#and is the correct in-game height

[pip3dream]

cannot stop thinking of 6’2 Kevin Day and 5’3 Neil Josten arguing every two days and punching each other when their height difference is 11 inches

[lucifer-kane]

I know I've said this before but it's still so amusing to me that roblox is like. Still popular. Actually, that it's gained popularity in the time since I first played it. I still have and use my original account I made nearly 20 years ago (I was 10 when I first made it).

[averagemrfox]

When I say the rng on this run was crazyyyyyy

[alltimefail-sims]

How tall are your sims?

@mangosimoothie thank you for tagging me!! I admit that I spent waaaaay too long on this website choosing avatars that accurately represented them. 😂

Idk who's been tagged and who hasn't so if I double tag you or you already did this, I apologize! (Also if you don't want to do this you can ignore of course.)

I'll tag @thebramblewood, @softpine, @heavenwhims, @wrixie, @aorticsims, @simsinfinitylt, @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants

[marvelstoriesepic]

Weakness

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: feigning injuries; a sprained ankle; bruises; hiding injuries; combat fighting training; sparring sessions; mutual pining; Bucky being a doting sweetheart; Bucky being smug; Bucky being worried

Author’s Notes: This idea has been sitting in my drafts as a rough outline for months lol and I finally got the inspiration to make something out of it. I hope you will enjoy this! ♡

Masterlist

You love sparring with Bucky.

Maybe because you love the man.

But there is so much more to that, honestly.

You have basically sparred with anyone out of the team.

Steve is methodical. Always a teacher, always Captain. He calls out corrections in a way he does orders, his patience long-practiced. His strikes are accurate, economical, as if he calculates the exact amount of force necessary to bring you down and delivers it precisely, nothing wasted. But you always know he is holding back. He does not say it but you feel it in the way he controls every movement, never quite giving you the full weight of his strength. You learn from him, but there is always a ceiling to what he will allow you to take from the fight.

Natasha is sharp. She doesn’t coach you, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hold back. She fights you like she fights anyone. You feel the sting of a bruise blooming before you even realize she struck you. And yet, when you get a hit in, when you shift fast enough to slip past her guard, her smirk is quicksilver - pleased, challenging, like she has just discovered something worth sinking her teeth into.

Wanda fights like she plays. Some days, she keeps her powers at bay, working only with what her body allows, light on her feet, swaying rather than striking. But she is not used to this. Not using her powers in a fight. So most of the time, she teases, powers tugging at your wrist mid-swing, a flicker of scarlett at the edge of your vision before she is suddenly behind you.

Sam is solid. He fights with his whole body, never wasting energy on anything that doesn’t serve his goal. He takes up space, keeps you on the defenses, his moves seamless. But he is generous too, throwing you a verbal lifeline mid-fight - “too slow, come on,” - challenging you in encouraging you. And when you get him down, he grins, bright and wide, like he wants you to win.

Clint fights like someone who doesn’t need to win, just needs to keep moving. He is slippery, dodging rather than blocking, grinning rather than growling. He makes a game of it, laughing at your frustration, forcing you to loosen up, to adapt, to try something unorthodox. He doesn’t spar to overpower. He spars to frustrate, to outlast, to make you think three steps ahead.

But Bucky.

Bucky watches you. Always. Even when he isn’t facing you directly, even when he’s standing in the shadows at the edge of the gym, you have his attention. It is something you have learned to steady yourself beneath. Because it never really seems to waver.

He is mindful. Of your form. Of your tells. Of how far he can push you. He does not go easy on you. Despite the obvious differences in height and weight and him being a super soldier. But he fights you like an opponent worth fighting. He fights you like himself. Precise. Controlled. Thoughtful. When he corrects you, it is not instruction, just a simple adjustment with the brush of his metal fingers nudging your wrist into a better angle, a small nod when you adapt.

And when you take him down - when you surprise him, when you shift your weight at the last moment and send him to the mat - there is that laugh breaking out. He is not stunned at the way you overpowered him. Not disbelieving. He merely laughs. A short burst of warmth, rare and genuine, something boyish in the way it escapes.

You live for that laugh.

Because Bucky knows your competence. He does not gift you victories because he knows you don’t need them in the first place. He expects you to win. He knows you can. And will. He does not say it outright, but you learned to read the subtle body language in the years of knowing him - the glimmer of something pleased in his eyes, the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

And when he helps you up - fingers gently curling around your wrist to pull you to your feet - he lingers just a little too long.

So yes, you love sparring with Bucky.

Basically, on the first day as an Avenger it was drilled into you that knowing your enemy is everything - know what you are up against, who you are fighting, how they move, what makes them weak.

You are good at this. At observing. You know how to study people, how to pick out patterns, how to find the smallest crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall and press until it splits wide open.

Still, Bucky Barnes is not an easy person to read.

But perhaps it was just a little too much fun figuring out what exactly his weaknesses are.

He doesn’t have many. His body is conditioned for war, his mind sharpened, his instincts too honed to give much away. If he has vulnerabilities, they are subtle. Nearly imperceptible to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough.

But you have been looking closely. For the better part of a year.

And then, about five months ago, something clicked.

Bucky Barnes does have a weakness.

A glaring one, in fact.

One so obvious you nearly laughed out loud when you finally pieced it together.

It’s you.

You are his weakness.

Bucky is a creature of routines.

The kind that keep him grounded in a world that still feels like shifting sand beneath his feet. And somehow, you have become part of them.

You don’t remember when it started, exactly. But you know that when you stumble into the kitchen in the morning, still half-asleep, Bucky is already there. Always. Sometimes with coffee already poured for you, sometimes just sitting at the counter like he’s lost, waiting like he’s been expecting something. You.

You tested it, once. You woke up later than usual, wanting to see if he still lingered. And sure enough, when you finally stepped into the kitchen, he was there, nursing a long-gone cup of coffee that was somehow still halfway filled, gaze fixed on the entryway even before you entered. Like he hadn’t been planning on leaving until he saw you. It’s when he loosened his grip on the poor mug. Flexing his fingers, as if he was close to shattering it.

Bucky is not a fan of crowded spaces.

He likes corners, walls at his back, exits in view. He keeps a respectable distance from most people, moving on silent feet, always aware of what’s around him.

Except when it comes to you.

You began to notice that in the common room. How he lets you sit closer than he does with anyone else, how he doesn’t shift away when his knee bumps his. How, when you walk side by side, he moves to make space for you without thinking. How he stops standing near the door when you are in a room, like some unconscious part of him doesn’t feel the need to watch his six when you are there.

And then there are the small things.

The way his arm comes up instinctively when you reach past him for something, like he is preparing to steady you or get it down for you if it is something you can’t reach. The way he steps in front of you if something startled him, body moving before anything else.

Little things. Automatic things.

And the most endearing part is, that he genuinely does not seem like he knows he is doing all that.

Bucky is strategic on missions.

He follows the plan without a hitch, keeps his cool and executes flawlessly.

Until you are in danger.

Then he gets frantic. He even tends to snap at Steve. He gets tighter, sharper, more lethal. It seems like instinct.

Just last month, you got cut along your thigh that you managed to patch up before the mission was even completely over. But Bucky was stoic and brooding. Frown on his face the whole time. He saw the blood, saw the way you had a limp in your step and something utterly cold settled in his eyes.

Sam later mentioned to you with a weird wiggle of his eyebrow that the man whose knife slashed you never had the chance to land another hit on anyone.

You started testing him in small ways. Seeing if he moves when you move. If he adjusts his strategy to keep you in his line of sight. If he listens to your voice above all others in a debriefing, even when Steve is talking.

And he does. Every time.

Bucky got mad at Clint once because he ate the last donut that was meant for you. Clint was genuinely terrified. He even went out to get you new ones.

Bucky picks up stuff from the common room he knows belong to you and takes it to your room.

Just yesterday, there was a book on your nightstand. One you had mentioned offhand in conversation weeks ago, something you said you wanted to read someday. And you know for a fact that Bucky got dragged into the city by Sam and Steve the day before.

After years as an Avenger, you learn to fool people.

You know how to smile when you need to, how to shake things off, how to deal with missions gone wrong or people unsaved.

But you can’t fool Bucky.

He just knows when something is off. He notices the way your voice shifts, the way your shoulders carry tension differently. You don’t have to say anything. He just knows.

And he never pushes. He lingers. He makes himself available. He sits beside you in silence when you don’t feel like talking. He glares at everyone who wants something unnecessary from you in times like those.

