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A Desire For Fusion: The Sneaks of Noah
Here is a story commission for looker14
It features his fursona, Noah and his experience with his Nike Jordan shoes.
A Desire For Fusion: The Sneaks of Noah
Fusions
We don’t have a name, nor do we need one. Our owner simply called us "Sneaks" or "Fusion Reds," fitting for a pair of well-worn Nike sneakers. We were built for one simple purpose: to be worn. Our owner, Noah, a ginger cat, bought us long ago when we were fresh off the manufacturing line. Our colors were crisp, our leather smooth and clean. From the moment we saw him on the shelf, surrounded by our sneaker brethren, we knew he was the one. There was something about it - like destiny. We felt it in our stitching. The first time he held us felt like magic. His curious gaze lit up with excitement, and his ginger fur brushed against our leather like silk. When he squeezed our laces between his finger pads and secretly sniffed our new-sneaker scent, we knew we had found our home.
When the cashier handed him our box and we felt him take us, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction washed over us. Our long wait was finally over. We were going to be worn by our very own owner, and there was nothing more we wanted. We were made for motion, to feel the world beneath our soles, and to protect Noah’s feet like precious jewels. When he laced us up and wore us, he became our one purpose, our joy, our reason for being. With every step and stride, we were there for him, cradling his feet, feeling his heartbeat course through us. There is no greater feeling.
When Noah first brought us home, we were brimming with energy and untapped potential, new and vibrant. He slipped his feet into us, tied our laces tight, and together, we became whole. Every morning, he chose us, and we cradled his feet with unwavering loyalty and purpose. Each day was an adventure, every footstep a shared experience. We felt complete.
Noah wore us everywhere—work, family gatherings, weekend errands. We saw his world through the rhythm of his stride, felt the vibration of his laughter with friends, and cherished the moments of stillness when he stood in us. Whether he was working, shopping, or relaxing at home, we were always there, supporting him. We became part of his life, his favorites, worn for many years.
But as time passed, things began to change. Slowly, at first—so gradual it was almost unnoticeable. Our once-bright colors started to fade, and the leather we were so proud of began to crack. Our soles grew thin and worn, the constant contact with the ground taking its toll. Yet, it didn’t bother us. Every mark, every scuff was a badge of honor, a story of our time with Noah. We had served him well, and we loved being his. But Noah didn’t feel the same.
He started wearing other shoes—newer, shinier, younger. Our turns became less frequent, only chosen on rainy days or when the newer sneakers were too dirty. From under the bed, we watched as our replacements took our place on his feet—our rightful place. It hurt. We had once been his favorites, and now we were left behind, collecting dust in the shadows. Hadn’t we been enough? Had we not been faithful, never faltering, never tearing?
Day by day, we found ourselves pushed further into obscurity, slipping deeper under the bed. We longed to feel the warmth of his feet again, to cradle him as we once had. But Noah’s feet sought new experiences, new shoes. And we, the once favorite pair, were left behind. Dust gathered on our once bright surface, and our soles stiffened from disuse. We felt the weight of neglect settling in, a silence where there was once rhythm, a stillness where there was once motion. It felt like we had been abandoned.
This became our life—lost, alone, desperate to be worn again. Time wore on, and so did we.
Noah
Those shoes went everywhere with me—work, the beach, family events, even lazy afternoons at home playing video games. I was proud of them—their sleek design, the way they molded perfectly to my feet. They became an extension of me, carrying me through life’s everyday chaos. Every scuff was a memory, every worn thread a testament to the miles we had shared.
They were just a pair of sneakers, or so I thought—a pair of Nike Fusion Reds. Nothing flashy, but solid and dependable. The moment I saw them, something clicked. I knew I had to have them, even though I couldn’t really afford them. When I held them, they felt right. The first time I laced them up, it was like they were made for me—snug, comfortable, almost as if they were already broken in. They bounced back with every step, like they knew what they were doing. Every day I slipped them on, it felt like an extension of myself, a perfect fit that gave me a sense of identity. I trusted them, and they never let me down. They hugged my feet in a way that felt almost intimate.
