#I’m very confident in some of these and less so in others but I’ve made some surprisingly accurate predictions before
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hauntedkeys · 9 days ago
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My predictions/wishlist for the rest of season 5 of HFTH-
Indrid Buckley is involved in the quartet and has somehow become worse (I cannot express how much I hate that woman)
Mrs Wicker still sucks but has learned from the conversation she had with Jacob at the end of season 3 and has become a better mother
Percy’s definitely hiding something
Jedidiah Wicker is some shade of transfem
There is no way Riot 3.0 is just og Riot with extra steps, either she is a new individual person, or there are parts of Clem in her that end up manifesting in kind of weird ways
Johannah Wicker is going to get the opportunity to “avenge” Joshua and is going to pass it up, this is going to lead to conflict with her family and in an attempt to make things right she’s going to do something really stupid that makes things worse and someone gets hurt
Hope’s going to try sneaking into the chapel after her parents tell her multiple times not to and bad things are going to happen
We’re going to get an update on Jonah and Hector and they’re just vibing. They’ve made a life for themselves and are happy out in the woods
The Friends of Zelda have grown exponentially and are have an entire organization dedicated to finding missing women and at least one character that we wouldn’t necessarily expect has gotten involved
Hope and Olivier become unlikely friends
Danielle and Shelby end up become very close (PLEASE WILLIAM PLEASE)
The groundskeepers are going to take the fall for something that they had nothing to do with
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tarotofhope · 4 months ago
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PAC: Romantic Messages from your Lover ♡♡
(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)
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Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.
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៶Pile 1៸
You’re Whiskey in a Teacup.
“You want me?” I giggled at his bewildered expression. - “That’s what I’m saying”. He paused a moment. - “How - but what did I do?” - “I don’t know....I just think we’d be a good US”. He smiled slowly. “We’d be a wonderful us”.
“Forgive me for the things I did but mostly for the things I did not”.
“In the future...if by some miracle you ever find yourself in a position to love again- fall in love with me”.
I’m okay with your history. It made you who you are. And I happen to be in love with who you are.
Moreover, perhaps it isn’t love when I say you are what I love the most - You are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love.
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Your lover thinks that you're unattainable or very far from their reach. They think it is a tough connection which will require a lot of efforts and they do not want to lose you. You scare them. They also think that if you don't like the way they approach you, you'll think they're a creep. So, they keep their distance and stare from far away. If you're already in a relationship with this person, this could've happened in the beginning. They think you're a nice blend of modern and traditional. There is something that you keep hidden but when they get to know it, they will be amazed by you and your abilities. They want you to recognise them and love them and feel as much as they feel for you, listen to their unspoken words. They love you for all that you are and all that you've been.
That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.
Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼
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៶Pile 2៸
“Missing you comes in waves. Tonight I’m drowning”.
“Chances are, I’ll never get a moment like this again, so here’s everything I ever wanted to tell you. No one has ever gotten me like you; I’ve never found anyone who makes me laugh like you. You’re the one person who I can honestly see myself happy with; the definition of love to me is you”.
And one day, She took off her specs. Her eyes got blurred and mine never felt so focused.
God...You’re actually crazy. I love it.
“The thing is, jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing. That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”
That is the problem. If she wanted to dance, I would let her wreck the furniture. If she wanted to cook, I would let her burn down the house and if she wanted to scream, I would let her deafen me. I’ve never loved anyone enough to let them destroy me but God, she could take me by the throat and my eyes would sparkle at the mere inches between us.
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They think you're smart, cool and confident. You make them laugh, you might have a great sense of humour. They also think that you carry yourself very well and you're an all-rounder. You might be creative and good at different kinds of indoor and outdoor activities. You both could be in a long distance relationship or you guys don't get to hang out much because of work or any other reason. You might have a good physique and they really like it. You might also be good at cooking or dancing(your body could either be very stiff or very flexible). Again, like pile 1, this person expresses very less than how they actually feel. They might be a listener and you might be talkative. They love late night deep conversations with you.
That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.
Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼
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៶Pile 3៸
How beautiful to find a heart that loves you, without asking you for anything, but to be okay. - Khalil Gibran
“You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known and even that is an understatement”. - F. Scott Fitzgerald
I like to think of your silence as the love letters you will not write me.
Off topic but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
If tomorrow starts without me, I hope it starts with you. You see, there is a little of us in ourselves, and more of me in you. So if tomorrow starts without me, I’m not dead. I’m just seeing life differently - through you. - Temitaya_zeblon
Anyone who cares about you has to realize that you need a little looking after, nothing else really matters.
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I sense a lot of grief in this pile and also a lot of selflessness. They are your well wisher and they think so highly of you. They wish to see you having great achievements and happiness. They are your biggest cheerleader. They think it's so easy to love and understand you, you're just so simple, so self-satisfied. They love your silence and shyness. You might be a hopeless romantic but you don't express much through words. This person also wants to let you know that they've got your back and they wish the world for you. They might have already made up scenarios in their head, as to what may or may not come ahead in the future, but if something bad happens, they want you to carry on positively and happily. There might be someone here who lost their partner, this person wants to see the world through your eyes, so they want you to put your chin up and smile.
That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.
Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼
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៶Pile 4៸
I will choose you. Even on the days we don’t understand each other.
He is even better than books. -Fiction has nothing on you.
I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.
You’re so special. i hope you know that. Like the universe took it’s time with you.
“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first” Bullsh#t. I have never loved myself. But you...Oh God, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like”.
“What’s special about her?”.....“Nothing is special without her”.
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You must be someone really special to this person. Your guys' relationship is a roller-coaster ride and you guys never fail to communicate on matters, so it's like, you always come up with a solution together, to somehow figure things out between you rather than going for comfort elsewhere. I'm getting Justin Bieber ft. Big Sean's As Long As You Love Me, the lines where the rap part says
'You're the one that I argue with, feel like I need a new girl to be bothered with, but the grass ain't always greener on the other side, it's greener where you water it, so I know, we got issues baby, true true true but I rather work on this with you than to go ahead and start with someone new.'
You guys can't live without each other, you both think that only the other person can handle you and nobody else. You just know each other so well. You guys' love trope might be friends to lovers.
That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.
Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼
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៶Pile 5៸
I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we. -Nikita Gill
“You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known and even that is an understatement”. - F. Scott Fitzgerald
I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.
I have two sides: Clown(Intentional) and Clown(Unintentional).
“I’m tough,” I whisper. He nods. “I know you are.”....“I can take care of myself.”....“You have,” he says. “ You still do. You always will. I’ve just joined in, too. Now we take care of each other.”
“I don’t want you to fall in love with me, because we fall by accident. I want you to walk towards me, and then sprint towards me, all on purpose, I wanted you to love me on purpose.”
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You guys are very different from each other. One is quiet or shy while the other one is full of humor and confidence. You guys just click. Opposites attract. One completes the other. You guys have so much respect for each other. This might be a love at first sight situation for a few of you while for the others of you, you got along well really quickly with each other. The one who is shy or quiet could be the unintentionally funny one(especially when they open up) while the other one is effortlessly funny and is a pro at it. There's a lot of light-hearted energy in this pile. You both are mature but in your own ways. You might think you don't need anyone but you know that your heart needs this person. You might have been through a lot of struggles and you think you'll always be okay being alone, but no, it's not going to feel right everytime. You've always craved this kind of company, deep in your heart. So, when this person comes along, keep them.
That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.
Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼
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Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.
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tteokdoroki · 1 year ago
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THIRD TIME'S A CHARM - kento nanami.
✩ — about. “my coworker is a wonderful person. they’re kind and sweet. they care a lot about others. recently, i’ve been having some…less than platonic feelings for them and i don’t know how to handle it." kento nanami never cared for workplace shenanigans. he never took his mind off of work. and he never thought he would develop feelings for his coworker, nor expect for them to feel the same way about him. what happens when he misses your three attempts to ask him out? perhaps reddit will know... ( 5.5K )
✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, angst, happy ending  - video banner ! AITA-verse!au, office romance!au, mutual pinining, cluelessness, misunderstandings, christmas time, mentions of alcohol, office worker!nanami, afab!reader.
✩ — things to note. happy monday everyone, i have for you yet another fic to go with my gojo one! this story was written as a gift for @antizenin bc i love her so bad !! can be read as a stand-alone but does make refrences to my AITA gojo fic !! thank you to @todorosie for beta reading! hope you enjoy beloveds <3 - series m.list ⋆ m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹
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my coworker is a wonderful person. they’re kind and sweet. they care a lot about others. recently, i’ve been having some…less than platonic feelings for them and i don’t know how to handle it. my chest feels tight when they’re away and whenever they’re nearby my heart beats so fast i feel like i might pass. it would be a pleasure to date them or to just stand by them… there’s only one problem. i’m not usually the type of guy who engages in workplace shenanigans, i hardly know how to interact with people outside of the confines of my work. my coworker has made a few advances, at least i think they have. i don’t know how to respond or whether or not i’m over-thinking this. do they even like me? is it all in my head? i could really do with some advice… how should i go about this and telling them how i feel?  TLDR: i have a crush on my coworker but i can’t, for the life of me, tell if they like me back. 
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you’ve always liked your co-worker, kento nanami.
to those who don’t know him, he appears quite stoic and blunt, cold even. like the crisp weather at the start of winter, air that’s sharp and bites unpleasantly at your nose. nanami tends to act the same towards those he holds no affections for, blocking them out as if he were a fortress made of stone.
one may even paint a picture of kento nanami as a lone wolf — callous and uninterested in the buzz of the office. he stays late, works long hours, never engages with the gossip on your floor after work. 
that’s only the beginning of how the world sees your blonde co-worker.
but you have come to know nanami, in your short time working for Gojo Corporations. you’ve not been there very long, still adapting to the office culture and your brand new line of work, but in the few months that you have been finding your equilibrium in the office — you’ve gotten used to nanami’s demeanour, his ethic, his lifestyle. you’ve come to appreciate it, and him. 
the man works hard, with a quiet confidence about him that puts your mind at ease — a quality you only wished that you had. it makes you curious, how little he seems to care about what it is Gojo Corp actually does but how much of his time he puts into it and how much he cares for the people around him too. you’ve learned, by taking the desk to nanami’s left, that he’d risen pretty quickly in the company, he begrudgingly seems to be gojo’s (your boss’) favourite employee and that he’s surprisingly good at what he does for someone who hates it so much. 
he presents at meetings and debfriefs calmly, always gets through his tasks with an air of rationale and when you’d first started…nanami was kind, gently leading you through your own work as if he’d taken your hand in his and was guiding you to some place warmer — away from the chill of your nerves and self-doubt. in his own way, he cared. nanami was not as cold as one might think. 
there’s so much more to him than what meets the average human eye. ever since joining the company — you found yourself curious, wanting to know everything about him. what drives him, what pisses him off, where he wants to go and who he wants to be. beneath his calm, collected and commanding aura there is a man whose heart holds many secrets. a man you want to know… and might even want to be with.
the very thought of being with nanami makes you shy where you wish that you weren’t. maybe then, you could tell the blonde office man how handsome you thought he looked while concentrating on filing reports and paperwork. perhaps you could then steel your nerves and stop the shake in your voice while telling him how much you like the low dip in his own when he explains KPIs and stock markets to you. not to mention how hard he works on keeping his patience with not just you… but the interns megumi, nobara and yuuji as well (yuuji was the brother of someone your boss new very well back in college, apparently). the ways in which he’s taken the young trio under your wing, it’s a wonder you haven’t had baby fever yet.
nanami even extends the same grace to your man-child of a boss, he wouldn’t have stayed working for Gojo Corp and for satoru gojo if he didn’t. in some ways, they were like a little family at the company, and nanami was the responsible one always picking up gojo’s messes and holding the others together. 
especially on days when gojo came into work emotional over developments in his ex’s new life.
still, nanami stayed. 
and your crush on him bloomed like a light frost spreading across the double-glazed glass of a window. 
you felt your heartbeat speed up whenever nanami was close by and you could smell the ginger and cinnamon on him, not to mention, the hairs on the back of your neck would stand whenever your hands brushed over one another’s. nanami was warm on the inside, you knew that — he liked his interns, he cared for gojo especially when the days were tough (like when he holed himself up in his office after finding out his ex was getting engaged). he even brought lunch for the office floor. mostly soup for haibara whenever he got sick. 
you knew deep down that nanami was soft and loving — you felt that he needed love too. you wanted to be the one to give it to him, even if it was the last thing you did.
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ATTEMPT #ONE - THE CHRISTMAS PARTY. 
satoru gojo’s office holiday parties were far from what was considered appropriate for the workplace. 
with thousand dollar bottles of booze and jars of caviar dotted about the main conference room — it was hard for anyone not to be in high spirits. the notes of cheery christmas carols drift through your ears and the tinsel that your boss had thrown over your shoulders scratches at your neck uncomfortably. you’re not one for buzzing celebrations like this, they’re too noisy and loud, but gojo has made you promise to attend this year's party… and he was oddly convincing for a manager this unserious. 
ultimately, you were glad that you’d decided to come because while being spoiled by your boss was all good and fun — it provided you with the perfect social setting and opportunity to speak to your longtime crush, nanami. 
like you, he wasn’t a fan of forced mingling in the office, and had no interest in consoling his tipsy manager who was currently crying up a storm into one of his poor intern’s shoulders. the blonde office man kept to himself, tucked away by the bright lights of the christmas tree as he nursed a piping hot coffee — he wouldn’t be getting drunk on company time. 
you manage to break away from conversing with shoko and make your way over to the latter co-worker, swallowing down your nerves with a swig of the moscato satoru had so generously picked out for you — knowing that you liked the sweeter stuff and that it would probably loosen your lips enough for you to get this over with (he and those interns were fully aware of how much you admired kento nanami). sliding up beside the man, your long, embroided skirts swish against his ankles — only serving to pull his attention away from his work phone and onto you. 
taking a sip of your drink to warm yourself up with liquid courage and break the ice — you hum, quietly. “any plans for the holidays, kento?” you ask him simply, and though your deep and gorgeous brown eyes stay trained on the bubbles in your glass — you can feel kento’s own chocolatey pair land on the side of your face. whether they’re scrutinising you or admiring you, you can’t actually tell.
if you were looking, you’d be able to see the way that the sharp edges of kento’s usual expression soften across his face — the straight line of his lips are parted, his furrowed brows becomes relax and his posture no longer ridged, but instead, at ease. if you were looking you’d know that out of all of his co-workers (aside from the interns), kento is most comfortable around you. he find your meek and cautious demeanour adorable and the way that you sometimes awkwardly flutter around him in conversations is cute. 
“not much, just working.” he responds quickly and shortly. to anyone else, they would have taken nanami’s reply as cold and callous, but you? you smile softly, glad that he’s even taking part in your small talk. 
you’ve always been a little quieter than most colleagues at Gojo Corp, but you’ve always tried your hardest to make connections and bring the group together. you care for the interns so deeply, helping them to learn from your initial mistakes at the organisation and to do better. he likes that you’re good company, knowing just the right things to ask and when, allowing for comfortable silences when no one in the team feels like talking.
nanami likes you. 
and perhaps that’s what makes him awkward around you as well, the very fact that he can’t find fault in you — that you’re too sweet and kind and gentle to complain about like he would with nagging gojo. what does he say to someone as wonderful as you?
he doesn’t want the moment to end, however. “how about you?” 
the blonde says your name softly, as though he’s testing it out on his tongue — and you can’t help the warmth that blooms like a spring rose in your chest at the honeysuckle sound. you’re hot all over and you’re sure it’s not the alcohol. 
“f-family!” you squeak shyly, voice high pitched as you fend off excitement — having nanami elaborate on your conversations isn’t a usual occurrence. coughing, you take a sip of your drink and knock it down a notch. not that kento would want you to, since he finds your enthusiasm to chat with him so endearing. “i have family…coming. o-over the break! flying in from abroad, so it’s going to be special.”  the blonde’s brow raises with interest, and you latch onto the opportunity to speak with him further, basking in your quiet moment together. “i’m not usually one to cook, but my mother and i will be handling dinner together! so it’ll be a mix of all sorts of foods. traditional and from our home country too.” 
nanami slips his work phone away in order to give you his full attention. “that sounds…wonderful,” he settles on saying. he wonders what your family is like, if they’re as shy and endearing as you or louder like that of the dynamics at the office. he imagines you surrounded by love, by laughter and warmth… and can’t help but yearn for the same. “i do miss home cooking, christmas in new york isn’t quite the same as japan.”
“t-then you’re welcome to spend christmas with us!” you blurt before your mind can even process what you’ve said. now you really must be drunk, or tipsy at the very least. who just invites their coworkers over to their house without getting to know them first. “we’ll have more than enough to fix you a plate…if you’d like,” despite your overexcited blunder, you remain hopeful that nanami will accept your invitation or at least get the hint. that you want to know him better and spend more time with him. 
but nanami doesn’t take the hint, he can’t seem to figure out why you’d want to spend time with him outside of work, and so, puts up a respectful boundary. nanami smiles and puts down the coffee he’d been drinking. “i wouldn’t want to impose on your time with family.” 
you frown, the stacked bricks of your excitement coming tumbling down. “kento that’s not what i meant—“ 
“look!” gojo cuts in, slurring from across the room as he points a shaky finger at the two of you by the tree. “they’re standin’ un’da the mistletoe!”
both yourself and nanami look up in disbelief to find yourselves standing under calculatedly placed mistletoe — no doubt due to the meddling of your boss. though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to kiss nanami, it was more of question as to whether or not he wanted to kiss you.
“gojo, you’re drunk. and i really should be getting back to work.” kento insists, clearing his throat and immediately looking away from you with a bashful blush. you’re perfect, and darling, and to kiss you really would make kento’s day…but he’d never want to make you uncomfortable or put you on the spot like this. “i have budget reports for your meeting in a few hours.” 
“fuck the reports, don’t you wanna kiss the pretty lady?” nanami looks to you, shying away from the conversation and squirming under the sudden attention of the office party-goers. “i wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable.” 
“i-i wouldn’t be.” comes your hushed whisper. 
nanami coughs to clear his throat, flustered by you. “are you sure?” 
having had enough of your back and forth, dancing around one another like two teenagers confessing to each other on white day — gojo steps in, forcing his drunk yet authoritarian hand. “come on nanamin,” the white haired man drawls impatiently. “if you don’t kiss her! i will!” 
“no!” you and nanami bark adamantly in unison — causing gojo to smirk and stagger happily while megumi and yuuji hold him up.
 “then go ahead and kiss. or i’ll have to fire you.” 
the idea of losing your job over a trivial christmas tradition is enough to spook you into agreeing. that and you couldn’t imagine kissing satoru gojo… the thought makes you gag to yourself. “fine,” nanami grunts before looking to and addressing you next, “do you mind?” 
you nod once, breath shaky. “it’s okay.” 
“where are you most comfortable being kissed?”
“um, i haven’t… i’ve not had my first yet so…” 
“ah, i see. i won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable then.” hearing the news makes something weird… stir within the blonde’s firm chest. being your first kiss, his co-worker’s first kiss is an appealing thought — almost a little twisted and selfish for him. to have that honour, to be the one you would give it to, makes his head spin. 
gojo cute through his train of thought, however. “god, would you too hurry it up!”
nanami rolls his eyes at his boss (which would have gotten anyone else fired.) but let’s the corners of his pink lips quirk up into a subtle smile directed at you, and only you. cautiously, he leans down as though not to spook you like a deer in the woods, and takes your hand in his larger and more calloused one. “sorry about this.” he hums quietly, the rough pad of his thumbs traversing through the ridges of your knuckles. 
“i-it’s fine.” you repeat your earlier sentiment, holding your burning breath as kento drags the back of your hand up to his lips. dark brown eyes meet even darker ones — your gentle gazes meeting in the middle as the tensions rise within the conference room. your entire body melts like butter in a pan and your heart bursts out your chest with the crescendo of the christmas music in the background when kento nanami presses a soft chaste kiss to the back of your hand.
your kiss under the mistletoe. 
once he breaks eye contact and snaps out of it — nanami is quick to announce is departure, covering up his flustered expression. “now, i really must be getting back to work. thank you for the party gojo,  kids,”  he nods at you softly with an utterance of your name and leaves not long after, leaving you with a flurry of butterflies in your tummy. 
leaving you a sheepish, warm mess because while you had intended to ask nanami out and failed, you still managed to get somewhat of a kiss. 
you press your hand to your lips, feeling the warmth of kento’s lips embedded into the skin there. somehow, you find it within yourself to ignore gojo's whine for a proper mistletoe liplock in the background — choosing to focus on the lingering touch left by your crush.
“how about the receptionist, she’s into you!” you hear yuuji suggest, earning a cheer from your stupid silver haired boss. 
the three interns plus gojo disappear from the party after that, while you remain stuck in place like a statue made of stones— repeating the kiss in your head over and over again, in your thoughts drowning in images of kento nanami. 
