#Hiding under my weighted blankets...

[adarssuggestionbox]

I would do well to remember your kind words *strong emotions well inside me as I feel the need to flee for privacy*As long as one continues to try, one can eventually reach for the stars in the sky.

To Adar, and to every soul who can relate❤️‍🩹

[benevolenterrancy]

As the first significant public event hosted by the Jin after Jin Guangyao's death draws near, Jin Ling is increasingly stressed about how people would perceive him and his sect. Specifically, he knows people will be watching the new Chief Cultivator and taking cues from him about how to feel about the Jin Clan in light of its hidden crimes. And Jin Ling knows that if there's one place Lan Wangji cannot tolerate visiting for any length of time, it's Koi Tower. He is not above exploiting familial connections if it means Wei Wuxian figuring out what his husband has against Koi Tower, and finding a way to coax him into staying for the three days the banquet is meant to last.

[kawaii-kushami]

comming a vanilla pray for me

[hippolotamus]

tomorrow is my first day back to work and The Nerves™️ & Anxiety have set in

[waytooinvested]

Sometimes being autistic at work is the WORST.

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

BED!!!!!!!!!! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!

[neon-danger]

I made stress inspire me so it didn't kill me instead.

I mean that’s just called a healthy coping mechanism

[mwphisto]

Simple things that turn LnDs men on~

Including: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb x reader. Reader is implied female but most can be interpreted however you please!

Warning, this post is 18+! Some lighter smut since my brain cannot handle anything else atm (I’m graduating university in 3 weeks)

Shifting banner from @cafekitsune <3

Xavier

Cuddling with you, seeing you sleepy and warm and soft in his embrace, under his blankets, in his bed. He can’t help it, you’re just so perfect, so sweet in this state. His hands can’t help but wander, sliding over your soft tummy, your thighs, eventually landing to cup your chest. His nose nuzzles into the crown of your head, inhaling your shampoo, and the next thing he knows? His hips are swiveling softly into the plush of your ass.

When you get mad. He’s not capable of explaining why his body has the reaction it does. Other than the plain statement of “you’re hot when you’re mad.” Which isn’t a lie, Xavier finds you so hot when you’re angry. Seeing you so passionate about something that it gets your blood boiling? He’s thinking of ways to get you to cool down. How easily he could switch the downward tilt of your brows into something far more… relaxed… pleased… blissed out…

Sitting on his lap is a definite way to get his attention. Xavier can get a bit lost in his hobbies, whether it be reading or scrolling articles on his phone. Sometimes the call of his name doesn’t snap him out of his trance. But you know what does? Settling your pretty self on his muscular legs, a smile on your lips, your hands cupping his cheeks and guiding him up towards your glittery eyes. The weight of you on him, the warmth, the surprise of his train of thought being interrupted, all of it has his heart rate spiking. Until all he can see, hear, and feel is you.

Rafayel

Matching his energy can totally catch the artist off guard — the absolute best way. To be blunt, you’re able to match his freak so well he can’t help but get turned on at how in sync the two of you are. His beautiful bride, perfect in every way. When you two are so effortlessly on the same page, he finds himself struggling to keep his composure. Luckily for him, you always seem to know what he’s thinking without him so much as saying a word.

Willingly being his muse just might send Raf into a coma. Seeing you sprawled over his couch, barely dressed so he can do some anatomy sketches has him shifting uncomfortably on his stool. Your sweet smile, delicate and skilled hands, the way you whisper his name while he scribbles on his paper with a rosy blush on his cheeks. You’re just so effortlessly beautiful it drives him insane.

Noticing the smallest details about him will get his head spinning. Rafayel harbors a lot of mixed emotions regarding his past and he loves you wholeheartedly but sometimes he just can’t… let go. When you take the time to get to know him — or as much as he’s willing to give you — and you actually pick up on things that go unsaid? His head is spinning, his heart pounding, the seal on his chest burning brightly. He wants to devote himself to you, it’s just part of his nature at this point. Eventually, he’ll work through it all and give into what he needs most…

Zayne

Your laughter sends his heart into a nose dive. He’s never been one for jokes, his dry humor often carrying him through. But when he says something that genuinely has you belly laughing, his name a sweet melody on your lips as you try and contain your giggles? He’s shifting his legs to hide the growing tension between his legs. You look at him with such adoration, so sweet and delicate, he has to reign himself in before frost creeps up his neck.

Giving him your full attention when he begins to ramble about nerdy medical things definitely causes the surgeon to lose his train of thought. You may not understand the scientific terms he’s using, and you may feel a bit bad when he has to explain them again with simpler terminology, but your attention is undivided regardless. And Zayne notices, of course he does. His heart is pounding as he rattles off all of his fascinations — such as new research he’s compiled about neonatal heart defects. You’re so engaged with him, nodding along and even asking him some questions. He’s fighting the urge to kiss you senseless. After a long day you’re so willing to listen to him ramble on about his research? He’s going to marry you, and fuck you senseless for being such a good girl.

Taking care of him, such as shaving his face or washing his hair will have Zayne be putty in your hands. He does so much for others, puts so much care and effort into making their lives better. It’s only right that you step up and do the same for Dr. Zayne. Though, bless him, he didn’t expect you to straddle his lap and shave him with a straight razor. Didn’t expect to be engulfed by the sent of your perfume as you settle your weight on his legs and glide the razor over his skin. It’s intimate, the proximity of your bodies is close enough to generate some warmth. He’ll lose it before you’re able finish one side of his unshaven cheek.