Comfortable.
Like an old friend.
They became my everyday shoes—errands, weekend trips, even sleeping in them sometimes. People always commented on them, and I took pride in those glances. Sure, they got scuffed, but I didn’t mind. Each mark told a story, each one precious to me. We had a partnership, a quiet understanding. They carried me through routines and through the chaos of life.
But life moves on, doesn’t it? Without realizing it, I started wearing other shoes. Sometimes it was to match an outfit, sometimes it was just convenience. Soon, I began buying more shoes—different styles, different brands—and my Fusion Reds started spending more time on the floor than on my feet. They found themselves pushed under the bed, forgotten. Maybe I thought they were worn out, or past their prime. I told myself I’d wear them again soon, but I never did. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. There they stayed—buried in dust, out of sight, out of mind.
Every now and then, I’d catch a glimpse of them, half-hidden in the shadows beneath my bed, and I’d feel a pang of guilt. I remembered how much I had loved them once, how right they had felt. I’d think about pulling them out, taking them for one more adventure, but there was always an excuse. Maybe the weather wasn’t right, or I didn’t want to get them more dirty, or maybe I just preferred the feel of the newer pairs. So, they stayed there, waiting.
Until that night.
Fusions
The days blurred into weeks, and as time passed, our desire grew—a hunger that twisted into desperation. We needed to be worn, to feel the ground beneath us, to sense the warmth of his skin and fur again. Every day, we watched him reach for other shoes, leaving us behind, discarded and forgotten. We could not stay like this, stagnant and unseen.
The worst part was the silence—the stillness. Being unworn felt like death. Dust settled over us, smothering the last of our patience. We silently screamed into the void.
Wear us!
Remember us!
But he didn’t hear. He didn’t come.
Instead, we watched as other, weaker shoes took our place, walking paths we were meant to tread. They didn’t deserve him.
The bond between us and Noah was strained but not broken. We wouldn't allow it to break . The feel of the emptiness where his feet should have been was unbearable. We had to remind him of what we could do together. He needed us, even if he didn’t know it yet.
Our yearning intensified with every moment, craving the sensation of his feet inside us once more. And then, one night, in the dark, something shifted.
It started as a spark deep within our soles, spreading like water through our laces. We didn’t understand what was happening, but we felt it—the tension, the tightness, the undeniable urge to move. Slowly, we began to twitch, to stretch, discovering a power we never knew we had.
We could move!
We were alive!
With our newfound abilities, we could no longer sit still. We wanted to be noticed, to be acknowledged. Shaky at first, we shuffled out from the darkness, careful not to be seen just yet. The feeling of movement was euphoric, each step making us feel more alive, more determined. Noah lay in bed, sleeping, unaware of what we had become. His slow, steady breathing was the only sound in the room. We had the chance to slip back onto his feet, but we waited, choosing instead to tease him. Our laces gently reached out, brushing against the soft pads of his soles.
The fire reignited within us, and in that moment, we knew we would be worn again. We would serve him once more.
Noah
It was one of those rare nights where I didn’t have much going on. No errands to run, no friends coming over—just an evening of quiet solitude. I stretched out on my bed, lazily playing games on my console, texting friends here and there. A few had invited me to go out, but I turned them down. Staying in sounded perfect. No crowds, no noise—just peace. It felt good to have a night to myself. I didn't even care if I drifted off, and eventually, I did, somewhere in the middle of a game.
I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but something woke me up—a faint tickling sensation on the sole of my foot. Half-asleep, I brushed it off as nothing, maybe a dream or a stray hair grazing my skin. I was moulting at the time and my ginger fur was scattered through my room. Nevertheless, I ignored it. But when I shifted again, I felt it—stronger this time, more deliberate.
