#Shovel Attachment

[winghangers]

Adjustable Height Shoe Rack

Searching for an adjustable height shoe rack for your footwear collection? Wing Hangers’s shoe pal shoe rack is the perfect one to fit adult shoe sizes. It has high heels secure docking and a backstop to prevent women’s and men’s shoes from falling off. Visit our official website to know more about this space saving product.

[clonerightsagenda]

Woman just called me (not the management company. who we pay to take calls now) to complain that the guy shoveling the snow right now (during the blizzard) isn't doing it the way she thinks he should and that he's an idiot. I told her I wasn't going to tell our contractor that a resident thinks he's an idiot and whether there was any specific action she wished me to take with this information and she, affronted, said she was just letting me know what's going on. I am going to go lie down in the snow until he shovels me away too

[neoyi-backstreetback]

So roughly around 2022 or 2023, I was in the middle of creating a Propeller/Specter fancomic that would have dealt with the former's death and Specter, being an undead, ageless Lich, trying vainly to latch onto whatever they had left before his mortal husband passed away. I never got past inking the first few pages and I pushed it off to the wayside, thinking I'd never get back to it, even though this was a story I so badly wanted to tell.

...Well, I think I found a vehicle to get those pages back. That is, in which I'm gonna try and doctor that damn thing into the next Resh'an/Specter story I've been brewing in my head.

Hence, these next set of teaser images. It's gonna be about loss. Also more discussion on the curse of immortality. Also also this time, Death will show off his vulnerability and Resh'an can comfort him. It will be super, duper gay, but that goes without saying.

[some-pers0n]

Quite unfortunate that Sir Sebastian Bastard, one of Will Wood's beloved rats, has meddled with Will's distributor's office and now his official discography playlist that I listen religiously to is messed up

[wineandsay]

When you crave affection but your trauma says lol nope

[solarpunkfool]

I am trying to choose to hope. 

I am choosing to imagine public transportation. 

Grocery stores with attached soup kitchens to decrease food waste. 

Neighborhood meal- and garden-sharing programs.

Green spaces connecting to other green spaces.

The rainforest ADVANCING, churning up dry soil and turning it dark and healthy. 

The sky filled with birds and the sea with fish, their populations increasing. 

The air and water clean. 

Emissions-free vehicles on roadways, with speeds governed, and safe streets for tricycles, bicycles, dogs, deer, and stray soccer balls.

Solar panels on every public building, over every parking lot. 

Beehives and wildflowers on the open berms between roadways. 

The total lack of gunshots around the world, and instead the sound of shovels, digging holes to plant fruit trees by public sidewalks. 

[qoldenskies]

if it means anything wwww!leo will never even have a Fraction of faw!leo's aura. he's not a serious threat he's just comically pathetic

fire at will and where we went wrong actually have a lot of similarities in structure and im only now realizing how deep that goes. i have one whole gimmick

[childrenofcain-if]

DEMO ✝ BACK-UP ACCOUNT

Wealth. Power. Death.

The Ballad of the Young Gods is a dark academia interactive fiction story, with dark fantasy and psychological thriller themes. Some of the romances also contain tropes and storylines which may be disturbing to some readers.

It is based on media like “Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo, “The Secret History” by Donna Tart, “Masters of Death” by Olivie Blake, and SYFY’s “Deadly Class”.

It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, sexual themes, violence, and death.

Getting into an Ivy League school is a dream that thousands of American students nurse from a young age. Luckily for you, that dream is your reality. Four years of continuous hard work and pressure have made you a proud freshman at Yale University. And as if that wasn’t enough, you have been handpicked to attend Rathore College, whose selection process is revered across all the nation’s top educational institutions. But you should’ve known this stroke of luck came with a catch.

Yale is a crucible of power, where secret societies wield arcane magic and the dead are far from silent. The illustrious House of Styx wants you and this is a situation that not even your money can get you out of.

They are powerful, elite, and most of all, controlling beyond recognition. They are also the heart of the eight secret societies that attach themselves to Yale. From the White House to Hollywood’s most acclaimed stars, their influence reaches farther than anyone can dare to imagine.

A sinister conspiracy brews under Styx’s watchful gaze, one that threatens to unravel the fragile balance between the living and the dead. But in a graveyard of secrets, you and your accomplices are the ones with the shovels. You’re now in a world where the past is never truly dead, and the lines between life and death blur with each passing day.

But some secrets are better left buried, and some prophecies are destined to drag you to hell.

Cédric Armand Lacroix / Céline Armelle Lacroix (M/F)

Vindictive. Conniving. Ruthless.

As the heir to the Lacroix fortune, C is every bit as arrogant as their bloodline demands them to be. Even after the messy divorce of their parents which further led to their disownment by their father, Alain Lacroix, they refuse to give up on their dignity. They’ve vowed to destroy him one day and take what’s rightful theirs, brick by brick. The world bent to C’s whims, what money couldn't buy them, those pale green eyes probably did.

There is nothing that they can’t have, especially if they set their mind to that. That is until you came along and stayed one step ahead of them every time in everything that mattered. It wasn’t just the fortune or the legacy at stake; it was the bruising of their pride, the constant reminder that someone—anyone—could outmaneuver them. But beneath the layers of resentment and anger, there’s something more—something darker, even more dangerous.

An obsession takes root, one that blurs the line between hatred and fascination. And they vow to spend their whole life despising you for everything.

Romance trope: Enemies / Academic Rivals to Lovers.

Vance Kasper Næsholm / Vanessa Karina Næsholm (M/F)

Pious. Haunted. Disillusioned.

Raised under the oppressive influence of a rigid, fire-and-brimstone faith in a Danish Catholic orphanage, they were taught to see demons in every shadow and sin in every touch. Forever haunted by the visions provided by a wrathful God they can neither fully grasp their mind around nor escape from, their only reprieve came on the day they got adopted at the age of six and diagnosed with schizophrenia. But the truth of their ‘psychosis’ may be far more sinister than any medical diagnosis could account for.

As the tides become even stormier and their medications become ineffective when they arrive at Yale, all V can do is hold on to the last threads of control over their lives. Your first meeting almost makes them teeter over the edge.

Now that they’re your roommate, they’re bound to you by fate or folly, but whether they’ll be a stable ally remains to be seen.

Romance trope: Roommate Romance.

Wilhelm Johann Ostendorf / Wilhelmine Johanna Ostendorf (M/F)

Exhausted. Abandoned. Lost.

What does the world think of you when you’re a product of brilliance and neglect at the same time? With an Oscar-winning filmmaker for a father and a mother ensconced on the American board of directors at the Louvre, their pedigree is undeniable, yet it is a legacy more hollow than it appears. While their parents sculpted their careers into masterpieces and amassed accolades, they left W to be raised by their paternal aunt and uncle. A sizeable trust fund and periodic checks served as their parents’ only gestures of care, a shallow substitute for the love and attention their only child so desperately craved.

The only times they had felt more than someone who was deeply unlovable were the summers you spent on rusty swingsets and fast bicycles with training wheels. But the swingsets have long been dismantled, and the bicycles have been traded for cars.

The only questions remain—are you the same kid who saw them, really saw them, beyond the reality of being unwanted and the suffocating looks filled with pity that came with their name? Or will this reunion only serve to confirm their deepest fear—that they are, and always have been, truly alone?

Romance trope: Forgotten Childhood Friends to Lovers.

Dumitru Constantin Diaconu / Dumitra Constantina Diaconu (M/F)

Charismatic. Reckless. Guarded.

D’s name is the one that comes up in almost every conversation about Yale’s wildest parties. A natural-born rockstar charmer with a magnetic presence, they effortlessly draw people into their orbit, collecting hearts and bodies with the ease of someone who’s always been in the center of the gold rush. Despite the countless admirers and the trail of broken hearts left in their wake, you’ll always find them with a Marlboro between their lips and a new person in their arms to warm their bed at night. Their smile is a promise, and their laughter a siren call. In the haze of flashing lights and the thrum of bass that pulses through the walls, they are a heartbreaker in every sense of the word.

Feelings are a complication they don’t allow, a line they never cross. They’ve perfected the art of detachment, of keeping their connections strictly no-strings, because to let someone in would be to risk the vulnerability they’ve long since sworn off.

Will you be the only person they'd let peel back the barbed wire surrounding their heart? Or will you be left with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and a tale that wasn't meant to be?

Romance trope: Friends with Benefits / Sex First, Feelings Later. [You will only be able to unlock their romance route through a hookup.]

Maxwell Edmund Whitlock-Singh / Maxine Edythe Whitlock-Singh (M/F)

Duty-bound. Noble. Untouchable.

Politeness and decorum are second nature to M. They are the embodiment of manners, a living testament to the art of subtlety in a world where spectacle often trumps substance. They are the sort of person who commands attention without seeking it, a product of both royal blood and rigorous self-discipline. Dubbed the “Paragon of Styx,” M is a modern Plato, someone who finds as much solace in philosophical debates as in the classical texts they’ve devoured in multiple languages. As the second-born child of the Crown Princess of Wales, they have always understood that their life would be one of service with every action scrutinized, and every word weighed.

Their intellect is vast, but it is their passion for the esoteric that sets them apart. For all their convictions, there is a restlessness within M that even they cannot fully articulate. It is the paradox of their existence—a life of privilege that feels at times like a gilded cage, a role that demands both reverence and obedience. Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Will you make them realize that life is more than duties and expectations? Or will you become yet another figure in the background, another reminder of the golden cage they were born into?

Romance trope: Forbidden Royal Romance / Secret Relationship.

Step into the shadows as the wealthy heir apparent to a billion-dollar industry who is just starting at Yale University as a freshman.

Be a part of Yale’s most enigmatic secret society, the House of Styx.

Fully customize your character including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality, and more.

Romance 1 out of 5 love interests (all of them are gender-selectable).

Study forbidden knowledge, practice dark magic, and try not to fail at your actual coursework.

Test your mind, body, and soul in rituals that blur the line between reality and nightmare.

Learn about the secrets that your mother took to her grave. Is she really the same woman you remember so fondly from your childhood?

Will you rise to navigate the sinister plans brewing under the nose of the House? Or will your actions drag you and your companions to the fiery depths of Hell.

