#in which I attempt to explain my methods

[h1biscusgal]

The long awaited method : HMM for self hypnosis towards the void, enter under 2min.

WARNING : this method is quite powerful, it's not a method on directly entering the void, but it's a method I've perfected to be able to induce the void INSTANTLY under 5 minutes, given by on how to hypnotize yourself.

Please make sure you're ready for this, and you have a clear mind for this, self hypnosis is extremely powerful and if done rightly? It helps immensely, the chances after this to enter the void is 90%, you know what the 10% is for, belief and trust in this method.

Let's start.

Introduction:

This method is something I've stumbled on long before, and I just remembered how it may actually help those with a limit in their mind that does not let them enter the void, first of all, props to the person who make this trance inducing method which is using the magic magnet fingers, and since I'm pairing it with the void, I'll call it Hibiscus's Mind Magnet, or just HMM for short.

This method requires you to sit down somewhere quiet, somewhere with limit sound, does not matter if there's light or not, simply sit somewhere comfortably and I urge you to do a small mini meditation before hand if your mind is crowded, best time to do so is when you wake up.

The steps:

Sit comfortably. (Has to sit)

If having crowded thoughts, meditate for a clearer mind.

Set your suggestion : a suggestion is something you want to stick deep into your subconscious, aka "I always enter the void under 2 minutes."

You can use any other suggestions, this is just for the void I'm explaining now, now that your mind is calm, everything is ready, simply begin by clasping your fingers in front of yourself together and leaving the two index fingers to stick above.

Now, look and focus at the space between those two fingers, okay? Now begin to imagine that ok either sides of your palm, there's two big magnets.

Stare at the space between the fingers, in a moments time when you let go, you see your fingers actually getting pulled subconsciously together like magnets, and eventually you'll feel this sudden pull of your own face towards it, at this point, continue to stare at it UNTIL your indexes hit each other.

Now you begin to realize even your eyelids are tired and droopy, that's the perfect state, now gently lower your hand in your lap and close your eyes, let the fatigue wash over you, you'll feel lightheaded and dizzy, this, is the perfect state called the Trance state.

Begin by saying your suggestion slowly, simply affirming deeply by saying "I always enter the void under 2 minutes." And only use one suggestion please.

When you feel ready, and you feel done, that's when you're done with this trance state, to get out, begin by forcing yourself to focus things around you, the blanket underneath you perhaps, the hands in your lap, and slowly open your eyes again.

Done, you have just hypnotized yourself, and remember, results can show in just one session, but if you're doubtful, it will take more than one session, do this before attempting for the void and simply go on with ANY method of the void, you'll succeed.

Good luck ml! I hope I made myself clear, and please remember I won't be online here for a couple of days as I have been too much on here and it's affecting my studying, either way, good luck and whatever questions you have I'll answer later, happy void!

Edit// for those who don't understand the hand part and how to clasp it:

It's like this

[bruisedboys]

ENDGAME — send me a dialogue prompt from this list, this list, or this list, + a character from the list above for a blurb! HI can i get bucky x reader where reader is absolutely oblivious "please correct me if i've been reading this all wrong but..." but bucky has been trying ALL of his 1940s flirting methods and hes tweaking (i'm imagining his eye twitching) because hes been so obvious about it and she cant tell

hi angel!! thank u so so much for your request it was so much fun to write, hope u enjoy!

congressman!bucky x fem!reader, 1.3k words (reader is a little shy and a lot oblivious)

Apart from outright telling you, Bucky doesn’t know what else he can do to show you how much he likes you. He’s tried everything, from flowers on your desk to flirting with you over paperwork, to impromptu lunch with you during your break. He doesn’t mind waiting for you if that’s what you want, but he’s starting to think you actually haven’t realised how he feels about you, despite his many attempts.

You take his flirting like he’s joking (he’s not, he’s completely serious whenever he tells you you look pretty, or that you’re an incredible secretary and he wouldn’t have anyone else), and you don't flirt back, not on purpose, anyway. You’re not stupid, but you’re maybe a little unassuming. He guesses this is a result of you not being pursued much, or in the proper way. Which, of course, he thinks is absurd, when you’re that pretty.

“Hi, doll,” he says, looking up from his laptop. He gives you a once over, “You look nice today.”

You stand in the doorway of his office, looking lovely as ever with a stack of paperwork pressed to your chest. “Hello,” you say, smiling. “Thank you.”

Bucky likes your smile. He likes everything about you. He gestures to your paperwork with his head. “What’ve you got for me?”

“The documents you asked for, the ones you wanted printed?” You cross the room and place the stack on the corner of his desk. “Sorry I took so long, the printer was playing up.”

Bucky couldn’t care less about the printer. You look almost abnormally pretty today, in a cream coloured sweater and a brown skirt, your hair pinned up out of your face. He stares at you a bit too long before he remembers himself.

“That’s okay,” he says. Again, he could not care less about the printer when you’re in his office looking like that. “Thanks so much, doll.”

You smile at him and shrug one shoulder. “Just doing my job,” you say sweetly. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

Bucky can think of a lot of things he wants. You, being at the very top of the list. He decides on the spot that he’ll finally tell you so, tonight if he can. He taps a vibranium finger on the desk like he’s thinking.

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging it out as he pretends to think. He takes his time pretending before meeting your gaze, “Are you free tonight?”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky,” you say.

Bucky loves the way his name rolls off your tongue like that. He grins.

“What?” He asks, laughing a bit, “I’m serious, are you doing anything after work?”

You squint at him like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not. “No,” You say slowly. You fiddle with your bracelet. “Why?”

“I want to take you out,” Bucky says simply. “For dinner. Would you want to?”

You stare at him. “Are you joking?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. I want to go somewhere nice with you and talk,” he explains.

Something close to panic crosses your features. “Are you firing me?” You ask.

“What?”

Bucky’s baffled. He has no idea why you think he’d be firing you. He’s just asked you on a date. You’re the best secretary he’s ever had (he’s only ever had one, but he imagines you’re the best out of all the ones he could’ve had). He very clearly likes you enough to keep you around for as long as he wants. Why you think he’d want to sack you is beyond him.

You get nervous then, embarrassed. You screw your hands in your sweater. “I— so you’re not firing me?”

Bucky feels suddenly so fond for you he almost stands up and kisses you. It burns in his chest like starlight, makes him feel nineteen again. It’s been a long, long time since he’s felt so young. It’s sort of electrifying.

“No,” he tells you, shaking his head. “Of course I’m not firing you, why would I do that? I just want to take you to dinner, doll.”

“Oh,” you say softly.

Bucky grins. You’re so cute. So oblivious. It drives him nuts for more reasons than one. “Is that a yes?” He asks you.

You rock on your feet and bite your lip. “Yeah, okay.”

“Perfect,” Bucky grins. “Do you like Vietnamese? I know a place.”

-

You’ve spent the majority of the day at work worrying about your dinner date with Bucky. You’re not sure if you should call it a date. You don’t know what to call it, actually.

You like Bucky. He’s kind, hard-working, handsome. He’s also intimidating and a bit scary sometimes. You know he doesn’t mean to be, but you’re flighty at the best of times, and he only makes it worse. He’s always saying and doing things that make your heart pump in a way you don’t quite understand.

You’re still a little scared he might fire you. Or tell you he’s replaced you. But so far, he’s only walked on the outside of the sidewalk, held the door for you, and refused to let you see how much anything on the menu costs.

All this only gets you thinking about all the other nice things he’s ever done for you, the pretty flowers that appeared on your desk last week, the time he gifted you a necklace because he, “thought it would look nice on you”. You’ve never thought about any of it for too long, not wanting to get your hopes up about what it all means.

“I’ve lost you,” Bucky says, sitting across from you. He’s taken off his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair. You can’t stop looking at his vibranium arm and the way it reflects the warm glow of the lights overhead.

You blink. “Sorry.”

Bucky smiles at you. “That’s okay. What’re you thinking about?”

You bite your lip. “Nothing,” you lie.

Your lie must show on your face (you’ve never been good at hiding anything, let alone from Bucky, who seems to have the uncanny ability to unravel you like a spool of thread), because Bucky gives you a knowing look.

“C’mon, doll, what is it?” He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his flesh one. He’s warm, but you’re warmer. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “You can tell me anything, you know.”

You look at your joined hands on the table and feel a bit dizzy.

“Um,” you start lamely. You can’t look at him, so you stare at his shoulder instead. “Please correct me if I've been reading this all wrong, but… is this a date?”

Bucky goes silent and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing. Maybe the flowers and the necklace and everything else was merely a kind gesture between friends. Maybe this isn’t what you think it is, and you’ve gone and—

“Oh, honey,” Bucky says, saccharine sweet. “Are you kidding me? Of course this is a date. If you want it to be.”

You don’t know what to say. Of course you want it to be a date. You just never considered that Bucky would want that, too. You realise, suddenly, that you’ve been a bit foolish. You’ve no time to think about it because Bucky pushes his hand further up your arm to hold your forearm, leaning closer over the table.

“Do you want it to be?” He asks quietly. Gently, like he won’t be mad or offended if you say no.

You don’t want to say no, not at all. In what world would you? You nod your head, “Yes, I think so.”

Bucky grins so big it changes his whole face. “Okay,” he nods. “A date it is.”

He leans back in his chair but doesn’t let go of your hand. You feel so giddy you could burst, your chest fizzing with the feeling. Your fear it’ll spill out of you all at once.

Bucky looks equally as happy as you feel. “I’m glad you said so,” he says, and there’s a teasing edge to his tone that you’d hate if it wasn’t coming from him. “I’ve been wanting to take you on a date for ages, did you notice?”

You can’t say you did. At least you know now.

[written-in-knife]

Love love love you Floyd jump ring fic- the leech boys deserve more love 🧜‍♂️

Would you be able to do a pre relationship of similar epic misunderstandings with Jade, maybe with Yuu not understanding merculture and/or Jade GREATLY misunderstanding human courting culture in his attempts to learn about land culture, I die thinking about how merpeople might misinterpret sayings like “the way to the heart is through the stomach” or “gotta get that ring” when enthusiastically trying to court

Rocks and Flowers

Jade Leech x gn!reader, pre-relationship

they/them pronouns, fluff, miscommunications/misunderstandings, a single use of my dear, poorly translated french damn you Rook

Word Count: 3616

I'M HERE I'M ALIVE. I'm getting ~*Diagnosed*~ finally. Lots of appointments this past week im so tired lmaoo Also I'm changing out all the character banners, so lemme know what yall think as stuff comes out

Jade had a baseline knowledge of land culture, of course. Before they came to land to go to Night Raven, he, Floyd, and Azul had all gone to land camp. It taught them how to avoid social faux pas with the people they'd meet on land, various human traditions, even how to walk. What it did not teach them was just how many turns of phrases the common language had. Some made sense, some even overlapped, but some were... notably harder to understand. And why were so many of them about ways to kill animals? He never bothered to ask questions, he knew they were just phrases that land dwellers often used to get their point across, and most of the time the meaning could be derived through context clues. Most of the time.

When Jade realized his own attraction towards you, he was hesitant to act on it. Land camp had explained a few things about human courting, but mostly in the context of how to avoid making acquaintances feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He spent a lot of time trying to look things up online-- a mistake-- and in books, trying to figure out how humans even started their courting rituals let alone what the entire process entailed. He wasn't about to go around asking, knowing anyone who would be willing to give him an answer in the first place would also be the most likely to give him false information. So he was stuck looking through various books trying to find answers for you.

And he had no idea you were doing the same for him.

It was easy to fall for Jade once you got past the subtle menacing aura that was always surrounding him, and you fell hard. You didn't fully realize it yourself until you found that you'd listened to him talk about the mushrooms he'd found on his hike to fill out his most recent terrarium for two hours. You learned more about mushrooms in those two hours than most people would want to know in their entire lives, and you were excited to hear more. When you got back to your room that night, you started researching merfolk romance online-- A MISTAKE-- trying to make sure you wouldn't do anything to insult him. The only people you could ask about the topic were Azul and Floyd. Azul would almost certainly make you sign away something in return for the information, and Floyd... yeah, no. That's a nonstarter. So you ended up in the library, sneaking back to your dorm with books about merfolk courting rituals, both ancient and modern, praying no one would catch you on the way back.

Jade had read through the few informational manuals he could find on human courting-- one written by a merperson decades ago, and another that seemed to be angled towards preteen girls and had some truly terrible advice-- and had to move on to... more unconventional methods. Which lead to him reading romance novels in a far corner of the library. There were a surprising amount of them, many with musclebound men with long hair and a petite woman in his arms on the front. Jade opted for the other plentiful options that wouldn't blow his cover immediately. He was engrossed in his book, one hand propping his head up on the table and the other flipping pages, fingers lightly drumming on the cover as he read. It wasn't a terrible read, but it seemed wholly unrealistic. How would owning a dog get you a romantic partner? He was too deep into the book to notice someone lurking, barely keeping his composure as someone gasped loudly beside him.

"Monsieur Prémédité!" Not many people could sneak up on Jade, but Rook was definitely one of them. "I was not aware of your exquisite taste in literature! Comme c'est merveilleux!"

"This is actually quite far from my usual choice, I'm afraid." Jade corrected as Rook beamed down at him. He carefully flipped the book closed, back cover up, as two others approached from behind him. "Are you familiar with this one?"

"Oui! I find it most interesting how the dog is a pivotal part in the budding romance!"

Of course he does.

Vil leaned forward to skim through the description on the back, confusion growing on his expression at each word. "If this is so out of the norm for you, why are you reading it?" He asked.

"For research purposes." He admits, flashing the Pomefiore students a sharp smile.

"Un étudiant en l'amour?" Rook gasped excitedly as he quickly sat down across the table, lacing his fingers under his chin in intense interest as Vil rolled his eyes and straightened back up. "Monsieur Prémédité, je n'aurais jamais deviné! For what are you researching? Please, tell me everything!"

"Now you've done it..." Epel muttered from behind Vil, sounding exhausted.

Jade hesitated for a moment. The Pomefiore students would certainly be the ones to ask when it came to these sorts of things. They at least would be the least likely to lie to him about the particular subject. "I'm researching human courting rituals. There is little in the way of instructional manuals in our library, so I have turned to these." He gestured to the book in front of him before turning back to Rook, who practically had stars in his eyes. "Unfortunately, there isn't much to be gained from these, as it turns out."

"Are you trying to find information so you can court someone?" Epel asked, looking mildly concerned before Vil swatted him lightly upside the head with a mutter of "too blunt."

"Land boot camp never covered the topic, and I must admit, I've been dreadfully curious ever since I first heard the story of the mermaid princess." It was as easy for Jade to lie through his teeth as it was to breathe, piling on the pitiful tone and expression to try to play at least one of them for a sucker. "The stories never went into detail on how the land prince courted her, I thought I would find more information here, but alas..."

It was unsurprising that Rook took the bait, hand resting on his chest as he nodded along sympathetically. Vil rolled his eyes again and Epel muttered something about courting rituals to himself, neither nearly as invested in the lie.

"On land, courting must be bold!" Rook began without prompting as he stood from his chair, Vil only just keeping him from propping a foot dramatically on the table by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Loud proclamations of love! Flowers! Doves! Music!"

"And some people don't enjoy that at all." Vil sighed, shooing Rook down from his soapbox. "You just have to play to your audience. But it does often involve flowers."

"My Meemaw says the quickest way to anybody's heart is through their stomach." Epel chimed in, getting a quick glare from Vil at the accent slip.

"Your grandmother is correct on that front."

Jade stared for a moment at the phrase. Another he didn't recognize and wasn't exactly provided context clues for. The way to win your affections lies... in your stomach?

"The most common way to begin a human courtship is by bringing flowers, admitting your intentions, and inviting them out with you on a date." Vil explained further, Rook quietly waxing poetic about each point next to him. "Which is why it's more commonly referred to as dating, rather than courting."

"I see... This has been enlightening, I thank you all for your input." Jade nodded to them.

"Do let us know how it goes, Jade." Vil gave him a knowing smirk as he spoke.

Jade flashed back his own sharp smile, narrowing his eyes just slightly at the housewarden. "I've no idea what you mean, Vil."

