#our writing

[madpunks]

we are so ableist about memory. people with good memory take for granted the fact that they can recall as much as they can, and use that to taunt, guilt and threaten people with memory issues. many neurotypes and mental illnesses cause memory lapses. traumatic brain injuries can cause memory lapses. brain cancer can cause memory lapses.

even if your memory is good, it's not right to guilt someone because they can't remember something. trust me, people with memory problems are desperately trying to remember: it's just that we literally can't. it is a very literal "i can't remember".

[genderqueerdykes]

trans people are not exempt from having transphobic opinions or ideals. everyone and anyone can have internalized prejudice toward groups they occupy

[crippledpunks]

i love you so much if you are diabetic, or pre-diabetic. our society treats diabetes so poorly. it's such a readily mocked condition, people often times resort to blaming the individual for having it, even going so far as to pass judgment on the diabetic's character, regardless of what type of diabetes they have.

diabetics are wonderful and deserve to love themselves regardless of whether or not they 'gave' themselves their diabetes. whether or not the person is "unhealthy" whether or not the person eats "right" or knows how to eat in ways that are safer for their body doesn't matter, they still deserve love, respect, and compassion.

diabetes is not a fucking judge of character. diabetics deserve better. diabetics deserve respect. diabetics deserve to be recognized as disabled. diabetics deserve kindness, love, care, compassion, and support. no matter what.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

[gateway-2000]

just remembered that damn near every action on older OS's like windows 95, 98, etc. used to make noise. clicking, closing windows, emptying the recycle bin, menu popups, getting an error message all had sound effects. now everything is dead silent. wild to think about

[etherrreal]

"an ode to tendou's hands"

Pairing: tendou x fem!reader Genre: fluff, slight nsfw Summary: you want to be normal about your boyfriend, but how can you when he's flaunting his hands everywhere WC: 2,138 Warnings: references to you gushing, reader’s got enough hair to stick a hand in lol, reader wears a sundress A/N: dipping my toes further and further into nsfw so that maybe someday my ass will write some full-blown nsfw for y'all -Luna

When you hear people gush about their partners, they often talk about how kind they are when they bring them their favorite candy bar or buy their favorite smoothie "just because." Maybe how caring they are as they tuck them in when they're sick or detangle their hair for them in the shower. It’s always the little things that they do for them that matter the most. 

The few times they bring up their appearance, it's always the common stuff. Their hair is so fluffy and smooth, maybe their eyes are piercing, yet soft only for them. You hear them describe how their arms are so built that it makes them drool. Or they—and you’re specifically talking about your friend Eri—describe their significant other’s thigh muscles with such strange detail and precision that you’re left floating in a space between understanding and deep worry. 

But even their odd infatuations with their partner's features never compare to yours, because even when Eri gets going on her weird tangents about her boyfriend’s thighs and how she’d like for them to crush her skull like a watermelon, your other friends nod and laugh along. You’ve tested your answer on a crowd before and all you got was the loudest silence you’ve ever heard followed by someone too many moments later saying, “what?” They just didn’t get it.

You've always been embarrassed to share your real answer with your closest friends, not because they’d make you feel like a freak (derogatory), but because they’ll make you feel like a weirdo (affectionate). And while Eri can take the casual ribbing, you’re not so sure you have a thick enough skin to be able to last a quarter as long as she has. So you've settled with picking something a little more normal, like gushing about how, although your boyfriend Tendou is lean, he’s much stronger than he looks. 

They don't have to know that the real answer has you gushing elsewhere, though.

Tendou’s hands.

Two palms. Ten fingers—two of which are thumbs. Fourteen knuckles. 

They’re long. They’re slender. They reach places you can never reach with your own, like the bottom of the Pringles can.

Unlike a boyfriend’s thighs or abs, hands aren’t hidden in everyday life behind some piece of fabric. They’re constantly touching you or things around you which makes it nearly impossible to keep your focus. In previous relationships, or even in everyday life, a person’s hands didn’t catch your attention as they do now. But when you started dating Tendou, it was like a sleeper agent activated. 

The first time you took notice of his hands was at the end of your second date, after he walked you home. You both lingered in front of your apartment door, not quite ready to say goodbye to one another. He decided to take a risk, using his hand to brush some hair behind your ear—although, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t out of place to begin with—then letting his fingers trail down your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. His hand then came back up to cup your cheek, and it dawned on you that, with the way his hand stretched, he could palm your whole head like a volleyball based on length alone.

Then he sealed the deal by leaning down, his lips hovering just a hair over yours, and whispering, “Do you mind if I kiss you?” 

What always amazes you when you replay that moment in your mind is you hardly remember the kiss itself, but what you do remember is what it felt like to have his hand slip into your hair and grasp it at the roots in his excitement. How his other hand slid around your waist to pull you against his chest, fingers playing with the edge of your crop top and barely brushing against your bare skin. You had goosebumps from head to toe, leaving you with no choice but to lean on him to keep yourself upright. You were smitten from that day forward and would do anything to get him to touch you again like he did that day.

You're about 98% sure that Tendou has never noticed your infatuation—not once—because you're just that smooth. Like a fucking ninja. There's no other word to describe your actions besides subtle.

Except, if you asked Tendou, you're not even close. In fact, in his eyes, you're about as subtle as a gun.

Tendou lets you think you are because he enjoys seeing your poor attempts at hiding your obsession. The truth is he's noticed every single time your eyes drift from his face to his flailing hands as he tells you a story then snap back to his face once you feel like you've been distracted for too long. Or, when you decide to keep him company while he's testing new chocolate recipes and techniques in the kitchen, and, instead of ooh-ing and aah-ing as he pipes an intricate design on a truffle, you're more occupied with staring at his mouth as he licks the smeared chocolate on his fingertips.

God forbid he offers you a taste of chocolate he swipes from the edge of a bowl with his pointer finger—then he's the one who has to control himself when he notices your eyes gently flutter as you lick it off, the tip of your tongue flicking his fingertip. 

He doesn't really understand it, and initially, he took your distracted gaze as disinterest. He was afraid he was boring you when he was going off on tangents or when he suggested you sit by as a taste tester in the kitchen. But he soon caught on when he noticed that your eyes weren’t glazed over in boredom and staring forward with no focus at all. He could see them following his hands like a hawk, taking in every bend, twitch, or grasp. And while he did notice them glaze over occasionally, he had a feeling it wasn’t because you were bored. 

Tendou's been trying to find the right time to bring it up. He doesn't want you to think he's making fun of you or that you should be ashamed of your little fixation. Since he’s first noticed, he’s been trying to hint to you that he knows; brushing an imaginary eyelash off of your cheek, cupping your face whenever he gets the chance, trailing his fingers up your arm whenever he peers over your shoulder to look at what you're cooking. 

He’s not sure if it’s working or if it's had the opposite effect, but he has been enjoying watching you squirm in the meantime.

Then it all culminates one weekend in August.

He suggests taking a trip to Barcelona after a colleague of his recommended a little chocolate shop there that he’s been dying to try. With about an 8-hour drive from where you live, you suggest you make it a little vacation, taking off that Friday and Monday to properly enjoy it all.

The trip starts off as all of your trips do. Tendou decides to drive so you play DJ, quizzing him on certain songs and annoying him with others. You feed him some snacks so he can keep an eye on the road, purposefully playing "here comes the airplane" until he bites your fingertip like an overzealous toddler.

It dies off about 2 hours into the trip after you get back in the car from a short gas station trip. You play a more relaxed playlist, filled with instrumentals and some ballads. The only chatter from both of you is when either of you comments on the view. Otherwise, it's a comfortable silence, leaning your head on the window and watching the trees and other cars fly by. 

Your peace is disturbed when you feel Tendou’s hand slide onto your knee, giving what’s supposed to be a comforting squeeze, but feels more like a jolt to your system. Unintentionally, you jump in your seat, trying to play it off like you’re shifting to be more comfortable, but he notices. 

“You okay, baby?” Tendou asks, with a smirk you don’t see because you can’t meet his eyes. Let’s see you try to get yourself out of this one.

“Yeah, uh, your hands were just cold.”

“Oops. My bad, honey.” He squeezes your knee again as he says it, and you can only hope he doesn’t notice that you tense up. “They’ll get warm soon enough, I’m sure.”

You shoot him a quick smile, before turning to look out the passenger window, hoping that he doesn’t notice how nervous you actually are. You’re tempted to start bouncing your leg, but you can’t risk him asking any more questions. 

Eventually, you relax enough to rest your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t realize that your hand started acting on its own, tracing the veins on the back of his hand and over the pronounced knuckles of his fingers. 

Tendou, of course, notices immediately. “So you like my hands, huh?”

You freeze. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out, you think as you pull your hand towards your chest like it touched an open flame. If there was ever a perfect time for the ground to suddenly open up so it can swallow you whole, this would be it. In fact, you contemplate opening the car door and tucking and rolling onto the highway just to get yourself out of this situation. 

Your diabolical red-headed boyfriend glances over at you a few times during your prolonged silence, before clearing his throat and saying, “I’ve known about your… thing for ages, you know.”

Your panic shoots out of you all at once. “You knew?! When? How!? I’m so lowkey about it!”

“Well, you don’t exactly make it subtle,” he chuckles. “How else would you be able to explain why you either jump out of your skin or completely shut down whenever I touch you? Or when I can't even make eye contact with you during our conversations because you're so focused on my hands?"

