#reader needs cuddles

[yuujispinkhair]

Thinking about jumping into modern!boyfie Sukuna's arms and clinging to him like a koala while he carries you to bed. You mumble something like,

"Mmmh you are so warm, baby."

Snuggling even closer to your boyfriend's tall, muscular body. And Sukuna laughs and teases you playfully,

"What? You're telling me the person who couldn’t wait for fall and winter to finally arrive, is already feeling cold?"

But he says it so affectionately, his low voice full of warmth and amusement, and his strong arms only hold you tighter when he adds,

"I'll keep you warm all night."

And you smile and rest your face against his broad chest, knowing that you will get the best cuddles from your favorite person in the world.

Sukuna places you gently on your bed and you don't even get a chance to complain about the lack of his arms around you before he is already slipping into bed behind you and wraps his warm, strong body around you.

You sigh happily, snuggling into Sukuna's embrace with a sleepy-sounding:

"You're the best, baby."

And you feel Sukuna's smirk against your neck where he trails soft little kisses over your skin,

"I know."

His tattooed arms tighten around your smaller body, holding you safely as Sukuna presses his tall, muscular body against you, making sure his girl is warm and happy. And when he hears your soft snores he can't help but smile and think to himself that you are the best, too.

[all-with-angel]

Sukuna is big. In every sense of the word. He. is. big. Even if he stood beside the beefiest human you could think of, he'd still be bigger.

From first glance, he looks like he'd be made of pure muscle— but that is simply not true. This man loves eating. It's his hobby right beside chaos and destruction. He has a bit of fat on him, not much, but enough for a little squish before your fingers meet firm muscle underneath. Comfortable enough to lay down on, you'd realize after a while.

He was comfy, firm and grounding. He even runs warm, making him perfect for cuddling during cold days. You spoil him every single time, nuzzling into him, asking him nonsensical questions, place kisses anywhere you could reach. <- THAT was spoiling him. Atleast in his eyes, nothing could be better than that. Sukuna would usually just let out a grunt or grumble at your rambles maybe supplying a "Mhm." Or a "No." When he felt particularly chatty.

It wasn't like he wasn't paying attention to you, it's just that if he was your human teddy bear with a built-in heater, you were his human teddy bear as well.

He thought you were the absolute perfect size, felt nice and soft under him. Whenever you'd blabber on about your day, his hands would just wander around, squishing and feeling you up n down. Not even in a sexual way most of the time, he just liked feeling you nice and pliant under him. In his opinion, you spoil him with your mere presence alone.

So, ofcourse, he always throws a fit during the summer months.

Why? Because most days, you refuse to cuddle him. Why? Because of the heat.

Whats to blame? The Sun.

If Sukuna had his way, he'd rip out the sun out of the sky and doom the world to an eternal cold if it meant he'd stay beside you throughout that eternity.

Mans just wants to cuddle. He will never directly ask for it btw, be ready to initiate every cuddle session or deal with a grumpy Sukuna if you don't.

[dismas-n-dismay]

Business Proposal: You and Ena, in mutual partnership, forever! Do you accept?

[cherubshert]

content: aftercare, cuddly, suggestive (?) Jungwon is bias wrecking me, long hair blond jungwon, my prince charming. my works feel a bit repetitive:((, pls send requests :>

Your body curls to a circle under the sheets, the sound of water running easing you in an out of sleep, exhaustion weighing on your bones. You hear Jungwon turn the bathroom light off, pulling the door close with a soft thud, the soft pads of his feet.

He lays beside you, kissing your shoulder trailing up to your neck, you smile at the ticklish sensation. His hands rub your waist under the cover, his chest pressed close to your back. "You ok?" his voice softly calls out, he kisses the shell of your ear, trailing down to your jaw.

You nod, "Tired" he smiles against your cheek, resting his face against yours lightly, his blond hair lightly falling into your line of sight. "Too tired for a bite?" "I want the left over pizza." you respond quickly, ignoring your body's complaints at the thought of staying up any longer.

"I'll warm up a slice." he uses his hand to squeeze your cheek, turning you to face him, puckering out your lips, brushing his against yous. "Stay up a little longer for me, hmm?"

he hums a tune that makes you giggle as he shuffles around the room, picking a shirt before going out the room, the light of the hall lighting up the room, fading when he closes the door. You doze off not long after he's gone, faint whispers of a conversation between his members easing you.

The room is quiet when he returns, and you're too deep in sleep to notice his presence. He smiles to himself, sitting next to you, finishing the slice himself.

[fromdove]

you are the place he limps toward when the night is black-lunged and bleeding, the only place he shows up ruined and raw and still believes he won’t be turned away.