Meanwhile, you'd found some fairly decent information on merfolk courting rituals, turns out their methods were significantly better documented than humans' were. Unfortunately for you, however, a lot of the courting rituals varied between the different species of merfolk and there wasn't a lot of overlap as far as you could tell. The biggest overlap you could find had to do with small gifts; pebbling, as some species of merfolk called it. It seemed to be finding something cool or pretty on the ocean floor and bringing it to the person you were courting, which sounded easy enough. You were already a fan of picking up cool rocks, it wouldn't be any trouble to just bring them to Jade instead of putting them on your windowsill.

Another common overlap you found was the importance of jewelry across all species of merfolk, but it seemed to be... maybe a little too important for just trying to date him. From what you could tell, giving a merperson jewelry was their closest equivalent to proposing, or maybe a promise ring? You weren't entirely sure, but it seemed like too much. Specifically to eel merfolk, the book you found talked a significant amount about a dance that you couldn't quite understand. It was definitely an underwater activity, as far as you could tell, but maybe dancing in general would be good enough on land? The way the book talked about it made it seem like it was common enough knowledge that no one would even bother writing down the details. You were too engrossed in the notes you were taking-- yes, you were taking notes on this-- to notice the floorboards on the other side of your door creaking.

"Hey Yuu, I got yer--" You scrambled to cover up your notes, the book, to be nonchalant about it as Epel walked into your room, holding your potionology notebook in his hands. He looked surprised at your panic as you blocked your desk with your body, definitely not looking completely suspicious. "--notes. What, uh... Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing. Studying." You spat out, not moving from the uncomfortable position you found yourself in. "Thank you for bringing those back, you can leave them on the armchair."

"Or... I could just hand 'em to ya." He smirked, inching towards you and watching as you leaned backwards over your desk to keep hiding the evidence.

"Or you could just hand them to me!" You agreed in a tone too upbeat to be believable, snatching the notebook out of his hand as soon as he was close enough. "Thank you, Epel, but I really have to study so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, sure..." He nodded slowly, just managing to peek past one of your arms, smirk growing devious. "Ya writin' an essay 'bout merfolk courtin' rituals?"

"OUT. GET OUT." You shouted as your face began to burn, leaping up from your awkward position to shove him out the door while he cackled.

"Aw, c'mon, I ain't gonna tell nobody!" He protested. "In fact, I got some interesting information myself in the library today--!"

"DON'T CARE, GET OUT. TELL NO ONE." You shoved him out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

Out in the hall, Epel simply shrugged, smirking to himself as he walked away. "They'll figure it out eventually." It was nice to be the one in the know.

You were mortified but at least you were fairly sure he wouldn't run to tell anyone about it, you don't think you'd ever be able to live it down if Ace caught wind of this. You twisted the lock on the door into place before going back to your desk to continue your research, face still burning red as you flipped everything back to where it had been.

Vil had given Jade a decent jumping off point, but he found himself going back to the phrase Epel had used. The way to the heart is through the stomach. Of course that had to be a way to win your affection, but through your stomach? He hadn't read anything about the abdomen being involved in any courtship rituals, at least not the initial stages. Perhaps he had missed something? Maybe it was something lesser known that older generations did? It couldn't possibly be as simple as food, could it? The common language turns of phrases were never so simple, even the ones he understood. He turned the phrase over in his head for a few days, too busy analyzing it as he walked into his Ancient Magic class to catch who had put a rock on his desk. Why was there a rock on his desk? He stopped to stare at it for a second before glancing around at his fellow sophomores, none of whom seemed to be taking even a passing interest in his confusion. It had definitely been placed with purpose, squarely in front of his chair so there was no way of him missing it or mistaking it as being for someone else. He picked it up as he sat down, turning it over to examine in his hand as Floyd flopped down in the seat next to him.

"I don't suppose you saw who left this, did you?" Jade asked, presenting the rock for Floyd to see.

"Nah, couldn't give a shit less." Floyd grumbled, barely glancing at the rock before draping himself forward over the desk.

Jade hummed lightly, glancing around one more time before depositing the rock in his bag. He could maybe make use of it for a terrarium, if nothing else. He didn't think much of it the first time, but as the week went on, there continued to be rocks on his desks. Not ever in the same class either, so he could confirm that it was not an accident the first time. They were just small rocks that could fit in the palm of his hand, some of them having interesting patterns or colorations, some having interesting shapes, but they were still rocks. He kept the nicest few to put in his terrariums, the rest were left in his bag to bring with him on his next trip to the mountain.

By the end of the week, you were out of your coolest rocks that you were willing to give away. You were almost certain you were doing this wrong, leaving them for him to find instead of just handing them to him, but you were so afraid that maybe pebbling didn't apply to eel merfolk, or that the rocks weren't good enough. You didn't find them outside in the grass or still in the classrooms, so you considered that a win at least. And Epel was the only one smirking at you whenever Jade walked into the cafeteria or down the hall, so he hadn't told anyone what he'd seen. Another win!

You planned to spend your weekend figuring out how to go about dancing with Jade. The books weren't clear enough on what the dance entailed besides that it was done with tail fins while underwater, but it was very clear that it was done while courting. You were on the couch in the Ramshackle lounge on Saturday evening, rereading the courting book for any sort of clues you'd missed when there was a knock on the door. You quickly shoved the book between the couch cushions, making sure it was completely hidden as you got up and headed for the door, immediately glad you'd hidden the book as you opened the door to Jade standing on the front porch. He was dressed in the outfit he usually wore to go up the mountain, mud still on his boots from his hike and gloves dangling out of his pockets.

"Hello, Yuu." He said pleasantly, looking over your obviously startled demeanor. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, not at all." You waved him off quickly, trying desperately not to somehow give yourself away. "Just, uh... reading. What's up?"

You froze as he stepped forward, into your personal space, and placed a hand on your stomach, just above your navel. Even through your shirt, his hand was cool, sending a shiver up your spine. You stared wide eyed as he smiled down at you before reaching into his bag and pulling out a bundle of small flowers, presenting them to you. They were a little squashed from being in his bag, and it looked like he had picked them off the mountain himself. You felt the heat rising on your cheeks as you took them from him, the fact he’d taken the time to gather them himself was flattering by itself.

“I was given advice on how to go about this, and was told to just be straightforward with my intentions.” He began plainly. “I’ve found myself drawn to you recently, and would like to begin courting you. I was told it was called “dating” and that I should invite you out with me, if you’re interested?”

You could feel how hot your face was getting as he spoke, not believing your luck. Maybe you wouldn’t have to figure out that dance? Maybe you still should? Would it be rude not to? He, on the other hand, was getting nervous in the drawn out silence that your internal reeling was creating, worried he’d done something wrong. He wouldn’t show it on his face, of course, but he was getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” You spat out quickly, chuckling nervously as you realized just how long you’d let that moment drag out. “Definitely. When? And where?”

He paused for a few confused blinks, smile slipping as you watched a light dusting of pink grow on his cheeks. If he weren’t so close, you might’ve not even noticed. “I was... unaware that was something I had to plan ahead of time.” He admitted slowly, internally cursing himself for not asking more details when he had the chance.

“That’s alright!” You were quick to assure him, fiddling with the little bouquet he’d given you. “We can figure that out together, if you want?”

His smile returned at the offer, warmer this time, fonder. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Great!”

There was another pause as you looked down at the small blooms in your hands, then at his hand, which was still rested on your belly. You glanced up at his face, then his hand, then his face again.

“Hey Jade?”

“Hm?”

“What... What is this?” You tried your best not to sound like you disapproved as you glanced down at his hand again. What if it was something the books didn’t cover? Other than the dance-- and the inadvisable internet searches-- there was no mention of physical contact. There was dancing, there was biting which was less for courting and more for established couples, but not... this.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned, the blush on his cheeks growing slightly. “Ah. That wasn’t correct then?”

“I don’t know? What was it?”

He groaned slightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “Epel had said a phrase that I didn’t quite understand, about the stomach being the key to affections. Even Vil agreed that it was correct, I thought it must be a common courting method.”

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to piece the phrase together, biting your lip hard to keep from laughing when you realized what he was talking about. “The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I’m not familiar with many common language phrases.”

“Food. The way to someone’s heart is good food.”

It really was that simple. Damn it. He let out an awkward chuckle, trying to hide his embarrassed expression from you by rubbing at his eyes. “I suppose I should’ve just looked it up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” You laughed, wanting to reassure him. This was going way too well for him to back out due to embarrassment now! “It’s hard to find information on what’s allegedly common knowledge! I mean, I can’t figure out that courting dance for the life of me--!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized what you were saying, watching as Jade slowly looked up at you in confusion. You wanted to cringe all the way back up to your room as you watched him mouth the word “dance,” gears turning in his head as he looked you over, before a smile grew on his face. You broke eye contact as you realized he’d clicked everything into place.

“Yuu, have you been pebbling me?” He asked, tone equal parts teasing and astonished.

Well, this was going too well for either of you to back out due to embarrassment now, you supposed. You lowered your hand, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk. “That depends, has it been working?”

He laughed, hiding it behind his fist as his eyes scrunched closed, and your heart absolutely fluttered. You really did fall hard. And so did he. He was flattered that you’d also done research on courting, relieved that you hadn’t gotten it quite right either, glad it hadn’t deterred either of you.

“It would’ve worked better if I’d know it was you, my dear.” He responded through his laughter, giving you a look of pure adoration. “Typically, you hand the items to people, not leave things for them to find themselves.”

“I wasn’t sure I was doing it right!” You defended lightheartedly.

“Well then,” he started as he held a hand out for you to take, which you did, of course, “how does dinner sound? Since food is the way to the heart.” He pulled you a little closer, tone dropping a bit as his smile grew. “Then, perhaps, I can teach you that dance.”

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[the-oblivious-writer]

A Loving Distraction

Wednesday Addams x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Wednesday attempts what’s meant to be a study session, but being the distraction you are, you had other plans in mind.

Warning(s): kissing, established relationship, and no pronouns

Notes: dedicated to @101rizzlrr - ask and I shall deliver

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the text you're about to send to Wednesday. The message reads: "Meet me in the library? Promise to actually study this time."

The memory of your last "study session" brings a smile to your face. You'd spent more time debating the merits of different torture methods throughout history than actually reviewing for finals. Not that you minded - Wednesday's passionate defense of the rack over the iron maiden had been oddly endearing.

Your phone buzzes with her reply: "Bold of you to imply I was the distraction last time. But fine. West wing, third floor. Don't be late."

Twenty minutes later, you're climbing the worn stone steps of Nevermore Academy's library. The afternoon light filters through the Gothic windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You spot Wednesday at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of leather-bound books. She's wearing her signature black dress, white collar crisp and perfect despite the late hour.

"You're four minutes late," she says without looking up from her notes.

"I brought a peace offering." You place a steaming cup of black coffee - no sugar, no cream - next to her elbow. "And I was delayed by Principal Weems giving her weekly lecture about proper uniform length to some poor first year."

"Excuses." But she takes the coffee, and you catch the slight softening around her eyes that passes for a smile in Wednesday's world. "I assume you're here because you're still struggling with Advanced Poisons?"

You slide into the chair across from her, pulling out your own textbook. "Some of us didn't grow up taste-testing deadly nightshade."

"Your loss. Mother always said it builds character." She reaches for your notebook, scanning your latest attempts at categorizing toxic fungi. "Your classification system is almost painfully wrong. Look at this - you've put death caps under 'slow-acting.' They can kill within 48 hours."

"Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for mortality rates," you tease, leaning closer to see where she's marking corrections in precise red ink. Her hair smells faintly of rain and graveyard dirt - a scent you've come to associate with comfort, oddly enough.

"Clearly. Which is why you need my help." She pauses, dark eyes flickering to yours. "Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than ensuring you don't accidentally poison yourself with basic mushroom identification."

"Aw, you do care."

"Don't be ridiculous." But her knee bumps yours under the table, and stays there.

The next hour passes in a comfortable rhythm of studying and bickering. Wednesday corrects your work with cutting efficiency, while you try to distract her by suggesting increasingly outlandish uses for non-lethal poisons. ("Think about it - just enough to make the entire school board mildly nauseated during budget meetings.")

"Focus," she chides, but there's amusement lurking in her voice. "Unless you want to explain to your parents why you failed this semester."

"They'd understand. I'd just tell them I was distracted by my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who happens to be a walking encyclopedia of death."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turns a page with deliberate precision. "And that's not even close to my most impressive quality."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. "Oh? Do tell."

"I can name at least fifteen ways to incapacitate someone with items found in this library alone." Her eyes meet yours, challenging. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Tempting, but I think the librarian is still mad about last time." You reach across the table, fingers brushing her wrist. "Besides, I can think of better uses for our time."

Wednesday arches an eyebrow. "Can you now?"

The tension shifts, electric and familiar. You stand slowly, walking around the table until you're beside her chair. She turns to face you, expression unreadable but for the slight catch in her breath when you lean down.

"Much better uses," you murmur, and then you're kissing her. Her lips are cool against yours, tasting of coffee and secrets. One of her hands finds its way to your collar, pulling you closer with that controlled intensity that is so uniquely Wednesday.

You break apart at the sound of footsteps approaching, though you don't go far. Wednesday's normally pale cheeks have the faintest hint of color, and you can't help feeling a bit smug about that.

"That was…" she starts.

"Distracting?" you offer with a grin.

"Entirely inappropriate for a study session." But she's fighting a smile now, the real kind that makes her look almost human. "We have an exam tomorrow."

"True." You brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "But I'd argue that was an excellent practical demonstration of biological responses to stimuli."

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but she's definitely smiling now. "Your scientific method needs work."

"Then I suppose we'll need more practice." You gesture to the towering shelves around you. "We have the whole library."

"You're impossible." She stands, gathering her books with precise movements. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find somewhere more private for your… research." She gives you a look that makes your heart skip. "Unless you'd rather stay here and actually study?"

You grab your bag, already following her toward the stacks. "Lead the way."

-----------

A/N: nice little one-shot before I post more angst

[cuntyji]

cw: highly suggestive but v funny please laugh, reader wears lingerie 🙉

your first mistake was leaving choso alone in the apartment.

your second mistake was not expecting him to do something stupid when left unattended for more than an hour. but this? this was new.

you came home, fully expecting to see him napping on the couch, scrolling through his phone, or maybe reheating leftovers in the microwave. instead, you found him standing in front of your underwear drawer—organizing.

which, in itself, was already suspect behavior, considering you’d never seen him fold a shirt properly in his life.

but it wasn’t the tidiness that had your soul leaving your body. no, it was the fact that he was standing there with your panties over his face.

not in a pervy way. not like those spicy fanfics you’ve definitely, totally never read at three in the morning. no, your boyfriend—your 27-year-old, full-time salaryman boyfriend—was wearing your victoria’s secret lace-trimmed underwear over his face like a spiderman mask.

and he was making pew pew noises.

“take that, villain!” he whispered aggressively, using one hand as a makeshift web-shooter while the other expertly color-coordinated your socks. his movements were swift, methodical. he was, horrifyingly enough, completely immersed in his role.

you should have left. you should have turned around, walked back out, and never spoken of this. but no, you had to be brave. you had to step forward and, in the worst decision of your life, say:

“…cho?”

chaos.

choso shrieked. not a yell, not a grunt—a full-on horror movie shriek. his entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted, hands flying to his face as if he’d forgotten what he’d done. his wide, horrified eyes locked onto yours for one agonizing second before he attempted to remove the evidence—attempted being the keyword.

because rather than just taking the panties off his face like a normal human being, your boyfriend, in his absolute panic, yanked them.

RRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP.

the sound was deafening. the death of good fabric. lace fibers shredded in his grasp. the remnants of your once-beautiful underwear dangled limply from his trembling hands.

a heavy silence fell between you.

“…”

“…”

choso slowly lowered his hands. then, in the most pathetic, guilty voice you’d ever heard in your life, he croaked out:

“…hey, babe. how was work?”

you inhaled. deep. long. controlled. you were going to kill him.

“CHO—”

“WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! I CAN EXPLAIN!”

“EXPLAIN?! EXPLAIN WHY YOU’RE PLAYING SUPERHERO WITH MY UNDERWEAR?! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ORGANIZING MY DRAWER?! YOU DON'T EVEN ORGANIZE YOUR OWN SHIT!”

his mouth opened, then closed. then opened again. “well… it looked messy?”

you blinked at him. he blinked at you.

“… i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just imply my organizational skills are subpar,” you deadpanned.

