#and that somewhere someone will attempt to be like

[lymtw]

Toji invites you over with a simple text of:

You busy tonight, doll?

To which you respond:

I don't think so... Not that I know of. Why?

Toji laughs through his nose when he reads your message. Even the way you text him has your timidness imbued into it. It's precious.

Come spend the night at my place. You told me you're off tomorrow, right?

I am, but are you sure? Driving home is not a problem for me. I can hang out and go home after.

You're staying. I wanna try something with you and it requires you to stay the night. You can't go home.

Oh okay! I'll be there in 10.

Drive safe.

Toji likes that you're very precise about the time you'll be arriving somewhere, and if you're ever late when it comes to spending time with him, you apologize profusely, nonstop. You won't stop blubbering about why you're late and how sorry you are for making him wait, even after Toji's expressed that he's more than understanding. He's the king of showing up late to plans, so he can't be a hypocrite and scold you when you don't do it often at all.

You're so sorry, though, and you don't shut up about it until he makes you shut up with a kiss. You're helpless, and you can't for the life of you figure out where to put your hands when you're so focused on the grip he had on your waist to pull you up against him.

He releases your lips, cracking a grin at the look of wonder on your face. He can't deny the pride that swells in his chest at his ability to disarm you and prevent you from having a total meltdown over a three minute delay.

Toji has gotten so much better at handling situations like these with you. It's only fair for him to gain satisfaction out of making you feel better. After all, you are a first for him. You're emotionally fragile, you're a nervous wreck, and your voice competes with the wind just to be heard. Toji doesn't set aside the fact that you're also beautiful, warmhearted, and you try for him. He sees your attempts to be affectionate. You'll slowly reach your hand out to hold his and then bail the second he catches you. He ends up having to interlock his fingers with yours because your embarrassment doesn't allow you to try again. He still appreciates that you leave your comfort zone for him and allow him to guide you towards new experiences.

"Stop with the guilty feelings, ma. We have all night and all day tomorrow. What's a couple minutes to ensure you get to me in one piece?" He says, comforting your droopy self. You look like a sad, abandoned puppy, now sporting rosy cheeks from his surprising gesture.

"Okay," you say, feeling a little more at ease. "What did you have in mind for tonight?"

"Follow me," he says, leading you through his living room to his kitchen. He pulls out a stool for you and points at it. "Sit." You want to laugh at the way he says it like he's teaching commands to a dog, but you know he doesn't mean it that way, so you obediently sit down like one anyway.

"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, silently hoping you have because he doesn't have anything to make you dinner. He would have to order in or pick something up.

"I ate a couple hours ago. Still pretty full," you respond, watching him reach up for something in his cabinets. There's now a tall glass bottle with a red label and matching cap sitting on the counter.

"How 'bout it?" He says, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "We could go to the couch and watch a movie or something."

He's never seen you under the influence of anything, but based on your reaction, maybe he'll get a show tonight. He's always wanted to know what you would be like if you were more extroverted and outspoken. There's nothing wrong with the way you are, but if things keep going the way they're going between you and Toji, he's bound to meet your chatty alter ego at some point in the future. What better way to have this experience than in a secure place with someone who can handle their alcohol and take care of you if it turns out that you can't.

"Okay, sure." You giggle, excitedly.

You're a lightweight. Even the fruitiest, sweetest alcoholic beverage will quickly take a toll on you while you're sipping on it. Wine is a step up, so you'll have to try your best to keep it together for the sake of not looking sloppy in front of Toji.

Toji brings down two glasses, and pours out the deep red liquid into them. One for you, one for him. He hands the glass to you, and nods at your quiet "thank you".

Toji watches as you immediately take a sip. He sees the way your nose scrunches at what you consider to be a funny taste, but the second you put the glass down, you smile like nothing. You don't like it at all. You hate the bitterness, and the fact that it's made with fermented grapes lives in the back of your head.

"How is it?" He asks, holding back a chuckle. You're too sweet for your own good, pretending to enjoy this for him.

"I like it," you say, pressing your lips together.

"Yeah? I think it's kinda gross. Guess I was expecting more from a fancy ass bottle, but brands are gonna brand, huh?"

You giggle, almost involuntarily. You're one gulp in, and already you're starting to feel the effects.

One of your worst habits includes chugging drinks that don't taste good, just so you can get them over with. You even do this when your drink is messed up at coffee shop. You're too nice to ask the barista to remake it, so you suck it up and drink the incorrect beverage solely for the caffeine you hope it has in it. This time is no different. You hate the taste of alcohol. You don't do plain shots, you can't stand hard ciders, and wine is no exception, but you're doing this for Toji. He cracked open the bottle to share with you, so you're going to drink every ounce of the liquid in the glass, whether you like the taste or not.

You bring the glass to your lips again, taking a much larger sip. The glass is a little less than halfway now, and your eyelids are starting to feel a little heavy. Not in a sleepy manner, but you can't seem to hold your eyes open as wide anymore.

You exhale through your nose, shut your eyes, and then blink them back open to take note of your altered state.

"That was a lot. How are you feeling?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You seem a little more sluggish now. You turn your attention to him, your eyes rolling when they turn to meet his.

"I'm good, how are you?" You ask, like it was the start of a conversation rather than an ongoing one. Your eyes almost shut completely when you smile at him.

"You're tipsy already, aren't you?" He asks, with a grin on his face.

"Pshh, what? No, i'm not," you say, contradicting yourself with a giggle. "Answer the question, baby. How are you?"

"Fine," he responds, lingering on the pet name. You've got loose lips, now. In any other circumstance, you would address him by his name. Most of the time Toji is the one giving you pet names, for the sake of flustering you. He loves the way you look at him when he calls you doll or sweetheart, somewhat shocked every time the words leave his mouth.

"Yeah? That's good." You pick up the glass one more time, sighing before you mutter, "'scuse me. Gotta finish this."

With that last sip, the glass was now empty. Even Toji thinks you drank that too fast, but he still has the courtesy to ask you if you want more.

"Mhm, I'll have a little bit more. Just a tiny bit." Toji pours as much as he did the first time, chuckling when you nod in approval of the quantity. "That's perfect. Absolutely, perfect. You're a genius, my love." You flash him a smile before starting on the next glass.

Toji was considering having another glass, but that was before you called him "my love" in a tone so warm that he felt like he just had a bowl of hot soup that was now settling in his stomach. That was before you smiled at him in such a free spirited manner. It was too late for him to see you in this state while completely sober, but he sure as hell wouldn't be adding anymore alcohol to his system. He can't miss something like this, so instead he leans forward on the counter, and intently watches your every move.

"I got something on my face?" You ask, dragging your sleeves all over your face. You examine your sleeves and they're clean. "You liar. You're looking at me like that for nothing." You squint at him, a slight scrunch in your nose to define your defensiveness.

Toji laughs, his focus now on the small pinch in your brows. "Don't go picking fights over nothing. It's not a crime to look at my pretty baby."

Your faux tough exterior immediately crumbles, the irked expression on your face dropping to the ground, at the sugary words he uses on you. Your face feels very warm, and now there's an indefinite blush on it. You can't stop smiling at the look on Toji's face. He's so focused that he's gone speechless, and you eventually break into a laughing fit because of it.

"Hey... i'm usually the quiet one. Why aren't you talking, pretty boy? Need me to shut up?"

The pet name has Toji glancing at your glass, noticing that it was full for less than five minutes. This was new— you being flirtatious towards him. He didn't have any complaints about it whatsoever.

Once again, the quantity of the wine in your glass was below the halfway mark. "Nah, baby. Talk to me. You must really like the wine, huh?"

"Mmm..." you lean forward towards him, with your elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm. "What makes you say that?"

He actually snickers this time, earning a sly grin from you. "You're chugging it like it's water. It's either you love it or it tastes like ass and you're dying to spit it out."

You pick up the glass again, one last time. "Let's find out if I like it," you say as if you're not on your second serving. You let the liquid hit your tongue, and you are instantly repulsed by the flavor. The glass is tilted all the way up, signaling that you've finished two cups of wine in less than fifteen minutes. Your cheeks are filled with the drink, blown up like a puffer fish, which makes Toji smile softly with anticipation for your reaction. Your tongue stays on the roof of your mouth, keeping the wine in your cheeks separate, to give you a break for a few seconds. You release the bubbles of your cheeks and your mouth is flooded with the bittersweet liquid. You swallow the burgundy mouthful and smile with your lips pressed together once it's all gone. The mouth drying effect of wine is your least favorite thing about it.

"So?" Toji prompts.

"It's-" you gag, clasping a hand over your mouth with wide, slightly teary eyes.

Toji's chest and shoulders shake as he contains his laughter, his lips pressed together tightly to stifle the smile threatening to show itself, but his eyes tell you everything.

"Wooo, sorry about that," you say, chuckling through the embarrassment. "It's good," you repeat, still muffled by your palm.

"Yeah? Want more?" Toji asks, holding up the bottle with a teasing grin on his face.

You almost gag again but manage to control yourself. "No, thank you. Any more and I'll doze off, and we both know that's not what i'm here for." There was a hint of sultriness in your tone, something Toji was not sufficiently familiar with. It was a completely welcome shift from your normally tentative way of speaking to him.

"I know why you're here, but I wanna know what you think you're here for."

You stand from your stool and lean more of your body onto the counter. Your hand reaches for his, and for the first time, you don't pull back before making contact with his skin. "To love on you, of course," you say, with those pretty rosy cheeks. Your eyes remained glossy and your nose was still red from trying not to bring the wine back up earlier, but Toji thought you looked so cute.

"Is that right?" His thumb brushes over your knuckles, feeling the softness against his rough fingertip.

"Let's go watch that movie you were talking about and you'll see what I mean."

Toji was loving this. Your confidence, your lack of holding back anything you had to say, it was truly baffling how you could be someone else entirely with just a couple glasses of wine.

You keep his hand in yours, and as if it were your house, you say, "come on," and drag him along to the living room.

This time you say "sit" and point at the couch. This time he's the obedient dog and does as you say, sitting on the exact cushion you were pointing at with a smirk on his face. He moves the couch pillow aside to make room for you, but you had another seat in mind. You take two steps towards him before slowly dropping yourself into his lap, straddling him.

"I see you're finally taking your seat on the throne, hm?" He grins, resting his hands on your waist. This is the closest Toji's been allowed to watch you giggle without you burying your face into his neck and it's a trip. He can see the details of the creases around your eyes and the lift in your cheeks as you smile. He feels fuzzy, and he didn't even finish his glass of wine, so he knows it's not that.

"Stop making me laugh and pick a movie, will you? I'm here for that, too."

He picks up the remote for the TV and turns it on. "How are you gonna watch the movie while facing me?"

"Actually,.. can I tell you a secret, baby?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair that reaches towards the nape of his neck, combing through it gently.

"What's that, princess?" Toji asks, vert eyes flitting between your eyes and that sweet smile of yours.

"I don't wanna watch a movie. I... wanna look at you... and that's it." Your nails gently scratch the back of his head, eliciting a tingly sensation that makes chills run down his spine.

"That's cool, too," Toji says, turning the TV off again, not caring that it was on for less than a minute before you changed your mind. He sighs, adjusting his position beneath you. Your thighs are secured around his hips, your knees touching the backrest of the couch.

"You're so handsome, my baby. God, look at those eyes," you whisper in awe, before giggling and bringing your hands to his face. You trace the bags under his eyes with your thumbs while admiring the haunting shade of green that scopes on you. Toji's hand comes up to loosely wrap around your wrist. He's not there to stop you, he just wants to move along with you as you observe his face.

"I know I don't say this to you enough, but I find you..." you sigh, blinking slowly, "enchanting..." You lean in and kiss the left corner of his lips—his right, and feel the smooth, tattered skin beneath your warm lips. "and I love you," you mumble into the cicatrix. "So fucking much, baby. And i'm sorry that you'll never know exactly how much because you aren't me." You're looking at him with so much adoration and touching him with a delicacy that can't be put into words. It's a deadly combination, one that has Toji in a chokehold and forces him to soften up even more for you.

He tightens the hold he has on your waist, pulling you closer until your stomach is pressed to his, as a result. You being so affectionate towards him is making him feel really good, and you have no idea because you're too focused on appreciating him. He's subconsciously leaning into your touch, his softened gaze meeting your lovestruck one.

"Fuck. I love you, too, princess," he murmurs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He pulls your hand down to his chest. "Want you to aim for my lips, this time."