Sylus

Skinship with the leader of Onychinus is pretty special. Sylus savors every second of it, given that your hands rarely touch him outside of holding his waist when on his bike. The feeling of your fingers on his cheeks, your legs caging his as you sit together on the couch, your fingers intertwining with his. He’s a goner, so touch starved it’s nearly pitiful. He’s always been a man of composure, but god dammit you’re just so soft compared to him. You’re so warm and smell so good and you’re just so… you’re so sparing with your touches. As if you’re hesitant, not sure if he’d want your hands on him in the first place. Drives him so insane, he craves to hold you close but doesn’t want to push you before you’re ready.

Seeing you wear clothes he picked out for you has Sylus adjusting his collar and inhaling deep through his nose. His mark is on you, even if it’s not on your skin, you’re dressed so beautifully. You match him, compliment him perfectly. You look so breathtaking he has to mentally pat himself on the back for having such damn good taste. Seeing you feel yourself in what he’s picked does wonders for his already big ego. Seeing you twirl and smile as you admire yourself in the dress, the skirt, the pants, the shirt, whatever he’s picked out for you for the occasion. It gives him a sense of pride, like he’s done good, and it’s a genuine plus that you look so goddamn perfect in every outfit.

Kissing his knuckles nearly sends him over the edge one night. You had finished cleaning some wounds while his evol recharged and sealed the deal with a gingerly placed kiss on his battered knuckles. Sylus nearly sees stars because of it, such an overwhelming surge of possessiveness and heat flooding his weary veins that he nearly pops a hard-on then and there on the floor.

Caleb

Stealing his clothing is something you’ve always done. Something about it being comfier, softer, smelling like him. God he doesn’t even care for the reason, he just knows you look so divine in his shirt, his boxers, his hoodie. So cute and small compared to him, marked as his for anyone who has the gracious opportunity to see you in such a state. He guesses it’s only fair you steal his clothes, since he has a small — but growing — collection of your panties—

Relying on him 100% would put Caleb on cloud nine. Giving up your tough guy act and simply putting all of your needs on him would have him struggling to keep his composure long enough to actually see the tasks through. Could be something as simple as asking him to cut up some fruit for you, could be as complicated as giving your bike a tuneup. Regardless, Caleb is blissed out and glossy-eyed as he shows his love for you in his favorite fashion.

Slipping into his bed in the middle of the night has been something you’ve done since childhood. Bad dream, can’t sleep, anxious or stressed, Caleb’s arms have always been your biggest comfort. He waits for it, waits for the creak of his door and your quiet whisper of permission. He craves the dip of his mattress, the weight and warmth of your body next to his under his sheets. He has to be mindful of where his hips land on you, purely out of fear that you might feel something you’re not supposed to just yet.

[bowtiepasta]

FLUFF 𑣿 SUKUNA RYOMEN: “FOR A LIFETIME”

grumpy x sunshine thoughts I cooked up tonight hehe. put it in this format since it’s a little longer than a blurb ! written for an irl of mine (cw: nicknames, reader wears shorts, touchy, suggestive)

sukuna being grumpy doesn’t stop him from also being clingy when he needs wants you. he grumbles if you try to leave the bed, even to get a glass of water. his arm will shoot out and slip under the shirt you’re wearing (his), wrap around your waist before you can escape — pulling you back into the sheets.

“where do you think you’re going?” he scowls, wrinkle between his brows despite his eyes still being closed. you try to wriggle free, but his grip tightens, not letting you go anywhere until he’s had enough of you being in his space. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

“you’re so needy, ‘kuna.”

he also has a habit of following you around when he’s in a bad mood. like a shadow with an attitude.

you’re in the kitchen, washing dishes? he’s there. “when did I say you could walk around like that?”

you roll your eyes, smiling anyway. “didn’t know I needed approval to be comfortable in my own house.”

his eyes drop to your legs. more specifically, to the boyshorts barely covering anything, paired with the oversized shirt (his. again.) that does nothing to hide the fact that you’re wearing basically underwear.

he clicks his tongue but doesn’t argue. yet a warm hand slides over your hip, kneading into it. his other hand follows suit, trailing lazily from your waist to the bare skin of your thigh as he comes up behind you.

you laugh into a kiss on his cheek. “all yours.”

-

predictably refuses to admit he likes being taken care of, yet the moment you start doting, even in tiniest of ways, he melts.

you find him lounging on the couch, shirtless, one arm slung over the backrest, the other lazily draped across his stomach. his brows furrow as you approach with a plate of food, setting it down on the coffee table.

“tch. what’s this?” he squints at it while he shifts to make space for you. here he goes.

“dinner. you barely ate today.” you grab the remote from him and bring your knees up to your chest, humming as you flip through the channels.

he exhales through his nose, side-eyeing you. you pick up a piece of chicken and bring it towards his lips.

“I’m not a damn kid,” he clicks his tongue, torn between pride and instinct. but when you don’t move your hand away, he takes the bite, no further protest.

he stares while he chews, and then he grabs your wrist, guiding your hand back toward him, letting his teeth scrape against your fingers as he licks the sauce off.

“might as well keep feeding me if you’re so insistent.”