3:14 a.m. and his fists are always red, not from love, and still you leave the porch light on. still you wait. still you let him ruin the silence with his breathing.

and he looks at you like he's half-expecting you to tell him to leave. but you don’t. you never do. you let him in.

you don’t ask where he’s been. you don’t ask whose blood that is. you just flick the light off behind him and put a glass of water in his hand like it matters.

he smells like smoke and grave-dirt. like something dug up too early, or maybe too late.

his chest rises unevenly, and you press your hand to it— gently, like you’re trying to steady something that never learned how to be still. he lets you. that’s the strangest part. he lets you. as if the heart beneath hadn’t been rewired with rage.

it’s not the lazarus pit that haunts him anymore. it’s this. your quiet. your staying. your awful, unbearable kindness.

he tells himself it’s nothing. a habit. a mistake. a misfire in the dark. something cold seeking something warm.

but he stays longer each time. sits closer. breathes easier.

and when your hand finds his—without fear— he closes his eyes,. just for a second. and in that second, he lets the lie go.

because this—you—feels more like resurrection than anything that ever touched the lazarus pit.

maybe he came back for something. for a reason.

[cookiebean2019]

HI ITS ME THE ANON WHO ASKED ABOUT REQUESTS IM BACK

could I request shadow milk comforting a sad yn who’s going through a lot?? If that’s ok with you ofc, you don’t have to draw it if you don’t want to!

also I saw more of your art and you’re actually so talented like wtf.

LIKE I ADORE YOUR ARTSTYLE HOW ARE YOU NOT FAMOUS YET

Sorry for the bother!!!

Shadow Milk isn't the best at giving comfort, but he really is trying his best-

(He lied saying not to get used to it, he totally would do this all the time if asked)

Never a bother! In fact I needed this as well- 😭💖

Thank you for being my first request, it means a lot to me!!! Hopefully this is on the lines of what you wanted!

[nerdy-novelist017]

More Than Rest (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

Hiiii :) I honestly have no excuse for my lack of updates other than life is really busy rn. But I really hope you guys aren't too frustrated with me and still want to read some Benny x Bunny content. Here's a little scene I wrote when I was in my feels and missing Benny Cross

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Summary- He never sleeps. Not really. Not the kind of sleep that’s safe, deep, unguarded. But when Benny finally lets go—shirtless, sun-drenched, and halfway out of his jeans—it’s beside you, wrapped in the sound of your voice and the scent of your shampoo.

Word Count- 2.8k

**********

The air had gone syrup-thick, slow like molasses, heavy with the weight of another midwestern summer afternoon.

Sunlight poured in through the trailer window in soft golden ribbons, catching on the dust that floated lazily like snowflakes that had forgotten how to fall. Outside, the cicadas sang their shrill chorus, endless and loud, while the fan in the window gave a weary clatter with each turn, doing its best to stir the heat but failing with quiet dignity.

Benny lay sprawled flat on his back across the tangled sheets, shirtless, sun-kissed skin gleaming faintly with sweat that clung to every sharp line of his torso. One arm was slung over his eyes, his fingers curled loosely like he was trying to disappear beneath the weight of the day—or maybe just into the comfort of the bed itself. His other arm rested by his side, hand limp, calloused fingertips twitching now and then in the sticky heat.

His jeans were halfway undone, the button popped open and the zipper tugged down just enough to hint at the waistband of his boxers. The denim clung low on his hips, creased and faded and worn soft in a way that made your throat tighten. The kind of undone that didn’t look accidental, even if it was. The kind of undone that made him look almost obscene in his beauty, in that unbothered, sleep-heavy sprawl.

He smelled like summer and metal and motor oil - something rough and real and deeply him - but there was still a trace of you on his skin. A faint sweetness clinging to his collarbone, the ghost of your strawberry shampoo from when your head had rested there earlier that morning.

He looked like sin left out in the sun. And he didn’t even know it.

You were sprawled out beside him, stretched on your stomach like a lazy cat, flipping through a sun-wrinkled magazine with a smudged pink lip print on the cover and water stains along the edges. Swimming in one of his old undershirts – white, too big, slipping off one bare shoulder, your legs kicked absently behind you, ankles crossing and uncrossing in the air like you had nowhere to be and no one else to be.

You read aloud in a singsong voice, every word lilting and golden, warm enough to spin the stale air around them into something soft and sweet.

“‘Ten Signs He’s Secretly Thinking About Marriage,’” you announced, clearly delighted by the headline.

Benny didn’t so much as twitch.

“Number one…” you continued, twirling a strand of hair around you finger, “he gazes at you when he thinks you’re not looking.”

You peeked over your shoulder at him with a grin. “You do that.”

From beneath his arm came a low, stubborn grunt. “No, I don’t.”

You smirked and went right on reading. “Number two…he does little chores for you without being asked.”

Another noncommittal grunt from his side.

Smirked, you pointed out, “Like how you always untangle my necklaces. Or how you replaced the lightbulb in the closet after I stubbed my toe and threatened to burn the whole place down.”

