#all our flip flops are gone!!!!!

[simandy]

🐶 ATTENTION EVERYONE. IT IS OFFICIALLY- 🐶

ANAKIN DAY 🥳🥳🥳🥳

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[rowdyluv]

Hooking you up.

summary: Quinn’s defense in why he “ditched” our on the new year’s tradition, picks up luke and reader’s story some too. Part 2, to “he’s been a bit of a jerk”

warnings: use of y/n and y/n/n, profanity, “18+” / suggestive (personally don’t feel it is but proof reading friend says it is suggestive at times) , is a part two. please read the link part

word count: 2.82k

notes: unedited as of June 9 2024, prompt was made by two suggested ideas.

Part 1

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as Quinn and Jack sat side by side on the couch, their eyes fixed on the living room door, waiting for their arrival. A slow, unavoidable creak from the front door echoed through the house, signaling the arrival of Luke and y/n. Quinn glanced at his brother Jack, their eyes meeting briefly before darting back to the entrance. They exchanged nervous smiles, Quinn’s stomach doing flips and flops.

The doorknob rattled slightly before the living room door was finally swinging open, revealing Luke and y/n standing there, Luke’s hands his in pockets. Both had their eyes averted avoiding the two boys on the couch. Quinn felt a strange wave of relief wash over him as he saw that they were both there. His heart raced as they walked slowly towards the couch, neither of them speaking. The silence was deafening.

Quinn glanced over at Jack, who gave him a reassuring nod. He took a deep tremulous breath, steeling himself for what was about to come their way. He could feel the weight of their friendship, the years of memories and inside jokes, hanging in the balance between them. He can’t believe he let his middle brother let him talk him into doing this on a holiday with a tradition between him and y/n.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between the three Hughes brothers. She wanted to turn around and go right back out the front door, get back in Luke’s car, and go somewhere that wasn’t where Quinn Hughes was. Her features twisted in a mixture of sadness and anger.

Quinn knew that his best friend was hurting. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not yet at least, not when he was pretty sure his idiotic ways of following Jack’s lead is why she was feeling this way. All he could do was ask her to talk.

Luke took a step forward, his hand gently brushing against her shoulder. She subconsciously leaned towards his touch. "Hey, you don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It's okay if you're not ready to tackle it tonight." She bit her lip, her eyes darting back and forth between Luke and Quinn. She could see the worry in Luke's face, the fear that he'd somehow messed everything up between them already, just by walking into the house. And she could see the guilt in Quinn's eyes, the knowledge that he actually had done just that.

Quinn cleared his throat, feeling an unprecedented twinge of jealousy. It has always been him who was her rock and source of comfort in situations like this. An awkward tension spread as he glanced between his two brothers. "Y/n/n, I'm really sorry about what happened, with our usual plans..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain his position in Jack’s meddling. "I just thought..." He pulled his hands through his already disgruntled hair and let out a sigh of frustration. "I just thought it would be a good idea for you two to talk, I guess."Motioning between Luke and her.

Y/n bit her lip, her gaze flickering from Quinn to Luke and back again. "Quinn," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can we talk about this in private, please?" The word private held a tone of different of all the others. A tone of seriousness that alerted the other two boys in the room just how far he and Jack had gone. Quinn stood up from the couch slowly. He followed her down the hall towards the bedrooms, expecting to stop at his own but instead she entered Luke’s. “We’ll talk in here. I don’t want to be surrounded by a childhood that may or may not have been fake.” Her words hit hard to Quinn. He didn’t expect to be accused of being a fake friend just for missing out on one night. A night that was to help her.

Quinn closed the door behind them, taking a seat on Luke's bed. She paced across the room, her hands twisting together anxiously. She didn't know where to begin, how to explain the depth of her pain. "You know I've always had your back, Quinn," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I've always been there for you, through thick and thin. And you know I would do anything for you. I have never left you high and dry. Ever. When we were 16 and your team made it to some huge championship all the way in Florida I missed my drivers license test to go and had to wait 3 more months for a retake date. I didn’t care because I was supporting my best friend. When you were drafted I missed a huge job interview because all we ever talked about growing up was that moment. Was you making it to the league. There was no way I was missing it. We made these traditions between us so we always had these moments together and then you just...you just abandon me on the night of one of them." She had started pulling at the ends of her hair a sign she was on the verge of an anxiety breakdown. “You left me behind as if I wasn’t important anymore or like you didn’t want to keep special dates to insure we had time. It was painful.”

Quinn's heart ached as he listened to her words, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him. "I'm sorry, y/n/n. I didn't realize..." he began, unable to finish the sentence. He knew she was upset, but he didn't realize how badly until now. He never meant to make her feel like she wasn't important to him. Next to his mom, she was the most important female in his life. "I didn't mean for it to seem like I didn't want to spend time with you." He watched her pace the floor and pull on her hair. “Hey…hey, stop that.” Quinn insisted pulling her hands down gently. “It’s okay. Take a few deep breaths. I’ll finish telling you everything and tell you why I went with Jack if you can ease your way out of this world your head has gone to.”

For the first time since she came into the house Quinn felt himself relax slightly when she let him guide her away from her anxiety breakdown she was edging to. Quinn let out breath he had been holding .

She took a few deep breaths, calming herself down. "Okay," she said, her voice still shaky. "I'm sorry for that. I just...I just don't understand why you would ditch me so suddenly, and without an explanation? It isn’t like you. We don’t get to see each other that often as it is and then you do this. It was like a slap in the face." She sat down on the bed beside him, her eyes searching his face for signs of the explanation.

Quinn nodded, understanding her hurt. "I know it sounds crazy, but Jack had come with this plan. He's been trying to convince Luke to make a move on you for months now. He thought that if we went out together and left you two alone, Luke would feel more inclined to just go for it." He looked down at his hands, feeling guilty for manipulating the entire situation. "I know it was wrong of us to do that, but I wanted you two to be happy. I didn't want Luke to keep pining after you and never say anything." Y/N stared at her best friend in disbelief. Did she hear him correctly? “Not being here to witness any of the last few months to a year of how the two of you interact with each other I was very torn about whether I should of followed through with Jack’s plan.” He laughed a genuine tiny laugh. “But then i remembered how you only talked about Luke the last time you visited me in Vancouver. Every other story was ‘Luke this or Luke that’ and I knew then you were smitten with my baby brother. Plus the last time we played in Detroit you road with Luke to the game, why you couldn’t ride with mom and dad I couldn’t figure out. Jack listed all these other scenarios that made it impossible for me not to go along with his plan or I suppose scheme since it caused a problem. It is whatever you want to call it. Because regardless of the fact it was intended for Luke to buck up and make a move, I was hoping you would come out of it happy. Happier than if you had spent the night with me.”

She was silent for a moment, taking in everything he had said. She didn't know what to feel. Part of her was angry that he had gone along with Jack's scheme, but another part of her understood why both brothers did what they did. "I guess I never really thought about it that way," she said finally. "I just felt like you abandoned me." She looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign that he was potentially lying about the entire situation, however the whole story was too spot on. "And I don't know if I should be happy that you and Jack noticed Luke might have feelings for me or scared that Jack wants to push us together." Quinn scoffs and shakes his head with a slight smile. “Jack doesn’t have to do any pushing now. We could read it all over his face the second he opened the door to the living room. We know that something happened between the two of you tonight. We just don’t know what.” Quinn turns his head slightly to look at her, raising an eyebrow as if to ask the question ‘what happened’.

Y/n sighs and flops back against the bed. "Well, it's not like I've been trying to hide my attraction or feelings either as you pointed out, but it only got more obvious. But I guess Luke didn’t notice or catch on. I’m not sure. What can I say brother grew up to be the most attractive and the best kisser out of you all. Well again, only have kissed you and him and no plans to kiss the other. I’ve seen the best of Luke and the worst of him growing up around you all. Plus I’m younger than you as it is so it’s not a crazy weird age gap…We do hang out sometimes alone already. And well tonight we were at the usual New Year’s Eve party...and he sat with me outside in the freezing cold, with absolutely no complaints for I don’t know how long. I noticed that he only had his coat and beanie on after a while, so I offered up the blanket. We were wrapped up close under the blanket he brought out to me, and then he kissed me a few minutes after midnight.." She pauses, remembering the kiss, well kisses, the way Luke had looked at her as if he had waited for that moment his entire life, the way it had felt. "I don't know what it means or where it's going, other than we both agreed to start a new tradition of he and I on new years since you missed out, but I've been thinking about it ever since." She hadn’t noticed the smile across her face when she mentioned a tradition starting with Luke.

“Why not ask him about it? I’m sure both my dweeb brothers have their ears stuck to the door right now” Quinn rolled his eyes getting up off the bed. Y/n’s face turning a deep maroon as she blushed so hard.

"Well? Do you not want to know what he has to say for himself?" Quinn asked, leaning against the door frame casually, his arms crossed over his chest. His younger brothers flailing over the other as their balance was lost with the suddenly opening of the door.

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes as she sat up on the bed. "Fine," she huffed, glancing at Quinn before turning her attention to the brothers standing in front of her. "Luke.” She playfully tsks. “What do you have to say for yourself?" she challenged, her tone teasing. l

Both older brothers shoved each other out of the way, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind them. Luke cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before looking at her. "I'm not sure if I completely understand what was going on in either of my brothers’ brains when they planned tonight out, but I want to be honest with you," he began. "After tonight, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it, and...well, I just want to see where things could go between us. I know it's crazy considering my oldest brother is your longest friend but..."

Y/N smiled, her cheeks still flushed. "It's not that crazy, Luke. I mean, we've known each other for years, we've seen each other at our best and worst, and...I want to see where things could go too. It's not like I didn't notice how attractive you are," she teased, reaching up to mess with the collar of his sweatshirt.

Luke chuckled, feeling a wave of heat spread through his chest. "Well, you've always been beautiful, yourself. And I mean that sincerely. Not just because we're in this...moment." He paused, taking a deep shaky breath. Suddenly aware he was alone with her in his bedroom.

She smiled up at him, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. "So, what do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Luke leaned down, his eyes locked on hers, and kissed her gently. The touch of his lips sent a shiver down her spine. He pulled back slightly, his breath mixing with hers. "We could...explore this. Us," he suggested, reaching out to take her hand. "If you want." He whispered. “Or you can go out there and thank Quinn for being an ass like you wanted to.”

She grinned, feeling her heart race. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and it had nothing to do with her best friend. "Let's explore," she breathed, allowing him to pull her closer and into a kiss. His touch sent waves of desire coursing through her veins. She could feel the heat between them, and she wanted more.

Luke's left hand slid down her back, over the curves of her waist, and up under her sweater. He gently caressed her bare skin, making her shiver with pleasure. His other hand cupped her cheek, holding her close as he slowly deepened their kiss.

Her body responded to his touch subconsciously, her hips pressing against his. She moaned into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, wanting him closer. She could feel the heat between them, and she knew she was losing control. Restraining herself she withdrew from the kiss. “I.. I think that’s far enough.” She huffed trying to catch her breath. Luke nodded, pressing a kiss to her head before backing her up to his bed. “Let’s cuddle and call it a night like you wanted pretty girl.” Luke whispered to her as if anyone else would hear him.

Luke searched through his clothing drawers and handed her some clothes to swear for bed. Giving her privacy to change before laying down in the bed.

Y/N smiled as she joined him and nestled into his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Luke caressed her hair, playing with the ends while he kissed her forehead. The soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of their breathing filled the room as they laid there, lost in the moment. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of being close to him, mentally thanking Quinn and Jack for their scheming support. Who would have ever thought that the two of them being pesky brothers would have given her the boy of her dreams.

She just has one last question for Quinn. If he knew she had feelings for his younger brother, why did he bet that she didn’t like him at all? Was it to fuel his competitive spirit and make him want to try for her? She would have to ask him the first chance she got, but she would have to pry herself out of the arms of Luke first. She’s already decided though that his arms are her new home. In other words, the answer may remain a mystery forever.

thank you thank you thank youuuuu to the two who gave the idea for this. @cheriwritesig and @idonotknow7778

[dantelurio]

Camp swap

I had gone to a camp for the summer, I really wasn't too excited about going, but I guess it would be an interesting experience.

When we arrived to the place it wasn't very interesting, they were old cabins and nothing but forest, there were many guys, some of them very attractive, and being a summer camp most of them were wearing flip flops, I could take an excellent view of their feet, it was a very hot place, at least for me, while they were explaining us how things would work in the place I looked through the crowd and someone called my attention, a college guy, who would be our leader for the duration of the camp, he introduced himself as Brooks and he was the hottest guy in the place, he was a tall guy, with long hair, but what caught my attention were his feet, he was wearing flip flops and holy shit his feet were huge, they looked extremely sexy.

While Brooks kept talking, all I could see were his feet, it was inevitable for me, I thought about how good it would feel to rub them, then something interrupted my fantasies, it was a guy who started to tell me a story, he seemed a bit crazy, he told me that the forest was magical and to be careful with what he said, I just ignored him and went on with my day.

After some activities, I ran across Brooks.

Oh what's up buddy, I hope you're having fun in this place.

I responded by saying yes, we were talking and I could only contain my fantasies as I looked at his feet, then I heard him say that he would only be here for a week, it seems that his time at the camp was over.

I responded discouraged and we said goodbye, what was I going to do the guy with the sexiest feet I had ever met was going to leave very soon and I wouldn't see him anymore, I saw how Brooks was going to take a break to a secluded place, I could only watch him, I didn't want him to leave.

I wish there was a way to enjoy Brooks a little more.

I said that out loud then something unexpected happened my vision blurred and suddenly everything became dark, then I felt like I had landed hard my eyes opened and the light came back, I was pretty scared by what had just happened, I didn't know where I was but I seemed to be sitting down, I look around me and I see that I know the place where I had just talked to Brooks but from a different point, but that was not the only thing, when I see my hands I notice that they are bigger than mine, besides I was wearing the camp t-shirt and shorts.

"Wow this is not mine”

I said in a voice different from mine it was deeper and sounded exactly like Brooks', I continue to explore my new view and my eyes come to something spectacular in front of me was a familiar sight, one that even though I hadn't seen it for a long time I already recognized it, it was Brooks' huge feet in his flip flops.

I was shocked, I looked for my new clothes and found a cell phone and the reflection was not mine but Brooks', shit I don't know how it happened but I had become Brooks.