-

you’re standing by the couch, minding your own business, when he suddenly tugs you down, effortlessly maneuvering until you're straddling him. his hands settle on your knees from behind, rubbing as he leans in. “you were in the way.”

“I was literally across the room?”

he ignores that, as one does, hand sliding up your back, resting between your shoulder blades. His other hand squeezes your thigh, like he’s testing the way you feel against him, satisfied by the weight of you there.

“too far.” his voice is gruff — irritated with himself for even admitting it.

you shake your head, but you don’t move. neither does he. his fingers trace hearts from your shoulders down to your lower back, grip never loosening.

and when you shift to get comfortable, his hold tightens — warning and wanting all at once.

yeah. you’re not getting up anytime soon.

-

his fingers hook into the edge of your blanket, tugging insistently. “move.”

you blink. “move where?” “you know where.”

before you can argue, he grabs you — arm snaking around your waist, yanking the blanket away so he can pull you flush against him. his chin finds its place atop your head, body practically caging yours in.

“quit acting like I don’t exist, brat.” (more to himself than to you) he says, nuzzling into your hair, grip tightening as if he’s punishing you for it.

you lace your fingers into his. “ask, next time.”

he won’t. he won’t ever, in fact. he’s planning on being like this for the rest of your lives. plural — because he refuses to believe the two as separate anymore. you’ll have to deal with him being grumpy, stubborn, and clingy altogether. but you don’t really mind. not if it means you have him all to yourself, for a lifetime.

[gloomwitchwrites]

hear me out hear me out

what if the 141 men were with reader who could not lock in before sex, like they’re out here spewing FILTH and reader is unable to do anything but giggle and hide their face- not wanting it to stop, but also having no idea how to respond without their cheeks hot enough to light a flame

What a delicious prompt, anon. Sometimes you just need something a little naughty and this one hit the spot. Thank you for sending it in!! Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, dirty talk, suggestive themes, breeding, horny behavior

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

“You hiding from me?”

You sink further into the cushions of the sofa, hiding your face from your husband. “I can’t,” you giggle, cheeks flaming.

“Thought you wanted to ride my dick until I look like a prune.”

“John!”

His tone becomes sultry. The sofa sags under his weight as he traps you beneath him. “Let me breed you. Fill you with my cum. You can lay on your back. I’ll do all the work.”

John’s large hands find your knees, spreading you wide as he settles between.  You refuse to look at him. One peek and you won’t be able to control yourself.

He grinds himself against you, his hardness stiff and apparent. “How wet are you for me? What will I find if you allow me a touch?”

You attempt to wiggle away, but John is much stronger, and far more determined. As you twist away to claw yourself out from under him, John grasps your wrists and pins them to the cushion. He grinds his erection against your ass, and this time you gasp through the giggles.

“I’ll turn that laughter into moans, love. Just spread those legs for me.”

Your cheeks flame hotter with the promise.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Wrapping you up in his arms, Johnny lifts, and then he body slams you into the top of the bed. It’s not rough or breath stealing, more like a weighted blanket falling on you that might be a bit heavier than you expected. You’re completely smushed beneath him, unable to wiggle out from under him. Johnny’s erection pokes the curve of your ass, his need apparent and insistent.

“Johnny!” you laugh, as he starts to aggressively hump you.

Johnny nips at your ear, then your throat, growling with an over-the-top snarl which only sends you further into hysterics.

“Gonna fuck me now, lass?” he asks as you stifle your giggles with the duvet.

“Stop,” you chuckle, even though you don’t want him to.

Johnny turns from humping to grinding, all the silliness in his body leaving as he expertly rocks himself against you. “Could take you like this. Face down.” Johnny’s hand comes down firmly on your butt. “Ass up.” His palms squeezes, comes down again. “Could tie you up this time. Use the spreader bar.” Your face grows even hotter. “Eat your pussy like that for hours.”

You’re unable to look at him, embarrassment and desire clashing within you.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You don’t hear the shower door opening. You aren’t even aware Simon is there until his hands fall on your hips.

“Si—” His name on your lips is cut short as he halts your attempt to turn around.

Simon presses you up against the shower wall, his muscled body a weight you cannot escape from. His hands roam downward, and then inward to between your thighs.

“Teasing me on purpose?” he asks with a hint of a growl. “Scrubbing your body down in full view of me. Touching your breasts, tempting me with glimpses of your cunt.”

Every naughty word heats your cheeks. It might be sexy as fuck but you can’t help yourself—the flustered giggle emerges unbidden.

“So you do want to fuck me,” croons Simon, grinding his dick against your ass. “Could take you up against this wall.” He lifts one leg, opening you slightly. “Or fuck you like this. Wash away the cum after. Put it all back once we get out.”

“Simon,” you hiss, smacking his arm, face heating to new heights.

“Wet,” he whispers, dipping one and then a second finger into you. “Warm.” He pumps. Once. Twice. Thrice. “And all fucking mine.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

His strong hands are vices on your hips, guiding you backward until you bump against the edge of the kitchen countertop. There is no escape. No running from Kyle when he’s determined to make you melt in his arms. The kiss is languid and slow, sending heat through your body.

“Should I take you right here? On the counter?”

It’s the devilish smirk that bites you. Already, you feel your cheeks flaming bright hot and scorching.

“Or,” he continues, “I can bend over the kitchen table. Fuck you senseless until you come around my cock.”

