#i wanted to do something more but I’ve hated anything I’ve tried to draw digitally lately

[smolldust]

You get a shitty Blazamy doodle for valentines day

[corpsebasil]

Hii!!!!! Can I request a nikolai x reader where she hates nikolai with every morsal in herself but she soon realises the reason she hates him is cause she is scared of liking him as she has had a bad experience with men in the past. And one day he traps her and asked her what he has done to make her hate him so much and she breaks down about what has happened and how she loves him so much. His smile, face, personality, his kind and caring attributes and they share a heartfelt kiss

Sí

Do You Love Me-> N.L.

The Lady that lives in the Grand Palace is immune to the Prince’s attention.

He wouldn’t. Leave you. Alone.

You didn’t like anything about him. Not his stupid face, or his ridiculous sense of humor, or his cocky attitude that made you want to vomit when you watched him turn on the charm for other women. You especially hated him when constantly you badgered you, seeking you out.

“Lady Y/N, darling!” You heard a cheerful voice call behind you as you worked on stitching up a tear in your nightgown. You flinched and poked yourself in the finger, cursing under your breath as you stuck the wounded digit into your mouth.

The prince entered uninvited; he had a habit of showing up in the middle of the day, bored after his state meetings around noon and desperate for entertainment. That was all you were, apparently. Entertainment.

“Your Highness.” You greeted tightly, glancing up from your perch on your window-seat, your knees tucked up to you chest. “And to what do I owe this grand displeasure?”

“I’m bored.” He sighed, dropping onto your couch. Of course he was. “I’ve missed you desperately.”

“You saw me at dinner yesterday.”

“You didn’t even speak to me.”

It was true. He’d been trying to get your attention for at least an hour. He’d even gone so far as to wave dramatically, drawing your annoyed eye slowly to him, only for him to flash you a beaming grin.

That was it.

He just wanted to smile at you.

“Maybe you should take the hint.”

You could almost hear his aggressive eye-roll. Nikolai swore he’d never rolled his eyes so much before he met you. Every since you’d come to the palace, a beautiful lady of high ranking, his breath had been ripped right out of his lungs. You’d been polite, at first. Sweet even. But as he spent more time with you, tried harder to be your friend and eventually court you, you grew cold.

And he didn’t know why.

“You look stunning today.” He tried again, smiling sweetly as you glanced up, your eyes meeting his.

“I know.”

“Glad you know. I love a confident woman.” When you ignored him, he pressed on. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely another day in Ravka.”

“I have a proposition. We could—”

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even hear it.” He whined, and you looked up.

“Anywhere you are—” you began, giving him a firm stare, “—is where I do not want to be.” You returned to your stitching, smiling in amusement to yourself.

There was a weighted pause, and you glanced up. Nikolai’s expressed flickered for a moment, before smoothing into neutrality. He stood, wiping imaginary dust off of his trousers.

“Of course, well. Wouldn’t want to burden you.” He said crisply, and tugged something out of his pocket. He laid a piece of paper down on the couch and you were surprised to see the tips of his ears had gone a bit pink. “I bought tickets for that play I know you like. What is it? The one with the skull and the emo guy?”

“Hamlet?”

“Yeah, that one. We don’t have to sit together. Or—you can go, and I’ll stay here.” He smiled tightly and nodded, leaving your bedroom before you could say a thing.

-

That night, you did go to Hamlet. And it was amazing.

You got back to the palace feeling like you were walking on air; something about the theater made your heart sing, and you were surprised Nikolai knew anything about that.

You walked down to the hall to your rooms, clad in a splendid dress that swept across the floor, emerald jewelry dangling from your ears and neck. Gifts from Nikolai, obviously, but they were the best options you had, so of course you wore them. You weren’t vain enough to toss away emeralds.

You had barely gotten your handle on the doorknob when a guard stopped you, handing you a piece of folded stationary.

“Lady Y/L/N.” He greeted, nodding his head. He passed it to you wordlessly and you entered your rooms, breaking the seal as you walked. Then you paused, eyes flicking up to your coffee table.

A bouquet of spring flowers were in a grand vase on the table, as beautiful as any flowers you’d ever seen in your life. You were pleasantly surprised; you loved flowers. You smiled and moved over to smell them, then flicked open the note, eyes running across the elegant script.

‘Y/N,

I hope you enjoyed Hamlet. I certainly enjoyed sitting in my room all night pretending I was there. Imagine me holding a skull and whining about my dead friend. (Was it father? I don’t remember.) Anyways, I’m sure you looked magnificent. I heard from some servants that you were the prettiest Grisha they’d ever seen as they saw you leave.

I know they won’t, but I hope the flowers I sent will amount to even a fraction of your beauty. Maybe you’ll hate me a bit less tomorrow.

Yours,

Nikolai.’

Something tugged at your heart at those words, especially the last line. You grumbled to yourself and tossed the note into the bin, right on top of a multitude of others that he’d sent you. Some were long rants about what he’d did that day and requesting you write him back. Some were just one line, things like ‘you looked beautiful at dinner’ or ‘thinking about you by the way’.

It was annoying as hell and you didn’t know how to get through to him that you had no interest in the prince whatsoever. Sometimes it felt like he only chased after you because you were only woman he couldn’t have. You’d seen the way he flirted and had no interest in any of that.

-

Breakfast was a fun occasion, one in which you and a few of your Grisha friends sat at a small table in the tea-room, laughing over delicate sandwiches and tiny cakes. You had just popped a small slice of strawberry into your mouth, clad in your favorite green silk robe, when you glanced up.

Nikolai was entering the room, heading over to a group of men that were eating their own breakfasts. Soldiers, by the looks of them, all in uniform and ridiculously attractive. Your eyes tracked him, keeping watch on his movements as he approached the soldiers. They stood and laughed, grinning as they clapped him on the back and ushered him into a chair, their boyish voices loud and carrying.

Nikolai’s eyes darted to yours, as if magnetized, and you glanced away.

“He’s so handsome.” Your friend Marley sighed, propping her chin on a hand as she stared at the prince.

“He’s average at best.” You countered, following her gaze. “I mean really? Blondes?”

“I’m more of a brunet loving girl myself.” Lina said, pointing her fork at you. “I agree with Y/N. But he is rather handsome. I think he’d be my exception.”

The fourth girl at the table, Joanna, simply wrinkled her nose. She was into women, and had no interest in this line of conversation.

“He’s a guy. Who cares.”

“Y/N..” Marley purred, and you did not like her tone one bit. “I heard Nikolai got you invitations to the play last night.” She grinned. “And you went. Did you guys snuggle in the carriage the whole time?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“He didn’t go.” You said calmly, looping one leg over the other knee.

“What?” Both Marley and Lina exclaimed, and even Joanna looked surprised.

“Why not?” Marley asked, voice rising an octave.

“I didn’t want him there.”

“But—but he’s the prince.”

“Only you would find a way to turn down the most ridiculously high-ranking bachelor in the kingdom.” Lina grumbled.

“She’s a duchess in her own right.” Joanna argued, tucking a piece of her dark, shoulder length hair behind an ear. “Just because he’s a prince—”

“But he’s a prince!” Marley told you, eyes wide, and her voice carried a bit too loud. You cringed as the soldier’s table quieted down a fraction, then erupted into male laughter. Marley blushed.

“Go ahead and let all of Ravka know what we’re talking about.” Joanna grumbled, wiping her hands and standing up. “I’ve got to meet up with Rebecca. See you ladies later.” She beamed, wiggling her fingers at the three of you before sweeping out of the room, her cream-silk robe billowing behind her.

You shot Marley daggers with your eyes and the honey-blonde girl ducked her head, smiling to herself.

“I’m just saying.” Lina whispered, voice much lower now. “You guys need to come to my room around ten. Trust me.”

“Will there be fireworks? Copious amounts of kittens?” You asked drily. “Because that’s the only thing that’s going to interrupt the novel I’m reading.”

“If it’s one of those filthy novels I know you read, then you’ll like it.”

You wrinkled your nose.

“What?”

“Geez, Y/N, lighten up. Just come.” The black haired beauty groaned, her smooth tan arms crossing onto the table. “Pleaaaase?”

You glanced between the two girls, back and forth, then nodded.

“Fine.”

They both squeaked rather loudly, again too loud, and against your better judgement your eyes slid over to Nikolai. He was watching you, a soft smile on his face, and you felt your cheeks flush.

“See you then.” You said and abruptly stood, fastening your robe tighter around you.

And as you left the room, you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes tracking you the entire way out.

-

“Oh my god.” You scoffed, eyes wide as you yanked the current shut. “You didn’t tell me we were going to perve.”

“Just look at them.” Marley giggled, face practically glued to the window.

The guards were on their morning run, which included every soldier at breakfast, all shirtless and jogging across the front lawn, down the back trails to the woods. Which included, to your dismay, Nikolai.

Your mouth went slightly dry.

He was more ripped than half the men around him, golden skin glistening with sweat as he kept up with the very front of the pack. You were alarmed to see he was laughing, whereas some of the men behind him were red-faced and breathing hard.

“Does he—” you stopped yourself. “Do they always run at this time?”

“Mhmm.” Lina said, smiling coyly. “Right under my window. Makes for a lovely after breakfast treat.”

“You two are horrible.” You said, but a smile was pulling at your mouth. Your eyes went back to Nikolai, watching his back muscles flex as he ran ahead, chasing after the man in the very front as they rounded a corner. You tried not to laugh when the two began racing each other, full out sprinting for the lead while the others kept steady pace behind them.

“Ask it.” Lina demanded, and you raised your brow. “Ask what you want to ask.”

“I don’t—”

“Ask me you coward!”

“Fine. Does the prince always run with them?”

Marley and Lina exchanged looks.

“He served in the military…you know that, right? Of course he trains with them.”

You blinked. You’d always thought he was a pompous flirt. You had no idea he was a soldier. Nor that he was packing that much muscle under his outfits of state.

“I um. I didn’t know.” You admitted, biting your bottom lip. “How…strange.”

“He’s so brave.” Marley swooned, slumping dramatically against the window. “I would literally kill to be you. Kill.”

“No threats.” Lina giggled, poking Marley. “Anyways. They’ll come back around in about ten minutes. Let me grab my binoculars.”

You rolled your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your friends would be the death of you.

-

You left Lina’s room, face flushed from laughing. You indeed had ended up using the binoculars at one point after much peer pressure, and the view was…well… You felt immensely creepy after about two seconds and tossed them back to her, saying that ladies of your stations shouldn’t bend to such inappropriate behavior.

So you walked down the hallway, towards the gardens, eager to get some fresh air when—when—

He didn’t see you at first, eyes closed as he drank from a water bottle, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. A hand-towel was looped around his neck, his bare chest glistening with sweat and—

“Y/N?” He called out, and your eyes snapped to his face. You hadn’t realized you’d frozen in place, ogling him like a damn lunatic. “You okay?”

“Mhmm.” You squeaked, raising your eyebrows as if to ask, what’s it to you? “Why are you topless? Decided to be a little sluttier than usual?”

“Slutty?” He scoffed, moving over to you as he screwed the cap on his bottle, an amused glint in his eyes. His teeth flashed in a grin as he stood in front of you and he was so tall up close you had to tilt your head up. “How am I slutty?”

“Running around flirting with everyone.” You said, raising a finger as if to tick off the reasons. “Sleeping with anything with a pulse. Oh—” you tapped your chin, pretending to think. “—and weren’t you caught at that orgy party last week? Everyone heard about it.”

Nikolai’s smile grew lazy and he tilted his head, his blonde hair curling a bit with the moisture of his sweat. His eyes scanned your face, then grew mischievous.

“Well.” He started, wiping his face off with his towel. “Since you’re so interested in my sex life, Lady Y/N, I’ll have you know I haven’t had sex in over a year.” You flushed and raised a hand for him to stop, but he continued. “I’m flirtatious by nature, sure. But you must know by now the only woman I want is you.” He leaned in closer, chills spreading across your body as his voice brushed the skin of your neck. “By the way, sweetheart? Lina’s windows are see-through.”

When he nipped your ear you jolted, lurching away with a flushed face, and his laugh echoed down the hallway as he walked past you, headed to take a shower.

“Nice binoculars by the way!” He called over a shoulder, and you wanted to kill Lina.

-

You sat in your rooms. You paced. You groaned into your pillow and sat up, crossing your arms over your chest. You hated him. You hated him. And yet the ghost of his teeth still warmed your ear, and his voice—and his body, and—

No. Absolutely not.

You let out an annoyed sound and rubbed your eyes, standing up to wrap your robe around yourself as you paced some more. You’d had experiences with princes. Arrogant assholes that wrung you out like a towel and left you to dry.

Prince Achileas was the last straw, a pompous ass that had made you feel completely in love. All until you found him mid-fuck with one of the servants, an affair you discovered had gone on for a long time. Possibly during your entire courtship.

You would not make that mistake again, ever. You would marry a nice, non royal, totally normal boy who—

A knock.

“Who is it?” You called after a beat, and the door opened a crack.

“May I walk you to dinner?” Nikolai asked, sticking his head in the door, and your patience was at its wits end, images of Achileas still haunting your thoughts.

“My god cant you just—” you bit your tongue hard enough to draw blood and his eyebrows knit together.

“Can I what?”

“Fuck off and leave me alone?” You snapped, but immediately regretted it when a wounded look crossed his handsome face. He opened the door a fraction wider, leaning against the frame.

“What did I do to you, Y/N?” He asked, voice soft but strained. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“Because!” You fought for words, a flush rising in your cheeks. “Because you annoy the shit out of me. You chase after me like a damn lap dog. What do I have to do to get through to you?”

He flinched like you’d slapped him, then held his hands up in surrender. You’d never seen him look so hurt; every rejection, every rude comment, was always swept under the rug as he tried harder and harder.

Now he was done.

“Alright.” He said, and it sounded like his words had to travel over a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I apologize for following you around, and for trying to love you. I’m sincerely sorry.” Nikolai closed the door before you could respond, a soft click that made you wish he’d slammed it.

You were such an idiot.

Because you’d been lying to yourself. You knew, somehow, that he was genuine. That he kept trying because beyond your icy exterior, he saw something in you he longed for. And you, deep down, though you didn’t want to admit it—had never admitted it—had cared for the prince for quite some time now.

Fighting the ache in your throat you sat on your couch, pulling your knees to your chest, and decided not to go to dinner.

-

A week passed and you’d been watching, waiting, for him to find a new girl to chase. But he didn’t. In fact, he seemed to be a dimmer version of himself. He only spoke to his fellow soldiers, and avoided your presence.