For a moment I panic, I didn't know how I had ended up in Brooks' body, I look around and see the place where I was until a moment ago, there was no one there, I'm still a little uneasy with this body, it's not as tall as mine, and it feels better than mine, I felt I could do whatever I wanted.

the place where Brooks was was a quiet place, it seems that he had found a place with no one to bother him, with this situation I felt more and more restless, I did not know what had happened to me, but inside me I had a curiosity to experience this body, after all I was in Brooks' body it was my sexual fantasy and now I was him, calmly I lay back in the chair, I keep looking around me and I am still alone, I pull up Brooks' feet to make myself comfortable, I stare at them, I take the opportunity to give them a better look.

I examined them up and down, I wiggled their toes, and I liked to see that they did what I wanted, I hadn't seen them well all this time and now that they were mine I had all the time I wanted to play with them, there would be no problem since after all now they are not Brooks' feet, they are mine, with impatience I approached my new big feet, I took off the flip flops that Brooks was wearing. The sight made me feel very horny, I started to touch them, their soles were warm, my hands explored his toes, I put them between them and felt their warmth and wetness, after all Brooks had walked all day, I keep pawing at his feet, I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale the scent of Brooks' feet, I am making Brooks do what I want, no matter how naughty it is.

by this point I was feeling very horny, playing with Brooks' feet had given me an hard on between my legs, I start stroking my new bulge, it was really sticking out a lot, I couldn't resist anymore and pulled it out, in front of me was my new cock, it was hard and kind of wet, it was very big I bet it's almost the same size as his feet, I grabbed it with one hand and felt the roughness of it from my new cock, I felt a shiver and started to push my shaft, slowly up and down, slight moans come out of my mouth, I hear Brooks make dirty noises and that excites me more, slowly I turn up the intensity, Brooks' body is too hot, streams of pleasure run through this whole body, he feels my feet tingle I look up to take another look at my new, feet those feet that caught my attention since I met Brooks, I wanted to have them for my pleasure and I got it, Brooks' sexy feet are mine alone and I can do whatever I want with them, with that thought I cum, a big load comes out of my cock.

I finish very tired, I clean up my mess but not before tasting my new juice.

After playing with Brooks' body, I hear someone call out his name, that makes me aware of this situation again, I shouldn't be inside Brooks' body. I run towards the voice and I see that it is someone I don't know but he seemed to know me, or at least Brooks, after half a conversation, he gives me a list, he asks me if these are all the names of the people he was in charge of, it seems that he will be Brooks' replacement, after reading the list, I notice that my name doesn't appear anywhere, I ask the guy if he knows anything about me, he answered me that there was no one with my name in the camp and he says goodbye to me.

That left me thinking a little worried, I'm not on the list, I take out Brooks' cell phone and dial my number, no one answers, when the screen turns off I look at my new reflection, I really had to worry, now I'm Brooks I was going to lose him forever and now I'm a sexy college boy with a super hot body and feet that many people would pay a lot of money to see them, I put my cell phone away and went back to Brooks' place.

I got comfortable and went back to admiring Brooks' feet, this body is now mine, this camp was the best thing that could have happened to me in my life.

I wonder what else I can do with these feet.

[osamiiya]

Poolside Confessions - Atsumu x Reader

Summary: Atsumu’s so concerned about your love life and who you like, he doesn’t consider that it might be him.

Warnings: None! Like one (1) ‘damn’

a/n: i’m so tired from my summer job (edit: forgot to add the summary i’m so sleepy)

———

“Stop! You’ll catch a cold!”

Atsumus voice grows louder as you stop, chest heaving with effort.

He had taken you swimming, a normal hang out instance between the two of you.

And, as time, as it usually does, passed and the sun started to set, the two of you abandon racing and splashing each other in favor of sitting at the ledge of the pool, watching the sun set. The atmosphere is perfect for conversation as the two of you swing your feet in the pool, shivering slightly as the summer night winds begin to pick up.

As friends (although you had hoped for more), it was a common occurrence for him to grill you about who you liked, or which of your friends liked each other. It’s in his nature to be curious about people’s love lives. Even if people (Aran) don’t want to tell him, he’ll figure it out eventually.

You’re used to it by now, but after the fluttering feeling when Atsumu landed a good set happened when he smiled, then when spoke, then when he was… him, increased, you had grown to dread it.

It started off like it usually did:

“Do you have a crush right now?”

“I think so.”

That then led to a smile a smidge more mischievous and evil than it had been before.

“Do I know him?”

“Yeah.”

At this point, Atsumu usually hums in acknowledgment and continues onto whatever mundane topic that comes to head. But, this time, he pushed.

“Is he in our class?”

“Do you know people outside of our class?”

He paused in contemplative thought before laughing and listing those that he knew. You thought it ended there.

“Is it Suna?”

“Ew.”

He laughed so hard he started coughing at that one.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

His pleads get you to a point where you swear your eye is twitching and your impulse control plummets.

And you kiss him.

You really grab his face and plant one right onto his unsuspecting lips.

There’s a moment of pause, like the world has stopped turning, or someone clicked “pause” on the remote control of life.

And then you run.

You almost trip over your flip-flops, but you don’t. You do, however, forget your towel and cover-up at the pool, running down the street outside the public pool in nothing but flip flops and a bathing suit.

It takes Atsumu a minute, but with his volleyball athleticism, he’s able to catch up to you, arms holding all of the belongings the two of you left at the pool, bag flailing helplessly behind him.

“Wait!”

His voice echos down the empty streets, and your lungs burn with exertion.

“Stop! You’ll catch a cold!”

His voice is stern enough to make you skid to a halt, panting slightly as you take breaths of air.

It takes a couple seconds, but soon Atsumu is caught up, breathless, but he recovers quickly.

“Stupid.” He chastises as you shiver, the wind and night air settling into your skin.

He wraps a dry towel around you like a cape, holding it tight around you until you get the message and hold it yourself.

It’s quiet as he rearranges the things he brought to the pool into his bag, and you take the time to study his expressions and look away. The result is an awkward back and forth between your own feet and Atsumu’s face.

It’s like hours has gone by when it’s only been seconds before Atsumu stands and looks you in the eye.

“Why did you run?”

Your answer is nothing but a mumble, and your eyes decide that the ant crawling on the sidewalk is a better place to look than Atsumu.

He leans in, ducking so that his face fills your vision, and he stays there for a moment, simply looking. Atsumu studies your face, looking from your eyes to your nose, taking in its slope, to your lips. It’s as if they’re the most interesting thing to him as he studies them intensely, as if deciding what he would name the color of your lips.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is a whisper, and your breath fans across his lips.

His eyes snap to yours at your words, and a hand comes up to cup your cheek. Atsumu’s palm is warm and slightly calloused. And, it shakes slightly as his thumb brushes your cheekbone with the most care he’s ever used with his hands.

“Thinking of doing something stupid.”

Atsumu’s eyes then drop to your lips, as if he’s already gotten addicted to simply the proximity to them.

His hand shifts so his thumb can brush over your bottom lip gently. It’s slow, and you’re sure he can feel every crack, ridge, and texture your lips hold.

He leans in slightly, hand shifting to hold your jaw as his lips hover over yours.

His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, as if he’s Atlas, and your face is his world.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” He chokes out before his eyes fully shut and he presses chapped lips to yours.

It’s a small thing, but softer and gentler than the kiss you had given him, what seems like almost decades ago.

He pulls away, but his eyes stay half lidded and trained on your lips. His hand doesn’t dare to move.

“The sun set.”

You risk a glance to the side, past Atsumu’s head, and sure enough, inky black sky and bright stars greet you.

The nod you give him has Atsumu leaning in again, capturing your lips in his. It’s warm in his grasp, and his other hand comes up to rest on your waist.

When you pull away, Atsumu chases the feeling of your lips slightly before opening his eyes.

“Please tell me that I’m the one you like.”

“That much should’ve been obvious right now.” You snort, leaning into his touch.

His smile sends butterflies into your stomach, and he licks his bottom lip slightly before cocking his head slightly to the left.

“Let’s get you home.”

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

3/5 (even though we know it's more than likely this will be longer)

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Word Count: 3.8k words

Natasha's eyes fluttered open, her body drenched in a hot sweat. A dull ache pulsed through her left shoulder as she instinctively reached out to the headboard for support. Rubbing her shoulder, she squinted at the dim glow of the old alarm clock resting on the nightstand between the double beds. The numbers indicated it was just 11 pm—she hadn't been asleep for long.

As Natasha tried to shake off the grogginess of sleep, she realized something felt off. The hot sweat clinging to her skin and the soreness in her shoulder give her an uneasy feeling. She leaned over in bed, adjusting her eyes to the nightlight to see your covers were thrown back with no sight of you at all. Interesting. She figured you couldn’t have gone too far. You didn’t need a babysitter or someone watching over your shoulder. You’re a skilled spy just as she is. There was no need for her to worry. 

With a sigh, Natasha swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, running a hand through her damp hair. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep easily now, not with that nagging feeling gnawing at her mind. She decided to get up, maybe a glass of water or a short walk around the building would help clear her head.

But as she stood, her gaze fell on the window. Her curiosity got the best of her as she moved closer to the window. She noticed a small figure seated by the poolside, an unusual sight considering it was late at night and the pool area was closed. Squinting, Natasha observed an even smaller flicker of light coming from the person's lips—a cigarette. It’s you. How long had you been down there?

—-----------------

The peacefulness of the night enveloped you as you sat by the pool, the soft glow of the pool lights casting eerie shadows that distorted the shapes of the surroundings. With one hand propped on your knee, you idly kicked your toes into the water, feeling the gentle waves ripple beneath your feet. The pull of the cigarette between your lips offered a momentary calm as your mind wandered.

Thoughts swirled in your head—about the mission, about your time as an Avenger, about the mysterious meaning of life's purpose.

"Couldn't sleep?" Natasha's voice broke the silence as she approached, her footsteps barely audible except for the faint shuffle of her flip-flops against the damp concrete.

"Nah, I don't usually," You replied, exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air as you took another puff of the cigarette. Tilting your head back, you watched as the smoke dispersed in the wind.

"Did I wake you when I left?" You asked. You pressed the cigarette into the concrete before twirling it in your hands. 

“No,” Natasha said. 

"Good," You nodded, acknowledging Natasha's unspoken disapproval at the sight and smell of the cigarette. "Don't worry, I threw the pack away," you reassured her, hoping to alleviate any concerns she might have about your habits. 

Natasha offered a small, understanding smile. "Thanks," she said softly, appreciating the gesture. Despite her reservations about the habit, she knew you were making an effort, and that meant a lot to her. At least she knew she could trust you to be professional about this mission. 

“I’ve been on missions before,” You confessed quietly. 

"I know," Natasha replied, her tone gentle yet firm. "But that doesn't mean it's easy every time. We all have our ways of coping." 

“Why are you being so cool all of a sudden?” You turned to her with suspicious eyes. “Less than eight hours ago you practically hated my guts. You’ve barely even looked my way the past three months.”

Natasha sighed, her expression softening. "I know, and I'm sorry," she admitted, meeting your gaze with honesty. "Sometimes it takes a wake-up call to realize we need to set aside differences and support each other. We're a team, after all." She paused, searching for the right words. "I guess I just realized that life's too short for grudges, especially in our line of work."

“Grudges are what fuel me,” You shrugged. “I have a few people on my list that certainly deserve that.” 

Natasha nodded, understanding the sentiment. "I get it," she replied. 

Natasha settled herself beside you, maintaining a comfortable distance, yet close enough to feel the subtle ripples of the water as she dipped her feet in. There was a quiet understanding between you, as neither of you had anything left to say. 

“My favorite position is cowgirl,” You suddenly said. “Not for me for the other person.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the unexpected comment, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement. She chuckled softly before replying, "Well, that's certainly... a candid confession." She shook her head with a playful grin. "I'll remember that, though I'm not sure it's pertinent to our current situation."

“It is,” You glanced over at her. “We’ll probably be one of the only lesbian couples. Which means weird fetishizations and probing questions. Maybe even a game of truth or drink. Adults at resorts are unhinged.” 

"You might have a point there," She conceded. “Give me the rundown on the dossier.”

You took a deep breath before launching into the details of the dossier. "Alright," you begin, "Shady Corners, as the name suggests, is a high-end resort nestled just outside of Miami in the Bay Harbor Islands. It’s owned by, Ilanka and Maxim Belinsky, it's known for catering to the elite, offering luxurious amenities and discreet services."

You leaned in closer, your voice lowering as you delved into the more clandestine aspects. "There’s a darker side to Shady Corners which is the entire reason for us. Rumors about the Belinskys' involvement in illicit activities, from money laundering to connections with underground cartels."

"Apparently," you continue, "guests have reported strange occurrences in the resort's secluded corners—mysterious meetings, people disappearing, and several break-ins, all hushed up by the Belinskys themselves. Couples keep checking in since it’s such a popular destination with a history behind it."

Natasha listened intently, her eyes narrowing as she took in the information. "Sounds like we've got our work cut out for us," she remarked. 

“Indeed we do,” You sighed. “We should get some sleep.” 

“I’m fine with staying here a little while longer.” 

You nodded in understanding. "Alright," you replied. 

Hour 12 

A few short hours later, you found yourselves back on the road, with you taking the wheel this time. Natasha's unease was noticeable as you bobbed and weaved through the traffic, your driving style more assertive than she was used to. With each swift maneuver to pass SUVs and trailers, Natasha's grip tightened on the door handle, her knuckles turning white with tension. 

You couldn't help but notice her discomfort, and though you tried to reassure her that you had everything under control, her nerves seemed to get the better of her. 

“Do you understand speed limits?” She tersely asked as you stepped on the pedal a bit harder. 

You glanced over at Natasha, noticing the edge in her tone as she asked about speed limits. Despite her brevity, you couldn't help but feel amusement at her concern. "Of course I do," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as you stepped on the pedal a bit harder. "But sometimes, you just gotta keep up with the flow of traffic, you know?" 

Natasha's grip on the door handle tightened even more, and she shot you a disapproving look. "That's not an excuse to break the law," she retorted, her voice filled with frustration. "We have to be responsible drivers, especially on long trips like this."

You rolled your eyes, feeling a bit annoyed by her lecturing. "Relax, Natasha," You said "We'll get there in one piece, I promise." 