W̶̗͖̝͆h̷͕̲̑̎̓̍̄̎͠͝a̵̢̛̫̾̓͗t̴̙̫͛̐͆̾̀̓̔̊͝ ̴̪́́̈́͛̂̉̀͒̊́ạ̸̗̯̲̘̬͗̀ͅr̸̢̪̜̭̼̠̟̜͚̂̈́͋͋̅͑̉́̎͝e̸̩̯͉̿̊̔͛̃̎͝ͅ ̵̢̹̜̤͍͙̩̬̰̜̏̃͝͠y̷̢̨͇̘͍̌́͐̍̆̓̑̐ǫ̶̢̧̡̛̥̤͉͎̟̃̏̍̓̒ͅu̷̓̂̾̇̇͜͝,̸͎̖̮̲̳̻̱̬̎̒͑͝ ̸̡̛̰̌͐c̶̛̪̗̰̻̜̲̘̺͗͊h̴̡͔̦̘̤̖͊̿̓̇i̵͉̘͙̥͍̼̜̐̐̄̅͝͝ĺ̶̡̧̧̼̦̦̗̰̝̼̓̊̀d̸̡͎͔͔̰̖̿̐̈́̓͊̌̃̓͜?̷̩̗̲̫̮͕̍̈́́̽͜͝͝

DEMO

RO DETAILS

SPOTIFY (for RO playlists, click on their names in the cast section)

PINTEREST

DISCORD

WRITTEN BY: axel (he/him)

CODED BY: @albywritesfiction (they/them)

[winghangers]

Wing Closet Hanger

Protect your precious clothes with the wing closet hanger by Wing Hangers. It is the ultimate space and money saver thanks to its patented dual hooks at the top and bottom, 10 loops on both wings for multiple hangings, swivel, and flat constructions. Made of sturdy ABS plastic, It is lightweight, compact, and great for travel. Visit our website to buy the wing closet hanger online.

[honeekyuu]

casual. [miya atsumu x f!reader] chapter one.

>> being best friends with a frat boy can be a real pain in the ass sometimes

or

there's no one who knows you quite like miya atsumu <<

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: somebody lmk if atsuyn know they have feelings for each other bc i havent figured it out yet

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

---------------------------------------

Miya Atsumu has attachment issues.

Even at five years old, you can see it – the difference between him and the boy who shares his face. 

Osamu is quiet, with a gentle expression and disinterested eyes. Whenever he spots you on the other side of the fence, playing by yourself in your backyard, he waves and says your name in way that flies away with the wind. Sometimes he just peers over at you until you notice him, asks what you’re playing when you finally do. But he tends to leave you be, more interested in escaping the whirlwind that is his brother.

Atsumu is a different story – the same face, but a voice that makes your ears hurt and your heart pound. He makes you mad, makes you want to yell at him. But when you do raise your voice, you think he might like you more because of it. He only ever calls into his house, asking his mother if he can come play in your yard. Laughing when you yell that he can’t. Appearing at your side, taking your toys and forcing you into a game you didn’t come up with.

“Go away,” you say, every day without fail. “You’re annoying!” 

His response is always the same, loud and grating and marked by Osamu just behind him, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, but ya like me!” Smile so wide that his eyes disappear, gap in the space where he’s just lost a tooth.

You don’t tell him that he’s wrong.

– 

He follows you around in school. You’re smaller than him at that age, and he makes it known that he’s aware of it. 

“Gimme, I’ll do it,” he says, taking your books from your arms and carrying them to your cubbyhole.

“Watch where yer goin’!” he yells when older kids bump into you in the hall, caring less than you about manners and politeness and getting himself into trouble with them more often than not.

“Can ya see alright, shortie?” he asks when you crane your neck to see the board, pointing to his own seat as if offering it to you. Grinning playfully when you just roll your eyes and squint harder at the teacher’s handwriting. 

“Samu and I are thinkin’ of tryin’ out fer the volleyball team,” he tells you one day, shoveling food into his mouth and only smiling when you look him over in disgust. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

You huff at him, eating much more carefully. “I’m not a kid, Tsumu – I don’t need you to keep an eye on me all the time.” You gesture at the cafeteria around you. You’re the only one sitting with him at lunch – you’re the only one who ever sits with him at lunch. Osamu sits somewhere else, with Aran, and occasionally drifts over to talk to you. “You sure you don’t need someone to keep an eye on you? You’d be all alone without me.”

He just shrugs and shoves more food in his mouth. You’re not quite sure where he puts it all. “Ain’t you enough?”

“What about Samu?”

“Samu’s a given.”

“What about the volleyball team?”

“What about ‘em?”

“You have to at least try to get along with them, Tsumu.”

“Sure, I guess,” he starts, lifting the lip of his rice bowl to his mouth and scooping the last few grains in. His voice echoes against the metal while he talks. “But what’do I need them for? I got you.”

You warm, wondering if he knows how that sounds to anyone passing by. A quick glance tells you that no one’s even close enough to hear. 

You’re on an island alone with Miya Atsumu. Sometimes you wish you had a way off, a lifeboat or a rescue ship to come get you.

He meets your eyes when he’s done eating, his expression genuine – always a little too intense, but genuine all the same. “I heard the team needs a manager.” When you only lift your brows in response, he shrugs. “You wouldn’t have’ta walk home alone, at least.”

Most days, you don’t mind the island so much. 

–

Your first crush hits you like a truck in junior high. A boy with a sweet face but a wicked sense of humor – you’re drawn to the way his eyes twinkle, the way he’s a little too playful. He jokes a little too much, but his smile when he’s scolded is too pretty for you to care. And you have the wonderful privilege of being his seatmate, the closest you’ll ever get to him.

There’s a point in time when you think you might actually have a chance with him. He finds you funny, and he always asks how your weekend was. You fantasize that maybe there’s a world where he likes your company.

The issue, however, is that he’s popular. He’s popular and he knows it.

And you’ve grown into a girl who acts like a boy because you were raised with twin boys who act like animals. 

You’re not the kind of girl he’d look twice at, not when the other girls in your class smell like flowers and giggle to each other quietly. You think you smell fine, but there’s certainly no giggling happening in your life. 

No, you tend to be surrounded more by screaming and fighting and swearing, courtesy of Miya Atsumu.

It makes the twins popular, too – they have that mischievous energy, the kind that makes girls fall for them more whenever they fight in the hall. 

Girls want to be near that type of boy, but boys don’t want to be near that type of girl.

“Sorry,” your seatmate says when you corner him behind the school one day and nervously hold out a box of chocolates, hoping for a single chance with him. “You’re really cool, but I’m not that interested…” 

He doesn’t make fun of you, you’ll give him that. He’s sympathetic, and seems genuinely sorry to hurt your feelings. Even now, during a rejection, your crush on him grows.

“Besides,” he adds, uncertainly and with a nervous smile. “Aren’t you and Miya a thing?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt your brain stop working.

“N-No,” you mumble, shaking your head forcefully after a moment. “Not even a little bit – why? Did he say that?”

You can’t imagine that he ever would; Atsumu may be attached, but he’s never gone too far.

“No, no! Sorry, I must have misunderstood…” He scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that… you two seem really close. You’re always together.”

He leaves you there after a moment of silence, whispering another awkward ‘sorry’ that you never hear. You just crouch in place, box of chocolate on the ground and confusion numbing your limbs. You pull your phone from your jacket hollowly, dialing the most frequently called number and listening to it ring.

“Y/n? Where are you? I didn’t see yer stuff in the locker.” 

Atsumu’s voice is the same as always. Unassuming, unapologetic. Attached.

“Have you been telling people that we’re dating?” You whisper it, too afraid that you’ll speak something horrible into reality.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” He laughs, a bark of confused amusement. “Why the hell would I be doin’ that?”

“So… you haven’t, right?”

He makes a noise of derision. “‘Course not, don’t be insane.” There’s a silence between you that you find disquieting. He seems to feel it, too. “Why?”

You consider it a moment longer. He really must not be behind this. “Nothing. No reason.”

“Yer lyin’. ”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t wanna-”

“Well, I do,” you snap. 

He pauses for a moment – just a moment, pointed enough for your anger to become embarrassing. 

His response is quiet. “Yer shit at hiding things, you know.”

He’s crude when he talks to you, all honesty and no humility.

But Miya Atsumu has always been that way.

–

Atsumu’s attachment to you continues well into high school.

It’s a running joke now, one that comes in shared looks between Osamu and Suna Rintarou, who had asked only a week into first year if the two of you were dating. To this day, you’re convinced that he’d only asked at all because Atsumu had made a very loud point about needing to be your seatmate when the teacher had placed you across the room. Suna had cracked the joked under his breath – ‘it’s giving obsessed boyfriend’ – but everyone heard, and everyone laughed. Only Atsumu had looked confused, and that was because you were fixing him with a glare that could melt metal.

Suna had made an instant friend in the quieter twin and an instant enemy in you. It had been a struggle for the rest of junior high to be rid of that impression, and you couldn’t allow it to continue into high school, not when the boys in your class are finally starting to notice you.

Suna had made up for it with a semester’s worth of vending machine snacks – half of which were eaten by Atsumu, anyway.

“You know,” Osamu says one day in second year, approaching you during a break in Inarizaki’s practice time. You’re folding towels on the floor, having been roped into the Manager position again. You glance up at him warily, knowing better than to think Osamu’s innocent just because he’s quiet. “Suna thinks Aran has a crush on you.”

You blink in surprise, craning your neck to look around Osamu and observe the older boy. He’s on the floor at the edge of the court, wiping his forehead and stretching next to Kita. 

Aran’s sweet, and you’ve known him a long time. You’ve always been fond of him – a little shy because he’s older, but fond all the same. In junior high, he would help you with your homework and was always willing to help you study. He would buy you snacks and ruffle your hair when you would get too riled up by Atsumu’s antics. You’d always liked him, always felt lighter when he was around.

But could you see yourself dating him?

His eyes find yours across the court. You watch as his face warms, and he’s sending you a kind smile. You warm, too, imagining a different kind of relationship with Aran.

There’s a yellow-blond head in your line of sight before that thought can go anywhere meaningful.

“Whatcha lookin’ at!”

You could kill him.

“Nothing,” you say, returning to the towels. Atsumu crouches beside you, leaning into your face.

“Yer definitely starin’ at somethin’.” He tracks where you’d been looking before, tracks it all the way to Aran Ojiro. You glance up through your eyelashes – Aran’s looked away, lips pursed in disappointment.

A spike of annoyance flies down your spine, and the towel in your hand suffers the sudden grip of your tightened fist. When you meet Atsumu’s eyes, you see it. 

Surprise.

“You like Aran?” he whispers. Osamu uses the oh-so-convenient distraction to take his leave.

“No,” you mutter, glaring at the younger twin as he sidles away. “Wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway.”

Atsumu tilts his head like he has no clue what you’re saying. “Why not?”

“You know exactly why not.” You stand with the stack of towels, walking away from him quickly – angrily, hoping he doesn’t follow you.

He starts to, but a whistle rings across the gym, so he’s forced to walk away.

You fill water bottles in the sink, wondering why your hands are shaking so bad – why you feel just a little disappointed that the conversation’s over.

–

He follows you home that day. Ignores Osamu the entire walk home, poking and prodding at your anger while he looks for answers. You ignore him in turn, purposely only talking to Osamu, who looks like he wants to melt through the asphalt.

When you finally make it home, you speed past their house and through the gate of your own, looking forward to being alone.

Atsumu would never let that happen.

“Y/n,” he calls, chasing after you and stopping the front door just as you’re slamming it shut. He slips through, following you into your house and only pausing momentarily to greet your mother, who’s less than surprised that Miya Atsumu is in her kitchen.