Still nothing besides a breathy hum.

“Number three…” you went on, legs swaying lazily behind you, toes brushing the edge of the fan’s breeze. “‘He lets you pick the music.’” You scoffed. “Yeah, right. You act like my records might bite you if you get too close.”

That got a reaction.

Barely, but you saw it.

The corner of his mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. The faintest suggestion of dimples beneath stubble. But his eyes stayed closed, his head tilted slightly to the side, arm still thrown over his forehead like he was shielding himself from the world—or from you

“Number four…” you continued, but the words came slower now. You had to swallow to keep going. “‘He tells you about his childhood.’”

Silence bloomed in the space between you. 

The page stopped moving beneath your hand, fingers still. You stared at the print but didn’t see it. Your lips parted, but the next words didn’t come. Because the air had shifted again—grown thick in a different way. Not with heat, but with memory.

Because Benny didn’t talk about his past in the way most people did. He never sat you down and said this happened to me. He never unraveled himself in one clean thread. He gave pieces. Tiny, jagged pieces. Offhand comments dropped like loose change. Things you weren’t  supposed to catch – but did.

One night, long after midnight, when the only light in the room was the blue glow of the microwave clock, he’d murmured it while staring at the ceiling: “Used to sleep in the closet when I was little. Figured if they couldn’t see me, they’d forget I was there.”

You didn't know what to say. 

Another night, after too much beer and not enough food, he’d added, “Even now? Don’t think I’ve ever slept more than an hour at a time. Not deep. Not like you.”

And then—after you had reached for his hand in the dark and he hadn’t pulled away—he had said the one that gutted you.

“Had a system. Kept my shoes on, just in case I had to run. Slept with a flashlight under the pillow, knife taped to the mattress springs.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Hadn’t blinked. Just kept staring out the window, as if the darkness might look back.

“That’s probably why I don’t sleep much now,” he added with a shrug. “Can’t tell if it’s habit or if my body just thinks rest’ll get me killed.”

You could still hear the way he’d said it. Like it was just a fact. Like it didn’t hollow out your chest to imagine a younger version of him flinching at footsteps in the hall. Holding his breath at the sound of keys in the door.

Your throat tightened.

You stared down at the wrinkled page, the words bleeding together into soft-edged nonsense. The cheap perfume sample tucked into the binding had long since faded, but you could still smell the paper—sun-warmed and dusty, like old laundry and summer heat.

Your fingers stayed still.

And for a while, you didn’t move. Just breathed. Just listened to the fan clink its tired rhythm in the window and the cicadas shrieking outside like they’d never known quiet. Your heart ached in your chest, too full of things you couldn’t say aloud.

Because you’d never known anyone like him. Someone so hard-edged, so bruised and wary, yet capable of such impossible softness when no one else was looking.

You blinked once before turning your head to glance over your shoulder at him.

And the sight of him undid you all over again.

He was asleep. Really asleep.

That same arm still draped over his eyes, but his hand had gone slack. His jaw had loosened, lips parted just slightly, the faintest breath slipping past them. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, the kind of breathing that only came when a body had let go. Completely. Utterly. Trustingly.

Every inch of bruised skin left bare by the rumpled sheet. Every scar, every freckle, every old burn or faded scrape that hinted at a boy who’d learned to survive before he ever learned to rest. And yet – here he was. Laid out beside you, utterly unguarded, as if you were a shelter he had finally chosen. As if this bed, this hour, this closeness was something sacred.

It was too much.

Too much tenderness to carry. Too much weight behind the silence.

“Safe ain’t a thing I ever learned how to be,” he’d told you, once, voice thick from bourbon and exhaustion. “So when I’m next to you, it don’t feel right. Feels like I’m waitin’ for the catch.”

You turned her face away, back toward the forgotten magazine still open in your lap. But the words had blurred beyond recognition. The page rippled beneath her fingers as you blinked hard.

You swiped at your cheek, brushing the tear which had escaped. But it kept coming. Thick, warm tears that slipped free before you could catch them, running soundlessly down your face and soaking into the collar of his undershirt you still wore. There was no sobbing. No trembling. Just a kind of quiet, overwhelming grief—too big for your ribs to hold and too soft to scream.

Grief for the child he’d been, sleeping in closets with his shoes on. Grief for the man he became, carved out of silence and hard choices. And most of all—for this moment. For the trust he offered now, without words, simply by sleeping beside you like he believed he wouldn’t need to run.

You bit your lip to keep from making a sound. Tried to breathe through the ache—but it broke free as a shudder, small and sharp, curling in your chest.

And that’s when he stirred.

Just a shift at first—a flicker of motion through his body, a twitch of his shoulder. Then he went still. Completely still. Like some instinct inside him had gone taut in the space of a heartbeat.

