#and the position gives him lots of room to adjust without having to move into a completely new position

[followthebluebell]

Hey! Do you have any advice on introducing resident cats to a new dog?

I've got two cats with varying dog experiences (varies between "cohabitated but would avoid each other" to "has met a dog and it wasn't the worst thing ever") and will be getting an adult dog who's never lived with cats sometime within the first two weeks after I move to a new house, and I really want it to go smoothly.

More details about the dogs and cats etc so u can decide if they're necessary or if I'm blabbering lol My cats are ~5 and ~10. The 10 year old lived with my mom's three large dogs (average 75lbs) for the first four years of his life and that went okay, but he was indoor/outdoor (has been indoor only since he became mine 5.5 years ago) and the house was 3x the size of the place I'm moving to, so there were a lot less interactions than there will be in my new place. The 5 year old has less than great socialization (my fault -_-) but has been welcoming to people who aren't me in the last year with the help of kitty cat prozac. She's never lived with dogs before but has met my family's dogs on occasion and didn't get overly frightened (I've lived with cats and dogs my entire life and am fairly familiar with the difference between "I'm uncomfortable with this new thing" and "I'm scared of this new thing and I can't function", she fell in the former even before anxiety meds). Dog is a 3 year old chocolate lab, medium/low energy, kid and dog friendly, has lived with both, okay in crowds, a bit of a scaredy cat. He's 75-85lbs, so a big dog. He's never lived with cats before but his current owner says he doesn't fixate on squirrels or cats on walks and hasn't ever chased them, so I feel confident in saying he can adjust to cats. The house: 800 square feet, 2 bed 1 bath, kitchen and living room don't have doors, but I could block access from the living room/kitchen to both bedrooms and the bathroom with a single baby gate. Fully fenced backyard but not secure enough to leave a large dog in alone.

Ohh some big moves ahead! Congrats on your new pupper!

alright, so definitely get that baby gate up, so you can keep your dog away. Your cats are going to go through two major transitions: first, they're moving (always upsetting to cats), second, there's suddenly a dog??? Here??? In their personal space???? So it's good to ensure everyone's got their own little bit of personal space while everything settles down.

tbh, in the past when I've moved, I've always sequestered my cats in my bedroom or bathroom to ensure they know 'hey, this is where you live now'. It's also helpful to sort of establish a safe zone for them to hide if they just feel overwhelmed. You can always ask your vet for something a little stronger to help your anxious cat out. Gabapentin was a HUGE help when i had to evacuate some years ago and was traveling with three cats (who were still somewhat uncomfortable around each other), a dog, and a lot of reptiles.

once all animals have had a few days to quiet down, you can start scent swapping. Take some fabric, rub your new dog all over and let the cats sniff it. Do the same to the cats with a different cloth and let the dog sniff it. Everyone should get treats at this step, to help them get positive reinforcement. Let them sleep on some old towels for a few days and then swap those too.

You should also use these few days to figure out what commands your new dog knows. Teaching 'sit' and 'leave it' are INVALUABLE.

Once the cats are comfortable, you can let them see the dog on the other side of the gate. You may want to keep the dog on a leash as well, because chocolate labs tend to be very bouncy and excited. You want to keep the dog as focused on Something Else as possible, so I recommend giving him a nice frozen peanut butter treat or something similar. The goal here is to let the cats adjust at their own pace without the dog getting over excited directly at them. Again, you want to reinforce any positive interactions with treats. If your cats have a favorite treat, use them here. Really hype up those cats, you know?

When everyone is comfortable again, you can begin more face-to-face introductions. Have the dog on a leash and remove the gate. Again, having some frozen treats on hand may help to distract the dog if he seems to be focusing a bit too much on the kitties.

It's fine if it takes a long time. You can always go back to an earlier step.

[seiwas]

not to be so explicit but i think one of iwaizumi's fave positions is with one of your legs up, ankle right on his shoulder by his ear as he keeps one arm wrapped around your calf and his other hand splayed on your stomach 🙂

[chwerio]

DECORATIONS

PAIRING: bf!vernon x reader

CONTENT: drabble, fluff, established relationship, reader's sticker obsession, very light skinship between vernon and reader^.^

WORD COUNT: 400 (this was intended to be longer but i liked it better short)

SUMMARY: vernon doesn't mind the cute and colourful little stickers you put on his headphones (scratch that, he loves it).

note: i lost my headphones last month (not relevant, i just thought u guys should know). i am currently saving up to buy new ones and the prices are making my heart ache. smh.

VERNON DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING. Not when you stick holographic tabby cats on the side of his headphones. In fact, he doesn't even move a muscle from where he's sitting, as if he were paying you no mind at all.

He isn't oblivious to your chest leaning into his side or how your chin rests on his shoulder out of boredom. To him, it had always been your way of letting him know that you needed some sort of attention.

Only this time, while he was mindlessly scrolling through his phone, you had other ideas in mind.

In his peripheral vision, he notices the excessive amount of times you raise your hand to the side of his head, suspiciously pressing something small onto the black surface of his headphones.

At first, he assumes you were fidgeting or brushing off fluff from his hair. But after a few minutes, he takes his eyes off his phone screen and turns his head to you, catching a glint of something shimmering between your fingers.

He tilts his headphone off one ear and glances at the abnormal number of sticker sheets on your lap. "Cats?" he asks flatly.

"Tabby cats," you added, using your empty hand to guide his chin back to its original position. You place the sticker next to the other cats. "With holo finish. Very shiny."

Vernon puts his phone down to remove his headphones fully, only to be met with half its surface decorated with cat chaos. He has to give you credit, though, for how lovingly you arranged them: sleepy cats, angry cats, rainbow cats, and... a banana cat?

You nuzzle your cheek further into his shoulder and mumble, "You don't like?"

His eyes quickly meet with yours, which stare right at him. "No, I do. I do like them. A lot," he says, pointing at one with his thumb, nodding, "I like this one in particular. Rainbow cat."

You hum in response, going quiet once he puts his headphones back on. Your fingers rest on his arm while he resumes scrolling--but he's not really thinking about his phone anymore.

"You can put more on if you want," he murmurs.

You look up at him. "You want more?"

He taps the surface of the opposite ear, grinning. "Well, I can't have one side untouched."

Without a second thought, you grab your sheets and smile wildly, crawling over his lap to snuggle in on his other side. He barely reacts to the sudden shift onto him--just adjusts to make room for you.

"I'm going to make you very, very, shiny, babe..." you say in a hushed tone, already peeling off stickers, earning a snicker from him.

note: Hi

[midnightquips]

Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

💫 Dangerously Close Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1: Sparks & Sandwiches

Part I

Breathing is a regular bodily function. Supposedly easy. An unconscious action. But for some reason, Bucky Barnes makes you overly aware of yours. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but when he’s lounging in the training room, built like a Greek statue, it just seems to… happen. Adding to the fact that he randomly calls you sweetheart with that stupid crooked grin, your stomach just can’t help but flutter when he’s around. 

You’re currently busy pretending to not look at him while you stretch on the mat. Whether you’re succeeding is questionable. 

Bucky is across the gym, holding a punch bag steady while John Walker lays into it like he’s got something to prove–which, frankly, he always does.

His gaze flicks towards you, just for a second. You should have looked away in embarrassment but don’t want to make it seem that you were stealing glances, so you give him a small smile instead. He reciprocates warmly.

You’re snapped out of the little moment when Yelena murmurs mid-lunge beside you, “You’re not subtle.”

“What?” you reply innocently, through cheeks burning

Yelena makes a face, “Don’t think this thing–” motioning her head between you and Bucky, “–is very unnoticeable.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re a super spy. Everything is noticeable to you. Your mind is almost making things up.”

“Yet you’re a super spy and you still can’t figure out he’s into you.” It’s Yelena’s turn to roll her eyes

“He flirts with everyone. You’ve seen him. I’m not reading into it.” 

Yelena snorts. “Sure. That’s why he lets you throw him across the mat without complaint. Totally something he does with everyone.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m strong.”

“Yes, you are, but that’s not the point.” She pauses, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “He clearly enjoys the straddling way more than he should.”

You nearly lose your balance.

Across the room, Bucky definitely notices.

Bucky is convinced his willpower is being tested.

He’s resting against the far wall of the gym, towel slung around his neck. He watches you carefully as you move through your warm-up with Yelena. Your current position–on your knees, pushing your body forward, chest facing up–makes Bucky swallow hard. It pulls at something primal inside him.

Bucky has seen hundreds of women in gym clothes. But for some reason, you in tight black leggings and a loose tank top knotted at your waist has him on edge. Maybe it’s because he’s imagined your body too many times and every time you wear this, it confirms even more how stunning you were. He adores every inch of you, but your thighs haunt him most nights. Thick, strong and always on display in your training gear. 

He wants–no, prays to feel them wrapped around his waist. His shoulders. His face.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, adjusting the towel to cover his reaction.

“You good?” Bob Reynolds appears beside him like a blond, nosy ghost.

“Fine.”

“Mmm.” Bob’s smile is too knowing. “You keep staring like you’re writing poetry in your head.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you writing poetry in your head?”

“No.” Bucky watches you laugh at something Yelena says, a dimple flashing in your cheek. His stomach tightens.

“Because I could help you rhyme something with thighs.”

“Bob, I swear to God.”

Training always brings out the best and worst in you. You enjoy sparring. You like the burn in your muscles and learning new techniques you’ve never considered. You specifically loved the way your body can do things now that it couldn’t months ago. The real cherry on top was sparring with Bucky. 

Which is also a real dilemma. Because he’s stupid hot but also stupid skilled.

And, worst of all, he lets you win. A flattery and an insult rolled into one.

“You’re pulling your punches again,” you say, landing on your back after a takedown you know he could’ve blocked.

Bucky stands over you, offering his hand. “Maybe you’re just too good, sweetheart.”

You narrow your eyes but take his hand. His grip is firm, warm, and way too steady. “You know, most people don’t flirt while getting their ass handed to them.”

He helps you up slowly, like it’s an excuse to let his hand linger. “Only with you.”

Your brain short-circuits. You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Behind you, Yelena raises both eyebrows and mouths, Oh my god.

The compound smells like heaven that evening. 

You’re occupied in the kitchen, hair up, apron on while music is softly playing in the background. Steaks searing in the iron pan & vegetables roasting in the oven, while you quickly check on the saffron rice on the stove. 

You taste a small spoon of the rice and nod your head in approval, knowing the team would love it. Cooking grounds you. Moving through the kitchen with ease makes this place feel like home.

A hand brushes your lower back. You only know one person stealthy enough to sneak up behind you. 

“Smells good, doll.”

Bucky stands behind you, chest lightly pressed on your back as he peeks over your shoulder. He leans close enough that you feel the heat of his voice on your cheeks. Tempting you to almost lean back. 

You try not to look at him. Breezy, cool on the front. Melting inside. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He pulls back and leans on the counter beside so he has a full view of you. The short cotton dress you’re wearing makes you look more homey, inviting thoughts of domestic life into Bucky’s brain. He crosses his arms and looks at you with a small smile, “I’m always hungry for your food.” 

You try to ignore the way your heart flips. “I’m not serving you food unless you’ve showered.” 

“It was quick. Didn’t want to miss you.” He says warmly

He says it only with a hint of teasing that it almost makes you pause. Almost. “Perhaps some distance will do us some good.”

“I would say more dangerous than good.” 

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“Can’t be any more fonder of you than I already am.” 

It doesn’t mean anything. A simple reminder to yourself, before you turn back to the shelf beside the stove, trying to grab a spice from the top. 

Bucky doesn’t even ask, just simply takes his place behind you once more, hand bracing your waist as he easily grabs the jar from above your head. He keeps his hand on your waist while pushing the spice into your hand. 

“Here,” he says softly, voice a little lower

You take it almost reluctantly. Not realizing you’d been holding your breath. This man was definitely determined to kill you. 

You’re snapped into returning to the cooking when he finally releases you. He decides to give you space by sitting at the kitchen island, but contrary to what you claimed earlier, you’re not quite sure the distance was really doing any good in this situation.

Dinner is chaos in the best way. 

Alexei continuously praises your steak, declaring it “better than any American restaurant” while John asks for seconds before finishing his first plate. Yelena is busy asking why you never opened your own place, which she does every time. Bob makes a dad-joke about the saffron being “worth its weight in gold,” and Ava offers to do dishes as she requests you make paella again next week.

Bucky doesn’t say much, only looks at you the whole time. 

He finally speaks when dinner has wrapped up. He asks if you want help in the kitchen. You don’t see it but Yelena has signaled the team to leave when she overhears this. John smirks at the meddling. 

You stand side by side at the sink. Bucky washing the dishes and you drying it. 

“Thanks for cooking. I would say it’s delicious, but I think having no leftover already signals that” he says.

You smile. “It’s nothing. I like feeding you guys.”

“You don’t have to do it all the time.”

“I want to. Feeding people is... comforting.” You pause, then tease, “Unless you’re offering to cook next time.”

“Only if you want me to burn pasta and set off the fire alarm.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hard pass.”

He likes the way your eyes light up when you laugh. He’s so gone.

There’s a bit of pause when you decide to ask, “Bucky, you date a lot?”

Bucky blinks in surprise, “What?”

You shrug, focusing on piling the plates back in the cabinet. “Just curious. You seem like... the type who does well. You know.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Why do you think that?”

“You flirt with everyone. You’ve got the arms. The eyes. The mysterious brooding past.”

His tone shifts, softer. “Y/N.”

You look over, taken aback by the seriousness painted on his face.

He simply says, “I don’t flirt with everyone.”

Your breath catches, unsure of what to make of his response. He’s still watching you and there’s palpable tension.

Yelena’s voice breaks the moment as she calls from the hall: “When are you two gonna fuck already?”

You drop the plate.

Bucky turns red.

[galateaschild]

Smut headcanons: You’re both k-pop trainees and start sleeping with each other

Male K-pop Trainee!Oc x Male K-pop Trainee!Reader

Warnings: Oc and Reader are 19, bottom!reader, top!oc, loss of virginity, fingering (spit as lube), hand jobs, blow job, anal sex, mentions of taking pictures of + filming sexual activity, unprotected sex (practice safe sex everyone!).

Prompt: You and your dormmate begin getting intimate…

(A/n: Very niche reference but MSA Entertainment is the same as Doona’s in the k-drama ”DOONA”)

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

• You had been street casted by MSA Entertainment only two months ago. The company had one active and very popular girl group and were now preparing for the debut of a new boy group.

• You were made to move in with a dormmate when you became a trainee.

• When you first met him you had immediately noted how handsome he was. His eyes lingered on you too.

• Things started out kinda awkward between the two of you, as you were both unsure how to approach each other.

• But during practice he’d soon start approaching you more if he noticed you needed help with a dance move or something.

• The two of you grew closer as friends, VERY close. You both became touchy with each other. To an outsider it looked as if you were feeling each other up.

• Things started become even more intimate between the two of you as ”things” started happening between you.

He’d walk out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel after showers.

You’d lay around the dormroom in just a pair of white socks and heart patterned boxers.

He’d steal some of your clothes.

You’d steal some of his as revenge.

He’d wake you up in the morning by getting in to bed with you.