"Okay," you say, smiling before closing the distance between your lips and Toji's. He can still taste the remnants of the wine you inhaled minutes ago, but it tastes much better and a lot sweeter on you. Toji can hear your high pitched little hums as you kiss him, happiness pouring into your kisses. You're trying so hard not to laugh in his face, and trying is the best you can do, right now. You never were good at hiding your smile from Toji. He can't see it, but he can feel the way your lips widen, and he's occasionally kissing your teeth when your sluggishness keeps you from matching his pace. With little pants leaving you, you drag your lips away.

He sighs, frustrated by the loss of your softness against him. "Baby..." he groans, the sound almost whine-like to your ears. He wants more, so much more of you, and you're ignoring him. You're too busy kissing his chin, and his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.

You drag your other hand down to his chest and keep your hands splayed out on it as you let your lips trail his jaw, lightly sucking on the skin. Toji can't help but think about how this version of you will be gone in the morning. You won't be as outwardly affectionate, you'll go back to second guessing every move you make with him and shrinking every time he steals kisses from you, instead of confidently kissing him back like you did a minute ago.

You make your way down his neck, pressing kiss after kiss on him before you move towards his ear. "I love you, Toji," you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear after. "Love you, love you, love you soooo much," you barrage, before throwing him off with a bite to his earlobe. You giggle like a menace into his ear, the warmth of your breath luring goosebumps out onto his skin.

He chuckles, repeatedly squeezing the soft skin of your waist between his hands. "Yeah? Tell me again," he murmurs snaking his hands beneath the back of your shirt. Your skin is very warm, and there's nothing to blame but Toji and that shitty wine for making your body react this way.

With uninterrupted hands, you course your fingers through his hair and lean in to bite him again, this time on his neck. Toji chuckles at how you instantly rush to soothe him with your tongue and a warm kiss, even when you inflicted zero pain on him.

"I love you, Toji," you repeat into the wet indentations you left behind. "My love... my handsome man... I cherish you, you know?"

Toji is practically purring at all the affection you're showering him with. The slurring of your words is blocked out and they remain clear as day to him. He manages to hum a deep little "mhm" to your last statement.

"It's just so hard to talk to you sometimes. You... you're so intimidating, sometimes. I don't expect you to understand..." you divert your gaze to his shoulder, not able to look him in the eyes as vulnerability takes sudden control of your emotions. "It seems like I don't appreciate you sometimes—all the time, but I do, Toji. I do appreciate you, and I can't ever say I love you enough to show it. Words aren't always enough."

Toji catches the waver in your voice and his eyes dart to yours. You're tearing up, and you're trying to still your quivering lips by pressing them together.

"Shit," Toji mutters under his breath. You have the saddest expression he's ever seen and it's messing with his heart. He pulls his hands out of your shirt so that he can swiftly pull you into his warm embrace. "Hey," he coos. You're shaking against him, holding your breath to avoid sobbing. Your lungs burn, but you'd rather feel that than make a scene of your tears. "Don't be sad, mama. What's with the tears, hm?" he murmurs. He can feel your tears dampening his shoulder, but the fact that you haven't made a sound is concerning. "Breathe or you'll die," he says, only half joking. He rubs a soothing palm against your back, his other arm around your waist.

You let out what sounds like a mixture between a choked laugh and a sob, slowly but surely regulating your breathing. You don't even feel like saying anything anymore because you know your voice will give way to even more pity.

"You're more than enough for me," Toji says, his chin resting on your head. "I know how you feel, you know how I feel. We're complete." He can feel the way you scrunch his shirt up into your fists. As if he would go anywhere without you. "I get you and you're stuck with me. Got it?" You silently nod against his shoulder in response. "Sit up and let me look at you."

You really don't want him to see you this way. Your eyes feel swollen and you don't feel presentable.

"I can't..." you say, barely audible. You release his shirt and let your hands go limp behind him.

"Why not?"

"I'm not pretty right now. Don't look at me."

"I'm gonna look at you," he challenges with a teasing grin.

"Toji, don't look at me."

"Too late, it's happening. Plan's already in motion," he says, sliding his arms onto your shoulders.

"Toji, don't-" He effortlessly pushes you off his shoulder and gives you a once over. You look defeated and you're unable to look him in the eyes, but at least he can see you now.

"Don't know what you were so worried about. You look the same but more blush-y." You finally give him your slightly reddened eyes, a soft smile appearing on your face. You look like your sober self. "Yeah, you look the same."

"Are you lying?" You ask, still not regaining the full strength of your voice yet.

"I wouldn't tell you if I was, but no, i'm not lying. You're so pretty." Toji wiped away tears that were stuck beneath your eyes, and you giggled. He washed away your sadness within a couple minutes. Toji always did this for you in exchange for your love and affection. He lifted your spirits when you didn't feel deserving of him, and with time, he got much better at recognizing the signs that came with this ridiculous idea you planted in your head.

"You're done loving on me? Already?" He asks in playful disbelief.

"You're not done with me? Do you actually want more?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Don't want more, I need more," he corrects, returning his hands to their rightful place on your waist. "Get all up on me, princess."

You giggle, leaning closer towards him to peck a kiss onto his cheek.

"Mhm, like that," he says, contently, when you pick up the pace and start smothering him. "Yeah, baby, there you go." His forearms go beneath your shirt, encircling around your bare waist and pulling you close to him like before. "Who's getting spoiled like me?" He says through a grin. You're holding back laughs as he continues to praise you for your affection.

"S-Stop," you say through a wheeze, not able to contain the sound any longer when you looked at him.

"What are you laughing at, huh?" He chases you this time, pressing his nose into your cheek before planting a light kiss into your jaw.

"You're so unserious," you say, turning your head as he keeps going with the kisses.

"Mmm... I'm serious about you," he says, feeling the vibration of your laughter against his grin. "So serious."

Your cheeks feel incredibly hot from how much you've been smiling. In this little drunken haze, things are so good. You're so happy, you're so affectionate, and you talk so much. This isn't like you at all, but it's not hurting anyone, especially not Toji. There was one minor slip, but you moved past it so quickly like the words never left your head to begin with. You're just so simple... so easy to take care of.

Toji notices the way your eyes are starting to lid with tiredness, and while he would love for you to doze off in his arms right then and there, you'd probably prefer waking up in a bed.

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" He suggests.

"What? No! I just got here... We can still talk, and kiss and- I'm not even tired."

Toji grins at the way you fight him on this, and he has half a mind to indulge you when you look so adorable, but he has to stand his ground. He's right.

"But, you are. You can't even hold your eyes open, anymore."

You feel sad again because the rest of the night would be going to waste if you both go to sleep early. You're there to spend time with Toji, and yet you feel like it's your fault your time is being cut short. You're thinking you shouldn't have drank the wine so quickly, if at all.

"Listen, doll," Toji says. He doesn't like the sadness that resurfaces on your pretty face. He doesn't think you should look that way because of him. "We're just gonna go lay in bed. We don't have to go to sleep. We can stay up as long as you want. Light on or light off, whatever you wanna do, let's just move it to the room."

You sigh, still not completely convinced that the night isn't over, but Toji managed to persuade you. "Will you carry me, please? My legs feel like jelly."

"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I let you stumble into the room on your own?"

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your face buried into the crook of his neck. "You'd still be my favorite person, but i'd be a little upset..."

Toji stands from the couch, humming in response to your quiet mumbles.

"...but not really upset. Just a little bummed. Not for too long, though, 'cause I love you, but I would expect an apology from you if I fell down," you draw out.

Toji cracks at your little ramblings. It's a ten second walk from the couch to the bedroom, and the whole time you were working through a hypothetical conflict.

"Yeah? You'd want me to say sorry?" He asks, setting you down on the bed.

"Mhm, and then I wouldn't be upset or bummed anymore," you mutter to yourself as you roll onto your back.

"That's fair. Want the light on or off?"

"Off," you blurt. "Let's tell scary stories," you trill, enthusiastically. You pull the blanket over your lower body until it reaches just below your chest.

Toji makes his way to the bed after turning off the light. He takes his shirt off, and out of habit lets it fall to the floor. "We're not telling scary stories this late at night," he says, joining you beneath the blanket.

"But, they're funny," you say, turning to face him. "I don't get scared, either."

"Depends on who's telling the story. I'm sure as hell not gonna feed you a nightmare, doll."

"Boo," you say, lowly. "Whatever, i'm over it already," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Toji watches you grow more and more tired as you throw random, nonsensical topics at him. You're taking longer to respond by the minute, and you're dozing off while humming in thought. You shake awake each time it happens and try to keep the conversation going, but Toji just shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep.

"I can see the moon through the window," you mumble, looking past him.

"I know, shh..." he hushes you, again.

"There's only like... one star," you whisper, in awe.

"Baby, come here," Toji says, like he's about to lecture you about the rules of sleep, but really he's just thinking that if his body heat doesn't put you down, he's gonna have to stay up with you until you fall asleep on your own.

You scoot closer towards Toji, tucking your arms into your chest when he reaches out to pull you into him the rest of the way. His body exudes so much warmth, you feel like you don't need the blanket at all.

There was nothing left for you to say when you couldn't see or feel anything but him. It was as if you were gone the second he enveloped you in his arms. You were small to the brink of nonexistence, no longer there to tell him what your surroundings were, or to ask him thoughtless, silly questions. You were no longer there to fight off the sleep he only seemed to bring closer towards you. Feeling his warm skin against you made you change your mind about this invisible fiend that was pulling your eyelids down. You now welcomed the calls to rest from your steady heartbeats.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, but for good measure, he poked at you with a whisper of, "Ma?" and waited a few seconds for your response. Nothing. He sighed and coiled around you tighter. Thoughts of the night ran through his head. Your soft, yet, occasionally bruising kisses and the imprints of your teeth on his skin, your unapologetic laughter, your certainty in using the pet names that claimed him as yours. He was weak for the amount of times you openly told him you loved him. It was a psychedelic dream, to say the least. One he hoped would continue once he followed you into slumber.

You woke up hours later, completely smothered by your bear of a man. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling, while you waited for Toji to wake up because he was literally breathing down your neck. His arm rested over your chest, his legs were tangled with yours, and his face was right beside your face. You weren't feeling the effects of the wine anymore, and luckily, you didn't have a headache or any signs of a hangover. You were back, which meant...

"What are you staring at?" A deep, raspy voice jolts you out of your thoughts.

You look at the handsome face next to you, and as if your heart can hear and see, it wakes up. "Nothing. Just woke up," you lie.

"Mm... you were staring hard at the roof. I thought it came to life or something," Toji chuckles. You smile, briefly, before looking at the ceiling again.

Toji releases you and flips onto his back, wanting to know what's so fascinating about the space you're looking at. "What are you thinking?" He asks, when he discovers nothing but blank space.

You take your time, not wanting to stumble over your words. Your heart skips a beat when he turns his head to look at you. In the time it takes for you to respond, you both could have gone back to sleep again.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he finally says, following the idiom with a question. "Did I even use that correctly?"

You can't help but laugh, nodding your head to answer his question. "I'm thinking about last night. Sorry if I said anything stupid."

Toji turns his body towards you again, thinking the only thing that's stupid is that he's still staring at the roof instead of staring at you. "You didn't. You were calm, from what I got to see, at least."

"So... boring."

"Not boring," he instantly catches. "You were perfect. You didn't have me running around chasing you, you weren't a brat—it couldn't have gone better, ma." He purposely missed something in his less than brief recount of the night to you. He can think back to the emotions that seeped through your little daze, and your insecurity about outwardly showing him love, all he wants, but there's no way in hell he's bringing that up to you, now. "You ramble a lot," he adds, a soft smile emerging on his face.

You can feel your cheeks warming up. "Oh god," you groan in embarrassment. "That's not- Sorry, that sounds... not so fun. Annoying of me, actually."

"Stop, it was cute," he assures, adding more fury to the blush creeping on your face. "Then you wouldn't go to sleep 'cause you kept seeing stuff outside the window."

You wanted to drown yourself in the blanket. Shame and embarrassment were winning their battle against you, as always.

"That was also cute," he says, watching the way your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. "You know my favorite part, though?" He says, grinning as he leans towards your ear.

"N-No, what?" You ask, trying so hard not to giggle.

"When you kissed me and told me you loved me," he murmurs into your ear like it's a dirty secret.

You snicker, the short sound of amusement evolving into laughter within seconds. You throw the blanket over your face and partially over Toji's face. The sight of your veiled body shaking with laughter lured out a couple chuckles of his own.

"That's funny?" He asks, pulling the blanket down, allowing you to see the sly grin he's sporting.

"A little bit," you respond, smiling— a remainder of your laughter.

"Silly girl. Come here," he says, dragging you back into his arms. There's no reason you should be awake at six in the morning on your day off. "Let's go back to sleep," he murmurs into the crown of your head. "We can go out for breakfast, later."

"Okay," you mumble, eyes shut already as you embrace the natural warmth of his body.