You heard it before he spoke: the change in his breathing. The subtle hitch. That flicker of awareness clawing its way back to the surface.

Then, his voice—low, rough with sleep, and laced with something that sounded like worry. “Bun?”

You sniffled, barely more than a sound, and wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand like it meant nothing. Like the tears weren’t real if you caught them fast enough.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. But it wasn’t even a lie—it was a hope, said out loud.

Benny blinked, slow and disoriented, still tangled in the haze of sleep. But the moment his eyes landed on you – curled at the edge of the bed, turned away from him, shoulders trembling in that quiet, repressed way that said don’t look at me, please don’t look at me – something in him fractured.

You looked like someone trying to disappear.

And that undid him.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask permission. Just moved.

Slower than instinct. But with more certainty than he’d ever had.

The air kissed his skin, still damp with sleep as he pushed himself up with one elbow. Every muscle in his body ached with the weight of dreams he hadn’t meant to fall into. But none of it mattered.

You were crying. And he’d missed it.

So he crawled – quietly, carefully – to the foot of the bed where you lay, curled like a child hiding from a storm. Each shift of his body made the mattress creak, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him.

By the time you turned your head fully to look at him, he was there—behind you, beside you, with you—one arm sliding beneath your chest, the other draping across your lower back as he lowered himself over you, curling along the curve of your body like he belonged there. He pressed his chest to your spine, his breath warm at your ear. His jeans were still unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, skin hot from sleep and the sun-drenched bed. You felt every inch of him, solid and real and right there.

“Sweetheart…” It wasn’t even a question, just a gentle plea.

“I’m fine,” you tried again, but it cracked on the way out.

His arm around you tightened. Not in fear. Not in panic. Just in that quiet, desperate way people hold each other when words aren’t enough.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Please. Just tell me what’s breaking you.”

You turned her face into the pillow, as if that might protect you from the truth.

“I don’t know,” you breathed. But then—your voice wavered, and the truth began to rise like floodwater. “You were sleeping. Really sleeping. And you never do that, Benny. You never let go. And I just kept thinking… all those nights you spent afraid to close your eyes. The things you must’ve heard through the walls. The things you didn’t tell me. You were just a boy, and no one came for you. And now you’re here. With me. And you looked so peaceful, like something finally let go inside you. And it just—” Your breath shuddered. “I didn’t know it would hurt to see you safe.”

“Bunny…” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I didn’t think I’d ever find a place where I could close my eyes and not feel like I was being hunted.”

You turned slightly then, just enough for him to see the glint of your tears in the light.

He kissed you – gently. Once. Just below your eye, where the salt clung to your skin.

“That wasn’t sleep,” he said softly. “That was surrender. That was you.”

You let out a trembling laugh that hurt to hear. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” he said, pressing a kiss to your other cheek. “You cry, I wake up. That’s the deal.”

Benny buried his nose in your hair, took a breath, and exhaled like the weight of her grief had somehow lessened his own.

You let out a small breath—shaky, wet, but gentling now that he was there. All around you. His weight draped over your back like a blanket, his arm snug across your waist, holding you close in that silent way he always did, like he didn’t trust words half as much as touch.

The tears didn’t stop completely. But they quieted. Softened. Fell slower.

Benny didn’t speak again right away. Just rested his cheek against the back of your head, his chest rising and falling against your spine like a lullaby. His fingers curled into the hem of the oversized shirt you wore—his shirt—and for a moment, the silence swelled full and sacred.

Then, after a pause long enough you thought he might’ve fallen asleep again, you heard his voice. Muffled. Sleep-rough. Almost shy.

“Hey…”

You hummed in response, too tired to speak.

“Weren’t you in the middle of reading me somethin’?” he asked.

You blinked, smile tugging slow at your lips. “You mean the article about how to tell if your boyfriend’s thinking about marriage?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, one leg sliding between yours as he pulled you even closer. “That one.”

You turned your face toward the edge of the mattress, blinking at the sun-wrinkled magazine still splayed open a few inches away, half-tangled in the sheets.

“I thought you said my records bite,” you murmured, teasing gently. “Pretty sure that means you don’t trust my taste.”

He let out a small grunt—almost a laugh—and nuzzled against your hair like he could burrow deeper into you.

“I trust your voice,” he said, voice going quieter. “Don’t care what you’re readin’. Could be the back of a soup can for all I care.”

You smiled again. A real one this time. Small, but glowing.

“You’re lucky,” you said, reaching for the magazine with one hand, still tucked under the weight of his body. “Because this quiz has five more signs, and I know you’re dying to know if you pass.”

“Oh, I’m nervous as hell,” he murmured, voice dripping with fake solemnity, even as his mouth brushed your shoulder. “Lay it on me.”

You adjusted the magazine against the sheets, flipping to the right page, and cleared your throat dramatically.