And then he would just go, come on, let’s go do something.

It is basically just watching a movie or cooking a dinner or baking cookies, but everything is more fun with him, and soon enough your smile touches your eyes again.

Bucky does not share.

He does not share his food. He does not share his belongings.

But he does with you.

When you are out and freezing, he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over your shoulders without a word.

He lets you take fries off his plate and lets you drink from his cup, much to Sam’s surprise and disgruntlement.

Bucky does not talk about his nightmares.

Not to anyone.

But on certain nights, when sleep refuses to hold him and his mind is drowning in things long past but never gone, he finds you.

You were in the common room when it first started. Months ago. Nursing a mug of tea, when he wandered in, looking lost and exhausted.

With a single glance at him, you nodded to the couch, shifting over to make space, and he came sitting down without a word.

He let you talk. He even seemed to relish it. Intertwining his hands at his front and laying his head back against the backside of the couch, closing his eyes and listening to your mocked aggravation at the fact that Sam left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter again.

He stayed until the sun crept in through the windows, slight snoring making you smile.

It happened again. And then again.

After a while, you started recognizing the signs when his nightmares are getting worse again. The way he drifts into whatever room you are in and stays locked in his own when you are gone on a mission or out with the girls. How he leans against the doorway for a second longer than necessary before stepping inside, like he is debating whether he has the right to be there.

Sometimes, he’d pretend he’s just passing through. He would linger in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee he doesn’t drink while you are having your conversation with Wanda and Natasha.

One night, he even came to your room. Knocking and standing there with his hands fidgeting at his sides, eyes shamefully lowered, looking so much like a puppy in search of some love.

He didn’t pretend. He didn’t offer excuses. He just stood there and you saw it in his eyes.

You took him in your arms and then you took him in.

First, he sat down on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn’t say anything for a long time. You just sat beside him on the ground, laying your head on his shoulder.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, head falling onto yours.

He would fall asleep like that. Until you managed to get him to lie down in your bed beside you. He usually sleeps like a baby when he’s with you.

You are not stupid. Neither are you naive. You have always been good at reading people, at knowing them, at watching them, and deciphering the things they do not say.

And you know what this might mean.

You certainly know what it means to you.

The way your pulse picks up when Bucky walks into a room so casually because you are there. The way your stomach flutters when his gaze lingers on you. The way your chest gets so unbearably full when he does all those smallest things for you.

But you think you also might know what it means to him. He seeks you out for everything, on instinct or not. Smiling seems to come so easily to him when he is with you. You are the only person he lets into his personal space - the only person he doesn’t startle away from when it comes to accidentally touching.

But Bucky Barnes is not a man who allows himself to want things easily.

So, you will not force yourself upon him. You will not push. You will not demand. You will not take what he does not freely offer.

Because you understand that he does not fear pain, or war, or perhaps even death.

But he fears something real, something good, something that cannot be fought off with fists or buried beneath old ghosts.

Because he does not think it is something he deserves yet.

But you are willing to wait. Until he is ready. Until he is sure. Until he knows that this is what he wants.

And if he never is, if he never comes to you with certainty in his hands, if he never crosses the space between you - then you will wait anyway.

Because for him, you would wait forever.

****

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There’s a smug grin on his face as he’s circling you.

And you know why it is there.

Because you are currently three losses deep into a losing streak against Bucky. And that just won’t do. You need a win.

You move first, closing the distance fast, testing his defenses. He blocks. A quick jab - he dodges. A feint - he doesn’t bite.

He knows your patterns, how you move, how you think. But you know him, too.

You go low, aiming for his legs, but he anticipates and shifts out of reach. “Getting predictable there, doll,” he drawls, smirking.

Yeah, you’re gonna wipe that off.

Rolling your eyes, you adjust. A punch goes up that isn’t meant to land, just to see how he reacts. He blocks high, but his balance shifts and there is a brief opening. A second and you are too late.

You strike fast, sweeping low again, and this time, you actually catch him. Not enough to take him down, but a start.

Bucky huffs, rolling his neck. “Not good enough, but better,” he teases, smirk still in place.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, lunging again.

He meets you halfway, and for a moment, it’s just movement - sharp and fast and fluid, but you keep your balance. You duck, weave, block.

You land a hit, but it barely fazes him. He grabs your wrist, twisting - flipping you, but you are prepared, rolling and springing back up.

“That all you got?”

“Come find out.”

He laughs brightly before going in for attack. You block his strike, twisting out of reach.

It’s definitely not all you got.

He is not expecting you to cheat.

Not that you call it cheating anyway.

You decide that it’s time to take advantage of that weakness of his.

After all, it has worked before. And it will work again.

Bucky feints left. You dodge, pivot, but let your foot catch just so against the mat to send you off balance. The stumble isn’t exaggerated - it doesn’t need to be. You land on your side, letting out a sharp breath as if this is not exactly what you were expecting, and grab your ankle, wincing.

Bucky stops immediately. Just like always. It’s the first time you feign your ankle getting hurt but he reacts all the same.

His shift is instant. His whole body tenses. Taking a step toward you with his brows furrowed tightly, he scans you like he’s already running through every possible way to help you. Carrying you to the medical wing, for example.

“Shit, doll. You okay?” His voice is softer now. Concerned. So genuinely worried, you might actually feel bad.

He crouches without hesitation, without a thought, eyes so intensely fixed on you. And that smug grin is as predicted wiped cleanly off his face.

“Lemme see-”

He reaches out to you but that is when you strike.

You twist up, leg sweeping out and knocking his feet from under him. His surprised noise is so satisfying as he goes down, flat on his back, sprawled across the mat.

Silence.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groans loudly.

You are kneeling beside him, grinning, chest heaving. “Kinda needed that win, Barnes. No bad feelings, yeah?”

Bucky just stares at the ceiling for a long moment, one hand scrubbing down his face. He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like every goddam time.

The last time you used your little trick on him, you had sold a jab against your side, staggering back and exhaling sharply as if he hit some sensitive point. He froze instantly, eyes wide. And you spun him into a flawless takedown.

The time before that it was your shoulder. All you needed was a slight grimace in fake pain and his whole demeanor changed in an instant. His hands went up slightly, a step in your direction and that was your opening to duck under his arm, and bring him down with a precise twist.

Yeah, alright, people might believe that that technique is a little mean and it certainly wouldn’t help you at all in the open field, but Clint did tell you to try something unorthodox.

You stretch, still smirking, and tilt your head at him. “You know, you’d think after falling for this multiple times, you’d have learned by now.”

Bucky’s head rolls to the side and he glares at you. Not in anger, not even close. Just that specific kind of exasperation that you have come to learn is something only you get to see from him.

He huffs. “Should’ve known you’d pull this shit again.”

“Should have. And here I thought I am predictable.”

He gives you a flat, unimpressed look.

“Can’t believe I was worried.”

“Aww, you were?” you say sarcastically, lightly. Almost in a sly sing-song voice, because is is always worried. That’s the whole point of this.

Another hand drags down his face, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

****

You exhale deeply, rolling your shoulders, as you make your way down to the gym.

Your muscles are stiff. Everything aches in that dull, stubborn way that promises it will get worse before it gets better.

The bruises that paint your ribs throb with your pulse. You remember the sharp, biting crack when you hit the ground.

It was a mission for Steve, Nat, and you, though you definitely could have used some backup.

You feel terrible.

And you hadn’t told Bucky any of that when you came home yesterday, sometime late.

Instead, you sent him a quick I’m fine. Training tomorrow? and buried yourself in sleep before he could pry. You know how he gets, after all. How his worry manifests, his eyes linger and his mouth tightens when you brush him off. You did not have the energy for it last night. And you don’t have it now. He does not have to know what hits you have taken due to your own recklessness. You already got a lecture from Cap. Don’t need it from his best friend.

So you show up. Because, if you don’t, he will know something is wrong.

Bucky is already waiting for you, standing loose and ready on the mat. His eyes snap up the moment you enter, scanning you the way he always does. Checking.

You ignore his gaze.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” you say, tossing your water bottle onto the bench, forcing something light into your voice.

He smirks, arms crossed. “That what’s gonna happen?”

You step onto the mat, careful not to wince, careful to keep your breath even despite the sharpness pulling at your ribs. “Don’t sound so doubtful, Barnes. I’ll let you eat the mat.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “I sure like to see you try.”

He raises his hands, shifting into a stance, watching you closely. Too closely. There is something probing in his gaze today.

“How’d the mission go? Steve mentioned you guys ran into some-”

You don’t give him time to finish - time to think.