“Kyle!” you laugh, shoving at him, burying your face in his chest.

But Kyle isn’t done. “All that cum dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.”

The image is luscious, but his words are sending you into a giggle fit. It’s too much too fast, and though you enjoy his words, you’re unable to control yourself.

You place your hand over his mouth, and you feel his mouth form into a smile. Kyle presses in, holding your gaze. The words repeat in your head, over and over until you’re itching to run from him.

Your hand slips and Kyle makes his move. “Bend over.”

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

Toji waking you up with soft kisses and gentle caresses at almost two in the morning because he wants to (prone) bone you. You hum in question of all his touching, and he leans in close to your ear to murmur what he wants. You shake him off and close your eyes, trying to fall back asleep, but he interrupts you again and again with his relentless pleads. "Please, mama?" "I'll be so gentle. Please?" "Please, pretty girl?" "Baby, please?"

You roll over onto your stomach with a tired sigh and a mumble of, "Do what you want to me. I'm staying asleep."

He loves you so much. For much deeper reasons than sex, but this is definitely a peak 'my girl is the best' moment for him. With zero hesitation, he sits up and removes his minimal sleep attire—his boxers. He pulls the blanket off your lower body, revealing your legs, and lifts up your shirt, exposing even more of you.

"Oh, baby," he says, voice low as his hands keep moving. "Hiding all of this under that enormous shirt." He rides his hands down your waist and over your hips, before tugging your underwear down and off. He leans forward, and he truly meant it when he said he would be gentle with you. He slid into you as carefully as he could. He coos at you when you squirm and whimper at the intrusion, pacing himself as he molds his body into yours. He turned into a weighted blanket for you, making up for the actual blanket he peeled off of you once he lies down.

He mumbles breathy appreciations into your ear, in the form of praise and actual gratitude, as he rolls his hips into you.

"So pretty and soft. So fucking perfect, baby," he says, ending it with a needy groan. You could fall asleep comfortably with all the rocking if it weren't for the stimulation being offered below. You made your fair share of sound, and Toji loved it despite the fact that you told him that you would be sleeping. You let out a few muffled whimpers, some gasps and shuddered exhales. Nothing extreme because he's not blowing out your back. It feels more like a form of love making.

When he cums, he's groaning and panting into your ear, sloppily kissing the side of your face while squeezing the life out of you in his arms, like he has the most severe case of cuteness aggression. He just lies there for a minute, wondering if he should make you cum, too, but within the time it takes for him to bounce back, you're dozing off again. He sighs, contentedly, his needs satisfied by you, as always. He presses one more kiss to your temple before he crawls off of you and heads towards the bathroom to fetch a towel to clean you up with.

[kissandtellus]

Hello hello. Can I request the LADs boys with an obliviously sexy hot mc. Like she does not know her own strength and cuteness and how it affects them. I can just imagine my poor boy Raf seething with rage like "I have literally told this girl I like her. HOW DOES SHE STILL NOT GET THE HINT!!" thank u and good day

Perfect

❀ Synopsis: When you are feeling a little down on yourself, your man is right there to pick you up.

❀ Warnings: Mentions of weight, mentions of self-counciousness, feeling down on yourself, happy ending.

⟡ Xavier

You were the picture of beauty Xavier. Everything from the curve of your hips to the tips of your fingers and everything in between. You stared at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of your Hunters uniform.

Was it too tight here? Too loose around there?

Xavier stood behind you with arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, not even the brightest star in the sky could hold a candle to you.” He steps closer to bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. You giggle at the ticklish feeling of his breath on your skin.

“I don’t know. It just-“

“Just nothing.” He grabbed one of the fuzzy blankets he kept on every inch of your apartment and threw it over the floor length mirror. “Now that THAT is taken care of-“ he lifts you with ease, his arms tucked under your thighs. “How about I show you how perfect you are?”

The way your hair fell in-front of your eyes in the morning light was perfect. It was too early to be up anyways.

“No, no, nooo!” You whine, kicking your feet. “We are supposed to be training!”

“It can wait. Showing my girl how perfect she is, can’t.”

⟡Rafayel

“Pretty girl, what are you doin’?” Rafayel’s voice broke you out of your trance. You’d agreed to be his model for a painting but you were clutching the sheet too tight to your chest.

Volunteering to be a nude model wasn’t in the bodyguard description. Rafayel wiped the bead of sweat on his forehead away with the back of his hand. “Are you self-conscious again?”

“No!”

Yes.

Rafayel could read you like the back of his hand. He sat down his paintbrush and kneeled next to the chaise sofa you were lounging on.

He flicked blue paint over the tip of your nose. You wrinkled up your face and tried to draw into yourself.

He pulled the sheet away from your body, and then the hands that tried to hide the most unloved places on your body.

“How many times have I told you? I don’t paint ugly things. I only paint the most beautiful sceneries.” He pouted, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Now stay still and let me finish my masterpiece.”

⟡ Zayne

Zayne looked over your chart for the 3rd time since your appointment. “You are completely healthy.” He stated, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest. “I-I read these articles online. I should be a certain weight and I’m nowhere near that. I can’t-“

“What have I told you about those inaccurate websites?” His voice cut through your rambling. Your mouth snapped shut as he placed the clipboard on his desk. “So this is about the way you see yourself then?”

Zayne sighed and took off his glasses as well. He walked around his desk to stand before you. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your chin upwards.