“I would like to live to see thirty,” Natasha commented, tightening her seatbelt around her midsection. 

“No way you’re being truthful about your age right now,” You flicked on your indicator, laying on the horn for the driver in front of you as they moved at a turtle’s pace. 

You could sense Natasha's annoyance as she defended her age, her frown deepening. "I'm twenty-nine," She stated firmly. "Do I need to show you a birth certificate to confirm that? What makes you think I'm older?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips. "Relax, Natasha," You teased. "I was just saying, you seem a bit uptight for someone your age. But hey, maybe that's just part of your charm." 

Natasha rolled her eyes, unamused by your comment. "Gee, thanks," she muttered sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest. It was clear she wasn't in the mood for jokes. “I’m far from uptight.”

You furrowed your brow, considering her words for a moment. "Well, since you're so sure, let's take a little trip down memory lane, shall we?" you challenged. 

"Remember when we missed that turnoff and you practically had a meltdown?" you began, counting off on your fingers. "Or how about when I accidentally spilled coffee on the map and you acted like it was the end of the world? It is crazy that we’re using a map anyway when there’s a perfectly good GPS right here on the dashboard. Unless you’re testing me. I thought you trusted that I was a good spy."

“Trust is a strong word,” Natasha shook her head. “What’s that training like anyway? Coming through a government agency.” 

"It's... intense," You replied, your tone guarded as you skirted around the topic. "But it's nothing like the Red Room if that's what you're thinking."

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, not wanting to delve too deep into your past. The memories of your training were still fresh in your mind, and you preferred not to think about them. "Let's just say it involves a lot of rigorous training and a fair share of close calls," you added cryptically, hoping to steer the conversation away from your own experiences.

“A close enough call to have a four-inch scar on your back?” Natasha tilted her head. 

You paused for a moment, caught off guard by Natasha's astute observation. "Well, you've got quite the eye for detail," you replied with a forced chuckle, trying to deflect her question. You shifted in your seat, a hint of discomfort creeping into your expression. "Unless you’re also ready to discuss the scars you have too?” 

“Touche’,” Natasha sighed. 

You raised an eyebrow, shifting the focus of the conversation with a swift change of topic. "So are you and Rogers a thing?" you asked, a sly grin spreading across your face. If there was going to be anyone in the hot seat, it needed to be her. It was about time you made the Black Widow uncomfortable.

Natasha's expression remained neutral. She paused for a moment, considering her response carefully before replying, "Steve and I have a professional relationship, nothing more."

You pressed on, determined to push her buttons. "Sure, sure," you teased, leaning in slightly. "But I've seen the way you two look at each other. There's definitely something more there."

Natasha's facade faltered for just a moment, a little bit of frustration crossing her features before she quickly regained her composure. "Believe what you want," she replied coolly, her tone leaving no room for further discussion on the matter. 

“Come on, it’s okay to say you’ve tapped that,” You egged her on. “Stop being so prissy for a second. It’s unbecoming.” 

Natasha's jaw tensed as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at your persistence. "I don't see how my personal life is any of your business," she replied sharply, her tone tinged with irritation. "And I certainly don't appreciate your crude insinuations."

You could sense her growing frustration, but you pressed on, determined to get a rise out of her. "Oh, come on, lighten up," you teased, leaning in closer. "It's not like anyone would blame you for going for the Captain. He's like the poster boy for good looks and heroism."

Natasha's gaze narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "I suggest you drop it before you say something you'll regret," she warned, her voice low and measured. It was clear she had reached her limit. 

“Ohh, I’m shaking in my boots,” You rolled your eyes. “At first the pressure was on me. Be more like Natasha. Take notes from Natasha. Ask Natasha for help. We can't even hold a simple conversation.” 

Natasha's jaw tightened at your sarcastic remark, her frustration is evident in her expression. "I never asked for you to be like me," she retorted, her tone clipped. "And if you're feeling pressured, that's on you, not me."

You could sense the tension between you escalating, and you knew you had hit a nerve. But instead of backing down, you continued to push, fueled by a mix of defiance and annoyance. "Oh, please," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Don't act like you haven't enjoyed being put on that pedestal. It's not like you haven't reveled in being everyone's golden girl."

Natasha's eyes flashed with annoyance, her patience wearing thin. "That's enough," she stated firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I won't be dragged into your petty games. If you have a problem with me, say it to my face instead of hiding behind snide remarks." 

“I don’t have a problem with you,” You began. “It’s the simple fact that you’re committed to this whole mean girl serious chick schtick. You’ve insulted me fifteen times this morning without holding your breath or thinking about it. I simply want to know what’s up. So I’m asking? Last night we were cool. This morning it’s giving me an entirely new personality.”

“So, to get back at me you imply that I’m sleeping with my teammate?”

The accusation hung in the air, heavy with tension, as Natasha processed your words. 

"Implying? No," You retorted. "I merely observed a dynamic between teammates. If you took it as an insult, that's on you."

“I think you’re jealous,” Natasha commented. 

Your response was swift, fueled by a mixture of frustration and defiance. "Jealous?" you echoed incredulously, a flash of indignation in your eyes. "Of what, exactly?" Natasha's comment caught you off guard, the accusation striking a nerve. "I'm not jealous," you countered, your voice tinged with irritation. "I just don't appreciate being undermined and belittled at every turn."

There was a tense silence between you, the air thick with unspoken tension. Natasha's expression remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of challenge in her eyes, daring you to continue the confrontation.

“Jealous of that fact that I was welcomed into the group based on merit and skills alone,” Natasha gloated. “I didn’t need my government daddy to put a word in for me.” 

Natasha's words stung, hitting a nerve deep within you. You clenched your jaw, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of her taunting.

"Merit and skills alone, huh?" you replied through gritted teeth, your tone laced with bitterness. "Funny, considering the lengths you've gone to to prove yourself at every turn."

But you swallowed your pride, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the urge to lash out. With a tight-lipped smile, you met Natasha's gaze head-on, refusing to let her see how deeply her words had wounded you.

"Congratulations," You replied tersely, your voice cold and clipped. "I'm glad you're so proud of yourself. Now let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"

The silence went on for a few seconds longer before you scrunched your nose. 

“And government Daddy?” You frowned. “Who the hell do you think is my dad?”

Natasha's expression remained impassive, her gaze steady as she delivered her next words with a calculated calmness. "I don't know," she replied evenly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if it's someone like Ross."

The mention of Ross's name sent a chill down your spine, stirring up memories of past encounters and the uneasy alliance you had with him. Despite your best efforts to distance yourself from him, his shadow seemed to loom over you like a specter, a constant reminder of the ties that bound you to the government.

“Holy Fuck,” You clenched your fists, struggling to contain the anger bubbling within you. "Ross?" you scoffed, your tone dripping with disdain. "He's nothing but a manipulative bureaucrat with his own agenda. I have no ties to him, and I certainly don't need him to vouch for me."

“Why is his name riddled all over your file then?” 

You felt a knot form in your stomach at Natasha's question, a sinking feeling settling in as you grappled with how much she knew about your past. "I... I don't know," you replied, your voice strained with uncertainty. "Maybe it's just... paperwork. I've had dealings with him in the past, but that doesn't mean he's my... my father."

Despite your attempt to brush off the implications, Natasha's piercing gaze bore into you, her scrutiny unrelenting. "You can't just dismiss it like that," she insisted, her tone firm. "There's a reason his name keeps popping up in your file."

You shook your head firmly, dispelling any notion of familial ties between you and Ross. "No, not because we're related," you asserted, your voice resolute. "I've made it clear before—I have no familial connection to Ross."

Natasha regarded you with a scrutinizing gaze, her expression unreadable. "Then why is his name so intertwined with your file?" she pressed, her tone insistent.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for Natasha's reaction to your explanation. "Spectra was deeply connected with the CIA," you began, your voice steady despite the lingering frustration. "Ross helped me out with some intel. Nothing more. Nothing less."

Natasha regarded you with a thoughtful expression, her gaze probing as she considered your words. "Is that all it was?" she asked, her tone cautious. "Or was it part of a larger plan to spy on the Avengers?"

You shook your head, the weight of Natasha's suspicion weighing heavily on you. "No," you replied firmly, meeting her gaze head-on. "I would never betray the team like that. Ross may have his own agenda, but I'm not a pawn in his game."

As Natasha continued to scrutinize you, a glimmer of realization crossed her features. "So what's the deal?" she asked, her voice softening slightly as she searched your eyes for the truth. "You're not exactly the type to strike up a deal with Ross without a good reason."

"It's complicated," You admitted. "But after Spectra's downfall, I was left vulnerable. Ross and Tony offered me protection, a way to defect from the shadows and start fresh."

Natasha's brow furrowed in understanding, though there was a hint of skepticism in her expression. "And what do they get out of it?" she pressed, her tone cautious.

You sighed heavily, knowing that Natasha wouldn't let up until she had all the answers. "Information," you confessed, the weight of your betrayal heavy on your conscience. "About Spectra.” 

There was a moment of silence as Natasha processed your words, the gravity of your situation settling over you like a suffocating blanket. 

“You’re an informant?” Natasha breathed. She knew it. She couldn’t believe this. 

You nodded solemnly, meeting Natasha's gaze with a heavy heart. "Yes," you admitted, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "I'm an informant."

Natasha's breath caught in her throat, her disbelief palpable as she struggled to come to terms with the revelation. "I knew it," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Thank you, Kim Possible for knowing it all,” You rolled your eyes. 

“Who’s Kim Possible?” 

“And you’re still telling me you’re under thirty,” You mumbled. You rolled your eyes at Natasha's response, unable to resist a sarcastic retort

You couldn't help but chuckle at her bewilderment. "She's a fictional character from an old cartoon," you explained. "Always saving the day and solving mysteries. Thought you might appreciate the comparison."

“So, you gained immunity for your crimes then in exchange for information?” Natasha deduced. 

“Something like that,” You shrugged. “I’m an Avenger though because of my skills. I could have gone into a witness protection program or something.” 

There was a moment of silence as Natasha absorbed your words, the weight of your choices hanging heavily in the air between you. "I understand," she replied finally, her tone softening with understanding. 

“Do you? Because it seems like you want to use my past against me every chance you get,” You eased up on the accelerator. “I was a teen when I became a pawn for Spectra. They weren’t the cleanest government agency. None of them are. You may have involuntarily joined the Red Room but it’s not like I had much of a choice either. I was a poor kid from Jersey with no money or family. I did what I had to do to survive.” 

“I do understand,” Natasha nodded. 

“Look can we make a deal,” You sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. “Can we just be cordial? We don’t have to be friends. I’m not expecting us to have sleepovers and braid each other's hair. I would simply like to make this work so that we get what we need out of this mission.” 

Natasha regarded you for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she considered your proposal. After a moment of silence, she nodded slowly. "Agreed," she replied, her voice firm. "Cordial it is."

You offered her a small nod of gratitude, relieved to have reached a truce, however tentative it may be. She reached into the backseat, grabbing something you couldn't see before you realized it was the magazine from yesterday. 

“What is your favorite type of nonsexual physical intimacy and are you satisfied with the frequency you receive it?” 

You blinked in surprise at Natasha's unexpected question, taken aback by its intimacy. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, unsure how to respond to such a personal inquiry.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself before replying, "Um, well, I guess my favorite type of nonsexual physical intimacy would be... hugs? I suppose?" You offered a hesitant smile, feeling a bit awkward under Natasha's scrutinizing gaze. "I’m not really comfortable with a lot of physical touch. For personal reasons. And as for the frequency... I guess it's alright. I don't really think about it much."

Natasha nodded, her expression unreadable as she tucked the magazine back into its place. "Good to know," she remarked casually, as if she hadn't just asked you one of the most personal questions imaginable.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a bit exposed by the exchange. But despite the awkwardness, you couldn't help but appreciate Natasha's attempt at breaking down the walls between you, even if it was in her own unconventional way. With a small nod of acknowledgment, you turned your attention back to the road ahead of you.

------> part 4

[invertedspearofseveneleven]

Bedrest (boyfriend!Nanami Kento x fem! reader)

Summary: your boyfriend Nanami takes care of you while you're sick and on your period

CONTENT WARNING: Illness, period pains (reader) fluff, love even, Nanami loves you so very much it is almost sickening, short self-hate moment but nothing insane I promise

Author's note - I too am cramping so bad I'm awake at night, so I wrote this while delirious and missing a certain college friend (situationship across the fucking US? fuck) Needed Nanami to take care of my sorry ass

This is also my first JJK work, so pleasepleasepleaseplease give me your thoughts!

READ THIS ON AO3!! -

Thank you! Love you!

Sick. The sickest you’ve ever been on your period. Sure, you’d be stuffy or have a runny nose when your time of the month rolled around, but this was diabolical. Your head throbbed with a headache that no amount of water seemed to slow. Finally, you canceled your noon meeting and went home. NEVER before had cramps or illness made you leave your place of work. On the way to your car, you bumped into a familiar white-haired sorcerer.

“Y/N!” he shouted across the parking lot. “Skipping out?” You wince at his loud voice, but nod, sunglasses on to block out all unnecessary light from your pupils.

“Yeah, not feeling well.” your answer is short, not curt, but aiming for a sense of urgency. Your headache is fast changing to a migraine, and spots of blue light dot the side of your vision. Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll call the funeral home, you’re obviously near death if you’re leaving this early.” he rasps out a laugh. Any other time, you would have laughed along, but right now, your focus is on getting home. As fate would have it, Gojo’s phone rings and he says goodbye before answering it. You smile and nod, moving quickly to your car and speeding out of the lot. 

Home isn’t far away, and out of habit, you drive without much thought. A good thing too, otherwise the mental strength to sit up, focus on directions, and not crash would have been too much. It would have been easier to sleep at your desk. 

The house is calm when you enter, and you hear Mino, your Ragdoll, meowing softly to you when the door shuts. You drop your keys, purse, and briefcase unceremoniously onto the table. Holding the edge of the counter, you move gently across the room, eyes on the couch. When you reach it, you flop down and pull blankets around you. Suddenly you’re freezing. Is there a window open? The blankets feel heavy and soft, but there’s no warmth to be found. Taking a deep breath, you get up off the couch, looking at the room. You move dishes to the sink, thinking that you’ll wash them. You remember the pile of dirty laundry in the bedroom, and get to it, only to drag what you can to the washing machine. There’s clothes inside, you flip them to the dryer, and pull the dry clothes into the laundry basket. When you start the machines and get up off the floor, you notice dirt and grit on your hands. The floor needs to be swept. Why is the house such a wreck? The thought of cleaning is stomach turning right now, and you feel tears push at your eyes.