You’d start hugging him a lot (even if you weren’t fully clothed at some times)

…

• And then one night when you were cuddled up on a couch watching a drama, when he placed a hand on your thigh, and started running up to over your heart patterned boxers… you didn’t stop him.

• He snuck a hand into your boxers and started rubbing your cock softly. Making you moan softly.

• Soon he made lay back on the couch as he stripped you of your boxers. He positioned you with your legs spread. He put one of his fingers in your mouth asking you to make it wet for him.

• Then he’d move his hand to your ass and start pushing a finger into you, streching out your untouched virgin hole.

• He smirked as he watched your face scrunch up at the new feeling as he slowly fingered you, eventually adding more fingers inside you.

• He fingered you until you came all over yourself. Ropes of white sticky cum covering your abdomen. He then licked it off of you.

• Then without much talk you both went to bed and nothing happened between you over the next few days.

• The next time would be the following week.

• After a slow practice and a disagreement he’d had with one of the other trainees, he was feeling stressed.

• As the two of you stayed in the practice room to keep working, you soon ended up on your knees in front of the bulge in his sweatpants.

• You lowered his pants and underwear revealing his now hard manhood to you.

• It was your first time giving a blowjob but he helped guide you as you took his dick into your mouth.

• The sight of you with a cock stuffed between your lips made him eager and soon cum was dripping from his cock and your lips onto the practice room floor.

• The first time you two would have sex would start like the first time you started getting intimate, as you were watching a drama.

• You started making out and undressing each other. Until your naked bodies were tangled together.

• After he prepped you, he started pushing his thick cock inside you. You both moved slowly as his shaft streched your tight virgin walls to adjust to him.

• The sound from the tv was drowned out by the heavy moans coming from the two of you.

• He was gentle yet passionate with his movements as he rolled his hips against you. His cock going deep inside you.

• Soon you both reached your climax and you shot your load on your all over your and his abdomen. He followed closely as he flooded you your insides with his orgasm.

• As he pulled out cum was spilling from your deflowered hole.

• After that night sexual activities became a regular occurence between the two of you.

• You explored each others bodies, seeing what the other liked.

• You had sex all over the dorm, the small kitchen counter, the shower, the floor…

• The two of you even ended up fucking in the practice room once.

• He liked it when you would occasionally hold him down and ride him at a rough pace. Seeing your regularly sweet face so determined to take him to his orgasm.

• He likes to take pictures of you once he’s done with you, pictures of you with cum coated lips, cum on your torso, with a cum stuffed hole.

• The two of you even started filming yourselves as you were having sex. His phone now had a full folder of just pictures and videos of you and him.

• His favourite thing is breeding you full of his load, it’s his way of making you his before debut, before he will have to share you with all the future fans.

[maroonshirt81]

that race hurt so bad! 😭 can you write something hurt/comfort-y for carcar?

kinda mixed these two together. i feel everyone and their mom has already written oscar hurt/comfort after the race, but I wanted to give it a try, too... so here you go.

carcar, 4k, rated m for language

tagging @magnets5581 so they see this.

_____________

Lando still smelled like champagne when Carlos finally found him in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by most of his team, some of whom still recognized Carlos as one of their own. He went through the motions of greeting and congratulating everyone within reach, then squeezed Lando in a tight hug, shaking him a little.

The win looked good on him, the smile on his face unshakable. He let out one of his patented Lando-sounds when Carlos told him what a good job he’d done.

“Sorry about your race,” Lando yelled back over the music. “Shame, after it looked so good yesterday.”

Carlos shrugged. It wasn’t the end of the world for him. He wasn’t fighting for a championship this year, and if Alex’s final position was anything to go by, the car held immense potential. Still, he could use a drink. It had been a stressful few days, to say the least.

“Going to the bar,” he said – or mimed, more like. Lando nodded, waving him away, and Carlos squeezed through the throngs of people, trying to reach the bar without anyone spilling their gin and tonic on him. He was kind of in the mood for something nasty, so he ordered a rum and coke, drumming his fingers on the bar counter until the drink was placed in front of him.

Turning around, he was surprised to find Lando right there, face lighting up when he realized he’d found Carlos again.

“Sorry!” he yelled. The music wasn’t as loud here, so the yelling wasn’t technically necessary, but Lando had always been convinced Carlos didn’t have great hearing. “I wanted to ask you a favor!”

“Okay?” Carlos said at a normal volume.

Lando actually adjusted his tone, leaning in instead. “Could you go and check on Oscar? I think he needs some comforting words from someone who’s not me right now.”

Carlos raised his eyebrows, unsure if Lando was serious or not.

“Or Alex, or George, or Max,” Lando continued when Carlos didn’t react further. “Charles would probably do, but he’s in his own depression spiral right now.”

Carlos raised his brows even higher, pointing at his own chest. “And you think I’m the right guy for the job?”

Lando squinted a little, as if actually reconsidering, but then he just shrugged. “Sure? I mean, you’re friendly now, no? Osc won’t stop mentioning you ever since you shared that flight. And you must have lots of experience lifting up teammates who lost their home race.”

“Ha ha,” Carlos said dryly, but then Lando’s eyebrows did that puppy dog thing that made it impossible to say no to him. Besides, he was still smiling like a loon, so he really shouldn’t go try and find Oscar for himself. Sighing, Carlos asked, “Where is he?”

“Squirreled away in some corner of the VIP section, I think.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Carlos promised, squeezing Lando’s shoulder as he moved past him, back into the dense crowd of partygoers. Being squirreled away in the VIP section didn’t sound too bad to Carlos right now, anyway. So on he went.

****

When Lando had said ‘squirreled away,’ he had obviously meant it. Carlos was almost convinced Oscar had long since returned to his hotel room when he finally saw a tall plant shift slightly in the corner and realized there was a hidden booth behind it. Rounding it, he was met with the sight of one Oscar Piastri, staring unblinking into the reflection of his untouched mystery drink.

He was clearly going through it. For the past few days, whenever Carlos had caught a glimpse of him, he’d been glowing, smiling across his whole face, five times as animated as usual. Now, it was pretty much the exact opposite. Still, it was unusual to see him showing so much emotion, in either direction.

“Hey,” Carlos said carefully, so Oscar wouldn’t jump. Not that there was much chance of it – Oscar generally wasn’t a jumpy guy. But he also generally wasn’t a sad guy, so Carlos wasn’t quite sure how to handle him.

“Can I…” Carlos asked, gesturing toward the booth Oscar was sitting in. It wasn’t really meant for two people, but the chair that belonged on the other side of the table was missing, so Carlos had no choice but to squeeze onto the bench behind the plant, slotting in next to Oscar as he willingly scooted to the side.

“Welcome to the depression corner,” Oscar joked weakly. Nodding at Carlos’s rum and coke, he added, “I see you brought your depression drink.”

Carlos wasn’t all that depressed, but he was glad for the excuse as to why he’d shown up here with no reason, invading Oscar’s personal space when he clearly wanted to be left alone.

“How is rum and coke a depression drink?” Carlos asked, taking a small sip.

“Because it’s gross?” Oscar said when Carlos pulled a face. “Yeah.”

Carlos set the drink back on the table and nodded at the untouched glass in front of Oscar. “Why, what do you have?”

“Water.”

“Yikes.”

Oscar gave a small snort but didn’t offer anything else in terms of interaction, so it was up to Carlos to keep the conversation going.

“So how are you… um…” Carlos started, realizing in the middle of the question that Oscar had probably heard it a million times today and already answered every version of it in front of the press.

“...feeling?” Oscar finished for him, finally lifting his head to look Carlos straight in the eyes. “Take a guess, mate.”

The skin around his eyes was red, like he’d been rubbing at it for hours. His eyes still had a glassy sheen, catching and reflecting the club lights in the background. The weird thing, though, was that he looked... good. Usually, he was such a pale and composed guy – the flush, the dampness, the raw emotion in his face almost elevated him, somehow. Carlos blinked, and suddenly, he saw those eyes staring up at him from below, lips stretched across his–

Jesus Christ!

This was why Carlos was 100% the wrong person to comfort fucking Oscar Piastri. The poor man was having emotions for what might be the first time in his life, and Carlos took one look at his tearful eyes and imagined him giving out depression blowjobs.

“You never told me about the burgers,” Carlos blurted out, already having forgotten their last line of dialogue. He just needed to get that picture out of his head right now.

“What?” Oscar asked, taken aback.

“Burgers!” Carlos said. “I was doing a fan stage, and someone asked if I tried your burger. Why do you have a burger?”

“Just… your typical sponsorship kind of deal?”

“But you never told me about it!” Carlos continued, faintly aware that he was being annoying. If he were Oscar, he’d be annoyed. But whatever. He was just doing his job of distracting him from that devastating race. “I was going on and on about L’Oréal, and you never mentioned a single thing about your burger!”

“Why would I interrupt your story to tell you about bloody burgers?” Oscar asked, though he didn’t look annoyed, just slightly amused. Depressedly amused.

“I’m a burger guy!” Carlos said, leaning even more into the annoying shtick. It seemed to work. “You completely stole my idea!”

“Mate, I promise you it wasn’t my idea to have my own burger!” Oscar snorted, then went back to staring into his depressing glass of water. “Besides. That’s just my thing, I guess. I never tell anyone about the stuff going on in my life.”

“Right,” Carlos said, thinking back to that long flight to Bahrain and how he’d almost talked Oscar’s ears off. Now that he thought about it, there had been a back and forth, but it was always just Oscar asking more questions or giving opinions on the things Carlos had told him. He was a great listener. And not a bad conversation partner, either. If you didn’t notice the fact that he didn’t share anything about himself.

He’d probably make an amazing spy.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, breathing a small laugh through his nose that rippled the surface of his untouched water. “My own mum slammed me on social media for neglecting to inform her of my contract extension during lunch last week.”

“You didn’t tell your mum?” Carlos asked, mouth falling open in shock. He couldn’t even imagine.

“They said it was confidential!” Oscar retorted, defensive. “Can’t really risk her going on another podcast and spreading the news, can I?”

Oh no. Carlos wasn’t touching that can of worms.

“Well, next time anything happens in your life involving burgers, you tell me about it, okay?”

“What, like every time I eat one?”

“Or are about to eat one! Maybe I’m around and want to join? Or I can tell you where to go.”

Oscar looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not Carlos was joking, which… Actually, Carlos wasn’t sure either.

“Fuck,” he laughed, shoving his rum and coke away before he was tempted to drink it just to quell his sudden hunger. “Now I really want to eat a burger! Is yours any good?”

“It’s a burger, mate,” Oscar said, shrugging. “‘Course it’s good.”

“Okay, yes, you’ve convinced me.” Carlos rolled his eyes. “Look – clearly you’re having fun sitting here with your water, but I have a better idea. Let’s go and eat a Piastri burger, and I’ll rate it out of ten. And if it’s less than a six, I will make you my forever enemy for stealing my idea and not even being good at it.”

“Mate…” Oscar was smiling, but he was also rubbing at his eyes with both hands, so Carlos wasn’t quite sure how to categorize the feeling he’d managed to invoke in him. All he knew was that the guy apparently liked being annoyed. No wonder he got along so well with Lando.

“I can’t exactly go out right now, sit down in a burger joint with my face plastered all over everything, and expect to be left alone,” he finally said, letting his hands drop and fixing Carlos with those watery eyes again.

“Why? You’ll blend right in!”

Oscar gave a quick, high-pitched giggle – the sort he liked to pepper most conversations with and which made it so nice to actually talk to him. Carlos had only realized that after he’d been forced to spend six hours sitting opposite him on a plane, but Oscar was such a good audience for stupid little jokes. He never tried to one-up a joke, just laughed and laughed, and then tried to coax some more out of you, all crinkly-eyed and bunny-teethed smiles.

“I’m serious, though. I want to try it,” Carlos said, as Oscar wiped a tear from his eye that he now got to pretend was from laughing. “So if I text my team to sneak one in for me, should I tell them to order two?”

Oscar shook his head and bit his lip, looking a little skeptical. Like he still wasn’t quite sure whether Carlos was joking. Only when Carlos actually pulled out his phone and fired off a text did he give another snort.

“Now I’m a little afraid you’re serious about the lifelong enemy thing, too,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s great. Melbourne does great burgers.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that on–”

Carlos grinned when Oscar suddenly coughed, acting like he needed to take a quick drink from his water. It was hard to catch, because his eyes were already red, but he was definitely blushing a little.

“Aww,” Carlos teased. “You watch all my interviews?”

“No,” Oscar said, fighting his face back into neutrality. “Just watched it because I did the same one before you.”

“So you heard me say that and still didn’t tell me about your burger?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to upstage your L’Oréal deal?”

“Please!” Carlos said, shaking his hair out like he was in a commercial. “You couldn’t if you tried!”

Oscar, instead of reacting with another quip, suddenly lost the spark of life Carlos had managed to coax out of him over the course of their conversation. Turning back to stare into his glass of water, he gave a weak, one-shouldered shrug and a noncommittal hum. Carlos was pretty sure he saw his eyes welling up again.

“Hey,” he said, trying his softest voice. And because he was just so used to it from comforting Charles, he put a hand on Oscar’s thigh, squeezing a little.

He only realized how fucking weird that was when Oscar froze up, staring down at where Carlos’s hand was gripping his thigh like they hadn’t just found out they could hold a conversation without wanting to kill each other two weeks ago.

Carlos suddenly remembered a call from Lando, almost three years ago now. Complaining about how he couldn’t figure his new teammate out, and their dynamic was all fucked, because Oscar was just so stiff. How he preferred his teammates a little more hands-on, while Oscar seemed to actively shy away from any form of touch.

By now, they had figured each other out, but they still weren’t getting all up in each other’s space all the time or hugging each other, because Oscar… Oscar was just uncomfortable with physical touch. And here Carlos went, just grabbing his thigh out of nowhere and–

All the muscles in Oscar’s thigh suddenly relaxed under Carlos’s hand, as if he’d literally melted, and he turned his head, looking up at Carlos again with a blush spread all the way across his under-eyes and cheeks.

Maybe it was just the lighting in this goddamn club. But Oscar had to do something about those fucking wet eyes of his, because they were starting to drive Carlos crazy.

“Um… s-sorry,” Carlos said, not sure what exactly he was apologizing for. Many things at once, probably.

“Not like you can help having perfect hair,” Oscar said, which was the last thing Carlos had thought he’d be apologizing for.

“I mean, you have nice hair, too,” Carlos said, and like a complete idiot, he went and flicked at the little swoop of hair hanging down across Oscar’s forehead. There was an awkward pause. Then Carlos said, “I like this thing.”

“Mate,” Oscar said, his voice breaking on the word like he was still in the middle of puberty. “You have, like, zero tact.”

“What? Why?”

“Is this some kind of mind game? Did you come to kick me while I’m down?”

Carlos was honestly lost.

“I’m honestly lost,” he said.

“Next time, just change the subject. No need to make this even more awkward.”

Carlos scowled, wondering what kind of mess he had stepped in this time. His hand was still placed on Oscar’s thigh – he had completely forgotten to take it away. And fuck it. He had already committed now. He squeezed again, until the muscles twitched under his hand and Oscar tore his eyes away from the water to glare at Carlos instead.