It all came to a head at the nearest ball, one you were forced to attend by your friends, you eyes tracking Nikolai’s figure as he leaned against the wall, completely ignoring the party. You’d been following him with your stare all night, the hurtful words you’d said to him seared into your mind.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lina asked you, nudging your arm. “He’s been going on night runs alone, lately. Never used to do that.”

“I don’t know.” You lied, though your heart ached as you watched him.

Your eyes met and you saw him take a deep breath, his brow furrowing as you made eye-contact. You hoped he could see your pleading expression and apparently he did, because he pushed off the wall and headed in your direction.

Your stomach churned.

“Shit.” Marley squeaked, snatching Lina’s arm and dragging you away as the prince neared you, stopping a foot away.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, tone flat, and he was surprised by the immediate ‘no’ that left you. “No?”

“Are you?” You shot back, and he gave you a sad smile.

“No.” He told you, tilting his head. “You’ve been watching me. Making sure I leave you alone?”

“Nikolai—” You stopped, pained, and blinked up at him. “I’m sorry.” Your voice lowered and you felt ashamed at his stunned expression. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You were relieved when he didn’t make you work for his forgiveness; his face relaxed, a hesitant smile on his mouth.

“Y/N,” he sighed, blinking up at the ceiling. “I appreciate your apology. But if you truly do not want me to pursue you, I won’t.” You stared, but then he offered you his hand. “May we dance?”

You nodded wordlessly, ignoring the tightness in your chest, and allowed him to lead you out onto the floor. His hand found your waist, pulling you close, and you realized this was the most he’d ever touched you. His fingers locked with your own and you caught your breath.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured a minute into the dance, then cringed, like he wished he hadn’t said it. You closed your eyes, absorbing the feel of his hands. When he spun you and pulled you back in, he tugged you closer than you were before.

You took a shaking breath at the scent of him, and the warmth of him, and you remembered his words. Sorry for trying to love you. You’d never been truly loved by any man, only hurt, and it was hard to believe that Nikolai, the kindest, most generous man you’d ever met, could love you.

“I’m sorry.” You told him again, and his grip on you tightened. He tilted his face closer to yours to listen as you spoke, his blue eyes gentle. “It’s just—I’ve never—” you swallowed. “I’ve never been treated…right. Loved. And I didn’t trust you at first. It was easier to push you away.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“I’d have given you the world, Y/N.” He said, expression pained. “Anything you wanted. All of me.” He glanced down, eyes meeting yours. “I would’ve been yours.”

Would’ve.

The past tense isn’t lost on you and you pulled away, feeling stupid, and sad, and lonely and—and what had you expected? Him to still want you after what you’d said? You didn’t realize a tear of grief and self-hatred had slipped down your face until he cupped your cheeks, a low noise caught in his throat as his forehead touched your own.

“My sweet angel.” He murmured, tilting your face up. “I like you better without your claws.”

You didn’t care if this was inappropriate, didn’t care about onlookers, not when he kissed your brow softly, his smile weak when he pulled back. He gave you a nod that broke your heart and moved away, disappearing into the crowd.

You left the party.

-

Nikolai found you later, around midnight, sitting on the ground with your back against a stone bench in the garden. It was raining, a light sprinkle, but you’d been out here so long staring at nothing that your hair and dress were wet. You hugged your knees, chin propped on one leg, lost in thought.

“Lady Y/L/N?” The prince called, and you cringed at the formality. You didn’t turn, though, only stayed still as he sat beside you, blond hair growing damp. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat before speaking.

“Are you sending me home?” You asked, voice strained as you stared ahead. The fear had began to plague you the moment you’d left the party. Without the prince’s affection, would he let you stay?

“What?” Nikolai demanded. When you only sniffled he turned your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him. “Why would I—Saints, no, Y/N.”

“But you said you—you said would’ve. I ruined everything.”

“Do you love me?”

“I’m scared Nik, I’m scared to hurt you again—”

“Do you love me?”

“—I’m scared of being hurt—”

“Y/N.” He gripped your chin tighter. “Do you love me?”

“Fuck. Yes okay? I do and I cant stop and—”

Faster than you could blink he lunged into you, crushing your mouth to his. You swayed from the impact and collapsed against the wet grass, his body dropping onto yours. Your lips separated and you laughed, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

“God, say it out loud.” He told you, calming his amusement to kiss your cheek and temple. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” You said with a soft smile, and he kissed you again.

SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY LOL

[autisticempathydaemon]

sorry if this is a lil long (￣□￣;)!!

What song are you fixated on at the moment? What lyric or verse, and why?

there are a few albums (igor, damn., songs) ive been listening to on loop for a few weeks now, but if i were to narrow it down to one song it would be “forwards beckon rebound” by adrianne lenker ^_^. i liked it when i first listened to the album in full but then found out my boyfriend liked it, so i LOVE it now. 

What is your Enneagram type?

INFP-T, 4w3

Do you love gargantuan Youtube video essays, and if so, which is your favorite and why?

i LOVE them!! i really enjoy jacob geller’s video essays, specifically his video “how can we bear to throw anything away?”. i think its SUPER cool and very poetically justifies my hoarding. though for GARGANTUAN, i like flawed peacock’s 7 hour and 42 minute video on “who’s lila”, which i still havent finished.

Tell me about your childhood imaginary friend.

when i was around 9 i used to be called ���daffodil” when teased so i turned daffodil into my alter ego and spoke to her with pure hatred

What is your go-to way to fall asleep?

most of the time i scroll and scroll and scroll until im about to pass out from exhaustion, but when im NOT doing that, either put on music or a sleep aid audio n stare at my ceiling til i fall asleep.

If you had to change your name, what would it be, and why? (In tandem, if you have changed your name, why did you pick that one?)

im trans and have been out to my friends for around 3-4 years now, and i changed my name to my current one due to dissatisfaction with my previous name choice and my fixation on the character i named myself after.

What is your favorite of Redacted’s audios, and why?

ashers 2021 hbs. its so sweet and silly and full of love <3 i love asher and i love fluff :3

What Redacted boy holds no appeal to you, and why? Like, not the one you hate but the one who you don’t get the hype for. (I won’t judge, I promise.)

guy. hes alright but i just dont see the appeal character-wise. hes kind of just erik’s self-insert or low-effort character which is great for him but not that interesting for me.

Tell me about that one book/movie/tv show you know all the words to.

book + movie: the perks of being a wallflower, and tv show: brooklyn 99. i was DEEPLY into tpobaw a few months ago and finished the book (with annotations) in 4 days. charlie kelmeckis is me!! as for b99, its my comfort show and i’ve rewatched it at least 6 times in full.

Which Redacted boy are you platonically attracted to? Like- forget dating, which dude do you want to be your best friend?

caelum :3 i need to hug him asap!! need to bake with him!!

Do you have a go-to thing you ramble about when you’re tired, and if so, what is it? (For example, my boyfriend knows I’m ready to sleep when I start talking about space.)

no specific topic, but ill start talking about how much i love something or someone. tired me is very loving. according to my best friend i talk a lot about my boyfriend when im sleepy.

Tell me your go-to gas station and drink combo.

diet coke and ice cream ^_^ 

Tell me about your favorite playlist at the moment. 

there are a few, but my top three are a playlist containing every alex g song i like, a playlist full of love songs of all different genres and artists, and a playlist i made in 2022 when i was into more obscure rock ^_^. but mostly i listen to adrianne lenker or kendrick lamar on shuffle.

What’s your guilty pleasure media, and why?

video essays talking about drake vs kendrick. i swear ive watched over a hundred videos related to that drama, mostly cause i love kendrick so much and have been a drake hater since 2015. 

And whatever else you think tells me about who you are!

im a big lover of the arts!! both visual (i draw both traditionally and digitally, and have tried painting) and musical (big music fan + very amateur singer and guitarist). i really like movies, but i like movie analysis youtube videos more! in that same vein, i love horror media but am too scared most of the time to actually consume it, so i watch a lot of horror explanation or analysis videos.

im an extremely awkward person to talk to, like severely. also i like minecraft a lot, avid hermitcraft watcher.

Type Fours are so lovely, so internally complex and magnificent and creative despite and perhaps in conjunction with their introversion. I think a fellow introvert would especially appreciate that about you- Anton, specifically.

Another reason I like y’all together is this enneagram type (and MBTI) tends to be very feelings based, very pathos motivated, and that would contrast from Anton whose life and job are so technical, so logos-y. You bring so much light and verve into his life; whenever he sees art, he thinks of you and how it would make you feel. You make him think more about how he feels, you know? The art you create and the way you experience art, the way you enjoy things, makes him marvel.

And you do love to enjoy things with him, to show new things and movies and shows, because his marvel in turn makes things even more fun for you! Anton strikes me as the type of guy who knows nothing about pop culture if left alone, so you get to show him everything. He likes Brooklyn Nine Nine a lot more than he thought. (Terry is his favorite; he also likes yogurt and wants to be a girl dad.) He doesn’t give a single shit about the Kendrick/Drake beef but you’re so animated when you talk about it, he listens raptly. He doesn’t really enjoy horror, but it doesn’t scare him either so he’s a comforting presence whenever you decide to try watching some.

Song:

A volcano erupted/ And the stars fell one by one/ And finally I'm done right/ And it's a kite trapped in my mind/ But I don't mind/ I think of your hands on my body/ And they feel nice/ Just one more night

(Thank you again, Spotify Artist Radios, because I don’t listen to a lot of folk! This is a new song for me!) I chose this one for you and Anton because of the phrase “velvet kind of mood”, because it makes me think of how Anton’s love would tactile-y feel- warm, plush, heavy like a weighted blanket and just as comforting. The lyric “just one more night” also made me think of Anton holding onto you the night before he leaves, so I could not resist.

Runner-ups:

Geordi is the first runner-up that came to mind because he strikes me as the most… artistically inept of the redacted bois if you will- thus, he would feel the most awe and reverence and your prowess. Plus, I like to headcanon him as trans, and we love a t4t couple. Asher is my favorite runner up for you though, but I can’t quite word why. I think it’s something about his extrovert energy against yours.

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[misssakuramochi]

hello there mochi !! i hope its okay if i use your name (＾▽＾) could i please request for a persona 5 romantic matchup?

my name is clockwork. i use he/they pronouns and i’m sixteen. i’m an intp and 9w4, leo sun; capricorn moon; and virgo rising. i’m also transmasc (ftm) and was wondering if you could include headcanons for when i come out to whoever you match me with? if not, that’s alright!!

i’d prefer being matched with someone from the phantom thieves, but as long as they’re not a legal adult, i don’t mind being matched with one of the confidants either (ie, mishima, togo, etc)! i was wondering if i could get both a male and a female matchup? but if not, just a male matchup would be fine with me too (　＾∀＾)

personality wise, i’m a bit on the reserved side but i can be super energetic once i know who i’m talking to! i’ve actually been told i can look intimidating (i have a bit of resting bitch face LMAO) but i’d like to think i’m just a goofball who tries to make everyone laugh when he can. i have a lot of energy whenever i’m around people that i like and have trouble knowing when to tone it down when it’s too much. i’m a super loud person who enjoys making others smile, especially if i know that someone doesn’t laugh a lot (it only encourages me more)! I try to act all cool and like i’m calm/collected, but the reality is i’m just a kid who wants to have fun! i’m a very imaginative person and i love trying to find the beauty in everything. i’m more of a half-full than half-empty kind of person, though i have had times where i can be pretty pessimistic. but i’m usually a very bright person who does his best in everything, and i want to leave a positive impression on people.

i can be a bit of a people pleaser, and a lot of the times i might accidentally put others before myself. but because i’m like, a naturally very emotional person, i can get super upset and angry whenever i don’t feel heard or like i can’t talk about my personal opinions. i’m also a pretty air-headed person, where i can be completely clueless to a lot of situations where i’m not aware of my surroundings. i can also overthink a LOT at times, it is horrendous. i will convince myself that someone hates me when the reality is they just had a bad day or something. i don’t like being judged or feeling like someone’s not putting enough effort into our relationship if i’m obviously trying my best to talk to someone. i also have a tendency to hold grudges for long periods of times and have a short temper/can be passive aggressive, which makes it difficult at times because i can be upset at someone for even small things for a while. i do my best to manage my anger and frustration, but there are definitely times where my patience get worn really thin, sigh… (´⌒｀｡)

some of my interests include playing video games as a pass time (mainly rpgs and rhythm games). i also love watching and reading different animanga series, my favorite genres are usually fantasy or sci-fi like jujutsu kaisen or dr stone! i also really like to draw, i draw digitally in my free time whenever i feel the inspiration hit me, haha! i also love to eat out at restaurants and experience different types of foods and cuisines to try! going out to different places is super fun, and i have plans to travel the world when im older.

i suppose, if i were to describe my type i’d want someone who’s very patient with me. someone who can match my energy and understand when i’m tired or overstimulated without me having to verbalize it. i’d want someone who can communicate with me rather than just expect me to pick up on their feelings (i have been very bad at that in the past). basically, i need someone who is completely the opposite to me mindset wise LOLOL

sorry this got so long, but thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read my request! if you end up not being able to do it, that’s alright as well! if you need to dm me for anything, go ahead!! thank you so much , and stay hydrated !! (*´∇｀*)

I match you with...

HARU

○ You want opposite? You've got it in shy, reserved, observant Haru. She checks all the boxes. Once she learns a person, Haru is very aware of their emotions - she knows when you need space, or when you need a comforting hand - at least as much as anyone can without words.

○ Patience is also Haru's middle name. She's actually too patient with the people she loves sometimes, which is where you step in to stand up for her while she's learning to do it for herself. On the flipside, her calm gentle self is there to bail you out and calm you down when your tempter gets the better of you. Gentle and working hard at being communicative, it's hard to be angry with her. It's cute how you always have each other's backs, but in different ways.

○ Haru hasn't had the easiest life, and getting a real smile out of her (one that isn't polite or placating) is a treasure to you. No one makes her happy like your goofball self and thats a treasure to her. You make it your number 1 goal to make her laugh as much as possible and she loves you more than words can express for that.

○ Haru is always watching those around her. Ad much as you are her scary dog privilege with your resting bitch face, she's the one who points out whenever something is off. A tug on the sleeve always tells you Haru's spotted or sensed something off and it's gotten you guys out of more than one sticky spot

HEADCANONS

○ Coming out to Haru does come as a bit of a surprise to her. Not a bad one, mind - she's probably relieved when you tell her, since she could tell something had been on your mind for awhile - she's glad it was nothing bad. She's a little nervous at first because she, sheltered as she is, isn't sure the proper ways to show you respect and be polite. Once she realizes she can just ask you, she becomes your biggest supporter and super conscientious about your preferences.

