#Sneezing while hiding

[gay-for-the-snz]

Beneath the Bed (F, dust, SWH)

Hello! I am slowly going through and pulling together some of my old WIPs to finish them and get them posted, and this is one of them! SWH, dust, set in FL setting. 4k

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"You look radiant tonight, Ms. Penbrook."

She laughs, flashing the young Lord a lascivious smile. "I know." His eyes widen in surprise, taken aback by her forwardness, but he clearly doesn't mind, instead pulling her a tad closer as they twirl.

She knows that all eyes are on them, and how could they not be? How could anyone look away from the most handsome couple on the dance floor? Every lady in attendance is seething with envy, knowing that she has been able to secure him a position on her dance card.

He is the most eligible man here, and every mother in London has been attempting to see her daughters introduced to him all evening. Brothers, cousins, sponsors of all stripes have been making introductions, and yet here she is. A woman with no title, no land; she has nothing but a reputation that far precedes her, and one that should be keeping him at a distance to protect his own.

And yet...

Here he is in her arms, holding onto her as they waltz, faces dangerously close to one another's.

She drops her voice to low, sultry tones, just loud enough for him to hear and no one else. "You must have a place on every dance card in this room; your whole evening filled with eligible young socialites. Will you try to find another space for me tonight?"

"I would take my place off of every card, if only you asked me to."

"I dare say our host would be none too pleased by this."

"What care I for the whims of my host when I could have you in my arms for a whole evening?"

"Surely you'll care when you're not invited back to any further parties?"

He leans close, their lips not quite touching but warm breath on one another's skin. "I could care about nothing beyond you."

"Perhaps we should find somewhere to speak privately, then, to discuss our plan for the evening."

Her meaning is hidden under only the thinnest of veils, but it's enough to satisfy his need for a pretense. Why Society types always bother with it, she isn't certain--after all, anyone with eyes that see is well aware of what is going to happen when they disappear, even separately--but the requirement of a pretense is always there.

The song ends, and she lets her hand linger on his arm just a bit longer than she needs to, before she slips off the dance floor and to the fringes of the room. She sweeps off to the side, leaving the sounds of the party behind her as she begins to explore the halls.

Servants don't stop her--a few well placed bribes this morning ensure that. She knows the layout of the house well enough, having both cased and taken this manor before, and she makes haste directly to a room she knows should have what she's come for. Not jewelry, nor artwork, nor a safe; her target is something much less well guarded, and much more valuable to her client.

Ledgers.

Someone, it seems, is not forthcoming and honest with their finances for their business, and she has offered a tidy sum to come collect the evidence. All she has to do is--

"Ms. Penbrook." He's breathless as he pushes her against the wall, his hands on her waist. "I've made my excuses, we have a few moments before someone begins wondering where I've gotten off to."

This is highly inconvenient. She can't exactly rob their host while she has company, especially one so influential--and unknown--as this one. It wouldn't do to be sent back to New Newgate over someone's financial paperwork.

She leans her head to the side just slightly, fighting not to try and extract herself from his grip. She has more lucrative things she could be doing than being held by a man who feels as if she's the first woman he's ever touched. "Your Lordship..."

"Please--accept my apologies for being so forward." He lets her go, reluctantly, but his hands hover beside her like the ghost of a lover's embrace. "I know a room where we can be alone."

"Are you certain? I wouldn't want either of us to be seen..."

"Of course. Our families have been friendly since before the Fall, I know this estate as intimately as I know my own body. Come, we'll be afforded enough privacy to know eachother the same."

He's a bit suave, she'll give him that. "Lead the way, sir."

They wind down the hallways, her trailing him like a shadow close on his heels, and she can't help but glance back at the door to the study as they pass it. There's no way she can request they go into there--if he knows she knows which room it is, it will seem suspicious, and if she doesn't know what room it is, then he'll simply reject the suggestion in favor of somewhere more practical.

He suddenly cuts left, through a doorway into a room that looks like it's seen little use in this last century. Cloths hang over the furniture, veiling them all from view like funeral shrouds, but he whips one off with a dramatic gesture to reveal the bed beneath it.

The bedposts are ornately carved, real wooden pieces that must have cost a fortune when it was first purchased. Now it stands disused, cast in the faint glow of a single candle and the thin, gauzy light of the false stars through a crack in the curtains.

He takes her hands and leads her to the bed with some trepidation, gently seating her on the edge of the mattress. "Ms. Penbrook--"

"Call me by my name if you intend to know me. I won't tolerate being held at arm's length when you're holding me."

"Florence..."

She lets him draw close to her, burying his face into the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of her perfume between hot kisses. "Your Lordship--"

"Frederick. Call me Frederick."

"Frederick," she puts her hands on him, pushing him back ever so slightly. "Are you certain we'll have privacy here?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. There are few servants that will be anywhere except focused on guests and serving the party, and this is a wing that rarely sees any guests. No one will be here, unless they're here to try and find the same bit of privacy as us." As if that was the only question of the evening, he grips a hand beneath one of her thighs to lean her back against the bedding, and begins hastily undoing his belt and trousers. "You look radiant tonight."

"So you've said." He looks at her with such adoration and lust it's almost amusing, were it not interfering with her ability to do her job. She came here with one purpose, and one purpose only. There are still ledgers waiting for the embrace of silk gloves and Parabola-linen pockets, to be passed along to one of Baseborn's solicitors.

But she's occupied, now, with Frederick sliding up her skirts to make use of her as if she was no more than an object for his pleasure

"Florence, I--" He trails off, brows knotted together in an expression that's caught between irritation and confusion. She almost asks what's the matter, before he answers the unspoken question by turning sharply away from her. "aDSH'ue!"

He openly sprays the exposed skin of her shoulders, and the bedding beside her. He sniffs sharply, shakes his head like a dog, before he recovers with another liquidy sniffle.

"Bless you."

"Thank you." He makes some vague gesture towards the room at large, as if this will elucidate matters on its own, before he clarifies slightly further. "Dust."

Ah. Yes, well, that would do it. He sniffs again, and she can catch the faint sheen of moisture that glistens in what little light they have to see one another by.

He rolls back from the crouched position over her to rest back on his knees, ass settled on his heels as he peels his gloves off to scrub at his nose. She's struck, briefly, by how this is exceptionally at odds with the upbringing of a lord. For a man so wholly polite in the public eye, and so wholly boorish in private.

She can see snatches of his expression as it wavers, the way his lip pulls back from his teeth in an irritated snarl. His breath catches in his throat, the anticipation arresting him into a rigid facsimile of the man who'd just been intending to ravish her. He barely turns away again, openly spraying her shoulder and the blankets. "adDSH'ue!"

"Bless--"

"Hah-! aADDZzhue!"

"Ugh, do I need to call on Stone's preservation for you?" She grabs the edge of the blanket to wipe away the spray from her skin with a grimace.

"That won't be necessary." He sniffles, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket and blowing his nose into it with a distinctly wet sound. "I don't think I'll be needing the queen's blessing over a bit of dust."

Perhaps it's the sheer quantity, or perhaps because he's calling such attention to it, but she can feel the prickle of irritation in the back of her own nose as well. Something uncomfortable, but just enough to make her aware of it. She wrinkles her nose against the feeling, and gives a sharp sniff.