“Number five,” you read aloud. “‘He talks about the future like you’re already a part of it.’”

Benny was quiet for a second.

Then he murmured, “I think I told you last week that we should plant tomatoes next spring.”

“You did,” you said. “You also said we’d need netting to keep the birds from eating them.”

“Then I’m five for five,” he said, his voice warm and slow and dripping with satisfaction. “Keep goin’. I wanna see if I score perfect.”

You flipped the page, snickering under your breath. “Number six… he picks up on your moods—even the quiet ones.”

His hand squeezed your side, thumb brushing your ribs.

“Next,” he whispered into your skin.

Your smile spread. God, it hurt to love him this much.

“Number seven,” you continued, “he says ‘we’ more than ‘I.’”

Benny shifted, lifting himself just slightly so he could press a kiss to your temple.

“We’re gonna need new sheets if you keep cryin’ on this set,” he said gently. “We’re gonna wear this bed out at this rate.”

You let out a small laugh, sniffled once, and kept reading. The tears were drying now. The ache was still there—but it had been wrapped in something warmer. Something real.

“Keep going,” he mumbled.

So you did.

Even long after he’d fallen asleep, you kept reading. Just in case his dreams were listening.

-Tag List-

@elizabeth916 @imusicaddict @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @charmingballoon @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @justsomewritingblog @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @pao-prazz @thedreamingfish99 @mrsalwayswrite

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[ink-stainedkiss]

This isn't necessarily a request (unless you like the idea😍) but i am WEAK for saiki kusuo being happy and laughing, as ooc as it sounds IDC HES MY BABY AND HES HUMAN THEREOFRE I CONCLUDE THIS BOY CAN HAVE HIS DAILY DOSE OF GIGGLES.

Like, i read the fic you made on saiki finding readers thoughts funny, and i BAJDJSJAJDBS I SQUEALED.

Just imagining him breaking character, or AUDIBLY laughing, is so so sweet bro im not even joking. He'd only ever be comfortable doing it infront of his mom probably, or his close friends. EVEN SO.

Just needed to get it off my chest. 🙂 if you ever make more fics with happy/giggly saiki i might actually marry you. 🙂🙂🙂

This one goes specifically to you queen😍 and No. I’m going to marry you🫵😼

Missing You

Synopsis: Saiki starts to feel a bit weird when you are out and he realizes he misses you. Now to find a way to get you home faster…

Merry Christmas for those who celebrate! I hope you all had a great time because I sure did. Sorry my activity has been a little slow these past days have been busier than expected, so this one’s going to be a bit short. Also thank you all for the likes on my later posts! It feels so amazing to see you guys enjoying my other works. Anyways, please enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff of our beloved Saiki💕

“You on the phone”

“Saiki on the phone”

*Saiki is wearing his telepathy blocking ring in this, so he's speaking normally*

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

Everyone knew that Saiki was not a dependent person. He was the furthest thing from it. He loved his alone time- actually scratch that. He craved alone time. It was just his luck that he was always surrounded by people that caused him so much mental pain. To Saiki’s surprise, he had found someone he tolerated. Well it was more than that, but you guys were just friends, so he couldn’t say anything. He realized you were the only one that didn’t put Saiki through a problem which he had to solve. There were no long adventures when you talked to him in the halls. No using his powers to fix something you had done. He was able to act perfectly normal around you. Which is why he grew such an affection toward you. He grew so comfortable that he told you about his abilities and like he expected you took it well.

Today was one of his favorite days. Where he was able to hang around your home without a care in the world. Whatever his friends were up to outside of your house was not Saiki’s business, nor did he care about it. He had developed a routine when you text him to come over. He would arrive at your house, wear his germanium ring and let his worries wash away. It was the closest thing he could get to being a normal teenager and he was damn sure going to use his time wisely. Whenever Saiki stayed at your home, you would ask to do something, nothing crazy. Something simple like baking a batch of cookies, watching a movie on the couch, or if you were very bored, you would ask to do Saiki’s hair, which he never denied. Because, well, it was you. How could he say no?

Today was a bit different. You had mentioned you needed to run some errands and you promised you would back around noon. Saiki was fine with this since it meant he would have the house to himself. You trusted him greatly so you didn’t mind if he stuck around while you were out. When you left he gave a small nod and then the house was silent. Today was very different because something felt off. He had been reading a book on your shelf out of interest, but for the past five minutes, he had been rereading the same sentence over and over. Something was tugging in his head, but he wasn’t sure what was wrong.

Today was different because he felt so off without you in the same room as him. He checked the clock, realizing I had only been an hour and a half since you left. You wouldn’t be back until later, so Saiki had to find something to distract himself. Today was different because tried to cure his “boredom” with his powers. He turned on your kitchen sink, watching blankly as he made shapes and animals out of the liquid. When that didn’t stop the tugging, he moved onto your room. He felt slightly better resting on your bed and he played it off as being tired, but no. When he kept checking the clock to see if it was any closer to noon, he came to the horrifying conclusion that he missed you.