"...Trauma and social awkwardness?"

Tendou shoots you an incredulous look before returning his eyes to the road. “First of all, if it was trauma, we probably would’ve talked about it during the years we’ve been together. Second, you? Socially awkward with me? You’re the one who has no problem pooping while I’m showering, so there’s no way.” 

Your mouth opens and shuts repeatedly, failing to produce a good enough excuse. Instead, you turn your head far enough that you can’t see him from the corner of your eye anymore, but you sure can hear him cackle because of his effect on you.

You still refuse to make eye contact when you feel his hand trail up your thigh, barely making it to the hem of your dress before making his way back down to your knees, his fingers leaving trails of heat in its wake.

“What do you like about them, hm?” His fingers trail back up, playing with the hem of your dress and inching it higher. “Is it how long my fingers are? How gentle they are when they caress the skin of your thigh? Probably giving you goosebumps, huh?” 

And they absolutely are, along with a shudder up your spine with how low his voice has dropped. 

“Or maybe how talented they are, like when they curl just right?” His hand finally dips under the fabric, brushing his pinky against the edge of your panties. "Oooh, no safety shorts today? How risque! What are you preparing for, honey?"

"Nothing, I just—”, you take in a shakey breath as you feel his pinky play with the edge of the lace,”—didn't want to sweat with the extra layer."

"That's what the AC is for, honey. Are ya sure there's no other reason?"

"No. I mean, yes, or—wait. Fuck." Your head feels like it’s full of cotton, your mouth too dry to speak. Your eyes are unable to focus on anything at the moment, the leg he’s not touching restlessly bouncing. You glance over at the time displayed on your phone that’s mounted to the dashboard and calculate that you’ve got about 4 hours left before you reach your destination, and that’s when you realize that you can’t wait until you reach your hotel.

You need him. Now.

“Can you— Over there— Just—” You stumble over your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as you point frantically over to the side of the highway.

“You want me to pull over onto the shoulder?” He says smugly, not even sparing you a glance.

“God, yes, please.” 

He steers the car abruptly to the right, and you’re in his lap before he can even properly put the car in park, hands all over each other.

Written by: Luna you've got an @; we've got a taglist~

[frameacloud]

A list of some alterhuman identities and groups (cut version)

About this article

This article is a five-minute read. It gives definitions and sources about (in alphabetical order) alterhumans, constelics, daemons, dragons, endels, furries, fictionfolk, nonhumans, otherkin, plural systems, therianthropes, tulpas, and vampires. These alterhuman community historians, archivists, and writers wrote this article together in August and September 2023: Orion Scribner, House of Chimeras, Page Shepard, Dinocanid, Ryuu Yumemoto, Draconic Wizard Workshop, and others. You have permission to repost this article, if you keep the list of authors, don't change what the article says, and don't use it for money. This is shared under this type of Creative Commons license: Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs (CC BY-NC-ND).

Alterhumans

In 2014, Lio of the Crossroads System created this word as an umbrella term and identity for anyone who feels they have an identity beyond the scope of how one might typically think of “being human.”^1 Later, the alterhuman advocacy group Alt+H popularized this word. According to the coiner and Alt+H, it includes but is not limited to nonhumans.^2 Some groups who can opt-in to considering themselves under the alterhuman umbrella are otherkin, therianthropes, fictionfolk, plural systems, daemians, vampires, voluntary identities, furries, and more.^3 This umbrella is very broad because its purpose is to give these communities something to unite under without erasing their distinctions.^4

Constelic

Coined by Extranth in 2021, a person who is constelic identifies with or as one or more entities, objects, concepts, species, items, or characters throughout their life.^5 A constelic may collect or hoard any number of these identities for any number of reasons, as their identities are non-inherent and are considered to be entirely extrinsic.^6 Constels may be voluntary or involuntary identities,^7 and can be intense or casual, but they are often non-permanent.^8 

Daemians and daemons

Daemians are people who have daemons, which are most often described as mental constructs or a part of an individual’s consciousness which has been assigned a unique gender, form, and personality.^9 Some daemians consider themselves plural.^10 Their community started in 2002, inspired by Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials fantasy novel trilogy.^11

Dragons

The dragon community started in the 1990s in an online group called alt.fan.dragons.^12 They identify as dragons for spiritual or psychological reasons. They are draconic, and they refer to this part of themselves as their draconity.^13 In the 2000s, the dragon community started to mingle with the other communities: with dragon otherkin (dragonkin)^14 and dragon therians.^15

Endels

Mental health experts say that being alterhuman isn’t the same as being mentally ill.^16 For alterhumans who do have mental illnesses, that can be an important part of their everyday life and their sense of self. Endel is a word for alterhuman identities that are rooted in or greatly influenced by delusion. Babydog coined this word in 2021, by and for delusional alterhumans.^17

Furries

The furry fandom is a large subculture that began at sci-fi conventions in the 1980s.^18 It’s for creating and enjoying art, stories, costumes, and roleplay about fictional human-like (anthropomorphic) animal characters, called furries. Many fandom participants choose to represent themselves as their furry persona (fursona), which can be just for fun, though it can be meaningful about who they are.

Fictionfolk

Fictionfolk is an umbrella term for many sorts of identities that come partly or wholly from fiction.^19 Fictionkin identify as characters or species from fiction,^20 and their community started in the early 2000s.^21 A plural system member with origins from fiction is a fictive, which psychologists call a fictional introject.^22 When someone has the brief experience of becoming someone or something from fiction, that’s a fictionflicker, which psychologists call experience-taking.^23 

Nonhumans

An umbrella term for those of us who identify as partly or wholly not human: therianthropes, otherkin, and more. Many nonhumans opt to include themselves under the alterhuman umbrella.

Otherkin

Otherkin are elves, dragons, or other beings, usually from mythology. It’s always an important part of who they are throughout their lives, not role-play for fun.^24 The community started in the Elfinkind Digest mailing list in 1990, when they started calling themselves otherkind or otherkin.^25 Their reasons for being otherkin are often spiritual, for example, from reincarnation.^26 However, otherkin is not a religion.^27

Plural systems

Plurality (or multiplicity) is an umbrella term for all experiences and identities in which more than one entity, consciousness, or pseudo-consciousness exists within one physical body,^28 for systems who are or can be diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder (DID), formerly called multiple personality disorder (MPD), as well as systems who do not meet those diagnostic criteria. Plurality and multiplicity as terms have always been inclusive of systems regardless of their origin or diagnoses.^29 Some plural systems have members who aren’t human or who are fictional characters or species.^30 Multiplicity can be an interchangeable synonym for plurality, or multiplicity can mean a form of plurality in which more than one person, self, or identity is within a single body.^31

Therianthropes

Therianthropes are people who have a lifelong identification as a certain species of animal on an integral, personal level.^32 Some are other species than animals from Earth.^33 The therian community started in 1993 in an online group, alt.horror.werewolves.^34 They developed jargon about shapeshifting to describe feeling more animal-like at some times. These changes are mental or spiritual, not physical.^35 Some have sensations of phantom limbs.^36 Some feel consistently animal-like at all times.^37 In the late 1990s and early 2000s, therians started mingling with the otherkin community.^38

Tulpas and tulpamancers

A tulpamancer is someone who practices tulpamancy, which is the act of creating tulpas.^39 A tulpa is an autonomous conscious entity who shares the body and brain of their creator.^40 Tulpamancy is often considered to be a part of the plurality umbrella.^41 

Vampire Community

The vampyre or vampire community (VC) is for people who identify as vampires and require sustenance.^42 Those who drain energy are energy vampires or psi-vampires.^43 Sanguinarians drink blood.^44 Hybrid vampires need both.^45 Vampire lifestylers and donors are in the VC, too.^46 

None of the above

Some participants of our communities are not themselves alterhumans. However, they’re here because they’re curious, or they’re our friends, family, and partners.

-

Endnotes

Please click to open this so you can read all of the sources that we cited. They are all here below.

1. Lio of the Crossroads System (September 26 2014). "This will probably be my last post on semantics..." Phasmovore. https://phasmovore.tumblr.com/post/98482696958/

2. Lio of the Crossroads System (May 27, 2023). https://x-rds.tumblr.com/post/712949341799727104/ Alt+H (September 17 2021) “What does alterhuman mean?” Alt+H. https://blog.alt-h.net/post/165592493965/what-does-alterhuman-mean

3. Kiera Ember. “Alterhuman Dictionary.” Beyond Humanity. https://www.beyondhumanity.net/alterhuman-dictionary/dictionary-a Ana Valens (September 25 2020). “Otherkin are the internet’s punchline. They’re also our future.” Daily Dot. https://www.dailydot.com/irl/otherkin/  Alt+H, “FAQ” https://alt-h.net/educate/faq.php

4. Lio of the Crossroads System (February 19, 2023). https://x-rds.tumblr.com/post/709694807213211648/

5. Extranth. “An Introduction to Constelic” https://web.archive.org/web/20230519124625/https://constelic.carrd.co/

6. Extranth (May 19, 2021). “Constelic!” https://extranth.tumblr.com/post/651652168396472320/constelic-1-whats-constelic-constelic-or

7. Constelic (May 27, 2022). “How are Constelic and Otherlink different?” https://constelic.tumblr.com/post/685380822139813888/how-are-constelic-and-otherlink-different