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ATTEMPT #TWO - THE SECRET SANTA.
“good morning, kento!”
“good morning to you too,” 
bristling from nanami’s warm greeting (as well as him calling you by your first name), you shuffle into the seat beside him with cold cheeks and bright eyes — doing your best to quietly shift out of your winter attire to make sure you don’t disturb the rest of the conference room. you’ve just snuck into the team meeting for Gojo Corp’s annual secret santa. this year would be your first time taking part and it took a hell of a lot of bribing (not really, just some locally made daifuku and the number of the receptionist gojo might be crushing on) to convince your boss to give you nanami for the special festive event. 
picking out a gift for your blonde haired and stoic presenting crush proved difficult at first. you already knew that kento spent a lot of time at the office, working hard and dedicating himself to hours of paperwork — but that wasn’t exactly useful to know when it came to gift giving. however, after weeks of gathering intel by tapping into whatever office buzz nanami was involved in and sharing short exchanges with him by the coffee cart outside of Gojo Corp, you’ve managed to learn two things about kento nanami.
one, his appreciation for something homemade or cooked — like the quaint family owned bakery not too far from the office. 
and two, his dream destination. the one place that he’s always wanted to vacation to — Kuantan, Malaysia. 
now you couldn’t exactly afford to just splurge and buy him a ticket over there, not to mention there was a considerate budget placed on gifts…but what you could do is bring nanami’s favourite things to the office. while gojo sets out the rules for staff, you gently place your carefully wrapped presents on the table before you, again, trying to avoid making a ruckus with the crinkling wrapping paper. 
“you’re a little later than usual.” nanami comments to you in a low tone, having been watching you this entire time. 
he would feel weird saying it out loud, but he notices that you’re always early into the office — clicking in around twenty minutes to nine every day and that you take your time in setting up your desk for the day. as though you have a routine to calm your anxieties.
“i had to stop by somewhere for a last minute gift.” you grin after a hushed quip. and nanami can’t help but find it contagious. you’re a warm ray of sunshine to him — one that he can’t help but want to bask under and be near, especially during this winter cold. you make kento feel at peace with your calm aura. the way you speak so tenderly and kindly. as he turns his attention back to a blabbering gojo, he finds himself growing jealous of whoever received your gift. whoever it is, he hopes that they appreciate your thoughtfulness.
after the rules are done, everything is exchanged between assigned pairs as gojo calls up who was responsible form who.
elation courses through nanami’s veins once he learns that his secret santa was you —  happy to know that he is about to be on the receiving end of your perfectly wrapped presents. 
“i hope you like them,” you bleat shyly, passing him the leopard print-covered gifts. the very sight makes him grin, since the paper matches his usual work tie.  
the blonde takes his time unwrapping each layer of paper — as if he doesn’t want to ruin all the hard work you put into presenting this perfectly for him. a strong wave of fondness crashes over your co-worker once the first present is revealed. nanami’s favourite, freshly baked sandwich from the japanese bakery downtown. the one he visits every day, and the same sandwich he orders every time. the one that fills him with nostalgia and reminds him of home. 
the next gift is even more thoughtful, and he fights off the urge to clutch his chest — as if cupid has shot an arrow right through his heart and made it yearn for you and your kindness. it’s a crocheted water lily, like those found in the Taman Gelora park in Malaysia. the same park that nanami has always wanted to go to. 
there’s a little postcard of the location too — with a note scribbled in your precise handwriting, wishing nanami a happy christmas. he tries not to dwell on the heart signed next to your name.
your saccharine voice slices through kento’s wild and appreciative thoughts delicately and he spares you a glance, watching your features as they illuminate with happiness from his reaction. you can tell that he likes your gift, and that fills you both with joy. “i heard from a little bird that you’ve always wanted to take a trip to Kuantan. and while i couldn’t get you a ticket myself, i figured these would be the next best thing. plus some food for your flight.” you joke while nanami thumbs the ridges of the yarn making up his water lily gift. 
he laughs then, remembering how yuuji had grilled him about his dream vacation weeks back. it must have been for you. 
you’re so selfless and thoughtful, it still blows the blonde office man’s mind that you would have gone through the trouble of getting him such a gift. most times, colleagues at Gojo Corp settle for fancy chocolates or snooty vouchers for department stores… but you used so much of your own time and effort to create something that kento nanami would truly appreciate. it drives him mad that he can’t seem to figure out why. why would you do something so nice for him? 
“i wish i could have gotten you something in return.” he mumbles fondly.
“i don’t need anything from you kento,” you say sweetly, making his heart race as you put your hand over his. “i appreciate you and you’re my friend. i don’t need anything more.” you figure now is a bad time to confess to him, in front of everyone. though you might have chosen the wrong words — because while you do want more from nanami, he now thinks that you don’t, pulling away from you slightly. “i… i appreciate everything you do for the company. a-and i like spending time with you. being your friend.” 
you facepalm internally, knowing you could have worded yourself better — but the realisation comes a little too late, for nanami is already pulling away from you, his once soft smile falling into place with the harsh lines of a frown. “thank you for the gifts,” he says, a little colder. now that he’s figured out why you truly made him those gifts. you see nanami as a friend, a good one. nothing more, like he had secretly hoped. “i must be getting back to work.” 
“o-oh but kento—“ he looks down at you icily, you have no idea why he’s being so cold. he hasn’t a clue either, it’s not like you know of his affections or fondness towards you. you thought that calling yourselves  friends would be just fine… at least until you found the confidence to confess properly. “nanami…did i offend you? i didn’t mean to pry with your gifts! i just wanted them to be perfect—“
“—you’re fine. just… duty calls. paperwork.” 
“oh, right.” you reply, weak and defeated, thinking that he’s mad at you. rejecting you again. “good luck nanami…”
“thanks,” he mumbles. “for this, and the gift.” 
“you’re welcome,” you say, mostly to yourself but before you can say more he’s disappeared from the conference room and gone back to his cubicle. 
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ATTEMPT #THREE - THE EVE OF CHRISTMAS.
as mentioned before, your boss isn’t exactly the serious type.
satoru gojo is silly and often irresponsible in regards to work. he’s had a lot to deal with and a lot to learn, he covers his mistakes with charms and smiles, but he’s learning. and when it comes down to it, satoru cares for the company, the office and most importantly —  his staff.
which is why he makes it a rule that no one in his main team should work over the christmas period — with no exceptions. 
of course, the ever-dedicated kento nanami has always found a loop-hole in avoiding the festive rule and his manager’s simple christmas wish. which is why, much to your chargin, satoru has meddled a little bit and sent you into the office to send nanami home. usually you wouldn’t mind the opportunity to speak with your crush, but after your second rejection from him in such a short space of time, you’re not so sure your little heart can take seeing the man before the holidays. 
you’d agreed to satoru’s request nonetheless, your family didn't arrive until tomorrow and you couldn’t live with yourself if you let kento work through the night. you still had feelings for him after all. 
when you arrive at your office, it’s dark and dim — matching the evening and it’s weather outside. you assume that any cleaning staff have already gone home, instructed by nanami who would also hate to keep people behind on Christmas Eve. it seems like him to offer to clean up after himself.
rounding the corner, you spot him in the conference room, tucked away by the tree from your christmas party as he taps away at his work laptop — no doubt finishing the Q3 report. you push past the glass door and make your way inside, tugging your scarf, hat and coat off while you watch nanami work. you hang them all up on a nearby coat rack.
“i know you’re there,” he speaks into the dark silence. “is that you, satoru? i’m not going home.” 
“actually, satoru sent me in here to make sure you weren’t working on Christmas Eve.” you respond in an even tone, ignoring the slash of hurt over your heart when nanami fails to even spare you so much as a glance upon hearing your dulcet voice. 
he instead scoffs, returning to his work. “tell him that i’m fine. i don’t need to be babysat. i know when to take a break.” kento doesn’t why he’s being so harsh with you, it’s not like you knew of his feelings. calling him your friend had been a token of kindness, but he let his rationality slip away and acted out because… what? he was afraid of your rejection?
despite his mean words, you stand your ground and refuse to leave kento alone. “i figured you might say that, so i bought you some food. these are cookies from the bakery that you like and they should keep you going,” you rummage in your tote for a small of cookies — pushing them across the large conference table for your stubborn blond co-worker. “the girl that works there is sweet. maybe we should go sometime, we can take a break from your work and have some cold turkey sandwiches ahead of Christmas Day—“
“if i wanted sweets i would have called up that meddling boss of ours, satoru,” nanami seethes, losing his patience. the more he looks at you, those big brown eyes and your soft, beautiful face, the more hurt he feels, the more nauseated he feels knowing that you might not like him the way he likes you. as  just friends, instead of something more. “why are you here?” 
you blink back your suprise. “w-what?” 
“don’t you have family to be spending the night with?”
“i do it’s just… i worry about you, nanami. you work too hard, it’s christmas.” 
“i really, really would like to finish the report so i can go home.” 
your face scrunches up with rage and using that same fury, you march over the blonde man in three short strides — grabbing his chair and whirling him around to face you. you slam his laptop closed with enough power to shatter the damn thing, fixing nanami to look at you. ”what is wrong with you?” 
“pardon?” 
“i’ve… i’ve been trying all month to show you how much..how much i care about you and how much i like you. but it’s like you don’t even see me.” your voice warbles despite how angry you are, tears threatening to spill over the edge of your lashes. everything hurts, you don’t know what you’ve done to make nanami resent you in the way that he does now. perhaps if you were different, more confident and self assured maybe he would notice your gestures and implications. maybe he would like you back.
you wish for the darkness of the office to swallow you whole and make you disappear as you and nanami do nothing but stare blankly at each other. however, the lights on the obnoxious christmas tree continue to flash in the corner — illuminating the crystal tears clumped in your lashes and the slope of your features with a perfect golden glow. nanami sees you, he always has…but what good would a man like him be to a girl like you? sure, he wants to settle down, wants christmas with someone he loves, somewhere comfortable where he doesn’t have to worry about a thing — let alone money.
…but nanami is a tough nut to crack, he keeps to himself so much that even now you’re struggling hard to get him to speak his truth, and his feelings. he wouldn’t want you to give up trying even while he struggles to open up. 
“i see you.” finally, kento finds his confidence and admits his truth to you. “i always have.” 
he stands from his seat, towering over you and you stumble back. “do you? i’ve tried so hard… to tell you…”
the blonde leans down to your height and your words trail off, overwhelmed by him. “to tell me what?” 
he prays that you can’t hear the pound of his heart against his ribcage or the blood rushing through his ears… but nanami has never stepped out of line or taken a risk and if he doesn’t, break the rules, he could risk losing the one good thing at this god forsaken place. “that i… that i like you. kento. i-i’m fond of you.” you exhale through your words, succumbing to everything that makes up kento nanami. his scent, gingerbread and fresh mint, makes you dizzy, his proximity makes your world tilt on its axis and you’re so nervous that you latch onto the collar of his dark blue dress shirt to keep yourself steady. 
nanami seizes the opportunity to pour into you every emotion that he can’t bring himself to say. his large hands settle gingerly on the small of your back and his warm breath coasts over your fleshly lower lip, as if to ask for permission to kiss you properly. “may i?” comes his timbre voice, equality as shaky as yours had been earlier. you shake your head ‘yes’, giving nanami your consent to press his lips against your own in a life changing kiss. the action is tender, guiding you in all of the right places where you lack experience. the fists you'd formed in the collar of his shirt loosen the more that nanami works your lips in his gentle kiss — warming the frost over your little heart. 
“i’m quite fond of you too,” he says your name after finally giving you the room that you need to breathe and kento brushes a thumb over your the swell bottom lip before he kisses you gently again. “i’m sorry i didn’t say so earlier.” 
still holding onto him, a breathy chuckle escapes you as if you’re in shock. “w-what…what changed your mind? i thought you didn’t like me like that…”
“it wasn’t my mind that needed changing. it was the way i saw how you felt about me… i should have asked instead of assuming you only saw me as a friend. that was my mistake,” nanami explains carefully, choosing his words wisely. “you’ve been fair and kind to me, and i failed to give you the same grace due to my own doubts. i admire you, and should have confessed to you sooner but i—“ 
“but you wanted to finish working first, i get it.” you giggle and lean up to peck kento on the lips, stealing the words right out of his mouth. “just… please talk to me next time. i thought you were mad at me.” 
your blonde co-worker, crush and now.. partner? (that was to be decided) gives your waist an apologetic squeeze — acknowledging his mistakes. “i owe you that much,” he replies warmly, “now how about those turkey sandwiches you were talking about?” nanami questions you awkwardly, in his own charming way of asking you out for a date on christmas eve. 
after packing up and like a gentleman, he retrieves your scarf, hat and coat from the nearby coat rack by the door and gently pulls them over you one by one. like he cares, like he might even love you. he even zips you up to protect your cheeks from the bitter cold. nanami folds his own coat over the bend of his and grasps your hand firmly in his — keeping you close as you walk out of the office, a newly formed christmas couple. 
somewhere off in the distance, the boss of the Gojo Corp office watches with a sly grin. while satoru might not have gotten his holiday romance, he’s glad his little plan was enough to get yourself and nanami together. 
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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dolphin-diaries · 11 days ago
Text
Detrans/Uncis (Part 2)
Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.
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My first steps on a detransition journey were underscored by a peculiar mantra: “but I’m not detransitioning though.” I don’t feel like a man, so I’m not a trans man, but I’m still taking hormones, so I’m not detransitioning. I’m getting laser, but I’m not doing anything to my voice—hold on, actually I am. I’m lowering my dose of testosterone, actually, but I’m still taking it, and it’s not like I’m a woman. Only I want to be gendered by strangers as a woman, but that’s different. Actually I’d hate to have any further changes from T, so I’m not taking it at all—but I’m still not detransitioning though. Actually, could you speak of me as she? And her, too? No detrans though.
At a certain point it started to approach total absurdity. My friends and loved ones, well-versed in the queer gender soup, said nothing of it, but I am myself strongly averse to repression, denial, and self-deceit. So I was the first to say I was wrong. The first to say, “I am, though.” And at no point, from the beginning to the end of my epistemic conga, have I encountered any meaningful pushback from my close circles. No implications of betrayal, no cold shoulders, no silence when I walk in the room.
So why the mantra, then? Why was I so averse to the idea?
A large part of that was the politicisation of detransition; how indelibly it is associated with the Right—I said as much in my first essay. On a personal level, though, it was trivial to realise I wasn’t doing a grift. I was confident I hadn’t been brainwashed into anything. I’ve never had any meaningful contact or affiliation with any sort of gender-conservative person or movement.
And I did encounter pro-trans detransitioners. Some of them sniped back at the right-wing ones, some merely told their stories independently. Regardless, they—just like me—did not receive great or meaningful pushback from their trans friends, nor even strangers. They weren’t always understood or necessarily celebrated, but they were taken at their word, believed, and more or less respected as much as any gender deviant. Before I had any thoughts to detransition myself, I had seen detrans people beyond the pale of the rhetoric multiple times, and…
And I hated them. They made my skin crawl. I was never rude or condescending, and as those encounters were online-only, it was trivial to maintain respect and civility. I also realised I had no real cause to hate them. They’d done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. It was easy enough to say that in principle, when they talked in the abstract, but when they spoke of their bodies, their lives, the flesh and blood of it all, I felt such visceral revulsion as I might’ve never felt before.
Or have I? Have I known this already, this knee-jerk lip curl, this morbid disgust with another’s aberrant sex? This idea in my mind, spreading like cancer, that these people were wrong? That they’ve violated something inviolable? And how civility and compassion chiselled this violent core into arrogant pity towards an untouchable other?
No, I have known this. And not such a long time ago.
The Body Horror
When I first came out as trans to my university class—cis-majority if not totality, naturally—the perverse fascination with my body was hard to escape. They were mostly polite, of course. My university was very ‘decadent Westian’ (pardon the quasi-inside joke). We were hip with it. Nevertheless—
“It’s okay for you, of course, but if my future children—”
“You mean to say you date women? How do you—”
“You mean to say you date men??”
 “I wasn’t looking at you like that in the bathroom—I mean—uh—”
You don’t need to say it outright. Sometimes you don’t need to say a thing at all. I see it. I know.
That’s to say nothing of the doctors’ dehumanising dissection and the conservatives flashing the least flattering post-operative pictures like they’re gore. As a transsexual, you don’t even need dysphoria; you will be informed of your physical monstrosity in great detail and in every possible manner, from the subtlest glance to the bloody megaphone.
You learn to see transsexual bodies this way very young and not voluntarily, but I was not just any random person. I transitioned aeons ago, and I did not find the flesh of my fellow transsexuals a subject of psychosexual fascination anymore. We were just people. I’d learned that.
I thought I did, anyway.
That’s the thing about the biases that systemic oppression seeds and wields. They are, in my experience, nothing less than psychosocial cancers. Leave one cell alive, and they will surely regrow. Maybe into a new shape, maybe into something old, but they will never die left alone.
Although I’d mentally graduated to gender abolition and genderfuckery-as-political-stance, to activism, to gender constructivism and to queering everything, especially feminism, I’d first come to see transsexuality through the lens of the DSM. Not my fault or anything—that’s what was available to me. Transsexual transition, then, was first presented to me as a linear transformation, a path from A to B, at the end of which laid gender nirvana. Or, like, happiness and fulfilment, I suppose. White-people Buddhism was fashionable at that time, so please excuse my French.
So genderfuckery was all well and good, but you know, done respectably. For me, that was performing picture-perfect transsexuality, just a little spiced-up. So long as I still appeared cis. Anything that marked me as ‘clocky’ was unseemly; although I no longer needed to see any doctors about it, I’d been trained to sniff out such features and weed them out for the sake of gaining medical access. But that’s not the only way ‘respectable gender’ is ensured in queer circles. I’ve also observed it to be an absence of transsexuality. That is, gender is to be fucked with in words and pronouns and haircuts and porn—but to transition about it would be kind of gauche, don’t you think? A little gender-conformist?
Different outcome, but for the purposes of this discussion, same principle: it is disgust with transition. Visible transition, obvious transition; transition at all. My case was not altogether different from ideological non-transitioners; it was just modified to accommodate for some alteration of sex.
After nearly a decade of virilising HRT, my detransition wasn’t simply a matter of changing my name and putting on lipstick. That would just make strangers say ‘yas gurl.’ No, if I wanted to live as a woman beyond my immediate social circle, I needed to make more invasive changes. More than that, I wanted those changes. I didn’t merely wish to say I’m a woman—I wanted to look in the mirror and believe it.
The first truth a detransitioner learns is this: to detransition, you must transition again.
Again?!
Oh, it’s not the same as your first time ‘round, sure. Not just because of the difference in desired sex; if you’ve never had your gonads removed and have no prior issues with hormone production, you can simply cease to take HRT and stop depending on the vagaries of medical supplies. Doctors will, generally, be a little more understanding of your desire to change sex. Often, from their perspective, you’re not changing it; you’re fixing it. So if you were allowed to take the so-called ‘cross-sex’ hormones, you’ll probably be allowed the ‘same-sex’ ones. Conversely, because no such thing as a ‘detransition procedure’ usually exists, it’s a dice roll if any surgery will be covered by the state, your insurance, or anything. Yes, you’re ‘fixing’ your sex—but the fact you’ve ‘damaged’ it at all renders you a bit of an unreliable witness to your own mind. A little bit crazy, you could say. Isn’t it all quite literally your own fault?
However, the day-to-day mundanities of detransition would be highly recognisable to any trans person. Indeed, I got all the ideas on how to relieve my gender dysphoria from my transfem friends. I learned of laser hair removal from them, and they advised me on voice training. Some of the professionals that serviced me had no idea I was detrans—how would they? Kind of an odd thing to randomly bring up while getting your beard fried.
‘Detrans woman’ is not a legible social category (nor any other kind of detrans person). People know what these words mean—at least, if they’re up on the latest gender lingo—but they don’t truly know what that looks like. Maybe they imagine a particular grifter when you say ‘detrans,’ maybe it’s just a void—but it’s never you. No one will ever assume that’s what you are.
So how does a detrans woman move through the world? She passes, of course. She is either assumed to be a cis woman, having worked to file off any signs of testosterone’s magic touch, or she stands out with those features. If she transitioned after adolescence, she might have a leg up on passing, but should a stranger’s transvestigation radar starts beeping, they will surely scan her for other hints. Sometimes they’ll find what was never there, and sometimes they’ll decree a feature that occurs in all women, cis and trans, a sure sign of inborn manhood. I’ve always had a visible Adam’s apple, for instance, but it didn’t use to be proof I was born a man. Now, though, take that and a bad voice day, and I don’t have a leg to stand on.
And if someone decides I don’t belong in a women’s bathroom, do you think it’ll help if I cry I was born to piss here?
Here’s the second truth a detransitioners learns: it doesn’t matter how many times you transition, to what end or for what reason. If you do it at all, you will never be cis again. It’s the real red pill—the one the Wachowski sisters intended, not what the chuds on the internet made of it. Your body, your social and legal history, your continuity of self—it is different now. Not the way it’s supposed to be. Changing sex at all was never meant to be.