"Where were we...?"

He undoes the pretty little buttons on her garters, sliding them down so that he can run his fingers over her bare thigh. She grimaces, glad for the shadows that hide her expression from view. Perhaps, if she's lucky, this will be a quick endeavor and she can carry on with her evening without any further interruptions.

She can smell his cologne more fully from this close distance as he nibbles at her throat. It's some spicy, peppery thing, she thinks. She knows ladies who would be able to tell her everything in it, every note and layer within it, but all she can tell from it is that it's one that she's never smelled on someone before--a rare feat by now, she supposes, a decade into this profession.

It isn't displeasing, by any means, but something about it makes the prickling irritation a bit more insistent. Perhaps it wouldn't be bothersome, were she not already paying such attention to the feeling, or were the air not so thick with dust from cumbrous movements to keep the noise to a minimum.

She puts a hand on his chest unceremoniously, pushing him away from her.

"What are--"

"Be quiet. Did you hear that?"

"Nothing but your heartbeat, my dear--"

"Hold your flattery for someone who's interested in hearing. Listen."

The distant music is audible, the party still very much going on, but something else accompanies it: laughter. It drifts closer to where they're cloistered, and the dread sinks into them both at the same time. His reputation means nothing to her--should they be caught together, he will be seen in a much worse light, but she will remain more or less same, save for a trip to the Tomb-Colonies.

However.

If they are caught, she will be tossed into the street on her ear. If she is tossed onto the street on her ear, she will never retrieve the documents she's been sent to collect. If she fails to retrieve the documents, she will not be paid, much less see the benefit of a continued business relationship.

This cannot be. She licks her fingers and pinches the candle to snuff it, before pushing him off of her and hurriedly rearranging the sheet that had once hid everything from view. "What are you waiting for, the sheets to begin to lift themselves? Get off the floor and help me hang this."

"What do you intend to do, tell them we were simply taking a promenade and ended up in here?"

"I don't intend to speak with them at all. Hang the sheet and get under the bed."

"You can't be serious?"

"By all means, if you're privy to a better plan, I invite you to share it with me!"

He's incensed, clearly, at being ordered about by some woman off the street, but he does as commanded, if only because he lacks any suggestion that would be more prudent than this one. "You owe me an apology once this business is over. We will be finishing what we'd begun."

She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound, but once he gets the sheets into some semblance of an order, she rolls beneath the bed like some kind of wretched beetle, dragging the candle underneath it with her and scooting far enough underneath for him to join her. It's cramped, but thankfully the bed is large and lavish enough to afford enough room for two, even if the size was meant to accommodate them above rather than below.

The door opens just as they've crawled into position, no time to readjust from the ungainly, cramped position they've been forced into. She can feel his warm breath on her exposed chest, his face so close he's nearly touching her clavicle with his nose. Were this a less perilous situation, or there any light to see by, she's certain he would appreciate the positioning more thoroughly.

Light floods the room from a pair of candles, the whole room awash in a green glow from their flames. "Are we alone?"

"I'm certain of it, darling. Not a soul will find us here. No one visits this part of the house, and there's a party to be enjoyed; who would come looking for us here?"

She recognizes one voice as the daughter of their host, her dancing shoes shining in the flickering flames. The other voice, she hasn't the faintest. Her voice is too low from fear to be able to be picked out from the crowd in her memory--perhaps the newest baroness? That parvenu she's heard so much about recently? A young lady lucky enough to have lied her way into here without an invitation of her own, sponsored by someone else?

It matters little. With a flourish, the sheets are pulled from the bed, the frame creaking softly as they mount it--and, presumably, one another. With any luck, they'll be eager enough to enjoy one another's company that they don't take long to have exhausted themselves. Until then, they'll simply have to wait.

Several minutes pass in this manner, the ladies giggling and shushing one another, murmured exchanges too low for her to make out what's being said, when he shifts slightly against her. She can feel the rhythm of his breathing change, almost imperceptibly at first, then more urgently.

He nuzzles his nose against her skin, the tip of it warm, and unable to sniffle, he leaves a trail of wetness behind him where he rubs against her. Oh, gods. She has little difficulty in keeping quiet--it's the one time she considers it a blessing that her sneezes often evade her, and even when they come, they're soft, dainty things. He, however, made it clear earlier that he has no such talents or inclinations.

She puts a hand to the back of his head, unable to free the other one from its current position pinned against the wall, and pulls him tightly against her. His breath is quieted and constrained by his newfound position, and the pair of sneezes are squelched into near silence, nothing but a muffled explosion of moisture directly against her collarbones.

They're hardly satisfying, she's sure, but it's enough for now.

Unfortunately, the attention seems to have made her own nose jealous. She's aware of just how strong his cologne is now, with not even the space between their bodies to slip a sheet of paper. She wrinkles her nose hard against the feeling, but it's in vain, and she knows it. She can't afford the sound of a sniffle, so she's forced to just lay there while her nose drips.

Above them, there are stifled moans and whimpers, but one or both of them seems to lack any real experience in pleasing another lady; they're too irregular and short lived to time anything by, leaving the pair above just as unsatisfied as the pair below.

Frederick dares to shift slightly, and the action does little to ease his discomfort, but much to her chagrin, she finds it serves to align his boyishly tousled curls perfectly to gently rest beneath a freckled nose, the tips brushing daintily against her with every shift and every fluttering breath.

She doesn't dare release her grip on him--if she does, she's left with no doubt that he'll give them both away--but that also means she's left with no hand with which to scrub away the ticklish intrusion. She cranes her neck, but it isn't quite enough to get away from their touch, so she steels her resolve to force it from her mind as best as she's able.

She's distracted by the soreness in her shoulder, protesting at the strange angle she's been laying in; by the swelling of the music off in the distance, announcing that they've come to the more exciting portion of their dancing; by the conversation above them that's died out and given way to nothing but the sounds of pleasure, stilted as they are.

A candle is knocked off the edge of the headboard, landing on the candle with a streak of light before extinguishing on impact. It startles her so badly that they both jump, the noise of it covered by the pair of gasps from the suddenly disengaged ladies. The shadows seep further into the room, illuminated now by nothing but the lone, guttering candle on the opposite corner.

"Did it burn the carpet?"

"I don't think so."

"We'll have to scrape the wax from the carpet?"

"Leave that to someone else. A careless servant before this wing was shuttered for the summer from the lack of guests."

They don't seem entirely convinced that this is the correct decision, but whatever reservations they may have, they don't allow it to delay them long. They resume their previous actions, and she begs them to be satisfied and make their exit in short order.

She can do nothing to soothe the itch that's now sunk its claws deeply into her, crawling its way along through her sinuses. She takes a shaky breath through clenched teeth, unwilling to risk the disgusting, wet, obvious sounds of her sniffling if she does so through her nose.

Frederick seems to be faring no better against her, and she feels him jolt with another handful of sneezes that are growing less restrained this round compared to the last. She squeezes him, not for any reassurance, but rather as a command, a reminder that they must not be caught. If they escape this unscathed, she is ensuring she is never coming back to this manor again for a party.