“I’ve wrote many research papers in my life. About everything under the sun,” he leaned forward so his forehead was pressed firmly against yours.

“But I could never write enough to tell you how perfect you are.”

⟡ Caleb

Caleb was brushing his teeth, watching you try and pin your hair up in different hairstyles. Lazy mornings with you were always the best, but right now you were freaking out about a bad hair day.

With his toothbrush in the side of his mouth, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. You had your hair in a makeshift ponytail with your hands. You let out a low groan and threw your head back in anguish.

“I just can’t do it like you can…my hair looks so bad…” The curls that framed your face were angelic to Caleb.

He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. His strong hands gently combed your curls over your shoulders as he looked at you in the reflection of the mirror.

“Leave your hair down,” he kissed the side of your head when he saw you pout.

“I think the world deserves to see how perfect you are. Do you know how many nights I pray that our kids will have hair like yours?”

“But C-“

“Nu uh, Pipsqueak. Down.”

⟡ Sylus

Sylus loved dressing you up in the finest of clothing. The floor length dress was made for you down to every seam. But somehow, you felt like a stranger to your own reflection.

Sylus buttoned a cuff link as he turned the corner. A sleek smile graced his features.

“You look per-…Kitten?” You tried to wipe away the tears from your cheeks before he could see. His curious red eyes softened immediately as he ate up the distance in a few strides. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s-it’s stupid…” you sniffled, trying to compose yourself. “You spent so much money on this dress and our date and-“

“Let’s stay home.”

“What?”

Sylus cupped your shoulders, his thumbs rolling circles on your skin. “Then let me take you out. Let me show the entire N109 Zone how beautiful of a woman I have in my arm.” His breath ghosted your lips.

“I just feel inadequate to even be with you.” You whisper against his soft lips. Sylus gave a soft chuckle, his long fingers stroking your cheek.

“It’s me who is unworthy. What did I do to deserve such a goddess in my presence?”

[ccupcakeyss]

༝     .   MAMA SANDWICH ! .  ✿

SUMMARY: after a long day, cuddling is just what you need from your husband toji. or... your child megumi? both? oh great. here comes war.

WC: 852

NOTES: I HAVE BEEN ON THE BIGGEST TOJI BRAINROT so incoming; toji fics are on its way

Evening in the Fushiguro household was always a soft sort of chaos.

Dinner had been eaten. Megumi’s tiny face had been wiped clean (after much squirming and pouting). Pajamas were on, teeth brushed—though Toji insisted, “The kid’s only got like three teeth, what’s there to brush?”—and now it was finally time for the best part of the day.

Cuddle Time.

You were curled up on the couch, warm and cozy under a big blanket, reading a book and half-listening to the quiet hum of the night. You’d barely blinked when a familiar weight crashed beside you.

“‘Kay, move over.”

Toji’s gravelly voice. Grumpy, low, but unmistakably pouty in that way he tried to hide.

You shifted just enough to make room as he flopped beside you with a groan, throwing one arm around your waist and pulling you in with that effortless strength of his.

“Rough day?” you asked, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Always,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck like a heat-seeking missile. “Missed you.”

You smiled softly, fingers carding through his dark hair. “I’m right here.”

You should’ve expected what came next.

Tiny, stompy feet. The quiet pat-pat-pat of your son’s determined little march.

Megumi waddled into the living room, wearing his favorite wolf-print pajama pants and dragging his own little blanket like a warrior preparing for battle.

He stopped in front of the couch. Squinted.

Frowned.

“…Papa, move.”

Toji peeked one eye open. “No.”

“I wanna cuddle Mama.”

“Too bad. I got here first.”

“Not fair!” Megumi huffed, cheeks puffed out, hands balling into tiny fists. “She’s my mama!”

Toji didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

“She’s my wife.”

“But—!”

Megumi stomped once more, then—with all the dramatic flair of a bedtime soap opera—climbed on top of you, shoving his way between your chest and Toji’s arm like a chubby little wedge.

“Toji—” you started, laughing as the blanket slipped down your shoulder.

“No. Nope. He’s not allowed in here.”

“He’s your son,” you reminded, trying to wrangle the squirmy toddler now making himself at home in your arms.

“He’s a traitor.”

Megumi smirked triumphantly, curling into your chest and patting your collarbone like he’d just conquered a new kingdom. “My Mama.”

Toji let out a dramatic sigh, glaring at Megumi like he’d just been dethroned. “You get her all day. I get her at night. That’s the rule.”

Megumi looked up at you. “Is that true?”

You blinked. “There’s a rule?”

Toji grunted. “There should be.”

But Megumi wasn’t budging. He threw one leg over your stomach and settled in like a cat, kicking Toji’s side lightly in the process.

You were wheezing from trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay—stop. You both can cuddle me.”

“No.” They said it at the same time.

Toji tugged you closer, trying to reclaim his space. Megumi clung tighter, glaring up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“She loves me more,” the kid mumbled.

Toji’s eyebrow twitched. “Wanna bet?”

Before you knew it, Toji had hooked one arm around Megumi and the other under your knees—and in one smooth, annoyingly strong motion, he hoisted both of you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

Now you were in the middle. Megumi pressed to your chest. Toji wrapped around your back, legs caging you both in.

“Aha,” he muttered smugly. “Cuddle sandwich. I win.”

