Tryna Keep My Anxiety Down Tonight W More Raccoons

Happy birthday from the monkey who loves you very much ✨️

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

🫦

I REFUSEEE TO BELIEVE THIS IS THE SAME MAAAANN WE MARRIEDDDD

Looking all doe eyed and sweet like he ain't the one with the thoughts of keeping us locked up

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂

—a/n: if you are seeing this, i hope you read this. this is the most beautiful thing i have written in a while and i want you to witness it. please share your thoughts <3

The candle's orange scent filled the room this lovely evening and Satoru's fingers mindlessly brushed against your feet on his lap. He was holding one of his old poetry book in the other, glass frame hanging low, a little nudge and you were sure it will fall.

"and I wish to be the nothing, but a mosaic of the parts of you, you think to be flawed. Gojo Satoru, 2017," he read.

"That was...my god. Beautiful," you gazed in his eyes, still lost in his words. "You are a better writer than me."

"What? You feelin' competitive now?" He borrowed your hand. "Threatened that I might steal your spotlight, darling?" He kissed your knuckles, an act of love he often portrayed.

"Not at all. In fact, I am happy" you sit up, but feet still on his lap.

"Mhm? Why so if I may ask?"

"Because the better you write about me, the more loved I am. To be included in your poetry is an honor, honey." You ruffled his hair glinting orange in the warm lamplight.

"Silly you. You're not just an inclusion in my poetry. You are the poetry. You are every word, every sentence, every page and my every thought." His cold hands pulled you closer by your cheeks. "I am the honored one to not only ever witness you but have you as mine. I must write about you so even if I die, my love for you will be eternal." He planted a peck on your forehead before kissing your lips.

It's been 20 years and he is not here anymore. The room is not warm anymore, it's cold blue. But there is drawer full of things he wrote, just about you. Just you. You hold the handle to open and it's warmer than the room. Almost like someone's been holding it. You touch the other handles to check but they're all stone cold. You open it to find not just poetries but a mosaic of him with every picture you thought was your ugliest. You tear up. He was right. His love really is eternal.

If he can't have a dog...

Also, yes, these are translations from the official Furby wiki 😅

You wake up with Choso, what had you done last night? :)

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(inexplicit nsfw!)

Let's be honest, Zhongli and you would be so mismatched in terms of stamina; this man can go for hours at a time while you can go maybe two rounds before you're out cold. It's partially your lover's fault anyway - a powerful divine being like him can get rather intense, even if his caresses and movements are sweet and gentle. Besides, his teeth might tell another story, judging by all the bite marks and hickeys you'd have, scattered across your skin like constellations of lust.

Not to mention his tail, his long scale-adorned tail that wraps around your thigh, your waist, your wrists, wherever he feels he needs you to be held in the heat of the moment.

Zhongli might be masquerading as a human, but there is nothing mortal about the way he takes you. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure with the intensity of a landslide hurtling down a mountain, catapulting you straight to the stars and back. A heated hurricane of wanton words spill out from the lips of this otherwise polite and chaste-seeming man, reaffirming in no uncertain terms that you are his and he is yours.

Sure, he might gently embrace you come morning light, tend to your aches and sores, and prepare you a wonderful nourishing breakfast in bed, but the moment you think all is well and both of you are satiated, Zhongli would slyly suggest a sequel to the night's schemes.

Sorry, but you'll need days to recover.

Original idea by @nkogneatho

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The Wristwatch

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You had not known you were Nanami Kento's girl, until the Wristwatch Incident.

In truth, your affection had been brewing so slowly, you had not known if you were imagining it.

You had not realised you were in love with Kento, until he leaned in close, and you smelled the smoky, wood-rich warmth of him. Until you found yourself nursing stomach-dropping disappointment, if your phone pinged and it wasn't him. Until you woke up in cold sweats, the memory of the dream of his skin on yours so vivid that your heartbeat throbbed between your legs.

You couldn't accept it. It couldn't be love, when he did not love you back. And yet...that intoxicating dance continued, while your head dipped in denial...blinkered.

The extra coffee that would be gently slid over the desk to you, by a strong, gentle hand. The late night phonecalls, decompressing from the stress of your missions. The occasional dinner in each others' company, because, well...we both need to eat? Why not eat together?

You were afraid to label it; afraid to lose the soft skirting intimacy that you had. Nanami Kento was a hard man to gauge; alternately sincere and distant, warm and cool, closely familiar and objectively analytical. He kept you at arms' length; close enough to brush fingertips, but far enough that you could run...if you wanted. And you never did.

You had gone shopping, together, one balmy spring afternoon. You both needed new clothes...so why not together? It makes sense, really. Nothing else in it, I'm sure. Just friends. He doesn't feel that way about me, anyway.

He had insisted upon Ginza Shopping Mall. You balked at the exquisitely-expensive-upmarketness of it, but you could never deny him, for fear of losing this time together. You had perused for new earrings, your belly clenching at the many zeroes on every pricetag. He had ambled over to another counter, just browsing, and there for quite some time.

"See anything you like?" That deep-roast voice broke you out of your reverie. You looked up, into twinkling hazel eyes, and blushed. Yes, you. One of you, Kento, please and thank you.

"No," you scoffed, turning your back on the jewellery, and walking towards the shop door, "too cheap for me. I couldn't possibly be seen wearing them."

Kento laughed, slipping a box into his pocket, and walking just close enough to send your brain into a spiral. You barely functioned through lunch. Kento remained, as ever, a gentleman.

As he drove you to your door, and you bid him a flustered goodnight, you felt that same big, warm hand on your arm, holding you back to him.

"Wait," Kento insisted, "I have...something. For you. Open it when you're home." He pressed a smooth, embossed box into your hands. You could not see what it was, under the glossy paper sleeve. You opened your mouth to chastise Kento, and he interrupted smoothly.

"It's your birthday soon. Consider it an early gift. You couldn't possibly refuse...?" One raised, fine eyebrow. That cool, impassive gaze. You pouted. Sneaky old goat.

"Alright. You win this time, Kento...but I'll get you back," you had promised. He had simply smiled indulgently, stepped out to open your door, and watched you until you were inside.

With trembling hands, you slid the smooth paper cover off the box, and your stomach somersaulted.

Tag Heuer.

"No...Kento-- you didn't," you hushed to yourself, rushing to open the box.

You fumbled an exquisite silver, blue-faced women's watch out of the box. It seemed, somehow, familiar. You couldn't possibly. You knew the pricetag on these. Even the packaging was too expensive for you.

With one hand over your mouth and a pounding little heart, you sent Kento a text with shaky hands;

Nanami Kento. Absolutely not. Take it back.

A few anxious minutes, pacing, looking at the watch resting on the table and gasping each time. Three small dot dot dots...dot dot dots...and a response.

Sorry. Lost the receipt. It will look good on you.

Squeaking and grinning to yourself, you tried the watch on. You took it off. You paced. You tried it on again. You fell back onto your bed, legs kicking, and hands over your face.

Every further refusal you send to Kento, was flatly ignored. He left you on read all night.

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The next day, at work, you couldn't help but notice the looks you were receiving. They weren't bad looks, certainly, more...surprise? Happy acceptance? Knowing smiles? Each person the same; glancing to your watch, eyebrows raising, and searching your face with a grin. You didn't understand it.

Over lunch, Shoko reached over to you, a coffee in her other hand, and tapped the new watch on your wrist.

"Couples' watches now, hmm?" She smirked. You frowned, questioning. Shoko scoffed at you, as if you were playing coy, when you didn't even know the rules of the game. Shoko's smile didn't falter once.

You confronted Kento later that afternoon, dragging him into a dusty narrow corridor, and holding the watch up to him with fighting eyes.

Kento's heart burst with pride, biting his lip with a sly smile, and taking your wristwatched hand in his own. He tipped your arm back and forth, admiring the watch on your wrist from all angles, with a lovesick sigh. You suddenly recalled, with flushed cheeks, where you had seen such a similar wristwatch before.

Kento watched your mental gymnastics with a slowly growing smile. You almost caught on fire as he raised your hand to his lips, pressing an adoring kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Wondered how long you'd take to notice," Kento rumbled, eyed closed and nuzzling his nose against your fingers, "that you're my girl. And always have been."