#under market sneakers

[dippedanddripped]

QUICK FLIPPING SNEAKERS FOR OVER $1,200+ PROFIT AT SNEAKERCON HOUSTON

[amyzworldds]

honestly the jeonghan losing 14th member fic you just posted got me thinking

like imagine if this time it was cheol that lost her 💀

Title: Night Market Chaos

Masterlist | Part 2

Seungcheol takes Y/N to his hometown on Seventeen’s day off, where her chaos—overpacking, pampering his dog Kkuma, and stickering his car—spirals from a midnight ice cream run to a night market. Pairing: Seventeen (tired leadernim Scoups) x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor

Months had zipped by since Y/N’s Tokyo cat-and-dog fiasco, and today was a rare day off for Seventeen. Most members had scattered to their family homes—Jeonghan lounging at his parents’, Hoshi probably terrorizing his siblings with tiger impressions, and Woozi hoarding Coke Zero in peace. Y/N, though, was stuck at the dorm, her globe-trotting parents off on some romantic world tour, leaving her under Seungcheol’s watchful eye. He’d decided to drag her to his hometown rather than risk her torching the dorm solo. “Leave her alone?” he’d muttered to himself earlier. “She’d burn it to ashes—or adopt a zoo!”

Inside her room, Y/N was packing like she was moving to Antarctica for a year, not just crashing at Seungcheol’s parents’ place for three days. Two bulging suitcases sat open—one stuffed with clothes, the other a chaotic explosion of chips, candies, trinkets, and—inexplicably—dog toys and a bag of premium kibble. She hummed happily, tossing in a pack of gummy worms, oblivious to the storm about to hit.

Seungcheol poked his head in, expecting a sensible duffel bag, and froze. “What in the—Y/N, what are you doing?!” he barked, startling her so badly she dropped a bag of sour candies, which burst open and scattered across the floor like colorful shrapnel.

“Coups oppa!” she yelped, clutching her chest. “Don’t sneak up like that—I almost died!” She grinned, recovering fast, and hoisted a suitcase. “Look, I’m ready! This one’s full of chips and candies—your parents are gonna love me! I’m their snack angel!”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened as he peeked inside—Doritos, Skittles, gummy bears, a rogue chocolate bar melting into a sock. “My parents don’t need a sugar coma!” he said, snatching the bag and dumping it on her bed. “What’s all this other junk?!”

Y/N beamed, undeterred, and yanked out a handful of dog toys—squeaky bones, a rubber ball, even a tiny tiara. “These are for Kkuma! Your dog’s gonna adore me more than you! Check this out—premium kibble, cute dresses, and hair clips! She’ll be the fanciest pup in town!”

Seungcheol stared, jaw slack. “Kkuma doesn’t need a wardrobe! She’s a dog, not a Barbie! And why do you have enough food to feed a pack for a month?!”

“Because I’m winning her over!” Y/N declared, holding up a frilly pink dress. “She’ll love me best—sorry, Coups oppa, I’m the new favorite! Plus, I’m prepared for anything!”

He rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Prepared for what? We’re staying three days, not three years!” He rifled through her other suitcase—jeans, hoodies, a sparkly skirt, five pairs of sneakers. “Why do you have half your closet in here?!”

Y/N laughed, twirling a trinket-laden keychain. “What if your mom and dad love me so much they beg me to stay forever? ‘Oh, Y/N, you’re our daughter now—don’t leave!’ I gotta be ready! Plus, Eomma and Appa adore me—you know it!”

Seungcheol groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t wrong—his parents did adore her. As the youngest with only a older brother, Seungcheol’s family had no daughters, so they’d latched onto Y/N like she was their long-lost princess. She called them “Eomma” and “Appa,” was in their family group chat (where she sent daily memes), and got spoiled rotten—homemade meals, extra blankets, even a stash of her favorite snacks at their house. Last time they’d called, his mom had asked, “Where’s Y/N-ie? Tell her to visit soon!” while his dad chimed in, “She’s more fun than you, Cheol-ah!”