“This is not winning,” you said, laughing. “This is kidnapping.”

Megumi was too busy snuggling into your hoodie, mumbling something about how warm you were and how he wanted you all to himself. Toji kept his arm slung heavy around both of you, his big hand on your thigh, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you warned.

“That’s the plan,” he muttered, eyes already half-lidded.

You could feel Megumi relaxing, his breathing slowing. And Toji—despite all his grumbling—was gently running his fingers up and down your side in soft, rhythmic strokes.

“…Love you, Mama,” Megumi whispered, voice already heavy with sleep.

Toji grunted softly, his mouth brushing your neck. “Tch. Love you too.”

“Who are you saying that to?” you asked, smiling.

“…Both of you.”

Your heart ached in the best possible way.

Toji—fierce and dangerous and built for anything but softness—was now the anchor of this small, sleepy pile of warmth and love. His son clung to you like you were the sun, and he held you both like you were his whole damn world.

Which, honestly, you were.

Later that night, when you were half-asleep and Megumi had long since started drooling on your chest, you felt Toji whisper into your hair.

“I used to think I was gonna die alone,” he murmured. “Now I’ve got you two, and I’m fighting a four-year-old over cuddles.”

You smiled, eyes closed, hand resting over his on your waist.

“You lost, by the way.”

Toji snorted quietly. “Nah. Still got you in my arms, didn’t I?”

And just like that, the house fell into peaceful silence—wrapped in blankets, love, and the kind of warmth Toji Fushiguro never believed he’d ever deserve.

But now?

He wouldn’t give it up for the world.

[comatosebunny09]

drowning | sylus

— summary: sometimes, you don’t realize you’re drowning until it’s too late. he’s always there to throw you a life preserver when you need it. — cw: depression, anxiety, self-deprecating thoughts, mild angst, comfort, mild language, sylus is a big ol’ softie — notes: i felt heavy today. i needed to escape to my delusions to get through it. thanks for reading. — now playing: chaconne - enhypen

You, but refusing to get out of bed because the world’s too heavy a burden to bear right now. 

You try to encourage yourself to at least shower—you smell like depression and yesterday’s outside clothes. Sometimes, that’s enough to lift your spirits. The motivation of a warm spray unfurling the knots in your shoulders. 

You try to force yourself to get up and eat—you like to eat. Your stomach’s screaming at you. You haven’t had shit since lunch yesterday, and it feels like something’s sinking its claws into your stomach and pulling down. 

But that’s not enough to get you out of bed. It’s the safest place for you right now. It doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t doubt you, doesn’t admonish you for the one wrong thing you do against twenty other rights. And you’re bundled up like a little sulking burrito in your comforter, refusing to do more than turn over and pray for sleep to tug you under.

However, sleep’s lulling embrace never comes,

Your thoughts are too much to deal with. Everything is too much. Caving in. You know it’s best for you to be around people. To reach out, but you’ll feel even shittier for dumping your problems on your friends, no matter how much they tell you they’re more than happy to listen. No matter how much you try to solve everyone else’s problems for them. 

Besides, you don’t want to look weak. You hate it when people worry about you. You’re a pillar of strength for most everyone in your life. How are you going to take care of everyone else when you can’t even get yourself together?

Your phone buzzes by your pillow for the umpteenth time. You squint against its brightness, the jarring blue light the only source of color in your dark room. You have no sense of time. Don’t have to look at your screen to know he’s calling you again. 

You’ve been avoiding him like a sickness since you got off work yesterday—another person you don’t want to drag into your caldron of misery. 

You shove your phone under your pillow after silencing it, cocooning yourself deeper into your blanket and the turmoil of your mind. You’ll be better tomorrow, you promise. You always snap back after a day or two. Then you’re back to being the bright and obnoxious source of optimism everyone knows and loves.

You’ll talk to him later. When you’re better and not a husk of yourself, and your stomach isn’t empty while your brain is too full. 

Too bad he has no intention of waiting for you to get your shit together.

Your bedroom door creaks open. 

You turn away from it, curling up into a little hissing ball as the artificial light of your hallway spills in. Your thick, shag rug swallows the sounds of weighted footsteps. They near the edge of your bed, and you shut your eyes tight, receding further into your comforter.

A tongue clicks in disdain, a heavy presence looming over you. Your stomach lurches when the familiar drag of his voice permeates through the comforter.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” There’s a note of humor buried deep beneath the chiding, the concern.

You stiffen in response. He takes your silence as his cue to carry on with making you feel even shittier.

“Is there a reason you’ve been more difficult to get a hold of than the President?”

You flinch as if physically struck. You hate when he talks to you like that. Like there’s a lecture churning in the clouds, rolling over the horizon.

You swallow, realizing how fucking dry your throat is. Your lips quiver, struggling to form around words, also cracked and crusted with small flecks of blood. When’s the last time you had water?

“Go away,” you meekly manage.

The room’s other occupant huffs something offended. “I came all this way to check on you, and this is how you repay me? Your ability to discard me when you no longer find me useful is…assuring.”

You release a weighted sigh. Shaky. You don’t intend to be mean. You just…don’t want him to see you like this. Especially not him. 

You spend some time in thick silence, listening to your heart thrum. And it is then you realize it’s raining outside. He came all this way in the rain? Well, fuck. 