You move, fast, hoping to catch him off guard.

He sidesteps, but you strike again.

And immediately regret it.

Your ribs scream. Punishing. Your breath stutters, but you grit your teeth and keep going, keep pushing forward and attacking because if you pause, he will most definitely notice.

It goes on for perhaps a minute and you think you might actually be able to bite away the pain your whole body is consumed with, but then you stumble.

It’s a half-second of hesitation, a misstep that normally wouldn’t happen. But it causes you to trip away a few steps. Sharp pain courses through your ribs and a hand instinctively shoots up to your side. A hiss slips past your lips. Loud enough for him to hear.

But instead of reacting the way he always does - immediately stopping, immediately reaching - he just huffs amused, shaking his head.

“Bad time for trying that trick again, sweetheart. Shoulda known better.” There is that smugness in his tone.

His voice is light, teasing. His eyes are sharp, watching.

You grit your teeth, saying nothing.

He thinks you’re faking.

Which - fine. You have done this a few times. But now, with every movement grinding against the ache in your ribs, you wish he would just stop you.

Because it’s getting harder to hide.

It’s getting harder to see.

Bucky seems confused for a second when you don’t react to him at all, but doesn’t have time to act on it as you are going in for the next hit.

And Bucky dodges you too easily like he doesn’t even need to try. You swing again, slower than you should be, weaker than you should be - and he sidesteps, frowning.

“Tryin’ a new strategy?” he asks, but his voice is careful. His eyes are assessing.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just go again, ignoring the way your body protests, ignoring the way you are moving wrong like you are just a second behind yourself. You hope maybe muscle memory will carry you through.

It doesn’t seem like it.

Bucky stopped throwing punches himself, only staying in defense mode and he won’t stop fucking looking at you.

And then you pivot too fast - twist wrong.

White-hot pain flares through your side so fiercely, it rips the breath from your lungs. A harsh, unsteady sound falls out. You can’t catch it. You stagger, grip tightening into fists, trying to push through.

But Bucky’s expression now definitely shifted. Amusement gone. Smugness gone. His face is hard.

You ignore that and try to go in for the next hit, but Bucky steps in fast, too fast for you to counter in your state, hooking an arm around you, pressing your back against his chest. He doesn’t throw you - he could, easily, he would - but he just halts your movement, stopping you clean in your tracks.

The pain spikes again and you gasp sharply. Your knees nearly buckle and Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

His hands are firm around you. Steady. But his breathing is not. It’s fast, strained, the muscles in his arms locking as he keeps you upright.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is so low, so serious. There is an edge to it, teetering on loosing control.

“It’s not a big deal,” you grit out.

“Bullshit.” Now he sounds harsh.

But his fingers still press so gently into your side, checking you out.

You whimper, flinching.

And Bucky freezes.

“Shit.” He shifts his grip, an arm around your waist, moving you to face him and still trying to support you without making it worse. His heartbeat is fast. You can feel it. Even in his hands on you.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to see your torso. A breath hitches. It’s not yours.

The bruises are bad. Worse than they were yesterday. Dark and sprawling across your ribs, blooming in ugly purples and reds. You feel the shift in him, the way his whole body goes still.

You watch his tense features in discomfort. His eyes are turbulent, filled with a wildness stemming from something dark that writhes beneath his skin and causes his hands to shake against you. A tremor passes his jaw.

He curses under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice drags low.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He lets out a deep and rumbling sigh. Trying to compose himself. “It is bad, Y/n! How come you thought it’s a good idea to train like this, huh?”

He meets your eyes. There is a sternness in his expression. His eyes are heavy.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Bucky lets out a humorless breath. Closes his eyes for a moment until he takes a breath in again.

“I was already worried, doll. I always am. You know that, no?” he speaks solemnly. “You think not telling me makes this better?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He shakes his head, exhaling profoundly through his nose. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt you. He holds you carefully.

You take in a deep breath. “I- I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

His jaw is clenched and he bites his bottom lip, staring at the bruises littering your skin for a moment with eyes so dark they make you shiver.

“How did that happen? Who did this?”

You scoff half-heartedly. “Got a little messy. Pretty sure that guy’s not doing that well either.” You aim to get even the tiniest bits of amusement out of him but he might have gotten even more grim.

His touch is slow, a careful sweep of his finger across your skin, studying you for reactions.

He opens his mouth. Something on his tongue he wants to get out, but he hesitates. He swallows. Waits a few seconds. His voice is a rasp. “Don’t do that again.”

“Getting hurt on missions is kind of a normal occurrence, Buck. Not much I can do about that-”

“No, I mean-” he interrupts, voice quieter. “Don’t hide it again. Not from me. I- Just please.”

There is something in his tone that makes you stare for a while longer.

Then, you nod. Just once. But you mean it.

****

It took weeks for you to properly heal.

But finally, earlier today, you got the clearance of Dr. Cho - and Bucky, because he somehow told himself he has a say in that kind of thing - to step onto the mat again and resume training.

There is still a phantom pain in your ribs but it’s locked somewhere in the back of your mind.

But Bucky still would not stop fucking looking at you.

And it never is in a casual way. Bucky always watches you like he is waiting for something. Like his body is ready to move before his mind even has to tell it to. Like he is memorizing you, making sure nothing slips past him.

He is currently standing in front of you on the mat, rolling his shoulders, the stretch of muscle under his shirt shifting with the movement. The tension in his frame hasn’t faded, no matter how much you’ve reassured him. His fingers flex, then curl into loose fists.

Then his eyes find yours.

“Alright,” he says, voice low and edged with something firm, something not up for debate. “Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. You’re good enough as it is. No need for all that, yeah?” There is something heavy in his tone. “I'll even let you win this time if you need it so badly, doll,” he adds with a hint of humor that his voice lacked earlier, bouncing right back into your easy friendship.

You huff out a laugh and stretch your arms over your head, feeling the pull of muscles that have gone a little too long without use. “Trust me Bucky, I’ve learned my lesson.” Your voice is rather light, but it carries an edge as well.

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

There is something like guilt crossing his eyes for a second. Gone as fast as it came but you catch it. His lips are pressed together tightly and he seems to hold back an uncomfortable cough.

You’ve talked about this already. Plenty, in the weeks of your recovery. You told him you wouldn’t have believed him either after the many times you feigned injury during matches. That if anything, it was your own stubbornness that got you hurt and not him.

He only agreed with the stubborn part but he stopped bringing it up.

Still, you see he hasn’t let it go.

He carries too much guilt as it is. You don’t want him to carry more. So, you definitely won’t question his weakness during fights again. It was kind of funny, though, at least you’ll hold onto that.

You roll out your shoulders, shaking off the stiffness, then take your stance. “C’mon Barnes. You gonna fight me or just stand there looking pretty?”

His mouth twitches, a ghost of a smirk, maybe even a ghost of pink at the tip of his ears, but his eyes stay sharp.

He steps in, closing the space, moving with the same impossible control he always does.

You block his first strike, but it shakes through you. The force of it reminds you just how much power he’s holding back.

His eyes snap to your face. He doesn’t stop watching.

Studying.

Testing how you move, how much strain you can handle.

You feel yourself get into it again. The movement, the impact, the swiftness. The gym is filled with the sounds of breaths and footwork against the mat.

Bucky tests you, pushes you.

And you give as good as you get.

Your body remembers even if it’s been weeks. Your muscles adjust, wake up in a way they haven’t in too long. You move on instinct, dodging, striking, thinking, even pulling a move that you copied from Nat. One that Bucky didn’t see coming.

And it honestly looks pretty good for you, until your foot catches.

It’s nothing at first, a simple shift in weight, an uneven pivot that causes your balance to tip slightly off center. But a dizziness suddenly overcomes you and it’s too late to catch you. Your ankle twists, your knees buckle and the floor comes rushing up to you.

You hit the mat hard, landing awkwardly on your side, the jolt of pain snapping through your ankle up your whole leg, sharp enough for you to wince.

Shit.

You suck in a breath, already dreading what this looks like, what Bucky must be thinking. The timing couldn’t be worse. After everything - after the fights weeks ago, after the conversations, after the promise you just made to never feign getting hurt again - what else would he think?

But before you can lift your head, before you can force out some half-hearted quip, Bucky is already there.

Not hesitating. Not wary.

Rushing. Fast and frantic.

He’s at your side, crouching so fast his knees nearly hit the mat.

And you find yourself blinking at him stunned.