Regime and Treachery
Um-actuallying people who think I’m a trans woman will not help me under most circumstances. It won’t help with a strange man in an alley, and it won’t help with an employer that discovers my last manager knew me under a male name. In one case nothing but a good run will help, and in the other—come on now, they won’t think any better of me.
It will not make me cis, and it doesn’t help—under most circumstances.
Detrans women aren’t the only ones which may be assumed for trans women. Cis women that never touched a drop of testosterone get transvestigated too—not nearly as frequently, but it happens all the same, and regularly. The case of Imane Khelif is one that probably jumps to mind first these days, but she is perhaps in the minority of women that never responded to such accusations by loudly proclaiming she is completely and utterly unlike those filthy transsexuals—she is a real woman!
Detrans women have the whole transsexuality thing in common with trans women, of course. But they aren’t quite the only ones—intersex women that were assigned female at birth are also often assumed to be transsexual. They are also subject to severe medical violence and neglect. Some require exogenous hormones to stay healthy. Some wish to take ownership of their body via voluntary sex alteration, for a change. It is rather transsexual-like, all in all.
But yet you will not search long to find similar underbus-throwing. The AFAB intersex woman is not like that trans woman—she deserves gender-affirmative treatment. She’s a real woman. The birth certificate said so.
And so too the detrans woman, despite all her history, despite the indelible mark of transsexuality, looks at the dangling carrot of Real Womanhood—and like a dog, jumps.
She will never be allowed the full extent of it. It is irreversible damage, after all. That’s important. The detrans woman that betrays her sisters—her class, even—must forever cry about the wounds transition left on her, must never heal from them. And trust me, the cis aren’t nice about it behind her back. The detrans woman is promised a shred of cis-ness, of real-ness—but only so long as she divorces herself from all things transsexual. Loudly, repeatedly. The moment she stops, she will be reminded: she too is transsexual. She has seen sex/gender for what it is; her body is evidence. She has eaten of the tree of knowledge. It’s only at the regime’s great mercy that she can peek into Eden—but god forbid, never enter.
Because what would happen if the ‘damage’ wasn’t irreversible? If society allowed the detrans woman to be a woman wholly and totally—its woman, real woman? Why, it would mean sex can be changed without repercussion. It would mean you could leave gender.
It wouldn’t quite mean that trans women are women and trans men are men—it would only allow that your birth sex can be ‘returned to.’ But if even that much was permitted, it would make transition no longer a threat. You could do it and come back just fine, see? What’s there to fear? Why not just try it? And if you can just try it, just leave and come back as you please—how can you force people to obey gender?
It would mean I could opt out of womanhood any time. Of the mandate of reproduction, of subordination, of sexual and domestic servitude—of the constant fight to break free of those things. I could opt out even if I didn’t like being a man. I’d always have one foot back in the door, if I pleased. And that’s the thing about the patriarchy: women must never be allowed to leave. Or to desist, or to fail. For that they must be punished. Want fewer lashes? Kick the weaker bitch out the door.
Cis-ness is a regime. A status quo. To define it merely by the relationship to birth-assigned sex is erroneous—intersexness reveals this, but if you’re the kind of person who thinks the intersex are some sort of rare and bizarre exception (they’re not), perisex detransitioners must surely hammer the nail home. To be cis is not merely to self-identify as the sex on your birth certificate; who’s even looking at those? It is to live in accordance with your biological destiny, and every social law that entails. This destiny is assigned at birth, yes, but it does not end there: it follows you all the way.
Cis-ness is not an identity—it is a reward for doing as you’re told.
The Freedom of Sex
It is obvious, then, why detrans medical care is a pain to get even though you’re complying with your birth sex assignment. That is the true engineer of detrans misery, of dysphoria and resentment. To come to dislike the features you’ve acquired during transition is one thing—but to be prevented from changing them? To be looked at like a lunatic? To not know what to do, because information about de/transition and how it works is so understudied and obscured?
If transition was easy, known, free—more people would detransition, certainly. But that wouldn’t mean much. Because they’d be people like anyone else. Their bodies—transsexual bodies—would be just the same, just as worthy. They would be real.
The implications are even greater than that. Freedom of sex, as Andrea Long Chu puts it, means a freedom to change anything about your sex, in any way, for any reason, without restriction. Not the A->B path I was first taught under the illusion of two wholly distinct, non-intersecting sexes—rather, the tweaking of individual aspects. It is to really examine how sex works and take it apart on your person. It is what some trans people already do, with microdosing and what you might call small acts of detransition. If you don’t like the beard after T, why not zap it off? If you want to be on oestrogen but don’t like the breasts—double mastectomy works just the same regardless of initial sex. The idea of customisable, ‘nonbinary’ transition is one that’s gained prominence in recent years, even as attacks on all transition have exponentially increased.
Linear transition was written in an attempt to enforce a kind of gender austerity. Only those that really need it can get it, and so there must be competition, a hierarchy of haves and have-nots. There must be doctors that will prescribe you wrong dosages based on irrelevant research and leave you to wonder why you feel so off. You must not pick and choose the changes you want, because your sex is not for you to decide—it is to be granted to you, justified via a constant defense of self-identification. For the crime of violating sex/gender, your autonomy is branded as harebrained desire until proven otherwise. You’re not allowed to simply want something; you have to need it, hence the attempts to naturalise and essentialise transsexuality—you have to be real, you have to be born with it.
Above all you must be kept in the dark and hurting, so that any time someone suggests anything as ‘frivolous’ as the freedom to have their body as they wish, you snipe back: Shut up, vapid idiot! You’re going to hurt yourself in your stupidity! I’m not like you—I’m the one who’s really hurting!
To look at de/transition from the perspective of liberation is to ask: why? What’s the austerity for? We have the hormones, the surgeries, almost all the treatments we want, and the science isn’t calling it quits tomorrow last I checked. What horrible thing are we preventing by stopping people from doing to their sex whatsoever they wish? Are we running out of gender juice?
But of course, I already told you why. A smarter woman than me has also written extensively why. It is because sex and gender come with a fine print, a set of prescripts, which must be enforced. Irreversible damage to fertile wombs must not be allowed. The pedestal of Man must not be tarnished.
Freedom of sex, then, is the patriarchy’s anathema.
Detransition is part of freedom of sex. To accept acts of detransition as neutral is to allow that changes wrought by transition—just like naturally developed sexual characteristics—can be changed at will. Even disliked. To be free is to embrace the possibility of discontent, too; to allow oneself to do something you may regret later, and to be free to go back. To accept that nothing is final. Finality is one of the ways transition is made more difficult than it needs to be: you must be sure, must be happy with what you get—or else, it is argued, you never had a real need for it anyway.
That is plainly not true. I know that from my own example.
Transition served me well way back when. I do not know of an extant, realistic alternative that could’ve helped me as effectively. I was happy with my transition for years, and suicidally discontent before then. So who cares if transitioning proved in the end an imperfect permanent solution for me? Why must transition be held to perfection and permanence before it is allowed? It worked and it saved my life—who are you to tell me I shouldn’t have done it? And who are you to hold me hostage to it?
What if, even now, I enjoy that I’ve been constructed rather than simply born?
Not So Fast
Now that’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I can feel the gender nirvana coming on already.
Unfortunately, it can’t be that simple. To dream of a world you want, you must first contend with the world you already live in.
There’s a particular aspect that’s been largely absent from my essays so far: forced detransition and conversion therapy. In part, that’s because I argue from the perspective of a willing detransitioner with no shadow of a right-wing past or influence; a viewpoint which is lacking in the public conscience. Plenty of trans writers and thinkers already staunchly argue against forced detransition. They omit the detrans by virtue of either irrelevance or ignorance or both. When voluntary detransition is mentioned, people tend to merely point out there’s not that many of us. In actuality there’s very little statistical research to give definitive numbers, but it’s certainly true we are the minority of transitioners, and the absence of statistical evidence only further confirms: the Right are pulling numbers out of thin air.
Except, saying that is missing the point. The Right never cared about numbers. Or facts. Or logic. Their argument is that willing detransition ought to be the nail in the coffin for transition. If you retort that, um actually, there’s only half as many willing detransitioners, you still concede we exist and are a contradiction to you. That is enough to prove the Right’s point. I, therefore, wish to argue we are not a contradiction to trans rights or existence, but in fact on a continuum with both. That by virtue of our needs and lived realities, we are trans. Differently trans, but trans nonetheless. Some (trans and detrans) may not enjoy that assertion for a number of reasons, but the empirical fact is that we are irrevocably cast out of cis-ness, and we are in need of support structures that are near-identical to those of trans people. If by every function we are trans, then it’s under that name that we should be understood, because it is the only thing that makes sense and yields results.
But.
Detransition is not a neutral act in practice, even if it has the potential to be. Just like transition isn’t. Both are politicised, and the nature of detransition’s politicisation diverges from that of transition quite sharply.
In the current political climate, as trans people are being denied medical care and the anti-trans rhetoric pollutes every information space, this cannot be avoided or denied. Transition is reviled, and detransition is said to be the cure and is wielded as a punishment. Detransition-as-sex-freedom cannot be understood without also grappling with the other two kinds of detransition I distinguish based on motive and emergent needs: forced and coerced.
Forced detransition is the simplest to define. It is detransition that occurs when circumstances necessitate it as the only possible course of action, or it is altogether done unto the transitioner without any pretense of choice. The starkest example is, say, the new law in Florida which forcibly detransitions the incarcerated. But it needn’t be so wholly dystopian to qualify as ‘forced.’ Detransitions due to family or peer pressure, poverty, lack of access, or social isolation are all forced in nature, even if in the most technical sense you made the ‘choice’ to undergo it. If you wish you were still transitioning, it is forced.
Coerced detransition is a grayer area. It is motivated by an individual’s choice—not a lack of one or a pseudo-choice, as above—under circumstances in which transition is possible, but highly discouraged. You will naturally recognise conversion therapy as an extreme example, but it needn’t be so blatant. Often it isn’t.
Say, for instance, your closest circle of friends regards transition as a frivolous neoliberal excess. Or, let’s say, your cis boyfriend is perfectly happy you’re a man now, he swears, but—well, he’s not gay, you know? Just for you. It’s different with you. Except he still treats you the same way he did before your transition—but that’s a good thing, right? Good thing he still wants you at all? He would probably prefer a girlfriend, and he’s never dated men—actually, is this whole thing really that important to you? Aren’t you rushing into things? Do you really know what you want? You don’t mind if he slips up on pronouns when you’re not in the room, do you? 
Or maybe your general practitioner keeps insisting any time anything is wrong with you, that it’s the hormones’ fault. The classic ‘trans broken arm’ syndrome. And when something actually might be wrong with the hormones, the solution is always to just stop HRT altogether. And the surgeries—they’re just so dangerous; look at how horrifying post-op pictures are! It’s just biology, just facts, which don’t care about your feelings (but remember: it’s only a fact if it makes you feel worse.)
In other words, the decision to go through coerced detransition is made in a state of reduced agency, often caused by social pressure and/or misinformation about transition. Nothing is explicitly preventing you from doing as you will to your sex—and so it is precisely your will which must be subverted and undermined.
Notice that I make no claim whether detransition is right or wrong for the person in question. Perhaps they would’ve arrived at this decision another way, perhaps not. The point is, they are led to believe detransition is simply more sensible, healthier, better. It is the superior choice—so of course, they make it. In the end, coerced detransition is not truly dissimilar from the forced kind. What merits it separate consideration is that it’s designed to make you relinquish your own judgement, and your very own sense of self. Under such conditions, even if you would’ve ultimately detransitioned regardless, your relationship to your sex/gender is made maladaptive, and your independence as an individual is maliciously compromised.
The needs of coercively and forcibly detransitioned people are closely aligned. The forcibly detransitioned, naturally, require that the circumstance which necessitated their detransition is removed, and that their retransition is facilitated and supported. The coercively detransitioned may or may not require the same thing—some detrans people do, in fact, discover they genuinely desire detransition in less-than-ideal circumstances—but what they certainly need is a pathway to recovery from conversion. They are to be given their agency back, as well as access to accurate information about transition and transitioners, so that they are free to make the choice to retransition or to keep detransitioning as they see fit.
Both cases run counter to detransition-as-sex-freedom, to voluntary detransition—which is to say, a choice made due to a shift in self-perception, under circumstances in which continued transition is unhindered. The needs of a voluntary detransitioner are also starkly different, and most resemble that of a transitioner. A voluntary detransitioner requires a facilitated pathway to sex modification and gender recognition, from hormones to surgeries to legal procedure. It is the same thing for which trans people fight; it need only be recognised that voluntary detransitioners are part of that fight.
Grouping voluntary and involuntary detransitioners under the same umbrella makes little sense. We may superficially share some experiences, but such an equation falls apart from the perspective of rights and needs; it obfuscates motive, absolves abusers and systemic injustice, and it smooths over radical differences in our stories and perspectives. It draws a false equivalence that either condemns voluntary detransition or celebrates forced and coerced detransition, thus making it impossible to either embrace or reject detransition in good conscience. Thus no progress can be made.
In other words, conflation of voluntary and involuntary detransition only works from the cis perspective—from the perspective of the regime, which observes its deviants and wishes them gone, and rejects understanding them on principle. From either the trans or the detrans perspective, it is nonsense.
Except…
How do you know, though? How do you know? How do you know, when everything from your very cradle is telling you trans people are aberrant for existing, and when trans life is so hard? The coercively detransitioned wholeheartedly claim total autonomy; they are not really lying; from a strictly liberal-minded perspective, they are not wrong. How exactly can continued transition be ‘unhindered’ when society is engineered to always make it difficult?
How do you really know it’s your choice and your choice alone?
We all realise the answer: you don’t. You can’t. Not with complete certainty. There’s no such thing as a pure, unadulterated, individual choice, and there’s very rarely such a thing as an unhindered transition.
We live in a world that reviles transsexuality, that denies and despises the mutability of sex and stamps out any proof that gender is smoke and mirrors. The regime of cisheterosexism seeps through every layer of society and through every aspect of life. Purely voluntary detransition is, in the strictest sense, impossible. Sex/gender is a regime, and no act under it is free; all are forced to exist and be legible within its framework, or else be totally exiled. To exist socially is to exist under sex/gender.
This is not whatsoever unique to detransition. Or detrans people, or trans people. Cis women, for instance, must grapple with what it means to be a woman when Woman is defined as subordinate to Man—even as most do not transition about it. So, too, do men grapple with what their gender means when Manhood is defined and enforced via violence towards women, other men, and the gender-deviant. Even the cissexual must contend with the demands placed on their bodies—almost all transsexual treatments originate in cissexual healthcare. There is no exit from this struggle, because patriarchal sex/gender is constructed to be all-encompassing and mutually exclusive. Woman is everything Man isn’t, and vice versa; never the twain shall meet, and no stone will they leave unturned. No matter what you do, it will be sexed, it will be gendered, and though the conclusion will shift from occasion to occasion, in any particular instance it will allow for no ambiguity. Even when someone yells at you on the street, “Are you a chick or a dude?!”—that is not ‘ambiguity.’ It’s just a longer version of a slur.
Similarly, this is not the first (nor the last) time when sex/gender alteration has been contorted and weaponised against transsexuality—that is, sex-mutability’s most blatant, most acute manifestation. The Cass Review has notably cited the existence of non-transitioning nonbinary individuals as ‘proof’ transition must be curtailed:
“Secondly, medication is binary, but the fastest growing group identifying under the trans umbrella is non-binary, and we know even less about the outcomes for this group. Some of you will also become more fluid in your gender identity as you grow older. We do not know the ‘sweet spot’ when someone becomes settled in their sense of self, nor which people are most likely to benefit from medical transition. When making life-changing decisions, what is the correct balance between keeping options as flexible and open as possible as you move into adulthood, and responding to how you feel right now?”
Doubtless, the Gender Criticals wish the nonbinary non-transitioner to be as non-existent as their more deviant sibling. But while a greater deviant still exists, those that happen to be more acceptable, more assimilate-able, are called upon to do the one thing they’re good for:
Kick the weaker bitch out.
Such too is the final fate of detransitioners under the patriarchal regime. They are to be the knife in the back of their siblings, and when those are gone, they will find their own backs perforated.
So far I have provided eloquent arguments towards clear and singular conclusions—at least, I hope you’ve found me eloquent and clear. Today, on this matter, I offer no such thing. I have nothing to offer but this: so long as transition is reviled, so long as the transsexual are persecuted in any manner at all, there is no freedom of sex and there is no neutrality. Insofar as this pertains to detransition: so long as the transsexual are persecuted, hated, and forced into obscurity, we are likewise bound to their persecution, hatred, and abandonment. So long as that holds, voluntary detransition can never be free.
What Now?
I know. I’m a killjoy. It’s a fate all serious anarchists and college dropouts must contend with: if we’re really sincere about what we think, the mood will be thoroughly murdered.
The fight is clear. The fight is needed. And, the fight is hard. But there is life to be lived in the meanwhile, and it’s worth living even if we don’t see a victory during our time. Total certainty may be impossible and foolish to seek—but you have to make choices anyway. Doing nothing is merely choosing passivity and inertia; you face the consequences either way.
So I ask again: how do you know?
If you’re someone contemplating detransition, here’s the second best thing I can offer: have the courage, the self-insight, and the compassion to face yourself and be honest. Have the intelligence and the disobedience to measure what you’ve been told about transition and transsexuality against the things you have seen and experienced. Have the audacity to be wrong, to make mistakes as many times as you need. Have the pride to ask for better things than you are offered. Have the humility to not think yourself exceptional. Above all, never relinquish the responsibility over your life and your choices to anyone or anything else. No, no one else knows any better. No, there is no easier way.
The first best thing I can offer—to anyone, detrans or not—is to tell you how I knew. In the end I speak from my own experiences, and so it’s only fitting that the message I broadcast is incomplete without a degree of testimony.
Oh, it is to my chagrin, believe me—well, kind of. For all that I love attention and getting told I write oh so powerfully well, a part of me also detests personality pieces. I’m just one woman; I don’t mean much; I shouldn’t mean much. But you must’ve wondered, right? Especially if you don’t recognise yourself in me. I’ve spoken briefly about aspects of my de/transition, and let’s say you took all that for granted, but you must’ve wondered: how did I get here in the first place? How did it feel? How does it feel? Really, truly, how? And why?
I don’t like personality pieces because I think they mine for compassion. That can be a catalyst for a great many things, but just as often I’ve had people treat me with total nicety and then vote for a politician that would kill me, or exile a child that used to be me. Compassion is common, human, and incredibly cheap.
It is also required for kinship. For comparison, for legibility. And one of the issues that plagues detransitioners is illegibility. Silence. A lack of reference by which to see yourself. Community is best known by example.
So an example I shall provide. Next time.
Recommended Reading
On the freedom of sex: Andrea Long Chu, The Right To Change Sex.
On the nature of sex/gender hierarchy within the patriarchy: Talia Bhatt, Understanding Transmisogyny, Part 1.
On the mechanisms of gender-conservatism among women: Andrea Dworkin, Right-Wing Women.
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iris-qt · 1 month ago
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𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕
ᴘᴛ. ɪɪɪ ᴛᴏ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ
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❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 4.1ᴋ
❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴜʟᴇ ʙᴀʟʟ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʀᴇꜱᴜʟᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴇɴᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙɪᴄᴋᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ɪᴅᴇᴀꜱ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ…?
Since the pub fiasco, things between you and Theodore Nott had been…complicated…to say the least.
Your rivalry hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted. The biting insults were still there, but now they came with the faintest of smirks, like private jokes only you two understood. Your exchanges were just as sharp, but they lacked the venom they once carried.
Neither of you would ever admit it, of course, but you’d started seeking each other out, whether it was in the library, where you pretended not to notice Theo sitting at the same long table…
Theo:"Don’t you have a dorm to clutter instead of my table?" You: "Don’t you have a personality to develop instead of bothering me?" Theo: "Rude. Effective. Fine, move over."
…or in the Great Hall, where Theo always seemed to have a cutting remark ready as you passed by.
Theo: "Careful, y/l/n, the food might taste better if you don’t glare at it." You: "Careful, Nott, your ego might shrink if you didn’t open your mouth so often." Theo: "Impossible. Unlike your appetite for misery, my ego is perfectly proportioned."
It was a delicate balance. Too much truce, and it felt…strange. Too much animosity, and you risked losing whatever unspoken rhythm you’d found.
Your friends noticed, naturally. Pansy teased relentlessly, Mattheo made dramatic proclamations about the “thin line between love and hate,” and Blaise mostly looked amused. 
You and Theo ignored them.
Whatever this was, you two weren’t about to let anyone else define it.