He still manages to get to your bedroom door before you can close it, leaning into the wood and grunting when you throw your bodyweight against it on the other side.

“Let-me-in,” he huffs, pushing with his shoulder. You plant both hands on the door and lean with all your might.

“Go away, Miya!”

“No! I don’t jus’ go away, and you know that!”

“I’m tired of seeing you!”

“No yer not-” You want to be angrier at him than you are, more stubborn than you’re capable of. “I’m yer best friend!”

“No you’re not!” you yell back. Another lie, one meant to catch him just off guard enough that you can get the door shut. 

It doesn’t work. How obvious is it if even he can tell?

“Well, yer my best friend, so I’m not goin’!” 

You groan and drop your hands, letting the door fly open and watching as he lands flat on his face. “What do you want? Why are you being annoying?”

He mumbles, face buried in your rug. “Tell me why it wouldn’t matter if ya liked Aran.”

“You know why.”

“Nuh-uh. Got no clue.”

“Because-” You sigh, heated as you sit on your bed. “It never matters if boys like me or if I like boys. You always get in the way.”

“How?!” He lifts his head, clearly affronted and completely ignoring the red spot on his face from hitting the ground.

“You’re everywhere!” you yell, throwing your arms out. “Boys don’t wanna go out with a girl who always has a boy at her side!”

His jaw falls. “That don’t make sense! Just ‘cause I’m a boy, it doesn’t mean anything! We’re friends!”

“Tell that to every boy that’s ever rejected me because they ‘don’t wanna get on Miya’s bad side’.” You quote them directly, the same excuse given over and over again since middle school.

“What the hell have I got to do with anythin’?!” He looks utterly baffled and a little bit annoyed, like it’s your fault that he’s not understanding. “You sure it ain’t ‘cause you dress like a teenage boy and sit like a gangster?”

“Please just fuck off, Tsumu.” You flop onto your back and shut your eyes. “I’m tired of guys backing away and asking ‘What about Miya?’ when I confess to them. You got a whole fanclub of girls wanting your attention, and I can’t get a boy within ten feet of me? How’s that fair?”

You hear Atsumu sit up, so you tilt your head and peer down at him. He stares up at you with wide eyes. Quiet, for the first time in his life.

“I didn’t know that.”

You blink. He blinks back.

He really hadn’t known.

You look away, swallowing hard. “Well, now you do.”

There’s silence between you, one that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Is that what happened before? That day ya called me?”

He remembers. He remembers, but he hadn’t been able to put it together.

What an idiot.

“Yeah,” you mumble, shutting your eyes and throwing an arm over your face. “I thought maybe you were saying something around school.”

“I wouldn’t do that t’you,” he says right away. “Why would I do that? We’re not together.”

You laugh to yourself. “And yet, we’re always together.”

“So?”

You glance down at him from under your arm. “You don’t realize how possessive you are… do you?”

His brow furrows, and he stares down at nothing.

“I’m not-”

“If I started dating Aran, how would you feel?”

You watch him very carefully.

You watch as his jaw clenches, as he struggles to maintain a neutral expression, even though he doesn’t realize you’re looking at him.

“You can date who you want,” he whispers. You keep your eyes on him and drive the point home.

“If I spent more time with him? Walked home with him after practice? Ate lunch with him? Saw him on the weekend?”

Atsumu has no idea that he’s pouting right now. “‘s not like I like you er anything. Yer Y/n.”

You smile to yourself and look away, finally, eyes closing again. “You don’t need to like me to be possessive of me.”

You don’t bother asking if he understands. His silence says enough.

“Ya want me to back off?” he eventually asks, voice soft.

Cut the attachment.

A knife-slice separation of you and Miya Atsumu.

The voice in your head – the one that’s always angriest with Miya Atsumu’s intrusive nature – says no. Whispers it, acknowledges that saying yes means hurting him and hurting you. 

Wonders what saying no might mean.

“I mean it,” Atsumu says, his voice a little hollow, like it’s trapped in his throat. “If ya wanna date Aran – or anyone, I guess – and we’re too… If I’m too…”

The word no rings in your head, but the little voice changes its tune – this would be the only time you’re given the choice to change your friendship with him. If you say no, you’d have to be okay with him being like this forever, unapologetic and unmoving.

If you say yes, you’d have some breathing room. A little bit of space, a little bit of a chance to become your own person – a chance to be known as you, not as you and Miya Atsumu.

He’s giving you a chance.

You close your eyes again, fiddling with a loose string in your sleeve. Wondering why you’d started this conversation in the first place.

“It’s fine, Tsumu. You don’t need to back off.”

You’re not sure when you’d grown attached to him, too.

–

Nothing happens with Aran – he tells you later that it’s better this way, and there’s an inexplicable relief in the pit of your stomach when he does.

Your attachment to Miya Atsumu grows when you’re too careless to keep an eye on it.

–

“Me and the boys’re thinkin’ about joinin’ Lambda.”

You tug another part through Atsumu’s hair, making sure not to get any bleach on the undercut. “You and the boys, huh? Samu’s not much of a frat guy.”

“Said somethin’ about not trustin’ me and Suna to survive a hazing.”

You just hum, completely understanding Osamu’s point of view. “You do have bad impulse control.”

“Do not!” he complains, tilting his head back to look up at you. All he accomplishes is a smear of bleach on your bare thighs and a smack of your gloved hand against the side of his head.

“Watch it,” you snap, hurrying to wipe the bleach off your skin. You’ve got him sitting on the floor in front of your bed, in the cramped little dorm room that the twins and Suna had helped you move into at the end of the summer. Your thighs sit firmly on either side of him, both to balance the bleach mix on your leg and to keep him from squirming. “I’ll let you walk around with piss yellow hair like you did in high school.”

“No, don’t…” he whines, straightening and letting you work. “You always do it the best. And it’s free.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “You think this is free? I have your credit card number memorized and a lot of online shopping to do.”

He scoffs, mumbling ‘what the fuck’ to himself before making a noise of confusion. “What’re you shoppin’ for? You got all your shit already.”

“Need new clothes.” He points at your open closet, stuffed full of clothes and shoes. “Do ya?”

“Those clothes aren’t flattering on me.”

“Yeah, because you dress like a fucking twelve-year-old-”

“I’ll leave you like this, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But seriously, what’do you need new clothes for?”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “I wanna change my style a bit… be more girly, maybe?”

He shakes his head slightly. “What for? You’re fine.”

“I mean, if I’m gonna be partying at Lambda a lot, I’m gonna want a roster of Lambda boys, don’t you think?”

Atsumu scoffs so hard that he chokes on his saliva. He turns to look up at you, disbelief scribbled all over his face. There’s bleach dripping down from his hairline. You can’t help but wipe at it carefully.

“The fuck are you talking about? A roster-”

“Am I not allowed to?” You level him with a challenging look, but he just rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He turns in place to face you, and then his hands are hooked around the tops of your thighs. “Just surprised… that’s all.”

The intensity of his gaze when he searches your face makes you warm and turn away, clearing your throat.

“I’m trying to rebrand a little, I guess.”

He blinks, chews on his lip a moment. Looks away from you. 

You can see that he wants to ask – ‘need me to rebrand, too?’ – but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask if you need him to change, because he already asked once and you already said no.

You wonder if he’s worried you’ll change your mind. 

You wonder if maybe he doesn’t want you to.

Instead, he just nods.

“Probably a good thing – us seeing people.” When you just blink in surprise, he shrugs, more to himself than to you. “If people see us dating around, they’ll stop making assumptions.”

Assumptions that you’re mine.

Your heart does a confusing little flip at the thought. You ignore it, chalk it up to the nerves that come with difficult conversations. 

“Turn around,” you mumble weakly. “Your hair’s gonna be different colors if you don’t let me finish.”

The next hour of your life is completely silent, but so unbearably loud.

–

The twins and Suna rush Lambda and instantly become boys that every girl wants.

Despite the shopping spree in your first year, you struggle to mature as quickly as they do – talk of hookups and weekly flings become a regular occurrence, both with them and with the girls in your year. You’re unable to contribute over the years, dating here and there but never managing to take the next step.

Despite everything, that age-old rumor you’d been so desperate to be rid of – the one that links you to Atsumu – sticks to you like the summer heat of that moment in your dorm room. 

But that’s not what gets under your skin. It’s not that people associate you two in a way that makes it difficult for you to date. It’s that Atsumu is not held to the same assumption. He’s not held to the same curse, unfair and unjust. 

No… Miya Atsumu seems to have no problem finding girls to warm his bed, even if those girls still fix you with looks of jealousy. You wonder what the difference is – why no guy is willing to toe the line of Atsumu’s temper, while the line of yours is crossed with every pointed giggle and weighted shut of his bedroom door.

The only girl who seems to understand your near-constant state of confusion is Tanaka Saeko.

“They just want to fuck him because he and his brother are hot,” she’d said to you one day in first year, after finding a group of girls in the dorm lounge whispering about Atsumu. She’d come out of nowhere, startling you while you were seething at the microwave. She’d leaned against the fridge, staring sympathetically at you with her arms crossed. “But to be so real with you, their friend is hotter. The one that looks like a fish.”

Your irritation had been broken by that, a snort bursting out of you unexpectedly. “Suna? He doesn’t look like a fish-”

“Then how’d you know I meant him?” She’d raised her eyebrows at you at that, a grin stretching across her face. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter. None of them are as hot as you – trust me.”

You’d found yourself instantly fond of her. “Yeah? Then why doesn’t it feel that way?” 

“Because guys are douchebags and really only care about other guys.” She’d hummed to herself, thinking for a moment. “Maybe they’re all secretly gay… That’s how I get about other girls…”

Your laugh had scared the group of girls in the corner, all of their phones open to Atsumu’s Instagram page. Their glares told you that they could recognize you from the number of posts you occupy on their screens, but the mysterious blonde next to you just pointed at your chest and nodded at them.

“Great tits, amirite?”

You hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

Tanaka Saeko had brought you out of your shell, pulled you out of the orbit that is Miya Atsumu. She’d set you up with friends she thought were good enough, cancelled your Tinder dates when she wholeheartedly disapproved of them. She’d cleansed your closet of anything she couldn’t style into what she’d called ‘frat girl chic’, and had only done so after realizing just how often you find yourself at the Lambda house.

She’d started finding herself there, too – joining you in the group of exclusive few that were allowed upstairs, flirting harmlessly with Suna, dunking Atsumu’s head in a bowl of jungle juice when he was voted President.

Having her around almost made it possible to forget about everything else over the next three years.

Almost. 

–

The breakups always come in text messages. They’re never brave enough to do it in person, not when there’s a chance he’ll be with you.

It happens again now, in the late afternoon of a typical Monday, just as you’re lifting a coffee cup to your lips and peering out the window to people-watch. The buzz from the table draws your attention. You glance down, and the eye roll that comes when you see the preview is involuntary.

“Of course,” you mutter, letting the phone drop. It’s a shame, really. You’d actually liked this one. He’d been cute, and he’d always treated you so sweetly.