"One more thing," he murmurs. You don't raise your gaze, but your ears are open and you're listening closely. "Tell me you love me."

You didn't expect that, but you weren't going to deny him of such a simple thing. The words were easy to recite because you meant them with every fiber of your being. "I love you, Toji," you comply, immediately.

He sighs, contently, almost like hearing those words revitalized him. "Love you, too, mama."

That went out to every version of you.

#toji #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x y/n #jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x you #dilf toji #jjk toji x reader #jjk fushiguro

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

I just thought of a cute scenerio !

Malleus/Jamil/Azul/Duece/Silver are trying to find thier tsum who ran off , only to find that they were "kidnpaed" by their girlfriend for cuddles ( they find them cuddled up in her room )

(i'm so surprised that someone hadn't requested something with the tsums so far! bless u for being the first to do so~)

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul goes through several stages of grief all at once. Competing with this little creature for your affection had never been on his to-do list but he found himself annoyed at the sight for some reason. He became even more annoyed that he was annoyed because it meant nothing – just because it resembled him didn’t mean you held them both in the same regard. Yet at the same time you looked so happy cuddling with it, and the tsum itself looked quite content, eyes closed as it rested in your arms. Azul knows that’s exactly what he felt when you were together, a sense of peace that scared him but he couldn’t ignore, and he doesn’t like how similar he and the tsum really are.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce really hoped his tsum wasn’t causing trouble somewhere. They got lost so easily he’s not surprised when he doesn’t see his anywhere, asking Ace, and then an annoyed Riddle who had told him to watch his tsum much more closely. He asked whoever he saw if they knew where it was but when he approached you he noticed it settled on your shoulder, its head nudging against your cheek to beg for your attention. You nuzzled it back though you stayed focused on your task, and it seemed content enough to watch what you were doing while Deuce wondered how he could be jealous of something like a tsum.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil wants to know why he was forsaken to watch after energetic little things that only made his life more difficult. He almost felt like a glorified babysitter at first, and when the tsum disappeared he considered how lucky those who could retire are. He would get a serious case of whiplash when he realized the location of his tsum after countless hours of searching, fighting to keep the grimace off his face. Jamil himself could hardly admit how much he cared for you and yet here the tsum was, doing none of the work and getting all of the reward by cuddling with you so peacefully! He’s irritated and hid it poorly, with you worried he was mad at you while the tsum seemed quite smug (in Jamil’s opinion).

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus’ tsum had been quite insistent on staying by your side, even when it was told to stay put with him. It seemed he disappeared in a moment’s notice but he suspected he knew where it had gone, and instantly sought you out. You seemed quite happy to have the tsum resting on your lap, telling Malleus it had been standing guard by your door until you had opened up to let it in. It seemed content to sit with you and displeased when Malleus attempted to take it away, leading him to seat himself comfortably in your room to spend some time together… for the sake of the tsum, of course.

Silver:

Silver has an unreadable expression on his face. There’s a rarely seen pout that hints at jealousy, but he had never been the type to be jealous before. His tsum stayed snoozing in your arms, snuggled up comfortably against your chest like it had no worries in the world. He apologized for it intruding in your routine but you told him it was no big deal, remarking how it was just as cute as he is so you didn’t mind spending time with it. Some color dusted Silver’s cheeks at your comment before he stated he’ll keep a closer eye on the tsum from now on.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #TWST Silver #Jamil Viper #Deuce Spade #Azul Ashengrotto #Malleus Draconia #Silver x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Deuce Spade x Reader #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader

[icarryitin]

Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

#acts of service as a love language is so underrated he just wants to hELP YOU!!!! #AAUUGGGHHHHHH anyway #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #the canyouniverse #lou writes

[sunboki]

— BRIGHTER PLACES. a Lee Felix fiction

Chef! Lee Felix x gn. reader

TROPE. cooking class au, childhood friends to lovers, reader is burnt out and slightly depressed, coincidences, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. mentions of depression/depressive episodes, mentions of unrequited love, burn out, reader is used by her boss, felix is the biggest sweetheart to exist

AUG'S NOTES. was intended to be posted much earlier than this but i’m still glad that, with life being so busy, i managed to finish it! this piece is only the start of many emotional pieces over the summer so stay tuned please! hopefully you enjoy 🫶🏼

SYNOPSIS. Thrown asunder beneath crushing assignments, work, and the fleeting hope your “young and free” twenties experience may someday happen, you had yet to realize said experience was right around the corner. Whisked into a mixture of unearthed feelings and past occurrences, presented with a cherry on top by renowned Chef Lee Felix.

or alternatively :

Eventually, the sun will shine again.

Out of any gift you’ve received, you thought the treehouse in your backyard was the most memorable. It seemed like, in this vast universe, everything was right.

Then it wasn’t, then it was. Again and again. A repetitive cycle.

However, your overcast days did have an expiration date, and sunshine would eventually show itself again.

You just weren’t aware yet.

.

.

.

At seven years old, you would spend hours daydreaming, inviting friends, taking naps, and reading in your treehouse. Oftentimes, during the long days of summer, you’d eat lunch up there; lost in this secluded world only you knew about.

When you’re younger, every little thing appears peach-tinted.

The warm fire of a candle on a nightstand, setting dull objects ablaze with its brightness. Shadow puppets, dance parties. So ordinary yet exceptional all the same. Easy to configure from a developing mind as something excellent, fantastical.

Your twenties don’t envelop a hazy glow. Mind now hardened, treehouse still lingering (more like rotting) in the backyard of your parents house, things are more serious, less inviting.

Who knew adulthood would be this lonesome.

Walking from a bar, you fail to appreciate the hum of music from a buzzed radio, the wafting smell of Italian food hidden somewhere in the midst of neon signs and outdoor eateries.

Instead, priorities had lodged themselves indefinitely far into your soul, drowning out the voice telling you you’re you, not the expectations you’re held to.

Further and further did you drift into that intoxicating headspace, until someone—or, in your case, something—had to pull you out.

That something being a cooking—well, baking class. This weekend, an hour and a half. Menu: The Ideal Donuts.

“Think of it as a release,” Sana had told you, this wide, excited smile etching the skin of her face.

Immediately, you wanted to hand it back to her, tell the eccentric best friend of yours to spend such an occasion on herself instead.

Yet, you knew better than to try negotiating with Sana, the girl who has been present through your ugliest moments, who you’ve cried to more times than able to count.

Your intention wasn’t an attempt to make your life as miserable as possible. In fact, each day you strived for a resource, an indication things would grow better, as better as it seemed to be for everyone else.

Though you can only stretch a rubber band so far, and once it reaches its farthest extent, it snaps.

And the recoil stings.

“Okay, thank you.” You respond after a beat of silence, lips pulled into a tight line, investigating the information written on the card.

She pats your shoulder, a sweet smile worn upon pink lipstick.

Lee’s Baking Class.

Lee. The name sounds familiar.

Awkward. Everybody has their awkward moments, but you’re certain this one takes the cake. 

The entirety of the class had fallen still, engulfed in a silence you can feel gathering in your chest, sending nausea building like bile in your throat.

His brown eyes merely blink, ignorant to your inner turmoil.

Lee Felix’s brown eyes, shining like muddy globes, seem to encapsulate every ounce of affection. Affection you once had for him, affection you refuse to unearth if it costs your life. 

Perhaps that's the stem of the awkwardness—harbored feelings.

How awful. 

Just your luck.

“Y/N?”

It even sounds worse falling from his lips. Sweet, just like he is, Felix is. 

Felix has always been sweet, always inviting. Seems you accepted without realizing you were never invited to the party.

Staring like a deer caught in headlights, it takes the man clearing his throat for you to acknowledge your position. 

“You can uh, find a seat if you’d like?”

‘You can shoot me if you’d like’ you think, very much grateful mind readers don’t exist.

Nodding profusely and scurrying to the nearest table out of the four aligned throughout the room, you find yourself paired with three elderly ladies who quarrel in rabid conversation about baking powder—though it doesn’t bother you, the frenzied chatter leaves leeway to think.

As memorable as the treehouse was, it was also memorable for.. Other reasons as well. One reason in particular being that it wasn’t always just you reading and daydreaming up there, but Lee Felix too.

Since primary school the two of you had been conjoined at the hip. Between friendly rivalries and the fact he was your neighbor, there wasn’t a two day period you weren’t together. 

And with that, came a crush. 

But it was different with Felix, different because just as you’d been conjoined to the hip as friends, this time, you were still conjoined, but he was your crush.

And it’s a whole lot easier playing off a crush when you aren’t with them 24/7.

Before you knew it, you had fallen head over heels in love. To a degree you realized you can’t, can’t do what you’ve always done, can’t pretend your feelings are nonexistent any longer.

So you fled. 

The moment high school began, you located the furthest place available and begged your parents to let you attend. It wasn’t that you hated Felix, more than anything you hated yourself for falling in love–not that it could be helped. 

No matter how illogical you deemed it, your heart would prove stronger. Maybe that was your epitome.

Your number one priority had been avoiding him thus far, and you thought you were doing a pretty decent job at it, using the excuse that high school offered better opportunities to mask your internal guilt, and staying on that side of the city when you graduated.

Nonetheless, it seems the effort was in vain, especially now that you’re facing him again.

No. You refuse to dwell on the past, not when you’ve made it this far.

In front of you sits all the necessary utensils. Measuring cups and spoons, coordinating bowls, and the ingredients included as well. 

Thank goodness for that, you were scared you’d mess up and Felix would have to step in. Plus, the rules of this game came easy. Participate without contact and leave with a sweet treat in hand.

Except, you’re quick to understand those rules of the game may only apply in your case by the gaze boring into your back.

Great.

“I didn’t anticipate a young lady being so aggressive,” A voice to your right piques, surveying the furious manner in which you’re cracking an egg into the bowl.

Delivering a small smile and claiming you’re simply absorbed in your work, collective laughter sounds from the older women in response.

Taking a thirty minute break while the dough chills, you welcome conversation with anybody and everybody, attempting to evade the blond’s attempt at reaching out.

Way to be a jerk, Y/N. 

But, in the end, avoidance is the right course of action.

You can’t afford love, you’re too broke already as a student.

During the times he isn’t circulating, you spare periodic glances, marveling at those charming features of his, still the same as when you were younger but slightly more mature, sharper. Effortlessly kissable raspberry-tinged lips purse when he explains things, helping the participants knead dough with ring-clad fingers. That one’s new: rings.

The third time, you were caught, panickedly looking away as if an accident.

“Y/N I–” 

Speeding past while pretending to be occupied with checking the refrigerator holding your table’s donuts, his words become choked watching as you flee in the other direction, hand returning to his side where it extended to you.

You manage to survive the last few minutes unscathed, awaiting the sugary goodness lying just below your fingertips after hastily nodding to Felix in thanks and following the remainder of the class outside.

Success.

Or, whilst fetching your keys and finding where you had parked your car, so you thought.

Steam billows from your car's hood, refusing to even turn on while individuals alike grant you pitying simpers and continue on their exit.

Spoke too soon.

Even worse, your instructor, the man you thought you could run from after all, happens to walk out at that moment, witnessing your real-time destruction.

Not a success.

This was utter failure at the highest degree.

“So.. How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s college?”

“Fine. ..And you?’

How you ended up in Lee Felix’s passenger seat is beyond you.

Well, not really. You just hate admitting you took the ride home he offered after your car broke down in the parking lot. In your defense, according to him, he already had to drop by the grocery store nearby.

It’s like an interrogation, your replies quick and unenthusiastic, his unwavering in enthusiasm, unyielding to the coldness you’re giving him.

Like you said, it wasn’t your intention hurting his feelings, nor being spiteful or brash. It was your coping mechanism.

This is how you got over him, or, how you’d like to say you got over him.

“Pretty busy, but I’m managing. How about you? I couldn’t get in contact, but I’m sure you got tons of offers, yeah?”

Seeing his face again didn’t help with the “getting over” part.

..Or the guilt at the “no contact” part either.

“Easy for you to say, you’re the successful one who got scouted by a culinary arts school.” The remark coming out spiteful, you scorn yourself. 

That’s another thing. Lee Felix is totally out of your league. 

He’ll always be number one, and you’ll always be second place. And not in an inferiority complex way, but in an honest way.

Felix chased his dreams to the end of the earth and got what he deserved out of it, and you thought you were doing the same, only to realize you were chasing him instead and leaving your own aspirations behind.

But that’s on you, not him, and you’ll likely spend the rest of your life wondering how you became so enamored in the first place.

Of course he wears that tear-worthy frown, periodically directing his attention to you while driving, face filled with overflowing concern.

How could anybody not fall in love with him?