A firmer touch grazed my ankle, sending an involuntary twitch through my toes. A shiver crept up my spine.
"It’s just the air," I muttered, trying to reassure myself. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Once more there was another tickle. I yanked my foot away, groggy and disoriented, peering down the length of my bed.
Nothing.
I glanced at my phone. It wasn’t even 3 a.m. I thought about getting up, maybe shaking off the weird feeling that had settled over me, but as soon as my feet touched the floor, something whipped out from underneath the bed.
I didn’t have time to scream.
Something coiled tightly around my ankles, yanking me to the ground as I tried to stand. Panic flared through my body. I tried to scramble to my feet, but whatever held me dragged me back slightly. The dim light from the hallway barely illuminated the edges of the thing crawling out from beneath the bed.
It was then I saw movement. A shadow slithering into view. Then a flash of red.
My Fusion sneakers.
I briefly looked at them earlier in the day, carelessly abandoned under my bed. But now they were closer, their laces unfurling, twisting like living tendrils, wrapping tighter around my legs. My heart pounded, adrenaline overpowering disbelief.
"This can't be happening," I whispered, voice trembling, but the laces coiled tighter, their soft brush unmistakable against my skin.
My sneakers were alive.
Fusions
We were ready.
His feet were on the floor, waiting to be taken. With surprise on our side, we lashed out, tangling our laces around his ankles. He stumbled, falling to the floor in blind panic, and that’s when we pounced. His feet were exposed, and in an instant, we would be a part of him again.
We quickly wrapped around them, binding tightly to ensure he couldn’t escape. Our laces stretched and expanded, wrapping around his thighs, knees, and calves, securing him completely. Further and further our laces enveloped his body. His cries were muffled as we silenced him—not to harm but to make him understand, to feel our longing.
We didn’t know how or why, but our laces could stretch and grow and he was now our prisoner. But we didn’t want him scared; we wanted him to appreciate us, to need us.
We were his shoes, and he was our feet.
With newfound strength, we moved swiftly, securing him with precision. His resistance faded as we cocooned him within our grasp until he was still. It was clear to him, no matter how afraid he was, there was no choice for him.
The moment we slid over his feet, a wave of euphoria washed over us. We felt whole, his warmth seeping into us as we tightened our grip around his toes, his heels, every inch of his skin. We were home.
The sensation of his feet within us was intoxicating. Every movement, every flex of his muscles sent a rush of energy through our fibers. We gripped his feet tightly, refusing to let them slip away like before. This was what we were made for—the melding of flesh and fabric.
We were becoming one.
Noah
I had no idea what was happening. One moment, I was getting out of bed; the next, I was on the floor, wrestling with what looked like shoelaces. They wrapped around me too fast to react. I traced the laces to their source and froze in horror: they were coming from my Fusions, stretching and twisting like the vines of some nightmarish plant.
The sneakers dragged themselves across the floor, their laces slithering like snakes. I bolted upright, kicking wildly, but the more I struggled, the tighter they pulled. The laces coiled around my body with alarming speed, clamping over my mouth in one swift motion. I couldn’t scream. Panic surged as I clawed at the laces, my fingers fumbling uselessly. They moved with uncanny precision, their grip like iron.
I lay there, paralyzed by fear. My sneakers held me down, their laces snaking around my limbs. My heart pounded, dread clawing at my throat.
With a sudden lurch, the shoes pulled themselves toward my feet. I tried to kick them away, but it was useless. They launched at my toes, slithering up my ankles and tightening with every movement. My body shook as I watched them work. They felt warm and disturbingly familiar, like when I first bought them. They encased my feet completely, and then, just as suddenly as it started, everything went still. The laces remained coiled around my body but didn’t squeeze. They just… waited.
I could feel it - their need to be worn. It was almost making the air vibrate around them. An obsessive yearning to be useful.