It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t war. It was something in between, and for now, that was enough…
Theo Nott stood in the Head of Houses' make-shift office room, glaring at the 6 of the other Heads of Houses like they were the most disappointing bunch of students he’d ever had the misfortune of sharing a room with.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “We’re less than a month away from the Yule Ball, and this is all we’ve got?”
Edward, one of the Heads of Gryffindor, was twirling his wand, clearly uninterested in the task at hand. “Relax, Theo. It’ll come together. I’m sure we can throw a decent party.”
Theo stopped in his tracks, pursing his lips. “A decent party? That’s what you’re going for? This isn’t a birthday bash in the common room, Edward. It’s a ball.”
“Right, right,” Edward mumbled, his attention already drifting to something shiny on the edge of the table.
Lydia, one of the Heads of Hufflepuff, was flipping through a magazine that looked suspiciously like Witch Weekly, completely uninterested in the task at hand. “Well, I’m sure you two will figure it out. I’ve got some…uh…research to do for Herbology. Very important stuff.”
Theo’s eye twitched. “Research? For Herbology? Now? You’ve got one job, Lydia!”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.
Theo’s frustration was mounting. “Oh, I’m sure it will be. Because leaving me and y/n to deal with the entire thing will definitely end up fine”
Lydia just smiled and shrugged. “You two are the most organized, Theo. I’m sure it’ll go swimmingly.”
At that, he turned sharply back to Edward, who was now slouched in his chair, fiddling with his quill like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Edward! Please tell me you’re at least doing something useful,” Theo growled.
“Just making some notes for next week’s lesson,” Edward mumbled, not bothering to look up.
Theodore was this close to throwing something at him when you walked in, your usual confidence filling the room as you dropped a stack of parchment onto the table.
“Am I the only one who actually wants this thing to work?” you asked, voice sharp but not unkind. “Because judging by the looks on your faces, I might as well be planning it alone.”
Theo leaned against the desk, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, no. You’re not planning it alone, y/n. You’ll have me to deal with, for better or worse.”
You gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve got a vision. We just need to work out the details. It’ll be a modern look. Something with a bit of edge. None of this…” he looks through the collages you had made for inspiration…“fairy tale bullshit.”
“Modern?” your tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Are we going to turn the Great Hall into a night club or something?”
“Maybe. At least it’ll be memorable,” Theo said with a shrug.
“I’ll take the fairy tale idea, thanks,” you shot back, folding her arms. “It’s elegant. Classic..”
Theo chuckled. “Ah, yes. You’re all about the classic look. No surprises, no creativity. Just the same old thing.”
“Well, someone has to make sure it doesn’t look like a disaster,” you retorted. “Not all of us are trying to turn it into the next underground club.”
Theo grinned, leaning back with a dramatic flourish. “I’m not trying to turn it into a nightclub, y/n. I’m simply bringing a little style to the event. Besides, who doesn’t want flashing lights and a VIP section?”
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Right, because nothing screams ‘classy Yule Ball’ like strobe lights and velvet ropes.”
Theo smirked, clearly enjoying your response. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re on the VIP guest list. Wouldn’t want you to miss your chance at the exclusive after-party.”
You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smallest smile. “I’ll stick to a fairy-tale theme, thanks. Less bling and more charm.”
Their banter hung in the air, and for a moment, it was clear that the other Heads (Edward, Lydia, and the rest) were more than happy to quietly exit and leave the two of them to it.
And so, it was settled.
The Yule Ball would be left in the hands of You and Theodore Nott.
Great. Just great.
Theo Nott stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, arms crossed as he surveyed the chaos in front of him. There were enough tinsel, garlands, and fairy lights, but somehow it still felt like the Great Hall was more mess than festive.
“I swear, y/n,” he muttered under his breath, “if I have to fix one more of these ridiculous tablecloths, I’m going to set fire to them.”
You, standing on a ladder above him, glanced down with a raised eyebrow. “A fire, Nott? Really? I’m pretty sure the only thing that would accomplish is a trip to the hospital wing for third-degree burns.”
Theo shot you a glare. “I’m just saying. We’ve been here for hours, and none of this is coming together. Maybe it’s time to ditch the glitter and go with something a little... less tacky.”
You hopped off the ladder with a huff. “Tacky? You’re the one who wants to hang neon lights around the room.”
Theo threw his hands up in mock frustration. “Neon lights are a statement! They’re dramatic! They create atmosphere.”
“Right,” you said, “because nothing says winter wonderland like flashing rainbow lights.”
He paused, trying to stifle a grin. “Well, maybe not rainbow. But I could make a case for a few subtle hues. There’s something elegant about a deep blue.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure, as long as it doesn’t look like we’re hosting a rave. Why don’t we just use past ideas at this point and let this Ball be about, I don’t know, tradition?”
Theo shot you a pointed look. “Tradition is for people who don’t like fun.”
“And fun is for people who think stringing up tinsel like a toddler on a sugar high is a good idea,” you quipped, hands on your hips.
Theo was about to respond when a roll of tinsel, which he had been attempting to place over one of the columns, suddenly fell and unraveled, covering him in glittery silver strands.
“Well, that’s just perfect,” Theo said dryly, his voice muffled as he tried to untangle himself.
You stifled a laugh, crossing the room toward him. “Well, if your goal is to look like a Christmas tree threw up on you, congratulations. You're succeeding.”
Theo shot you a look that could’ve melted the frost on the windows. “You know, I could always just start throwing glitter at you until you match the decor.”
You raised an eyebrow and sauntered over, leaning casually against the column beside him. “You couldn’t handle my level of shine, Nott. But honestly, at this rate, it might be easier to just call this a glitter disaster and be done with it.”
Theo finally pried the tinsel off his coat, brushing it off with a sigh. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. But if we’re going full disaster mode, I’m bringing out the neon lights, too.”
“Please,” you said, throwing your hands up. “That’s the real disaster.”
Theo smirked, rolling his eyes.
You looked around at the chaotic scene of hanging streamers, half-decorated tables, and lights that flickered like malfunctioning stars. “You know what? I think we’re doing better than I expected.”
Theo eyed you, his grin fading into something more sincere. “You’re kidding, right? This looks horrendous”
“Well,” you said, taking a step closer, “my standards for us were in hell. Now let’s see if we can turn this mess into something that doesn’t get us expelled for crimes against decor.”
Theo gave you a sidelong glance, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Deal. But I think we both know this nightclub is going to be a hit.”
Just then, the door creaked open. Mattheo, Pansy, Draco, and Blaise sauntered in, looking far too suspicious for people who were supposedly just dropping by.
“Oi, don’t mind us,” Mattheo called, flopping into one of the chairs with his feet up. “Just here to, you know, observe.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, strolling in after him. “Yep. You two are doing such a brilliant job, I thought we’d pop by for moral support.”
You shot Theo a look, smirking. “Oh, it’s fine. You’re just in time to save us from this impending disaster. Any suggestions?”
Pansy leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How much do you think we can bet on Nott and y/l/n completely ruining this before the end of the week?”
Mattheo grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “Ooh, I’ll take that bet. I’m going for at least 48 hours of continuous arguing.”
Theo shot them a glare. “You’re both brilliant, aren’t you?”
Blaise, who had been quietly observing from the corner, added dryly, “Honestly, I’m just here to watch the fireworks. Should be fun.”
Draco, who had been standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. “I’m here for the chaos.” He gave a sly smile. “Call me when things get really interesting.”
You crossed your arms, shooting Mattheo a playful look. “I don’t know, Nott. Maybe your friends are right. Maybe we’ll be the ones who ruin it all.”
Theo smirked. “Oh, don’t worry, y/l/n. If we ruin it, it’ll be in style.”
Pansy laughed. “Style? With these decorations? It looks like Santa’s workshop threw up everywhere.”
Theo flinched dramatically. “And that’s why I’m in charge of the good ideas. You’re welcome.”
You crossed your arms, looking around the chaos. “Let’s just hope we can make this place look like a Ball and not some last-minute student party, yeah?”
Theo shot a look at Mattheo, Blaise, and Pansy, who were busy whispering bets in the corner, then back at you. “Fine. But if this turns into a rave by the end of the night, don’t act surprised.”
The Great Hall shimmered in the late afternoon light, a nearly magical blend of your elegant winter wonderland and Theo’s sleek, modern touches. It was starting to come together. 
Finally. 
A delicate balance of snow-kissed charm and understated drama filled the room, making the hours of arguments almost worth it.
Almost.
You stepped back, examining one of your enchanted centerpieces: a fragile ice sculpture enchanted to glimmer faintly with the colors of the aurora. It was breathtaking, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride.
“Careful with that one,” you called over your shoulder as Theo strode by. “It’s... delicate.”
“I’m not an oaf, y/l/n,” Theo shot back, adjusting the lights around the tables. “You act like I’m about to smash-”
CRASH!
You spun around just in time to see one of your precious centerpieces toppled on the floor, the delicate ice shattered into glinting shards. Theo froze, his face a mix of guilt and disbelief as he stared down at the wreckage.
“Oh, for the love of…Theo!” your voice cracked, hands flying to your head.
“It was an accident!” Theo defended quickly, his tone panicked. “I didn’t see it there, I-”
“That took hours,” you cut him off, voice trembling. “I’ve been working on these all week, and you-”
Your words faltered as the stress of the past few days hit you all at once. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop herself, tears welled in your eyes.
Theo’s panic softened into concern the moment he noticed. “Hey,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Don’t…don’t cry. It’s just a centerpiece. We can fix it.”
“You don’t get it!” your voice wavered, and you wiped at your face in frustration. “I’ve been killing myself trying to make this perfect. And now-”
“And now it’s just one centerpiece,” Theo interrupted gently. He hesitated, then placed his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Y/N, look at me. Everything else in here looks incredible. You’ve made this incredible.”
Your breathing hitched, but Theo’s calm voice and steady gaze kept you grounded.
“I’m serious,” he added, his voice softer now. “You’ve worked harder on this than anyone, and it shows. If you ask me, this Ball wouldn’t even happen without you.”
You blinked at him, tears slowing. “You really think it’s not...a total disaster?”
Theo’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Are you kidding? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your heart gave a traitorous flutter, and you quickly glanced away. “You’re just saying that because you broke my centerpiece.”
He chuckled softly, then, on impulse, pulled you into a quick hug. You stiffened for a moment before relaxing against him, the warmth of his embrace unexpectedly soothing.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “For the centerpiece and for...being a general pain the last few days.”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “You have been a pain.”
Theo smirked, his usual confidence returning. “So have you.”
You both laughed, the tension easing for the first time in what felt like days.
“Alright,” you said, stepping back after Theo uses his cold thumbs to wipe away your tears. “We still have time to fix this. If we combine our ideas properly we can make it even better.”
Theo nodded, a spark of determination in his eyes. “Agreed. Truce?”
“Truce,” you said firmly, shaking his outstretched hand.
The two of you worked tirelessly for the next few hours, blending your enchantments with Theo’s dramatic flair. By the time the first guests began arriving, the Great Hall had been transformed into something truly spectacular: a shimmering dream of frost and light, elegant yet modern, with just the right amount of sparkle.
As you two stood in the now quiet Great Hall admiring your hard work, Theo caught your eye from across the room, a smug grin on his face as he leaned against a column.
“Told you we’d pull it off,” he said, his voice full of exaggerated confidence.
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Yeah, but the night’s still young. Let’s see how long it takes before this place becomes a disaster.”
Theo shot you a playful wink. “If it does, I’ll take full credit. You’re welcome.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “My hero,” you said sarcastically, tone dripping with mock sincerity.
The Great Hall glittered like something out of a fairy tale. Chandeliers floated overhead, their soft glow casting an ethereal light across the room. The enchanted snow you had insisted on fell gently from above, disappearing before it touched the ground. Around the room, Theo’s sleek, understated accents of deep blue and silver added a layer of sophistication, perfectly complementing your enchanted centerpieces and frosted décor.
The crowd had just begun to gather, students marveling at the transformation. Theo stood near the entrance, surveying the scene. For once, he didn’t feel the urge to nitpick. It looked...perfect.
Still, he found his attention wandering, searching for someone.
And then, he saw you.
You entered the Hall, and for a moment, Theo forgot to breathe. 
Your dress was a masterpiece, flowing silver fabric that shimmered like starlight with every step you took. The intricate detailing at the bodice sparkled faintly, mimicking the enchanted snow falling above. Your hair was swept back elegantly, with just a few loose strands framing your face.
Theo swallowed, his usual composure faltering. Merlin, she’s gorgeous.
He tried to school his expression, but his traitorous thoughts kept running wild. How does she manage to look like that and still act like she doesn’t care?
You caught sight of him and smiled, a warm, genuine smile that made his chest feel strangely tight. Get it together, Nott, he told himself, straightening his posture.
As you approached, Theo managed to find his voice. “You, uh...clean up well, y/l/n.”
You laughed softly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thanks, Nott. You’re not so bad yourself.”
He glanced down at his sharp black dress robes with their subtle silver accents and gave a small shrug. “Well, I had to keep up, didn’t I?”
Before you could respond, your guys’ friends appeared, clearly ready to tease.
“Alright, what is this?” Pansy demanded, waving a hand between you two. “Are you two actually getting along?”
Mattheo smirked, looking between the pair. “I told you they’d pull it off. I didn’t think they’d look this cozy doing it, though.”
“Cozy?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “We’re just enjoying the Ball.”
“Sure you are,” Mattheo said, smirking. “Let us know when the wedding is.”
Theo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t you lot have something better to do than stand here pestering us?”
“We could,” Pansy said breezily, “but watching you two is way more entertaining.”
You shook your head, clearly fighting back a laugh. “Go enjoy the Ball, will you?”
Their friends finally dispersed, though Pansy and Mattheo exchanged smug looks as they walked away.
As the music shifted to a slower melody, Theo glanced at you. He hesitated, then held out a hand. “Care for a dance, y/l/n?”
You tilted your head, studying him with a small smile. “You’re serious?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said lightly, though his heart was hammering in his chest. “I can be charming when I want to be.”
“Alright, Nott,” you said, placing your hand in his. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
As they moved to the dance floor, Theo found himself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the music. You were a natural, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about impressing anyone or winning an argument.
“You know,” you said softly, “this turned out better than I thought it would.”
Theo looked down at you, his expression softening. “Yeah. It did.”
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, everything else faded. The teasing friends, the chaotic weeks leading up to this night, even the music.
“You’re not half bad at this, Nott,” you teased, breaking the silence.
Theo smirked. “Neither are you. But don’t get used to me saying that.”
The Afterparty
The Yule Ball afterparty was an entirely different kind of chaos. Gone were the elegant decorations and formal airs of the Great Hall; now, it was all laughter, music, and a ridiculous amount of contraband firewhisky smuggled in by Mattheo and Blaise.
Theo leaned back against a sofa in the corner of the Slytherin common room, a half-empty glass in his hand. His tie was long gone, and his usually immaculate hair was a little mussed. He looked relaxed, but his gaze kept flickering toward you, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet a few feet away, mid-laugh at something Pansy had said.
“Oi, Nott,” Mattheo nudged him, smirking. “If you stare any harder, you’ll set her on fire.”
Theo rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his glass. “I’m not staring.”
“Sure you’re not,” Blaise chimed in, lounging beside Mattheo. “You’ve only looked her way, what, twenty times in the past minute?”
Theo ignored them, but his focus sharpened as you stood and made your way over. You looked relaxed (for once), your silver dress now slightly wrinkled, hair falling loose around your shoulders. Your bare feet padded softly on the carpet as you stopped in front of him.
“You hiding over here, Nott?” you asked, holding a drink of your own.
“Not hiding,” Theo said, his voice smooth despite the alcohol. “Just enjoying the view.”
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “The view, huh? And what exactly are you looking at?”
Theo leaned forward slightly, his smirk lazily charming as he was under the effect of firewhiskey. “Take a guess.”
Your cheeks flushed faintly, but you weren't about to back down. “Careful, Theo. You’ve had enough to drink that your flirting might actually start to sound sincere.”
“Who says it isn’t?” he shot back, his gaze steady.
You laughed, sitting down next to him on the arm of his armchair. Theo reached out without thinking, his fingers brushing against your wrist to steady you as you leaned against the chair’s armrest. The touch lingered just a second too long, his thumb tracing a light circle before he let go.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” you said, voice softer now.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, his grin widening. “But you don’t seem to mind.”
Before you could respond, Mattheo interjected, dropping onto the other armrest of Theo’s chair with an exaggerated groan. “Merlin, can you two just snog already and put us all out of our misery?”
Pansy, who had followed you over, raised her glass. “I second that. It’s exhausting watching you dance around each other.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “You’re all insufferable.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mattheo said, waving you off. “But we’re not wrong.”
“Go back to your firewhisky,” Theo muttered, shoving Mattheo off the armrest with more force than necessary.
As their friends dispersed again, you turned back to Theo, your expression softening. “You know, for someone who claims not to care about what people think, you’re surprisingly good at avoiding attention.”
Theo smirked, his voice quieter now. “I only care about the kind of attention that matters.”
You met his gaze, breath hitching slightly. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”
Theo’s smirk faded into something softer as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, warm against your cheek for a moment before he dropped his hand. “Maybe I am. But it’s the truth.”
For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to blur into the background, the laughter and music fading into something distant and unimportant. You tilted your head, smile soft and unreadable. “You’ve got a way of making things...complicated, Nott.”
Theo leaned in slightly, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Complicated suits us, don’t you think?”
You exhaled a quiet laugh, eyes meeting his. “It’s exhausting.”
“But you’re not walking away,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” you admitted, the drunken honesty in your tone catching you both off guard.
Theo’s smile softened, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on the arm of the chair. He hesitated for a moment, then curled his hand around yours, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a way that felt both casual and deliberate.
“Well,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours, “for what it’s worth, I think we make complicated look pretty damn good.”
And as the night carried on, with laughter and light weaving through the air, they lounged together, two forces colliding yet somehow perfectly in sync, proving that even in the chaos, some things are meant to fall beautifully into place…for a drunken night at least…
Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr, @mgchaser, @r6yven
thank you so much for your comments it means the world to me!!
pt. 4: here!
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peachkkuma · 9 months ago
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ᰍִ ۫͟ ͟ ☁️ ִ✧ 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄
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hello, I’m Tiffany and this is my manifestation diary! If you haven’t read my previous diary entries yet, recently I’ve come to the realization that I’ve overcome all of my obstacles and there truly is nothing in my way except for me. So I made the decision yesterday to put my foot down and take the leap of faith, in other words, stop putting off manifesting my dream life because of fear. now this account will hold not just my diary entries but also the documentation of my journey to finally and seriously manifest my dream life.
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ♡ ♡ ♡ 05.21.2024
let’s begin!
ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈. ⊰ ۫ 🐻‍❄️ ◌ ִ ੭ ˑ DEFINING THE OBJECTIVE
I want to make the end goal a bit more clear, the term dream life is both pretty straightforward and a bit vague. what would I like my dream life to include? how would my dream life make me feel? and ofc, I’m not just manifesting my dream life, I’m manifesting my dream self. what would my self concept be? how would I like to be?
tiffany’s dream life check list - what it means to live my dream life
attend my dream school
be 100% perfectly healthy (physically, mentally, emotionally, in every way basically)
have good eating habits and a good relationship with food
have perfect straight A pluses (revision to previous grades as well)
have the perfect friend group for me
healthy, super soft, hydrated, moisturized, smooth clear skin (and elimination of acne genes) (body + face)
perfect tangle free hair at all times, pretty, voluminous, bombshell hair
a healthy, perfect, loving relationship with everyone in my family
own a super cute and fluffy golden retriever puppy
high paying jobs for my parents <3
have a rolls royce with a pink exterior
grow taller
have every single clothing item I’ve saved on Pinterest
have my YouTube channel blow up
complete head to toe desired appearance
desired lifestyle
perfect eyesight
be super good at makeup and have all desired products
have a gorgeous bedroom
have a very active and lively social life
have the perfect, most ideal school, social, and home life
completely healed phone addiction
have a lot of desired hobbies that I’m very good at
have a fun and eventful life, always have fun plans and something going on
be on the right track career-wise
elimination of social anxiety and shyness
high self esteem and confidence
be more in touch with my culture
be a complete master at manifestation
huh, this is shorter and less serious than I thought it’d be, ig this was also a way of getting out of my own head. I thought manifesting my dream life would be a bit challenging for some reason, but ig a dream life rlly isn’t as complex as I thought it was. I mean now I feel silly, it’s just a dream life! nothing more than a lifestyle and a few personal fixes. I feel like I just got humbled.