“Yeah, yeah, they love you,” he grumbled, tossing a candy bag back at her. “But you’re not moving in! Three days—no trinket invasion, no dog fashion shows. Are you ready or what? I need to load the car—I’m driving, not hauling a candy store!”

“Ready!” she chirped, zipping her bags with a flourish. “But I’m keeping the dog stuff—Kkuma’s my VIP! And if Eomma and Appa adopt me, you’re stuck with me forever!”

“They won’t,” he shot back, grabbing a suitcase. “And if they try, I’m disowning you all!”

“They’d pick me over you!” she teased, lugging the other bag. “I’m cuter—and I come with snacks!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The car ride was a comedy of errors. Y/N insisted on shotgun, her trinkets jangling as she fiddled with the radio, blasting Seventeen songs and singing off-key. “Coups oppa, sing with me! ‘Hot, hot, hot!’”

“No!” he barked, swatting her hand from the volume. “I’m driving, not auditioning!”

“Boo, you’re no fun!” she pouted, then gasped, digging into her bag. “Oh, I forgot—I got Kkuma a bow tie! She’s gonna slay!”

“She’s a dog, not a runway model!” Seungcheol groaned, but a smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously lovable!” she corrected, dangling the bow tie in his face. “Admit it—Eomma and Appa will crown me their princess by day two!”

“Day two, I’m locking you in the garage,” he muttered, swerving to avoid her flailing trinket hands.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The car hummed along the highway, Seungcheol gripping the wheel with the focus of a man determined not to let Y/N turn his hometown trip into a disaster movie. She’d already commandeered the radio, belting “HOT, HOT, HOT!” off-key until he’d threatened to duct-tape her mouth shut. Now, she sat in the passenger seat, suspiciously quiet, rummaging in her small backpack with a smirk that screamed trouble.

Last week, Y/N had stumbled across a TikTok trend—girls plastering their dads’ or boyfriends’ car dashboards with glittery, girly stickers: hearts, stars, unicorns, the works. She’d cackled at the screen, plotting her own twist. With no boyfriend and her parents off gallivanting, she’d turned her sights on her ultimate victim: Seungcheol. She’d gone full chaotic gremlin, ordering a stash of stickers online—sparkly nonsense, plus custom ones with her face and “Y/N THE QUEEN” in bold pink letters. They’d arrived just in time, hidden in her bag like a glitter bomb waiting to detonate.

They hit a drive-thru—Y/N had whined nonstop about her burger cravings, “Coups oppa, I’m starving! My stomach’s eating itself—get me a burger or I’ll haunt you!” Seungcheol, desperate for peace, pulled up to the window, rattling off their order: “Two burgers, fries, a Coke—make it quick, she’s driving me nuts!”

That’s when Y/N struck. With Seungcheol distracted, she whipped out her sticker sheets, grinning like a supervillain. “Time for art!” she whispered, peeling off a glittery heart and slapping it onto the dashboard with a satisfying thwack. Then a star. Then a custom “Y/N THE QUEEN” sticker—her tiny face winking up from the console. She giggled maniacally, sticking faster, a sparkly invasion spreading across the pristine black interior.

Seungcheol finished ordering—“No pickles on hers, she’ll riot!”—and glanced over, expecting Y/N to be scrolling her phone. Instead, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. The dashboard was a glittery warzone—hearts, stars, and her smug little face staring back at him in triplicate. “Y/N, WHAT THE HELL?!” he bellowed, pinching his nose so hard he looked like he might implode.

She froze, mid-stick, a unicorn dangling from her fingers, and flashed a proud grin. “Look, Coups oppa! It’s my masterpiece! Your car’s a Y/N shrine now—cute, right?”

“Cute?!” he wheezed, voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. “You turned my car into a Barbie dreamhouse! Get those off—NOW!”

“Nope!” she chirped, dodging his swat and slapping a sticker on his cheek—a glittery “Y/N” sparkling under his eye. “You’re part of the art too! Smile, oppa—it’s trending!”

Seungcheol’s glare could’ve melted steel, but Y/N was unstoppable. She plastered stickers like a madwoman—dashboard, steering wheel, even the gearshift sprouted a winking Y/N face. He shook his head, muttering, “I can’t stop her. She’s a sticker demon. Why me?!”