8. Constelic (April 12, 2022). “The wild thing with stels for me is how sometimes…” https://constelic.tumblr.com/post/681308197084135424/the-wild-thing-with-stels-for-me-is-how-sometimes

9. The Daemon Page, “Introduction” https://daemonpage.com/introduction.php

10. Daemians & Daemons (March 18 2023). “Hey there! This is a bit of a discussion question…” https://www.tumblr.com/daemians-n-daemons/712142103972560896/hey-there-this-is-a-bit-of-a-discussion-question Rani (June 21 2022). “Okay so I was right dæmonism is turning into my…” A Dragon’s Journal. https://a-dragons-journal.tumblr.com/post/687725978250870784/okay-so-i-was-right-d%C3%A6monism-is-turning-into-my

11. House of Chimeras (October 8 2022). “A Timeline of the Daemon Community” pg. 3 https://drive.google.com/file/d/1GVSBMvwKIyTvDIqyqXy2C_7Q4Qx4UK3A/view 

12. ExistingPhantom (October 3 2001). “Alt.Fan.Dragons Frequently Asked Questions.” Dragons Must Be Here. https://web.archive.org/web/20050219002348/http://www.dmbh.org/dragonfire/IndexFAQ.html 

13. Baxil (December 1999). “Draconity FAQ.” Tomorrowlands. http://www.tomorrowlands.org/draconity/faq/index.html  Orion Scribner (September 8, 2012), Otherkin Timeline, version 2.0 http://frameacloud.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Scribner_Timeline2p0.pdf p. 36

14. Orion Scribner, Otherkin Timeline, p. 53.

15. Daski (August 17, 2022). “Therian: Dispelling the Earthen Animal Myth.” The River System. https://theriversystem.neocities.org/essays/EarthenMyth.html  

16. Gavia Baker-Whitelaw (February 22, 2015). “Understanding the otherkin.” The Kernel. Archived March 18, 2015. https://web.archive.org/web/20150318110839/http://kernelmag.dailydot.com/issue-sections/features-issue-sections/11866/otherkin-tumblr-definition-pronouns/ 

17. Babydog, “Endel” https://endel.carrd.co/ 

18. Fred Patten (July 15 2012). "Retrospective: An Illustrated Chronology of Furry Fandom, 1966–1996". Flayrah. https://www.flayrah.com/4117/retrospective-illustrated-chronology-furry-fandom-1966%E2%80%931996 

19. Poppy (January 24, 2023). “Quick guide to fictionfolk terminology.” Aestherians. https://aestherians.tumblr.com/post/707370073217695744/ 

20. Mordax. “What is Fictionkin? An exploratory definition”. From Fiction. https://web.archive.org/web/20220728060858/https://fromfiction.net/index.php/what-is-fictionkin-an-exploratory-definition/ 

21. House of Chimeras (June 21, 2021). A Timeline of the Fictionkin Community, Version 1.0. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1w4vGsWkiGPjYtXvTe4PyCcZsPba1kb_p/view?usp=sharing Page 4.

22. Ryn (Aristocrats) (October 18, 2021). “Fictives: A short introduction” https://pluralsoapbox.wordpress.com/2021/10/18/fictives-a-short-introduction/  Sark (The Interstellar System) (August 9, 2021). “Fictive and Factive FAQ”  https://interstellarsystem.weebly.com/fictive-and-factive-faq.html 

23. Geoff F. Kaufman, Lisa K. Libby (2012). “Changing Beliefs and Behavior Through Experience-Taking.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 2012; DOI: 10.1037/a0027525 https://psycnet.apa.org/doiLanding?doi=10.1037%2Fa0027525

24. Lupa (2007), A Field Guide to Otherkin, Stafford, England: Immanion Press, pp. 27, 108-109.

25. Arethinn (September 6, 2021). “A brief(ish) history of the word ‘otherkind’.” Mythsong. https://www.mythsong.net/history/wordhist.html 

26. Lupa, pp. 57-66, 287.

27. Lupa, p. 30; and Devin Proctor (May 2019), On Being Non-Human: Otherkin Identification and Virtual Space. The George Washington University. https://search.proquest.com/openview/e156c24bf65c4efb0918a8db37433cce/ pp. 94-95.

28. FreyasSpirit (Lucia Batman) and Irenes (Irene Knapp), “Plurality Playbook” https://freyasspirit.com/plurality-playbook/ 

29. LB Lee (May 28, 2020). “Quick'n'Dirty Plural History... Part 1 (1811-1980ish)” https://lb-lee.dreamwidth.org/1111069.html  LB Lee (June 30, 2020).”Plural History part 2: The Memory Wars” https://lb-lee.dreamwidth.org/1116190.html  LB Lee (July 30, 2020). “Plural History, part 3: Usenet and its spin-offs and Soulbonders” https://lb-lee.dreamwidth.org/1120824.html  LB Lee (August 31, 2020). “Quick'n'Dirty Plural History, part 4 (LJ, the Genic Slapfight, and THE END!)” https://lb-lee.dreamwidth.org/1129216.html 

30. House of Chimeras (May 1, 2021). “A Collection of Mentions of Nonhuman and Fictional-Based Members of Plural Systems” https://drive.google.com/file/d/17TKE_8Lx2ljuTpHNclvaXqvA5AAlkG90/view 

31. Manchester Metropolitan University, “Understanding Multiplicity” https://www.mmu.ac.uk/mmud8/media/10605/download 

32. Sonne (2008). “Terms and definitions.” Project Shift. https://projectshift.therianthropy.info/terms-definitions-by-sonne/ 

33. Daski (August 17, 2022). “Therian: Dispelling the Earthen Animal Myth.” The River System. https://theriversystem.neocities.org/essays/EarthenMyth.html  

34. House of Chimeras (19 November 2021). A Timeline of the Therianthrope Community, Version 1.1. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jDmjl78hQ2BiQtzQMTV3yRQkrIgB9eUZ/view?usp=sharing P 9.

35. Clegg, H., Collings, R., & Roxburgh, E. C. (2019). “Therianthropy: Wellbeing, Schizotypy, and Autism in Individuals Who Self-Identify as Non-Human.” Society & Animals, 27(4), pp. 403-426. doi: https://doi.org/10.1163/15685306-12341540

36. Jakkal (October 6, 2001). “Therianthropy- an overview." Shifters.org. Archived 2002-11-10. https://web.archive.org/web/20021101165313/http://www.shifters.org/overview/therianthropy.asp

37. Akhila (April 2005). “The Contherian FAQ.” https://akhila.feralscribes.org/2005/the-contherian-faq/ 

38. House of Chimeras (November 19, 2021). A Timeline of the Therianthrope Community, Version 1.1. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jDmjl78hQ2BiQtzQMTV3yRQkrIgB9eUZ/view?usp=sharing Pp. 27, 56.

39. Tulpa.io, “Terminologies” https://web.archive.org/web/20160405214050/http://tulpa.io/terminologies 

40. Luigi.exe/The Dragonheart Collective (January 12, 2020). “Tulpamancy FAQ” https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-Yb6dfm4JxR5u_oNpHrttJyJHc0NvMhkKUP4Btc4jPc/edit#heading=h.h3onkkn

41. Tulpa.io, “What Is A Tulpa?” https://web.archive.org/web/20160318054103/http://tulpa.io/what-is-a-tulpa 

42. Jayden Night, “What is Vampirism?” https://web.archive.org/web/20080511200648/http://sphynxcatvp.nocturna.org/articles/jn-vamprism.html 

43. Fvorboda, “Psy Vampirism” https://web.archive.org/web/20080513030621/http://sphynxcatvp.nocturna.org/articles/dyscracia-psivamps.html 

44. #Sanguinarius IRC (May 26, 2007). “A Discussion of Sang and Psi Vampires” https://web.archive.org/web/20080108215555/http://www.sanguinarius.org/articles/sang-and-psi-disc.shtml 

45. Enygma, “Real Vampires” https://web.archive.org/web/20080511201408/http://sphynxcatvp.nocturna.org/faq/most-enygma.html 

46. Sanguinarius: The Vampire Support Page, (July 4, 2006). “Sainguinarus Terminology & Lingo” https://web.archive.org/web/20080521005735/http://www.sanguinarius.org/terminology.shtml

[the-bar-sinister]

What if I refused to let you go after you died.

What if your ghost and I became inseparable.

What if I never had to lose you, but I lost myself instead.

[jarofstyles]

Vampire harry fluff 🥺🥺🥺 after he drinks from you n u get allllll clingy but he just wants you to rest so he dresses u up in ur fav nighty and sits u on his lap while he feeds u and cuddles u to sleep ☹️☹️

YES okay my love! here is a tiny blurbby

Patreon

----

"I'm okay, Harry." Her voice was slightly slurred as she felt the straw being pressed against her lips. Lemonade was in the cup to get her blood sugar back up, the sour sweet liquid hitting her tongue in relief. Harry watched intently as she sipped, taking a bit too big of one making her choke.

"Careful, pet." He scolded quietly, wiping away the excess dribbling down her chin with his thumb. "Don't choke. Know it tastes good but you've got to be mindful."

His delicate chastising tone made her pout, but his tenderness towards her worked her belly into a tizzy of butterflies while he tended to her. For being a creature of so many people's nightmares, Y/N found it ironic that he was the one living in her daydreams. The red flooding the normal moss green iris's of his eyes after the blood intake was something that had taken some getting used to, she had to admit, but now that she associated it with pleasure and being tended to... it wasn't anything she feared.