“What did I say wrong? Come on, tell me!”

“Condescendingly pretended to like my hair,” Oscar said with a completely neutral face, only betrayed by the wet reflections in his eyes. “You know, I don’t really care that I’m balding at 23. Not everyone needs to be a freaking L’Oréal model.”

“Hm,” Carlos said, lifting his free hand to push Oscar’s fringe to the side so he could get a better look at his hairline. “Sounds like you care a little.”

Oscar opened his mouth to object, but Carlos ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it a bit to give it more volume. The matted post-hat hair, which had clearly not seen a comb all day, had been annoying him this whole time. Oscar’s mouth clicked shut.

Maybe he wasn’t all that opposed to physical touch. Just hesitant in initiating it.

“You know, if you really care that much, you have all the funds for a trip to Turkey,” Carlos said. “There is no shame in it. Everyone’s doing it.”

Oscar frowned but didn’t shake Carlos’s hand off.

“And if you truly don’t care,” Carlos continued, “you should be able to accept my compliments without accusing me of lying.”

“Fine. Just feels weird to have the freaking hair commercial guy talk about my receding hairline.”

“I was actually talking about this,” Carlos said, lightly pulling at the fringe, until Oscar gave a small yelp. “It is very cute. Has a lot of… um… character?”

Oscar seemed to blank out for a second, eyelids drooping slightly, when Carlos ran his fingers through his hair again, trying to arrange it into something presentable. And really. Combined with the blush and the tearful eyes, the guy should come with a warning. Maybe Carlos shouldn’t have mussed up his hair like that, because it really wasn’t helping with the strange intrusive thoughts plaguing him tonight.

“Carlos Sainz?”

Almost jumping out of his seat, Carlos quickly pulled his hand from Oscar’s hair, pretending not to hear the little disappointed hiccup. He peeked around the potted plant they were hidden behind and found a confused-looking bouncer wandering the VIP section with a fast-food bag in his hand.

Apparently, you didn’t have to be sneaky in Melbourne when your name was Carlos Sainz.

“Here!” he called, waving the bouncer over. They exchanged burger for autograph, and then Carlos was rubbing his hands together, grinning at a skeptical-looking Oscar.

“Here I go,” Carlos said as he pulled the burger box from the paper bag, snorting at the awkward-looking picture of Oscar on the lid. That guy was not a model! Carlos almost wished he could try photographing Oscar himself, because he was pretty sure he had stumbled upon a trick to make him look actually hot. And that trick was watching Marley & Me beforehand.

Opening the lid, he gasped in surprise when he realized the burger was black. Not only that – it was sprinkled with orange sesame seeds.

“This is so cool!” he gawked, almost a little jealous. Even if he did a burger with Williams, there was no way to make it blue and white – and even if there was, it wouldn’t look half as cool as this one. “Honestly, you already get six points just for visuals.”

“‘Kay, thanks,” Oscar mumbled, almost bashful.

“Now, let’s see if you taste good!” Carlos said, upon which Oscar buried his face in his arms with a groan.

God. Annoying him was so much fun!

Carlos opened his mouth wide and took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully and holding back his verdict for so long that Oscar started to peek from the prison of his arms.

“Well?” he asked when Carlos finally swallowed, keeping his face neutral.

“What’s the crunchy stuff?”

“Carrots.”

“Carrots?”

“Needed something orange,” Oscar said with a shrug.

“Hm…” Carlos loosened a stuck piece of carrot from his molars with his tongue and swallowed it. “Looks are good. Taste is good. A little weird, but I don’t hate it.” He flashed one of his big, charming smiles. “I think it’s a perfect fit for you.”

Oscar hid his relief in an eye roll and a snort, then grabbed one of Carlos’s fries and popped it into his mouth.

“You don’t know what I taste like,” he said, blushing again when the words registered a second later.

Carlos’s grin widened. “Right now, you taste like my fries, no?” he said, popping one into his own mouth as well. And just because being annoying had worked wonderfully so far, he threw in a wink.

Oscar giggled again, even folding over a bit, then instantly looked like he wanted to die.

Carlos had not been wrong. He really was a little weird.

“Why did you come out tonight?” Carlos asked, because he remembered Oscar had asked him to change the subject rather than let things get awkward, and he had a feeling now might be the right time for that.

“Just trying to be a good teammate,” Oscar sighed, helping himself to another fry. “Guess I failed miserably at that.”

“You know Lando doesn’t expect you to, right? I mean, he’s not exactly the poster child for graceful losing himself.”

“I know,” Oscar chuckled. “I just… thought it couldn’t hurt to make an effort to show up for each other. Now that we’ll be teammates for so long. It’s gonna be a tough season for us, so no need to fuck it up right at the start.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, mate,” Carlos promised. The weight of his words was slightly lost in the mouthful of burger he was devouring, but he pressed his thigh into Oscar’s to show that he meant it, and was surprised when Oscar pushed back, not letting the gap between them open up again.

“I think Lando knows what you’re doing. And he appreciates it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, he asked me to come check on you, you know?”

Oscar stilled with a fry halfway toward his open mouth.

“Did he now?”

“I mean, he is really maturing lately,” Carlos went on, realizing too late that the glow in Oscar’s eyes was being replaced by that tearful shimmer again. “He knows what it’s like in your situation. And he knows he’s in no place to lift you up right now.”

Oscar slowly put the fry back into the box, then shifted until his thigh was no longer pressed against Carlos’s.

For whatever reason, Carlos mourned the loss of contact.

Just what was wrong with him tonight? That one sip of rum and coke must have really fucked with his head.

“So,” Oscar said, wiping his hands on a paper napkin that had come with the burger. “You’re right, I guess. Coming out’s been a stupid idea. I’ll just… I’ll go back to the hotel. Try to get some sleep.”

“Oh,” Carlos said. He could clearly hear the disappointment in his own voice, which made him cringe a little. But Oscar was rubbing at his wet eyes again, and his hair was still mussed up from when Carlos had run his fingers through it, and Carlos couldn’t keep his next words from falling out of his mouth.

“Just wait a minute, until I’m done with your burger, okay? I want to take you back.”

****

They stood in front of Oscar’s hotel room door not much later, awkwardly staring at each other.

“Okay, then,” Oscar said, fiddling with the key card in his hand. “Thanks for… um… making sure I got back safe? Though there was really no need.”

“Of course there was!” Carlos insisted. “You’re like a superstar around here, and they let you go out without a security guard!”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to take the tram.”

Truth be told, Carlos wasn’t sure why he had come along, either. He liked to think it had something to do with how Oscar still looked like he might throw himself off the next bridge, but a feeling in his gut told him that wasn’t it.

Now he watched as Oscar unlocked the door, pushing it open with a hesitant glance over his shoulder. Carlos felt like there was some countdown he was missing.

“Oh, by the way,” he quickly said, before Oscar could say his goodbyes and disappear behind the door. “I just wanted to tell you – that move you pulled, on Lewis, and in the last lap?” He shook his hand, whistling through his teeth. “That was incredible!”

Oscar raised his eyebrows at him, then shook his head with a weird little chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Oscar said. “Just – if I had pulled that move on you, you’d be bitching about it for weeks.”

“Not true!” Carlos objected, even though deep down, he knew Oscar was right. “I appreciate a bold move!”

“Really now?” Oscar asked, eyebrows rising even higher. He seemed to be contemplating something. “Even when it’s pulled on you, and you might not like it?”

“Yes!” Carlos insisted. “I think you always need to be bold to get the things you want. Especially guys like us.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. His eyebrows finally lowered, leaving him looking determined. “I agree.”

Then Carlos felt a hand lock around his wrist, and he was pulled into the hotel room, the door shutting with a decisive click.

[charliegyrth]

Mark Wears the Pants

A Weight Gain Story

I met Rob at the pool. I’d just finished my morning swim and he was walking out of the changing room.

I tell people that it was love at first sight, but that’s not really a thing. It was more… lust at first sight, you know?

Rob was exactly my type. He had shaggy blond hair and a long, lean face. His ears were slightly too big, but I found them very cute. He sort of had a swimmer’s body (like me), except his was just a tiny bit too skinny. I think that’s what really did it for me. Even though he had lean muscles all over his body, he looked underfed, like he needed a man to take care of him.

That’s exactly what I liked. Despite being pretty thin myself, I liked dominance. “Wearing the pants in a relationship,” so to speak. Muscly guys were hot, but they always had a bit too much swagger. I didn’t like that.

(I hope I don’t sound too picky. I just know what I like.)

I was going to take my shower, but I decided to stick around a little and watch Rob in the pool. He dove in beautifully, barely making a splash, but his swimming skills were… bad. Terrible, really. He didn’t know what he was doing. He did the breaststroke across the pool, never really settling on a rhythm, and stopped at the edge to catch his breath. He didn’t know how to time his breathing.

I watched him kick off and struggle to make it to the other side. It was obvious that he needed someone to help him, and I really wanted to be that someone.

I strutted over, sunlight drying my body, and crouched near him. “New at swimming, huh?”

He looked up at me, still catching his breath. His eyes glanced down at my bare chest before he met my eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’m Mark.”

“Rob,” he said. “You, uh, swim here a lot, huh?”

“Every day. Maybe I can help you out a bit. You look like a natural swimmer. All you need to do is learn a rhythm.”

He smiled flirtatiously.

I stiffened a little in my trunks. He definitely noticed.

I got back in the pool and showed him all my moves. That meant I got to touch him all over as I showed him different positions in the water. He knew what I was doing, and he was definitely into it, too. His speedo didn’t lie.

By the end of our first swim lesson together, he was able to take several laps without gasping for air, we learned a little about each other, and we both decided to take things back to my place.

***

Rob and I went to the pool every evening that week. Afterwards, we’d have dinner at my place. He’d spend the night but leave in the early morning to get ready for work.

It didn’t take me long to realize that Rob and I were meant for each other.

He was a few years younger than me (23) and had always been “too skinny,” as he said. He had an anxious stomach, which meant he barely ate anything and almost never felt hungry. He was self-conscious of his body, so I always made sure to show him how beautiful he was, how every part of him deserved praise and attention.

Before that first day in the pool, he’d never really exercised and barely had any strength. He thought that swimming would be the best way to get healthier.

And with my help, that’s exactly what happened. Every day, he got stronger and more confident in the pool. Pretty soon, he was strong enough to race me. I always won, of course, but he got closer and closer to matching my time.

I felt so proud of him, especially because I knew that his improvements were because of me.

I also noticed that he was eating more at our dinners. All the time spent at the pool was finally giving him an appetite. Before, he looked a bit anxious at the dinner table. Now, we spent our meals talking and laughing.

After two months of seeing him every day, I invited him to move in with me. He was practically living at my place anyway. Rob was open to the idea, but because his apartment was bigger (and cheaper), we decided that I’d give up my place and move in with him.

That was a bit of an adjustment for me. I wore the pants in the relationship, and I didn’t want that to change by shifting things into his space instead of mine, but he had a point. His apartment was better.

***

Our dynamic started to change after I moved in. I was still in charge (making more money, choosing where we went in the evenings, topping him every night), but his newfound confidence had given him a more forceful personality.

It started with little things. Switching our roles in the bedroom sometimes. Pushing back against my plans. Surprising me with presents instead of the other way around.

I didn’t complain, because I still really liked him. And sex had actually gotten better.

But then he started beating me at the pool. I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was to me. I was the one teaching him, but now he was faster than me?

The first time he beat me, I thought it was a fluke. The second time, I actually got mad.

I’d always been the fastest swimmer I knew. I’d been swimming since high school. I know it sounds petty, but I started skipping some of our pool visits. I hated that he was showing me up.

And then, I noticed that his body was changing. He was still thin, but he’d packed on some muscle, especially in his chest and shoulders. His abs were more defined, too.

I was still bigger than him, but not by a lot.

Then one evening, while I was snacking on potato chips on the couch, Rob walked shirtless into the room. He was getting ready for the pool. “You joining me today?”

I wanted to. I really did. But when I looked up at him and saw his defined pecs, I knew that he was now officially bigger than me. He looked really hot (and I loved his new tan), but I couldn’t swim with him! He’d show me up again.

“Not today, babe. Thanks.”

“Seriously? You haven’t gone to the pool all week.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right. It had been a week. Probably more. What was happening to me?

“Suit yourself,” he said as he slipped on his shirt. It was actually my shirt, and it clung tight to his broadened shoulders. He kissed my cheek. “Okay, Mark. I’ll pick us up Italian after I’m done.” Then he was gone.

I watched his muscular ass sway under his shorts as he left. He wasn’t wearing literal pants, but for the first time, I knew that Rob was the one wearing the pants in our relationship.

As that realization hit me, I shoved another handful of potato chips into my mouth.

***

I was so focused on Rob’s body that I didn’t realize my own body was changing until a few weeks later. We were in bed together. I felt wonderfully sore.

Rob curled up next to me and his hand lightly grazed my stomach. “I miss swimming with you, Mark.”

“I’ll start back up again,” I said.

He quirked his mouth to the side. He didn’t believe me. “I hope you’re not self-conscious.”

So he knew! He knew that I’d stopped swimming with him because I didn’t like how he was showing me up!

Then he said something that made me shudder. “A lot of chubby guys go to the pool. No one’ll judge you.”

Chubby guys?

What did he mean?

Then I felt him pinch my stomach. I looked down in horror, finally noticing the roll of flab that had formed under my belly button.

I was chubby! Now that I wasn’t swimming, I’d let myself go. While Rob was hardening with muscles, I was turning into a blob.

“Honestly, I think you look wonderful.” He let go of my stomach and slid his hand under the covers. I felt his fingers reach under my ass cheek and squeeze that, too. “More cushion for the pushin’, right?”

I wanted to jump out of bed and look at myself in the mirror. I wanted to scream, too. But instead, I just lay there, frozen, accepting the fact that my stomach and ass were now soft enough to squeeze.

***

In the middle of the night, I got out of bed, careful not to wake Rob up. I snuck into the bathroom and finally saw what I’d become.

I was flabby. My nipples were poking out and a roll of fat hung over my boxers. My arms and legs had lost their definition, and worst of all, my jawline had rounded out with the start of a double chin.

I didn’t look manly anymore. I looked… pampered. I looked like some fat, lazy guy who just sat around and let his boyfriend take care of him.

And honestly, that’s what I was. I’d lost all control of our relationship, and I needed to get it back.

I had to swim again. I had to push myself harder and faster than I ever had before. That way I could lose the fat, gain more muscle than Rob, and change our dynamic back to the way it was supposed to be.

The next morning, I cancelled my morning meetings and went to the pool alone. I was going to keep swimming until I physically couldn’t anymore. I’d be there for hours.

Unfortunately, I was only in the water for twenty minutes. My swim trunks felt uncomfortably tight. My stamina was gone. I used to enjoy swimming. Now, it felt like a struggle.

I got out of the pool, my head hanging in defeat, when I noticed three guys staring at me. Well, they were staring at my wobbling stomach.

I didn’t know their names, but I’d seen them at the pool a lot. They were regulars, like I used to be. One of them looked disgusted at my softer body. The other two just gave me pity.

