#Stylish bed frame

[bath-bedroom-ketchen-garden]

Zinus Kai Bamboo and Metal Platform Bed Frame with Headboard / No Box Spring Needed / Easy Assembly, Queen, Brown

Product Description

The Kai Bamboo and Metal Platform Bed Frame is beautifully designed to fit your industrial or modern aesthetic. Its slatted headboard and low-profile footboard are both made from beautifully finished sustainable bamboo, while the rest of the frame is constructed with sturdy steel. With its clean-lined silhouette, this modern bed enhances your primary suite, kid’s room, or guest room with style and function. Designed for use without a box spring, you can rest your mattress directly onto the metal slats for long lasting support. All parts, tools, and instructions are neatly packed into a single box that ships right to your door for quick and simple setup. A 5-year worry-free warranty is also included. With the Kai Platform Bed, meshing your style with a dependable and affordable piece of furniture can be easier than you think.

About this item

Durable Steel and Sustainable Bamboo

STYLE, DEPENDABILITY, VALUE – Crafted from attractive bamboo and durable steel, the Kai Platform Bed features a modern, streamlined look and high-quality design that fits your budget

MADE WITH SUSTAINABLE BAMBOO – Headboard and footboard are made from sustainable bamboo with exceptional durability and a beautiful look, so you get peace-of-mind in addition to great rest

NO BOX SPRING NEEDED – Made with a sturdy steel frame, the Kai bed is built to support any mattress without the need for a box spring; supports up to 350 lbs for twin and up to 700 lbs for other sizes

EASY ASSEMBLY – All of the parts, tools, and instructions needed for easy setup are included in one compact box that ships to your door directly

5-YEAR WARRANTY – A limited 5-year warranty is included against any manufacturer defects

You can try this product Click & Buy Now

[zillifurniture]

Graphite King Bed: Elevate Your Bedroom with Contemporary Style | Zilli Furniture

[fratttymatty]

The Jock Within

(All characters are 18+)

Eric had always been the quintessential, gay nerd—glasses perched on his nose, books piled high, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of video games. He was perfectly content with his world of fantasy, where he could escape into realms of adventure and heroism. But in the real world, he often felt invisible, particularly around the confident jocks at school.

One Friday afternoon, while browsing a local comic book store, Eric stumbled upon an old, dusty book tucked away in a corner. Its cover was faded, with strange symbols that seemed to shimmer under the light. Intrigued, he flipped it open and began to read. The pages were filled with spells and incantations, and before he knew it, he had uttered a few words aloud, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

As he closed the book, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and he stumbled backward. The world around him blurred, and he felt as if he was being pulled through a tunnel of light.

When the sensation faded, Eric found himself standing in front of a mirror, but the reflection that stared back was not his own. Gone were the glasses and the lanky frame. Instead, he saw a tall, muscular guy with chiseled features and a confident grin—Ethan, the kind of jock he had always envied.

“What the—?” Eric gasped, his voice deeper and more commanding. Panic surged through him. Had that book really done this?

He tried to piece together what was happening. His thoughts, once filled with strategies for studying and discussions about the latest sci-fi novels, now seemed to swirl with excitement for sports, workouts, first person shooters + minecraft, and social gatherings. He felt an urge to hit the gym and play basketball, something he had never cared for before. He also stopped thinking about dating boys, only seeing himself dating girls. He also felt very homophobic.

As he navigated this new body, Eric—now Ethan—decided to test his transformation. He strutted out of the store and headed to the local gym, his confidence building with every step. The stares he received felt entirely different; people were looking at him not with indifference but with admiration.

One striking change was his hair. Gone was the blonde side part that he had always worn; in its place was a tousled, messy hairstyle that seemed to embody the carefree spirit of a TikTok star. The dark brown locks framed his face perfectly, falling in soft waves that exuded a relaxed, effortless cool. It had a charming disarray to it, almost like he had just rolled out of bed but looked effortlessly stylish.

But the most dramatic shift was in his body. Eric had always been average height and skinny, but now he stood at a towering 6'2", his broad shoulders and muscular build radiating strength and vitality. His biceps were defined, and his chest was broad, giving him a powerful presence. He could hardly believe the reflection—Ethan looked like someone who belonged on a sports team, not sitting at home studying.

“Hey, man!” a voice called out. It was Brad, the captain of the basketball team. “You coming to practice today?”

Ethan grinned, feeling a surge of camaraderie. “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it!”

Practicing with the team was exhilarating. Ethan’s body moved with agility and power, and he quickly impressed everyone with his skills. The adrenaline coursed through him as he dunked a basketball, the rush igniting a fire within that Eric had never experienced.

But one of the biggest perks of his transformation came in the form of his new girlfriend, Cassie. She was the ultimate cheerleader—blonde, bubbly, and absolutely stunning, but not exactly known for her brains. With her long legs and toned physique, Cassie was everything Ethan could have dreamed of. She’d been flirting with him ever since he transformed, and now they were the picture-perfect couple.

“Like, oh my God, Ethan! You were, like, totally amazing out there!” Cassie squealed, her voice high-pitched and full of enthusiasm. She bounced on her toes, her cheerleading uniform hugging her curves perfectly. “I, like, can't believe how good you are at basketball! You’re, like, so strong and stuff!”

“Just natural talent, babe,” he replied with a cocky grin, flexing his biceps as if to emphasize his new physique. Jess’s eyes sparkled with admiration, and she leaned in, giving him a quick kiss that made sure all their friends were watching.

Ethan loved the attention, both from Cassie and the crowd. He had traded in his old life for one filled with popularity, and it felt exhilarating. Cassie was always by his side, her bubbly personality adding to his newfound status. “We should, like, totally throw a party at my place this weekend! Everyone will be there, and it’ll be, like, so much fun!” she said, her excitement contagious.

Days turned into weeks, and Ethan embraced his new life. He found himself in the centre of the social scene, surrounded by friends, and even dating the head cheerleader, who adored his newfound charm.

Ethan began to embrace not just the confidence but also the attitude that often came with it. He started to act more cocky, revelling in the attention and admiration he received. One afternoon, at lunch, he and his friends were joking around, and he caught sight of a couple of freshmen sitting at a nearby table.

“Hey, look at those losers!” Ethan laughed, nudging Brad. “What are they doing? Planning a Dungeons & Dragons campaign or something?” The table erupted with laughter, and the freshmen shrank back, embarrassed.

Ethan revelled in the power he felt, but a small voice inside him—Eric’s voice—simmered with discomfort. It was a stark contrast to the kindness and acceptance he had always valued. But the thrill of being the centre of attention was intoxicating, and he found himself pushing the boundaries of his new persona.

Days passed, and Ethan continued to grow more arrogant. He’d strut down the hallways, flexing his muscles, high-fiving his teammates, and belittling those he considered beneath him. At one point, he overheard a group of students discussing a new video game, and he couldn't help but interject.

“Video games? Seriously? Don’t you guys have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, actually live your lives? Go lift some weights or something. Living in your mom’s basement can’t be fun!” He laughed dismissively, and his friends joined in, further reinforcing his newfound bravado.

The next day at school, he walked through the hallways with his head held high. When he bumped into Brad, the basketball captain, Ethan smiled.

“Yo bro, wanna go to the gym later?!" Ethan said cockily.

Brad’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then he grinned.

“You got it, man! Let’s hit the gym together!” Brad said excited.

As time went on, the memories of Eric—the late-night gaming sessions, the comic books, the quiet moments of joy—began to fade into the background. Ethan thrived in the social scene, basking in the admiration and respect he commanded. He was no longer just Eric the nerd; he was Ethan the jock, and he loved every second of it.

One afternoon, as Ethan lounged at the park with his friends, he realized he had no desire to return to his former self. The excitement of being part of the in-crowd, of being respected and admired, felt too good to give up. He looked around at the laughter and camaraderie he shared with his new friends and felt a deep sense of belonging.

In the end, Ethan never sought out the spellbook again. He had fully embraced his new identity, reveling in the thrill of being a jock. “Who needs to waste time with video games and comics when I can be out here dominating?” he said, flashing a cocky grin. “I’m living the dream, and let’s be real—I’m too good for that nerdy life. This is where the real fun is.”

With a swagger in his step, he walked away, fully confident in the fact that he was the king of the social scene. As he tossed a basketball to his friends and kissed Cassie one more time, she giggled and said, “You’re, like, the best, Ethan! Let’s totally keep this vibe going forever!”, he couldn’t help but feel that he had truly arrived. And as he stepped into the future, he knew he wouldn’t look back—because being Ethan was just too good to be true.

Months passed since Ethan had shed his old identity as Eric, and life had never been better. He thrived in the spotlight, effortlessly gliding through his days as the star of the basketball team and the center of attention at every party. The transformation had solidified his place in the social hierarchy, and he relished it.

Cassie was always by his side, her bubbly laughter ringing in his ears as they navigated the halls of school together. “Like, I can’t believe how amazing you are, babe! You’re, like, totally the best!” she’d gush, her enthusiasm infectious. Together, they became the ultimate power couple, a fixture at every event.

One afternoon, as Ethan lounged with his friends on the bleachers after practice, he looked out over the bustling campus. The sun cast a golden hue over everything, and he felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. He had left behind the insecurities and awkwardness of his past, fully embracing this new life filled with confidence and camaraderie.

As he flexed his muscles and tossed a basketball back and forth with Brad, Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. He had become everything he had once envied, and it felt amazing. The laughter of his friends, the adoration of the crowd, and the love of a girlfriend who idolized him—it was everything he had ever wanted.

Looking around, he realized there was no going back. The thought of returning to his nerdy roots felt foreign, almost laughable. “Who needs that?” he thought, a cocky grin spreading across his face. This was his life now, and he was more than ready to own it.

With Cassie leaning against him, her laughter ringing out like music, Ethan looked ahead with certainty. The future was bright, and he was ready to seize it, one slam dunk at a time.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

You know, it would be interesting for me to read the gloomy Disney characters. By the type that the Reader accidentally enters the Disney world. Or is already in this world. For example, a man! The Evil Queen× reader. Just imagine that the mirror says that the most beautiful is the reader and the man!The evil Queen was interested.. Well, or dark! A man!A Disney princess who believes in love and believes that the reader is his true love and that the reader should belong only to him.

Sorry for the bad English

Don't apologize

You're perf, babes

Yandere!Genderbent!Evil King x GN!Reader x Yandere!Genderbent!Snow White

CW: Death, obsessive behavior

"Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" The vain king asked his enchanted mirror as he often did whenever his pride was wounded. King Hadewig was the envy of men and women. Cold and beautiful, his features were cut like an ethereal ice sculpture. Intelligent, talented, and ruthless, most everyone either wanted to bed him or be him. However, his power was not guaranteed for long.

Hadewig was King only by responsibility, and not by actual title. His title was, legally, Prince Consort. He married his, now deceased, wife when he was a young bachelor, and she was the only eligible bachelorette of suitable status as a widow. Being so much older than him, it was an "unfortunate", but not "unsurprising" passing of the crown when the Queen died and left her son in Hadewig's care.

The only reason the child wasn't immediately crowned king was because of Hadewig's charm and influence, convincing the court that the young Prince Snow was too irresponsible to rule the country. But it was difficult to continue that lie going, even with Hadewig purposely keeping Snow ignorant of his future kingly duties by treating him as a servant, for now the boy was twenty years of age, and truly should have not only been coronated years ago, but also wed off to the available princess of the neighboring kingdom, a woman as old as Hadewig.

But his potential loss of power wasn't the reason for his low self esteem that day.

"You are, my king. There is one who approaches, but does not yet share with you what makes you fair."

The king slumped in his seat in an uncouth like manner. "Then why does my hunter not look at me like a man?"

King Hadewig's personal hunter, an immensely talented killer that didn't just slaughter animals for the king. And the only person who simply looked at the king. Nothing Hadewig did could change the professional look on (Reader's) face during their meetings. No matter how charismatic he was with his words, how stylish his clothing was, nor the love potions he attempted to spike (Reader's) drinks with, they were seemingly immune to every one of his attempts. In their most recent meeting, the one that left Hadewig depressed, he had offered his hunter a glass of wine, which they turned down, stating that the last drink they had received from the king did not agree with them.

"I can not tell you that, my lord. I only can report what I see, so unless your hunter speaks their secrets out loud while I spy, I am blind to their feelings for you."

Hadewig groaned, upset and broken hearted.

"Show me my hunter, again."