She capitulates herself, though; one breathless "-chu!" that does nothing to scratch the itch, but soft enough to be covered by the moans and whimpers above her. Frederick pinches her admonishingly, and she digs her nails into his skin at his reproach. They can't make eye contact from the way they're entwined, but she can feel the grimace on his face, and trusts he can sense the glower on her own.

It feels like eons, the rise and fall of empires, the coming and going of the Sixth and Seventh Cities, but they finally exhaust one another enough to be satisfied--or to consider that their presence will be missed. One remarks to the other, through pants, that they'd already filled their dance cards for the evening; gentlemen will be none too pleased to miss their dances, especially if they don't return in some semblance of order to avoid being discovered for their deeds.

They gather themselves, taking a moment to check and assure one another that they look divine, truly, not a hair out of place, nor a button undone, nor a pleat ruffled, and usher themselves out of the room with an unceremonious return to the party they'd so rudely abandoned.

They'd scarcely closed the door before the two of them peel themselves apart from one another, crawling from beneath the bed and stretching aching limbs just enough to free themselves from their previous tomb. He's the first to double over, the sound of his sneezing harsh and productive in the otherwise quiet room, barely muffled behind an ungloved hand.

She ignores him, far too focused on her own nose's demands. She takes a desperate breath, and immediately snaps down with a handful of them. "Hh'chu! 'schuE! 'gsCHUE!"

She's still on the carpet on hands and knees like an animal, and awkwardly sits back to rest her ass on her heels while she rides out the duration of the fit. He outdoes her in volume by far, as does the ferocity of the fit, but she fills the gaps between him, muffled into a handkerchief that isn't hers.

The corner bears an elegantly embroidered monogram and someone's coat of arms for their family history--she doesn't remember who, nor does she care. Some up and coming young Lord or son of a Duke, or a parvenu who claimed to be when trying to impress her with tales of his lineage and all he could provide to her.

By the time it peters out to something that allows them both to catch their breath, she knows the tears are ruining the careful layer of make-up she'd applied before this evening. Not enough to be obtrusive and draw the ire of Society, but enough to add that touch of allure that attracts all eyes to her.

Frederick has a sheen of sweat on his brow when he strikes the match and lights his candle between them. It illuminates him like a particularly hay-fevered cameo. "Well."

She scowls as she scrubs at her nose, now certainly thoroughly pink from the attention, through the damp fabric. "Well."

"We seem to have found ourselves upstaged by our companions, haven't we?"

"Do not suggest it."

"What? It would be a shame not to finish what we'd started, especially when it seems they were unable to. Disappoint a room twice in one night? Perish the thought."

"You're a boor."

"You're a dollymop."

"I am anything but an amateur." She blows her nose, the sound of it wet and congested. "We've been gone too long, the two of us together. People will start to talk, and while I am no stranger to scandal, you have much to lose."

"Perhaps you're worth losing it for."

They've leaned so close to one another, now, that they're nearly nose to pink nose. "Once you've lost it, you'll have lost my interest as well."

He stares at her in tense silence for a few, pregnant seconds, before he pulls her into a hungry kiss, hands roving down her sides to hold her by the waist. "Incorrigible. You're incorrigible, my dear."

His nose is damp as it nuzzles against her breastbone again, kisses peppering her freckled skin. She pulls him back by his collar, pressing their foreheads against one another. "Apologies, Your Lordship, but our moment has passed. Perhaps next time, you'll find us seclusion that remains so."

"Why don't we finish what we've started now?"

"We're both a mess, and my dance card had few gaps on it before we left. They're going to miss me, and you'll have to answer for my suitors who you've robbed of their opportunities."

"Let them be cross with me. Let our host or your suitors demand an explanation, and I'll gladly give one to them."

She stands, hands reached down to pull him to his feet, and then releases him to handle himself. Her eyes sparkle as she looks over her shoulder at him, mouth curved into a wicked smile as she holds onto the jamb as she prepares to slip out. "Farewell, Frederick."

[bluerose777]

Sneezing while hiding has always been one of my favourite scenarios. It dials up the drama, the tension, the need. I adore the breathy desperation, the holdbacks and stifles, the deliciously muffled sneezes - there's so much variety! And so many possibilities. Why are they hiding? What's making them sneeze? Will they get caught? What will happen if they do? Ugh, it's just so good! 😍

I have a new sneezing while hiding scenario up, you know where to find the free previews and full clip! 🥰 I think I'll have to make some more soon too. I don't know why but I'm obsessed with this right now. Come and let me know if you have any requests or ideas! 🔥💗

I'm pretty much just replying to messages on OF right now for time and convenience, but also because it helps to verify that the people I'm chatting with are of legal adult age. 💕

[selene-and-the-cold]

Is there something like reverse sneezing while hiding?

Like, A is hiding from B in an abandoned building, and they can exactly tell when B comes close to their hiding place because B's nose is so bothered by all the dust and cobwebs that they keep sneezing, unable to stifle.

[lake-snz]

Such good waves … 😭If you’re into it and comfortable sneezing in front of others a phone call during a fit would be … insane

Sick Phone Call Scenario (f)

Thank you anon :)

I decided to do a phone scenario rather than actually sneezing in front of others because I’m shy, but I hope this suffices!

Scenario:

You decide to pick up the phone and give me a call, as we haven’t spoken in some time and you’d like to catch up. However, the call quickly diverges from conversation to drawing attention to the sneezy mess I am. At first, I make an effort to slow the sneezes and quell how much my nose needs a tissue, but it doesn’t last long. I try to listen and be excited over your accomplishments, but my praises are drowned out by tickly releases that can’t help but come out.

[alolanrain]

Thinking about Legendaries somehow getting sick and be absolute babies about it

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[m4rs-ex3]

hate to gatekeep but who else is in the "sneezles was my favorite baitling before season 6" club

[cedarspiced]

cop just walked into my work wearing so much cologne it blasted my nose thru my N95.

[silentsneezes]

happy pride!

bless your heart

would you ever consider trying some pinches?

thank you anon :)

i don’t usually pinch to stifle since i can do it quielty without using my hands, but it’s not something i’m opposed to!

i’ve gotten a couple asks about pinched snzs, so if i get some free time i’ll try to record some

[lithiumseven]

Everyone thinks Jason wears a domino mask under his helmet for the drama of it, but the real reason is because one time he sneezed wearing the helmet and it was the worst experience of his life.

He immediately started making the most grossed out horrified noises the gang member he had tied up had ever heard, and Roy doubled over laughing, completely giving up the intimidation factor they had had going.

They ended up getting nothing out of the guy and Jason immediately went home and designed a domino so he could throw the helmet off at any given moment while still hiding his identity. Roy still laughs whenever he thinks about it

[buckysleftbicep]

the cat's out of the bag 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: teeth rotting fluff

summary: during a storm, you rescue a stray kitten and spend the next week trying to keep her hidden from your boyfriend.

word count: 2k

author's note: i love cats and dogs, genuinely would run a little zoo of my own if i could. enjoy my loves and stay safe out there! please drop a like or a reblog if you enjoyed! <3333 based on this request

i love soft!bucky with my whole heart

It started with a storm and a pair of very, very round blue eyes.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat.

The plan was simple. Boring, even.