For a moment, I lay there, pinned down by my own shoes, stunned and disbelieving. How had it come to this? Was I dreaming? This had to be some bizarre nightmare. But the sharp bite of the laces around my wrists told me otherwise. This was real.
I writhed against their grip, summoning all my strength to break free. My muscles strained, but the shoes were relentless. Each time I thought I’d loosened them, they twisted tighter, binding me further. My breaths came in short, frantic bursts as panic consumed me.
Memories flooded back: the first time I wore them, the long walks through the city, the freedom they gave me. We had been inseparable once, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, all I could sense was their desperate need, their insatiable hunger to be used.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, trying to steady my breathing.
Was I hallucinating? Sleepwalking? None of this made any sense.
Suddenly, the pressure on my legs eased just a fraction. It was enough to make me stop struggling, enough to think... maybe, just maybe, they were listening.
The laces loosened slightly, almost hesitantly. Testing me.
Slowly, I shifted to an upright position, staring down at my sneakers, still snug around my feet. They didn’t move, didn’t twist. They just sat there, eerily still, as if waiting for something.
Was this my chance?
Fusions
We could feel him trembling as we lay against his bare feet, nestled over his toes. The feeling of being reunited with him was intoxicating. We felt whole again.
He was ours.
Our puppet.
We wore him, and we would never be apart again. We would take him to places he had never been before.
His body was still wrapped in our laces, holding him captive, preventing any resistance. We could feel his heartbeat pulsing through our fibers. Though his fear was intense, he had nothing to worry about. We would protect him.
As his breathing slowed, we loosened our laces. In an instant, he tried to pull us off, but we would never let that happen. Our desire to be worn was too strong, our grip too tight. He needed to understand this. With a sudden burst of movement, we began to prove our strength.
Our laces tightened around his wrists and hands, forcing his feet to kick out. We commanded his movements—his feet bent, pointed, and flexed at our will. Each motion, filled with initial panic, was met with our unyielding grip. Gradually, we felt his resistance weaken, his defiance fading under our control.
After a few minutes, we released his arms. Tentatively, he reached down to touch our leather, slowly coming to terms with the truth: we were one now. He wore us, and we wore him.
We had spent too long in silence, too long in the dark. But now, we had found our voice, and we would not be silenced again.
The longer we stayed on his feet, the deeper our connection grew. The line between where we ended and he began blurred. We sensed his confusion, but it didn’t matter. He was ours now.
It had always been inevitable.
Noah
It took a few minutes for me to grasp what had happened. Still half-asleep and in shock, I watched the Fusions take over. They controlled my feet, demonstrating their unexpected strength. At first, I was terrified and fought against their tightening laces, but gradually, I realized they didn’t mean to harm me. They just wanted to be worn. The fear lingered, but as their familiar warmth spread through me, it slowly began to fade.
“I’ll… wear you again,” I stammered, my voice unsteady as I tried to negotiate. “Okay? I’ll wear you. Just let me go, and I’ll put you on tomorrow. I promise.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Just silence.
Then, slowly, the laces began to loosen, slipping away from my arms and legs, unwinding from my waist. Relief washed over me, and I could finally breathe again. But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t leave my feet.
I reached down and touched the soft, worn leather, and something inside me shifted. We were connected now. Bonded. They weren’t just sneakers anymore—they were a part of me. Together, we would walk wherever life led us. They would guide me, carry me, just as they always had.
The sneakers moved with a will of their own, flexing my feet, making me kick, stretch, and move.
Cautiously, I stood, my legs trembling as I staggered upright. The sneakers still clung to me, but they were no longer fighting—they were simply... there.
They weren’t trying to hurt me. I had to remind myself of this. They just wanted to be worn again.
This was my life now, bound in a strange partnership with my Fusions. To feel the ground beneath them and for them to feel me. I would walk, run, jump, and climb wherever they led me. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but whatever it was, they would be with me.
And deep down, I realised I wanted that too.