○ Taking each other out to eat is your most common date night. She takes you to all kinds of fancy places you'd never be able to go on your own, and you take her to local mom and pop shops or greasy spoons she'd never be able to go to with her family.

○ Again, Haru is your biggest supporter. This extends to your art too and she has so many of your drawings as her wallpapers, or on her desk alongside real photos of the two of you. You draw her once and Haru is so flattered she goes bright red, which you think is the cutest thing. She becomes your muse from that point on

○ For your first anniversary Haru takes you to a faraway beach (maybe in Hawaii) to start your dream of traveling the world. She gives a whole speech on wanting to be there when your dreams come true and how you're her brightest star. It's an extremely romantic getaway - one you return to in your honeymoon years later

-

Hello friend! I'm trying to get better at putting comments here lol;

Anyway, I hope just the one match is ok. I try to find the absolute 1st place matchup and write for them! Thanks for being kind and understanding 💛

Anyway, I hope you still enjoy! Stay hydrated as well!

[rainswept]

thank u so much for this!! i genuinely got so excited when i saw i got tagged. this got suuuper long i’m so sorry

✦ what is your blog’s goal/intent? (what made you start one?)

— honestly i just wanted a place to draft, and maybe share, my writing. i also chose tumblr specifically for the amount of interaction you have with others; something not present on most entirely writing-oriented platforms.

i have more of a creative mind than a logical one; most of my emotions manifest in art and writing. it’s self-indulgent, something i can’t share to those i really know, but has always been easier to write for me than an actual book — which i have tried to start many times, and failed.

i am a more character-oriented person than a world building one. i often struggle with coming up with base plots and worlds; so writing fanfiction comes much more naturally to me.

i love placing my true thoughts and feelings onto a page, digital or not, writing or painting/drawing — especially if hidden behind metaphors and flowery words. in every line i write, every brushstroke, my heart guides blood. every single thing i put out into the world is a manifestation of my worst emotions, the ones i simply cannot explain. it’s a kind of catharsis i can’t get from anything else.

✦ what is your story? (what made you get to this point? any memorable experiences you want to share?)

— that’s. a big question.

really, i’ve always been both a writer and an artist. i’ve been expressing myself in such a way since i could hold a pen. it’s been the one hobby that has stuck with me my entire life. honestly, everything in my life has shaped me and lead up to how i live my life now. i couldn’t place something specifically.

in my writing nowadays, i often find a way to weave in my own experiences, especially metaphorically. i’ve struggled with a lot of stuff recently, namely ocd-like symptoms (which i am currently in the process of evaluating for diagnosis), and memory loss due to the anxiety that comes with it. i often portray these as a loss of control, or a feeling of being unable to tear yourself away from someone or something, in my works. most of the past year is entirely blank for me when i try to remember what’s happened, so in a way, my writing is a way for me to look back on how i lived.

ocd is not just about being organized or cleanly. i implore anyone reading this who thinks it may be to research into it more deeply before saying “omg, i’m so ocd, i like being organized.” it is extremely distressing and i would not wish anyone to go through what i’ve had to due to it. it has resulted in a complete loss of feeling in control, and in the past, sobbing breakdowns at least three times a day. not a single thought felt like my own anymore, and i was completely at its beck and call. it was an absolutely awful time of my life which i am still struggling with to this day.

aside from that, i often find myself writing all the things that i would absolutely hate to see in a piece of media because it would hurt me. perhaps it gives me that sense of control i lack, because writing it myself means i could change the narrative. or maybe i just like sharing my pain with others. commiserating.

i have had a lot of strife, which shows itself in what i write. there’s a lot of unresolved feelings and issues that i express in my works. namely, what i find i end up conveying the most is longing, nostalgia, tender loss. something so profound and delicate, something that needs to be held gently or it could break, and yet something that you can’t help but want to tighten your grip on.

i find ambiguity hurts the most.

even after all this, i feel as if i am unable to do this question justice. really, everything has shaped me. none of my writing would be possible with only the instances i mentioned above as fuel. they’ve just been the most dramatic influence recently, i suppose.

✦ what is your biggest dream?

— truly? to be alright. not to be happy or filled with excitement. just to be content.

career wise? i hope to be able to write my own books and illustrate for them as well. singing would be an interesting path as well, but i’d rather not be so far into the public eye if it were to go “right” (or wrong, from some’s perspective).

right now? i just hope to make some sort of difference in someone’s life. i hope that, with my works, one person might look at one of them and think; wow, this has changed me forever.

✦ if you had to use one song to describe yourself, what would it be?

another hard one. right now, i’ve gotta say;

middle distance runner — sea wolf

✦ what mythical creature would you be and why?

i think i’d be a black shuck. i’ve done a lot of research on mythical beings in the past, and i think these fit a certain part of me.

✦ share with me your favorite fic on tumblr!

it’s gotta be shadow under the illusory moon by @/dulcesiabits. i swear it genuinely changed me somehow

let me learn about you!

with all my new mutuals + old ones, i'd love to know more about you guys (aside from ask games because we all love those), so reblog with your answers ପ (๑´ ˘ ` ๑) ଓ ♡

✦ what is your blog's goal/intent? (what made you start one?)

✦ what is your story? (what made you get to this point? any memorable experiences you want to share?)

✦ what is your biggest dream?

✦ if you had to use one song to describe yourself, what would it be?

✦ what mythical creature would you be and why?

✦ share with me your favorite fic on tumblr!

i'm going to be tagging my mutuals but anyone can reblog or tag their friends! no pressure obviously!! only answer what ur comfortable with

@maehemthemisfit @https-furina @soleillunne @june-again @sinhasfluffyheadfur @amaiaqt @katsudooooon @kazumist @ayamago @papiliotao @kissxcore @blue-b3rries @rainswept @xhiune @flowerie-lumi @naenaex0xx ♡♡♡

[spencerscoven]

— dreams of another

about ; Since that night in the office you wander onto Spencer’s mind at all times, like clockwork.

gif by saramichellesgeller

CONTENT WARNING: unedited, smut, oral sex (male&female receiving), choking, unprotected sex, cheating, angst

a/n: view part 1 here.

The second time it happens, it's only a week that passes before Spencer finds himself on the floor of the humid conference room, his limbs entangled with yours, while the cool air settles on the sheen of sweat coated on his forehead. In the corner of of the room, he watches the navy blouse discarded carelessly on the top of a chair, similar in color to the marks between your breast.

The third time it happens, he tells you it's the last time, with his back facing you and his eyes gazing at entirely nothing.

The fourth and fifth time, Spencer doesn't say anything in the tiny space of your bedroom as he overlooks the buildings surrounding your apartment, then all the way to the concrete foundation down below, studying how insignificant everyone looked. How unknowing they were to the moral wrongdoings happening all around them.

"You live so high up. I live four floors down from here in my own building." You listened as he said those fruitless words.

"What does that mean?" You questioned, lips pursing together while your finger nails caught on the creases of the cream duvet beneath you where he laid only minutes before.

“People like you are meant to fuck people like me.” He mumbles, smirking, the vibrations of his voice upheld by the enclosures of cheap plaster walls.

The only thing left to do was to watch as the muscles of his back contracted, dancing in the lines of the darkness with the patter of his feet coming towards you. You monitored the direction of his hand as it reached for the band of his briefs, the other already latched around your neck.

The sixth time it happens, it’s in the bounds of his own apartment where he presses peppery kisses along the sides of your face, assuring you in confidence that she wouldn’t catch the two of you there. And he reassures you the only way he knows how, his fingers plying at your zipper and kneeling like he would at an alter, guiding the arch of your hips closer.

Two weeks from then was when the phone calls started. You began to understand the pattern, laying awake until the sweet pinnacle of dawn where he’d whisper your name through the receiver, exhaustion tainted in Spencer’s voice when he’d ask, “how was your night?” before he began to speak. You’d listen to Spencer talk about the good and the bad. About his mother, vintage cufflinks, and the bookshelf he wanted. Sometimes about the glasses or earrings in the store had reminded him of you. Often about how pretty you looked latched onto his cock. You wanted him to want to keep you.

You wanted him to want you first, to touch you before you even had to lay a finger on him, to grab the back of your neck and kiss you first. Anything he could do to prove that he wanted this too. Something in your head told you it was wrong to long for such a furtive thing. But you found yourself willing to be second best anyways, head stuck below sub zero while you prioritized the taste of his lips along with everything else that made him, him.

So in the shadows this thing between the two of you remained.

And the team began to realize Spencer now had a thing with being late.

They also began to realize that you didn’t drink nearly enough coffee to warrant all of your disappearances.

JJ malignly embarked on the observation of the two of you during meetings, where you never met Spencer’s eye properly but unconsciously leaned your body towards him with each interaction. And all at once it made sense to her, why he was more drawn to his phone, departing from bed at night in preference of hushed ringtones, his growing fondness to late nights. They had never agreed to a proclamation of love, not even on the days she relaxed on his dingy apartment furniture. JJ figured it was his way of waiting on her to feel the same as he might’ve, when in reality it was Spencer’s way of making sure you still remained in his life.

It was a Tuesday when she let the structure of your sin unravel in the bleak corner of the hallway with Spencer, confessing “i know” and chastening him,

“How many people are you willing to hurt?”

With the unequivocal decision pinned to the front of his brain, Spencer told you he didn’t want to hurt anyone else during the last call the two of you shared at night. The words became lost from your ears as you feigned deafness, thinking about how stupid you were to take him in the only way you could, thinking one-third of him be adequate enough.

So you hung up before he said goodbye, and it was easy to do solely because if love couldnt suffice, hate would have to.

It was odd to overlook the call that came immediately after, your eyes unblinking at the white screen. The weeks after that only came to demonstrate that finding a home within someone was overrated, even if you knew who was behind the blocked numbers that caused your phone to viberate so often it would fall off your nightstand.

Little by little you figured you’d forget and move onto your own devices, exhausted by the ability that you still moved through life, yet experienced none of it without itching for him next to you. You lusted after the idea you’d wake up with the intensity of it all slipped from your mind, forgetting how his arms felt, skin, pulse, the sound of his voice, or the soft ringlets of his hair that continued to grow as you wilted.

A harder idea to get out of your head was if he was okay, followed by if he ever thought of you at the same time you thought of him. Did he know you wouldn’t have minded resigning to another team? Or that you considered doing it, even now?

Spencer spectated your life, the base of his throat becoming caught when he watched you get worse, speak less, become smaller. You’d shrunken within yourself. Months passed, with him having too many inquiries about you to Morgan, who always gave him a disappointing look, but told him about you each time. That you hadn’t been sleeping, internal clock stuck on keeping you up until the crack of dawn, your mind regressing backwards solely because of him. He gave up on leaving those stupid sticky notes in your books that said “call me!” or even the ones that asked if you were okay, asking if you able to stand on your own.

He watched you so long that he began to see you get better, more social as you expanded, becoming a part of the team again. You were different, but you were you again. It was a bitter pill to swallow when he took heed that your life no longer included him, keeping his lips sealed at any revelation that would show he was still devoted.

So it was dull-witted when he found himself outside the door of your apartment, swaying back and fourth because every night since the last call his world had been spinning faster and faster, trapping him inside as a prisoner. For weeks straight Spencer had awoken with the feeling of bile ready to rise out of his throat, your presence always lacking even if you controlled the beat of his heart.

He knocked. And thought about how angelic you looked when you answered, the confused expression not going unnoticed by him as a celebration sounded somewhere in his mind because you looked as if you weren’t expecting anyone else. And Spencer knows he’d collapse right then and there if you had been.

“I’ve been thinking— it’s not like I can really stop it— for months. It’s been around sixty eight days since we last spoke,” He began, taking you in, enstilling trust in his brain to get a photo of you so well that he could have it forevermore if you didn’t want him anymore. If that had ever been the case he’d leave. He’d leave the state if you asked him to.

“Why are you here?” You only had four words to say out loud, the rest buzzing around in your head safely, unauthorized to rise out of your throat.

“We never really said anything about it but I think we both knew how we felt.” Spencer leans closer just in time for his lips to land beside your ears, lighting a match inside your chest that had stayed extinguished for far too long.

“Speaking was never our strong suit, anyway.” You replied, your lips pursed while your arms took on a defensive stance, pushing him back gently.

You were shipwrecked inside, pushing him back again, this time firmly because you knew you couldn’t stop him from coming closer, even if you wanted to. You were at a standstill as his hands brought yours to his shoulders, drawing circles on your hip with the tips of his fingers. He was in your doorway asking if he was yours, not trying to eloquently wrap you around his finger.

Your limbs acted before your mind did, digits moving across his adam’s apple and holding tight, restricting his airflow like he had done to you so many times while he fucked you into the mattress. You gleamed at him with not much in your eyes, trying to remembering when you had tried to cross the thin line between love and hate for him. Spencer’s eyes were soft and adoring, a look which he had a tendency to give you. So you held tighter. And he did nothing, knowing you wouldn’t go far but willing to die in your hands if you truly wanted to.

“I don’t know if you deserve this anymore,” Your lips ghosted over his, reprimanding him that he’d forgotten that this had began in a game of adultery.

“I don’t.” Spencer’s voice came out as if he was parched and you had been refusing him of a drink. Your hands released his neck and instead grabbed at his jaw, allowing his lips to mend together with yours, unable to speak back.

“If I loved you any less, I’d be able to talk about it more.” He pulled away just enough to whisper those words.

“You love me?” You questioned, a bit timid in the way it came out.

“It’s more than that. I adore you. Worship, even.”

You felt yourself moving the both of you into your apartment, swapping the publicity of the hallway for the privacy closely afforded to you. Your bodies only got so far, pushing each other against the wall next to the enterence, Spencer’s hands helping to arch your body into his, hands pressing down the curve of your back.

You enjoyed feeling him subtly grind his hips against you while he let out little whimpers, remembering the way he was so vocal and sensitive, yet dominant when he laid between your legs. You drew in a quick breath as he bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw the red liquid that ran through your body, conflicted as to why it only drew you closer, want intensified.

“I missed you so much,” Spencer’s voice ghosted in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking along your throat and collarbones, pushing the palm of his hand harshly against your damp cotton underwear, drawing a shiver from you. “Are lilacs still favorite flowers?”

His fingers played along your slit, the pads of his thumb pressing on your clit and rotating above the fabric, watching your hips jerk from the subtle pleasure.