“Y/N, you know that’s not true. I may have been scouted, but that doesn’t make me any better than anyone else. We’ve all worked hard to get where we are now, you included.”

Curse how weak you are for him. Why should he reassure you? You’re the prick that left him after countless years together, why is he consoling you?

Easy. He’s Felix. 

Before anything else, he’s loving. Felix is the embodiment of love in an individual. He’s self-sacrificing (a trait you swear Chan gave to him), caring, and the most unbearably adorable mother-hen.

And you’re not even close to getting over him.

Street names pass in a blur, leaving a lengthy silence to consume the drive. You distract yourself with a flickering traffic light in need of fixing, watching the man’s finger tap against the wheel to a song on the radio in your peripheral before he speaks again.

“..Do you still talk to Chris?”

His voice, a pleasing baritone now that he speaks slowly, surprises you for a moment.

“Yep.”

Even then you refuse to turn toward him, coming to a halt at a stop sign and simultaneously dreading the manner in which he dips his head lower.

“Hey.. Are you okay?”

You feel like throwing up.

“During the class you–”

“My stop is here.”

The words come out before you can comprehend them, too worried about distancing yourself to care that this is in fact not your stop and a random street instead.

Though hesitantly, he pulls the vehicle to the side.

“But there’s no houses nearby–”

“No, this is perfect,” You pitch, quickly unbuckling and opening up the door. “Thank you, Felix.”

Oh how you wish you never said that, wish you never made eye contact.

He makes you want to scream and cry and dig up all those stupid feeling’s you’d buried in the ground.

Pulling your clothing closer to your body as the evening cools, you grace him a ghost of a smile, shutting the car door and hurrying down the sidewalk while feebly attempting to locate how far your place would be from here.

Yet, he doesn’t drive past you.

Evidently unconvinced but failing to say it aloud, you fight off the warmth heating your face as his car rolls right beside you, following your hasty footsteps while walking.

“Are you sure this is your stop? It’s getting cold!” He shouts, leaning over from his seat to regard you.

This is it. When you had sworn your embarrassment couldn't get any more pathetic.

“I.. I’m fine! Just go!” You shout back, arms waving haphazardly like an embarrassed middle schooler until he finally (and begrudgingly) steers ahead of you, car disappearing in the distance.

At least that’s over. 

And yet, it feels like it’s just the beginning. You simply can’t explain why.

However, your main focus remains upon getting to safety. Safety being home.

The word has never sounded this pleasing before now.

So after thirty minutes running in circles to find your complex, you’re granted that much wanted safety, snuggled up in your cushions and turning on a show with evident delight in the mismatched pair of pajama pants and a hole-scattered top hanging off your shoulder. 

No more Felix thinking, it’s time to relax. 

What a joy.

Well, before your bottomless Pringle’s can abruptly spawns a bottom, hand frantically scurrying in search for more to no avail.

This is the peak of your show! How could someone possibly imagine viewing the climax without coordinating snacks? 

And just when you thought you had ultimately settled, you’re thrown into a torrential debate, one that, after much contemplation (and pacing) across the cold tile of your kitchen, sends you huffing and puffing to the nearest convenience store.  

Slipping past the sliding doors toward the designated aisle, you had yet to realize who else was roaming around the store.

A peculiar blond being that someone else.

It’s when you turn the corner to check out that you practically ram into each other, fear striking every fiber of your being, his eyes equally wide, but more puzzled than terrified—unlike you. 

“Besides, I need to run to the grocery store afterward.”

Crap.

Granted, the probability he lived nearby was likely. 

He's not required to stay a 300 meter radius from you anyway, so getting anxious about this shouldn’t be an issue. You’ll simply (hopefully not) say hi and be on your way.

Except, like most endeavors in your life so far, it is an issue. 

Because one, you’ve positively blasted your chances of avoidance after the entire car experience (which, frankly, you genuinely debate death because of) and two, he’s.. apparently following you.

Wait, he’s following you?

He, as in: Lee Felix, who ultimately fails at being nonchalant. Walking a few paces behind you, eyes quite obviously trained on your figure.

After your frantic rush past him while darting through self-checkout, the footsteps behind you do little to quell your heart’s rapid pace, only worsening with each passing second. 

You aimlessly ignore the sweat oiling your palms, pretending to be occupied with reading a label on your drink, hoping he’ll eventually look away.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he stays right on your tail, enough that while you break into a run through your door, he follows, jarring a foot in the door just as you begin slamming it shut.

Stalker, much?

Wielding the nearest weapon available in a panic, you’re frantic, whacking the unfortunate Pringle’s container with all your might toward the man.

“How.. How are you that fast– Ow! Ow ow- Wait- Y/N-”

Cowering down and covering his head with his arms while you furiously batter the man, it isn’t till a few specific words catch your attention that you stop.

“Your—“ Whack. “Car—“ Whack. “Was finished in the shop!”

Your what?

Hesitantly lowering his arms, Felix wears a sheepish smile, regarding your evidently frazzled, very much frantic appearance.

“For twenty minutes I’ve been trying to tell you.. your car is ready.. in the shop,” He breathes, doubling over with exhaustion. 

Meanwhile, you’re still recovering from your own exhaustion. An exhaustion that urged the realization you just beat up your lifelong love interest with a box of Pringles.. who is now in your house.

Lee Felix. In your house.

What a joy.

“....I’m sorry about your head.”

“No, I shouldn’t have intruded like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, wishing nothing more than to melt into a puddle.

“Are you-” He tips his head down, that kindly confused expression of his no help to your pounding heart. “Are you alright?”

Through your wallowing, your ears burn, voice muffled whilst practically drowning in misery.

“Give me a minute, I’m so embarrassed right now.”

It doesn’t help that he laughs afterward. A low, vocal laugh that rumbles in his throat and does little for your mental health.

Placing the discarded can back on a nearby countertop, you jolt when his fingers wrap around your wrists, gently ushering your hands from your face.

“But I was serious about what I said. Y/N, are you okay?”

Oh how tender he refers to you. Careful, quiet. As if too high of a pitch and his voice will shatter the air. You don’t mind.

Because in all honesty, you haven’t been okay. Nothing has been okay. It feels like you’re working, but what for? You’ve lost the sense of purpose from when you graduated, slowly but surely watched your motivation diminish right before your eyes. 

And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Chasing your tail in circles, round and around and around again has led you right to what you tried to run from in the first place. 

Him; the truth.

And yet, unlike earlier today, you can’t bring yourself to push him away, to ask him to leave. You savor his touch, even if it only lingers on your wrists.

Save me, your skin cries against his grip.

Luckily, Felix joins you in your wavelength, giving you permission to indulge in the abyss of his eyes, fall into the warmth and comfort the past brought in the safety of his arms. 

“Felix?” You verbalize, fragmented bits and pieces of life hidden within the words, muffled against the skin of his neck.

You missed Felix, but you’re starting to think you missed his hugs more.

“Yes?”

“I missed you.”

“Really? How much?”

You want to punch his gut, but you can’t will yourself to move.

“Too much.”

He chuckles, carefully pulling away.

“I have to head out, ‘got work early tomorrow. I can drop you off at the dealership when you’re free?”

Yes. This time, you can say yes. 

Your feelings will never change from how they always were, especially when it comes to Felix. That’s something you have to accept. 

Perhaps tomorrow you’ll get to see him again. 

Or perhaps you’ll wake up in your bed in a few seconds and all of this will be a dream. 

When he turns his back, you pinch yourself to make sure.

All real. 

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

Right before he closes your door, you call out to him again.

“And Felix?”

“Mhm?”

“..Call me when you’re done with work. I’ll pick up this time so… tell me all about those seven years apart.”

At this, he nods—and it’s sort of bittersweet seeing him leave, because this time you know you’ll see him again.

And, though you try, your attempt at sleeping proves useless—caught up in your head after quickly settling in bed, deciding to save everything else for another day.

The ceiling serves as your main muse, eyes unblinking whilst staring upward.

What is Felix doing right now? Your attention flits, scowling to yourself at how much you sound like a clingy girlfriend. 

Could you blame yourself though? You’re like a child waiting for Christmas presents. Except, this Christmas you’re unwrapping years upon years of time apart. 

Fortunately, after a multitude of hours awake, sleep beckons. And as if a split second later, with the morning sun lighting up your room and stirring you awake do you receive a call.

You planned to ignore and roll over, but it’s a specific someone on your mind that urges you to fetch the device.

“Hello?”

“Hey, what’re you up to?”

“Getting away from you,” You groan, pretending not to hear Chris’s chiding that it isn’t healthy to sleep till noon.

And although you were gonna use last night’s experience as an excuse, you decided against it, hoping sooner or later he’d hang up without any more questions.

“Wait.”

Your silence serves as a sign to continue.

“If he’s sleeping next to you right now—”

“No! No Chris what- where did you hear— what?”

Unable to process how he knew about Felix or if he was talking about Felix in the first place, you leave it to the audibly disheveled man to explain himself. 

“Look, I can explain. Sana told me she saw Felix go into your house last night, what was that about?”

Curse how Sana lives so close by. 

“Well, for the record, Dad, he didn’t sleep over. We just uh, talked, like adults do.”

Chris exhales a baffled guffaw.

“Like adults do? Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“I’m full of surprises, what can I say.”

An additional silence ensues, awkwardly tapping your finger on the mattress.

“We um.. we were catching up.”

The man on the other side of the line grins. You can practically see it through the phone.

“..When you said that, you sounded really happy just now.”

“Huh?”

“When you talked about Felix, you sounded really happy. That’s good.”

You study the ceiling a second time, feeling a small smile and tug at your lips.

“He’s good to keep around y’know.”

Rolling your eyes and adjusting your position to face the window, you stretch your arms over your head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You hear the ignition of his car in the distance.

“Whatever you want it to mean,” He chuckles. “I’m glad you got to see him though, I better contact him again now that you mention it, ‘need the Aussies to get together. Call you later?”

“Sure, bye Chris.”

Hanging up and collapsing onto your pillow, you yawn dramatically, gradually rising to your feet to open the blinds.

Then does it register to you this is the most enthusiastic you’ve ever been in a while—especially talking to a Chris—and not intentionally either. 

All of which comes down a single name, the one you were reminded to keep around.

Lee Felix. 

Picking up your phone, you make another call.

You

I’m on the way

Felix

(Felix liked your message)

I’ll be there as fast as I can!! Sorry, ran out of flour last night 😔

You

It’s all good, what’re you baking?

Felix 

Banana cake, want a slice?

You

Yes please!

Redirecting your attention back to the road, you’re careful not to miss the exit this time (as you’ve done endless times in the past). 

Almost to the café you planned to eat at with Felix, your phone lights up once more.

Yet, you forgot to check the number—your good mood diminishing instantly.

“Hey Fel—“

“Y/N, I need you in the office.”

Considering this is your boss you’re talking to, you pull into the parking lot, able to see Felix through the window—dressed to an unbearably handsome degree. 

“But today is my day off, I don’t clock in on Saturday’s,” Relaying the statement, your eyes narrow at the screen.  

“Well you’re going to have to. The office knows how capable you are. we need somebody like you here—we can count on you Y/N.”

You’ve been counting on me, for everything. 

That familiar weight settles into your chest, more and more pressure building at a nefarious level. You feel sick to your stomach, wanting nothing more than to drop the call and walk inside into work-free air.

However, you can’t. This job holds you down (in multiple ways), it’s stable, and provides good income—you can’t afford to drop it. 

But what are you supposed to say to Felix?

Everything feels too overwhelming at the moment, your lungs feel like exploding, using all your willpower to say something.

“..Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

And you hang up, gripping the steering wheel like a vice. 

It’s always like this. The moment you have a good thing, not even a day later everything falls apart. 

Never lasts.

You

Sorry, I can’t make it, work called.

Felix 

But haven’t you worked a lot this week? Why not take today off?

You 

Can’t, see you another time

How selfish, you tell yourself, throwing your phone as far from you as possible.

The moment you get the chance to see him again, he slips out of your fingertips. Or in this case, you let him slip away.

Watching him glance around, delicious slice of banana cake kept in a cute tin in front of him feels heart-wrenching. And you quite literally are the worst person in the world at this very moment. 

Each key your fingers press adds to the exhaustion in your bones, growing greater each inhale and exhale your take, eyes scouring the computer screen.

Being in the office is stifling. You’re trapped in a box, a box that shrinks closer and closer every second, caging you in without hopes of escaping. 

This is your prison, the jail cell you didn’t realize you’d been stuck in till it was too late.

An entire library of documents pile at the foot of your desk, your head aching incessantly. So once the hour hand strikes 10pm, you trudge out the door, more than happy to be in the safety of your car. 

Then you slip, and it all comes crashing down.