It features his fursona, Noah and his experience with his Nike Jordan shoes.
A Desire For Fusion: The Sneaks of Noah
Fusions
We don’t have a name, nor do we need one. Our owner simply called us "Sneaks" or "Fusion Reds," fitting for a pair of well-worn Nike sneakers. We were built for one simple purpose: to be worn. Our owner, Noah, a ginger cat, bought us long ago when we were fresh off the manufacturing line. Our colors were crisp, our leather smooth and clean. From the moment we saw him on the shelf, surrounded by our sneaker brethren, we knew he was the one. There was something about it - like destiny. We felt it in our stitching. The first time he held us felt like magic. His curious gaze lit up with excitement, and his ginger fur brushed against our leather like silk. When he squeezed our laces between his finger pads and secretly sniffed our new-sneaker scent, we knew we had found our home.
When the cashier handed him our box and we felt him take us, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction washed over us. Our long wait was finally over. We were going to be worn by our very own owner, and there was nothing more we wanted. We were made for motion, to feel the world beneath our soles, and to protect Noah’s feet like precious jewels. When he laced us up and wore us, he became our one purpose, our joy, our reason for being. With every step and stride, we were there for him, cradling his feet, feeling his heartbeat course through us. There is no greater feeling.
When Noah first brought us home, we were brimming with energy and untapped potential, new and vibrant. He slipped his feet into us, tied our laces tight, and together, we became whole. Every morning, he chose us, and we cradled his feet with unwavering loyalty and purpose. Each day was an adventure, every footstep a shared experience. We felt complete.
Noah wore us everywhere—work, family gatherings, weekend errands. We saw his world through the rhythm of his stride, felt the vibration of his laughter with friends, and cherished the moments of stillness when he stood in us. Whether he was working, shopping, or relaxing at home, we were always there, supporting him. We became part of his life, his favorites, worn for many years.
But as time passed, things began to change. Slowly, at first—so gradual it was almost unnoticeable. Our once-bright colors started to fade, and the leather we were so proud of began to crack. Our soles grew thin and worn, the constant contact with the ground taking its toll. Yet, it didn’t bother us. Every mark, every scuff was a badge of honor, a story of our time with Noah. We had served him well, and we loved being his. But Noah didn’t feel the same.
He started wearing other shoes—newer, shinier, younger. Our turns became less frequent, only chosen on rainy days or when the newer sneakers were too dirty. From under the bed, we watched as our replacements took our place on his feet—our rightful place. It hurt. We had once been his favorites, and now we were left behind, collecting dust in the shadows. Hadn’t we been enough? Had we not been faithful, never faltering, never tearing?
Day by day, we found ourselves pushed further into obscurity, slipping deeper under the bed. We longed to feel the warmth of his feet again, to cradle him as we once had. But Noah’s feet sought new experiences, new shoes. And we, the once favorite pair, were left behind. Dust gathered on our once bright surface, and our soles stiffened from disuse. We felt the weight of neglect settling in, a silence where there was once rhythm, a stillness where there was once motion. It felt like we had been abandoned.
This became our life—lost, alone, desperate to be worn again. Time wore on, and so did we.
Noah
Those shoes went everywhere with me—work, the beach, family events, even lazy afternoons at home playing video games. I was proud of them—their sleek design, the way they molded perfectly to my feet. They became an extension of me, carrying me through life’s everyday chaos. Every scuff was a memory, every worn thread a testament to the miles we had shared.
They were just a pair of sneakers, or so I thought—a pair of Nike Fusion Reds. Nothing flashy, but solid and dependable. The moment I saw them, something clicked. I knew I had to have them, even though I couldn’t really afford them. When I held them, they felt right. The first time I laced them up, it was like they were made for me—snug, comfortable, almost as if they were already broken in. They bounced back with every step, like they knew what they were doing. Every day I slipped them on, it felt like an extension of myself, a perfect fit that gave me a sense of identity. I trusted them, and they never let me down. They hugged my feet in a way that felt almost intimate.
Comfortable.
Like an old friend.
They became my everyday shoes—errands, weekend trips, even sleeping in them sometimes. People always commented on them, and I took pride in those glances. Sure, they got scuffed, but I didn’t mind. Each mark told a story, each one precious to me. We had a partnership, a quiet understanding. They carried me through routines and through the chaos of life.
But life moves on, doesn’t it? Without realizing it, I started wearing other shoes. Sometimes it was to match an outfit, sometimes it was just convenience. Soon, I began buying more shoes—different styles, different brands—and my Fusion Reds started spending more time on the floor than on my feet. They found themselves pushed under the bed, forgotten. Maybe I thought they were worn out, or past their prime. I told myself I’d wear them again soon, but I never did. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. There they stayed—buried in dust, out of sight, out of mind.
Every now and then, I’d catch a glimpse of them, half-hidden in the shadows beneath my bed, and I’d feel a pang of guilt. I remembered how much I had loved them once, how right they had felt. I’d think about pulling them out, taking them for one more adventure, but there was always an excuse. Maybe the weather wasn’t right, or I didn’t want to get them more dirty, or maybe I just preferred the feel of the newer pairs. So, they stayed there, waiting.
Until that night.
Fusions
The days blurred into weeks, and as time passed, our desire grew—a hunger that twisted into desperation. We needed to be worn, to feel the ground beneath us, to sense the warmth of his skin and fur again. Every day, we watched him reach for other shoes, leaving us behind, discarded and forgotten. We could not stay like this, stagnant and unseen.
The worst part was the silence—the stillness. Being unworn felt like death. Dust settled over us, smothering the last of our patience. We silently screamed into the void.
Wear us!
Remember us!
But he didn’t hear. He didn’t come.
Instead, we watched as other, weaker shoes took our place, walking paths we were meant to tread. They didn’t deserve him.
The bond between us and Noah was strained but not broken. We wouldn't allow it to break . The feel of the emptiness where his feet should have been was unbearable. We had to remind him of what we could do together. He needed us, even if he didn’t know it yet.
Our yearning intensified with every moment, craving the sensation of his feet inside us once more. And then, one night, in the dark, something shifted.
It started as a spark deep within our soles, spreading like water through our laces. We didn’t understand what was happening, but we felt it—the tension, the tightness, the undeniable urge to move. Slowly, we began to twitch, to stretch, discovering a power we never knew we had.
We could move!
We were alive!
With our newfound abilities, we could no longer sit still. We wanted to be noticed, to be acknowledged. Shaky at first, we shuffled out from the darkness, careful not to be seen just yet. The feeling of movement was euphoric, each step making us feel more alive, more determined. Noah lay in bed, sleeping, unaware of what we had become. His slow, steady breathing was the only sound in the room. We had the chance to slip back onto his feet, but we waited, choosing instead to tease him. Our laces gently reached out, brushing against the soft pads of his soles.
The fire reignited within us, and in that moment, we knew we would be worn again. We would serve him once more.
Noah
It was one of those rare nights where I didn’t have much going on. No errands to run, no friends coming over—just an evening of quiet solitude. I stretched out on my bed, lazily playing games on my console, texting friends here and there. A few had invited me to go out, but I turned them down. Staying in sounded perfect. No crowds, no noise—just peace. It felt good to have a night to myself. I didn't even care if I drifted off, and eventually, I did, somewhere in the middle of a game.
I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but something woke me up—a faint tickling sensation on the sole of my foot. Half-asleep, I brushed it off as nothing, maybe a dream or a stray hair grazing my skin. I was moulting at the time and my ginger fur was scattered through my room. Nevertheless, I ignored it. But when I shifted again, I felt it—stronger this time, more deliberate.
A firmer touch grazed my ankle, sending an involuntary twitch through my toes. A shiver crept up my spine.
"It’s just the air," I muttered, trying to reassure myself. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Once more there was another tickle. I yanked my foot away, groggy and disoriented, peering down the length of my bed.
Nothing.
I glanced at my phone. It wasn’t even 3 a.m. I thought about getting up, maybe shaking off the weird feeling that had settled over me, but as soon as my feet touched the floor, something whipped out from underneath the bed.
I didn’t have time to scream.
Something coiled tightly around my ankles, yanking me to the ground as I tried to stand. Panic flared through my body. I tried to scramble to my feet, but whatever held me dragged me back slightly. The dim light from the hallway barely illuminated the edges of the thing crawling out from beneath the bed.
It was then I saw movement. A shadow slithering into view. Then a flash of red.
My Fusion sneakers.
I briefly looked at them earlier in the day, carelessly abandoned under my bed. But now they were closer, their laces unfurling, twisting like living tendrils, wrapping tighter around my legs. My heart pounded, adrenaline overpowering disbelief.
"This can't be happening," I whispered, voice trembling, but the laces coiled tighter, their soft brush unmistakable against my skin.
My sneakers were alive.
Fusions
We were ready.
His feet were on the floor, waiting to be taken. With surprise on our side, we lashed out, tangling our laces around his ankles. He stumbled, falling to the floor in blind panic, and that’s when we pounced. His feet were exposed, and in an instant, we would be a part of him again.
We quickly wrapped around them, binding tightly to ensure he couldn’t escape. Our laces stretched and expanded, wrapping around his thighs, knees, and calves, securing him completely. Further and further our laces enveloped his body. His cries were muffled as we silenced him—not to harm but to make him understand, to feel our longing.
We didn’t know how or why, but our laces could stretch and grow and he was now our prisoner. But we didn’t want him scared; we wanted him to appreciate us, to need us.
We were his shoes, and he was our feet.
With newfound strength, we moved swiftly, securing him with precision. His resistance faded as we cocooned him within our grasp until he was still. It was clear to him, no matter how afraid he was, there was no choice for him.
The moment we slid over his feet, a wave of euphoria washed over us. We felt whole, his warmth seeping into us as we tightened our grip around his toes, his heels, every inch of his skin. We were home.
The sensation of his feet within us was intoxicating. Every movement, every flex of his muscles sent a rush of energy through our fibers. We gripped his feet tightly, refusing to let them slip away like before. This was what we were made for—the melding of flesh and fabric.
We were becoming one.
Noah
I had no idea what was happening. One moment, I was getting out of bed; the next, I was on the floor, wrestling with what looked like shoelaces. They wrapped around me too fast to react. I traced the laces to their source and froze in horror: they were coming from my Fusions, stretching and twisting like the vines of some nightmarish plant.
The sneakers dragged themselves across the floor, their laces slithering like snakes. I bolted upright, kicking wildly, but the more I struggled, the tighter they pulled. The laces coiled around my body with alarming speed, clamping over my mouth in one swift motion. I couldn’t scream. Panic surged as I clawed at the laces, my fingers fumbling uselessly. They moved with uncanny precision, their grip like iron.
I lay there, paralyzed by fear. My sneakers held me down, their laces snaking around my limbs. My heart pounded, dread clawing at my throat.
With a sudden lurch, the shoes pulled themselves toward my feet. I tried to kick them away, but it was useless. They launched at my toes, slithering up my ankles and tightening with every movement. My body shook as I watched them work. They felt warm and disturbingly familiar, like when I first bought them. They encased my feet completely, and then, just as suddenly as it started, everything went still. The laces remained coiled around my body but didn’t squeeze. They just… waited.
I could feel it - their need to be worn. It was almost making the air vibrate around them. An obsessive yearning to be useful.
For a moment, I lay there, pinned down by my own shoes, stunned and disbelieving. How had it come to this? Was I dreaming? This had to be some bizarre nightmare. But the sharp bite of the laces around my wrists told me otherwise. This was real.