"M'sorry." She said softly, returning to her gentle sips as he brought the straw back to her lips and let her take a bit more. Harry obviously cherished this time with her. He prepared for it, bringing a sweet beverage and a snack for her, making sure she was placed in a comfortable position, ensuring she was at the peak of relaxation before he took from her. He genuinely cared for the girl and her well being. She wasn't just a meal to the vampire.

"There we are. Your heart rate is returning to normal." Cool fingers brushed the baby hairs that hadn't been held back by her bun, the simple action making her sigh. She ran unusually hot, his cold feeling a welcome relief from her normal heat. "You're sure it was alright? Nothing has changed, nothing unusual?" He prodded at her every time to make sure.

Other than wet panties from the arousal the venom of his bites gave? It wasn't a bother at all.

"I'm totally fine." Her warm hand stroked over his shoulder. His shirt was a soft linen, thin and easy to feel her body heat through. That was on purpose. Nothing made the Vampire feel more alive than her human heat, the beat of her heart, her sweet scent lingering on his skin like aftershave when he returned to his own bed. Her silky nightgown covered her enough to leave bit to the imagination while still giving him enough of a peek to have him catching looks here and there.

His little human. So beautiful. Full of warmth. The sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

"Alright. Your eyes are closing." he placed the cup down, feeling her shift to lay on his shoulder. "Do you want to lay down on the bed?"

Y/N was far too comfortable against his cool chest, her cheek bleeding heat against him as she tucked her face against the creature, seeking his comfort. "No, no. Just..." she closed her eyes. "Let me rest my eyes here for a moment." Harry wouldn't object. He would hold her for centuries, if he could. "Alright, little Dove." He murmured, rubbing over her waist. "just for a moment."

[magicalariel0]

I'm So Sweet..👅😊

[madpunks]

please include schizospectrum people in your mental health positivity post. please actually include schizophrenic, schizoaffective, schizotypal, schizoid and other psychotic people. still to this day, i get called dangerous for being schizophrenic. my last ex told me they "knew" i would lash out and become dangerous and that they shouldn't have dated me specifically because i'm schizophrenic. i never lashed out to hurt them, by the way, but they routinely hurt me.

schizospectrum disorders do not make someone inherently dangerous. people still believe this firmly. our fight isn't over we still have to continue to speak about schizospec people and how unfairly we are treated. we are dehumanized instantly the second people find out about our conditions. we are treated like ticking time bombs. people openly admit that we are scaring them when we talk about our psychosis and how it affects us.

people tell us to calm down and that our delusions aren't real and that we're overreacting. people give reality check us and force us to try to think in ways that scare us. people refuse to trust our own accounts of our own lives and what is happening to us, even when we are not actively delusional or hallucinating. people infantilize us and treat us like we're stupid and have zero autonomy.

we are not dangerous. we are not scary. we are literally just existing in a world that refuses to accept us. please keep talking about schizospectrum struggles and how we need to be seen as just another human, just like anyone else. we can be as unique and varied as anyone else with any other neurotype. we are not all the same person, and we are not inherently dangerous or scary.

[genderqueerdykes]

by the way, once you learn what the straw man/person fallacy is, you will quickly realize it is quite literally everywhere in internet discourse. if you need to make up a person for the sake of an argument, you're not making a point, you're making shit up.

[crippledpunks]

shoutout to every person who deals with incontinence. i dealt with bedwetting up until my early teens, and now deal with stress and urge incontinence and for years never wanted to talk about it because of the shame and stigma other people place on not being able to control your bladder or bowel movements.

incontinence is a disability. it's not gross or wrong to talk about incontinence. incontinent people are not dirty or disgusting. if we could control these parts of our body, we would. we're not an inconvenience for being this way, and we don't have to be treated like a burden or like we need to be "fixed".

whether or not you use incontinent products like briefs, pads, diapers, plastic bed sheets, or whatever else, you are loved, important, and deserved to be seen when there are conversations about disability awareness and acceptance. we don't deserve to hide in shame when all we need is to be accommodated and accepted.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[inevitable-pretty-words]

Living weapon Whumpee begging their Caretaker to be their new master, because they're so used to being someone's property and fulfilling orders that not having a master feels unnatural and wrong. And Caretaker disagreeing with this idea, because, although it's painful, it's better for Whumpee. ✨

[etherrreal]

“spare me the details”

Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn

When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.

Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.

You perk up when you spot him standing in your doorway, sleeves rolled up around his elbows and tie still half-hanging off his neck. You greet him with a welcome smile and a relieved “oh thank god” before letting go of the dress you’re holding, latching your hand around his wrist and tugging him inside.

That’s about all the warning he gets before he finds himself shoved into the comfort of your desk chair, watching as you turn this way and that in front of your mirror, trying on dress after dress in preparation for your date tonight. Apparently, the cute IT guy you met at your job’s last happy hour asked you out, and you need Mattsun’s help deciding what to wear.

Normally, this is your friend Aina’s job. It used to be Mattsun’s too, once upon a time, but that was before everything that happened your senior year of college, before things changed between you in a way that, for a while, neither of you were sure you’d be able to come back from.

Thankfully, the two of you managed to fix things in the end, but that particular part of your friendship, the part that made you comfortable enough to talk freely about things like romance and dating, was never quite the same. It still isn’t, if he’s being honest, despite the fact that the two of you live together now, despite the fact that it’s been a year since everything happened.

It’s why he never lets his hookups stay the night, why you never say anything about the extra pair of heels you see on the shoe rack that are always gone by morning. It’s why you only ever mention your dates in passing, why he never asks for details.

He’s honestly shocked you’ve asked for his help at all, but with Aina busy visiting her family in Tokyo, Makki off with his new girlfriend, and the rest of your friends stuck at work, he figures he’s all you have left. And because he’s a good roommate and an even better friend, he agrees to help, even though the idea of you going on a date with someone else –cute IT background or not– kind of makes him want to throw up, for reasons he’s not quite ready to explore just yet.

So instead of lingering on the thought, Mattsun decides to focus on something a little easier for him to admit to himself, like the fact that you look really good tonight. Then again, you always look good to him, which he supposes is another problem entirely. He likes to think he’s gotten better at ignoring it over the years, only allowing his gaze to linger when he’s sure your attention is occupied elsewhere, but the way you look tonight has him wondering how much longer he’ll be able to keep it up.

Most of your hair has been pinned up and away from your face –he figures you’re waiting to let it down until right before you leave– and there’s something gold and shimmery on your eyelids and cheekbones that catches the light whenever you move, highlighting your features. Your lashes are long and dark, a deep shade of red staining your lips that the more indecent part of him is tempted to smudge.

And if all of that isn’t already bad enough, you’ve also spent the past ten minutes strutting back and forth in every pretty dress you own. You turn back to him after slipping into each one to ask which looks best, hair all mussed up and fabric clinging to your hips, and all he can think about is how much more useful he’d be in helping you out of them.

But the two of you are best friends, have been since you met during your first year of university, when you ended up sitting next to each other at a bonfire neither of you really wanted to attend and bonded over smores and cheap beer. And last time he checked, you aren’t supposed to have these kinds of thoughts about your best friend, no matter how pretty their eyes are or how tempting they look in a little satin dress. Which is why, for the sake of your friendship –and, he thinks, for the sake of his own sanity– he keeps them to himself.

He likes to think he’s doing a pretty good job of it, too, allowing himself only a quick once-over whenever you step out in a new dress before averting his gaze and giving his opinion, determined not to appear too interested or eager. It helps that he has his phone to distract him, along with a bag of pretzels you left open on your desk that he keeps stealing from every now and then.

It works for the first few minutes, at least, until you’re walking out of your closet wearing what feels like your twentieth option of the night, and all he has to say, after barely sparing a glance at you, is that he likes the color. Never one to be ignored for long, you snatch up the closest projectile –in this case, your stuffed koala– and launch it straight at him, determined to get his attention by any means necessary.

Unsurprisingly, the plushie hits him square in the chest –he and Makki always like to joke you’d make a terrifying wing spiker– and he looks up to find you standing in front of him again, pretty red lips pulled into a frustrated frown.

“Ouch,” he says, feigning hurt as he picks the stuffed koala up and sets it back on your desk, though you both know he hardly felt it. Years of athleticism and routine gym workouts have left him with an impressive wall of muscle, if the appreciative glances you send him whenever he leaves the shower shirtless are any indication. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for.” You shoot him a flat look, hands resting on either side of your hips. The dress you’re wearing now is made of a red velvety material, with long sleeves and a sloping neckline revealing a generous amount of cleavage that has him nearly choking on his pretzels. “You’re supposed to be helping me through a crisis here, not eating all my food.”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to have a fashion emergency during my dinner time. Excuse me for not wanting to starve.” He scoops up another handful of pretzels as if to prove his point, tossing them into his mouth while you roll your eyes. “And besides, I have been helping you. Didn’t I tell you the green one you tried on was cute?”

“I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t have time for cute.” You give a little huff of indignation when you say it, which, in retrospect, just makes you look cuter, though Mattsun is wise enough not to bring that up now. “I have time for beautiful, maybe even time for pretty, but definitely not for cute, which means I need you to stop being charming and start project makeover-ing my ass.”

“Ah, so you think I’m charming?”

“I’m walking away now.”