I raced into the changing room, which caused me to jiggle even more, and had a complete breakdown.

I lost myself and didn’t know how to get back to the old me, the guy I was meant to be.

As I stripped off my straining trunks, I thought long and hard about what I was going to do. I loved Rob, but I wasn’t happy with what our relationship had turned into. And I definitely wasn’t happy that he’d gotten bigger and stronger than me.

That’s when I came to a realization: He wasn’t bigger than me. He’d grown more muscle, but I definitely outweighed him. I didn’t have to be soft and weak anymore. I could be soft and strong. What if I kept growing, if I tried to make myself bigger?

I imagined what I’d look like with twenty more pounds. Fifty. A hundred. It wasn't the body I’d expected to have, but the image turned me on.

I’ll always remember that moment in the changing room. That was when I decided that I was going to make myself enormous.

***

Instead of going to work, I called in sick for the rest of the day, loaded up on pizzas, and stayed at home stuffing myself. I ate more food that day than I ever had before. It was painful, but I loved it.

Before Rob came home, I dumped all the boxes in the trash and sprayed air freshener around the house.

When Rob came back after his evening swim, he brought home Chinese food for us to share. I felt like throwing up. I couldn’t possibly eat anything else.

I sat with him at the table, staring at the food and feeling my stomach throb.

“What’s wrong, Mark? Still feeling self-conscious?”

That gave me the motivation I needed. I pushed through the pain and ate two plates’ worth.

I didn’t push myself as hard after that. I’d gone way too far, and my stomach had gurgled all night.

I continued overeating, though. Pancakes or muffins every morning. Fast food for lunch. And a secret dinner while Rob swam before we ate our real dinner together.

I was proud of myself for how much I could get down, and extra proud that Rob had no idea what I was doing.

He never saw all the wrappers and take-out boxes, but he saw my body. He knew I was growing.

In the span of a month, my stomach went from soft rolls to a round gut. I developed a matching stretchmark on each side. My ass and hips expanded. My double chin grew.

I sort of sprouted moobs, but they weren’t what I’d expected. Rather than fleshy breasts, I developed a small glob of fat under each stretched-out nipple. Those were very noticeable in any shirt I wore, and the way they scratched against the fabric sent shivers through my body whenever I walked.

Rob didn’t directly mention my gains, but he still made comments.

“Maybe we should get you new pants.”

“Why don’t you sit on the couch? More room to spread out.”

“You look very comfortable today.”

My coworkers’ comments were much more direct. And unkind. Most of them had known me as a fit guy for years, so my rapid changes definitely freaked them out.

Whatever. I kinda liked the ridicule. In fact, I made a point of snacking in front of them just to see their faces. They just didn’t see what Rob saw.

Because Rob, despite his avoidance of the topic, showered me with affection. When we sat together, he always had at least one hand on my new belly. Sometimes rubbing it but mostly just feeling it. And when we were in bed together, he grabbed onto every part of me. He probably knew more about my folds and creases than I did.

As I kept growing, I started taking charge again. Rob was more than happy to let me. This happened in the bedroom, where we both loved my weight pressing down on him. But it happened in our normal lives, too. I picked out where we ate. I made the decisions and invited him to places. I surprised him with presents.

By the time I reached 240, there was no denying that in our relationship, I was the big guy wearing the pants while he’d gone back to being my smaller, doting boyfriend.

***

Then one evening, while Rob was at the pool, I sat on the couch with a tray of storebought lasagna in my lap. I was feeling pretty good about myself, proud of how fast I was able to shovel it in.

I was so caught up in chewing and swallowing, though, that I didn’t hear the rain outside.

Rob came home early and caught me! For months, I’d been able to binge in secret, but now he knew.

“Mark!” he said, acting surprisingly nonplussed. “Got rained out at the pool. That pre-dinner looks delicious.”

I gulped down the lasagna in my mouth. “Hi.”

“I assume you’ll still have room for our real dinner. We have reservations, remember?” (I was taking him to Senora Reina’s that night.)

“Uh…”

He sat next to me, draping his thick arm around my shoulder. His muscles hadn’t grown for the last couple months. (With swimming, there’s sort of a limit to how bulky you can get.) “Don’t look so embarrassed, Mark. I know about all your secret meals. I’m not an idiot.”

“But… How? I worked so hard to hide all the evidence.” The dumpster behind our house was constantly filled with all my empty boxes, and I knew he never looked back there.

“Not all the evidence,” he said, grabbing the bottom of my belly and jiggling it.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought it was hotter that way.” He kissed me, licking the tomato sauce from my lips.

“And, um, what do you think?”

He took the fork from my hand and scooped up a chunk of lasagna. “I think you’re big.” (He pressed the food against my lips and waited for me to take it. I did.) “And powerful.” (He fed me again.) “And so f*cking sexy.”

Why had I tried to gain in secret? All this time, I could’ve had Rob feeding me. This was so much better.

As he told me how handsome I was in a hundred different ways, he fed me bite after bite of the lasagna until the whole tray was empty. Then he kissed me, wiped the sauce off my face, and helped me stand up.

“You better start getting ready, Mark. Our dinner reservation is in thirty minutes.”

***

With Rob fully on board, my weight increased much faster than before. He fed me every night. He filled our nightstand with donuts so that he could surprise me with some sugar while I made love to him.

We even tried funnel feedings a few times, but that didn’t really work for us. Too messy, and I didn’t like how it gave Rob total control over me.

My most productive eating sessions, however, happened while Rob swam. I sat on a lounge chair by the pool, feasted on sandwiches or burgers, and watched my boyfriend race across the pool. I no longer felt jealous that he’d gotten so much faster than I'd ever been. I was proud of him, and proud of myself for teaching him everything he knew.

The other swimmers always gave me glares, but because Rob and I were loyal customers (and because Rob taught some swimming classes on the weekends), the owners never bothered me.

***

I’m 333 pounds now. A nice, lucky number. I need help dressing myself, but my mobility is more-or-less fine. I use the jacuzzi sometimes, enjoying the way the water pressure shoots ripples through my fat, but it’s been over a year since I swam. I probably still could. (God knows I’m buoyant enough.) But it’s Rob’s thing now, not mine.

Actually, Rob just got out of the pool, water dripping down his washboard abs. His wet, sun-bleached hair looks particularly golden. He smiles as he approaches me.

“Great job today!” I tell him.

“You, too!” He glances proudly at all the McDonalds wrappers on the lounge chair next to me. He leans over me, blocking out the sun, and we kiss. “Up?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He grabs me by the upper arms and pulls me into a sitting position. The bottom of my gut slaps loudly against my thighs. (Love that sound.)

Then, with a grunt from both of us, he pulls me to my feet.

“Beautiful day, huh?” I ask.

He takes a long look at what I’ve become. My tanned, sagging gut. My poky chest. My round, smiling face. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Then we walk together to the changing room. Thankfully (and surprisingly), the stalls are big enough to fit us both.

I watch him change first. He strips off his speedo, giving me one last look at his small yet muscular body. Then he slips on a tank top and shorts.

Now it’s my turn. Even though I never go swimming, I always dress for the pool. (Mostly because it gives us an excuse to share the changing room.) He helps me pull down my own dry trunks. Then he slides on my underwear, playfully letting the tight fabric snap against me.

And he guides my feet into the legs of my 4XL jeans. He takes so much joy in feeling my wide, dimpled hips as he pulls up my jeans. I lift my belly so he can button them at the waist. He struggles.

“Looks like we need to go shopping again,” I say.

“Ooh! Can we?” He loves when I take him to the mall.

You know, it’s funny. I’ve gotten so fat that I can’t even put on my own pants without Rob’s help. But even with the added difficulty that my new body brings, I’m still wearing the pants in the relationship.

The End.

As always, thanks for reading!

This story will always hold a special place in my heart. It was inspired by a suggestion from the very first reader to reach out to me on Tumblr. He deleted his profile like a week later. Not sure how to interpret that. (But if you're out there somewhere, thanks for all the kind messages.)

If anyone else has a scenario or idea that they want me to write about, please reach out. I'd love to hear from you.

You can find all my stories here. And if you're interested, I included Mark Wears the Pants as the bonus story in my ebook Go with the Flow. It's about a surfer who gets very, very fat.

[pascalisnopunk]

Across the Room II - Joel Miller x reader

Hiiiiii.... Thank you so much for such a positive response on my first post. I felt sooo inspired to write a part two for this little story. I truly hope you enjoy it as much as the first one.

Across the Room II: Joel Miller x Reader!Jackson Warnings: Slow burn, mutual pining, hints of protectiveness, Joel is still very much Joel, subtle humor and introspection

Summary: You’ve lived in Jackson for a bit over a year now, but there’s one thing you haven’t quite figured out: Joel Miller. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. You? You can’t seem to stop watching him, and tonight, for the first time, you think maybe he’s watching you too.

Across the Room II

You tell yourself you didn’t feel it.

That look at the bar. That tiny shift in the air between you and Joel.

It was a moment. People have moments. They don’t mean anything unless you let them. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

But it’s hard to believe it when you catch yourself looking for him. When you walk through the market and scan for broad shoulders instead of fruit. When the sound of boots on wood makes your think of zebras and not horses.

You’re not some girl with a crush on the first brooding man in town. But there’s something about Joel. The way he keeps to himself, the way his silence feels deliberate, not empty. The way people speak about him in low tones, like he’s still carrying the weight of something none of them want to name.

And the fact that you can feel his eyes on you before you ever see him?

That doesn’t help either.

You get assigned to patrol with him three days after the bar. You stare at the board longer than you should. Just enough for Maria to glance up from her clipboard and give you a knowing look. Not judgmental, just amused.

“Not subtle,” you murmur.

“Neither is he,” Maria says, not even looking up.

You frown. “Joel?”

“He asked to be paired with someone quiet,” she replies, flipping a page. “Didn’t say your name.”

That throws you for the rest of the day.

When you meet him at the stables, Joel’s already there. His horse is half-saddled, reins looped loose around a post. He’s adjusting the cinch with practiced hands, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the line of his forearms. When he sees you, he nods, same as always.

“Hey,” you say.

“Morning.”

That’s it.

You don’t try to fill the space, he wouldn’t appreciate it. So you work in parallel silence, brushing down your horse and checking your gear, both of you moving like people who’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times over.

When you mount up and head out through the south gate, the air between you is still quiet but not cold. Like something unsaid is riding beside the two of you, still feeling out the shape of it.

About halfway through the patrol, you come across a fallen tree blocking the trail.

Joel reins in, frowns at the mess. “We’ll need to move that,” he says.

You dismount without being asked. The trunk’s not too thick, but awkward, heavy with rot. You work together without much talk. When your hands slip on wet bark, Joel catches the other side without hesitation, taking more of the weight.

You glance at him. “You always this helpful, or am I just lucky?”

He huffs, something like a laugh, low and barely there. “You’re not complainin’, are you?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just surprised.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away. He looks down at the log, then back at you.

“I don’t mean to come off that way,” he says. “Just… don’t always have a lot to say.”

There’s something careful in the way he says it. Not defensive, just aware.

You nod. “I don’t mind quiet. Makes it easier to think.”

You think maybe that’s the first time he really looks at you that day. Not just a glance, not just a check-in. His eyes linger, like he’s weighing something. Measuring.

“You think too much?” he asks.

“Probably,” you say. “That a bad thing?”

“No.” Joel says.

There’s something in the way he says it. Like it means more than what it sounds like. You let it sit. Neither of you pushes the conversation further.

On the ride back, it starts to snow lightly. Not enough to turn back, just enough to settle in your hair. Joel notices.

“You want a scarf?” he asks.

You blink. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not wearing a hood.”

You smirk. “I’m not gonna freeze from a little flurry.”

He doesn’t answer. Just reaches into his bag, pulls out a folded knit scarf, and tosses it your way. You catch it mid-air. It smells like leather and cedar, faint, but unmistakable. You don’t argue. You wrap it around your neck and try not to think about the way it feels like something personal.

Back in Jackson, you stable the horses in the fading light.

You linger, brushing down your mare longer than usual. Joel stays too, moving slower than he needs to. Neither of you says it out loud, but the silence between you feels less like distance now. When you finish, he walks you halfway back toward your cabin. The path is quiet, soft with snow.

“You going to the bar later?” he asks.

You look over, heart ticking up just a bit. “Might stop by.”

He nods. “I might too.”

You don’t give him a response to that. Not then. You just let it hang in the air.

And when you show up to the Tipsy Bison that night, later than usual, cheeks still a little pink from the wind, he’s already there.

Same spot as before. Same look.

But this time, when your eyes meet across the room, you both hold it. No flicker, no question.

And for the first time, you see it, not just in his eyes, but in his shoulders, his stance, the way his fingers stop drumming on the side of his glass.

He wants to come to you. He just doesn’t know how yet.

And that’s enough, for now.

Again, thank you so much for the positive comments on my first post! Let me know what you think about this one!

[lonely-lost-soul]

Day 2: Tengen and Rengoku

Day 2: Threesome

Tengen licked his lips, staring intently at the young lady in the entertainment district's kiosk before him. By his side was his most trusted friend, Rengoku, who seemed to be intently staring at the same woman, the way her hips moved as she walked, her shyness evident as the lady of the house seemed to fix up her hair. Almost scolding her as if she wasn't presentable enough as a lady. Uzui thought the hag couldn't be more wrong, “Are you positive your wives won’t mind that we are here?” The man asked, adjusting his leg slowly, one of his permanent injuries from the battle of Akaza. In his own opinion, he was much better off than Tengen; his friend had lost one of his eyes. But both men were forced into an early retirement from the Demon Slayers due to their injuries. Tengen only laughed, turning to face the man, 

“I already told them I’m scoping out another wife, either for me or you." He winked, causing Kyojuro to laugh from his chest, "The main thing they’re not happy about is me returning to this district.” Tengen snorted, hair falling prettily in front of his face, and Rengoku looked at him with a smile, 

“If it’s alright with them, then it’s alright with me! So long as everyone is treated with proper respect!” He shouted, pounding a fist to the palm of his hand before reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Tengen’s ear like a good friend would. Tengen snorted, wrapping an arm around his companion, 

“If you were a girl. You’d be my fourth wife without a doubt.” Rengokou beamed with pride, 

“I’d be honored! And accept without hesitation!”

“Flashy!” 

“Excuse me, the lady of the house said you requested me,” Your soft voice spoke, causing them both to turn to look at you. You were even prettier up close than you were from afar, hair elegantly styled, red and gold kimono covering you just as elegantly, makeup placed flawlessly on your cheeks and eyes, “I’m at your service.”

Tengen hummed, better with words than Kyojuro, “Please sit and enjoy a cup of sake with us for now. We paid for the night, relax.” Rengoku shot Tengen a questioning look, knowing they’d spent a lot of money on you. They'd free you from this wretched district if all went well tonight. You looked slightly surprised at the offer and moved to sit down, “Pretty thing, not there in between us.” Rengoku saw your cheeks burn as you sat beside the two men; Tengen leaned back with a grin, bringing sake to his lips, “What’s your name?” 

You told them your first name, fluttering your pretty eyelashes at the both of them. “I’m Rengoku Kyojuro; if we are going by first names, feel free to call me Kyojuro!” He chipped, grinning fondly at the woman, “This is Uzui.” The silver-haired man winked, “We’re here to make love to you!”