I writhed against their grip, summoning all my strength to break free. My muscles strained, but the shoes were relentless. Each time I thought I’d loosened them, they twisted tighter, binding me further. My breaths came in short, frantic bursts as panic consumed me.
Memories flooded back: the first time I wore them, the long walks through the city, the freedom they gave me. We had been inseparable once, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, all I could sense was their desperate need, their insatiable hunger to be used.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, trying to steady my breathing.
Was I hallucinating? Sleepwalking? None of this made any sense.
Suddenly, the pressure on my legs eased just a fraction. It was enough to make me stop struggling, enough to think... maybe, just maybe, they were listening.
The laces loosened slightly, almost hesitantly. Testing me.
Slowly, I shifted to an upright position, staring down at my sneakers, still snug around my feet. They didn’t move, didn’t twist. They just sat there, eerily still, as if waiting for something.
Was this my chance?
Fusions
We could feel him trembling as we lay against his bare feet, nestled over his toes. The feeling of being reunited with him was intoxicating. We felt whole again.
He was ours.
Our puppet.
We wore him, and we would never be apart again. We would take him to places he had never been before.
His body was still wrapped in our laces, holding him captive, preventing any resistance. We could feel his heartbeat pulsing through our fibers. Though his fear was intense, he had nothing to worry about. We would protect him.
As his breathing slowed, we loosened our laces. In an instant, he tried to pull us off, but we would never let that happen. Our desire to be worn was too strong, our grip too tight. He needed to understand this. With a sudden burst of movement, we began to prove our strength.
Our laces tightened around his wrists and hands, forcing his feet to kick out. We commanded his movements—his feet bent, pointed, and flexed at our will. Each motion, filled with initial panic, was met with our unyielding grip. Gradually, we felt his resistance weaken, his defiance fading under our control.
After a few minutes, we released his arms. Tentatively, he reached down to touch our leather, slowly coming to terms with the truth: we were one now. He wore us, and we wore him.
We had spent too long in silence, too long in the dark. But now, we had found our voice, and we would not be silenced again.
The longer we stayed on his feet, the deeper our connection grew. The line between where we ended and he began blurred. We sensed his confusion, but it didn’t matter. He was ours now.
It had always been inevitable.
Noah
It took a few minutes for me to grasp what had happened. Still half-asleep and in shock, I watched the Fusions take over. They controlled my feet, demonstrating their unexpected strength. At first, I was terrified and fought against their tightening laces, but gradually, I realized they didn’t mean to harm me. They just wanted to be worn. The fear lingered, but as their familiar warmth spread through me, it slowly began to fade.
“I’ll… wear you again,” I stammered, my voice unsteady as I tried to negotiate. “Okay? I’ll wear you. Just let me go, and I’ll put you on tomorrow. I promise.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Just silence.
Then, slowly, the laces began to loosen, slipping away from my arms and legs, unwinding from my waist. Relief washed over me, and I could finally breathe again. But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t leave my feet.
I reached down and touched the soft, worn leather, and something inside me shifted. We were connected now. Bonded. They weren’t just sneakers anymore—they were a part of me. Together, we would walk wherever life led us. They would guide me, carry me, just as they always had.
The sneakers moved with a will of their own, flexing my feet, making me kick, stretch, and move.
Cautiously, I stood, my legs trembling as I staggered upright. The sneakers still clung to me, but they were no longer fighting—they were simply... there.
They weren’t trying to hurt me. I had to remind myself of this. They just wanted to be worn again.
This was my life now, bound in a strange partnership with my Fusions. To feel the ground beneath them and for them to feel me. I would walk, run, jump, and climb wherever they led me. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but whatever it was, they would be with me.
And deep down, I realised I wanted that too.
Category Story / Paw
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 65 x 120px
File Size 69 kB
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