The face in the mirror melted, dissolving into an image of (Reader) leaving the castle. Their strong frame sent shivers down the icy man's spine. His first and only marriage was one of political importance, with no love or warmth between the husband and wife. But in the presence of his Mx. Hunter, the king was set ablaze. The intense feeling of heat was dowsed when he witnessed the bastard he hated most in the world approach his hunter.

At the steps of the castle, Snow had been timidly watching the triumphant hunter from afar, gathering the courage to approach them. He had never known shame, never feeling any sort of embarrassment about the state of his dress, but in the presence of the person who always smelled faintly of iron, he was reduced to two inches tall.

Stepping lightly like a mouse, the short adult snuck up behind (Reader), still debating whether or not he was actually going to announce his presence.

His decision was made for him, however, being noticed by (Reader) almost immediately.

"Good afternoon, your highness." They said, turning sharply on their heel to face him.

The hunter was the only person to address the prince by his royal status.

"Ah- how did you know it was me?" He asked incredulously. A pink blush warmed his entire head, wrapping around the back of his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

"Because I could hear you." (Reader) offered a kind smile to the shy, younger man. They felt sympathy towards him, with the way his cold step father treated him. With what they had done to him.

Snow was impressed by how cool (Reader) was. And a small part of him wished to impress them as well. He tried to straighten out his worn out rags. "What brings you to the castle today?"

"To gift the king a wolf pelt. And also," (Reader) reached into their pouch, pulling out a pressed flower, "to gift you this."

The prince sucked in his gasp, wide eyed and lips pressed tight.

"I apologize for not finding something better for your highness."

"No!" He panicked, grabbing the flower with both hands. "It's beautiful!"

He hadn't received a gift since the passing of his mother.

"Happy Birthday, your highness." (Reader) bowed, then turned swiftly, leaving the young man hyperventilating and sweating.

Only the king and his mirror heard Snow whisper long after (Reader) left: "I love you."

Three days later, and the king was losing his mind over the interaction. Snow was visibly taller, standing straighter as he worked, singing as he cleaned the castle grounds, and it was bothering him.

Hadewig kicked over his chair in frustration. "Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"The one you fear is getting stronger, the confidence has warmed his winter, and people shall notice his spring awakening. The prince now glows more brightly than you, whose anger has etched lines of hatred into his ice like face."

King Hadewig released a scream, losing his control before quickly sharpening back up, running his hands through his messed hair.

He left his study, storming over towards a frightened servant.

"Send for my hunter."

Before (Reader), the king was disheveled, worrying (Reader) something awful.

"I can not stand for this disrespect any longer." His gaze read cold and cruel as it pierced the hunter's. "You understand that you are mine, correct?"

(Reader) thought about the flower and felt a wave of anxiety. "Yes, your highness."

"You understand that you belong to me?"

"Yes, your highness."

He sighed ever so slightly, before retrieving a wooden box from his desk. "I have another assignment for you.

Kill my son."

Nausea threatened to erupt from the seasoned murderer. "My lord?"

"Take him deep into the woods, and bring me back his heart." He held out the box. It was a test, as though (Reader) hadn't proved their loyalty to the mad man enough.

The empty box was heavy in (Reader's) hands.

"As you wish, your highness."

Prince Snow spun in the field of flowers as he searched for the most beautiful flowers for the hunter. It was the best day of his life! His father had given him a colorful outfit that fit him and the hunter had asked him out on a date! Well, they didn't call it a date, but what else could it have been?

He wove a crown for (Reader) while imaging their wedding day, becoming King and Royal Consort and having a real crown placed on their head.

(Reader), however, was weighing their options, not truly paying attention to the prince, and trying to ignore his childlike excitement.

What would the king do, if he was made a fool?

"Oh, hunter!" Snow ran over, holding out the delicate crown. "I made this for you! May I?"

And that was all it took, for (Reader) to spare his life.

They bent down, feeling the weight of the crown on their scalp. It smelled nice. Before Snow could retreat, (Reader) wrapped their arms around his thin waist. They had killed so many people before, but this was only the second time they felt unbearable guilt.

The first was after they took the life of the Queen.

"(Reader)?" Snow stuttered out, feeling weak in their strong arms.

"You must run, your highness." (Reader) whispered into his ear.

"What?"

"The king has ordered me to kill you. So please, run. Far away, into the woods." They released the prince, and it was only then that he noticed the heavy bags under their tired eyes.

"Why? I don't understand-"

"Leave. It won't be long before that witch discovers my lie."

Snow fell to his knees, holding onto the edge of (Reader's) shirt for dear life, falling apart in front of them. "Please, no! Come with me! If he would kill me, what would he do to you for sparing me? Please, run away with me!"

(Reader) bent down to release his fingers from their hem, planting a kiss on his forehead as they did so. "I hope when I meet you again you will have found a name more worthy of such a warm and kind person. For as of this moment, Prince Snow is dead."

Excitement threatened to crack the King's cool demeanor as he observed the bloody heart in his hands. (Reader) was distant, but that didn't matter to Hadewig, for now there was no competition for his hunter's affection. They would soon be his, even if he had to use force to make it so.

"Excellent work, my faithful hunter." He offered a practiced smile, unnerving (Reader) who prayed that the pig heart made a convincing decoy. At least until they could escape and hide out in the mountains, far away from the King's eyes.

(Reader) gave a deep bow. Then they left, calmly getting on their horse, and leaving, not taking a single glance behind them as they sped off, emergency bag already packed on their steed.

Back in Hadewig's room, he caressed the box affectionately, thinking about his lovely hunter. The stress had certainly caused a frown line, just as the mirror said, but he was working at reversing the damage.

"Magic Mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" He dreamily asked, slightly nervous that the rage had permanently ruined his perfect face.

"Hiding deep within the woods, tending a wounded heart, the fairest in the land hides. Prince Snow still lives."

The king scoffed. "I have his heart right here, mirror."

"No, within that box lies the heart of a pig."

The box fell from Hadewig's hands. "A pig..?" His face scrunched up painfully. "(Reader) would never betray- they belong to me! ME! Guards! Where is my hunter?!"

"The hunter is flying towards the mountains, away from the woods they released the prince into."

Hadewig collapsed at his desk, screaming in agony while pawing at his chest. "No! It's all his fault! Find me that little bastard- I'll kill him myself!"

The seven dwarven women listened to the young man recall his tale of woe, his eyes full of tears but a smile still on his lips. "So, if you please, could I stay here? Just until my love returns for me."

Happy sighed dramatically, blushing and twirling her beard. "That (Reader) is so brave~"

Grumpy smacked the back of her head. "That double crosser may have saved the prince, but that doesn't mean they won't double double cross him!"

Bashful stomped a foot. "It's true love! They would never!"

"Well, they never confessed their feelings," Doc said while cleaning her glasses, "they could have saved Snow out of the goodness of their heart."

Snow smiled, trying to calm the fragments of his heart. "I have to believe, to hope, that (Reader) loves me as I love them. To risk death for me.. but, they said we would meet again. And I trust them."

It was painful, knowing that his father wanted him dead, but what was worse was hearing that (Reader) had put their life in danger for him. Despite all the pain and punishment Snow had endured, he never held it against his step father, but now..

A dark, bitter seed had been planted.

And throughout the night as the household slept, Prince Snow could feel it grow, threatening to burst forth from his chest. The dwarven women were so kind to him. So inviting, and trusting.

He wondered what else they would do for him.

The dark haired man knew that the apple was poison from the moment it was placed in his hands. What kind of elderly man would be this far out away from any sort of town, especially if they were traveling to sell produce? He didn't know who the old man was, but knew that he must have been in cahoots with the king.

"Oh, I don't have any money." Snow said quite sadly, placing his head in his hand.

"For such a lovely young man? Free of charge."

"Are you sure?"

The old man was certainly no real beggar. Nothing made sense. It was cruel, what Snow thought to do, especially if he was wrong, but in case he was right.. Snow whispered to a bird before smiling brightly at the stranger, taking the apple in both hands.

"Of course, please take it!"

Snow bit into the fruit, but did not swallow, hiding the chunk in his hand. After a few seconds of pretending to chew, he collapsed, holding his breath.

The king almost immediately dropped his disguise, snarling. His once similarly raven hair had a stripe of grey.

In a voice barely louder than a huff, he said "It serves you right, you filthy bastard. I would have let you live, if you had simply left my (Reader) alone."

He exhaled. There was no movement from the floor.

"Are you dead yet? Can you still hear me? I hope you can." The king smiled. "I hope you can hear me from beyond the grave as I finally get my happily ever after."

But as he celebrated the dwarves rushed home from work, and a small bird was rallying forces to find the hunter and lead them to Snow's body.

As he monologued to what Hadewig assumed was his son's corpse, the women returned from the mines, righteously horrified and armed with pickaxes.

Hadewig heard a woman shout "Grumpy, don't!" before a pick connected with his lower back, piercing his organs from behind.

The pain was excruciating, sending fire up his body as blood poured out of him. He imagined (Reader's) face, finally smiling for him as they cradled him in their arms, accepting his love. Hadewig wanted that to be the last thing he saw before he died.

Instead, he witnessed Snow, smiling up at him from the floor.

(Reader) arrived just a moment too late, having been closer than they had expected due to how deep into the woods Snow had traveled. They witnessed the sobbing dwarves sitting at the door, too upset to enter their own home where the young prince they tried to rescue lie dead.

The hunter pushed passed them, not wasting a second to grab the young man. He was still warm, but wasn't breathing.

Snow kept his eyes closed as he felt the worst pain he had ever known.

(Reader's) hands slammed into Prince Snow's chest. A rib cracked under their strength, but Snow refused to show it.

Then their lips pressed against his.

His nose was held shut as (Reader) forced air into his throat, trying to get him to wake up. They continued the repetitions a medicine man had taught them while blowing air into his lungs.

"God damnit, Snow, wake up!"

They leaned in, and felt him breath against their mouth. His large brown eyes fluttered open, and his face reddened.

His lips curled into a weak grin. "You came back for me.."

Guilt washed over (Reader), hugging him tightly to their chest. "I'm sorry I left, Prince Snow."

Warm hands ran through (Reader's) hair. "Please.. Call me Theros."

The regret and pain kept (Reader) still, allowing the recently "revived" prince to pull them in for a kiss.

After all that (Reader) put him through, a kiss was the least they could do.

But for the born again man, it was just the beginning.

[fullsandwichmiracle]

 "Oxford: A Year Abroad”

Paring: Felix Catton x reader 

Warning: 18+, nsfw, alcohol MDNI

Word count: 1622 

01|02|03|04|05|?

Y/N was enrolled at Oxford as an exchange student, specializing in economics. Securing a solo dorm since her roommate was a no-show, the room radiated old-money featuring two beds on either side, accompanied by a desk and a drawer. Opting for a rearrangement, she transformed the space by fashioning a king-size bed on one side and situating the desk and drawer on the opposite side, creating an illusion of more space. Following the successful room makeover, Y/N took a swift shower to freshen herself up to make a favorable first impression.

Y/N proceeded to the hall where all the international students were set to gather for campus information. The tour guide, Venetia, with bleached blonde hair in braids, began by extending a warm welcome to the international students and then led the group towards the library. The library exuded a cozy atmosphere, and Y/N noticed a guy sitting on a couch with some mates, engrossed in studies. He quickly glanced Y/N up and down before Venetia remarked, 

"Hi Felix, nice to see you studying for once."

Felix chuckled in response, saying,

"Nice to see you sober for once."

With that, Venetia briskly continued the tour, urging everyone to follow, casually dismissing the encounter. The reminding part of the tour was rather uneventful, and Y/N returned to her room after its conclusion. On her way back, she encountered Felix again, this time standing in a door frame engaged in conversation with a girl. It was evident that he towered over Y/N by at least a head, if not more. He appeared unfazed and his hair was roughed up but looking perfect. Realizing she was accidentally staring, she looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed, and continued walking back to her dorm.

Upon entering her dorm, Y/N glimpsed into the mirror and noticed a flush on her cheeks from the encounter. Felix, tall and quite attractive, struck her as unlike anyone she'd ever encountered. The remainder of the evening was dedicated to packing up the remaining items and dressing the bed in light pink covers. Y/N then changed into her pajamas, gearing up for the upcoming first week of lectures.

At the end of a full week of classes, Friday arrived, and all Y/N desired was to join her new classmates for a night of drinks. Rumors circulated about a party hosted by someone named Farleigh, to which one of her friends had secured an invite. Seeking some excitement for the night, Y/N opted for a more daring outfit, wearing a linen blouse with a plunging neckline, a lace bra, a short denim skirt barely concealing her ass, and a stylish yet steady pair of pink heels. Before heading to the party with her friends, she took two shots of vodka to calm her nerves.

