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spideysbruh · 30 days ago

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sighhh so cute

Oooh ooooh! Timmy imagines!! Can you write a super fluffy one about Timmy and y/n spending the night together for the first time!

hello!!! ofc you can, i'm trying to make a name for myself as the fluff connoisseur so this is right up my alley! i hope you like it

“ahhh can i please get you something to drink? a soda? coffee? water?”

timothée’s standing in the middle of his kitchen, looking incredibly lost for somebody who had moved into the apartment two years ago.

it’s endearing, damn it, everything he does is endearing, and you wish he would just cut it out. just stop being so cute all the damn time.

“i promise i’m fine,” you say for what must have been the twelfth time that evening.

you’re cosy amongst the blankets on his couch and look a hell of a lot more at home than he does. yet he’s making you nervous with all his pacing.

he just can’t sit still.

“are you absolutely sure? it’s no pr—”

“timmy i swear to god, if you say it’s no problem one more time i’ll give you a problem.”

“i’m sorry!” he laughs, yanks the hood of his hoodie up, spins on the spot so you can’t see his face. you die on the couch at the sight, and kind of just want to climb all over him — is that weird? that’s really weird.

it’s the first time you’re staying at his place and every little thing he does is so him and so domestic it makes butterflies erupt.

you escape the flurry of blankets he threw on top of you and shuffle over to him. one hand gingerly places itself on his shoulder, the other on his lower back, turning him to face you.

he’s pulling his lip between his teeth, green eyes meeting yours then looking at his feet.

“you’ve made us dinner—” you start.

“well i ordered us dinner, that’s no effort—”

“you’ve tidied your place—”

“it was fucking awful before you came—”

“you’ve given me all the blankets, you’ve even bought that candle i told you i liked months ago.”

he laughs nervously, somehow playing footsie standing up. “i just want you to feel at home — and the least i could do is get you a fucking drink.”

is he seriously still worried he’s not enough?

“i’m fine,” you laugh, “how many times do i need to say it? would a different language help? what is it in french?”

he giggles, hands moving to hide his face.

pulling him closer by the waist, you continue, “the only thing i’m missing…”

he turns ashen.

“...is you.”

“what do you mean?” his face, total confusion, makes you smile.

“you’ve been running around all night making everything perfect when all i really need is you. you literally have not stopped moving since i came over.”

he scrunches his face, raising his eyebrows apologetically as a preempt to an unnecessary apology.

“don’t,” you cut him off before he can even try. “there’s nothing to apologise for. now please come cuddle me?”

he grins, all bashful and gorgeous. you pull him towards his couch and flop down onto it. he falls onto you, sandwiching you between his body and the back of it, then gathers the blankets around you both.

“finally,” you sigh contently, immediately snuggling into his chest.

he laughs. it’s a quiet rumble against your ear that thrums through your body, all the way to your toes.

timothée’s hands, always so expressive, slip slowly under your sweater and rest against your skin.

“this okay?” he murmurs, thumbs stroking patterns over your waist.

you nod, hooking a leg over his to tether him to you, never too close, never enough. his heartbeat picks up at this and you grin, your own quickening as he runs his hands to your back, tucking you impossibly closer.

“i can’t believe we could have been doing this hours ago,” he hums.

“instead you were rearranging the table for the millionth time. and we ate the takeout over here instead.” you giggle, running a hand through his hair.

he almost purrs at your touch, hugging you tighter, melting into you.

“that reminds me, we still have dessert in the fridge if you want—”

“nuh uh, no moving,” you cut him off. “been denied cuddles for far too long.”

he laughs, rolling over and taking you with him. “gah, can’t reach fridge! must get ice cream!”

“movie instead?” you compromise, wrapping your legs around him not unlike a koala. he nuzzles your neck, making you laugh, and tucks his nose there.

you reach for the remote and flick to the dark knight. you can feel his smile against your skin and run your hands over his back as he leaves kisses along your neck.

“god, how are you real?” he says, green eyes blindingly sincere as they meet yours. you squirm under his gaze, burying your head back in his chest as the movie starts.

several hours and a trilogy later, your arm is numb and timothée’s dead weight is trapping you against the couch.

your attempt to stretch ends up elbowing him in the face and he groans awake, one hand holding his nose.

“oh god, baby i’m so sorry,” you rush out, your hand caressing his cheek as he blinks sleepily.

“if this is how you wake me up each morning i don’t want it,” he mumbles, playfully nuzzling his nose back against your neck.

you snicker, resting your hand in his hair, undeniable warmth spreading through you at his half asleep musings. you can picture it too, lazy mornings together, coaxing him awake with promises of bagels and kisses, even just kisses, two bodies nestled together under soft sheets, messy hair, warm skin.

you check the time on your phone, shocked to find it’s 02:47am.