Drop off your mission report to Val, grab a too-sweet latte with Yelena while listening to her complain about Walker’s latest disaster, and then spend the evening wrapped in your favourite blanket, bingeing your comfort show for the fifth, okay, seventh time.

That was it. No drama. No interruptions. Definitely no unexpected pets.

But fate, and a suspiciously open cardboard box near the alley dumpsters behind your usual deli—had other plans.

That’s where you found her.

Or rather, that’s where she found you.

You hadn’t even noticed the box at first. You were halfway through texting Yelena about her ridiculous idea for matching leather jackets when a faint sound stopped you cold.

A mewl, soft, reedy, desperate. You turned, heart already twisting, and there she was.

Soaked. Shivering. All fluff and no fight.

Her white fur was a grimy, matted mess, stained gray from the rain and dirt. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old—tiny and fragile, huddled against the crumpled side of the box like it might still protect her.

When your shadow fell over her, she didn’t flinch. She just blinked up at you with those huge, too-wise eyes, let out one pitiful little cry, and tucked her nose into her paw like she was already giving up.

And that was it. You were done for.

You crouched without thinking, hands already moving before logic caught up. She was cold, so cold you swore you could feel it through your fingertips when you scooped her up and tucked her against your chest.

Your jacket came off next, hastily unzipped and wrapped around her as you stood, shielding her from the steady drizzle like instinct had overridden every ounce of your common sense.

She didn’t struggle. Didn’t even try to claw or hiss. Just curled tighter against your chest, her body trembling as a soft, tentative purr vibrated against your sternum.

You looked down. She looked up.

That was the moment.

You didn’t have a name for her yet. You didn’t have a plan. Hell, you didn’t even know if pets were allowed at the compound.

But none of that mattered.

You walked the rest of the way with one arm wrapped around your jacket, cradling a soggy, wide-eyed ball of fur like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You didn’t even make it two steps into the building before Bob spotted you and said, flatly, “You’re keeping it.”

You didn’t argue. Because he was right.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat. But it turns out, she’d already adopted you.

"Your name is Alpine," you whispered as you tiptoed into your shared bedroom with Bucky, cradling the tiny fluff ball like a state secret.

She was warm in your arms, damp fur already drying against the softness of your shirt, her little body nestled in like she belonged there. "And you, my girl, are a secret agent."

Alpine blinked up at you with slow, sleepy eyes. Then she let out the tiniest sneeze, her whole body jolting with the force of it.

You smiled, tucking her closer. “We’ll work on stealth.”

Operation Hide-The-Cat was officially underway.

You were surgical in your efforts. Strategic. Diligent. The litter box went in the back of your closet, camouflaged behind a wall of boots and a perfectly draped robe. Her food and water bowls were slipped into a lower drawer you’d emptied and converted into a makeshift dining nook, lined with a towel and everything.

You bought a ridiculous amount of pet wipes and dry shampoo to keep her from smelling too obviously like cat. Her toys were buried between pillows and blankets, and her treats were stashed behind rows of books on your shelves, labeled as "protein bars" in case anyone peeked.

Alpine had more square footage and amenities than some junior agents in the compound.

You even rigged the air vents with dryer sheets to mask the scent, knowing full well Ava liked to crawl through them when she was bored—or looking to scare the shit out of someone. If she found out about Alpine, it would be game over.

Not because Ava would snitch. But because she’d absolutely try to recruit her into the team.

The first few days were a breeze. Alpine slept for hours, nestled in the crook of your arm or burrowed into the soft blankets you arranged like a throne.

She ate delicately, gave you tiny headbutts whenever you reached for your phone, and purred like a small engine when you read aloud at night. It was like living with a warm, sleepy marshmallow who occasionally attacked your socks.

Then she discovered Bucky’s jacket.

It was just hanging there—carelessly draped over the back of your chair, like he always left it when he stayed over in your room.

Dark blue, soft with wear, the kind of thing he grumbled about losing but never actually took back. It smelled like him—pine and clean soap and just a trace of that cologne he insisted he didn’t wear.

The same jacket he’d left behind after that quiet night in, when the two of you had curled up on your bed with takeout and old black-and-white movies. You’d fallen asleep on his chest halfway through Casablanca, and he hadn’t moved a muscle until morning.

You never gave it back.

Apparently, neither could Alpine.

You caught her the first time while brushing your teeth, half-asleep, groggy, and wondering what the soft thump-thump-thump was behind you.

There she was, in all her tiny glory, rolling back and forth on the jacket like she’d claimed it in the name of the feline empire.

You watched in disbelief as she kneaded her little paws into it—making biscuits like it was hers, purring so loud it echoed off the tiles.

From that point on, it was a losing battle.

Every time you turned around, there she was—wrapped in it like a burrito, dragging it off the chair like a victorious hunter, or burrowed into its folds with her head poking out like royalty in a four-poster bed.

You tried to relocate it. Hang it up. Even hide it. Somehow, she always found it.

You started picking fur off it obsessively, lint rolling like your life depended on it—every sleeve, every seam, every goddamn inch of it.

But it was too late.

Because when Bucky walked in three nights later, gaze sharp and mouth already forming some sarcastic comment about your tendency to “hog all the blankets,” he paused mid-step. His eyes dropped to the chair. His brows furrowed.

Then he picked up the jacket.

Held it at arm’s length.

And pulled one long white hair off the collar.

You froze.

Alpine, traitor that she was, chose that exact moment to sneeze again—from under your bed.

Day Seven.

You were in the kitchen reheating leftovers, Alpine nestled warm and content inside Bucky's jacket like a smug little stowaway.

She’d made herself a nest just under the zip, her tiny head poking out beneath your chin, her soft purr vibrating gently against your sternum.

Her paws were tucked against your chest, and her tail flicked lazily beneath the fabric, occasionally brushing your ribs like a mischievous secret waiting to be exposed.

You stirred the pasta one-handed, trying not to disturb her. She’d been sleepy and clingy all morning, refusing to be left alone in the pile of blankets you’d made for her on the bed.

You’d tried sneaking away twice, once for the bathroom, once for food, and both times she’d meowed like you’d abandoned her forever.

So here you were, cooking one-handed with a clingy fur baby zipped into your jacket like the world’s neediest hot water bottle.

That’s when your boyfriend walked in.

Fresh from training. His shirt clinging to him like a second skin, damp with sweat in all the distracting places.

He had that casual, unbothered look about him—like he didn’t even realise how effortlessly distracting he was.

He paused the second he saw you.

His brows drew together, subtle but sharp. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he crossed to the cabinet for a mug.

“Hey,” you echoed, far too casually, heart skipping when Alpine’s tail twitched right as he passed behind you. You subtly shifted your stance to hide the movement.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, frowning faintly. “...You purring?”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, mug in hand, a smirk just barely beginning to tug at his mouth. “I swear I just heard purring.”

“No you didn’t.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, “Are you purring?”

“Why would I purr?” you asked. "That’s not even something people do.”

“Not usually, no,” he said slowly, taking another step forward, eyes dropping briefly to the suspicious lump in your hoodie.

You held your ground. “I’m cold.”

“In June?”

You cursed the climate-controlled compound. Couldn’t they have made it slightly more believable?

And then—of course��Alpine chose that exact moment to stretch.

