. I’ve heard it all, it’s making me worried for our majesty’s condition.”

“It goes without saying. Ever since they came back from Beast-Yeast by blueberry birds, their condition has been…flaring up. I don’t want to say it’s getting worse, rather..more frequent..”

“This can’t be a coincidence. This is happening every time they come back from their trips to the Ancient Heroes lately! Don’t you think they might have something to do with this?”

“We can’t assume that, but we can’t rule out that this is just any ordinary fever either-“

“This “sickness” gets worse every time they go with them and now I’m hearing them mumble to themself and the frequent visits to Chamomile Cookie?” Something isn’t right here…”

“I have my own thoughts, but I’ll need more time to gather them before making conclusions.”

“So what do we do? Let them rot in their chambers until the next Ancient Hero comes busting down our castle doors?!”

“No, what they need…is a break. To get away from all this. We can manage through kingdom while they’re away…”

“Y/N leaving the kingdom was the whole reason they’re like this!”

“No, not just anywhere, but a place I’ve visited a while ago. The Flower City…”

———————————————————————

Bold text = Dumpling Cookie

Dumpling Cookie opened the door to your chambers, she could see the medicine and therapist papers scattered about on your table. One bottle was meant to help have good night dreams, so it subtly shocked her to see that the bottle was empty.

“Y/N?”

You turned your body in bed to face her, Dumpling’s eyes widen to see your tired state. It wasn’t a sleep related tiredness, but rather..it felt like your soul was tired…Dumpling’s tone took on a more gentle and soft tone.

“Me and Salsa Cookie were talking about your condition…”

“I know, it’s becoming a bad habit lately, I’ve tried many things like medicine or sleeping during the day. I just feel..stuck.”

“Well, I might have something to help with that. I know a place that I’ve visited a whole back, the Flower City of the Fluffy Rice Cake Continent…”

“Oh right…you told me about that place before…”

“Yes, and I do believe that it might help with what ails you…”

“I can’t. I’ve been leaving the kingdom too often lately, I need to stay and tend to my kingly/queenly duties…”

“Me, Crowned, and Salsa will handle the kingdom in your stead again. Please, at least give it a shot…we will explain things to the others if they ask…”

Dumpling went to gently hold your hand in the bed, as she gave you a pleading look. You look around your room, seeing the state it was in.

Then you look at yourself…so enclosed, so withdrawn into your sheets…

…

…

No…

You were not going to let them win….

With a determined look, you sit up from your bed and take off the sheets.

“Maybe you’re right. A change of scenery from Crispía might be what I need to feeling better again…”

———————————————————————

And just like that, you were ready to hop on the airship to the Flower City. Picking up your bag of things, you made your way to port, looking down at the ground as you reflect…

“There’s nowhere you can hide, cookie….”

Of course….you can slightly see her snake slitted eyes out of the corner of yours…

“Put as much distance between yourself and us, it doesn’t change anything. Completely futile…”

“YOOHOOO! Trying to get away from me, you silly~? I happen to be quite the patient one, y’know! Especially with you~!”

And then there was two…it’s only a matter of time before…

“Ha! Squirm all you like, Y/N Cookie, it’s only a matter of time before you’re broken~ I will revel the day I get you on your knees~!”

You felt their hands crawling on your back….her voice was sounding right behind you.

“You will always be..ours…”

“…..I know..…”

“Wait, really? It was that easy-“

“But we’ll see about that.”

You mustered up an air of your previous confidence. Something you haven’t felt in a while…

You didn’t feel the hands anymore.

You didn’t see the eyes anymore either. Their presence just wasn’t felt anymore as you approach the airship.

“Good afternoon, passenger! Are you joining us on this flight? It’s heading for the Flower City on the Fluffy Rice Cake Continent!”

“Yes, I have my ticket here!”

“Hmm..okay! Everything looks accordingly! Please take your seat, we’ll be taking off very soon!”

“Thank a bunch.”

You hopped aboard and sat down, instinct telling you to look out the window to watch the land around you. Sunny day, generous foliage, petals falling to the ground by the wind.

Peaceful…just like how you wished you could go back to being….

“Excuse me!”

You were snapped out of your thoughts to turn to your left, towards the aisle between both sides of the ship.

“Are you heading into the Flower City too?”

“Yup, going there for a brief getaway. Stress from life and all.”

“Stress? Don’t worry, maybe my incense can help?”

“Incense?”