Suna looks up from his laptop, gaze curious as he tries to read the text upside down. “Boyfriend?”

“Ex, now.” You swipe the notification away and try to get back to your homework, but the stupid discussion board doesn’t hold your attention long enough to stop the annoyance from creeping in. 

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing.” It’s true. The sweet junior with the puppy-dog eyes hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d practically worshipped the ground you walk on. He’d been sweet and gentle, so much so that he hadn’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes.

Suna leans over and takes your phone, typing in your password and reading the message in full.

hey, i really like you… but i don’t think this is gonna work. i get the feeling there are some things we both need to figure out first.

The tattooed man scoffs, a hand going to his mouth to cover the laugh that’s slipping through. “Some things you need to figure out, huh?”

“That’s what they all say,” you grumble, typing away at the prompt your TA had posted last week. “Maybe they need to figure out how to assert themselves in a relationship.”

“You gotta admit,” he breathes, locking your phone and setting it down between you. The lockscreen lights up, a photo of you from high school. There’s someone else in the photo with you.

He gives you a pointed look, brows raised. “It doesn’t look great from an outside perspective.”

You turn the phone over so it’s face-down. “I’m not in the habit of feeding fragile male insecurity.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But no guy – even the right guy – is gonna love that your lockscreen and all of the photos in your apartment have Miya in them.”

“I’m not looking for the right guy,” you bite out, rolling your eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that’ll stick around long enough to hook up with.”

Your friend laughs, surprised. “Oh, wow. Very direct.” When you don’t answer, he blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Are you a virgin or just ovulating?”

“You wanna say it for the whole cafe to hear?”

He purses his lips, looking around. “I dunno, the barista might be down. I’m increasing your chances here.” He barely flinches when your sneaker makes contact with his shin.

“I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, Rin.” You shut your laptop with more force than necessary. “I graduate in three months. I’m not looking for a husband – I’m looking to get laid.”

He follows suit, his laptop closing gently. He leans back in his chair, sighing and examining you with the eye of someone who’s known you a very long time. “You always seemed decently invested in the guys you date.”

“Maybe the first few,” you admit, shrugging. “But they all had some weird hangup whenever it was time to take the next step. They skirt around the issue, but I swear they all think Miya has the final say in my sex life.” The bell above the door rings, and your eyes fly to the couple that enters, the girl giggling and clinging to the man’s arm. Your eyes roll against your will, and you gesture vaguely at them. “Clearly, that’s not the case for him.”

Suna turns to the door, watching as Atsumu orders coffee with his girl of the week. “Oh. I see what you mean.” He breathes a laugh of disbelief and cuts a glance at you. “I didn’t realize things were still bad-”

“Oh!” The voice comes from the bar, and then there’s a blond standing over your table. “I didn’t know you two’d be here.”

Suna opens his laptop, but you just smile politely up at the girl on Atsumu’s arm. She’s in your major, you think. No harm in being nice.

She doesn’t smile back.

Bitch.

“Just getting some work done,” you mumble, starting to pack up. “But I’m done, so I’m gonna head home.”

“Want me to walk you?” 

You groan internally, already feeling the heat of the girl’s glare.

“No, thanks. Suna’s gonna walk me.”

The man in question blinks up at you, green eyes confused. “I am?”

“Oh, are they dating?” It comes from the girl who’s got her fresh manicure on Atsumu’s bicep, her whisper directed to his ear but her voice purposely audible. He snorts in response, pointing between you and Suna. 

“These two? No way in hell.”

There’s something about it that irks you, the way he dismisses the idea of you dating. You know rationally that it’s truly absurd to think about you and Rintarou together – especially because Atsumu thinks you’re still dating that junior – but that flash of annoyance, often appearing when he does, strikes you. 

“We could be, you never know,” you say, smiling pettily. And then you turn to Suna, tossing your bag over your shoulder. “Wanna hook up, Rinnie?”

“Leave me out of it, please,” he says right away, attention already back on his screen. Atsumu laughs good-naturedly, and you can’t help but be fond of it. Still, you play the game.

“How ‘bout a date? Me, you, some Netflix? Maybe some chill?” 

Suna’s sharp eyes are playful and scolding at the same time – telling you to let it go, because he knows what you’re doing. “You couldn’t handle my chill, princess.”

You roll your eyes and stand, getting in one more dig that makes his smile peek out. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind, player.”

The moment – joking, innocent – is broken when you glance up at Atsumu.

His expression is unplaceable, eyebrows furrowed and eyes tracking your smile like its source means something to him.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise – you’ve never seen that look before – but grin innocently at him and his companion. “If you’ll excuse me – I gotta get ready for my hot date tonight.”

“Got you on speed dial, baby,” Suna mumbles. Atsumu’s nostrils flare in response, and you say nothing to calm him down, only whispering ‘nice to meet you’ to the girl you’ll never see again.

–

“Damn!” Saeko yells, kicking at some gravel on the sidewalk. “It’s always the sweet ones with the chocolatey eyes.”

You laugh, wrapping your leather jacket tighter around yourself. “It’s fine.” Your breath comes out in little puffs. “He was a good guy – I guess he just couldn’t cut it.”

“They never can.” It comes from Osamu, who’s sitting at the top of the Lambda house stairs, snuggled tight in his coat. “You come with a lot of baggage.”

You scoff and turn away from him, waiting until he finishes taking the cover charge from a group of freshman guys that walk up. One of them looks you over, eyes lingering on your thighs and chest appreciatively. You shift uncomfortably – the freshmen this year are so bold.

“Oi-” Osamu says, snapping rudely at him and then holding his hand out expectantly. “Eyes off, money out.”

The guy blinks at him, confused, and then points at his friend at the front. “He just paid it.”

“You get to pay extra,” Osamu says, smiling sweetly. “For not respecting women.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a plastic jug labeled RESPECT WOMEN JAR.

You and Saeko both laugh, and you shake your head. “Cut it out, Samu, it’s fine.”

Osamu just shakes the jug at the poor freshman. “Ten in the jar, kid.”

The boys all groan, and the target of Osamu’s sharp edge – the embarrassed one that’s pink around the ears – scowls. “Who’s your President? Phi Delt doesn’t do shit like this.”

Osamu laughs in his face, shaking the jar. The coins inside rattle louder than before. “I look like fuckin’ Google to you?”

Only when the ten dollar bill flutters into the jug does Osamu answer him.

“You can take your grievances to my brother.”

The boys are quiet as they trudge inside, finally realizing who they’re dealing with.

You give Osamu a knowing look when they’re gone. “Respect Women Jar?”

He smiles innocently. “Bettering fraternity culture or something.” He points the jar at you before setting it down. “Anyway, what I said stands. You got too much baggage.” 

You roll your eyes. “Go ahead.”

“You’ve been walkin’ around with Tsumu glued to your back your whole life. No one’s gonna stick around for that shit, sorry.” 

“Tsumu’s off with little-miss-sorority-girl-of-the-night,” you argue, gesturing in irritation at the door behind him. “And it’s not like I’m looking for Prince fuckin’ Charming—“ 

“She kinda sounds like a little gangster when she gets like this, dont’cha think?” Osamu says, completely ignoring you. 

Saeko chortles. “She sounds like your brother-“

“Alright, fuck you guys,” you snap, talking over Osamu’s wholehearted laughter. Stomping up the stairs, you smack his hand away when he reaches for you in apology. “I’m going to find someone to fuck.”

“Well, ain’t you demure,” Osamu jokes. 

You let the door hit him in the back on your way in.

—

It’s not working.

It never works, anyway, but for some reason, it stings particularly hard tonight. 

Even when you shed your leather jacket, revealing a tiny little halter top and far too much skin, no one will stay more than five minutes in your vicinity. 

Why? you wonder, watching yet another guy make yet another excuse.

‘Gotta find the bathroom, I’ll be back-‘

‘I think my friend is calling-‘

‘Aren’t you Miya’s girl?’

There’s a part of you that’s starting to think Atsumu’s doing it on purpose. It’s irrational, you know — he wouldn’t. He hasn’t before, and he never would. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

But every rejection comes with another shot thrown back carelessly, and you’re starting to feel paranoid. You’re going insane. 

If it’s not him — if you can’t blame him — then it’s you. 

You’re unwantable, then. 

Is that what it is? Maybe it’s you-

“You’re spiraling,” a voice says behind you, close to your ear. A comforting hand on your waist, the other reaching to take the shot glass from you. “Don’t be the drunkest girl at the party. It’s a bad look.”

Suna.

You turn, glaring up at him hazily. He’s not exactly sober himself, but he does look better off than you. “Is Tsumu goin’ around tellin’ people we’re together?”

When he levels you with a knowing stare, you retrieve the shot from his hand and knock it back.

“So,” you say, wincing after the swallow. “If it’s not him, then it’s me.”

“You know it’s not that,” your friend whispers, tattooed fingers plucking the empty glass from your grip and depositing it on the bar. “It’s not him or you.”

“Why won’t anyone go home with me?” you whine carelessly. “What’do I gotta do? I’m already throwing myself at any guy that’ll give me the time of day.”

You can hear it – how desperate you sound. How pathetic you feel.

Why does this matter so much? Why do you care so much about whether or not you’re wanted for your body? 

You have so much more than this to offer the world. 

You’re smart, you’re sensible. You do well in school and already have a job lined up for after graduation. You have good friends – really good friends. You don’t have terrible taste in men – your exes always respected you and supported you. You have a good life and don’t cause trouble. Don’t find trouble.

Why does this feel so important?

Why does it feel like you’re getting left behind?

“Stop it,” Suna says quietly, somehow audible over the deep bass that shakes the room and the screaming and yelling of all the partygoers in his house. “It’s not gonna happen tonight. You’re too drunk.”

“I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want,” you bite. It loses its edge when your words slur together.

He leans down, looking you in the eye. “You want your first time to be some drunken, messy, fucked up five minutes that you won’t remember in the morning?”

“I don’t care!” Your eyes are starting to burn. “I just want it to be over – I’m tired of having this over my head!”

“You’re the one putting it over your head,” he reasons. “Just let it happen when it happens.”

You sniff, scrubbing at your face sloppily. “I’m gonna die a virgin at this rate-”

“What’s going on?” Another voice in your ear, much louder and much more familiar.

You glare up at its source.

Atsumu’s face is pink with intoxication, but his eyes are clear and concerned as he stares down at you. “You cryin’?”

“No,” you say, the edge in your voice sharp. “But I am going home.”

“What happened?” Atsumu’s got a hand on your elbow, tugging you close to him.

You snatch your arm away. “Don’t you have some sorority girl to take to bed?”

He blinks, taken aback. Suna just sighs, squeezing your shoulder.

“You know he’s not doing this.”

You smack him away, too. “Doesn’t matter,” you slur, swaying slightly. “‘m goin’ home.”

“What’s happening-” Atsumu says, looking between you and Suna, but the other man just shakes his head and stops you from pushing past him.