You expected him to pause. To hesitate. Maybe even get angry - to assume, even for a second, that you are feigning again, that you had just promised him not to pull that anymore but here you are.

But there is none of that.

Only the same panic from every other time you’ve dropped yourself to the ground on purpose. But this time it is real. There just was no way for him to know that. He still reacts the same.

“Where does it hurt, doll? Talk to me.”

His voice is calm, but his face is tight. His brows are drawn together, tension lining his mouth. The breaths he lets out are just a little too measured.

You blink at him, still baffled at the way with how fast he was there, how fast his reaction was.

“Just my leg,” you say, exhaling slowly. “It’s nothing. I just got dizzy and fell.”

That makes him frown, deeper than before. His hand moves so gently as he lifts the fabric of your training pants to get a look, taking your calve into his other hand. The touch sends a pulse of pain through you but you manage not to let it show on your face. You’ve had worse. You’re an Avenger, after all.

But Bucky’s jaw clenches so tightly at the sight of the swollen bone and the deepening flush of color on your ankle as if it is serious.

“Might have sprained it,” he mutters gruffly, and the displeasure in his voice is so clear.

“Think I’ll live, Buck,” you quip lightly and shift, trying to stand up but his hand doesn’t let up on your leg and he presses just lightly against your shoulders to make you sit back down.

“You still feelin’ dizzy?” he asks, basically ignoring what you said, voice dipping lower. His gaze locks onto yours. Intense.

You shake your head, trying to show him how casual this whole thing is but his eyes won’t stop searching you and it makes your stomach churn.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

His eyes don’t move. He doesn’t let go.

“Why did you even believe me?” You voice it light, but there is something cautious underlining it, you can’t shake. “Could’ve faked again.”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair with a long breath. He averts his eyes.

“Saw you go down,” he says with a shrug that seems just a little too exaggeratedly indifferent. “S’ enough for my head to go straight to hell.”

That’s certainly not something you expected him to say and you are stunned once again. But you can’t help the way your belly does some delightful flips.

“And you promised me you wouldn’t,” he adds, shoulders straightening, like he is trying to shift your attention from the words he said before. From the admission he made.

“I’m really not going to do it again,” you promise again. But you won’t forget his words.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, certainly, but the tension of your current situation lingers.

His touch on you is so damn careful, checking and rechecking, making you tell him what and how something hurts and you almost laugh out loud at his fussing.

“Buck, it’s not like I broke it,” you point out, a laugh in your voice. “I can still-”

“You’re not gonna walk around on that.”

You lift your brow at him, at his tone, an amused smile on your face but he just stares back. Without the smiling part.

Then he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before standing to his full height, adjusting his stance before crouching slightly again.

“Alright, come on.”

You blink but his hands already settle, one beneath your legs, the other bracing your back, and you barely have time to react before he is lifting you, arms locking as he pulls you against his chest with an ease you could only dream of.

“Bucky-”

“Not a word,” he warns with a grunt.

You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t care.”

****

A sprained ankle takes anywhere from two to six weeks to heal properly, depending on the severity. You’ve had a few sprained ankles in your career already, so you would know.

But yours sits on the longer end of that spectrum and it frustrates you to no end because what the fuck. You were just done healing and now you got to do it all again.

The first week, Bucky barely lets you breathe without hovering close. He is always there, catching you if you wobble because you are too damn stubborn and rather hop around the compound than use a clutch. Because that would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?

The second week you get snappish. Tony makes sure to leave the room when you enter, Sam gets defensive, Natasha just smirks what frustrates you even more, Vision is a fucking robot only answering in a robotic voice way that drives you up the wall when he gives you a list of stores around New York that sell kettle fries but you only wanted to know where they are in the compounds kitchen. And Bucky endures every tiny bit of it, only that he is entirely unmoved by your attitude. At one point you just taped your ankle and tried to go down to the gym but Bucky stopped you before you could reach the elevator. He already stood there, brow quirked, arms crossed, unimpressed but amused.

By the third week, he sat next to you during team training, watching, studying. You criticized movements, talked about strategies, and laughed at Sam when Nat made him faceplant onto the mat.

Then the fourth week rolled in and you could finally put weight on your foot without wincing. For you, that meant you were good to go train again. But not for Bucky. So that meant another week of waiting.

But now you are back on the mat. Fucking again.

And you promise yourself, you will not fall this time. Not on purpose, not by accident.

Bucky stands across from you, arms loose at his sides, weight balanced, watching as you roll your shoulders and move through your warm-up.

“Got any last words before I kick your ass, Barnes?”

His mouth twitches. That half-smirk, something smug but fond, something that flies through his blue eyes like a spark.

“I dunno, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna land you on the sidelines again.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Bite me, Barnes.”

The moment you move, he matches it.

His reflexes are quicker than yours - always have been, always will be - but your advantage is that you know that. You know him. His patterns, the way he shifts his weight, the way his left shoulder always tenses a fraction of a second before he throws a punch. You don’t need to match his strength to win. You just need to read him.

The first strike comes low, an attempt to test your footing, but you pivot fast, avoiding the sweep of his leg with a practiced step-back. You counter with a jab - not meant to hit, just to distract - but he reads it immediately, catches your wrist, yanks you forward.

You twist, using the momentum, your free hand shooting up - Bucky dodges, barely, but you are already adjusting, using your own imbalance to push into him.

His hands are always steady, whether he’s attacking or defending. He uses his strength not to hurt you, but to push you, to remind you that you can take it.

And you do.

Blow for blow, counter for counter.

You refrain from looking at his face because he looks distractingly hot with his hair falling into his eyes and all, whipping around with his movements.

The moment his weight shifts forward, you are already countering. Stepping out of reach just as his arm sweeps for your waist. Your breath comes sharp as you turn and aim a well-placed jab that he sidesteps.

Bucky’s eyes gleam. Thrilled.

“Not bad,” he calls, already throwing another feint.

“Not trying to be”, you fire back, ducking, moving with him like it’s a dance. Like your bodies know this better than your minds do.

You push - he counters. You feint - he laughs, quick and breathy. You strike - he blocks.

Fuck, you missed this.

But then, he shifts.

And something changes.

It’s in his stance. The way he adjusts - not a mistake, but a decision. And in the half-second, before you react, before you catch on, you realize you don’t know what he is planning.

Your body is moving, a reaction before thought, but he is quicker - and you only feel him wind his arm around your waist, spin you around, and crash his lips against yours.

You stagger, letting out a surprised grunt against his mouth, caught completely fucking blindsided, because - what?

His mouth is firm, demanding - and it sears straight through your skin, your ribs, right into your bones, into your pulse, because Bucky Barnes is kissing you.

It’s not soft.

Not hesitant.

Not careful.

It’s everything it shouldn’t be in the middle of a fight.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t even notice the moment your back hits the mat. Don’t notice the way he takes you down like it’s nothing, like it’s unpredictable, because you weren’t ready.

You didn’t see it coming.

By the time you blink, by the time your brain catches up, he is already above you. Hovering.

His weight is balanced, both arms braced on either side of your head, and he is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery.

Smirking. So damn smug.

Because Bucky finally found out your weakness. And he used it to his advantage.

Because what else could it be than him?

“You cheated,” you breathe out. Where has all the air gone?

“You kinda started it, sweetheart.” Bucky grins so wide, so proud, so happy. He pants above you. His eyes are shining.

And then he ducks down again.

He kisses you once more.

Slower, this time. Deeper. With something that lingers, something that presses into you as his hand slides along your jaw, something that feels like it has been waiting far too long for this exact moment.

And you don’t fight it.

Because it seems, you no longer have to wait for Bucky Barnes.

“You’ll know… not just in the way they look at you, but in how they’re not looking anywhere else.”

- butterflies rising

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] You = me?

LIs react to you/MC showing up to a date dressed exactly like them.

(Genre: Fluff; tw: mild suggestiveness)

SYLUS 

You stroll in with a suit jacket worn exactly the way he does- draped like a cape, the crow brooch glinting under the dim ambient light of the restaurant. Sylus raises a brow as he takes in your appearance.

"Kitten," he purrs, standing to pull out a chair for you. "Are you mocking me… or tempting me?" His fingers brush the brooch. "Because if it’s the latter, this game ends with that outfit on my floor." 

It sends an electrifying heat coiling deep within you, but you refuse to let your composure slip just yet.

You mimic his posture, chin lifted. "I just wanted to see if I could pull off power better than you." 

He laughs, low and indulgent. "Oh, you do."  