The cookie brought her incense lamp out and gently lights it up, allowing the sweet aroma to flow.

“Ah, it’s a pretty lovely smell, I can tell you that! It’s…actually chipping away at my stress a bit.”

“Ehehe, scents can hold great power! Able to relax even the most stressed out of cookies!”

“Yeah, thank you. I needed that.”

“Since this is your first time to Flower City, I’d be happy to show you around!”

“Oh, there’s no need to do that. I brought a map of the continent-“

“It’s outdated, I know the city and I’m okay going with you!”

The ship intercom came on, halting the cookie’s talk with you.

“Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking, the airship to the Flower City will be departing shortly! Please take your seats!”

“Oh! I almost forgot to take my seat. Please, if you don’t mind!”

The cookie went to sit down next to you in your seat!

Wasn’t she planning on going to another seat?!

[munsonsmixtapes]

5 + 🚒

This was one of my favorites and I was secretly hoping that someone would choose that one so thank you!

You’re so deep in sleep that you don’t even hear the door to your apartment slam. Ever since your breakup with Jason, you’ve only left your apartment except to go to work. It’s not so much that you’re depressed because you miss him-because you don’t. You just feel so lonely. You honestly just miss having someone to hold you at night.

It’s your only day off and you plan on staying right here, sleeping the day away. It’s the only way you’ve been able to cope with the real reason why you’re so upset. Because now that you’re single, all you can see to think about is how madly in love you are with your best friend.

The covers are ripped off of you just as you’re about to kiss him in your dream and when you turn over, there he is at the side of your bed, your blanket in hand.

You groan and turn over, trying to go back to sleep but Buck pulls your pillow out from under your head so you can’t do that.

“So are you planning on rotting in bed all day or are you finally going to rejoin society?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow and you just glare at him.

“Rot,” you reply before turning over once again but Buck isn’t having it. He grabs hold of your arms and pulls you from the bed, not even seeming to be bothered by the fact that you’re not putting in any effort. That’s never stopped him.

“It’s time to shower and put on that pretty dress you just bought.” He’s being gentle now, his tone encouraging. He hates seeing you like this. You just look so pathetic, almost like a wounded animal, and he just wants to do whatever he can to make your feel like yourself again.

“I have plans.” You reach over and grab your remote to turn on the TV that’s across from you.

“Sorry, but watching Legally Blonde for the thousandth time this week is not plans.”

“Says you.”

“This is not an option. You’re going to get up and get into the shower.” He grabs the remote from you and turns the TV. He leans down, his hands on either side of you and his face is so close that you can see every detail of it. “You seem to forget that I can pick you up like you weigh nothing. So no matter how much you try to fight me, I will always win.”

“Not today, you don’t,” you reply, snatching the remote from him but he’s quick to take it back and throw it onto the bed. And then, in a flash, he’s quick to throw you over his shoulder just like he promised before taking you down the hall.

Buck is so focused on his task and he barely even feels you hitting his back. In fact, he laughs as you do so because you both know damn well that it’s going to take more than that to get him to let you go.

He hates seeing you like this, just a shell of yourself, letting your pain eat at you. He just wants to miraculously take the pain away but he knows he can’t. So he just resorts to holding you and letting you cry in his arms, his heart breaking piece by piece.

Buck has been in love with you his entire life. He has watched you date loser after loser and he wonders who you never seem to realize are as much until it’s too late. They’re always the one to leave you and he never understands why. You’re the perfect woman in his eyes.

Buck gets you to the bathroom and sets you back on your feet before turning on the faucet for you. Once it’s hot enough, he presses a kiss to your forehead before fleeing the bathroom to let you shower.

-

The sun is shining brightly as Buck lays out the blanket on the grass. You stand to the side because he won’t let you help, holding the small cooler he’s brought filled with all of your favorite things. He’s really done his hardest to make this day perfect for you. He even went as far as making your favorite cookies.

Once the blanket is flat, he helps you sit down before taking the cooler from you. He opens it and pulls out all of the food items, handing a sandwich to you along with a juice box.

He scoots closer to you as the two of you eat your lunch. He wonders if he’s ever going to get the guts to tell you how he feels but he doesn’t think he will. You’ve been best friends your whole lives and he’s just so nervous about fucking it all up.

Buck can’t recall a single memory that doesn’t have you in it. As far back as his memory will go, you were there. It was his third birthday party and he let you blow out his candles as well as letting you help him open his presents. He even went as far as trying to give one of his gifts away but none of your parents seemed to want to let that happen.