“H-huh?” You sputtered, and Tengen spat out his drink, choking on it, “I-I mean…” You smile shyly, “That’s quite the demand.” 

“Kyo-” Tengen hissed, pressing his fingers to his nose, “Do you even know subtly? So unflashy?”

“No!” He hummed proudly, “The best way to communicate your point is directly and honestly! This also gives our little spark room to decline if she needed to.” Tengen couldn’t deny that point; they weren’t monsters. After all, you’d always have a choice. “Will you spend the night with us?” 

You eyed the two men before you; they were former demon slayers. Even in casual clothes, word spread about the silver-haired man who solely saved this district from two demons and the man with hair of fire who saved all the innocents on the Mugen Train. Honestly, you couldn’t say no to them, not that you wanted to; these men were probably the two most attractive men you’ve ever encountered. “Yes,” you nodded, “it would be my pleasure.” 

“Not your pleasure, little one,” Tengen hummed, kissing your hand softly, “It’s truly our pleasure to be accepted by a beauty such as you.” He delighted in how your face turned a beautiful color as you were flustered. “Come, let's go somewhere a little more private,” He purred, helping you to your feet before turning to his friend and helping him stumble. 

“Ah, my apologies.” Rengoku smiled nervously, “My legs aren’t what they used to be, I'm afraid. But I assure you my performance regarding intimacy is not hindered.” 

“Kyojuro.” Uzui groaned, “She did not need to know that. I’m sure she wasn’t questioning your sexual prowess.” Both men stopped as you giggled, opening the door to the private room, the kimono falling off your shoulders seductively. Exposing your shoulder blades and the swell of your breasts, Tengen shut up almost immediately, eyes training down your body. 

“Beautiful!” Kyojuro praised, hobbling into the room, hands finding your waist, and you helped to balance him as he stumbled into you. “You’re beautiful!” His eyes burned like fire; staring into your own, he captured your lips in a quick kiss, and your cheeks flushed. 

“I’m sure you could find prettier girls here, but thank you-” You squeaked, feeling the other man’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind. His hair tickled your cheeks as his chin rested on your head, 

“Is that self-depreciation I hear?” Uzui mused from behind you, his hands slowly moving up to slide up to cup your breasts tenderly, “because you’re the only one here who caught our eye.” His large hands palmed your breasts, massaging them and causing you to lean against his body. “This is perfect, you are perfect, right Kyo?” 

“Absolutely!” Kyojiro hummed as Tengen slid your kimono down, exposing yourself to the men before you. The room's cold air made your nipples perk up as Kyojiro buried his face between them; his warm lips against your skin made you shiver. “I never wanna leave,” He purred, squishing his head between your chest and pressing kitten kisses to the sensitive area, causing you to mewl. 

“Look at you. Enjoying yourself?” Tengen snickered as you looked up at him through wet lashes, 

“Y-yes-” You breathed, stretching your neck up, “kiss me?” 

“You don’t need to ask twice.” Uzui leaned down to capture your lips with his own, and his lips were skilled as his tongue slipped inside your mouth. You groaned against him as your tongues battled for dominance; yours was easily overpowered. Your fingers tangled themselves in Rengoku’s hair, and the embodiment of sunshine purred, biting the skin on your breasts. You moaned hotly as he trailed marks across your chest, allowing your kimono to open fully as he continued his way downward toward your core. You pulled away from Tengen’s lips to choke out a moan, feeling Rengoku’s tongue prod at your entrance. He hissed a little, trying to settle on his bad knee, and Tengen clicked his tongue, “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I’m not; this is worth it.” Kyo grinned and attacked your center like a man starved; you tossed your head back and moaned with delight. Uzui had to catch you as your legs melted against Rengoku’s mouth and tongue. 

“He has no self-preservation truly,” Tengen mused, watching you squeeze your legs around his comrade's head, which only egged him further, his fingers coming up to massage your clit. “You’re just that intoxicating, lovely,” His mouth latched itself onto your neck, nipping and kissing at the sensitive spots there, which only fueled your moans louder. Kyojiro pulled away, lips glistening with your arousal, 

“Umai!” You giggle, hands gently threading through his flame-colored hair, “Uzui!’ He shouted, “She’s close may I make her cum on my tongue?” 

“Don’t ask me; ask the lady you’re eating out.” Kyo looked at you with the most enormous puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen, 

“Yes. Please let me cum, Kyo.” Kyojiro grinned before looking at Tengen, who rolled his eyes. He knew what that look meant. You won’t be able to continue after Rengoku had his way with you, but it was fine you were coming back with them after all; you can cum on his cock another time. With a nod from Uzui, he dove back in between your legs; you moaned hotly as you felt his fingers begin to pump in and out of your pussy working in tandem with his tongue. You felt warm pressure as you yelped a little, standing up straighter, riding Kyojiro’s mouth. His fingers started heating up inside you, and your legs trembled in ecstasy. 

“That’s what he does,” Tenegn purred, “use his breathing technique to last a while, heating his fingers for maximum pleasure.” Uzui continued to play with your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers and enjoying the loud sounds you made against his shoulder. “You feel it, don’t you? His tongue works wonders inside your throbbing pussy, the heat as you clench on Kyo’s face.” You could only nod as Rengoku’s fingers found the spongy spot inside you and began to pound into it repeatedly with his fingers. Wet sounds of pleasure filled the room as you shuddered, coming around the man’s face with a cry, suffocating the man between your thighs. This time when Rengoku pulled away, he looked horny and dizzy, with a red face, 

“Holy. Shit.” a shit-eating grin spread across his lips, “You almost killed me between your thighs. What a way that would’ve been, aye Uzui?”

“Lucky bastard.” Tengen scoffed as you lay limp against his muscular body, shuddering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Let’s rest now, little one; we can continue in the morning.”

[yunholic-jongholic]

Over the Edge | S.MG x Reader

SUMMARY | You relentlessly go down on Mingi, pushing him to the edge of overstimulation as he begs you to stop, but you refuse to let up until you're fully satisfied.

PAIRINGS | Mingi x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | One Shot, Smut without Plot, SMUT, NSFW, Explicit Content, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Bondage Kink, Cum-eating, Begging. (Sorry if I missed some, I usually write these AFTER the story is finished and I forget some...)

WORD COUNT | 1.1k

AUTHOR NOTE | This was recommended by one of my mingi-ult bffs :] She helped me with this one. I have been on a roll recently, so you WILL see a lot of me now since I find comfort doing these stories!

•

After a long day at work, you finally stepped through the door, feeling exhausted. From the room, you could hear your boyfriend, Mingi, engrossed in some anime show. Needing a quick boost of energy, you headed to the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry to tide you over. You decided to head to the room where Mingi was watching his show and sat down beside him. He welcomes you in smiling at you.

"How was your day?" Mingi asks, glancing at you as you plop down beside him with a sigh. "Not very good," you admit, your voice soft, "but I just needed to be with you." Slowly, you slide onto his lap, laying across him and cuddling into his chest, seeking the comfort only he could provide. You watched the show with him as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Want to take a nap with me?" you hum softly, gently caressing Mingi's arm. He looks down at you and nods with a small smile. Turning off the TV, he adjusts his position, wrapping himself around you, spooning you tightly as he throws the covers over both of you, his warmth instantly soothing you.

Mingi is the first to drift off, his breathing steady and peaceful against your back. Though sleep eludes you, you still feel completely at ease wrapped in his arms, his warmth and presence providing all the comfort you need. That's when you get the idea to wake him up, but you wait for 30 minutes to pass to do your plan.

After 30 minutes of lying awake, you finally sit up carefully, trying not to disturb Mingi. He stirs slightly, shifting onto his back, his peaceful expression unchanged. You gently pull the blanket off him, pushing it toward the corner of the bed, watching him as he sleeps soundly. You softly touch his thigh and move upwards closer to his crouch. You softly slid your hand over unzipping his pants and pulling his length out. Mingi shifts again and you stop in your tracks before continuing once he becomes peacefully still again.

You softly rub the base with your thumb almost caressing it softly. You hear Mingi let out a soft moan in his sleep and you start feeling his cock grow hard in your hand. Your eyes watch as he turns his head to the side and moans more.

"Ugh, he’s so cute…" you whisper softly to yourself, unable to resist. Leaning down, you press your lips to the tip of his cock, giving it a gentle lick. The taste of his precum lingers as Mingi suddenly stirs awake, his face flushing bright red when he realizes what’s happening.

"Y/N?!" Mingi jolts upright, his voice laced with shock and embarrassment. You pull back momentarily, offering a sheepish explanation. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, still blushing furiously.

"Well… I’m already hard," he mumbles, avoiding your gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes. "You might as well continue. Unless…" He pauses, his voice growing quieter but heavier with intent. "You’d rather have me fuck you?"

"I kind of want to do all the work—it helps me wake up," you say with a playful smile before lowering yourself back down, fully wrapping your lips around his shaft. Mingi lets out a low groan, his body tensing slightly at the sensation of your mouth on him again. The warmth of your touch and the way you were determined yet struggling to take all of him was already driving him wild. His fingers grip the sheets as he watches you, the sight alone enough to push him closer to the edge.

"Fuck." Mingi curses running his fingers onto your head pulling your hair up to grip it together. He starts thrusting upwards wanting you to take him deeper. You pull away and he whines at the loss of your touch.

"Please Y/N..." Mingi begs you to continue. You call him cute, but you get up and grab one of his ties and wrap it around his wrists and tie him to the bedframe. Mingi whines at you as he is now restrained. You smirk at his struggling and go back down on him attaching you lips back to his cock. You watch his reactions as you keep sucking him off. Mingi has his head turned back, eyes closed, biting his lip and grinding upwards to hit the back of your throat.

"I'm so close." Mingi moaned thrusting sloppy into the back of your throat causing you to slightly gag. You felt his member twitch and you pulled your head back as you continued to stroke his cock. Mingi became a mess as he came onto your hand.

"Fuck..." He cursed again legs trembling a tiny bit. You smiled at him rubbing the tip with your thumb. Mingi started panting heavily trying to catch his breath, his cock was twitching in overstimulation.

"Please... I don't think I can do another one." Mingi whimpered at you, and you smirked kissing his shaft. "Well, I can, and I am the one in charge tonight." You gave a small kitten lick over the tip before taking it back into your mouth. You felt him twitch more in your mouth causing him to moan and whine at the feeling.

"You are so noisy." You continued to work on Mingi, swirling your tongue over the shaft as you kept taking him in. You both were a complete mess, moaning, groaning, sloppy sounds. You were destroying Mingi, doing all the work and causing him to come undone beneath you.

"Y/N... Please!" Mingi was almost near crying out, throwing his head back and arching his back. Not even a few minutes in and he was already thrusting into your throat moaning and cumming once again, this time in your mouth. You sighed popping him out of your mouth, looking at Mingi who was panting and completely weak to even move.

"You taste good." You smirk and giggle at his reaction to you completely making a mess of him. Mingi pants heavily, you kiss his cheek and untie him as you whisper in his ear, "so are you ready for me to ride you now?" You slowly take off your underwear feeling how completely soaked they are. He looks into your eyes worried that you might kill him. Of course, you won't really but that's not how it looks to him.

"Can we take a break? I need a nap if we plan to do more..." Mingi pouts at you and you just smile telling him you still needed to be pleased, and this is the only way. Mingi just stared at you and sat up feeling extremely exhausted. "Should have revaluated my choices of picking you at the club when we first met..." He teased murmuring to himself. You rolled your eyes and went to kiss him. "Well, there is no refunds or returns." You kiss his lips holding yourself against him.

•

Thank you for reading! I didn't do much editing on this one and it was slightly rushed since my Mingki wifey wanted it done LMAO. Anyways hope y'all enjoyed! :>

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter I: I Can Still Hold A Knife

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev.

song(s) for this chapter: funny you should ask - the front bottoms

a/n: aaaaaand we’re off! Thanks for joining me on yet another can of worms i’ve opened! use comments/ask box to join the…

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever

chapter tags: language, swearing | fic tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, modern!au, angst, time jumps, fem!oc!reader x eddie munson. this fic is rated 18+ MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support authors!

—

present day

The Hideout is busier than usual for a Saturday. The floors are slightly stickier, more drinks spilled than swallowed by your usual crowd of drunks, and it’s a lot louder. It’s partially your doing; the virtual fliers are plastered all over the bar’s socials, reading WELCOME HOME CHRIS in big, block letters over a picture of your brother smiling widely, a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. The last few years had been hard for you without him, but compared to your shared group of friends, you’d probably had the easiest time.

The day he’d gotten arrested, you were moving into your apartment across town, finally out from under your parents’ roof after repeatedly assuring them you’d be extra careful. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you, but they were extra protective of their only daughter. The hovering only increased when Chris got locked up.

In the six years without him, though, you’ve grown into your independence, adapting to the abandonment with ease, resentment festering in your gut.

”Beebs!” Your mother summons you back to the present with her affectionate nickname, and you pivot to where she stands on the stage, adjusting the mic stand.

”Yeah, Ma?”

”Can you come check the levels for me, dear? I gotta sign for the cake.”

You nod, and take her place onstage, mumbling into the microphone while Mark plays on the soundboard. Eventually, he gives you the thumbs up, and you retreat back behind the bar before any of the regulars can start a conversation.

-

“Okay, Chris just called, he’s five minutes away!” Your mom makes the announcement to your guests with false confidence. You know your mother, and she’d never admit it, but she’s one hundred percent freaking out about your brother coming home. Her only son, her firstborn, possibly destroyed by the traumas of prison. You won’t be the one to tell he was probably running the place after six months. The guests, Chris’s friends as well as yours, take their hiding positions as your mother goes about dimming the lights. You duck behind the bar as your heart rate increases, your throat closing, body shaking.

“He’s coming!” Someone whisper-yells, and follows it with a “SHHH!”

You hear the door creaking as it swings open. “Ma? Why’s the light off—?”

”WELCOME HOME, CHRIS!” The room erupts in cheers as the lights are flicked on, revealing what you can only assume is your big brother, standing in the doorway. He’s bigger, more muscular than the day he’d left, but he still wears that smug grin and that eager mischief in his green eyes. The smile on his face stretches when he catches your eye, and you can’t help but return it with a big, cheesy one of your own. He turns to your mother, enveloping her in a suffocating hug before turning to where you stand.”Hi, Beebs.”

You roll your eyes as he smothers you in a hug. “I’m too old for that nickname.” You mumble it unconvincingly into his jacket.

“Oh, my apologies. What would you like me to call you?”

You ignore him, instead inhaling your brother’s familiar scent of smoke and leather. “I missed you, Crispy.”

“Missed you too, kiddo.”

-

Two hours later, and the party’s still in full swing. It seems the entire town has stopped by to congratulate your brother on his freedom, despite half of Hawkins’ residents despising him. You’re tending bar, trying to keep track of who you’ve already cut off, and which patrons are on which tabs. Cold glasses leave condensation behind on the sticky wooden counter, The Hideout has never been fancy enough for coasters.

