Picture This:

Picture this:

You lie in bed in the morning, your partner walks in, straddling you and giving you a good morning kiss. The kiss sends tingles down your spine, and you notice everything around you growing.

Soon you fall fully into your partner's shadow. They tease you, telling you how small you look, and utterly at their mercy. All the while their hands run along your body, covering more and more surface area as the moments go by.

Their finger slips under your shirt, the tip taking up half of your chest. "I want to hear this tiny humminbird heart" and before you know it, their ear presses you down into the pillow. You can smell the shampoo they used as you are trapped in the dim space, feeling the curves of their earlobe pressing into you. Your heart races and they let out a gentle laugh. The pressure disappears and light floods back in. You are met with a gigantic stare.

"I want to bury you into me. Hide you from the world. My very own treasure..." the words are accompanied by caressing fingertips mapping out your small stature. You are no longer than their index finger. A moment later you are englufed in lips that explore your whole body like the fingers had just moments before. "I want to toy with your body, to worship all 3 inches of it."

You are reduced to a blushing mess.

OK. With one relationship therapist, I admitted that I like giant women. She says, oh, like 300 pounds? I say, no, like 300 feet. And she looked at me like my head was on backwards. She was wholly unable to process the information. That having been said, my personal therapist was unfazed, and in fact during one depressive episode she ended a session by saying, you know what, this weekend, BE two inches tall. I said, if that happens you will never see me again. We both laughed. I stopped laughing and stared at her. She kept laughing until she saw my face.

I low key think it’s absolutely fascinating to hear what “preferences” someone has within G/t. Like…not just F/m, M/m, etc., but also preferences on how tall a Giant should be/small a Tiny should be, personality traits for either, romantic or platonic or familial, Tiny in a Human world (making the Humans the Giants) vs. Giant in a Human world (making the Humans the Tinies).

Maybe it’s just the psychology stuff I’ve studied? But this stuff fascinates me.

I’ve been looking at this for a day and I cannot stress enough how much I’d love to be in this situation, this boring unexciting quotidian situation. I can imagine so much backstory just from this.

wanted to draw some cutesy gt~

I’ll talk to anyone about anything, I’m pretty old and I’ve seen some frankly weird shit. Also I’m good for music recommendations.

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

Please.

V ON TWITTER V ON TWITTER *throwing table through wall* *walking through hole firing sixguns into air* V ON TWITTER

digital shenanigans ... the idea of borrowers on social media is so funny to me

I don’t talk about shrinking enough for someone who really fucking loves it as a trope, but today i was thinking about like...holding someone, feeling them shrink before your eyes rather than just watching. And I'm obsessed with it rn. So here...have this..

They were facing you at first, next thing you know they stumble and you catch them, arms under theirs, their head on your shoulder for a brief moment ‘til it’s not, for the change starts to overcome them rapidly; and soon you feel their weight drop against you entirely as their feet leave the ground and you realise, looking down to see their head barely at chest height, that you are holding them up. Their legs are dangling and you quickly crouch down, trying to keep them standing while still supporting them; their hands clutching the fabric of your shirt, fingers getting smaller by the second. But it’s not stopping yet. You can see panic in their eyes, fear even as they get even smaller; their weight feeling less and less against you as you sink to your knees, following them down to the ground; you don’t want to pick them up and humiliate them, you’re trying so very hard to keep their feet on the ground...but soon you’re less standing there with them, supporting them; and more looming over as they clutch in panicked desperation at you. Your arms don’t fit under their own anymore, but your hands do, and you wrap them round their chest to keep them from falling as the change overtakes them; with abject shock you realise your fingertips touch as you fold your digits around them. They’re tiny now, smaller than you ever thought possible for another human being to be, and you can feel a miniature heart fluttering against your palm; tears pricking in their eyes as they crane their neck back to look you in the eye. You can almost hear their thoughts.

It’s not stopping.

It’s not stopping, why isn’t it stopping?

They’re petrified, not of you, however. You suck in a deep breath as you feel them shrink in your hands, smaller and smaller until your palms engulf their entire torso; they’re like a doll now, and you realise the time has come to give up trying to keep them standing. You feel an overwhelming urge to protect them, hold them close just to give them some semblance of comfort; and so you do. You whisper an apology, terrified you might frighten them; and then you tighten your grip ever so slightly and lift. Tiny hands clutch at your digits, a gasp so small you can barely hear it rises from a shocked face, but they do not begin to squirm; though, looking at the toll the ordeals having on them you wonder if they simply do not have the strength to do so anymore. They dwindle more and you adjust your hold, able to grasp them one-handed now; the gentle squeeze of your grip surrounding their body and legs as you wonder just how small they can go. It’s hard to truly read expressions on a face that small, but you hope and pray that terror on their face isn’t directed at you. As they continue to shrink down you do the only thing you can think to do; you bring them up to your chest, and you hold them there in as close as a hug as you can manage. You lay your palm against them, pressing them right over your heart with a gentle touch; trying to ignore the fact you can feel their outline getting even tinier as they are held between your shirt and the plush surface of your hand. What are they now? Two inches tall? You can’t see them, they’re engulfed, hidden from view; and, as you try to focus on calming your own panicked breathing, it seems the gentle pressure against them does the trick. You feel their shrinking slow, grinding to a halt as they lay there; you wonder what they’re thinking, what it’s like to be in that dark, soft crevasse right over your heart. That little safe nook you made just for them, protecting them by surrounding them; encasing them in comfort. You feel them shift, and you briefly tilt your hand to peer down at them….

It’s stopped. It’s finally ended, and there they are; so impossibly small and yet unharmed, safe and sound there with you. They look up, and you almost burst into tears as you meet that pinprick gaze. The smallest lips part, and for a moment you fear they’re going to scream; can they even recognise what you look like now? They’re shorter than your pinkie finger….you must look like a monster.

But then, so quiet anyone but you might miss, a single phrase is spoken.

“Thank you”

And you wonder if they can feel your heart skip a beat against them.