___

XAVIER 

Xavier freezes mid-sip when he sees you in his signature hoodie-and-tee combo, the tea hovering in front of his face as he looks, or rather, stares. His cup clinks when he sets it down.

 "You're… me."  

You wink, copying his serene smile and slipping into the seat opposite him. "Do I look like a fallen star now?"  

He reaches out, fingertips grazing the fabric. "No. You look like everything… everything I love,"  

Then- rare mischief flashes. “You'd look even better with me. At my place, in my be-”

“Xavier!” You yelp, stopping him from finishing what he had to say.

He beams at you. “I meant, napping in a hoodie is very comfortable. So we should try it together,”

___

ZAYNE 

Zayne’s chopsticks pause over his plate when you slide into the booth, dressed in his go-to all-black attire.

His stare lingers on you.

 "…You even got the correct height for the rolled sleeves."  

You adjust imaginary glasses. "Based on observational data, this was the optimal outfit for unconventional seduction."  

A beat. Then- he leans in, his voice a whisper. "Your confidence interval is 100%."  

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way a hint of a smirk grazes his lips.

"Let's eat now, otherwise the soup dumplings will get cold." He says lightly to remind you to sit, picking one up with practiced ease and placing it into your bowl.

His gaze for the rest of the evening is weighted with a certain intensity, one that promises more to come, once you return home with him.

___

RAFAYEL

“Hey Rafayel,” you greet, your hand brushing his shoulder lightly as you walk in from behind him. “Sorry I'm late,”

There's a short beat of silence.

Rafayel's butter knife clatters onto the plate. "Is that-? Are you? ME?!"  

You do a spin, the white fabric flowing around you. "Who else?"  

He springs up, hands fluttering over your hair and outfit. "Oh, Miss Bodyguard you look absolutely stunning- wait, do a pose! Pose like I do!"  

You flick your hair and angle your shoulder to pose. His jaw drops.

 "I’m OBSESSED! This is art!"  He declares.

Then, suddenly, he takes your hands into his. His tone turns serious as he asks you softly. "But you have to tell me. Am I also art to you, Miss Bodyguard?”  

You grin at him. “Of course, you're the true embodiment of art itself,”

He preens, bringing your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand. Then another, and another, until you almost have to physically sit him back down on his chair and remind him to stop the PDA and eat.

--- 

CALEB 

Caleb chokes on his water when he sees your handmade sweater. He turns away quickly, coughing and spluttering into his elbow before he spews water all over the fancy steak frites on the table.

You make it to the corner table, a small little alcove that has an L-shaped sofa bench against the wall. With him being closer now, you can see that pink tinges the tips of his ears as he clears his throat. "You- you made this? For our date? For me?"  

You mimic his shy grin, sliding your bag off your shoulder as you slide into the plush bench, knees touching his. You stretch out your arm so that he can admire your handiwork. "Just a bit of stitching with ready-made items. Had to match my favorite person."  

His hands hover, like he’s afraid to wrinkle it. "I… I love it.. And the sweater paws- pipsqueak, that should be illegal,”

“Too cute to handle?” You tease.

He pinches your cheek, then squishes you in a tight hug. “Never, pipsqueak.”

His heartbeat says otherwise.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Size difference with Caleb!

Content: Non proof-reader; Established relationship + Size difference (duh) + Tummy bulge (so unrealistic) + Manhandling + Mating press + Overstimulation

Summary: When does Caleb notice just how big he is in contrast with you?

Note: Thank you so so much for the idea!! I hope you like it, dear @dishoneykisses ♡ Sorry if it's a bit short/not what you expected...

Kind reminder that petite body is solely based on the height, plus my sweetie pie Caleb is a strong boy! No need to feel ashamed about your weight with him!

Caleb notices the size difference when...

He's cooking with you by his side. He is too engrossed on having the correct measures for the perfect mix between the spices and the sweetness of the sugar, when he suddenly notices you trying to reach the ceramic plates. You are trying your best to reach them, having to get on your tip toes and stretching your arm as much as possible just so you can get that one plate that you needed. Before you notice, Caleb is already behind you, his hips brushing against your rear, sending shivers down your spine as you felt his warmth behind you. "Be careful pips, surely you don't want them to fall on your head? Next time just let me know so I can help you." Caleb rubs your hair before focusing once again on finishing the recipe.

He's taking care of you during your period. As soon as you told him that your period had started, it took him less than a few hours to suddenly appear in front of your door. His shoulder carrying a huge bag filled with God knows what. After Caleb is done giving you all the treats he had brought, and then letting you choose between more than four different brands of pads and tampons, he finally let you lay on top of him, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. It was during this time that he realised just how small you were, with your feet barely reaching somewhere between under his knees and his own feet. He couldn't help but feel a bit tempted to grab you press you against him just because of how cute you were.

He goes to hug you. It is quite often that Caleb ends up rushing towards you, arms extended as he wraps them around you, lifting you up as if it was some kind of corny romance and then giving you a few twirls before carrying you in the bridal style. You hit his chest multiple times, trying to get him to let you down, as all the people were starting to stare at the two of you, but it wasn't as if Caleb really cared, after all, he was far too focused on repeating the scene in his mind, remembering the sweet scent that emanated from you, together with how light you had felt as he lifted you and carried you around. He worked out so much for something, after all!

He's fighting along side you. He isn't all that into letting you fight by his side, this was not a matter of seeing you as weak, of course. It was just that he had grown accustomed to being the one to protect you, so of course he felt uncomfortable with letting you get too close to the Wanderer... So when he suddenly has to rush towards you to cover you from the claw of one of them, as he grabs you and pushes you away from it, he is able to notice just how small you are, with his frame being completely able to cover your smaller one.

He's playing with you. Despite how much time has passed, Caleb still enjoys playing with you, from the board games such as kitty cards, to the claw machine, even the ones that you used to play when you were younger, the ones in which the two of you tried to fight against the other. So when you start to playfully get on top of him and try to push him against the couch, Caleb is debating whether to let you win or to use a bit of his strength to prove who is really in control. And he was about to choose the first option, but when you suddenly start to tease him about you being "way stronger" than him, it takes barely a few seconds for him to have you against the couch, cheeks pressing against it as you kept trying to squirm to get away from his grip around your wrists. "Surely you already know who is really in control, right pips?

He's under you. This was one of the many times in which you tried to make your point, telling him to let you ride him since you had been researching on it. Caleb agreeded, a smirk appearing on his face as he saw your legs starting to tremble as the minutes went by, tears falling down your cheeks as the overstimulation gets a bit too much for you. He knows you're trying your best, cheeks puffed as you kept feeling frustrated from not being able to set a proper rhythm, surely you wanted him to take care of you... right? So he suddenly grabbed your hips, using his evol to lift you with ease , suddenly increasing the gravity and forcing you on his cock, hitting with the tip that spongy spot inside you, forcing lewd moans and pleas as you sinked your nails on his shoulders, trying your best to not let him know just how much pleasure was he making you feel. It is then that Caleb notices something. A strange bulge that keeps moving each time he enters you as you let those indecent mewls while he kissed your glossy lips. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but press it, putting his warm hands on top of it and making some pressure on it, making sure to rise it every time he lets your weight fall on his dick. "Gotta make sure I teach you how to fuck yourself, right? No time to rest, honey..."

He's balls deep inside you. The night had become a blurr the second you had started to drag your hands against his pelvis, always giving him poor excuses about you trying to find the popcorn that was clearly NOT there. You wanted to tease him? Just don't expect him to behave properly. Before you realised it, Caleb was already on top of you, his shirt thrown somewhere as he keeps forcing his cock inside you, fingertips interlocked as he keeps you under him, your back completely pressed against the couch as he keeps plummeting your insides, the wet sound of your poor cunt taking all his length filling the room, mixing with the obscene sounds that were leaving both Caleb's and your lips. "Too much Caleb! Tummy...! You're hitting... somewhere weird!" You try pressing your hands against his hips, giving him those puppy eyes as you try to get him to reduce the depth of his thrusts... Not like it would really work, of course. In fact, your little attempt only made him even harder, making him notice just how small your hands were in contrast with him, who was simply huge, in contrast with you. His weight squeezing you as he kept hitting your g-spot one after the other, making your eyes roll back to your skull each time, even taking advantage of it and staying there for a few seconds, cocky smile on his lips as he saw your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. His eyes sometimes fixed on the creamy ring that had formed around his cock from all the times you had creamed around his cock... surely he could get to make you orgasm for the eighth time, right?...

Just how was he supposed to restrain himself from taking your petite body and fucking you against the first surface he could get to?!...