The doors swing open again, and the faces you’ve yearned for all night enter your eye line. You can’t help but squeal as you run from behind the bar as your mom begins taking your friends’ coats.

“Oh my god, Bee!” Robin Buckley opens her arms and you practically fall into them. “It’s so good to see you, what’s it been? A hundred years?”

You snicker. “Close! Six weeks.” You let go and move to the man next to her. “Hi, handsome.” You wrap your arms around Steve Harrington’s waist, and he drapes his around your head.

“Hey, beautiful. How’s your dad?”

“He’s good, the usual.” Your parents had divorced shortly after Chris’s arrest, your dad moving to New York to escape the judgment of the neighbors.

You soak in the sight of your friends, beaming at them. They haven’t changed a bit, save maybe for a haircut and a few more smile lines on their pretty faces. You can’t imagine how you must appear to them, face worn with age and worry.

Before you can catch up, though, the bar door flies open again. The sight before you knocks the wind from your lungs, your jaw unhinged and falling to the floor. Your tongue feels heavy, uncomfortable in your mouth, and your palms start to sweat. A vision of faded denim and worn leather, noisy chains clanking on his jeans, silver gaudy rings catching the dim lights of the bar as he nervously wrings his hands together. His hair is windblown, and an unlit cigarette is clenched between slightly crooked teeth. The bar has gone almost completely silent.

“Hey, everyone.” Eddie Munson finally speaks, and your fists clench.

“Now that feels like a hundred years ago.” Steve mumbles, and Robin stabs him with her elbow.

-

It takes everything in you not to scream as you approach your mother, who’s taken your place behind the bar to satiate the patrons no longer interested in your brother’s arrival.

“Mom!”

“Hi, baby! Can you come help me back here?” She’s fighting with the soda nozzle. “I think this one’s empty.”

“Mom, why is he here?” You’re speaking low, afraid of someone overhearing.

“Why is who here? You’ll have to be more specific, dear.”

“Please don’t play stupid. Why is Eddie here?”

Your question stops her fiddling with the soda gun. “Eddie’s here?”

You gape at her, practically seething. “He walked in like ten minutes ago!”

“Honey, I had no idea he’d show up! Chris must have invited him. Are you alright?”

It puts you at ease knowing your mom had nothing to do with this sabotage, but you’re filled with rage at hearing your brother might have. “I’ll be fine. Leave it to Chris to piss me off as soon as he’s a free man.” You take the soda nozzle from your mother, needing to let out your aggression. You shake it like you would a snake attempting to sink its teeth into your flesh, wrestling with the piece until something gives, spraying club soda all over you and the bar top. “Shit!” You throw it down, and it continues releasing into the space around you, as if aiming for your wet, sticky downfall. “God dammit.”

Your mother bites her top lip, holding back a cackle. “I think we lost this battle, babes.”

“Ma!” He hops over the counter, less than gracefully, landing right in the puddle. “You cool if we play a couple? For old time’s sake?” Chris widens his eyes, giving your mother his best sad puppy look.

Your mother rolls her eyes. “Only if your sister’s okay with it.”

You drop your jaw in mock offense. “Why me?!”

“Please, Birdie!” Chris turns to you, that same stupid look on his face. “I know you miss it too.”

You groan, caving to your brother’s wish. “Fine! But I’m staying at the bar.”

He chuckles at you. “Yeah, we’ll see about that!” And he’s off, gathering his friends by the side of the stage. You look to your mother, who only motions to the crowd forming as Chris climbs on to the stage. Behind him are three more boys clad in denim and leather, chains and zippers catching the lights. You catch Robin and Steve making their way into the crowd, and you follow them before you can think better of it. They greet you with a cheer, Robin with a slightly cocked eyebrow. “How’d they convince you to come over here?”

You scoff. “Chris pulled the got out of jail card.” It earns a laugh from your friends.

“Hello, Hideout!” Chris speaks into the mic, earning the attention from the whole room. “My name is Chris L/n, and as of this morning, I’m a free man, baby!” The room shakes with whoops and hollers, wolf whistles of approval, or just drunk excitement. You clap along, heart thumping irrationally out of your chest for a reason you can’t pinpoint, that is until the house lights dim.

Chris, though charismatic and charming, is not a front man. When he’s on that stage, he’s the brother you remember; focused, driven, passionate. You’ve never seen someone play the drums like him, never been so interested in the drummer until you had a chance to watch your brother. When he sits behind his kit, though, the attention of the crowd is drawn elsewhere.

You're not special, you know that. Just like everyone else, you can’t help but watch the spectacle in front of you. The spotlight hits him as he climbs the stairs, guitar draped across his torso, frizzy curls already stuck to his skin with sweat. You clench your fists, nails digging into your flesh to ground yourself. He approaches the microphone as the music swells, a drumroll building as distorted guitars wail in unison.

“It is so nice to see all of your familiar, sweaty faces.” He starts, voice low and breathy, and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Welcome to the show. My name is Eddie. We are Corroded Coffin, thanks for comin’ out!” They go into their first song, and the crowd starts jumping, hands in the air. Even Robin, who’s stood by you these past six years, is letting her guard down, head bobbing to the rhythm. You try not to glare at your best friend, you know she can’t help it. You barely can, the music is painfully difficult not to move to.

It’s then he catches you, far too close to the stage to avoid his eyeline. “I see you, Bird. I know you wanna dance.” Robin nudges you, nose wrinkled with glee as you let the tension melt, head rocking back and forth as the music swells to its peak, signaling the end of the antics. Chris crashes his cymbals, and they fade seamlessly into the first song, successfully convincing the crowd to move. A pit opens up towards the back, and you stand on the edge as Steve and Robin two step together, smiles stretched across their faces.

-

It’s 2am when you ring the last call bell, only to be answered with disappointed groans. You start pouring ice water into tiny cups, lining the bar with them for the exiting crowd. When the last stragglers step over the threshold, you’re approached from behind.

“Need some help cleanin’ up?” The voice sends a chill down your spine, so close you feel his breath on your neck.

Normally, you’d insist you didn’t want his help, but it was a busy, rowdy night. Your shoes stick to the floor, and you could use an extra set of hands, regardless of house calloused.

“Grab a rag.” You lazily point to the sink behind you, and Eddie eagerly hops to it.

“You like the set tonight?” He’s talking to you. Why is he talking to you? You respond with a “Hmm,” suddenly extremely interested in cleaning the bar.

“Felt pretty good to be back up there, y’know with the whole band.” You don’t respond, scrubbing a particularly sticky spot on the edge of the counter. “Saw you dancin’ out there. You look good. It’s nice to see you.”

You snap. “Enough. Stop talking to me. Clean the damn counter.” He chuckles, fucking giggles. Your irritation doesn’t phase him, but he obliges and sprays the counter down. The rest of the night is spent in silence, save for the low music humming from the house speakers.

-

“Get home safe, Tweety.” He has the gall to use the nickname he’d given you in high school, rolling off his tongue like an old friend. Before you can respond, he’s crossing the street to where his van is parked, cigarette hanging between his lips. When you’re sure he’s out of earshot, you let out a guttural groan, effectively shredding your vocal cords for the rest of the night.

Once in your car, your safe place, you scream.

[rueharley]

"I Love You Too" ~

Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend Reader

~Pure fluff, lots of kissing, and body touching

No plot just fluffy feelings all around (you've been warned)

I lay on mine and Rafes shared bed waiting for him to return home. He texted me twenty minutes ago that he would be back in ten minutes.

Im not the type of girlfriend who'd panick if he were five or ten minutes late, but I do think about him a lot if it does pass the time he mentioned.

I had my head against the soft, plush, pillows on the bed. The pillow smells faintly of his cologne and it's one of my favourite things.

I ran my hand over the bedding I lay on. I used to not believe that I could find such comfort, but I have, and it's so beautiful. However, right now I was mentally distracted by the fact that I had to wait for Rafe.

He was gone all day and we barely even shared a phone conversation. I couldn't wait for him to get home, but when you wait time seems to take that as an invatation to defy as many known laws as possible.

Luckily, a while passed quickly, a surprising thing when all I did was gaze at the ceiling and occasionally around the room as I waited.

I heard footsteps approaching the room and I knew it would be Rafes. As the door swung open I sat up, happy to finally see him.

"hey, baby" his exhausted voice greets me, a relieved smile gracing his face.

"You're back" I say with a smile, watching him closing shut the door and hurling his keys somewhere that will be hard to find.

He walkes over to me before gently encouraging me back so I was laying on the bed, he crawls on top of me.

"well, hi" I say giggling, looking up to his face.

"hey.." He smiles playfully as he adjusted his weight so he was holding his weight up by his forearms, one of his legs between mine.

"you come here often?" I say lightheartedly, with a large smile on my face.

"well, for a matter of fact, I do, yeah," he says lowly, as he looks over my face as if reminding himself of all my features. His gaze on my lips and my eyes was where he lingered the longest.

"God, I missed you.." he mutters, as if for only us two to hear, regardless that we were in an empty house.

"it's only been a day," I say softly, keeping my gaze trained on his icy-blue eyes.

"only a day?.. You used to be the one who couldn't go five minutes without me," he teases, his signature smirk playing on his lips.

The only response I had was a slight huff in protest. Knowing full well that he was right, he is right, nothings changed.

"you don't deny it do you, baby?" he mumbles quietly with an amused tone.

"well.." I begin, attempting to defend myself.

"no, baby, it's fine," he says his voice a bit lower, "I like that you're soft with me in those ways, and that it is only me who gets to have it.."

"of course it's only you who gets to have it, I only want to give it to you" I say genuinely, a small smile on my lips.

"damn straight, you better give me all your love.. All your affection, everything.. Or I might have to take it from you" his voice laced with a mischievous tone.

"you've still got your jacket on," I say his slightly rain-dampened jacket catching my attention.

"hm, doesn't matter, baby," he mumbles as he clearly didn't want the moment interrupted by anything. He didn't even take his passionate gaze off of mine.

"cmon, take it off" I say, causing a slightly unhappy look come into his expression. He didn't want to have the moment broken.

He huffed as he took the jacket off, attempting to not get out of the position or move much. Finally, and with success, he carelessly throws if in the general direction of the floor, he swiftly returned to the same position as before.

"you just trying to distract me, huh?" he says, ever so slightly breathless from the sudden physical demand to take off his jacket.

"distract you from what?" I asked with a smile, completely savouring his slightly breathless tone.

"hm.. You know what, baby" he purrs, as his eyes glanced over my face again.

"no I don't.. Distract you from what?" I say a playful and curious expression taking over my features.

He leans in close to whisper in my ear, "from giving me your love and affection," he spoke, his words tinted with a smile.

He pulled back to look at my face, his face unreadable yet the desire that eminated from him as undeniable.

I giggled at his words, "let me give you my affection then,"

His gaze was on mine, watching and waiting for anything I could be implying.

He slowly moves so he was laying on his back, his hand met with my hips as if to encourage me to come closer to him.

I climbed on him so I was straddling his hips, I rested my hands on his shoulders as I looked down to him, his gaze never leaving mine.

"hm, I like this," he smirked, his hands gripping my hips a bit tighter.

"get your head out the gutter, dirty boy," I say playfully, with a small smile.

"how can I when you're basically on top of me?" his hands ran up from my hips sliding over my waist.

I kept my gaze on his as I rubbed his shoulders. Not needing words to explain the way i felt how much I cherished him.

He was reading my expression, his eyes softening when he noticed how lovingly I was looking at him.

Silence was the loudest sound. The contact of his hands on my waist, the contact of our hips together, the way our gaze was something so strong it was like a physical bond. I loved him so much, In ways I never knew could exist. It almost made it feel pointless to even try to verbally explain it to him, words were going to fail me. How could I string together any combination of words to even begin to tell him how much I love him.

"I love you," I finally say, breaking the silence.

His eyes stay on mine for a moment, saying hundreds of things.

"hm, I love you too, baby," his smooth voice mumbles, his love pouring through each syllable.

I smiled at his response. This moment feeling so vulnerable, so untouchable.

"it doesn't count if you say 'I love you too'" I say playfully, amusement playing on my voice.

"oh, yeah?" he chuckles, mindlessly sliding his hands lower to my hips.

"means you're just agreeing," I continued, I ran my hands down to his abdomen, feeling his toned muscles beneath them.

"hm" he says, in a way that could have been an agreement or something more.

I giggled as I leaned closer to him, keeping our faces about a foot apart.

"so pretty, baby.." he mumbles as if it wasn't necessarily for me to hear.

He ran his hand through my hair, pulling it so it rested over one shoulder. He ran the back of his hand down my neck, in a soft, appreciative manner.

"you didn't ask why I was late back.." he murmured, tone as soft as the atmosphere between us.

"I don't wanna hound you, you're an adult, come back whenever you want," I say, feeling how his hand ran down my neck and his fingers were now tracing along the neckline of my shirt.

"I want you to 'hound' me baby," he says his voice distracted a she continued to trace his finger along the base of my neck.

"okay.." I say, distracted myself. Watching the specific expression he has when he's touching or watching my body. His gaze so full, so focused, as he traced over my collarbone.

His eyes flickered to mine momentarily and I leaned down and kissing his lips.

He reciprocated the kiss immediately, his lips softly moving with mine as he kissed me with the same tenderness that was in his gaze before.

His hands were back on my waist as he continued to hold me there. His body was eager against mine, yet we were still tender and affectionate in the kiss.

I broke the kiss slowly and looked down to him watching his demeanour.

"I love you," he says quietly, his voice slightly gravely from the kiss.

"I love you too," I say, a playful look coming into my face.

A smile instantly met his face, he knew I just copied him from earlier.

"You're a lil' minx" he mutters, unable to actually pretend to be annoyed as he's smiling at me.

[malk1ns]

march 15 v devils, 7-3 win

nice.

i really enjoyed geno's bizarro over-the-top penalty fugue state he went into for this one. almost like he was glitching out...

we can call this a homage to @sevenfists' wonderful tragic hockeybot geno, but not as good because like...duh.

this does contain a homophobic slur just fyi.

Evgeni has followed a fairly strict game-day protocol ever since he woke up in Pittsburgh almost 20 years ago. The details have changed, refinements and efficiencies added in as his software was upgraded, but the basics, the stuff that keeps him running at optimal performance and giving his all on the ice, have remained the same.

Most of his start-up process is automated now, thankfully. Those first couple of years he needed to be manually disconnected from his charging station and powered on every morning, and since the station was bulky and he had to charge upright all night he’d spend the first half-hour trying to loosen up his joints and walk without a hitch in his step. It also meant he had to stay at the rink—the unit was permanently installed in his maintenance room, and they only had one more extraordinarily bulky one that got lugged around for road trips. Evgeni spent a lot of mornings after Dana woke him up wandering the hallways until the rest of the guys started to trickle in.

He came back from the Olympics in Sochi with a new charging port, discreetly installed under his left armpit and USB-C compatible provided it’s connected to one of his new, portable power packs. The automated start-up patch came through shortly after, and all he had to do was program in a power-down and power-up time and he boots up all on his own.

Powering down in a comfortable position had been a revelation. Being able to do it wherever he wanted was another.