As if he read your mind, the one person you’ve been longing for takes over your screen, and your index shakes pressing the green button.

“..Felix.”

The words tumble out, tiny candies filling an already full jar. Too much that the lid can’t even fit on.

“Stay where you are, I’m driving to you right now.”

His response earns a stifled sob, your fist bunching the fabric of your clothing, feebly attempting to calm the incessant beating—seeming to render your lungs with meager air.

No other sentence is spoken even with him on the other line, not until headlights pour over the expanse of your dash—until Felix nearly rips your car door off its hinges to reach you in the driver’s seat.

One hand on your head, the other on your back, he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, your second one in three days. 

It’s all you need. All you’ve ever needed, actually. 

Another heartbeat with yours, your calm before the storm that kept the calm, to know you aren’t alone in your suffering, that you can suffer together.

Ah, you can breathe.

“All these years and you’re still an awful liar.”

You simply squeeze him tighter, the blond’s laughter shaking either of you. 

Guess a single taste can lead to addiction. 

“I hate crying in front of people,” You sniffle, cringing back after seeing his shirt’s tear-stained fabric.

“Lucky for you,” Felix tuts, gathering your face in his hands, smiling. “I’m not people, just Felix.”

You roll your eyes, swollen condition of your eyes and cheeks not helping the irritable portrayal.

“I’m sorry, Lix, I’m so sorry. I wanted to see you so bad but work called and they keep piling—“

“Shush.” 

He presses a finger against your lips.

“For one second, don’t think about work,” He exhales, face pursed in focus, fingers smoothing the crease lines of your brows. 

“I know you’ve been overworking yourself. I’m not your best friend for no reason,” Felix sheepishly smiles, hand slipping from by your forehead down to your cheek, stroking the skin there softly. 

Again and again, he watches you break. 

Then, he picks you up all over again.

“Can you.. can you understand my frustration? It feels like everyone loves their jobs, but in the end, no matter what I do, I’m stuck in this constant cycle of hell. I can’t escape Felix, I can’t escape.”

Your voice dons into that of panic, into an hysterical fit of tears and rapid breathes, only able to focus back on the man before you after he shouts your name for the fourth time.

“Nuh-uh, no crying. The world isn’t ending, so no tears, hm?” Thumbs smoothing the flush of your under-eyes, he pulls you to his chest, hand gently rubbing your back while another cards through your hair.

“..Are you my mom or something?” You croak irritably.

Felix shakes with another bout of laughter.

“No.”

He slightly pushes you back where you can see his face, brows creasing in a focused, serious manner.

“I’m Felix, your best friend, remember? And I don’t want my friend to cry, she has too pretty of a face for that.”

“But what if her world’s ending?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

And the building blocks are stacked once more, barely able to hear his voice amidst your heart, forging itself free of its cage, your ribs.

“Y/N, look at me angel.”

Of course you follow, you know you always will.

“You aren’t required to cater to everybody, you can’t cater to everybody, no matter how hard you try. You’re human, and humans need to do human things, they need to live, experience exciting experiences. That’s how you make the little time we have here worthwhile.”

He tips your chin up, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“So don’t cage yourself up, please. And,” His voice gets cut off, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. 

Debating, thinking.

“Let me help you fall in love with life again.”

As if I’m not already in love with you. 

If only you knew the same thing occurred in his head as well.

Felix drove you home, and for a second, over the span of a week, it seemed as if everything was finally back to normal.

Then you received a call from such a man, on your beloved Sunday afternoon, asking a rather whimsical sort of question you never anticipated. 

No, you exaggerated.

“Are you free tonight?” 

Oh. Oh.

Staring at the assortment of DVD’s scattered around on your comforter, you act as if you’re oh so busy instead of planning to rot watching Dead Poet’s Society for the thousandth time.

“Uhhh think so, why?”

Felix clears his throat.

“Well, my baking place wants you— no, I want you, no, wait—“

Your heart speeds up at the sudden confession, bursting into laughter as he sputters over his words like a child. 

“Will you.. meet me at the bake shop? If you can’t it’s fine I mean I’m sure you’re preoccupied-“

“No!” You shout, not intending to be so loud, shrinking in on yourself. “I mean, no, I’ll be there. Give me ten minutes.”

Well, ten minutes might’ve been a stretch considering how animalistically you lunge at your hamper, sorting through clothing despite being aware Felix has likely seen every single one of your outfits a million times before

Doesn’t help this is pretty much an unofficial date. Or, hopefully those were his intentions.

Regardless, you don’t plan on wasting a chance like this again.

Standing on the sidewalk, hands situated in the pockets of a midnight black jean jacket paired with coordinating slacks is Felix, his face breaking into a smile upon seeing you.

Catching up with the man, you walk by his side, listening to him talk about meeting up with Chris days prior, about business. 

It’s comforting, this small talk. And for a second, you swear you never left at all.

“And then I told him Vegemite was obviously the better choice but he…”

Words halting, you look to where his attention had been stolen, finding an old woman lingering outside the shop the two of you planned to enter. She wasn’t one of the ladies you’d seen before in your group.

Cautiously approaching the woman, it takes multiple clears of his throat for Felix to grasp her attention.

“Excuse me Miss?” He offers, allowing the woman to grab his hands with her wrinkled ones, eyes squinted to assess his face. “Would you like some help? I’m the owner of this shop.”

Slowly, a small smile stretches her face upward, wrinkles forming around her mouth like the petals of a flower.

“Why.. Why yes, young man. I’m in need of more brown sugar.”

Felix perks up at the request, and you follow them inside with your own smile, cherishing his warmth, his gentleness.

Leaning against the unmanned reception, you find the longer you stare at him describing each ingredient to the old woman, the greater that feeling in your stomach grows, eyes becoming watery. 

Felix, in his loving, patient glory, is the sun. 

He casts his rays over your garden, blooming once wilted flowers.

Forever ago, you believed the two of you sat on entirely opposite hemispheres. He received the day, and you, in your unchanging seasons, eternally remained shrouded in night.

Yet, you forgot the earth tilted on an axis for a reason. And, with time, the sun would rise again.

Lamps briefly illuminating the woman’s exit while Felix helps her outside, you wait till he comes back in to speak, staring at the worried way he ensures she safely heads off through the window.

For a moment, it feels like you’re back in the treehouse, gazing at him as if he painted the stars in the sky. 

You refuse to let your anxiety get the best of you, not when the one person whose presence you’ve been longing for comes back in your life. 

“Felix,” You voice from across the table. He looks back to where you are.

“If I don’t say it now, I doubt I ever will but..I like you. I have liked you, for a really long time actually. More than friends I mean, I like you… more than just a friend.”

He sort of studied you for a moment, and your heart flies up to your throat, rethinking every instance leading to now.

“Took you that long to tell me?” He murmurs, and when you meet his gaze, you note the small grin on his lips, the way honey seems to swirl in the pools of his eyes.

“I’ve been waiting, y’know. For a really long time,” He finishes, donning that sheepish smile whilst walking toward you, an action that causes you to fall stock still. 

Leaning forward slightly, his hands clutch your face, planting the lightest of kisses on your forehead, each of your cheeks, and then your nose, fondly admiring the flush of your skin in the dimly lit room.

“You’re missing something,” You whisper, peeking an eye open. 

Felix cocks a bemused brow.

And what is that?”

Without words, you hesitantly tap your lips, and Felix wastes no time, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible prior to savoring your taste on his tongue, remnants of sugar clinging to his bottom lip, transferring onto yours each time he tips his head.

You hop upon the countertop, beginning to apologize in case you messed up his workspace before being shushed again by his lips, hands frantically searching to hold his face, expression pinched, eyes squeezed shut.

It feels as if your heart may just burst, beating at a deafening rate in your ears.

There must’ve been something in the sugar.

“Lix?”

���Yes?”

“Do you want to come back over to my place?”

Instantly, his once smugly pleased face dissipates, a hot flush rising up his neck in its place.

“Y..Your place? I mean isn’t it a bit too early to—“

Without elaborating, you drag him off, silencing any of his nervous babbling along the way back to your car.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for either of you to get comfortable.

“..Oh Lix.”

“I can’t- I can’t take it anymore Y/N..”

Sitting beside each other on your mattress, the both of you hold huge containers of popcorn, the newest rendition of “Alien” playing on screen. Felix is coddled in blankets, wincing as the creature gets closer to the girl’s face while you’re already gagging watching the miniature monster crawl out of the bigger one’s mouth.

“This is disgusting!!” He shrieks, hiding his face while you giggle, trying your hardest to watch the grotesque scene. 

This is your third movie of the night, and even after years apart, you can still use even slightly thrilling movies to freak him out. 

Still entertaining, too.

The longer you stare at him, the greater a fondness seeps into your face, into the lines of your smile, the irises of your eyes.

Months upon months you had been searching for your antidote, ignorant to the fact the antidote in question could be a person.

You hadn’t realized how low you’d gone until you had to be dragged back out again.

A hand reaching out, pulling you up when your legs were too weak to move. Kissing you when the words couldn’t come out of your mouth, holding your hand when you needed support.

Lee Felix, wrapped in your comforter now fast asleep, was your brighter place.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids fluff #straykids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fluff #straykids fluff #skz angst #straykids angst #stray kids angst #lee felix x y/n #lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #lee felix x female reader #lee felix fluff #lee felix angst #skz felix x reader #skz felix fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader

[vxlentinescookies]

→ ❛Apocalypse❜

→ Pairing ; Warlord of Eternal Rest!Longan Dragon Cookie x Reader

→ Quote ; ❛❛Let it be known, that mere blink of a life would be their most beloved, until time became the wind that finally blew the light out.❜❜

→ Genre ; Drama

→ A/N ; :^) (cw mentions of injury (broken legs))

Silence reigned supreme in the ruins of the islands, as Longan dragon cookie roamed them. Nothing was left from the aftermath of the battle, absolutely nothing lived, and nothing changed. The days of gold and silk were no longer there, as darkness consumed the world surrounding them. Everything was so… devoid of light, devoid of life, this wasnt what Longan dragon wanted, no, the ivory dragon was expecting something else, they were expecting a vivid earth, full of life, full of dragons that could roam it and exist freely, but the more that they saw the world around them, the more they realized that perhaps, that was nothing but a silly dream of the past. 

They’d sigh, before turning to leave the ruins to return to their own home before something caught them off guard, the noise of someone under the rubble, someone attempting to escape. Curiosity filled them, as nothing else could fill their mind at the moment, and they made their way towards the rubble. With a hand, they’d lift it up, the weight of the rubble being nothing to them, but they knew, they could sense it, that for whoever was under them, it was a great boulder. Surprise would wash over the dragon as, under the rubble, a figure came forward, the shape of a small cookie, a survivor.

You’d look up from your position, almost crumbled by the force of the boulder that now had been lifted up from you, you gazed at your savior, only for fear to wash over you. Many tales had been told of the great Ivory Dragon, tales reminiscent of war, death, famine and pestilence, yet, where you should’ve found wrath and your imminent end, you’d only find surprise, as the dragon spoke.

“Im highly surprised to find survivors in these ruins…” They’d speak, their voice deep and low, rough, making you shiver as they dropped the boulder somewhere else and reached to pick you up. “Come here, little one, you’re injured…”

“You’re not-You’re not going to kill me?” You asked, dumbfounded as you gazed at the dragon in front of you, who’d only chuckle in return, finding your words amusing. 

“Why would I?” The smile they gave you was cryptic, filled with words that didnt answer your questions as you tried focusing on the moment at hand. “Allow me to take care of you, so rest, for now…”

And with that, you fell into a deep slumber within the hands of Longan Dragon Cookie. When you woke up, you’d be in a soft bed, bigger than anything that you had ever slept into. It was comfortable, but as you sat up you realized the state of the things around you. The room was completely trashed, despite it made seem like it had some semblance of order, the silk that once covered the walls and the bed was broken and ripped apart, scattered around the room, and the gold that once shone bright had been either lost to time, or its shine had dulled. You took in the ambience with curiosity, before a figure appeared from the door, a tall familiar figure clad in dark silk.

“You’re awake…” They’d say, holding a bowl filled with fruits, as well as a few bandages and what seemed to be a ceramic jar. “I brought you food, this is all I could find in these barren lands…”

“T-Thank you” You say as the Ivory Dragon sets them down by your side, there are fruits  galore to pick from, probably the very last ones there could be in said barren land. You picked one of the fruits, a mango, taking them into your lips as you took a taste at the sugary sweet delicacy that was the fruit. Juices would drip down your chin, and you’d sheepishly wipe it away as Longan watched intently, perhaps, too deeply. “... Why are you doing this?”

“Hm?”