A soft meow slipped out of her as she extended one paw toward your zipper like she was participating in the worst game of peekaboo. Her little white head pushed through next, blinking sleepily at the sudden light.

There was a long beat of silence.

Bucky just stared.

Alpine blinked up at him, completely unbothered, tail flicking like she was proud of herself.

And Bucky—

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not one of his usual crooked, knowing grins. A real smile. Slow and soft and a little stunned, like it had crept up on him without warning. Like he hadn’t expected it. Like he hadn’t expected you.

“You adopted a cat,” he said quietly.

“Rescued a cat,” you corrected quickly, your hand already stroking her head out of pure guilt. “I didn’t mean to. She was just... there. In a box. In the rain. She looked at me. And sneezed. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Bucky stepped closer, something unreadable in his eyes. “She yours?”

You nodded. “Technically, she’s off the books. Like… extremely off the books.”

He crouched slightly, careful and deliberate as he reached out and scratched behind Alpine’s ear.

She melted instantly. Eyes fluttering shut. Purr ramping up like a motor.

You watched, heart thudding.

“Well,” he murmured, not looking away from her, “she’s got good taste.”

“In jackets?” you teased, a little breathless.

“In people,” he said, finally meeting your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alpine let out a pleased little chirp, completely oblivious to the tension she’d just wandered into.

You exhaled slowly. “Guess the secret’s out.”

Bucky chuckled. “Wasn’t much of a secret. Pretty sure Yelena saw her yesterday licking marinara off the kitchen counter.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the fridge. “Of course she did.”

“She took a video,” Bucky added, laughing now.

You covered your face with your hand. “She’s never letting this go.”

“Relax,” he said, voice warm. “No one’s kicking her out. She’s... kind of perfect. A little menace. Like you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His expression was open, easier than you’d seen it in days. Like Alpine’s very presence had cracked something in him.

“You mean that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. She can stay.”

You grinned. “But she has to share the jacket?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean my jacket that you permanently borrowed?”

“You left it here, technically.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “Semantics, sweetheart.”

Later that night, when you wandered into the living room with a book in one hand and Alpine’s new toy in the other, you stopped in the doorway.

There they were.

Bucky was stretched out on the couch, hair still damp from his post-shower rinse. One arm tucked behind his head, mouth parted slightly in sleep. And curled right on top of him, nestled into the center of his chest like she’d been born to be there—Alpine. Her tiny paws rose and fell with his breathing, purring so loud you could hear it across the room.

Neither stirred. You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, smiling softly, heart full and warm in a way you hadn’t expected when this week started.

[el0wyn]

Honestly obsessed with the "Humans are the cats of space" corner of the whole trope.

We may be seen as objectively adorable. We're tiny predators, vicious and mighty with teeth and nails, but also easy to pick up and hold and swing around while saying "Babyyyy"

We're quiet and sneaky in the wild, hard to catch and contain, very effective hunters and climbers. But when domesticated who wouldn't just lounge around if we're given free food, unlimited sleep, and constant enrichment?

And same with cats, there's a variety of how humans act and feel about these huge creatures taking care of us. Some of us might be very chatty, very affectionate, some probably clingy if we trust our Alien enough. While others don't screw with their personal space, would scratch and bite if you do something they don't like. The affection is at their pace cause otherwise you'll come out with a few scars.

As small as we are, the more wild independent humans have the strength and means to take down predators so much bigger than us when the situation becomes dire enough. There's been cats who've gotten dogs, wolves, and bears singlehandedly.

A human that's been in an alien family long enough would probably chase off a huge threatening space creature to protect the alien young, just as cats have done for human children.

Imagine after a few years of integration with aliens, some humans don't get by well with taking care of their children so they find an alien that looks responsible and careful enough and they leave their young on their doorstep so they can grow up with all the food and shelter they could ever need.

Maybe they have a human distribution system where a person who's just tired of the human world picks a ship to stay on, and the aliens on board just accept it because that's how humans are. Maybe they help provide pest control for those space creatures small enough to hide in hard-to-reach areas of the ship.

And even amongst all this agility and predatory instinct, humans can still be pretty dumb and airhead and ridiculous. Imagine how hilarious aliens would find it when we get jumpscared or sneeze or feel the random need to stim and run around. Alien puts a long sticky parchment on that crevice of our backs that's hard to reach and watches as we struggle to reach and take it off cause it's annoying, same way we might put tape on a cat's head. Maybe they find the funky way a human mom tries to carry her too-big baby funny the same way a mom cat dragging her too-big baby by the scruff is funny.

Maybe there's a language barrier, but Aliens notice our odd human sounds and mimic them to get our attention, but they struggle with the different sound and pronunciation we just hear random gargled calls of "Molasses!" "Tree!" "税金!" when they're just trying to greet us. And you learn to recognize the pattern of noises that mean whatever name they gave you in their language.

Humans really are just big cats.

[rosemaryhoney27]

“Danny vs. Gotham: Rogues, Riddles, and Regret”

aka: Gotham's Villains Realize They've Made a Terrible, Terrible Mistake

Vlad wanted to leave. He wanted to scoop Danny up, fly far away, and pretend the Gotham trip never happened. But Bruce had insisted Danny stay another week for “family bonding.” And Vlad—against his better judgment and his rapidly thinning sanity—had agreed.

What he hadn’t agreed to was sending Danny out on a “light patrol run” with Red Robin and Spoiler.

“He’s a child!” Vlad hissed. Bruce shrugged. “He suplexed a gang leader and sword-fought Damian with a smile.” Tim sipped his fourth espresso and muttered, “Kid’s got better reaction time than half of us. Might as well let him stretch his legs.” Vlad: internal screaming intensifies

Later That Night – Gotham Financial District, 10:22 PM

It should’ve been a routine patrol.

SHOULD’VE.

But this was Gotham. So naturally, they ran into Riddler. And not just Riddler. Riddler with a microphone, a speaker setup, and a slideshow.

“Riddle me this, Batbrats!” he declared, laser pointer in hand. “What flies forever, rests never, has no lungs but can still scream?!”

Danny blinked. “That’s wind.”

Riddler paused. “…I—I wasn’t done.”

“You said it in the wrong order. Classic misdirection. Also, you did this one in Amity Park two years ago. You posted it online.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, it was part of your ‘multi-state riddle tour.’ You rhymed ‘obfuscate’ with ‘paperweight.’ My friend Tucker roasted you for a week.”

Spoiler wheezed. “OH MY GOD.”

Tim was filming. “This is gold.”

Danny smiled like a polite little demon. “If you want new material, I can send you Tucker’s podcast link. He does villain reviews.”

Riddler stared, brain lagging. “I—I have—graphics—”

“You spelled ‘cerebral’ wrong on slide 4.”

“…I hate it here.”

Five Minutes Later

Riddler’s henchmen surrendered unprompted. Riddler ran face-first into a recycling bin while trying to flee. Danny phased him through the lid and said, “Please stay in there until Gotham has better riddles. Thank you.”

Tim couldn’t breathe. Spoiler was crying laughing. Danny handed Riddler a sticker that said “I Tried My Best (And Failed)” before floating away.

But It Got Worse

Because then, Scarecrow showed up.

And naturally, he released his newest fear gas on the group.