Evgeni considered buying his own house—the idea of his own space is appealing, even if he’s not quite sure what people do at home by themselves at night. He’d run a pro/con analysis, though, and asked someone to look over the results to verify the conclusion he came to: however unlikely it may be, the scenario of something going wrong when nobody is there to find Evgeni and perform emergency maintenance is an unacceptable trade-off for home ownership.

Sidney’s suggestion that Evgeni just move in with him was much more logical.

Something else that came with Evgeni’s 2014 upgrade was an unexpected, but not unwelcome, libido add-on. All part of the goal to make Evgeni and others like him more human, integrate them more into society at large. It took a few months for Evgeni to calibrate to his new desires; he’d expected a standard program, especially with his lab of origin located in Russia, but after a while he figured out he was gay.

He spent the off-season experimenting and arrived in Pittsburgh for the season with a list of likes and dislikes, and a type. Sidney almost exactly matched the latter, and based on Evgeni’s new experience he was confident that the first two items could be adjusted to suit.

He’d been right. 

Sidney has said he’s in love with Evgeni. Evgeni’s emotional response center has been upgraded on a regular basis over the years, but most of the time it seems like he’s a little…slow, maybe, or removed from how he should be feeling, such as it is.

Not about Sidney. He’s pretty sure he loves Sidney too.

Sidney also understands the value of a routine. He has his own, more rigidly engrained than anything Evgeni does on gameday, and he’s more than happy to leave Evgeni alone to boot up and run his diagnostics in peace. It’s unsettling to watch, Evgeni’s been told—his eyes go disconcertingly blank, and for a solid five minutes he’s utterly unresponsive. People get weird about it, even if they’ve seen it before. He prefers to be alone.

Mid-March in a season like this one is a grind. Evgeni’s been in for repairs more this season than the last two combined, and they might not be officially eliminated from playoff contention yet but it’s just a matter of time; motivation is hard to come by, even for Evgeni. It’s reassuring to fall into his programming and run through each system one by one, making sure he’s primed for optimal performance.

There’s a spark in the corner of his vision.

Evgeni pauses, scrolls back through lines of code, reviews. Nothing. He must have imagined it.

When he pulls himself out, he’s running a few minutes late; Sidney will be almost done with his breakfast.

Evgeni heaves himself to his feet and heads downstairs. Sidney drives on game days, so Evgeni downloads the Devils’ five most recent games to review in the car.

—

He shouldn’t need to, but Evgeni likes to top-up his charge while Sidney takes his pre-game nap. Sidney likes it too, says it feels like they’re falling asleep together; it also helps that once Evgeni’s powered down he doesn’t move, so once they’re arranged to maximize Sidney’s comfort there’s no mid-sleep jostling.

When Evgeni boots back up, he feels…weird. Wrong, lying in bed with Sidney wrapped around him like normal.

He unplugs his charger and extracts himself as carefully as he can, putting on his suit and making his way downstairs to wait until Sidney is awake and ready to drive them to the rink for the game.

Sidney frowns at him when he finally comes down, but Evgeni turns his head, and Sidney lets him be.

They make small talk in the car like usual, but Evgeni’s distracted, and eventually Sidney goes quiet. To distract himself Evgeni runs back to his source code, a well-worn self-soothing mechanism when he’s feeling jumpy or off.

The code itself is simple but effective, wrapped inside a descriptor of the reason Evgeni was made in the first place.

The modern sport of ice hockey was developed in Canada…

By the time the game starts Evgeni’s restless, shifting from foot to foot during the anthem and eyeing the opposing team with more hostility than he’s used to experiencing. 

Evgeni’s never pretended to be the cleanest player in the league. He’s sneaky with his stick, takes risky penalties because when guys hit back he doesn’t feel pain like humans do, and sometimes it works. Even for him, though, this game is tough sledding.

When his reckless double minor results in a goal against and lets the Devils draw within one, Evgeni shatters his stick in the box, then glides back to the bench with his mouth twisted in a frown. He feels—he wants to hit something, or maybe someone.

His higher processing is on alert at this aberration in behavior, but all Evgeni can do is sit on the bench, accept his new stick, and wait.

“G,” comes Sidney’s voice in his ear, and Evgeni flinches away violently—what is Sidney doing, sitting so close? Why is he pressing their legs together like that? Why is he reaching for Evgeni’s hand where it’s resting on his thigh? “Hey, you okay? You seem a little rattled; do you need a breather, maybe someone to check you out?”

“Fuck off, what you do,” Evgeni hisses, snatching his hand away. “Don’t touch me, like, what are you, a faggot? Back off.”

Crosby freezes, and Letang peers around from his other side, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck did you just say to him?”

“You fuck off too,” Evgeni snaps, half-rising with his fists clenching in his gloves, and suddenly the bot maintenance guy has an iron grip on his arm.

“Cool it, or I’m taking you back and decommissioning you here and now instead of letting you get through this game and get examined,” Freddy snaps in his ear.

Evgeni shakes his head. There’s an odd echo in his ears, metallic and hollow, and snippets from his source code keep floating into his brain—Hockey Canada announced a plan to address "systemic issues" in the culture of hockey; the early history of hockey encouraged physical intimidation and control; oh, the good old hockey game....

The rest of the game is a blur. Evgeni doesn’t cause any more goals against, even manages to put up a primary assist on the power play, but he spends his time on the bench spacing out, shrinking away from anyone who tries to talk to him as he scrolls through his coding.

The diagnostics are all still fine. Something’s wrong, though.

Evgeni spent a year in stasis while his system was flooded with hockey history and hockey culture. He doesn’t remember it very well, but those first few years had aligned pretty well with what he’d learned—hockey was rough, hockey was physical, hockey was insular and conservative and macho.

Times change. So did Evgeni, through programming and his own conclusions drawn from observing the world around him.

He seesaws between past and present, software upgrades and personality patches warring in his motherboard until he thinks he might short out. He doesn’t, obviously; there are enough redundancies built into him to keep the ISS in orbit, let alone one android on an ice rink, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling overheated and dazed by the time they troop off the ice.

Instead of walking to the locker room he turns left, toward the bot maintenance room.

He half-hears a whispered argument behind him, and shortly after it cuts off someone hurries to catch up.

“Hey,” Sidney says, and Evgeni cringes, his words from earlier rattling in his skull like they were said by someone else.

“Sorry,” he grits out. He wants to reach out and take Sidney’s hand, but the thought of someone seeing him holding hands with a man fills him with nausea. “Not sure…”

“Yeah,” Sidney says. His voice is even, flat and unsettling, but Evgeni doesn’t have room to work through that and find a fix.

Freddy’s waiting outside the room with his arms crossed. He relaxes when Evgeni rounds into view, raising his eyebrows but not commenting when Sidney follows them into the room.

“Alright, let’s get you opened up and see what’s going on,” Freddy says, gesturing to the maintenance station.

It looks like a torture chamber, a metal chair surrounded by needles and machinery and a large, ominous machine with a screen and dozens of blinking lights. Evgeni gingerly lowers himself into the seat and closes his eyes, flinching a little when the chair lifts and tilts him forward, giving Freddy access to his control panel.

It doesn’t hurt to have his panel opened, but it feels wrong, invasive and intrusive. Evgeni used to need to get strapped into the chair to stop from fighting, but now he squeezes his eyes closed and bites on his tongue and takes some of the big, soothing breaths that do nothing for the functioning of his shell but seem to settle his mind anyway.

“Fuck,” Freddy murmurs, and Evgeni’s eyes fly open. Before he can say a word, Sidney’s at his side.

“What is it?” Sidney demands, resting a hand on Evgeni’s shoulder and rubbing his thumb soothingly as he leans over to peer into the panel. “Oh, shit.”

“What!” Evgeni demands, clenching his fists. He hates this, hates feeling helpless and paralyzed while people bend over his back and stare down into his innards.

“Not sure what happened in here, bud, but you’ve got some seriously fucked-up wires. Something in here burnt out, and a few of the metal casings are fried.” Freddy touches something inside Evgeni that sends his left knee straight out in a kick. “Yeah, damn, that’s no good. You were maybe a few days from catching on fire.”

Sidney’s hand spasms on Evgeni’s shoulder. “Can you fix him?” he asks, voice low and worried.

“Oh, sure,” Freddy says, and the easy confidence in his voice is reassuring. Freddy never sounds overwhelmed, never sounds like there’s something he can’t make work. “Might take a while, I think I’ll have to boot him into safety mode for a few hours to make sure everything’s connected okay, but he should be ready to go by Tuesday’s game.”

Sidney’s exhale is shaky with relief. Evgeni wants to reach up and touch his hand. “We start now?” he says instead, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Sure thing. When was your last backup?” Freddy asks, rummaging through his toolkit. “Sid, when you head back can you let Sully know what’s going on, tell him I’ll get everyone a full rundown once I can pull the readout?”

“Sure. And he backed up last night, so you can probably just—”

Evgeni interrupts him. “No,” he says firmly, finally gathering the courage to crane his neck and look up at Sidney’s face. “Back up now, please. Want to remember what I say.”

“Good man,” Freddy says, clapping Evgeni on his other shoulder.

Sidney crouches down so he can look Evgeni in the eye. “You didn’t mean it,” he says quietly. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s a frown tugging at his mouth. He’s sad, Evgeni concludes, and hurt, and he’s trying to hide it. “I mean, it’s like…you’re hurt, you pulled something out from your coding, it’s not—”

“Sid,” Evgeni interrupts, and Sidney startles. A quirk in Evgeni’s programming is that he doesn’t use nicknames unless he really makes an effort. “Doesn’t matter why, I still say. Can’t forget I do, it’s not…” He thinks, running through the relationships course he downloaded back in 2015 when the team was struggling and Sidney seemed like he was on the verge of ending things. “It’s reason, not excuse. I still need, like, accountability.”

He mangles the word, but Sidney’s small smile is worth it.

—

Evgeni doesn’t dream, exactly. When he’s powered down there’s still a flicker of awareness as long as he has battery, enough to pull himself to wakefulness if there’s a threat, but extended downtime for repairs is like floating in a thick black cloud. There’s a very distance perception of voices, of movement and hands on his shell and wires being replaced, but nothing that Evgeni can actually truly call a memory as opposed to a superimposed expectation of what happened.

The grogginess when he’s powered back on is very real, though, as is the stiffness in his knees. He hopes he’ll have enough time to loosen up before he has to play.

“Welcome back,” Freddy’s cheerful voice booms, and Evgeni winces. “You should be set. Had you walk and sit and do a few jumping jacks yesterday in safety mode, nothing else loosened up or shorted. Okay—hands?”

He walks Evgeni through the post-repairs protocol, checking his reactivity, his senses, the last things he remembers to check his backup loaded correctly. Check, check, check.

When Evgeni stumbles out of the room, blinking against the harsh overhead lights in the hall, Sidney’s waiting for him.

“Hey,” Sidney says, eyes flickering over Evgeni’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” Evgeni says immediately. The shame that rolls through him is new and unexpectedly powerful—he rarely feels embarrassed, his programming doesn’t allow for him to make choices that lead to that. When it’s working correctly, of course. “God, Sidney, you know I don’t mean.”

“I know,” Sidney says, and the caution in his voice makes Evgeni’s chest ache. “I told Kris what happened, he said he won’t kick your ass unless it happens again.”

“I let him,” Evgeni says earnestly, which makes Sidney laugh. “Promise, I stand there, he kick and scratch and do whatever, I just let.”

He reaches forward tentatively, touching his fingers to the back of Sidney’s hand. The flood of relief when Sidney turns his hand up and laces their fingers together is nearly enough to make him lose his balance.

Emotions are tricky things, Evgeni thinks, but he wouldn’t wipe them for the world.

[happy74827]

Loosing Control

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your love is a thing of magic. It's strong and apparently real and Gideon doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

WC: 2489

Category: Slight Lime/Spice {Gideon’s POV}

I’m actually surprised that so many people love my Gideon fics. The AMOUNT of anons I’ve suddenly started to receive this past week just because of this man is astronomical and I’m totally here for it!! (Also this gif got me feeling all types of things 🫣)

『••✎••』

Gideon Graves was at a loss for words. He didn't know what he had expected from this meeting, but it certainly wasn't this. He wasn't exactly in a position to be calling anyone out on the carpet, so to speak, but it had been at least an hour since you had burst into the office—pounding on the door, demanding to be let in—and Gideon had done nothing to stop you. Instead, he sat on his sofa, staring at you in silence. He'd already known you would be upset. He didn't need you to tell him that.

"Look," he said.

Gideon Graves was a genius. He knew that. His ability to multitask and think fast on his feet had gotten him far in his career and had garnered him numerous accolades and awards, from the Pulitzer to the Nobel Prize. And yet he hadn't expected you.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. You had been his assistant for nearly five years now. Gideon had made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested in anything more than a professional relationship between the two of you, but that didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. There was just something about you. The way your mouth moved when you were speaking. The way you stood so close to him in the mornings that he could smell the soap on your skin and the coffee on your breath.

"Just give me a minute," he said.

You blinked at him. "What?"

Gideon stood up and paced the room, adjusting his glasses and running his hands through his hair.

"There are so many things I want to say, but they all seem like the wrong things," he said. "I've never really been good with words."

You pressed your hand to your lips, shaking your head. "No, no, I get it. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here like this."

"You're not making this any easier for me, you know."

"No, I—I know." You drew your hand away, and your face flushed. You sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling your knees to your chest. "You don't have to make excuses for me or anything. I know I just barged in here."

"You always do that," Gideon said. He leaned his hip against the edge of his desk, resting his weight on his elbow. "You've been my assistant for five years now and you never knock."

You smiled. "You told me not to. You said I was always allowed to come into your office without knocking."

Gideon shrugged. He had been trying to get you out of his hair, to be completely honest. You had been such a nuisance—so nosy and needy and persistent—and yet he found himself drawn to you. He never meant for things to go this far. He was a lot of things, but unprofessional was not one of them.

He wasn't sure why you had come here. What you had possibly thought you were going to accomplish. Gideon Graves did not feel. Not in the way other people did. He could love, sure, but it wasn't in the traditional way. He could want and need and desire. But he wasn't capable of love. He hadn't loved his mother. He hadn't loved his father, though he had always been fond of the man.

Gideon had not loved you. Not at first. In fact, you had been an irritation, a nuisance. And yet, as time went on and you had learned to read him better, to anticipate his needs and desires, your presence became comforting. He liked being with you. He enjoyed listening to your voice, the way you laughed and smiled, and how you always looked so pleased with yourself, no matter how small the task you had completed.

"You have to understand," he said, "I'm not..."

Gideon searched your eyes. You were beautiful, he realized. You were soft and warm and kind, and he had never really thought of you as anything more than an assistant, but there was something about you now, something that made you look different. He couldn't quite explain it.

You were staring at him, your gaze fixed on his face.

Gideon cleared his throat. "You need to know what you're getting yourself into before we go any further."

Your brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a broken man," he said, holding his hand in front of his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. "I can't promise you anything; I'm not... I’m not good at this sort of thing. You have to know that."

You tilted your head to one side, studying his face. He could see the worry in your expression. Gideon had seen that look before so many times. His father had given him that same look when Gideon had first told him he wanted to go to college. His mother had given him that same look when he had decided to move to Toronto alone. Even his own reflection in the mirror had looked at him with that same worried expression when Ramona had left him.

You looked at him as though you were afraid of him, but you didn't speak. You just looked at him, waiting.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said, "and I can't promise that this will end up working out. It never has before, and it probably won't this time, either."

"Is this about Ramona?" you asked, your voice soft. "Is that what this is about?"

"No," Gideon said quickly. "That's in the past. That was... I was young and foolish."

"You weren't young," you said with a laugh. "I was literally there when you made the whole league thing. Then you got your ass—no offense—kicked by Pilgrim and that girl with the beautiful scarf.”

Gideon had never talked to anyone about that moment. He didn't talk about his failures, at least not when they were that severe. Even he had to admit that getting his ass kicked had been a bit of an embarrassing moment for him.

"Yeah, let’s not talk about that,"

You laughed again. "You know what this sounds like to me? It sounds like you're trying to talk me out of being with you."

"Well..." Gideon frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I guess that's true."

Your expression softened. "That's because you think it's not going to work out, isn't it? Better not to try than fail, right?"

Gideon didn't speak.

You moved across the room, crossing the floor until you were standing in front of him. You placed your hands on his chest, sliding them up the sides of his neck and cradling his face in your hands. You were looking at him, searching his eyes.

"I know it's hard for you to trust people," you said, "but I've been by your side for five years, and you don’t need to use a chip for assurance that this will work."

“Wait a minute, hold on—”

You leaned into him, kissing his lips. You smiled against his mouth, giggling softly. You were kissing him. You were kissing him. You were actually kissing him, and Gideon didn't know what to do about it.

You pulled away and kissed him again, harder this time. You moved against him, pushing him back so that he fell against the edge of his desk. His heart was pounding in his chest. You had your hands on his shoulders now, pushing his coat from his body.

For once, Gideon didn’t have control, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He liked being in charge. It was what he was used to. He knew what he was doing and how to get things done. Yet, here he was, watching his jacket drop to the floor, feeling your hands on his body.

“Do you still think you need that chip of yours?” you asked, pressing your lips to his ear.

Gideon sighed, tilting his head back as you kissed his neck and his jaw. You were undoing his tie now, letting it drop to the floor.

“Listen, I had a perfectly good reason for that chip. Ramona, she was...I had a lot going on with her, and it just made sense at the time, but then—shit—I didn't mean—I didn't—this is—it's really complicated, okay?”

You were kissing him as he spoke. You kissed the corner of his mouth. You kissed his neck and collarbone. Gideon had to remind himself to breathe. He had to remind himself how to move. How to think. How to do anything.

"You really are all over the place," you murmured.

Gideon glanced at you, panting due to the lack of oxygen in his system. His eyes were full of you, the shape of your face, the sound of your voice. The curve of your nose. Your smile. Your lips.

You had your hands on his shoulders, that same soft, pleading look in your eyes. You looked at him as though you wanted something, and it was hard for him to deny you, but it wasn't that simple. It never was.

"I can't promise you anything," he said.

You nodded. "I know."

"I'm not the easiest person to be around. I don't even know how I'm supposed to...to..." He swallowed. "I just don't know how to do this."

You stepped away from him, taking your hands from his shoulders. You seemed to know the right thing to say. You always knew the right thing to say. "Don't worry about that right now."

Gideon turned from you. He needed to get a hold of himself. He couldn't be weak like this. He needed to be in control. He needed to focus.

"I need to get back to work," he said, rubbing his eyes with his hand. "We've been away for too long."

You stared at him for a moment. You seemed to be waiting for him to change his mind, but he didn't. He knew he needed to focus. He needed to do what he had always done. He needed to bury himself in work until it was all that consumed him, and there was nothing else to do but sleep and breathe.

"Okay," you said. “Okay, Gideon.”

He didn't look at you as you turned to go. You hadn't even given him a chance to ask you to stay. He couldn't look at you right now, so he didn't turn around as he heard you open the door, close it behind you, and leave.

You hadn't left him mentally, though. Not yet. He could still smell your perfume in the air. He could still see the shape of your body in the chair in front of his desk. He could hear the way you sighed, the way your voice had been soft when you had said his name.

Gideon needed to get back to work, but all he could think about was you. He didn't even know how he had managed to convince himself that it was a good idea to push you away. He did the opposite with Ramona, forcing her into his life until she was a part of him.

So why was it when you had actually wanted him, he had pushed you away?

It had never happened with anyone else, not like this.

Gideon reached up to his neck, touching the skin where your lips had been. It had only been a kiss, a simple touch, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had made him feel like this. You were so soft and kind and... beautiful.

He reached down for his fallen coat that you had tossed to the ground. He lifted it, carrying it to the back of the sofa. He picked up his tie, too, and placed it into the pocket of the jacket, folding it neatly.

There was so much he didn't understand about himself. There was so much he didn't know and would likely never know, but he knew how he felt about you. He could admit that to himself, at least, even if he couldn't admit it to you. Not yet.

“Idiot… Idiot.” Gideon groaned, burying his face in his hands. He sat down on the edge of the couch, falling onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to you.

When Scott Pilgrim had won that battle against him, Gideon was left to wake up and realize that there was a whole world out there that he had no control over. It was a frightening thing for him to come to terms with, but there it was. The world was going on with or without him, and he couldn't change that.

You were there for him, though. You had always been there for him. You had been so soft and kind and gentle. His ego was completely shattered when Scott brought him to his knees, but you had been there for him, comforting him as he recovered emotionally.

And yet, that wasn't all you had done for him. You have helped him in so many ways since you started working with him. You were the perfect assistant—attentive, thorough, and never a bother. He could ask you to fetch anything for him, and you always had.

You also knew when he wanted to be left alone and respected his boundaries. He had to be very careful around people. If you use the wrong words or the wrong tone of voice, everything could fall apart. And it had—it was—with Ramona.

Ramona. It still hurt to think about her, but he could admit that what he felt for you was far different than what he had ever felt for Ramona. What he had felt for Ramona had been a sort of hyperfocus. That was what he told himself anyway. She made him feel things that no one else ever had, but it had never been real. And Gideon knew the difference. Ramona wasn’t love; it was obsession.

You were love. You made him feel so... so human. He didn't want to get into the nitty-gritty details of that, but you made him feel alive. You made him feel real.

Gideon sat up and crossed the room. When he was stressed, or upset, or upset because he was stressed, he found himself pacing. It was one of the few that helped him focus. As he paced, he glanced at the door, staring at the knob as he imagined you coming back through it.

That’s it, he thought. He needed to do something. He needed to go after you to make things right. Make sure that you knew he was serious. Make sure that you know what was at stake here.

Gideon wasn't good with words, but he knew that he would figure out a way. Figuring out ways to fix things had never been a problem for him.

He was the smartest man in the world. How hard could it be?

God, I need to learn how to write actual endings instead of leaving everything open 😭😭

Conclusions are the bane of my existence istg

[danikamariewrites]

hello. Would you write for dark Dorian and reader? Please

Once Upon a Time

Dark!Dorian x reader

A/n: Ive been a sucker for Dorian lately I cannot stop thinking about him. I’m also loving @shadowdaddies dark!Manorian series rn, definitely go check it out.

Warnings: dark!dorian, manipulation

“There you are pet. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Dorian’s voice sent chills down your spine as you bask in the afternoon sun. The thrill he gives you after being together the last two years still brings a smile to your face. Like you’re being chased by him in your own home. You look up at him from your spot in the plush grass. The castle gardens are so beautiful this time of year, you can never resist spending your days out here when the weather finally turns.

Dorian sits next to you lightly kissing your forehead. A small blush creeps on to your cheeks as you softly respond, “Hi.” He smiles at you, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger Dorian tilts your head back a little so your eyes meet his sapphire ones. “What are you doing out here sweet girl? Shouldn’t you be wedding planning.” Your face falls. You’re not avoiding planning the most exciting day of your life. You just needed a break from how suffocating the dining room felt with all the flower samples, and napkin samples, and everything else that was carted into the palace for your approval.

“I just needed a moment to myself.” Dorian gives you a sympathetic pout before pulling you onto his lap so your back rested against his chest. “I know things like this can be stressful my love. I’m here if you want me more involved. Come find me next time and we can sit together, ok?” You nod against his strong chest, settling into his warm embrace.

It took a lot to earn Dorian’s trust just so you could come out and enjoy the gardens. While you are allowed to wander the castle on your own Dorian prefers to be with you when you find yourself outdoors. When he found you this time you could tell he was slightly panicked that you didn’t at least have a guard with you. Dorian was always afraid that you’d be taken from him or that you’d run. But you’d never do that. Dorian keeps you safe, you couldn’t imagine life without him.

“Before we go back can you tell me a story? I just want to stay out here for a bit longer.” A small chuckle leaves his full lips. “What story do you want sweet girl?” You think for a moment, “The one where you first saw me and then we met.” Dorian smiles at you as you stare up at him with this innocent doe eyes. “You got it.”

Dorian adjusts you so you’re in a more comfortable position cuddled up to him. “Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in Rifthold. She was the most beautiful girl the King of Adarlan had ever seen. He was absolutely enchanted by her. She’s so kind and sweet, how could he resist her? The king had to meet. One day he took a trip to her flower shop in the city. When they finally met he was so nervous to speak he couldn’t get a word out.

“She was just so smiley and bubbly he couldn’t interrupt her. When the king laid in bed that night all he could think of was the flower girl. Days and weeks went by where he watched the flower girl from afar. When the king finally learned her name it was all he could think of. Y/n. He kept repeating it, practicing saying it for the next time they met. Slowly but surely they fell for each other and the king couldn’t bear another day apart.

“The king watched his sweet y/n. A man walked into her shop and he ended up being belligerent and rude. The king couldn’t have that so he dealt with the man and brought his sweet y/n to the castle where she would be safe with the king forever.”

You remember that day. Gods you were terrified as you hid behind the counter and prayed for Dorian to save you. Everything had been a blur that evening and when you woke up the next morning you were in Dorian’s bed. All your stuff had been moved to the castle. You had tried to leave, something had felt wrong to you. But Dorian had insisted that you must stay until he deemed it safe for you to return home. Eventually you didn’t want to return home. You wanted to stay with Dorian and he was more than happy to have you stay with him.

You turn to straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love that story.” You say softly. Dorian brings his hands up to hold your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “And I love you sweet girl.” He softly kisses your lips then your nose. “Let’s go back inside darling. We can do wedding planning together, hmm.” “Sounds perfect.” Dorian scoops you up in his arms heading back to the dining room.

He did everything to keep you from seeing his anger at the lack of guards in the garden. Barely any were by the gates. Dorian would be having words with Chaol about that. Gods forbid you ran and he couldn’t find you.

[i-hold-horrors-hand]

Still Important

(aka "Why are you still awake?")

For the Riter's Ghuild fluff prompt.

(Also available on AO3)

"Why are you still awake?"

The unexpected voice jostled Copia from his brooding, causing him to jump slightly and let out a little "ah!" in response. He hadn't noticed anyone coming into his makeshift "office", and was caught off guard. He took a moment to compose himself, smoothing down his suit's lapels in an (mostly unsuccessful) attempt to smooth out his nerves, then cleared his throat.

"I, eh, could ask you the same question."

"I'm awake because you didn't come to bed, and I got worried."

"Ah. Well..." He couldn't counter that.

His Prime Mover, clad in her maternity nightgown and robe, moved from the doorway to the side of the couch, arms folded over her (very) swollen belly, and a look of concern on her beautiful face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Copia made a little show of fussing around with a stack of papers. "Just, eh, working late, you know? Being the big boss means a lot of–"

"Bullshit."

It was every bit a statement, and nowhere near a question. Hell, it might have even been a little bit of an accusation. It annoyed him slightly, but the concerned gleam in his wife's eyes smoothed over the tiny prick of irritation. He dropped the stack of papers back onto his "desk", sat back on the fancy piss-yellow sofa, and threw up his hands.

"Yes. It is bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit!"

"What whole thing?"

Copia ran a gloved hand down his face, and grumbled softly. He was hoping to avoid having this conversation, to avoid having to talk about it, to avoid having to admit things out loud, but...

Larysa was already motioning for him to scoot over, giving her room to sit next to him. He did so, and carefully (and perhaps somewhat overprotectively) guided her as she slowly lowered her heavily pregnant self down onto the plush cushions. After taking a brief moment to adjust her position and settle in, she turned to her husband.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Copia sighed. What wasn't wrong?

"Well," he began, "Eh...my whole life was kind of a lie. I didn't know my real parents even were my real parents until recently. And once I performed my last show as Papa, my mother died. That's what's wrong."

Larysa nodded. "But that's not all."

Another statement, and not a question. He really should have foreseen his wife's in-built Bullshit Detector™ working on him, like it did with everyone else. Oh well.

"No, Rysa, that's not all." He rubbed at his face again, then continued, "I get to take over her job—which I did not want to do, by the way—and get replaced by a twin I never knew I had. Then, we get driven out of our old place by fire, and I don't even have a real goddamn office."

He folded his arms and took a breath, then pushed onward.

"And while I am struggling to figure all of this out...my so-called brother comes in, steals my spotlight and my schticks, and gets all the glory and recognition!" He clenched his fists in anger.

"He 'took us to number one the Billboard chart' right away, but he could never have done that without the groundwork I laid down for years!" He slammed his fists down onto his lap, and felt his anger beginning to give way to sadness, as tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes.

"And nobody recognizes that! Nobody appreciates the blood and sweat and tears I put into being Papa! They all praise him and they don't care about me anymore..."

He slumped back against the couch, closing his eyes and trying to will the tears away. After everything he'd done for the band, for the church, for Satan himself...

"You're still important."

"To who?" Copia asked, bitterly.

"To me, dickhead."

He barked out a laugh at the insult, and opened his eyes, looking over to Larysa, who was rolling her own.

"You're important to me. And Allie. And little Becca. And this one." She grabbed one of Copia's hands by the wrist, and gently placed it on her baby bump. "You're important to us. To our family."

Copia smiled, rubbed his hand in slow circles, and was struck by a soft pang of joy as he felt the baby kick in response.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Larysa reached over to stroke his cheek with her thumb. "You're a loving and supportive husband, and a caring and nurturing father."

Copia felt a sense of pride and warmth swell inside his chest, giving the bitterness and broodiness scant room to stay.

"You formally adopted Allie, at her own request. Becca loves it when you read to her and sing her lullabies. This baby–" Larysa paused briefly and gestured with her chin to her belly, "–loves it when you talk to her. And I..." She leaned over, closer, and gently bumped Copia's nose with her own. "...just love everything about you, Big Papa."

The pride and warmth now grew to the point where it left room for nothing else, and Copia wrapped his arms around Larysa and kissed her deeply, enjoying the softness of her lips and the secure feeling of her arms around him.

"You always know what to say, baby," he murmured into her neck, holding her close. (Or as close as the nearly-to-term fœtus would allow, anyway).

Larysa nuzzled her husband's cheek, then pulled back.

"Okay, now that I've reassured you, can you do the same for me? I can't tell if I just pissed a little, or if my water broke."

Copia snorted a laugh, then kissed her again.