“Saving me, I mean… Tales have painted you as a fearsome dragon, not gentle and not merciful to those weaker than them… So why…”

Silence filled the room as Longan thought for various moments, they looked away from you for a bit, before turning back at you, their face ever unchanging from a simple poker face as you gulped and returned to eating the fruit. Had you said something wrong? Were you gonna get killed for real now? Your answer came in the sound of a sigh, and the following words were uttered.

“You should rest as much as you need, you may leave on your journey when you are well rested up” Would be all that they’d say, as they’d leave the room, finally leaving you alone to your own thoughts.

This behavior would repeat through the rest of days, as you tried to speak with them yet again, they seemed to evade you on purpose, simply walking away every time you started eating. It was difficult to get any information out of the dragon, had you unintentionally struck a cord they didnt want to recall? a memory? you sighed as you ate your papaya, the juices of the fruit dripping from your chin as Longan watched yet again.

“You’re a messy eater” They’d state, then, as you turned to see them. This was the most you had gotten out of them in days, so, you took the chance and spoke too.

“Im sorry” You started, catching them off guard as they’d lift an eyebrow at your words. You were sorry? For what? “I shouldnt have said that to you that day, the day you saved me…”

“Dont worry about it”

“No—Because of that you’ve been ignoring me! Its not fair!”

“Nothing in life is fair, little one”

“I just—”

“You should keep resting” They’d end, turning their back at you before starting to leave the room, until…

“Wait…! Can… Can you take me to see the sunset…?”

Your legs had been broken the day Longan had found you, and it was taking more than mere days to heal them, therefore, you hadnt been able to leave the bed in a long time. Longan looked at you with an unreadable expression, before smiling, a soft, genuine smile, the same smile they gave you when they saved you from the rubble that day. They’d take you in their arms, carefully, bringing you out of the room towards what seemed to be the throne room in the ruins of the castle, once again, filled with rubble, torn silk and gold that had lost its shine, yet, in the sky, you could see it, the sunset happening before your very eyes.

“... Its rare to see the sunset these days” They’d speak, and you’d turn your head from the sky towards the cookie holding you in their arms “Usually, the sky is filled with darkness, or I arrive far too late to see it… These beautiful colors…”

“Beautiful…”

“... I’ll confide in you, little one, things that no one has heard, for I have no longer anything to lose” They’d speak solemnly, before taking a seat at the throne. “Back in the era where dragons freely roamed earthbread…”

And thats how it started, telling you stories about the olden days, the days where things were different, the days where there were 5 dragons, all different, all with their own unique motives. You listened quietly and attently, looking at them as a certain sense of fervor and passion filled their empty eyes. Night would come, and they’d bring you to the bed you’ve slept on, and the next day it would all repeat. They’d bring you fruit, they’d bring you to watch the sunset, they’d sit at the throne with you in their arms and they’d speak of the olden times. Days, then turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months, slowly turned into a year. Your legs had already healed by then, yet the routine stayed the same, as you learned to walk all over again, they’d hold your hand or carry you, keeping you close, holding you close. 

“Longan…” You’d call out one day, after the dragon had left you in bed, they turned to watch you, and you’d gaze upon them with both shamefulness and embarrassment, before speaking once again. “Please… Stay…”

“...” The dragon would only look at you, expression unreadable, before smiling softly, quietly, and they’d return to the bed, not without first ridding them of the heavy armor they wore every single day.

Allowing their long hair to fall into the floor, they’d change into silken robes, white in nature, and for the first time you finally felt you had seen the old glory of the Ivory Dragon, as they climbed on the bed to lay by your side. They looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was watch them, before shifting in bed until you were lying by their side, curling up into a ball, you’d gaze at them, and they’d nod.

“... Thank you for all of these months…” You’d say, leaning to take their scent, no longer fearing the decay and the pestilence, only feeling warmth, calmness, and mahogany alongside incense. “If a follower and a companion is what you need, know that in me you’ll have both… I’ll become your faithful and devotee… If you allow me…”

They’d only stay silent, before gently bringing your chin up with their hand, setting a soft and silent kiss on your lips, before speaking yet again.

“Rest now, little one… If following me is what you desire, then allow me to become your protector, the source of your devotion, your god… Your lover”

And in the silence of the night, the silence of the world, would two souls intertwine and become one, together, for as long as eternity lasted for you, and for as long as a blink, lasted for them. Let it be known, that mere blink of a life would be their most beloved, until time became the wind that finally blew the light out.

#🌙;moonlit dreams #longan dragon cookie x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #crob x reader #cw ; mentions of injury

[arcanarix]

Prompt: Gojo introspection, Gojo X Reader, angst, fluff. (omniscient pov, kinda)

Reader comforts Gojo while he seems too lost in his head.

There’s an old adage Gojo’s read somewhere, or probably listened to on some podcast: everyone is both uniquely the same . . . and profoundly different. 

It’s true. Everyone experiences similar events, or feels similar feelings, or thinks similar thoughts. So what actually makes them uniquely different? Is it their reactions to such things? 

Or perhaps just environmental impact? 

Is it a combination of various things? From individual growth, customs and traditions, talents and abilities? 

These are philosophies that plague Satoru’s mind now and again. If everyone is both uniquely the same and profoundly different, then what makes someone stand out? 

What makes him so goddamn infuriatingly special that he has to be kept around as a tool for the greater good? 

It’s too much to put on someone as full of youth as he, but many around him appear to disagree.

Are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest? 

You’re so arrogant.

Damn, his old friend taunting him even long after death.

You’re so arrogant.

And so what if he is? Not like Geto’s any better–thinking he can slaughter non-sorcerers for the funsies in an attempt to avenge someone. Might be a noble cause if not for the genocides.

“Satoru?” 

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he meets your gaze, and tries to level himself. Yeah, he’s been doing that more and more often. The anniversary is approaching and he does still pay his respects in spite of everything that’s happened. His teammates understand. 

He hopes they do, anyway.

“What’s up?” 

“Thought we lost you to Gojo Land for a bit. Need to talk?” You’re always the first to offer an ear, and a shoulder to lean on, at that. Gojo has come to appreciate that, as someone who is usually vehemently against asking for help in these scenarios. No one likes being perceived as weak or helpless.

Well. More like it’s HIM who hates being perceived as weak or helpless and can’t sift through his own fair share of trauma . . . 

“Just thinking,” he begins, adjusting his headband. “The anniversary’s next weekend.”

“Anni—oh,” you remember. “Do you want me to accompany you?” 

“No need. Scars may not heal, but they do fade.” 

So, they still linger, you want to add but keep to yourself. You’re there to be a friend. Whatever he needs. 

“I can still be with you, just ring me up. Whatever you need,” you tell him. 

“Does that mean I get a kiss as a bonus?” he teases, as if to lighten up the sullen mood. 

You can’t help rolling your eyes in spite of trying your best not to be a little snarky. Now’s not the time or place but Gojo seems to have other things in mind. Smiling, you kiss him on the cheek. 

His face falls as he laments. “That’s it?” 

“Hey, you said a kiss. You didn’t say where to kiss you. Besides, don’t cha think it’s in bad taste?”

“You said you’d do anything if it’s to help me in mourning.”

“Yeah. As far as I understand, making out in front of your ex bestie's grave doesn’t cut it.”

May not have had a body to bury, but Geto has a place.

“Awww. Cheated from a kiss. Boo.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jjk #erix tales #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 25. Alex SDV (Gridball Pro AU)

Pairing: GridballPro!Alex / Trainer!F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,985 Warnings: Gridball Pro AU, hook up, fuck buddies, drool/saliva, kissing, caught trope, public sex, exhibitionism, boys being boys (you know the banter), creampie Prompt(s): 20 — AU of your choice! Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: yes yes yes i looooove the AU where alex attains his dreams and becomes a pro gridball player!!! let my boy succeed <3 and the workplace setting is so sexy ughh thank u for sending this event request in!!! alex? more like loml.....

also!!! this is the half way point!!! good job everyone it took me a MONTH to get here, so at the very most, it'll take me another month to finish this event up LOL. ty all for ur love, support, and patience <3 sending kisses MWAH !!

Before the closet door is even locked behind you, his lips are back on yours. A veritable frenzy of greedy hands tugging at your waist, quickly digging under your shirt to tug on your tits for only a few seconds before frustration settles thick on his tongue that's currently down your throat. Fuckin' bra in the way, he seethes to himself, brows knitting together in an attempt to remain focused enough to bring his attention to unclasping your bra, and not on the way his hard cock rubs so nicely against your front, his knees bending a little behind every thrust as if he were actually inside that warm little cunt he loves oh so dearly. Soon, he reasons with his cock, but first things first.

Pumped up from your practice session mere minutes ago, the veins in his arms pop from the amount of strain he has to exert in taking his time with you, to fully enjoy the small slice of time between now and someone questioning his disappearance. There's a small thrill in being somewhere you ought not to be though, right? Tucked away in a secluded corner for only the most nefarious of reasons, his cock already wet enough just from a little dry humping. Working his hands around to your back, still yet kissing and sucking on your tongue, a couple drops of saliva dripping from his chin from how fervent his efforts are. It's just that he can't help himself when it comes to you, a cheeky smirk on his face at the way you struggle to breathe even now; can't handle a little heated kiss, baby? Not that he's any better, humping his fat cock against your tummy out of sheer desperation, an instinctual need to be inside of you as soon as possible; lest he wastes a load all inside his pants. It wouldn't be the first time, anyway.

Only, it's a little difficult to unhook your bra with the way you're squirming against him, but he gets there. Eventually. Immediately pulling your shirt up once your bra falls from your back, begrudgingly withdrawing his tongue from your mouth to help drag your top over your head. You're not left lonely for long, though. Returning as soon as he can to suck on your tongue when you're left bare, allowing you just enough space and no more to wiggle your bra completely off your arms before his big open palm is grabbing at your tits. Squeezing and tugging, rolling a nipple between his fingers just to have you moaning down his throat. He's almost territorial with his touch, heart hurting at the pretty mewls his fingers pinch out of you. He can barely catch a breath himself from how eagerly he makes out with you too, spit pooling in his mouth as he presses his body closer to yours, accidentally knocking your head against the closet door in the process— but there's no time to apologise. Not when the hand on your hip pulls you towards him, allowing him greater surface to hump his precum coated cock on, the fabric of his shorts surely see through by now from how much he wants you; how much he needs you, evident from how messily and loudly he kisses you. Relentless, he is. So easy for you, so completely fraught with insatiable hunger to make you his that he doesn't have time to do anything other than show you.

And it's so incredibly hot, he thinks. How only recently he was laughing and joking with his teammates, doing his best to take part in your rigorous training regime to the best of his ability. You always work him so hard, don't you? Harder than the rest he muses to himself, because you know just how badly he wants to prove himself to you. Both on and off field, fuck, it's so hot to him that unbeknownst to those very same men you just trained, you picked him. It's him that's about to mark your insides as his, pulling you away from the crowd and into relative privacy to thank you personally for all the hard work you offer him and his boys. Leaving you gasping for air as he moves his mouth down to your tits, easily lifting you mid air so that you're forced to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, allowing him to buck his needy cock against your hidden cunt a little easier. Sucking and lapping at your pinched nipple, readily supporting your weight with two hands cupping your ass. Which he doesn't miss the opportunity to squeeze at, angling his hips so that his cock head ruts right against your hole despite the cloth barrier.

"Fuck," He curses low, mindful of his volume so as to not get caught with his pants down soon enough. "Been waitin' all day fr'this." He huffs against your tits, hiding his face in the fat of them to keep his voice muffled, drooling all over your nipple before moving to the other one to suckle on. He wants to treat you so well in the short amount of time he has with you tonight, because you deserve it and more; especially considering that you've picked him to treat you well like this. He intends on not taking you for granted, offering you all of himself to try and convince you of his worth. Every flick of his tongue over your nipple communicates see me more, please. Every hump of his tip mimicking the act of sex itself against your clothed cunt is his way of begging just one chance, promise it's all it'd take. Seeking your comfort outside of the barren four walls the practice room provides, his chest tight at the thought of taking you out on a date; cock twitching at the realisation that he's went about this whole situationship in the wrong order. Date, then fuck, right? And yet here he is, popping off of your tits only to give you a quick peck on the lips, expression almost pained from how difficult it is for him to hold back for you. Would that he could pound you right against the closet door, so hard that it shakes under the weight of his thrusts, but he'd like to remain as anonymous as possible. If only so that you can both keep your jobs, knowing that workplace relations are strictly off limits.