[rrivlet]

hi I would really like to hear the story of you getting kicked out of a museum for being a 9/11 fan

Okay, so lets set the stage here. 9/11 happens. I'm pretty young at the time, and I don't remember shit about it.

Several years pass. I don't remember exactly how old I was, but I wasn't even 10 yet. I develop an absurd obsession with Aviation Disasters. I watch a lot of Seconds from Disaster about this, eventually learning that Human Error is my least favorite cause of incidents because nothing funny happened to the plane.

However.

I learn about 9/11 in school and my first thought is "this is fuckin rad" because there was a big aviation disaster. I love that shit. I learn that this happened because it was deliberate. I then discard this information because it's no longer necessary. Queue the start of my 9/11 Simulation Era.

I use everything. Boxes, cans, whatever is stackable. A few times, I make a cardboard airplane. My parents are none the wiser because they just think I love airplanes (which is true, but only part of it). This goes on for some time.

Now, the museum I mentioned in those tags was called the "Imaginarium" or something like that. Childrens interactive museum. Lotsa fun stuff, and my family took me there often. One of the things they have here (which is, of course, my favorite exhibit) is a flight simulator cabinet.

One day, my obaachan takes me to the Imaginarium. I take my time, perusing through all the exhibits, making the big bubble, playing with the air cannon, all that jazz. All the while, I'm SUPER excited to get to the end, where the flight sim is.

The flight sim is running some version of microsoft flight simulator and is locked on a cesna of some sort. It has fully functioning foot pedals, throttle, and flight control. I eat this shit up every time for as long as whoever is taking me will let me. You probably already know the shape of this.

The space they have you fly over is like, a small city with surrounding countryside. As luck would have it, the city has two buildings of remarkably similar height next to each other. Sure, I'm piloting a cesna and not a passenger liner, but I don't care. I'm in the moment, I'm fucking crazed out of my tiny child MIND about 9/11, and I can do ANOTHER simulation. In my head, I'm the second plane. I get close enough to the ground (having played the simulator a lot, certainly enough to be familiar with the controls), and I set course, full throttle, for the Second Tower.

As I collide (and the plane bounces around because the game doesn't do exploding planes for some reason lol), I say aloud, and very audibly, "Oh my god, they hit the second tower." Or something to that effect.

It's maybe been 5 or so years since 9/11, so while it's not 100% fresh in peoples memories, it's near the surface of a lot of people's minds. The attendant at the counter not far from where I'm sitting looks at me after I say this, makes a 100% correct read on what I'm fucking doing and what's going on, looks at my obaachan and tells her in no uncertain terms that we need to leave and that "this disrespect cannot be tolerated here."

I don't go to that museum again for many many years, and when I do finally return (for a field trip or something), the flight sim is gone.

But it's okay because I pestered a great many of my caretakers (including my foster parent at one point) with my 9/11 sims, and I'd do it again in a fuckin caffeinated heartbeat.

[krembruleed]

Height comparison chart based on the in-game models

Dragonborn Durge is 6'8" or 204cm. Halsin and Minsc are 6'7" or 200cm. Karlach is 6'4" or 192cm. Devil form Wyll is 6'1" or 185cm (the horns net him ~2 in / ~5cm!) Human form Wyll, Astarion, and Gale are 5'11" or 180 cm. Jaheira, Shadowheart, Minthara, and Lae'zel are 5'7" or 170cm.

The models are a little bigger in Blender than they would be in the real world. Devil Wyll was 6'7" going by his model in blender, which is just...Not Correct.

This could be because my extracts scaled slightly wrong when i imported them into blender, or the in-game scale is slightly larger than the real world, or they're just modeled a little taller than they're meant to be to make them look biggg. (my vote is that i fucked the scale. rip y'all's estimation of my intelligence.)

Whatever the reason, I knew that they were all scaled wrong in the same way. This means that instead of giving up a futile pursuit, I could do math to figure out something more reasonable.

We happen to know that Astarion is "approximately 5'11"."

I used that as a baseline. So, with our scale established, we get something like this:

Other notes:

Shadowheart/Jahiera/Minthara, Minsc/Halsin, and Gale/Astarion/Wyll share the same heights because they use the same body model.

I'm decently certain that githyanki share an armature with elves/half-elves/drow/humans, so even though the gith body model looks different, Lae'zel is the same height as the other gals to line up with their armature's bones.

I didn't include hair or head accessories (like Shadowheart's) in the total height (that's cheating).

I did include Durge's and Karlach's horns in their overall height, but Karlach's really don't add much (maybe a cm or 2).

Average height worldwide (on Earth) for men is 5'9"/ 175 cm, and for women is 5'4" / 161 cm, so they're all quite tall, but mostly still within a standard deviation of the average.

Except for Karlach, Halsin, and Minsc, who are in the 99.9th percentile for height! They're not tall, they're huge.

[iwashie]

Sevika Headcanons

She almost never touches you with her mechanical arm, she always holds you with her human arm or takes off the prosthesis. When you two walk down the street, she leaves her mechanical arm on the opposite side of your body.

Doesn't care about age, height or weight

She loves you all, all your body, but she has a weak spot for your ass. It's the way it jingles when she slaps it or the way it sways when you walk...

She's a dom top, but when the day was rough, she maybe will let you take control, always holding and guiding your head

Calls you "girl, doll, my girl," or "woman" and loves when you call her "vika, baby," will go crazy when you tease her and calls her "mommy"

Trusts you and lets you wander around the bar and go out with friends, but always keep an eye in case some stupid man tries something

"Wear whatever you want, doll. I know how to fight"

Always has you sitting on her lap during night games at the bar, her human arm caressing your thighs, and loves seeing you dancing

Always kisses you holding your neck and waist, devouring your moans and leaving your breathless

Always go down on you, and she eats you out like she's been starving all day, shoving her face in your pussy and gulping your juice, always makes you cum a first time on her tongue or fingers

SHE ALWAYS KISSES YOU AFTER EATING YOU OUT

Likes cowgirl, reverse cowgirl or doggy, and always chokes you during it, points if you cry in pleasure

Is the bigger spoon, and also likes to crush on top of you.

She lets you tangle your limbs on hers when sleeping and always has her human hand around your waist or holding some parts of your body

Likes when you visit her on the office and let's you sleep on the couch

She, somehow, is always attracted to energetic people, so she'll always let a sigh out but will smile seeing you all energetic

She secretly likes to see you, Jinx and Isha acting like a family, the golden retriever trio tiring she out

She feels so warm and happy seeing you taking care of Isha and Jinx, imagining forming a family with you

Didn't correct Jinx when she said that you four were a family, duh

She learned how to handle her mechanical arm and other stuff but loves when you help her or ask how to do something to help her

Her mechanical arm always hurts her, so she loves it when you give a massage that turns out in a make-out session on her lap

You don't need to know how to fight, she'll do it for you, but loves to see you defending yourself

Always make sure you're okay, have enough sleep or food, but always forget about herself so fucking loves when you bring her food o let's her take a nap cuddling you

Don't tell you about her day, to not worry you, so always ask about your day. She always glares at Jinx when she tells the truth

Always responds to your requests, so Jix and Isha are always having breakfast and dinner with you two

Jinx cut her hair and kinda messed up, but you assured her that she's fine, hot as hell, and the piercing idea was yours...

When she has to leave first, she always kisses you goodbye and always gives in when you say "more 5 minutes, baby..."

She's definitely proposing to you, but is regretting asking Jinx for help...

@iwashie 2025 please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[animezinglife]

Heights are a coin toss in this game and make no sense, but I think he's supposed to be pretty big. Dorian makes a comment to the Inquisitor about there being "a whole lot of him...burly. Must be warm by the fire."

My mind immediately goes to, "big bear of a guy."

But as far as heights in DA:I go (especially for the men): he's about 6'2" in the scene you capped, 5'9" in the stable dialogue scenes, 5'2" in the Winter Palace Dialogue (minus the dancing scene), and I actually have an interesting clip somewhere of him alternating between about 6'2" and 5'9" during a conversation with one of my Inquisitors.

Truly a talented man.

I always headcanon Blackwall as a short king.

Like he gives 5’9 vibes.