“I think you missed me too,” Spencer held you, switching places so you now were encased between him and the wall, knowing that soon enough your knees wouldn’t be able to hold you up. His index and middle finger filled you up in a way only he could, the tips of them curving in his direction as he hit the bumpy ridge inside of you.

You held his shoulder, uncaring that your nails dug into the expensive button up he wore, admiring that he always preferred quality over quantity. Your face contorted in pleasure as his fingers only pumped faster inside of your vagina, only smirking at the sorry attempt of a nod you gave to answer him because he had rendered you speechless.

You felt the climb of your orgasm rise in your stomach, reaching all the way to the rest of your limbs, making them feel as if they were just static attached to your body until his fingers ceased, sensing how you clenched around them desperately. Your mouth opened, protests ready to fall out while he grasped the back of your knees, signaling you to jump so he could carry you to your bedroom.

“Why are you always such a tease?” You groaned, endearingly grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I can’t just let your greedy pussy swallow my fingers and cum from just that...” he tosses you into your sheets gently, leaning down to take your top off and throwing it somewhere to be rediscovered again.

He watches silently as you lift your hips off the mattress, panties sliding down your calves to your ankles, and finally off. Spencer gazes down at you, your jaw in his two hands, staring up with puppy eyes. He let a line of swears spring from his mouth, wondering why you looked so innocent when your hands were planted on his hips, licking the precum that made a wet patch on the side of his pants.

“Quite unfair that I’m the only one with my clothes off, don’t you think?” Your hands settled on his belt buckle, the jingle of metal filling the room as you undid the button to his slacks as well. Tugging him by the band of his boxers to lay on the bed with you, Spencer caught the cue and laid against the headboard. He trailed his left hand along your thighs, lifting you to straddle him as his right latched onto your breasts, squeezing.

“Please sit,” He said, taking a nipple into his mouth, “On my face.”

You sat in a slightly worried daze, Spencer catching the clue to just move you into the position. You found yourself facing the mirror at the foot of your bed, your ass in his face as he grabbed at your hips, trying to bring you higher and get a taste.

“Are you sure?” You apprehensively twisted your torso to eye him, taking note that the two of you had came across something you’d quite done before.

“Yes, I need you to.” Spencer reached his arm around, gently rubbing your clit, and feeling how your whole body relaxed from above him, as he repeated affirmations against your back.

You watched from the mirror, your ass propped up in his face and lips swollen. You could even see when you began the swivel of your hips into him. He didn’t need to say much else before you arched your back, planting your pussy right above his lips.

“You’re so pretty.” He whispered, before running his tongue flatly against your pussy.

Your hips jerked back and fourth, riding on the surface of his tongue that enveloped your clit, sucking on it harshly until he flatly ran it up. His fingers were back at work, touching the places where his tongue couldn’t reach. You determined that this position was now one of your favorites, your hands that were once placed on the tops of his thighs reaching for the bludge in his boxers.

You tried pulling them just far enough so you could begin to run your hands up and down his cock. Spencer’s tongue only assaulted your clit harder when you leaned down, allowing him a new angle so you could push him into your mouth, collecting the precum that had spilt, humming in delight.

Spencer couldn’t stop the thrusting of his hips upwards, burying himself deeper down your throat, both of your moans viberating off the atoms in your room. Your eyes wandered up as you watched, hypnotized at the reflection of you two. It made you wanna take his dick deeper, taking him to the back of your throat as you felt his cum ripple out.

Your orgasm only took a few more seconds to follow his, your moan muffled from your jaw expanded around his cock. Your hasty breaths harbored his while you saw stars. You were casted out of your stupor when you felt the palm of his hand rub circles into your ass, hand coming down in a smack.

“This fucking pussy has me whipped.” Spencer sighed, pressing a kiss exactly where his hand last struck.

When you positioned yourself back across his abdomen, you kneeled, kissing him. You felt him twitch under you from tasting himself on your tongue, reaching down to line up his cock to enter you.

Spencer stared up at you, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you slowly descending your pussy on his cock. His hands traced the hickies that dawned on your chest, then to his on his lower stomach, watching how the two of you connected. These were marks of possession— ones that he could finally show off.

You rolled your hips against his, slowly circling them and allowing him to hit the most sensitive parts of you. You felt so much fuller than usual, the feeling taking your breath away. Nobody else could reach those heights that Spencer gave you. Maybe it was also because nobody else could occupy your mind like he could, either.

He pulled you down so the two of you could reunite your lips, wearing away at the callouses that had formed around your heart. His thumb drew slow circles on your clit, pulling your orgasm out so you could cum above him. It took a few more thrusts before he came inside you, continuing to fuck his seed back into you from below for just a while longer. When Spencer’s hips stilled, he kept inside, basking in the embodiment of you that wholly consumed him.

He silently traced the outlines of your features, your eye lids fluttering as he reached to them. His fingernails scratched your scalp im a rythem that lulled you into hazy exhaustion. You feel his stare on your face as it occurs to him that he was doomed from the start. You were a wonder to behold.

“Spencer?”

“Yes?”

“Did you forget all of the things I remember?”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

masterlist

[miniscule-meow]

Millie and Ethan: Study Date (G/t)

Note: I changed the beginning of this, so I hate it less now. Enjoy.

*~*~*~*

Millicent has been best friends with Ethan since middle school, and she’s never told him her secret. Well, to be fair, she’s never told anyone about it. She’s a size shifter. There’s just never been a great time to tell him, how do you even bring that up? She’s shifted around him before, but she’s always managed to hide. Then when she grows back, she would just talk her way out of any suspicion. Sure, she trusts him. She’s known him for a long time, and she’s certain that he wouldn’t hurt her or blackmail her or anything like that. But still, she just hasn’t been ready to rip that band-aid off quite yet.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day! They met at their favorite spot in the library. It’s all the way in the back, past the computers. Anyone that finds their way that far back into the library are usually either horribly lost, or they know exactly what they’re looking for. They were going to study for their psychology midterm. Ethan was late, as always, but he brought them both smoothies, so she let it slide. Everything was normal, until she got that familiar tingling sensation deep in her bones. Sometimes shifting is triggered by strong emotions that makes sense to her. But other times, for seemingly no reason at all, it just happens. This must be one of those times where her body just decides that she suddenly needs to be four inches tall. Millie huffs, inconvenienced by this timing. Usually, she can control it, it just takes a little bit of focus. It’s just hard to focus on staying her normal height while reviewing psychology vocab.

“You good?” Ethan asks, lowering his flashcards.

“Yeah. Just a headache.” She mumbles, bringing a hand to her head.

“We can take a quick break if you want.” He shrugs.

“Yeah. I’ll be right back” It’s becoming increasingly apparent to her that she isn’t going to be able to fight this shift off. The safest thing to do is to just hide out in the bathroom or in some corner in the library until she can grow back. It’ll be fine. She’s had to do stuff like this before. Unfortunately for her she doesn’t get that far. She takes maybe five steps away from the table, and then in a blink she’s on the floor, four inches tall. Shifting can be so disorienting, especially when it happens so fast like that. It leaves her head swimming as she takes in her surroundings from her new perspective.

“Uh. Millie?” He calls out to her, tentatively. Shit. She can’t see a good way of getting out of this one. She turns to see him rising from the table, his wide eyes locked on her miniscule form. They stare at one another wordlessly for a moment.

“What…happened?” He takes a step towards her, and her instincts take over. She bolts, running in the opposite direction. If she can make it to the end of this bookshelf there’s a little reading nook. Maybe she could hide under the chair or behind something. Traveling down this aisle would have taken no time at her full height, but she feels like she might as well be trying to clear the distance of an airport runway at this size.

“Hey, wait!” He calls out. She doesn’t need to throw a glance over her shoulder to know he’s following her. She feels his footsteps thunder behind her, sending vibrations in her direction. They get stronger as he draws nearer, until it becomes challenging to keep her balance. She’s not even close to making it to the reading nook, when a massive hand comes down in front of her, blocking her path. She runs right into the palm and unceremoniously falls backwards. She looks up to see Ethan. Even though he’s on his knees he still towering over her. He’s frozen, just blinking down at her in disbelief as she picks herself off of the floor.

“Millie?” He stares at her, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, completely entranced. She fights the urge to fidget under the weight of his gaze, so instead she just crosses her arms, still trying to catch her breath from her mini marathon.

His size is staggering. He’s absolutely massive. Even though she’s been shifting her whole life, she never gets over the sheer scale of things when she’s small like this. She’s seen Ethan from this angle before a couple times, but she’s always been hiding, and he’s never seen her. Now, his gaze is absolute as he stares down at her looking completely awestruck.

She tells herself that this is going to be fine. They’ll both get over the initial shock and things will be okay. She tries to think rationally about this. She’s known Ethan for so long, she knows for a fact that he won’t hurt her. He has trouble hurting spiders. The logical part of her brain trusts him. Her instincts, however, are screaming at her. Seeing him at this size, having to look straight up to see his face as he looms over her, he probably doesn’t even realize that he’s looming, the whole ordeal is a little unnerving to say the least.

“Quit looking at me like that.” She tries to sound assertive and confident, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear her. In fact, he leans forward more.

“Is this really happening right now?” Before she can respond, his hand is reaching out towards her. “What happened to you?” He extends a finger and pokes her middle. It’s a simple gesture from him, but to her it might as well have been a shove. She stumbles back, as he almost pushes her off of her feet.

“Hey! Watch it!” She glares up at him, putting on a brave face to distract from how her heart is hammering in her chest.

“Don’t be scared.” He says quietly. His hand hovers nearby for a moment before curling around her and pulling her off of the floor. The world moves quickly around her as she’s brought to dizzying heights. He stands and brings her back over to their table. It takes a second for her stomach to catch up to her. She’s never been picked up like this before. In fact, the last time she interacted with anyone while she was this size was several years ago, and it was with her parents. Ethan sits at the table but doesn’t set her down. Instead, he holds her up so that his face is all she can see; his breathing moves the air around her. He just holds her there, his eyes slowly taking in every tiny detail.

“Wow. You’re so tiny.” Thankfully he whispers, so even though his voice rumbles all around her, at least it isn’t hurting her ears.

“Yeah, I know. Are you done? You-you can put me down now.” Her confidence is beginning to slip as he just, doesn’t seem to be listening to her. His other hand crowds in. She leans back, but quickly finds she has no where to go to escape him. One massive digit brushes lightly against her arm, tracing down to pull her hand onto his fingertip. His breath catches as he examines her miniscule fingers in comparison to his own.

“You are SO tiny.” He repeats as he continues to fidget with her limbs. She can tell he is trying to be gentle, but he’s still manhandling her, like she’s some kind of toy. As if on cue to confirm her thoughts he says, “You’re like, a tiny goth Barbie.” His chuckle vibrates around her, sending a chill down her spine. She’s too freaked out to even scowl at him.

“O-okay. Alright. Knock it off.” She tries to push away at the fingers that are crowding her, but it does nothing to help her situation. He is in absolute control here, and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She is absolutely going to kick his ass when she grows back to normal. “Ethan! Stop! Please!” She finally yells up at him, punching at the nearest digit as hard as she can. She hates how the panic caused her voice to be high and strained, but it gets his attention. His hands freeze for a second, before he slowly sets her down on the table.

“I’m sorry.” His hands hover for just a moment longer before he pulls them away. She crosses her arms, and glowers up at her very big, very dumb friend, while she tries to pretend that she isn’t shaking like a leaf. “I guess I got carried away there.” He says apologetically, looking embarrassed.

“Uh, yeah! What the hell was that?” She glares up at him.

“I don’t know. I just, I mean it’s not everyday that your friend shrinks. I don’t know. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” She looks up at him, trying to decide if she forgives him or not.

“I’m fine.” She sighs.

“So, like,” He fidgets in front of her, “what’s going on? Are you going to be stuck like this forever now?”

“What? No. This just happens sometimes. Give it a few minutes and I’ll be back to normal.” He blinks down at her, dumbfounded.

“What do you mean this ‘just happens’?”

“I’m a size shifter. I’ve been able to do this since like… forever. That’s why I was homeschooled for so long.”

“Wait. You’ve been able to do this the whole time I’ve known you, and you’ve never told me?”

“I’m telling you now.” Millie states with a shrug. Then, upon noticing his hurt expression she continues, “Look. There was just never a good time. I don’t know. I couldn’t figure out how to tell you. I mean who knows you could have freaked out, or you could have just picked me up and ignored when I told you to back off and- oh wait. That’s exactly what happened, huh.” She raises her eyebrows, annoyed, and he looks down guiltily.

“Alright. That’s fair. Millie, seriously I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” She looks away.

“… Do you forgive me?” She doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s giving her big puppy dog eyes.

“Buy me lunch and I’ll consider it.”

“Deal.”

“Listen. Just be more careful next time, please. And also, actually listen to me, maybe?”

“Alright. You got it.”

In the next few minutes, she grows back to her regular size. He has a million and one questions about all of this, but they have to make sure they can pass this midterm first. So, those questions will just have to wait.

[spade-riddles]

Submission: Adjusting expectations

Okay, guys. Wading in here where it’s possible no-one wants me, but … here goes. 

We - Kaylors - are in a hard place right now. People feel hurt, they feel hopeless. They feel like they were led on by the likes of Spade. I’m not here to invalidate any of the feelings that come from seeing Karlie and Taylor play out this charade.  

But I think we (collectively, as a fandom) need to take a breath and ask if any of this is really as bad or unfixable as we think it is. Because, for me, the recent stunting is hard to stomach but not truly surprising. On some level this is how I expected Karlie and Taylor to handle both the birth of the baby and the launch of the rerecorded albums. As much I wanted to believe in the idea of spring breaking loose and bringing with it a fervent revolution … I could see the pieces still in play on the board and I doubted it was coming. 

I think the problem is that there was a split between the optimist and pragmatist sides of the fandom, over the last year or so. To be clear - I’m not judging the optimist side of the fandom. Not at all. Taylor has pulled wildcard moves before, and emotions run so high in all this, especially with a baby involved now, that I don’t blame people for wanting to believe the best. But it reached a stage where some of the things people were trying to talk themselves into were just wildly unrealistic. And when that happens, of course you’re going to get hurt. It’s inevitable. 

