puppet king

I don’t even know

gender 🔄

Idk dawg i js wanna see him cry😭 hurt comfort my one true love

authors note : hi lovelies ! it feels like ages since i properly sat down and wrote a fic for you guys. Hope you guys like it ! i’m very careful of writing stuff like this so i hope it fits what you asked anon <3 MDNI and ageless blogs will be blocked ! idk how many times i have to say it, if you don’t have an age on your blog you’re getting blocked

pairings : jschlatt x fem!reader

cw : mentions of EDs, overall angst,

——-

The apartment is quiet in the way it only gets after he’s been in his office for eight straight hours. Probably playing on QSMP or just doing some video work.

The LED lights are off, the monitors are dark, and the only sound is the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of a fork against a plate that’s barely been touched.

Schlatt sits at the kitchen island, shoulders hunched, staring at the plate like it personally insulted him.

There’s a half-eaten grilled cheese (his go-to “easy” food) and a protein shake pushed to the side, condensation dripping down the glass. He hasn’t taken a bite in ten minutes.

You lean in the doorway for a second, just watching.

He looks exhausted.

Not the usual “I stayed up till 5 a.m. editing” tired, this is deeper. The kind that makes his usual swagger disappear.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He doesn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

A bitter little laugh escapes him, but it cracks halfway through.

“Wow doc, that’s for your insight.”

You cross the room and slide onto the stool next to him.

Close enough that your knee presses against his thigh.

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t lean in either.

Just keeps staring at the sandwich like it’s going to bite him first.

“I ate earlier,” he mutters before you can even ask. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Half a fucking protein bar at 3 p.m. Don’t start.”

You reach out slowly and rest your hand on his forearm. His skin is warm, but he’s tense, muscles locked like he’s bracing for impact.

You’ve seen this before the days where his body just… refuses.

Where the thought of eating makes his throat close up and his stomach twist even when he’s hungry.

He’s joked about it on stream before, turned it into bits, but you know the truth. It’s not funny to him. Not really.

“Jay,” you whisper, using the nickname you only pull out when it’s serious. “Look at me.”

He doesn’t. His jaw works, teeth clenched so hard you worry he’ll crack one.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” he says, voice rough.

“I don’t need you to spoon-feed me or some shit. I just… I can’t today, alright? Everything tastes like cardboard and my stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and—”

His breath hitches. He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose.

You slide your hand up to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, fingers threading gently into the hair at his nape. He shudders.

“It’s okay if it’s a bad day, you know that right?” you tell him.

That does it.

His shoulders start to shake first. Then comes the sharp, angry exhale that turns into something wet and broken.

He tries to hold it in, classic Schlatt, always trying to laugh or snark his way out of feeling things but this time it won’t stay down.

A low sound escapes him, almost a sob, and he presses the heel of his hand hard against his eyes.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck this.”

You don’t say anything. You just wrap your arms around him and pull him in.

He resists for half a second out of sheer stubbornness before he caves, burying his face in your neck like he’s trying to disappear.

His arms come around your waist, tight enough that it almost hurts, but you don’t complain.

You just hold him while the tears come and slowly soaking into your shirt.

“I hate this,” he mumbles against your skin, voice thick.

“I hate feeling like a goddamn burden. You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

“You’re not a burden.” You press a kiss to the side of his head, right where his hair is messy from running his hands through it all day.

“You’re mine. And I love every part of you, even the parts that make it hard to eat a sandwich sometimes.”

He laughs, but it comes out as a watery hiccup. “You’re so fucking sappy.”

“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta be when you’re like this.”

You stay like that for a long time. Eventually his breathing evens out and the death grip on your waist loosens a little.

When he pulls back, his eyes are red and his face is flushed.

He looks younger like this. Vulnerable in a way he’d never let the internet see.

You pick up the protein shake, give it a little swirl, and hold it out to him without pressure.

“Small sips,” you say gently. “Whenever you can. No forcing it.”

He stares at the shake, then at you. For a second you think he might push it away.

Instead he takes it with a trembling hand and brings it to his lips.

He only manages a few swallows before setting it down, but it’s something. Progress.

Schlatt leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Barely audible. “Don’t… don’t tell anyone I cried like a little bitch, yeah?”

Your heart aches. You cup his face, thumbs brushing away the tear tracks.

“Secret’s safe with me, big guy.”

He huffs a tiny laugh and presses a clumsy kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Then another, softer one, right on your lips. Tasting like salt and gratitude and the quiet kind of love that doesn’t need an audience.

You stay in the kitchen until the grilled cheese is cold and the shake is half gone.

He eats a little more. You praise him quietly for every bite.

why isn't there an official flag for all of us schlattamorous folks ?? talking about all the schlomosexuals out there,, all the schlutts