As the cab arrived at the party, Y/N's friend, who got the invite, led the way to the gate and buzzed for entry. The gates opened without any verbal exchange. Upon entering the house, they discovered a bustling scene with people scattered all around and a makeshift bar. The group then separated, each exploring the lively gathering. Y/N approached the bar, scanning the surroundings to determine if it operated on a self-service basis or if there was a bartender. A guy emerged from what appeared to be a cupboard, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and wine in the other. Y/N approached the guy, asking him where she could get a drink. He smiled and replied,"Hello, I'm Farleigh. Feel free to help yourself to anything, sexy.”

Glancing at Y/N from head to toe, he suggested, "How about kicking off the night with a glass of white?”

Pouring a wine glass nearly to the brim, she gazed at the filled glass, smiled, and remarked, "That would be lovely Farleigh. My name is Y/N.”

Farleigh smirked and headed off to attend to his other guests.

After wandering around the house for a bit and finishing her wine, Y/N spotted the pool in the backyard where people were engaged in drinking games. A group playing beer pong caught her eye, and after observing a round, she went back inside to grab a fresh drink to join in. Upon her return, they were organizing players, and Y/N approached the table. On the opposing side stood Felix with Farleigh, and a seemingly random girl joined Y/N's side. Yet, it wasn't just any girl; it was Venetia, the one who led the tour. As the game kicked off, a crowd gathered to watch. The guys scored on their first throw, and Venetia took the initial drink. The game was evenly matched, with the guys having two cups left and Y/N and Venetia with one. Felix kissed the ball and scored directly into the cup. Y/N smirked at Felix before downing the cup filled with warm beer. Not a fan of the taste, she quickly sipped the cider she had obtained earlier. Venetia took Y/N by the hand, leading her to the poolside where a fireplace was situated. Felix and Farleigh had just arrived, and others were playing truth or dare. Venetia asked, "Mind if we join your little game?" as she sat down, pulling Y/N with her.

The game started off quite mild, but with each question, it escalated into more risqué territory. When Venetia declined to answer a question, Farleigh revealed a hidden bottle of tequila from a bag behind him, declaring, "Every time someone doesn't answer, they have to take a swig from this tequila.”

Venetia took the bottle, downed two swigs, grinned, and handed it to Y/N, saying, "Y/N, I dare you to knock back two shots or spill the beans on who on this lot you fancy for a cheeky quickie.”

Y/N glanced at Felix, then gulped down the tequila, going beyond the two shots and placing the bottle back. Felix stared at Y/N with a grin, seemingly formulating a plan, which he whispered to Farleigh.

When it was Farleigh's turn, he gazed at Felix, nodded, and remarked, " Y/N I dare you to take a lounge into the pool or tell us what position you want Felix fuck you in.”.

Felix glared at Farleigh and remarked, "You didn't have to be that aggressive.”

Y/N started to blush as all eyes were on her, awaiting her response. Having already consumed a bit too much tequila, taking a leap into the pool didn't seem like a terrible idea. Y/N rose from her seat and walked towards the pool's edge. Before taking the plunge, she removed her denim skirt to prevent it from getting soaked, revealing her pink string and someone whistled as she was bending down to take off her heels. Pinching her nose, Y/N leapt into the pool, tossing her shirt aside. As she hit the water, the chill had a sobering effect, and she realized the extent of what she had just done. She had exposed herself in only underwear to everyone around the pool. Feeling a tad embarrassed, Y/N climbed out of the pool and hastily dressed herself again, still soaked in water the blouse quickly became transparent and skirt denim darkened in color as if she had jumped into the pool with them on. She returned to the fire to warm up, taking a shot of tequila to help erase the recent events from her mind. This time, she chose to sit beside Felix who was staring at her chest that was now fully exposed with only her transparent blouse and the lace bra she was wearing under it. Y/N looked at Felix and realized that there was a big bulge in his pants, for the bulge to be that big he had to have a big package Y/N thought and then looked up and met Felix face that was covered in a big grin because he noticed how long she looking at his bulge. He put his hand on Y/N's inner thigh asking "Feeling a bit chilly? Wanna head inside?”

He looked down at Y/N breasts again and her nipples which nearly pierced through her shirt. Y/N nodded, and Felix fetched a blanket, draping it around her. He extended his hand, gesturing for her to take it. Leading Y/N into the house, Felix guided her up the stairs and into a room. It appeared to be someone's bedroom—quite lavish, with a bed that looked incredibly inviting. He whispered, "May I assist you in taking off your blouse? I reckon it won't be of much help in keeping you warm.”

Y/N nodded again to flustered to speak, Felix began taking off the wet blouse and kissing the neck once the shirt was off. “ Take your skirt off” he whispered whilst kissing her ear. She began taking off her skirt that was now very tight due to it being wet. Felix noticed how much she was struggling and ripped them off. As he did Y/N let out a small moan and he chuckled. “ As much as I would love to fuck you sweetie, you're to drunk and need to sleep but I can join you if you want”.

Felix tucked Y/N into bed, and she promptly drifted off to sleep. He planted a kiss on her forehead, undressed, and hopped into the bed beside her.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

The front door is locked.

Eddie is almost winded, hobbling all this way on his sore feet. There’s a neat little screen on the wall that, briefly, woke up and flickered an angry red when Eddie had tried the door handle. Like that wasn’t hugely unsettling.

He found he just didn’t have it in him to try it again. Where would he go, anyway? Just getting to the gate would take him hours, and he doesn’t have any fucking shoes; he’s still wearing the white nightdress and nothing else.

Eddie eyes the curve of the sweeping staircase. No. No way. He’d have to go up it backward and on his butt to even make it, one slow step at a time. Steve said he’d got Eddie a room ready but...no.

No.

There’s probably fifty fucking rooms up there anyway, what with the size of the place; Eddie wouldn’t stand a chance, and he definitely doesn’t feel right snooping around like that. The back of his neck prickles at just the thought of doing something like that.

He needs the bathroom though. Too much bread, too much dairy. The milkshake, the creamy pasta. Eddie’s not one hundred percent sure if he’s going to vomit or just straight up shit himself, but there’s something uncomfortable happening. The stabbing, trapped wind type feelings occasionally taking Eddie’s breath away, they’re so sharp.

Okay. Logically this place is so fancy, there has to be a downstairs bathroom; which there is, Eddie finds it on the second try, after fully ten minutes of slow, painful shuffling.

It turns out to be a horrendously explosive shit, which Eddie is kind of glad about because being sick is the worst, and he feels much better after a traumatic twenty minutes in one of the fanciest bathrooms he’s ever seen.

Eddie tries his best to hunt around the lounge, but the TV and sound system are so sleek and stylish, Eddie can’t see an obvious way to control either. He’s frightened to touch the books in case they’re like, collectors items, or something. He sighs wistfully at them anyway; he hasn't been allowed to read a book in years. Well behaved Omega most certainly don't read. They might start...having aspirations and thinking for themselves and stuff like that, so it was absolutely not permitted at the ranch.

His feet are throbbing, but he didn’t think to ask for painkillers. There’s nothing for him to do but sit on the couch and feel sorry for himself.

He tells himself this is better than the ranch. It’s better. He’s safe here. He’s going to see Wayne again. Hagan’s probably been arrested already; everyone else has been rescued too. Well at least, Eddie hopes so. All of that being a lie at this point...why would Steve go to so much effort to fabricate a lie like that?

It’s a slippery slope, that thought, so Eddie tries not to entertain it. He’s spoken to Hopper himself; seen his FBI card. It has to be true, surely? Everyone is okay, Eddie tells himself on repeat.

Everyone has been rescued.

Eddie just has to...endure. He can do that.

He’s been doing it for years.

The couch is too soft to sleep on. The beds in the dorm had mattresses so thin they might as well have been a folded over blanket, so Eddie has gotten used to the creaky noises and sleeping on something almost completely solid, no give at all in the wooden slats of the bed frames.

It’s quiet here. No movement, no breathing, no whispered conversations between Omega or the footsteps of guards on patrol. Nothing.

It’s been dark for a while when Eddie realizes he’s getting cold; the thermostat, or however this place works, must have turned over to it’s night time setting.

Eddie finds blankets in the big fancy Ottoman. The room feels...too big. Too big and empty. All that fancy glass reflecting the room and making it look twice as big. He feels defenseless, open. It’s not a nice feeling.

The silence is oppressive.

Eddie shifts the Ottoman, it takes a huge effort to push, the thing is heavy, but he manages to butt it right up into the corner of the ‘L’ shaped couch. Eddie lays one blanket out on the rug, snugged right up in the small space he’s made for himself between the Ottoman and the couch, Eddie nests in the protected little triangle of space. One blanket to lie on, the warmer one pulled over top of him. He does take one cushion off the couch, for his head.

He’s warmer, and feels safer, here. It still takes him hours to fall into an unsettled and fitful sleep.

Eddie didn’t reach any kind of deep sleep; he knows he didn’t. He knows because he’s blinking, alert and awake from the noises he can hear. The front door, keys being put down, footsteps.

Foot steps on the stairs.

And Eddie didn’t experience any of the confusion that comes with being woken from decent sleep. No. He’s awake, fully alert, and he knows exactly where he is and what’s happening.

He hears those same footsteps come back down the stairs, “Eddie?”

“Here,” Eddie forces himself up, bracing his arms on the couch, knees both clicking after being curled up tight for so long.

Steve looks like shit. He definitely hasn’t slept. But then, neither has Eddie, not really, and considering Eddie’s now eaten two meals and slept a night wearing a practically see through white nightdress, there’s no way he looks any better himself; he’s got to be grubby.

Steve also looks aghast, “Eddie, I’m so sorry. I got...distracted. That’s not an excuse for just...leaving. Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Eddie nods, there doesn’t really need to be an explanation.

“Shit. Shit, okay. Okay, lets...you hungry? I’m starving. I know we ordered you clothes, but I should have given you something better than-” Steve sighs, a sharp sound, before rubbing at his forehead for a second. “Right, breakfast first? Anything you want? Pretty sure I have the stuff for cheese omelettes? And I know I’ve got sausage and bacon.”

Eddie can’t help but wince at the thought of yesterdays fecal catastrophe. It must show, Steve frowning at him from under his floppy preppy hair, “all the rich food it, uhm, gave me a tummy ache? So...just some scrambled eggs would be really, really great.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, probably rethinking yesterday, “yeah, yeah okay, scrambled eggs,” and he heads off into the kitchen, Eddie forcing himself to limp weakly along behind.

Steve does make a mean plate of scrambled eggs, and it really does hit the spot. Eddie dodges the coffee, having a glass of OJ instead. “Okay, so lets...lets figure what to priorities here. Shower, you can borrow some of my clothes, and I’ll check your feet, does that sound okay?”

“Yeah...but you, you look real tired Steve, I mean it can wait-”

“No, no it’s fine. I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you’re okay, plus...you look kind of tired there yourself...which isn’t surprising considering I abandoned you and forced you to spend the night on the floor-”

“Steve.”

“I...sorry. Again. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve ripped pretty much everything Hagan owned right out from under him. Or at least I will have, by lunch time today.”

And yeah...to be fair. Eddie does feel better. It’s cold comfort, but Eddie can be small and spiteful and bitter with the best of them so...yeah. Imagining Hagan sat in a cell somewhere, knowing his empire is being dismantled brick by brick. Yeah. Why not? Eddie can enjoy that for a minute. “Yeah, that’s...really good to hear.”

“Good.” They smile at each other for a long few seconds. And then Eddie yawns. And Steve yawns. And it sets off a horrible cycle of them yawning at each other across the table.

“Okay, lets get you sorted out.”

Eddie braces himself for the limp to the stairs, which he manages, shuffling gamely along with Steve hovering. For the split second Eddie allows himself to stop concentrating and actually look up at Steve...he sees Steve watching his move very intently, but also guilty as fuck.

The stairs are another matter. Having all of his weight on one foot while he lifts the other is...horrible. Stepping up is even worse, so much so that Eddie flinches from it the first time and nearly falls off the first step.

Steve steadies him.

On the second wobble, along with a pained hiss, Eddie finds himself just being...scooped up. Just straight up lifted, and he flails for a second before what’s just happened catches up to him, and his flailing ends with his arms locked around Steve’s neck.

Eddie will forever deny the panicked ‘yip’ noise that had come out of him.

Steve heard it though, and Steve’s grinning from inches away as he, very effortlessly, carries Eddie up the stairs.

Which, first of all, what a bastard, and second of all Eddie will not think about how fucking hot it is that Steve can throw him around if he wants to.

Steve has laid out a bunch of towels ready, and a change of clothes; just sleep pants and a tee shirt, a pair of boxers, but it looks like absolute heaven to Eddie. So does the whole of the bathroom, if he’s being honest. Even though this is a guest room and guest bath– which blows Eddie’s mind all on it’s own, he’s pretty sure that with a bit of inventive interior design, a family of four could live comfortably in this space.

So yeah, Eddie is able to sit safe and sound on a ledge in the bath and hose himself down. It’s not a proper shower, but Eddie doesn’t want to stand for that really, especially not with how it would soak his scabs, so this is perfect for now.

He finally feels clean after, which is a huge improvement.

Once he’s dressed, resting on a thick and fluffy towel Steve had considerately left on the toilet seat, he waits. Steve had been for his own shower real quick, once Eddie was settled safely, and he comes back toting a first aid kit in a green bag with a white cross on the side.

Steve takes a towel to cushion his knees, again not seeming worried about kneeling in front of an Omega, which is a nice change of pace.

“Oh,” Eddie says, at the same second Steve freezes in place, “the thing I could smell…” Steve has showered, and he couldn’t have reapplied blockers. Steve’s scent is only vague in the house downstairs, just a nice background scent; Alpha and comfort and home and safe...but now it’s hitting Eddie full in the face. Eddie sways forward mindlessly, trying to get closer to the source, Steve reaching out to steady him by the shoulder.

Eddie almost feels like he’s blinking awake, and Steve is right there. Like, two inches away, licking his lips and looking at Eddie with eyes so blown they’re almost back, “yeah,” Steve swallows thickly, and then visibly jumps when his phone rings. He looks startled by the noise, “sorry. Sorry I should- yeah, what is it, Henderson?”

And Steve leaves the room. Eddie feels kind of foggy, but also all kind of wonderful. Steve’s scent is...it’s good. It’s real nice. It’s...probably perfect. Smells like home and safe and mate and all that good shit Eddie had secretly dreamed about in the darkness of the dorm room at the ranch, trying to keep himself sane.

Eddie can hear Steve talking, “yeah, multiple accounts. Yeah, I know, but there wasn’t enough in there so I cleared out...no, no, you think Eddie only cost a quarter mil?” Steve laughs, “yeah, it was quite a bit more, yeah.” Steve sighs, “shut up, Henderson. Oh my god, no I did not get a receipt.”

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mx-jinxous @goodolefashionedloverboi @bogwitchlesbian @lunaraquaenby @steddieinthesun @pluto-pepsi @disrespectedgoatman @i-eat-spinal-cords @waelkyring @kal-ology @grtwdsmwhr @v3lv3tf0x @itsall-taken-blog @nrvscig @dragonmama76 @scarletyeager @slv-333 @abstractnaturaldisaster @tinyplanet95

[bigtreefest]

Sick of It

Pairing: Boyfriend! Steve Rogers x Girlfriend! Reader one-shot

Summary: Steve looks good in everything and you’re sick of it. That, among other things.

Word count: 1,784

Content/warnings: Crying, comfort, angry feelings, kissing, mentions of body image issues, swears, snacks, non-sexual semi-nudity

A/N: I wrote this a couple weeks ago while I was feeling like absolute crap. I was so stressed and just wanted someone to hold. I know too many people relate. I think Steve would’ve been such a sweetie for this kind of moment.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

“I’m so fucking done.”

You slammed the door to the pantry as Steve looked over his shoulder at you from his spot on the couch.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” His words trailed down to you as stomped down the hall and slammed the door to his room.

Steve sighed and tossed the blanket off his lap, softly padding after you down the corridor. He leaned against the doorframe before lightly knocking with the knuckle of his pointer finger.

“Hey, you alright?” He faintly heard the sliding of his dresser drawers, frantically paired with the sound of clanging hangers in his closet.

Steve opened the door slowly to be met with the sight of you half naked, hoodie stretched over your one arm and head, only accompanied on your body by your socks and underwear.

You grumbled and sighed before pulling the hoodie fully down over your body, looking in the mirror before ripping it off and throwing it at him. Steve didn’t flinch, catching the beige hoodie he had been given in a stylist’s attempt to take him on as a client.

Steve had many pieces of clothing like that: obscure fashion pieces gifted to him because of his celebrity status. To a normal person, they were impractical and weird. Odd shapes for an odd body. They’d only look good on someone as hot as him, broad shoulders, skinny waist, and all. Any time you’d try to put on a piece of the clothing, you felt like it hugged your curves in all the wrong ways.

You sighed, but it was deep and guttural, bordering on a scream. The way every piece of clothing, which looks so trendy and stylish on Steve, draped over your hips in a weird way, drove you nuts. The colors didn’t look as good, the shape was meant for someone else.

You flopped down on the bed, still only in your underwear, as Steve grabbed a hanger, placing the hoodie on it and hanging it back in the closet.

He walked over to you, slotting his legs in between yours which swung off the bed. He leaned forward over you until his arms framed your head, one hand on each side, careful to miss your hair that was sprawled out over the comforter.

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by a sea of blue. You wanted to melt instantly at the care and concern that Steve’s eyes held, before you remembered why you were so upset.

You rolled on your side with a groan, hiding your face in the plush covers before Steve did his best to brush the hair out of your way.

He continued to softly rub his thumb against your temple. “Jellybean, you wanna tell me what’s going on? What’s got you so upset?”

You sighed before speaking into the blanket covering your mouth. Even Steve’s super soldier hearing couldn’t decipher the muffled sounds.

“Can you try again for me? I didn’t quite catch that.”

You turned slightly and threw your hands over your face in exasperation before peeking through your fingers at the face full of love and kindness that was always waiting on the other side.

“I’m sick of it.” It came out still muffled by your palm, but understandable this time. Steve nodded in an attempt to understand.

“Sick of what, honey? Anything I can fix? Or at least help with?” He helped you up, sitting next to you on the mattress. He attempted to pull you into his lap before your stopped him, pushing his arms off of you.

“No! Stop it, you’re the problem.”

Steve was taken aback. He would never do anything to hurt you, not even accidentally, so he had no idea where this was coming from. He cautiously continued.

“I’m really sorry, bean. What did I do?”

You shook your head before it fell into your hands, tears threatening to dampen the heels of your palms while you sniffled,sucking your emotions back in. You took a deep breath before looking up at him with red eyes.

“You know what? Actually, nothing. I’m overreacting. Forget about it. Maybe I should just go.”

You stood up and began to gather your clothes from the floor when Steve stood to stop you, holding your hands against his chest.

“Wait, Jellybean, come on. If-“

You threw down your hands, releasing them from his grip as you continued to look down at your feet.

“Quit calling me that!! That’s the problem!! I’m not a jellybean!”

His head cocked to the side in confusion. “Honey, what do you mean? I thought you liked that nickname…”

You shook your head as Steve crouched down in an attempt to meet your gaze. “No, because a jellybean would fit in your clothes and look good. And I don’t at all right now.”

Steve cautiously moved a hand to your cheek, finally able to look into your eyes. “Hey, what happened? Did someone say something to you? Did I? If I did anything to make you feel like that, I’m so sorry. You’re so perfect in every single way, what’s making you feel differently?”

His other hand went to your other cheek and you grabbed his wrists, looking down again, kicking your feet. Your next words came out as a whisper. “Everything sucks. I’m exhausted, and my eyes keep twitching because of it. I couldn’t focus to save my life today. I thought coming over here would make me feel better, and I looked in your pantry to see if you had any of the good snacks and of course you don’t because you’re Mr. Healthy! None of your clothes fit or look good on me! I mean, why do your even own half this stuff!? So many pairs of fake glasses, your eyesight’s perfect-no. Better than perfect! You make stuff that’s not even fashionable or practical look good and I’m sick of it!” You were practically yelling now, your words growing in volume the more you kept going.

Steve simply nodded, letting you vent as much as you needed to and taking it all in. He knew he didn’t have good snacks, he had asked if you wanted him to pick up your favorites when grocery shopping last week and you said ‘no, that’s not necessary. I probably shouldn’t tempt myself anyways. I’m trying to be healthier.’ He should’ve gone with his gut. He wouldn’t blame that on you, though.

He knew his clothes were ridiculous, too, but he kept them around because he thought you liked them. And he loved the way they looked on you.

He also knew the game you liked to play of ‘is it a fit or are they just hot,’ looking at the ridiculous clothes designer brands would release and judging whether or not they were high fashion, or just on a person with a nice body. He had just never thought he would be the subject of it, or that it would bring you down this much.

Steve knew you hadn’t been sleeping well for the past month, too, but hadn’t said anything. He could feel the way you tossed and turned at 3am, before you finally fell asleep again an hour later, only to be woken up shortly after by the alarm clock.

You looked up again after Steve had been quiet for too long. You let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I think I’m just taking this all out on you because you’re here. Everything but you is wrong today, and I’m taking it out on the one thing that’s here.”

You shook your head, profusely apologizing before Steve pulled you in close against his chest. He kissed the top of your head as he rubbed your back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Thank you for talking to me. I’m not the enemy here. I’m your teammate. Thank you for letting me in.”

“It just isn’t fair.” You spoke into his chest before looking up into his eyes again.

“Even when you’re concerned you’re still hot, too.” You rolled your eyes before throwing your forehead back in between his firm pecs.

“Steven. Fix it.” Came out mumbled in his shirt.

Steve laughed and nodded before kissing the top of your head again. “I think I have just the thing. Hold on.”

He meant that literally. Steve stood up fully and you wrapped your legs around him, clinging like a koala, as he walked back over to the closet. The fact that he did it so effortlessly made you feel a little better about yourself, but a super soldier could probably do that with anyone.

He browsed the rack and shelves before he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. They let me keep these after I had to pose as part of a construction crew for a mission. Regular people clothes. None of that high fashion bullshit.”

You laughed against his neck before he set you down on the bed. He kissed the tip of your nose before sliding a dark gray sweatshirt over your head and sinking down to his knees to pull the light gray sweatpants up your legs. They fit just how your wanted and you beamed at him.

“Better?” You nodded.

“Perfect. Thank you, Stevie.”

He gave you a wink. “Of course, jellybean. I think these fit you just right, but maybe your outfit’s missing something. I might still have the reflective vest around here somewhere, or maybe you need a good pair of fake glasses to top it off?”

You giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Absolutely not. I think the only thing that could make this better is if you had real snacks in the pantry.”

Just then, the both of you heard a knock on the door. You perked up and looked over Steve’s shoulder before raising an eyebrow at him. Steve looked back at you sheepishly.

“I think your prayers have been answered. I texted Buck and asked him to pick up your favorites the second I heard you huffing while searching through the cabinets.”

You smiled before wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. You’re perfect, even if it’s a little infuriating how much so.”

Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around you again, carrying you towards the front door to retrieve the package. “Perfection means nothing if I can’t use it to make your life better. I love you, Jellybean.”

You smiled as he set you down on the couch and handed you a bag of snacks before cuddling close and pulling the soft throw blanket back over the two of you. You placed your hand gently on his cheek. “I love you more, Stevie.”

Bonus A/N: What’s your favorite snack/candy? I’m currently rocking with those nerds gummy clusters. So good.

General Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Three - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One and Chapter Two! Masterlist :)

Chapter Three - Wildflowers

It was the next morning in your small motel room, the sun starting to peek through the curtains that were half-assed pulled over the window. Today was the day and you weren’t sure how you felt about it, since some of the stirred emotions last night were from the whiskey. Were you still excited to go out and do something different but with Tyler Owens? He was quite the eye candy, but what if Finn was right and Tyler would just hurt you in the end? 

You laid out like a starfish in the cozy bed, not wanting to leave the warmth of the covers. Sighing to yourself and glancing at your watch that proudly showed 6:56 am, even on days off you couldn’t sleep in. You pushed up on your elbows to sit up and lean against the headboard which was colder than expected and sent shivers down your spine. You rubbed the sleepiness out of your eyes and flung the covers off your legs to immediately regret the decision as the room was chilly for the middle of summer in Oklahoma, and you decided to sleep with shorts on. 

There was no turning back now, the heat was lost from the bed and wouldn’t be recovered until tonight when you crawled back in. You slid to the edge of the mattress then pushed yourself up and headed to the bathroom to start your usual morning routine. 

Once you finished, you walked back to the loveseat in the corner of the room where your suitcase sprawled out with a pile of your dirty clothes next to it. You only packed one or two nicer outfits when you were chasing since you would usually get soaked and dirty. You pulled out your nicer light blue jeans with a few stylish cuts on the knee and thighs, a coral pink dress top, and a pair of black cowboy boots. 

After changing into your attire for the day, you went back to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You sighed and rubbed your face, it looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks. 

“If he didn’t like what he saw, he wouldn’t have asked,” you mumbled to yourself, trying to boost your confidence. On storm chasing trips you never brought any makeup, why would you when the weather would just smear everything? You turned the sink on getting your fingers damp and fluffing your (y/h/c) and then put it into a French braid which was a workout you weren’t expecting to do this early in the morning. 

By the time you were done, it was about 7:45. You sat on the edge of the bed and unplugged your phone from its charger, half expecting to see a message from Tyler, but it was just Facebook and Snapchat notifications. Shoving your phone in your back pocket and grabbing the small gray over-the-shoulder clutch you used for a purse when going somewhere instead of lugging around your usual one which has a lot of storm-chasing stuff in it, you grabbed your room key and headed out the front door. 

As you locked it behind you, the door opened in the room to the left of you. Not knowing who was on the left, as Asher and Finn shared the room to the right, you glanced over to give a nonchalant ‘good morning’ to whoever it was. 

Before you could even say a word, you saw it was Tyler who was dressed in a white shirt, red flannel over top, his normal blue jeans, cowboy boots, belt and belt buckle which was larger than Texas, and his signature cowboy hat. 

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” he said, leaning against the frame of his door and looking over at you. 

“Good morning, Ty,” you said softly, “What caused you to stir up so early?” 

“Couldn’t sleep any longer, t’was too excited for today,” he said with a big smile, “What about you?” 

“Oh, I’m usually always up around 7 and out the door by 7:45, no matter what day it is or the circumstances,” you said, turning and heading towards the stairs. You didn’t want it to seem like you were losing sleep over him, heaven knows what he would do if he found out you couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight thinking about him and how the day would go. 

Without paying much attention to the stairs, you somehow forgot that morning dew was a thing and metal was usually covered in it. You slipped on your first step and as soon as you started to go backward, you felt two arms catch you and the addicting smell of Tyler flooding your nose; this time without as much rain and sweat smell. This was not how you wanted the day to start, but at least he caught you so your butt didn’t get wet. 

“Careful there, little lady,” he said, helping you steady yourself, “I don’t think the Storm Riders would take too kind to me if they found out you broke your rear goin’ out to breakfast with me.” 

“I don’t think I would either,” you said, grabbing onto the railing and making your way down the rest of the stairs with Tyler right behind you. 

“Do you want to walk over to JoAnn’s or take Ol Red?” He asked, holding the keys up with the various key chains he had collected. 

“I’m going to walk, I don’t care how you get there,” you said, starting to walk down the street to JoAnn’s Whirlwind diner. In reality, as much as you wanted to just drive there, you needed a few minutes to gather your thoughts and pull yourself together; secretly wishing he would drive there and leave you alone for a minute. 

“You go on in and grab us a booth, I’ll be there in a few, I’m going to fill up Ol Red over at Cyclone Gas and Go,” he said, motioning over to the opposite way you were heading. 

“Will do, cowboy!” You called behind you, continuing to walk down the sidewalk. The warm morning sun felt wonderful on your face and body after still being chilled from escaping the covers. You pulled your sunglasses down to the bridge of your nose and pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear before crossing the street at the only stop light in town. 

Behind you, his truck roared to life, the radio blaring ‘Fishing in the Dark’ by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band from the day before. 

“Jesus Christ!” Tyler shouted, immediately turning the radio down. You turned your head and saw Tyler rubbing his ears slightly, then glancing around to see if anyone saw. You giggled and turned before he saw you, at least you both had embarrassing moments this morning. 

Opening the diner door, you were greeted with a warm ‘Good morning, Honey!’ from one of the main waitresses, Cindy. She was always so welcoming and energetic. 

“Good morning, Cindy!” You called, heading over to the corner booth where you usually hid yourself in the mornings to watch people. 

“Coffee and water with a lemon, (Y/n)?” The other waitress, Jenny, asked, walking by your table. 

“Yes please,” you said, “There will be someone joining me today, so if you could bring menus over I’d appreciate it.” 

“Absolutely!” Jenny said, walking behind the counter and filling up one of their signature blue mugs with a tornado and their branding on it with coffee. 

She came over and sat your drinks down in front of you, along with menus and silverware. You grabbed a couple of the little cup creamers and a sugar packet, dumping them into your coffee and stirring it gently. 

“Thank you, Jenny,” you said, smiling at her. 

“Just flag us down when your friend gets here,” she said, walking off to another table. 

You pulled your phone out and opened Snapchat, opening the few snaps from your team and surprisingly Dani from the Wranglers. You tap on the chat and see it’s a photo of you and Tyler dancing from last night. Remembering the night's events and how calm you felt while slowly dancing with him made you smile. You saved the picture in the chat and messaged her back, ‘Thanks for sending this! I’m not sure who taught him how to dance, but they did well, haha!’ 

You sat your phone down next to your purse beside your thigh, grabbed your coffee cup, and held it to your mouth taking in its heat. While taking a sip of the warm liquid, the bells above the door rang throughout the diner. You glanced up to see Tyler strolling in with one hand behind his back and the other taking his hat off. You watched him scan the tables looking for you, giving a courteous slight wave to signal where you were. As soon as he saw you, it was like his whole face lit up with excitement like a kid in a candy store. 

He walked over, setting his hat down on the seat, and slid in across from you, one hand still behind him. 

“What are you hiding there, Owens?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee. As if on cue, he pulled out a bouquet of wildflowers tied together with a white bow. 

“Just some beautiful flowers for an even more beautiful woman,” he said smiling, “I’d lie and say I picked them myself but there were a couple of little kids selling them outside the gas station and I couldn’t help myself.”

Want More? Here's Chapter Four!

[zillifurniture]

Sleep in Style: Graphite Queen Bed – Modern Elegance and Comfort by Zilli Furniture

Indulge in the perfect blend of contemporary design and comfort with our Graphite Queen Bed. Crafted to captivate, this bed features a sleek frame, plush upholstery, and impeccable detailing. Elevate your bedroom ambiance with the modern allure of the Graphite Queen Bed from Zilli Furniture. Transform your nightly retreat into a haven of style and relaxation, where sophistication meets serenity.

[ddodol]

hot and cold — o.sr

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, bf!taro, fem!reader, pet names, temperature play, kinda nasty, oral (m.), messy, a lot of sensory descriptors. word count⭑.ᐟ 1.3k+

✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ ice queen — baekhyun ]

“baby, are you sure about this?”

you turned around, the flowy white dress you were wearing fluttered through the air. shotaro was mesmerized, his round cheeks popping up from smiling so hard.

you just finished tying your hair up, the halo sticking up from your hair as you had extra feather-like accessories that you stuck on the sides of your hair to support it. you had small angel wings on your back, peeking through your shoulders as you faced shotaro. “we could’ve been angels together, taro,” you pouted.

shotaro wore a low-neck, stylish black suit, somewhat matching you by wearing fake angel wings as well. shotaro had lensless glasses on, having a drop chain design that just looked amazing on him. now that you had a proper look at him, shotaro might’ve enjoyed this whole lucifer costume he customized on his own— in turn, you found yourself loving it, charmed by the confidence he was exuding.

”you look so beautiful though, y/n,” he tucked in a stray strand of hair that you weren’t able to tie up, chuckling at the adorable look on your face. “we look perfect together, don’t you think?” shotaro wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close and resting his chin on your shoulder as he spun you around to face the mirror.

shotaro was smiling cutely, chuckling when you nodded. “i can call you angel all i want tonight, baby.” you giggled, turning your head to place a quick kiss on his nose.

you hummed, staring at him hungrily. shotaro noticed the way your eyes moved up and down, a familiar smile on your red-stained lips. he chuckles, cupping your face. “want to play a bit before the party starts?” he asked playfully, placing a quick smooch on your neck as he leaned in. you could feel the cold metal frame hitting your skin, sighing softly with your eyes closed.

”go sit on the bed, taro. let me just take this off properly,” you mumbled against his skin, giving him a gentle shove. shotaro tumbled, taking a few steps back until his legs hit the edge of the bed. he also wanted to make it easier for you, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning a few buttons on his blazer.

you struggled with your halter dress that it gave you time to glance around, eyes landing on your iced beverage. you smiled mischievously, fingers leaving the clasp by your nape to make your way towards the nightstand. shotaro watched you curiously, “what’s wrong? need help?” he asked, wrapping his arm around your waist as he kissed your bare back.

you swirled the cup around, shaking the ice inside. you brought the cup to your lips, tilting your head back to take the ice cubes in your mouth. you turned towards shotaro, smiling, before leaning down to press a kiss on his lips. it was a messy kiss, the ice melting down your lips as you and shotaro pushed it around each other’s mouths.

shotaro didn’t seem to mind the mess, smiling against the kiss as he pulled you even closer. when shotaro bit the cube, you pulled back, panting softly as shotaro stayed still with the ice dripping down his plump lips. he licked the corners of the cube, smiling as you watched the ice melt in between his teeth.

”hell must’ve been hot, does it feel nice?” you teased, running your hands down his chest. shotaro smiled fondly at you but his eyes stared at you intensely, making you feel like a prey— his prey.

shotaro’s intense stare made shivers run down your spine, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth and giving it a small bite. you reached out to the cup once again, downing as much ice as you could fill your mouth with. shotaro smiled, shuddering in excitement once he felt your cold breath against his throbbing bulge.

he wished for release, desperately so. the way your hands moved slowly felt like torture, the ice in his mouth almost melting from his hot breaths. he kept chanting your name quietly, eyes glossy from need. you knew you were the only one that could make him feel better, moving hastily to take his pants off.

you didn’t hesitate to take his throbbing length in your cold mouth, making shotaro shudder and groan at the foreign sensation. not once did he think such pain would feel this good, all because it was you doing it to him. you stared up at him, a mixture of the melted ice and his precum dribbling down the corners of your lips.

your mouth was full, brows furrowing from how numb your mouth felt from the cold ice. shotaro shivered, yet his eyes never left your face, watching as you take in every inch of him. he particularly liked it when you had the ice on your tongue as you licked his sensitive tip, letting out shaky breaths.

shotaro hooked his thumb on the corner of your lips, pulling you away from his cock and leaning in. you stuck your tongue out, not minding the mess that ran down your chin as shotaro kissed you. you were in a daze when he pulled away, watching as he picked your cup up and took a mouthful of the remaining ice. he looked back at you, eyes glinting darkly as he leaned in once more.

shotaro gripped your chin, pushing in as much ice cubes as he could in your tiny mouth. he smiled in satisfaction at the mess, peppering kisses on your lips to your cheek. “keep going, angel. pleasure me more,” he whispered breathlessly.

you let out a small moan, head starting to spin as you stared into his eyes. you swirled the ice in your mouth, leaning in once again to take the tip of his cock in your cold mouth. shotaro shivered, thighs tensing up at the coldness. you bobbed your head, whimpering at how full your mouth felt, the melted ice dripping down his shaft.

”y/n— you’re so good, so good to me,” shotaro shuddered, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes. you held his cock in your hand, pumping the rest of his length as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock. “fuck, just like that,” he moaned, face contorting beautifully as he threw his head back.

his hands trembled, running his fingers gently through your made-up hair. shotaro’s body tensed up, hips starting to push up against your mouth. you caught on immediately, doubling your efforts and eagerly sucking on his tip. shotaro mewled, sucking on his teeth as he watched you.

”what a pretty sight,” he mumbles, a playful smile on his lips. “let me see the mess you’re making on my cock, angel.” you whimper, pressing your thighs together when you met his eyes. you desperately wanted to feel his cum on your tongue, to make a bigger mess with it, the desire slowly clouding your mind.

“i’m close, y/n. do whatever you want, baby.” your eyes sparkled with excitement, slopping noises filling both your ears. shotaro’s brows furrowed at your relentless movements, trembling as he came in your mouth in no time. he let out a contented moan, eyes not once leaving your face.

shotaro cupped your cheek, pulling your mouth away from his sensitive cock, wincing when he felt the smallest shard of ice graze against his tip. you stuck your tongue out, a mix of his cum and the melted ice dripping from the tip of your tongue. shotaro smiles in amusement, using his thumb to wipe of any liquid that dripped down your chin.