“You can’t,” he says. “He’s just gonna follow me around and pout all night if you leave like this.”

Atsumu’s already pouting, looking more and more upset the more you try to walk away from him.

You can’t leave like this.

You can’t leave him feeling this way, no matter how you might be feeling yourself.

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing past them both in the direction of the stairs to the second floor. Suna’s close behind, and you can hear Atsumu stumbling through the crowd, trying to keep up.

The freshman brother guarding the staircase rises when he sees you, letting you pass without even a hint of resistance. You just stomp past him, thanking him grumpily, and shoulder your way into Atsumu’s bedroom.

You pace the floor while you wait, pressing your hands to your eyes and trying to clear your head of the alcohol. Suna flops down onto the bed with a groan, yawning loudly. 

“Go easy on him,” he says lazily. “He doesn’t know.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, wiping at your face. Your eyes are burning again, and you can feel the knot in your throat.

Atsumu crashes into the room a second later, shutting the door and locking it.

“What’s happening?” he asks, looking between you. “Why d’you look so damn mad? What’d I do?”

You point a finger at him, watching it shake. “I’m going to ask you this exactly once–”

“He’s not doin’ it, Y/n,” Suna interrupts. “You know he’s not.”

You ignore him. “Are you telling people I’m off limits?”

Atsumu blinks, processing. “No…?”

You grit your teeth. “Miya, I swear to god–”

“I’m not!” he argues, throwing his hands up defensively. “I haven’t said shit! Why?!”

You sigh, dropping your hand. You know – you know that it was never him – but hearing him say it is both a relief and a frustration.

“Nothing,” you say, your temper waning. You feel tired. Tired and sad and unsure what to do. “It’s nothing.”

Atsumu steps toward you. “It’s not nothin’.”

There’s a silence – that cursed, heavy silence that sits between you, time and time again.

Suna breaks it.

“She’s upset that she’s still a virgin,” he says easily, as though listing off the weather forecast. “And it’s definitely your fault, even though you haven’t done anything.”

You can only turn to stare down at him, mind emptying of everything all at once.

“What-” you whisper, just blinking lamely at him. “-the fuck, Rin.”

He just yawns again, lazy as ever. “Just clearin’ the air.”

Atsumu stares down at you, eyes wide. “You’re a virgin?”

You want to crawl into a hole and die. 

“‘Kay. Now I’m leaving,” you say, turning on your heel toward the door. Atsumu grabs you again, harder this time in case you try to escape.

“What’s the problem with that?” he asks, shaking his head. “So what? Who cares?”

“You cared a second ago,” you point out.

He flushes. “I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think…” When you raise your brows, he clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It matters to me,” you say, your voice coming out in a whine. You can already feel yourself pouting just a bit, that petulant side of you emerging – the way it always does with him. “It matters to me that no one else is. That no matter how hard I try, no one wants me enough to go through with it.”

He frowns, growing upset as he realizes how you’ve been seeing yourself this whole time. “But– it’ll happen eventually…” He turns to Suna, thinking. “And why is this my fault?”

Suna stares up at Atsumu, deadpan. “Isn’t it always your fault?”

You watch in real time as Atsumu puts the pieces together.

He really had nothing to do with this.

He looks too upset to have had anything to do with this.

Your arm slips from his hand while he processes. He looks down at you, swallowing. “Still? This whole time?”

You just shrug, feeling a strange sense of shame seep into your skin. “I tried dating around,” you mumble, hugging yourself. “Guess some assumptions don’t go away.”

Whatever pain you feel about it is reflected in Atsumu’s expression. “That’s not fair. We’ve never been more to each other than this.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what we are or aren’t.”

He looks torn – he recognizes that he hasn’t been held to the same standard. That this has only ever impacted you.

“Is there anything I can do?” he whispers, almost begging for you to let him fix this.

You just laugh, shaking your head. Wishing you’d never started this conversation, because you hate seeing him like this.

“What can you do to help, Tsumu?” You try to ease the way he’s feeling. “You gonna sleep with me yourself?” you joke, laughing. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The silence that comes doesn’t feel like all the silences before this.

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s dissociating, looking right through you. Suna doesn’t look much different, as though he’s realized whatever it is that you’re still missing.

“I mean,” Atsumu starts, swallowing hard. Still not looking at you. “I could…?”

You don’t process what he’s saying. “What?”

He flicks his gaze to Suna, who looks like he’s starting to agree. “I could… sleep… with you…?”

You just blink. It finally clicks.

“Fuck you,” is all you say.

Atsumu scrambles to stop you from walking out. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, leaning up into his face. “I’m not some fucking charity case. Fuck you.”

“Y/n, please,” he says, holding your arms tight. “It makes sense-”

“It makes no fucking sense at all!” you yell, tearing out of his grip. “I’m trying to get away from this whole impression that we’re together! And I want someone to want to sleep with me – I don’t need a pity fuck!”

Atsumu approaches, hands out to try to calm you. “You want to get laid. I’m the thing keeping you from that, right? Friends sleep together all the time–”

“Yeah, and that never works,” you argue, seething.

He just points at Suna. “It works for him and Saeko!”

Suna’s mouth drops open. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

You feel like you don’t have it in you to process more news tonight. “You-” You point stupidly at Suna. “-and Saeko are fuck buddies?”

Suna smiles sheepishly up at you. “I prefer the term ‘friends-with-benefits’...” And then he glares at Atsumu. “Thanks for outing us, you stupid fuck.”

You throw your hands up. “You outed me, you stupid fuck!”

He just smiles. “And now we’re seeing progress!”

“What progress?” you laugh, pointing at Atsumu. “All he did was come up with a stupid idea!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at Atsumu. “It is a stupid idea.”

Atsumu scoffs, affronted, and points back at you. “I’m offering her a solution!”

Suna nods, looking sympathetically at you. “It is a solution.”

Both of you glare down at him. “Fuck off,” you say.

“Please fuck off,” Atsumu repeats.

Suna just shrugs, standing and stretching like a cat. “Well, now that I’ve been outed, I’m off to find Saeko.”

Things spoken and unspoken sit between you and Atsumu after Suna is gone.

You try to leave before Atsumu can speak anything else into existence.

His fingers wrap around your bicep with ease. “Y/n, please.”

You stare up at him, incredulous. “Tsumu, this is a terrible idea. You can’t be serious.”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” he pleads. “I can’t say anythin’ to anyone, because that makes it worse. And not doin’ anythin’ is how we ended up here – you’re still upset, you’re still left hanging, you’re still frustrated.” He looks nervous – nervous and drunk, his voice dropping to a whisper, like this is something he’d never say sober. “I can do something about that. You know I can.”

You swallow, shoving down all the feelings that conflict with one another, and get in his face. “I’m better than a pity fuck, Atsumu,” you whisper back. “I might be desperate and frustrated and angry, but I’m still me.”

He just looks at you hollowly. “I never offered you a pity fuck.”

Your lips part in a quiet gasp. Your ears fill with the painful thudding of your heart.

“What?” 

You can barely hear yourself over the rush of your heartbeat.

Atsumu looks to be in a similar situation. His chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Just consider it,” he whispers. “Please.”

His grip on your arm loosens, and you’re gone from the room before you can even realize you’d pulled away from him.

[taglist]

@onlytendoguesses @nectardaddy @hhoneyhan @bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks @atrashsith 

@beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007 @asthmaticcchoeee @softpia @dailyakira @sephglowspink @shortcakebaby @kuroosfavkitten @moucheslove @sarahspam12 @dreamgardener @yoshit-he-dinosaur @miliondollagirl

@wordskeeper @kattiscrying @winniethepooh-lover @lmornly @alexithemiyatic @rntrsuna @whenanafallsinlove @punkhazardlaw @minyoungieee @makki0s @hoe4sunarin @nobodybutnnoorr @dambxtch @kittycasie @kameyyy @1uvicide @general-dumbass @deadfish714 @rory-cakes @crypt-0rchid @hanniesdegree @reyyy000001 @snail-squasher

[unintentionalseductress]

Key:

🌟 Xavier ❄️ Zayne 🖌️ Rafayel 🐦‍⬛ Sylus 🍎Caleb 🦄 Multicharacter

Headcanons:

Best Friend! Zayne ❄️

Bodyguard HC 🦄

Caleb and Praise 🍎

Claw Machine Conundrum 🍎

Dancers of the Air 🦄

Dating an Older Woman

Flowers For You 🦄

Hades & Persephone 🐦‍⬛

Hot Hunter 🦄

How They Position Their Fingers 🦄

Noise Levels 🦄

Number of Kids 🦄

Pain Tolerance 🦄

Plus Size Reader 🦄

Poly 🦄

Reactions to reader saying she hasn't shaved down there🦄

Riding Caleb's Face 🍎

Someone You Loved 🦄

Spicy Secrets 🦄

Sylus is a switch 🐦‍⬛

Telling them to ditch the condom  🦄

Their nicknames for you  🦄

Unconventional Romp Spots 🦄

Underweight Reader 🦄

Voyeur!Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Oneshots:

A Tight Spot 🐦‍⬛ An unexpected kink.

Bunny Breeding 🌟 Come here little bunny it's time to be bred.

Caleb As A Virgin 🍎 What a sweet boi.

Check Please! 🐦‍⬛ While trying to avoid the disappointment of the current dating pool you almost end up offending your blind date.

Colonel Caleb... 🍎 Remember whose mercy you're at.

Dairy Queen ❄️🍎 You love being their cow.

Fresh Cream 🐦‍⬛ Another unexpected kink.

Halloween Makeup 🌟 Putting makeup while on his lap leads to other things.

Hold Me Tenderly 🍎 You are woken from a nightmare and forced to face some uncomfortable truths.

How To Court A Dragon 🐦‍⬛ You unintentionally became his mate. Of course, you have some questions.

It's The Thought That Counts 🌟 A kinky Christmas present leads to more hot sexiness.

Just The Tip ❄️ Why do you make it so hard for him to praise you?

Let Me Take Care Of It 🍎 Gege will always help you.

My Beloved Boys ❄️🍎 Nostalgia hits hard as you remember a beautiful summer of the past.

Of Swords And Shovels 🐦‍⬛ Luke and Kieran inadvertently overhear you and Sylus having a heart-to-heart.

Paintbrush Lesson 🖌️ Rafayel teaches art in an interesting way.

Playing House 🍎 Won't you be with me forever?

Poison Flower ❄️ Dawnbreaker knows you're not really his.

Prescription for Pleasure ❄️ The doctor will see you now.

Promised Sands 🖌️ Faced with an unwanted arranged marriage, you pray for freedom.

Razor's Caress ❄️ Hair removal can be tough, good thing he's there.

Spring Break 🍎 The real reason you ask him to come home.

Study Session 🍎 Were you really going to make him wait while you read?

The Spaces In Between ❄️ Having two of him is such a blessing.

Touch Me, Touch You 🍎 What's the point in having fun if you're not as well?

Uncoded ❄️ Life as a background NPC kinda sucks.

Vanilla Twilight 🍎 Who else would you go to prom with?

When The Snow Melts ❄️ Back in his arms, a lifetime later.

Landscape Screenshots:

Absolute Zeal❄️

Night of Secrecy 🐦‍⬛

Misty Silhouette 🌟

Homecoming Wings I 🍎

Exclusive Aftertaste 🍎

Rain's Embrace 🍎

Intertidal Zone 🖌️

Where Hearts Live🐦‍⬛

Floating Floraletter 🍎

Fragrant Possession ❄️

Moodboards:

Sylus Rafayel Zayne Xavier Caleb

Random:

Eternal Attachment Birthday ❄️ Gojo and Sylus Absolute Zeal Rant ❄️ Homecoming Wings Rant 🍎 Gege Rant 🍎

Upcoming/Requests:

Headcanons

Jealous/angry/rough sex (combining 2 inbox requests, jealous Sylus and rough sex, multicharacter

Oneshots

[hyukascampfire]

VELVET FUZZ ､ა h.k

it’s strange that you find a teary-eyed, pink-nosed man outside your house while coming home on christmas eve. even stranger that he’s got antlers sprouting up from his head. ˒ ´-ྀི

⚞ ᪖ ˒ 𐔌 🪡 ᩙ ꒱ ･ 5.4k

𝓟airings ˒ reindeer hybrid!hueningkai x reader

𝑔 ; smut ˒ fluff

𝓦arnings ˒ soft dom!reader, hand job, kai cums on his belly, quiet sub!kai, usual hybrid stuff like scenting and all that, pretty sweet all the way through, dry humping, jealous kai a little bit?, he’s clingy, happy trail mention (mmm), i really don’t know if i’m missing anything cause i’m writing this at 5am >.< lmk!

✎୭ ashlynn's note thabk you to the lovely anon that requested this one! OH MY GOSH. this one was not meant to be super long, and i felt awkward writing fluff at first (not my strong suit, but i sorta strengthened that muscle here!) but i grew so attached to this kai by the end!! how do we feel?

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Dazed and sad-eyed, there’s a man on your porch. 

With your keys still jingling against each other, you freeze. Your feet ache in your work heels, and your shirt collar is irritating your neck. It’s already bad enough that you’d worked a full shift Christmas eve, but coming home to this? Today is never going to end. 

Maybe you should be worried that there’s a man hanging around outside your home, but to be quite frank... You’re more concerned with the very odd, very realistic antlers that seem to just... sprout up from his brownish tangle of hair. It looks incredibly heavy, just to be set on a headband. 

“Can I help you with something?” you say, taking measured steps toward your front door. You’d already slipped once on your way out from the office today—crashlanding now, when you’ve made it most of the way, would be a shame. A thick, pristine layer of snow fluff sits pretty over the grass, thicker toward the edges of the concrete path up to your house where you’d shoveled it off. 

He perks up, turning to you with a pink button nose and round eyes. 

The look on his face tugs at your heart. Frantic and fidgety—maybe he’s gotten lost? It’s just neighborhood here, though. No matter how he might’ve gotten lost, it shouldn’t be that hard to find his way around. Not to the degree that he’d be looking at you like you’ve come to save him as he is now. 

Tall and lanky, he opens his mouth to say something a few times, but nothing comes out. Despite his frost-bitten nose and the snow dusting his hair and shoulders, he doesn’t shiver. You’ve only just came from your heater-blasted car, and your bones have already started to chatter. That’s the second strange thing you note about him. 

“Are you okay?” you say, voice going gentler. “Do you need help?” The chill on the surface of your skin begins to seep deeper. You cross your arms and tuck your fingers between the space between them and your body to conserve your own heat. 

When he opens his mouth, the words finally fall out in a surge like blizzard. He was having a hard time getting them out before, but once he gets one out, they all come tumbling out after it. “They left me behind!” he says. His voice is pretty, even as it wavers. “They left—and they can’t... make any stops! I can’t believe they forgot me,” he says. Toward the end, his voice breaks. 

Tugging your scarf up over your nose, you say, “Who? Who left you?” It muffles into the red cashmere. “Slow down. I want to help.” 

Obviously, he’s been left behind by his friends as some sort of mean-spirited prank. It doesn’t seem like they’re good friends, either, if they have him panicked like this. He really believes they’re just going to leave him here. You frown at the funny aching in your chest. For whatever reason, one you decide not to delve into, that irks you. Taking in his wobbling lip and screwed up face, it makes you angry—it makes you want to make sure he’s alright.  

You make split-second decision, looking at the state of him. He doesn’t seem dangerous. Actually, not one ounce of you believes that he could be. Maybe it could be a clever act, tugging on the heart strings of young women to take advantage of them. You’ve heard of plenty of that. But, you’re grown and have your own intuition. “Do you want to come inside? You look frozen.” 

He nods. 

“Okay,” you say, ushering him in with a hand gesture. “Let’s get inside. Warm up.” 

Following you inside, his tall and nervous figure trails. You kick off your heels and peel your work attire off piece by piece by the door, shedding until you’re just in your skirt and blouse. The skin everywhere but your legs, where you have a pair of thick tights pulled on, prickles in the heater’s embrace. Your scalp sighs in tandem with you as you let your hair down. 

Once you’re ten pounds lighter and comfier, you turn to him. He’s watching you with curious, sparkling eyes. 

“What’s your name?” you say. “And why did your friends leave you?” 

Continuing to watch you as you push past him and into your home, he sniffles and says, “They’re not my friends. They don’t like me; they think I’m useless. They did it on purpose—I know it. They left me here on purpose, and I can’t get back until next year!”  

Whatever he means by not being able to get back until next year, you’ve got not even an inkling. “What’s your name?” you repeat. 

“Kai,” he answers, eyes low. 

In his hair, there’s a twitching. You frown. “Here, do you want me to take that? It looks heavy,” you say, offering your hands out in a gesture up at his antler-headpiece-costume-thing. “I can hold on to it for you.” 

Shooting you a strange look, he says, “Take them? They’re my antlers.” 

The two of you blink at each other for a moment, both lost for wildly different reasons, it seems.  

“I mean, yes, I know they’re yours. I’ll give them back; I promise,” you say. “But while you’re here, we can put them on the counter or something. Y’know, just ‘cause it looks heavy.” 

Wiping at a teary cheek, says, “You can’t take them off.” 

Reaching up to his head, Kai tugs at one of those thick antlers. It doesn’t come off. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you don’t know what to say. Laugh? You’ve never seen anybody secure a headpiece so well to their head. He’s really serious about this costume. “Can I touch?” you ask. 

Jutting his lips out in a why not? sort of frown, he nods. 

With an investigative hand, you reach up over his head. The antlers aren’t so tall—maybe a few good inches on his head. Smooth fuzz meets the pads of your fingers. You run them up the grooves and ridges, all solid and made soft with the velvet of genuine antlers. You pause.  

Kai’s eyes linger on you. His voice is light and airy as he says, “You can tug on them, if you want. It doesn’t hurt.” 

You don’t even ask him why it might hurt if you tug. Like this, running your fingers over the unnervingly realistic length of it, a seedling of something unbelievable plants. Wrapping your hand around it to tug, you water that seed. 

It doesn’t budge. In fact, it’s so solid against his head that it can’t be anything but grown from it. 

“See?” he hums, unperturbed with your exploring hands. 

You don’t answer him. Not when, from his fluff of hair, you spot something even harder to explain away. Ears. Your mouth falls open as you take on into a gentle hand, running your thumb over it. It’s soft, warm, and real under your touch. It twitches, moving like attached to a living thing, too. Reeling, you step back. 

“You’re—how did you do that?” you say. “Make it like that?” 

Sweet face twisting into a puzzled frown, he says, “What do you mean? They’re my antlers and my ears. Every reindeer has them.” 

Taking another step back, you shake your head and narrow your eyes down on him. “No... No, I mean make them feel real.” At the edges of your fingertips, the echoes of warmth linger. You think and think, and what you come to believe... 

You begin to believe something absurd.  

“They are real,” he tells you.  

Letting that materialize inside of you for a moment, you say something stupid. “You’re a reindeer. The other reindeer left you.” 

Cheeks a rosy pink, he nods dutifully, despite that being what he was telling you this whole time. “They don’t like me. It... was my first Christmas, and I’m new, and they all...” Making himself sad all over again, his shoulders droop heavy. 

For the defeat and abandoned twist to his glossy eyes, you believe him. Maybe that makes you stupid, or maybe gullible. But you believe him, and so does your heart. It aches at the look on his face. Mending those steps you’d taken away from him for fear, you inch closer to him and take his face in your hands. His cheeks are plush against your skin. Over his nose and cheeks are a spackling of dusty freckles, and his eyes are shiny and hold bare trust for you even as you touch him. Innocent trust, though he’s lost and vulnerable, and you’d only just met. 

You can’t mistreat that trust. You won’t. He’s a stranger in your home, and this is absolutely not where you thought you’d be, coming home on Christmas eve. But your intuition speaks once more to you, and you willingly follow. Or, perhaps it’s not intuition speak to you. Maybe it’s those big, twinkling brown eyes, and the tears brimming in them. 

It’s just you living here, anyway. No roommates, hardly any friends over... You’d told yourself you’ll start putting yourself out there—to get a boyfriend to make the walls of your home a less isolating sight. But it was always later. I’ll do it tomorrow, I’ll do it next week, I’ll do it next year... You never really made good on that aspiration. Instead, you fill those gaps with soul-sucking hours at the office. 

“When will they come back?” you ask. “Would you like to stay here until they come back?” 

Wringing his fingers out, he nods. He stands there all reserved and meek, still so hurt, but his big eyes sparkle like he holds the Christmas sky in them. With emotion. 

“Okay,” you say. “Okay. You can stay here.” 

Perhaps you don’t have anything for him. No male clothes, especially none that will fit his frame, no extra bedroom or bed, and hardly enough groceries. But, what you do have, it’ll be enough. Just until they realize they’ve left him behind and come back to retrieve him. 

You could hardly leave him out there the way you found him. 

༄ 

Blinking your eyes open, you focus your bleary eyes on the broad figure in your doorway. 

For the entirety of the night, Kai trails you. His eyes roam over your home, and his nose twitches as he takes in the scent of it. Into the kitchen to grab a quick snack, into the living room to click on the T.V., you hardly were able to get into your room alone to tug off your work clothes. When you stepped out in something comfier, he was hovering around by the door and perked up as you emerged.  

He didn’t talk much as you winded down, either. When you’d first seen him outside, he was a frantic, rambling, fat-teared mess. He’s gotten quieter, just acclimating to the place. You ask him if he’s comfortable a few times and offer him snacks, but... well, the situation is strange. You’re both a little thrown off.  

Eventually, you fluffed up the couch and made it nice with thick pillows and fur blankets for him. Usually, you’d unplug the tree before beg, even on Christmas night. You left it lit up for him. 

Kai, stood in your doorway, tries to muster up what he wants to say. He shifts, antsy. 

Your limbs and brain are still heavy with sleep as you say, “What’s wrong, baby?” It’d only been a good... thirty minutes since you left him to sleep on the couch. Drained to the bone by your day’s work, you knocked out pretty much as soon as your skin hit the sheets. 

“I’m sorry...” he mumbles, silhouette meek in the doorway, where the dim light of the tree illuminates the edges of him. “I... This is the first time I’ve slept anywhere but the North Pole. I’ve never slept alone.” 

If letting him stay in your home was already insane, then letting him sleep in your bed was even more so. Scooting lazily over on the bed, you pat the empty space it frees. Who cares? You know what it is to be lonely. “Wanna sleep in here?” you say, lips slow and lethargic. 

“Can I?” he says. The steps he takes toward you are hesitant.  

You tug the blankets back over your shoulders and hum. “Mhm...” 

The bare side of your mattress dips beneath his weight. He shifts around and tries to get comfortable, shifting around until his antlers don’t scrape the headboard and he’s settled. 

Body heat beside you, or just to sleep beside somebody... you haven’t had that in a long time. Everything feels both thrown for a loop and more familiar. 

“Do you miss it?” you ask. It’s a stupid question; of course he does. 

Drooping lashes fluttering down onto his cheeks while he blinks and looks around, uncertain where to rest his gaze, he nods in answer. His shag of hair brushes over his cheeks, dangling as he lets his head rest on a pillow. “Yeah. It’s so different here.” 

Tracing his features, the curve of his cheek made soft and glowy in the clear, wintry moonlight, the rest of his face in shadow, the strain of an old ex’s shirt you’d given him to change into around his shoulders, and his eyes. They’re not so nervous, now. They digest you and your figure, just as he’d digested the rest of your home. You’re sure it is strange—getting left behind in a place so far from home. If it were, you might be the same. Worse, actually. 

It’s good you found him. People treat the things they don’t understand awfully. None would believe him—they’d slam doors in his face or worse. You’re still not entirely settled on the reality of it, anyway. 

“Maybe I can show you what this part of the world is like,” you mumble, relenting to the heaviness in your eyes. “Before they come and get you.” 

He doesn’t answer. You’re not sure if he reacted at all; all you see is the black of your eyelids and the wispy tendrils of sleep beckoning you. 

You sleep warmer on Christmas night than you have in a long time. Sometimes, you think you wake up to the weight of a hand on the curve of your pajama-clad hip, or maybe the puffs of sleep-ridden breath in your neck. In the center of your chest, your heart glows and flutters when his sleepy fingers skim over the bare skin of your waist where sleep had ridden it up. You don’t say anything—you don’t have the heart to. 

He feels nice up against your back, anyway.  

༄ 

Christmas comes and goes. Nobody comes to collect Kai. Strangely, selfishly, you’re happy for it. 

No different from the first day, he trails you everywhere. The only difference is that he doesn’t look so shaken. He’s gotten used to you and the home. When you get up in the mornings to leave for work, he complains and rambles about, what if they come while you’re gone? and that he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. You think he doesn’t want to leave—you hope he doesn’t, at least. 

Coming home to someone waiting for you, who greets you with a slow smile as you kick off your shoes... You’ve gotten used to it. Things don’t feel so hollow, and your life doesn’t feel like a husk of what a life should be anymore. Rather than returning to a house that echoes your lone sounds back to you, you return to a home. The house has begun to smell like him, musky and coveting  

You really hope they don’t come back to get him. It feels awful to admit to yourself, but to pretend that it’s anything else would be dishonest. If they had any intentions to, they would’ve by now anyway. 

“Which?” you say, holding a glittering skirt and a silvery, ruffled one in front of you. “I think the silver one makes more sense for New Year’s.” 

Kai sits on your bed. For some reason, his shoulders sag. “I don’t understand,” he says, toying with the fabric of the sweats you’d bought him. “Why can’t you have fun here? With me?” 

You place the red one over yourself again, and then the silver one, and furrow your brows. Preoccupied by images of your outfit with either, you throw your words over your shoulder. “Just wanna see some friends, Kai. I won’t be out for too long. I’d bring you, but... I don’t think you’d like it.” 

The silver one it is. It’ll go nice with the baby tee. Discarding the other in a pool on the floor, you collect the pieces of your outfit into your arm to change. 

When you turn to head into the bathroom, Kai looks utterly dejected. He watches you, brows furrowed and he’s worrying his lip. 

“Kai, baby,” you say. “It’s okay. I’ll go just until midnight, and then I’ll be back here with you.” 

Staring at you for a few minutes more, his face sours. His hair, a gentle fall of loose curls, moves with a shaking of his head. “It’s not...” he starts, but some thought he has deters him. “Never mind. I’ll just take a nap.” 

Before heading into the bathroom, you run your fingers through his hair and scratch a bit just behind his ear. He leans into it, pushing his head into your hand with utmost care to not snag you with a branchy antler. “Sounds good,” you say. “I promise it won’t be that long. I pinky swear it.” 

Nose crinkling, he asks you, “Pinky swear?” 

You offer him your pinky. “Give me your pinky. I’ll show you.” 

When he does, you intertwine them to solidify your promise. “I pinky promise that I’ll be home soon, and celebrate the rest of New Years with you.” You press your thumbs together. “Now it’s a real promise. Okay?” 

He nods and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Truthfully, it’s not that you want to go out that bad. You’d honestly rather be back here when it strikes twelve. But your friends insist that you go out. It’s been half a year since you’ve put yourself out there like this—you understand why they do. 

Clicking the door closed behind you, you begin to drop your home clothes off to exchange them for a new, glittering skin. You reemerge from the bathroom a creature of the night. Your eyes glitter as you blink, and your skirt is a true, daring New Year's length, and you wear the print of your nipples against your little shirt like an accessory, and you smooth your hands down the slip of soft belly between the waist band of your skirt and the hem of your tee. His eyes find each and every one of those things. 

“There’s snacks for you, and I’ll bring you home something to eat. You’ll be good here for a bit?” you say, wobbling on one kitten heel as you tug the other on. 

“Yeah,” he says, falling flat. “I’ll be good.” 

Fluffing your hair, you try and let his grumpiness roll off your shoulders. He gets like this when you leave. In just a few days, he’d grown so utterly attached to you that only the few hours away have him ruffled. You know he depends on you because you’re the only person and thing that he knows here, but... you don’t think they’re coming back to get him. Not this year, at least. And you can’t be home all day, so you need him to get used to functioning at home by himself. 

Letting your voice into something both reprimanding and playful, you look at him through your lashes and say, “See you later, Kai.” 

His eyes burn holes through you as you go. 

༄ 

Pink-cheeked with liquid bliss heavy in your veins, you step from the nippy air and into the embrace of home. You’re not drunk enough to stumble or slur; you’d left that back at the bar. Still, you feel the buzzing like static between your thoughts. 

Your heels and toes riot as you slip your feet from your heels. Should’ve brought a backup option... Kitten heels usually would’ve been enough to save your feet, but you were standing all night. You’re worn down to the bone.  

Tucking your hair back out of your face, you blink heavily through a scan of the living room and kitchen. Usually, Kai’s right here at the door waiting for you. Today, he does not. 

You frown. “Kai?” you say, projecting your voice. 

He’s not on the couch, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom as you investigate. You begin to be worried, until you find him in the same place you’d left him. 

Except, now, he’s a tangle of blankets. You can’t see him. With your blanket wrapped up so tight over him, he’s just a mound on the bed. Strewn across the floor and over the bed and around him, there are a number of your clothes. Clothes that hadn’t been there when you’d left earlier. 

He shifts. Before you even say anything, he knows you’re here. He’s got some good hearing, you’ve found. And smell. 

“I’m home,” you announce, pulling the blankets off him. “You sleeping?” 

As you peel back the covers, he sits up. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are drowsy. Rather than scooting over to let you slip into bed with him, or smiling to see that you’ve gotten home, his nose twitches and he tugs his lips back in a smear of disgust. 

“What’s wrong?” you say. “Sorry for waking you up...” Gesturing around at the mess, you add, “What’s all this? My clothes are everywhere...” 

“Why do you smell like that?” he says. 

You flounder. It’s the snappiest you’ve ever heard him. “Oh...” you say, smoothing the tangles in your hair. “I... was dancing a bunch.” 

Eyes sharp and negative, he says, “No. You smell weird. I don’t like it. Like other people. You don’t smell... Like you.” 

“I don’t know...” You shrug a dismissive shoulder. “Maybe you’re smelling my friends. Does it bother you? I’ll go take a quick shower.” 

“You promised that you’d be here soon,” Kai says. When you reach an arm up to soothe his sleep-tangled hair, he avoids it with a dip. “You smell awful. Like... you don’t smell sweet, you smell like a man.” 

Still stung, you let your arm drop. It’s well past twelve. You’d broken your promise. Wincing, you sift through the memories of the night. You think maybe the closest you got to a man was a playful kiss with a friend to welcome the new year. You supposed you’d also hung around him the whole night... 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say. It’s a bare apology; you offer him no excuses.  

Kai, shoulders stiff, does not loosen up. Emotion brims in his eyes like liquid frost. “Why am I not good enough? Why do you like him more than me?” 

You go to answer him, but you’re not sure how to. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you’d slipped up your times, but breaking his trust was. He’d been left behind by the only thing he’s ever known, and now that he’s settled here, he thinks you’ll do just the same to him. The twitching of his lips does a terrible number on your chest.  

“Kai.” You whittle your voice into something breathy and gentle. “I’m not gonna leave you. You can stay here forever, even if they don’t come back.” You know he’s begun to realize that maybe they won’t be bringing him back home, as you have. Still in your itching skirt and smeared in a thick, going-out layer of makeup, you dip your knees into your side of the bed. “Forever. Maybe I break small promises, and I’m sorry, but I won’t break that one.” 

How had he carved the shape of himself into your heart so fast? So well? 

“I don’t want to go back there,” he says, colored thick with conviction and sullied memories. “I never want to go back there.” 

Like the weight of the world on your shoulders, your body longs to crumple under it. You lay your hair on the pillow and beckon him down, too. “Then, don’t...” you mumble. “Stay here. Forever.” You repeat the word like mantra, so that maybe he’ll let it seep into his bones and patch up the wounds left there. 

He curls up over your back, pressing his mouth into your shoulder. You’d thought the first night would be the only that he joined you in your bed, but you’ve got a tender heart. He runs warm-blooded as a creature of the snow, and you run cold. He’s a good heat source. 

That’s your excuse, anyway.  

Like all the other nights of the week he’d been here, he takes your hip in a hand and slips the other under your neck like a pillow.  

This night is the same; until his breaths quicken behind you. His frame goes rigid once more, a solid wall at your back and a big hand pinning your hip to the bed. He presses his nose to the exposed length of your neck, puffs of hot and angry breaths fanning out here and there. Like he’s caught a scent. 