He wants to tell you, he really does. The only thing that’s stopping him is whether or not it would make you uncomfortable. He just loves you so much and it’s killing him watching you date these losers when he’s right there. He knows he has no right to feel that way but he can’t help it. Pretty much all of the love he has in his heart is for you and it's hurting him so badly that he’s unable to express it in the way that he wants to.

You sneak a glance at him when he turns away from where the sun is beating down. He has been so sweet to you all day and it’s taking everything in you not to plant one on him right there. Especially when he licks his lips to get rid of some of the crumbs that have nestled themselves there.

It’s so unfair that he can just sit there and look so pretty. You have no idea how no one has snatched him up yet. He makes everyone baked goods all the time and he’s still single? It makes no fucking sense to you. Especially since he’s a firefighter. And a damn good one at that.

You quickly turn away when he feels your gaze, suddenly feeling your cheeks flush at being caught. You’ve stared at him more times than you can count so you don’t know why this is any different.

Maybe it’s because this feels like a date. He had you dress up and took you on a picnic. That sounds very much like a date in your mind. But maybe that’s just because you wish it was one. You’ve been wanting to go on a date with him for as long as you can remember.

“Y/n,” he says, waving his hand in front of your face and you’re suddenly snapped out of your daydream.

“Sorry, what?” You ask, shaking your head.

“I asked if you wanted a cookie,” he asks, holding the bag out to you. He’s got on that adorable smile and it takes everything in you not to reach over and pinch his pink cheeks.

“Is that even a question?” You roll your eyes and take one from the bag. He leans in closer, waiting to see your reaction even though he knows you’ll love it. You always do. “Amazing as always. You really didn’t have to do all this,” you tell him as you wipe your hands on one of the napkins.

“I did, though. You’re my best friend and I hate seeing you like that. I also just l-” he cuts himself off, his cheeks burning, turning bright pink as he tries to play it off.

“You what?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Buck clears his throat.

“You’re my best friend and I love you,” he says, this time with confidence. But only Buck knows the real meaning behind the words. Maybe one day he’ll actually get the guts to tell you romantically.

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning forward. Your hand reaches out as you get closer and Buck finds his eyes fluttering shut. This is it, it’s finally going to happen. After years of wondering what your lips feel like-but just when he thinks you're about to kiss him, he feels you push one of his curls out of his face.

His eyes fly open and you’re just staring at him, very obviously confused. He wants the ground to swallow him whole right there. He feels like such a fucking idiot. The lines between his fantasy and reality are blurring and he really needs to get a grip.

“What are you doing?” You ask and by the way you’re rolling your lips into your mouth, he can just tell that you’re trying not to laugh.

“The sun is really bright.” He knows you don’t believe him but he’s terrible at coming up with a lie on the spot.

“Did you think I was going to kiss you, Buckley?” You ask and he swears he’s going to throw up. You’re teasing him and he fucking hates it.

“Yes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. You let out a laugh and he’s so close to searching for his fork to stab himself with. Well, if these are his last moments, at least he gets to hear your pretty laugh.

“Well, if you wanted me to kiss you,” you scoot closer, so much so that you’re practically in his lap. “You should have just asked.” Your face is only inches from his and he almost wants to pinch himself to make sure that he’s not dreaming.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, your hand resting on his thigh and feeling the heat from your skin tells him that this actually is real. He grins, reaching up and resting a hand on your cheek before leaning forward, slotting his lips between yours.

Your other hand rests right on his heart and he’s praying that you can’t feel it pounding in his chest. You’re both smiling, making the whole thing difficult. It’s clanking teeth and nothing but giggles. You’re both just so happy.

When the laughs finally fizzle out, you give it one more try, your lips finding each other again as his hand moves into your hair. The whole thing is filled with want and need and all of the love that you have for each other.

When you finally pull away, all he wants to do is go back for more. How could he possibly kiss anyone else when you just gave him the best one he’s ever had?

“God, I love you,” he says, his voice in a dreamlike state. And this time, he’s going to just let it sit there. Let you decide what you want to take from it.

“I love you too,” you reply, giving him another kiss. “Do you want to go get some ice cream? It could be our first official date.”