It was such a foreign feeling. Saiki? Wanting someone to be around him? Well that’s what happens when you sneak your way into his heart. The psychic couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed his phone, clicking on your contact and placing the device to his ear. The small buzzing reached his ear and he felt a small fragment of relief when you answered after the second ring.

“Hey Saiki, what’s up?”

He sighed, a bit humiliated he felt this way.

“Nothing.”

“Then did you need something?”

“When are you going to be home?”

He said home like he lived here with you, but if you minded, you didn’t make it obvious.

“I should be there in maybe three hours.”

That did not help.

“Can you get here sooner?”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Might as well since there isn’t anything else getting you here faster. Saiki thought.

A small gasp sounded through the speaker, “I thought you said nothing was happening?”

“Just get here fast.”

And with that he hung up the phone.

—

You raced to your house, hoping you wouldn’t find it in ashes or hit by a tornado. Maybe you were being dramatic, but why would Saiki call you and tell you to come home quickly? It was shocking that you didn’t get pulled over at the pace you were driving home. When you pulled onto your street, you were thankful to not see any smoke, but that didn’t make you slow down. You slammed to a stop in your driveway, panic flooding your veins. You unlocked your door at lightning speed and the second it was open, you called out,”I’m here! What happened?!”

You shut the door behind you, scanning for some sort of danger, but you find your house was still intact. You were so confused. You were expecting some sort of freak accident with Saiki’s powers, but everything was in place.

“Nothing wrong.”

You whipped around, finding Saiki had teleported behind you. You blinked in confusion,”What are you talking about? You told me to get here quick and I-“ “I lied.” Your arms dropped at your side in defeat,”Then why am I here right now?” He gave you an emotionless stare,”Because I wanted you to be.”

Still in shock, you looked around, finding a scattered book on your couch. It was odd because Saiki is always the one to be neat. You turned to the boy, noticing how he was hardly making eye contact with you and he clearly wanted to say more. You recalled his words over the phone, then it all clicked.

“Saiki,” your words were barely above a whisper,”Did you miss me?”

The things that happened next were a blur. In the blink of an eye two arms were wrapping around you and you could feel Saiki’s head in the crook of your neck. He didn’t respond to your question, but this was enough to answer it. Honestly, you were a bit nervous. Was this really the same Saiki? The one who barely let people stand close to him, was holding onto you like a lifeline. You felt a long sigh escape his lips and instinctively you reached one hand up to rest in his pink hair and the other embracing him over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know how else to get you here.” He confessed gently, making your heart melt,”You could have just asked, Kusuo.” He tucked himself more into your neck, almost hiding his face from you,”But you were busy.” You rolled your eyes, “It was just getting groceries, I would have dropped everything if I knew you wanted me here.”

Saiki didn’t know how to respond, instead he used his teleportation to take you both to your room. You let out a grunt as you back hit your mattress, but your attention changed to the boy resting on you. He looked so at peace and you couldn’t believe this was still the same person. (It’s not like you were complaining.) As you softly played with his pink hair, a small idea popped into your head. Maybe I should go out more often if this is what I get to come home too…

[dlscenarios]

Once you weasel your way into his heart, Mammon becomes such a clingy demon. You have the pact, sure, but Mammon hates being away from you for a long time. At school, he’d follow you through the halls with either his hand in yours or on the small of your back. At home, he wraps his arms around you and refuses to let go. Most days, the two of you end up cuddling in either of your beds or on a couch in the common room. It’s strange for him to admit that a piddly little human turned him into a lover.

[wolverinesprincess]

boyfriend logan 🥺🥺🥺🥺

i just knowwww he’s the most caring boyfriend ever. he takes care of you in every way he can. he cooks for you, he listens to you, he holds you, he constantly tells you how much you mean to him 🥹 leaves no room for doubt - you’re loved and you know it.

[etherealyoungk]

waking up and still feeling too sleepy so you just roll over, pull coups’ arm over you and bury your face into his chest 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️ morning snuggles

this is so cute aaa like just imagine waking up to the sound of your usual early morning alarm, but you're still so sleepy because you slept late last night and you want nothing more than to sleep in a bit today. you roll over to the other side, snuggling closer to seungcheol and you pull his arm over you as you snuggle closer into his chest.

he stirs awake slightly, his chest rising and falling in a steady, rhythmic pattern. you could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, a steady, soothing drum that matched the slow, lazy rhythm of your own breath. seugncheol's arm tightened around you instinctively, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he awoke to the delightful weight of you snuggled close.

"morning sleepyhead", he mumbles softly, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with a warm, affectionate tone. "morning,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest.