Useless. Useless. That’s all you can  think of yourself. You can’t finish a workday, can’t imagine folding the warm laundry, hate the image of dishes in the sink, and your stomach is cramping so badly you can’t breathe. Dusting off your hands on your pants, you lurch, that’s the only word for the movement, holding the walls of the hallway, and lean into your bedroom.

You can smell his cologne still. You always leave before he does, so he gets ready long after you’re gone. He comes home later, and you would give anything to smell his warm skin, not just the memory of who’s hand sprayed the scent in the air. You crawl into his side of the bed, burying yourself under the heavy comforters and soft bedspreads. His smell wraps around you and lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to the door closing again. Mino had sat with you on the couch for a little, but when you fell asleep, she must have left for a different part of the apartment. You hear a soft thump when Mino jumps to the floor from what you assume to be her usual perch, a seat on the barstools by the counter. There's a jingling of keys, soft murmuring, and a crinkling noise. 

Bags? I just went to the store… 

You consider other possibilities, but none match up the way you need them to, and your head hurts like mad. You squeeze your eyes shut and push at your temples. You hear the door open, and Nanami joins you in the room, his presence so comforting, you don’t even have to look to know it’s him. “Go to mama.” His soft voice coos, and a weight joins you, padding near. Mino prods at your exposed ear with a cool nose. A curtain rod clinks and the familiar squeeeak of the unoiled window sounds. 

“Just some air. It’s a little stuffy in here, love.”

“Hi, Kento.” your voice sounds foreign, even to you. How long has it been since you spoke aloud? You try to clear your throat, but only succeed in coughing. You hear Nanami move to your side, joining Mino.

“Gosh, y/n…” He moves your hands to the side and feels your forehead. You can almost see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but it isn’t hard to read his emotions, he’s obviously very concerned. “You’re really warm.” He moves his large cool hand from your forehead to your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into it, chasing the cool it offers. Any other time, you’d make a goofy face and act entirely relieved, but now, the movement is genuine. 

Nanami shakes his head. He rises, moving out of the room. You watch him go, and pet Mino absentmindedly. In the next room, a bustling rises, ebbs, and ceases. The dishwasher can be heard opening. The sink turns on. A broom moves quickly. In five minutes, Nanami is back. His blue shirt sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and he has a small dishcloth over his shoulder.

"Did you get home and try to clean? My dear, what would the world do without you? Sicker than I've ever seen you, and still, you work. Well, now it's my turn." His light eyes shine at you, he must have taken off his glasses. He has such lovely eyes, you find yourself musing. 

“Thank you, love.”

Did I say that out loud?

You must have, but that’s besides the point. Still wrapped in soft blankets, Nanami picks you up gingerly, holding you against him and moving from the bedroom. The small sitting room area is clean as anything, how long had he been working? Maybe you had fallen asleep. 

Nanami places you gently on the couch, pulling the cloth from his shoulder. You notice it leaving a mark on the fabric, and when he applies it to your forehead, it's pleasantly cool from being soaked in sink water. The rush of cool on your feverish skin makes you pull the blanket you’re cocooned in closer around you, but deep down, you know that you need to cool off before you overheat. Nanami has disappeared into the bedroom again, and you close your eyes, hoping to fall asleep again. 

You wake up again in Nanami’s strong arms. He crosses back into the bedroom, taking care not to let you bump a wall or a doorframe. The windows are wide open, the fan is on, and the bed has been stripped and remade. 

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable.” He whispers, placing you in a seated position at the end of the bed. Checking to see you’re stable, he turns to the closet and dresser. Looking down, you realize you’re still in your button down and dress pants. Lord, you must really be sick.

“I- can’t, can’t miss work…” you trail off as Nanami turns to you with a gentle look that seems to say really? 

“That’s all you can think of right now? My love...” He pulls open a drawer and looks through it, his back to you. “Let’s get you changed, and if you feel better in the morning, I promise we’ll discuss you returning to work.” He turns back, a large, soft looking t shirt in hand. It’s yellow, your favorite color.

He looks at you, then your hands, with an oddly furrowed brow. Leaving the room, he spots what he was searching for, the discarded towel, on the floor next to the couch. You hear him rewet it at the sink, before coming back and picking up where he left off. Pressing a slow kiss to your head, he kneels by the bed, taking your hands in his.

The large, cool, square palms feel incredible against your arms, and you’re tempted to sit like that for hours, soaking in the cool of his skin while you shiver for your blanket. Slowly, Nanami moves your hands to the collar of your shirt. “Unbutton that for me.” The command is simple, and you realize that, in any other situation, it would have been EXTREMELY hot. For the time being, you decide to tuck that thought away to bring up later. The shirt is wrapped around you strangely, probably from the crash you had when you got home. When it’s loose enough, you pull it up over your head. Nanami is ready, taking it from you and sliding the t-shirt over you. He deftly flips the dress shirt into the laundry basket, and moves a hand behind you, unclipping your bra through your shirt. The movement is so natural you find yourself shocked by its simplicity, and laugh, a short bark followed by a cough. You take a breath, a freer one, and move the undergarment off gently, under the shirt.

But your laugh is enough for Nanami, who sees his lover through the veil of illness. He smiles at you, and leans forward to kiss you. Your hands fly up on their own, and you chastise him between giggles and short coughs.

“No WAY I’m getting you sick, mister.” “No better way I can think to spend a weekend with you.” His soft eyes are aimed right at your lips, even though his words are  sent right to you. 

“So, sick and achy? I simply can’t allow this.”

“I’m risking it.” He leans forward and kisses you slowly. You laugh around the kiss, moving your head away and blushing as he sprinkles kisses all across the bridge of your nose. He’s smiling too, you can feel it. In a practiced move, though handled now with care, he hooks his hands into the sides of your pants, refusing to break the kiss. The waistband slips down, revealing your legs and making goosebumps prick on your skin. 

Once your pants are completely off, leaving you in your black, everyday underwear, Nanami moves to stand above you, scooping you up again. You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his face in your hand. The lines of his cheekbones and jaw are etched into your memory, a mix of angles and shapes that is so strange to consider being comforting, and yet… 

Sitting you down onto the cool, light blanket, Nanami takes the re-wet washcloth to your flushed skin. He trails it across your decolletage, down your neck, along your arms and legs, and over your face as well. The trace coldness on your skin that it leaves in its wake is exactly what you need, and you sink a little lower onto the bed. Nanami smiles softly, happy to see you get a bit of relief. He tucks you in, under only one blanket instead of the pile he found you under.

“I know it may be uncomfortable, but trust me, it will help the fever break. The kettle just boiled, and I’ll make you some tea, so sit tight.”

The command is again, said with loving intent, and makes your heart float a little. He slips from the room, and you hear a beep and the sound of water pouring. Leaning back, you relish the feeling of cool, while missing some warmth. Nanami is back quickly, carrying some medication from the drugstore and a mug of sleepytime. 

“When did you-”

“Gojo gave me a call about your rather hurried exit today.” He answers, a hint of a laugh in his voice. He places everything on the bedside table before moving out of sight behind the door frame, and you hear his voice fade slightly before returning. 

“I- well, this is actually a little embarrassing. I’ve been tracking your cycle for a while now, and I noticed that your immune system tends to take a hit right at the start of your period. And, um, with cold season hitting its peak, I had an idea of some things you might need.” He’s been looking at the ground, and you can see that he’s half proud and half… something else. Ashamed? “I swear I didn’t think it was going to be this bad, I just wanted to come by with everything you’d need. Or, well, want.” from behind his back, Nanami pulls out a plush cat, similar to Mino in every way but two. One, it’s grey, not white. And two, it’s, um, portly. It looks like it weighs more than you’d expect. Nanami scoots next to you and places it on your stomach, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from you. It’s weighted, for sure, but it's warm too. “You put it in the microwave. The saleswoman said it was full of rice and lavender, and since you like lavender I thou-” You cut him off, moving as quickly as you can over to him and pulling him down to you. He laughs at the sudden fall, but then gasps, rolling off of you. “Hey! You’re in a lot of pain, I’m not crushing you, too. Are-” He cuts himself off now, looking at the figure holding him and, shaking? 

“Y/n, darling, are you crying?”

You are, the tears pushing hot trails down your face. Your breath is shaky, and there’s something about this whole situation that makes you laugh.

“You’re so, sniff, you’re so wonderful.”

Nanami’s eyebrows knit together, and he smiles, pulling you closer to stroke your hair softly. His other hand lays flush against your back, and he begins gently running his kept nails against it, massaging your tired muscles. “Only for my girl.” He kisses your forehead and rests his cheek against the warm skin. “You work too hard not to be taken care of AT LEAST once a month.” He gives you a squeeze before leaning to the table and picking up the mug of tea with the tiny cup of cough syrup. 

“Now take a sip for me, and shoot this back, you’ll feel better.”

[chronically-ghosted]

fade into you

rating: Explicit (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 4K

summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father. 

warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter

a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!

🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist

I wanna melt in I wanna soak through I only wanna move when you move I wanna breathe out when you breathe in then I wanna fade into you

“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp – 

You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.

You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.

Right now, it just makes you burst into tears. 

You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin. 

He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob. 

“Baby, look at –,” 

“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.” 

When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed. 

You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans. 

Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts. 

His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face. 

With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.

“Baby . . .”

You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.

“Mama?” 

Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.

Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.

“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.

“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.” 

You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats. 

“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.” 

“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times. 

“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”

“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”

“Talk? Mama talk?” 

He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.

“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”

He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around. 

“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”

Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours. 

“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle. 

“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.

“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.

“See, we’re all okay.” 

Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver. 

“Ew.”

A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye. 

“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”

“Dieter!” 

He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”

Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”

You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”

The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking. 

“She’s out?” 

“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”

“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him. 

Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”

Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear. 

“Dieter?”

“Yes, O Love of My Life?”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.

“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?” 

“Mhm hm.”

His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site. 

“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass. 

You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”

His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.

“B-baby, your back –,”

“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.” 

He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard. 

“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”

Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth. 

“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable. 

With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”

An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”

“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”

You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.

“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.” 

You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense. 

“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”

Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick. 

“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.

When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk. 

Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him. 

“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening. 

“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.” 

He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”

He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”

“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.” 

With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were – 

“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?

“How do you need it, baby?”

The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them. 

“On my side, but between my thighs?” 

His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe. 

“Please.” 

He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –

He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue. 

When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.

“I love you.” 

That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.

“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you. 

The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”

“Dieter, please.”

He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream. 

A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back. 

“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”

Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock. 

“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?” 

You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher. 

“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”

A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies. 

He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”

“Just put your hand –,”

You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs. 

“That’s it, baby, take what you need.” 

Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.

Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.

You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house. 

“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.” 

Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.

“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair. 

“I meant what I said, you know that right?”

Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.” 

“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”

You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.

Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.

“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”

Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach. 

A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams. 

+

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 11

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains foul/harsh language.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Want to reading from the beginning? Click Here

Chapter 11: Reality

“Girl, he really said he’d pay for the whole party?” Kiyah asked, her eyes wide as she flopped onto my bed.

I nodded, pulling a few things out of the shopping bags sprawled across my room. “Yeah, he said it’s whatever I want. Venue, DJ, food—all of it. He’s got it.”

I had invited the girls over so we could catch up. My ass had been up under Jey, and they felt I had been neglecting them. So, I had to do what’s right.

The twins, Natasha and Nataya, exchanged excited glances before practically squealing.

“Oh, it’s about to be a movie,” Nataya grinned. “What’s the theme? You gotta have a theme. Like, remember Macy, she did that whole glitter and denim theme for her 18th birthday. It was cute.”

“Yea, it was. But like she wasn’t. She could barely walk in the heels and her ankles was ashy the whole night,” Kiyah reminded.

“Kiyah, please,” Natasha cackled. Nataya and I just looked away, shaking our heads. She just said any damn thing.

“I’m just keeping it real since y’all heifers won’t,” Kiyah shrugged.

I shrugged as well, holding up the Coach purse Jey bought me at the mall. The light caught the gold clasp, making it sparkle. “I don’t know. Something cute but not corny. I’m open to ideas. I know y’all can help me out.”

“Boo, you’re officially living the life,” Natasha said, leaning over to admire the purse. “And don’t even get me started on this bag. I saw this in one of those magazine’s Taya got at home. Jey’s really stepping up, I see.”

“He better after all that shit he did,” Kiyah chimed in, crunching on her chips. “If he’s paying for this party, it needs to be the talk of the summer. I’m talking custom invitations, a banging playlist, and outfits for all of us that shut all that shit down.”

“Okay, okay,” I laughed, kicking my feet up on the edge of my bed. “Let Kiyah tell it he gotta buy her mama an outfit too. But I’m with y’all. We gotta make it one for the books though.”

For the next few hours, we sprawled out on my floor, flipping through magazines and brainstorming ideas for the party. Kiyah had a million suggestions, most involving sequins and neon lights, and the twins were quick to second every one of them. By the time they left, I was already imagining how the night would go—the music, the lights, and me front and center, living my best life.

----

After the sun had gone down, I gathered up the weekly laundry and headed to the laundromat across the way. Mama usually did it, but I always felt the need to ease her burden when I could. There was a nice breeze as I crossed the courtyard, and I felt lighter than I had in weeks. Things were finally coming together. Jey was stepping up, and my birthday was shaping up to be unforgettable.

At the laundromat, I loaded up the machines and sat down with a magazine while they ran. The hum of the dryers and the chatter of the other patrons made it easy to zone out. I smiled to myself, still floating on air from the past few days.

When I got back to my apartment, my mood took a sharp turn. Jey was sitting on my steps, his arms crossed and his face dark. My stomach sank.

“You not answering your phone now?” he snapped as I walked up.

I froze, gripping the handle of the wagon carrying the laundry. “Baby, what you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Nyeya. I called you. Several times,” he said, standing up. “And on top of that, you out here running your mouth with Damian? At the damn corner store? When your ass was supposed to get out the car and take your ass in the house.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Hold up. First of all, the phone is in the house. And for two you mad because I had a conversation? Are you serious right now?”