[flwrfields]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION — PARAMORE • Y.SE

summary: si-eun never really liked physical touch, not until you came. as your friendship grew, he found you becoming his only exception.

a/n: heh, i'm getting active!!! this idea popped up when i was trying to sleep and i immediately put it in my notes so i wouldn't forget it LMFAO!!! and notice how i put the images in the correct order of si-eun getting run over??? heh.. heh. also, this fic's idea is inspired by paramore's song name "the only exception", so i suggest if you listen to it while reading!!

warnings: clingy reader, softie si-eun, mutual feelings, si-eun is definitely whipped for you, absolute FLUFF, lowercase intended, set in class 2

w/c: 1092

yeon si-eun, this guy never liked it when people touched him or be overly touchy. that was before you appeared into his life. at first, he found you absolutely annoying. he always found himself in situations where you're clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he hated how much you linked arms with him, how much you rested your head on his shoulder like a pillow, how much you held his hand, how much you hugged him... there's a lot of things that irritated him.

one time, you ran towards him during lunch, all while yelling his name, "si-eun-ah!" the worst part is, all of his friends are sitting right next to him, probably laughing their asses off because he had to deal with your clinginess. they didn't laugh because they were mocking you, they would never! they laughed because they think it's funny how you're clinging onto si-eun, out of all people.

you sat next to him, noticing how everyone is laughing and giggling. you tilt your head, wondering why. "did i miss something?" you ask, curiosity filled your voice. you receive shakes of heads, still hearing laughter.

"no, no, we're laughing at si-eun!" baku says, pointing right at the guy, who seems miserable. but, you knew that miserable look of his would fade... you were sure of it.

and you were right.

as time went on, he warmed up to you. when you cling onto him, he can't bring himself to pull away. he stayed there. he let you be as close as you want. he's allowing you to invade his space, as if you successfully broke down the walls you've been trying to break through. and that's exactly what happened.

you made him go soft, and surprisingly, he doesn't mind it. in fact, he moves closer to you when you hold him. he does all of this without any hesitation, no reluctance. he doesn't do it because he's forcing himself to — he's doing it because he wants to. he's letting you into his space. his safe space. he's never let anyone in before, and it's clear. but, hey, at least you're welcomed in.

months go by, you're still your clingy self. si-eun is completely warmed up to your clinginess. though, there's something different. he's being cautious. you're aware that si-eun gives you short responses. but now, his responses feel like there's another hint of emotion that you can't figure out. you never comment on it.

to be completely honest, si-eun isn't sure when he exactly started feeling things for you. it was just a random friday — you, jun-tae, baku, gotak, and him. the five of you were out, standing on a basketball court. all you could hear is chattering, yelling, sneakers, the sound of the ball bouncing on the floor... it was a chaotic mess.

you were playing basketball with the boys, protesting about how all of your height differences weren't making the game fair. all you got was teasing and laughing, making you roll your eyes without any actual annoyance. si-eun watched you from afar, feeling the corners of his lip twitch.

then, you groaned and exclaimed, "i'm taking a break! you guys continue." as you walk towards where si-eun was sitting. you sit down, letting out a breath. "you sure you don't wanna join them?" you ask, your gaze focused on the three playing. si-eun hums in response, shaking his head. "no." you nod, not wanting to force him.

suddenly, you lean your head on his shoulder. it's a normal thing for you to do, he should be used to it, right? well, no. si-eun felt his breath hitch. his heart raced, beating faster than usual. he froze, shoulders tense. you were too tired to notice, but he was noticing everything, every detail. he noticed your breathing on his shoulder, strands of your hair brushing against his neck, the way you bumped your knee against his — he isn't taking this very well.

eventually, you noticed. you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him, seeing that the tips of his ears were pink, his eyes looking everywhere but you. you giggle, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "you're blushing." you mumble, teasing him. he turns his head away, making you giggle even more. you were about to say something else, but gotak interrupted you.

"yah, lovebirds! come over here and play!" gotak yells, grabbing both of your attention. jun-tae smiles, nodding in agreement. you sigh and stand up, grabbing si-eun's hand in the process. "come on, they'll keep bothering us if we don't go." you softly say, tugging him onto his feet. he stands up with your assistance, his flushed face becoming worse after he processes the word "lovebirds". you don't comment on it, knowing that you're fully blushing as well. when you two arrive on the court, you're both a blushing mess.

currently, you're in si-eun's house, sitting on his bed as you eat some food you grabbed from his fridge. he's by his desk, studying per usual. his focus is on his notebooks, but it quickly shifts onto you when you speak up. "hey, si-eun? i gotta ask, do you like me?" he freezes, not expecting the question. "uh, no. why do you ask?" he replies, lying.

"i don't know, i just feel like you like someone! you're acting all weird and stuff."

"weird, how?"

"you've been staring at me a lot. you blush when i do things i've been doing for months. you answer less. and i also heard from jun-tae that you stare at me with some type of way... like you're in love with me or something."

si-eun sighs, hearing your explanation. he knows he can't hide anymore, he has to say it, he has to admit it. it's been months, it's now or never.

"maybe i do like you."

you blink, looking up from your food. your eyes widen, your cheeks flushing. you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. you look down at your lap, smiling to yourself. "well, i'm glad to hear that." you whisper, glancing back to si-eun. he smiles at you, an actual smile. you've never seen si-eun smile like this before, and now that you're finally seeing it... god, he's so pretty.

the silence drags longer than expected. it isn't an awkward type of silence — it's a comfortable one. you didn't say it exactly, but si-eun knows that you feel the same way as he does. and he knows that you'll still be his only exception.

© flwrfields

[fakeboytits]

Detrans Notes Game

Repeatables:

Every 5 notes=1 day of not correcting people on my pronouns when I am misgendered

Every 10 notes=1 day wearing regular bras instead of sports bras

Every 20 notes=1 week of wearing a full face of makeup at least once per week (will try for more but it’ll depend)

One-Time:

20 notes=let you guys pick a “girl name” for me to put in my bio

50 notes=send a bra pic to anyone who asks in dms

75 notes=send a topless pic to anyone who asks in dms

100 notes=put my “stats” in my bio—height, weight, bra size, etc

150 notes=post my real deadname

200 notes=send a full-body nude to anyone who asks in dms

250 notes=post bra pics of me publicly on my account

300 notes=shave my pussy and show it off (censored posted on my blog, uncensored in dms)

400 notes=make an account on some kind of porn site, share the account name here, and start posting pics

500 notes=body writing, write on myself with lipstick whatever you want wherever you want, post a pic censored on here and uncensored in dms/on pornsite acc

[DEPENDING ON IF THIS PICKS UP, I MAY ADD MORE GOALS]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

georgina making her oaf of a son look tiny by comparison... georgina towering over malleus if one excludes the horns... georgina... i am going to faint.

i also need to see jade with lipstick right about yesterday. apparently a dark lipstick pairs with sharp sharp teeth perfectly.

twst let me pull for her card please please please i cannot bear to keep her in memory of an event only

Yes, Mrs. Georgina Leech is very tall!! Grim has a line in which he states she’s even taller than Jade and “roughly twice as tall as Riddle”, but that second statement can’t possibly be correct??? Since Riddle is 160 cm (5 feet and 3 inches) double that would be an impossible 320 cm (10.5 feet tall)… fvjsebksks I’ve been seeing tons of fan art where Georgina TOWERS over poor Riddle (who drowns in her shadow) 💀 Is she Lady Dimitrescu/j

Judging by the sprites, Georgina is even taller than Malleus (not counting his horns). However, the in-game sprites are not always 100% accurate (otherwise the height disparity between Riddle and the other boys in attendance would be much larger). It’s still possible that she’s Malleus height or taller though!! Maybe by a few cm or an inch or two.

She really pulls off that lipstick color so wellllll 😩 (and this is coming from someone who normally hates dark makeup on characters)! It really makes Georgina’s sharp pointed teeth stand out when she smiles! Since she and Jade look so much alike, maybe he can pull off the same look too…

xvjsebkwke I feel like 😭 the Twst fandom has collectively been gripped by a single murder mob mom… I’ve definitely seen people thirsting for family members before but this is the first time I’ve heard such a passionate and unified outcry to have a NRC parent made playable or calling for more content of them beyond events.