“I’m kidding! Hey, come on, I was just messing with you. I’ll help now, for real.” He’s still grinning when he says it, but he locks his phone to show you that he’s serious, putting it down on your desk and wiping his hands free of any crumbs. “I promise.”

And for what it’s worth, he means it. He knows it’ll be quite the slippery slope, giving his honest opinion about how you look without also giving away the attraction he’s usually a lot better at pretending he doesn’t feel for you, all in the service of helping you get ready for the date he’s still kind of bummed you’re going on. But you’re his best friend, and you asked for his help. And while the thought of you and your IT guy still makes him queasy, he wants to help you, and that’s precisely what he resolves to do.

You’re wearing a different dress now, something soft and smooth made of purple satin that cinches at the waist and clings to your curves in a way that has his mouth feeling dry and his face feeling a little warmer than usual. He watches you fiddle with the straps, snapping them into place against your shoulders.

He imagines his hands replacing yours, fingertips grazing the slope of your collarbone and brushing over your shoulders, sliding down to your sides. He wonders what the satin would feel like against his palms, how the fabric would give beneath his fingertips, shifting as he pushes it up and over your hips–

“Well?” The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and immediately he tears his gaze away from where it’s drifted rather unhelpfully down to your ass. He does it just in time, too, because all of the sudden you’re turning around to face him, an eyebrow raised expectantly. “What do you think of this one?”

“...I like it,” Mattsun says evenly, after taking a moment to compose himself, though the sudden dryness in his mouth makes the words come out a little strained. He only hopes you don’t notice it, hopes his voice sounds steadier than the rest of him feels. “It looks nice on you.”

Any other time, you might’ve smiled at the compliment, maybe even poked fun at him for going soft on you, but now you just groan in annoyance, planting your hands on your hips and fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “You’ve said that about the last three dresses, Issei.”

“I meant it,” he tells you, because he did. “You look really nice in all of them.”

“But I don’t want to look just nice.” You’re pouting now, brows furrowing as you smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress. “I want to look hot. Like having him drooling as soon as he sees me kind of hot.”

“Drooling, huh? That’s a pretty tall order.” He raises an eyebrow at you, ignoring the way his stomach starts to twist at the reminder of your impending date in favor of flashing you a teasing smirk. “You sure your IT nerd’s gonna be able to handle that?”

You start to smile, but it only lasts for a few moments before you’re remembering your current predicament and letting out a tired, frustrated sigh.

“I’m being serious, Issei. This is really important to me. It’s my first date in a while, and I want to make a good impression.” You tug at the straps of your dress and tilt your head at him, eyes soft and pleading. “Please help me?”

And though Matsukawa is still far from being a fan of you going off with someone else looking as lovely as you do –though he’s just starting to realize how much he wants to be the one you dress up for instead– in all the time he’s known you, he’s never really been able to deny you of anything, and he’s certainly not going to start now.

It doesn’t take him long to come up with his suggestion. He shifts in his seat, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “What about the one you wore for New Year’s?”

“The black one?” you ask, perking up with interest.

When he nods, you turn to the mountain of clothes on your bed and begin rummaging through the pounds of fabric, pulling out the exact dress he was thinking of with surprising ease. He tries not to look too eager as you do, even though the memory of you in it is a sight permanently seared into his brain.

“Here it is. I almost forgot I had this one.” You hold the dress up to your body and tilt your head, questioning gaze searching for his. “You don’t think it’s too boring?”

“Not even close,” Mattsun replies, completely sure of it. You looked absolutely stunning that night, all bright smiles and silver-framed eyes, and he was far from the only one who noticed it. Looking back, it was probably the closest he’s ever come to telling you the truth about how he feels.

“Don’t you remember on New Year’s, when you walked over to us and Iwaizumi got all flustered and started choking on his champagne, but wouldn’t tell you why?” It takes a moment for you to recall the memory, but when he sees you nod, he continues, “it was because he saw you in that dress.”

You’re quick to wave it off, laughing like you don’t really believe him. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” he insists. “It might not be as intense as full-on drooling, but I’d say it’s pretty close, all things considered.”

“You know what? I’ll take it.” You drape the dress over one of your arms and turn towards your closet, though not before pausing to send him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Issei. I’m gonna go try it on!”

With that, you’re off, disappearing back into your closet to change. It isn’t long after you’ve left that he hears your voice again, the sounds of your frustrated swearing only partially muffled by the door.

He calls out to you, asking if everything is all right, and that’s when the door creaks back open, your head poking out into view. Some of your hair has fallen down and over your shoulders, and you’re using both hands to keep the front of the dress pressed firmly against your body, pretty lips pulled into a frown.

“The stupid zipper is stuck,” you grumble, features scrunched up in annoyance, and somehow it’s both the best and the worst thing you could’ve told him at the same time. “I can’t reach it. Can you help zip me up?”

It takes him a moment to respond, his brain all but short-circuiting at the thought of having you so close to him, at the idea of his skin brushing yours, but eventually he manages a nod, muttering out a “sure” that sounds a bit too strained for his liking and wiping his palms against his pants as he stands to join you.

You step out and walk until you’re facing the floor-length mirror, and he follows until he’s standing right behind you, just a few short inches of space between you that suddenly feel a lot smaller now that he’s caught your gaze in the glass.

He knows the smart thing –the right thing, for both of you and for the sake of your friendship– would be to look away. To pretend it means nothing, even as he feels his pulse pick up beneath his skin, even as his entire body warms at the proximity, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not when you’re finally here in front of him, all bright-eyed and gorgeous, and certainly not when he’s this close to you in the way he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to be.

And maybe he’s just imagining it, but right now you’re looking at him like you’re thinking the same thing, like you’re just waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He watches the way you watch him as he gathers and moves the parts of your hair that have come loose, sweeping them away to the front of your shoulder and ignoring the feel of them as they brush against his fingers. He looks away only to locate the zipper of your dress and immediately regrets it, the smooth skin of your back and shoulders on full display making the dryness in his throat from before return with a vengeance.

He takes his time, savoring the moment despite knowing how selfish it is of him, as he begins to zip the dress the rest of the way shut. It catches again somewhere in the middle, his knuckles grazing your skin as a result. You let out a little gasp when it happens, a tiny, breathless sound that makes his skin feel like it’s on fire, one he would’ve missed if he wasn’t standing as close to you as he is now.

Immediately, his gaze snaps up to meet yours in the mirror. You look as surprised as he feels, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you can’t believe the sound came from you. The moment is ephemeral, your gaze darting away from his after only a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. He knows it’s all he’ll be able to think about for days to come, long after you’ve left for the date he really wishes you weren’t going on anymore.

He zips the rest of the dress up without any further incident, though the tension between you is still there, despite both of your valiant attempts to ignore it. He knows the smart thing –the right thing– to do right now would be to move his hands, to let you go and step away so that you can finish getting ready. He has to, because the two of you are just friends, and he has no right to feel the way he does about any of this, especially after everything that’s happened between you.

But Matsukawa’s always been a little bit selfish when it comes to you, and tonight is no different, especially when he remembers that little gasp you gave earlier, the heated look in your eyes as your gaze met his. So instead of moving away, he lets his knuckles graze your skin again, lets his fingertips trace down the outline of the zipper until his hands are resting on your waist.

And instead of stopping him, instead of pushing him away, you sink into his touch, allowing yourself to lean back just enough that your back can rest against his front. You settle against him like you belong there, so close that he catches the scent of your perfume, the same heat he feels spreading across his skin burning into yours.

It’s easy to forgive himself after that, to bring his mouth to your ear as his eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“There.” He’s so close to you now that his lips graze your ear as he speaks. It makes you shiver, just noticeably enough that he considers forgetting all about preserving your friendship and kissing you senseless right then and there. Against all odds, he manages to resist the urge, settling for giving your hips a light squeeze instead. “All done.”

“...Thanks,” you murmur, sounding as dazed as he feels. “What…what do you think?”

He moves his gaze away from yours long enough to take in the sight of you all dressed up, unsurprised to discover you look just as, if not even more so, beautiful as you did on New Year’s. The black dress is long and form-fitting, with a square neckline and ruched fabric that cinches at your waist and eases over your hips nicely. There’s a slit on the left of it that exposes a bit of your thigh, two thin straps against your shoulders holding it all up. And with your hair swept over your shoulder and that bold look in your gold-framed eyes, you are both breathtaking and completely devastating, the longer he stares at you knowing he can’t have you.

I think you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, is what he wants to tell you. I think I want you to stay home because I hate the idea of you going out with anyone else who isn’t me. But mostly I think I’m a coward and an idiot for having you right here in front of me all this time and not doing anything about it.

But he can’t say any of that now, because it’s late and selfish and not at all what you deserve, so he doesn’t.

“You look amazing,” is what he says instead, and as he meets your gaze again in the mirror, he can only hope you see how much he means it. “Your IT nerd won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

And he knows he should just leave it at that, knows it isn’t fair to take it any further, but still he tells you anyway, consequences be damned, “...I know I wouldn’t.”

Another murmur of thanks leaves your lips, an uncharacteristic shakiness lingering in your voice that he wonders might mean something more.

You still haven’t looked away. He knows now he doesn’t want you to. And he wonders, not for the first time, if maybe the risk to your friendship is worth it, if he should stop all this waiting and longing and just do something about it–

The blaring of an alarm cuts him off before he can get any further, one he’s sure the more practical part of you set on your phone well in advance to ensure you wouldn’t be late for your date. It shatters the moment almost instantly, leaving you wide-eyed as you finally seem to notice how close the two of you are, how long you’ve been staring at each other.