But fuck, can anyone blame him when he eagerly lets you down, helping you tug your sticky shorts and panties off only so that he can swiftly follow and match you in your state of undress, clothes haphazardly thrown... somewhere, shit, he can't think straight when your pretty body is right fucking there. Your chest heaving for him, little cunt hidden between your thighs until he lifts you up again, the throb of his cock pressed against your slit coaxing you into bucking his hips towards him in such a honest way that a moan involuntarily slips from his kiss bruised lips. Surely, everyone would understand, right? They'd get why he can't help but to grope at the fat of your ass, sinking his greedy fingers into the plush beneath, keeping his cock dangerously close to entering your hole only to tease you the same way you so easily rile him up. If he has to suffer, then so do you; time be damned. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he bends over you, placing you in a more laid down position mid air as he takes a few careful steps back, not wanting to bump into anything himself, or accidentally knock you around. He may be big— in all respects, yeah?— but he's not so clumsy. Not yet, doing his best to keep his wits about him. Letting his tip drool all over your pretty cunt anyway, catching a glimpse of it as he hovers over you, the feeling of your nails digging into his back as your arms tighten his neck for stability has him choking on thin fucking air in desperation. A quick peek down at your pretty face in a seeking of consent is all it takes before he prepares to shove his full fat cock into your tight little hole and— yeah...

Ain't no one would blame him for indulging in you, right? The pretty fitness trainer who pushes everyone to their limits, tight fucking body between his big hands for him to play with. Anyone would be champing at the bit to even have a chance with you, never mind to be rubbing noses with you in an abandoned closet, skin on skin contact driving him near breaking point when you writhe in his hold so cutely.

"May I?" He whispers, cocky smirk on his lips when he already knows your answer, but it's so fucking hot seeing you meekly nod back at him like that. Stroking his ego just so well, dragging your ass up a little so that his leaking tip can catch on your twitchy hole and— ah, fuck... He's lost count of how many times he's fucked you in private like this, but every single time feels like the first again. Fighting with his inner wants to immediately rut into you, chewing on his bottom lip to suppress all the filthy praise he wants to spill for you; gotta be quiet, remember?

Though, even as he slowly glides his cock into your slicked up hole, stretching you out to fit his shape, making you feel every inch of his girth as lazily as possible— little cunt already squelching around his fat intrusion, huh?— it's already difficult to remain quiet. It's like you want to be caught, fuck, wouldn't that be so hot? To be balls deep in your sought after hole, fucking out every moan that falls from your pretty lips for everyone to hear? It's a fantasy he fucks his fist to late at night when you're not around, to claim you so publicly, let everyone know that he's taken. God, with every inch he fucks into you, he hopes that you feel the same way. Did you know that you're the only girl he fucks around with? Can't stand the thought of anyone else squirming on his tip, the thought of some stranger moaning his name filling him with distaste. Only you. Especially when you're clinging to him so much, relying on the strength that you've trained into him to keep you steady.

And he doesn't intend on letting you down. Huffing in your scent when he's finally fully sheathed, balls resting against your sticky ass as he wraps the arm around your upper back tighter, keeping you safe and sound, and most importantly— impaled on his cock. He knows how big he is, not wanting to hurt you as much as possible; but he's limited to what he can do before his secret session becomes known.

"'M sorry..." He grunts against you, wincing at the tight suck of your cunt along his length as he draws his hips back, enough to leave just the tip inside before thrusting forward unfairly. Not all the way, making sure his balls don't slap back against you despite knowing that you love that sound, he just doesn't want to make it easy for others to find you looking so pretty under him like that. A primal urge building in his tummy to keep you as his own. Keeping that brutal pace up with consistent fast thrusts, never fully filling you up despite his urgent want to do just that— he cares too much for you and your career to sabotage it with his selfish lust fueled needs.

The power imbalance, he assumes. That's why it'd be such an issue if he was found buried deep in your perfect pussy, drooling all over your neck from how fucking good you feel wrapped around him like that, the suck of your cunt every time he pulls his hips back just coaxing him closer, begging to be fucked deeper. And oh, pretty girl, he so badly wishes he could. Wants more than anything to leave you sobbing on his lap.

Who holds the power, do you think? You, with authority over him in a professional sense, or him, driving his cock into your wet little cunt over and over again, causing your slick to gush out with every thrust around his sheer girth and down your ass cheeks— who is more in control? Who would get more in trouble, your muted moans begging for his rough treatment, of which he willingly gives in to. Perhaps a bit more than what you're asking for, if he's honest with himself. Hunched over you like a fucking dog, driving his hips against your own at such a pace that he struggles to keep up with himself, sweat trickling on his forehead like in practice to drip down to your cheeks. To place blame on you would be a shame, he thinks, considering the way you're biting on his shoulder right now to withhold your moans, legs trembling around his waist when he fucks you firmly to his pelvis, holding you there to selfishly circle his cock inside of you in an effort to praise. Doing so good, you feel so good around me baby, it's not your fault. You shouldn't get in trouble for feeling good, I promise. You're not doing anything wrong.

"C'mon," He coaxes you, knowing smile pressed against your neck as he helps you grind against him, puffy little clit treated to his torso to hump against, muscles taut and trained under your warm heat for your enjoyment. "Make me proud, yeah? Wanna feel y'cream, been so long, babe—" He moans a little more openly, just a little louder, hoping to encourage you into making him feel good with your squishy little cunt convulsing around his throbbing cock. S'all he ever wants, really. If he's not inside of you, he's thinking about fucking you into next week, balls full of seed just for you. And even if he's lying about how long it's been, recalling how he was filling you up just a couple days ago after his teams big win; it feels like for fucking ever ago— how badly he wants to be buried balls deep in your warm cunt always.

Doubling his efforts, still squeezing your body to his about as well as your cunt squeezes his cock, he offers you miniscule little humps. Attempting to fuck his drooling tip deeper if it were at all possible, seeking only to make you feel as good as you make him feel. But he accidentally knocks something over in his overzealous actions, fuck— he doesn't know what, too busy humping you against his fit body faster now in fear of getting caught— someone surely heard that bang, right? Jaw tight, panting against your neck, doing all the work for you, he figures fuck it, right? If he's already been found out, he might as well go all the way. Slamming his hips into your with such fervour that a couple more items fall around him, fucking into you like his life depends on it, like he'll never be able to feel that tight fucking cunt spasm around him ever again as his instincts take over with the way he intends to mark your insides white; a ward against others from touching you. Wet skin on skin slaps around the tiny space he's got you cramped in, thrusting selfishly enough to feel your insides wrap ever tighter around him, milking your pretty pussy for his own selfish gain when the growing tight fit prompts his own orgasm to follow. Dumping a fat load as deep as he can when he can't seem to stop fucking himself stupid through the good feeling. Dumb smile plastered on his face as his nails dig into you for purchase, an innate need to remind you of who makes you feel like this, yeah? Of who's filling you up right now, keeping you in place to make sure that your little cunt takes all of his affections, mumbling a repeat of your name to let you know that he's thankful to be given this opportunity with you. Holding you close to squeeze lovingly at.

And even as the closet door swings open— he's at least got you pressed so tight against him that all your sensitive parts are hidden to all but him. Partly because he doesn't want to embarrass you, but also because he's selfish, and he's determined to make you solely his. Willing to throw away all that he's tried to strive for for so long if he can't talk his way out of manhandling you right now, blurry eyes blinking a few times to meet the eyes of his voyeur.

"Wow... No way, man! Alex!" Oh, it's just a teammate, his fucked out expression turning to a soft smile at the familiar voice. Though he doesn't dare respond back right now, shifting your weight around in his hands now that he's completely spent, a few drops of cum trickling down his length for him to wince at. Familiarity is good, he knows how much the boys want you, too. "Wondered where ya went," his teammate laughs, and Alex nods his thanks towards him when he gently closes the door, leaving just a crack open for some final words before the familiar lock rings in his ears.

"So fuckin' lucky, man. Have your fun, I'll tell the boys you've gone home or something."

All things considered, things could have went worse, right? Letting out a light chuckle when he's left alone with you again, instinctively nuzzle against your cheek as thanks.

"Bout time we found somewhere else to meet, dont'cha think?" He hums idly, helping you off his cock to sort yourself out.

#500 event! #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv alex smut

[pwurrz]

sighs for 8 years

#i know some people have the personal experience of identifying as aro or ace because of internalized homophobia #or a misstep while they were questioning only for them to come out as allo gay later on #but i just #i get wary hearing about it #because i know it’s someone’s personal experience #but i feel like not everyone does #and that somewhere someone will attempt to be like #‘see guys!!???!! asexuality is just a homophobic label to MISLEAD gay people and have it be EVEN MORE difficult for them to discover #they’re gay!!! asexuality is homophobic and the community’s number one enemy!!!!’ #or whatever exclusionists used to say #ace discourse war flashbacks lol /hj #sometimes people think they’re ace. and then they realize they weren’t and come out as allo gay #and that happens!! it’s normal to not figure out your identity immediately!!! #but it doesn’t mean the labels you applied to yourself are inherently evil and everyone who identifies as that label needs to be hated #it also doesn’t mean being ace is a phase!! i’m still asexual AND arospec several years later #you tried a label and it didn’t fit so you tried another one and it did #that’s how the questioning process goes #and i’m sorry if identifying as asexual made you repress your sexuality and your feelings and attraction #but getting over internalized homophobia is something basically all of his need to go through #and people still repress their sexuality without identifying as ace!! #y’all know what i mean? y’all know what i mean #i made this exact type of post like three years ago except it was made by an emotional baby ace #and not a matured tired ace #anyways i’m going to bed

[ganondoodle]

i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo

#ganondoodles talks #also probably sounds like self pity #but this feeling hits everytime i see a super popular artist be the popular cool artist #i am a little weird i know that and thats not somethign bad i think #but the internet never gets to see that much of me #i tend to write posts when i am at my worst bc it has to go somewhere #so the image it tells people is that im a weirdly strong opiniod freak that gets breakdowns over nothing #i also dont feel like im otherwise -cool tm- enough to balance that out #i dont think my art is as stylized or as inventive as others nor am i cool to interact with bc idk how to be cool to interact with #i feel double bad when i misstepped with someone i used to talk to bc of something stupid ... or just dont know what i did wrong #im guessing its especially when i am in that spiraling state of mind where i really am not myself tbh #it still feels very bad bc i feel like i can never make it up to anyone again #sorry i acted like a jerk my brain was exploding in emotions in a desperate attempt to deal with something idk how to deal with- #-and made me not act like myself but now i feel really dumb about it #doesnt sound like a good excuse #... i want to thank those that do stick with me #even if i acted strange sometimes- even if i disappointed sometimes- even when i couldnt keep a promise #there are little things that still make me angry at myself #like that one time i asked in the tags whod read as long as the end of them and if someone did shoudl send me an ask so id draw a lil thing #and i got two #and i kept trying to remeber oh shit i need to do that and forgetting again/not having energy for it in a loop #i still feel like a jerk about it but now its probably too late #i wish i could answer all asks i get but man my energy for that is always rock bottom #no matter how much i enjoy the ask #and i love getting asks!!! #im sorry :((

[ride-a-dromedary]

Wyll taking Halsin to the Wilden Oak after observing how much he was struggling to adapt to the City, thinking it would cheer him up *and* be special enough that maybe he can work up the nerve to ask him something important. Telling him about how he used to daydream about the stories it could tell him, and how it brought him comfort - how it may bring him comfort as well. And maybe he thinks he's talking too much, too fast, but it all pours out of him with heart-aching sincerity.

Halsin listening thoughtfully to Wyll's fanciful dreams of dragons and the Weave, and chuckling fondly at how eager he is; how whimsical he makes everything sound. Bubbling over with how happy it makes him to hear Wyll so beautifully matching the splendor of this tree with such fanciful tales, admiring it for what it is.

Wyll's face heating up, thinking he must be laughing at his stories, and ah, hells, he's gone and fumbled this, of course an Archdruid would think fairytales of trees to be foolish and childish. Mumbling it must sound silly to him.

Halsin frowning then, brought out of his affectionate thoughts. "Oh, no, not at all. I think it's wonderful. Here, let me show you something."

Halsin bringing Wyll's hand up to the bark of the tree and pressing it beneath his own to the ridges and grooves, encouraging him to listen closely again as he had as a boy. Telling him that trees speak to those who care to hear them, even if they cannot understand them. Wyll closing his eyes, flustered at how close they are, but - after a moment of quiet - hearing the barest tendrils of something touching the edges of his mind. Nothing he is able to understand, but he swears he feels it; more than he ever has before.

Halsin himself listening and catching the discernable memories the oak is able to give him amidst the transfer - the tiniest glimpses of generations and magic long past. Perhaps even a dragon cutting its lightning path through the sky, eons ago. He passes anything translatable gently off to Wyll, who listens, enraptured.