When you thought Jade was the master of breaking people psychologically but NO, the master was actually Georgina all along… 🤓 Her mere presence shatters minds… OTL

[puppyfakeboy]

Detrans Notes Game

Spamming is fine x

Repeatables:

Every 5 notes=1 day of not correcting people on

my pronouns when I am misgendered (1/10)

Every 10 notes=1 day wearing regular bras instead

of sports bras or binders (1/5)

Every 15 notes= I’ll sleep in just my panties for the night (1/3)

Every 20 notes= I'll rub my clit to all DM's I receive for the week (/2)

Every 50 notes= change my profile picture to whatever someone wants in dms

Every 90 notes= I will edge for an hour while looking at detrans posts

One-Time:

20 notes=let you guys pick a "girl name" for me

to put in my bio

50 notes=send a bra pic to anyone who asks in dms

75 notes= I will edge myself to straight porn once a week

100 notes=put my "stats" in my bio-height,

weight, bra size, etc

250 notes=post a bra pic of me publicly

300 notes=post my real deadname

500 notes= I’ll dm a picture of my panties to anyone who asks

700 notes= I’ll dm a feet pic to anyone who asks

1000 notes= make a cis girl blog

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Epel Felmier

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Epel Felmier x Reader 🍎🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda)

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Epel’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 1.530 words

COMMENTS: As English is not my first language I asked Gemini for help with Epel's dialect/accent. This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 🍎

Dating in a Dream: Idia / (Epel) / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho says when you land in the new dream, along with Grim, Silver and Sebek. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You're on Main Street, looking around and trying to figure out whose dream it is. That's when you hear abnormally heavy footsteps running and getting closer. You look and see an Epel's head in a body that looks more like Jack's, which made it all the more strange, uncanny, and almost hilarious.

You hear him saying something about being late and that's why he doesn't see your group. Grim was the one who had to shout to get Epel's attention.

“Ah, Grim! (Y/N)! Good morning! And behind you, Ah see... Ortho and some Diasomnia fellas Ah don't hardly know. Ah don't get why y'all're glowerin'.”

“Cease your incessant mumbling!” Sebek says.

“Huh? Ah was just... Ain't you Sebek from Class D? What's yer problem? Y'wanna start somethin' with me, huh?”

Epel approaches Sebek as if he were ready to start a fight, that's when you put yourself between the two of them to ask Epel to wait and say that there's no need for that.

“Oh, they’re yer friends? Sorry babe.”

“W-what did he call (Y/N)?” Grim asked with wide eyes, the same expression as everyone else.

“Hey, since you're here... Ah was goin’ to ma Spelldrive practice. Don't you have cheerleadin' practice too? You always practice with us.”

“C-cheerleading?” You ask.

“Yeah. You probly forgot ‘cause you're always so busy. If you're free, come with me. Ah always play better with you cheerin’ me on.” He smirks at you. “And Ah know how you love seein’ yer boyfriend win another game.”

“BOYFRIEND?!” Everyone said in unison.

“Oh boy.” Idia's voice says through the tablet. “Dude is dreaming that he's some sports team captain who's dating the head cheerleader. So cliché. What did I tell you about his imagination being weak?”

“Epel Felmier. May I make you a few questions?” Ortho asks and Epel agrees. “From what I understand, you and (Y/N) are dating, correct?”

“Ya bet we are!” Epel confirms with a huge smile. “Ain't they just as kind as can be, and as pretty as a picture?” He grabs you by the waist to pull you against him. “Shoot, Ah must be the luckiest guy aroun’!”

“Aww, so sweet.” Idia says. “If I get diabetes after this I'll be sending this guy the bill for my medication.”

“You two really make a very cute couple.” Ortho says to Epel. You didn't know if he was being sincere or sarcastic just to keep the conversation going. “When did you two start dating?”

“Lesse... When was it again? It was after I gained muscle and get this tall. And that was... Uhh... When WAS it? ... Hrk! Mah head... It hurts!”

The dream begins to distort, but when you think Epel is about to wake up, Vil and Rook appear, darkness versions of them.

“I believe it was near the end of winter break when your height surpassed mine, Eple.” Darkness Vil says.

“Oui. And you two started your love affair in the spring.” Darkness Rook complements. “Tellement romantique!”

“Really?” Idia complained again. “You start dating in the spring? How predictable. Were the birds also singing their hearts out when (Y/N) said 'Of course I want to date you, silly' ?”

“Epel.” Darkness Vil speaks again. “You left the dorm rather early today, so why are you standing around shooting the breeze?”

“Ah was on mah way to mornin’ practice when Ah ran into (Y/N) and these other folks...”

“Conversing with friends is indeed a valuable thing, but are you not the Spelldrive club most promising rookie?” Darkness Rook says. “I hear as much all the time from Leona.”

The two darkness figures with the appearance of Vil and Rook continue talking about how Eple is strong and such a talented player that the students of Savanaclaw would like him to ask to transfer to their dorm, but Vil would never allow it because he doesn't want to lose a student like Epel.

“That’s enough idle chitchat.” Darkness Vil says. “Off with you, now, get to your club.”

“Yessir. You coming with me (Y/N)?”

“NO!” You say. “This is not you Epel! You're not this tall, muscular guy. You are a boy with a cute and delicate appearance but a will of steel. We may have never started dating, but the truth is... I like you too Epel. I really do. But not this you, the real you. The Epel who said in SDC that he was going to maximize his weapon and beat Neige with his charm! Did you forget?”

“Epel. Cease listening to those spudlings.” Darkness Vil warns him.

“Yes, indeed. You will never go wrong by heeding Vil, Epel!” Darkness Rook encourages.

“You were finally accepting yourself.” You continue “Finally seeing yourself the way I see you. You were so cool! I was so proud of you!”

The dream world distorts again until Epel breaks and awakens. His body returned to normal, and he was wearing his dorm uniform.

“How could I have forgotten?” Epel says with tears in the corners of his eyes. “I was going to accept the strength only I had, a strength like that poison apple... I swore it that day!”

You feel so happy to see him return to the Epel you know that you can't contain the urge to hug him. He stays still for a second because of the surprise, but right after you feel him returning the hug with affection.

“Oh dear, Epel...” Darkness Vil says horrified. “You look so frail now.”

“Misérables! Your physique towered as high as the Seven jeweled Hills themselves. Where has it gone?”

“You poor thing. That dirty spud have cursed you with a pitiful form. You certainly deserve someone better than them. Come to me instead. I'll restore your brawny beauty.”

“Yes, Vil, that's a marvelous idea! Come, Epel. Join us.”

Epel is silent for a moment. To then tell them that the Rook and Vil he knows would never say those things. And that he would be lying if he said that he didn't wish he could be big and brawny.

“But the strength I want... The brawn I want... The beauty I want... The love I want... That's for ME to decide, and for ME to claim myself! And one more thing... You insult (Y/N) again, and me punchin' yer fake face'll be the least of yer worries, I guarantee it!”

Darkness Vil and Rook tried to convince Epel to choose the dream over reality, but this only angered him even more and made him and the others attack the darkness figures. Epel finishes the fight by using his signature spell on the fake Vil and Rook.

“Hey, Epel! You finally awake?” Grim asks.

“Yeah, my head's clear now. I must've looked like a real doof to you guys, huh?”

They chit chat a little about Epel showing how strong he is for being able to overcome the darkness. Until Grim speaks again to caught Epel's attention with a serious expression and crossed paws.

“Enough chit chat. Epel, I need to sort somethin’ out with you.” Epel looks at Grim puzzledly and Grim points at him with a cute, threatening finger. “What are your intentions with my hench-human?”

Epel practically jumps in place with a panicked expression and flushed cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something, or at least try, but he can barely say a word without stuttering.

“If you need, I can play the audios of what you said so you remember what you could explain first.” Ortho suggests with a look of someone who smiles mischievously.

“NO! REALLY DON’T DO IT!” Epel begs. “Can we just forget about that for now and focus on the real issue here? I don’t even know what's going on. What was up with the fake Vil and Rook? What’s happening?!”

They show the explanatory video to Epel, explain the plan and that he should go with them to the next dream as they would go to another Pomefiore student's dream. He agrees and Ortho creates a dummy version of tall and brawny Epel to stay in that dream so as not to alert Malleus.

“Eugh! Now that I'm looking at it again... How in tarnation did Ah ever think Ah looked cool?!”

“Indeed.” You say. “The real you is so much better.”

He looks at you surprised and flattered.

“R-really?... Huh... hey... sorry about... huh...”

“I like you too, Epel.” You admit.

“You... WHAT?!”

You tell him that the feeling is mutual and everything you like about him. You also talk about how you prefer the real him, rather than that... weird version of him.

“You know, I could cheer for you in a game or two if you want.” You tease him.

“I’m... not gonna lie, I would love that.” He smiles, cutely and excited. He then gains the courage to hug you and kiss you on the cheek.

“PDA Alert!” Idia's voice is heard through the table.

Epel immediately moves away from you, embarrassed for having done it in front of the others.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX