#like i’ve been moving !!!! i do not have energy to reply to most things and being made out to be the bad person for it is actually ridiculou

[avichor]

interacting and writing with people here is a two way street and i’ve noticed a lot of the times that people who complain about nobody writing with them, are the ones not putting forth any effort to initiate nor maintain interactions. why is the burden put on someone to reply to your messages or content expeditiously if you do not do the same? i’m genuinely tired of the victim complex people set up for themselves here and i won’t entertain it anymore

[thef1diary]

Yes, Sir | L. Hamilton

Kinktober 2/11 ~ Sir Kink

Summary: Lewis’ dominant yet tender energy sets the tone of the night, which meant one thing, you’d only refer to him as “sir”

warnings: 18+ smut, soft dom!lewis, sub!reader, blowjob

wc: 1.7k

kinktober masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

You stood by the window in his luxurious hotel suite, gazing outside. Though the city below is alive with muted sounds—people stumbling out of bars, traffic gathering on the roads—the night feels silent from your perspective. None of it really registers as you’re lost in thought, your mind elsewhere. The room feels empty without him, but you know that will change soon.

The soft click of the door opening pulls you from your reverie, and as you turn, it’s as if the entire room suddenly comes to life. Your eyes lock onto him immediately. There he is—Lewis, exuding that effortless charisma, his tailored suit hugging his athletic build in all the right places.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greets, his voice a smooth velvety drawl that sends shivers down your spine.

“Lewis,” you respond, your voice barely above a whisper, already breathless. It’s as if you hadn’t expected him to be there, yet you were undeniably waiting for his return.

You can feel your pulse racing as removes his blazer, and undoes a couple buttons of his dress shirt. He steps closer, his presence filling the space between you, making the room feel smaller. There’s an energy to him tonight, a tension that you can feel thrumming in the air. He closes the distance between you in a few confident strides, stopping just inches away from you. His gaze is piercing, studying you with an intensity that makes your knees feel weak.

“You’ve been thinking about me,” he murmurs, his tone low, almost predatory. It’s not a question—it’s a statement.

You can only nod, your voice caught in your throat. There’s no point in denying it; he always knows. He’s always had that effect on you.

“Good,” he says softly, reaching out to brush his fingers along your jawline, the touch is tender yet possessive. “Because I’ve been thinking about you too.”

The words sent a jolt of desire through you, pooling heat low in your belly. “You were?” You manage to ask, your voice barely steady.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief crossing , but then his gaze darkens, and he tilts your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice firm, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re always on my mind. You have no idea how tempted I was to leave the party, knowing you were here waiting for me.”

His words hang in the air, laden with unspoken desire. The thought of him, mingling with others while his mind was fixated on you, sends a thrill through your body. The way he looks at you now—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your breath hitch.

“I couldn’t wait to get back to you,” he continues, his voice dipping lower. His fingers trail down from your chin to your throat, then lower, teasing the edge of your collarbone. “The whole time, all I could think about was being here with you, alone.”

“Tonight,” he murmurs, his voice wrapping around you like a velvet command, “you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood?”

“Yes,” you breathe, the anticipation thrumming through you like a live wire, electrifying every nerve.

His eyes narrow slightly, and he doesn’t move, waiting, his silence expectant. The moment stretches, taut with tension, until his hand suddenly finds your nipple through the silk of your robe. He pinches it just hard enough to make you gasp, the sensation sharp, a clear punishment for forgetting something crucial.

“Yes, Sir,” you whisper, the words feeling both thrilling and dangerous on your tongue.

A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes glinting with approval. “Good girl,” he purrs, and the praise sends a wave of heat through you, your body humming with need, your breath catching in your throat.

Lewis leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and teasing against your skin. “You know what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” you reply again, your voice quivering with a heady mix of arousal and nerves.

His hands slide down your sides, firm and possessive, claiming every inch of you. He guides you closer to the bed, his hands resting on your back, fingers splayed out, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin silk of your robe.

When you reach the bed, Lewis turns you to face him, his tattooed hands deftly undoing the silk knot of your robe. The fabric parts, revealing the delicate lace lingerie beneath. His eyes darken with desire, his gaze devouring you as you shrug the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a silken pool at your feet.

Without a word, he guides you down, his hands firm on your shoulders as he lowers you to your knees in front of him. The plush carpet feels soft beneath you, grounding you as the world seems to narrow to just this moment, to just him.

Lewis sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans back slightly, his legs spreading just enough to give you space. The look on his face is pure authority mixed with a desire that makes your mouth go dry.

Eager to please him, you reach for the waistband of his pants. With careful precision, you undo the button, your fingers grazing his skin as you pull down the zipper. He lifts his hips as you tug the fabric down his legs, revealing the black boxers that cling to his body. Tossing the fabric aside, you gaze up at him and your lips part in awe. The sight of him, so powerful and commanding, makes your mouth water with anticipation.

You inch closer, your eyes still locked on his as you press a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his boxers. The warmth of him seeps through the fabric, and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle against him. Your lips and nose brush against the outline of his cock as you shift your head slightly and close your eyes.

A low groan escapes him, and his fingers tighten in your hair, a silent encouragement that sends a thrill through you. Emboldened, you continue your exploration, mouthing at him through the thin fabric, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. The scent of him fills your senses, intoxicating and unmistakably him, and it makes you dizzy with desire.

You glance up at him, your eyes wide and filled with need, seeking his approval. He looks down at you with a smirk playing on his lips. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates through you. "Show me how much you want it."

The praise sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you respond by pressing your lips more firmly against him, your tongue darting out to taste him through the fabric. The texture of the cotton is soft against your lips, but you're craving more—craving the feel of him, bare and hot, in your mouth.

“Take them off,” he orders, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes, Sir,” you murmur, pressing a final kiss to his bulge before hooking your fingers in the waistband. Slowly peeling the fabric down, you feel his muscles tense beneath your touch as you free his cock.

Without hesitation, you lean in, taking him in your mouth. The heat of him against your tongue is intoxicating, his taste driving you wild. You work him slowly at first, savouring the way his grip tightens in your hair, the subtle groans of approval spurring you on.

His hips begin to move in time with your rhythm, his control slipping as you feel the tension build in his body. His deep, commanding voice cuts through the air as he moans your name, mingling it with that title you love to hear from him. "Just like that, sweetheart. Don't stop."

You nod slightly, your eyes never leaving his as you continue, the intensity between you growing with every passing second. His praise, his control, his approval—it all drives you, fuels your need to please him, to be his good girl. The words "Yes, Sir," become a mantra in your mind, guiding your every move as you push him closer to release.

When he finally reaches his climax, the sound of his deep, guttural moan sends a wave of satisfaction coursing through you.

You swallow every drop, feeling a sense of pride in knowing you've given him exactly what he wanted. As his breathing slows, he pulls you up onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice filled with warmth and satisfaction. “Putting my pleasure before your own.”

You shake your head, a slight smile on your face. “I like pleasing you, Sir.”

Lewis hums in approval, his hand finding its way to your cheek. He pulls you in for a kiss, his lips warm and demanding against yours. The kiss is slow at first, almost tender, but there’s an underlying hunger there, a promise of what’s to come. You melt into him, feeling his strength, his control, the way he guides you even in something as simple as a kiss.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb strokes your bottom lip. “You’ve been so patient, so good for me.”

His hands trail down your body, caressing your skin as if memorizing every curve, every dip. “I think it’s my turn to make you feel good, to take care of you.”

You shiver in anticipation as his hands move lower, slipping beneath the delicate lace of your lingerie. The fabric feels fragile under his touch, like it might tear at any moment, but he pauses, connecting his gaze with yours.

“What do you say?” He waits for your approval, and you obey instantly, nodding with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

“Yes, please, Sir,” you nearly whimper, causing a smirk to tug at his lips.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, placing tender kisses down your throat, while his hand unhooks the clasp of your bra.

taglist: @cheer-bear-go-vroom @ggaslyp1 @nominsgirl @moll1701 @mrs-saturday @teamnovalak @sassy-chan @ruti26-11 @kennysimp101 @falling-feels-like-flying @laeblue @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bountychanti @savewaterdrinkvodka @cloud-55 @aarchiives @holylovercopsludge @black-fireproofs @lazydragonpeach @biancathecool @myownwritings @rebelatbay @laur2608 @ethereal0810 @leclercsluvs @01rrdbull @fallingforfalll2 @lilorose25

[ginax0916]

⋆｡𖦹 °.✩ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✩⋆｡𖦹 °.

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Genre - Fluff :)

Synopsis - Reader is a shy introverted person, she rarely adds on to convos. But when she finally tries to she’s ignored, but Chris is the one willing to listen to her.

I’m someone who doesn’t really talk. Not because I can’t, just because I choose not to. I just feel like I really have nothing to say. I just sit there and listen to others. It’s the way I prefer it.

I’ve been friends with the triplets for over 2 years now. But with them it’s a little different. I do talk when I’m around them, I just feel more comfortable. They always let me speak; unlike with big groups of people they tend to ignore me or just not care for what I have to say. And I guess I understand it. I mean I’m a quiet person, my voice in general is quiet. Why would anyone want to listen to what I have to say?

“N/n you ready to go?” Chris asks, calling me by my nickname.

“Uh yea I’m ready” I nervously respond. We were all going to some birthday party for one of the triplets friends. I don’t really know them but I was invited too and since the triplets are going I guess I am too.

“You ok?” Matt asks noticing my nerves.

“Yea why?” I reply trying to hide my emotions.

“No reason” He rubs my arm and walks away to the car.

I look around as we enter the house. It’s quite big, it’s filled with balloons and decorations all over. The neon lights making it hard to see the colours of things. It’s loud. Very loud. Too loud for my personal liking. Chris on the other hand is already talking to half of the people here. I’ve always admired him. The way he can just talk to everyone so easily is mind blowing to me. And everyone around him just seems to like his energy. I don’t understand how he does it. But I’m sure his looks have definitely something to do with it.

“Matt and I are gonna go look for Larray, are you ok staying with Chris or do you wanna come with us??” Nick asks me knowing I don’t like to be alone at parties.

“I can stay with Chris I don’t mind” I smile back as they nod and walk away.

“Chris?” I quietly say tapping his shoulder.

“Hm? You ok? Where’s Nick and Matt?” Chris asks starting to panic a little.

“I’m ok, I was just gonna ask you if I could stay with you because Matt and Nick went to look for Larray” I reply back, looking down at the floor intimidated by his stare.

“Of course you can stay with me. We’re all gonna go outside to talk come on” He smiles and I grab on to his arm as we move to the outside patio.

This is the part I hate the most. The talking. Makes me look like an idiot who can’t speak. Not to mention I look like a child holding on to Chris’s arm for dear life because I’m too scared to let go. He doesn’t seem to mind, but the stares other girls are giving me are telling me for some reason they mind.

“No yea I agree dude like I can’t believe she would do that to him”

“So what are you guys doing for summer? We should throw a big summer party and the beach”

“Did you guys hear about the tea with Kate and her boyfriend??”

I try and tune out all the different convos that have been happening. I have nothing to say about them. Until one. Kate is my best friend. I know everything that’s happening with her and her bf. Should I say something? I can’t. But I really want to. My mouth twitches. I want to talk I really want to.

“Y/n aren’t you like best friends with Kate?” Some girl asks me.

“I- I am yea” I stutter. Already growing nervous with all the eyes looking at me.

“So like is it true that she fucked another guy and cheated??” The girl asks smiling.

“What? No she didn’t” I reply quietly my hands sweating and slightly shaking. I feel Chris rub my arm, drawing little shapes with his fingers as if he’s telling me to relax.

“Yea she did I know she did” She says laughing.

“N-no that not what happened. It w-was the other way around” I stutter again, feeling embarrassed.

“Why do you stutter so much? Did the cat get your tongue?” She spits out giving me and nasty look.

Everyone laughed. Every single person there laughed. All looking at me judging me. I want to cry. There’s tears pricking at my eyes. My throat closes up. I hate this all I wanna leave.

“Dude what the fuck leave her alone” Chris raises his voice at the girl.

But before I can hear what that bitch has to say I get up and speed walk away to somewhere quiet.

Tears run down my face as I go upstairs and find an unlocked room. I go to the balcony and sit on the chair with my knees up to my chest. My heavy breathing filling up the room. How pathetic of me? Having a panic attack over talking?

“Oh baby” I hear a familiar voice say. I look up with tear filled eyes and see Chris approaching me with a small comforting smile on his pretty lips.

“C’mere” He opens his arms up to me inviting me into his warm embrace. Without a thought I wrap my arms around his torso and lay my head on his stomach since I’m still sitting down.

“It’s ok, you’re ok. Breathe for me yea? Nice and slow. Just like that pretty girl” The praise giving me butterflies as I follow his instructions which help me calm down.

He suddenly picks me up with ease and sits on the chair I was once on. I stare at him confused for a second; he chuckles and grabs my hips making me sit on his lap sideways. Chris then holds my head with one hand keeping it close to him, and rubs my back with the other hand.

“I’m listening ma” He smiles. I blush at the nickname and look down.

“No no none of that, don’t shy up on me” Chris laughs and tilts my chin up for me to look at him.

“Will you really listen or are you just saying that because I’m crying?” I say quietly as I sniffle and nuzzle my head into his neck.

“Of course I will listen, I want to hear your pretty voice” He rubs my knee in a comforting way while smiling down at me.

“Ok well first it’s not true what that girl said because you know Kate she wouldn’t do that” I started off.

Chris only stared at me in adoration with the biggest smile on his face. He’s the one that truly listen to me.

“But then she found his phone and saw the text!” I kept on going on about the story till the end of it.

“Well now I know the truth ma” He says using that nickname again.

“Mhm” I hum blushing because of the nickname.

“It’s cute when you blush after I call you ma” He laughs making me blush even harder.

“Come on let’s go find Nick and Matt so we can go home and watch a movie yea?”

I tried to do something diff and wrote about Chris cuz I just felt like it would be fun yk. So I’ll be doing fics about the Sturniolos too so pls pls request anything I’m in need of ideas I beg 😣🙏

[mallowsweetmiri]

christmas miracle • fred weasley x reader

use #mallowsweetmicros to find my imagines!

Christmas at Hogwarts was your favorite time of year. Flurries outside your window, the crackling fires, the carols sung in the hallways. It all made you indescribably happy. Even the Gryffindor common room was decked out in garland and floating ornaments, the smell of fresh balsam in every corner. You sighed contentedly to yourself as you sat by the fire. Exams were finally over and you were set to head home on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. Things couldn’t be better.

“Y/N!” You heard your name being called from the portrait hole. It was Fred, George, and Lee. You waved at them and sat up, readjusting your blanket on your lap. To your surprise, only Fred continued towards you, waving to the other boys as they headed towards their dorm. George and Lee sent cheeky smiles your way.

“Hi,” you smiled, moving your books from the couch so he could sit.

“Hi love,” he beamed, taking a seat next to you. You blushed at his nickname. Fred had always been overly affectionate with most people, but you were grateful to have experienced it. You craved it, his hugs and his nicknames. The way he slung his arm around you at the Three Broomsticks. It made you smile and you didn’t care if it was just the way he was. It made you feel special.

“Excited to go home?” You asked, watching as he settled in. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his body turned towards you. You wished you could crawl into his lap, but you’d never have the courage to do so. Although, you doubted he’d mind.

“Yeah, of course,” he shrugged, the fire reflecting off his hair. “But I’m a little sad to leave this year.” You furrowed your brows and gave him a curious smile. It was hard not to smile with his contagious energy so close to you.

“Why is that?��� You wondered aloud. He was usually boasting about going home to his mums cooking.

“To be honest, I wish I could spend Christmas with you,” he replied. You let out a huff as your smile grew without your knowledge.

“What?” You laughed, brushing your hair behind your ears in a feeble attempt to cool your blush.

“I’m sad I can’t watch you open my gift on actual Christmas,” he said, his voice soft and quiet. You shook your head at him, thoroughly confused. “But I figured two days before is close enough. So here, open it.” He grinned at you as he pulled out a small box from his pocket. You took it from him and bit your lip. It was small, rectangular, and fairly light. You pulled off the ribbon and opened the lid.

“Fred,” you gasped, pulling out the quill. “How did you even know I wanted this?” Your hand flew to cover your open mouth as you admired the pearl handled quill. You felt like Santa Claus had magically made your Christmas wish come true.

“I remember you admiring it when we were in Hogsmeade a few weeks ago,” Fred chuckled, watching you run a finger over the smooth surface of the grip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you want something that badly before. I couldn’t help myself.” Your eyes ripped away from the beautiful gift and up towards Fred. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” You repeated. “Fred, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” You flung your arms around him and buried yourself into his neck.

“Really,” he chuckled. “A quill is the best gift you’ve ever gotten?” You nodded you head into his shoulder.

“It’s not just a quill, it’s a beautiful quill. And-” it’s from you. You couldn’t exactly say that though, so you settled for, “I didn’t get you a gift!” You gasped and pulled abruptly out of the hug. Fred only chuckled again and held your arm from pulling away too far.

“It’s fine, Y/N. Seeing you happy with your present is more than enough for me,” he murmured, his voice laced with affection. Your blush deepened under his touch, his eyes holding yours captive. You were dizzy with realization. It was a Christmas miracle. Fred Weasley liked you back.

“Wait,” you said, reaching into your bag to grab your wand. “I think I have something for you.” You flicked your wand up, casting a flicker of red and green magic above you. It was a silly charm you had been practicing for fun, but now your festive spirit was proving worthwhile. Fred watched as the mistletoe took shape, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes fixed on the delicate bristle. You bit your lip to hold your smile as you watched his face flush red. You would certainly be replaying that image in your mind over the holiday.

“How did you learn to do that?” Fred asked in wonderment, still gaping at the red bowed mistletoe.

“I taught myself before December,” you chuckled. “Y’know. Just in case someone needed it.” Fred chuckled as his eyes settled back on you.

“I wish I’d known about this earlier,” he murmured, his hand moving from your shoulder to your cheek. “If I’d known how to cast this, I would’ve done it on December 1st.” He leaned forward gently, pressing his lips against yours with adoration. He was warm and sweet like hot cocoa, his lips moving against yours with an impossible gentleness. The kiss was unhurried and soft, and it practically melted you into the couch. When he pulled away, your body betrayed you, a soft whine escaping your pouted lips. Fred chuckled and pressed another kiss to your cheek.

“Did you like my gift?” You asked sheepishly, your rosey cheeks warming Fred’s heart. He smiled as the mistletoes shape shimmered and fell over the two of you.

“This is definitely the best gift I’ve ever received.”

[hoonven]

IS IT NEW YEARS YET?

1.2K ⸺ a christmas hater and a christmas lover find themselves in the kitchen of a cozy apartment, trading sarcasm, small talk, and maybe a little more

PAIRING! yang jungwon x female reader

GENRES! fluff, comedy, frenemies trope

PLAYLIST! is it new years yet? by sabrina carpenter

WARNINGS! reader doesn't like christmas, reader drinks cocoa, mention of food

December is a prison.

Everywhere you look, someone is trying to shove some holiday cheer down your throat. You hate it. The blinding, glittering lights and tinny jingles that cause a headache trying way too hard to convince you that this is the most wonderful time of the year.

The relentless cheer, the endless loop of Mariah Carey in every store, the corny hallmark movies, inflatable Santas, and people pretending eggnog is drinkable and fruitcake is edible. You don’t buy it. For you, December is just another month to survive, one suffocating under an avalanche of forced cheer and bad decisions disguised as tradition. The holiday shoppers, the sweaters, the increase of whining children—it’s all too much.

Yet here you are, trapped in a Christmas Eve party that feels more like a hostage situation. You’d planned on staying home with a glass of wine and a movie that didn’t feature talking reindeer or falling snow, but your friend—if you can even call her that—insisted. And because you have a masochistic streak, or maybe just a lack of willpower, you showed up.

You’ve stationed yourself in the kitchen, it’s quieter here, a sanctuary compared to the crowded living room packed with people you barely know, all laughing too loudly and swapping gifts you’re certain will end up in a landfill by February.

You’ve been hiding out here for the past twenty minutes, nursing a drink and hoping no one will notice your absence. Arms crossed, leaning against the counter, glaring at the glittery centerpiece on the table like it personally offended you.

“Well, if it isn’t our resident holiday killjoy.”

You don't have to look to know who it is. The voice is unmistakable—light, teasing, and annoyingly smug.

Jungwon.

You glance at him anyway, because ignoring him won’t make him go away.

He’s leaning against the doorway, his ridiculous Christmas sweater somehow managing to look good on him. It’s got a snowman with googly eyes, and you want to hate it, but the worst part is you don’t. His grin is as infuriating as always—bright, mischievous, and unbothered, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your expression that screams don’t talk to me.

“And here I thought you were too busy decking the halls to notice me,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He smirks, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the place. “Oh, I noticed you. You’re kind of hard to miss when you’re the only person in this joint giving off Scrooge energy.”

“I’m not giving off Scrooge energy,” you snap, though you are. “I’m avoiding unnecessary human interaction, which, by the way, you’re currently ruining.”

Jungwon doesn’t take the hint. He never does. Instead, he grabs a cookie off the counter, takes a bite, and leans casually against the counter next to you. “So, what’s the escape plan? Gonna fake a tummy ache or claim you have to leave early because of some elaborate story you clearly just made up?”

You decide not to admit it was the latter, the last thing you need tonight is to prove Jungwon right.

“I was thinking of just walking out,” you say dryly. “No excuses. Just leave.”

He snorts. “Bold move. Very on-brand for you.”

Finally, you turn to face him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you here, Jungwon? Don’t you have some caroling to do or a snowman to build?”

He grins, unfazed by your sarcasm. “Oh, I’ve already done both. I'm here to check on you, you know, like Cindy Lou Who did for the Grinch?”

“Your heart is two sizes too small,” he says, and proceeds to make the dumbest sad face you've ever seen.

You try to fight the tiny smile tugging at your lips but fail. Jungwon notices, of course, because he notices everything.

“See? I knew you didn't hate Christmas that much,” he says, triumphantly.

You sigh, crossing your arms. “I don’t hate it. I just don’t see the point. It’s loud, obnoxious, and overrated.”

“Or,” he counters, gesturing toward the living room, where people are laughing and exchanging gifts by a sparkling tree. “It's about that.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. But there's a slight tug at your heartstrings as you watch a girl hug her friend with tears pricking her eyes. “What exactly are we looking at?”

He tilts his head, studying you with that irritatingly perceptive gaze of his. “You know, you’re like a walking anti-Christmas PSA. It’s impressive, really.”

You roll your eyes. “And you’ve clearly auditioned for Santa’s favorite elf.”

“Wrong. I’m more of a ‘holiday mischief maker,’” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “And right now, my mission is to annoy you with all the holiday cheer I can possibly muster.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. The worst part is, Jungwon is so annoyingly persistent and unshakably optimistic that part of you almost envies him. Almost.

“It's nice.” you shrug. “But not everyone thinks this season is magical, you know.”

“Ah, I see. You’re one of those people who hates Christmas because it never lives up to the hype.”

You pause, caught off guard by how easily he’s summed you up. “It’s not about the hype,” you say finally, avoiding his gaze. “It’s about how empty it all feels. Everyone’s running around acting like this one day is supposed to fix everything, but it doesn’t. We’ll all go back to our regular lives the next day like none of it ever happened.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a second, you think you’ve actually managed to scare him off. But then he leans closer, his voice softer now, less playful. “You know what I think? I think you’re trying so hard not to care that you’ve forgotten how to let yourself enjoy the small stuff.”

You blink at him, thrown by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “And you’re suddenly the expert on what I need?”

“Not an expert,” he says, his grin returning. “Just observant.”

He gestures toward the party again. “Look, I get it. The holidays can be a lot. But they can also be kind of great, if you let them. Like right now—this could be one of those moments you look back on, and it’s not about the decorations or the music. It’s just… people. Being together. Isn’t that worth something?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do you hear yourself right now? You sound like a Hallmark movie character.”

“And you sound like someone who’s never actually tried to enjoy Christmas,” he shoots back, smirking.

You snort, shaking your head. “I can't believe people really believe all that.”

“Well, I do.” He holds up his cookie like a toast. “And by the end of the night, I’m betting I’ll convince you too.”

“Well, don’t hold your breath,” you say, reaching for the mug of cocoa that was surprisingly still warm and taking a sip. It’s too sweet, just like everything else tonight, but somehow, with Jungwon standing there, it doesn’t feel quite as unbearable.

And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink. “I’m patient.”

“Good luck with that,” you mutter, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips now, one you can’t quite suppress.

Jungwon notices, of course. He always does. You imagine he always will. And as much as you hate to admit it, you’re kind of glad he came into the kitchen.

December was a bore, and you were sick and tired of this holiday, but small talk in the kitchen with Yang Jungwon wasn't half bad.

© 2024 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform. NETWORK! @kstrucknet

[pretzel-box]

this is going to be super silly so bear with me, please!

established relationship where sleepy reader has taken a liking to sebastian’s shop. they usually sleep on sebastian’s tail, or on the floor in starfish position. the rest can be up for perception! o7

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Slice of Life

Words: 1,4k

Sebastian had gotten used to your little quirks. In fact, they had become part of the everyday charm that made being with you feel so special. But today, as he slithered back into the shop, he couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw you—sprawled out on the floor like a starfish. Your limbs stretched out from your body as you faced the ceiling.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, “most people use furniture for sitting.” There wasn't much furniture around but still, he held a point.

You tilted your head to look at him, a sheepish grin spreading across your face. “The floor is comfy,” you mumbled, stretching your arms and legs further out as if to emphasize your point.

Sebastian shook his head, amused. He crossed the room and stood over you, glancing down with his arms crossed. “You’re going to hurt your back lying like that, you know.”

You let out a content sigh, clearly unbothered. “Maybe, but the floor has this… grounding energy, you know? Plus, your tail was too far away.”

Sebastian’s tail, which had been draped lazily over the back of some boxes, twitched at your mention. “Ah, I see,” he said, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “My tail, the ultimate pillow.”

He knelt down beside you, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of you lying there, so completely at ease. He loved this about you—how you could find comfort in the simplest things, even if it involved odd habits like laying on the floor or curling up on his tail as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But when you tried to sit up, you winced, a hand immediately flying to your lower back. “Ouch…”

“I warned you,” Sebastian said with a knowing smirk, though there was a flicker of concern in his voice. “That’s what happens when you lie like a starfish all day.” You groaned dramatically, rubbing at the sore spot. “Okay, fine. Maybe you were right this time.”

He rolled his eyes fondly and motioned for you to sit up properly. “Turn around. I’ll fix it.” You blinked up at him, surprised. “You’re going to give me a back massage?”

Sebastian grinned, already moving to sit behind you. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

You laughed, but did as he asked, scooting forward and sitting cross-legged in front of him. His large hands rested on your shoulders, warm and reassuring, before they began to knead gently at the tight muscles in your back.

The moment his fingers pressed into your sore spots, you melted. “Oh my god,” you sighed, practically dissolving into a puddle. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“I’ve picked up a few things over the years,” he replied, his voice low and smooth. His hands worked skillfully, easing out the knots in your muscles with an expert touch. “It helps to have a partner who constantly abuses their back by lying in weird positions.”

You huffed a soft laugh, too relaxed to even argue. His fingers continued to work magic, the tension slowly melting away under his careful ministrations. Every press of his hands was firm but gentle, the perfect balance of pressure to coax your sore muscles into submission.

After a few minutes, you leaned back into him, letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a content sigh. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Sebastian chuckled, his tail curling around you in a lazy loop, as if claiming you in that moment. “I should charge for this,” he teased, though the warmth in his voice betrayed how much he enjoyed taking care of you.

You smirked, nuzzling your head against his neck. “Consider it part of the relationship benefits.”

He laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Fine, but only because it’s you.”

As the massage continued, you found yourself lulled into a state of pure bliss. His hands, the sound of his steady breathing, and the comforting warmth of his tail all combined to create a perfect cocoon of relaxation. It was these quiet, intimate moments that reminded you just how much you loved being with him.

When he finally stopped, you shifted slightly, leaning fully into his chest, your back no longer aching. “Thank you, Seb,” you murmured, looking up at him with a grateful smile.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as he rested his chin atop your head. “Anytime, starfish. Just… try to use the pile of blankets I made for you next time, yeah?”

You giggled, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “No promises.”

Sebastian sighed, but there was a soft smile on his lips. He might tease you about your quirky habits, but truthfully, he wouldn’t change a thing about you.

After all, he loved every bit of you—even if it meant occasional back massages and tail-pillow duty.

It had been a long and exhausting week since your last expedition through the facility. The oppressive darkness that always seemed to linger in every corner had become almost second nature to you, though it never made things easier. Your flashlight had finally given out, flickering and then dying as you wandered the dimly lit halls. Frustration welled up inside you as you muttered to yourself, “Where is it…” hoping to find a spare or the familiar vent.

You stumbled through the room, feeling blindly along the shelves when your foot caught on something. You lost your balance and fell forward, your hands instinctively bracing yourself against the cold metallic floor. But beneath your fingertips, the texture wasn’t the smooth, flat surface you expected—it was rough, almost scale-like.

Panic briefly shot through you before recognition dawned. It was Sebastian’s tail, coiled and unmoving, sticking out from the vent that lined the side of the room. Relief mixed with a bit of annoyance surged through you as you slowly stood up, dusting yourself off.

“Sebastian…” you whispered, shaking your head at the sight of him half-hidden in the vent. His tail, covered in dark, iridescent scales, looked like it had simply been forgotten, left there like an afterthought. What was he doing?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you made your way over to the vent and squeezed yourself through the narrow metallic shaft. The cool metal grazed your skin as you crawled in deeper, the dim glow of light further in indicating where Sebastian was. Finally, you reached him.

There he was—the local fishman, laying on the ground like a starfish, completely lost in his own world. His head rested on the floor, his usually sharp eyes closed as if he’d been overwhelmed by exhaustion. His long, elegant tail, which had tripped you moments ago, was sprawled lazily.

“Sebastian,” you called softly, crawling closer. He didn’t stir.

You crouched beside him, taking in the sight. There was something oddly peaceful about seeing him like this, his defenses down, his constant vigilance momentarily forgotten. The stress that so often marked his features was absent, replaced with an unexpected vulnerability. Even in his disheveled state, with his tail tangled awkwardly around him and his face half-buried in his arm, there was something captivating about him.

You reached out, hesitant, your hand hovering above his shoulder. You didn’t want to startle him, but something about the way he was sprawled out on the cold, hard floor made you want to offer some kind of comfort. “Sebastian,” you said again, a little louder this time.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, groggy and unfocused at first, before they finally landed on you. For a moment, he blinked in confusion, as if struggling to place where he was and why you were there. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up slightly, leaning against a box as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

“What… what are you doing here?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, though there was no hostility in it—just genuine confusion.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re half-hanging out of a vent. I tripped over your tail. Are you okay?”

He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to work out a knot of tension. “I got curious about your weird habit and tried it out.”

You chuckled softly at that, sitting down beside him. “Sticking half out of the vent isn’t exactly the most comfortable for a nap.”

Instead of saying anything, he pulled you on top of him. You instantly melted into his chest, ready to relax with him.

Till he felt a tug on his tail…

It seems like a wall dweller fell over it.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

part one - two - three - four -five

i saw you in a dream (bucky barnes x reader)

tags/warnings: plot with porn, fluff, a little angst, there is some mild amnesia, major plot twist, first person (bucky's) pov, inspired by this song

blurb: In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

These are the words inscribed on Bucky's wedding ring. A wedding ring that he doesn't remember ever having. It's not a vow he made-- not that he remembers, anyway-- but it might just be one that he decides to keep anyway.

ao3 here

“I’ve decided to call off of work for a while,” my wife explains to me over breakfast. “I’d rather be around if you need me than be at work, and we’ve got ample savings to live off of in the meantime.”

I ask her if she’s sure about that— I don’t really need a babysitter, I’ve already gotten over my meltdown about this whole thing— but she assures me that she believes it’s the right decision.

“What do you do for work, then, that they let you have time off so easy?”

She hesitates.

“I work for Tony Stark,” she replies after a moment. “As it stands, though, he’s got an excellent team, so they can share the load of whatever I’m leaving behind. Besides, it’s time I took a vacation.”

She’s keeping something from me, but I let it slide.

“Babysitting me is hardly a vacation.”

She shoots me a sly grin over her cup of coffee.

“Who said I was babysitting? Keep up the sass and I’ll call Dolores to sit with you while I go to Bali.”

I’m startled into a laugh.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? Try me, soldier boy.”

There is a strange energy between us that makes me feel oddly playful. I want to forget about eggs and bacon and chase her around the house instead.

Gradually, though, that energy fades as we run out of things to talk about. Awkwardness subsumes us again, and since I cooked, (Y/N) offers to wash dishes, presumably to escape the weight of the silence between us.

About an hour of that tension is all either of us can stand. 

“I’m going downstairs to train,” she says, throwing a bar cloth over her shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”

I blink.

“We have a downstairs?”

“Yes— a basement.” A fond smile comes over her face. “You designed it yourself.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I did?”

“Oh yes.” She grins. “Come on, dear— I’ll give you the tour. You’ll love it.”

She walks past me just close enough for me to feel the heat from her body, but does not touch me. She keeps going just long enough for me to see the full length of her figure, then turns back to throw at me a mischievous look over her shoulder. 

“Well? Coming?”

She keeps walking, and I keep staring. This time, though, I grin. This hint of playfulness gets a rise out of me not unlike the one from before, and I realize that this must be what normal is for us.

What a fox.

Like a hound dog wagging his tail, I move to follow her. This, if nothing else, should prove interesting.

***

Three and a half hours later, I’m sore, sweaty, and I can’t feel my face.

To be fair, we’ve only been working for most of three hours. The majority of the first hour was spent on rediscovery— and what an hour it was! Not only did I apparently stock most of the cool machines I’d used in Wakanda, but there were also some things I’d never seen before, such as the combat simulator that Shuri had apparently gifted me last year for my birthday. (Y/N) warned me that it felt real, but I didn’t believe her until those nerve stimulators of Shuri’s mimicked exactly the feeling of a bullet ripping through my shoulder. It’s unpredictable, the simulator; it generates combat scenarios at random, and not every conflict ends well even if you do everything by the book. It’s a genius invention, and I spend an hour and a half on that alone.

As fascinating as the combat simulator is, though, it doesn’t hold a candle to what comes next.

While I rest from playing with all my (new) gadgets, my wife has been working slowly and steadily, alternating between lifting weights and training with a punching bag. She’s sweating heavily, and she looks pretty fatigued, but she keeps at it with a determination that reminds me of Steve. Eventually, though, she sits down to rest too, and between gulps of water, she says,

“Spar with me.”

“What?”

The word comes out as a laugh. She smirks.

“Laugh now, Sergeant Barnes, but I learned from the best.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge playfully. “Who?”

Her smile is radiant and warm; it feels like a house fire in my chest.

“You.”

My heart skips a beat. 

She thinks I’m the best.

It’s a stupid thought, perhaps even a silly one, but it’s there. Even so, looking at her now, moving to stand with her hair all mussed and her face all sweaty, I know I can’t seriously spar with her. 

At least, that’s what I think until she whirls a kick at my head, forcing me to block it with my forearm.

“I said,” she pants, baring her teeth in a feline grin, “spar with me.”

The word no had been on the tip of my tongue— but I’ve never been one to leave a blow unanswered.

I grin back, and the game is on.

I launch myself from my seat, aiming to use my size to my advantage and grapple her— safely, gently, of course— to the ground. All my arms catch is air. She bounds lightly backwards, as graceful as a dancer, and holds her hands up in a ready position. 

After I aim a few hits at her, missing each one, I realize her strategy. I’m bigger, stronger than her, sure, but it takes a lot more for my muscles to move my larger body than it does hers. She’s baiting me into my strikes, hoping to fatigue me before she presses what then will be her advantage. I adjust accordingly. I feint left, but move right— the motion traps her as my metal metal hand closes around her soft flesh. I think I have her until she uses the same momentum that I use to pull her to me to bash her forehead against the bridge of my nose, stunning me. She wrenches free and tries to sweep my feet, but I’m too sturdy for her. Instead, she falls with the motion, and I follow her to the floor in an unsightly but effective crawl to try and close the distance between us for a grapple. She doesn’t make it to her feet before I’m on her, and I know it’s game over now.

Size for size, strength for strength, I’ll win.

Surprisingly, though, she still makes me work for it.

In an impressive show of agility, she rolls away from me before I can grab her— but not before aiming a kick at my temple that, had it landed, might have been deadly. Frustrated, I make a grab at the foot that kicked at me, and she stomps my fleshy hand with her heel— meet punishment for the pettiness of my grab. Truly irritated now, and in sorry pain, I get my feet underneath me and throw myself at her once more.

She rolls again, and my hand misses her arm by only half an inch. In fact, she almost makes it to her feet before I finally latch both arms around her waist and bring her down hard. I win the ensuing scramble; only a few seconds pass before I have her pinned beneath me, my hands circling her wrists and forcing them to the ground beside her head. Her legs are pinned open by my knees, and I grin in fierce triumph.

“I win,” I say, and I know my expression must be wild with joy.

Her expression doesn’t exactly match mine, though. Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and…

And her chest, slightly exposed and pressed forth by her raised arms, is heaving.

The world slows. My awareness narrows to just the places where our bodies are touching, which is… a lot of places. My heart is racing, I can’t catch my breath— and neither can my wife. My wife, who is panting, sweaty, and beautiful, whose soft thighs are on either side of mine, and whose eyes say she wants me to close all the distance that there is between us.

“Bucky.”

She breathes my name like a sigh, and I know that in this moment, I’ll do whatever she asks of me. 

“Bucky,” she repeats, “I think— I think I need to shower.”

That’s… not what I wanted to hear.

I let her up. She dusts off like it’s nothing, but I can see the tremble in her limbs. She’s fatigued beyond fatigue, utterly exhausted— and so, I find, am I. On unsteady legs, I move to follow her, then stop.

“Eat something,” I tell her belatedly, uselessly. “I mean, to keep your strength up, you should probably eat.”

She turns. Her smile is sad.

“Thanks Buck, darling. I will.”

And thus, like a newborn fawn, she stumbles out of the room on shaky legs, leaving me to stand in humiliating silence with a raging hard-on and nothing to do with it.

***

While (Y/N) showers, I raid the kitchen. 

My own shower was short and cold. I took it in the guest room, which is just as richly furnished as the rest of the house. It wasn’t the best shower I’ve ever taken, though, since I wouldn’t exactly call it refreshing. I came out of it just as I came into it— tired, frustrated, and hungry.

One of those things can be fixed quick, fast, and in a hurry by an enterprising guy like me, though, and I place my bets on the fridge as I crack it open for a peek at its treasures.

There is everything imaginable in that refrigerator. So much that I have a hard time choosing anything at all. I settle on boiled eggs, string cheese, and an apple to start, and when that doesn’t do the trick, I manage to put together the ingredients for a simple but flavorful soup.

By the time (Y/N) returns from her shower, the soup is finished and there’s a bowl cooling for her on the counter. I serve it to her myself when she comes into the kitchen, and she thanks me tiredly as she sits at the dining room table.

“This is good.” She blows on the steaming spoonful she’s scooped up. “Thank you.”

I shrug.

“Sure thing.”

Once she’s done, I take her bowl and clean up. Her eyes are drooping sleepily, and I have to work to hide my smile from her as she yawns cutely.

“Wanda, Nat, and Bruce want to go out tonight,” she sighs tiredly, looking at her phone. “They’ve invited us, if you’re interested— although, just so you know, they likely have selfish intentions for asking us to come.”

I cock my head to the side in question. My wife blinks blearily, then clarifies.

“You can’t get drunk, so you always DD.”

“Not selfish, then.” I laugh, “just common sense.”

“Mm, maybe. Wanda gets weepy when she’s drunk, and Bruce gets cornier. Natasha stays Natasha, but sometimes her languages become… interesting.”

“And you?”

She grins.

“I have no idea what you mean. I’m a delight, as usual, even when I’m drunk.”

Oh, I can translate that pretty easily. My money says she’s worse than all three of them combined.

“So,” she continues, “you in or out?”

I consider declining— (Y/N) seems too sleepy now to go out later in the day— but then I remember our sparring earlier and decide that, super-soldier-ness be damned, a drink might be a good idea after all.

“I’m down. You sure you’re not too tired? We worked hard earlier.”

“I’ll nap,” she yawns. 

I continue cleaning up, and she shuffles in the direction of the master bedroom with a muffled thanks for the food.

A little while later, I settle in on the couch and very politely pretend that I can’t hear the distinct buzz of a vibrator through the walls as my wife, on the other side, softly calls my name, doubtless thinking me unable to hear. 

Damn that super soldier serum. Never did me any damn good. 

***

I’ve never taken so long to dress in my life.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I completely fried my brain looking at the wardrobe in front of me. There are… there are colors here. Colors and designs and textures— how the fuck am I supposed to match any of this to anything else? I have half a mind to ask (Y/N) for guidance. However, the other half of my mind would insist that I jump off a bridge before resorting to having her dress me like I’m some kind of doll, so instead of looking at the clothes and continuing to overwhelm myself, I move to look at myself in the mirror and try to imagine an outfit that I would like.

While I’m scrutinizing myself trying to find the best outfit, I realize that my hair is different than I remember it. It’s still long, but there are more layers. I like it, I think. It makes me look cleaner, sharper. 

I finally settle on a black button-up and a pair of jeans. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser that I found my socks and underwear in, and I open it to find jewelry that must belong to me: a couple medals (Jesus, they’re old!), a silver chain, and a set of cufflinks.

There is also a wedding ring.

I lift the wedding ring and examine it. There is an inscription looping on the inside of it that reads,

In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

I consider putting it on my finger, but I decide against it. I haven’t earned the right to wear it— not yet. I have no right to my wife; as I am, I can’t be what she needs. I’ll need to wait until I can prove to her and to myself that I can still make her happy before I can feel right about it.

I place the ring back in the jewelry box and try not to feel disappointed.

I pick up the silver chain. It might be a nice addition to the outfit, I think. I put it on, stare at it, then take it off. I peer at myself, sigh, then put it back on. 

It’ll have to do.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I finally manage to meet my wife in the living room, ready to head out. I make it halfway through the threshold to the living room before my jaw hits the floor.

Her dress is champagne gold with a perfectly-draped neckline that I feel sure makes my eyes bulge out in cartoonish heart shapes. The thin straps of the halter neckline settle pleasingly over her shoulders, and when she turns, I thank God for every roll, dimple, and contour of her back. Her long, delicate earrings brush her shoulders as she turns back to me, and I decide then and there that it’s over for me. There’s no way I’m not going to spend every minute of every day trying to make this dame happy for the rest of my life. Greek statues would be jealous of such a beauty. Hell, I don’t discriminate— statues of every race, color, and creed can eat their hearts out. They could never compare to her.

“Hey handsome. Whatcha think? Will I do?”

My approval must be obvious; she smiles cheeky and adds,

“It has pockets!”

To show me, she sticks her hands in them. The motion makes her breasts jiggle prettily, and I fix my gaze on the light fixtures in the ceiling trying to will away the urge to peel that fucking dress off of her with my teeth like I have any right whatsoever to do so. 

I really don’t know what the hell’s come over me. I feel like a hound-dog slavering over a fox. I’ve always loved women— who doesn’t?— but this feels… different. I ache for her in a way that makes me want to crack open her rib cage and live there.

“You look great.” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “Really great. I feel a little underdressed, looking at you. I can change, though, if you— ”

She grabs my arm, right on the muscle of my bicep.

“Don’t you dare,” she murmurs, looking up at me through her lashes. “If you look any better, I’ll have to keep a baseball bat around to beat the women off of you.”

She squeezes my bicep, then releases me, her expression subdued.

Was that… jealousy? 

Interesting.

I offer her my arm— the metal one. She takes it, and I try not to feel smug.

“Ready?”

She smiles, nods, and accepts the arm I offer— but not before glancing at it and frowning. I frown too, confused about what might have displeased her, but there’s nothing I can figure out before we’re loading up in what is apparently my Jeep Wrangler. She directs me to each of our friends’ houses— “Wanda last,” she insists, “to give her time to put the kids to bed”—and then to the nightclub Natasha likes.  

The club is nice— the whole place looks like the inside of a lava lamp— but it’s full to the brim with sweating, drunk, scantily-clad people who all seem to feel entitled to touch everyone else. I personally don’t have any interest in that sort of thing, especially not this grinding business that looks little better than public dry-humping. Back in the day, I’d be spinning girls all around the dancefloor; I’d keep them on the floor until their feet hurt and even after. Now, though? I wouldn’t be caught dead doing… whatever that stuff is.

Well, if (Y/N) asked for a dance, I’d do my best. Anybody worth their salt would know better than to say no to a dame like her. But the thing is… she doesn’t ask me.

“I’m going to dance for a while,” she yells at me over the sound of the music. “Are you good here?”

“Peachy,” I shout back, propping my feet up on a rung of the barstool I’ve claimed. “Have fun, beautiful.”

Her smile glows in the blue-green light, and then she’s gone with Wanda and Natasha, who seem just as eager to dance.

Out of politeness, Bruce hangs out with me at the bar for a little while and we talk shop— S.W.O.R.D’s research and operations, Steve’s programs there— but it’s clear that he wants to dance as well. Before long, I send him off with a clap on the shoulder for encouragement, and then I’m alone at the bar, sipping surprisingly good whiskey.

A while later, a woman sidles up beside me to order a drink. I turn to look at her. She’s a dark-haired beauty with skin the color of polished bronze and hair like big, dark, fluffy clouds. Her lips are full, and they glitter with reflective golden gloss.

“Hi!” She greets me as we make eye contact. “You’re super handsome, oh my God!” 

I blink.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Say, do you wanna dance?”

“No can do. I’m here with my wife.”

The response is automatic. I shock myself with it. For a guy that’s only been married less than forty-eight hours, I’m coming to find that the “nope, I’ve got a wife” instinct sure does kick in fast.

“Oh my bad king! Have a good night!”

She turns to go, but I reach out and grab her arm.

“Wait, wait!” Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve got to be the stupidest man alive… but this might just be what I need. “I… think I might need some advice. Do you know stuff about relationships?”

She purses her lips in thought, then nods her head.

“Bad ones, yeah. Good ones, not so much. Also, babe, I’m a little drunk so I dunno how useful I’ll be to you right now.”

“That’s fine.” Reconnaissance, I tell myself. This is just simple reconnaissance. “You mind if we talk a minute?”

“I don’t mind at all! Yap away!”

I tell her the important bits and leave out the stuff she probably shouldn’t know.

“Like I said, I just feel like I barely know her anymore, but I… I want to try and make it better. She’s good to me, and I want to be good to her. Plus, the chemistry is…” I think back to that sly smile, the press of her thighs against mine. “Off the charts. I just wanna be the man she fell in love with.”

Lani— that’s my new friend’s name— nods thoughtfully. 

“And you say you’ve only been back stateside for a couple days?”

I nod and feel a little guilty using someone else’s war for my white lie. Still, though, I don’t know what all my excuses would consist of if there was only peacetime in recent years.

“Then this is just relationship throat-clearing,” Lani tells me confidently, throwing back the shot I bought her. “Ack— that’s strong. But yeah, it’s just a phase. If you wanna speed stuff up, I recommend physical touch. Not the sex kind, you understand— just hold her. Your bodies have probably done a little forgetting even if your minds haven’t. Might be a good idea to start there.”

“But how do I initiate it without coming off.. weird?”

Lani and I talk for a long time. I lose track of how long. Before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I look up to realize that I haven’t seen my wife in that amount of time. I look around, but I don’t see her.

“Don’t worry,” Lani is telling me, “You seem like a good guy, and you’re trying. If she loves you, you’ll work it out just fine.”

A weird look comes over her face, and she adds, “Besides, if I’m guessing correctly… she’s definitely still burning hot for you, king, so good luck out there.”

I turn back to her and thank her sincerely. She pats me on the shoulder and thanks me in turn for the drinks. It’s only right, she insists, that her bad experiences should serve to help someone else prevent them. With that, she’s off, and I’m sitting by myself once more.

Tired now, but armed with a good strategy, I stand, stretching my legs. I scan the dancefloor for my wife, but I don’t see her in the immediate vicinity. When I do catch sight of her, I wish I hadn’t— her eyes are all molten fury as she squishes her way through the crowd of dancing bodies. Whatever has happened tonight, she’s not happy about it, that’s for damn sure. Still determined to act on the advice I was given, I start to make my way toward her, but before I can get very far, I see someone grab my wife’s arm and yank— hard. She stumbles, and I catch sight of the person who’s holding her. 

It’s a man. A large, scruffy-looking man with a look of trouble about him.

I start to shove through people faster.

(Y/N) tries to snatch her arm back, fails. She’s clearly a bit drunk, and stumbles when he yanks her over to him. I’m two strides away, but not close enough to help before the situation explodes.

My wife, full of righteous fury from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head, rares back and punches the guy straight in his ugly face. 

He lets her go then, but people start screaming and the crowd jostles me away from her. I’m trying very hard not to lose my patience and start swinging my elbows— I could kill someone like that with my level of strength— but I’m starting not to care as I watch her use her fists like hammers on the guy’s skull. I’ve seen shit like this among soldiers before, back in the day. She’s drunk, she’s angry— and, judging by how long she lasted against me sparring, she’ll catch a fucking manslaughter charge if I don’t intervene soon. 

I scream her name above the din, but she doesn’t hear me. Her knee connects with Ugly Guy’s nose, and I finally break free from the people-prison that had me trapped. 

“Hey!” I call out to her, reaching for her arm. “Baby, hey, he’s had it, okay, you made your—”

She whirls on me, and I catch hell in the form of a cupped hand smacking painfully against my ear.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” she snarls at me, vicious and cruel. “I’m not done here.”

Oh, but she is. I can be every bit as vicious and every bit as cruel as she can be, and I prove it by grabbing her from the back and putting her in a metal-armed headlock.

“Stand down, babygirl,” I growl close to her ear. “You don’t want to kill him.”

“I do,” she confesses darkly, struggling vainly against me. “I want his bleeding heart in my hands!”

“Then not here, not now.” Bouncers have finally noticed the commotion— too late, sadly. They’re heading for us, but I keep my voice level and calm. “Behave or I swear to God I won’t let anyone bail you out of jail.”

“You have no right to command me!” She thrashes in my arms like a trapped animal. “Let me go, asshole!”

“I have every right.” I tighten the lock.

“Says… who?”

“Says this.” I tighten my arm more, and she wheezes like a squeaky toy with the squeaker ripped out. “Now behave. I don’t wanna go to jail.”

And, let’s be real— if that stupid, ugly fuck decides to raise his hand to her even in self defense, it’ll be both of us sitting in a jail cell. I’d kill him for it.

I let her go then, and she stumbles, clutching at her throat and gasping for air. I feel an instant flash of regret, but I have no time to process it before I’m gathering her in my arms and promising the bouncers that we didn’t start it, but that we’re leaving so as not to cause more trouble. They look at us skeptically, but decide that we’re apparently not worth the trouble and send us on our way. 

Natasha and Bruce catch up with us at the doorway. They saw the whole thing, apparently, and had the same trouble I did with trying to reach (Y/N) before she caused more trouble for herself and us. 

“You guys go on home,” says Natasha, a strange look in her eyes. “We’ll catch up with Wanda and we’ll all get an Uber home when we’re ready.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, desperate for an answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, we’re sure,” Bruce says, placing a reassuring hand on my wife's shoulder. “We all get mad sometimes— and sometimes, we all need a break.”

If Bruce Banner tells you that you need to take a chill pill, you take one. 

And so that’s how my wife and I end up parked in our garage, staring straight ahead at the wall in absolute silence. I’m lost in thought, pondering how such a promising evening went to shit so fast, when (Y/N) breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” Her voice wavers a bit. “And that I called you an asshole. I was just so mad…”

She’s fighting tears. I want to stretch out my hand to her, but I don’t know that the gesture would be welcome.

“S’okay. You had a right to be mad at that guy. He was a total creep.”

She shakes her head.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t mad at him. I mean, I was, but not initially.”

I turn to her, but she’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. With great effort, I keep my voice gentle.

“What happened? Why were you angry, then?”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Bucky.”

It’s not the answer I wanted, but it is an answer I will accept.

“That’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.” I think for a minute, then add, “Also, I’m sorry for putting you in a headlock and then insinuating that I have a right to order you around.”

She huffs a laugh.

“I deserved it. All you did was keep me from making a pretty big mistake.”

“Still,” I insist, “I was meaner than I would have liked, and rougher too. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, please don’t apologize— not for this. It was the right call.”

“But I am sorry it had to happen that way. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

To my shame, there is still a red line at her neck where my arm pressed against it. It’s not bruised or anything, but the mark itself shames me.

My wife turns to me, rigid and acerbic. She says,

“James Buchanan Barnes, I have begged on my actual knees for the same thing you did this evening and worse for my own, selfish… lascivious reasons. When I tell you that no apology is necessary, I mean it. You have nothing to apologize for. No touch from you could ever be too rough for me.”

The implication she just made— that she enjoyed being in a headlock, that she… gets off on that rough and ready side of me— lays heavily between us. 

I’m utterly speechless.

“Ugh, I’m still fucking drunk,” she groans. “Don’t listen to me. I’m going to bed.” 

She clambers out of the Jeep and makes her way into the house. I sit there for a minute to process, then turn the car off and follow her inside.

By the time I make it in, the water to the main shower is running. With a loose plan in mind, I undress down to my boxers and slip between the covers of our shared bed adjacent to the bathroom and wait for her to finish. 

Then my hearing picks up on something I’m not supposed to hear— a whispered phone call that is meant to be masked by the running water of the shower, but isn’t.

“I don’t know, Shuri.” My wife is saying, her voice thick with tears. “He may wake up tomorrow and remember everything. No, the tests won’t be back for— oh stop that, you know we don’t have Wakanda’s resources. No, I don’t think international travel is a good— Shuri! Listen to me, he’s okay. Why am I so emotional then? Why do you think! Because— ” there is a pause, a shuddering breath, then, “Well, I’ve made a fool of myself. Oh, Shuri, what a jealous fool I’ve been!”

(Y/N) recounts the evening as she remembers it, and I am horrified to discover her version of events. Right off the bat, I apparently managed to fuck up by not wearing my wedding ring— apparently she saw that as a sign of rejection and not the show of respect I had intended it to be. That pain, of course, exacerbated the jealousy she describes to Shuri as me openly flirting with and buying drinks for a hot, drunk chick— a jealousy that she thinks she doesn’t even have a right to feel because I’m no longer hers— or at least that’s what she thinks I seem to think.

This account paints me in a terrible light indeed. I feel physically ill listening to all of my actions being laid out and twisted into something they were never meant to be.

“I can’t even be mad at him, Shuri,” she cries, a terrible, aching sound that wrenches my heart and roils in my gut. “It’s not his fault— he doesn’t even know me. And— I mean, yeah, I know he saw the ring ‘cause he had on the necklace, so he had to have looked in— ugh, don’t distract me! My point is, what if he never remembers? He— he may want to leave. No, I won’t stop him— I want him to be happy, even if it’s not with me. I just— I love him, Shuri. If he leaves, it will break my heart.”

I keep listening , but those words bounce around in my brain. 

If he leaves, it will break my heart.

“I don’t even think he thinks I’m pretty anymore. When he saw me in my cute little dress— you know, the gold one with the pockets?— he looked up at the ceiling as if he’d rather look at anything else. Oh, Shuri, it’s over. It’s hopeless!”

It’s all I can do not to bust the bathroom door down and correct every misconception she has. Instead, I bide my time, resting my eyes and my body as she finishes her phone call and her shower. She needs this time and space, so I give it to her until the water shuts off and she makes her way to the bedroom where I lay in apparent sleep.

(Y/N) steps softly up to the bed, then hesitates. I’m willing to bet she’s contemplating sleeping in the guest room. Without opening my eyes, I say,

“Don’t be shy. There’s plenty of room.”

Gingerly, she climbs into bed. She settles as far from me as she can get— an admittedly respectful distance in a circumstance such as this one. Still, I’m unsatisfied. 

“You can stay there if you’d like,” I tell her, “but I’ll feel terrible if you fall off.”

She doesn’t move. It’s remarkable how quiet her crying is, but I can feel the sadness radiating off of her in waves.

I sit up. 

“Hey.” I open my arm— the metal one— up to her. “Come here.”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t have to do this, Bucky,” she sniffles. “You— you’re really not obligated to comfort me. If anything, I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m not the one who’s lost anything. From where I’m sitting, I’ve only stood to gain. I have a home, friends, and a beautiful wife where I used to have none of those things. But you… you’ve lost a husband.”

She covers her face with her hand, and I take it upon myself to close the distance between us. I pull her to me, and she buries her face in my chest while she cries.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over. “I’m sorry…..”

I soothe her as best I can. I rub circles into her back and hold her close. When she shifts awkwardly, I grab Kleenex from the nightstand and let her blow her nose. The whole time, I take Lani’s advice and don’t let her get more than three inches away from me. 

When she’s calmer, I begin to speak. I start with what I feel should be the most obvious fact that she has misunderstood.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” I tell her firmly, brushing hair away from her face. “I’ve seen a lot of women in a lot of places all around the world and even outside of it, and to me, you beat the hell out of all of them. When I saw you in that dress, it was all I could do to keep my hands off of you and go back to whatever it was we were doing in the basement earlier.”

My wife blinks owlishly. I don’t wait for her to respond before I press on.

“But,” I continue, “I kept my hands to myself because I haven’t earned that yet. I’m stumbling in the dark here with no clue what I’m doing— I’m not the man you married. At least, not yet. But I’m trying to be. I want to be him. That’s why I didn’t wear my wedding ring. I wanted to be worthy of it— worthy of you— before I put it on. In retrospect, I’m realizing I must have seemed like an asshole by not wearing it— even further from the man you know and love.”

“Oh Bucky,” she sighs, tears streaming down her face, “you really are the man I married, even if you don’t know it, you sneaky, conniving, eavesdropping bastard. You listened to my phone call with Shuri, didn’t you?”

I turn pink from the top of my chest to the tips of my ears. 

“That depends on how mad you’ll be if I say yes.”

She lets out a snotty giggle that’s stupidly cute.

“S’what I get for marrying an assassin and a spy,” she smiles through her tears. “Go on, dear— you might as well finish up. You’d better have a jam-up excuse for letting that girl fawn over you all night, or I’ll still be cross with you.”

I shrug.

“That one’s easy. I was asking her for advice about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She’s quiet for a long time after that. I keep handing her tissues and she keeps blowing her nose until the fount of her tears finally dries up.

“So?” I probe gently, taking her hand in mine, “Am I forgiven?”

“Of course.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s me who should be asking for forgiveness— I should have trusted you to start with.”

I shake my head with a grin.

“My wife can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned. Even when she does something wrong, I’ve got to assume that it’s my fault somehow.”

“Bucky,” she laughs. I lean my forehead against hers and decide to press my luck.

“Can I kiss you? I’ve wanted to since we sparred earlier, and I think it would go a long way towards soothing any ruffled— mph.” 

Her lips are soft against mine. She kisses me once, twice— and then I deepen the kiss, adjusting our bodies until my hand is threaded through her hair, forming a cup around her skull as we kiss deeply, unhurriedly, as though we have all the time in the world. Her hands roam and so do mine, and in this slow, sensual exploration, I am completely, utterly lost. 

Selfishly, I want more. I want to pull my wife into my lap and let her feel what she does to me— I want to kiss and touch her and make her feel good— but Lani had advised me against this temptation.

“If you give in too soon, somehow sex and intimacy become the same thing, which… they aren’t,” she’d told me. “She needs one much, much more than the other, and I’ll give you a hint— it’s not sex. Trust me, even if it feels right in the moment, it won’t later. It’ll feel transactional. That's the worst possible outcome, ‘cause when it comes down to it, there’s always a better deal somewhere else. Give her safety, though, and she’ll always be yours.”

So that’s what I do. I hold her and kiss her and touch her until she’s tired, and then I tuck her into my chest and wait until her breathing evens out to close my own eyes and sleep.

[jomiddlemarch]

Silly things do cease to be silly

George Knightley was well aware the household staff at Hartfield had been much in favor of his engagement to Emma, even more so when they learnt the marriage would not lead to Emma’s departure from the estate but rather his stabilizing arrival, but he admitted to some surprise when he arrived in the afternoon for a visit and was positively hurried to the drawing room by the butler, a circumspect man of indeterminate age moving with the alacrity of a boy whose transgression was about to be found out by a stern nurse. 

“Godspeed, sir,” the man muttered before closing the door silently.

“My dear Emma—” he began, approaching her calmly, something of a feat given the way she was striding about the room, her curls bouncing with an unearthly energy, her hazel eyes wild. He’d never known India muslin could flap so dramatically.

“I’m being driven to distraction, Mr. Knightley, and I don’t see how I can bear it though I don’t see how it won’t be borne! I vow I’m likely to tear my hair out and scream myself hoarse and I know you shall tell me I’m not behaving with any degree of decorum, but the time for decorum is long, long gone!” she exclaimed, trembling beneath his hands when he took hold of hers in their usual greeting, shuddering when he pulled her into a gentle embrace. It was an indication of the vast affection he held for her that the sensation of her heaving bosom pressed to his chest, the hint of her slender waist he felt as he stroked her back only evoked tenderness in him, nothing libidinous. He told himself that, to keep anything remotely carnal at bay, and he also calculated the acreage he meant to plant with rye instead of barley and the projected profit if the market held.

“Don’t tear out your hair, darling Emma,” he said. “I’ve a particular fondness for those curls.”

“They’re fake. It takes Susan two hours with the irons or I’ve got to sleep in rags,” she murmured against his frock-coat. “My hair’s straight as a stick, another disappointment—”

“Nothing about you is a disappointment to me. Though I’m concerned to find you in such a state,” he said. “Is it happening too quickly? We might extend the engagement if that would set your mind at ease. I’ve waited long enough, I shouldn’t mind waiting longer if it would make you happy, dearest.”

“I should mind, most dreadfully,” she said. She looked up at him and for the thousandth time, he thought how her face looked like a flower. “And you shouldn’t wait any longer than the next fortnight. How I shall bear it, I cannot say—”

“What’s troubling you then?”

“The wedding-breakfast. And Papa,” she replied. “I have reviewed the menu with him a dozen times and he frets over something new each time. When I include all the dishes he suggests, the table groans and then he worries we’d all get sick from a surfeit of rich foods. When I make the menu very simple, very plain, barely more than an invalid’s board, he worries we’ll starve. And he won’t countenance anything made with lemon!”

George nodded. It was not a tremendous shock that Emma’s father, who was beset by anxieties most frequently related to meals and their relative risk to the health of all he held dear, would be distressed about the upcoming wedding-breakfast though George attributed Emma’s response to a bride’s nerves. What was called for then, was to remind her that she was to be a bride, his bride and then, his beloved wife.

“Why are you dismayed about the lemon?” he asked.

“Because it’s your favorite and now I’ve ruined it, for I meant to surprise you with lemon syllabub, and now you won’t have anything sweet you like,” Emma said.

It was obvious what he must do next, so he leaned down and kissed her frowning lips very softly, tasting her with more boldness than he had previously allowed himself, so that when they parted, the furrow in her brow was gone and the expression in her eyes was one of dazed wonder.

“I have everything sweet that I like already. And after the wedding-breakfast, I shan’t have to mind my manners when it comes to my appetite,” he said.

After she’d poured out the tea the housekeeper herself had brought in after ascertaining that Miss Woodhouse would like to offer Mr. Knightley some refreshment but before she’d taken a sip from her own cup, George spoke.

“I also quite enjoy honey.”

“Isn’t that rather sticky?” Emma said, her eyes nearly amber, but so marvelously innocent. “I always get some on my fingers and then I’ve got to lick it off.”

“Indeed,” George said. “I’ve often found myself in the same situation. We shall need to help each other, won’t we?”

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month, Day 10, prompt: wedding-breakfast

[bluebearial]

Bundled Up

Contains TF (plush), intimacy, and a lot of snuggling.

2.5k Words

I couldn't think of a good title for this!!!! Fuck!!!!!!!!! But you're cold, and you need some snuggles. Jot that down

Docs version here.

Another day, another dollar.

Working from home isn’t the worst thing ever, you suppose. Looking past the mist on your window only serves to reaffirm your decision. Rain comes down in torrents, which are only briefly broken up by the odd gust of wind. You wouldn’t want to drive in that.

Your eyes drift back to your screen. You squint, keeping your eyes from glazing over. Database management isn’t the most intellectually stimulating, and that’s putting it lightly. It only takes a few keystrokes to ensure that company data is labeled properly, before you move on to the next task.

However, it isn’t long before you find yourself tucking your hands under your arms. What a day for the heat to give out in the whole building…

You figured that maybe a pipe had burst, or maybe the whole system was down for maintenance. Either way, it was cold.

As you lift your legs up into your seat, tucking them against your body, you think back to your time out with Lupa on Halloween. You think about your time spent wearing her, how warm she was inside… You met a cute girl or two as well, if you recall correctly.

There’s also what happened later in the night… By the time you’d gotten home and taken Lupa off, you’d been transformed into a plush wolf, much like her. …Or maybe you were a fox? You hadn’t the opportunity to check all that closely before you two snuggled up with each other. You’d never known that spending so much time with your girlfriend would cause her to… rub off on you in that way. Untucking your hands, you look down at them. You’d kinda wished the transformation wasn’t temporary... Sure, you’d have to navigate being a plushie, but you’d be so warm and cute… Feeling the cold creep up your fingers, you tuck them back under your arms. Oh, if only you still had those soft, brown mitts…

Your chair lurches forward as something leans on it, nearly pushing you into your desk. You look up, brushing your head against something soft. A wolf’s muzzle greets you.

“’Sup?”, comes the wolf’s casual, familiar greeting. “You, uh… You good?”

“Oh, hey Lupa,” you reply, a wavering little smile gracing your face. “I’m doing my best!” You untuck your hand to offer a thumbs up, silently regretting it almost immediately. Oughh, so cold…

“You sure?” She puts her massive paws on her hips, adjusting her plush weight with a fabric rustle. “You don’t have to lie to me, babe. I’ve been watching you, and you don’t exactly… look like you’re havin’ a good time.”

“I’m fihhheeeyy…” You try to protest, but a monolithic paw comes down upon your head before the words have a chance to escape.

“Don’t lie to meeeeeee.” She lets out a soft, playful growl as she grinds her cushy pawpads into your hair.

“Alright, alright,” you surrender, turning in your chair and putting your hands on her paw. You’ll admit it… “I’ve been cold.”

“Is that all?” She looks incredulous. “It’s not that cold in here, is it?”

“The heat’s been out all morning!” You fire back, “How did you not notice? …Oh, wait. You’re covered in fur.” She snickers.

“Ha! Guess I am, huh? And, you know…” She hooks a stubby claw into the collar of her green turtleneck sweater, offering you a blushy smile. “There’s this lil’ thing you got me. Pro’lly helps.”

Seeing her makes you blush. You’re glad she likes it… It wasn’t exactly easy finding a sweater for a wolf her size.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” As you blush, her paw returns to your head, “Why don’t we snuggle up, huh? No use in you sittin’ out here all alone.”

“W-We could, but…” You open your mouth to offer an excuse of some kind, but you just can’t find the energy to. The way her humongous paw rubs along the side of your head, plastic claws lovingly scritching into your scalp… It’s disarming, calming. The sounds around you seem to muffle and lose definition… For the first time today, you feel… warm. By the time you reopen your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you’d closed them – you’re greeted by a smugly grinning wolf.

“But what, huh?” She asks all too innocently, swaying her hips and swishing her tail.

“Hmmm… Nothing…” You sigh contently.

“Nice! Thought not.~” She lilts. “Come on, let’s—” She only pauses for a beat. When she lifts her paw from your head, she glances up slightly, and her grin only widens.

“…Yeah, I think this’ll work. C’mon, you.~” Before you can question it, her massive, soft arms wrap around you and she’s already carting you off to your room. At least you can hear again. What was up with that?

You can’t help but feel like a child whenever Lupa carries you, especially when you’re under her arm like this. She gives you a reassuring squeeze, smushing half of your face into the side of her generous, sweater-clad chest. Eventually, you end up on her bed.

Your bed, sorry.

It may as well be her bed, though, with how much space she takes up nowadays. Some nights, you find it easier to just lay on top of her. She definitely doesn’t mind it… Today, though, it looks like she has a different plan in mind as she gently sets you down among the blankets, crawling into bed after you. You could feel her loom over you… As you roll a bit, trying to get comfortable, you hear her snicker.

“You’re like a little bug, dude.”

You stop in your tracks.

“Wh—What? What’s your problem?” You ask, brow furrowed as you sit up.

“I don’t got a problem!” She puts her paw up, “I just think you’re small, squirt. But that’s okay, I can help with that.”

You puff your cheeks. Something’s up, you can feel it.

The wolf lays down next to you, reaching up to caress the side of your face. Just like that, your suspicion melts like ice under the sun, and you lean into her polkadotted pawpad. That warmth returns as you close your eyes, and you feel yourself being guided down toward the rest of her body. You didn’t need to see – after all, she was a mattress in her own way. Hard to miss. Your chin rests against the soft material of her sweater. It feels warm, but strangely artificial. You yearn to get closer to her. Thankfully, she grants your wish, and you feel it slide against you as she lifts it by the hem, lowering it behind you. You push your head through her sweater’s collar, brushing up against her snout.

You open your eyes – only a crack – and the sight of her pouty, dark lips greets you. She’s already kissing you, leaving ghosts of warmth wherever her lips touch. A feral little growl, and she pinches your cheek between her plastic teeth, before giving it an apologetic lick. It didn’t hurt, but you appreciate the feeling of her satin tongue all the same. Her paw returns to its familiar spot atop your head, pushing you down against her supple body. You cling to her as best as you can, sifting your fingers through her forest of white and grey fur. You’re always surprised by the amount of ‘give’ her body has as you hug her, squeezing her layers of fur, foam, and cotton.

As your chin settles in her cleavage, she begins to pet and stroke you. Front to back, front to back, she settles into a comfortable rhythm… You close your eyes again, letting out a sleepy little sigh. Her paw glides over your head, your ears, over and over and over again, and you lay there, dozing as you idly squeeze and grope at your girlfriend. The more she pets you, the deeper you fall into your idle haze. You feel softer…

 At some point, you aren’t sure when, she’d freed you from the cozy confines of her sweater. As big as it is, it was still a bit tight on her it seemed. Through the haze, you wonder if you should’ve gotten her the XXXXL instead… You do nothing to stop her as her paws dig underneath your sweatshirt, though you shudder as her fluffy digits contact you directly. They gently glide across your skin, leaving trails of glowing warmth in their wake. Something itches, but you ignore it. You squeeze her some more, noting how your hands possess a certain ‘give’ to them.

“You look adorable, babe.” When you open your eyes, she’s in the process of lifting herself off of you. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy…” You muse, putting a darkly furred hand up to your cheek… A numb sense of surprise spreads over you like a weak breeze, and you sluggishly look at your other paw. Watching the seams shift as you flex your stubby digits. You lift your shirt, gazing down at the plum and cream fur that was steadily growing in over your front. You were sure that your fur had spread all across your back too… Wherever Lupa’s paws had strayed, there was that warmth. And wherever there was warmth, change came with it… In fact-

Yeah. You reached up to the top of your head to find a pair of tall, pointy, twitching ears. Were they there the entire time…?

Meanwhile, Lupa settles onto her knees. She hooks a finger under the hem of her sweater - and she lifts it up to really give you a show. Her white tummy looks especially chubby today, thickly padded and covered in freshly brushed fur. As she pulls her sweater up, she briefly drags her bosom with it, before it falls free and settles with a bounce. The real difficulty comes when her sweater snags on her snout. She wrestles with it for a moment, before popping free.

She twirls her clothes around her finger, straightening her hair with her other paw. Soon, she’s balling that thing up and tossing it in the air, catching it in her jaws. Swallowing it whole, you watch its outline sink down into her depths.

“Don’t gimme that look,” she teases, wiping her paws on her chest, smoothening her fur out, “Trust me, I love your gift, babe. It looks cool on the outside, but… I’ll get more use out of it inside me anyway.~ Now let’s finally get you all warmed up, hmm?”

Weren’t you warm already…? Between the fur and these paws, you’re feeling pretty comfy… She looms over you, though, raising herself slightly so her shadow completely envelopes you. You blearily look up at her, wondering just what she was planning to do. The wolf raises her paws, sticking her tongue out as she leans. Then, like a tower, she begins to fall.

“Better get ready! Here I come~!”

Wait. Wait—

PWOOMF.

Everything is dark. You can’t see- you can hardly move. Something soft is compressing you down into the sheets, keeping you nice and still. It moves every now and then, probably getting comfortable, and grinding you further down into your bed in the process. You lay there, enveloped in stuffy warmth, breathing in your girlfriend’s linen scent. You take a deep breath of thick, plush-smelling air. You greedily fill your lungs with it – or whatever you have that passes for lungs now – before letting it back out. Another shift, and your face is forced between her pillows, cementing the fact that you’re totally smothered in downy, grey softness.

You wag your tail. Did you have a tail before now? It doesn’t matter. It swishes, betraying your joy and hazy euphoria. Your thoughts begin to slow…

One moment bleeds into another, and you aren’t sure how long you spend down here. It almost seems frivolous to keep track. It’s much easier to just lay there… But at some point, light hits your eyes, breaking you out of your slumber. You could feel yourself regain your shape, and a sense of cognizance comes with it. You must’ve been nearly squished flat under her.

“Aaaaafternoon, hun,” comes that sweet, sleepy voice, “Had a good nap?” You simply nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You could listen to her all day. “Still cold?~”

Oh, right. The heat was out, wasn’t it? You briefly pat yourself down, barely sitting up enough to get a good look at yourself. When she fell on you, she must’ve completed your transformation in an instant. You look a lot like her now. You’ve gained a few pounds around the middle, and a lot on your hips. Your hair looks a bit shaggier too, but that’s probably because of what just happened.

You feel… bigger too, and not just because you’re as thick as a mattress now. As you sit up and turn to rest your footpaws on the floor, you realize how much height you’ve gained. You’re almost as tall as your girlfriend, but not quite.

Oh, right. Her question.

“The cold? Neeever heard of it…~” You lilt, looking back at her with a toothy grin. Wow, your voice is a little deeper too. Lupa snickers, crawling closer and wrapping her arms around you from behind. Her lips end up on your cheek, and you could just swoon right there.

“…Guessin’ you gotta go back to work now, huh?...”

What a weird question. You tilt your head at her, before it clicks. Right. Work.

Right… Work…

You’d almost forgotten. Your shoulders fall as you let out a groan (more of a growl, really). Plushes shouldn’t have to work…

“Yeah, I guess so…” You sigh. You stand up with a groan, and wow you really have gotten taller. “I’ll see you soon, Lulu.” You look back at her with a little smirk, and she replies with a little wave.

--

You sit back down at your desk, blushing as you find yourself struggling to fit between the armrests. It’s pretty late in the day now, but you figure you could knock out another hour of work before clocking out. As you begin to type, however, you realize something. Your paws are way too big for your keyboard. You’re, like. Pressing at least 5 buttons at once here.

You roll your eyes as you flip your computer shut. You can’t type with mittens like these! How silly of you! But hey, at least you’re not cold anymore.

…You figure that you’ll just start again in the morning. Assuming this wears off in the morning.

And considering how long you were snuggling your girlfriend, you get the feeling it’ll last a good while… (In fact, you hope so.)

For now, you deserve some more quality time with your girlfriend. So with a little effort, you get up, nearly taking the chair with you, and you set off to find her. You’re a plushie, and every cotton fiber of your being wanted to snuggle.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Training Chaos

X Men Masterlist

It’s a quiet afternoon at the School. Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are standing in the large training hall. Both are focused on training their powers or at least trying to. But as soon as Y/N enter the room, you know that focus won’t last long.

Charles stands upright with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Erik stands next to him with a skeptical expression. They both look serious, but you know them well enough to understand that they’re quite easy to tease behind that façade. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do today.

"Hey, guys," you call out with a mischievous grin as you close the door behind you. "Who slept upstairs last night? Or did you switch again?"

Charles’ eyebrow twitches slightly, but he holds back and replies calmly, "Y/N, we’re trying to train here. We should—"

"Train?" You interrupt him, your gaze deliberately wandering over his body. "So that’s what you call it? That explains why Erik always looks so… tense." You wink at Erik, who exhales deeply as if trying to maintain his patience.

"Y/N," Erik says calmly, though there's an undercurrent of humor he can’t completely suppress. "If you’re going to distract us, at least try to do it with some class."

"Class?" You laugh softly and move closer to him. "Oh, Erik, I thought you liked direct approaches. You know, how… ‘specific’ I can be." Your finger lightly trails over his chest as you circle him, feeling his muscles tense slightly.

Charles clears his throat, trying to regain control. "Y/N, we really have work to do. It would be… better if you—"

"Charles, Charles, Charles…" You slowly move toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking deeply into his eyes. "I thought you liked it when I… challenge you." Your tone is deliberately ambiguous, and you see his eyes flicker before he regains his composure.

But before Charles can respond, the door suddenly opens. Wade Wilson—Deadpool—bursts in, wearing his typical red and black suit, and his face lights up as he sees you, Charles, and Erik.

"Ohhh, jackpot!" he exclaims loudly, theatrically rubbing his hands together. "I was actually just looking to mess with Logan, but THIS? It’s like Christmas and Valentine’s Day all rolled into one!"

You grin at Wade and make a theatrical bow. "Wade! You’ve come at just the right time. I’m having fun throwing Charles and Erik off balance a bit. Want to watch?"

Wade promptly sits on a bench, propping his chin on his hand as if he’s at a show. "Of course, Darling! You know I love drama. So, what did I miss? Any hot comments about Xavier’s telepathic ‘abilities’?"

You throw Wade an amused grin, then turn back to Charles, whose face shows a hint of embarrassment despite his usual composure. "Oh, Wade, you have no idea. Charles here isn’t just good at reading minds; he also… well, let’s just say he knows how to twist someone’s brain in other ways."

Charles clears his throat again, this time a bit louder, trying not to react to your cheeky grin. "Y/N, I really think that—"

"What? That I talk too much?" You lean closer to him, almost brushing your lips against his ear. "Or is it that you just have a hard time focusing on other things when I’m around?" You playfully slide your hand along his side, and though Charles remains outwardly calm, you feel his breath catch for a moment.

Erik, who has been trying to stay serious, finally shakes his head and lets out a soft laugh. "You’re driving him crazy, Y/N."

"Oh, Erik, you know that’s nothing new." You give him a meaningful look. "But don’t worry, I’ve got enough energy to throw you off balance too. We all know how much you like to keep control… at least most of the time."

Wade claps his hands, thrilled by the dynamic unfolding before him. "This is better than any soap opera! So, Charles, when are you finally going to let her have at it? I mean, we all know you’re just trying to look professional."

Charles sighs, but this time he can’t hide a slight smile. "Wade, if you only came to stir up trouble, then—"

"Trouble?!" Wade jumps up and dramatically approaches Charles. "Darling, I LIVE for trouble! But honestly, what’s happening here is the real reason I’m here. I mean, three sexy mutants pushing each other to the edge of insanity? I should have brought popcorn!"

Erik, who has been silently watching, steps forward and crosses his arms, his eyes on you. "Maybe we should kick Y/N out of the training hall if she can’t behave."

You grin at Erik, moving closer until you can feel his breath. "Oh, I can behave… but you know you secretly enjoy it when I don’t." You let your hand glide lightly along his arm. "And honestly, Erik, you don’t mind giving up control every now and then. At least sometimes."

Erik raises his eyebrows slightly, but the smile on his lips shows that you’re right. "Maybe you should focus on what you really want."

"Oh, I know exactly what I want." Your gaze shifts between Erik and Charles. "Two of the most powerful men I know… and neither of you can resist me."

Wade interrupts your playful banter with an amused laugh. "Wow, Y/N, I’m really impressed. You manage to drive two guys crazy at the same time. Respect!"

Charles sighs deeply and puts his hands on his hips. "I think we should end the training for today. It seems someone has already caused enough disruption."

You wink at him and back toward the door. "Disruption? Oh, Charles, that was just the beginning. But you know where to find me if you need more."

With a cheeky grin, you leave the training hall while Wade, Erik, and Charles watch you go. Wade calls after you, "You’re my role model, Y/N! I could learn a lot from you!"

Erik just shakes his head, while Charles shows a gentle smile that expresses both affection and amusement. Despite all your teasing and cheeky remarks, they both know that you have their hearts as firmly in your grasp as they have yours.

And so, the unusual trio remains intact, in a strange but beautiful balance of love, chaos, and a bit of madness.

[amalthea-13]

i am so sick of seeing stolas hate all over this stupid fandom.

yes, characters are worthy of criticism. yes, helluva boss is worthy of criticism. no, you don’t have to like every character in a show. but that’s not the issue here.

the issue is that the people who shit on stolas are media illiterate and give dumbass reasons like he’s classist or xenophobic towards imps or a shitty dad.

as a writer it completely melts my brain that people are THAT stupid that they watch a show zonked out of their mind and ignore any fucking subtlety thrown their way. i’ve had people read my writing who are the same way—they ask me questions and point out ‘errors’ that are super fucking obvious in the text but they don’t gaf except to criticize me.

i’m like…… why do u watch the show if u hate the deuteragonist THAT much? he’s not going away, he’s not getting punished anymore than he has. seeing people like “i hope their stupid sadboi owl suffers in s3 and gets a taste of his own medicine” is like damn bro u watched a character u hate get the worst punishment he possibly could besides death and ur still mad? ur mad that the show has sympathy for him? the second most important character in the show? do you even like this show???

these assholes can’t possibly comprehend anything that doesn’t fit into their black and white worldview. it’s the same problem with all those fucking idiots saying cheating is wrong no matter what.

as someone who also has a background associated with religious trauma, the people spewing that cheating is wrong no matter what just remind me of those sorts of religious people who will make very grand and wide sweeping statements without any exception. cheating is bad. abortion is bad. queerness is bad. etc etc

they sound like the very religion this show is criticizing. they sound like an old man unable to comprehend shows more complex than big bang theory.

sorry for rant you don’t even have to respond to this ask i am just sooooo sick of seeing a huge lack of media literacy both in and out of this fandom. finding ur blog was super fuckign refreshing im so fr

The Conception of This Blog and My Aggressive Approach

Truly it is funny to me how this blog came to be. Initially I wanted it to be my blog to interact with my Wattpad followers, but none of them came to join lol. Many of them have long since moved on from my fics about Radiodust lol. As have I so I made a post regarding Stolas and how people lacked nuance in regards to him simply because he is not a woman.

People had their fair share of opinions but the feedback was positive and therefore I went on to make the "Blitz Post". I aggressively went in on Blitz purely to get every ounce of anger and frustration due to my conversations with Tiktok Stolas Antis put in a singular post. Initially the post got some good reblogs and some nice comments- and then I interacted with a Tumblr Stolas Anti and had to SWIFTLY delete several comments or just got myself blocked.

This ensued my sequel post which dictated my style of writing for this blog. I decided if I was going to "die on this hill alone", I may as well commit. So I renamed myself to "The Aggressive Stolas Stan and Kin" to swiftly deter any antis who thought they could take me on, and swiftly but surely they funneled in.

Many came in with their baseless takes and poorly put together arguments and one by one I docked off each arguments with proof. The singular thing you will note on this blog is I always have receipts. Whether it be screenshots or GIFs.

Last night the only reason 1 of my replies didn't have GIFS or anything was purely because I was running low on energy because I had been writing for roughly 3-4 hours straight for an essay due as of this morning. I was arguing while sleep deprived and on top of that while writing.

Trust me, my wrists are on fire, but my point was made very clear yesterday, but I'll restate it here.

"Your homophobic, victim blaming rhetoric holds no power here."

The only reason I am stepping back from interacting with antis is for the sake of my mental health and for my audience. They have expressed to me that it seems distressing and concerning to my health. Therefore, I am stepping back to recover from 2 days of no sleep(essay related), and to recoup the braincells I've lost arguing with people who had the brain to body ratio of a dime on a fuckin' pool table.

My Aggressive Approach

All of my aggression comes from Stolas, but I argue this way because Blitz D!ckriders argue JUST LIKE HIM LOL! They think cussing or poorly put together arguments will deter a Stolas Stan from fighting back or that they can just be aggressive/stubborn and no one will fight back.

Hence why I cuss the way I do in my posts. For fucks sakes, I say the word fuck more times in a post than in all of S1 of Hazbin Hotel. Usually this style of writing feels beneath me just because it is "improper", but FUCK is it so much fun lol.

I just go off the handle and let myself express myself how I please. Truly, the aggressive approach was initially a joke, but it also reflects my speech patterns.

However, in my natural and calm habitat when discussing Stolas I cuss alot less in actuality. I just love talking about my sweet bird man. Love him so much.

Religious Trauma and Physical Illness

When it came to last night, a common thing I say is "this makes me physically ill", and that is never an exaggeration. The rhetoric thrown around regarding Stolas made me so sick I nearly wanted to puke. I was taking breaks between typing because of how bad it got.

Genuinely it is another reason I am stepping back from interacting with Antis. It does take a physical toll.

The rhetoric thrown around last night was petrifying because it all sounded like the same shit said to me in fucking church and I was the odd one out because guess what fuckers I'm trans and abrosexual. Talk about a fuckin' abomination!

Last night I was reeling with a lot of my trauma hitting me at once because of what I have seen and been through. Therefore, it did take a lot out of me. This is my 2nd day waking up with a headache, but I kept replying out of a sense of duty.

I invited it all since well I was reblogging and arguing with people, but everything I said was factual and therefore I didn't expect pushback.

That was my first mistake.

Therefore, it is why reblogs will just be me sharing art.

My Audience

From now on, I plan to keep this place as peaceful as possible. I am already planning my Symbolism Essay on Height in Helluva Boss. For now, I will be keeping things as light hearted as possible. A note for antis I will not always reply to asks anymore. While you may find it amusing, my mental health is far more important.

If anything I'll just reply with a GIF and leave ya as a lamb to the slaughter and let my audience tear ya a new one.

I have quite a few great minds in there.

To you anon, I do apologize for using your ask as a place to express myself, but your ask allowed me to reflect and breathe after a rough night. I do appreciate your sentiments and understand you fully. This blog is a place to Stolas Fans to breathe and was made for ya'll so please do enjoy yourselves.

However, I have exhausted myself enough.

Toodles! Amalthea Out!

[aleenuhs]

Can you make a drabble where the reader asks Arthur for advice? The reader went through a difficult time and she would like to ask Arthur for help. You can do it platonically or romantically, I'd just like a little fluff with angst.

⋆Confide in Me

thank u anon. i am so sorry that i got back this really late, its been a whirlwind of things.

warnings: nun much just fluff and smidge of angst.

Lately you’d been down. Moping around camp and hardly carrying your own weight, so you were having a hard time needless to say.

Barley finishing your chores, your mind was filled with the negativity energy that clouded your judgement. Finding no time to be alone or without your thoughts for even a moment.

Nobody had noticed you and how you carried yourself for the last few days, well, most people in the gang had been out and about the land, hunting — robbing, stealing. Whatever they did outside of camp.

It felt so lonely but crowded at the same time, like you were a ghost in a room full of people.

Your life had been characterized by an overwhelming desire to escape, but a lack of direction harbored you. From your childhood till now, you wanted to leave, find a home. And even around these people who treated you so well, you felt lost. Arthur had tried talking to you, but you quickly ended it, shutting down any opportunity for him to ask if you were okay.

Arthur, had just came back from a hunting trip with the Charles, bringing back 2 deer carcasses.

You were sitting on a flipped over crate, which created something like a seat, which wasn’t to your comfort but you didn’t want to sit on the ground. You needed some kind of break, maybe even someone to confide in.

Arthur was at his tent, moving some stuff around, you looked at him, quickly looking away when his gaze turned back to you. A moment passed by and he kneeled next to you.

“Hey love,” he said, lowering his head to look at you, your gaze was locked to the floor and the blades of grass surrounding. Though it was hot out, the breeze felt nice.

You chose your words, and replied back. “Hi,” you said, barely audible, he had to strain to hear you.

“You doin’ alright there?” He said, still kneeling next you. You looked at him, you nodded, then took it back, shaking your head, tears threatening your eyes. His face contorted into a more worried expression, his hand went to your thigh. “Hey — what’s wrong?” He’d sensed something was up, the way you were hardly talking for the past few days, just finishing up chores. Which you didn’t like to do, but it was your distraction.

“I’ve…” You started, then retired as you could hardly find the words to express what you had been feeling for the longest. You and Arthur were no strangers, you knew him well and he knew you very well, and how he loves you is for eternity. But you could be closed off at times.

“I don’t know Arthur.” You spoke and his eyes looked sad as he looked at you. “I feel so alone, here.”

He brings you closer, taking you into his arms, now sitting on the ground with you in his arms, he slowly brushed your hair away from your face. “Whys that? Is someone making you feel that way?”

You immediately rejected that idea, as it was not true. “No, it’s not that Arthur. I don’t know how to explain it, I feel like I’m just free floating and nobody sees me here, I feel down. And it’s all coming back to me.” You shed a few tears, but you weren’t full fledged sobbing.

He nods, “Understood. Y’know, I see you. Always.” He said calmly, it comforted you like hell. “I’m here for you, come to me.”

“I know, but you’ve been gone for the time being. And I missed you so much.” You admitted.

“I can’t skip my chores or duties here, but if it’s somethin’ like this, I’ll try and stay here for you. You mean s’much to me, if I lost you I’d go mad.” He said stroking your hair. And at once, your problems weren’t gone, but you knew you had a solid rock to lean on. And it was Arthur.

“Yeah. Thank you, Arthur.” You looked up at him, he thumb reaches up to swipe a tear from your cheek, kissing your forehead.

a/n if u liked this pls req more, they’ll be open for a bit (check guidelines and info to see who and what I write for!)

[troyo-boyo]

A Language All Our Own (Sydney Colson x Reader)

Summary: At a Team Bonding night, Syd and her partner share hilarious inside jokes and chaotic stories, cherishing their unique connection amid the team’s laughter.

Wordcount: 1,073

The Las Vegas Aces had rented out a cozy event space for their annual team bonding night, a much-needed break from the intensity of the season. The room was alive with the buzz of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the occasional shout of triumph from the corner where A’ja and Jackie were locked in an epic game of charades. Plates of catered food sat scattered across the tables, and the energy was infectious.

Sydney was in her element, moving from group to group like a social butterfly, her quick wit and infectious humor lighting up every corner of the room. You had taken a seat near a makeshift stage, quietly watching her hold court as she animatedly recounted a story to Kelsey and Alysha, both of whom were doubled over laughing.

“Babe!” Sydney called across the room, catching your eye. She waved you over with her signature grin. “What are you doing all the way over there? Come sit with us!”

You made your way through the sea of players, smiling as Sydney patted the seat next to her on the couch. “You’ve been too quiet tonight,” she teased, her arm draping casually across your shoulders. “Should I be concerned?”

“I’m just observing the chaos,” you replied, smiling. “It’s highly entertaining.”

“Observing is for boring people,” Kelsey chimed in, nudging you with her elbow. “C’mon, spill some dirt. Sydney’s got to have embarrassed herself at some point, right?”

Sydney gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Betrayal already? We haven’t even been married 24 hours in charades time.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘embarrassed,’” you said, smirking, “but we’ve had some… interesting moments.”

“Interesting how?” Alysha asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sydney’s face lit up. “Oh, tell them about the chicken nugget thing!”

“No way,” you said, shaking your head.

“Yes way,” Sydney countered. “They need to know the truth.”

“What truth?” Jackie asked, sliding onto the couch next to Alysha. A’ja followed close behind, balancing a plate piled high with food.

“Apparently, Sydney and I can’t survive a road trip without turning it into a complete circus,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly.

“Let me set the scene,” Sydney cut in, gesturing grandly. “We’re driving back from practice, tired, hungry, and, most importantly, craving nuggets. So we hit the drive-thru, and I, being the genius that I am, order 50 nuggets instead of 15. Completely by accident.”

A’ja nearly choked on her food. “Wait, 50? What did you do with all of them?”

“We ate them,” Sydney said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “But that’s not the point. The point is, Nuggetgate was born that day.”

Kelsey tilted her head, intrigued. “Nuggetgate?”

“It’s what we call any minor inconvenience now,” you explained. “Like if someone’s late to practice, Sydney will say, ‘Here we go, another Nuggetgate.’”

The group burst into laughter, and A’ja leaned back, wiping her eyes. “You two are something else.”

“Wait, I’ve got another one,” Sydney said, turning to you with a mischievous grin. “Tell them about the burrito thing.”

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Because it’s gold,” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “Please. Do it for me.”

You sighed, but the way she looked at you—with that mix of amusement and affection—made it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you said, relenting. “So, we’re stuck in traffic one morning, and Sydney’s eating this giant breakfast burrito. Out of nowhere, someone honks their horn, but it’s like, a weird ‘BEEP BEEP’ that sounds all distorted. Without missing a beat, she turns to me and says, ‘Who’s trying to send Morse code to my burrito?’”

The room erupted with laughter, A’ja nearly dropping her plate as she leaned forward.

“Morse code to a burrito?” Jackie repeated, shaking her head. “What even goes through your head, Sydney?”

“Greatness,” Sydney replied, straight-faced. “That’s what goes through my head.”

As the group continued swapping stories, Sydney leaned into you, her voice low enough for only you to hear. “You know, they’ll never fully get it. These jokes… they’re just ours.”

“And I kind of love that,” you replied, smiling.

“Same,” she said, her hand finding yours under the table.

The night went on, and A’ja eventually called for a group activity: a game where each person had to share a funny or embarrassing moment from their life. The Aces were all for it, and soon the room was filled with stories about childhood mishaps, awkward interviews, and on-court blunders.

When it was Sydney’s turn, she stood up dramatically, taking a bow before starting. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the legend of The Great Shoe Switch.”

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, already knowing where this was headed.

Sydney pointed at you. “This one involves my partner-in-crime over here. So, picture this: we’re late for practice one morning, rushing out the door like our lives depend on it. I grab what I think are my basketball shoes, only to realize halfway through drills that I’m wearing two completely different sneakers.”

The room burst into laughter, Kelsey doubling over as she clapped her hands.

“But wait,” Sydney said, holding up a finger. “It gets better. Guess who was wearing the other mismatched pair?”

All eyes turned to you as the team howled with laughter.

“Listen,” you said, throwing your hands up in mock defense. “In my defense, I was half-asleep, and she didn’t notice either!”

Sydney grinned, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “And that’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

The teasing continued for a while longer, but as the event started winding down, Sydney pulled you aside, the noise of the room fading into the background.

“Thanks for playing along tonight,” she said, her voice softer now.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling. “I love how much fun we have together. Even if no one else gets it.”

“They don’t need to,” she said, lacing her fingers with yours. “We’ve got our own thing. That’s what makes it special.”

As you looked around at the team—laughing, joking, and clearly enjoying themselves—you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unique connection you and Sydney shared. In a room full of people, you two always found a way to make your own little world.

And as Sydney leaned in to whisper another ridiculous inside joke in your ear, you knew that world would always be yours to share.

[lostintransist]

Liaison | Part 6 | Galas, Business, and Backroom Deals

Check out part one here. Up to chapter 34/38 on AO3.

Blinking hard at the computer didn’t change the fact the words had all become unreadable. You had started work at four am and hadn’t left your chair since. The phone showed 10:23 AM if you squinted. Pushing away from the computer you shuffled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As the last of the liquid ability to keep going dripped into your cup Kate finds you.

“Ah, Liaison. I’m glad I found you. I’ve cleared your schedule for the day. Go and grab your bag.” Kate dressed simply in jeans and flannel.

“What do you even do here Kate?”

Kate smirked at your exhausted question. “I coordinate teams on the ground. While you line up jobs for the team now I keep them all moving to the goals once we work the jobs.”

“Why did you clear my schedule then?” You focus the majority of your energy on the task of moving your coffee to a to-go cup and adding the prescribed amount of creamer.

“Because you’ve been with us long enough that Shepherd and I agree you can start taking on the networking parties.” The grin Kate has wouldn’t look out of place on a crocodile.

“And if I don’t want to be the face of the 141?” You mumble the question into your coffee. Kate hears you anyway.

“Too bad, you’ll be getting a £50,000 yearly raise and a company card for expenses.”

Spit takes with hot coffee should lead to a fine for whoever made the coffee come out of your nose. You cough until you can breathe again.

“Now much is my raise?” You stare at Kate with wide eyes, mouth agape.

“You heard me. Now go and get your stuff we have a lot to get done today. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

Hurrying down the hall you pack up your computer and ensure your workspace is clear. Firing off a quick text to König you head back down the hall.

<I’m getting a raise, so that’s cool. But now I have to go to parties 🤮

A reply pops up on your screen before you can reach the lobby.

>I would rather shoot myself in the head.

<While I understand the sentiment I’m going to like the chance to drink while working.

When you move close enough to see the lobby you see Harold, face red and chin quivering, talking with Kate who leans over the high counter.

“You okay Harold?”

Kate spins around to look at you while Harold sits in his chair, head disappearing below the eye line.

“He got some bad news about his family, ready to go?” Kate replies for him. She ushers you through the front door. You look over your shoulder, seeing nothing amiss.

“Where are we headed first?” You climb into the right side of the car, still uncomfortable with UK cars despite being here a year.

“You are getting a makeover today. Facial, massage, hair colored, among other things and then we are going to get you several dresses. Your first party is on Friday. I will be going with you and introducing you to a few people. Word that you work for us won’t take long to get around. Most people there will already have your number in their phone, so adding a pretty face to the number should help us get more jobs.” Kate drove as she spoke, slipping into traffic with ease.

“Kitty is going to be your hair stylist, she also does makeup. She is good at keeping her mouth shut and because of that has some high-priority clientele. Lana is going to provide your massage and Tia is going to give you a facial. We will be done at their salon in about two hours, which will leave plenty of time to get some dresses and shoes. The ladies will work at the same time to get everything done in time.”

You take note of the names Kate mentions and write them down in a small notebook along with what each woman does. This had been your trick to keeping jobs and people straight as you learn about them. Writing them helps everything stick and allows you to update your spreadsheets.

Kate always struck you as someone who tried to be ‘one of the guys’. Being on a first-name basis with women who fell into more traditionally female-coded jobs felt out of character. You tuck the incongruence into your mental folder on Kate. She did manage the liaison position before you, and if you are forced to go to parties then Kate must have had as well. You wonder if you can get a suit along with the dresses you are slated for.

The turn into the parking structure takes you by surprise, the oh-shit handle becoming one with your hand. Kate drives a bit wild, nothing like the controlled sedation of Harold. Though, as you think on it she drives much better than most of the team. You end up in a car with them for one reason or another from time to time.

Riding the elevator in silence you notice, maybe for the first time that you had several inches on Kate. Her large presence and the fact you slouched in your chair most of the time had left you with the impression you stood at nearly the same height.

When the ding of the elevator alerted you to the arrival of the correct floor you catch sight of a beautiful woman with bright pink hair standing behind the counter.

“Hi, Kate! Is this your new liaison?”

You wave as Kate introduces you.

“And remind me what we are getting ready for today?”

“Galas, business, and backroom deals like always Kitty.”

They laughed as if this were a commonly shared joke.

The next two hours should have been calming. All of your knots are attacked and obliterated by Lana. You must keep a neutral face when Tia is working on removing layers of dead skin. Kitty gives you what she calls low lights. You have no idea what that means but once all the women step from the room you rush to clothe yourself. Kate enters the room without knocking as you are halfway through getting your jeans on.

“Do you have any nicer underwear?” she pulls a face at your cotton undies and plain t-shirt bra.

“No? I don’t need them.” You wiggle your pants over your hips and ass, buttoning them and grabbing your shirt.

“You will, I will add that to our list of items to pick up.”

“If no one will be seeing them then I don’t need them.”

“Not your call, plus the nice underwear makes the clothes sit better, I promise.”

“I can’t imagine you getting all fancy for parties like this.”

“Oh trust me,” a wry tone, “It was not a walk in the park for me.”

Once your shirt is settled back in place you follow Kate into the proper salon area. Kitty has you sit in her chair. She drapes a gown over your clothes and gives you a light trim with some shaping. Kitty talks with Kate for most of the visit.

“What is the feeling you are going for on Friday’s party?”

“Classy, we need to introduce her and let her settle in people’s minds as one of ours before we start making waves.”

“Okay, send me a picture once you have the dress picked out and I will work with my associate Emma to get everything ready. Since there will be two of you I will be needing help.”

Hair cut, face scrubbed, nails buffed and shined, thoroughly assaulted you follow Kate back to the elevator. Going down two floors you are interested to see a high-end shop. The woman dressed all in black greats Kate with an air of self-importance, glancing you over before dismissing you mentally.

You can do no more than try on a dress and present it to Kate and the mistress of the shop before you are ordered back to try on another. After the twelfth dress, you send a message to König. The picture you send him is flattering, the floor-length ballgown hugged your breasts and flowed down in an elegant A-line.

<You wanted to be a sniper right?

>Ja.

<Any chance you could arrange to take me out before I have to try one more gown?

>Nein. You are friend.

The only reply you can think to send is a picture of you flipping him the bird.

@nicroyal02

Part 5 | Part 7

Masterlist

[igglemouse]

It's only the first trimester but this pregnancy thing is already a bit rough, at least more than I imagined. I never expected it to be easy but I do get tired of having to run to the bathroom. Yeaaa, lets not talk about that!

Instead lets talk about waffles, more specifically, chicken and waffles! My appetite has definitely started to change as I find myself more likely to completely clean a plate but I don't think I've had any specific cravings yet? I mean, right now I'm craving golden waffles and slightly crisp fried chicken drenched in sweet syrup, does that count?

Naturally the scent of waffles wafting waffly through the house is enough to draw Pascal down to the kitchen. I'm pretty sure waffles are his favorite food and the way he lights up before digging into them tells me that I might be right.

He takes a few bites, makes a groan of approval, then turns his attention to me, a bit of concern on his face. "You okay?" He asks with his mouth half full. "You spent a lot of time in the restroom this morning and-"

"Yeaaah, just one of those things I guess?" I say trying to pass it off casually. The constant nausea is common during pregnancy, right? Probably nothing. "It'll be okay!"

"Yeah," he mumbles, getting right back to his meal.

That reminds me, Pascal hasn't really talked much about this whole 'we're going to be parents' thing too much and by too much I mean not really at all? He's told me that he'll be there for the baby and for me and that matters but I do wish he was a little more involved.

I think he saves most of his enthusiasm for mud baths. It's a ritual for him, I think. I can understand why, it can be very relaxing sinking yourself into a puddle of earthy mud and letting the world melt away. I understand he kicks a ball around for a living but it does take a lot out of him. Athletes really push their bodies past limits. It must be a ritual of his at this point.

As for me, I find my own way to unwind. Grooving to Latin pop, the infectious beats fill the room and gets my feet to move but not too much. Sure would hate to trip or something buuut I'm hoping my little one is vibing to the music too!

Doing laundry isn't in any way more fun than dancing but it has to get done. Even if the sun is bearing down on you, making you sweat, and...why doesn't Pascal have a washer and dryer again?

But I wasn't going to spend my entire day under the sun, especially when Sara decided to drop by again. She's been coming over more and more lately, I don't mind, but as I've mentioned before she's a bit nosy. Always asking questions and trying to pry, just a touch annoying actually, but there's something endearing to it? It's almost like little sister energy, if that makes sense? Maybe that's just me wishing I had a little sister.

She does remind me of an old friend I had back home, in Selva. A softer version of her, a less confident version of her, but a version of her all the same. Candela was her name but that's a story for another day.

As soon as we sit down Sara dives right into the topic of Pascal. Completely expected, remember, she's the nosy prying type after all but I decided to turn the tables back on her and ask her about her own love life.

"Umm, remember, I'm not so fortunate," her reply is hesitant and her voice cracks a little, letting me know this is more of a sensitive topic for her.

"Sara, you're way too hard on yourself! I know you've had some luck-"

"What's luck if I'm sitting here single," she interrupts, set on putting herself down I guess.

"Sara, you're young, we all are," I say, wanting to defend her from herself. "It's really not that big of a deal being single. Sometimes, it's better than being stuck with someone that's abusive."

"Yeah...well, for now, I'll live vicariously through your relationship so lets hear about it." The smile on her face is forced but I agree. I don't want to force her to talk about her.

So I tell her about Pascal and me but there really isn't any excitement because there isn't much to go on about? We are just sort of...living together? No big adventures or vacations, nothing overly romantic, we've just been sharing a space and going through life day by day I guess.

"You're going to have to pull him off the pitch long enough for you two to do more together," Sara suggests. It's a good idea. The SPL, which stands for Sims Premier League, has an offseason doesn't it?

After Sara leaves the house feels a little quieter. That's alright because I'll always have ice cream! It's the sort of thing that can bring joy to any evening and so I step right over to the kitchen and pull out my nifty ice cream making machine and make me a bowl of it. because, why not? Feels like a butter pecan kind of day to me and it's feeling like I'll be needing two bowls!

One thing I think I have to consider when it comes to living with Pascal is that I've been doing most of the chores. Whether its scrubbing countertops or washing the dishes or doing laundry out in near 100 degree heat, it's me doing it all and here I am vacuuming so that we're not inhaling dust. Makes me wonder how he was keeping this place clean before me? I'd ask Pascal to do it for tonight but...

The mechanical whir of the treadmill and the pounding of his feet had told me he was busy. I quietly slipped inside of his workout room, which, now that I think about it, looks like it would be better suited for a child but maybe that's a discussion for another day.

I have to squeal out a hello to get his attention and once I do; "Does the offer still stand?" I ask, voice raised to be heard of the rhythm of his workout.

"Huh?" He kinda shouts back, a little out of breath.

"Moving in, does it still stand?" and I shout right back.

"O-oh! Yeah! Of course! Of course it does!" He stammers back and gives me a smile. I'll leave him alone for now I guess.

So yeah, it looks like I've mad my decision or rather, fate has made it for me.

I do have some concerns but that's expected, right? No one is perfect.

Honestly, if I were not pregnant with his child I do not think I would have made this decision but now that I am I want to do everything right. That includes raising a child the usual way. Mother, father, a house, a family, that kind of thing. It's at least worth a try, it's more than what was done for me growing up.

I'll miss this place. I wasn't here for long but that's the story of my life. I don't tend to stay in places for too long. The universe always nudges me on to my next chapter and on to the next episode..

Frida Varela Index ~ Next Episode 6 'Familiar Connections'

[ghcstao3]

(scrapped) hogwarts professor!ghost x zoologist!soap very very old draft but :3 also peep ghost with glasses

-

Ghost’s social life has never been anything spectacular to begin with, but when he somehow manages to become the newest potions professor at Hogwarts, he finds it to be entirely lacking.

The balance he requires among work alone is enough to keep him busy nearly every waking hour of his days, and adding his personal life to his list of things-to-do, Ghost would surely end up with prematurely greying hair. 

(And who is he kidding—he’s already just about reached that point.)

So, it is safe to say that Ghost doesn’t get out much. It’s an unfortunate truth for his first couple of years teaching, but honestly, it isn’t much of a bother. Ghost is mostly happy, if a little stressed, and he’s more than lucky to be in his current position—that’s what he thinks, and that’s all that matters. Work gives him purpose.

At least, it’s all that matters until the universe decides it has other plans and introduces Ghost to a mildly bizarre man by the name of Soap.

Soap (real name currently unbeknownst to Ghost) approaches the professor while he shops for ingredients for a personal potions project. Soap is broad, attractive, and looks like he lives off one too many Invigoration Draughts a day. He greets Ghost with a manic smile in an attempt to act friendly, though the gesture isn’t at all helped by a body otherwise buzzing with energy. Everything about the man screams eccentricity, but then again—Ghost is a wizard. He’s always been bound to meet… interesting people.

“How much might you know about potions?”

Ghost blinks, genuinely surprised. Just from the stranger’s odd behaviour, Ghost had feared he’d earn a proposition, or that here, in the safety of the apothecary, the man would push to sell him something most probable to be illegal. 

But alas. An innocent question.

Ghost shoves the wiry bridge of his glasses further up his nose with his thumb, clears his throat. His fingers curl tight around the vial of mistletoe berries he holds as the stranger waits patiently for a reply.

“Well,” Ghost starts slowly, “considering I teach how to make them for a living, I would hope I’d know a thing or two.”

The man beams, eyes bright with gratitude Ghost is not yet worthy of.

“That’s perfect,” he says. “Then do you think you could help me with something?”

Politely, Ghost nods, though he has to wonder why the man hadn’t just gone to the shopkeep for advice first—but then, with a quick glance to the counter, he sees that said shopkeep is nowhere to be seen. His brows dip in a mild frown, not deep enough to be noticeable to anyone but Ghost himself.

“Alright, so—I have this hippogriff that I’ve been takin' care of and normally she isn’t so restless, but for whatever reason nothing I’ve done has worked to keep her calm for very long,” the stranger explains. “Potions are typically a last resort for me so I’m… I’m not sure what I should be making.”

“Uh,” Ghost says intelligently, sifting through his mind for an answer. He knows, he does, only, “I’ve never administered anything to something that wasn’t a wizard, but it should still work the same, with some adjustments.”

The stranger laughs. “‘It’ being…”

“Right, sorry.” Ghost clears his throat. His face warms with a blush, chest filled with passing embarrassment. He’s meant to be good, knowledgeable about these things. “The Draught of Peace. An anxiety reliever. But it’s a difficult potion to brew. You’d have to be experienced in potion-making to be certain nothing goes wrong.”

The stranger’s face falls. Ghost has already come to learn him to be rather expressive.

“Of course,” Ghost adds in a breath before he can stop himself. He isn’t sure why his mouth is still moving. “I could always make it for you.”

It's unfortunate that he can't find it in himself to regret the offer in any regard, after seeing the sheer and open look of hope it instills on the man's face.