But let’s really look at this for a second. We should have known that neither Karlie nor Taylor was going to be shaving her beard in March. Ditching Jerk right after or just before the birth would have been too soon for Karlie. It’s not unusual for a celeb marriage to fizzle out within a year of the birth, but before the baby even arrives? That would be weird, and would draw attention just when it seems Kaylor don’t want it. They just had a baby. That’s an adjustment in itself, and Karlie is suffering enough social media hate on top of that. I wouldn’t blame her for just wanting to take a break and lie low during this difficult time. And unfortunately, for Karlie, that means maintaining the status quo of the situation she put herself in with Jerk. She may be doing the bare minimum to maintain it, but if she wants to avoid attention, she has to make it seem like everything between her and her “husband” is normal. And that she’s trying to make it work, which I believe will be important later. Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships. 

Toe wasn’t going anywhere either. Taylor had relied on him so heavily during the promotion of Folklore, with the William Bowery narrative, that she was almost backed into a corner. She had to give some allusion to his air quotes “creative input” and their so-called happy relationship, or her failure to do so would have become the story and overshadowed her night. The headlines would have either been break-up speculation or complaints that she didn’t give him his due. We think the cutesy coverage after she named him in her acceptance speech was bad, but negative headlines have a far longer shelf life and can take on a life of their own. They would have been worse. Whatever we might think of Taylor’s actions, Folklore is one of her best albums and she deserved to have her night. 

So, on to the announcement of the birth. This is a tricky one, and again, I completely understand why people reacted so badly against it. It was everything we as a fandom said we didn’t want. It was Jerk using the baby for personal good PR. But I have to be honest here. I always thought we were kidding ourselves believing he would NEVER be seen with the baby or implied to be the father. I do believe Karlie is doing her damnedest to minimize the digital footprint of his involvement and keep her actual baby out of it. But he was always going to get to bask in the glow of playing daddy for a while. It’s the trade off Kaylor made when they used him to shore up their closet. 

This is also why I increasingly suspect the timing of the announcement got the green light from Kaylor too. If Jerk was always going to be assumed to be the father of Karlie’s baby, then there was always going to have to be a birth announcement that incorporated him somehow - unless the girls were ready to answer awkward questions, and it doesn’t seem like we’re there yet. So the best way to minimize the damage is to have his moment of glory overshadowed by a bigger win for Taylor. It worked pretty well actually. Even on Kaylor blogs the stunt was mostly buried by Taylor content.

I know a lot of fans feel gaslit by all the hints, but I do think there’s a possibility Taylor really didn’t grasp how hurt Kaylors would be. From her perspective, she “fed” fans three times over that night. She gave us a beautiful performance, a gorgeous red carpet moment, and a win to celebrate. I think it’s possible she really didn’t realize the double whammy of stunting that night would make it all feel worthless for many.

Taylor is in an awkward position. As a consequence of Kaylor retreating into the closet, the support base for them has shrunk. (When I use the words “Kaylor fandom”, I refer to this support base.) I would say Kaylor fandom consists of two parts. There is a silent portion, who observe events and comment anonymously, but don’t say anything “on main”. And then there are the small corps of true believers, who think Karlie and Taylor are still together and the baby is theirs. This latter group do most of the actual talking about Kaylor, but they tend to be pretty battle-hardened. They’ve been around for years, they never believe any of the stunts and their capacity to be hurt by them is, as a result, pretty limited. These Kaylors criticize sometimes, but they tend to fall back in line eventually and mostly adopt a “let’s wait and see how this all shakes out” approach. The problem is that I would say these “chilled” Kaylors are the minority. For their own sanity they curate their blog experience and often don’t post the more negative anons they get. Which is fine, but if you were looking at it from the outside, I could see how it might create an impression that the fandom as a whole can roll with the punches. And for a lot of the silent majority, that’s not the case. 

But again, I can see how Taylor might not necessarily know that. She went quiet after the Grammys, when I might have expected more celebratory posts from her. If I had to guess, I’d say she didn’t expect the backlash. I’m especially noticing a backlash against her for allowing Karlie to take so many hits while her own reputation has never been better. And I can’t defend her on that one, except to say I hope she has a plan. But I understand where people are coming from when they say the songs aren’t enough and actions speak louder than words. It’s tough to watch. 

Still, we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming. We should have known Jerk wasn’t going to be out of the picture immediately after the birth. This is one of those things nobody likes, but maybe we all just have to be patient on. I don’t see Karlie busting out of the closet to admit her marriage was a fake, or testifying to the FBI. I think she’ll just let her marriage quietly fall apart, as many real marriages did during the pandemic. And for that to work, she needs to make it look like didn’t throw away a family unit lightly. Hence the “I tried” post, the social media break, and the suggestions of spending time with Jerk’s family. All of this can be spun later into a narrative of Karlie having tried to make it work, only to never really be accepted. The hate online affected her mental health and she gradually realized how unhappy she’d become and decided she needed to break free and find her old self again for her baby’s sake. This is the most likely narrative for Karlie’s freedom and it’s one that could work - but it’s going to take time to unfold. Personally, I’m giving it a year. If we don’t see a separation by then, and definitive moves to a reunited Kaylor, I’ll be bowing out. I’ll still know what I believe the truth to be, but I won’t see the need to devote my energy to defending it. ,

Meanwhile, the masters rerecords are about to be released, and Taylor has invested a lot in their success. Because of this, I can’t envision her coming out until at least the big three (Fearless, 1989, and Red) have dropped. She might drop hints, but I don’t expect anything earth-shattering. Even the order of the album releases seems to confirm this. She’s breaking out the big guns first. 

I’ve seen people speculate that because Rep can’t be rerecorded until 2022, Taylor will hold off on any coming out until then. And I’m not so sure of that. Yes, people listening to the album for clues would give Scott and Scooter money, but if we’re being honest, a fair amount of people are probably listening to those albums already, regardless of the drama. Those sleazeballs are profiting from Rep, full stop. But if Taylor profits more, from her bigger albums, she still wins. And she can still put out a Taylor’s version of Rep with vault tracks and collabs, to seduce people away from the Big Machine version in early 2022. Honestly, I think there’s a good chance Taylor would consider this is a worthwhile trade-off anyway, if it meant she got to live a more open life with Karlie - and most crucially, begin to repair Karlie’s reputation. As children get older and the world begins to leave the pandemic behind, it becomes harder to live behind closed doors. I guess we’ll find out how Taylor finds the reality of such a life, and what she considers worth sacrificing to step away from it. 

All this to say: I can’t predict the future more than anyone else, but I don’t think the situation we’re in now is irreparable, and if we’re being really objective, I don’t think it’s even surprising. I do think Taylor should give us something, if she wants to keep us around. No-one can live on a complete absence of hope, and as I’ve stated, letting the fandom dwindle to this extent has its own dangers. But I think we also need to keep our time frames realistic, even if it means rejecting lifelines like the Spade riddles. We shouldn’t expect Karlie to be free of Jerk for around a year, and we shouldn’t expect Taylor to do anything much beyond general music promo until at least the big three have dropped. Sucks to say it, I know. But at least this way we won’t be disappointed, and if Kaylor do pull a wild card and move towards freedom, we can be pleasantly surprised. 

Just my two cents. 

___________________

Well written and fair arguments on our reactions and expectations. I had typed up more, but I will let others post their comments before I chime in.

[avintagekiss24]

SUNBEAMS & RHYTHMS || STEVE ROGERS; BUCKY BARNES

pairing: Steve Rogers x blind!black!reader x Bucky Barnes || word count: 5,414 || warnings: mentions of depression, mentions of anxiety, mentions of insomnia, mentions of suicidal/dark thoughts, mentions of surgery/side effects of surgery (seizures/medications), smut, sex, threesome (m/m/f), polyandry/polyamory || challenge: @jbbarnesnnoble​​ mental health awareness month writing challenge - “the warmth of the sun fell over you like a blanket in the middle of winter.”

author’s note: this was such a great challenge, but please heed the warnings! we’re dealing with some sensitive issues in this one. I hope you guys like, and I also hope that I’ve handled this correctly! this is my first time writing a disabled reader. let me know what you think please :) and thank you all so much for all of the love since I've been back from my little hiatus! major inspiration from this post. I’m also getting used to a new laptop, so if there’s any weirdness in this post that’s why, lmaooo. okay, I'm done talking, enjoy!

The room is shrouded in darkness - but not that you’d notice anyway. Your body is covered by the thick duvet thrown over the bed, your face buried in your hands. A splitting headache forces your eyes closed, but you’re used to them. The headaches. They started a few years ago, out of nowhere - you just thought it was stress, or, maybe not getting enough sleep at night. You didn’t pay them any attention at first.

They got worse. They got to the point where you couldn’t get out of bed. Your vision would get blurry. Steve suggested a doctor - you said no, it’s just a migraine. You’d be fine. He insisted after a few more months went by, and your headaches got worse, your vision worse.

You still remember it like it was yesterday. You sat there, stunned into silence. Your whole body numb. Steve grabbed your left hand, Bucky your right, as the room started to spin - the doctor's voice fading away as she spoke. Brain tumor. It was so large now that it was pressing on your optic nerves, making you slowly go blind. Within months, purples and greens and blues and pinks were all replaced by nothing. Not even black - it was just nothing.

The last clear thing you remember seeing were the tears in Steve’s eyes and Bucky’s metal arm thrown over your hip as he held you tight. You had to squint to make everything out, but Steve’s eyes were shiny - cloudy - as the emotion trickled down his cheeks. You wiped them away slowly with your thumb as you tried to etch his face in your mind so you’d never forget it. You wanted each line, each crinkle, each little freckle to be ingrained in you. You’d already spent hours staring at Bucky, doing the same.

You made them smile - soft ones, toothy ones, lopsided ones, just so you could remember them. Both men obliged, although Steve clearly couldn’t stuff his grief and anger down as well as Bucky could. Bucky was angry with him at first - telling him to stay strong for you. Surgery wasn’t going to be easy, mentally, emotionally, physically - they needed to stay strong for you. You told him not to be so hard on Steve. You were all dealing with the death - of the person you were, your relationship as it was - he was allowed to grieve.

You woke up from the surgery a few days later, tumor free, but almost completely blind.

Everything was just different from that point on. The medication after the surgery did a number on you. The steroids made you irrationally angry and agitated. Insomnia kicked in, you couldn’t sleep for days on end, so they prescribed you a sleeping aid. You couldn’t tell if it were day or night, so on top of the insomnia, your circadian rhythm was fucked - more medication. Your balance was off, you were confused more times than you weren’t, you had a seizure or two - bad ones.

That’s when the depression seeped in. You missed who you used to be. You were fun. You were wild - that’s how you ended up in a relationship with two men in the first place. You had a great laugh. You couldn’t hold your liquor for shit, and you had a great sense of style. You loved everything and everyone and now, you’re just a shell of that person. You end up laying in bed most of the day, days on end, as dark thoughts swarm around you, consuming the last spots of light you have left.

You’re a burden to them, Steve and Bucky. They’ve both had to leave the team, not wanting to be far from you in case something happened. Steve turned his shield over to Sam immediately upon hearing the news. Bucky stayed on for a while longer but wouldn’t leave the country, until even that was too much for him. He’s been home full time for a few weeks now.

The headaches now are from the new crippling anxiety and stress that you live with constantly. You don’t bother to put on anything but old t-shirts and sweats because, what’s the point? You can’t even remember what your favorite clothes look like. One afternoon, in a fit of rage, you pulled every article of clothing from the hanger and made Bucky tell you what color it was before you threw it away. You could only imagine him standing there, his hands on his hips, his head down, his voice low as he rattled them off - red, pink, yellow with white polka dots, navy blue and white stripes.

Between the irrational anger, the headaches, the insomnia, the feeling that your floundering - sinking just below the endless, dark water - you just want to give up. You just want to close your eyes and float away. Make it all end.

You hear the door slide across the carpet as it opens, and then heavy steps before a massive weight presses into the mattress. The duvet starts to shift but you grab it, stopping it from sliding off of your head and groan loudly.

“Bucky,” you whine, “Please don’t.”

He chuckles, “How d’you know it was me?”

His body wash. You used to laugh at the differences between the two of them - like day and night almost; but their juxtaposition is what made them, them. Bucky always went for earthy tones; rich - scents and colors alike. Naturally, his preferred body wash was heavier than Steve’s, distinctly masculine. Steve always liked a hint of sweet.

“Baby,” Bucky’s voice is soft and airy, “You gotta get up.” You don’t respond. You draw your knees into your chest as you feel him shift behind you, “Come on baby. We have a surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

You can sense the smile on his face. He shifts again and suddenly you feel those metal digits slide up your spine. Slowly, slowly, slowly, they creep along your back and up to the back of your neck where he scratches at your hairline. You hate how short it is, your hair. You were natural before, took the utmost care of it. Steve helped you shave it off before surgery. Now, between the medication making it brittle and quite frankly, the lack of care you have, Steve helps you keep it short.

You let out a breath as Bucky’s large hand sweeps over your head, cupping it underneath the duvet before his digits find your ear to pull gently, playfully on the lobe, “Please? For me?”

You sigh. You let him pull the duvet away from your face. You start to blink quickly; jump slightly when you suddenly feel his lips on your cheek. You’re still not used to it yet, your senses aren’t - they’re getting stronger, you just have to trust them. You can hear your therapist's words like she’s sitting in the room with you. You relax though, when his cheek rubs against yours as he wraps your body up in a tight hug. You even smile a little as he kisses down your neck and along your shoulder as he rubs your hip.

You reach for him, finding his chin with your fingers. The short hair that grows along the bottom half of his face is prickly - sharp. You walk your fingers along his jawline and cup his cheek as he moans into the crook of your neck.

“Where’s Steve?” You ask softly.

“Packing up the car.”

You roll slightly onto your back, blinking at the nothingness as your fingers still move along Bucky’s face. You raise your second hand, sliding it along his left cheek, feeling him. You push your fingers over his lips, tracing them as you try and figure out what he’s feeling. Your hands move upward, over his nose, up to his eyes where you feel the crinkles on either side of them. He’s smiling; it’s a big one.

“Steve is really excited.” He says.

You picture an excited Steve. The light that fills his brilliant, blue eyes, the whiteness of his toothy grin. God, you miss his face, “Where are we going?” You ask after a moment.

There’s another kiss pressed to your cheek before he sits up, gently pulling your arms with him, “That’s the surprise.”

You let him pull you up to your feet. There’s footsteps again, coming down the hall, “Buck,” Steve says.

“She’s up.”

You turn your head in the direction of the door, dropping your chin to your shoulder, listening as the steps draw nearer. You close your eyes again and let another small smile spread on your lips when you feel soft fingers, Steve’s fingers, start to massage your shoulders. He kisses the back of your head and then your temple.

“Feelin’ better?” He whispers.

“Not really,” you answer honestly. You’ve never lied to them, there’s no use in starting now.

Silence drops over the room. You’re sure that they’re exchanging a quiet conversation, their eyes bouncing back and forth between each other, “Guys?”

“Still here,” Bucky answers, “Hands up, let’s get you dressed.”

You oblige, lifting your arms over your head as he pulls his old t-shirt away from your body, “I can dress myself.”

“Just let us help you.” Steve says gently, his hands slipping into the sides of your sweats to push them down your legs, “You know we’ve always liked pampering you.”

That they have. It’s been a long time since you’ve let them. Their hands feel familiar but yet different - you weren’t really paying attention to the feel of them before. Now that it’s all you have, the feel, you notice the difference between the two of them. Steve’s hands are a little softer than Bucky’s, but he hasn’t worked in over a year, that’s what you suppose anyway. Punching people and gripping various guns and knives are killer on the hands.

Once you’re stripped naked, Bucky places your arms back by your sides. You feel Bucky’s hands (his are calloused still) on yours within seconds, then, a slick material against your fingers.

You squint, “Is that a bathing suit?”

“It is. Your favorite one. Remember what it looks like?”

“The blue one?”

“With the polka dots.” He presses it into your palm, letting you feel it, “The strapless one, that sinches in the middle of your chest.”

You smile a little as you run your fingers over it. The stomach is cut out, the waist high. You liked it because it made your ass and your boobs look incredible, “I love this one.”

He kneels in front of you, grabbing your hand and placing it on his shoulder as Steve places his hands on your hips - steadying you, in more ways than one. Bucky lifts your left leg by your ankle and helps you step into your bathing suit, then moves to the right foot, sliding the soft material up your legs. Once his hands reach your waist, Steve takes over, grabbing the suit and pulling it up the rest of the way, up over your chest. He kisses your neck as you adjust the top over your breasts.

“Thank you.” You offer gently.

Steve pushes your hands above your head again and slips something soft down your arms and over your head. Bucky grabs it and pulls it down your body, adjusting it slightly as you place your hands on your chest - feeling it. It’s a cover up, the white one you think; the one you got on your vacation in Maui. It has a stain on it. Steve knocked over the bottle of red wine the three of you were enjoying as the two of you danced on the patio of your ocean front room, Bucky watching you with a small, happy smile on his face.

“I like this one,” you say more to yourself than to them, “It makes my legs look long.”

“Your legs are long.” Steve chuckles, “Come on, shoes now.”

Once you're fully dressed, Steve takes your hand, starting to guide you towards the door. You slip out of his grasp, taking a breath, “I can do it.”

It’s thirty seven steps from here to the kitchen. That’s when you make a right and take fifteen more steps to make it to the garage door. From there, it’s five steps to the car, unless it’s backed out into the driveway - then it's between twenty two and twenty seven steps, depending on just where it’s parked. You’re getting the hang of things, no matter how much you hate it.

You feel them hovering behind you as you walk but they both respect your boundaries, letting you navigate the house without intervention. You slide your hands along the side of the car to the door handle and pull, the old door creaking just a little. Bucky isn’t much of a car guy, but Steve? This 1967 Chevy Impala was the only thing he and Tony could talk about without fighting. Steve gushed over it every time the three of you had dinner with Tony and Pepper. Then, one day, it was parked in front of the house with a simple note from Tony shoved underneath the windshield wipers - Capsicle, much like your face, I can’t stand to look at this any longer. Enjoy.

You slide into the seat and within seconds feel their thick bodies enveloping you, squeezing you between the two of them. The seat rumbles against your back as the car comes to life, the engine and mufflers loud as… you lift your hand to the shoulder on your left and run it the length of his arm, down to his wrist, gripping slightly as you go. It’s Steve, his arms are just a tad longer than Bucky’s you’re coming to find; more vascular.

You squint as the car backs down the driveway and the sun hits your face. You lift your hand, blocking the rays as you start to fumble around in front of you. You’re surprised at how sensitive your eyes have become to the UV rays. There’s a hand on yours, then your glasses pressed into your palm, the fingers not pulling away until you unfold them and slip them onto your face.

“Good?” Bucky asks.

You nod, “Good.”

The windows are down, the warm breeze whipping around you, caressing your skin. The radio is turned up - Dreams by Fleetwood Mac - as you drive. Bucky hums softly, his metal fingers linking with yours, his lips pressing against your temple every now and again. Steve taps along to the beat with his fingers against your bare, exposed knee before he squeezes it gently. You smile as you start to relax, Steve’s words coming back to you. Just let us help you. You know we’ve always liked pampering you.

You drive for a while, over an hour maybe. Then, the car slows as you turn and stays slow, creeping almost, like Steve’s looking for something. The car turns again and comes to a stop a second or two later. The engine dies, the two buff bodies shift away from you as the doors pop open. There’s a tap on your right shoulder. You reach out and feel on the forearm until you find a hand, Bucky, before he grabs tightly and helps you out.

“I’m gonna help you, okay?” His voice is soft as he rubs his chin against your shoulder.

“Okay.” You answer. You turn your head to your left and blink quickly, anxiety starting to rush through your veins from the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, “Steve?”

“Right here, baby.” His voice is soft too. You feel his fingertips brush along the inside of your left wrist, just to assure you he’s close, “You’re okay. I had to get the bags.”

Bucky slips his arm around your waist and keeps your hand in his as he guides you. You count each step. Bucky narrates every move - that you are in a garage, just about to enter a house. You’re in a small hallway, seven steps before a left turn, then you’re in the kitchen. There’s an island to your left, a kitchen table with four chairs on your right and if you keep walking straight, you’re in the living room. He lets you feel your way, reaching out to touch the walls, the backs of the chairs, the island, as he talks.

You stop when Bucky stops, and then hear something slide open before the sounds of water crashing fills your ears. You’re back outside, the warmth of the sun falling over you like a blanket in the middle of winter. A hand slips down your calf and wraps around your ankle before your foot is lifted and your shoe removed. A broad smile covers your face. You haven’t been to the beach since the diagnosis.

You take a step forward once you’re barefoot, one of them grabbing your wrist quickly, “There’s steps, babe.” Bucky says.

“How many?”

“Six.” Steve answers, “Here let me-”

“I got it.” You say dancing your fingers over the railing and taking small, cautious steps until you feel the first step, “I got it.”

They’re hovering again. You can’t see it, but Steve has both hands extending out on either side of you, ready to catch you if you stumble. Bucky jumps the railing entirely, landing softly in the sand and rushes to the bottom step, his eyes on you as you move down them slowly.  When you step into the hot sand, your smile grows - if that’s even possible. You wiggle your toes as the grains slip between them and the waves continue to crash not far from where you stand.

Steve and Bucky keep their small distance from you as you walk towards the ocean’s edge, knowing you're close when the sand changes from loose and dry to stiff and wet. The water washes up over your feet, the smell of salt fills your nostrils, the random calls of seagulls both near and far ring in your ears. You grab the hem of your cover up and pull it over your head, discarding it onto the ground without a care as you move deeper into the water - a new purpose, new life flowing through your veins.

You don’t feel them hovering anymore. You guess they’ve both stopped at the water’s edge, soft smiles on their faces as they watch a wave crash into you, making you stumble. You laugh, loud and carefree, as you fall on your butt, the strength of the water pushing you around slightly. You don’t know it, but Bucky’s smile widens and Steve’s chin trembles as they watch you find a meaning again.

Tilting your head to the sky, you run your wet hands over your head before you wrap them around your legs, bringing them into your chest. You let the sun beat down on you. You let the water wash over you. You let the tears come. You let them slide down your cheeks and fall into the water. You let the ocean carry all of your tears, sadness, anxiety, and depression away from you and out into the abyss. You don’t want it back.

You lay out underneath the sun for hours, making peace with yourself, becoming one with the sand, water, and sun. Steve and Bucky keep a watchful eye until you call for them. Then, and only then do they approach, hands and fingers and lips all over your damp skin. They lay with you, staring up into the sky and calling out the shapes of the clouds. They play with you, splashing water in your face and pinching and tickling your sides as the three of you laugh loudly. Wildly.

You feel like yourself again.

When the sun sets, and the breeze rolling off of the water turns chilly, making chills run through you and bumps pop up on your skin, the three of you head back inside. Door dash brings you a quick dinner, which you all inhale before heading back into the bedroom to bathe. Bathtubs are rarely big enough for the three of you, but you always make it work - sitting in Bucky’s lap, your back to his chest, Steve at the other end.

Steve shaves your legs slowly, dropping kisses on the inside of your ankle as Bucky massages the shampoo into your short hair. Bucky taps underneath your chin before he pushes his index finger into it softly, tilting your head back. He pours warm water over your hair, sweeping his hand through it to push the suds away. Just let us help you. You know we’ve always liked pampering you.

You stay in the tub with your boys until the water runs cold. You’re wrapped up in a warm, fluffy towel, Bucky rubbing his hands up and down your arms trying to warm you up as you shiver and laugh at yourself. A song starts to play from somewhere in the house, slightly muffled as the sound passes through the walls and down the halls. Dream A Little Dream Of Me. The duet between Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were long replaced by Captain America and The Winter Soldier by the time this version came out, but they love it all the same. It reminds them of home, they tell you.

You’re suddenly crushed against one of them - Steve. You know this because you run your hands along his chest to his shoulder, not feeling the jagged, deep scar where Bucky’s flesh meets metal. He grabs your small hand and places it to his chest as he sways with you, back and forth, turning in slow circles as Louis croons.

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Just saying this

Steve spins you away from him and Bucky finds you, wrapping you up in his arms - an arm slung around your waist, fingers spread against your naked back as he holds your hand. You melt into him, humming softly as your toes brush against his, the soft sounds of your feet pushing along the hardwood floor beneath you adding a natural soundtrack.

Steve’s hands find your shoulders from behind. He presses his thumbs into your flesh as he squeezes and rubs slowly, his lips peppering your jaw and down your neck, “You’re so tense, baby.” He whispers.

“Depression will do that to you,” you chuckle, your new humor darker than what either one of them are used to. You feel them both stiffen at your words, hear a sad sigh from behind you, “Sorry. It was just a joke.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says, “We want to know what you're feeling, good, bad or indifferent. You don’t have to joke with us.”

You take a breath. You rest your head on his chest and start to chew on your bottom lip, “I know.” Your voice is small.

Defense mechanism.

You fight the urge to cry. Your eyes start to water, your skin starts to flush with heat, your jaw gets tight. Steve grabs the back of your neck gently as he kisses your shoulder blade gently, just wanting you to feel him. Bucky keeps dancing with you as the tears start to fall, cupping the back of your head in his large hand as he pushes his lips to your forehead.

What is it your therapist says? You aren’t in this alone, or something like that. You never believed her, or those words - until right now. Right in this moment. It’s been a year of self imposed loneliness. Dark thoughts accompanied by even darker impulsions of wanting to slip underneath the water and never resurface. Fear and anxiety telling you that you need to push away - they’ll both leave you one day for a resemblance of normalcy again.

They haven’t.

They won’t.

The days have turned into weeks, have turned into months - and here they are. Slow dancing with you in the moonlight as Ella Fitzgerald plays through the walls. Bucky wipes at your cheek with his thumb, pushing the emotion away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours as you reach up and scratch at the nape of his neck to calm yourself, “We aren’t going anywhere, doll.” He whispers.

“We promise.” Steve adds on.

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Bucky tilts your head towards his and without a warning, his lips cover yours. Soft. Commanding. His velvet tongue massaging yours as Steve bites down on your shoulder.

The sheets of the bed are soon mangled and twisted, pillows cast to the floor as you writhe beneath Bucky’s heavy body. Your leg is thrown over his hip, your fingernails dig into his thick flesh, the tips of his long, soft, dark hair brushing over your face. You have your other arm draped over his neck as his hips push into yours, driving himself deeper and deeper into you. Your mouth hangs, as does his - lips brushing against each other, hot breath washing over each other's skin as you push your foreheads together.

Steve waits patiently, although his fingers dance over your breasts, his palms brushing over your nipples before he palms your skin. He squeezes and gropes before he sends his hand down your stomach and to your clit to rub gentle circles against it as Bucky pummels you. He’s on his side, his nose and forehead pressed against the side of your face, his bottom lip between his teeth before he nips at your jaw and chin.

He tears your hand away from Bucky’s body to grab his hard length, dragging your palm with his, down his shaft. He’s so warm. His tip wet from his arousal.

It’s been a long while since the three of you have made love. It’s been a long while since you’ve felt beautiful enough too. You hadn’t realized how much of your self esteem was wrapped up in your hair until you had to shave it off. You also weren’t sure if you’d like it the way you used to - handle it with the same confidence you once had. Not being able to see them - see their hard muscles and their strained faces while in the throws of passion. That’s what turned you on.

Not anymore.

It’s the way you can tell them apart without having to see them. It’s the feel of their bodies now, not the sight of them. How rough and dominant Bucky’s hips are in your darkness, how sweet and loving Steve’s touch is. Their sounds; both deep and desperate for you. How the sounds vibrate against your ear drums and skin, moving through you - the illicit response your body has to them - the sounds.

You slam your head back into the pillow as Bucky pulls out of you. You pant and moan as you arch your back from the mattress as they shift around. Steve’s lips, you know their Steve’s because they’re rushed; always rushing, rushing, rushing like he’s still a man running out of time, push against your stomach, light kisses moving down to your sex. He bends your legs back, your feet dangling by his ears as he nibbles on the inside of your thigh.

Bucky grabs your hand just as Steve pushes his nose through your folds and sucks you into his mouth. Bucky moves your hand down his hard stomach to his pulsing hips. You wrap your hand around his warmth and feel him pump up into it, a little grunt falling from his lips at the same time.

Steve hums as his tongue swirls around you, flicking and lapping at you as his index and middle fingers push into your cunt. You buck your hips into his face, using all of him, his chin, his lips, his nose to cop a feel as he sucks on you. He releases your flesh with a loud smack - then drags his wet mouth the length of your thigh, up to your knee, and along your calf as he sits up on his knees. He extends your leg, resting it against his chest and shoulder as he sucks your manicured toes into his mouth, his large hand caressing your calf.

Bucky growls as he sucks your taut nipple into his mouth and wraps his metal fingers around your throat. He then kisses your mouth, hard and desperate, moaning into you as he continues to push his hips into your warm hand and against your side. He squeezes, gently, slowly, causing you to gasp just as Steve pushes into your wet, slick, swollen cunt.

You groan into Bucky’s hot mouth as Steve starts to move. His thrusts are softer, gentler than Bucky’s - always have been. He keeps your leg curled over his shoulder, his lips peppering kisses along your ankle and calf, his other hand and fingers gripping your thigh. The cool metal of Bucky’s fingers skip over your hot skin, down between your breasts and to your stomach before he flattens his palm against you, pushing down to add some pressure.

Bucky bites your bottom lip, pulling softly before he lets go. He nuzzles back into the side of your face, the stubble on his cheek cutting across your skin. He wraps his hand around yours that still pumps his cock and glides it slowly up and down, up and down, up and down as he moans into your ear; heavy, hot breath caressing your neck and the side of your face.

Steve hits a spot; your toes curl. Your hips jerk - your muscles tense. Fingers begin to massage your clit, slow, slow, slow circles to draw out the sensation. Teeth nibble at your ear lobe. Fingers glance across your skin. Mouths and lips take turns on yours. Steve drives his hips harder and faster - pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling. Bucky breaths fire laced words, provoking you, prodding you, coercing you to just let it all go…

You shatter. It consumes every bit of you. Physically. Emotionally. Their hands and fingers are everywhere, gripping, pinching, holding as you come. Steve pulls out of you - he always liked to watch you come, how your sticky, swollen sex convulses with each contraction from your orgasm, your clit jumping. He pushes his fingers back through your folds as he pushes his cock inside of you again, also loving the squeeze.

You feel hot, quick bursts of silk, over and over, splash against your stomach. Bucky groans with each, right up against your ear, the sound vibrating through your entire body.

Heat then blooms inside of you - Steve. Your muscles constrict around him, pulling each warm, thick ribbon of cum from him, coating your walls. He pushes deep and grabs your hand, placing it right in the middle of his chest so you can feel his muscles tense and flex as he comes. Feel the soft rumble of the grunts that vibrate through his chest. Feel his heart.

He collapses beside you, your body bouncing against the mattress as his weight pushes against it. The three of you are nothing but heavy breaths and balmy skin. Eyelashes resting against your cheeks as your eyes close with the recession of your lust. A head rests on your chest. You lift your hand and slip your fingers through the tresses, finding them short and kind of wispy - Steve.

Metal fingers curl within yours, a sturdy leg thrown over your thighs. A hand splays across your chest. Lips connect with your shoulders and jaw - fingers massage and scratch at your scalp softly. It’s all a blur. The haze won’t let your brain try and figure out who is who; but maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s what you need. You don’t need to know. You can let go some of the control that you’ve been so desperately searching for.

You inhale deeply; and let out the breath you’ve been holding for over a year.

Your delicate fingers are lifted and pressed against hot lips - each digit receiving a kiss before being placed on a chest. The thump thump thump of a heart beat drums against them. You let out another breath as you nuzzle into their heavy bodies, soft I love you’s passing back and forth. There’s a faint skip of the record player down the hall. The soft whoosh of the breeze playing with the open curtains that cover the windows. Three bodies huddled in the center of the bed; just breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

[asachuu]

I truly hate that the sole reason I somehow managed to figure out some backgrounds in the meantime is literally just due to them being drawn almost the same as the characters in terms of lineart, shading, etc. and I don’t have to overcomplicate anything or switch techniques as I always tried to do. And that’s it. That’s genuinely it, at least to me, and I’ve somehow been missing it for the three years I’ve attempted to do digital art. It…still feels a bit like rocket science, though.

Aside from that, it seems I’ve chosen which character is my designated one for practicing things here and there, so I hope it doesn’t interfere with my usual posts. In a way, using an OC is a bit more laid back than an already established fictional character whom I wouldn’t want to accidentally end up somehow tarnishing if I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. I would rather avoid it as it’s not the best of feelings.

Nonetheless, all below here is just information for the curious at this point, so I’ll share a bit of a fun fact from before I even started drawing this one.

I initially wrote this in a separate text post which I am now shoving down here instead, but just as I was going to try and draw this, I thought to myself it would be quite nice if I had an actual playlist befitting this character in my mind instead of the mess I usually listen to which has absolutely no set theme and each song is usually completely unrelated to the one before it in both topic and genre. For that reason, this probably would have been posted yesterday, had I not spent the day searching around for songs that would fit my requirements and not bothered to even make a sketch.

Regardless, I managed to put something together that I’ll probably return to in some time and rearrange entirely until I’m at least mostly satisfied with it, but only about halfway through I realized I somehow slightly forgot that I was meant to keep it on the theme of my own character and ended up with something vaguely resembling a…bit of a different topic, as is the best way I can describe it. Whether that topic has something to do with the actual creation of said character or not, potentially explaining my mistake, is a whole different story, but I ended up finding it hilarious enough to actually make it unlisted and link it, upon some…certainly-not-overly-anxious consideration.

I’m quite sure it’s almost impossible to tell what else was on my mind aside from the initial theme it unless one knows me much too well, but if someone’s up for the task of deciphering it or simply wonders what kind of things I occasionally listen to…here you go. As of now, the songs are in no particular order and still quite a mess, but I hope it carries some…general thought, even though I could very well be the only one who can make some sense of it.

In any case, I’ll now try to recover my wrist from spending almost nine hours drawing copious amounts of alcohol for the background.

[retrievablememories]

love to hate you | ten (m)

title: love to hate you pairing: ten x gender neutral!reader genre: smut, pwp word count: 1.5k warnings: hate sex, choking (there’s no prior discussion of kinks/boundaries here pleaseeee don’t do this irl), power play, switch!ten, cumshot, cumplay, protected sex (but the creampie kink jumps out every time anyway. send help) a/n: i don’t think i’ve written hate sex before cuz that’s a weird concept to me but i decided to try it anyway. so anyway,,,y’all wanted more riding fic ? this is what i came up with 💀 this is also my first time writing smut with a GN reader soo let me know if i overlooked something here

“I know you can fuck me harder than that.”

Ten’s statement is another one of his familiar taunts, and it makes you glare at him disdainfully. But you also know it feels too good to deny either of you what he’s demanding, with him seated inside you like this, his lithe body underneath yours.

You never would’ve thought your constant fighting and nitpicking each other would end up this way. Alright—maybe once or twice you’ve thought about his fingers shoved in your mouth, or his own mouth between your legs. The latter would be a good way to shut his ass up for once, and it definitely doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive.

“I think you’ll break.” You draw your nails across his stomach firm enough to leave marks behind, though not enough to break the skin.

“I can handle it.” He pushes his dancer hips up to prove it, and it causes your skin to make a loud wet slap where his body meets yours. “Unless you’re too afraid to do it.”

You lean forward for more leverage, planting your hands on either side of his shoulders and staring down at him defiantly. “Afraid of you? Never that.” 

You ride him harder then, and your ass smacks on his thick thighs as you push your hips down on him. Ten’s hands come to your hips to press you onto him more forcefully, his black-painted fingernails pinching into your flesh. The sharp touch feels like annoying little pinpricks on your skin, though it also makes a shiver travel up your spine. “Yes, just like that, fuck me.” He tilts his head back a bit, the muscles in his neck straining as he does.

Ten’s praise of your skills has you wanting to gag him and hear more of it at the same time, though you decide on the former option.

You sit up again and grip the smooth column of his throat, feeling his heartbeat pounding under your palm and squeezing lightly where you know you’ll restrict some of his air. Ten’s body tenses and shakes under yours, his breaths coming faster. One of his hands flies up and he grabs your wrist like he’s about to take your hand off his neck, his fingers sliding to lace with yours, but he only presses your digits harder into his neck. This action piques your interest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His curses come out as staccato little sounds with you cutting his breaths off. He soon has to use his other hand to brace himself on the headboard so he doesn’t bump his head on it, with you riding him roughly enough to make his body inch up the bed, your toes digging into the mattress and sweat gathering on your skin.

Your legs and thighs burn from the effort of it, but you don’t intend on stopping now. Not when the pleasure is mounting like this and you’re both so close to reaching the end.

Ten’s done most of the moaning and crying out this whole time, even with you wrapping your hand around his throat, but now you let a few sounds of your own slip out as you creep closer to your climax. Your lips curl around the edge of his name. You want to feel it roll across your tongue, but your stubbornness overrides that desire.

His moans become a little higher-pitched and breathy when he gets nearer to his orgasm, and even without that sign you’d know he’s about to come because of how his muscles tense more under you and his back curves upwards slightly.

He twitches a few times and pulses hot cum into the condom, finally, and you have a brief thought about feeling him raw—the veins and hard shaft kissing your walls and warm seed spreading thick inside you—before you cum too, squeezing his length tight. As the pleasure pours through you, your legs lock up and you can’t do anything more than grind your ass on him, making sure he’s buried deep and pressed hard against your spot as you come.

After you both come, Ten pushes you off him and onto the bed unceremoniously, and you’d complain if you weren’t feeling so good that your legs were turning to liquid and your head was filled with soft clouds. Maybe it’s weird to feel that way after fucking someone you can’t stand, but you don’t truly mind if it makes you this satisfied.

Ten gets up to get rid of the condom, and you assume he must be spent after that. You’re wondering what either of you are gonna do now in the aftermath of your fucking, and you can already feel a sense of awkwardness trying to sneak up on you. You’re a bit surprised, however, when he returns to the bed and is still hard, already pulling out another condom.

You puff out a breath when Ten gets back on the bed with you, kneeling at your side and his dick hovering just over your face, like he wants you to take it in your mouth. Instead, you sit up and feign your best unimpressed look. “Really? Didn’t know you could still get it up.”

He merely scoffs and pushes you back into the mattress, your head landing on the soft pillow behind you as he settles between your legs. He tries to pin your legs back but you immediately protest, bringing them back around his waist—and shoving your foot into his ribs, though you act like that wasn’t your intention. “Hello? I’m not as flexible as you, chill out with the acrobatics!”

“Obviously. I thought your knees were going to give out while you were riding me.” Ten laughs at that, and you roll your eyes hard. But, it’s too late to stop a laugh of your own that you unsuccessfully try to keep hidden.

The laugh breaks off into a moan when he slips inside of you, hitting home on the first stroke. Your toes curl when he keeps rubbing up against that sensitive part of you, causing a burning pleasure to reignite in your veins.

Your words and thoughts fall away as Ten fucks you just as hard as you did for him, looking into your eyes and mumbling about how he really doesn’t like you but how are you so sexy? And then he kisses you deeply like he’s trying to consume the pure taste of you, gripping your jaw and biting your bottom lip as he does. When he does things like that, it makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him, no matter how momentary the feeling is.

When you finally get your breath back—only because he gives you a moment of reprieve between the kissing and biting—you say, “Of course you don’t like me, you love me.”

“Shut up.” Ten says it sharply, but his tone is also not as searing as it was earlier in the night. Are you finally breaking some of the defenses he’s worked so hard to put up against you? Wishful thinking, maybe, but you’ll content yourself with the idea of it anyway. You squeeze your walls around him for good measure, and you delight in the broken moan it draws out of him. He retaliates by sliding his hand between the two of you and pleasuring you in kind. The touch of his hand makes you gasp and press your hips further up into his pelvis, wanting more of what he’s providing—all while raking your hands down his back and sides.

His eyebrows furrow at the pain of you scratching at him, though he doesn’t pull away from it. “You keep marking me up.”

“Something to remember me by,” you answer, your words trailing into a groan. You don’t care to hear his response after, if he even has one, because his fingers have you tipping over the edge and coming hard around him once again.

When Ten comes this time, he pulls out of you and rips the condom off, kneeling over you like he did earlier as he releases himself on your chest and neck and chin. His moans send shockwaves through your body, though if anyone asked you’d swear you’ve never imagined what they’d sound like before. And he paints an even prettier picture with his blonde hair falling into his face and his lips plump and red from kissing and biting all night—but you’d never tell him so.

Instead, all you do is stare at him with some mix of arousal and annoyance brewing in you as he makes a mess of you. Then he swipes some of his cum up with his thumb and pushes it into your mouth, making you taste him for the first time, and he smiles, satisfied.

“I hope you know I’ve ruined you for anyone else,” Ten says, and he smears the rest of his cum across your chest as if to prove it.

“You wish,” you retort, but you don’t really mind.

[awkwardtortilla]

Ya know

I really wish I could draw

I have such pretty ocs whose appearances I have completely planned out in my head and I want more than anything to put them on paper or some digital platform but I C A N T BC I CAN’T DRAW FOR SHIT

I’ve tried picrew.me but I can’t find the art style I want, and when I do find it then there’s something missing and it doesn’t do the character justice

I’ve tried to ask friends with drawing skills but there’s always something (or multiple things) about the drawing that just … isn’t my character

I hate not being able to even draw my character on my own bc if I can’t find a tool or something to help me do the thing I either can’t do or am just not the best at, I’ll learn to be better and do it myself

BUT I CAN’T DO THAT BC MY ART SKILLS HAVEN’T IMPROVED SINCE FOURTH FUCKING GRADE

[yandere-daydreams]

Kinktober - Day Twenty-Five

Prompt: Morning Sex 

Pairing: Oikawa/Reader (Haikyuu!!)

TW: Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, Kidnapping, Learned Helplessness, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, and Implied Physical Abuse.

When he first brought you home, Oikawa promised he’d take things slow.

He might’ve been lying, in hindsight. You’d been irrational, that first week, scratching at him and barricading yourself in your room and refusing to let him touch you, consequences be damned. If you’d been in his position, the owner of a pet that needs to be sedated to be held, you would’ve said whatever you had to, too. He told you that he’d take things slow, that he wanted to be gentle with you, and that he would be, if you let him. Punishments and rewards were laid out in front of you, actions and repercussions, the things you could put him through and the things he’d force on you, in return.

If you behaved, he’d treat you like something delicate, like a rarity to be treasured, and if you didn’t, he wouldn’t. He made it sound simple. Like you’d have to force his hand. Like you’d deserve whatever you got.

You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve this, though.

More often than not, Oikawa’s stamina was the bane of your existence, and today wasn’t any different. You could still smell bitter coffee in the air, the windows pleasantly fogged in a way that meant it’d been raining, the night before, but you could hardly bring yourself to enjoy the early morning haze with your cheek pressed against chilled marble, your body bent over the kitchen counter and his hand around your neck, the heel of his palm pressing into the top of your spine with just enough force to let you know you weren’t getting out of this without a fight. The concern was more potent than the fear, by now. If the digital clock flashing at your side was anything to go by, he had less than an hour before he had to leave for his practice game. The rest of the team wouldn’t take it lightly if they’re oh-so-perfect setter was late. He’d get lectured, then he’d be frustrated, then he’d come home and he’d be angry because he’d blame you for holding him up. You knew better than to give him an excuse to hold you accountable, by now.

“Tooru,” You tried, knowing he’d be more sympathetic if you used his given name. The name he’d whispered to you, the first time you met, with you gagged and bound in the back of his car and him smiling, simpering, telling you how lovely it was going to be to have someone to keep his bed warm. The name he cooed at you as he ground against you thigh in the middle of the night, leaving you to push at his chest and beg him not to make things any worse than he already had. The name that left a sour taste on your tongue and bile rising in your throat, as you said it like it was the only name you’d ever known. “Tooru, do you have time for this? I think it’s… What if you’re--”

“Always have time for my sweetheart.” It was a simple dismissal, more of a consolation than a comfort, only made less gratifying by the short, stifled yawn he failed to suppress, after he finished. Despite the heaviness in his tone, the prolonged melody of his voice, there was nothing tired about the way his unoccupied hand toyed with the hem of your over-sized shirt - his shirt, technically, he didn’t let you wear much else - before pulling the hem up, letting it bunch around your waist as he leaned down, pushing a slow, light kiss into your shoulder blade. “It’s so hard to leave you alone all day. I get so worried about my baby, thinkin’ about lonely you’ll be without me… You can’t blame a guy for feeling a little guilty, right?”

Right. He just felt bad for you. That was it, he just felt bad for you.

His dick was only hard because he felt so fucking guilty.

You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a weak, almost inaudible whimper. You didn’t want this, you’d be happier crawling back into bed a sleeping away the next few hours, but your body was trained to seek him out, to react as strongly and as positively as it could as his index finger ran over your clothed pussy, tracing the shape of your slit with all the idle ease of someone who had nothing better to do. With a similar indifference, your panties were pushed to the side completely, Oikawa taking the time to press a series of measured, forceful circles into your clit before he moved on, gracing you with another soft peck to your cheek before he straightened his back, finally impatient enough to take the task at-hand seriously.

‘Seriously’ might’ve been an over-statement, actually. Oikawa only took one thing seriously, and judging from the breathy chuckle he let out as he pumped two lean fingers into you, from how quick he was to hum over your faltering, stuttered moans, it wasn’t you. “I mean, you’re always so needy when I get distracted, aren’t you? Dying for a little attention from your boyfriend?” You weren’t needy, he was pent-up, too aggressive and too desperate not to pull you into a hastily-run shower or get creative with one of his favorite toys. He wasn’t any better, now, scissoring you open, drinking in your reactions as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to buck your hips into his hand. “I’ve been thinking about bringing you home some company, for when I’m not around. You’d like that, right?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. In a fraction of a second, you were shaking your head, forcing out quiet ‘no’s and ‘please don’t’s as he laughed, loudly, this time, heartlessly. “Thought you might say that,” He muttered, finally picking up a steady pace, bothering to curl his fingers and stretch your cunt and do whatever he could to make you bury your face in your arms or nudge your legs apart or feel awful, a tight knot of pleasure and dread forming in the pit of your stomach as slick dripped down your thighs, every thrust of Oikawa’s hands suddenly accompanied by a wet, humiliating click. “You’re selfish, just like me. You don’t wanna share.”

You didn’t, you didn’t want to be with him at all, but it would’ve been a death-sentence to say that out loud. Even if you’d had the will, you wouldn’t have been able to, not when you were so close to your climax, barely capable of doing anything beyond choking on air and hating yourself for it. Oikawa seemed to notice, too. He was speeding-up, now, moving faster and aiming for your sensitive spots, willing your knees to buckle and your eyes to clench shut and, and, and...

And then, he was pulling away, leaving your whining and clenching around nothing as he pressed his hand against your lower back, limiting you to squirming helplessly while fabric rustled behind you, something hot and far bigger than his fingers soon prodding at your entrance. You could’ve cried. You could’ve sobbed. You might’ve, if you didn’t already know that it’d only make make things worse, that Oikawa would see and shake his head and fuck you just as patiently, all while coddling you and making it seem like this was a mercy, a privilege, just his special way of coddling you. He wouldn’t be more gently. He wouldn’t even try to be.

Because Oikawa didn’t know how to be gentle. He didn’t know how to take things slowly.

He just liked to draw your suffering out.

[genesis-gaia786]

For the Bokuto Koutaro Lovers~ {Female Gendered}

I’ve had this idea on my mind for a while now and I’m finally getting a chance to write it~ Hope you guys are ready for some spice!

You groaned softly, feeling hands on your hips and something hard grinding against your ass, soft purrs rumbling from a muscled chest pressed against your back.

You sighed knowing it was Bokuto’s morning ruts, he couldn’t go a day without fucking you into the mattress early in the morning, you loved and hated it.

Loved it because he fucked you so damn well.

Hated it because he fucked you so damn well that you had no energy to do anything else but keep him in bed with you, screw your responsibilities.

“Kou~ Please, what are you doing?” You whimpered, reaching behind you to cup his cheek, his lips trailing along the lobe ear before nibbling the spot just under your jaw.

You whined as he sunk his teeth into the lobe of your ear, dragging the piece of flesh between his lips where he suckled softly, you shivered, he knew you were weak when he licked at your ears, the soft tingles from the sound of his mouth on your ears had you clenching your thighs together.

“Just need you to behave for a little bit for me... Can you do that for me baby? Just a little bit? Be good for daddy and you’ll get a reward...” He purred, a hand snaking around your hips to press his fingers to your mound, trailing them lower until the pads of his fingers were grazing your clit through your panties.

You were already quivering and he hadn’t done much to you yet, a single finger drawing slow circles around your sensitive bud while his lips busied themselves with the shell of your ear, teeth skimming the skin with his tongue following suit.

Bokuto’s lips continued to suckle on your ear, his hand slipping under your panties, the rough, callus pad of his finger meeting your heated flesh and you whined into your pillow, your pussy throbbing as he started pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers, his other hand finding your breast which he palmed softly, flicking your nipple until it hardened under his ministrations.

You were so close already, but your end still seemed so far away.

“Need more of you baby~” He groaned, sinking two fingers into your dripping cunt, easily hilting them to the knuckles and curling them to rub against your inner walls.

You sobbed, teeth biting down onto the soft cotton of your pillow sheet as he fucked his fingers into you slowly, circling them and spreading you open, you could feel your slick slide down your inner thighs, he kept your legs open with one of his thick thighs wedged between your own, you couldn’t close them even if you wanted to.

Your hips stuttered as you followed his fingers, taking him until you were clenching around the digits with a helpless moan of his name.

“Kou~ Please... I can’t! Can’t take anymore!” You mewled as you bucked into his drilling fingers, your nipples aching for more than his pinching digits, your ear slicked with saliva but needed to hear him, you needed to hear your permission to cum.

He chuckled, pressing the tips of his fingers deep, massaging a part of you that had you cascading over your edge with a whine of his name, hips stuttering and bucking as you rode out your high with weak whimpers.

“Good girl~” He cooed, stroking your hair as you calmed down, he turned you over onto your back and settled between your messy thighs.

You tried to ask him for just a moment but he quietened you with a kiss.

“You’re getting your reward now baby~ You ready for me?”

You nodded dumbly.

“Yes daddy~”

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! Thank you for answering my Ravage request, I love it so much! Also your last Rodimus prompt really helped me yesterday, thank you.

Can I request some headcanons about how would Megatron, Swerve and Rung react to love confession from their human crush? Free to ignore it if there's too many characters

(sorry if it's not okay to send more than one request in such short amount of time)

Yay I'm glad that you liked what I wrote and that some of my other stuff helped you out! Sorry for the delay in answering these, I've been quite surprised by the volume in my inbox! I have three lovely bots reacting to love here, and feel free to send in requests so long as my inbox is open!

Megatron

·The confession thankfully occurs while he's seated, as the impact force of a thirty foot mech collapsing to the floor would have been... considerable. That's not to say his physical reaction is at all subtle though. Eons of combat training and discipline dissapear in a flash and his expression shows the full extent of his shock. Was he dreaming? Or did his audials need repair? There must be some confusion, because he's fairly certain the little human on his desk just said that they loved him. No matter his own considerable feelings for them, he must be considerably mistaken, because that would simply be impossible.

·Except it isn't impossible. In fact, it's the truth, you tell him more than a few times over once he starts asking if you're confused or perhaps unwell. He wants to be elated, but a lifetime of training keeps that reaction well contained, as he knows from experience that these things simply cannot happen to bots like himself. Kneeling before the table you stand on, he tries not to sound pitiful or ungrateful as he requests clarification one final time, saying that he couldn't possibly expect love from one who had so much to hate him for.

·You're firm but as gentle as you might be with a fragile bit of glass as you make it undeniably clear; you love him. The only thing you're unsure of, and hoping to find out yourself, is whether or not he feels the same. All the expectation in your eyes compels him to act as impulsively as a sparkling, and he emphatically returns your feelings in a hushed reply, raising a tender hand to hold your little body in the rush of emotion shooting through him.

·There's a moment of icy reality to stop him in his tracks. Don't you know what he's done? What being with him could put you at risk of? That there's nothing to be gained from entangling yourself in the mess he's made of his life? Well accustomed to this behavior, you stand your ground and look him square in the optics, affirming that you're well aware of everything he's just said, but that the only thing you want from him is him, so everything you must endure in relation to him is already worth the struggle. In a rare burst of emotion he pulls your little body to his chest for the gentlest of hugs.

·He laughs for the first time in what has to be eons. There's the smallest hint of a fog in his optics as you find yourself tearing up too, overwhelmed by this hulking bot finally opening up to you completely and just being happy. For his part, he can't truly believe any of this is yet real, but he isn't going to bother with that for now. To know you love him is the greatest peace he's ever experienced, but also the most invigorating kind of euphoria. There's youthful hope in his spark again, encouraging his desire to explore and experience the wonders of life now that he has you at his side, but for this single moment he's content to just... be. One bot, one human, embracing through their laughter and tears.

Swerve

·Somehow he forgets he was polishing a glass at all in the second it takes for it to shatter upon impact with the ground. You had been talking, going round in a way that suggested you were intent on getting to a particular topic, but then...? The glass is forgotten as he gently cuts off your attempt at an apology, spark pulsing and voicebox constricting as he asks you to repeat yourself, looking like he's terrified beyond all belief as he does so. A kind of fear he hasn't felt in a long time prevents him from pretending to be okay like he's so used to doing.

·At your careful reassurance that you did indeed say you love him, and that you meant it, he speaks so softly in response you can barely hear him. The questions he whispers are slow and deliberate, and if he could see anything but you he'd be grateful no one else is present to witness him acting so... shy. He has to make sure though, because it just doesn't seem possible; you love him? Beautiful, intelligent, funny, caring you is in love with... him? But he loves you too, and that means you love each other, and how is that possible?!

·Disbelief slowly melts into a happiness he's afraid to let in only because it's so foreign to him, but bit by bit he begins to realize this is actually happening, and his lonely spark lets the feeling in. Tears start to drop from his foggy visor as a trembling smile pulls up his cheeks, compelling you to reach out from your spot on the bar and invite him into a comforting hug. While he clarifies that he's never felt better, he still happily takes the hug, pulling in your tiny body with his large servos and carefully holding you close.

·Feeling the warmth of you against him sends another wave of beautiful confirmation through him; this is real. The loneliness that always plagued his spark seems insignificant now, as if he's gained a kind of perspective just knowing someone like you could care so deeply for him. All of his friends, all of his patrons, and you at the very center of it all... Why wasn't he ever able to see just how much warmth and goodness there was before this moment?

·Tears are streaming down his face when he lets you go, and at your concern he assures you it's nothing to worry about. There are more questions, but they're happy now, and he's smiling like never before as you dutifully answer every query whilst dabbing his cheeks with a towel that's blanket sized for you. He wants to know; when did you start to have feelings? Does this mean you really don't mind his jokes? Can he tell the others? Is he handsome by human standards? There's so much for him to say but, for once, no rush to say it. Somehow he's finally realized that he doesn't need to talk to get your attention, he just needs to be himself, and the banter is simply a lovely bonus.

Rung

·Though he's certain he misheard, he removes his glasses almost on instinct, looking to the little lifeform he's grown so close to with an unguarded expression of apprehension tinged with hope, gentle but rarely seen optics looking to you with that vulnerability he keeps so well hidden from everyone else. You only remain silent because you briefly lose yourself in his gaze, which is as desperate as it is due to him wanting so badly to believe he did indeed just hear what he's uncertain is actually possible. The request for you to repeat is so soft it's barely audible. Thin digits try to polish his lenses as is his custom when concealing stress, but he fumbles so frequently he has to cease just as he begins.

·You stand near the edge of the table, speaking slowly and clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. The confession is indeed irrefutable this time around, the simple words breaking the silence with their surprising weight and drawing a tiny gasp from him in the process. His hand over his mouth prevents further exclamations, though he's certainly not capable of making any in his current state. Something in the depths of his being has always yearned for this, but he never dared to even dream it could happen, that he could love and in return be loved.

·Tears on his precious face spur you to act, if only because they're absolutely heartbreaking, but as he moves his hand from his mouth you see that despite his sobs he's absolutely beaming. You're surprised even further when he laughs through the tears, and at your prompting says that he's just overwhelmed. You, wonderful and thoughtful and brilliantly unique little you, in love with the bot no one can remember? What has he ever done to be this fortunate? Admittedly he's not fully convinced that this isn't a dream, but he has no intention of letting that stop him from basking in this wonderful feeling.

·You can't help but cry a little too, seeing him overwhelmed in a way you never could have anticipated. Tiny human hands take his offered servo and guide the tip of his digit to brush adoringly over your cheek, just as he so often does, but you notice that for the first time ever there's no hesitation to the action. There's only pure, serene affection. Looking into his optics, you see a mech almost made new, as if the validation you give him just by existing and loving him has changed his entire outlook on life. For a bot who does so much for others, you can't even begin to describe how wonderful it is to give him that peace.

·Still as bashful as they come, he blushes when you move in to embrace him from the tables edge on a whim, but the sheepish hesitation quickly gives way to a mutual hug. The hum of his spark is almost melodic in your ears as you press your head into his warm chest. Your tiny heartbeat, just perceptible to the servo he has cradling you close, is equally jubilant to his touch. The beauty of it all is almost enough to make him dizzy; for the first time in his life he feels truly seen, truly heard, truly here. Reality is still moving just as it was before, but now he genuinely feels like he is a part of it all, here with you in his loving arms. You make him certain that he's worth remembering.

[sabraeal]

Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You’re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?” 

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.