“I would love to get some ice cream.” He steals one more kiss and helps you up from the blanket and after everything is cleaned up, he takes your hand and doesn’t drop it for the rest of the day, smiling to himself because after years of praying, wishing to have you, you’re finally his.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hobie brown (spider-punk!!) is giving me severe brain rot, i love him sm 😭

if you ever decide to write for him, could you do some relationship hcs??

ty ^^

Not sure wether this is what you wanted but I hope it was worth it.

Music from the heart:

One of the most obvious ones is that Hobie would have a plethora of songs about you, it’s fucking adorable and so sweet, and so he would play them for you within the comfort of your room because where else would you rather be serenaded?

If anything it makes the moment more special and memorable for the both of you as something you can look back on with fondness.

Though you probably try teasing him one day by asking how many more songs of you he had in the works and Hobie would either say ‘too many to count.’ Or ‘a whole albums worth.’ He’s not going to hide the fact that he’s got notebook after notebook filled with song lyrics dedicated to you.

Pda though not quite:

Hobie isn’t the type to heavily involve himself in PDA but isn’t against the likes of:

holding hands.

his hand being placed on the small of your back when guiding you somewhere else.

the classic arm over the shoulder.

Thigh holding

His/ your head resting on each others shoulders and or laps.

Guitar pick:

This one came to my head out of the blue but I’m gonna add it here even though I’m not too certain but here it is anyway:

if Hobie uses guitar picks to play his guitar -which he probs doesn’t but idk- I’d like to think he’d make you a guitar pick necklace from one of his old picks.

Sure he hates gifts and such but this is the sole expectation alongside any and all handcrafted jewellery you may give him because he wears that shit with pride.

Terms of endearment:

Love

Darling

Sweetheart

Impromptu sleepovers:

Hobie crashes at your place more often then not to the point he might as well be living with you in regards of how often he leaves something of his at yours, so much so you’ve begun to wonder if he was doing it intentionally or accidentally.

Either way you made sure that his stay was comfortable by having a makeshift bed set up for him so he didn’t have to constantly sleep on the uncomfortable couch and wake up with a crooked neck.

Hobie appreciates all that you do for him but would often tell you it’s not necessary but you weren’t about to get into a discussion about whether or not he was deserving of help because the answer was obvious and that answer would always and forever will be; yes.

Also he’s a bit of a cuddle bug but only with you but that’s your little secrete.

Date nights:

Most, if not all of your dates are either just the pair of you being your natural selves in the comfort of your own home where’d you would talk about anything and everything that came to your mind, free of judgment.

or

showing Hobie your undying love and support by showing up to his gigs and scream the loudest because he is talented as shit and deserves a lot more in your eyes.

Either way as long as you were within each others company, anywhere you both went could be considered a date.

Spidey business:

Now this is all dependant on wether or not you know he’s Spider-Man:

If you did then you’d probably would help him patch up his wounds after every fight he had

Or

If you weren’t due to Hobie wanting nothing more then to keep you and that life as far from each other as possible, you’d most definitely would be concerned when you see him with any sustained injuries he tried patching up himself.

No matter how hard you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, Hobie would just tell you it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Meeting his friends/ Bragging rights:

Before introducing you to the likes of Pavitr, Miles and Gwen(if you haven’t already met her), it’s almost an 100% guarantee that he brags about you anyway he knows how which only intrigues them more and more to the point they’re just pleading with Hobie to introduce his cool, kickass partner to them.

So when he does, the three are practically hounding you about your relationship with Hobie and when you looked back at him for help in wrangling in his over excited friends, the little shit merely smirks and shrugs his shoulders as though he had no idea they’d react like this, all the while leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest; happy to see all his favourite people he cares about a lot interacting with one another to the point that by the end of the day you’re very good friends with each of them.

[rainychaoloveshack]

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐔𝐩 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

staying up late with silver, watching a movie.

content. silver x gn!reader, reader is mentioned to be a night owl (staying up late often), tooth-rotting fluff, very light angst

☂︎ wc. 950 ☂︎ a/n. third post silver, then scourge! bing bam boom. PROBABLY VERY OOC! not proud of this one, i gotta study silver more :(

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!!

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊   .   ┊   ┊

┊    ┊⋆     ┊   .

┊    ┊       ⋆˚              

✧. ┊         

⋆｡˚ 🌨 ˚｡⋆｡🌩˚☽˚｡⋆ 

☂︎

The exhaustion is hitting him, you can tell. The way his eyes are drooping, trying to focus on the movie in front of you two. You nudge him, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep yet; the movie’s just getting good.

“Huh?” Silver turns to you, tilting his head and blinking rapidly, trying to wake himself up for you. “No, I’m fine. Fine.” He mumbles, leaning back and rubbing his quills downward; a grooming motion you’ve seen before with other hedgehogs, mainly Shadow.

You ended up getting lucky today. Silver had opened a portal to this dimension to come and take a visit to Sonic and his friends, but afterwards, Silver decided to pay you a visit, right in your cozy abode. Lucky, lucky you.

… Ah. Maybe there's a sort of time dimension jet lag hitting him?

“Dimension jet-lag?” Silver giggles at your joke, right ear flicking in your direction at the sound of your laughter. “No, silly! I just don’t stay up as late as you. I wish I could,” He frowns, leaning against your shoulder. “You make it look cool. All… ‘night-owly’ every night.” Night-owly?

Both you and Silver end up cracking up like idiots at the absurdity of both your words, bodies trembling slightly with laughter as the movie tunes out between you two, all of your attention just focused on each other.

He’s not wrong. It’s so usual for you to stay up past midnight, and you almost don’t notice when you do it nowadays. It’s so ingrained in your daily schedule, even with your attempts to head to bed earlier. The sleep debt must be terrible.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay awake; I promise.” He reassures you, leaning against your shoulder, fidgeting with his gloves briefly as you watch him with interest. His statement isn’t very convincing, since he follows it with a small yawn, squeezing his eyes shut, and as soon as he opens them, he locks eyes with you sheepishly.

“Uh…” He chuckles a bit afterwards, his ear twitching in embarrassment. “Well, I’ll try.” He pauses, parting his lips to say something else, yet nothing comes out for a few moments.

“Sorry.” Silver murmurs, still fidgeting with his gloves as he looks down at his hands, and you tilt your head curiously. What? Before you can ask, he continues.

“For not visiting you so often. I-I really want to, don’t get me wrong!” He looks back up at you in a panic. “But…” Silver lets out a small, exasperated whine, his ears tilting down. “My world; it still needs me. And the others need me too.”

You frown, reaching cover to give Silver an affectionate scratch behind his ear in an attempt to lighten the mood quickly, causing it to flick towards you, followed by small bits of chuckling from him as his body relaxes. He says nothing else but leans towards your touch happily, brushing his shoulder against you as he snuggles his ear into your hand, enjoying the little scritches you’re giving him.

“Thanks.” Silver says softly as you retract your hand, locking eyes with you again. “Uh, you don’t mind if I stay the night, right?” He pauses, almost bashful as he asks, and you nod eagerly to his question.

Duh. It’s not like you would kick him out at this hour anyway. Why would you anyway?

“Maybe we could go see the chao tomorrow.” He mutters, resting his head against your shoulder. “Or fix up my garden. Ah, we could do that! Yeah,” A small smile spreads on his face. “That’d be really nice to do with you…”

You pull him in closer, pushing him by his hip, and in response he scoots on over to you, pressing against your leg. A stupid grin spreads on your face as you yank him into a tight cuddle. He gasps softly at the sudden action, followed by laughing briefly as he pats your back.

“Ah, come on, you could’ve just said so…” 

Without saying a word, you slowly lay down on the couch, stretching your legs for a moment as Silver lays down on top of you, trying his best not to hurt you as he lays his head onto your chest, relaxing his body once he realizes none of his quills have pricked you in any way.

Damn, he’s really, really warm. It feels good as hell…

“You have a nice heartbeat.” He says softly, his ear tilting to press against your chest more, following the rhythm of your heart. “[Name]... Gosh,” Silver chuckles, placing his hand on your shoulder as he snuggles closer. “I really like your heart…”

You both lay in silence together, the only noise coming from the long-forgotten movie playing in the back, along with the soft breathing from Silver. You run your hand gently over his quills, feeling every individual one, and the small tiny pricks from the tips of each.

You say his name, expecting him to respond, but he just keeps his head down and doesn’t respond in the slightest.

Silver?

… Silver?

Oh. He’s asleep. 

You click your tongue softly, looking down at his sleeping form on your body, feeling his soft, furry chest rise and fall against your stomach as you pet his quills slowly. Despite you telling him and everything, he just falls asleep so quickly?

… No matter. You crane your neck forward, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head, and Silver seems to react favorably, his ear twitching at the sudden foreign sensation despite his slumber, his quiet breathing flowing against your chest.

Oh, right.

It looks like you’ll be finishing the movie alone tonight.