Jey stepped closer, his voice low but sharp. “You think I’m fucking stupid? The phone upstairs, huh? Why you think I bought that shit for you in the first place? So, you can always have it on you. Yet, where is it?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, truly confused by his attitude. Yea, I had forgot the phone, but it had only been one night. I wasn’t use to having no damn cellphone.

“I-

“Dead that. What the hell was you talking about with Damian? What you and my uce got to talk about. Tell me, Nyeya?”

Jey was turning red at this point but I ain’t even care ‘cause who was he talking to. Apparently I needed to remind him yet again who the fuck I was and was not.

“Take that bass out your voice when you talking to me. I’m not no Prada Boi who you can bark at when you feel like it. And nothing Damian and I got going on is none of your concern. And if you want that damn phone back, I can give it back to you,” I shot back, trying to step past him. But he grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“Don’t you ever walk away from me,” he warned, his grip firm but not painful.

“Let me go, Jey,” I said, yanking my arm free. “You’re doing too much right now.”

His laugh was bitter. “I’m doing too much? You the one out here making me look stupid, not answering the phone when I call, running around with Damian like you don't belong to me. You wanna see me act a fool, Nyeya? I will.”

The fight escalated, our voices growing louder with every exchange. Neighbors peeked out of their windows and doors, but no one stepped in. This was Jey’s territory, and everyone knew better than to get involved.

“You know what, Jey? Act a fool. Do what you gon’ do. And I’m gon’ outdo you. But that’s what you asking for,” I finally said, my voice shaking with frustration. “I’m out here trying to make things work with your crazy ass. And here you go with the drama and the bullshit. If this is what’s it’s gon’ be every other day then I’d rather be myself.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his jaw clenched. The silence was louder than any argument we could’ve had. Finally, he stepped back, letting me pass.

“Ain’t no way out, Nyeya,” he said quietly. “Ain’t no leaving me.”

I didn’t respond. I just climbed the steps with the wagon in tow, unlocked the door, and shut it behind me. My hands were shaking, and my chest felt tight. For all the good things Jey brought into my life, moments like this made me question if any of it was worth the trouble.

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Why don't you just give in? Pt.2

Fem reader

Pt.1

You

He's looking skinny, or as skinny as a man who's resembled a brick shithouse for the last two decades can be, less toned I suppose more lean. I watch as he turns away, the t-shirt he's wearing allowing for more creases, bagginess. He's forgone his mask, not that he needs it. He needs a shave instead, he almost resembles his Captain with that growth. His dirty blonde hair now sun bleached in parts and his tan somewhat deeper.

You know you want to run your fingers through it, feel the short hairs against the pads of your fingers as your hand moves against the grain. The last time you did that his hands were- My thoughts are both rudely and thankfully interrupted.

“Ohhh blimey you see the lads? Who's that with the scraggly face? The tall one?” I hear Laura beside me. Instantly the table I'm seated at falls into hushed gossip, as they always do when they see the task force. The SAS lads are a common sight around here, but the more specialist unit within it still garners mystique, enthusiastic and borderline obsessive gossip whenever they grace us with their presence.

“Ghost… you really don't recognise him without that rag on his face?” I murmur as I look down and bring my mug of coffee to my lips. Ghost... I still hate that callsign. Nickname. The lore. I mean I know how fucking vicious and brutal he can be. It's not learnt or adaptive behaviour since joining the military. As usual the table descends into the usual gossip, the girls wanting to follow them to the pub they'll inevitably end up at later on. Such is the routine when they land back on home turf, especially since they've clearly been gone a while. Eat, drink, fuck, repeat.

I zone out, leaving the others to continue their usual shite when they talk about the lads. Finishing up, I stand with my tray and head to the tray return carts, Laura shouts and tells me I will be joining them tonight and that it's final. Fuckin’ a! Wherever the lads will be, so will we, the sodding groupies they are. Though it won't take much to be out the way, they're only headed to a pub. No need to dress to impress.

Walking away from my table I steel myself, walking past Riley and his lot. I resist the urge to gob in his food, as usual. I would have done it years ago, but I've risen above that version of myself. I do however afford a quick glance down and I'm met with ochre orbs, his ochre eyes. This time I yield and look away, not wanting to walk into someone with a tray full leftover dinner.

Later I find myself freshly showered, the weather keeps flip-flopping so I decide on shorts with a tank and a hoodie with my favourite trainers. It's still warm and humid enough to warrant the summer gear, but as August stretches through to September there's a chill in the air. I look at myself in the mirror, my hair tousled and low key smokey eyes. I almost feel like I should scrub the makeup off, I'm in my mid thirties, why am I dressing like I'm fifteen years younger.

We all bundle in the taxi for fifteen minutes it takes for us to get to the town centre in Hereford. I listen as the others plan and scheme where the lads are, I give the usual non committal noises they'd expect but eventually I put my proverbial foot down. “Look, I don't want to spend all night with you lot drooling over them. We'll get pre-drinks at The Queen's Arms, some of you will get a quickie I'm sure, and then we should go somewhere better to spend our time.”

I'm met with eye rolls and smirks, it's no secret I'm not enthralled by the lads on the task force, and even under duress when plied with copious drinks I've still not spilt the beans. Finally the taxi pulls over and we hop out, the fare being prepaid since it was a group booking. I stay behind to organise a return journey later before following the girls into the pub. We're met with a wall of sound, almost raucous, as we filter in and find a table. I see Riley actually enjoying himself around the pool table for once.

Pt.3

[dystopicjumpsuit]

DJ!!! If it's okay, for the first kiss prompt could I humbly ask for

"are you sure about this" with our voice king, Sev?

Or!!

their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?) with Tup?

Whichever one inspires you more! Please and thank you 💙

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask @secondaryrealm! It was so fun to get back into the swing of writing Sev. You’ll notice that I’m incapable of writing him without mentioning his voice. Voice kink gonna voice kink. Prompt is in purple!

Pairing: Sev x Reader (GN)

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 519

Warnings and tags: fluff, mentions of vomit

Summary: You do Sev a solid.

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Are you sure about this?” Sev’s deep voice rumbled in your ear, sending a tingle of awareness across your neck.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Kriff, no.”

He smirked and slid his helmet into place. “Too bad.”

Without warning, he spun you around and tackled you, sending you both flying out of the LAAT/i and into the abyss as his arms clamped around your body.

You shrieked, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound. “Oh, my gods, I’m gonna die!”

You clung to Sev, burying your face against his chestplate as you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw to try to keep from screaming again.

Sev’s low, modulated chuckle sounded through his helmet speaker. “Relax, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Carrying another person?!” you demanded raggedly, still not opening your eyes.

“Uh… no,” he admitted. “That’s why we needed volunteers for the training exercise.”

Your eyes snapped open, not that it mattered, since all you could see was Sev’s armor and helmet.

“Sev,” you asked nervously, “how many times have you done this while carrying somebody?”

“This is the first. I think it’s going well.”

“I can’t believe I let Scorch talk me into this,” you groaned.

“Everyone who’s ever met Scorch has said that at some point.”

You felt your weight shift as he adjusted the flight path of his jetpack, and your stomach flip-flopped. Gods, I think I’m gonna hurl. Please, please don’t let me hurl on him, you prayed silently to the Force.

“Don’t drop me,” you begged.

“Even if I did, the tether would keep you close.” Sev seemed to sense you didn’t find that as reassuring as he thought you would, and he tightened his fingers on you briefly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

True to his word, he soon landed the pair of you safely on the ground. As he released you, your knees buckled, and he caught you just before you collapsed. He yanked off his helmet with his free hand, and you heard it thud to the ground as he tilted your head so he could see your face.

“You okay?” he asked, scanning you quickly for injuries.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said shakily. “I just need a minute.”

You willed your legs to work as you tried not to stare at his deep, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, perfect mouth that you’d been trying to ignore for months. Why does he smell so kriffing good? He has no right to smell like that. 

You cleared your throat. “I, uh, think I can stand now.”

Sev didn’t loosen the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb as he held your head. You gazed into each other’s eyes, as though suspended in time, and then he closed the distance between you as his lips met yours. His lips felt exactly as soft and stupidly perfect as you’d imagined, and you sucked in a tiny, broken gasp when the kiss ended far too soon.

“Wow,” you sighed. “I’m so glad I didn’t hurl on you.”

---

Looking for spicy Sev x reader fics? Allow me to plug my incredibly spicy fic, “Turn It Up When You’re Gone” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3. The fourth and final chapter will be dropping next month!

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Agatha all along spoilers:

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Okay okay okay? Soooooo heyyy Billy erm don’t trust you, anddd actually I think your brother’s better so yeah fuck you actually also how dare you talk to a prolific witch killer like that, if Rio wasn’t busy taking Alice’s body (fly high! RIP girlie, rest with your mum now!) she would’ve taken your ass all the way to the astral plane, dead or alive

Nicolas scratch voice reveal! Poor baby wanting his mama to stop like is he watching all this happening? Poor sweetheart, Agatha just wants her baby back (should’ve also had the camera pan slightly to Rio because bet she would’ve had a reaction too 👀 notes for next time)

Also fuck evenora harkness okay, listen I support all mothers but “I should’ve killed you the moment you left my body” ??? Bit harsh, I’m from the north of England and even mothers here aren’t that cruel

“I can be good” yes sweet angel baby witch killer you can do no wrong and will always be good and I love you and will stroke your hair when you sad and never leave your side -Rio Vidal probably

“Or we could slit her throat”

“Her mother can’t have her!”

Rio you can’t keep flip flopping in front of the other witches, they don’t know your humour yet and how deeply in love with your ex wife you are, they don’t know the throat slitting thing is fun to you as a joke (dw baby I got you)

Also Lilia being all ‘I hate flying brooms because of the Halloween corporations’ ‘profiting off our inability to travel like everyone else’ to “I haven’t done this in centuries (massive grin) she loves it and definitely will be doing it again. Bless her heart I hope she’s safe and happy for more centuries to come 👀👀👀👀 (marvel I’m at your fucking door)

Agatha and Rio choosing each other for the broom spell because they’ve done it hundreds of times and it’s probably the intimate thing besides the almost kiss in the last episode

Also when they’re handing the brooms to each other and Rio grazes Agatha’s hand, she was like ‘hold my hand you coward!’

Teen’s blue powers are pretty cool I have to admit but I would also like to say, and I’ve seen a few other people say it, I think he was subconsciously controlling the trial, because a few of them were a little ooc, like jen, instantly flipped to punishing Agatha and the others followed (Rio just wanted to play, know full well you can’t control death)

But he didn’t know what he was doing so when Alice (gone but never forgotten) jumped in to save Agatha and she died ☠️💔 he was so distraught, not only because she was so cool but because he made her do it, he just couldn’t comprehend what happened but knew it was him so he struggled with that knowledge (just like Wanda when she found out about the town)

‘You’re just like your mother’ (😰 her voice) but! I think at the end of the last episode when Agatha smiled at Rio after she told her he wasn’t her son, she knew then, she knew he was Wanda’s son but obviously she was still holding out hope, and when Rio confirmed it she knew what had to be done

Also! The Salem seven these freaky, creepy acrobatic bitches they’re fantastic! But if they’re the children of the coven that Agatha killed right? Didn’t they have other people looking after them? Like I don’t know much about the Salem era of course I wasn’t there ( or was I? 👀) I assume these mothers didn’t just leave 7 kids playing in dirt somewhere on their own like ‘mommy will be back I just have to go and kill a witch because her mother doesn’t like her and is very jealous of her’ like did they not return and the kids found friends in the animals that obviously gathered around them and form powers to turn into them and just decide well! Time to kill Agatha in a few hundred centuries or whatever

I’m thinking to much about this I know I am, but isn’t it fun?!

Also finally, Wanda I love you I love you to pieces but! This is Agatha all along maybe a post credit scene for you to come back and be like ‘my son! I’ve missed you, now let’s find your brother’ but this show is about Agatha and her ex wif- search for power!

I’m rambling and it makes no sense but god I can’t wait until next week, hopefully the witches come out of the quick sand mud and kick teens ass and Rio helps of course!

[20dollarlolita]

What's up, here's a little pep talk I had to have with myself about the fact that I've recently gone from invisibly disabled to very visibly disabled. It was a pep talk for me, but you can have it too:

Part 1) You deserve to be more than surviving. When you can fumble through and do okay, nice. But what if you can give yourself more support? If, instead of fumbling through, you are able to be comfortable and happy, then you're allowed to do what makes you comfortable and happy. You can do what makes you comfortable and happy, even if you don't NEED it just to get by. Also, BTW, if you feel very poorly when you drive in stop-and-go traffic for more than 4 minutes, because your body is in too much pain from pressing the brake pedal, you deserve better than that.

Part 2) I didn't feel particularly awkward getting disability aids that weren't visible. Expensive insoles in all my shoes isn't a thing other people see, and I didn't feel weird getting them myself. Taking ibuprofen multiple times a day wasn't a visible thing, and I didn't feel weird doing it. It was when I was looking at getting a cane, and when I was looking at getting a wheelchair that I started worrying about if I was "disabled enough" to need it. That was some fun ableism to get to unpack. Invisible things, didn't need to question if I needed them. Visible things, "ooh what if I'm just overreacting?" Can only trust my own judgement of my disability when no one can see it? Yikes.

Part 3) "What if I get a cane and then I get better?" YES. YES. THAT IS THE POINT. THAT IS THE BEST CASE SCENARIO. IF THAT HAPPENS, THEN YOU WIN. YOU DID GOOD.

Part 4) Everyone's ability level fluctuates constantly. It's so built into our lives that we don't even see it, at least until it's someone's disability. "I deadlifted 290lbs yesterday and now my arms feel like noodles," is overexerting yourself and paying for it the next day. Being willing to hike 5 miles in hiking boots, but not wanting to walk a mile down the beach in flip flops? That's your ability level changing depending on what support you get from what you're wearing. Walking 5 miles in hiking boots, but calling a Lyft to drive you 10 blocks because you're wearing high heels? That's getting help from someone else because your ability level is lower that day.