"don't let me go, you're so warm", you mutter and he chuckles softly, a low, comforting sound that tickles your ear. “never,” he promises, his arms tightening around you in a tender embrace as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

[bluewolfangel01]

Levi: "I don't understand why you like someone as pathetic as me, I'm not that good at anything other then being a nasty useless otaku, (insert more self degrading here)."

Mc: *blank faced, moving sneakily close to Levi and picks him up bridal style*

Mc: "Snake <3."

Levi: *Stunned silent, he doesn't move for a few moments, then his tail curls around Mc's leg, and leans into their touch.*

Levi: "Y-yeah...."

[fandomimaginez]

I need to cuddle with Clark Kent but not in a ‘I use his chest as a pillow’ way but in a ‘he lays on me like a weighted blanket’ way.

[mapsthewanderer]

Maps headcanons -

🧡 Caleb and period cramps fluff

Details: 600 words. Feel good food. Fluff. Tender, wonderful, caring, loving Caleb during that time of month. It actually fits if you just want a lil pampering from our boy too. Get you a man who can do both *cries* this is for you @gavin3469

You barely make it through the door before exhaustion weighs you down. The day had been long, and your body felt like it was fighting against you, every step home a battle you barely won. You had considered stopping by the store, picking up something to comfort yourself, but the thought of carrying even the lightest of bags felt impossible. You just wanted to collapse, to sink into something warm and safe and let the world fade away for a while.

You sigh as you unlock it, expecting nothing more than the quiet stillness of your apartment. But the moment you step inside, warmth greets you like an embrace. The air smells of apples and vanilla, and the soft flicker of candlelight casts golden glows against the walls. There’s something else too—something that smells like summer, fresh and inviting.

“Hello?” you call out weakly, toeing off your shoes.

No answer.

Your brows knit together as you shrug off your coat, your tired brain sluggishly trying to recall whether you had left any candles burning this morning. But then you see him.

Caleb stands in the kitchen, completely oblivious to your arrival, airpods in as he chops vegetables with effortless precision. His movements are fluid, a rhythm all his own, the steady thunk of the knife against the cutting board matching the beat of whatever music he’s lost in. He sways as he works, shifting his weight, rolling his shoulders in time with the sound only he can hear. It’s not forced, not even intentional—just an unconscious, easy sort of grace.

But that isn’t what takes your breath away.

Across the living room, near the couch, sits an enormous cube of heaven—a down duvet, the kind that screams luxury, thick and impossibly soft. A massive ribbon is tied around it, wrapped so perfectly it looks like a gift for a special occasion—something you’d dreamed of unwrapping on your birthday, carefully chosen just for you—rather than just Caleb being Caleb. The sight of it—of the effort, the quiet, knowing care behind it—makes something ache deep in your chest.

Caleb’s head lifts, eyes widening briefly in surprise, and then, in an instant, he sets the knife aside and crosses the room with the kind of intent that makes your heart stutter. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask—just gathers you into his arms, pulling you close, holding you like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. His warmth envelops you, deep and unwavering, the kind that seeps into your bones, making the exhaustion, the ache, the weight of the entire day fade into nothing.

The whole world disappears—there is only this, only him. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek as he exhales, his lips pressing softly to your hair, lingering there as if he’s just as relieved to have you home as you are to be here. His hand slides down your shoulder, fingers squeezing lightly, grounding you in a way that feels like safety, like home.

“How has your day been, dear?” he murmurs, voice low and filled with quiet affection. “I’m so happy to see you.”

The words break something loose in you, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes well up. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, the pain that’s been gnawing at you all day, or maybe it’s just him—the thoughtfulness, the way he always seems to know exactly what you need before you do. His hands find your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears before they can fall, and he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, voice barely above a whisper. “I got you. You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just let me take care of you.”

You exhale shakily, leaning into his touch, grounding yourself in the quiet strength of him.

Then, as if reading your mind, he grins and tilts his head toward the couch. “Wanna try out your new duvet? Bet you won’t wanna leave it once you do.”

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself, and for the first time all day, the heaviness in your chest lifts just a little.

You nod, unable to find words, and Caleb grins before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He takes your hand and leads you toward the couch—toward warmth, comfort, and the unwavering truth that, in this moment, you are the only thing in the world that matters.