The Wilden reveals other things - other terrible things. Other sad things and tragic things, no where near the fairytales that Wyll spins. Halsin does not pass these memories on, but judging by the frown on Wyll's face, he senses it.

But there is something else - something closer to the heart - it calls Wyll "tree friend" - flashes of Wyll as a young boy, collecting its leaves from the ground. Of an older Wyll curled in on himself in the tangle of its roots, heartbroken; an even older Wyll turning his face to the dappled sun and smiling, little golden bands sparkling in his hair.

Halsin taking Wyll by the hand and bringing him deeper into the forest, scouting a good spot to plant the tiny wishing acorn Wyll had pressed bashfully into his palm with stories of his mother. Burying the seed deep into the ground so its roots may grow anew, just as glorious as its parent - waiting to bring joy to another a century down the line. Just as their lives have taken root within one another, tangled and new, but full of life.

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Wyll Ravengard #wyllsin #the more i think about it the more i can connect these romance paths thematically near perfectly - i can blend them #and it doesn't lead into halsin's romance scene - not yet - but damn it sure does kickstart it #(i'm connecting the dots - you're not connecting shi- I'M CONNECTING THEM) #i don't think they get married because that's not really something elves do on the regular if at all - especially wood elves #which may be a disappointment to wyll at first because he has all these fanciful notions of relationships and fairytales - but also? #i believe they'd stay together for the rest of wyll's life - like i genuinely bonafide can see that #and wyll would thrive because he would be *free* for the first time in forever - he'd blossom and live and have someone to come back to #who would love and cherish him as much as if they'd never parted for a single moment #no pacts no contracts just someone who loves him and somewhere safe to be - and when he's ready he has all the children he wants #also: wyll 'canonically chases after mermaids' ravengard + halsin 'i could attempt a kelpie' silverbough js

[erdasmcnonsense]

Reach for the stars... and vote Joe Hills!

Ok look guys Joe's absolutely insanely cool pinball machine just. does things to my brain, ok? I just had to draw him among the galaxies, reaching for the next one to add in

#i'll probably post the version of this without the text and just joe among the galaxies after the vote is over #also guys pls appreciate this it is almost 2am and i spent the past like. two and a half hours on this #and for once i actually don't hate the end result? #joehillssweep #joe hills #joehills #mcyt sexyman #hermitcraft joe #hermitcraft fanart #joe hills sweep #joe hills fanart #my art #also i was listening to the last trial while i was drawing this. and let me tell you the cognitive dissonance was something #like sketching this picture of joe enthusiastically reaching upwards in space. #while in the background characters are singing of doing terrible things in the name of faith. or attempting to redeem someone #who actively refuses to be redeemed. or foolishly time and time again believing that their brother does love them somewhere deep down insid #despite all evidence to the contrary #it's an interesting experience

[ouchhq]

am i so hard to care about?

#i need to vent and i know u guys cant stand me because i can feel it (and certainly from the anon hate) but i think im gonna have an ulcer #if i dont put this out somewhere #SH s*icide tw !!!!! #i need some advice or opinions because i feel like im losing it #i dont understand why my friends cant care about me #i know !!! i know i seem out of touch and insane because i say this so often and the question to someone reading would come natural: maybe #it is just ur perception…. maybe u suck ass as a friend too #and i do ponder about that!!!!!! i take those possibilities into consideration i do. and i genuinely dont think i suck as a friend. i always #check in. if they seem off i ask how they feel. i ask updates on their stuff. i dont think i deserve this tbh #but especially when i am struggling they just disappear #like even when i reach out and let them know im doing bad. they clearly read my measages and choose to ignore them #these are supposed to be my best friends #these days ive been so bad. and trigger warning again #i just feel so suicidal and i have been hurting myself in the desperate attempt to cope and manage these thoughts #and i dont tell them these things #i dont share the details because 1) it is too much to dump on someone and 2) they dont show any interest even on the surface level of my #problems so i just wouldnt tell them the deeper issues #i am just in so much pain. and i also feel a lot of anger because of their behavior. i feel so so hurt by it. so many years of this going on #of them just not even acknowledging my struggles while i was in the midst of them and trying still to support them and be there for e #whatever they had going on. and getting nothing in return #i hate that i feel so angry but i do. and ive been swallowing this anger and pain for so long i feel it eating my insides #even my therapist doesnt understand why i am friends with people that dont care about me #i dont know what i should do #i want to say something #actually i already talked about this to one of them one year ago exactly and i told her all these things and she just said she didnt know #why i was ignored. and then still kept being a part of it #the thing is i am so upset and my mental health is so so so bad. i am supposed to spend new years eve with them in two days but i dont know #how i can do that feeling like this #but if i speak to them about it i think it will also ruin the mood #if someone has any thoughts or advice it would be very welcome….

[thevirgodoll]

The Year of Metamorphosis

This will be an ode to the year I have had as we turn the page into the new year… in hopes that this will reach someone who needs it. After many transformations, I do resonate with the saying that “the tears you shed this year will water the seeds for next year.” There were many, many tears and cries for help.

From abuse, suicidal ideation and attempts, episodes, grief over friendships/relationships, chronic pain, and overall a mask to hide it all in order to be who I felt like I needed to be. In the end I learned from my therapist that I don’t have to carry these things on my own. I’ve always have been known to be the go to, the strong friend, and handle things on my own. But I refuse to be a martyr…to be everything for everyone all of the time.

I didn’t truly want to end my life; I just wanted some relief, some rest. But I must give myself permission to rest. Knowing I can rest comforts me. Knowing I can say no. Knowing I can be vulnerable without condemning what I truly feel inside. Everything truly is on my own terms and I didn’t realize it could be due to trauma. The weight on my chest has been lifted, and the dull ache is lessening day by day.

Somehow, someway by the grace of God…I am still here. There’s truly angels protecting me. And while I would not like to endure more trauma for the sake of ~character development~… there isn’t anything I’d take back.

I’m deciding for 2023 I’m going to live… and not endure. I choose to believe that life doesn’t have to be endured or be full of constant trials and tribulations. And knowing there’s a future, a year where I don’t have to experience this…is more than enough to keep me here.

xoxo,

thevirgodoll.

#grateful to all of you for making this a safe space #it is a silver lining in my many moments of darkness that somewhere there’s someone who likes my little ramblings #I hope this reaches someone #mental health #tw depressing thoughts #tw ideation #tw abuse mention #tw sui mention #tw sui attempt #❤️‍🩹

[kyuala]

.

#tmi but i've been trying to consume less fanfiction so i dont always resort to escapism and fantasy when real life gets tough but #it's so fucking hard #like i feel so alone w no one to talk to rn and everything is so hard and im having family trouble and the past few weeks have been awful #and allllll i wanna do is read and fantasize abt how ppl from the other side of the world who dont even know i exist would comfort me #or distract myself w other scenarios that will literally never happen n all it does is feed into my discontentment when real life is a bitch #and inevitably fails to match imagination #not only that but it also has a real effect on my real life relationships (or attempts at them) and i know i cant keep going like this #but as someone who's been an avid fanfiction reader for over a decade.... yea it's hard 🤡 #this is not a pity party or a cry for help btw i just wanted to get this out and needed to dump it somewhere #feel free to ignore it! or not idk! do what u want #mari.txt #personal #tw negative

[kn11ves]

hey so after hearing an utterly horrific pronunciation of the word "nahuatl" that scared me straight out of my native skin ("nah-wah-toll", he said) just as a pointer whenever you read a nahuatl word the ending "-tl" is pronounced sort of like a hiss with a tongue touching the roof of your mouth? its not nah-wah-toll, its not even nah-wah like a lot of mexicans believe, the "tl" sound comes from the way you push air through your mouth from the back of your throat

the way i figure how to make the "TL" sound is to put your tongue on the roof of your mouth. now, without removing your tongue from the roof, try making the sound of an "h" with a mouth halfway closed. you should feel the way the air blows through both of your cheeks and comes out sounding like a lisp-sound. thats the point! the hiss definitely sounds like a lisp. you may need to practice this a bunch to get the sound right

there isnt an phonetic equivalent to "tl" i can figure how to write out for you because "tl" is a sound of its own. you have to say na-hua-TL its already written the way its supposed to be read! the only problem is that people do not know how to pronounce the "tl" sound and will make approximations which i know its tough but it is wrong (though ill take nah-wah over NAH-WAH-TOLL)

this is a YT shorts of a man saying "nahuatl" and different nahuatl words and how theyre pronounced

this is a 7 minute video of a man who guides you on HOW to make the noise "tl"

some reminders while im at it:

-we are not aztecs, we do not speak aztec. we are native mexicans (most of us. im not speaking about immigrants to mexico obviously) and most of us who speak an indigenous language speak nahuatl, so we may call ourselves nahua or descendants from the mexica

-though not everyone speaks nahuatl, there are 68 different indigenous ethnic groups in mexico we have. variety.

-certain dialects of nahuatl spoken in michoacan or just southern mexico for example may choose to prefer the "T" in nahuatl words and pronounce say ahuacatl as "A-wah-cat" or maybe prefer the "L" sound and say "A-wah-cal". it really depends

-(pet peeve but) AXOLOTL is "ah-sho-lo-tl" and not "axe-ah-loddel"

-no u are not saying the word in english and therefore are going to pronounce it like a yank

-if you can say rendezvous like "ron-deh-vu" and not like "ren-des-voos" then you can say nuahuatl words the way theyre meant to be said!! our language has gotten so eroded and the only way we can keep it alive is by trying to say things as theyre meant to ok

#nahuatl #..now if duolingo had nahuatl or purepecha to study instead of klingon or valyrian thatd. thatd be dope😔 #anyways i need to get off my ass and learn purepecha thats what i need to do #most of my meger studies have been towarss nahuatl becous its easier to find info but i just sometimes get annoyed at how inconsistent #everything is man i gotta actually go to somewhere where they Speak It. #after a couple of conversations with my family im quite sure we have a strong purépecha line and it realy makes me feel bad in my stomach #that i havent attempted #to learn purépecha as mch as i should have #im aware i probably also have a lot of mexica blood from perhaps my fathers side alrhough im not too sure and well i cant ask but as much #as i can tell his side Has been from tijuana meanwhile my grandmother and my uncles and aunts moved when they were young from their ranch #michoacan to tijuana so i mean. maybe i can see what peoples were in tijuana though that would be just making a lot of assumptions abt my #fathers side where i dont have any information and its not like im going to track him down to check. literally whatever i really need to #check my purépecha roots though someone hit me witha pan #if anuone has any mexican-native wuestions u can ask and ill try to answer to the best of my abiltiies

[nostalgia-tblr]

If I could do Fics With A Plot I'd probably attempt An AU Where Lauffey Dies And Odin Goes "Oh Hey, Frost Dudes, I Had Your Heir All Along :D He's Urs Now :D" Except Because This Is A Shit Plan It Does Not Go At All Well. Because it does bother me. Because I worry too much about fictional monarchies having the 'wrong' rules. D:

#this of course means odin has also has to tell his son “btw we lied to you. GUESS WHAT THO!! I GOT U A JOB!!” #and he sends Thor along because a) characters need other characters to talk to and b) he does in fact expect trouble #and I reckon after some sort of tense Confrontation about how if Lauffey wanted rid of his son he should have the guts to make sure he died #instead of leaving it to fate like a COWARD #Loki would - by power of poshness alone - manage to convince one or two Jotuns that he does indeed count as the heir #meanwhile: existential crisis D: D: D: #but hey free kingdom nothing to sneeze at eh? let's go! we can do this! #except (obviously) no. you can't. there is NO WAY there's nobody out there with a counterclaim. #and if your WORST ENEMY raised your new king (who has a questionable claim) you absolutely manage to find a third cousin from somewhere far #off who also has a shaky claim but - here's the thing - he's not an obvious attempt to impose Odin's puppet on your realm #and then Plot would unfold which is why i cant write this despite my Weird Niche Interests being aroused (NOT LIKE THAT) by this idea #also i would answer the “was there no mother involved? did she not mind the infanticide thing?” (could go either way on that really) #essentially Loki does have Scheming Politician energy but sometimes the task really is just impossible #but perhaps surprisingly the ending is a heartwarming reunion and maybe - MAYBE - some sort of vague apology #because that really was The Worst Fucking Plan Of All Time #okay someone stop me making a new file (you-and-whose-army.rtf) and writing the extensive notes i've now got in my head D: #(but an AU so not really!) #do you want a civil war on jotunheim because this is how you get a civil war on jotunheim #...oh no DO you want a civil war on jotunheim?! D: D: was THAT the plan??? D: D: #i'd totally throw in an Ambitious Consort Queen because those are my jam <3 <3 <3 #fic-related #thor movies