𝐈𝐈. ʚ ⊹ ִ⏲️ 𑁯͟ ɞ THE OUTLINE
alright, I know what I want and I know how manifestation works. but just to make sure I don’t over complicate anything or things dont get confusing, I’ll create a sort of plan or outline. Little steps I can fall back on if I get a bit lost.
step number one we have covered, have a desire
step number two, put your foot down and make the firm decision that you have it. this decision is for good, nothing u do can take this decision away so don’t u dare worry about “ruining progress” or “messing up”— u’re better than that.
step number three, once you’ve decided it’s done, it’s done. the only and I mean it when I say only thing for you to do is to act like it. imagine you, the creator of your reality, making the decision that you have something only to then be like “is it coming?” “do I have it?” BE FR!! act like you have it, think like you have it, and see the world as if you have it— because you do. you decided you did, didn’t u? It’s ur reality, what u say, goes. and no, you’re not acting like u have it to get something out of the 3D, you’re doing it for your sanity. Because you deserve a break, you deserve relief, you deserve to be the you that has it all!! let yourself be in the sowf because why shouldn’t u be certain you have it? don’t entertain anything that says u don’t. getting in the sowf is easy, u deciding u have it is all the confirmation u need. there’s no reason for u to not be certain u have it.
sowf = knowing that u have it
step number four, optional not necessary but it’s really gonna help and is fun. immerse yourself in the new story. experience it!! have fun!! u finally got what u want, u finally r who u want to be, so choose to live that life!! try methods for the sake of fulfilling urself (never to make anything appear in the 3D, u know better, 3D desperation doesn’t get anybody anywhere.) try out methods to have fun and be more familiar with having what u want.
that’s it girl, that’s all u gotta do, that’s all u ever had to do. decide it, experience it, assume it. u don’t always have to feel “good” or “happy” u just have to know u have what u want, u just have to assume. the goal is to truly know that u have it, to be faced with the 3D and still know it in ur bones u have what u want. u deserve to trust urself like that, u deserve to be fulfilled like that, and u deserve those things from YOU not from the 3D. U deserve to feel secure in urself, don’t let ur security come from the 3D. loa bloggers mean it when they say the materialization is simply the cherry on top and I get that now. For me, it’s about being able to depend and trust urself, to rely on urself, and in that way everything else comes off the pedestal.
✉️ : ahhh I forgot to finish up this post yesterday but here it is!! I’m so excited!! part two to come soon ♡
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avtrbee · 2 years ago
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the prince
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✢summary: what happens when your husband brings home a son that is not yours?
✢tags: arranged marriage gojo satoru x reader, reader is a clan kid, she’s v traditional, obvious cat and jon snow references
✢tw: implications of cheating, mentioned abuse, misogyny ig
✢ a/n: i’m not gonna lie to you guys, i know i’ve been a while and im really ashamed that i come back with something that i believe this isn’t my best work at all. i had this prompt in my head for a long time and i have wanted to publish this ever since. always love hearing from all of you and i’d like to get some feedback as well <33
You were a clan kid fortunate enough to be born with the clan’s cursed technique but unfortunate enough to be a woman. Your childhood tutors had drilled the duties of wives in your head, and had made you comfortable with the idea of an arranged marriage. You pride yourself as a good traditional daughter, whose greatest honor would be marrying your husband.
Never in your life did you imagine yourself caring for a child that is not yours.
That was, of course, until you met your husband.
You have heard of Gojo Satoru before and fought him a few times during sister-school events, but never in your life did you think he’d be who you were destined for. Still, he surprised you.
“You are my wife, my equal,” he promises you at the night of your wedding. The ceremony was over and the guests have gone home. You have said your vows in front of the gods and they have bounded you to this man.
He drags you off to bed and makes you sit on the floor with him.
Satoru looks at you with the moon shining on him making him look like an ethereal god. And to you, he was. Which is why you tilt your head at his statement. “Gojo-sama, I do not understand-”
“Satoru,” he says. “I am your husband, you should call me by my name y’know.” His voice is light and teasing, underplaying the reality of the situation. “I don’t want a slave. I want a confidant. A partner. I need someone. Do you understand?”
You nod. Strangely you do. “We must protect each other.”
You were both very lonely people thrust into a union none of you asked for. There are targets on your backs for sins you cannot control. You were alone, but not anymore.
Your husband nods and he takes his glasses off. You realize for the nth time that Satoru is a pretty, pretty man. His blue eyes shine and twinkle like the stars above.
He reaches for your hand- a strange gesture but you allow it anyway. “I will do right by you,” he promises. In his mind he remembers his mother, the one who loves too much but is loved so less. Like her, Satoru’s marriage is arranged by the clan. But he will not be his father.
He is a man of his word.
The next morning you find yourself waking to an empty bed with a smell of burning food. You catch your husband defeated before the stove with burnt scrambled egg on the table. “This is what couples do, right?”
You stare at him, simply horrified that you had failed to wake up first. You were supposed to cook him breakfast, not the other way around.
Satoru catches your expression. “Hey! It’s not that bad!” He pokes the pathetic excuse of a scrambled egg. His mother had always cooked for the family, it shouldn’t have been this hard. “…right?”
You ban him from your kitchen.
He takes you to the school next. You walk behind him, as is the norm, but Satoru makes a face that pushes you to stay beside him. His voice echoes in your head, you are my wife, my equal.
The weather was perfect, but he fusses about the fact that you decided to wear a sleeveless sundress that he deems inappropriate for the wind.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
“Yes, Satoru.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow suspiciously, like he does not believe you. He reaches over and takes your hand in his. His face morphs to an expression of victory. “Ha! Your hands are cold. You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.” He spits, but his voice lacks venom. You pretend to ignore his poor excuse to hold your hand. Deep inside you like it. Romance is for fiction and some anime you were lucky enough to watch. A distinguished member of your the Gojo clan does not deserve it, but your husband is a romantic.
He stops you from walking out of the shade of the trees and into the sunshine. He opens his tote bag and points to a closed umbrella. “Do you need this? To protect you from- y’know.”
His points up to the sun.
Against your will you find his needless worrying endearing. He does not know his role as a husband well, but he is trying. When you finally arrive inside the Tokyo school, his hand is still clasped in your. Satoru is loud and proud when he introduces you to everyone, even if you have done nothing to deserve such pride. His co-workers pity you for being married to him and offer their condolences. Satoru protests strongly.
“Y/N loves spending time with me!” he says, stomping his feet like a child. He tugs your hand and looks at you in support. “Right?”
You smile and nod. You do. You wonder if you may love him someday.
-
The night is dark, and Satoru is not home yet. It has been a slow 8 months since your marriage. The ladies from your clan were wrong. Your husband is not cruel. He does not scold you if you use your cursed technique even when you accidentally use it on him.
You have never been someone good with words, so you decide to bake him a simple carrot cake. Your husband has a sweet tooth and he has a penchant of liking things better if it came from you.
You had only just finished adding icing the cake when you felt Satoru’s cursed energy through the door. You take a look at your cake one last time before heading towards the door to greet him.
Traditionally a wife must wait for her husband to enter in the middle of the room kneeling for supplication- a tradition most ingrained in your head more than most. As a compromise, Satoru suggested to have you greet him by the door instead because- “The first thing I want to see when I get home is your cute face. Obviously.”
You dust off imaginary crumbs off your hands by wiping it on your pants before sliding the door open.
“Welcome ho-”
In front of you, Satoru looks cold. You wonder if this is how others see him. He looks down at you with a cold gaze, He does not tremble. There is a child in his arms.
Both child and Satoru looks at you with twin cold eyes. You shiver. “He’s mine.”
You hear maids scuffle from behind you, but you do not care. The child innocently rests his cheek on Satoru’s shoulder looking at you.
There is no doubt the child is his. Your husband’s hair is on his head and dear god- their eyes. They have the same eyes.
In your head you hear the ladies of your clan again. Stand tall, Y/N. They may have their mistresses, but you will always be his true wife.
Of course you knew about Satoru’s womanizer past- present. Are you upset? Are you angry? You do not know, truly. You are simply confused.
Your clan’s ladies have prepared you for worst; what to do when your husband brings home another woman, what to say if they came home violent, where to go if you are too broken and beaten to sleep beside him. But what if your husband brings home a son that is not yours?
There is a pain in your chest you do not understand. This is expected! Men cannot be held down by just their wives. Did you expect him to be different? A cold fury washes over you
“Welcome home.” You finish instead.
-
check out my masterlist, and don’t forget to lmk how i can improve this fic <33
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sweetieviktor · 2 months ago
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viktor x librarian! reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios) part 2
summary: even before your relationship, heimerdinger already knew you and viktor liked each other. now, he wants to help to bring you two together.
content warning: fluff!! and a bit of language towards the end :D (it was written with s1 viktor in mind!)
author notes: im here again with the viktor and librarian! reader hcs, but it was so cute and i couldn't turn down the anon who sended me the request!! i really liked to write this (i mean.... you can see how much i liked, its pretty big lol) and i hope you like it too! (i recommend you read the part 1 before this, bcs you wont might understand some stuff since its on the first. well, here's the link for part 1!)
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» being a librarian near piltover’s academy means that every time a student needed some book or document you might have, they would come to you. even professors.
you’ve seen the doors opening, but you didn’t see anyone standing there. you thought that maybe it was the wind, but soon you heard a voice coming from behind the reception desk. “hey, down there!” looking down, you recognized the owner of the voice, professor cecil b. heimerdinger.
“oh, i’m sorry, didn’t see you in there!’’, you rubbed the back of your neck, nervous, afraid considering that you had one of the most important people of piltover inside the library you work in. “well, how could i help you?”, you offered him a polite smile and he offered one of his, fur twitching up around the corners of his mouth.
“oh, you see, maybe you do have some old stuff, like-”
» after this, whenever he needed something, he would find himself already walking to your library. he often recommended the establishment for his students and pupils, making it a spot for study dates and scientific discussions. now, it was even harder to take breaks, the place was more crowded than it ever was. oh, you just wanted to hear what heimerdinger was wanting to say, about what had been happening at the academy or, even better, at the council, but, obviously, only the non-confidential stuff.
when your lunch break hit, you were finally able to come meet the professor, a normal occurrence every week. you could see his small figure waving and smiling, seated and already waiting for you at the cafeteria he likes. “hi, friend! i’ve ordered the usual for us,” he said while adjusting himself on his seat, “my assistant and one of my students are working together on... something. it's revolutionary, i could say, but very dangerous. i’ve already advertised them about it but they insist on doing it anyway,” he sighed, tidying the ends of his furry moustache, “and my assistant, specifically, wants to know if you have some old materials that could possibly help them.”
“oh, of course! it’s always a pleasure to help piltover’s geniuses.”
» next week, he showed up with the said assistant, viktor, and it was love at first sight. he was gorgeous and intelligent too. oh, dear janna, he was the perfect kind of guy. you eyes didn't catch how he was less confident than how normally he is, or the way he smiled at you, of course you didn’t, it was the first time you’ve met each other, but professor knew you both well enough to know something was going on. and he was correct when he said viktor would come in there often, because, indeed, he did. way too often for someone who was meant to be just a customer.
» sometimes, heimerdinger would stay in the library, pretending to read some book, only to observe how you and viktor interacted around one another. it was crystal clear how you liked each other, but were rather afraid to confess your feelings, so the yordle made it his personal mission to help you two to get together.
» and when you first sorted and stored some books for viktor based on what he was reading these past days, it was when it hit him that he might be liking you. and later, once he reached the academy again, jayce and heimerdinger already were waiting for him in the lab, both of them noticing how tense he was as soon as he opened the door.
“viktor, my boy, what happened?” the yordle said, making up space on the couch so his assistant could sit by his side. which he did, leaving the books on the table and his cane near himself, often rotating it around its own axis, just so he could occupy his mind with something that wasn't you.
“it's nothing, professor,” but he knew viktor was lying. the way he played with his cane, or how he wasn't looking at their eyes, it all made him seem more and more suspicious.
jayce came closer, sitting at the edge of his rotating chair, touching viktor's shoulder lightly, “hey, if something is happening, you can count on us,” his eyes full of empathy, looking at his friend, “whatever it may be.”
soon, it clicked for heimerdinger. his assistant just came back from the library, he had books on his hands and was visibly shaken. of course! how could he forget about the librarian? “i might have a theory why he is like this, jayce,” he chuckled, leaving viktor flustered and jayce confused. he met jayce's curious gaze, his own smile bringing a smirk to his pupil's face.
“and what would be that theory?”, jayce asked, thinking about all the possibilities of what had happened to get viktor like that.
“he is in love, boy.”
jayce smirk grew to a smile, then this smile turned itself into a full laugh, shaking his whole body, rubbing his hand over his face, trying to recompose himself. “i can't believe it!”, he was trying to hold his laugh, while viktor looked at him, completely serious.
“then don't,” viktor said, giving his friend a death stare.
jayce took a deep breath, never wanting to see this look again on viktor's face, adjusting his posture and continuing, “tell me, who is the lucky one?”
“i don't want to say it.”
“please?”
“fine! ehhh... do you remember the libra-”
“HA! I KNEW IT WAS THEM!”, jayce shouted, throwing his hands in the air, celebrating.
» from this day on, jayce and heimerdinger often gave viktor advices on how to win over your heart (because they had a lot of love experiences before, obviously). one day, heimerdinger suggested for him to bring over some coffee and pastries for you while you were working, he even recommended the ones he knew you liked, the usual you ordered in the cafeteria on your lunch breaks with him.
» so your not-a-date happened. people were talking loudly on the streets, but not a single client in. the natural light coming from across the windows giving the whole place even more of a cozy feeling, the light breeze was getting colder but the coffee he brought for you was keeping you warm. there was soft music playing in the background – most clients liked it since it helped them to focus, or so they said –, but you couldn't concentrate since he was looking at you, stealing glances from in-between pages, admiring you while you pretended to read, just like him. little did he know your heart was already on his hands.
» after a particular day, where you finally confessed to one another, exchanging your firsts “i love you's”, you both started to be spotted together a lot, usually at library or, like now, at piltover’s academy, bringing your boyfriend resources useful for him and for jayce too.
you knocked on the lab's door, receiving an answer from the other side, a muffled “come in” from someone you assumed was jayce. you then opened the said door, greeting jayce quickly while you walked towards a desk, leaving everything upon it.
heimerdinger was near viktor's workbench, helping him solve an equation, both totally focused on their tasks. when the tiny creature noticed you, he immediately came to you, “oh, friend, you're here! what brought you in there?”
“i've invited them,” viktor said, putting his goggles over his forehead, reaching for his cane and standing up, leaning on it. “i wished my, ehhh, partner knew my work place. besides, they also got me the books we needed, right?”, you nodded your head, gesturing to the desk where the books were placed on.
heimerdinger looked at them, then to viktor, to you and back at him, “oh... so, now you're partners?”, heimerdinger raised his brows, tilting his head to the side, “well, i knew it would happen sometime. i mean, ever since i’ve seen you both together, i knew you would be together,” he smiled, his fur turning up, “oh, friend, one day, me and jayce realized why he was acting so weird around us, just after one of his visits to the library, it was because-”, heimerdinger was talking excitedly, gesturing with big motions until viktor cut him.
“oh, please, professor. stop it,” viktor said, walking up to you and standing by your side. redness was spreading over his cheeks and ears, “there's no need to share any of this.”
“but you were-”
“professor,” you called, looking at him with apologetic eyes, “sorry to interrupt you but my break is going to an end in-”, you looked at the lab's clock, “fifteen minutes, i must go now.” you've met heimerdinger and jayce with a goodbye, then, getting closer to viktor, tidying his hair and adjusting his goggles over it so it won't fall over his golden eyes again, “see you later, vik. i would like to hear about any stories you might want to tell me,” you kissed his cheek, happy on how he blushed even more after the little display of affection, walking away and leaving the lab.
“you are in love!”, jayce said in between a laugh, pointing towards viktor.
“fuck you.”
“language, boy!”
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kozycub · 3 months ago
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My history!!
Hey everyone! I know I’ve been promising this post for a while, and I’m sorry for the delay—I’ve been very busy on these days. But here it is!
I’m Ethan, and I want to share my journey with incontinence to build confidence and give you a glimpse into my daily life. Over the past two weeks, adult diapers have been a total lifesaver for me, protecting my clothes and my furniture!
I’ve been dealing with incontinence for almost my whole life. From what I can remember, I’ve always worn diapers at night, and as I outgrew regular ones, my parents refused to keep gettin them and I often woke up to a wet bed. It hasn’t always been this challenging, but it’s definitely had its struggles.
When I was a kid, around six or seven, i used to wear baby diapers, so I wouldn´t wake up in a wet bed. My parents, believing I was doing it on purpose, stopped putting me in diapers. At that time, I didn’t have the money for products like Goodnights or pull-ups, and my parents weren’t very understanding. They thought punishing me would make the problem go away, but that just made things worse.
I spent my preteen years using towels under my sheets. Whenever I got some pocket money, I’d sneak off to the drugstore for overnight mats, terrified of my parents finding out. After all those years, I don’t blame them; they just didn’t know how to handle the situation.
Having friends over or even thinking about sleepovers felt impossible. I wasn’t very social, but I did have a few good friends in elementary school, always keeping my reality as a top secret. Eventually, my parents just let me deal with it alone.
As I entered high school, I focused more on my studies and slowly had fewer accidents—maybe just one or two nights wet per week at most. This continued into college, where I was finally able to work and gain some financial independence. I got my own place and could manage my incontinence on my terms, but it never completely went away.
During that time, I was in a relationship with someone who initially promised to support me. Unfortunately, after a few weeks sleeping together, the reality of my nightly routine was too much for her, and we parted ways.
Each time I dated someone new, I had to come clean about my situation. Some were kind and simply left, while others laughed and ghost me after. I never managed to maintain a relationship for a longer time.
Over time, I met many people, but when it came to our first night together, revealing my situation often led to them ending things. That was until I met my current spouse, who has been my rock throughout this journey.
For a while, accidents were rare, and I thought I could finally ditch the protective mats. But recently, my incontinence worsened, and I found myself back in diapers and now for full-time. It all changed after a particularly embarrassing moment stuck in traffic—I just couldn’t hold it anymore.
This has been a period of new experiences, learning about my body, and working on my self-esteem. I’ve come to accept that I can lead a happy life while wearing diapers to avoid accidents.
Now, I can enjoy family gatherings without anxiety about wetting my pants. Going out to restaurants and public places is no longer a big deal. I can even invite friends over without worrying about embarrassing odors or accidents. After so long, I finally feel like myself again, knowing I’m not any less of a person for managing my incontinence.
I think that’s enough for today! I know I’ve left out some details, but I’m here to answer any respectful questions you might have, please feel free to ask.
Take care, Ethan 💫.
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lesbiantism · 2 months ago
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Nadja, Autism, & Womanhood (aka, me using the writers woman allergy to project on Nadja)
Ok here’s the highly demanded (by one person) Nadja autism + womanhood analysis. Before I start, I wanna note that I’m a rambly bitch. This whole post is basically me just putting down thoughts and loosely stringing them together. I don’t know if this will be coherent. I have Really Big Thoughts on characters like this but I never know how to really lay it out in a coherent way. So idk maybe none of this will make sense but it does to me so. Autism essay under the cut.
So, I’m a nonbinary autistic person, but I still identify With womanhood. Just not As a woman if that makes sense? Like I Experience womanhood but I don’t Identity with it, not entirely. It’s hard to explain idk. But for me, autism and gender are inextricably linked. I’ve thought a lot on how, when I masked as a young girl, a lot of it was just me over-performing femininity, desperately trying to fit in with other girls but always feeling like I was stumbling through the performance. Reaching out and tripping over my feet.
Women are expected to be a lot of things in society. They can never be too loud, too bold, too impolite, too dominant, too rough. Too much. I was always too much for others. When Nadja told that story about other kids finding her too loud growing up, so her teachers made her sit outside, I identified so much because school was such an isolating thing for me. My voice was something always criticized, and my big emotions, so I learned to quiet myself, to dull myself. I’m unlearning it now, and I think that’s one big reason I’m drawn to Nadja’s character, because she’s so many of the things I learned Not to be, and she makes me want to fully embrace them again. She’s a woman in a way I understand and relate to.
Getting more into Nadja and less about me—I don’t necessarily read Nadja as nonbinary per se, but I do think when it comes to other women, she sees herself as Something Else. (I think there’s something to be said about Nadja doll, as some kind of metaphor for depersonalization or dysphoria or something. I can’t really articulate it but if anyone else has thoughts feel free to). It’s like there’s a wall of glass there between her and other women. She wants to reach out, but that wall is there. But when it starts to slip-which is I think is what was happening with Guide—she puts it back up.
It’s interesting to see her when she actually Tries to reach out to other women. Like this season, being in the human workforce, trying to befriend Lisa, and getting So Excited that this girl liked her stupid banana phone joke that she just did it over and over, completely unaware that she was starting to annoy her. Kind of like how Guide was with her, and maybe that’s part of why she pushes her away. Because there’s a part of Guide she can relate to, that longing in her. It’s like that wall of glass is a mirror now, a mirror into the parts of herself she’s afraid to really look at or evaluate. And the fact that she can relate to another woman is New and scary. I think Nadja comes off as very confident, and that’s definitely true, but I do also think there’s that part of her that’s Afraid, that carries the pain of a lifetime of rejection, that she hides under an armor of stone. The part of her that has go bags made because she’s afraid of being exiled again. That part of her who, in many different ways, has never really felt like she’s had a place to belong.