“tim,” you murmur, hand tousling his hair. there’s no reply and his breathing is rhythmic and slow.

“timmy,” you try again, other hand sweeping under his hoodie, up his back. “baby, wake up.”

he shakes his head and damn it if it’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“come on, we can’t sleep on your couch,” you whisper, fingers zigzagging over his skin.

“yeah we can, is comfy,” he yawns, raspy voice making you want to dive into him.

“baby, there’s more room in bed,” you point out. “more room for cuddles?”

he groans, stretching out to his fullest and almost tumbling off the couch. you stand up, amused as he curls back into the couch only to find nobody to cuddle.

“yn?” he asks, rubbing his eyes to find you standing in front of him. “that was cruel.”

he pouts and you roll your eyes, holding your hand out to drag him up. “come on, sleepyhead.”

he grumbles as he leads you to his bedroom, flicking off the lights as he goes. when he turns to face you, nerves erupt in your stomach. it makes no sense, really, you were fine on the couch, sharing his space, limbs intertwined, breathing his scent.

but now his scent is overwhelming. it swirls in the air as he pulls the bed sheets back. it’s woven into the very sheets themselves. it’s everywhere, and so much more intimate, and suddenly your breathing shallows and you stand awkwardly against his doorframe.

“baby?” timothée turns when you don’t follow, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“sorry, sorry, it’s stupid,” you say, covering your cheeks with your hands.

he shakes his head, reaching out for you. you stand between his legs.

“it’s not,” he says.

“i just… suddenly feel nervous?” you bite your lip. somehow his sleepy eyes soften further at your admission and you move to sit beside him.

“it’s just a bed, it’s just sleep,” he says, headbutting your shoulder.

“i know but there’s all this pressure to be intimate—”

“my only job is to make you happy and comfortable,” timothée says so earnestly, so safely, you can’t believe how worked up you were.

the tension leaves your body and you’re left as tired as he looks. you run a finger over the smudges beneath his eyes, leaning closer to kiss him.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips.

he kisses you again, soft and warm, and when you pull away the nerves have transformed back into butterflies.

“okay, we need sleep,” you say, watching his eyes flutter.

he hums, pulling you backwards to lie down beside him. “this okay?”

you nod, cuddling closer. his heartbeat picks up again when you trace your fingers over his chest. there’s a few minutes of shifting around and getting comfy, and it’s as timothée turns onto his side for the fifth time that he declares:

“fuck, now i can’t sleep.”

“you’re kidding. i had to practically drag you off the couch.”

“yeah but now i’m overtired.”

“are you a toddler?” you tease.

timothée huffs, rolling over to face the wall. you smirk a few moments later when his hands find their way back to your skin like a magnet.

“do you ever think about space?”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, hiding your face in one of his pillows.

“no but hear me out, it’s so vast, and we’re so tiny, but that doesn’t mean we’re insignificant. and aliens, why do we never see them? maybe they’re really shy, or disgusted by us, or have huge superiority complexes.”

“please please shut up,” you nose at his neck, kissing just behind his ear sweetly.

“okay, but last thing. what if we’re the aliens?”

“timothée…” you whine, turning over as he spoons you.

“and that’s why we feel so alone? imagine if space had cliques, and earth is like the outcasts. because no other planet seems to have self destructive qualities.”

you make a noise, too tired for words now, as he rambles on about jupiter’s moons and civilization and whatever else goes on in that million miles an hour mind.

somewhere around the ten minute mark you tune out, blissfully close to sleep. he notices your muscles relax against him, and can’t help himself when he teases, just one more time:

“baby, are you sure i can’t get you something to drink?”

“i’m going to murder you.”

he grins as he holds you closer, one hand gently carding through your hair to send you to sleep.

#i should j kms #no one will ever love me #fic recs

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

#almost wrote the champagne line as ''effervescent'' but legit could not write it without saying ''effervescent like a snail''#ah tumblr...#writeblr #warm up #idk . having trouble writing rn #ps i don't like to talk about it . it is my medical information. but before you ask. yes this is about being on the spectrum #i really don't like when ppl make my writing about how im [whatever ID]. i want it to ring true for the people who it rings true for #i don't want it to be like ''awwwww look at this person!!! she's the EXCEPTION!!! :)" .....#no.... not really.....#idk something gross happens whenever i admit to certain conditions and i turn into like inspiration p*rnography #like yes they actually let us use keyboards these days #furthermore i just... dont feel comfortable talking about this part of me. i had too bad of a childhood. adhd is one thing...#this one im like. still coming to terms with. which is like. my own journey.#idk. just please be kind. some things are more private than others. this one feels private to me.#i do not know how to help others w/this . and i do not know how to help myself. i will talk about it if im ever ready. idk if that will #actually ever happen #ty in advance i love u im kissing you we are kissing somewhere on the spectrum

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