“Kai?” you say into the dark of your room. It’s half a laugh, half real question. 

Your lungs stutter when the drags of his nose turn to drags of his cheek, and he’s pressing himself harder into you. That’s when you feel it: the rock-solid hardness of his cock against your ass. 

“I don’t like it,” he whines, wrapping you in him. His scent. “I don’t like that smell. Can’t sleep...” 

You have a decision to make: to go brush him off and sleep as though it were nothing, or to address the barely-there grind of his hardness against you. 

Like all of your other decisions, the one you land on is the absurd one. You push your ass back into him. He gasps, a sucking in of air, against your neck, and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He brings you back into his hips as they grow more daring. 

“Missed you so bad...” he says, sliding that one hand on your hip down so that his forearm presses into your belly. He uses that as leverage to grind against you, instead. “Missed your smell... None of your clothes smelled like you... N’ your blankets started smelling like me, too. Why did you stay away for so long? You promised. Promised...” A shuddered breath prickles the hair on your neck. “Promised, and now you smell like someone else. I hate it.” 

“Baby,” you say, reaching a hand up over your shoulder to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry. Wanna make it better? Want me to help you?” 

He whines from the chest, sitting up quick to look at you. His pupils are wide, and you know just by the look of him how much it’s been bothering him. 

“Scoot back,” you say. Your belly does a wild crash. If you were to tell yourself two weeks ago where you are now... You would’ve laughed in your face. 

Eyes glazed over and his cheeks a dusty sort of pink, he does so until his back is at the headboard. He moves with a clumsy excitement. 

You tug your skirt down your legs, kicking it off your ankles so that you can crawl over to him better. In your neck, your pulse flutters wildly. He watches you approach, and then tug his sweats down. His cock pops right out, long and pretty pink at the tip and weeping glistening tears. He hadn’t even been wearing boxers. Kai’s squeak when you brush your fingers just up the underside of it and then take it in your fist is sweet. 

“Poor baby,” you say, knitting your brows together and looking up at him through your lashes. “You waited all day for me, just for me to come home smelling like somebody else... You did so good, I think you deserve to feel good.” 

His lips glisten with his wet tongue. When he fully takes in the sight of you, face-to-face with his cock, a shudder shakes him. “I wanna...” 

Pushing his shirt up to reveal the softness of his belly, you say, “Wanna what, Kai?” You press sweet open-mouthed kisses up the dainty trail of hair just under his belly button, and then you scatter a few extra like glistening presents over his hip bones and abdomen. His chest jumps and falls with each. 

“Feel good,” he says. His length does a twitch, as if just the thought of you helping him like that was just like touch.  

You press the final kisses up his length, from the base of his cock up until your lips meld against his cockhead, right over the wet tip. Savoring the salty musk of his precum, you say, “You’re such a sweet boy. M’ sorry I made you feel bad. Want me to smell like you? Would that make you feel better?” 

He opens his mouth to say yes; you see it in his eyes. Your lips wrapping around the hot pink of his tip ruins his plans. The way he twitches his lips and shifts goes right to the hotness between your own thighs. Encouraged, and truly wanting to make up for how you’d treated him today, you release his tip and smear the mess down his length with a few pumps. As soon as each slide is slick and obscene, you turn from languid pumps to purposeful flicks of your wrist. 

Kai bucks his hips up into your fist and lolls his head back, eyes screwed shut. The digging of his teeth into his plush bottom lip is what draws your eye most, though.  

“It’s okay to make sounds if you feel good, baby,” you coo, kissing over his chest and neck. “You don’t have to be quiet around me.” You adjust your grip and change the angle of your slick jerks until one has a sound catching in his throat and a hand of his flying up to curl around your wrist. “Like that?” you ask. It’s not taunting—it’s a genuine wonder. 

It takes him a few moments, adam’s apple bobbing, but he pants a little for you finally. He nods frantically. “The....There,” he grits out. 

So, you continue to fuck him on your fist. Sometimes you stop just to collect the slow, oozing white droplets that he can’t help but produce, and sometimes you reach your fingers up to brush the hair out of his eyes to better see his glassy eyes and red cheeks. The sounds really are obscene; your ears burn red just hearing them. Your cunt throbs at it, too. 

“Feels... please—” he gets out, rustling against the headboard harder and bringing his hips up to meet your fist half way. “M’ so—happy to be here. Love you—love you! Gonna cum, can I cum? Please?” 

Stomach doing wild flips at the cracking in his voice and the tightening of his soft belly, you loosen up your strokes and try to help him toward it. “Of course. Cum, baby. Go ahead. Feels good?” 

Your wrist aches once his jaw goes tight, the muscles there twitching in the moonlight, and he spills his seed in white, sticky spurts all over his belly. His fingers go tight around your wrist when you continue to jerk his cock even as he cums, working him well through it and urging him to spurt a few more stray shots on himself with wild jerks of his hips. He heaves whines and his cock throbs beneath your fist, pretty face screwed up tight. 

“There we go,” you coo, admiring the scene of him, covered in his own seed and his bangs damp. You’re sure you smell entirely of him, now, with his mess wet and nasty over your palm.  

A parade of sweet thank you’s spill from his lips once he finds his mind again, breathy and full. You just press your cheek into his chest, feeling every frantic thump of his heart against you. Perhaps it’s a bit sappy, but all you can think to say is:  

“I’m happy you’re here, too, Kai.” 

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note TJIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SUB IDOL AHHH. kinda nervous. can you tell? i’m not sure why, i love that shit. it’s just how the dice have rolled hehe.

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[grinfodoro-reblogs-corral]

AND HERE WE ARE Took a while too long than I had predicted/wished for this chapter to come out but here it is!! It marks the end of the second arc and sets the table for many totally-not-bad things to happen to Propeller and his crew God I've been wanting to let this one out for so long I hope it was worth the wait and buildup, enjoy! [Also I'll eventually add all of the links of the previous chapter to this post pinky promise]

Thorns and Vines on the Wind: chapter list

Pss, hey

I’ve started writing a fanfic which is basically headcanon dump about Propeller Knight but readable mode enabled.

Start of the first arc:

Chapter 1: A New Client 

Second arc [now completed!]

Chapter 9: A simple matter

Chapter 10: Avery

Chapter 11: Drachenburg

Chapter 12: Favours

Chapter 13: The Party

Chapter 14: At the deck at 10 pm

Chapter 15: Hovering thoughts

Chapter 16: Rising Wind

Chapter 17: Eye of the Hurricane

[theoarfishexpress]

Giant spiders, by which I mean like human-sized, are really common in fiction, so I got to thinking about how one would actually look.

I referenced arthropods that actually achieved this kind of mass in the paleozoic, especially hibbertopterids. A lot of these giant bugs existed when oxygen levels were unusually high, and it does seem that oxygen is a limiting factor on the size of insects, but the very biggest arthropods weren’t insects, and some of them existed before or after the highest oxygen levels. What I’m getting at is that maybe only insects are limited this way, and arthropods that breathe differently could get huge even at present oxygen levels. Of course, they don’t, but that may have to do with competition with vertebrates, or being unable to keep up with faster-paced nutrient cycles.

So let’s say this giant spider lives on an isolated landmass, or in an alternate timeline, where vertebrates aren’t a problem, and ecosystems move slowly. It’s descended from tarantulas or related spiders that exclusively use book lungs to breathe, unlike most spiders that also have insect-style spiracles and tracheae. To efficiently move that oxygen to all of its tissues, it’ll use copper-based hemocyanin like a horseshoe crab, making its blood bright blue. The sprawling posture of a spider isn’t the best at bearing 100 kilograms, so its legs are short, and attach close to the midline of the body. The abdomen rests partially on top of its carapace to help support its organs. Being so bulky, and having a slow metabolism, it can’t sustain high activity, so actively chasing prey won’t work. But its caloric needs are also high enough that sitting in a burrow and waiting for food to come along is risky. Instead, it slowly roams like an eight-legged tortoise, “grazing” on whatever is too slow or oblivious to get out from under it as it rummages in the leaf litter and soil of damp forests with shoveling forelimbs. Insects, worms, snails, carrion, even fruit, all get shoveled between its grinding maxillae, mixed with saliva, and sucked up into its stomach. This kind of small prey is most abundant near water, so I imagine they would be shoreline animals.

Another struggle giant arthropods face is molting. It’s a long process, and it takes even longer for the new exoskeleton to harden. This giant spider would dig a burrow to molt in, and then remain dormant underground as its exoskeleton fully tans. It would emerge from its den weeks later, ravenously hungry, like a bear after hibernation. Lastly, sexual dimorphism is often more extreme in larger animals, so the males of this species would hardly grow bigger than the largest real spiders. They would still ambush prey from burrows like the ancestral tarantulas, but would also go on long journeys to find female partners. Like real tarantulas, once a male reaches adulthood, the sexual organs on its pedipalps prevent it from safely molting again, capping their lifespan at around 10 years. The females however are so large that they take 20 years just to reach maturity, and can live past 80.

[potofsoup]

Yay in celebration for finally finishing my fic (Independent Variable, if you wanna read), I decided to draw some post-reconciliation Batfam + Roombie funtimes! [previous Roombie art here]

Some more random Roombie headcanons:

Tim never adds anything that elevates Roombie above standard roomba height, so Roo and Tim are both Team Height-challenged. It's great.

Roombie (Tim usually calls him Roo, though Jason starts calling them Roombit, Roombers, Roomberton the First, etc) goes by whatever pronouns people want to assign them, as long as it's not "it".

Yes, Tim has programmed Roo to recognize Jason's voice commands, since Jason hangs out at the apartment so much. He only sometimes regrets it. (Especially when he has to add more voice recognition files every time Jason invents a new nickname)

Roo doesn't usually leave Tim's apartment. They're kind of like Tim's friend, but also Tim's butler, lol. The Batfam get to know Roo when they come to visit. (And they visit often)

Yes Tim totally uploads some cat-engagement features to Roombie so that he can play with Alfred

Tim's place probably has a lot of Roombie-specific markings and rfid tags and stuff, so that Roo knows where to go

Babs loves visiting Tim's place because it's soooo wheelchair friendly (because it's also roomba-friendly!) I can imagine her getting her own roomba tbh, though maybe with cooler Babs upgrades.

Roo totally has a "shovel" attachment for when they have to really sort Tim's clothes and floor clutter.

Roo has lots of different beeps and chirp sounds, but only Tim understands all of them, since he's the one who programmed them. He refuses to add any voice features to Roo, because he wants to maintain the R2D2 vibes.

He did add "Exterminate!" in Dalek voice, for the convention, so if you're a legit intruder, please imagine a roomba charging aggressively at you with a taser, chirping angrily and also sporadically saying "Exterminate!!!"

[wolviecat]

Some Jedi were scared that they would be judged for having a lover.

Not Vos. He knew that all that talk about no attachements is banthashit.

He was scared of Fox's brothers.

for @foxquinweek Day one Shovel talk