”what do you say we get more ice?” he proposed playfully, making you chuckle. “maybe i can return the favor? show you how much i appreciate my little angel?” shotaro bit his lip, pulling you in to kiss your swollen lips.

once he pulled away, you were in a daze. the makeup you worked hard on was a mess, yet you couldn’t care less. in fact, you wanted him to mess you up even more.

”i’m all yours, taro.”

shotaro smiles sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. ”i know, angel. you’re all mine to have,” his fingers ghosted over your soaked chest, “all mine to play with.”

[afyrian]

japan’s summer persimmons kita shinsuke x fem!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 1k | synopsis: based on 'good directions' by billy currington

    the sun sits high in the sky, baring its bright rays down onto the country roads. the summer heat leaving a refracting effect, a wavy appearance to live through. some of the crops’ leaves start to wilt under the extreme heat. however, none of it seems to affect kita shinsuke. a wet rag is resting on his neck, straw hat blocking the sun from entering his eyes.

  he sits comfortably in a folding chair, boots propped up onto a low stool. the pair of jeans he wears has rips and dirt caked into each stitch, matching his shirt that needs another soak. his arm rests on the increasingly hot truck bed, hand holding the farmer's almanac for the upcoming year. 

  very rarely will kita find himself selling out of his flatbed truck. but once the season starts getting to the end of the season, he needs to get rid of some of the extras. especially his persimmons which he sells at a discount. they're slightly deformed, perfectly edible by his standards, but unlikely to be sold at traditional grocery stores. and while they sell well, the past month has been too hot for people to stop. 

  however, today seems to be his day as another car drives up. it's a beautiful car, shiny with some mud on the wheels, the license plate written out to say 'tokyo'. the windows are slightly tinted as a few magnets bedazzle the back bumper. kita tilts back his hat, setting down the almanac onto the truck. taking in a deep sigh, he stands up, resting his hands on his hips. 

  the door opens and out steps you. you have a pair of sunglasses on, protecting you from the intense glare of the sun. your arm rests on the top of your car, a pair of stylish overalls’ straps rests on your shoulders. “hey! would you by any chance know how to get to the interstate?” you bring up your free hand, raising your sunglasses to see him better.

  in this moment, kita was completely dumbfounded by you. the way you stood in the bright light, blocking some of the sun as a halo effect displays around you. it seemed as if a city angel made their way to his little bumpkin town. “the interstate? well there’s a caution light down yonder, a little country store stocked full of food,” he starts, taking a few steps towards your car, thumb moving to rest in his pocket.

  “you have got to stop in and ask for ms. yamada’s green tea. she’d love ya,” kita can’t help but feel his heart racing, a smile growing on your face, “now a left will take you to the interstate. but a right will bring you right back here to me.”

  kita was never the forward type, but knowing that you’re from out of town, that he may never see you again. he just had to take a chance. it seems to work well as you tap the top of your car, still smiling ear to ear, “really, well i’ll ask ms. yamada her opinion of you and i’ll see which way life takes me.”

  “before you ask her, just remind her who supplies her persimmons stock,” he tips his hat some, standing back as you duck into your car, rolling your eyes. 

  however, he can tell the way you do it is sarcastic, that there’s a little worm named kita who had entered your mind. he watches as you drive off with a dust cloud behind you, already holding the picture of you in his mind. the way the sunglasses framed your face, the movie star look that you held. it felt a little too good to be true, the way someone like you talked to someone like him. 

  there was something so different about you, kita being so used to the country appearances of his neighbors. but not just that, it’s the way you joined in, made a joke of your own. for him, it’s like you could be the yin to his yang. he grabs his hat, turning around to toss it into the back of his truck. quickly wondering how he could’ve missed your name.

  something so critical, your name. and yet he was so enamored by your very being that he couldn’t remember to ask for something as simple as that. when he looks back up, your car is already past the light. and he knows that his old truck could never catch up with yours, especially with that bin of persimmons resting on top.

  sitting back down in his seat, he rests his foot on his other knee, leaning his head back. a trail of sweat runs from his forehead to his neck, his mind wracking with slight embarrassment. believing you likely didn’t actually like him, that his words were just a little too forward, attitude just a little too ‘farmer’ for you. grabbing the almanac, he shakes his head slightly. 

  while bringing his hand up and rubbing his face, he looks up, taking in a deep breath. just as he’s about to open up the almanac and wish that that had never happened, he hears the roar of an engine coming from a distance. staring out at the car, kita wonders if the heat is finally getting to him, if that’s really your car. 

  as it turns into his long driveway, he can see that it’s you. the woman of his dreams, if he’s entirely honest. you stop the car near his, stepping out with a glass of what he can only believe is green tea. “i went past the caution light, found my way to ms. yamada. and, she vouches for you, and your persimmons,” you walk back to your trunk, setting your drink down.

  “figured i just had to come back and give one a taste, what do you think, mr…?”

  “kita, shinsuke. and i think they’re just about ripe for the picking, plus first few on the house for a beautiful woman,” he leans against his truck bed, a small smile tickling at his lips. 

a/n: if you want a similar vibe please check out @nectardaddy’s ‘88 ford

[fratttymatty]

A New Type Of Art

(All characters are 18+)

Luke had always been the kind of guy who didn’t fit into a mold, and he liked it that way. He was an artsy, liberal college sophomore who spent more time with his paintbrush than his textbooks, more time discussing philosophy than politics. His long, blonde hair was usually in a messy shoulder-length style, a reflection of his creative, laid-back personality. People often joked that he looked like he’d stepped out of a 90s indie film, and he was fine with that.

He was proud of who he was—gay, unapologetic, and fiercely liberal. His friends in the dorm loved him for his passion, his endless debates on everything from climate change to gender fluidity. He wore the brightest colors he could find, mismatched patterns, and unashamedly displayed his individuality through his clothes. He didn’t care if people stared—he wanted them to. Being different was his art.

Luke was someone who lived openly. He was out, loud, and proud. He believed in change, in equality, in breaking barriers. But then something strange happened that would turn his world upside down.

It started when he wandered into the obscure little gallery downtown. The art was... different. No, it wasn’t just different—it was weird, unsettling even. All the paintings were of men—clean-cut, athletic, stoic figures that seemed too perfect, too polished, as if they were all carved out of the same mold. They stared down from their frames with proud, almost smug expressions.

Luke felt a tug of unease, but his curiosity got the better of him. He walked deeper into the exhibit, looking for something new, something that would spark his imagination. But what he found was something far more unsettling.

The curator, a sharply dressed man with cold eyes, suddenly appeared at his side.

"You’re not from around here, are you?" the man asked, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

Luke didn’t know how to answer. “I just came to see the art,” he said, glancing at the paintings again, the faces of the men still haunting him.

The curator smiled faintly. “Art is not just for seeing, my friend. It’s for becoming.”

Before Luke could ask what he meant, the curator’s hand landed on his shoulder. And everything changed.

Luke awoke with a start, his heart racing. The room was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—stale, almost like rubber or plastic. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness that had overtaken him. His mind was foggy, his thoughts spinning like a broken record.

He glanced around. The walls were bare except for a few sports posters—one of a football team, another of a group of athletes holding up trophies. A large computer sat on a desk, the screen blank but sleek, high-tech. The bed he was lying on was too small, too clean.

Then, something caught his eye—a full-length mirror on the wall. He stumbled over to it, his feet feeling heavier than usual.

The reflection staring back at him was... not Luke.

It was a completely different person. His face—his features—were different. His once soft jawline was now square, his cheekbones high and pronounced. His blonde hair was gone, replaced by a rich, dark brown mane that was tousled perfectly, messy but in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. It was a little wavy, but in a way that made him look... well, hot.

The messiness of his hair gave him a rugged appeal, like he’d just rolled out of bed after a late-night party or a spontaneous game of pick-up basketball. His chest was broad, and his body had more definition—muscles that didn’t exist before now rippled under the tight-fitting T-shirt he wore, and his skin had a deep tan that made his features pop even more.

He reached up to touch his hair, the strands feeling thicker, softer than he remembered. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in how it fell around his face, like he was born to have it that way. As his fingers ran through the tousled locks, he caught the faintest whiff of cologne—something strong, athletic, and masculine.

Something inside him—a feeling that had been buried before—shifted. This was right. He was... supposed to look like this.

And then, as if to confirm it, a sudden wave of memories flashed before his eyes—high school memories. Football games. High fives with his teammates. Laughter with his jock friends. A pretty girl’s smile as she flirted with him in the halls. The vague recollection of endless hours spent playing Call of Duty in his friend’s basement, of sports cars and parties. The memories were his now, and they felt... good.

He glanced back at the mirror again. The face staring back at him was someone completely new—someone named Ethan Clark.

Ethan.

It sounded... right. It felt like the right name for the guy he had become.

Ethan’s first full day in this strange new life was a blur of sensations, conflicting memories, and awkward realizations.

He stood in front of his high school locker, the red-and-black track jacket feeling tight against his shoulders. The hallway buzzed with activity around him—students laughing, chatting, rushing to classes—but his attention kept wandering.

He couldn’t help but notice the girls.

They were all looking at him—some giving him shy smiles, others openly admiring him, especially the ones who whispered to each other and then giggled. Ethan had no idea how to handle it, but something inside him surged at the attention. It was like he wanted it. He liked the way they were looking at him. The way his tousled brown hair framed his face just right, the way it somehow made him look cooler, more attractive.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a locker mirror, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked good—like a guy who played varsity football, who could crush a bench press, who wore his hair just so in a way that drove girls wild. It was different, but it felt natural. Comfortable.

“Hey, Ethan,” one of the girls said as she walked by, her gaze lingering on him for a second too long. “You’re looking extra hot today. What’s the secret?”

Ethan blinked, confused at first. Was she talking to him? She smiled, and he suddenly felt this unfamiliar surge of confidence flood his chest. Without thinking, he ran a hand through his dark hair, giving her a slight smirk.

“Just, uh... woke up this way, I guess,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper than it used to be.

The girl giggled, clearly charmed, and kept walking, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder. Ethan watched her go, a mix of pride and something else stirring inside him. He couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t need to.

This was who he was now. The guy with the dark, messy hair who turned heads, who was adored by girls, who fit right in with the team, the jocks, and the “normal” crowd. He was straight, athletic, confident—and he had no idea who he was before. The memories of his old life were slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

He walked down the hallway, his steps firm and sure. The world was different now. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with it. In fact, it felt pretty damn good.

As Ethan settled further into his new identity, he quickly realized he was getting a lot more attention than he ever had before. It wasn’t just the girls; the guys on the football team were treating him like one of their own, giving him high-fives, calling him “bro,” and acting like he was the man.

He loved it. And he made sure everyone around him knew it.

One day, during lunch, he walked into the cafeteria with his new crew—a group of jocks who clearly saw him as the alpha in their little pack. The guys were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Ethan’s loud voice cut through the chatter as he cracked a joke about how the girls were practically throwing themselves at him now that he’d "finally started dressing like a real man." His comment earned a chorus of laughs from the table.

“I swear, bro, these chicks don’t know what to do with themselves,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his now perfectly tousled hair. “Like, calm down. I’m just a normal guy.”

He smirked as the guys around him laughed, but the joke was all too familiar to him now—this was how they all talked. How the guys had to talk to be part of the crew. The alpha energy. The mocking of others. The jokes about the ‘liberal snowflakes’ and the ‘woke culture.’

“So, bro, what do you think of that chick in your history class? The one with the, like, big eyes?” one of his teammates asked, nudging him.

Ethan’s lip curled. “Pfft, she’s cute, but, like... I’m not really into the whole ‘intellectual’ thing,” he said with a scoff. “Girls should be, you know, fun. And pretty. That’s the only thing that matters. Politics are for losers anyway.”

The guys around him laughed, and a few clapped him on the back.

Ethan’s transformation was complete, or so he thought. Each day that passed, the remnants of his old life—the life of Luke—faded into oblivion. The whispers of art, of activism, of painting vibrant canvases of rebellion and love, all became distant echoes, drowned out by the thumping bass of his new life. The image of his blonde, shaggy hair, the colorful shirts, and the feeling of freedom in being himself—they were all gone now. Ethan Clark, the confident, athletic, and straight high school senior, was who he was meant to be.

And honestly? He couldn’t be happier.

The guy who once hated the idea of conformity, who argued endlessly with anyone who didn’t share his beliefs, had morphed into a version of himself that didn’t question anything.

Girls flocked to him. He flirted effortlessly, his tousled brown hair always falling just right, his posture always leaning casually against the locker with a smug smile that made their knees weak. He could tell that they adored him—hell, everyone adored him. The jocks respected him, and he’d even made it to captain of the track team. He was the star athlete, the alpha in his group, and nothing felt more exhilarating.