You swear and move away from him, slipping out of his grasp as you scramble across the room in search of your phone. You find it resting face-down on your desk and silence it with a swipe of your thumb.

You don’t turn back to look at him right away, almost like you’re taking the extra time to steady yourself before you face him again. He’s tempted to laugh, mainly because he’s pretty much doing the exact same thing right now.

When you do finally turn back to him, you find him standing with his hands shoved into his pockets, an attempt at appearing casual, despite the sinking feeling in his chest.

“Guess you should probably finish getting ready, huh?” Mattsun’s chest tightens as the words leave his mouth, lips curving into a smile he can only hope reaches his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to keep your IT nerd waiting.”

“Yeah.” It takes you a moment, but soon you return the gesture with a hesitant smile of your own. “Thanks again for all your help, Issei. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He manages to choke out a strained “anytime” that he’s sure sounds unfairly bitter. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it, excusing yourself to touch up your makeup before you go, and because he’s a masochist, Mattsun follows, hovering just outside of the doorway to keep you company.

And as he watches you apply the finishing touches to your look, letting down the rest of your hair and touching up your lipstick, that sinking feeling in his chest grows and grows until he can’t ignore it any longer. Until it makes him ask a question he very well knows he shouldn’t.

“So, how’d you meet this guy again?”

You don’t answer right away, the question giving you pause as you spare him an odd look from the corner of your eye. You know as well as he does that the two of you don’t talk about things like this, at least not anymore. You’ve both learned it’s easier for everyone if you just spare each other the details about the people you’re seeing, and though you never agreed to it outright, it’s a rule you’ve both followed faithfully ever since. He’s not sure your friendship would’ve survived without it.

You seem surprised he’s willing to break it now, and honestly, so is he. Still, you decide to answer him anyway, though the guarded look in your eye makes him think you’d prefer not to.

“I told you, I met him at a happy hour. One of my co-workers introduced us. We talked, danced for a bit, and then he asked me out.”

“Right.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe, hoping he sounds casual and disinterested, even though he feels anything but. “And was this before or after your fourth margarita of the night?”

You start to laugh, until you realize he’s being serious. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. Three-drink you is fun and likes to dance. Four-drink you, however, has poor judgment skills. Remember Aina’s birthday, when you, non-existent upper body strength and all, tried to do a handstand and nearly gave yourself a concussion?”

“Key word being nearly.” You grin, a mischievous glint in your eye nearly identical to the one you’d had on the night in question, and when all Mattsun can think is how endearing it makes you look, he knows he’s in trouble. “Besides, you’re one to talk. The last time you got drunk, I had to stop you from jumping the gate at Aina’s place, and that was only two drinks in.”

“In my defense, I was being chased–”

“By what, her six pound toy poodle?”

“Whatever. That’s not my point.”

“And what, pray tell, is your point, Issei?”

“My point is, what if you don’t actually like your IT guy as much as you think? What if he’s actually a huge creep and four-drink you just didn’t notice it because you had your margarita blinders on?”

He keeps his tone light and easy, hoping he sounds more concerned than jealous, because while he definitely doesn’t love the idea of you going out with someone else, he doesn’t actually want to make you think he’s questioning your judgment. He just wants to get you to reconsider things a bit without actually revealing how much he wants you to stay, how much he wants you.

“He is not a creep,” you say easily, in a firm voice that leaves little room for argument, and Matsukawa does his best to ignore how your words make him feel like he’s being punched in the ribs, how that feeling only worsens when he realizes this guy might actually be good for you. “He’s a sweet, cute, thoughtful guy who wants to get to know me better. He even left me a note on my desk this morning saying how excited he is to see me tonight.”

“So he broke into your office instead of just texting you about it?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I don’t know. Sounds like a creep to me. I wouldn’t blame you if you texted him right now saying you have to cancel on him. In fact, I’d even let you use my phone.”

“He didn’t break into anything, you weirdo. He was trying to be romantic, and it worked.” You cap your lipstick and set it on the counter, using a tissue to blot away any excess as you quirk an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Why are you being so weird about this, anyway?”

“What? I’m not being weird about anything,” he denies quickly, though it’s hardly believable. You cast another odd look in his direction as you toss the tissue away, but still, you don’t call him out on it. And while part of him is grateful for that, there’s another part of him that almost wishes you would. “All I’m doing is expressing my concern for my best friend before she goes out with a man who may or may not have a history of breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for him, I don’t plan on pressing any charges.” You give your reflection one last look and smile, satisfied with your work. That’s when you turn to face him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as you pass him in the doorway. “So stop worrying so much, okay? I’ll be fine, I promise. Now come lock the door for me. I’ve gotta leave now if I want to get there in time.”

You head back into the hallway, and Mattsun, not having much of a choice, follows, though he’s not exactly happy about it. In fact, he finds himself dreading every step, knowing each one takes you further away from where he wants you to be, further away from him.

You’re by the front door now, dressed in your long coat with your purse thrown over your shoulder. You’re still talking as you remove your heels from the shoe rack and slip your feet inside. You mention something about there still being leftover stir fry in the fridge and how he shouldn’t wait up for you, but he can hardly register it over the sheer longing seizing his chest, worsening with every step you take towards the door.

And Matsukawa knows, long before he even says anything, that what he’s about to do is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’ll ever do in his life. But then he thinks about everything that’s happened between you two up until this point –about the fact that he has a playlist with all your favorite songs on it, about all the times he’s tucked you in after you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, about the way seeing you smile feels like home– and he figures it’s worth it.

Because the only thing worse than telling you the truth about how he feels and being rejected, he decides, would be keeping it to himself and regretting it later, the same way he’s been regretting it every day this past year.

“Hey.”

He says it so quietly that at first, you don’t hear him. It’s only when he calls your name that you stop, pausing in what you’re doing long enough to flash him a curious look.

And he knows he probably shouldn’t, knows it isn’t fair, but he braces himself and says it anyway, in the softest and most sincere voice you’ve ever heard him use.

“Don’t go.”

You blink, eyes wide as your body stills in the entryway. “...What?”

“Don’t go out with him tonight,” he repeats, stronger this time, firm. “Just stay here.” With me, he wants to add, but doesn’t, at least not yet. But then he watches the look in your eyes change, the confusion giving way to understanding, to shock, and he realizes he doesn’t need to. “Please. Just stay.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything at all. You just stare at him, stunned, silent, a million emotions passing over your face in the span of a few seconds. There’s definitely anger, along with complete and utter disbelief, like you can’t even begin to fathom the fact that he’s doing this right now. If he’s being honest with himself, neither can he.

All he knows is that watching you walk out that door and smiling like he’s okay with it would’ve been another lie, and he’s so tired of lying to you, to himself. He’s tired of pretending that all the stolen glances and lingering touches you’ve exchanged over the years mean nothing, tired of pretending that he wants you any less than he actually does. He can only hope that you feel the same.

You have to know exactly what he’s trying to tell you, why he wants so badly for you to stay. You’re too smart not to. Still, you refuse to acknowledge it, eyes narrowing and expression hardening as you cross your arms over your chest.

Your reply is terse, stubborn, a question that sounds more like a warning. “And why should I do that?”

“You know why.”

“No, actually, I don’t–”

“Yes,” he interrupts you, quietly, knowingly, because you do. You do know. It’s written all over your face. You just don’t want to admit it, the same way he didn’t want to admit it when you found yourselves in this exact same situation last year. “Yes, you do.”

“No.” Your voice is low and sharp as you speak, the harshest he’s ever heard it, even as your eyes begin to water, even as your lip trembles. “No, I don’t– you can’t– you can’t do this to me, Issei. It isn’t fair. You can’t, not after everything, not when you’re the one who–”

“I know.” And the worst part is that he does. He knows you don’t deserve this, knows that he has the shittiest timing ever, but he can’t help it. He can’t let you slip through his fingers again, not after learning what it’s like to be so close to you, not after seeing the way your eyes met his in the mirror, like you could feel it, too. Like you could want him, like you could still want him, despite all the ways he knows he’s disappointed you. “I know that, okay? I know it’s not fair–”

“Do you? Do you, really? Because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing this to me right now.”

There’s anguish in your voice, thick enough to coat every word you say, a hurt so deep that he hates himself for not noticing it sooner. Even now, you try to hold it back, determined to keep him from seeing it and finding out how strong it is, how long you’ve held onto it, though whether it’s for your own sake or his, he can’t really tell. All he knows is that watching it happen makes him hate himself even more for doing this to you. Guilt coils around him and nestles somewhere deep inside his bones, tightening like a hand around his throat.

“This shouldn’t even be a conversation. Not again. Not now.” You shake your head and blink back tears, the grip you have on your keys tight and unforgiving. “You’re the one who rejected me, remember?”

It’s enough to make Mattsun wince, even more so because it’s true. “It wasn’t like– I didn’t mean to–”

“But you did, Issei! You did. Last year, when I told you I had feelings for you, you let me. You let me pour my heart out, let me kiss you– hell, you even kissed me back, and then? Then you told me it was a mistake, that it couldn’t happen, that you didn’t see me that way and that we were just friends–”

“I know what I said!”