“no! that’s not—! i mean—! it was just a little… chaotic?”

choso was walking on dangerous ground, and he knew it. you could see the regret in his eyes, but you weren’t about to let him escape unscathed.

you crossed your arms. “so you put my panties on your face?”

“… i got distracted.”

“distracted by what?”

he shifted awkwardly. “… spiderman?”

oh, he was so sleeping on the couch tonight.

[nonbinary-octopus]

based on a realization I had recently regarding holding my cat: a humans are weird ramble

So this is a mixed-species setting, humans and at least one kind of alien. The aliens are small, perhaps knee-high, and mammalian, though not humanoid. They could be quadrupedal, or hexapedal; the specifics are not important.

Add whatever reason for Uppies. The aliens like to feel tall, they appreciate the higher vantage point, humans just like holding small furry beings, whatever. Uppies are an established thing between the groups, or perhaps just between a particular human and the aliens.

And the aliens have started to note something. Humans are frequently in motion, and not all motions have readily understandable purposes. Dancing, fidgeting, stimming, pacing— humans move, a lot, and when asked, their explanations do not always make sense to the aliens. Yet, the aliens continue to ask, trying to understand their odd friends

And the aliens have noted another form of movement for which they do not yet have a name: Sometimes, a human will shift their weight back and forth from one foot to the other, rhythmically. It is too regular a pattern to be fidgeting, and too calm. Although there are a few forms of dancing which are a similar sway, this is slower than dancing, and appears in the wrong contexts— it is not prompted by music, for one thing. The humans do not seem to acknowledge the movement in any way, neither the mover nor any other humans in the room reacting to it.

There is a correlation to the instances where a human displays this type of movement; it frequently occurs concurrently with Uppies, in particular Uppies which occur while the human is simply standing, not walking around. One alien posits that the shifting is a method to prevent human muscles from tiring during lengthy periods holding a weight, but this is countered by the observation of humans holding other objects, even objects heavier than the aliens, and how any shifting of weight during that time is usually brief, changing from one holding position to another, rather than a constant shifting back and forth.

Eventually, the aliens ask their human for an explanation.

The human does not know immediately what it is they are talking about, which aligns with the observation that no human had reacted to the movement being done. When the human does recall the motions, however, they show signs of embarrassment.

They explain: the aliens are similar in size and weight to human infants. Subconsciously, the human's body has encted the "holding a baby" protocols, and was attempting to rock the aliens to sleep.

[meetmeinanotherworld]

Guess who just came up with a new super simple "method" to help people affirm and shift to their desired realities!!!

(I'll give you a hint. It's me.)

So, obviously we all know that methods are absolutely unnecessary when it comes to shifting. Like COMPLETELY unnecessary. They're just tools to help, but they aren't what make you shift. YOU make you shift.

But with that being said, I did just think of something that I believe will help a lot of people. Because we all know that there are still a lot of shifters that overcomplicate shifting, even if they aren't intending to. I think some people aren't even aware of it. But when you try for a super long time, I think some people subconsciously think it's more difficult than it is and struggle to believe that they'll shift during their attempt, even if they do believe in shifting. So I thought of this last night, and I think a lot of people will find it useful because it makes it feel a lot less complicated and lower stakes (in my personal opinion).

So I was thinking last night about how weird it is that I struggle with lucid dreaming more (don't worry, this is not about the lucid dream method), even though I have always had super vivid dreams my whole life and will even sometimes find myself in a dream partially aware that it's a dream, but still not really lucid. And I was thinking about how many times I've had dreams based on just thoughts I had before bed or like content I was interacting with before I fell asleep. Like I'll watch something and it'll be in my dreams, or I'll think of someone and they'll be in my dreams.

So I started thinking, why not use that to my advantage? I'm not even talking about using it to lucid dream and using the lucid dream method. I feel like that might work for some people, but it hasn't worked for me. No, this is much simpler. I was thinking, why not think of a specific thing to incorporate into the dream and when you see it in the dream, you know you'll shift. Hear me out for a second because this might be a bit hard for me to explain.

My theory for this method sort of follows the theory that sometimes when you're dreaming about your desired reality, you've actually shifted to that reality but you don't realize because you woke up in your cr. So dreaming is a process that involves your consciousness. Shifting is also something that involves your consciousness. When you communicate an idea to your subconscious, it holds onto that and it's part of how you get the dreams that you have. So for example, if you set your intention to have part of your dream take place in a grocery store, you can tell yourself that when you have that dream, you are in your desired reality. That your consciousness will know that when you dream that you're in a grocery store, you're actually in your desired reality and you will wake up there.

It's sort of like the lucid dream method, except you don't have to worry about the step of becoming lucid. Because I know part of the lucid dream method that a lot of people follow is that they'll make a portal and they'll shift through the portal. But a lot of people will use the lucid dream method to just set the intention of waking up in their desired reality and affirm to themselves that they're just dreaming in their desired reality at that moment. So it's like that, except you don't even have to become lucid.

So basically, all you have to do is think of something before bed. It can be a person, a place, an object, whatever. You could think of being in a store, or a friends house, or an open field, or think of talking to your s/o, or a family member, or a friend, or you could be around lava lamps, or a sword, or a basketball. Whatever. Just relax before you go to bed and affirm to yourself that something will be in your dream and let it happen. And maybe you'll become lucid too, which would also be great because then you can use the lucid dream method. But you don't have to. Just trust that it'll happen and that your consciousness will know that once you see xyz in your dream, that you are in your desired reality already.

I thought of this because I was thinking about how many times I've just thought of something and then it ended up in my dreams and I realized a good practice for affirming/setting intentions would be to just affirm what I want to see in my dreams and let it happen. But then I took it a step further and thought about applying it to shifting. It is a super simple, low stakes, lazy girl method. You don't have to do anything except relax, trust yourself, and dream. No laying in a specific position, no counting to 100, no subliminals or anything necessary (unless you want).

I just think it's such a great practice for anyone who has any doubts. I mean, you know that dreaming is real, right? You know that when you sleep at night, you'll be able to dream, right? So you can at the very least practice setting your intentions for your dreams. So even if you end up not waking up in your desired reality, you're at least getting in practice for affirming and setting your intention. And if you can do it in a dream, you can do it for shifting. Because it's all just tied to your consciousness.

A step by step example for anyone who needs a little extra clarity-

(And remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn't. You can do whatever feels right for yourself.)

Step one: do what you normally do to go to bed. You don't have to do anything extra unless you want to do anything extra. Do whatever you need to do to relax. I enjoy watching asmr before bed until I start feeling super relaxed and like I could fall asleep and then I'll turn on rain noises or brown noise or something like that to keep me in a relaxed state.

Step two: as you're relaxed, start thinking about what you want to see in your dream before you fall asleep. For this example, we'll say that I want it to snow in my dream. So I'll affirm to myself that it will snow in my dream. I'll say things like "I want it to snow in my dream" "at some point, it will be snowing in my dream" "it will be snowy in my dreams tonight" etc. Just do whatever works best for you.

Step three: as you start affirming and setting your intention, start incorporating shifting. Tell yourself that when you have that dream, you'll know you've shifted and you will wake up in your desired reality. I'd tell myself things like "when it's snowing in my dreams, I know I'm in my desired reality" "I am already asleep and dreaming in my desired reality" "I will wake up in my desired reality" "when I see the snow, I am already there" etc. Again, just say whatever you want.

Step four: go to sleep. That's it. Think about snow as you fall asleep (or whatever you want) and just trust yourself. This is a sleep method. Don't worry about "symptoms." There are no symptoms. Shifting is not a physical process. Don't worry about shifting while you're doing the method. You will shift in your sleep and wake up in your desired reality. That is the point. Trust yourself and really, genuinely believe that it will happen. Honestly, try not to even think about the act of shifting and focus more on just knowing that you'll wake up in your desired reality. Trust that when you're dreaming, you are dreaming in your desired reality.

If you decide to try this, let me know how it goes and how you like it. Remember, methods are not at all necessary to shift. And if you don't feel like this resonates with you, you don't need to try it at all. I just like it because it's simple, just like shifting is. You don't need elaborate methods. Just trust and intention.

[yeoldenews]

It’s Dear Santa time again!

Every year since 2010, I have spent the month of December posting children's Dear Santa letters.

Publishing letters to Santa in the newspaper first became widely popular in the late-1890s, though scattered newspapers did so as early as the mid-1880s. I believe this sudden explosion in popularity was at least partially the result of the famed "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause" editorial which was published in The New York Sun in September of 1897.

In large cities Dear Santa letters often acted as a method of getting needed clothing and supplies to impoverished children when parents might be ashamed to ask for charity. Subscribers to the newspaper could choose a child’s letter and provide the items they asked for. The most common requests were shoes and coats.

Sometimes newspapers offered prizes for the best letter (which I suspect often acted as another clandestine form of charity as the winners were often letters asking for basic clothing and school supplies.) Though these prizes could range from the ordinary (a sled or a doll) to the extravagant (a $20 gold piece or a live pony.)

Often local stores would enter children in a drawing if they mentioned the store in their letter - which on occasion would result in children hilariously name-dropping every store in town just in case.

Writing Dear Santa letters was also commonly an activity done at school, often following some rough form letter. These letters are fairly easy to spot as they often hype up what a good student the child was and include effusive praise for their teacher (who would likely see the letter before it was sent.)

So why have I spent hundreds of hours of my life over the last decade reading tens of thousands of these letters?

Children's voices are largely absent from the historical record.

Dear Santa letters offer an extremely rare opportunity to see history unfold through children's eyes - in their own (often creatively spelled) words.

1914′s “Remember the children in Belgium” becomes 1918′s “Please visit my brother in France”.

During the Great Depression the very common phrase “I know you’re poor this year too Santa” gives a glimpse into parents' attempts to explain to their children why they might not be getting as much this year.

1939′s “Be careful flying over Europe” becomes 1945′s “Since the war is over you’re making bb-guns again right?”

Requests for toy flying machines become aeroplanes become fighter jets become space shuttles.

Dolls and wagons become Shirley Temple merchandise and Erector Sets become Barbies and Star Wars action figures.

But through all these changes one thing remains clear throughout 130+ years of letters to Santa, despite the rapidly changing world around them - children have always been children.

I hope you enjoy these letters as much as I do! (All decade+ of posts are tagged “Dear Santa” if you’d like to see more than just this year’s selection.)

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season! I hope you can delight in whatever brings you joy, be that family, friends, food or just curling up with a hot cocoa and a good book.

But whatever you do, please don't forget the true meaning of the season - feeling awful sorry for Patti.

Hapy Holadays and Marry Crimes!

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) I

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya (Vahumana), they have history (iykyk), one nsfw innuendo, not proofread

Note: my humiliating attempt at writing Alhaitham’s smart ahh attitude >A< anw, lmk how you guys want this story to go! (comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated)

Part 2

—

(You) About Alhaitham

Scribe Alhaitham? He’s… intelligent. That’s all I have to say.

(Alhaitham) About you

Hm.

(You) About Alhaitham: History I

He and I partnered up in a thesis which, thankfully, got approved by our professors. Working with him was challenging, to be honest. Every idea I had, he’d shut it down with some counter argument—“they’d never approve of that,” or “it has too many defects.” A conversation with him may as well be a debate! Frustrating and infuriating.

(Alhaitham) About you: History I

They are competent, I’ll admit that much. But their ideas? Flawed. Reckless. It’s as if they refuse to consider consequences before leaping into action. Every discussion turned into an exhausting debate—because, naturally, I had to be the one to explain why their half-formed theories wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Really, for someone who specializes in history, you’d think they’d have learned from past mistakes. And yet, they persist.

(You) About Alhaitham: History II

Talking about this in my place of work is not really appropriate. … Fine! Yes, we were in… amorous congress. But it happened a long time ago—when we were still students. Just once. A drunken mistake, that’s all it was!

… Keep this between us, though. I love my job.

(Alhaitham) About you: History II

I’d rather this particular detail remain in the past where it belongs. It was years ago, an irrelevant event. I fail to see why anyone would find it worth discussing now.

Though, knowing them, they’d likely frame it as some dramatic mistake rather than what it was—an ill-advised but ultimately inconsequential decision. Either way, I don’t intend to entertain the conversation.

… You think I should drop by? Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to evaluate their current methodology.

(You) About Alhaitham: Work

It’s inevitable that we cross paths—he’s the Akademiya’s Scribe, after all. I can handle brief interactions, but when he lingers, it’s… bothersome. Always with that unreadable expression, listening too intently to everything I say. I know he’s just waiting to poke holes in my arguments. Ugh. Some things never change.

(Alhaitham) About you: Work

They have an irritating tendency to be vague, as if I won’t immediately notice the gaps in their reasoning. Do they think that being imprecise will make me less inclined to argue? If anything, it has the opposite effect.

I don’t intend to debate them at every opportunity, but when they make it so easy, I see no reason to hold back.

(You) About Alhaitham: Annoyance

Do you know how aggravating it is to give a lecture, only to see him sitting there in the back, arms crossed, silently judging every word that comes out of my mouth? He doesn’t even work in my Darshan! What is he doing there?! “It was on my way,” he says. “I had time to spare,” he says. Liar.

Having the Scribe in my classroom is distracting—both for me and my students. I’d appreciate it if he found a different way to pass the time. Preferably far away from my lectures.

(Alhaitham) About you: Observation

I fail to understand how they manage to get results. Their lectures lack structure, their methods are inconsistent, and yet… their students actually retain information. It goes against all logic.

Still, I suppose there’s something to be said about efficacy, no matter how unorthodox. Not that I’ll be admitting that to them. They’re insufferable enough as it is.

(You) About Alhaitham: A Final Thought

I swear, he only comes to my lectures to irritate me. He just sits there, arms crossed, waiting for me to say something he can nitpick. It’s distracting. The other day, I caught myself scanning the room to see if he was there before I even started teaching. Ridiculous.

…No, that doesn’t mean anything! It’s just easier to prepare for battle when you know the enemy is near!

(Alhaitham) About you: A Final Thought

They’ve developed an odd habit of pausing mid-lecture, glancing toward the back of the room—toward me. If I were to be charitable, I’d say they’re checking whether I have any objections.

But that would imply they value my opinion. Which, of course, is absurd.

(Your student) About you and the Scribe

… So, uh. Are those two dating or something?

[tojislovergirl]

blowing smoke - mma!toji

cw: enemies to lovers, mentions of abuse, blood, smut MDNI, inexperienced!reader, cunnilingus, penetration, pull out method, pet names (princess), vanilla tbh, angst with comfort, happy ending

characters: toji, gojo, choso, sukuna, shiu, megumi, yuki

word count: 7k

you stood in front of one of the most notorious mma gyms in the world. this gym housed some of the biggest names in mma including the infamous toji fushiguro. toji was a household name not only in japan but the world. he had a reputation for being a ruthless fighter with an arrogant attitude. he also just so happened to be your new boss. you had no idea how you landed a job as his assistant, but nevertheless, you were grateful for the opportunity.

the muffled sounds of grunts and rattling punching bags made your stomach turn. you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves before entering the gym. the muffled sounds were now loud and clear as you stepped inside. you looked around to see a bunch of fighters sparring on blood stained mats. the gym suddenly went quiet as the door slammed behind you, causing all the fighters to stop and stare at you. you recognized a couple of them as satoru gojo and choso kamo. they both smiled at you, which made you feel slightly more comfortable.

“ah there she is” a voice boomed. you turned to see an older man walking towards you with a smile on his face. it was shiu, toji’s manager and the man that gave you this job. you watched as the fighters exchanged confused looks before looking back at you. they were obviously wondering why this random girl was standing in the middle of the gym.

“follow me. toji’s in the locker room,” shiu stated before ushering you towards the back of the gym. you followed closely behind him. your heart began to beat faster as you neared the locker room. you wondered if toji was really as scary and mean as people say he is. as soon as you stepped into the room, the fighter looked at you with sharp green eyes. toji’s eyes shot daggers into you before he turned his attention back to the hand he was wrapping.

“who’s this?” he asked in an annoyed tone, not even bothering to look up from what he was doing. you were taken aback by his demeanor. he could’ve easily asked you who you were, but he chose to completely dismiss you.

“this is y/n, your new assistant. try not to scare this one off,” shiu explained. before you could process shiu’s response, toji scoffed loudly.

the tall man paced, shaking his head in disbelief. you stood frozen unsure if you should say anything. however, it was painfully obvious toji was not thrilled to have you there.