Your mattress dips under his weight. A gentle hand falls onto your ankle, thumb smoothing over the jut of bone there through layers of goose feather. You hear him swallow. Picture him, a hulking mass of silver and intimidation, trying to approach you without exacerbating things.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” he asks, cautious like you’re a cornered animal he’s afraid to scare off. 

Your stomach pulls. Again, you despise sympathy. Making people fret over you, especially when it’s him. You’ve spent most of your life fending for yourself. Putting on this fake mask of optimism. He’s got his own things to worry about without you adding one more hardship to his life.

You remain silent, and he presses. Spindly fingers crawl beneath the comforter, seeking out the smooth glide of your skin. Your calf. He rubs soothingly. Your instincts tell you to pull away, but the warmth of his palm is grounding—an anchor in the face of a tidal wave threatening to wash you away.

“Talk to me. Please. I haven’t heard from you all night. Not a word today. I tried to give you space. But I was worried.”

And there it is. The nail driven into the coffin.

It’s not intentional, but you sink deeper regardless, that gnarling feeling twisting up your gut. A warm film of tears washes over your eyes. You tamp it down, shove away the frustration. Your voice strains.

“I’m alright, Sy. Just tired.”

You feel him turn on the bed, his knee nudging your back. His hand slides to your hip where he kneads it between careful fingers. 

“I don’t believe that.”

You scoff, the sound of it sticky. Of course, he doesn’t. You can’t fool him. He’s too smart for his own good. Sometimes knows you better than you know yourself.

Before you can think, he’s curling around you. Notches his pelvis up against your bottom, tangling your legs together, dragging you closer against the hard press of his body, into the circle of his arms. You owlishly blink as he slots his chin in the junction of your shoulder. Want to laugh because you’re a complicated mess of limbs and bedsheets. 

You smell him even through the thick layers of your comforter. He smells like petrichor, spring, and stale cologne. The warmth he exudes is dizzying. Comforting, causing your lids to grow heavy. 

He breathes deep behind you. Hums low in his throat, voice vibrating your back and playing up your spine like a xylophone. You contemplate wriggling out of his embrace. You don’t deserve his sympathy—his pity. But his embrace around your middle is possessive as if to convey, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind,” he says, voice steeping low, gritty like sand caught between your toes after a day on the beach. He presses full lips against the slope of your jaw. 

“But know that whatever storm you’re weathering, you don’t have to endure it alone.”

That’s the dam-breaker.

Tears spring to your eyes faster than you can think. A bitter sob forces its way past your lips. Why does he have to be so fucking sweet?

He holds you tighter as your body shakes. As you let go of everything you’ve been holding in for the past few months. Strokes reassurance into your stomach with his thumbs, nuzzling further into the hollow of your shoulder. Whispers words of encouragement and it’s alright’s in between your hiccups and apologies.

He doesn’t let go even long after your tears have dried up, and the rain’s let up outside. You feel sleep nipping at your psyche, at the edges of your vision. Maybe you just needed a good cry to tire you out. Open up those floodgates of contaminated water you’ve been fighting to contain. 

But before you sink under, your boyfriend softly murmurs in your ear, “Ah ah ah. I bet you haven’t showered all day. I can smell it.”

You reach back to pinch his hip, a scowl screwing up your face as his chest shakes with affectionate laughter. You roll your eyes and wrench yourself free of his embrace. Snatch the blanket off your head—it was getting hot under there, anyway. 

Sylus moves to the edge to draw you between his legs, a disarming smile cresting over his lips as he holds you at the waist. “There’s my girl,” he croons, pressing your foreheads together. Kisses you quick, but it's enough to leave you breathless. 

You let him lead you to your bathroom to wash up. He leaves you to your own devices as the shower’s comforting spray washes over your skin. You lather up with your favorite body wash, the scent working as a soothing balm over your nerves. 

He has your favorite robe and slippers waiting for you when you get out. Sits you on top of the toilet to dry your hair off. Maybe he uses a little too much leave-in conditioner, but he’s smiling all fond as he detangles your hair the way you taught him before taking his time blowdrying your hair. 

He drags you into your kitchen for your favorite takeout. Entertains you with stories about the twins running him ragged. When you’re full and laughing and your cheeks ache from smiling so much, he holds you in your bed until your eyes grow heavy again. Hums something lucid, raspy. 

“Sy,” you say with your back to him, voice weighed with sleep.

“Hmm? Yes, sweetheart?” he replies, lazily pulling at some strands of your hair. It feels good, pushing you further under. 

“Thank you.”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you.”

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

“You Cold or Just Miss Me?”

⸻

The apartment was freezing.

You had kicked the heater three times. It hissed at you like a sassy little demon and stayed broken. Your hoodie was nowhere to be found, and your toes were going numb. You wrapped a blanket around yourself like a sad burrito, staring out at the grey sky from the couch.

That’s when your eyes drifted to his door.

Bakugou’s room.

You knew he had hoodies. Big, warm ones.

The kind that looked like they’d feel like a hug. A grumpy, spicy, cinnamon roll-scented hug.

You waited a solid 45 seconds before you gave in, shuffled across the hall like a shivering raccoon, and cracked open his door.

It was neat. Too neat. Bed made, weights in the corner, shelves lined with cologne and deodorant and some kind of expensive-looking hair stuff.

And right there on the back of his chair: a big, black hoodie with the word “DIE” on the sleeve in angry red letters.