I also think another thing that’s interesting is her relationship Jenna. How she saw this young girl being pushed around by others, desperate to belong, and she Understood that feeling, so she wanted to take her under her wing and help her find confidence. It’s a different kind of relating than with Guide. Jenna is a vision of herself in the past, but Guide is a reminder that those feelings—that part of her that Cares what others, particularly women, think—are still present in her. And it makes her feel threatened. She can’t look at Guide without having to look at herself.
Idk. Maybe all of this is projection but what is a blorbo if not a canvas for your own issues. I think I’m extremely correct about all of this though.
So yeah! That’s all my thoughts for now. Feel free to add on!
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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year ago
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The Eye of the Hurricane [8] - Bells
A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️
Summary: Some decisions require late night visits.
Word Count: 2600
Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.
Series Masterlist
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You didn’t think the rest of the week would be peaceful in any way but even you couldn’t guess just how tense it would be.
“This is insane,” Becca pointed out, crossing her arms and leaning back on her seat. You had decided to meet up for brunch but this time, two other tables in the café were also reserved for your and Becca’s multiple bodyguards who were enjoying their coffees. You stole a look at them, then turned to Becca.
“You’re telling me,” you said. “Four bodyguards everywhere I go. It sounds absurd.”
“And this is Barnes territory!” Becca hissed. “I’ve never ever needed bodyguards in our territory, and all of a sudden...”
“How stressed out is everyone?” you asked and she shook her head with a sigh.
“I could barely see Bucky in these last couple of days,” she said. “My dad said I have nothing to worry about, but you know how he is. It’s kind of condescending, honestly.”
“And your mom?”
“She has this bright idea to send me off to vacation to Zürich until the dust settles here.”
You pulled your brows together. “Will you?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not leaving any of you here.”
You reached out to squeeze at her hand before grabbing your coffee to take a sip.
“How about you?”
“I think I will get the same speech tonight,” you said. “My dad wants to talk to me.”
“And?”
“I’ll make a counter offer.”
“To?”
“To help out,” you said. “With this situation. Besides, me leaving in a time like this would be basically handing Ian the heir position, and I’m not doing that.”
“Do you think your father will accept that offer though?”
“We’ll see,” you said, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a flip. “I’d be better than Ian than handling this, he has to see that.”
“Bucky says Ian isn’t even carrying a gun anymore,” Becca said with a small laugh and you tilted your head.
“What?”
“Yeah. Apparently he says no one can get to him with his men around him. I guess it’s his way of making them think he trusts them with his life.”
You rolled your eyes. “Right.”
“As much as I hate to admit, it looks like it’s working,” Becca admitted. “He looks pretty confident.”
“Confidence can lead to very huge mistakes,” you said and cleared your throat. “Ugh, let’s talk about something else. How’s everything with Leila?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you!” Becca said, snapping her fingers. “Do you think it’s still too early to ask her to marry me?”
You blinked a couple of times. “Becca, you two started dating less than a week ago.”
“Yeah but I could still ask her!”
“That’s the hopeless romantic in you speaking.”
“That’s the orgasms speaking actually,” she corrected you, making you grin.
“Either way, neither of those make you think logical.”
“Logical is overrated,” she pointed out. “How about you?”
“Me?”
“You and Ethan?”
“We’re not doing anything,” you said slowly. “I did hire some bodyguards for him though, just in case.”
“Maybe you should take the first step.”
“I’m not going to do that,” you said, shaking your head fervently and she hummed.
“Don’t tell me Bucky’s proposal affected you like that.”
“What? No!” you exclaimed, scrunching up your face. “Why would you say that?”
Becca rolled her eyes.
“Maybe because I’ve known you two my whole life?”
Your frown deepened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Please,” she said, shooting you a look. “All those glances and so much bickering, it’s obvious something is there—”
“Hate,” you cut her off. “Hate is what’s there.”
Becca gave you a mischievous smile, then sipped her coffee.
“Whatever you say.”
“Bucky and I could never work,” you insisted and Becca hummed.
“What about you and Ethan?”
“Ethan is—” you paused for a moment. “Dating him would be incredibly simple. You know, no ulterior motives, no strategies, nothing complex.”
“That would be so convincing if you could deal with simple more than just a couple of months.”
“You can,” you said and Becca waved a hand in the air.
“I was never promised the heir position,” she said. “It was always Bucky. That’s why I’ve never had that…that burning ambition both of you have. At the end of the day, I do want a simple life Y/N but you’ve never been that type. I don’t think you could actually be happy in a simple relationship.”
You clicked your tongue and leaned back in your chair.
“Well then that complicates things,” you said. “I don’t think I would be happy with someone in the business either.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding?” you said with a laugh. “Come on, you know how spouses are treated in the business. You’re just—you’re there as the arm candy, they never let you get involved—”
“That’s the generation before us.”
“Did Bucky put you up to this?” you asked and she huffed out a laugh.
“I didn’t say you should marry my brother,” she pointed out. “I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t force yourself to like a simple life if you want more than that. Especially if you’re basing your decision on some ancient bullshit rule our families decided to follow.”
You heaved a sigh and took a sip of your coffee.
“Didn’t you just say logical is overrated?” you asked. “Since when are you so logical?”
“I have my moments,” Becca grinned at you. “So. Can we talk about my love life now?”
“Yes but you can’t ask her to marry you.”
“I can ask her to be my fiancée,” Becca stated and you tilted your head.
“That’s…that’s basically the same, Becca.”
Becca rolled her eyes and groaned.
“Fine!” she said. “Can I at least ask her if we should move in together?”
You bit back a smile.
“I’ll give you my permission for that once you two reach the third month.”
“Oh we will,” Becca said with a bright smile. “Great. I’ll send you the house warming party gift list when I get home then.”
                                               *
 You had assumed your father would see you and gave you the same speech Becca got from her parents at home, but apparently he was swamped with work so he had asked you to come to the company. When you got there, your father’s assistant told you he was in the middle of a meeting with Ian and Stark, so you took a seat in the waiting area and stole a look at Ryan who was no doubt waiting for Ian.
“Hi Ryan.”
“Ma’am,” he greeted you, his tone rough but respectful. You smiled at him, crossing your arms.
“Waiting for my cousin?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” you asked and he paused for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.
“Why are you working for him?” you asked. “He’s an asshole.”
Ryan didn’t even dignify that with an answer as he looked at you, his expression completely calm like he was very used to not giving answers.
 “Riveting conversation as always,” you teased him and he bit back a small smile.
“I respect your family, ma’am.”
“I mean you don’t really have to respect Ian though, God knows he does nothing to earn that,” you pointed out. “You know he’s looking forward to starting a war, right?”
“He’s ready to see you,” the assistant said before Ryan could answer you, and you nodded your head, then stood up from the couch.
“Have a nice evening Ryan.”
“You too ma’am,” he said and you followed the assistant to your father’s office.
“Y/N sweetheart, hello,” he said as he walked to you to press a kiss on your cheek. “Sit down, sit down!”
“How was your meeting?” you asked and he waved a hand in the air.
“The usual,” he said. “I have four other meetings after this.”
“Daddy—”
“I will rest when I get home, I promise,” he said and you narrowed your eyes at him.
“Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“It’s just that I don’t know when they will be finished, and I figured you’d be asleep by the time I got home,” he said. “Y/N listen—”
“Don’t bother giving me that speech, I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off and he frowned.
“How did you…?”
“Winnifred gave the same speech to Becca. She tried to send her to Zürich, where are you trying to send me?”
“Wherever you want,” your father said. “I was thinking Florence but…”
“Florence is a gorgeous city,” you said. “I’d love to see it sometime, maybe next Christmas.”
“Y/N.”
You gave him a small grin. “Hm?”
“It’s going to be safer for you if you just go away from the city for a while.”
“While you and Ian handle things?”
“While I handle things.”
“But Ian stays?” you insisted and he ran a hand over his face.
“Yes, but—”
“I’m not going,” you said, your voice firm. “Send him away if you want, but I’m not leaving the city when there’s a war coming.”
“I feel like you need to think about this,” your father said and you shook your head.
“I did think about it.”
“Y/N, I will feel much better if I know you’re away from danger, at least until the dust settles here.”
You sat up straighter, your heart pacing in your chest.
“Dad I can help,” you said. “With all this. You know I can.”
A look of realization dawned on his face.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“No we haven’t,” you insisted. “Not really. We keep ignoring it, ignoring the fact that you haven’t named a successor—”
“That’s because I’m not planning on retiring soon.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Others might believe that lie, but I do not.”
Your father heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off of his seat to come closer to you, then leaned back to his desk, crossing his arms.
“And please tell me, what is it that you want to hear from me right now?” he asked you and you shook your head.
“Don’t patronize me,” you said through your teeth. “You know what I’m capable of, you trained me for times like these. You know I’d make a much better heir than Ian—”
“Y/N, enough.”
“Just give me a chance to prove myself,” you insisted. “That’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to make me the head of all operations, but give me a chance to show you I can do this. I’ve already prepared a plan—”
“Let me stop you right there,” he said. “What you’re suggesting is absolutely out of question.”
Your jaw clenched. “Why?”
“We already have a plan.”
“Okay,” you let out an impatient breath. “Then you can tell me the plan and I’ll help.”
“No need, we have everything covered.”
You could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach but you dug your fingernails into your palm, reminding yourself to stay calm.
“Dad,” you said slowly. “You promised me.”
“And I promised your mother!” he snapped, making you stop talking. “I promised your mother that I would keep you safe, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
The bridge of your nose along with the back of your eyes started burning, a sure sign that the tears were on their way but you blinked fast a couple of times, biting at your tongue.
“That was your mother’s dying wish,” he said, looking you in the eye. “I’m not going to break my promise to her.”
You swallowed thickly. “Mom would want me to be happy.”
 “And you think this life would make you happy?” he asked you. “All this bloodshed, this violence?”
“I was born into bloodshed and violence,” you reminded him. “I’ve spent all my life in it. What, you think you can keep me safe by pushing me out of the picture?”
“It’s much safer than being in the middle of it.”
“For now,” you pointed out. “What about the future? I already know three families that will refuse to do business with Ian.”
Your father shrugged his shoulders. “It’s too early to worry about that. I’m not retiring anytime soon.”
“Dad, he wants to start a war.”
“He will see that war isn’t good for business,” he brushed you off. “He’s just very eager to prove himself right now, that’s all. He’s not going to start a war, don’t worry.”
You gritted your teeth and pursed your lips, glaring at him.
“You got your fire from me, your mother was much calmer,” he said with a small smile. “So I swear to you, I understand your frustration and anger very well. The crown you think you want right now? It’s way too dangerous sweetheart. You’ll see it in time that I’m making the right choice.”
The tears blurred your sight for a moment before you blinked them away and wetted your lips, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.
“You’re not going to name me as your successor, are you?” you rasped out. “Nor will you let me prove myself.”
Your father held your gaze in his for a second, then shook his head.
“No.”
The disappointment hit you so hard that it made your head spin. This wasn’t news to you in any way, you had spent years watching your father treat Ian like his successor but actually hearing it from him was enough to make you want to scream. Anger rushed through you, boiling your blood and you bit your tongue hard enough to hurt, and nodded slowly.
“Okay,” you heard yourself say as you stood up, not even looking him in the eye and he took a deep breath.
“Honey…” he started but you walked out of his office without sparing him a glance, your whole body moving as if it was on autopilot. You got to the elevator and pressed the button, then stepped inside and watched the doors close, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes.
Very well then.
If your father didn’t want to give you power, you were going to take it for yourself.
                                               *
The address wasn’t exactly familiar to you seeing that you hadn’t been there before, but your driver knew the way. When you walked into the building and gave the reception your name, it took them less than a minute to guide you to the elevator, everyone around you rushing like they were instructed not to make you wait even for a second. When the elevator stopped at the top floor, a bodyguard led you to the door of the penthouse to knock on the door and you heard the footsteps coming closer before the door opened.
It looked like Bucky had dashed through the apartment to put his jeans on when they told him you were there, seeing that he was breathing quite fast. You let yourself run your gaze over his bare muscular torso, the tattoos over his chest catching your attention before your eyes snapped up to his, your heart skipping a beat.
God damn it, you almost forgot just how handsome he was.
“Charm,” he said, offering you a small smile. “Hi.”
“Hey there,” you said as you walked past him into the penthouse before he could invite you inside and he closed the door behind you.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said while you glanced around. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You took a deep breath and turned around to look at him better, your heart beating in your ears.
“Get rid of whoever is in your bedroom,” you said and shot him a sarcastic smile as you crossed your arms. “We need to talk about the wedding.”
Chapter 9
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realisticpregerotica · 10 days ago
Text
Reconnected
18+ MDNI
2.7k words
Contains: Pregnant sex, MF sex, oral sex, light lactation
Marshall remembered Jane. They were in the same classrooms, they might have even done a project together and exchanged numbers to work on it after school. Even after their classes were over they added each other on facebook. Maybe he would have made a move, but even during the time he had known her she was still attached to 
Through casual glances on their facebook feeds they would be updated on milestones in their changing lives. Marshall saw The pictures of her trips to the Caribbean, her office parties, and eventually pictures of her engagement ring and with her fiance to her side. And in less than a year, a beautiful wedding.
It was only natural that a decade and some change later Jane was expecting a child with her husband. The pictures of her positive pregnancy test were followed by a sonogram of her peanut sized child. When he recalled the brief memories he had in high school his head began to spin. Somebody that he had grown up with was pregnant. 
Over the weeks she had beamed with pride alongside her less frequent pictures of her husband. Despite his conflicted feelings of seeing Jane’s growing body on his timeline he knew it was unethical to contact her for the selfish reasons of his hidden fetish. She had worked so hard to start this family and become a good wife and mother.
That was, until the news had broken in private stories. Her husband had sent her divorce papers in her second trimester. That confidence seemed to fade as life updates revealed that her smile had lost its shine until the pictures stopped following altogether until one day he saw her name show up on the Springfield Dating group. 
‘Hello everybody! I’m new to dating. I’ve been a resident here my whole life. 
Your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. I’m pregnant, and this is an old picture. My husband and I are separated. I’m looking into getting into dating again…’
And into a leap of faith, he sent the first message. 
~
A half hour had passed since the time they had agreed on. Marshall had accepted the loss and had lived with the thought of knowing that he tried. Right when he began to make peace with his night alone a woman sounded like she had bumbled into the glass door.
Rather, only one part of her body entered the room before she did. And as she entered he saw the composition of her outfit beyond the outstretched fabric that slung her heavy midsection. She wore a lacy red dress, one not meant to accommodate the weight of a woman so far along her pregnancy. Her outstretched belly had forced the middle of her shirt to ride up her thighs with every step, threatening to reveal her underwear. She caught Marshall’s eyes and the man waved her over. 
Shit… Shit! Shitshitshit-
The way that she clumsily made her way to their two person table made Marshall lose any composure that he could have conjured over his sudden moment of preparation. “Unf-” Jane huffed upon landing against the chair in front of him. 
“I’m so sorry! It took a lot longer to get ready than I thought it would!” As she sat down gravity acted accordingly against the curves of her heavy body, bobbing against her hardly contained body. The impact of her landing made her breasts begin to spill from the top of her chestline. She pulled her dress upwards, as if she’d been dealing with this wardrobe malfunction all night.
“No worries! I’m glad you could make it.” He slid her chair in, making her jump with the sudden reveal of how heavy she was, not that Marshall noticed. He was too focused on regaining his composure.
Don’t make it all about her pregnancy, weirdo. 
“How are you?” 
“I’m fine. Very, very pregnant, as you could see.” The exasperation in her voice made Marshall's heart skip a beat as her fingertips ran along either pole of her belly. It was going to be a very long night.
It began recalling their old high school days. When the topic of the one semester had dried they moved on to the last decade they had. Her divorce did come up, but it was through the lens of deep regret for anything other than the children she was more than prepared to mother. By the time the check came around Marshall was ready to drop the question
“Hey. I… Um, don’t live too far around here. If I could save you a trip in the dark.” Jane paused under the shadow of the night, where she was just confident enough that she could hide her excitement. “My ex hasn’t gotten all of his stuff out of our home yet. I’m really sick of living with all of his junk.” She was rambling. “I guess, I’m saying,” She swallowed.
“Please?” 
~
The drive back to Marshall’s apartment was quiet with unclear expectations in the front seat. The end of their trip ended with an elevator trip to the second floor of Marshall’s complex.
“Can I get you anything?” 
“... Yeah…” Jane replied. “Is your bed more comfortable than your couch?” Any time that he had tried to avoid coming face to face with his desire for her body Jane had only reeled him in closer. If she pressed any harder he wasn’t sure how much harder he could hide it. 
They made their way into Marshall's room where Jane cautiously invited herself on Marshall's bed. Carefully scanning for his reaction. “It's a bit of a tight fit… I was so worried about getting it on that I had no idea how I was going to take it off.”
I have to tell her. She has to know that I'm only here physically and that she is everything that I've ever wanted. 
“Oof~” Jane sighed as the zipper  practically undid itself under the weight of her massive breasts. Her skin shined in Marshall’s moonlit bedroom. The dress had really clung onto the widest part of her belly. With persistence, the cloth finally came free, exposing the figure of the heavily pregnant  woman before him
“It’s a lot… Isn’t it?” Jane’s voice softened. Her grip around her dress tightened as she got prepared to hide the blossoming round of her life bearing body.
“N-no.” Marshall’s hands laid on top of hers. With no resistance at all, her wrists lowered. The rest of Jane’s pregnant body was liberated from the ties of her ill fitting dress. Marshall couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as he helped slide the rest of the outfit down her widened hips. The way he looked so intently made Jane’s heart race with eagerness. Her body became nothing more but an obligation for her ex-husband 
Marshall braced himself, hyper aware of what it would look like if he acted too quickly. Every inch closer to her body felt like another foot closer to the sun. Who knew if he would ever have a woman like Jane in his bedroom ever again 
“May I?” Jane nodded. Marshall’s hands carefully explored the object of desire nestled into her midsection.
“H-haa.” Her skin still yielded slightly. He relished the amount of space her round belly occupied. He felt the sides of her belly that distended from her swollen midsection. Of course it did, she still had a couple of months to go. He could feel his heartbeat against his throat so hard that Marshall was scared that every exhale would expose the excitement her gravid body gave him. 
She was in the company of a person who shared just as much excitement towards her body as she had. His touch was indulgent, ready to feel the swell of life she had carried for 7 whole months in her womb. The external focus sent a tingle down her spine that got a moan from her lips as she pushed her midsection further into his hands. 
His hands explored the area right below her bellybutton, lower, and lower until he caught the waistline of the fabric of her panties. Another obstacle that Jane assisted to remove. The pregnant mother laid against his sheets, exposed before him. 
“I’m sorry. My belly… Makes it hard for me to shave…” Her hands covered her face in embarrassment but her legs stayed spread open, not daring to close themselves an inch. Enticed by the warmth of her juicy sex Marshall couldn’t wait any longer. His tongue indulged to feel every inch of her pussy.
For the first time in many months Jane’s neglected body filled with pleasure. Her body worked overtime for a cocktail of oxytocin. All of the stresses in her life melted away into pleasure against the most sensitive parts of her pussy. The missing piece of what she needed for a healthy pregnancy. 
“Oh f-fuck!” Jane stammered. She tried to shove her body downwards to thrust her pregnant pussy into Marshall’s face. Her position pushed the weight of her unborn child against her vagina. The further she arched the more of her third trimester belly rested against Marshall’s forehead.
His senses were surrounded by her. He couldn’t help himself as he undid the button of his dress pants and let down his underwear. Jane could feel the quiver of his mouth against her. “I’m cumming-!” she cried as her voice was immediately cut off by the strain of an orgasm taking hold of her body for the first time in months. She stayed quiet, embarrassed to have cum so quickly she got her heavy body up to return the favor. 
He shifted position in her hands and moaned as he found the side of his dick against her belly. It wasn’t anything like stroking it with his hands. Even against the head of his active, excited cock the stretched skin of her midsection was warm. 
She’s pressing-
His thoughts were cut by the stimulation against her stomach as his forehead shot towards the ceiling. Jane milked the look of his pleasure, planting his member against the fleshy side of her stomach, letting him dig lightly into her soft skin. She paused, feeling the layer of wet, slippery precum that she willingly smeared against the side of her belly that lubed the side of her skin. A pause ended the overstimulation, Marshall’s breaths were ragged while locking into Jane’s eyes.
“D-do you like my body?” Jane asked. Although his cock was proof enough of this answer she needed to hear it verbally. “Yeah… I like your body a lot.” It was the truth, but Marshall’s chest ached to reveal to her the whole truth. For now his words were enough as she slowly began to navigate her body on top of him.