He doesn’t mean to shout –it’s actually the last thing he wants to do, especially when he’s the one who screwed things up in the first place– but that’s what comes out. It stuns you both into silence, though it’s nothing like the comfortable ones you usually share. This one is heavy and tense, weighed down by the gravity of all that’s happened between you, by all the things you’ve left unsaid.

He shuts his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath as he rakes a hand through his hair. When he opens them and starts to speak again, his voice is much softer, though the tension between you is still there, like a fever you can’t seem to shake, a chain that binds you to each other, for better or worse.

“I know what I said, okay? And I lied. I lied about everything. Back then, what I told you, it wasn’t because I didn’t have feelings for you, because I did. I do.”

The confession leaves you both floored, though for very different reasons. Him because of how easily it fell out of his mouth, how right it felt to say it, and you because you can’t believe it, because it’s the last thing you expected to hear.

“You what?” Your eyes are wide, lips parted as you gape at him. “But you told me– when did you– how could you even–”

“How could I not? You’re smart as hell, not to mention confident and unfairly funny. You’re impossibly stubborn, too, especially if it’s something you’re passionate about, and so much kinder than you give yourself credit for. And god, when I look at you? I can’t– I can’t stop looking at you.”

He takes a step forward, bridging the distance between you, and you’re so stunned that you let him. It makes him brave enough to reach out a hand to you, cupping your face in his palm. Your eyes widen at the contact, but you don’t push him away.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says, quieter now but still so sincere, as he brushes your cheek gently with his thumb. “So I need you to know, all of those things I said back then– they had nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” Your voice cracks, a tear escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek, and it does something awful to his heart, knowing he’s the reason for it. “Why did you lie and say that you only saw me as a friend?”

And though the memory of what he’s done and of all the ways he’s hurt you still fills him with shame and regret, Mattsun knows that he owes it to you to tell the truth, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Because I was scared. We were friends for so long, and the way I felt about you –the way I still feel about you– I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. And all I could think about was if we decided to be something more, and things went wrong, then I’d lose you. And I didn’t– I couldn't risk that.”

The laugh that leaves your throat is bitter and humorless, even as another tear falls from your eye. He’s quick to wipe it away, though part of him knows even before he does it that it’s nowhere near enough to make up for everything he’s put you through. “So you decided to lie to me about it instead?”

He looks down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know it was shitty–”

“It wasn’t just shitty, Issei, it was fucking heartbreaking. You broke my fucking heart.”

You reach for his wrist and tug, removing his hand from your face and stepping away from him. The distance hurts you both more than you know, but you’re too upset to think about that right now, voice raw as you snap at him.

“When you let me kiss you –when you chose to kiss me back– you made me think that it was worth it, that you might actually feel the same way, only to take it back and tell me that you didn’t, that you wanted us to just stay friends.”

You’re practically shaking now, all that pain and heartache you’ve tried so hard to bury clawing their way back up to the surface, tumbling out of you before you can stop them.

“And hearing that fucking sucked, of course it did, but I accepted it because it’s what I thought you wanted, because our friendship meant more to me than my own feelings did. And now that I am finally making my peace with it, now that I’m actually trying to move on, you turn around and tell me that it was all a lie? That you actually have feelings for me?”

You shake your head, reeling and incredulous. Your eyes fill with tears while his heart aches to hold you, and it’s like you’re both reliving that night all over again.

Mattsun remembers it all too well, that night your senior year of college, when you, him, and the rest of your friends packed into Aina’s apartment for one of her notorious parties. The two of you stood together on the balcony, nursing lukewarm beers and lamenting your upcoming final exams. Neither of you were entirely sure what your plans were for after graduation, but what you did know was that you didn’t want to end the year with any regrets.

He thinks that’s what brought it out of you back then, what made you turn to him, nervous but brave, and say you had something you needed to tell him. He never would’ve guessed that you’d say you had feelings for him, or that you’d curl your fist into his shirt and press your lips to his only a few moments after.

And you’re right. He did kiss you back. He let you run your fingers through his hair and tug him closer, let his tongue dip into your mouth and his lips trail down your jaw and neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He would’ve kept kissing you, too, would’ve kept you breathless and whispered that he felt the same against your lips, the way he’d been feeling for so long, if it weren’t for the fear that planted itself into his head immediately after.

Because Matsukawa’s been in relationships before. They hadn’t all ended terribly, of course –he’s not that much of an asshole– but no matter what terms he and his previous partners had ended on, the truth of the matter was that they never spoke again.

And the thought of that happening with you –the thought of never speaking to you again, of losing you forever– terrified him, leaving him panicked and afraid enough to decide, right then and there, that no matter how much he wanted it –no matter how much he wanted you– this would be a road the two of you couldn’t go down.

So he pulled away. He lied, feeding you some bullshit line about not feeling the same and about the two of you being better off as friends, even though it broke his heart to do so, even though every fiber of his being ached to pull you back to him. Your lip trembled and your eyes watered, but you didn’t cry. You just nodded and accepted it, told him that you understood, that it was fine.

You didn’t see each other for the rest of the weekend. When you did finally meet up, it was for lunch at the campus cafe, a tradition between classes you’d established your freshman year. You agreed to stay friends, and then you never talked about it again.

Until tonight, of course, when he asked you to stay. Until right now.

It hits him, then, how selfish he’s been, how thoughtless. Before, Mattsun told himself that lying to you about his feelings was the best thing for both of you, the only way to ensure that your friendship would remain intact and to keep you from losing each other. Not once did he stop to consider whether or not that was something you actually wanted, and it’s only now that he’s realizing how deeply unfair that was of him.

Even now, he’s still being selfish with you, confessing his feelings an entire year later, as if that makes it better, as if he still has the right. And sure, you leaned into his touch earlier; sure, you let him run his fingers up your back and hold your waist, but that doesn’t mean you still want him that way. It doesn’t mean that you have to forgive him, either, not when he doesn’t deserve it.

Earlier, he thought being honest with you about his feelings was the right thing to do. Now he’s not so sure. All he knows is that he’s really, really sorry. That he hates himself for hurting you, and that if he ever really plans on doing right by you, then the first thing he needs to do is apologize.

So he does.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, soft, sincere, and you know how much he means it. You see it in the way his shoulders slump, in the sad, regretful way he looks at you. “I’m sorry for lying to you and for making you believe I didn’t have feelings for you, even though I did. I’m sorry for hurting you. And I’m sorry for waiting to tell you all of this now, even though I should’ve said something sooner. I’m just– I’m really, really sorry. For everything.”

You don’t accept his apology, but you don’t tell him to go fuck himself, either, which is honestly more than he deserves. Instead, you take a tentative step towards him, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes are still a little watery, but you’re not actively crying anymore, though a few tears linger on the curve of your cheeks. He wants to wipe them away again, but he thinks better of it and keeps his hands at his sides, unsure of how you’d react if he did.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, and it’s not angry or sad anymore, just curious, confused. “Say something sooner, I mean.”

“Because it was too late. Because you were dating again, and it would’ve been wrong of me to get in the way of you being happy.” He shifts on his feet, guilty and apologetic, as he averts his gaze to the floor. “I figured you’d moved on. And even if you hadn’t, part of me was still scared of saying something and losing you anyway.”

“Then why risk it now?” You take another step, and his eyes jump back to your face, watching as you tilt your head at him, soft and seeking. “Why is tonight any different?”

“I didn’t think it would be,” he admits, because honestly, it shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t supposed to be, at least, until you gasped when his fingers brushed your skin, the sound embedding itself somewhere deep inside his brain. It did something to him, that sound, woke something up he had almost forgotten about.

“When you told me about your date, I thought I could pretend to be okay with it, that I could ignore it the way I’ve done before. And I was going to, I was trying to, but then…” He lets his voice trail off, lets his gaze lock onto yours the way it did before, warm and wanting. “Then I saw the way you looked at me in the mirror.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, lips parting. Your gaze jumps down to his hands, then back up to his face, and you swallow like you’re remembering it, too.

“I held you, and you let me. And I know it was only for a minute, but it just– I don’t know, it gave me hope, I guess? That it wasn’t too late. That what I was feeling wasn’t one-sided.” He shakes his head and lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a small, sad smile curving its way onto his lips. “I know it sounds stupid–”

“It’s not.” You take his free hand into your own, and he watches, stunned, as you lift it towards you, letting his palm rest against the side of your face. He wonders if you notice his pulse pounding in his ears, how fast his heart is racing. “It’s not stupid.”

Slowly, tentatively, he wipes away what’s left of your tears, and to his surprise, you let him. You even go as far as leaning into his touch, cheek pressing gently into the curve of his hand. You open your mouth to speak again, a breathless little sigh of his name he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

“Issei, I–”

The rest of your sentence is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. It’s a proper ring this time, too, not an alarm like before. And Mattsun knows, even before you look at it, that it’s your date who’s calling, just like he knows, even before you turn to him with that apologetic look of yours, what you’re going to do next.

Because Mattsun knows you, which means he knows that you’re the kind of person who always keeps her word, who makes plans and sticks to them. And like it or not, you made plans to meet with your IT guy tonight, plans he knows you’re not going to cancel on, no matter how much he wants you to.

His only consolation is that you look really conflicted about it, eyes flickering down to your phone in your hand, then back up to his face. It’s still ringing, but you’ve made no move to answer it. He almost starts to doubt that you will. Almost.