“how many times have i told you that i don’t need a fucking assistant?” his harsh tone made your hair stand up. you knew toji had a reputation for being rude, but you didn’t realize he would be such a dick.

“i don’t care. i’m your manager, so what i say goes. you run me ragged as it is. i’m not going to continue to be your errand runner on top of that, so get over it,” shiu retorted before leaving the room.

the locker room grew uncomfortably quiet as you stared at toji. the look of absolute disdain was prevalent on his face. you waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. he left you no choice but to break the silence yourself.

“um, hi, mr. fushiguro. it’s an honor to be-“

“grab my bag,” toji cut you off. he brushed passed you out of the locker room. you were left stunned by his rudeness. you hoisted the bag over your shoulder and followed him out to the practice mats. you set his bag down on the bench beside you as you watched toji spar with gojo. toji bounced on his toes swiftly dodging every jab sent by gojo. it was incredible how such a large man was able to move so quickly. no wonder he was the best fighter in the world.

“fucking ow, dude” gojo shouted, pulling you out of your thoughts. the coaches swarmed gojo as he fell to the ground wincing. toji rolled his eyes and walked over to you.

“water” he demanded, reaching a hand out to you. ‘fucking dick’ you thought to yourself before handing him his water bottle. you were already getting sick of his attitude, but you had no choice but to suck it up. the money was too good, and you had bills to pay.

“i thought you guys were just supposed to be sparring. why did you hit him so hard?” you asked, trying to make conversation.

“we are,” toji replied bluntly not answering your question. you were surprised you got a reply at all. he tossed the water bottle back at you before stepping back onto the mat.

“toji, what the fuck were you thinking? satoru has a fight coming up. why the fuck would you make contact with him like that?” gojo’s coach shouted.

“you think his opponent isn’t gonna hit him? i was just getting him ready for his fight…not babying him like the rest of you do,” toji scoffed, stepping up to him.

“you’re done for today. go home,” shiu intervened before things got carried away.

toji grabbed his bag and stormed out of the gym. you ran after him unsure of what to do in this situation.

“don’t follow me,” he spat before getting in his car.

he sped off, leaving you alone and confused on the curb. you walked back inside to see a group of trainers now huddled around gojo. through the bodies, you could see a dark purple bruise forming on his pale torso.

“why are you still here?” shiu asked, stepping in front of you.

“toji told me not to follow him and left before i could say anything,” you responded quietly. shiu shook his head and scoffed. this was just great. toji was going to get you fired because he left without you.

“he’s such an asshole. i apologize for his behavior. i guess you can go home for the day,” he sighed. it seemed like he was more defeated than you in this whole situation. you wondered how many past assistants didn’t make it through their first day because of toji. but, if there was one thing about you, it was that you are a spiteful person. toji wasn’t going to scare you off so easily. if anything, his attitude made you want to stick around even more just to piss him off.

as the weeks went on, toji's next big match neared. his opponent was ryomen sukuna. the pair had the biggest rivalry in the mma. toji was the one, who dethroned sukuna and stripped him of his world champion title, so this fight was going to be their big rematch. he was constantly training…oh and still being a dick to you. his demands and attitude only seemed to get worse the closer his match got. but, you had started to develop a thick skin. you were used to it by now, which surprised everyone including toji.

“y/n, water,” toji demanded as he took a break from sparring.

“you know a please would be nice every once in awhile,” you said, handing him his bottle.

the fighter rolled his eyes at you before taking a drink. he still wasn’t talking to you much besides barking orders, but at least he was calling you by your name. before you knew it, the training day was over. everyone had gone home except for you. toji had a press conference the following day for his fight against sukuna, so you had to do some social media prep as well as finish some extra work shiu had given you.

you were totally absorbed in your work until you heard the door to gym open and close. no one else was supposed to be here. you quietly got up from your desk and walked into the practice area. you couldn’t see anything besides a large dark figure, who was breathing heavily.

“hello?” you called out before turning on the lights. as the gym illuminated, you could make out the figure’s face. it was toji, but his eye was black and his lip was bleeding.

“oh my god! what happened?” you asked, rushing over to him. you pulled his hood away from his face, so you could get a better look at his injuries. you turned his face gently towards you, earning a soft wince from him. his green eyes avoided your gaze as he remained silent. you grabbed his hand and led him to the trainer’s room, so you could clean up the cuts on his face. he sat on one of the table as you grabbed some alcohol and gauzes.

“so are you gonna tell me happened?” you asked with your back still turned towards toji.

he remained silent. he hadn’t made a peep since he stumbled into the gym. it was really starting to get on your nerves. it was like talking to a brick wall. you had been working for him for three months at this point, and you still had yet to have an actual conversation with him. his attitude towards you had you second guessing everything you did. you didn’t know why he hated you so much, or if he even cared enough about you to hate you. but, you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“what the fuck is your deal?” you spat, turning around to face him. his face remained blank as he stared at you. that stupid stare made your blood boil, “i have done absolutely nothing to you yet you treat me like shit if you choose to acknowledge my existence at all. because if you’re not barking orders at me, you act like i don’t exist. now, you come stumbling into the gym battered and bruised without explanation, and you can’t even answer a simple question when i’m just trying to help you.”

toji’s eyes widened in shock as you continued to yell at him. no one had ever talked to him that way. once you noticed the change in his expression, your words trailed off. this was the most emotion you had seen from him. now suddenly, you were conscious of what you were doing. silence lingered in the air once more before toji opened his mouth to speak.

“i’m sorry…” he muttered.

your ears must’ve been mistaking you. there is no way he just apologized to you.

“i have a reason for acting the way i do,” he continued, “my parents abused me when i was kid. nothing i ever did was good enough for them no matter how much i tried to get their approval. my dad would knock me around and remind me that i would always be a failure to him while my mom turned a blind eye to his abuse. my upbringing taught me that i can only rely on myself. it turned me into a cold-blooded fighter, who never let anyone ever get close to him.”

“i didn’t know that…but why take it out on me?” you asked.

“every assistant i’ve had before quit after their first day. they always claimed i was too harsh and scary. part of me wanted it that way. i didn’t need anyone doing stuff for me because sooner of later it would get personal, and that scared the shit out of me. you were different. you never showed an ounce of fear towards me, so i tried my best to drive you away because i was scared of having someone actually care about me for once,” toji explained.

you let his words settle around the both of you. everything started to make sense to you because it was true you never found toji scary. you could always tell there was a part of him that didn’t want to act that way. you knew there had to be more to him, and now you know that there is.

“you know if you ever took the time to get to know me, you would’ve known we are more similar than we seem,” you said, looking at him. he gave you confused look. how could the two of you have stuff in common? there was no way. “i don’t have the best relationship with my parents either…in fact, i haven’t talked to them since i turned 18 and moved out of their house. my dad was a drunk, who liked to take his anger out on me, and my mom did nothing to stop it. they both hated me and wished nothing but the worst for me. much like you, i always tried to seek their approval to no avail. so when you continued to shut me out, it made me feel like a kid again. i was scared that i would never get your approval. it made me feel like i would never be able to do anything right in my life just like my parents had told me so many times.”

toji couldn’t believe it. he felt so much guilt for the way he treated you. he was honestly shocked you put up with his behavior at all. if he was in your shoes, he would’ve left a long time ago.

“so why did you stick around?”

“because i wasn’t going to let my parents be right,” you smirked at him, earning a small chuckle from toji, “enough with the sad backstory stuff…are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you?”

“sukuna’s team jumped me…fucking asshole. dude knows he can’t win in a fair match up, so he pulls this shit,” toji explained.

“can’t you tell someone and get him in trouble or something?”

“i’d much rather beat his ass again,” toji said smugly.

you rolled your eyes playfully at him. men are such simple creatures always trying to assert dominance over each other. you poured some alcohol on the gauze and dabbed it lightly on his bloody lip. he hissed in response, jerking away from your touch.

“it’s not that bad, you big baby,” you giggled.

he flashed a wide smile at you. his gaze was so much softer now. the cold and mean fighter persona was slowly falling, and the real toji was coming out. you finished cleaning him up before giving him an ice pack for his eye.

“thank you, y/n. i really appreciate it,” toji said. the sincerity was evident in his voice. it sort of took you by surprise. you couldn’t believe toji of all people was capable of doing such a thing.

“don’t mention it,” you smiled back.

toji ended up keeping you company for the rest of the night while you finished your work. he insisted you use his favorite pictures of himself in the promo poster for the fight. you noticed him sneaking glances at you while you worked away. you would be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy having his attention for once, but you would never admit that.

the next day, toji actually smiled at you when you got to the gym. shiu gave you a confused look to which you just shrugged your shoulders. you set your things down in the office and started to help shiu prepare for the press conference. before you knew it, reporters and journalists flooded the gym. you watched toji answer questions bluntly of course. he hated doing these things, so he made them as miserable for the journalists as they were for him. it was amusing to watch.

“toji, how do you plan on taking ryomen sukuna down this time?” a journalist asked, obviously trying to start some pre-match beef between the two fighters.

“exactly how i did the first time,” toji deadpanned .

“can you expand on that?”

“nope.”

you tried to stifle a laugh, but your quiet giggle didn’t escape toji’s ears. he glanced in your direction before looking away with the slightest smirk on his face.

“what did you do to him? i’ve never seen him smile especially not at you,” shiu whispered.

“well i had enough of his attitude and beat him up obviously,” you replied, gesturing to toji, who’s black eye was almost swollen shut at this point.

after what felt like forever, the press conference was over. you understood now why toji hated those things so much. you were exhausted and all you did was sit there, but nevertheless you had to help clean everything up. you were folding up chairs when toji walked over to you.

“you know if i would’ve known cleaning was a part of my job description, i would not have applied,” you joked.

“well, you have to make yourself useful somehow,” toji smirked. the scar on the corner of his lips stretching as he did so.

“i liked it better when you didn’t talk to me.”

“yeah yeah whatever. i’ll help you, whiny ass.”

toji took the folding chair out of your hands and added it to the five he was already holding. such a show off. you continued to hand toji chairs while he carried them to the supply room. toji’s demeanor was so much different now. the way he talked and acted towards you was so much softer. he would act shy if you caught him staring at you by looking away quickly or how he always came to find you during his breaks. but, your demeanor was different too. you always looked forward to the shared glances or the goofy smile he would give you after he was done sparring. in that moment, everything seemed to click. you were falling for toji.

“hey so i wanted to ask if you would be able to come to my house after we’re done here?” toji asked, putting away the final chair. you tried to hide your shock at such an abrupt question. that could be taken so many different ways, but how did he mean it?

“i meant like to help me with something,” he followed up after noticing your hesitation.

“oh yeah right! i mean that is what you pay me for,” you laughed, trying to play it off.

“you can ride with me if you want,” he offered, “you know i just figured it would be easier that way.”

“yeah that’s fine with me,” you smiled as you followed him to his car.

the ride to his apartment or pent house rather was comfortably quiet. you were just enjoying each other’s company, but you could tell something was on toji’s mind. maybe it had to do with what he needed help with, but you figured you would find out sooner or later.

you stepped into his enormous pent house, wondering how one person could occupy such a large space. the interior was dark, but the large floor to ceiling window let plenty of light in.

“wow, this place is huge,” you stated still in awe.

toji chuckled and took off his jacket, throwing it on the back of the couch. you were still looking around, so you hadn’t realized he had left the room. you only noticed when you heard two pair of footsteps echoing through the living room. you turned to see toji and a small boy standing beside him. the boy almost looked like an exact copy of toji.

“y/n meet my son, megumi,” toji said. a hint of nervousness noticeable in his voice. you were shocked to learn toji had a kid. he never talked about him. the realization hit a moment later. if toji could hide having a kid, he could definitely be secretly married or dating someone. the thought alone made your stomach turn as a pang of jealousy hit you. yet, you had no choice but to push those thoughts aside. as of right now, you were just his assistant nothing more.

“hi, megumi. it’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, crouching down to the boy’s level. megumi looked away shyly and hid behind his dad’s leg. you couldn’t help but giggle at his cuteness.

“don’t be rude, megs. say hi back,” toji encouraged, ruffling his hair, “she doesn’t bite.”

megumi hesitantly stepped out from behind toji and greeted you. his little voice made your heart melt.

“so i’m guessing he’s what you needed help with?,” you said, hoping to get a little more context.

“yeah my nanny just quit, so i need help taking care of him when i have practice and matches,” toji explained.

“well, i have absolutely no issue looking after this cutie,” you smiled down at megumi, who was still hiding behind toji, “i didn’t know you had a kid, though.”

“thank you. i’m sorry for just springing this on you. i try to keep him out of the limelight as much as possible. i want to give him the most normal childhood i can.”

“that’s really sweet of you, but it’s no issue really.”

over the course of the evening, megumi started to break out of his shell. he was incredibly blunt little boy to no surprise with a dad like toji, but he was so sweet like him too. you also learned his mom wasn’t really in the picture, which made your heart hurt for megumi, but it was nice to know toji was single. while the two of you sat on the ground, megumi climbed into your lap and continued playing like nothing. you looked over at toji who was just as surprised as you.

“looks like you two are getting along just fine,” toji chuckled. all the nerves he had about the two of you meeting were now forgotten. he didn’t know why he was so worried in the first place. you were one of the sweetest, most genuine people he’s ever met.

“well duh. he’s my little buddy. isn’t that right, megs?” the boy nodded his head and continued playing with his toys. you and toji looked at each other and smiled softly, realizing this was healing the both of you in a way.

toji’s fight with sukuna was getting closer by the day, which meant toji spent more time at the gym. this also meant you had to watch megumi more often not that you minded. the two of you mostly hung out in your office but would sit and watch toji spar from time to time. it was incredible to see megumi’s eye light up as he watched his dad.

“y/n, i want do that,” he smiled, pointing at his dad, who dodged choso’s attack before kicking the pad on his side.

“daddy’s pretty cool, isn’t he?” you asked. megumi nodded his head enthusiastically before dragging you over to one of the practice mats. you put on a pair of striking pads on your hands before crouching in front of megumi. he wasted no time punching away at them. you exaggerated his strength by falling over a couple of times, but the smile on his face was more than worth it.

toji took a break from training, looking over at you and megumi. he watched as his son punched the pads on your hands and you toppling over before telling megumi how strong he is. he couldn’t help a smile from breaking out on his face. it was the first time he realized that he was catching feelings. how could he not? you gave him a second chance when he didn’t deserve one and now you’re helping him in more way than he could think of. it wasn’t even because it was your job to help. you were simply helping him because you wanted to. he realized how much he looked forward to your presence everyday. he felt an unfamiliar comfort whenever you were around.

“little man wore himself out,” toji said as he carried a sleeping megumi into his pent house. you smiled, looking at how peaceful he was.

“he had a long day of training,” you giggled, “you know he told me he wants to be just like you.”

toji smiled to himself but didn’t say anything. he was afraid that if he tried to speak he would end up crying. those words were all he’s ever wanted to hear. he had his son’s approval, and that meant the world to him. he carefully put megumi to bed while you made yourself comfortable in the living room.

“i’m gonna take a shower. be right back,” toji said, peeking his head around the corner.

“i’ll be here,” you replied, turning on the tv.

you were so absorbed in your show that you hadn’t heard toji walk into the room. your heart nearly stopped when he plopped down next to you on the couch.

“oh my god! you scared…me,” your words trailed off to see toji half naked beside you. your eyes trailed down his bare chest, noticing every bruise and scar left from his previous fights. his happy trail peeked out of his waistband ever so slightly…his bulge extremely noticeable underneath his gray sweats.

“uh huh, you must be so scared,” he teased, waiting for your eyes to meet his. your eyes snapped up as your cheeks turned a dark crimson. your brain felt like it was short circuiting trying to think of a witty comeback, but you were too flustered. a smirk formed on toji’s lips, realizing the affect he was having on you. “you act like you’ve never seen a shirtless dude…you a virgin or something?”

in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and die. your body was on fire as his question repeated in your head. the air felt heavy with tension. toji’s gaze burned into you while he awaited your response.

“i’m not…i just don’t have a lot of experience” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“want to change that?” toji asked, placing a hand large hand on your thigh. you searched for even the smallest ounce of flippancy in his face, but he was dead serious.

“but what about megumi? he might wake up.”

“you’ll have to try and be quiet.”

you nodded as toji moved closer to you. his green eyes stared deep into yours. your heartbeat quickened as he closed the distance between the two of you. butterflies erupted in your stomach when his lips connected with yours. you leaned into the kiss, following toji’s lead. you couldn’t believe this was happening. your once ridged body began to relax as toji deepened the kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip. you granted him entry, allowing your tongues to fight for dominance. toji overpowered you like it was nothing. the heat between your thighs only grew as he pressed you back into the couch, so he was hovering over you. with one of his hands, he spread your legs enough for his knee to fit snuggly between them. his knee pressed up against your clothed clit with the slightest amount of pressure. your body twitched at the sensation, bucking your hips against him.

“someone’s eager,” toji teased, breaking away from your lips. in any other situation, you would’ve told him to shut up, but he was right…no use in denying that now.

“how long have you been waiting for this?” he asked, trailing kisses down your neck.

“awhile,” you moaned, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. toji smirked against your skin before attacking your lips once more. your bodies moved in unison. need evident in your movements.

“then let’s move this along…i can’t keep you waiting any longer,” toji reached a hand between your bodies before pulling your shirt over your head. he let out a satisfied hum, seeing that you weren’t wearing a bra. this made you completely aware of how you were on full display for him. your arm instinctively covered your bare torso. with a quickness, toji pulled your arms away from your body, so he could take in your figure.

“you don’t need to hide from me, princess. you are absolutely stunning,” he hummed, licking his lips. his sweet words made your thighs squeeze around his leg. his hands ran slowly up your sides, send a chill down your spine. he stopped once he landed on your boobs. he kneaded them between his rough palms before placing one in his mouth. his tongue swirled around your nipple. you moaned at the sensation, arching your back into his touch.

toji slipped a hand down between your legs. his fingers ran along your clothed heat, feeling how you had already soaked through your leggings. his cock twitched as you throbbed against his touch. his leaking precum formed a small dark spot on the crotch of his sweats. it took everything in him not to shove his dick in you already.

“you’re so wet for me, baby…i want to taste you. is that okay?” toji asked softly, looking up at you. you nodded not trusting yourself to speak. you lifted your ass, so he could pull off your bottoms. he lowered himself between your legs now eye level with your dripping cunt. he cautiously licked a single line up your slit. he looked up at you to make sure it was okay for him to continue. you gave him a little nod just wanting to feel his tongue against you again. that was all he needed. his tongue explored your wet folds before finding your clit. he sucked and nipped at it like he was starved man eating food for the first time.

“oh fuck,” you moaned. his sweet words made your thighs squeeze around his leg. his hands ran slowly up your sides, send a chill down your spine. he stopped once he landed on your boobs. he kneaded them between his rough palms before placing one in his mouth. his tongue swirled around your nipple. you moaned at the sensation, arching your back into his touch.

toji slipped a hand down between your legs. his fingers ran along your clothed heat, feeling how you had already soaked through your leggings. his cock twitched as you throbbed against his touch. his leaking precum formed a small dark spot on the crotch of his sweats. it took everything in him not to shove his dick in you already.

“you’re so wet for me, baby…i want to taste you. is that okay?” toji asked softly, looking up at you. you nodded not trusting yourself to speak. you lifted your ass, so he could pull off your bottoms. he lowered himself between your legs now eye level with your dripping cunt. he cautiously licked a single line up your slit. he looked up at you to make sure it was okay for him to continue. you gave him a little nod just wanting to feel his tongue against you again. that was all he needed. his tongue explored your wet folds before finding your clit. he sucked and nipped at it like he was starved man eating food for the first time.

“oh fuck,” you his sweet words made your thighs squeeze around his leg. his hands ran slowly up your sides, send a chill down your spine. he stopped once he landed on your boobs. he kneaded them between his rough palms before placing one in his mouth. his tongue swirled around your nipple. you moaned at the sensation, arching your back into his touch.

toji slipped a hand down between your legs. his fingers ran along your clothed heat, feeling how you had already soaked through your leggings. his cock twitched as you throbbed against his touch. his leaking precum formed a small dark spot on the crotch of his sweats. it took everything in him not to shove his dick in you already.

“you’re so wet for me, baby…i want to taste you. is that okay?” toji asked softly, looking up at you. you nodded not trusting yourself to speak. you lifted your ass, so he could pull off your bottoms. he lowered himself between your legs now eye level with your dripping cunt. he cautiously licked a single line up your slit. he looked up at you to make sure it was okay for him to continue. you gave him a little nod just wanting to feel his tongue against you again. that was all he needed. his tongue explored your wet folds before finding your clit. he sucked and nipped at it like he was starved man eating food for the first time.

“oh fuck,” you moaned. your fingers tangled in his dark hair, tugging at it. the tension caused toji to moan against you, which sent vibration through your core. you thought the pleasure couldn’t get any more intense until he pushed a finger inside of you. his long finger curled and rubbed against your spot. the stimulation was almost too much to bare. you felt like your body was on fire with lust as you felt your high approaching. your walls clenched around toji’s finger as he messily eat your pussy.

“toji…i…i…i’m gonna cum,” you stuttered. your mind was getting fuzzy as pleasure coarsed through your veins. toji gripped his hands around your thighs pulling you into him. you rolled your hips against his tongue as you rode out your high. he lapped up your juices before coming up for air. you were still coming down when toji stood up and quickly pulled off his sweats. his fully erect dick sprung free. a string of precum falling from his tip. his dick was so much bigger than you could’ve imagined. your mouth watered as you sat up. the only thing you wanted was to make toji feel as good as he made you feel. you reached out to wrap a hand around his dick, but he held your wrist to stop you.

“as much as i want to feel your soft lips around my cock, i need be inside that sweet pussy of yours before i fucking cum,” he grunted, stroking himself a couple of times before lining himself up with your entrance. he ran the tip along your drench fold, mixing your juice and his precum together down his shaft. he hissed as he pushed his tip inside of you. your walls instinctively gripped around his cock as he slowly pushed more of his length inside of you. he gave you only a moment to adjust before thrusting all the way into you. his tip brushed up on your cervix, causing you to yelp. your cunt was being stretched in every way possible.

“so full,” you whimpered, clawing at his arms.

“but it feels so good. doesn’t it, princess?” he gritted through his teeth as he pulled your hips to meet his thrusts.

you hummed in response. your brain felt like mush only being able to focus on toji bullying your pussy. a ball of tension started to form in your lower stomach again.

“cmon use your words, baby,” he cooed only to plow into you faster.

“feels so good,” you whined.

this only encouraged toji to go harder on you. his hips relentlessly snapped into you as he placed one of your legs over his shoulder. this new angle allowed him to hit your sweet spot with every thrust. you gasped and moaned not being able to take much more. the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. it wasn’t long before you felt toji twitch inside of you.

“i’m getting close, princess…you think you can cum for me one more time,” toji moaned, trying his best hold himself together.

you couldn’t even give him a response before he pushed down on your lower stomach. you felt every vein and curve of his dick as he plowed into you. without warning, the ball of tension popped as you came on toji’s dick. he tried to his best to help you ride out your high, but he couldn’t take anymore. he pulled out of you, jerking himself off before releasing onto your stomach. his body shivered as he came down from his climax. you both caught your breath before looking at each other. toji’s hair was stuck to his forehead, and his chest glistened with sweat. a pink blush dusted his cheeks. he looked so beautiful in this state.

“here let me clean you up,” he said softly while putting his sweats back on. he went to the kitchen and ran a rag under some warm water. he gently wiped your tummy as you stared at him sweetly.

“thank you,” you whispered with a smile. he smiled back before helping you get dressed again.

“it’s late. you can sleep over if you would like,” toji offered. of course, you accepted the invitation. you tried to stand up, so you could follow toji to his room, but your legs gave up on you.

“sorry about that,” toji chuckled, scooping you and carrying you to his bedroom.

after the hookup, your relationship remained the same. there was no weird or awkward tension, which was something you worried about. it had only happened that once, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. every time you looked at him, all you could think of was him on top of you. you would be lying if you said your feelings hadn’t gotten worse after you had sex. but, everything was so perfect. you didn’t want to risk ruining it by confessing. little did you know toji was feeling the exact same way. neither of you dared to bring up that night not out of embarrassment but out of fear of ruining such a good thing.

but one night, everything changed.

toji had asked you to megumi for the night. he said that he had a business dinner to attend that night. it made sense since his fight with sukuna was only a few weeks away now. you were making dinner for megs when your phone started buzzing incessantly. you had a bunch of notifications from twitter, so you opened the app to see what the hell was going on. toji was trending, which is never a good thing. you clicked the tag on to be met with a bunch of news accounts posting articles with headlines like “MMA Star Toji Fushiguro spotted having a romantic evening with Ryomen Sukuna’s ex Yuki Tsukumo amidst their big rematch”. you could feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. so many thoughts ran through your head. why didn’t he tell you he had a girlfriend? did he pretend to be nice to you and make you feel special just you could become his babysitter? you felt so stupid. you trusted him…let him see you in ways no one has before. but were you even allowed to be upset? after all, you were just his assistant.

“y/n? why crying?” megumi asked. you hadn’t realized tears were streaming down your cheeks.

“no reason, buddy. are you ready for dinner?,” you sniffled, trying your best to put on a smile for him.

megumi nodded as you picked him up, tickling his tummy as you did so. he giggled and kicked feet while you carried him to his chair. you watched him eat. you were planning to eat with him, but the thought of toji being with another woman ruined your appetite. once megs was done, you cleaned him up and got him ready for bed. toji came home not long after you put megumi down.

“how was he?” toji asked seemingly avoiding your gaze. he knew you knew about the headlines. all you wanted was for him to look at you and tell you the truth, but he didn’t. you weren’t entitled to the truth, but you felt like you deserved it.

“he was amazing per usual…” you trailed off, “i’m going to be heading home now.”

you grabbed your bag and headed for the door. slipping on your shoes, you opened the door.

“y/n, wait,” toji called out. a small part of you hoped he would tell you the headlines were fake...just some to help to help ease the pain. you turned to look at him, but his eyes still avoided yours. you hated it.

“could you use the back entrance? there’s a lot of paps out front?” you nodded, trying your best to hold back more tears at least until you were out of his sight.

as much as you hoped things would stay the same, they didn’t. toji was back to being cold and avoidant. it’s like all those months of trying to get him to open up to you never happened. the sweet, goofy toji that you had just gotten to know disappeared as quickly as he came. you didn’t have the energy to try and get him back. if toji wanted things to go back to how they were because he got a girlfriend, then who were you to interfere with that? it would be one thing if you just had to deal with him at the gym, but yuki started coming around more and more often. it killed you to see her hang onto toji and making him smile like you used to. luckily, you didn’t have to deal with it for much longer. you decided once his fight with sukuna is over that you weren’t going to continue being his assistant. you had found another job at a coffee shop. sure the money wasn’t as good, but you couldn’t continue to put yourself through this misery. you just needed to get away from toji and try to forget he ever existed.

today was the today. toji was finally having his rematch with sukuna, which meant it was your last day dealing with his bullshit. the arena rumbled with screams as toji made his entrance. he paid no mind to the cameras shoved in his face. he was completely focused. yuki, shiu, and the rest of his team followed behind him with you being at the very back not that you cared. you took your seat in the front row as toji entered the ring. he bounced on the balls of his feet, shuffling around the ring before joining sukuna in the center. the two bumped fists as the referee begun the round. toji wasted no time throwing blows at sukuna, who barely dodged each swing. you could see the pure determination in toji’s eyes right before he landed a left hook straight the sukuna’s jaw. the crowd cheered, watching sukuna stumble backwards.

“go toji! that’s my man!” yuki screeched. you rolled your eyes at her obnoxiousness. the bell rang to signify the end of round one. toji went to his corner, where he reconvened with shiu and his team. he glanced at you for a moment, looking away once you realized your eyes were already on him. he needed to know that he still had attention despite his behavior.

as each round passed, you could tell toji was getting more and more pissed off. he wanted this fight to be over more you did. the last round started. it was now or nothing. you were on the edge of your seat…you still wanted him to win. sukuna landed a solid kick to toji’s head, causing toji to go down. you covered your eyes and turned away. in all the times you had watched toji fight, you had never seen him go down like that. you braced yourself for the worst until you heard the crowd chanting his name. you looked at the ring to see him putting sukuna in a chokehold. sukuna struggled to break free, but toji was not letting up. despite his best efforts, he ended up tapping out. the referee handed toji the championship belt before raising his arm to deem him the winner.

as toji exited the ring, his eyes were solely on you. he started to walk towards you, but yuki ran in front of you into his arms. she kissed face, making a big show for the cameras. you still tried to make your way to him, so you could congratulate him on his win, but journalists and paparazzi shoved past you to get pictures and interviews from the couple. he gave you sad look before you turned to leave.

you went to the gym to clean out your office. you preferred to get it over with while no one was around especially not toji. while you were cleaning out the drawers of your desk, you found some pictures megumi had drawn for you. you teared a bit at the sight of them. leaving megumi was going to be the hardest part of this whole thing.

“i thought i might find you here,” a voice called out from the doorway. you look up to see toji leaning against the doorframe.

“yeah…congratulations by the way,” you said quietly, wiping your tears.

“thank you. look there is something i need to tell you,” he replied before taking a look around the room, “ wait, why is all your stuff gone?”

“because i’m leaving, toji. you won’t have to pretend to like me anymore.”

“what? i never pretended to like you. i opened up to you and told you things about myself that no one else knows. hell, i brought you around my kid.”

“yeah so you could have a babysitter while you went out with yuki…i’m not stupid, toji. that’s why you wanted me around. that’s why you got me to trust you enough to let you in my pants. actually maybe i am stupid for trusting you after you treated me like shit in the first place,” you seethed, shoving stuff in your bag before pushing past him.

“the whole relationship with yuki was a publicity stunt…” toji blurted out. you turned to look at him in disbelief. there’s no way you heard him correctly. “none of it was real…that’s what i came here to tell you. well, it was one of the things i wanted to tell you.”

“and you didn’t feel the need to tell me? you think i came to your house everyday and help out with megumi because i had to? i did that shit because i care about YOU! i put up with the yuki shit because of YOU! because i liked you and just wanted to see you happy, but you couldn’t give less of a shit,” you shouted, tears now streaming down your face. toji was completely dumbfounded…you had just admitted for feelings for him.

“you like me?” he muttered. guilt dripped from his words. he knew he was hurting, but he didn’t know how bad it was. you just scoffed and headed towards to the door again. “i like you too…”

you stopped in your tracks. did he really just say that? after all the shit he put you through, he picked now of all times to confess. he knew he should’ve done it months ago even before you two slept together. if he had, he would’ve never had to be in that stupid fake relationship. he could be celebrating his win with you and megumi in peace instead of at a lavish party. for a moment, you thought about giving into him…fuck you wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and kiss him, but you weren’t going to let him make a fool out of you again.

“you really think i would fall for that?” you scoffed.

“y/n, i would rather never fight again than let you walk through that door.” you had never seen toji look so serious before. you stared at him, waiting to see if he would falter, but he didn’t.

“do you really mean that?” you asked, taking a step towards him.

“i’ve never meant anything more in my life. will you please stay here with me?,” he smiled, grabbing your hands. he pulled you close to him so your chest was touching his. his green eyes searched yours, hoping you would believe him.

“fine, i’ll stay, not as your assistant but as your girlfriend,” you giggled as you pressed your lips to his.

“sounds perfect to me.”

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing mid-16th century Venetian dress in doll scale

My parents moved from my childhood home, so I needed to finally take all my old toys I want to keep to store myself, including my dolls. For a long while I've been thinking it might by fun to sew tiny historical clothing for dolls. I love watching doll customization videos, they are so satisfying, and I just really love it, when there's a normal sized thing and then you make it tiny. Especially if it's still functional and made from correct materials. I can't explain it better than tiny versions of bigger things just make me vibrate on higher level. Now that I have my dolls in my home and a box full of fabric scraps, I have everything I need to just start sewing. So I did. And it was extremely fun. I have already started working on a 1890s doll outfit.

This will show my age (not that it doesn't read in my bio), but my dolls are all mainly My Scenes. I was Team My Scene in the early 2000s Bratz vs. My Scene wars. I did not like the proportions of Bratzes. All my My Scenes are Madison, she was my girl.

Here's all the items I made. I tried to use as much historical methods as was possible on doll scale and hand-sewed everything. I made a shift, hose, dress, necklace, earrings, partlet and shoes. I did almost make detachable sleeves, but I wasn't happy with them and I will need to remake them. It took me so long to finish one sleeve and I was very frustrated when I wasn't happy with the result, so I will need some time to make a second attempt.

Underlayer

I have finer white cotton than linen so I used the cotton for the shift and partlet, even though cotton wasn't really used widely at the time, definitely not in underwear, but it worked better in this scale. I didn't have thin enough wool for the hose, so I used fabric from my old thin stockings. Knitted stockings were not quite yet a thing so that's not very accurate, but that's the best I got. I choose red since red hose seemed to have been pretty common based on Venetian paintings, where the hose are shown. I used tiny beads I had lying around as buttons for the sleeves.

I'm not super happy with the neckline. I couldn't come up with a good way to finish gathered neckline on this scale without making it bulky. In future I will try something else.

Overgarments

Dress

The dress itself is made from the remaining scraps of the lovely Latvian linen I bought many years ago from Riga and have already made several garments from. The skirt is cartridge pleated, though the pleats at places behave a little weirdly due to the scale. I used semi heavy linen as lining and finished the panels separately as was typical in 16th century. I didn't use any boning equivalent, but I use cording to reinforce the laced opening. I of course sewed tiny lacing holes, which was very fun. The cord for the lacing I plaited from heavy thread.

Here's couple of examples from 1550s and 1560s Venice I used as basis for the dress.

Partlet

A Venetian renaissance woman of course needs her boob window partlet. Unfortunately I didn't have any super sheer linen or silk to make the fashionable sheer look.

Shoes

The shoes are chopines, which were very fashionable in Venice at the time. They were platform slippers with wooden base, which were covered with leather or fancy fabrics, like brocade or velvet. I didn't make the heels super tall since I was going for more toned down merchant/artisan class sort of vibe, and the very tall were used by upper class women and courtesans. I carved the heels from soft wood and covered them with sateen.

For reference here's couple of 16th century Venetian chopines.

[sleepynoons]

togame x afab!f!reader (characters aged up), nsfw, 18+, not beta read

cw: marathon sex, unprotected sex, oral (receiving), slight face riding, subdrop + dubcon (not intended but could be interpreted as so), one slap on the ass, cum eating, fingering, descriptions of violence + pain + blood

notes: the underground fighter/fight club!au that no one asked for. i've never seen the movie either, so literally, take everything – especially the fight scene in this one-shot – with a fucking atom of salt. i was inspired by this lovely art, and since the manga mentions that togame has limitless stamina... well, i kinda had to do something with that info...

YOU'D EXPECT your boyfriend to be tired out by now. in fact, if you were him, the two of you would have gone to bed hours ago, deep in slumber from the day’s excitement and exhaustion. instead, you’re splayed out on the bed, arms boneless next to you and mouth releasing tired whimpers, as your body rocks along with every deep thrust from jo.

his hands hold onto your hips tightly, pulling you back as he pushes forward, attempting to bury himself ever deeper into you. jo’s always been competitive, and paired with his methodical nature, he’s obsessed with trying to bring the two of you to new heights of sexual pleasure.

how did the two of you end up like this?

your brain’s hazy, clouded by the feeling of jo’s cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you and his teeth nipping and biting at your neck and shoulders. but you try to recall, as a means to hang on, to stay awake for just a little bit longer.

you were invited to watch jo fight for the first time. you weren’t particularly fond of supporting violence, but he had insisted it was something of a casual community event, and it was good for some extra cash and fun prizes. it was also an important part of his life, and since the two of you’ve been dating for a few months now, he wanted to bring you along to meet some of his friends.

when both of you were driving to the club, hosted in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, you asked, “aren’t fight clubs illegal?”

he shrugged and said, “number one rule of fight club: don’t talk about fight club.”

you snorted and rolled your eyes. “you already have.” jo chuckled and answered all the questions you had until the two of you arrived.

he guided you toward the entrance and showed you around, pointing out a few coolers for drinks, the bathroom, and the arena itself. several people were already there, catching up and placing bets on the night’s matches.

as you walked around, you overheard someone say, “all my money’s on togame.” you glanced at your boyfriend, but he made no indication that he had heard anything. 

after being introduced to a few of jo’s friends, it was almost time for the match-ups to start. he had explained to you earlier that he would have to leave you unaccompanied as all participants were required to prepare for their rounds in a large storage room, which was essentially a smaller, neighboring warehouse unit. you reassured him that you would be fine, and in the worst case, you would wait for him in the car.

the fights shortly began after your boyfriend left. you watched as challengers came and went, some throwing punches and kicks at each other while others with more experience used their wits and specific techniques. you cringed as fists collided with jaws and feet were swiped off the floor. but everyone, including the fighters, seemed to be enjoying themselves, so you remained in your seat.

after four matches, it was finally jo’s turn.

like all of the other fighters, jo was shirtless and barefoot. everyone in the audience seemed to roar for your boyfriend as he made his way into the ring. when he stepped into the light, you sucked in a deep breath, a little shocked and in awe.

you had never seen jo so excited about anything in his life.

the jo you knew ate so slow that all the food would be cold by the time he was half-finished, preferred to nap on a beach chair instead of swimming in the pool, and hosted gatherings with friends at home to avoid clubbing and drinking out. the person you’ve gotten to know in the past few months seemed to be a wholesome, harmless dork.

but this jo didn’t even spare you a glance. now that he was standing in the ring, he was laser-focused on his opponent, eyes wide with dilated pupils and a wild, animalistic glint in them. it became abundantly clear to everyone in the audience that, no matter what, jo would win.

apparently, jo had amassed quite a bit of a reputation for himself, hence why the fight club was so packed. the hollers and howls from the spectators escalated as jo exchanged blow after blow with his opponent. you watched as your boyfriend ducked a swing, shifted his balance and stepped on one of his opponent’s feet, effectively immobilizing them for a second, before using his shoulder to jab at and ram into the opponent’s solar plexus. the other stumbled back a bit before managing to land a heavy kick to jo’s side, and despite knowing it would leave a nasty bruise, jo didn’t flinch and instead lunged forward, landing a series of punches in quick succession to the other’s face. in a few moments, his opponent surrendered. you finally allowed yourself to breathe, only noticing then that you barely did throughout the fight.

as the referee held up jo’s arm to announce his victory, he finally looked around in search of you. your boyfriend must’ve noticed your stunned expression, so he cocked his head and discreetly nudged his chin towards the exit. intuition told you to wait for him outside.

as you rushed outside, jo easily caught up to you, spinning you around and pinning you to the car. you squeaked as he kissed you deeply, taking away the air you just managed to regain, and pressed his body against yours, the smell of sweat and rusting blood piquing your senses. when he broke away and you thought you had a moment to recollect yourself, he dove back in, sucking on your lips till they bruised and swelled and brushing his hands against your ear, knowing that the touch made you shudder and buckle at the knees. even when your legs gave way, he didn’t relent, and you had to gasp out a “it hurts!” for him to pull away. you watched as he let up, and when the two of you were face-to-face, that wild glint you saw earlier was still apparent in his eyes. but his usual lazy smile returned as he apologized and rubbed at the spot where the car door handle was digging into your skin.

you can’t seem to recall your return home, and even then, you only remember jo haphazardly unlocking his door as you clawed at his t-shirt to take it off. you were still oblivious then to what the night actually held in store.

you’re brought back to the present when jo’s arm suddenly wraps around the front of your shoulders and chest and heaves you up. now, your back is arced backwards, and the slight shift in angle causes you to mewl in pleasure. you’re starting to see white spots in your vision with the way his thick cock stretches your walls apart and pokes at new spots in you that you’ve never discovered yourself.

between pants, jo gulps and asks, “what are you thinking about? am i that bad?”

you want to object, but then he gives you a harsh slap to the ass cheek with his other hand that effectively silences you.

“princess, i won just for you, so give me some attention, yeah?”

you manage to choke out, “for me?” jo reaffirms by pulling almost all the way out, leaving only his tip inside you, and then thrusting himself in again heavily with force so strong you feel it rattle throughout your body. you’ve always known your boyfriend is strong, but today’s fight and sex have exceeded your expectations. you cry out shamelessly and cum unexpectedly that even jo releases a guttural moan when your pussy clamps down on him, and he also finishes.

you collapse onto the bed. faintly, you hear jo apologize, “shit, sorry, babe. didn’t mean to cum inside of you.” he helps you roll over so that you’re lying on your back, and picks your legs up to slide you fully onto the bed. you think it’s the end.

but suddenly, the bed dips at where your feet lie, and your legs are pried apart. jo lines firm kisses along your inner thighs, and you whimper at the feeling of his fingers playing with your folds. he slides the fingertip of his index finger up and down between your folds, causing you to jolt whenever he flicks at your clit.

“jo…,” you whisper. you rest your hands around your boyfriend’s neck, holding onto him in hopes of grounding yourself.

“how about one more, babe? just one more,” he pleads, transfixed at the sight of your messy, wet pussy. his want hasn’t been satiated. he needs to feel you one last time. he begs again, “i won’t put it in, i know you’re sore. i’m going to clean you up, alright?”

the feeling of his warm tongue against your hole erases all of your thoughts and concerns. he’s careful, aware that you’re spent and overstimulated, and he laps at the mixture of his and your cum spilling down and onto the sheets. when he feels your body tensing up, he pauses and presses feather-light kisses instead as he waits for you to relax once more. he then mouths at your folds, sucking one into his mouth and licking softly, then switching to the other. you’re both moaning at the sensation – you because every suckle brings you closer to your high and him because you taste, smell, and feel so sweet and delicious against his tongue. finally, he reaches the top and spreads apart your lower lips with two fingers, admiring the sight of your pert clit throbbing in anticipation and need.

you groan, eager and impatient, when jo stares for too long. you scratch at his undercut to get his attention and whine, “jo, hurry! want your mouth on me!”

obediently, he dips down and gingerly kisses your bud. you shiver at the light touch and cant your hips upward, urging him to continue. jo resumes, alternating between gentle pecks and quick sucks of your clit, which leaves you writhing and compounds your arousal. occasionally, he even hums, and the vibrations pinch at your bud and you yelp in surprise every time. you’re no longer holding onto his shoulders – you’re grabbing and tugging at the curls of your boyfriend’s hair and pressing your clit against his mouth and nose, desperate for release. jo supports your movements as his large, calloused hands cup your ass. lastly, jo adds in his tongue. the erratic, unpredictable switching between all of the different ways he can tease your oversensitive nub quickly sends you over, and as you scream and cum, your thoughts are fully consumed with the sensations of his mouth drinking up your release and his nose nudging against your clit to extend your climax. you’re wantonly rubbing yourself against jo, smearing your pussy messily against your boyfriend’s face, and your eyes roll back as he just takes it and laps at what he can.

“you’re so fucking good to me, princess,” he moans into your pussy. from his words, you feel one last crashing wave of your orgasm, pleasure overwhelming you for a little longer, before it begins to subside.

seeing that you’re coming down from your high, jo pulls away. he licks at his lips, savoring the remnants of your high, and watches as you begin to drift off. jo himself is finally feeling the drowsiness and settles next to you.

even as you’re losing consciousness, he whispers, “this is the best reward, baby.” you nuzzle into his warmth, mumble something incoherent, and fall asleep.

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ camisado

"can't take the kid from the fight, take the fight from the kid, sit back, relax, sit back, relapse again"

Part 1 | [Part 2]

cw: GN!reader. Pure angst for this one baby, literally zero comfort (I'll make it up to you in pt 2 xx). Talks of addiction, taking drugs, anxiety + panic attacks and withdrawl symptoms. (pls let me know if i missed something!!!). Both reader and Spencer sort of cannot communicate and are not slaying but they mean well a/n: this started as just a character study but I kinda fell into the deep end and got quite caught up in it so its inadvertantly a LOT more than just a character study, sand so I divided it up into something more cohesive. w/c: 5.4k

It’s impossible to prove a hypothesis.

You can run an experiment a thousand times, collect a thousand successful results, only to watch the 1001st experiment fail. Empirical data only takes you so far, giving the illusion of certainty. Until it doesn't.

Science deals in probabilities, assumptions – not guarantees. Spencer Reid knows this better than most.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when he started thinking of his addiction like a science experiment.

Maybe it was easier that way. A coping mechanism – reduction as self-defence. He could lessen the weight of it, condense something so vast and devastating into variables and charts and numbers in a feeble attempt to soften the struth. An attempt to strip it of its emotional weight and file it away under “manageable.” As if the cravings could be measured or quantified. Understood.

He frames the parameters in his mind with clinical precision. Independent variable: the drug. Dependent variable: his behavior. Control group: the version of himself from months ago, when the spiral hadn’t yet begun. Before the late nights. Before the secrets. Before the lies.

Addiction is just a problem like any other. A system which he can study, decode and master.

He creates his hypothesis: he can control it. He can use one more time, and still be fine. Each addition to his hypothesis only strengthens his willpower:

If I time it right, no one will notice. If I maintain structure, I won’t lose control. If I’m careful, my life will reman intact.

But addition doesn’t care for logic, nor does it follow the rules of scientific inquiry. It doesn’t operate within a sterile lab, patiently waiting to be measured.

There are no constants. No peer-reviewed journals to validate his pain or explain it away. There’s only the truth: the shaking in his hands, the crawling of his skin, the nausea that comes in waves, the sleepless nights that stretch into oblivion. Only the raw data of his descent: chaotic, unquantifiable and unforgiving.

The data never replicates, and the experiment keeps failing.

Again. And again. And again.

The variables start to mutate. The outcome blurs. The method falls away.

Still, he clings to the process. Records the collapse like data points, hoping objectivity will save him.

Day 6: Forgets to eat.

Day 9: Lies to Garcia about the bags under his eyes.

Day 12: The first time he brings it into the building. Doesn’t use. Just wants to know its there.

Day 16: Snaps at Prentiss mid-briefing. Doesn’t apologize.

Day 19: Blanks on a case. Morgan has to cover for him.

Day 22: Tells you it’s “just anxiety.”

Day 25: Uses before a profile. Feels sharper. Lies to himself and says it helps.

Day 28: Uses again. No excuse this time.

By now, he knows he can’t control it.

Fine. He can create a new hypothesis.

Compartmentalization. He tells himself he can seal the chaos in a box, keep the infection contained. Let the rest of his life remain untouched.

His work. His friends. You.

Especially you.

He tells himself that love and addiction can coexist, as long as they don’t overlap. As long as the two worlds remain separate. He can maintain the boundaries.

But love isn’t a constant either.

And addiction… it leaks. It slips through the cracks to taint everything it touches.

He forgets to reply to your messages. Forgets what day it is. Forgets to tune in when you speak.

He tells himself he’s tired. You tell him you’re worried. He smiles. Lies. Makes promises. You both watch as love falls into the contamination zone, becomes tangled in the variables he can’t control.

Watch as it starts to fail.

It starts like most mornings.

Spencer wakes to sunlight bleeding in through the blinds. Amber-toned light, catching dust motes in midair – it makes the room look almost serene. The sun streaks across the hardwood, illuminating coffee stains and the faded outline of where a rug used to be. Gentle, unassuming. The morning is pretending like nothing is wrong.

Outside, early traffic hums. A low, steady drone overlayed with birdsong and the sharp, impatient honk of a horn. Somewhere inside the apartment, a faucet drips in an uneven rhythm. He thinks of it like an erratic metronome, counting down time he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

He shivers. The sheets are tangled low around his legs – his doing, no doubt. He’s been tossing again. Restless, even in sleep. Maybe even more so in sleep. Dreams come with sharp edges now. Inescapable.

Your leg is resting lightly over his calf. Casual. Trusting. As if your body still believes in him, even if your mind has started to doubt.

You stir beside him, just a stretch. Your fingers graze his hand in a featherlight gesture, asking a question without a voice. He curls away in response. Rolls onto his side. Pretends to be asleep.

You don’t press. You never do. Not anymore.

You just rise, silent and soft, padding across the cool floor toward the bathroom. There’s the familiar clink of your toothbrush, a muffled yawn, the gentle hum when you finish. He used to join you for this. Brushing teeth side by side, heads bowed under the mirror light, elbows bumping and smiles shared. He always thought that was one of the most intimate things a couple could do – a quiet, unspoken routine shared between two people.