Perfect.

You slipped it on. It was warm. Soft. Smelled like him—spice, smoke, and the faintest bit of caramel.

And then the front door opened.

You froze.

Footsteps.

Bakugou’s voice. “Yo, you home? Heater’s still busted—”

His sentence cut off as he turned the corner and saw you.

In his hoodie. On his couch. Hugging your knees and buried in the sleeves that covered your hands like paws.

He blinked. Stared. And then, his ears turned pink.

“…The hell you doin’ in my hoodie?”

You made a dramatic shivering noise. “Freezing to death. Thought you’d want me to live.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched—he was fighting a smile.

“You got a hundred damn hoodies.”

“I lost all of them. Tragic accident. It was this or hypothermia.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you risked death just to steal mine?”

You beamed. “It’s warm. Smells good. Feels safe.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just scratched the back of his neck, trying not to look flustered. His voice dipped, softer this time.

“…It looks good on you.”

Your heart did a little flip. “Yeah?”

Bakugou shrugged like it was nothing, but the tips of his ears were so red.

“Whatever. Keep it.”

You tilted your head. “Oh? So I get to steal all your clothes now?”

“Don’t push it.”

You patted the couch next to you. “C’mon. Sit. We can be hoodie twins. You wear a hoodie, I wear your hoodie.”

He grumbled something under his breath and plopped down next to you, arms crossing like he wasn’t secretly pleased.

You leaned into his side, stealing even more of his warmth.

“…You’re not gonna give that back, are you?” he asked after a minute.

You yawned dramatically. “Never.”

And Bakugou? He just sighed—smiling now, even if he tried to hide it.

“…Tch. Dumbass.”

But he didn’t ask for it back.

⸻

[creati-bunny]

SHANKS CLINGS ONTO YOU LIKE YOU ARE NOT ENEMIES BY NATURE. Scratches and hickeys adorned your naked body, draped with a white linen blanket; black eyes savor the sight of your asleep form on his bed, a peaceful look plastered on your face—different from your usual scowl.

He is a pirate, and you are a navy admiral.

Your hair forms a halo all over his pillow, your body breathing calmly and evenly. A crest of your land is tattooed on your back; his lips gently press kisses on the mark; his nose breathes in your scent—wanting to commit it to memory. The smell of the ocean mixed with the floral scent of your perfume still marks your skin. His lips graciously caress every single mark he has left on you. Shanks yearns for your touch, even after having his way with you for many, many hours.

Shanks’ heart beat, sensing you about to arise from your sleep. Your fingers, scarred from your past battles, washed away the sleep from your eyes; you realized that you are currently being spooned by the man behind you—whose right arm tightened more around you, not wanting to let go of you.

“Good morning, dear.”

Dear, huh?

His pet name for you was far too intimate, sending you awake straight away. You glanced at the clock above, already having missed the time for your meeting; you let out a regretful sigh, knowing you would get another earful from Akainu—a really good morning to you, alright.

“I have to go…” You sit down, yet your body feels heavy with the weight of Shanks on your shoulders, preventing you from moving; your eyes meet his half-lidded ones, his stubble brushing against your exposed shoulder—that look in his eyes is dangerous enough to make you want to come back into his arms. “Shanks…”

The man gave you only an innocent smile in return, heaving a sigh at your urgent expression. “Can’t you stay here any longer? You’re already late, my dearest; might as well enjoy it,” His lips seduce you, pressing them on your neck—his right hand stroking your waist sensually. “Come back to bed, please?”

“Clingy now, aren’t we?” You observed with an unimpressed look on your face.

“For you, always.”

You clenched your jaw. It gets under your skin knowing Shanks is aware that he is irresistible. A cocky smirk plastered on his face, he looks at you suggestively—the man takes advantage of his looks, his body also covered with marks you left on him; and he takes pride in it.

However, you have priorities and cannot afford to be distracted, even if it is him. “You’re pissing me off with that mouth of yours, you know that?”

“I distinctly remember you enjoying this mouth of mine last night,” he whispered in your ear; his words making you face him—and he did not hesitate to capture your lips with his own, his teeth nibbling your lower lip to let his tongue invade your mouth. Shanks let out a deep, muffled moan; the fire in him was being ignited, muttering a quiet plea to make you stay.

To his dismay, you pull away before it takes any further.

“Well then,” you stand up, already looking for your undergarments as well as your navy coat. The hickeys and teeth marks did not do well in hiding under your clothes, making you click your tongue. “I told you not to leave any marks, Shanks.”

Shanks did not give a single fuck about that. He wants people to remember that you’re taken, and that someone had already claimed your body—fuck, it was so hypocritical of him to have such thoughts, knowing damn well that you two are nothing more than just acquaintances.

He also stands up and gives you another wet kiss on your lips, savoring the last moments before you leave his ship. Shanks is this close to chaining you up and trapping you here forever. His eyes glinting in tenderness; a fixation with you, he makes his yearning for you so obvious—it twists your heart in an unusual way.

“I want everyone to know that you’re mine, dear,” Shanks comments in a playful tone. His eyes watch you hungrily as you do your business. “…and that I’m yours,” he claims with a fond tone in his voice, sending shivers down your spine.

You rolled your eyes in exchange for his response, glaring at him coldly.

“We are nothing like that. Have you forgotten about our agreement?”

The red-haired pirate is determined to change that.

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