“Am I too heavy?” Jane asked. Marshall shook his head while he swallowed in anticipation. Her full weight made her straddle feel a lot more dense than any partner he had ever felt before. Jane's belly even pushed into him.Her thighs trembled while she found the right angle to get him to enter her warm vagina. With a heavy descent of her hips the couple simultaneously moaned. Jane for the neglect of her needy, hormonal body
Not even her exceptionally swollen folds could hide her slick vulva. He had fantasized for a long time, what the sex of a pregnant woman would feel like. He had thought of all of the cliches he had read in literature and saw in pornos. Jane’s body had delivered on every ounce of promise that pregnant sex had ever made to him. 
Their hips trembled as they felt the sensations of their sexes wash over him. The feeling that engulfed Marshall was an overwhelmingly soft tightness he had never felt before. Jane's quads ached from the effort it took for her to lift her heavy body. “Mnnngggh!” Jane grinded her hips with sexual frustration as she groaned against the limits of her heavy body.
His hand placed on her hips with reassurance as he assisted the expecting mother off of his hips and onto the comfort of his mattress. Her body supported against her side he approached her from behind, his cock stimulating her sex to soft moans. 
“Please tell me if I’m going too hard.” He pushed his hips into her and he felt her body lean into him for support as she groaned. His hand rested naturally atop her bump, a reminder that he was blessed with the opportunity to lay with such a beautiful woman.
With her ear against his lips as he rutted into her. “I really… Really love pregnant women…” 
His confession drew a whimper from Jane’s lips. Silenced by her grunts of pleasure from the hard cock pistoning inside of her all she could do was nod enthusiastically, submitting to the pleasure of her hormonal body. 
“Pregnancy is so sexy on you.” He muttered while continuing to rut into her from behind. Her body rippled so gently, sending shockwaves through her plump ass and thickened thighs. The vibrations rolled throughout her body, waking her child from within her as kicks pushed up against their mothers skin.
Her overstimulated body climbed to elation. Her body was floating. Every thrust she could feel the passion of her body being hungrily ravaged. Her belly was heavy, but supported in his hands and the soft cushion of his mattress. 
“Fuh-fuck. Marshall, I’m gonna cum-!”
“Ugh… Me too!” He cried as his thrusts got harder.  He grit his teeth and pumped like a rabbit as his load exploded into her, feeling every inch of her body coil around him as Jane came against the rock hard shaft. Their moans filled the room as they milked every sensation and twitch with their connected bodies. 
“F-fuck. I’m trembling. I need a second before round two.” Jane chuckled as she rested on her side. Marshall’s hand laid against her belly. She spread her legs while laid up on her back, letting him into a perfect view of her bump. Her legs stayed open, she eagerly spread herself for Marshall
“Do you think you can rock them to sleep inside of their mama?” The challenge enticed her former classmate. Their moans filled the room together as his bare cock entered her swollen opening. He could feel every soft ridge of Jane’s embrace inside of her as her warmth surrounded his cock.
“Mnhhhh~” He could melt inside of her pregnant pussy. At the very tip of his penis he could feel the lip of something round and hard. As he looked down to visualize his length inside of her he envisioned the entrance of her womb where her baby resided. 
Missionary made him take long strokes into her needy vagina as Jane felt every inch of his raw cock. She bit her lip as her insides clung into him needley despite cumming twice earlier in the night.
“Yessss.” She moaned hazily. Her fingers caught the tips of her massive breasts that hung on either side of her rounded midsection. She felt his insides clamp down upon him as she attacked the tips of her chocolate brown nipples, hard. Marshall saw beads of clear fluid build against her areolas. As she smeared her colostrum on her breasts it made her tits shine like lipgloss. 
Jane could feel Marshall stiffen inside of her, she was desperate for him to fill her completely. “Please, fuck me harder.” 
He mounted his body over hers, low enough to feel the firmness of her pregnant round against his stomach. Jane was anchored in place by his body and slammed into her hips. 
“Mnnhhh-Fuck!” Jane moaned, clinging onto his back. Every thrust shook her sensitive body as he mercilessly collided into her womb. “Yesyesyes!” She hummed with the new force of his thrusts. She took every collision into her deepest parts directly into her brain.
Marshall let out a weakened groan beyond grit teeth. Jane began to squirm underneath him as her sensitive sex was getting pounded into her next orgasm. “I’m-I’m” Marshall’s throat strained as he felt the release of another load for his pregnant lover. Jane squealed and gasped as she spasmed with the sensations of her puffy vagina getting filled with his hot seed. 
He removed himself from her as he looked down at her heaving body and a tired grin. Between them they could see the movements inside her stomach come to a gentle rest before the spent lovers laid together.
“Hey, I have 8 more weeks while I'm still your fetish.” Jane chuckled with a blush. He could see that confidence return in her smile. “Make the most out of it, okay?”
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corysmiles · 14 days ago
Text
Runes and Ruin Pt. 5
Arcane g/t
Notes: Hello so sorry this one took a little longer but I’m very excited about it >:)
The night of the gala changed something between Jayce and Viktor. Viktor couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was like something in Jayce had snapped— a thread pulled taught until it finally broke.
He was still touchy, Viktor didn’t think anything could change that, but Viktor couldn’t help but notice that he seemed less comforted by it. He’d hold Viktor like he was afraid he’d disappear more than anything. Furthermore, the gentle teasing he would give Viktor over his stature had all but disappeared.
It was even worse when they were in the lab. Jayce seemed almost single mindedly determined to stay silent— his lips stayed firmly shut as he doggedly tried more and more ruin combinations. Every failed attempt only seemed to drag him further into his hardened determination.
It was three days after the gala when Viktor had finally had enough of the silent treatment. He was sitting at the edge of Jayce’s work desk where piles of withered leaves had been swept to the side from failed experiments, and Jayce looked like he was a second away from a break down. His gigantic hands trembled with every twist of a rune.
“Jayce,” Viktor called out to him. His eyes wandered to the open window at the other side of the lab, soft orange hues signalled that the sun had already started to set. “Maybe we should call it a day, yes?”
He didn’t really want to—not really. He’d much rather keep working, but he felt like he was going to explode if he had to sit through even a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence while Jayce tried and failed over and over again to come up with something that would work.
It felt uncanny to see Jayce so unnervingly quiet, and at least going back to Jayce’s apartment would mean he’d get to have some closeness back; Jayce still slept with him on his chest. Unfortunately, all he got in response was a small hum of acknowledgement—Jayce didn’t even look away from the Hexcore; his fingers stiffened around it.
Viktor gave him a few seconds before his lack of response started to hurt. Annoyance prickled under his skin as he stood up, leaning into the crutch Jayce had made him, so he could walk closer to Jayce’s hands.
“I know you heard me,” Viktor frowned.
Jayce stilled, his hands freezing around the Hexcore. His lips tensed like he wanted to say something before he let out a sigh.
“You seem unwell,” Viktor continued, trying to pry a response out of Jayce.
Jayce swallowed visibly, and his brows furrowed together as he finally spoke, “I’m just worried I—it’s almost been a month and we still don’t have a solution.”
Viktor had to stop himself from wincing at the reminder. Jayce seemed worried—more scared than Viktor had seen him before—and it felt unsettling. Jayce had always been the more optimistic of the two of them.
“It’s just like you said before, if the core can change me once surely it can change me back,” Viktor said, trying to sound more confident than he really felt.
Unfortunately, all his words managed to do was make Jayce’s lips tighten into a frown.
“What if I can’t do it though?” Jayce swallowed, his eyes falling on Viktor’s form like a heavy blanket, “I mean…I’ve already tried so many combinations.”
“You’re the smartest man I know, Jayce,” Viktor hummed in thought, “I trust that if there’s a way you can find it.”
The room fell silent as Jayce deflated in on himself—his shoulders hunched as he leaned over the desk, letting his head fall to rest on his folded arms. The angle brought him much closer to Viktor, and from only a few steps away Viktor could really tell how exhausted Jayce looked. His eyes seemed unfocused as they stared down at him and his stubble had started to grow out more than he’d usually let it. Usually, he kept himself well-groomed, one of the reasons so many people were fond of him—one of the reasons he was perfect for the council and…
“Wait, weren’t you supposed to have a council meeting today?” Viktor asked.
Jayce at least had half the mind to look sheepish as his lips twisted into an embarrassed frown, “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you go?” Viktor scolded, walking closer until he was only an arm’s length away from where Jayce’s head was resting on his hands. He didn’t miss how Jayce seemed to lean closer to where he stood.
Jayce seemed to think on it for a moment, his lids heavy and exhausted from overworking himself, before he spoke. “I wanted to work on this some more.”
“While I appreciate it, I’ve told you before I can work on it without you as well,” Viktor’s lips tightened into a thin line, “At the end of the day this is my mistake.”
He didn’t like how Jayce’s eyes saddened at his words, like a dog left out in the rain. It was strange, only a few months ago Viktor would have been ecstatic to have Jayce back in the lab, but now it felt hollow. More than anything it seemed like Jayce felt like he had to be there, and Viktor couldn’t help but resent him just a bit for that.
“I know you can,” Jayce’s hushed words pulled Viktor out of his thoughts, “It’s just…the other night really scared me.”
Viktor stilled, looking up at Jayce curiously. “The gala?”
Jayce’s face twisted into a frown at even the mention of the party. “I thought—I thought something really bad happened to you. Something really bad could have happened to you.”
Viktor sighed as he finally walked close enough that he could lean against the meat of Jayce’s forearm. The touch seemed to pull Jayce out of his head just a bit. Jayce looked at him with such a gentle expression Viktor thought he might burn up on the spot.
“What happened at the gala wasn’t your fault,” Viktor reminded him softly. Jayce hummed in response— Viktor could feel the vibrations rumble through his whole body.
“I don’t blame you,” Viktor continued slowly, “You don’t have to overwork yourself to fix this.”
At that Jayce shook his head, nearly causing Viktor to topple over before a large hand reached out to offer him support. Viktor felt his chest warm at how easy the motion was for Jayce—it seemed like second nature.
“If I don’t fix this soon though something bad could actually happen to you,” Jayce’s grimaced, “I—I keep dreaming about it. The longer you’re like this the more I worry I—”
“Jayce, working yourself to death won’t fix anything,” Viktor sighed, as he tilted his head up, “I believe it was you who told me that before.”
“It’s not safe for you to be like this though,” Jayce frowned.
“Eh, just don’t take me to another gala and I’d say we’re relatively fine,” Viktor was almost shocked how easily the words came to him—how much truth was in them. He truly didn’t mind being small around Jayce…in a way it felt nice. And getting to have Jayce around more was certainly a nice bonus.
Viktor watched as Jayce’s face flitted between emotions like a radio flickering between signals. Even with Viktor’s reassurances he seemed conflicted—something heavy and sad laid hidden behind his eyes.
“Come on,” Viktor said, patting Jayce’s arm with his hand, “Let’s go back to the apartment yes? You look like you’re about to pass out, and if you’re out of commission you’ll be no help at all.”
Jayce looked like he wanted to argue, but as his eyes fell on Viktor the fight visibly left his body. His gaze softened as he let out a soft weak laugh.
“Alright.”
————————————
Even after getting back to the apartment Jayce seemed tense. He made them food in near silence, and Viktor had to pry conversation out of him whenever it got too uncomfortable. He was thankful when he finally was given his portion—at least with food in his mouth the lack of conversation felt more normal.
It was slightly better than it had been before they left though, Viktor noted. While Jayce was still quiet, stuck in his thoughts where Viktor couldn’t follow, he didn’t seem as sad. He almost looked apologetic whenever Viktor tried to drag a response out of him.
Needless to say, Viktor was thankful when Jayce asked if he wanted to go to bed. Even though he’d done relatively little that day, the tension and heavy silence between them had felt exhausting to manage. With a nod he let Jayce scoop him up into his hands, his fingers curled protectively around him, as he walked them both to his bedroom.
Their setup was familiar now, and even though it still made something warm flutter in Viktor’s chest, Viktor was starting to get used to it. The comforting up-and-down rhythm of Jayce’s chest was comforting beneath him, and the soothing warmth and weight of Jayce’s hand above him helped let his mind shut off.
“I’m sorry,” Jayce’s voice came out hushed and weak, pulling Viktor away from the edge of sleep.
Viktor blinked a few times, trying to process whether or not Jayce talking at all had been a product of his sleep-addled brain when he felt it. Jayce was shaking—just enough that Viktor could feel it throughout his body.
“Jayce?” Viktor looked up, tilting his head back to try to see Jayce’s face through the darkness. With the little light from the outside he could just barely make out a wetness around Jayce’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jayce’s whispered, his voice wavering “I—I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Now Viktor was really awake. Softly, he pushed his hands against Jayce’s palm, a silent ask to be let go, and when Jayce reluctantly freed him Viktor stood up as best he could on Jayce’s shaking chest.
“What’s wrong?” Viktor asked, voice quiet—too worried he’d do something to accidentally startle Jayce even more.
Jayce answered with a pained sound. His other hand, the one not being used to help Viktor stay upright, went to wipe at his face.
“Nothing, nothing. I’m alright.”
Viktor frowned leaning against Jayce’s hand so he could get a more clear look at him. “You’re crying.”
Jayce just whimpered in response. Internally, Viktor berated himself—he’d never been good at comforting people.
“Do you want to talk?” He asked after a few awful seconds of silence only broken by the sounds of Jayce’s soft broken breaths.
“It’s okay. I—I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Viktor frowned. He hated the way Jayce recoiled from him as he spoke—his head bumped into the bed frame behind him.
Viktor softened his voice as if he was talking to a scared animal rather than a grown man. Jayce had always been emotional, it wasn’t a bad thing, but Viktor should have expected this would happen after their talk at the lab. “Is it about the gala still?”
Jayce’s face twisted into a pained expression as he looked away, “No…yes? Maybe.”
“Mhm,” Viktor nodded, urging him to continue with a hand gently rubbing against one of his giant fingers.
“I just… I feel like I should already have figured this out. You shouldn’t have to be relying on me and I—” Jayce’s voice broke off with a distressed gasp.
“And you what?”
Jayce swallowed nervously as the hand behind Viktor moved to rub against his back, “I feel guilty.”
“I already told you, what happened wasn’t your fault Jayce, I—”
“No, it’s…it’s not that,” Jayce’s winced.
Viktor studied his expression as best as he could in the dim light. He’d never seen Jayce look so distraught, his face was scrunched up and red with tear marks.
“What is it then?” Viktor asked, voice careful and calculating.
Jayce tilted his head, his fingers still rubbing absentmindedly against Viktor’s back as he spoke, “Everything. The gala, the council, you, all of it.”
Viktor’s brows knitted together in confusion, “What do you mean me?”
Viktor hated the broken laugh that tore its way from Jayce’s throat. “I feel so awful I…fuck. You almost got hurt because I still can’t figure out how to fix you and I still…I’m still—” Jayce’s voice trailed off.
Viktor watched him for a moment before he decided to make his move. Carefully, trying his best not to fall, Viktor walked his way up Jayce’s chest until he was standing right in front of his face. Jayce’s eyes squeezed shut as he quivered, new tears beading up in the corners of his eyes.
“You’re still what Jayce?” Viktor asked.
Jayce’s breathing stuttered as his face twisted into a grimace. Almost a whole minute passed before he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was so quiet Viktor was sure he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close to his face. “I’m still selfish.”
Viktor stilled, staring intently up at Jayce like he could see into his thoughts if he just tried hard enough. “What do you mean by that?”
Jayce swallowed, the movement nearly sending Viktor toppling over. “Even after the gala, even knowing how awful this all must be…” Jayce took a shaky breath, “I’ve missed you.”
Viktor’s brows furrowed as he tilted his head up at Jayce.
“I know it was my fault that we drifted apart in the first place but… I’ve missed this—missed being with you,” Jayce’s voice faltered, “I—I worry once I fix it, it won’t be like this anymore.”
Viktor’s face fell as he looked up at Jayce’s distressed face. His usually warm golden eyes were wet and red around the rims as he wiped his tears away with the back of his fist.
“I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you I shouldn’t be—”
“Jayce,” Viktor interrupted him, laying his hand on his chin. The contact caused Jayce to jolt. “I eh, I understand…I’ve worried the same.”
“What?” Jayce whispered. Even the small motion of his lips nearly caused Viktor to topple over due to how close he was to his face.
Viktor swallowed down his nerves and anger from so many months alone in the lab. He might not be the most forward person, but he could try, at least to stop Jayce from crying the whole night. “I’ve missed you as well.”
At that Jayce looked like was about to fully burst into tears, and Viktor barely had time to react before a massive hand grabbed him from behind, smushing him against Jayce’s collarbone. Jayce’s whole body shook under him and while Viktor’s immediate thought was to push the gigantic hand away he decided against it. Jayce seemed like he needed it and Viktor was nothing if not a selfish man—he’d take what he could get of Jayce’s touch.
He let Jayce hold him until his breathing finally evened out. While a deep part of Viktor still prickled, angry that it took so long for Jayce to come back, a much larger part of him felt so relieved that Jayce wouldn’t vanish again. He had been getting tired of the hours upon end alone in what once was their shared lab.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry so much,” Jayce’s voice wavered as he lifted his hand up from Viktor. His eyes were still red and irritated but otherwise he seemed better.
“It’s fine,” Viktor reassured gently, “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I’ve just…” Jayce sighed, “I’ve felt bad that I’ve been enjoyed this—having you around, being close again.”
“You know I don’t have to be dependent on you for me to want to see you, yes?”
“I know but…it just got to a point where I didn’t think you’d want to see me at all,” Jayce shrugged.
Viktor tensed, his eyes focusing on Jayce’s face through the darkness. As he spoke he squared his shoulders, hoping that Jayce could hear the deeper truth in his words. “I was angry sometimes, yes. I was mad at you for a while—for joining the council, for not showing up to the lab…But I never would have turned you away.”
Jayce frowned and slowly his hand moved to rest in front of Viktor palm-up, a silent invitation. Viktor didn’t think twice before taking it. He stepped between Jayce’s towering fingers to stand in the center of his palm, the warmth of blood and life under his skin was comforting in a way Viktor didn’t think he’d ever be able to replicate once he was back to his normal stature.
Slowly, Jayce’s hand moved, bringing Viktor up to the pillow his head was resting on, and Viktor had to grab onto his pointer finger to not fall over. When he was deposited securely on the pillow right next to Jayce’s face he allowed himself to relax, lying down next to him. Meanwhile, Jayce’s giant eyes seemed to stare right through him, searching for something, and Viktor felt himself flush as a warm wave of breath passed over his body. Even so small, Jayce looked at him as if he held the secret to the world, and Viktor was weak to it.
“I can’t wait till we fix this,” Jayce said in a hushed tone as he brought his hand to Viktor’s back, pulling him closer to his face. His eyes had started to flutter shut, hovering between open and closed as he let himself relax. The domestic sight of Jayce falling asleep made Viktor’s stomach grow warm with something he refused to acknowledge. It took all his power not to scramble away—to put some space between them.
“Why? So you don’t have to carry me around anymore?” Viktor teased, hoping desperately that Jayce couldn’t see how red his face surely was.
“No,” Jayce smiled, the action so soft and gentle Viktor wanted to scream, “So I can do this properly.”
And then, before Viktor’s brain could catch up, soft lips, the size of his whole body, had pressed him back into the pillow. The overwhelming warmth made Viktor’s skin feel like it was on fire, and the butterflies in his stomach seemed to migrate throughout his whole nervous system. Jayce was kissing him. The man he’d fantasized about for years—who’d never shown any signs that he felt even close to the amount of affection Viktor held for him—had him pressed back into the softness of the pillow, trapped by his lips.
It felt like it had barely even started before Jayce pulled away, eyes wide and panicked as he stared at Viktor.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought—”
And Viktor couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have Jayce, the most caring and beautiful man he’d ever seen, think even for a second that he didn’t want the same thing.
“Jayce,” he interrupted. Jayce stared at him like he’d just been shot. The fear clear in his eyes was sweet in a way. The fact that he thought for even a moment that Viktor didn’t want him back was a ridiculous thought.
Viktor laughed at Jayce’s wide-eyed expression as he leaned forward. It felt wrong, like it was all a dream. But as he pressed his much smaller lips into Jayce’s bottom lip it felt warm—real. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it, and once he was the correct size again he knew he’d take any chance he had to kiss his stupidly handsome partner who somehow liked him back.
After a few moments Jayce pressed his lips back against him, slow and careful like he was still afraid somehow Viktor didn’t want this. And as he pulled away and tilted his head up to get a better view of Jayce’s awe-struck expression he laughed. The man looked like he was about to combust.
“Just kiss me again.”
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weeping-statue · 2 months ago
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CONGRATSSSS ON THE 2500 LIKES!!^^ I’ve been reading your writings quite recently and you really deserve it!! I wanted to request if you could write a Richard sterling x butler/servant gn reader, again please take care of yourself and feel free to ignore!!