Today, he just stays in bed, weighted by guilt. Anchored to the mattress, hoping it’ll keep him from drifting. The drug is still in his system, softening the world and smoothing the edges that keep cutting him open.

You move to the kitchen next. Cupboards creak and mugs clink. The coffee machine whirs, beginning its little dance. The scent of coffee reaches him moments later. Overly sweet – his favorite. You always remember. He never asks.

He pushes himself upright, legs over the edge of the bed and feet meeting the cold floorboards. He imagines walking into the kitchen with you. Imagines wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder the way he used to. Imagines you leaning into him, whispering a song under your breath.

Instead, he stays where he is. Elbows on knees, head in hands. The light seems colder now that he’s facing it directly. Less gold, more white-blue. Less morning, more mourning.

He strains to hear you. The soft thud of your footsteps, the sound of cups and cabinets, your soft breath. The peaceful repetition of a ritual he used to be a part of, but now avoids and observes from afar.

Spencer wishes you would hate him. It would make things simpler. Cleaner. He wishes you’d scream, or cry, or slam the door and tell him to go to hell. Wishes you’d throw a mug just to watch it shatter.

But you don’t. You never do. You just remain; quiet and present.

Hopeful, maybe. Or resigned.

Last night had been bad.

The tremors came again, starting in his fingers and crawling up his hands and arms like static. He blamed the case. Said he felt “off.” The lie came so easily, as they all did lately. He crawled into bed, trying not to vomit or shake the mattress.

You didn’t say a word. You left a glass of water o the nightstand. Crawled in beside him. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The gesture broke him a little more.

He could hear the unspoken questions, the palpable worry in your body despite you saying nothing.

But what help can you offer someone who won’t accept it? How can you save a man who insists he isn’t struggling?

His mind feels quiet now, though. Usually spinning in overlapping questions and unrelenting memory, it’s finally still. False peace. A chemical silence.

He tells himself that his planned retreat is love. Letting you go before he destroys you completely.

He’s rehearsed it in his mind like a script. Over and over. A breakup: surgical and precise, a clean and final incision.

Version one: He says, “I can’t do this. It’s not your fault.” You cry quietly. Nod. Let him leave. He walks away without looking back.

Version two: You already know. You’ve known he was planning this for weeks. You tell him it’s okay. That you understand. That you love him. He ends up on the floor, sobbing. Can’t let go. Doesn’t leave. Prolongs the pain even more.

Version three: You scream. You throw something – maybe a glass. You call him a coward. He welcomes it, embraces the heat. It makes him feel real. Makes the leaving easier. Makes him feel like he isn’t the only villain in the story.

He’s practiced every scenario.

A thousand internal rehearsals. Different lines. Different outcomes.

Only one of them will break the cycle.

He doesn’t hear you come back in, but suddenly you’re there, setting his coffee down on the bedside table with the softest clink, like you’re trying not to wake him even though he’s already up, stiff-spined and quiet.

‘Spence?’

Your voice is thick with sleep, but still laced with warmth. It twists something deep in his chest.

He swallows. His mouth is dry, like he’s been breathing through it all night. Almost like his body is trying to cough out whatever truth he keeps trying to choke down.

‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t know what for. A pre-emptive apology, maybe. A reflex. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost eight.’

The sheets rustle as you sit beside him. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and he feels the subtle pressure of your presence before your chin touches his shoulder. Light and familiar, just resting against him.

He flinches. Barely, but enough.

You feel it. Don’t pull away.

‘Is everything okay? Is this about the case?’

It’s not. You both know its not.

He considers lying anyway. Considers giving you numbers. He could offer up statistics about trauma and cognitive decline. Something familiar and in the realm of fact, clean and clinical and easy to categorize.

But nothing comes out.

Silence answers for him. It stretches between you, getting thinner by the second.

He counts seven seconds exactly before you shift away from him. He records it like a data point, adding it to the line in his ever-growing graph of failure.

You lean back against the headboard, wrapping your fingers around your mug. You sip it slowly. The smell of his own coffee reaches him again. Sweet and familiar. Grounded in a time before everything broke.

Your movements are careful. Each shift, every breath, calibrated around him like you’ve mapped his problems and have built your mornings around avoiding them. You’re not naturally quiet in the mornings. He knows that. You’d sing sometimes, badly and too loud, and bang drawers open without care. But now you measure each movement, minimizing the noise because you know it unsettles him when he’s wound too tight.

Another thing he hates. You adjust, without even being asked.

He joins you after a long moment, settling beside you. Not close enough to feel the warmth from your body. His eyes fall to the mug you selected for him. His mug, in your apartment. The faded yellow one, that’s more a dull cream than anything now.

He left it here by accident over a year ago, when weekends were tentatively spent in each other’s presence. Fresh and new. He remembers when he first found noticed it tucked in your cabinet between your own mismatched sets. His chest had gone still and warm.

Now it just feels like a piece of evidence. Proof that he’s infiltrated a life he doesn’t belong in. An outlier in your apartment.

He doesn’t reach for it right away. When he finally does, his hands tremble.

Your eyes flick down. That’s all it takes.

And suddenly you’re both back there. Three months ago. His apartment. Your hand wrapped around his wrist. Eyes wide with something deeper than fear. You were crying, but so softly that he almost didn’t register it. The needle had been on the counter, hidden beneath a tissue like something sacred and shameful all at once. A relic he didn’t know how to bury.

There had been begging. On both sides.

You telling him that it was dangerous. That you were scared. That he was killing himself slowly.

Him promising (over and over and over) that this was the last time. That he’d stop. That you couldn’t tell his team.

You’d desperately searched for solutions, tried to jump hurdles and find ways to help without exposing the situation to his team, to the world. You’d lost count of how many times you’d hit dead ends.

He continued with his promises. Seemed to get better for a while, but inevitably sunk down again. You wanted to believe he could get better. Maybe part of you did.

‘So,’ you say, voice softer now. It drags him back to the present like a lifeline, though he wishes he’d remain drowning. ‘You didn’t sleep?’

It’s phrased as a question, but it’s not. It’s a gentle accusation.

‘I slept some,’ he lies.

You don’t believe him. How could you? The evidence is all there. Red-rimmed eyes, sunken cheeks, a slow, syrupy fatigue that not even coffee can fix.

You nod, but your silence screams.

He sips his coffee. Too sweet. Perfect.

It tastes of normalcy. He watches the sun paint your shoulder – still cold, but warmer now it’s touching you. For a second he wants to pretend. Pretend this morning is just like any other, that he’s still the man who deserves your soft kindness.

But then you say, suddenly and very quietly:

‘I found something this morning.’

You don’t say what. You don’t need to.

He freezes. The blood drains from his face. The bathroom bin.

He’s been sloppy lately. Too tired to be cautious. Except this time it was perfectly planted. An excuse to initiate the end.

‘Do you hate me?’ he asks.

‘No.’ It’s immediate. Truthful. Your voice cracks anyway.

Your body folds in on itself, curling your arms around your knees, mug forgotten on the nightstand. Forging a shield around yourself. It makes you look smaller than usual. More fragile.

And in that shape, he sees it. Not anger. Not resentment. But heartbreak.

A slow, dull heartbreak. Bruised and tarnished. Despite it, you’re still here. Still hoping. Still loving him through the destruction.

Spencer stands abruptly. The weight pressing down on his chest has become too heavy, the consequences of his actions gaining in on him. Your apartment suddenly feels too small, Suffocating. He escapes to the kitchen, clutching his coffee mug.

‘Spence—’

You rise immediately and follow him. The way you say his name is tentative and fragile, like the first crack in a piece of glass. The first real fluctuation in his carefully controlled experiment.

He ignores you, pretending not to hear, and allows himself to be carried by the momentum of his own restlessness and panic. The ceramic of his mug feels too heavy, his nerve endings too attuned to the realness of it. When he sets it down, the sound echoes unnaturally loud. A shout in the silence.

‘Spencer.’

Your voice holds more weight this time. It’s a deliberate attempt to break through the barrier he’s created.

He exhales sharply through his nose. ‘What?’

You take a cautious step forward. Not accusing, just trying to close the ever-widening space between you.

‘Talk to me. Please.’

‘I am.’ His words are hollow as he gestures between you. ‘We’re talking.’

‘No, you’re avoiding,’ you correct, unwilling to back down. ‘I want to know what I can do for you. I can find you a new support group—’

His hands rise as he blocks out the rest of your words, pressing his palms firmly to his eyes. An attempt to press his feelings back inside. He fights the rising tide of panic and shame. Fights all the words threatening to spill out. Fights himself.

Fails.

‘I’ve tried!’ The calm snaps as his voice cracks, a sharp edge to his words that surprises even him. He pulls inward again, as if shielding himself from his own confession. It’s out in the open.

He feels sick – whether it’s the drug wearing off, or the anxiety squeezing his chest, he can’t tell.

‘I know…’ you begin, gentle, trying to reach him.

‘I tried,’ he repeats. His voice is softer. Desperate now. Raw. ‘I really did try. You think I wanted this? I don’t—’

‘Then let me in,’ you cut in, voice measured despite the frown on your face. ‘Let me help. Stop trying to get through this on your own.'

He grits his teeth. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’

‘From what? From you? You’re not the danger here, Spence. The silence is. Your lack of communication is. I don’t want to get you in trouble but you’re not leaving me with many options—’

He shakes his head. Starts pacing the kitchen like an animal in a cage. ‘You don’t get it.;

‘Then help me get it.’

‘You can’t!’ His voice cracks, and his hands tremble at his sides. He worries that he’s going to start crying. They already feel glassy, starting to sting, but he refuses to break down so early on.

‘Can’t what?’

‘You can’t understand what it’s like in my head. It’s loud. All the time. Noise and chaos and—’ His voice falters. He blinks away the building tears. ‘And I can’t get it to be quiet. The only time it’s silent is when I—’

He cuts himself off too late. The words hang in the air.

When I have it in my veins.

It’s not news. It never is. But it still hears to hear. Still lands like a punch to the gut.

You close your eyes, steading your breath and swallowing the sting of it. A moment to process, and then you exhale shakily.

‘I love you,’ you say, voice trembling. The truth, used as a mechanism to get him to see reason. A desperate attempt to pull him back to safety.

‘Don’t.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t say that right now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it makes this harder,’ he says.

‘This?’

He doesn’t answer.

The fierceness that takes over you then is startling. Shocking even to him.

‘No.’ You straighten, and your hands ball into fists at your sides. ‘Tell me. Tell me what you mean. Because I’m so tired of trying to decipher your half-sentences and prematurely ended conversations.’

He swallows hard. The silence suffocates the two of you.

‘I think we should break up.’

The wors fall like shards of glass. Sharp. Brutal. Irrevocable.

No rehearsed sincerity. No apology. Just the brutal truth. The 1001st experiment – failing harder than he could’ve ever predicted.

‘You’re really going to do this?’ you ask, voice breaking as you stare at him like he’s morphed into a stranger in just a few seconds. ‘You’re really going to do this now?’

Behind the hurt in your expression is confusion. You don’t understand. How can he push you away when he needs you the most? When he needs the support and guidance?

He nods once. Empty. Silent. The air seems to vanish, completely sucked from the room.

‘You think walking away is protecting me?’ It comes out as a demand, bottom lip trembling so hard it’s difficult to speak. ‘That—what? Making me sit here alone, wondering what I could’ve done differently—is going to help me?’

‘It’s not about you.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ The words bite, and he feels like he’s been struck by a whip. ‘Everything you do affects me, Spencer. Every time you lie. Every time you shut me out. I’m constantly hoping you’ll throw me just a scrap of truth. Just one honest thing.’

He takes a moment to look at you. To observe the cracks in your armor, the exhaustion behind your eyes.

And he knows: he’s breaking you.

‘I’m trying to protect you,’ he repeats. His voice holds no weight now, feeling threadbare.

‘Then talk to me,’ you plead, your voice breaking around the edges. ‘Let me in. Let me be in it with you. That’s what a relationship is, Spencer.’

‘I can’t.’ His jaw tightens. ‘I don’t want you to watch me fall apart.’

‘I already am watching. I have been. For months.’

The words land like a punch. He doesn’t outwardly flinch, but you see something change behind his eyes. It’s like the breath has been knocked out of him, and he’s trying not to show it.

If he could rewind time, he would.

Five minutes – so he could stop himself from saying the words that fractured this moment.

Five weeks – so he could prevent himself from taking and erase every relapse he never told you about.

Five months – to a Monday morning where he didn’t curl away from your touch, but welcomed you against his chest with open arms.

But time isn’t a variable he can control.

So he stays frozen. Like the stillness will ground him. If he doesn’t move, maybe the moment won’t progress forward.

Your face is unreadable now. He hates that. That’s what cuts deepest, he thinks. He used to be able to read you like a book. Once, he could even name every emotion before you even spoke it aloud – guilt in the twitch of an eye, love in a half-formed smile. Now, all he sees is distance. A stranger across the room. A closed door where open windows used to be.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ he says quietly. Final.

A beat of silence.

‘So that’s it?’

‘I can’t keep pulling you under with me,’ he says it. That line is rehearsed. It comes out sounding practiced, like it’s been spoken too often in the mirror. Even so, it lands jagged and half-shattered, just like everything else he’s touched lately.

There’s no screaming. No slammed fists or doors. Just something hollow. A quiet devastation. You feel it crack open your chest, the silence louder than any argument.

You take a step back. Not from anger, but from instinct. A recoil. He watches the moment with a clenched jaw, eyes misty like he’s already halfway gone.

Maybe if he yelled, things would make more sense. Maybe if he cried, you could believe that breaking up was hurting him too. But he just stands there. Still. Detached. Resigned.

‘Breaking up…’ You say the words carefully, like it physically hurts to speak them. ‘You don’t mean it.’

‘I do.’

‘No, you don’t.’ He’s unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him. ‘You’re just scared.’

He shrugs. Defeated. ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t make what I’m saying untrue. I’m breaking up with you.’

‘I don’t need you to be perfect, Spencer,’ you say, stepping toward him. ‘I just need you. The you who spoke to me. The you who let me carry even a little bit of the weight.’

He shakes his head. The words fall out bitter and painful. ‘You think this—’ he gestures vaguely between you, hand faltering mid-air, ‘—is a relationship? This is a time bomb. Every relapse, every lie – I drag you with me. And I can’t keep doing that to you.’

‘You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.’

‘Yes, I do,’ he says. His voice cracks under the strain and his hands tremble now. ‘Because when you look at me like I’m breaking your heart by just existing—’ He stops. Swallows hard. ‘It kills me. I’m not putting you through that again.’

You throw your hands up. Not angry, just wrecked. The tears come slow at first, before you can even realize you’re crying, like your mind is still trying to pretend things might be okay, but your body knows it’s not.

‘Stop acting like what you’re doing is noble, Spencer,’ you whisper. ‘Stop weaponizing love to justify walking away.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

The silence after is deafening.

You don’t say what you’re thinking. Too late. You already have.

Instead, the two of you just stand there, not touching, not moving. The faucet drips lamely behind you. The birds continue singing outside. Oblivious, out of place – not caring that your world is falling apart.

‘Please.’

It comes from you finally. Your voice is so low it nearly disappears into the air between you. You aren’t begging. Not really. It’s something smaller than that. A final chance.

‘I don’t know how to be better,’ he admits, voice as quiet as yours. ‘I want to. I swear, I want to. But I don’t know how.’

‘Then let me help.’

You close the gap between you. A few fragile steps that feel like miles. When you stop, it’s with your heart wide open and bared. Your hands lift, almost touching him, but not quite. He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

His hands remain clenched into fists at his sides. He knows that if he touches you, really touches you, he’ll stay. And if he stays, he’ll keep breaking your heart into smaller, sharper pieces.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, tone just shy of grief. ‘I wish there was a gentle way to leave you.’

And that’s when you feel it. The subtle shift. The air in the room changing. A certain ending.

It doesn’t end with a scream. It doesn’t end with a slammed door. It ends in the space between your bodies. In barely held restraint. In the inch he keeps between your hands.

Then he steps back, and the moment breaks.

You don’t follow. He doesn’t look back.

When he leaves, you let him go.

He doesn’t slam the door, though he wishes he could.