But when it's not being able to get out of bed because you cleaned your house yesterday and overexerted yourself, when you'll walk across a parking lot with a cane but will use a rollator to walk 1/4 mile, when you need someone to push your wheelchair on days when you don't feel good, it feels harder to accept. Also, a lot of abled people fully understand not walking 10 blocks in heels, but consider a disabled person faking because they use nothing one day and a wheelchair the next. Understanding changing ability level is so built into culture that it's not even noticed, but understanding dynamic disability level is apparently just too much to ask people.

Part 5) Every motivational speaker will talk about proacting and reacting. Reacting is looking at the situation you are in, and figuring out what to do about it. Reacting is what you do after something happens. Proacting is where you look at the future, and figure out what to do so that the future situation is something better. Proacting is what you do to make something happen.

Despite the 20dollarlolita pep talks tag on this blog, I'm not a motivational speaker. I'm not going to say that you must proact all the time. I'm going to say that proacting is very valid. If you look at your situation, and you go, "If I use my wheelchair today, then I will have enough energy to do what I want to do tomorrow. If I don't use my wheelchair today, I will be in pain and have difficulty functioning tomorrow," then you can use the wheelchair, even if you feel fine. I've found that, when I use my cane, I often don't feel like I need it. However, my situation is such that I can go from, "I don't need it," to "I really need it," faster than a sponge in a treedome. Over the span of a couple of steps, I can lose my balance or step wrong and find that I'm really leaning on my cane for the rest of the day. Not bringing it because I don't need it at the start of the walk from the parking garage to the coffee shop means that I don't have it on the walk back to the parking garage from the coffee shop. That's putting strain on my ankle that I don't need to put.

Waking up, feeling fine, and still using your wheelchair is completely valid. If you have even the slightest concern that not using your wheelchair today will make things even the tiniest hair bit worse that it would if you'd take the wheelchair, you can absolutely take the wheelchair.

You don't need to proact all the time, though! If you say, "Yeah, I don't want to take the wheelchair, and whatever happens tomorrow will happen," that's also your right. You're the one in your body, and you'll be the one who pays the consequence of not doing something, so you can make a judgement that most other people can't. As long as your judgement is based on your body and your ability, and isn't based on society pressuring you to take less accommodation than you need, you can make that judgement.

Part 6) Sitting down in a wheelchair, your elbows are generally much better able to hit someone's crotch than they are if you're standing up. Sometimes, people will do shitty ableist things. And look, no one knows for sure that it wasn't an accident, that someone did a shitty ableist thing and then you accidentally elbowed them in the crotch. Just food for thought there.

[readyplayerhobi]

Because, I Love You | 11

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 5.7k

; Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

; Synopsis:  According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks   then.

; A/N: Can you believe I wrote all this on my phone? If you enjoyed it, let me know what you think by leaving a comment or sending me an ask! Please reblog this so others can see it and follow the story of our favourite couple, and I’d love to read any reviews if people would be so kind!

; Masterlist

-

You're not the biggest fan of airports, especially not the waiting area. It's boring and there are barely any seats, which you always think is dumb because sometimes you have to wait ages before the person you're collecting turns up. And maybe it's because you're grumpy, but you hate standing for long periods.

You've been standing here for twenty minutes now. Sure - that's partly a you problem, as you're the one who turned up early. But sometimes planes landed early, and you didn't want Jungkook to be standing around waiting.

If there's one thing worse than standing in the waiting area, it's standing in the waiting area when you've been travelling for hours in a tin can hurtling through the air a few thousand feet up. You're not too sure what Jungkook is like when flying, but you tend to be grouchy when you're so close to home. But again, maybe that's just a you problem.

Leaning back against the wall, you purse your lips as you take in the people around you and those coming out of baggage collection. It's amusing trying to guess where people have come from - sure, you could check and look at the flight arrivals board but some people may have had transfers. The couple wearing t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops have clearly come from a hot country and they must've been more concerned with ensuring they were comfy back in the original country than when they arrived here. You certainly wouldn't want to be walking outside without a coat.

Not only that, but you like to take in the diversity of luggage. The people who have battered suitcases that speak of many journeys, the people with just a carry-on that's stuffed to the brim, the people who wrap their suitcases in plastic to make sure no one will get into them. You always wonder if airport security ever breaks into those, it's something you'd experienced before and you didn't like the knowledge that someone had rifled through your stuff.

People-watching is so entertaining that you don't even realise that your fiancé has finally arrived until he calls out your name. Head jerking over to him, you take him in with his oversized white shirt and black sweatpants. The straps of his backpack frame his chest, whilst he pulls his larger suitcase behind him. Smiling widely, you move forward with your arms wide open.

He'd already been smiling at you anyway, but now his eyes crease with joy and you get the rare sight of his dimple. You swear he has the most expressive face you've ever seen, and right now those sparkling doe eyes are practically radiating happiness, despite the bags under his eyes.

"Hiiiii," You grin, wrapping your arms around his slim waist and hugging him so tightly that he lets out a little grunt. "Missed you."

"Missed you, too. I forgot how much I hate flying, but I've got so much cool shit for you!" He starts taking off his backpack immediately and you laugh, pressing a hand to his chest and shaking his head. Always so eager to be moving and doing things.

"Show me at home, the parking charges are insane for this place. Hey, Jimin - you have a good time as well?" You ask, nodding a greeting to Jungkook's best friend.

You'd spent the last two weeks alone, as Jungkook had gone to Australia for two weeks with his friends. It had been planned for the last few years, with all of them finally having the time and money to do it. As a result, you'd been greeted with plenty of pictures of Jungkook as he'd enjoyed all the touristy sites of Sydney and Melbourne. You'd gotten plenty of pictures of him snorkelling, scuba diving, windsurfing, surfing, and all the other things that you'd never in a million years do.

Given they'd gone in January, they'd enjoyed high temperatures and plenty of sun. As a result, even with the liberal sunscreen they'd been applying, both Jimin and Jungkook had tanned from all their outdoor activities. Though, you noted with amusement, Jungkook had managed to get a sunburn on his nose while Jimin's cheeks were looking a little more rosy than normal.

"I did, and thanks for agreeing to drive me home. I really appreciate it." Jimin says, giving you a quick smile and a nod of his head. His bleached blonde hair makes his golden skin look even more tanned, and you can just imagine how many women and men he left heartbroken back in Australia.

"It's no problem, come on. Do you want to stop for food on the way back?" Jimin lived in the same place as Jungkook and you, hence why you were bringing his friend back. Jungkook's other friends he'd gone with had been college friends, who didn't live near anymore so they hadn't been on the same flight.

"I'm okay, I think I just want my bed." Jimin responded whilst Jungkook nodded in agreement. You weren't surprised, they both had that weird 'wired-yet-haggard' look that travellers got after being stuck in a plane for ages.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook falls asleep in the car within ten minutes of getting into it. The soft sound of his heavy breathing, and the slight snores that accompany it, make the corners of your lips twitch in amusement. You've missed that sound more than you'd realised, and a glance over at him makes your heart clench as a sudden wave of fondness takes over.

His head has lolled onto his left shoulder, with his mouth dropped open and his slightly too long hair falling into his eyes. A large part of you desperately wants to reach out and trace the features of his face, but you look away to concentrate on the road once more.

"Did you enjoy Australia as well? Jungkook kept telling me that you were being a hit with the folk there." Glancing into the rearview mirror, you catch Jimin's eyes and watch as the corner of his mouth quirks into a satisfied smirk.

"Yeah, it was great. Definitely want to go back, and yeah…met some friendly Aussies." A snort leaves your mouth at that.

"Friendly, is that what we're calling it?" Your answer makes Jimin laugh softly.

"Hey, they were hot and willing. Some days we just stayed on the beach pretty much - think the days I actually wore a shirt were in single figures. Unlike someone else in the car, I'm a free agent." Chewing your lip, you grip the wheel a little tighter at his words.

You're glad Jimin, and the rest of Jungkook's friends had enjoyed themselves on their trip and had been well received in return. But you'd seen the pictures that Jimin had posted on his Instagram, of the toned bodies of both men and women he'd hung out with at various points. Some featured Jungkook, your fiancé enjoying his time with his temporary new friends, and of course, he'd fit right in with his tall, muscular physique.

Frowning, you take a deep breath and try to tell yourself to get over it. You're so deep in the sudden shoring up of your emotional defences that you don't notice that Jimin has been carefully watching you out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't worry, he was loyal. Even moved his ring to pretend he was married, think he broke a lot of people's hearts but he didn't care." At that, your eyes glance to Jungkook's left hand and you note the faint tan line on his ring finger. Warmth fills you, and you feel yourself relax slightly.

Jungkook had decided he wanted an engagement ring too, though he wore it on his right hand instead of his left. The fact he'd willingly pretended to be married when you weren't there made you want to reach over and give him a huge kiss.

For a second, you press your lips together and try to prevent the smile before deciding 'fuck it', and letting it spread. What on earth had you done to end up with Jeon Jungkook?

-

Jungkook doesn't wake up even when you stop at Jimin's place, nor when you get out to help Jimin get his stuff out of the back. Even once you've parked in your drive, behind his Mercedes that hadn't moved in two weeks, he was still out. There was even a dark patch on his shirt where he'd drooled, and you snort before shaking his shoulder. It takes a few attempts - Jungkook is legendary for being hard to wake up - but he finally blinks at you bleakly.

It's amazing how he hasn't even been to bed, yet he looks like he's slept for ten hours and isn't aware of what year he's in. It's not his best look, with his sleep-swollen eyes and dried drool, yet you still look at him with love. There's something tender and special about being able to see someone in such a vulnerable state.

"C'mon sleepyhead, we're home."

He groans deeply, stretching his arms as far as he can against the car's ceiling whilst his long legs push against the foot well. You can't even imagine how tired he must feel, and the way he stretches is probably one of those satisfying stretches where every muscle tenses before relaxing in an almost seductive manner.

"Damn, I slept the whole way?" Jungkook asks, twisting his seat to see the empty back seats. Chuckling, you push some of his hair behind his ear before opening your door.

"Yep, you even drooled." Closing the door cuts off his curses, and by the time he's finished frantically wiping his chin and shirt, you've got his suitcase out and waiting. The dull grey sky is probably much more boring than the sun he'd enjoyed in Australia, and the coldness makes him shudder as he follows you inside the house.

For the next hour or two, the two of you enjoy each other's presence once more as you make a spicy chicken stir fry and he gets busy sorting out his laundry. You're not surprised that his most important business after getting home from vacation was to get his clothes cleaned.

By the time you've both finished off the stir fry - with extra helpings for Jungkook as apparently airplane food isn't anything to write home about - and Jungkook has taken a shower to wash off the grime of travelling, his first load of washing is done. You watch in amusement as he sorts everything out, carefully placing clothes on the drying rack that he doesn't want to be put into the dryer. There's no reason for you to be here, in the small utility room watching your fiancé dry clothes of all things, but you missed him.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and he does nothing for so long that you're concerned he's fallen asleep. Moving over to him, you gently prod his arm and grin as he jolts his head up suddenly. You were half right, as he's rapidly blinking in an attempt to stay awake, even while standing and you smile.

"Alright, come on. You've sorted out your washing, for now, time for bed." He half-heartedly fights it for a second, glancing at the remainder of his washing before he trudged up to your bedroom. You follow, after locking the doors and turning everything off, and are endeared by the sight of him sprawled on the bed. He's half-dressed, only in his boxers and you get to marvel at the sight of him.

Even though he's tired, you can't help the spark of desire that ignites between your legs. It's been three weeks since you've had sex with him, and two of those weeks he hadn't even been here for you to look at. Old videos and photos you'd both made and his new pictures from Australia had been the only thing to keep you going.

But now he was back…half naked on the bed.

You don't realise you've been eyeing him so blatantly until he lets out a tired laugh. The movement makes his abs flex enticingly, leading you to crawl onto the bed with him.

"Eyeing up your prey?" Jungkook teases, one arm over his eyes whilst his free hand moves to squeeze your thigh. Part of you wants to take his hand and press it a little further to the right and up until you have those delightful fingers you love so much press right where you want them.

"Mmm, don't act like you don't like it." You emphasise your words by lightly poking the bulge that has slowly grown in his dark boxers. He might be tired, but one part of him is always willing to rise to the task.

"I always like it, I'm just a bit tired." He says, moving his arm enough until you get to see those big doe eyes staring at you. There's just enough mischief in them that lets you know though he might be tired, he's willing to play.

"Hmm…" Shifting slightly, you grasp the waistband of his boxers and tug. Slowly, they slide down and he lifts his hips slightly to help you, just enough that they pass the perfect muscles of his ass. It takes mere seconds to remove them completely, and you half-heartedly throw them in the direction of his clothes basket. 

He's already stiffening nicely, even without any touching, and you simply watch for a moment. Jungkook has a nice dick - you're one of those women who enjoys a nice-looking dick and Jungkook definitely has one. Not so long that he pokes you uncomfortably in the uterus, and not too thick that it means you need to prep every time you want a quickie.

Humming to yourself in appreciation - honestly, what had you done to get such a hunk of a man? - you trace your fingertips over his thighs. Thick muscles twitch under your touch, his skin sensitive and causing him to shiver slightly. The sensations increase as you trail your fingers higher, your nails grazing along his inside thigh with just the right amount of pressure that he lets out a huff of breath.

"Still tired?" You ask an innocence you both know you're not feeling laced into your words and Jungkook grunts. Looking directly into his eyes, and ignoring the delightful expanse of toned need skin on offer, you grin as they narrow.

"I will die if you stop." Jungkook states bluntly, one hand pressed into the bed whilst the other is pushing his hair back. It lets you see how his bicep bulges and you know that he probably kept up his workout routine even in Australia. 

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" You tease, smirking as you trace one finger along the defined muscle that leads from his hip to his thigh. Unable to resist, you lean forward and gently bite the prominent line there and he hisses in response.

"Please just touch me," He grinds out, teeth pressed together. "I've missed you."

Even though he's already said it, and he's naked in front of you, your chest still warms at his words. To be missed by someone as handsome and sweet as Jeon Jungkook was special.

In response, you don't say anything but show your love and feelings by grasping his shaft and squeezing. The gesture instantly causes Jungkook to let out a sigh of relief, and you smirk as his cock twitches ever so slightly in your hand. He's hot beneath your palm, skin smooth and length hard. 

Tightening your grip, you jerk him a few times before slowing your movements. Instead of the quick, sharp tugs you'd just given him, you instead tense your hand and stroke his cock in slow, measured glides that twist slightly at the top. It's something he'd taught you, and you know it drives him wild when you mix up the speeds and grips. It might not be enough to get him to come, but it makes him feel good.

"Good?" You ask, checking in with him and feeling smug pride at the way his brow is creased in an expression that straddles pain and pleasure. Jungkook nods quickly, pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips before his teeth play with his lip ring.

You continue to stroke him for a minute or so, even going so far as to grip him in two hands and jerk him fast and hard in a way that makes him shout out and half sit up. But as much as you enjoy using your hand on him, you want him in your mouth too.

So you do - moving on the bed until you're in a comfy position and holding his cock straight up. Without saying anything, you suck on the tip of him, engulfing the flared head with ease and letting your tongue play around with what it can reach as you continue to stroke him with one hand from his base to your lips. His thighs tense, and one wandering hand almost grasps your shoulder before falling away to tighten on the bed sheets.

Pulling him out of your mouth, you trail your tongue down the veins of his shaft and back up repeatedly, licking him as eagerly as if he was your favourite ice lolly. The taste of him is unique, and you close your eyes as you lick, kiss and suck along him as he whines and pants out pleads to you.

Letting the tip of him rub along your lips for a moment, you give him a second to recover as you take a deep breath before slipping him into your mouth in one move. Discovering you could deep throat had been a revelation for Jungkook, and you loved the way he lost his mind whenever you did it.

Humming in happiness as taking him whole, your nose being tickled by his public hair as it rubs against his pelvis, you undulate your tongue as best you can. It's not exactly the most attractive thing, but it makes him groan most delightfully.

Swallowing, you let the strong muscles of your throat work the tip of his cock, causing it to twitch in your mouth at the pleasure. You'd smile if you didn't have a mouthful of him, but you scratch your fingernails down his thighs and hum in satisfaction. His thighs shiver, and you watch in satisfaction as his abdominal muscles convulse as he pants out.

Jungkook has always had a fantastic body, with defined abs, thick thighs, strong biceps and jaw-dropping back muscles. There's something extra special about seeing all those muscles tense and shift as you please him, unable to stay still and making him writhe on the bed. 

There's a noise that bursts from his mouth as you stroke the underside of his balls. You'd been with men before who didn't like their testicles being touched - men who found it too ticklish or just felt weird about it. Jungkook was all for ball play, and if gave him a blowjob without stroking or fondling them in some way then he'd pout a little. You think he just likes being overstimulated as he loves being edged as well. The more sensation he has, the stronger his orgasm usually was.

Part of you worries that he'll become a bit desensitised to it, so most of the time you won't go as intense. The last thing you want is for him to be unable to orgasm without a million things happening.

But for now…you'd engage in his wants.

One day, you'd try to give him a prostate orgasm. He'd already agreed to try it, but he hadn't yet felt confident enough to let you. You could only imagine how hard he'd cum then.

Another noise leaves him, and you get the sense it's asking for something. He sounds more whiny than usual, and you lift till his cock slips out of your mouth. Grasping the base of him, you stop it from falling against his stomach and instead tap it to your lips.

Each tap results in a kiss to the darkened skin.

"What is it?" You ask, pursing your lips and dragging him across them in a lazy measure. Giving blowjobs is something you enjoy, and you enjoy giving them to Jungkook even more. Apparently, you give the best blowjobs he's ever had, which does wonders for your ego.

Jungkook whines, pressing his palm to his eyes whilst his other hand flounders. It's like he can't decide whether he wants to grasp the bed, your head or himself.

"Use your words." Your own words are teasing, and you playfully lick his cock in short, quick movements. All the while, the hand grasping him moves slowly. He doesn't respond for a moment, so you make a tight circle with your index finger and thumb around him.

Slowly, you drag that circle up his cock and back down. The pressure on him is far more intense than if you just grip him in your fist, and his hips jolt up as a grunt leaves him.

"Fuck, fuck, please. Please." Jungkook moans, his breath catching in his throat as you jerk him off.

"Please…what?" You ask, raising a brow at him as a tiny smile takes over. From an outside perspective, it could be argued that you were dominating him. Neither of you engaged in the BDSM scene, and you didn't particularly care for the labels in your sex life but you did enjoy how whiny he got with you. If people wanted to label that, then fine.

"Please can we fuck? Please? Please, it's been so long." He whines, the syllables of his words extending with his stuttering breath, all of them more high-pitched than his normal voice. It makes you clench your thighs.

"You don't want me to suck you off?" Leaning forward, you circle your tongue around his swollen tip and make a questioning noise.

"No, please. Please, I want to be inside you." Jungkook begs, and you take a moment to sit back. It has been three weeks, what with the two weeks he was in Australia and the week before that when you'd been on your period.

Letting go of his cock, it falls to his stomach before rebounding slightly, trying its hardest to defy physics and reach you again. Pressing down on it, you use the space between your index and middle finger to stroke along the rock-hard muscle that lines the underside of him. Eyeing him, you bite your lip as you squeeze your inner muscles.

You're beyond wet. There's an unbearable ache in your pussy, the muscles tightening on nothing and leaving you desperate for something to fill it. For someone.

"Fuck, okay." You curse, giving in to him with ease. It wasn't a hard choice - your fingers were great and all but you'd missed the feeling of him inside you, on top of you.

Jungkook lets out a victory noise and sits up, the muscles of his abs working intensely in a way that makes your mouth water. He quickly moves onto his knees, and you let him move you into the position he wants.

What he wants is one of your favourites - you on your side, with your leg raised to expose yourself to him. He straddles your other leg, stroking his cock in firm movements that give away his familiarity with what pleases him. His free hand reaches forward and trails through the slick between your legs, fingers parting the swollen flesh there to reveal your needy entrance.

"Fuck." Is all he says, one finger scooping up some of the wetness and using it to thoroughly soak your clit. Your body appreciates it, the feeling of his fingers on your clit much more pleasurable when it's slippery compared to when it's dry. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you shift to watch him.

An unfortunate part of being a larger woman is that you often don't quite get to properly see what Jungkook does to you. Either you can't get into a position that makes it easy to see, or there's some annoying body part in the way. But that's what phones are for, and you've got plenty of videos and photos of him that made the lonely nights more palatable.

Though you can't see his fingers as they play with your clit, you do get to see the intense look of concentration on his face. Jungkook puts 100% effort into everything he does, and the crease between his brows gives away that he's completely focused on your body right now. Even his hand on his dick has slowed, his mind concentrating only on your body.

"Get in me already!" You whine, and it's not lost on you that the tables have turned. The raised brow on Jungkook's face tells you that it's not lost on him either.

"Now who's needy?" Jungkook mumbles, a smirk curving one side of his mouth and you scowl. The toes of the leg resting on his shoulder move to push him, and he laughs as he rocks.

"Alright, alright. One stuffed pussy, coming up." 

"That was so cringy, don't say tha-ooh." Your complaint trails off into a breathy moan, the sound high as it catches in your throat. He'd taken the opportunity of your complaining to slide into you in one, firm thrust that has your eyes fluttering closed. Your pussy tightens on him instinctively, and you feel the tiny flutters of involuntary convulsions at the thick intrusion that causes so much pleasure.

"You were saying?" Jungkook asks, leaning over and resting his hands on either side of your head. It's a slightly awkward position, as your raised leg is pushed just a little too far but you ignore it in favour of the delightful sensation of him inside you.

It feels like he's deeper than normal, thanks to your leg being stretched in such a way that it has your pussy open in a way that it normally isn't. The sensations are intense, and that's before you even comprehend the fact that Jungkook's body is almost pressed to you, his mouth pressing open kisses to your shoulder and whatever part of you he can reach.

Before you can say anything, he moves. He doesn't thrust, nor does he pound - no, he rolls his hips into you in slow, precise movements. It's almost more like a dance, like he's grinding against you just with the bonus of his cock deep in you.

Groaning deeply, your arm that isn't pressed beneath your body tries to reach for some part of him. One thing you've learnt, after almost two years together, is that Jeon Jungkook knows how to fuck.

The open position your lower half is in means that your wetness is almost obscene. Already, after only a minute or two, your thighs are soaked as his cock pushes in and slick seeps out. The squelching sound is louder than normal, and you'd feel a bit shy about it if you weren't horny as hell. Plus, one of Jungkook's kinks is trying to figure out how wet he can get you - there have been attempts on his part to get you to squirt, so you know that he's probably more turned on than ever at the way you're soaking him.

"Harder?" Jungkook asks, and you twist slightly to look at him and nod. He's sweating now, and you'll both have another shower after this, but the dark look in his eyes gives away how much he's enjoying this. As if you needed that as proof though - not when he's balls deep in you. 

"Fuuck, I've missed this." Moaning out, you push your hips towards him as best you can in your position and are rewarded with a spike of hot pleasure. Giving your shoulder a final kiss, Jungkook pushes up until he's once more knelt on the bed.

A look passes between you both as he grips your thigh with one hand, his other moving to rub at your swollen clit. Jolting at the sensation, you bite your lip and squeeze on his cock. His response is immediate - hips no longer rolling in a sensual dance but instead thrusting in a furious, hard rhythm.

Jungkook slams into you at a fast pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease and rubbing against all the parts that make your body tighten in delight. Skin against skin joins the sloppy sounds as he fucks you hard, taking advantage of his position to use the strength of his thighs and core muscles and the easy access he has to your position to his advantage.

Pushing your head into the pillow, you moan unintelligible words to him as your hand grasps the covers - a deep need to be doing something with your hands. His fingers are rubbing circles into your clit, just the right pressure and movements to have your hips jerking as your body fumbles between trying to seek out the pleasure or avoid it.

"Jungkook…fuck, yes…there, I'm gonna-" You don't get the words out before the pressure centred around your clit finally breaks and molten pleasure cascades out. The effect is immediate - your pussy clenches uncontrollably around him so forcefully that he's almost pushed out of you whilst muscles all over your body spasm - pleasure shorting out your nerves and thoughts.

Long moans drag from your throat, alternating between high-pitched whines and deep grunts as you let yourself go to the orgasm. It's helped along by Jungkook's continued thrusting, his cock pushing through the vice grip you have on him and stroking all the overstimulated nerves in your pussy until you're crying out mercy to him.

The hand holding your thigh tightens suddenly to almost painful levels as Jungkook's entire body stiffens, his muscles more defined than ever as his orgasm ricochets through his body. Over half an hour of edging and three solid weeks since being inside you combine for an orgasm so strong that his mind whites out for a second. His breathing stutters as a high whining moan leaves his mouth, his brow creased in almost painful pleasure whilst his cock twitches inside you, each movement jetting another rope of cum to coat your insides.

For what was probably a solid 30 seconds, though it felt much longer, neither of you move or say a word as you both come back into your minds. His cock milked dry, Jungkook starts to soften in you almost immediately and he visibly deflates with tiredness. He shifts ever so slightly and slips out of you, the loss of him both welcome and unwelcome. You can already feel the thick mess of his release beginning to trickle out of you, but you can't bring yourself to stop it.

Others probably would judge you both for it, but you'd both stopped using any protection around two months ago. It had been Jungkook who'd suggested it first, pointing out that you were going to get married and he'd been excited to have a baby previously. Apparently, it had weighed on his mind that you'd never got that baby, and he'd realised that he very much wanted to be a dad.

You'd been amenable to his thoughts, acknowledging that you'd rather have your first child sooner instead of waiting and potentially risking age-related issues. Not that there was anything wrong with women who had babies later in life, but you were well aware that you had the added risk of your weight.

So you'd both agreed to stop using protection. You wouldn't actively try - none of that tracking your ovulation or putting pressure on yourself - but you wouldn't stop it if it happened. This time, whenever it happened, it would be a choice that you'd both made. A choice that you'd welcome, but for now…you'd enjoy the benefits of having him bare.

Looking at him, you give him a tired smile before reaching out and grasping his hand. Your fingers shake slightly from the orgasm, but you squeeze his fingers affectionately. Despite the lewdness of everything that had just happened, the two of you simply stare at each other with fondness and so much love.

"Love you." You say, voice cracking a little and he gives a crooked smile before kissing your fingers.

"Love you more " 

-

By the time you get out of the shower and reenter the bedroom to put on some pyjamas, you note that Jungkook has fallen asleep already. You'd find it impressive if you didn't know he could fall asleep in an instant, so you're not surprised that between the five minutes since him getting out of the shower and you giving yourself a quick wash, he'd already passed out.

Pulling on some fresh underwear and clean pyjamas, the scent pleasing to your nose against the faint odour of sex still in the air, you observe him quietly. He's near enough on his front, one arm tucked underneath his chest while his free arm rests on the mattress, his chin almost laying on his hand. Wet hair, extra black against the white and grey of the pillowcase, is beginning to dry and you can already are that he's going to have some wild bed hair in the morning.

Grinning and climbing into bed beside him, you take a moment to plug in your phone and apply a lip sleeping mask before turning off the light. Throughout all your shuffling as you wiggle down the bed, Jungkook doesn't even twitch and you wonder just how long he's going to sleep after a long flight and intense sex.

Moving over to where you can see his form against the darkness, you rest your cheek on his shoulder and lay your free arm over his slim waist. A quiet sound rumbles in his chest, neither a groan nor a moan of acknowledgement.

Pressing your nose to his shirt, you take in the scent of the man you love so deeply and sigh happily.

He's back home.

[w2soneshots]

Suprise -W2S

words: 0.6k+

warnings: pregnancy.

summary: you and Harry enjoy your baby moon.

Liked by wrotoshaw and 2,004,873 others

y/username: loading... 12/7/24🤍 @wrotoshaw

-comments-

freyanightingale: Im soo happy for you both!!

taliamar: ahh Im crying🥹

tobjizzle: ❤️❤️

behzingagram: Finally!😂

mollymae: so cute, congratulations!

y/nfanpage21: omg yesss!!

Me and Harry held out on announcing my pregnancy online and weren't sure how to do it but it was getting difficult to hide it in videos so we spontaneously decided to announce it while we were on our baby moon in the Bahamas. We told both of our family's and all of our friends almost 2 months ago. All of the girls cried, JJ started contemplating his life and Ethan was very excited to finally have another dad in the group.

Today is the 4th day of our week long trip. When I woke up Harry was nowhere to be found. I got up, slid on one of the two white, fluffy dressing gowns that were hung up in the wardrobe and headed down stairs. "Harry?!" I called out through the villa. "In here!" He called out from the kitchen. I walked into the room and was immediately hit with the smell of bacon and eggs. "Omg, that smells incredible!" I said taking a seat on one of the stools facing Harry. "I was gonna bring you breakfast In bed." he sighed while plating up our food. "It's the thought that counts, plus I wouldn't want to get food on those white sheets and have to pay a cleaning tax." I said. he laughed.

Once we finished our food we went upstairs to get ready because we're spending the rest of the day at the beach. Harry got dressed while I brushed my hair and slicked it back into a ponytail. I put on my black swimsuit and a matching cover up then slipped on some flip flops. Once I was ready I grabbed my beach bag and towel the went downstairs to meet Harry who is sat scrolling through his phone on the couch. "Im done." I said and he quickly got up.

When we got to the beach we picked a slightly shaded spot and set down all of our things. Harry left me for 5 minutes to grab some ice cream while I lay scrolling through instagram when I got a FaceTime call from Faith. "Hey!" I said after I answered. "Hi! I just wanted to check on you. How's the holiday going?" She asked. "Great, Harry's just gone to get some ice cream." I said with a smile. "Omg, I'm so jealous it looks so hot there." she said. "Ye maybe a little too hot." I said fanning myself. She laughed and then said "I remember when I was pregnant with Olive I was always so hot." just as she finished her sentence Harry returned with the ice creams and sat down next to me on his towel. "Well, I'll love you and leave you. Have fun, bye!" she said. I smiled and replied "bye!" then blew a kiss to the screen.

y/username just posted to there story!

Me and Harry spent a few hours sat relaxing on the beach when we decided to head back to the villa to get ready for dinner. We took a shower and Harry got changed while I dried my hair, curled it, put on a little bit of makeup and got into my dress.

"You look beautiful." Harry said when I walked down the stairs. He walked up to me and placed one of his hands on my stomach then gave me a kiss. I smiled and we left. When we arrived at the little restaurant we were taken to a table and given menus. "This all sounds amazing!" I said while my eyes scanned the piece of paper. Once I decided we ordered our food.

"Mmmm" I mumbled with a mouthful of pasta. Harry smiled "I love you so much."

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 18

Today is the day of the Luau. I had gone back to sleep, but in my bed this time, so I could sleep off the sense of guilt and dread I felt. I had not managed to stay awake to see Haley last night and I feel terrible. That… and maybe I was looking forward to seeing her. It has been a while since we have talked or interacted. I miss her.

Walking over to my fridge to grab out my prize melon I’m bringing with me. Before opening the door, I admired her note that I had stuck to the door of the fridge. I reread it every time I am in the kitchen. I could recite it word for word without even looking at it if I had to.

“I guess it’s not quite 9am yet. I better keep it in the fridge so it stays cold until then,” I decide.

Looking out the window, I see my field of crops waiting for me to tend to them. Guess I could water them all before I head over. With the amount of crops this season, it should kill enough of the time. Grabbing my watering can, I hastily walk outside.

                                                 🌻 🌻 🌻

The watering must’ve taken longer than I thought, because just as I am finishing up with the watering, I notice a figure approaching from my peripheral.

“Good morning, Danny!” Leah calls over as she gets closer.

“Good morning, Leah, how are you today?”

“I’m doing great. Super ready for this Luau….” she begins. Her eyes travel towards my farm and crops, “Wow! Your field here looks amazing! It must be a lot of work keeping it looking this good.”

“You have no idea,” I chuckle.

“It’s about that time to start heading over to the event. You ready to go?”

“Yup, just about,” I reply as I give the last plant some water.

“What did you end up picking to bring anyway?” Leah questions

“I’m bringing a melon. That’s what Haley suggested I bring.”

“OH you’re bringing a melon because HALEY said so,” Leah teases me.

“As a matter of fact, yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing… nothing,” she brushes off her last statement, “So she ended up coming by last night?”

I don’t respond to her question and just sulk. We have made our way up to my house so I could grab the melon out before leaving.

“What happened?” Leah questions with concern.

“I had fallen asleep while waiting for her… and she stopped by without me knowing,” I answered while grabbing the melon from the fridge, not looking Leah in the eyes.

“Oh Danny.” She puts her fingers to her forehead in disappointment.

“I don’t want to think about it anymore. Let’s just go now,” I wave Leah along so we can get going.

It is sweltering hot out due to it being the middle of summer. For the first time since being in Pelican Town, I actually decided to wear shorts. I had a tank top on as well because anything else would just be too much. I couldn’t do much about my hair since it’s an awkward length, so I had put half of it up into a ponytail again while the rest I kept down. My shoes being flip flops is also a first here in Pelican Town. It feels really weird being so exposed like this after being layered in clothing for so long.

“I’m going to majorly regret wearing flip flops,” I say to Leah as we arrive at the beach, “I hate the feeling of sand on my feet. It’s also going to be hot sand.” I start pouting and shaking my feet around to get the sand off already.

“You’ll forget about it. Don’t worry. I’ll see you around, okay?” She pats me on the shoulder and takes off across the beach to where Elliot is standing by his cabin.

“Look sharp!” Mayor Lewis hollers to me as he spots me. Immediately, I straighten my posture and roll my shoulders back. Mayor Lewis continues, “The governor's here for his annual visit. If you brought something for the potluck make sure and add it to the soup cauldron.”

“Soup.. cauldron..?” I hesitate.

“It’s that giant pot over there.” He gestures to the cauldron in the middle of the beach. Marnie seems to be tending to it with a giant spoon.

“I put the melon in there?” I question him, but Mayor Lewis has already walked away back to the governor’s side.

Unsure of what to do, I slowly and awkwardly start pacing towards the cauldron. I didn’t know that I’d be dumping my amazing tasting melon into a soup. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have even brought it. It deserves to be appreciated for its taste alone, not mixed in a soup.

“What’s the matter Danny?” I hear from beside me. I must’ve been frowning or expressing discouragement on my face unknowingly. When I look over to see who it is, the bad mood immediately disappears and I feel my face heat up. More than the temperature has been already doing.

“The- Um-...melons? In the soup..” I stutter embarrassingly.

“Ah I see. You didn’t know that the melons would be for the soup,” Haley chuckles after deciphering what I was trying to say. She had fallen in step with me when she had noticed my bad mood. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. She is still as gorgeous as ever, maybe even more. Summer really brings out her beauty with her glowing tan and stunning blonde hair that gleams in the sun.

“I think that’s so stupid. I would’ve never brought it if I had to just toss it into a soup with a bunch of other shit,” I rant on, “I would’ve kept it for myself to enjoy. The flavor will just disappear in the soup.”

The two of us make it to the small stairs up the ledge of the cauldron. I pop the lid off the container with the melon and go to walk up the stairs. Haley grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

“Can I have one last melon chunk before you toss it in? I want it to be appreciated like you said. You went to all the trouble growing it…” she innocently looks up at me through her eyelashes.

“Of course you can,” I reply while holding the container out to her.

She daintily picks out the best looking chunk and holds it up to her mouth. The melon I had brought was a super juicy one, so it makes quite a mess when biting into a chunk. However, she seems to embrace it. When she holds the melon to her lips, she makes direct eye contact with me and slowly bites into it. Her lips seem to form around the shape of it perfectly, taking in all of the juice. She slowly pulls it from her lips after taking the bite, letting the juice drip down her chin. I feel my face get warm once again, but not moving my eyes from her lips.

“You better toss the rest in now. Before it gets too mushy from the heat,” Haley says as she chews the piece of melon.

“Hmm..?” I break my gaze away from her lips and move it up to her eyes, “Oh… right.”

I step back up the mini staircase and look into the cauldron. The texture and color of the soup looks repulsive. It is a thick, sluggish, brownish green color with chunks of who knows what floating around in it. I have to cover my mouth to not vomit at the sight. I quickly toss my melon in and rush back down the steps.

“People actually eat that?” I huff, holding back a gag.

“Apparently it’s usually good. I don’t know though. I refuse to try it.” Haley makes a face of disgust.

“One year Sam put a pound of anchovies in the potluck soup,” Sebastian chimes in from where he was standing nearby. “Ever wondered why Sam leads the town in community service hours?”

“That’s disgusting. I definitely don’t trust anyone enough to try that soup now,” I respond to Sebastian. In that moment, I see Haley wandering off towards a table with a bowl of punch on it.

“I see you found Haley pretty quickly?” Sebastian chuckles as soon as she is out of range.

“Actually, she found me first,” I retorted. “But I see you haven’t found your way to Sam yet?”

“Oh that’s right. You ran into Sam leaving my place that one morning.” Sebastian sheepishly looks away

“Mhm. Can’t call me out on anything when you guys act the saaaammmmee wayyyyy,” I tease, making a point to draw out my words.

“You suck,” Sebastian cracks back playfully, “ I’ll leave you and Haley to it then. I will in fact go see Sam now though. Don’t you dare even crack a smile at that.”

Sebastian saunters away in the direction of Sam as Haley makes her way back to me. She has a plastic cup of punch in each hand.

“I figured you’d want some punch in this heat, hope that’s okay.” Haley hands me one of the cups from her hand.

“I’m actually allergic…” I give her a devilish smirk as I remember the first time I did that to her.Haley just scoffs and shakes her head. I notice a little smile dance across her lips.

Suddenly, she grabs the strap of my tank top and pulls me down to her height.

“I heard the punch was spiked. This is going to be a fun Luau this year,” she whispers in my ear. Her gentle voice in my ear sends shivers across my body, causing subtle goosebumps to form on my arms.

“What about the young kids though? They shouldn’t have any of that. Did anyone warn Jodi and Marnie?” I whisper back with concern. Haley pulls back away from my ear, my tank top strap still in hand. She has a soft look on her face.

“You are so sweet Danny,” Haley gushes. “Jodi and Marnie were warned not to give Vincent and Jas any punch. Don’t you worry.” She releases the strap of my tank top and puts her hand on my cheek. I haven’t moved from my slightly bent over position so she didn’t have to reach far.

“Everyone gather around! It’s time for the governor to try the soup!” Mayor Lewis yells to the crowd.

At his command, we all circle around the soup cauldron. The governor is on the top step of the stairs leading up the side, with a ladle in hand. He seems overly eager to try the soup. I can’t believe he keeps coming back after the anchovy incident.

Mayor Lewis gives the governor the go ahead to try a spoonful of the soup. Instantly, the governor dips his ladle in and takes a big slurp.

“Oh my... that's the best soup I've ever tasted!” The governor exclaims. His remark causes Mayor Lewis to walk up and taste the soup himself.

“You’re right… it’s delicious!” Mayor Lewis agrees.

A line begins to form at the base of the cauldron with everyone holding an empty bowl to fill.

“Are you guys coming to get some soup?” Leah shouts to Haley and I from the line. We both awkwardly shake our heads.

“I don't care how good everyone says it is, I am NOT trying that soup,” I remarked to Haley. However, she seems to be giving me a sour look.

“Are you into Leah?” she asks rather bluntly.

“No-?” I try to respond, but she continues on.

“Because I noticed you two walked here together. Emily also told me you were hanging out at her place yesterday.” She crosses her arms and pops her hip as she speaks

“I’m not into Leah, Haley. She is just a friend. Not every girl I hangout with I’m into. Why do you care so much, anyway?”

“I don’t care. I was just wondering that’s all,” she sasses.

“Then why are you crossing your arms so hard?” I point out how tightly she is gripping her arms together. Her fingers are turning her arms red from how tight she is holding them. As I point it out though, she immediately releases.

“I’m just…cold.” We stare at each other in silence in the sweltering heat of the summer sun. “I’m getting more punch. I’ll get you one too. Be right back.”

I watch her bounce away to the table with the punch. Beside where we were standing, there is an appetizer platter table. I take a cracker from a charcuterie board arrangement and pop it into my mouth.

On the other side of the appetizer table, Clint is hovering around holding a cup of punch. He seems to be uneasy and acting really suspicious. He is very clearly checking out Emily who is still waiting in line for soup.

“Dude,” I scolded him from across the table. He looks my way and I shake my head with my brows furrowed. Emily is so much younger than him and is also clearly not into him. Clint has always rubbed me the wrong way and I hate to see Emily being objectified like that.

That one word seemed to scare him enough because he darted past everyone and left the beach. I’m glad I didn’t have to waste my breath anymore than I already had.

Clint had been the first person to leave, but the others soon began to leave as well. Although, It was mostly the older adults leaving along with Vincent and Jas.

The rest of us young adults hung around and set up a huge bonfire. Marnie told us we could keep the punch with us for the rest of the night to finish it up. It was nearly gone though already due to everyone getting multiple cups of it throughout the event. It was most definitely spiked because every one of us was anywhere from really drunk to at least a little tipsy.

Circled around the bonfire is the usual group of us who tend to hangout at the arcade plus Shane. He seemed to be in good spirits today and wanted to hangout with us.

Emily and Haley had walked over to their house to get blankets for everyone to sit on and huddle under. The rest of us had set up the bonfire by gathering firewood. Sebastian had used his lighter to ignite it which was all it needed. The fire had burst into hot, roaring flames and continued that way the whole time we were around it.

Everyone who I’d thought would sit together or share a blanket sat with someone unusual. Instead of sitting with Sam, Sebastian sat with Abigail. They had a blanket wrapped around their shoulders, but Sebastian is not paying any attention to her.

Sam and Alex shared a blanket to sit on, but sat as far from each other as they could on it. On that same note, Shane and Penny were sharing a blanket to sit on but also sat far apart.

Maru and I share a blanket to sit on and to drape over our legs. It’s not too weird, but I haven’t got to talk to her much since living here. Hopefully this will allow me to get to talk to her more.

The only two pairs that made sense were Leah and Elliot and Haley and Emily. I don’t understand why everyone sat with people they weren’t comfortable sitting with. Maybe as the night goes on, people will shuffle around. Sam seems to have the perfect solution for that too.

“Who wants to play truth or dare!” Sam chants, rubbing his hands together maniacally.

“How old do you think we are, Sam?” Shane moans.

“We are never too old to play truth or dare, Shane. If anything, it’s more fun this old. Don’t be a party pooper. Why don’t you go first since you were so quick to say something,” Sam sneers then lets out an evil laugh.

“Oh brother,” Maru mumbles to me, putting her head down into her hand. Sounds like it’s going to be a long night.