#tiny cats in big spaces

[mattsmemes]

[gay-simple-and-chaotic]

you can think shamil is tall idc he's canon a shapeshifter so any height hcs are by default right

but you can pry Pure Vanilla being built out of my cold dead hands. Do you know how heavy a sheep is???? Man's sleeper build at minimum

[platypusisnotonfire]

I feel like I need someone from Japan to walk through my house and help me organize

[el0wyn]

Honestly obsessed with the "Humans are the cats of space" corner of the whole trope.

We may be seen as objectively adorable. We're tiny predators, vicious and mighty with teeth and nails, but also easy to pick up and hold and swing around while saying "Babyyyy"

We're quiet and sneaky in the wild, hard to catch and contain, very effective hunters and climbers. But when domesticated who wouldn't just lounge around if we're given free food, unlimited sleep, and constant enrichment?

And same with cats, there's a variety of how humans act and feel about these huge creatures taking care of us. Some of us might be very chatty, very affectionate, some probably clingy if we trust our Alien enough. While others don't screw with their personal space, would scratch and bite if you do something they don't like. The affection is at their pace cause otherwise you'll come out with a few scars.

As small as we are, the more wild independent humans have the strength and means to take down predators so much bigger than us when the situation becomes dire enough. There's been cats who've gotten dogs, wolves, and bears singlehandedly.

A human that's been in an alien family long enough would probably chase off a huge threatening space creature to protect the alien young, just as cats have done for human children.

Imagine after a few years of integration with aliens, some humans don't get by well with taking care of their children so they find an alien that looks responsible and careful enough and they leave their young on their doorstep so they can grow up with all the food and shelter they could ever need.

Maybe they have a human distribution system where a person who's just tired of the human world picks a ship to stay on, and the aliens on board just accept it because that's how humans are. Maybe they help provide pest control for those space creatures small enough to hide in hard-to-reach areas of the ship.

And even amongst all this agility and predatory instinct, humans can still be pretty dumb and airhead and ridiculous. Imagine how hilarious aliens would find it when we get jumpscared or sneeze or feel the random need to stim and run around. Alien puts a long sticky parchment on that crevice of our backs that's hard to reach and watches as we struggle to reach and take it off cause it's annoying, same way we might put tape on a cat's head. Maybe they find the funky way a human mom tries to carry her too-big baby funny the same way a mom cat dragging her too-big baby by the scruff is funny.

Maybe there's a language barrier, but Aliens notice our odd human sounds and mimic them to get our attention, but they struggle with the different sound and pronunciation we just hear random gargled calls of "Molasses!" "Tree!" "税金!" when they're just trying to greet us. And you learn to recognize the pattern of noises that mean whatever name they gave you in their language.

Humans really are just big cats.

[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.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

omg can you write one for Lewis where he makes a special helmet with some of the drawings his daughter has made for him, his helmet ends up having stars rainbows etc

A Helmet full of Art

The moment Lewis became a father, he knew nothing would ever matter more to him than his little girl, Yn. At just three years old, she had already captured his entire heart, filling his life with laughter, tiny hugs, and endless chatter about her favorite things. She was a bright little spark—curious, loving, and always eager to create something new.

And lately, that "something new" had been drawings.

Lewis had first noticed it when Yn would sit at the coffee table, her tiny tongue sticking out in concentration as she held a crayon in her chubby hands, dragging colors across the page with uncontainable enthusiasm. At first, her drawings were just a mix of squiggles and chaotic rainbows, but over time, they started to resemble actual things—flowers, cats, and even an attempt at drawing both of them together.

"Look, Daddy!" she'd exclaim every time she finished. "This one’s you and me!"

And every single time, Lewis' heart melted.

He was the kind of father who supported Yn in anything she wanted to do. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted to be an astronaut, he’d find her a tiny space suit. If she wanted to become a ballerina, he’d be at every recital. So when he saw how much she adored drawing, he went all in—buying her the best colored pencils, sketchbooks, and even a little artist’s apron.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much her drawings would come to mean to him. He kept every single one. The rainbow she had drawn with colors that didn’t quite follow the traditional order. The cat that had oddly shaped whiskers but still looked adorable. The one of them together, with his curly hair drawn way too big and Yn’s little stick-figure self holding his hand. The flowers and bees that she had proudly declared were for him because "you like flowers, Daddy!"

So when the time came for his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis wanted his helmet to be special.

And there was only one thing that felt right.

The paddock was buzzing with anticipation. It was Lewis’ first home race wearing Ferrari red, and everyone knew he’d do something big. But no one expected what he revealed when he stepped into the garage on Friday.

"Alright, guys," Lewis said, grinning as he pulled the cover off his new helmet. "Meet my new favorite helmet ever."

The garage fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Oh my god," Charles breathed out, stepping closer. "Are these… Yn’s drawings?"

Lewis beamed. "Yep."

The helmet was a masterpiece. Instead of his usual bright yellow, it was now a canvas filled with his daughter’s art. Her rainbow stretched across the top, her wobbly cat drawing sat proudly on one side, the flowers and bees covered another part, and right at the back, a big, bold drawing of them together. It was messy, colorful, and absolutely perfect.

"You actually put them on your helmet," Carlos said, grinning. "Man, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

"She loves drawing," Lewis explained, running his fingers over the helmet. "And I love everything she makes. I wanted her to be part of this weekend somehow, and this felt right."

Oscar, who had just arrived, let out a low whistle. "This might be the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in F1."

Pierre nudged Max. "Admit it, even you think this is cute."

Max rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah, it's cute. Not as cute as my cats, though."

Lando burst out laughing. "I swear, you and your cats—"

"But seriously," George interrupted, shaking his head in admiration. "This is incredible, mate. I bet Yn’s gonna freak out when she sees it."

"She hasn't seen it yet," Lewis admitted. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

And oh, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

Later that afternoon, after all the practice sessions, Lewis finally had time to call home. He was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, holding his phone in his hands, waiting for the call to connect.

The moment the screen lit up, Yn’s bright little face appeared, her curls bouncing as she gasped.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Hi hi hi!"

"Hey, baby," Lewis grinned. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

Yn's eyes widened. "A 'prise? For me?"

Lewis laughed, turning his phone camera around to show his helmet. "Look at this, baby. Do you recognize these drawings?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, an excited shriek.

"THAT’S MINE! THAT’S MY DRAWINGS!" Yn shouted, practically bouncing. "Daddy, you put them on your hat!"

"Helmet, baby," Lewis chuckled, his heart swelling at her excitement. "But yeah, I did! Now, when I race this weekend, I’ll have you with me."

Yn clapped her hands together, eyes shining. "I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it!"

On the other side of the call, Yn’s grandmother laughed. "Lewis, you’ve just made her entire year."

"That was the plan," he said, winking.

Yn leaned close to the camera, her tiny hands gripping the screen. "Win with my pictures, Daddy!"

Lewis smiled softly. "I’ll try my best, baby girl. Just for you."

When Lewis walked into the paddock on Saturday with his helmet under his arm, the cameras instantly caught sight of it. And within minutes, social media exploded.

@F1: Lewis Hamilton’s helmet this weekend is covered in his 3-year-old daughter’s drawings, and we’re not crying, you are.

@SkySportsF1: Lewis dedicates his home race helmet to his daughter Yn, featuring her personal artwork. A touching tribute from the seven-time champion.

The media went crazy over it. Every journalist wanted to ask about it, every interview started with the same question:

"Tell us about your helmet this weekend, Lewis."

And every time, Lewis proudly explained.

"Yn loves drawing, and I love everything she makes," he said during a press conference. "I wanted to do something special for my first home race with Ferrari, and there was nothing more special than this. It’s my way of carrying her with me on track."

The fans adored it. In the grandstands, they held up signs with her drawings, and Ferrari even arranged for a little sketchbook to be placed in the garage for Yn to "design" future helmets.

By Sunday, it wasn’t just a helmet—it was a symbol of love.

As Lewis strapped himself into the car, he ran a hand over his helmet one last time.

"For you, baby girl," he murmured.

And then, with the whole world watching, he raced.

He raced with his daughter’s rainbow on his head, with her flowers and bees bringing color to the Ferrari red, with her little cat keeping him company through every turn.

And when he crossed the finish line in P1, the first thing he did after climbing out of the car was point to his helmet.

That night, when he called home again, Yn’s excited squeal nearly burst his eardrums.

"You did it, Daddy! My pictures won!"

Lewis laughed, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah, baby. We did it together."

And as far as he was concerned, that made this the most special win of his career.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[coupsalchemy]

Touch

Summary - The one where your love language is physical touch, and your boyfriend hates touch.

Tags: Lee Jihoon x (dramatic) f.reader, fluff, established relationship au

Warnings: none for now

Word Count: 2.5k

A's Note: I love this kind of themes as my love language is also touch. I am going to write more of this since I can't get enough of it.

The table gets rowdier, the drinks sloshes out of the glasses, chopsticks clanking against the steel bowls and plates. To confess you are a little disappointed. You poke the meat on your bowl of rice with the chopsticks, resting your cheek on your propped up palm. 

Jihyun, your friend, realises the distress consuming you gives a nudge to your knee. “It’s okay.” 

You nod, eating the meat, watching your boyfriend from the corner of your eye. Jihoon is diligently chewing on his food, eyes on his friends who are singing and dancing. Your relation with him sprouted one month ago, shy confessions exchanged at a corner table in diner. What you thought a love confession would end with a fiery kiss, at least at your flat if not for the wonky diner, but he just dropped you home with a soft smile and a good night.  

Jihoon isn’t big on physical touch or sweet words—the exact opposite to you. Opposites attract, they do, you were pulled in for his calm demeanour and handling issues with chill where you would be wreaking havoc for even a minor disruption. What they don’t say is that extreme opposites also can’t gel well. 

Soonyoung, one of his friends,  stumbles towards your boyfriend looping his arm around his shoulder only to get shoved off. He just laughs off at his friend’s disgust, and swallows him in a hug. He skips away before Jihoon can kill him with chopsticks. 

You avert your eyes to your friend who nods in compassion. You lean your cheek on her shoulder, kicking the floor under the table. He is supposed to sit beside you and not away. He is supposed to be holding your hand and you shouldn’t be seeking support from your friend. You should be kissing and not be scared of getting shoved away. 

A sigh escapes your lips watching your man, he is fucking hot. The cat eyes are sharp enough to catch every single movement, his pink lips are your favourite out of all, if only you could get a minute with them. His column of neck haunts your dreams leaving you gasping for air. His broad and thick shoulders, and his chest are the root cause of your despair. So close yet so far. 

His gaze flits from his friends’ mischief to yours. You feel your heart in your throat getting pink under his attention. He watches your friend patting your head as you nuzzle closer into her. 

“Do you want some alcohol?” She whispers in your ear to make sure you hear her over the Dokyeom’s high pitch voice. 

You muffle a no, sadness taking over you as Jihoon is back to his phone, typing away. Just in case, like with a tiny little hope you check your phone to see his messages. None. An ache starts in your chest, it’s familiar to you as you recognise it from the time you had a one sided crush on him, and watching him converse with other girls (no smile, short answers but still). 

“Need to pee.” You inform your friend before retrieving yourself from her warm embrace and bee line to the washroom. 

You look into the mirror hung over the sink, washing your hands, mumbling some encouraging words and affirming yourself that he still likes you or else why would you two are still dating? He wouldn’t have invited you at all to this dinner, even if it was supposed to be your first date kind of thing. 

You open the door once you dry off your hands and stumble a step watching Jihoon leaning against a wall scrolling on his phone. You turn around to go back into the washroom before you catch yourself and remember he is your boyfriend. 

At the click of the door Jihoon looks up from his phone, a small smile on his lips. “Done?” 

You nod, confused. “You can go in,” you move aside, giving him space to use the washroom. 

“Nah,” he pockets his phone, “let’s go.” 

He is already walking ahead not even looking back at you to see if you are coming or not. The restaurant is getting busier, all the tables are occupied with waiters and customers walking everywhere. You follow behind him, admiring his work outfit, black trouser pants and white button up shirt, sitting perfectly on his body outlining his definite shape. 

A tipsy man in his fifties is laughing and talking to himself is going on his way to what you assume to be the washroom when he suddenly barks out a laugh, crashing into—Jihoon. 

Jihoon is before you even before that man can knock into you. You blink at the tipsy man mumbling an apology to Jihoon and Jihoon giving a curt nod. He looks over his shoulder, “okay?”

You hum, crushing down the need to lace your arms around his waist and hide from the world behind his broad shoulders. He leads you to the table, his hands in his pockets, the long black hair strands swaying slightly with his authoritative steps.

You squeal inside, oh god why god, he is so sexy. 

He sits on his chair and you dejectedly occupy the empty chair beside your friend. The night is spent with disappointment and the need to feel his warmth. 

—

If you agree to Jihoon’s invitation one more time you will just fling yourself out of the window. The karaoke’s dancing lights mess with your head, Soonyoung’s melodic voice goes beyond sometimes with his enthusiasm, your ears aching. Jihyun is again at your side, offering comfort while Jihoon sat on the opposite side bench. 

“Why does he invite me to all of this and not talk?” You whisper-yell to your best friend. “Maybe I should just go home.” 

She gives you an aw, my poor baby expression and pats your head. To drool more at your boyfriend’s biceps and firm chest under his office shirt, you look in his direction again. Only, he is missing at his spot. Your heart sinks to your stomach, did he leave? 

“Jihoon isn’t—” you pause midway, your mind stops processing when he, the man of your thoughts, sits next to you, shoving a drunk Dokyeom aside. 

Jihoon smiles at you, his eyes doing that cat thing again. Not only sending your mind into a ruckus but also messing with your heart. His subtle scent infiltrates your senses, you lick your lips dropping your head to your lap. 

Jihyun, a traitor under the ruse of a friend, exits towards the washroom. You are nervous, the ac is on full blast, you were feeling cold just seconds prior and now your neck is sweaty. You wanted, no, needed, his attention, and when he is sitting next to you fulfilling your wish you are as good as a scaredy cat. 

Jihoon relaxes, stretching his legs and resting his arm on the ledge of the couch and around your shoulder. His arm brushing your skin whenever you fidget in your seat. You suck in a deep breath, butterflies swarming in your stomach at the proximity, and messing with your head. 

Soonyoung is belting out a sad song like he is fresh out of a break up, while his girlfriend claps to the beat with starry eyes. Jihoon and you listen to whatever crap his friend circle is sprouting, pretending to be attentive to their drunken words and laughter when, in reality, you are aware of Jihoon’s finger tapping on the soft cushion, his fingers brushing your shoulder. 

It is driving you to hell and beyond as you are big on giving and receiving love in physical form. And it’s the thing that had you going crazy from being unable to hold onto your boyfriend. 

Jihoon has a small smile watching Dokyeom choking on a snack. Sadistic. Your stomach flutters. God, you need to get yourself checked. Dokyeom finally gets to breathe, looking at everyone with wide eyes and a hand on his neck. 

You laugh, finding the whole ordeal entertaining, momentarily distracting from your troubles. Dokyeom chokes again, now on water sputtering it everywhere and you squeal, holding your stomach laughing your ass off, curling into the man beside you. 

The stiffness underneath you has you stilling. You sneak a look at Jihoon, his lips are pursed into a thin line. An acidic taste sours your mouth, you mumble a sorry before you seperate yourself from him and maintain some space between you two. 

Jihoon hates touch, you have seen how he shoves his friends away, how he walks with his hands folded and sees that no one is in his personal bubble. For fucks sake, he didn’t even kiss you, you being his girlfriend, the one who has every right (with consent) to touch, feel and hold. 

Jihyun comes back from her washroom, frowning seeing the two of you sitting away from each other. She takes a seat on the other side of the room trying to give you the space and privacy you were craving with your boyfriend. 

Now you aren’t sure if you want to be with him, not after how he reacted, his subtle rejection hurts. You make a move to go to your friend, Jihoon grabs your wrist. “Sit down.” 

You frown. He adds, “please.” 

He pats the space next to him telling you to sit with him. The strobe lights ache your head, the loud music and your friend circle’s loudness twists your stomach. Everyone’s having fun, except you. You are circling around Jihoon, throwing yourself in what ifs, and the fear of how you might accidentally cross your line. You did in the spur of the moment, something you couldn’t control, and you have seen the line between his eyebrows, and the press of his lips. The same distaste he has shown many times, but not to you. This isn’t how you planned your future with him. 

Jihoon, perceptive of your moods and their meanings, leans into your ear whispering, “why did you want to leave?”

You clamp your hands together, knuckles pressed white, a shaky breath escaping your lips. You have to do it, you have to end this, you can’t continue living this way. “Jihoon,” you suck in a shaky breath, “we don’t match.” You gesture between you two with your finger, “we are so different.” 

The unimpressed press of his lips is back, and you are scared. The cat eyes are sharp, observing each twitch in your face, the unshed tears, and he stands up, holding your hand. Surprised, you gaze at the contact, his firm grip on you shakes up the resolution in your heart. This is Jihoon, how can you go on living without him? 

“Let’s go somewhere calm. Super song isn’t the right bgm for our scene.” Jihoon casually leads you outside, checking left and right, choosing to go right, and passing through the other loud karaoke rooms. In search of a quiet place, Jihoon is wandering, taking his time to find a place without people, and on the other side, you are stuck at watching how his hand slips from your wrist and slowly intertwines with your fingers, as if it fits only there, surrounded by you. 

Did Jihoon initiate contact before? You are talking of ending your relationship and he is whistling while opening a broom closet. Jihoon is unpredictable. He closes the door behind you, darkness engulfing you both. He doesn’t turn on the light, and your eyes adjust to the darkness. The closet is tiny, Jihoon is resting on the opposite wall, and his body brushes against you whenever he moves. 

“Why can’t we work out?” Jihoon asks, moving around to get you two comfortable, filling the dark room with the rustling of his dress shirt.

You lick your dry lips, snapping out of how firm his chest feels against yours. “We just don’t. You shouldn’t meet someone like me,” you throw your hand up, accidentally hitting his chest. God, what is he hiding in there? “You should go out and meet someone who is, who is prim and proper and someone that doesn’t have their mind full of filth.” You gasp, covering your mouth, shocked at yourself and the damn slippery mouth of yours.  

Jihoon kills you with his silence. You groan, clutching your hair. This is the reason you shouldn’t communicate in person instead of sending a well framed and overthought text message. You should just blame the closeness, his hands next to your waist, leaning against your side of the wall instead of his’. How can one sane woman think in this situation? 

“Since the reason is out, I’ll out myself.” You nervously chuckle to yourself. “Bye, Jihoon.” You think of giving a ninety degree bow, and realize you’ll probably headbutt him. You end with an awkward wave of hand. 

“Bring your ass back here.” His words sent a shiver down your body. What?

You look over your shoulder, “what?”

He holds your shirt, pulling you back into his chest. “Where are you going?” His lips on your ear makes you grab onto his arm that’s around your waist. 

“To like,” you whack your brain to formulate a good answer, “throw myself onto the road, and kiss the road as I go flying,” your mind, as expected, stopped working the moment Jihoon gives a tiny kiss on your ear followed by a low chuckle. 

“I don’t want you to die,” the sudden saint to sinister Jihoon has you electrocuted, “I need to see you, be with you,” he grabs your waist slamming you back to him as you try to escape his arms, “touch you, and have filthy thoughts whenever I see you.” 

You gasp, nails digging into his arm, “Jihoon,” you whimper, his lips drags across your neck, baring his teeth at the spot your shoulder meets neck, sinking his canines softly, but not quite biting. “You-you don’t like touch!” 

He detaches his mouth, you whine turning around to look at him. “I don't? I didn’t know that.” 

“You shove people away, you are ready to murder Soonyoung even if he breathes in your direction!” You flail your arms, “even a few minutes back when I was laughing and was all over you, you, like, glared at me. I can’t take it, I hate it when someone rejects my touch.” 

“Ah,” he says, “is that why you wanted to break up.” 

You nod, hitting his chin with your nose in the process. “Ah, it hurts.”

Jihoon sighs, “you could have talked it out with me instead of like breaking up with me.” 

You pout, “how can I?” 

“I am not big on physical touch,” he agrees, “and probably hate it when someone comes near me,” you take a step back but he pulls you into him, “but that doesn't mean I hate it with you. I never hated your touch, but instead,” he falters.

“Instead?” You ask with a bated breath. 

“I crave it.” Jihoon slowly leads you to the wall, caging you between his arms, “when you were laughing, and were all over me, I was shocked,” his finger traces your face, from your temple to your chin slowly, ticklish. “I may not express it explicitly but I want only you to be in my space.” 

His lips brush over yours, “no one else.” He presses them over your lips, wet and warm against your cold ones. You gasp, clutching onto his shirt, crumpling the fabric, his body is on yours, feeling all the hard ridges and the muscle. 

“So I worried for nothing?”

“Yes.” He crashes his lips on yours. 

[sai-int]

Do you think RTS Simon would get reader a pet, like a cat to keep her company while he’s gone? I totally see him getting jealous and annoyed with the fur ball whenever he gets home and just wants to be with his pretty bird.

oh absolutely. he is so that man. grumpy, territorial, but he still buys you the damn cat.

he doesn’t even like cats.

but you’d been quiet the last few times he was gone. not needy, just… lonesome. and simon, for all his hard edges and cold silences, knows that you’re softer than you let on. you don’t complain, never beg him to stay, but he sees the way you linger in doorways when he packs, the way you press your face into his shirt when you think he’s not looking.

so he brings home a cat. doesn’t announce it or make it a big thing—just shows up one day, duffle slung over one shoulder and a small, squirming lump of fur tucked under his arm like cargo.

“don’t get used t’this,” he mutters, setting the kitten on the floor like it personally offended him. “thing’s for you, not me.”

—but you beam. scoop up the fluffball with a gasp and immediately start baby-talking to it, pressing kisses to its little ears

and simon genuinely feels like he might just die on the spot.

(you name her shelly, after the endless bullet casings/shells you find in his kit... his pockets... his shoes... it's a problem. he’s secretly obsessed—loves when you find one and he can hear you shout his name all angrily across the house)

—but the second he comes home and sees her curled up in your lap, purring away while you giggle and coo, simon is scowling. dramatic. brooding. sulking like a teenager.

“that my spot, sweet’art?” he drawls, standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed.

“youre always my favorite,” you say, smiling sweetly—but you don’t move the cat.

his eye twitches.

and the worst part?? she likes to sleep between you two. like some tiny, smug little gatekeeper.

“don’t give me that look,” you laugh when he glares at her one night. “she kept me company.”

“she’s in my bloody way.”

and when she nips at his sock or curls on his pillow, he grumbles “fuckin’ gremlin,” under his breath—but never kicks her off. just deals with it, because you love her.

(he secretly pets her when you’re not around. she purrs like mad. he pretends it didn’t happen.)

but one night, long after you’ve fallen asleep, he’s lying there wide awake—your body pressed against his, the cat snuggled up behind your knees. and he realizes: you’re not alone when he’s gone. you’re loved. warm. safe.

and maybe the furball’s not so bad after all. (he still growls “move over, princess,” when she takes up too much bed space. but he scratches her head while he says it.)

and when he heads out the next time, he kisses you once—soft, lingering—and then crouches to scratch under the cat’s chin.

“y’keep her safe while i’m gone, yeah?” a beat. “or i’ll find someone who will.”

she meows like she understands. and when you wave him off from the porch, cat perched on your shoulder like a little guardian, simon feels something in his chest shift.

he has a home now.

fur, claws, pretty wife and all.

[cock-ainee]

How the Hashira men sleep with their s/o!

Characters: Gyomei;Sanemi;Obanai;Tomioka;Tokito;Tengen;Rengoku x gn!reader

~Gyomei~

• Poor guy is so big he takes up most of the space on the bed

• So, since you don't have much space on the futon, he lets you sleep on top of him-!

• Is a literal human heating pad, so don't you worry about getting cold at night

• Will hold you close with his strong arms, careful not to crash you with them

• Sometimes he'll bring in his cats to sleep with you two, so you'll have the fluffies all over you!

~Sanemi~

• This man is so protective

• But also silly, so i imagine him sleeping ON TOP of you

• Like.. he'll just lay on top of you like he's tackling you against the bed

• If you try to push him off he'll bite (playfully)

• He loves feeling the softness of you against him 😞

~Obanai~

• Obanai is such an insecure little guy, he'll hide under the blankets!

• Finds it fairly difficult to fall asleep

• You're eager to help, letting him squish himself close to you and hide under the blanket like a mole

• Keep it in mind, you're dealing with Kaburamaru too!

• Snakey will most likely wrap around your leg or rest under the blanket in a cozy empty space

~Tomioka~

• He's such a sub

• He'll be the lil spoon

• Bonus points for you, if you wrap your legs around him

• Sometimes in the middle of the night he'll turn around and you two will just be entangled together

• Totally feels odd when you're not sleeping next to him

~Tokito~

• He is a tiny baby

• I think he'd just lay on your chest or stomach, letting you cuddle him up

• And give him the comfort he deserves!

• He has the tendency to fall off the bed randomly

~Tengen + wives!~

• Tengen just appreciates how he's swarmed by his partners~

• One on the left, second on the right, laying on his chest, and then another two on his left and right, laying on his stomach

• But hell is poor bro uncomfortable :((

• Tho he won't tell, you and the girlies know and give him massages!

• There are times where it's the opposite, him laying on the side, cuddling up to you while Makio, Suma and Hinatsuru just stack themselves over you :3

~Rengoku~

• This man changes his sleeping positions all the time during night

• HE'S SQUIRMING SO MUCH!

• His fav is laying across from you, resting his head on your belly like the finest pillow

• Sometimes you'll find him laying between your legs, his face squished against your tummy 🥺

• (snores!)

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sylus, your big baby

sylus, despite his reputation of being the leader of the biggest criminal organization, is the biggest baby when it comes to you.

he didnt show it at first, but its obvious how he'd go soft on you — from the way he'd speak with you, to how he looks at you, especially when you're deeply absorbed on something.

sylus would always observe you with those caring eyes, noting every habit, every expression or gesture, the things that make your brows furrow in irritation or even the tiniest curve of your lips that says you like something.

and once you start going out with him, he'd be very content with idle moments, just hanging out on his or your couch, exchanging ridiculous memes, watching random clips on his or your phone, while he rests his head on top of your chest.

he would purr — yes, purr when you massage his head or when you let him nuzzle his face in your neck — like a large, overly sized satisfied cat.

and every time it's time for you to go home, he'd pout adorably, a huge contrast to his big, bad and scary reputation. he doesnt give you those puppy eyes, but he'd sulk on his bed, arms crossed in defiance and you'd cup his face, even squish his cheeks, promising you'd be back after your assigned mission.

of course he'd help you from the shadows just because he wanted you home as soon as possible.

if you need to go home, you're certain that he'd follow you hours later, as soon as he is done with his meetings or appointments. the moment he enters your place, you'd welcome him with arms wide open and he'd enter that warm space and would release a very long exhale — as if he just took his first breath of fresh air once your scent hits his nostrils.

sylus would deny that he doesnt like to be the tiny spoon, but not even a second after you wrap your arms from behind him, he'd nestle into your warmth instantly, as if this is exactly where he belongs.

or he'd drape his ridiculously large frame on top of you, totally burying you with his muscular body, while he rests his cheek on your chest, right where your heart is.

rainy nights with sylus means lots and lots of cuddling and other activities that involve a lot of body action and sweat — keeping the temperature warm during the cold night.

after intimacy, he's very content with you in his embrace, lots of tiny, soft kisses, peppering each other with adoration, love and affection.

so yes, sylus is a big, cuddly baby when it comes to you.

and you love that only you get to see this side of him.

just me thinking about my man and his adorable side.

[woollypoison]

Aprons and Ears

Male reader x (G)i-dle Yuqi x Twice Chaeyoung a/n: Might be the start of something bigger. Don't come at me if it isn't. Word count: 3.3k

“Welcome, Master!” Two voices sing out discordantly, one high in pitch, the other low. The little bell above the door hasn’t even stopped jingling yet before they’re both on you, practically bouncing on either side as they guide you into the establishment.

The outfits are immaculate. Like a fantasy come to life. Down to the little details. The lacy, frilled dresses. The chokers with the bells hanging from them. The little cleavage window. The black cat ears perched atop and the matching black tail hanging behind. And the cherry on top, you can’t forget the black thigh high socks. It sounds like a lot, trying to do a maid cafe as well as a cat cafe at the same time, but somehow these two make it seem like it was always meant to be that way.

“Please, right this way,” the one with the higher pitched voice says. The name tag says it’s Chaeyoung.  She has this airy smile about her, waving you behind her like she doesn’t really care at what pace you’re going.

“Take a seat, Master,” the other one says. Her name tag says Yuqi. She’s more playful about it, big gestures and all, with a grin that’ll have you ordering the entire menu before you know it.

She hands you a laminated menu, and you clear your throat as you pretend to study it. Everything here is themed. It’s to the point you could see someone being too embarrassed to say these names out loud. But not you.

“What can we bring you, Master?” Yuqi leans down, the dress giving you a nice view at the cleavage she’s so proudly displaying. It would almost be rude to not look, with your eyes having nowhere innocent to rest. Chaeyoung catches it though, and stifles a laugh behind Yuqi, throwing you a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take the ehh… the Iced Meowmericano and the Feline Flatbread, please,” you somehow manage without dying of shame. Has to be something in the air here.

There’s a certain brand of indifference to the way Chaeyoung scribbles it down, starkly contrasted by her smile that seems almost too genuine for the service industry. She’s no less good at her job because of it, though, her thighs dancing against the frills of her short skirt as she flashes you a knowing look before sauntering away.

“Coming right up, Master,” Yuqi purrs, giving your arm a little playful squeeze before flouncing after her colleague. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, really take in the vibes. Everything in this place is either maid or cat themed. Seeing it come to live like this, it somehow really works.

Yuqi is the first to return, carrying your coffee, both hands underneath the cup with the utmost care. Arms squeezed together tightly, forcing her chest up and together until you can’t help but wonder what kind of establishment this is supposed to be. She leans in close—too close—and sets it down, her face turning towards you and leaving just a couple of moments for you to wonder what’s next before speaking. “Enjoy, Master… I added a drizzle of something almost as sweet as me.”

There’s a weird and unclear implication that hangs between you before she follows up and makes the implication clear.

“But if you want to get a taste of this kitty, you’ll have to pay extra,” she giggles, not giving you a chance to respond as she steps aside to allow space for an approaching Chaeyoung.

She’s carrying your flatbread pizza, plate steady with both hands, but she ‘stumbles’ at the last second, pressing her tiny body against your arm as she regains her composure and sets the food down.

“Oops,” she smiles with no guilt despite the obvious theatrics, not moving away. “I’m sorry, Master. I can just be so clumsy.” She lets her tongue circle her lips, like a cat getting hungry for its prey.

“It’s fine,”  you respond, skin hot where she touched you.

“After you’re done,” she starts innocently. Not for long though, as she raises her hand subtly to her mouth, before continuing. “Would you like a dessert too?” Her hand now mimicking a quick, tiny stroking motion by her face.

You grip the edge of the table a little tighter. “What kind of cafe is this supposed to be?” you question both girls, looking around in disbelief. Yuqi beams like a kitty getting a dose of catnip.

“The kind where we make sure you don’t leave unsatisfied,” Yuqi purrs, and Chaeyoung’s eyes are trained on you with mischief, raising her eyebrows on beat with Yuqi’s final dragged out “Master.”

Yuqi plops down beside you without asking, her thigh sliding against yours, while Chaeyoung settles on the other side with an exaggerated sigh, like she could fall asleep leaning on you. The difference in size is intoxicating—the way they have to look up even when seated, the way their legs barely reach the floor dangling off the booth.

You almost forget why you even came in the first place.

“Shouldn’t you also be attending to the other guests?” you weakly ask.

Chaeyoung and Yuqi throw each other a knowing glance underneath your chin, before giggling. Chaeyoung’s hand landed on your knee. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger lazily, pretending not to be unaware about her own hand creeping up higher on your thigh. 

Yuqi, meanwhile, leans in closer—so close her tits are squishing, giving and molding supple flesh against your arm. Her hand is also making illicit moves under the table, hooking her pinky through yours and tugging playfully. Before you know it, your hands on the bare spot of skin on her thigh in between her socks and her skirt.

“You should relax, Master,” Yuqi hums, her hand molding around yours, forcing it to squeeze her. Chaeyoung’s hand is inching higher and higher by the second, getting dangerously close to your crotch. She’s carefully studying your reaction, her expression a mix of teasing and unbotheredness, the kind you find in a girl who’s just getting a kick out of doing things to lazily pass the time.

Your heartbeats pounding, and the ice in your Iced Meowmericano is melting in negligence. “What are you doing? What if someone sees?” You hiss under your breath, disbelief and shock oozing through your tone.

Yuqi’s eyes glitter with mischief. “Just stay quiet and nobody will see, Master.”

Chaeyoung follows up in a soft and sing-song whisper, “Let’s keep this our little secret.”

Yuqi’s hand joins Chaeyoung’s as the latter spoke, both their fingers more daring now, so high they’re brushing the outline of your hardening cock through your pants. But they’re still teasing, quick and subtle, hiding the movement behind raised skirts, folds of your coat or the edge of the table.

“You know I could fire you for this, right?” you mutter, eyes darting between the two girls, an incredulous look now shared between the two at your comment.

Chaeyoung has this soft laugh about her as she responds. “But you won’t.” Yuqi follows it up, the two in perfect sync with each other, working towards their common goal. You. “If anything, you’ll beg us not to stop.”

Both their hands settle over your bulge, cupping it gently through your pants as if measuring it. Then, slowly, their thumbs rub along your length through the fabric.

“So hard already… and so thick,” Chaeyoung whispers. “I don’t think one hand will be enough,” Yuqi follows up.

You could stop this. You should, this is highly unethical, considering your position. But your body isn’t listening anymore.

Chaeyoung undoes your button with a soft click and tugs your zipper down, freeing your cock with casual efficiency. So far for clumsy. She doesn’t even bother to look at you once—not even in your general direction—her gaze remains locked forward, pretending to study the faces of the other customers. But her fingers wrap around your shaft a moment later, or at least attempt to wrap around it, her small hand dwarfed by the size of it.

Yuqi follows shortly after, her hand not much bigger, unable to resist the temptation of taking a look at what you’ve got packing. “Fuck you,” she murmurs. “That’s a lot bigger than what we expected, Master.”

Chaeyoung laughs, and they both start stroking. They’re way too good at this, the friction of two pairs of small hands getting to be too much already. You have to bite your lip to hold back a moan. They’re getting increasingly bolder, less worried about being seen. It’s hard to believe those tiny hands can cause this much pleasure, but here you are, your cock twitching under their touch.

Beneath the table, you slide your hand up Yuqi’s thigh. Her panties are soaked. She doesn’t stop you. She shifts a little to let you reach more easily. She presses her lips together tight, trying to stay quiet. Her small hand falters on your cock when your fingers push inside her.

"Fuck," she breathes, barely audible.

On your other side, Chaeyoung lifts her skirt slightly with one hand and brings your free hand beneath it. No words. Just a soft breath as your fingers meet her heat.

She gasps softly but doesn't move, letting you feel just how wet she is. The contrast is almost overwhelming—your cock pulsing in their tiny hands, your fingers buried inside both girls, every part of you claimed.

Your cock throbs in annoyance as they make you work for it now. The two girls gasp softly when your fingers push into them. They’re both soaking, so easy to push in, and so incredibly tight around you that you can barely move without them squirming and moaning into your neck.

“Faster,” Yuqi demands with a teasing pout.

“Deeper,” Chaeyoung pleads with a needy whimper.

You pick up the pace, thrusting inside their warm little holes as they keep stroking you in turn, never giving just one of them all your attention. They’re both panting now, soft little sounds escaping their lips that would be cute if they weren’t so fucking hot.

Yuqi tightens around your finger with a small cry when your thumb hits her clit just right, and Chaeyoung follows not long after with a shudder that runs through her whole body. They keep moving their hands along your shaft even as their bodies twitch and spasm against yours.

You’re so close now, their hands working you expertly, the two of them giggling as they feel your cock pulse and twitch. Your balls draw up, ready to unload underneath the table any second now. But they don’t let you.

Chaeyoung’s hand leaves your shaft, and Yuqi follows her lead, both of them looking at you with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Really?” Chaeyoung says. “You were going to cum like this? Blow your load against the underside of our table?”

“Who do you think would have to clean that up?” Yuqi adds. 

“Can’t be wasting a tasty treat like that,” Chaeyoung smiles. 

Their eyes meet, and suddenly they’re playing rock paper scissors with each other, leaving you hanging in the air with your cock still hard and throbbing. Rock. Paper. Yuqi grins wide.

"Damn," Chaeyoung mutters, shimmying herself down until she’s completely under the table. Her small hands are back on your shaft a moment later, her lips barely keeping from making contact. Yuqi climbs on top of the table instead, her skirt lifting just enough for you to see her cunt as all pretense of subtlety is thrown out of the window.

You blink. "Wait. You’re not actually—" You glance around the café. "What if someone—"

Yuqi cuts you off with a look, her voice suddenly low and serious. "Come on, boss. Can we stop this trial run play pretend now? There’s nobody here. Do you really want us to act a little longer... or do you want to get what we all know you really want?"

You hesitate for only a second.

Yuqi eases back, legs spreading to display her pretty little cunt. Her tail sways with delight as she speaks, voice thick with heat. "Be a good Master and show us what this pervy café fantasy was really about. Come on. I promise this pussy tastes better than anything you put on the menu."

The little bell on Chaeyoung’s collar gives a soft chime as she inches forward towards your dick. She licks her lips, dark lashes fluttering. "Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that load for you."

You give in. Head first into Yuqi’s cunt as you keep from banging your hips forward lest you give Chaeyoung a concussion.

Yuqi’s taste hits you all at once, salty and sweet and intoxicatingly lewd. You can barely keep up with it all—Chaeyoung’s lips closing around your cock, Yuqi grinding against your tongue—but fuck if you’re going to let them win this one. Not without a fight.

Your fingers dig into Yuqi’s thighs as you suck on her clit, thumb running over where sock meets flesh, drawing these high-pitched whimpers from her that make the blood rush down south even faster. She leans forward until her tits are hanging right above your face, small and perky and bouncing in time with Chaeyoung’s head bobbing up and down on your shaft.

You reach up to play with them as you eat her out, pulling them out from underneath the fabric and forcing them through the window, pinching her nipples between your fingers until she gasps and shudders above you.

Underneath the table, Chaeyoung is taking more of your cock into her mouth than should be possible for someone her size. Her throat tightens around you as she pushes down further still, holding herself there until you think she’ll choke on it for sure. But then she pulls back just enough to breathe before doing it all over again. The bell on her collar making ringing noise with each movement, like the beat of war drums dictating the pace of your fucking.

She uses one hand to jerk whatever doesn’t fit into her mouth and lets the other roll your balls between her fingers. It’s fucking amazing, the sensation enough to drive anyone insane in minutes. You don’t know how long you’ll last like this.

Yuqi is riding your face harder now, hips moving in desperate little circles as she tries getting just a bit more pressure on exactly the right spot. You can tell from how erratically she moves that she’s close already, those soft sounds escaping her lips turning into breathless cries every time your tongue flicks against her clit.

She presses down harder still when she cums, smothering you with pussy and thighs and sweet little mewling noises as her body trembles above yours.

Chaeyoung doesn’t stop or slow down even for a second while this happens; if anything she gets more vigorous about it all, barriers melting and you get lost in the urge with her.

You can’t stop yourself from thrusting into Chaeyoung’s mouth, hips moving on their own as she takes you in further with each push. Her small body is so light you accidentally bump her head against the underside of the table. You pause, brows furrowing in slight concern and a touch of guilt.

“Chaeyoung?” you ask, slowing down. “You okay?”

Her voice comes out muffled but still teasing as she gives your cock a quick kiss. “I’m okay.” Another kiss. “You can be rougher than that. Just try not to cause any brain damage while you’re at it.”

She wraps her fingers around your cock again, sits back on her heels and spreads her legs until you can see the heat beneath her skirt. “It’s definitely doing something,” she says. She slips one hand inside, fingering herself as she lets you use her pretty little mouth like a toy.

Yuqi laughs, a short breathless sound as she catches her breath above you. There’s a hint of teasing, no doubt thanks to the sudden lack of attention she’s getting. “Thank god I won the rock paper scissors,” she says with a grin. “The way you’re fucking her mouth like an animal? I couldn’t take that.”

You pull her down to your lips by tugging on her collar until it digs into her skin and she’s gasping into your mouth. You kiss her like you’re claiming ownership of something that was always yours to begin with. Your hands mold her tits through the fabric, solidifying the claim.

When she finally breaks away, it’s with a shudder, your hands freeing her tits by ripping the window on her chest open.

You lift her hips above you so you can look at where soft thighs meet socks and tease more needy sounds out of her.

“You’re such a perv,” Yuqi gasps, voice turning into shuddering words when your fingers sink into her cunt. Her voice breaks into a half-moan as your thumb rubs against her clit. “Starting an entire cafe just to get hot girls to wear your little fetish outfits.”

You try to protest, but your voice halts the second Chaeyoung pulls away from your cock with a pop. “But lucky for you,” she speaks, eyes looking up, searching for yours. “We’re kind of into this whole fucked up aesthetic,” she muses, before diving back down and taking you even deeper.

You’re so close now. So fucking close. And they both know it.

Chaeyoung doubles her efforts on your cock, small hand tight around the base while she bobs up and down with more urgency, her throat tightens and relaxes as she takes you in again and again, her tongue flicking against the underside in a way that sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. 

Yuqi grinds against your fingers, spreading herself wide enough for you to watch her pussy stretch around them with each thrust. “You better cum for us, Master,” she commands. “Or we’ll never let you fuck us like this again.”

You hold out as long as you can, but they’re too much. The two of them together, tiny bodies and filthy mouths and more than you ever imagined possible when you started this project.

You explode into Chaeyoung’s mouth with a groan, shooting the first thick load down her throat. She chokes on it at first but doesn’t pull away, holding every drop that follows in her mouth until her cheeks are bulging with it. But she doesn’t stop or pull away until you’ve given her everything, sucking softly on the tip like she’s coaxing out the last few drops.

When she finally comes up from under the table, it’s with a satisfied look and cum she couldn't keep inside dripping down her chin. She climbs onto the table next to Yuqi and pulls her in for a kiss, sharing what’s left of your load between them.

“Mm,” Yuqi hums against Chaeyoung’s lips, licking them clean before breaking away. “Not bad.”

“You two are horrible maids,” you say when you finally catch your breath again. “If I catch you doing anything like this with an actual customer...”

“We know,” they chorus together with matching grins.

“You’ll fire us,” Chaeyoung laughs.

“Right after cumming down our throats,” Yuqi adds.

They’re both still sitting on top of the table in complete disarray—their collars askew, tits hanging out from ripped windows, thighs dripping with wetness down to their high socks. They look like this was their plan all along. The end to your plan looked something like this as well, it just had a lot more steps and time to it.

You prefer their plan. They seem to do too.

“Well then,” Yuqi hops off first, smoothing down her skirt and fixing her collar as she stretches like a lazy cat. “Same time next shift?”

Chaeyoung follows shortly after, picking imaginary dust off her dress before leaning in for one last whisper against your ear. “Or do you need a longer demonstration, Master?”

[dollyfiles]

single!dad!rafe asking sweetheart!reader out

sweetheart!reader mlist

cw: none, pure fluff

it was a slow sunday morning at rosie’s. the old jukebox in the corner hummed a slow, dreamy tune from the ’50s, barely louder than the gentle clink of silverware or the low murmur of sleepy regulars.

you were already gliding toward rafe and lizzie with two plates balanced effortlessly in your hands, their usuals of course. you didn’t even need a notepad anymore.

before lizzie had even swung her tiny legs up into the booth, you set down a vanilla milkshake with extra whipped cream and sprinkles in front of the four-year old. right next to you, rafe took a seat with a quiet, grateful smile.

“strawberry pancakes, extra syrup on the side, no fruit touching the whipped cream, just how you like it, my lady,” you said, sliding the plate in front of lizzie. “and for you…” you placed a plate in front of rafe, “two eggs, over medium, toast a little too crispy, and bacon that’s—what did you say last time? aggressively fried?”

lizzie beamed. “thank you, miss sweetheart!” and rafe chuckled softly, “that’s the one,” the cup of black coffee already warm in his palm. you knew how he liked it. dark, strong, and a little too hot to sip right away. “you really are somethin’ else.” you gave him a wink in response, your heart doing that flutter it always did when he looked at you that way.

but something was different today. you saw it in the way his shoulders slumped a little more than usual. in how his fingers tapped the side of his coffee mug, like there was something heavy pressing on him.

his smile was there, but it felt… restrained. pulled tight at the edges. still, you didn’t press. that wasn’t your way. but you lingered just a second longer, your fingers touching the edge of his plate gently before moving on, letting him have his space.

behind the counter, you busied yourself with the usual. refilling the sugar jars, reorganizing the straw holder even though it didn’t need it, pretending you weren’t watching him out of the corner of your eye. your heart though, well, that had other plans. it always beat a little different when rafe was in the room.

there was something about him. the way he looked at his daughter like she was his entire world. the way he always said “thank you” like it mattered. he made the space around him feel grounded, even on the days when the world felt too loud.

and yet today, he looked… worn out. like he’d had a thousand moments lately where he had to be strong and couldn’t afford to fall apart. you knew that look. too well.

but that’s when you felt a tiny tug on the edge of your apron. you glanced down and found lizzie, standing beside you, eyes wide with mischief and the kind of innocent confidence only a four-year-old could get away with.

“hi,” the girl said cheerfully. you crouched down slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “hey there, sugar. what you sneakin’ up on me for?” lizzie peeked over her shoulder toward her dad, before leaning in like she was about to share national secrets.

then, in the loudest whisper imaginable, she blurted, “umm..will you go on a date with my daddy?” you blinked. frozen. “what?” you laughed, heat blooming instantly in your cheeks.

lizzie giggled, arms swinging slightly like this was no big deal. “he really wants to. he said it lots’ at home. like, a lot a lot. i think daddy is shy. he practiced with our cat last night.” sweetheart nearly choked on a laugh.

“does he now?” lizzie nodded solemnly. “but peaches didn’t say yes. just walked away. i think miss sweetheart would say yes though. you like daddy, right?” your heart twisted, not in a bad way, but in that aching, tender way that always surprised you.

you looked over at the booth, where rafe sat, oblivious, gently wiping a bit of grease from the corner of his mouth. he looked tired. but he looked so full of love, too. watching rafe, you realized something had quietly taken root in your chest. a kind of yearning for something safe.

you placed a hand on your heart. “i do think your daddy is quiet the jaw-dropper.” lizzie just beamed at you with the cutest smile ever, “mhm! he’s the best. he makes the best spaghetti. and he smells nice when he hugs me.”

you couldn’t help but giggle at how innocent she was. “well,” you said, crouching a little more to meet lizzie at eye level. “wanna help me play a little prank on him?” the girls’ eyes lit up like christmas morning. “yesss!”

“okay,” you whispered, reaching for a clean napkin and a pink crayon from the counter cup. “i’m gonna write him a tiny note. your job is to bring it to him, slide it onto the table, and act normal. no smiling. no giggling. can you do that?”

lizzie nodded with the most serious face she could manage. “good girl,” you smiled, and then quickly scribbled on the napkin in your neat, loopy handwriting:

“your daughter just sealed the deal for you, rafe. thank her for the push, and tell her i’d love to go on a date with her daddy.”

and just below it, you pressed your lips to the corner. your signature red color leaving a perfect kiss mark like a seal of approval. you folded the napkin carefully and handed it to lizzie. “go on, secret agent. don’t blow our cover.”

lizzie nodded, clutching the note tightly, and skipped back to the booth with the kind of exaggerated “calm” walk that made you smile against your knuckles. you watched from behind the counter, hiding behind the coffee machine just enough to see but not be seen just yet.

rafe looked down as his daughter slid the folded napkin across the table with a simple “this is from miss sweetheart.” then she picked up her fork and resumed eating like nothing had happened. curious, rafe unfolded the napkin.

his brows furrowed first, then his eyes swept over the words slowly. once, twice, then a third time. his lips parted slightly in disbelief, thumb hovering over the kiss mark. then he looked up. you gave him a playful wink from across the room and mouthed, ‘took you long enough’.

rafe let out the softest, stunned laugh and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. his smile was slow, wide, and warm enough to melt every last cube of sugar on the counter.

he glanced at lizzie, who was just happily munching her pancakes as if she hadn’t just changed the course of his life. with that, rafe finally exhaled all the nerves he’d been carrying around for weeks. he looked over at you again, heart full and eyes shining, and said the words he’d been practicing, though this time, not to the cat.

“dinner next friday?” his eyes beamed at you, almost pleading. you leaned on the counter, your smile soft and bright. “i thought you’d never ask.” and just like that, with pancakes half-eaten and pink crayon hearts drawn on napkins, something beautiful began. maybe a bit messy but still full of heart.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @rafecami @isasweetie @beausling @rafesheaven @rafesbowbunny @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @rafeysbangs @f4dedtouch @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @tinythebunni @rcsbabydoll @rafestoothbrush

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations ~ 45

Pisces suns never stop talking about being Pisces 😂 they usually are real big into astrology. Also if you’re interested in them they will most likely ask what your zodiac sign is lol.

Moon in an earth sign can be very judgmental, they are always trying to correct people (especially VIRGO & Capricorn). They prefer things to be a certain way or they get irritated.

Venus in the 12th house individuals are so cheesy in love 😂 they could be into pet names or enjoy really corny pick up lines. They just love love.

A lot of Taurus placements really drawn to the color green. They also look really good in green usually.

Cancer moons can have a big savior complex. (Especially with a Pisces mars).

Venus in Libras can stay in unhealthy/toxic relationships longer than most. They can’t stand being single for too long.

Libra risings can be kinda shallow in love (depending on their chart however). I see that they rarely date people they are actually in love with. They just really love love. (It’s actually rare they truly fall in love) they can mix infatuation with love then get bored when the honeymoon phase dies out.

Heavy Neptune energy in the chart can look like anime characters. (Especially Neptune in the 1st house).

Cancer suns with a lot of Gemini placements can be big copy cats.

12th house synastry can be super intense. They can feel like they are your soulmate but it’s super hard for them to trust each others intentions even if they are pure.

Venus in Virgos have a lot of trauma relationship wise.could’ve had partners who criticized them a lot or made them feel like their behavior was “cringey) :(

Libra sun cancer moons are probably the nicest people you will ever meet. However they can struggle with having an identity. They mold their personality based on who they are around. Big people pleasers.

Mars in the 1st house women are big crash outs. Any tiny attack at their character will have them coming for your throat. They can also get turned on by arguing or be attracted to very confrontational people.

A lot of people that I’ve met with a Taurus or Pisces Mars have big 🍑.

Capricorn, Virgo, Scorpio & Pisces risings are the most introverted rising signs

Gemini, Libra, Sagittarius & Aries are the most extroverted

A lot of Pisces suns have mothers who are Aries suns

Virgo risings can’t think straight when their space is a mess or unorganized. Mess drives them crazy.

On the other hand Aries suns have a hard time keeping their spaces/rooms clean or organized.

Leo Venuses are super generous. If they love you they have no problem buying you things you like or food. Gift giving can be a big part of their love language.

[riddlesrizzler]

Bambi Eyes

summary: “You’re gonna kill me with those eyes, Doe.” characters: mattheo riddle. deer! reader. slytherin boys warnings: none! word count: 1.2k

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t subtle about it.

He tried-oh, how he tried. Tried to lean back with that usual air of effortless cool, all sharp smirks and carelessly tousled curls, boots kicked up like he had the world at his feet and didn’t give a damn. But then your eyes would meet his-wide, unguarded, blinking up at him like you’d just wandered out of a forest clearing and into the wrong century-and suddenly, Mattheo couldn’t remember how to breathe.

It was stupid, really, how quickly he unraveled. How a single glance from you could take the floor out from under him.

They called you “Doe” sometimes. Theo started it, naturally, after catching a fleeting glimpse of your animagus form-elegant legs slicing through the trees, breath huffing in clouds, white-tipped ears flicking at every sound. You moved like something half-wild and half-holy, a creature carved from moonlight. But Mattheo had been calling you that in his mind long before he ever saw the hooves.

There was something about you.

Soft-spoken. Skittish. Like every word was carefully considered before it left your lips. You blinked too slowly when surprised, like your thoughts had to catch up with the rest of you. And your eyes-those eyes-were an entire language he hadn’t learned to read yet. Big, brown, velvet-warm things. Lit from within like melted honey.

You were curled in an armchair near the common room fireplace that afternoon, surrounded by the golden hush of crackling logs and late autumn light. A thick knit blanket was swaddled around your shoulders like a protective cocoon, your legs tucked beneath you, slippered toes peeking out. A worn Potions textbook rested in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the frayed corners of the pages as your eyes scanned the lines with quiet, concentrated intent.

Mattheo sat across the room, pretending to play chess with Draco. Theo, Blaise, and Enzo were sprawled on the rug nearby, voices low and amused as they recounted some ridiculous prank involving enchanted treacle tarts and Filch’s cat. But Mattheo wasn’t listening.

His attention was fixed on you.

Again.

“You’re staring,” Draco muttered, nudging a pawn forward without looking up.

“I’m not,” Mattheo said, voice flat. A lie.

Theo snorted under his breath. “Mate. You always are.”

Mattheo didn’t bother denying it this time. He looked back at you, openly, utterly helpless against it. How you tucked your chin when you read. How your lashes fluttered like wings against your cheeks. How you flinched just slightly when someone said your name-as if it startled you to be seen.

“She’s got those eyes,” he murmured, almost reverent. “Like she sees everything... in slow motion.”

Blaise leaned back on his elbows. “Like a deer in the woods,” he agreed. “One wrong step and she’s bolting.”

Mattheo smiled at that. A slow, lazy curve of the lips. “Yeah. But she doesn’t run when I call.”

That silenced them for a beat. Even the fire popped louder in the space between.

And then you looked up.

Right at him.

You blinked-once, twice-as if his gaze had pulled you gently out of the world you’d been swimming in. And sweet Merlin, those eyes. Doe eyes, innocent and unsure, like you hadn’t meant to catch him staring but now that you had, you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Mattheo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tilted his head slightly. His grin was crooked, teasing-but beneath it, something warmer simmered.

“You’re gonna kill me with those eyes, Doe.”

Color bloomed instantly across your cheeks. You clutched the edges of your book a little tighter, as if it could shield you. “I-I wasn’t looking at you.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “That’s the problem.”

You made a sound then-a tiny, breathy thing, part disbelief and part laughter-and turned your face away, burying it behind your book. But your eyes peeked out again a moment later, cautious and curious, like maybe, just maybe... you wanted to be caught.

Mattheo didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

“Do you think she hypnotizes people with them?” Enzo asked suddenly, squinting at you like he was genuinely trying to figure it out. “Like-accidental legilimency. Bambi edition.”

“She doesn’t need magic,” Mattheo muttered. “She just looks at me like I’m not a monster.”

You looked up again at that-truly looked this time. A quiet crease forming between your brows, not hurt, not afraid. Just... wondering. As if no one had ever said something like that before, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

And gods, your eyes were so soft. So impossibly wide and open. Like you hadn’t learned to build walls yet.

“She sees everything,” Mattheo said, mostly to himself now. “And still stays.”

You blinked slowly. A pause. Then, like sunshine breaking through morning mist, you smiled. The smallest, shyest thing. It knocked the air from his lungs.

Mattheo melted.

Later that night, the others had drifted off-Theo with his head on the arm of the couch, Blaise stretched out like a cat by the fire, Draco murmuring something incoherent in his sleep. The room had quieted into a hush of embers and breathing.

You hadn’t moved. Still curled in your chair, blanket hugged tight around your shoulders, your book long forgotten in your lap. Your eyes found him again-soft, questioning, glowing with the last flickers of firelight.

Mattheo was already watching you.

This time, you didn’t look away.

There was something in your expression-vulnerability, maybe, or wonder. Like you weren’t used to being seen like this. Like it was a miracle someone kept looking.

“Why do you do that?” you whispered.

He tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Mattheo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice dropped, low and quiet, like a secret being passed between shadows.

“Because your eyes,” he said, “make me feel like I’m worth looking at.”

You froze, lips parting just slightly, as if no one had ever dared say something so devastatingly honest to you before.

“And when you look at me,” he continued, “it doesn’t feel like judgment. Or pity. Or curiosity. It feels like… like the forest before a storm. Quiet. Alive. Like you already know everything I’m scared to say.”

Your gaze softened, impossibly tender, like you were seeing the boy beneath the edges-the anger, the snark, the shield of indifference. And you smiled, small and unsteady, like it surprised even you.

Mattheo leaned back just a little, breathing in that look like it could steady his heartbeat.

“Doe,” he said softly, like it meant something more than a nickname. “Your eyes undo me.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The firelight flickered between you, casting gold in the darkness, and you just looked.

And Mattheo knew. Knew that if he spent the rest of his life doing nothing else-just watching your eyes glow like dusk melting into dawn-it would be enough.

Because in them, he didn’t feel like a monster.

He felt seen.

[ilikemangosalot]

Requested by : @themonsterunderyourbed69

— Cookie sized!Ancients x Witch!Reader!

🍪 

They had expected ruins, not a giant. When they were pulled through space and spellcraft into this unfamiliar world, they landed not in a kingdom, not in a battlefield, but in the middle of a glowing summoning circle—on the floor of a warm wooden cottage. Everything around them was massive. A table tall as a tower. A teacup big enough to bathe in. A soft humming filled the air.

Then your face appeared above them, curious and careful.

You blinked. "Oh. You’re... cookies."

You never once treated them like they were small. Though they stood only as tall as your hand, you lowered your voice and kneeled down as if they were royalty. You didn’t laugh when they drew their tiny weapons. You only asked, “Are you hurt?”

They didn’t answer right away. But they didn’t run.

You made them a home—room by room. Inside your bookshelf, with a touch of magic and a lot of love, you crafted five little living spaces.

Pure Vanilla's was made of crystalized petals and spell light. He fell silent when he saw it, touched by the calmness. He often sits at the edge of the shelf, gazing out your window with a thimble of tea.

Dark Cacao inspected every corner of his stone-and-wood room before finally setting his sword down. He still sleeps by your window sometimes, but the soft wool blanket you knit for him always ends up wrapped around his shoulders.

Hollyberry crashed into her room with a war cry, immediately trying to lift the furniture. She hosts “mini feasts” with drops of jam and chunks of bread, declaring your kitchen “the most glorious battlefield of flavor.”

Golden Cheese immediately asked if she could build a secret vault. You said yes. She made one out of matchboxes and enchanted gold foil, and now hoards shiny buttons and enchanted pins like a dragon.

White Lily cried when she saw hers. Soft glowing mushrooms, floating feathers, little ink pots for writing… It reminded her of a time before everything went wrong. You found her asleep in a petal hammock, whispering names in her dreams.

They explore your house like it’s a kingdom. Sometimes, you wake up to find little footprints in the flour jar. 

Or hear Hollyberry shouting from inside your boot. You caught Golden Cheese on top of your cat once (the cat didn’t mind). You’ve added little ladders and bridges to make things easier for them.

You’re not just their witch. But their oh-so loving Creator.

 Your hands, once used for powerful spellwork, now gently cradle Pure Vanilla as he sleeps. Your fingers catch crumbs before they overwhelm their dough. You turn pages for them when books are too heavy, and open windows so they can smell the wind.

They don’t say it often. But you see it in the way they look at you when you speak softly, or when you lift them without fear, or when you tuck them in with a flick of your glowing fingers.

They once protected kingdoms.

Now, you protect them.

And somehow, for the first time in a long while… they feel safe.

🍪