#drabble idk

[zombiecowboy65]

Jeremy wakes to an empty bed.

It shouldn’t be so jarring. He has woken up alone before, whether because he slept late, or because Jean had to pee—or had to take Jabberwocky to pee—but it’s different, this time. And it is jarring.

He’s suddenly aware of every inch of his skin where it touches the sheets, suddenly aware of his lack of clothing. Suddenly aware of his heartbeat, in his throat; of his stomach where it’s sinking through the floor.

He should wait, he thinks. And try not to jump to conclusions.

A minute passes, two. But still, no Jean. No Jabberwocky, either. Jeremy bites his lip, and remembers the way Jean’s teeth had gently nipped the same spot just hours before.

A flush heats his face. He remembers all of it—the press of Jean’s fingers, the caress of his kisses. The heat of him, the weight of him. The nervous laughter, and the shaky breaths they took when they pressed their foreheads together.

For their first time, Jeremy had thought it went well. He’d thought—well, he hadn’t thought much at the time, really, unable to think past a chant of Jean Jean Jean and the realization that for all the sex he had, that it had never quite felt like this.

But maybe he’d read it wrong. Maybe Jean hadn’t felt the same way. Maybe Jeremy had crossed a line, crossed a boundary. Maybe it hadn’t been as good for Jean as it had been for him. Maybe he should’ve focused more on Jean, instead of letting Jean focus on him.

He knew how men liked him, in sex. But he also knows Jean, and Jean isn’t like other men.

…Right?

Jeremy glances over to Jean’s empty side again, and suddenly feels sick with himself for even comparing the two. Jean isn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but he did love Jeremy, and he did leave, for whatever that reason may be.

Jeremy’s heart kicks up in his chest. What if he’d ruined it? What if, like all the other men in Jeremy’s life, Jean had him, and decided Jeremy wasn’t the one? What if—

The door swings open.

Jeremy goes still as stone. Jean steps in, hands wrapped around the edge of a breakfast tray.

Jeremy blinks at him. And then down at its contents. There are eggs and coffee and … bacon? He glances back up to Jean, and this time, when he does, Jean is staring back at him.

“Oh,” Jean says, as a beautiful blush spreads across his face. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake,” Jeremy repeats. He hesitates, pushes himself up to a sitting position, and then, because he has never quite learned to control his mouth completely, adds, “You were gone.”

He tries to play it off as a joke, as a lighthearted observation , but his voice cracks, and his expression must give him away, because Jean shoots him an odd look.

“I was coming back,” he tells Jeremy, and Jeremy does his best not to squirm under the weight of his unblinking stare. “I was just making us breakfast.”

“No, yeah,” Jeremy says. “I see that now. But I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It is not,” Jean counters. “I should have left a note.”

Jeremy’s flush deepens. “You shouldn’t have to leave a note because you went to the kitchen, Jean.”

“I was supposed to be back before you were up,” Jean tells him. He places the tray on the end of the bed, and then comes to sit at Jeremy’s hip. “To wake you with me, and breakfast. Not to have you wake up alone.”

He pauses,and when Jeremy looks away, refusing to meet his eye, asks, “Did you think I left?”

Jeremy opens his mouth. Closes it. Jean says, “Jeremy.”

“I told you,” Jeremy says, “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Jean puts a hand on either side of his face, and holds him there. “I will tell you as many times as you need. I am not going anywhere. You will not lose me. I will always, always come back to you. Each and every time.”

Jeremy stares at him. “You can’t know that.”

“I can, and I do,” Jean says. “I promise you this. And I do not ever break my promises.”

He reaches for Jeremy’s hand, and brings it up to his mouth; kisses his knuckles. Jeremy closes Jean’s hand in both of his, and holds it to his chest, over his heart. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Jean Moreau?”

“You deserve the world,” Jean tells him. “I only hope that I can give it to you.”

[bridgetsbunny]

thinking about her in both timelines UGHHHHH

concept of like white rabbit!daughter reader having the power to hop timelines or smth and like yeah idk loving both vers of bridget but obvs new tl bridget is sweet and doting on her where as old tl bridg isnt as sweet and loving

man idk im waffling,, who want me to write fics for bridget 👁️

[obvs like for this to work white rabbit has a human form :3]

also these are my edited imgs credit if u use them pls <3

[zombiecowboy65]

Jean dressed in nothing but a pair of sweats that hang low on his hips, humming to himself as he rummages through the fridge looking for the things he needs to make himself and Jeremy breakfast. Flashes of the previous night dance through his head—the arch of Jeremy beneath him, the sound of his name on Jeremy’s tongue, the steady pounding of his own heart—and he flushes as he turns on the stove and cracks eggs into the pan. He doesn’t hear the sound of the bedroom door opening, or the gentle padding of footsteps behind him, but he feels the warmth of Jeremy’s arms where they wrap around his waist, and nearly jumps at the contact.

“Sorry,” Jeremy says.

“I was going to bring it to you,” Jean says, but he’s only mildly perturbed about Jeremy upending his plans. He takes Jeremy’s hands, and brings them up to his mouth, presses kisses to his knuckles. “I wanted to let you sleep a little longer.”

“I missed you,” Jeremy tells him, and nuzzles his face between Jean’s shoulder blades. His hair is soft, his breath is warm; both sensations leave goosebumps over Jean’s skin.

“I have not been gone that long,” Jean teases, and feels a smile tug at his mouth. “But at least come here, so you can see me properly, and I can kiss you good morning.”

Gently, he coaxes Jeremy around, from his back to his front, and nearly feels his legs stop at the sight. Because here Jeremy is, sleep rumpled and bright eyed, dressed in nothing but Jean’s T-shirt. Here Jeremy is, a vision, a dream become true as he stares up at Jean with a smile as bright as the sun and freckles as breathtaking as stars.

“Good morning,” Jeremy says, and before he can do much else, Jean is bringing a hand to his chin, and kissing him like his life depends on it.

It will be a miracle if breakfast doesn’t burn.

[thedaintydoe]

Damitri took the washcloth from the water filled bowl and dabbed gently on the bruise that was beginning to form around Dawrcy’s eye. His hands were so soft, like a butterfly’s wing, much softer than Dawrcy would have granted his own self.

It was foreign. It made him want to run, to swing his fists, to beg him to stop. He didn’t though and instead he sat silently on the wobbling wooden chair, wringing his battered and bleeding hands together, imagining he was anywhere else but in the presence of such warmth. Warmth of honey golden pools and bright light and everything Dawrcy’s been told he’s not supposed to have.

Dawrcy’s over active thoughts, paused by the sound of a soft chuckle, had one eye snap open. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been squeezing them, as if the very sun were in the room with him.

“Why are you scrunching up your face?” The voice like bells chuckled.

Dawrcy didn’t have an answer for that. But he was an excellent liar.

“The sun’s too bright,” he blurted out and immediately had to dig one hand’s nails into the other’s to stave off the urge to slap his palm over his own face from shock.

Okay. Usually he was a good liar. Being a prince of Frostiel ensured so. So what the hell was that awful display?

Damitri’s bright blue eyes blinked in surprise. Dawrcy watched him take a couple glances about the room, where it was night and there were no windows.

“Okay,” Damitri said simply, shrugging and continued on with his work.

Dawrcy wished he could shrivel up and roll underneath the floorboards of the tavern.

[fawnim]

i filled libraries with my thoughts of you

in the anecdotes they would write, the stories they would tell of you, i would only be a name in passing. mentioned to reach the minimum amount of words and characters.

and yet i ran out of ink just writing about how you make me feel, the way you talk and the way your eyes make me warm. there were one, two, three books dedicated on how you make me act. i, have filled libraries just with my thoughts of you. and i continue to make new ones, to fill them every day that comes by.

and yet, i was only a sentence in yours. as i am still a slave for your affections, i am already ended with a period in your book of life — i would only be in where you would put me; i will stay your friend and only your friend.

i have written for you a whole series, and i am nothing but a footnote in yours.

[coinsonmyeyees-blog]

"Kieren. Kier, you awake?"

Kieren groaned and rolled over, his eyes still half closed and he had no intention of staying awake. Simon could piss off.

"What is it?" he asked his boyfriend, who was laying beside him, apparently wide awake and impatient.

Simon grabbed Kieren's hand hurriedly and pushed it against his own chest, fingers curling around his pale wrist and gripping so tight. Kieren was about to ask what he was doing, when he felt it. 

He sat up quickly, laughing and ecstatic as he pressed his fingers to Simon's pulse, the soft beating against his skin made him giddy and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He's alive.

Simon just looked unsure, he was happy, yeah, but mostly confused. And scared. And, well, every emotion he could possibly feel. The side-effects of being human, he thinks.

Kieren's hand slides up from his neck and cups his cheek, leaning in to peck his lips. Once, twice, thrice, and okay, slow down there, Simon.

Simon pulls him down so they're both laying, Kieren's back is pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around his waist. 

Kieren falls asleep to the feeling of Simon's heart beating against his back.

[anti-someshit]

Usual morning for the Walkers

==> Be donn Alright the first thing you do is roll around on your bed and groan about how tired you are. "God damn is it like 5 am..." nope, you're defiantly sure that the sun is up, and it's way passed noon. you stretch your arms and legs until they give out inhuman sounds and roll out of bed. "Fucking...ugh." you seem to have lost a sock in the process of stretching. you decide to ignore it and go on with your morning routine. yknow, take a piss, brush your teeth--the works. you meet up with dara in the living room. or the dead room. whatever. she stares at you quirking a brow. "You're up early." she flatly says. now you're the one raising an eyebrow. early? since when... "What. What time is it?" "Seven." she clicks her tongue, "You got up with a healthy number of hours, obviously hell is gonna freeze over." "Hey hey, sleep is good. The less sleep you get--" "The chances of you dying in your sleep are higher." you blink. sometimes she really weirds you out. who even says that so early in the morning? #wtf

[ayrilikzor-blog]

Tears were a waste, Ozan knew crying would do nothing but he couldn't help himself as he found himself sitting there, on his bed in a school he had no chance at clutching onto what was lost and could not be replaced. He had wandered for over a century just to find a place to settle his soul, to settle his debt with the world but he could not let go.

"Annecim..." He whispered through quiet chuckles, pressing the scarf against his cheek and smelling what little scent was left of his mother, his family and his home.