Thank you so much, my dear!! You’re such a sweetheart I’m really trying to get these fics out but I’ve been a bit busy and some of the drafts I have, I’ve unfortunately lost motivation for.
“A very special servant.”
Richard Sterling x GN!Servant!Reader
Contains; Fluff, Richard’s manipulative ass <3;
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Richard doesn’t stray from his path to glory, wealth, and power. But maybe he can have someone tag along, make the journey less lonely. And who better than a loyal servant, who’s willing to do anything for him?
This whole thing would start off as you being a pawn, but then him slowly realizing that maybe he actually didn’t see you that way anymore. That he was falling in love.
At first, you had your suspicions, before hand, that he was up to no good.
Especially with the way he’d stare down the other family members, eyeing their rings and expensive jewelry.
The riches had gotten to his head and sacrifices were being made.
Unfortunately you had walked in on Richard pushing his ‘sister’ down the stairs. Being a witness means you had to be taken care of.
Somehow, someway, you managed to convince him to let you be his accomplice.
Richard would make you his personal servant. So you’d have a reason to be close to him.
Nothing can look suspicious, and nothing can lead back to him.
You would clean up any evidence, you would keep his sister on bed rest by giving her the wrong medication, so that it would look like an illness steadily increasing, and you would listen to whatever he asks of you.
It wasn’t exactly easy to do.
The guilt ate at you constantly. No matter how many times Richard would come up behind you, hands resting on your shoulders and fingers digging in while he muttered reassurance in your ears, it never felt right.
It didn’t take long for Richard to make you believe he was in love with you. If his accessory was having doubts, then why not bound them by love.
Richard would indulge you in his passion and love, even if he also started to actually mean it.
He would constantly sweep you off your feet in private. Bringing you gifts he may or may not have stolen, while he whispered how much he loved and needed you.
He’s grown to stalk you at times, and keep you locked in his room when he feels like others are catching on. Paranoia hitting him hard and he’s not feeling very confident now.
When he loves though, he loves hard and possessively.
He wants to be all you know, all you’ll need and want.
And he will stop at nothing, until it becomes a reality.
It was late at night, and Richard had told you to meet up in your usual spot, which was the corridor that led to the garden.
The large windows gave you a beautiful view of the moonlit flowers, and letting some of the beams seep into the hallway.
Richard’s soft steps were barely heard, and when his voice rang out it scared you a bit.
“My dear ___, you look lovely as always.” It came out as a murmur of delight, since it seems he’s always happy to see you.
“You flatter me too much.” Waving him off like you usually do when he gets this way. “You wanted to see me?”
He smiles a bit, pulling something out of his pocket. “I did, but don’t worry it’s not about business.”
Your eyebrow raised, “Oh really?”
Richard hummed, grabbing your hand and placing a small box in your palm. “I’ve come with a declaration of love.”
Opening it you find a ruby ring and it reminds you of the blood you’ve spilled. It’s symbolic in a way, it shows how your bound to each other, that your in this till death.
But it doesn’t help the guilt, the shame, and he sees that. Helping you slip it onto your pointer finger, he reaches down to kiss it.
“I know this is.. stressful. I promise you though, it’ll be all worth it in the end. My love, my light, your everything I need.”
Clearly not. It’s obvious he wanted the money. Yet his words seem so nice and comforting, like he actually does feel that way.
Shaking your head you retract your hand, you knew he was being manipulative like always. Sometimes it’d work, other times it’d be clear as day.
The moonlight shone onto you both making it look ethereal. And in that moment Richard brushed a strand of hair out of your face, and kissed you for real this time. It was passionate and sweet, with underlying anger.
He was tired of you not believing him, how you’d avoid his tactics. He wouldn’t stand for this anymore, and so he kissed you. He put as much feeling into it as possible.
“Don’t you doubt me, ___. I mean what I say, when I say it. You’re mine now, and I’d expect a little more faith from you.” There was a small glare in his eyes when he spoke, and his tone was extremely serious.
Maybe you’d give in, just a little?
He’s a multitasker, swooning the servant, keeping a good appearance, and slowly killing off his family for money.
Who wouldn’t want him?
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Uhm idk how to feel about this one, I had a lot of ideas and tried to put it into one.
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blackkatmagic · 24 days ago
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I was so excited for the double update today! (Though for some reason ao3 also gave me an update on some other random account that I’ve never seen before on the same email, I’m still baffled by that) Feemor is so interesting because he’s confident enough to tease and has a seemingly good charisma, but also has no confidence in his skills and needs major hugs and confidence boosting which qui gon apparently never gave him in any form.
And jaster with trade your heart is so cutely naive, not immediately suspicious of his husband and kids being gone despite just finding out about the new base. Oh and young mace! I’m so excited for him to deal with jaster and Myles, plus possibly meeting Jon and the other masters is gonna be so funny.
(Also excited for jaster and Feemor to eventually meet in wild wings)
I had a few other people mention getting that same error, how odd. AO3 is hiccuping, I guess.
I'm actually really glad Feemor comes off that way! He is, overall, a very capable person, and he's charming, and he's honestly a good Jedi, but he's never really had a life that was meant for him. It'll be more obvious later on, but since he was Qui-Gon's first padawan, and Qui-Gon was obsessed with the Chosen One prophecy, a lot of mistakes were made re: Feemor's training. What Feemor mostly needs is space to grow into himself, and Tarre - who had Fay as a padawan, and was never given a choice about "allowing" his student to be exactly what they wanted - is honestly the perfect person to give him that.
In Jaster's defense in tyh, he's mostly aware that Jango, Jon, and Arla are doing something inadvisable, but he does trust Jon and his children. If he knew they were right under Tor's nose, he'd be a little less calm, but still.
And yeah, poor Mace is going to walk right into a diplomatic clusterfuck of unprecedented proportions. And he just got a padawan. He's going to lose all his hair overnight at this rate.
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emmyrosee · 8 months ago
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okay so, this evening has not been fun for me, so ofc I’m gonna try coping via escapism 🤩
and as always you are absolutely NOT obligated to write it. I’m so serious, if you don’t want to there’s absolutely zero pressure emmy, I’d completely understand one hundred percent.
very long story short, I got my grades back for this semester and despite doing soooo much better overall this year than my first year and not failing a single class this time around, unless I get a miracle it’s looking like I’m going to have to be asked to withdraw from my university for a whole year ☹️
and as someone who got straight As from elementary til my last year of high school/made school my whole life, this is just an enormous blow to any self confidence I had finally built back up. I was doing better mentally and finally feeling a bit like myself again and I’ve just felt so sick with anxiety all evening because I don’t even know what to do anymore. If they decide to ask me to leave, it’ll make my chances of medical school even slimmer than they already were and I can’t help but feel like a bit of a failure and like I’ve just ruined my future despite knowing it’s not all true and I still have options :(
it’s so hyper specific and I’m so so so sorry abt that, but would it be possible for some comfort + tons of fluff with kuroo possibly? I just want to be babied a bit by this fictional man LOL. I feel like he’d know exactly what to do and how to get my mind off of it until I inevitably get that email :(
anon <3
My love, I am so sorry you’re having to go through this, and I am here, to PERSONALLY, tell you that you are far from a failure, and you should still be proud of yourself for getting so far. It’s okay to have bumps like this that halt your dreams, and it doesn’t make you any less deserving of continuing to chase those dreams. And hey! Use me as an example! I went from being a mechanic for four years and being fired for being so terrible (yes that is an actual thing that happened) then I went to college for writing; and now I’m a licensed esthetician with a focus in makeup artistry! There is no such thing as a dead end, no such thing as a closed room, just keep treating yourself gently and reminding yourself that this is far from over, your dream is still more than obtainable with some time and it is more than okay.
Ahem. Let me get off my soapbox PFFFF-
——-
Last night, you refreshed your emails who knows how many times, staring at your computer screen on the verge of hyperventilating for what felt like hours- and it might have been; your brain can’t process how long it was right now.
Your bottom lip was tight between your teeth, the hand on the mouse pad trembling, waiting in anticipation, tight with nerves. Your other rested a fist on your lap, waiting for the results and occasionally wiping a rogue tear that falls.
There’s a soft rapping on the door, but you don’t turn to face it. You merely keep refreshing.
“Hey,” tetsuro whispers, and you hear his feet padding into the room, and when he gets next to you, he crouches down. Once again, you can’t spare him a glance. “Any updates?”
You stay silent. He winces, “I’ll take that at a no…” he lays a warm hand on your back and gently rubs it in circles, “it’s okay baby. We’ll figure it out, we always do.”
“Tetsuro, please,” you whimper, not quite in the mood for a pep talk. “I’m going to puke right now, my life is in flames and crumbling around me, I’m so nervous, please. Save the pep talk, I can’t handle it right now.”
“I'm sorry,” he soothes. He doesn’t say anything further, just rubbing your back in slow, firm circles with his palm, blinking his golden eyes up at you warmly, lovingly.
You feel your body cramp from being under his loving touch, suddenly dawning on you just how long you've been sitting in the chair, inert and unwilling to peel your eyes from the email inbox. You suddenly become hyperaware of how your legs feel numb, your fingers are cramped and your eyes are burning. It's the first time in hours you've taken a break from your refreshing to scrub at your eyes, breeding a wetness to try and soothe the sting.
You hear Tetsuro sigh, "why... don't we go to bed, angel?"
"No."
"But-"
"I can't," you whimper. "Not now. Not yet-" your breathing picks up as you look at him in despair, chest fluttering and heart pounding as you try to breathe. He furrows his brows and shushes you softly, big hands moving to cradle your cheeks and force you to look at him.
"Baby," he says softly, but firm enough to ground you. "It's late. They're not going to send it this late at night. And if they do, we'll deal with it when we wake up tomorrow. But I'm almost certain they're not going to send it to you this late. I promise, okay?"
You let out a shaky sigh and look at the time: 22:43. It's far too late to be thinking, to be worrying, and you'd much rather breakdown in the comfort of your own bed, than alone in this wooden chair.
But you do know that, no matter what, Tetsuro is going to be right next to you, rubbing your back and cradling you close.
When you say nothing, Tetsuro slowly stands up and scoops you in his big, strong arms, "come on, angel face. Let's get some rest." You thunk your head against his chest and fist your fingers into the collar of his shirt, letting him carry you to the bathroom where he plops you down on the countertop.
He grabs your toothbrush and some toothpaste, and gently tells you to open, which you sleepily do. He's extra careful, making sure to get every tooth he can, scrubbing softly as to not make you uncomfortable. Silence, save for the bristles on the toothbrush, fills the room, the corner of Tetsuro's tongue sticking out in focus.
"Okay. Spit," he says, moving so you can comfortably turn your head and spit the froth out. Skincare comes next, and his touch is even softer as he massages in every product you use.
"Good girl," he whispers, picking you back up to carry you to bed. "My good girl. Good, brave girl..."
You drift off in his arms at his praise, not even feeling the way he gets you into pajamas or gets you under the covers, the exhaustion of the constant high of anxiety weighing you down.
Waking up this morning, your bones feel like bricks under the wall of your muscles, barely able to move under the force of it all. Your skin feels like paper, so hyper aware of it now that you’ve had the time to come down from your anxious state. You blink up at your ceiling, eyelids tight as you do, and you continue to stare and let your body wake up molecule by molecule, inch by inch. You feel it coming to life, and you slowly bring your hands up to press the heels of your palms into your eyesockets to force the rest of the sleep out of your eyes.
When your hand then drops next to you, you feel yourself grow saddened at the lack of warmth. Tetsuro’s been out of bed long enough to let his side cool down, and it makes you want to cry at the idea of being alone right now.
You never should’ve shut him down last night. All he wanted to do was help, and you shut him up and made him feel bad, now he’s not even in bed with you anymore, and you feel tears sting at your eyes again, this time out of anxiety of making him upset, and-
“Ah, you’re up.”
Your guilty, howling mind shuts up as soon as tetsuro’s body makes its way into the doorway, smiling and stirring his tea with a spoon. “Good morning, babygirl.” He takes a step into the bedroom and before you know it, he’s at your side, sitting on the bed next to you. He uses his free arm to wrap around you, but not pull you to his chest. “Did you sleep okay?”
“No,” you whimper, voice croaky. He nods and lets his thumb rub up and down the curve of your shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you last night.”
His brow cocks in confusion, “huh?”
Now, finally, you turn to face him, “I snapped at you… I told you to-“
“You told me you didn’t want a pep talk,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s okay. You’re allowed to tell me that my words might not be the most helpful. I’m not going to get mad at you for that. It’s not like you told me to shut my ugly ass up- you’d never do that, I’m too pretty.”
This, for the first time in what feels like days, has you crack a smile. You let out a small laugh, breathy and barely there, but he smiles proudly all the same, pulling you in for a hug now. “You’re a goof,” you murmur.
“And you, need to eat something,” he whispers against your head, and you deflate in his arms again. “Don’t you protest me, you know you have to eat something.”
“‘M not hungry,” you say.
“I know, but you didn’t eat last night, and I let you sleep in-“ at his words, your eyes flick to the clock on your nightstand, red numbers flicked onto 10:24. “You have to have something.”
“But-“
“I know,” he says. “Do you want something sweet, or savory?”
20 questions. It’s something he does after a fit of your anxiety to try and make your life just a hair easier, decisions quicker, and your day just a bit brighter because you’re getting exactly what you want. He claims he used to do it with kenma, hence why he’s so good at it.
“Uhm…” you shrug, “why not both?”
“Both?” He echos. “Okay. Do you want fruit?” You nod. He nods with you. “Okay. How about a bagel?” You nod again. “Okay. With some cream cheese?” You shake your head and he clicks his tongue, “butter?” You shake your head again, “okay. Uhmmmm-“
“I want to do it,” you mumble, and he presses a kiss to your head.
“You sure? Because I can whip something up-“
“I have to do it. I have to put the toppings on my bagel.”
He nods a final time and squeezes you close, “okay. If you need any help deciding, I’m right here, okay? I’ll be cutting your fruit.”
You hum and slowly swing your legs out of the bed, stretching and mewling from the force. When your hand instinctively darts for your phone, he clicks his tongue, "leave it. You don't need it right now."
"But-"
"I told your family to text me if they need you. Your phone is on do not disturb. Leave it there, babe." He swings his own long legs over and extends a hand out to you, wiggling his fingers enticingly for you to hold. When you grab three of them, he smiles and slowly leads you into the kitchen.
The news is playing on tv at a low volume, there’s a discarded blanket on the couch, and you quirk a brow in intrigue, “tetsu, how did you know I was awake?”
He shrugs, “my life shifts when you wake up for the day. I feel it in my soul.”
“Ew.”
“Shaddup.”
You laugh again, smiling a weak smile as you plop down at the table. He makes his way to begin cooking your bagel, popping it in the toaster before making his way to cut up your fruit. You sigh and play with your fingers, wondering if you should make conversation, or let silence rule, and you sigh shakily before opening your mouth to speak. “What’re you going to have?”
“I, my love, already ate some toast with some apple jelly and butter.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m going to pick at some fruit with you, because I don’t want you eating alone.”
“You don’t have to do that-“
“I know,” he hums. Then, he turns to face you with a smile. “I want to.”
Your heart flutters as you smile at him, looking down at your fingers to distract yourself. Usually, you’d be scrolling through your social media, checking apps and emails, but since he forbade it, you’re left to listen to him sing softly and the newscaster drone on and on. After a few short minutes, your bagel pops, and he plates it with some sliced fruit and places it in front of you, before kissing your head and grabbing various toppings for it.
Breakfast drags, but in a comforting way, where it drips by so slow like honey, syrupy sweet as Tetsuro talks. He talks about everything and anything, about the game Kenma's going to stream for charity, and the funny meme he sent the streamer- or funny to Tetsuro at least, as allegedly Kenma left him on read. You find yourself eating at his company, and before you know it, your bagel, juice, and fruit is gone. You look down at your plate in surprise, and he wiggles his brows at you, "feel better, angel?"
"Uhm... yeah," you say, almost confused. "I didn't think I was that hungry."
"I don't care how you thought, I'm glad you ate." He stands out of his chair with a stretch, "you still hungry? I can make you another-"
"No," you sigh. "I... I really should check my email-"
"Not until I give you a bath and a massage."
You quirk your brow, "you're going to give me a bath and a massage?"
"Of course," he chuckles, "If you're too anxious to give yourself some self care, that's plenty fine, but that means I'm going to give you self care." He shrugs, "those are just the rules."
"Do you even know how to give a massage?"
"Bokuto and I used to massage each other after practice all the time." Your brow quirks higher, and he holds his hand up, "don't ask. Just trust me."
"Can Bokuto give me a massage?" You tease, giggling at the way he gives you a fake smile and a high pitched "no," to tease you.
He presses a kiss to your head, "I'm going to go run the bath, why don't you get changed and meet me in there?"
"Okay," you hum. He nudges your nose with a finger before stalking down the hall to the bathroom. When your hear the tub running, you make a dash towards the small office room for your laptop, nervous to check your email, and-
"I took it out!" He calls, followed by a cackle.
"You're an ass!"
"It's your favorite ass, though!"
You grumble and make your way to the bedroom to get undressed per his request, stealing one of his oversized shirt to conceal yourself until the tub is filled. You stalk into the bathroom and blush under the way his eyes glaze up and down you, "fuck, I love you in my clothes."
"Back off, I'm about to bathe," you snort.
"Yeah, but I can still find you hot." As the tub fills, he adds a scoop of epsom salt, and a splash of bathing bubbles, large bubbles brewing on the surface of the water. You smile and watch them shape and form, the sweet smell filling the air around you. You feel excitement brewing inside of you as you watch him turn off the water and push himself up and off the floor with the edge of the tub, "should do it, baby. I'm gonna let you soak, I'll set up for a little massage after, make you nice and comfortable.
"Okay," you mewl. He presses a kiss to your lips and makes his way to the door. "Hey, Tetsu?" You say, reaching for his hand, which he takes happily. "Thank you."
"Anything for you, babygirl," he whispers. "You know that." He pinches your cheek and leaves the bathroom for you to relax.
The bath water is warm as you soak in the epsom salt, feeling your muscles loosen and relish in the combination. You bury your face in the bubbles and close your sleepy eyes, letting the smells lull you into a state of relaxation. Your head is still heavy with anxiety, but your heart is full of love and warmth for your boyfriend.
You're not sure how long you were floating in silence, lost in the bubbles and oils, but he gently knocks on the door, "you okay? Haven't heard you for a bit."
"Yes," you mewl, stretching. The water is now chilly and the bubbles are mostly gone and you rub your hands over the surface of the water. "Is the massage stuff ready?" You tease, looking at your hands and wincing at how pruny they are.
"It's been ready, I didn't want to bother you," he snickers. “Come out when you’re ready, just wanted to make sure you were alive.”
“I’m alive, I’m coming,” you call, getting out of the tub to dry yourself. You take your time drying off, trying to enjoy the last little bit of warmth clinging to your skin. You leave the bathroom to get dressed into some clean pajamas, smiling as tetsuro busies himself with the whole massage set up. “Candles? You spoil me.”
“There’s a lot of smells going on,” he says with a face.
“I know I can tell,” you hum. Getting dressed, you slip on a pair of his boxers and a shirt, and you make your way to the bed to wait for him.
“Alright-“ he pats the bed for you to crawl on top of. “C’mere, let me pamper you.”
You giggle, “you have been pampering me!” Regardless, you swing your legs onto the bed and lay on your stomach, squeaking as he straddles you and cracks his knuckles.
He lays a massive paw on each of your shoulders, using his thumb to splay and press the muscle under his force, and your eyes cross in the middle and flutter in relaxation. They work in circles to press into the muscles, before laying flat on your back to dig his heel into before his fingers press and roll back up to your shoulders.
Thick fingers roll over the knot in your right shoulder, no doubt from the refreshing of the page for hours on end last night. You whine and bury your face in the bed, and he hums, "I know beautiful, I almost got it."
"Feels good," you murmur.
"Told you it would," he says softly. ��You need to trust me.”
“I think I trust you too much,” you snicker. Tetsuro says nothing, merely offering you a laugh through his nose as he continues with the massage.
Your body twitches as the tips of his fingers dig into your side as part of the massage, but your snicker doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “Something wrong?” He hums, doing it again.
"Tetsu!" You giggle, reaching behind you to try and stop his wrists, "that tickles!"
"That's crazy, I'm not tickling you," he snickers, and it's hard to tell if he's lying or not. "I mean, I can tickle you, if you want-"
"No!" You squeal, and your laughter turns choppy as he uses the sides of his hands to playfully chop up and down your back, making your body instinctively let out bumpy noises from your mouth.
“Quite an attitude on ya today,” he taunts, before hooking his fingers up under your arms, making you shriek, “okay, now I’m tickling you.”
Your mind spins from the sensory change, the signals in your brain cross, but one thing is for certain:
The email is far from the front of your mind.
And it feels good to laugh.
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