——————————————————————————

[theeedarlingflame]

shigaraki x chubby reader !!!（＾ω＾）

he’s been through a lot. the world is harsh and cold, but you—you are soft. you are warm and pliable in his hands. in his arms, you are his. in a world that has taken so much from him, a world in which he wants to crumble to dust, he wants you whole. he wants you forever.

at first, he pushes you away. he’s harsh to you—you’re some NPC toga picked off the street, after all. he doesn’t have to kind to you. he doesn’t care for you.

you pull your weight. you clean and cook for the league, you joke with them. you’re too nice to be a part of this group of people, the people society rejected and casted aside, he thinks. you’re far too soft-hearted. you give in to toga’s sweet tooth half the time, you insist on making tea for kurogi and inguchi to help them relax, just to name a couple examples; you fuss over everyone and you care for them, too much. if that wasn’t enough, you were overly physically affectionate too. once you noticed the league members were fine with your hugs, a dam broke open and you give everyone hugs as often as they’d let you. it took them some getting used to, but they’re fine with it. (dabi receives his hugs in secret.) toga especially loves your hugs—she’s taken to calling you YN-nee.

he bares his claws when you try to do the same care and fuss for him, over him. he doesn’t need you or your softness or your care. he’ll eat your meals, but he won’t thank you. he doesn’t need your warmth, your kindness, your patience.

however, he does want it. he craves it, even if he can’t admit it to himself. (when was the last time anyone had ever treated him with tenderness…?)

after a nightmare that leaves him feeling like the bruised little boy who would sit outside with no one but mon to keep him company, he’s jerky and sensitive and shaken when he steps out of his room. he’s too out of it to really question why you’re out here, in the living room, wide awake with the television on, looking exhausted as he feels. shigaraki is tense, visibly so. whatever exhaustion you feel is replaced with worry. you stand. “hey, are you okay? what’s wrong?” you ask, voice quiet and concerned.

you take a step closer, eyes glimmering with an emotion he doesn’t know how to name. he isn’t sure he’s ever seen it directed toward him. he doesn’t know. right now, he is vulnerable and raw and—

“shigaraki,” you mumble. you hesitate and reach a hand out to him, as if to provide comfort. you know how he’s reacted to you before and you’ve never seen him like this, so you’re prepared for him to snap at you. who knows, maybe he’ll actually decay you, this time, in this state of his that you’re sure no one else has seen. the leagues has teased you for being too soft. maybe they are right. because…even if shigaraki may decay you right this moment, even if he hates you, you don’t want to leave him alone. his red eyes are wide and frightened, a bit glossy. he just—he looks so sad, so lost, so small. you want to help him. even if he kills you, you want to make sure he’s okay, first.

and—

his hand shoots out, curls around your wrist too firmly, on the edge of hurting. quickly, before you can blink, shigaraki is the one who yanks you to him and hugs you, body stiff, grip tight.

you freeze with shock, eyes wide. shigaraki is hugging you. you didn’t think this would ever happen. wow, is all you can think. wow. you blink and quickly tell yourself to be more surprised, later, because shigaraki needs you now.

so you wrap your arms around him, returning the embrace. your pudgy, soft body presses into him, squishy and warm. you rub your hand over his hand in circles, slow and careful. his breathing is still a bit uneven, shaky. you’re not sure what happened, really, that could get someone like shigaraki so…well, anxious. you know everyone in the league has demons that plague them, you just…you just didn’t think shigaraki’s demons made his heart and soul ache to this extent. he can bury it far, far under anger, hatred, resentment, and the desire to destroy the world, but…

deep down, he wants to be loved as much as anyone else. he wants acceptance. in his core, he’s just a little boy who wants unconditional affection. love. attention. (you think of a show you watched a while back—the good place. a particular quote has buried its way into your mind that’s guided your behavior with the league—they’re your family and friends, you can’t help it, you would’ve acted the same regardless—people improve when they get external love and support. how can we hold it against them when they don’t?)

“it’s okay, it’s alright,” you whisper softly. “i’m here, shigaraki. i’m here for you.”

after that, it’s like a switch flipped. he comes back to himself and he’s too embarrassed to look you in the eye. he avoids you for a few days, snatching his meals off the table and eating in his room. however…you finally get him alone and you silently offer him a hug in private and…there’s no judgement in your eyes as your arms are in the air. no sympathy or pity in your gaze. he should tell you to fuck off. he should decay you, even.

instead, he slowly opens his arms, and begrudgingly steps forward twice. he’s too prideful to be the one that hugs you, even if you’re the only ones in the room. last time, he was too vulnerable and initiated the hug. it’s only fair you do it this time.

and you do. you step forward and hug him. you squeeze him with your arms gently and firmly, your body flesh with his. he hates how he wraps his arms around you and finds that his comrades weren’t bluffing when they talked about how great a hugger you are. something inside of him unravels at your embrace. when was the last time someone held him like this?

from that day on, he indulges in your physical affection akin to a sponge with water. shigaraki finds that he can’t help it. he’s a dehydrated man in a desert and your touch is his salvation. he doesn’t like sharing you, but he’s secure in the comfort that he’s the only one who gets to cuddle with you in your flimsy pajamas. he doesn’t know if there’s a name for what you and him have. he doesn’t care, either.

as long as he has you, nothing else matters. you’ll be his undoing and he doesn’t mind it. not when it’s you. never when it’s you.