“Let’s see what horrors hide in your soul, little ghost,” Crane sneered.

Danny blinked as the gas swirled around him.

Then sneezed.

Then sniffed it.

Crane: “What—what are you doing—?!”

Danny: sniff sniff “Ooh. Cinnamon and despair. Very vintage.”

Crane: “THAT’S NOT HOW FEAR GAS WORKS—”

Danny exhaled, glowing green, and the gas dissipated.

“I’ve been inside the Ghost King’s mind, dude. This is like spa day fog machine levels. You want real terror? I have a VHS of Tucker’s high school poetry.”

Crane dropped his canister and backed away. Spoiler whispered, “He’s ungasable.” Tim, still filming: “That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve seen this week.”

Danny offered Scarecrow a cough drop and a tissue.

“Bless your heart,” he said.

Crane ran.

Later – Back at the Cave

Danny was handing out debrief cookies. Again.

Bruce was watching the security cam footage with the face of a man who was trying to process “he sniffed the fear gas.”

Dick leaned over. “This kid’s either going to save Gotham or traumatize it into behaving.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “He gave Riddler a sticker. That’s psychological warfare.”

Damian looked up from sharpening his sword. “He told me he once bit a cursed toaster.”

Vlad, in the background, was staring at the Batcomputer like it had personally betrayed him. “I—he—he ate fear gas. He corrected Riddler’s grammar. He is not normal.”

Bruce looked at Danny, who was humming while reorganizing the med supplies.

“…He’s a Wayne.”

Vlad: “NOOOOOOOOOO—”

[moonstruckme]

emt marauders where they go away on a hokiday and reader gets sick but hides it so they can have fun?

cw: some phlegm talk? idk hardly a trigger but a little gross depending on your tolerance of all that

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

“Ow,” Sirius whines. 

“Sorry,” says Remus, clearly being as gentle as he can in smoothing sun lotion onto Sirius’ pinkened shoulders. “It wouldn’t hurt if you’d reapplied earlier.” 

“No one else had to reapply,” he grumbles, then hisses as Remus moves to a new spot. 

“You’re extra special.” James simpers, kissing Sirius’ cheek. “You can always hang back in the room if it hurts too much, you know.” 

Sirius glares. “I’m not going to sit in the room by myself while you all play Baywatch and make out in the ocean.” 

“We don’t do that.” Remus frowns. 

“I’ll stay with you,” you offer. You hope your eagerness doesn’t sound as obvious to your boyfriends as it does to you.

Sirius softens some. “You don’t have to miss out for me, baby.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“I’m not going to waste a day of holiday anyway,” he says decisively, just as Remus puts the cap back on the sun lotion. “Onward!” 

You try not to deflate, resigning yourself to spending the afternoon as you spent the morning and all of yesterday before that: camped out under an umbrella, using toilet paper stolen from your hotel room as tissues when the boys aren’t looking. 

“Can we stop for ice cream on the way?” you ask as you make your way out of the room. 

“Again?” James laughs. “Angel, at this rate you’re going to be going through sugar withdrawal on the flight home.” 

You shrug. “That place by the boardwalk is really good.” 

You wouldn’t actually know. Your taste buds have gone rather lackluster since the onset of your cold; you wouldn’t know much difference if you got strawberry or bubblegum or peppermint candy cane. It makes your sore throat feel much better for a few minutes, though. 

Ordinarily one of your boyfriends might push back against you eating sweets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but because it’s a holiday you’re sitting on the sand finishing off a cone of pink something a short time later. Sirius has taken up residence by your legs, slowly covering them with sand to fulfill his vision of making you a mermaid tail. You’re trying not to wince as the sun worsens your headache. 

You want to enjoy your trip, you really do, but the beach is just too hot and too bright and too coarse when what you really long for is your bed and a cup of honeyed tea. No one drinks honeyed tea at the beach. You wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for some. 

“Do you think you ought to have scales?” Sirius asks. 

You hum, furrowing your brows like you’re paying attention. “I think so. Most mermaids do, right?” 

“Probably right.” Sirius leans forward, kissing you before you can stop him. “Brilliant girl.” 

You think you’re a horrible girlfriend. Even when he does sweet things like that, you want him gone badly. Before Sirius got sunburned and took shelter under the umbrella with you, it was him and James in the water all day long and Remus lying next to you but too absorbed in his book to notice you occasionally sneezing or blowing your nose. With Sirius here, you can feel the buildup in your sinuses like a dam ready to break. 

You know it would be easier to just tell your boyfriends you’re feeling under the weather. Easier for you, but not easier for them. They’d want to look after you, and they’d be giving up their own fun to do it. You won’t ruin their holiday because you’ve got the sniffles. 

“Hey, if you lay back I can give you a mermaid torso too.” 

You frown. “Don’t mermaids have human torsos?” 

“Yeah, but with a seashell bra.” 

Before you can come up with an excuse for why you don’t want to lie down and let Sirius cover you up to your neck in sand, James comes bounding over. He’s dripping wet dangerously near to Remus, who pulls his book closer with a reproachful look. 

“No one wants to come out in the water with me?” James asks. 

Sirius pouts at him. “You need a playmate, babe?” 

“Yeah, I do actually.” 

“Too bad. Get the sun to be nicer to me, and I’ll come out.”

“Why is that my job?” James looks to you, pleading. “Come on, lovie. You haven’t been in the water nearly this whole time. Do you really want to go home without having been in the ocean?” 

Guilt eats at you. “I’m okay,” you say, apology in your tone. “I’m having a good time here.” 

“Why don’t you go for a little while?” asks Remus. You hadn’t realized he was paying attention. “Just to say you did.” 

“Don’t make me carry you out there,” James teases. 

You try to smile before eating the last piece of your cone. “Okay,” you say, “just for a little while.” 

“Fine.” Sirius throws up his hands as though he’s lost a long and onerous argument. “If you’re going to leave me here with boring old Remus” —he drops a wink, though Remus only rolls his eyes— “I’ll come too.” 

James half drags you both to the water, you and Sirius grimacing at the sun for different reasons. The water isn’t terribly cold, but you shiver still, grateful when James pulls you close before starting to make his way out to a sandbar he found this morning.

Only, the sandbar seems to have gone away further than where he left it. James and Sirius don’t mind, laughing and splashing each other and trying to coax you into their games. You smile tersely, using all your energy to continue swimming. You’ve gone far enough out that the tips of your toes are barely skimming the sand, though when you turn around Remus and your umbrella really don’t appear so far away. 

It’s because you’ve turned to look that the wave takes you by surprise. 

You’re underwater in an instant, thrown head over heels and tumbling like a piece of litter caught in the tide. You choke on saltwater. It takes you what feels like forever to figure out which way is up, but then you push down on the sea floor, shoving yourself towards the surface. 

You emerge coughing. Sea water streaming from your nose and mouth, tears welling in your eyes. It stings. 

You hear the boys laughing, James’ warm hand landing between your shoulders. He rubs consolingly. 

“Aw, sorry, lovie. It happens. That really took you down, huh?” 

You try to laugh along with them, but it’s hard when saltwater seems to flow endlessly from your nose. You realize at the same time as James that it’s not all saltwater. 

“Whoa. Needed a purge, did you?”

“Sorry.” You wipe your nose on your arm, rinsing it off in the water. You feel disgusting and embarrassed. 

“No, don’t be.” James palms your face, smiling as he wipes the couple of tears that have escaped your eyes. “This is what saltwater does. It cleans out your nasal passages. It’s a good thing, getting all the muck out.” 

You’re about to respond with something equally positive when you sneeze violently. More snot comes out of your nose. 

“Shit, baby,” says Sirius. “You were really clogged up. You feeling sick or something?” 

You think that maybe it could be a joke, but your guilty expression gives you away. 

James blinks. “Really?” 

“I’m fine,” you say. You know it’s not very convincing when you’re trying and failing to stop the globs of mucus leaving your nostrils. 

“You’re sick.” Sirius sounds aghast. “For how long? Why didn’t you say?”

“A couple days,” you admit, “but it’s really not bad. I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun.” 

“Ruin everyone’s fun,” Sirius repeats, muttering. He pulls you into a hug, mindless of the snot getting on his shoulder. “You are the fun, baby.” 

You nearly snort. “Not like this.” 

“Did you ever think that maybe I like making you tea and bossing you around? Hm? Did it occur to you that that might be fun for me?” 

“I think it’s occurred to all of us that being bossy is fun for you, babe,” says James. His smile has a pitying edge as he begins to shepherd you both back towards the shore. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Please don’t let my cold mess this up for you,” you plead.

Sirius gives you a stern look. “Shush.” 

“Angel, how could it?” James asks in a nicer tone. “We’ll still be together, won’t we?” 

[navydoves]

Bunny!Xavier and his strange affectionate habits

there’s always something new with your bunny boyfriend. his habits are so strange!

✎ᝰ a/n: i guess this is a series now lmao. if i were to do zayne or caleb, what animals would they even be. cat and dog? we’ll have to figure this out >_>

dragon sylus version

mermaid rafayel version

𖤐

❥ he nibbles on you! it’s gotten to be a little bit of a problem, but xavier can’t help himself. he’ll nibble on your skin and hair until there are tiny little red marks painted on you. at first you thought these were little hickeys, but the real explanation is much more innocent.

bunnies nibble to groom you! he’ll especially groom you when you’re bed rotting or are too lazy to get up. he wants to make sure you’re clean and if you’re not taking care of yourself — he will! but he also nibbles to get your attention. xavier is known to be pouty and clingy, so if he’s low on your love today he’ll forcefully sit on your lap and nibble on your face until you give in.

❥ he hides in your hair. whenever xavier feels overwhelmed or stressed, he’ll go straight to you and dig his head in your hair. it’s a combination of your scent and your shielding hair strands that gives him a sense of safety. he likes the way your hair feels against his skin along with the way it keeps him warm.

but still — wet, dry, tangled, brushed; he really doesn’t care what your hair is looking like, as long as he can bury his nose in your scalp and close his eyes. this also makes for a good cuddling session!

❥ he eats everything. xavier has the appetite of three elephants and then another three elephants. whether he can cook or not is irrelevant, even if he burns something to the point of it being inedible, he’ll still eat it. snacks you’ve saved for later or baked good you’ve left out gets gobbled immediately by him, and it was only ‘til you scolded him that he stopped. stopped taking you food that is, he’ll still beg.

if he smells a meal in the house he’ll quickly sit next to you and smile silently, hoping that you’ll spare him a piece. he’s learned to be less greedy, go easy on him — but he’ll become extremely elated if you give him a quick nibble. he wouldn’t even ask for a full piece of chicken or bread, just a little slither is enough to keep him happy. he thinks of eating together as bonding.

❥ he mimics you. sometimes consciously, mostly unconsciously, xavier will pick up and mimic your habits. if you have a habit of playing with your hair, xavier will also start playing with his hair to mirror you. if you touch your necklace in thought, xavier will also touch his imaginary necklace while he thinks. it wasn’t until he picked up on your manner of sneezing that you realized you left an impression on him.

you didn’t say anything at first: finding it rather endearing how xavier unknowingly imitates you. but once you brought it up in passing xavier tilted his head in confusion. did he really mimic you that much? he was a little oblivious to that fact, apparently. but even with that realization, xavier doesn’t try and stop himself learning from you. in fact, he tries to tease you by imitating you even more. he loves being like you because he simply just loves you.

❥ he teases you with his ears. xavier knows how much you love his ears, so he’ll use them to his advantage to play. when you’re asleep and he wants you awake, he’ll climb the bed, lean into your face, and move one of his ears over your cheek to stir you awake. in a similar fashion, he’ll use his ears to wrap around your head or wrist as another way to embrace you. the fluffy feel of his ears was always welcome on your skin, it felt like a hug from a pillow.

but by far his favourite way to use his ears on you was when he lightly traced your midsection and thighs with the very tips of his fluff. it tickles you slightly, but the purpose of this tease was to get you riled up and beg for a little more contact. he obliges, of course, but slowly. he loves taking his time with you. by the end of it all, his ears around wrapped around your thighs as he satiates his hunger in a different way this time.

❥ he claps when he’s happy. this can be mistaken as a normal human habit, but xavier does it much more often and eagerly than any regular person. his hands will patter together rapidly to create a very quiet but joyful sound. he has no “normal” way of clapping, he only does it in one specific way to show how content he is. if he thinks the sound is too distracting for the moment, he’ll hide his hands behind his back and pitter-patter them there.

even over small things like finding his favourite ramen in-stock at the store, he’ll clap very quietly to himself before putting it in the cart, and later on, when he gets to show you what he got from the store, he’ll start clapping again from how happy he is to share his excitement. as reserved as he is on the outside, xavier is very chipper on the inside.

𖤐

[vettelsvee]

NEW YEAR'S DAY | Oscar Piastri

⋆ PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: A clumsy and unexpected proposal on New Year's Day is what you wouldn't have thought about after dating Oscar for almost five years ↳ Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT ⋆ WARNINGS: Curse words ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1722 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: I loved writing this one! Hope you like it as much as me ☺️ Feel free to tell me in the comments <3 ↳ LET'S TALK/REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

Oscar was nervous, really nervous… maybe even more than the day he won his first Formula 1 race and had no idea how to act.

“Which one do you prefer: blue pants or the black ones?”

“Oscar, sweetheart… it’s just New Year’s at our place. With your family. And with Lando. It’s all very casual, so stop overthinking what pants wearing!”

You answered from the kitchen island, struggling to cut a pineapple with a knife that was very likely the one Oscar had promised to sharpen. A promise, clearly, left unfulfilled.

Oscar looked at himself in the mirror and rolled his eyes at your answer.

The thing was you were supposed to be helping him. Instead, you were doing quite the opposite.

“I just want to look good, you know? It’s the first time we’re hosting New Year’s here, and, well… you never know what might happen. It’s a special night.”

“Come on, Osc, why are you so nervous?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. He avoided your gaze and sneezed instead.

“Okay… you’re definitely hiding something.”

“You think I’m hiding something because I sneezed?”

You nodded. You knew he always did that when he was dodging a topic, and then there was the way he kept fidgeting with his hands, tapping anxiously on his thighs.

“I’m not hiding anything, I swear,” Oscar said again. He tried to sound convincing, but the tremble in his voice gave him away. “I just want tonight to be… memorable.”

All you could do was smile. As much as you didn’t like being left in the dark, the way he kept secrets was, somehow, ridiculously charming. Especially coming from someone like Oscar, who rarely let his emotions show, no matter how hard you’d tried to help him open up.

As the hours passed and midnight drew closer, your home filled with people. First came Oscar’s mom and stepdad. Then his father arrived with his three sisters, who wasted no time grabbing cold beers while casting suspicious glances at your boyfriend. Lando, who was supposed to be one of the first to arrive, ended up being among the last. He said nothing until he reached the makeshift DJ booth he’d insisted you set up behind Oscar’s back. Even your cousin, who hadn’t been too keen on attending such a “different” kind of party, showed up unexpectedly, arm-in-arm with a guy you’d never seen before and who looked nothing like her usual type.

“Who let Oscar cook?” Lando asked, holding up a canapé with salmon that was, honestly, a little overdone. “This piece of toast looks incinerated.”

“Take it or leave it!” Oscar shouted from the kitchen, wrestling with an egg-shaped timer that refused to stop beeping. He slammed it repeatedly against the counter until it finally cracked open. “Holy shit!”

You shook your head, laughing quietly at the surreal scene, especially when Hattie walked over to Oscar and made him swear to buy you a new timer, plus something else she whispered in his ear that you couldn’t quite catch.

You tried, once again, not to read into the secrecy, but it got harder when his entire family huddled in a corner of the living room, politely but firmly refusing to let you join them.

Your cousin must’ve sensed your confusion, because when she came over, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

“Have you noticed how weird Oscar’s acting? Imagine if he proposes to you!”

“What? No, come on,” you replied quickly, doing your best not to get your hopes up. “In front of his whole family? On New Year’s Eve? That’s so not his style.” You shook your head. “If he ever did something like that, it’d be at home, after dinner or something low-key. He’s not the kind of guy who’d go public with that.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m saying it. Why else would he be this nervous, today of all days? It’s not your first New Year’s together… It’s too obvious.”

You brushed the idea aside, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake it off. Especially when, at 11:30 p.m., Oscar disappeared without a word and now, his sisters and Nicole were clearly stalling you.

Oscar tried to sneak into your bedroom unnoticed, but he knew he hadn’t succeeded. Did he care? Not one bit. Clutching the velvet ring box he’d hidden in his travel bag, he had bigger things on his mind.

“Okay, breathe… You’ve rehearsed this over ten times alone, and five with Lando…”

He crouched down, then stood in front of the full-length mirror to practice kneeling. But on the third attempt of “how to propose to my girlfriend without completely embarrassing myself,” he tripped on the rug and fell flat on his face.

“Shit…”

“Oscar, babe? Are you okay?”

Your voice made him scramble to his feet and instinctively toss the ring box to the back of the closet, terrified you’d catch him.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great! Just, uh… rehearsing how to celebrate the New Year with you!”

“Osc, sweetheart, this isn’t our first New Year’s together,” you said as you jiggled the door handle, trying to open it. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting a little… off today.”

And that was putting it mildly.

“I’m just nervous because, you know… this is the first of many New Year’s where I’m a Formula 1 world champion!”

You shook your head. At that point, it was obvious—Oscar was up to something. Whatever it was, good or bad, it was going to surprise you.

You said goodbye and reminded him not to take too long—only ten minutes left until midnight. He promised he’d be quick, just needed to stop by the bathroom.

Once he heard your sandals fade down the hallway, he let out a long sigh of relief and turned to face the mirror one last time.

“All right… ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you, through the good and the bad. So… will you marry me?’”

[...]

"Five minutes to midnight!" Lando shouted from the terrace, half a glass of champagne in hand as he finally abandoned the DJ booth.

"God, it was about time he got out of there," Nicole whispered to you. "Do you have any idea how nervous that music was making me?"

While you kept chatting with your mother-in-law, Oscar stepped out onto the balcony looking much paler than usual. It was obvious something was up: he scratched the back of his neck, stared at the sky, shoved his hands into his pockets, then looked straight at you and gave you a nervous smile.

"Hey, Osc... are you okay?" you asked, walking up to him with a shyness you hadn’t seen in him since you first started dating back in high school.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine." He glanced at his mom, who was standing behind you. She gave him a discreet thumbs-up. "I just… really want to see the fireworks."

"Oscar. You hate fireworks."

"Exactly the reason why I’m nervous."

He swallowed hard.

You let the little lie slide; there wasn’t time to call him out anyway, because everyone around you had started the countdown. So you just smiled, wrapped your arms around him, and kissed his cheek.

Oscar, gently pulling away, reached into his pocket to grab the box… only to find it wasn’t there.

"No, no, no… shit… where the hell are you?" he muttered under his breath, pretending his panic was about the upcoming fireworks.

He checked the other pocket… nothing. Looked down… nothing. Then, as he fumbled with the back pockets, he finally felt the box. Unfortunately, in pulling it out, it slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a soft thud.

"Five, four, three, two, one…!"

And Oscar tripped right over your feet.

"Happy New Year!"

You dropped to your knees in a slight panic to help him up, praying he hadn’t hurt himself, because the sound of the fall had been anything but soft.

What you weren’t expecting was to find him kneeling in front of you, holding an open box with the ring. The one you’d been eyeing for six months.

You stared at him, confused… and then completely speechless.

"Wait… are you really serious? This isn’t a joke, right?"

He looked up at you. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled and soaked in champagne from the bottle Lando had just popped. Tiny pieces of confetti stuck to the beads of sweat on his face.

"Yes and no," he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his lips. "I mean, sure, I think I’ve dislocated a hip and lost most of my dignity, but… I guess it was worth it."

Then, with just a few quiet seconds and a single question, your eyes welled up.

"Will you marry me?"

Silence wrapped around the room. No one screamed. No one pushed you to answer. You even noticed Lando thoughtfully turning the music down, switching it to Lover by Taylor Swift, the song you’d once told Oscar you wanted playing when you got proposed to.

"Of course, you idiot," you said, tears rolling down your cheeks as you helped him up and pulled him into the tightest hug, burying your face in his chest. "But promise me you won’t be this nervous on our wedding day."

[...]

"Do you think it was too… casual?"

The party was over, and now the two of you were curled up in bed, sharing a McDonald’s burger because, as it turned out, Lando was right—putting Oscar in charge of New Year’s dinner had been a mistake you wouldn’t repeat.

"Well… you tripped over a rug while rehearsing, then fell again and ended up with confetti all over your face. So I wouldn’t call it casual. I’d say… unique."

"Yeah… It definitely didn’t go as planned."

"But it was perfect anyway," you cut in.

Oscar sat up, holding his Big Mac box like it was a sacred artifact, and looked at you.

"Really?"

"Of course! If there’s anything that defines us, it’s not just how much we love each other… it’s also how ridiculously clumsy we are."

"Right… And listen, speaking of clumsy…" he said with a guilty grin. "I think it’s very much fair you tell Lando that you were the one who burned all the food and ruined New Year’s dinner."

© VETTELSVEE (2025). Please, do not steal, copy, translate and share my works in other platforms. Thanks for reading!