He wishes there was a clean, decisive sound. Something loud enough to match the shattering in his chest. Something final.

But there’s only a soft click as the door eases shut behind him, the apartment trying not to wake the grief sleeping in its corners.

He stands in the hallway. Motionless. It smells faintly like burned toast and over-watered plants. A dog barks from a floor below. The banality of it – the normalcy – makes him want to scream.

He counts his steps, just to drown out everything else in his mind.

Seven to the elevator. Ten seconds down. Twenty-four more to the front door of the building. The mundanity makes him cringe. Something should be stopping him from walking out. It shouldn’t be this easy.

He catches his reflection in the glass of the door. A brief flicker. He looks away before the mirror can accuse him, before he can see the guilt in his eyes.

You’re still upstairs. Maybe on the couch. Maybe still standing where he left you. He hopes you’ve stopped crying. Knows the tears are probably still falling.

When he steps out onto the street, the morning hits him harder than expected. Too bright. Too warm. The lightness feels unfair. A child is laughing down the block. Somewhere, a child laughs. A care radio blasts a pop song. The world is still going, indifferent to how he’s feeling.

The world hasn’t ended. Not for them.

He takes a deep breath, hoping the air will ground him. Fill his lungs and center him. It doesn’t. So he walks. Not fast, and not with purpose.

He just moves, one foot in front of the other, and hopes the momentum will save him. Like distance will undo the damage.

Still no particular destination. Work, maybe. He’s due in, he thinks. He just knows he can’t go back to you, even if that’s where his heart wants to go.

The air bites at is skin. Colder now that he’s moving. Maybe it just feels that way because he’s raw, stripped of the warmth that lived in your voice, your touch, your home. He starts to move faster, hoping the breakup won’t catch up with him.

Halfway down the block, it starts.

A too-shallow breath. A heartbeat that comes too fast. A tremor that doesn’t start in his hands, but originates from somewhere deeper. Somewhere ungraspable. He blinks rapidly, trying to control the way his chest won’t open up properly.

He rounds a corner too sharply. His vision warps at the edges. Every footstep feels like it echoes, the street unstable beneath him.

His own name flickers in his mind like static. He tried to ground himself in language, in familiarity, pleading for it to pull him back from whatever this is.

I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m no okay.

His pulse thuds unevenly. His ribs feel like they’re contracting, his chest turning to stone. The air won’t come in properly. He opens his mouth, gasps in ragged drags of oxygen. It feels like he’s breathing through a piece of gauze.

Somehow, though he doesn’t remember the walk there, he finds himself outside the BAU building.

He grips the brick wall beside the entrance like it’s the only thing holding him upright. His knees buckle and his slides down, curling in on himself. His arms brace across his knees – still clothed in soft pajamas – and he hangs his head low.

He’s trying not to fall apart in public. Trying not to be a problem. But the breaking inside is too loud. He looks insane, probably. Can’t bring himself to care.

He gasps again, and presses a hand to his chest. The other grips at his hair.

Parasympathetic regulation. He knows the terms. Tells himself he can breathe. Four-count inhale. Five-count exhale. He keeps losing count.

He digs his palms into his eyes. He wants to vanish into the dark behind his eyelids, wants the pressure to stop the noise. He wants to erase the world. Wants to go back.

A sound escapes him. One that is part breath, part sob. Low and fragile and unfamiliar.

Then:

‘Reid?’

He doesn’t respond. Just keeps breathing – or, trying to.

Footsteps. Quick and purposeful.

The voice again, closer. ‘Spencer?’

He hears it clearer this time. Morgan.

And then Morgan is there, crouched beside him without hesitation. Morgan doesn’t say much. He doesn’t freak out of panic. He just stays. Solid and steady.

‘Hey,’ he says gently. ‘Breathe. You’re okay. You’re right here with me, alright?’

Spencer wants to nod. Wants to speak. But his breath stutters again, getting caught. Morgan mirrors a breath. Slow. Deliberate. Exaggerated.

‘In and out with me, Pretty Boy. One—two—three—’

A pause. Breathing in unison.

‘That’s it,’ Morgan says, voice softly coaxing. ‘Keep going. I’ve got you.’

Spencer latches onto the rhythm. Not perfectly. Not easily. But slowly. His heartbeat begins to come down from its frantic pounding.

He leans his head back against the cool brick wall. Lets it ground him. Still shaky, but better.

‘I can’t… I can’t go in,’ he rasps. His voice sounds foreign in his own mouth. Dry and hoarse and cracked.

‘That’s okay,’ Morgan says immediately. ‘We don’t have to move. We’ll just sit here.’

And they do.

The silence between the isn’t empty. It’s full of everything Spencer can’t say yet. He grips his knees until his knuckles turn white.

‘I think…’ He swallows. ‘I think I broke it. Whatever I had, I ruined it. I told them…’ his voice catches as he takes another gulp of air. ‘I just left them.’

Morgan doesn’t ask questions. He just listens.

Spencer closes his eyes again, not to shut Morgan out, but to try and hold something inside. He feels it cracking anyway. Slowly. A quiet and ruinous cave-in.

No tears fall. He doesn’t have the energy left for that. He just sits with the ache. The guilt. The weight.

Someone walks into the BAU behind them. The buzz of the door opening and closing. Footsteps fading away. Spencer keeps his head down throughout.

Morgan rests a hand on his shoulder. It’s not heavy. Just present. And Spencer doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t recoil. Just breathes.

They sit like that as the sun rises higher, casting long shadows on the sidewalk. The world keeps going. The day unfolds without waiting. They remain together. Breathing in sync. Still and unmoving, because motion might shatter what’s left of Spencer’s composure.

Spencer thinks about his hypothesis again.

You can run the experiment a thousand times and get the same result.

But it only takes one failure to prove you were never in control.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!! I rewrote and edited this so many times i think i went crazy and decided this was the best it would be!!! I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. taglist: @abbyy54 @curatedbylucy @cynbx @enchantedtomeetcoffee @goobbug @internallysalad @jeuj @leparoleontanee @mrs-cactus69 @readbyreid @redorquid @santinstar @shortmelol @thoughtwriter @whitenoisewhatanawfulsound @written-in-the-stars06

[h2llish]

i've been following your blog for a while and absolutely adore your writing!

if its okay i'd love to see something with either leona or jamil (up to you!) and a reader who falls asleep on their shoulder during some sort of nrc road trip.. i'm not sure if nrc would have buses per say considering all the magic and stuff but the concept of an nrc school trip seems super interesting to me so if you're up for the request by all means just have fun with it!! i do notice that your requests are semi open so feel free to decline ofc !

— ☁️

⁀➷ ˖ ROAD TRIP DROWSINESS

notes ─── hi anon! i’m so happy you like my writing! i don't think they'd have buses at nrc because of the mirror, but crowley would probably spring a sudden road trip on them which would just confuse the students, because why? (i also imagine their bus would probably be a bit fancier? idk how to explain it but nothing like the busses i'm used to.)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR ─── a wave of drowsiness leads you to find comfort on his shoulder ♡ fluff, gender neutral, can be read platonic or romantic, not proofread

transportation for students at nrc was not hard, all they had to do was enter the dark mirror and then they found themselves safely at their destination. so if it was that easy, why in the world was the headmage so adamant that they boarded this bus like they were kids back in middle school? ─ a road trip was his very (might many students say stupid) answer.

the only person who seemed to not have a problem with this sudden turn of events, was the magicless prefect from ramshackle. you didn't give any complaints or groan about using the easy way to get to the destination. you just nodded when the headmage announced the decision.

students were chosen at random, names drawn from a hat (a method the headmage seemed to rely on often).  and as the prefect, and the designated scapegoat for everything crowley did, you were of course among that group, with your dire beast other half. 

“i don't get it,” grim frowned, sitting on your shoulder as you approached the bus, where many familiar faces waited to board. “why can't we just use the mirror?”

ace was walking alongside you, being one of the people drawn to join the group. he had decided to met you at ramshackle, knowing you would inevitably have to board the bus as well. “i think the headmage called it some sort of bonding experience. don't know how a hours-long road will be a bonding experience.”

grim grumbled, turning his head to look at your face. you have yet to say anything to add to the conversation. “whaddya’ think, [name]?”

“what?” you blinked, sending a glance to the dire beast before looking ahead of you once more. “what do i think about what?”

“were you even listening to anything we just said?” ace sighed. 

you hummed, “i’ve learned to tune you guys out the moment you start speaking.” ─ and then you were wincing as the two of them shouted, leaning your head away from the monster as he and ace expressed how offended they were.

you sighed, this was going to be a long ride.

and right you were. 

things were okay (as okay as a group of irritable teenage boys with magic on a bus could be) during the first hour. but as the first hour turned to half, and you found yourself growing drowsy, you attempted to doze off, at least for a good twenty minutes. you were unsuccessful, as the moment you closed your eyes, you were quickly opening them to glance at a yelling grim.

epel and sebek, also being among the names drawn, were sitting next to you. epel and grim looked ready to pounce on an unnamed student who seemed to have picked a fight with them. ace didn't do much to stop the argument, in fact, he was actively encouraging it. and sebek, while he made an attempt to hold back a seething grim, was not of much help either. 

you sighed, but made no move to stop it ─ you expected something to happen eventually, and you weren't all that up to being the “reasonable” one of the group. you aren't sure what the argument was about, but neither did you care. if grim got in trouble for attacking a student, it would come back to bite you, but that was something for future you to worry about.

you glanced around the bus, before your attention landed on the savanaclaw housewarden sitting alone. ─ your friends continued to argue with the random guy, and you were sure they had no intention of ending the argument anytime soon. and you would rather sleep off some time on the road rather than listen to your friends go back and forth with someone you didn't even know the name of. you stood from your seat, uncaring of whether or not it was okay to do so as you approached the empty seat. 

leona had his head down, probably napping, the same thing you wanted to do. when you sat down beside him his ears twitched and he lifted his head to look at you, probably intending to scowl and scare off whoever had been stupid enough to sit beside him, until he realized it was you.

“what are you doing?” he frowned at you, but you went unfazed.

“sitting next to you, obviously.”

leona rolled his eyes, “why?”

instead of giving a verbal answer, you pointed at your friends, where sebek now had a grip on the scruff of grim’s neck, keeping him from jumping at the student. ace was laughing, offering no help to the half-fae. epel was no better than grim, with sebek’s arm held out in front of him, keeping him from doing anything.

"so you came to bother me instead?" he asked, and you looked at him straight-faced.

"yup."

leona sighed, but he didn't tell you to scram (not like you would if he did). he didn't say anything else, only close his eyes again and turning away, likely to try and nap. you weren't offended by his lack of reply, leaning your head back against the seat and trailing your eyes over the bus and your peers.

the longer you sat in somewhat silence ─ save for the incoherent yelling from your friends, you had for the most part zoned out, and the chatter of those on board ─ you found yourself falling to the drowsiness that have been interrupted before. you closed your eyes and let the movement of the bus guide you to sleep.

leona was awake, annoyed by the bus and those on the bus. his ears twitched when he heard your breathing slow beside him and he lifted his head, just as your head lolled to the side and you leaned against his shoulder.

he sighed, but made no move to push you off, glancing around you at the rest of the students of nrc, who were all either sleeping themselves, or chatting with friends. he leaned his head back, eyeing you as you shifted for a moment before relaxing again.

"where'd [name] go?" leona could hear your friends ask, no longer distracted by the argument that they were having with the random student.

he looked back at them, just in time to catch ace's eye, who was the first to see you sleeping against leona. he looked ready to say something, but leona narrowed his eyes on the first year. ace immediately shut his mouth, grinning awkwardly as he turned back to his friends.

leona huffed, looking back down at you to make sure you didn't stir. he adjusted in more comfortable position, an arm resting behind you on the seat, allowing you to lean closer, and hopefully, be more comfortable than leaning against his shoulder the way you had. and then he closed his eyes and joined you in a nap for the rest of the ride. (at least until they stopped for a break.)

this wasn't proofread so there will be probably be mistakes, i'll try to come back to edit later!

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

[divine-crows]

Using Cartomancy to Understand your Witches Compass

This is a method I've been doing to uncover archetypes, symbolism, and mythologies/stories (some of my own making, some are not). If you are personally attuned to divination, this may be a fun exercise for you!

I'd like to note that I'm not an authority by any means over the subject of the Witches' Compass, I'm still exploring and learning how it fits into my life. However, I'm really passionate about the subject so I'm quite eager to share this idea I've been working with.

[Process explained under the cut. Warning! This is a lengthy post]

There are probably more correspondences to the cardinal directions than I'm even aware of, and there are multitudes of ways you can correspond each element. I highly recommend finding a firm understanding of how you generally perceive each cardinal direction, that way you have a basis before you start.

First, a list of things I recommend for this exercise, but they aren't necessarily required:

Have a preexisting idea of what each Cardinal Direction means to you. For example, I meditated on each direction and got an idea of which senses and emotions were evoked by each direction.

Take advantage of how the time of day can be associated with the Compass.

Have an understanding of how the elements connect to your cards and what symbolism they possess.

Now, moving onto the exercise itself:

1. Select a deck from which you can work with.

Tarot. Playing cards. Whatever you feel will take you on this journey without hindering you with preconceived notions. In my case, I selected a playing card deck I consecrated for divination.

2. Select four cards that represent each element along with 'beginnings'.

In my case, I used the ace card and then meditated on each card until I felt pulled to ascribe a direction to each one. You may feel pulled to rely on predetermined associations when it comes to ascribing directions-- go ahead and do that if it feels fit.

3. Take the card you associated with "East", this is the first card you will be starting with. Meditate on what symbolism behind the card means to you and how it empowers the cardinal direction.

If you're working with unfamiliar symbolism, don't shy away from taking a day to research the hidden meanings behind each card. You may also ascribe any preconceived feelings or notions towards this cardinal direction while you meditate on this card.

4. When you feel like you've sufficiently connected to both the card and the cardinal direction, place it to the east. Place the others in one of the cardinal directions.

Since the other cards aren't the focus, it shouldn't matter how accurately the others are placed. However it's desirable to attempt some accuracy if it doesn't pull away from your focus.

5. Now, this is when you will invoke the Compass:

I am not one for consistently opening the compass the same way every time, but for this excersize specifically I felt it nessicary to start with rhythmic humming and chanting. Moving clockwise, I invoked the spirits of each direction. I used an "open arms" gesture as I spoke to better connect me to each spirit (a symbolic way of welcoming each one). When I finished invoking each spirit, I would bend down and place a hand on each card, imagining the spirits of that direction standing guard over their respective card. I also find it helpful to imagine myself as the center of a Compass, and the circle I walk is the bounds I traverse.

6. Stand/sit at the center (whichever is more comfortable for you) and state your intentions with this working:

In this instance, I had said something to the effect of "I ask the spirits to facilitate my exploration of the East direction." And then I specifically asked the spirits of the east to "help me better connect with the direction of the East through symbolism and mythos."

7. Close your eyes and let yourself be taken on a journey. While waiting for the journey to begin, imagine the aspects of the cardinal direction, and imagine sensations and feelings you associate with it.

How this journey looks will vary greatly from person to person based on their beliefs, notions, and ideas of the unseen world. For me, I was approached each time by a different Goddess who shared with me a pivotal story that shaped them, but for you it could be a wide variety of possibilities.

8. After your journey is done, write down what you experienced. I personally like keeping my compass open for this portion because I feel that it helps me recall better. After you're done thank each cardinal direction for it's part in the exercise, and then close the compass when you feel ready.

I strongly recommend taking the rest of the day to do other things. I found it was easier for me to fully understand and digest the experience when I split each component of the exercise into dedicated days.

9. Repeat with each cardinal direction, moving in a clockwise direction.

So after your work with East, you will delve into South, then West, and finally North.

Concluding Statement

I think that just about covers everything! I took heavy inspiration from the exercises created by Ian Chambers in his book "The Witch Compass" so I definitely urge you to read his work if my exercise did anything to help you open your eyes to the nature of your compass.

I myself am nearing the end of my cycle on this exercise (I'll be honest I'm waiting until winter solstice to fully harness the energy of the north for my final journey), and it definitely has given me a robust understanding of how each facet of the compass can represent me as a person.

I hope this idea can be as helpful to you as it was to me! Feel free --as always-- to share any ideas you have for exercises that can supplement this one or ideas that can work alongside mine!