The few times when a flash of Luke’s old world would flicker—like when he’d overhear a conversation about climate change or a new art exhibit downtown—he’d feel a weird, nagging sense of discomfort, but it never lasted long. He’d push it aside with a loud joke or by tossing a football to one of his buddies, and the feeling would evaporate.

The most recent instance had come during a heated debate in his government class. A kid who sat in the back—one of those annoying guys with a patchy beard and a mind full of "woke" ideas—had dared to challenge Ethan's casual dismissal of LGBTQ+ issues. Ethan had shrugged it off with the kind of condescension that only someone truly at ease in his masculinity could muster.

“Dude,” Ethan had said, his voice dripping with arrogance, “I don’t know what kind of crazy world you’re living in, but we’re not doing that whole ‘gender-fluid’ thing here. I’m straight, I’m proud, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to some liberal lecture about equality. It’s simple: be a man, get a girl, and stop with all this nonsense.”

The guy had opened his mouth to argue, but Ethan had silenced him with a mock chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he’d said, and with that, the room had gone quiet.

The looks of approval from his teammates and the laughter from his group had only fuelled Ethan’s growing sense of power. He was right, and everyone else was just wrong.

It was after that incident that the strangest thing happened—one night, alone in his room, Ethan stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his hair for the hundredth time, as he always did. His tousled, perfectly messy brown locks had become his trademark, and he ran his fingers through them with the kind of pride only a high school jock could have. He looked good. He knew he looked good. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to enjoy the full force of that knowledge.

But then... it hit him.

The reflection wasn’t the problem—it was what was missing.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he could almost see it—the flash of blonde hair, the open, unapologetic expression, the vivid colors in his clothes. The warmth of a smile that wasn’t just for the girls or the boys who wanted to be his friend. It wasn’t just for the applause or the attention—it was a smile that came from being who he was, not from performing for everyone around him.

But the moment passed quickly, replaced by the face in the mirror that he now recognized so well—the face of Ethan Clark, the confident jock, the proud guy who didn’t care about the world of art or politics anymore.

For a second, though, Ethan’s gaze faltered. There was a slight hesitation—a small, uncomfortable ripple in the stream of his new identity.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The thought felt foreign, even stupid. He smirked at his reflection, his confidence quickly returning.

“Get over it, man,” he told himself, his hand running through his messy hair again, his grip tight as he styled it just right. “This is who you are now. This is who you were meant to be.”

The unsettling sensation lingered, but only for a moment. Ethan stood tall, shoulders squared, and he smiled—genuinely, arrogantly—at the guy in the mirror. He had everything now. He was popular. He was strong. He had girls after him and the guys at his back. And most of all, he didn’t care about anything that didn’t fit into this new version of himself.

The weeks passed, and the echoes of Luke’s old life grew quieter. Ethan’s friendships with the other guys on the football team deepened, and his bond with the girls only grew more intense as they swooned over his rugged good looks and cocky charm. He spent less time reflecting on his past—less time worrying about the strange feeling in his gut that tugged at him when he thought about what he had lost.

One night, at a house party thrown by one of his teammates, Ethan stood with a group of his closest friends, a drink in his hand, and the girls around him laughing at his latest joke. Everything felt perfect. It was what he’d always wanted—what he’d deserved.

One of the girls, a blonde who’d been flirting with him for weeks, pulled him aside, her voice low and sultry. “Ethan, you’re like... so different from other guys,” she whispered, brushing a lock of his messy hair out of his face. “You’re just... amazing.”

He grinned, the compliment going straight to his head. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar rush of confidence flood him. “Well, babe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a man’s man.”

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, and Ethan kissed her on the lips. He’d become so used to this attention, this life of being the center of everything. It was a feeling he didn’t just enjoy—it was the only feeling that made sense anymore.

But as the night went on, as the alcohol and the party noise blared around him, a thought flickered again in the back of his mind. It was small, almost imperceptible, like a whisper from a distant past he couldn’t quite grasp. A memory of a world where being himself didn’t mean fitting in. A world where being free meant embracing everything that made him who he truly was.

The thought came and went, but this time it was different. It didn’t make him feel scared—it didn’t make him feel sad. It just... faded.

Ethan Clark was who he was. The boy who had been Luke was gone now. Completely gone.

And as Ethan kissed the blonde girl again, he couldn’t help but smile. He was everything he was meant to be.

There was no going back. There was no reason to.

Ethan’s transformation was complete. Every morning, he woke up in his new life, slipping effortlessly into the role of the popular, athletic jock—his tousled brown hair falling perfectly into place as if it had always been this way. His body was strong, chiseled from hours of training, and he was the star of the track team. More than that, he was a leader among the jocks, a natural at commanding attention without trying. He had the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing he had it all, and he knew the girls were obsessed with him.

The girls couldn’t get enough of his athletic frame, his perfectly styled hair, and the cocky, yet irresistible smirk he threw their way. He had a certain swagger now—one that came from both his physique and the newfound belief that he deserved to be admired. Ethan was a magnet for attention, and it felt so good.

But there was something else—something he didn’t always let the jocks see.

Ethan had always been a gamer. Sure, he was now the track team captain, the guy everyone turned to for advice on their bench press, but late at night, after practice, when the house parties were over and everyone had gone home, Ethan logged into his gaming setup.

The gaming chair, the massive monitor, the LED-lit keyboard—it was all tucked away in his bedroom, hidden behind a door that only his closest friends knew about. But even now, as captain of the team, as the guy who’d casually broken the 400-pound squat record and was getting invited to college recruiters' camps, Ethan was still that guy—the gamer who lived for the thrill of the digital battlefield.

He had always been good at it. No, scratch that—he’d always been great at it.

Every night, he dominated the leaderboards in Call of Duty and Fortnite, racking up kills with ease. He had his own Twitch account, but it wasn’t for the fame. It was just for the adrenaline, the rush of hearing the ping of a headshot, the satisfaction of topping the scoreboard with his friends.

There were nights when he played until 3 a.m., still wearing his track hoodie, drinking a monster energy drink, the glow of the screen lighting up his face as he obliterated opponents. He'd be wearing his headset, yelling at his buddies—laughing, trash-talking, keeping it light. No one knew about his online identity, but to Ethan, it was just as important as any track medal or touchdown. It was where he could be himself without the weight of the jock persona, without the expectation of being perfect all the time.

The football field was where Ethan thrived. The air was thick with the sound of cleats pounding the turf, the shouts of coaches pushing their players harder, and the constant rhythmic thumping of the ball hitting the ground. Ethan, naturally, was right at the center of it all, a strong, imposing figure in his football gear, his dark hair peeking out from under his helmet, his chest heaving with every breath.

As the captain of the football team, Ethan had earned the respect of every player on the field. They respected his strength, his unrelenting drive, and his ability to motivate others. He was ruthless in practice, always pushing the team harder, making sure no one slacked off. But despite his hard-nosed approach, he kept a certain arrogance that kept the guys in line. He wasn’t just the captain—he was the guy who set the tone for the team, the one who was feared and admired in equal measure.

Today’s practice was intense—punishing drills designed to improve agility and reaction time. Ethan’s muscles burned with the effort, but he wasn’t about to let up. He was determined to lead his team to victory this season. They had a big game coming up, one that could secure them a championship spot. And Ethan was more than ready.

He finished his sprints with ease, his lungs pushing through the burn, his legs feeling stronger with each stride. The guys were panting behind him, but Ethan didn’t even break a sweat.

“That’s how you run,” he said, smirking as he jogged back to the sidelines, his teammates panting behind him.

“Jesus, Ethan, you never slow down,” one of the defensive linemen, Jake, said between breaths.

Ethan threw him a lazy grin. “That’s because I’m built different, bro. You’re just not on my level yet.”

The guys chuckled, and Ethan felt the familiar swell of pride. He loved it. This was his world now. It felt right. The jocks who had once laughed at him in high school now admired him. The girls who had once ignored him now threw themselves at him. Ethan was the epitome of what every high school athlete dreamed of becoming—the guy who was good at everything, effortlessly cool and untouchable.

But then something caught his eye—a flicker of doubt. It was subtle. One of the guys on the team, Alex, had been showing Ethan something on his phone earlier in the locker room. He’d been talking about the new Star Wars Battlefront game and how he was crushing it with some of his online buddies. Ethan barely registered it at the time.

Now, as he caught his breath, he couldn’t help but think about it. Alex had mentioned a team—a clan that all played together late at night. The more Ethan thought about it, the more he realized that even though he was crushing it on the field, there was something oddly thrilling about those nights alone in his room, the camaraderie of his gaming friends, and the rush of winning in a world that didn’t care about how many touchdowns he scored or how big his biceps were.

His thoughts were interrupted when Coach shouted across the field.

“Clark! Get your head in the game! We’ve got a season to win!”

Ethan snapped back into focus, mentally shaking off the random thought. He was Ethan Clark, football captain, jock, the guy everyone looked up to. That was who he was.

Later that night, after the last of his teammates had left, Ethan headed back to his room, dropping his gear on the bed and collapsing into his gaming chair with a deep sigh. His muscles ached, but the comfort of his familiar setup—the glowing RGB lights, the cool click of his mouse, and the hum of the PC booting up—was like an old friend welcoming him back.

He was back where he belonged.

Ethan fired up Call of Duty, glancing over at his phone to see if any of his friends were online. Sure enough, a notification popped up: “Your Squad is waiting.”

He grinned.

Sliding on his headset, Ethan clicked “Join” and immediately heard the familiar voices of his gaming buddies flood through the speakers.

“Yo, Ethan, we’re about to wreck some noobs. You ready?”

Ethan’s grin widened. “Always, bro.”

As they dove into the game, Ethan’s body relaxed, his muscles still sore from practice, but his mind fully focused on the game ahead. This was where he felt free. This was where he could shut out the expectations of being the perfect athlete, the perfect teammate, the perfect son. Here, on the battlefield of the game, there were no rules about how to act or what to be. It was just him, his friends, and the rush of winning.

The hours slipped by in a blur of headshots and jokes. The adrenaline was just as real as it was on the football field, maybe even more so. Ethan was still the dominant force here. His reflexes were sharp, his aim precise. He dominated every match, and when they won, the rush was the same as it was when they hit the game-winning touchdown.

"Man, you're on fire tonight," one of his buddies, Tyler, said, laughing.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Just like always, bro. Who else can carry the squad like I do?"

The guys laughed, and Ethan reveled in the sound of their praise. It felt good. It felt right.

For a moment, as the squad geared up for the next round, he thought back to earlier that day on the football field—the sweat, the cheers, the hard work that had earned him his place as the team captain. Then, without even realizing it, his mind drifted back to his gaming chair, to his gaming world, where everything was just as real.

He wasn’t just Ethan Clark, the football player, the alpha jock. He was Ethan, the gamer, the guy who could lead a team to victory in both worlds—whether on the field or behind a screen. And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt a sense of balance between these two sides of him. He had it all.

In this life, no one could touch him.

And that was exactly how he liked it.

Ethan's life seemed to revolve around two worlds: the football field and his gaming chair. But then there was Sophia—his girlfriend—who lived somewhere right between them, a perfect accessory to his newfound high school popularity.

Sophia was the blonde girl everyone noticed—the type of girl who was the center of attention at every party, with a laugh that made guys turn their heads and an effortless grace that made other girls a little jealous. She was the kind of girl who belonged on the arm of a guy like Ethan—athletic, handsome, and undeniably cool. And now she was, and she knew it.

The two had started dating a few weeks ago, and it had been a perfect fit. She was beautiful, outgoing, and obsessed with the idea of being with someone like Ethan—someone who could give her all the status and attention she craved.

Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy who spent a lot of time on his emotions, but when Sophia smiled at him, he couldn’t help but feel a certain rush of pride. He'd caught her eye first, but now she was his, and it felt good. There were whispers in the hallways, and every girl who tried to get his attention was met with the same smug, “I’ve got my girl” attitude. It was the kind of confidence that only someone who knew he had everything could pull off.

Sophia didn’t mind the attention. She was used to it, and she loved the way Ethan’s popularity amplified hers. It was a match made in high school heaven.

Later that day, after practice, Ethan found Sophia waiting by his truck, her arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. He had been walking out with a couple of the guys from the team, talking about the upcoming game, but when he spotted her leaning against the tailgate, all conversation stopped. His friends shot each other knowing looks, and one of them, Alex, made an exaggerated “Ooooh” noise.