You don’t bother to say who’s calling, because both of you already know. Instead, you take a deep breath, voice heavy with uncertainty as you stare down at your phone. “I…I told him I was on my way. I didn’t think–”

“That I’d be selfish enough to ambush you with all of my repressed feelings before you could make it through the door? Yeah, me neither.” He tries to laugh about it, but it’s forced, hollow. It sounds nothing like him. “And again, I’m really sorry for that. The point is, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. All of this is my fault, anyway, remember?”

You frown at him, looking very badly like you want to argue, but something in his expression must stop you, because you don’t. Still, there’s guilt in your eyes when you meet his gaze again, and though it should make him feel better, he thinks it just makes him feel worse. “I have to go.”

“I know.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek once more before letting his hand fall back to his side. The smile he gives you is pained, sad. It doesn’t meet his eyes. “Be safe, all right?”

He takes a step back, letting you go for the second time in the past year. It feels just as awful and heartbreaking as it did the first, but he refuses to feel sorry for himself. He’s already been selfish enough with you tonight by confessing to you when you were halfway out the door. The least he can do for you after all that is to give you the space to move on.

The steps you take towards the door now are hesitant, unsure, so different from the way you felt only moments ago. It hurts, watching you walking away from him, but this time, he knows better than to stop you.

“Issei?” The sound of your voice draws his attention back to you, as you turn from the now open door to look at him from over your shoulder. “We’ll talk when I get back, okay?”

He doesn’t trust himself enough to speak, so he settles for just nodding. Just like before, you spend longer than you need to just looking at each other, gazes locked, a million things left unsaid between you.

And just like before, you’re the first to turn away, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The sound of your key turning in the lock makes Mattsun jolt up from the couch. He’s been laying there sulking ever since you left, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest and a lukewarm beer in his hand.

He scrambles to sit himself up into a slightly less pathetic position, discarding the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. He considers putting the beer there, too, but ultimately decides against it, knowing you’d chew him out for not using a coaster. He ends up putting it on the floor instead and forces himself to stare at the tv in front of him, an old movie playing on the screen that he’s hardly paid any attention to, too busy stressing out over how your date was going and what the future of your relationship will be after all of this.

A quick glance at his phone confirms that it’s been less than an hour since you left. Forty minutes, at most. He wonders if that’s a good thing or a bad one. Don’t successful dates usually last longer? Or are you back now to tell him that things went so well that you have no interest in talking to him ever again? He isn’t sure, and the uncertainty makes him want to throw up.

The door opens and shuts, and he hears the usual sounds of you settling back into your apartment, the jingle of your keys in the bowl, the click of your heels on the shoe rack. Your feet pad across the floor, and then you appear at the foot of the couch, wearing the dress he picked out.

You look lovely. You always do. You’re a little nervous, too, standing with your hands clasped behind your back, a hesitant look in your eyes as you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, for lack of anything else to offer. He gives a little wave, too, though it hardly does anything to ease the tension between you.

You nod at the couch. “Do you mind if I—?”

“Yeah, sure— I mean, no, of course I don’t mind. Go for it.” He shifts to give you a little more space, and you settle into the spot next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest. It’s tense and awkward, the complete opposite of how things usually are when you’re with each other. He doesn’t look at you when he clears his throat and speaks again. “You’re home early.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” is your quick reply. It’s blunt and honest enough to make him smile, despite how weighted things are between you now. “Earlier today, I was planning on spending the whole night enjoying my date, until this guy I know ruined it all by confessing his feelings for me right before I left.”

“That guy sounds like an asshole,” he says, only half-joking, and when he turns back to you and sees the way you start to smile, he figures it’s worth it. He leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. “You must really hate him, huh?”

“That’s the thing.” You reach out and take one of his hands, sliding your fingers through his own. It’s something you’ve done a million times before, but it feels different now, warm and deliberate in a way that has his heart racing. “I don’t.”

It surprises the hell out of him, hearing you say that –because honestly, after everything he’s done, you should hate him– but it also fills him with relief, makes him let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Still, it isn’t long before guilt starts to wash over him again, an awful, ugly thing that makes him want to draw into himself, if only you weren’t still holding onto him.

Mattsun looks down at your linked hands. Your grip is firm and tender, your skin warm and welcome against his, and all he can think is that he doesn’t deserve it. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. After everything I put you through, you should hate me.”

“But I don’t. It’s true, what you did was stupid and selfish. You never should’ve lied to me in the first place, but it’s not like you did it to hurt me on purpose. You actually thought you were doing what was best for me, in your own weird way. And yeah, it was dumb as hell, but it’s not enough to make me hate you.”

You hold his hand a little tighter, squeezing your fingers around his. He wonders if you know how much it means to him now, how terrified he was at the thought of losing you.

“I could never hate you, Issei,” you say, and the honest, earnest way you meet his gaze makes him believe you. “I just wish you would’ve told me the truth sooner.”

“I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning. I’m sorry that I wasn’t.” He reaches out to you with a free hand, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. “But mostly I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I know. I forgive you.” You give his hand another gentle squeeze, brushing your thumb along the back of his skin. “Which is why I never actually made it to the restaurant for my date.”

He blinks, eyes widening. The shock is almost enough to make him drop your hand, but he holds fast, even as his gaze turns incredulous. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. I tried to forget about everything that happened before I left, but all I could think about was you. I was halfway to the restaurant when I realized I couldn’t go through with it. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us, but mostly to him. So I called him and told him I couldn’t do it, and then I came back here.”

Mattsun tries very hard to hide his grin, but when you nudge at his thigh and flick his forehead with your free hand, an unamused expression on your face, he realizes he’s probably doing a shitty job at it.

“You could at least pretend to feel a little bad, you know,” you scold him, though there’s no real bite to it. “He’s a good guy.”

“Hey, I do feel bad.” The doubtful look you give him makes him reconsider his answer. “Sort of. Not really.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something about him being too smug for his own good, but you don’t stop him when he wraps his free arm around your shoulders, letting him pull you into his side.

“Honestly, I’m just happy you came back,” he says, soft and vulnerable, the way you always seem to make him. “I was really scared that you wouldn’t.”

You rest your head against his shoulder and shrug in a noncommittal fashion, though the way you nuzzle into him and squeeze his hand is nothing short of comforting. “Yeah, well, it was either that or find a new roommate, and honestly, in this economy, it just wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Now it’s Mattsun’s turn to roll his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, even as his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re hilarious.”

“Damn right I am. What was it you said again?” You lower your voice, teasing and playful, delivering an impression of him that’s not even slightly accurate but still makes you throw your head back and cackle like you’re the funniest person in the world. “Oh, baby, you’re so smart and confident and unfairly funny, I can’t stop looking at you–”

Mattsun’s entire face goes red, and he has no choice but to tackle you, the rest of your sentence fading into a gasp which is quickly followed up by a protest as he wrestles you on the couch. All of a sudden, you’re on your back, body pressed between him and the cushions as he hovers over you.

Then his hands are at your sides, tickling you into submission. You gasp and laugh as you try to roll your way out of his grasp and into freedom, and pretty soon he’s laughing, too, and all that tension and anxiety from before disappears, leaving behind the comfort and familiarity you’re used to, the one that feels like home.

Eventually, he takes pity on you, and your wrestling match turned tickle war ends, allowing you both to catch your breath. Still, he doesn’t let you go, easing himself up on his forearms to keep his weight off you, face hovering only inches above your own.

“I meant what I said before, you know. I really am sorry. For everything.”

“I know.” You brush your thumb along his jaw, eyes tracing the movement before flickering back up to meet his own. “So where does this leave us?”

“Wherever you want. I never should’ve lied to you, no matter what my reasons were. And I definitely shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you the truth. It was unfair of me to make that decision for the both of us in the first place. So whatever happens next, wherever we go from here, it’ll be up to you.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. You seem satisfied by his response, if the way your eyes soften is any indication, and nod for him to continue.

“If you want me to walk away, then I will.” It’ll break his heart and hurt like hell, of course, but he’ll do it, if that’s what you want, because he meant what he said. What happens from here on out will be on your terms, not just his. “If you want to stay friends, then we will. And if you want us to try dating, I’ll be outside your room door at 7 tomorrow night to pick you up.”

You pause to consider it for a moment, tilting your head, and then the bright look in your eyes, the one he’s always loved, darkens just a bit, turning into something wanting, something deliberate. Something that looks like desire.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, in that bold and daring way of yours, the one that drew him to you in the first place.

Mattsun’s eyes widen, heart nearly careening out of his chest at your words. Every bone in his body urges him to lean down, to close the distance between you and press his lips to yours in the way he’s been wanting to all night.

Still, he finds it in himself to pause, drawing back enough to meet your gaze and ask, “Are you sure?”

You end up closing the distance for him, teeth grazing his bottom lip and making him groan. “Very sure.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore after that. He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours in a way that has you both sighing, mouth moving in tandem against your own. Your hands tangle in his hair while he uses one of his to grip at your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin as he lifts your leg and guides it to wrap around his waist.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, lips smudged with red, pupils blown wide. Matsukawa thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. Your hands move from his hair to cup his face, thumbs brushing against his jaw.

“You gonna run away this time?” you ask.

“Never again,” he swears, turning his head just enough to press his lips to the inside of your palm. “I promise.”

And it’s a promise, you’re pleased to note, that he never fails to keep.

Written by: Dawn