Ethan didn’t even acknowledge them. He made his way over to Sophia with that familiar swagger, not caring if anyone was watching.

“What’s up, babe?” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Sophia grinned, her eyes gleaming. “Not much. I was just thinking about how awesome you looked out there today. You were like, on fire.”

Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. “Of course I was. It’s what I do.”

She laughed, the sound high and melodic, and stood up straight. “Well, I’m glad you’re on fire... because I was thinking you could use some company tonight,” she said, teasing him a little as she walked toward the passenger side of his truck.

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “What kind of company?”

She shot him a wink as she slid into the seat, settling in with a practiced ease. “Let’s just say I have plans for us—and they don’t involve any football or video games tonight. Just you and me, Ethan.”

Ethan grinned, his chest puffing up with pride. This was the life—the kind of life he’d always imagined. Popularity. Strength. A beautiful girl who loved him.

It was almost too perfect.

As he drove off, his mind wandered briefly, but it wasn’t to his old self—the person he used to be. There was no trace of Luke anymore, no reminder of the boy who’d been scared to even talk to a girl like Sophia. No, this was his world now. He was Ethan, and Sophia was his, and that was all that mattered.

At least, that's what he told himself.

[ant0nsfirstluv]

Can we stay this close forever ?

SFW starring: wonbin 원빈 x fem reader [Light Angst + Fluff]

summary: wonbin and you have been dating for 2 months. so early into the relationship wonbin hesitates to be vulnerable but a thunderstorm and your comfort towards him changes this.

More under the cut

Everybody, including himself…including you, knows that Wonbin isn’t necessarily the bravest guy around.

Despite Wonbin’s charismatic cool image..he simply can’t help his fears. He HATES anything scary, sudden, and suspenseful. You found this out in the beginning of your relationship; once he slowly but surely started letting you in and opening up about himself…

….fast daring rides, haunted houses, thriller movies, and anything else that he finds scary is to be avoided. Which is pretty easy in his book. Don’t watch the movies..don’t get on tall fast rides, avoid the lotte world ghost house in October etc etc it’s simple.

However, not every scary thing is avoidable especially if it’s something as natural and inevitable as the weather.

Thunderstorms.

Usually they just startle him and give him a sense of unease. But this storm was different. The sky was an ugly opaque grey with barely any slivers of sun shining through. The thunder was clamorous and unexpectedly rolled across the sky .

His hands were clammy, arms laced with goosebumps while another flash of lightening tore through the sky followed with a deep roll of thunder that made him flinch.

“Wonbin..hey are you ok..is everything alright ?” You say walking into the living room to find him staring at the storm through the sliding door. He finally turns to you and shakes his head before saying “Yea im just a bit startled.” He said heading to the kitchen.

You head in too to get yourself a snack and see Wonbin putting away the ingredients he used for lunch earlier but pausing and seeming super unnerved everytime the storm grows angrier. You can tell he’s scared.

“‘Bin can we go to your room.” You suggest tapping his shoulder. He seems tempted but looks back at the things he still needs to put away. “Don’t worry let’s just chill for a bit THEN you can clean.” He looks back one more time before accepting the offer. “If Sungchan scolds me I’m going to block yo-” You roll your eyes before linking arms and walking to the room. “Bro literally lives at the gym plus as long as we don’t nap we’ll be fine.”

You two sit on his bed chatting about your days. You laugh at Wonbin telling you about Anton getting on the wrong subway 3 times in a row and you show him clothes that just dropped from you two’s favorite clothing brand.

“God it’s fucking freezing in here.” he complains running his hand through his hair leaning back. “Babe just come closer, there’s enough cover.” He hesitates before realizing how warm you look..in his long sleeve and some stylish pajama pants.

He scoots a bit closer. Landing a hand on yours to soothe the jitters running through his body. Laying side by side you indulge in your phones, he grips your hand tighter anytime the storm gets hectic. Soon he takes his eyes from his phone and you catch his eye like you always did a hundred times before.

He can’t help but stare. The way your hair frames your face so well,,he subconsciously starts playing with it eyes locked on you as if he was stuck. The attentive look you give your phone while gently smiling, the pleasantly sweet wafts of your perfume that he could recognize from miles away, the mellifluous sound of your laughter that makes him crack a smile and start cheesing himself.

Wonbin realizes that the storm has heaved itself through the leaden sky the majority of time he’s laid with you, but he’s been calm..even with thunder still tearing with its heavy booming that had him sweating bullets earlier.

Closer. He wants to feel your presence even further, your heart alongside his. he gives into this and taps you on your shoulder turning your head to meet eyes with him.

His eyes are so bright like a full moon, pink lips pressed into a line but then blooming into a smile. “Come closer.” He said opening his arms. You carefully move closer while he pulls you onto him, almost chest to chest while your head rests on his shoulders.

You can smell his cologne, and see his structured face from below. His arm snakes it’s way onto your back, tapping it and occasionally caressing across your shoulder blades. Your heart melts leading you to stare at him with heart eyes.

A moment of silence of you adoring each other. He can feel his heart swell. Staying quiet he listens to the sound of your heartbeats making a rhythm following after each other. Those closeness and warmth..can’t be duplicated.

It’s as if the storm has been muted, his mind cleared and anxieties washed away. The hum of the video you were watching goes noticed when he realizes you fell asleep. He kisses the top of your head feeling his eyes grow heavy as well and then dozed off alongside you.

Praying you two can stay this close forever.

.

.

.

“Sungchans def going to get me but it’s worth it.”

————————————————————————————

something short and sweet since I literally disappeared also I opened my asksss everyoneee so go ahead and send things in if you want 💥

[simmerkate]

Nordic Dream Kids Room Set

Introducing the Nordic Dream Kids Room Set:

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Nordic Dream Study Desk: A sleek and spacious study desk, perfect for homework and creative projects.

Nordic Dream Study Stool: A cozy stool with a fluffy seat, crafted from the same wood as the desk for harmonious style.

Nordic Dream Wardrobe: A functional wardrobe with a white door for hanging clothes and four open shelves for organizing essentials.

Nordic Dream Dresser: A versatile dresser with ten drawers, featuring a white front and a natural wood design.

Nordic Dream Shelf Unit: A practical and stylish storage solution to display books, toys, and decor.

Nordic Dream Lamp: A warm and stylish lighting option with a wooden tripod base and a white shade.

The Maxis Match Nordic Dream Kids Room Set offers a harmonious blend of natural wood, clean white finishes, and charming design elements, creating a tranquil and stylish space for your Sims. This set will be publicly released on December 5th. Make sure to follow me on Instagram @SimmerKatex for updates and more custom content. Enjoy the essence of Nordic beauty and functionality in one cohesive set. Patreon (xx) ad-free

[aloysiavirgata]

(if you are accepting prompts!) what iffffff you wrote a soft gentle little fic in which Scully has a spectacularly unlovely head cold and after some grouching Mulder looks after her? There are so many moments of peril on x files that sometimes it’s nice when the enemy is just a simple rhinovirus, lol.

He doesn’t even attempt to make it himself. Calls ahead to Loeb’s with his order, which he accepts from a stylish young Mexican man whose name tag reads Pierre.

“A sheynem dank,” Mulder says, echoing the grandmother who called Samantha a shaineh maideleh.

Pierre nods. “Bitte, baby,” he says. “De nada.”

***

Mulder clomps up her stairs with Puritan determination. He feels that since he did not cook the food himself he must exert some other effort for it. His soul is at eternal war with itself.

He doesn’t knock; lets himself in with the Home Depot key Scully had made for him around the time that Tooms wanted into her pants for all the wrong reasons. It sticks a little still, even after so many years. He’s rarely had to use it - when aren’t they together?

A hacking noise from her bedroom, something wet being coughed. Spat.

Mulder helps himself to a bowl, a plate, a spoon.

“I’b arbed,” she rasps from down the hall. “I’b a Federal Agent.”

“Don’t shoot,” Mulder calls back, hunting down a napkin. “I am a poor boy from a poor family.” Her mother wears Revlon and his wears Guerlain.

He tips some soup and two of the matzo balls into a bowl, wedges one of the challah rolls next to it. He puts the leftovers in the fridge.

Mulder carries the plate down the hall, the nearly-full bowl sloshing dangerously atop.

He enters Scully’s bedroom. She’s been upgrading over the past couple of years, replacing her IKEA basics with good secondhand finds in cherry and walnut. The candle she’s lit smells like white flowers with thick, creamy petals.

Scully is tucked into bed like an Austen heroine, all delicate pallor and genteel unhappiness. Her nose is pink-tipped and raw, hair in a ponytail. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt instead of her usual pajamas.

Mulder sets the food down on her nightstand, next to a vase of dried roses and her Yaqui slide holster. A speed loader. There’s a well-framed Monet print over the bed.

Pat Conroy’s Beach Music is open face down on her lap, surrounded by crumpled tissues. She doesn’t look happy to see him, her purple-shadowed eyes narrowing a bit.

“Go away,” she says. Sneezes.

“Brought you some soup,” he says, unnecessarily. Points at it, also unnecessarily.

“Bulder,” she sniffs. “Go hobe. I don’t like being fussed over. I hab a cold, dot Ebola.”

“Too bad,” he says. “I’m going to. Do you have Vick’s Vapor Rub? You really should have Vick’s Vapor Rub.”

She closes her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose, centering herself. “It’s dot your fault I’b sick,” she says, looking back over at him after a moment.

“I dragged you into the woods again. You fell down a hole full of corpses! You’ve been in remission for like…twenty minutes.” He jabs the spoon at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t get a cold frob being in the woods. Or frob being chilly. You get a cold frob a virus.”

He feigns outrage. “Excuse me, but are you contradicting noted excellent mother-slash-world-class-epidemiologist Doctor Teena Mulder MD?”

This sends Scully into a flurry of coughing. She swats at him in annoyance. “Ugh,” she says at last. “You see why I can’t hab you here, you’re a lousy durse.”

Mulder takes her hand, pale as a kid glove. He shoves the spoon into it, squeezes her fingers about the handle. “Eat the soup or I’m calling your mom. I’m calling BILL.”

She narrows her eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’re well aware that I’m capable of being overly dramatic when the wind is southerly and the fancy strikes.” He holds the plate before her like an offering to a goddess.

Scully considers him. “You did get us out ob the teabwork sebidar,” she observes. “Techdically.”

“I did,” he agrees.

“You bade be sing,” she adds. Reproachful.

He grins. “The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.”

Scully looks at the spoon in her hand for the first time, as though wondering how it got there.

“Byron,” she says, a little smile. She picks up the roll, examines it. Peers at the soup. Sneezes again. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Caroline Lamb,”Mulder replies. He doesn’t point out that Caroline Lamb had been Byron’s lover, that she’d sent him a clipping of her pubic hair in the mail. He certainly doesn’t think of the juncture between Scully’s thighs at all, whether it matches the drapes, whether it tastes like kettle corn and Vineyard whitecaps in July. Lobster rolls and saltwater taffy.

He’d meant it, about the sleeping bag. He wishes there had been a sleeping bag and he is so, so grateful there was no sleeping bag.

Scully sniffles again, defeated. “You got be batzo ball soup?”

He thumbs an escaped tendril of hair back from the sweep of her extraordinary cheekbone.

“I did,” he murmurs back. He sets the plate down between them. He peels the roll open, yeasty and fragrant, and dunks it into the golden broth.

He raises it to her mouth.

Scully sucks at it, draws it past her lips. She bites. Chews, swallows. She holds his eyes with hers. She catches an escaped droplet with her tongue.

“Good,” she mumbles. Watches him dip the dry part back into the bowl. “Thank you.”

He feeds her another bite. Her mouth opens like a snapdragon, like an oyster in the tide. She drops her gaze this time. Her guard.

They complete the entire roll this way, and one matzo ball. Silent, slurpy. Scully’s lids droop, her lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Sleepy,” she mumbles, curling onto her side. Her paperback falls to the floor.

Mulder returns the food to the night table. He strokes her hair until she’s out cold, snoring a little. He curls into the bed as well, his nose to hers. He touches her philtrum with his pointer finger. He traces the tender pink whelk of her ear.

They sleep for hours until she coughs awake, gasping, her thin chest heaving. Mulder rubs circles between her scapulae.

“Go hobe,” she says, knees drawn, leaning against his chest. “You deed to sleep.”

He puts his arms around her, drops a kiss on her tangled head. “Okay,” he agrees.

She’s out again in moments. He holds her upright until he drifts off as well.

They sleep until morning. He feeds her soup for breakfast, calls into work with a case of Ebola.