The drive-thru worker handed over the food, peering in with a smirk. “Nice decor, man,” he said, eyeing the glitter explosion. Seungcheol snatched the bags, growling, “Don’t encourage her!”

Y/N paused only to grab her burger, munching happily as she stuck a rainbow on the passenger door. “Mmm, burger’s good—stickers are better!” she mumbled, slapping a “QUEEN Y/N” onto the window with a ketchup-smeared finger.

“You’re insane!” Seungcheol roared, peeling the sticker off his cheek—only for her to replace it with a sparkly cat. “Stop it! This is my car, not your scrapbook!”

“Too late!” she cackled, burger in one hand, sticker in the other. “It’s a Y/N-mobile now! Eomma and Appa will love it—Kkuma too!”

The dashboard was a lost cause—every inch glittered with hearts, stars, and her face, the passenger door now a mosaic of unicorns and “Y/N THE QUEEN.” Seungcheol’s hands twitched on the wheel, visions of peeling it all off dancing in his head, but Y/N’s glee was contagious—and infuriating. “You’re cleaning this up when we get back!” he snapped, burger untouched as he mourned his dignity.

“Nah, it’s permanent!” she teased, sticking a final “Y/N” on his forehead mid-bite. “You’re my canvas, oppa—deal with it!”

He swerved, nearly spilling fries, and yanked the sticker off, tossing it out the window. “That’s it—I’m locking you in the trunk with your dog toys!”

“Try it!” she laughed, smearing ketchup on a heart sticker and planting it on his arm. “You love me too much!”

“Love’s a strong word right now!” he bellowed, but a snort escaped—her chaos was absurdly endearing, even as his car screamed “Y/N” from every angle.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Seungcheol’s parents’ house, once a peaceful haven of quiet dinners and sensible decor, had morphed into a full-blown Y/N shrine within hours of their arrival. The living room? Trinket central—her glittery charms dangled from lamps, her bunny plushie perched on the couch like a throne. The kitchen? A Y/N feast zone, where his mom bustled around, cooking up a storm of her favorites—spicy tteokbokki, kimbap, and a towering stack of japchae. Not a single dish was Seungcheol’s beloved galbi or kimchi jjigae. He slumped in his room, joystick in hand, muttering, “At least I can game in peace while they worship her.”

Downstairs, chaos reigned. Y/N had Kkuma in her clutches, the little dog decked out like a pageant queen—pink frilly dress, sparkly hair clips, even a tiny tiara teetering on her fluffy head. “Kkuma, my princess!” Y/N squealed, smushing the pup’s face with kisses so aggressive Seungcheol’s dad had to duck flying drool. “You’re my VIP now—sorry, Coups oppa, she’s mine!”

Kkuma yipped, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive, and didn’t even glance at Seungcheol when they’d walked in. Normally, she’d barrel into his legs, but this time? Straight to Y/N, who scooped her up like a long-lost soulmate, cooing, “Mama’s here, baby! Did you miss me?!” Seungcheol had stood there, arms crossed, muttering, “Traitor dog—I raised you!”

Now, at the dinner table, the real comedy unfolded. His mom piled Y/N’s plate high—tteokbokki spilling over the edges, japchae forming a noodle mountain, kimbap stacked like a Jenga tower. “Eat up, Y/N-ie!” she beamed, spooning more onto the pile. “You need energy for all your fun!”

His dad joined in, plopping a fish cake onto the heap. “Our girl’s gotta stay strong—look how cute she is, Cheol-ah!”

Seungcheol stared at his own plate—two measly kimbap rolls and a sad spoonful of soup—and whined, “Hey, I’m the real son here! Where’s my food?! You’re burying her in japchae while I’m starving!”

Y/N grinned, mouth full of tteokbokki, sauce smeared on her chin. “Eomma and Appa love me more, oppa! Accept it—I’m the golden child now!”

“Golden child?!” Seungcheol sputtered, nearly choking on his soup. “You’re a gremlin they adopted five minutes ago! Mom, Dad, I’m your actual kid—feed me!”

His mom laughed, patting Y/N’s head. “Oh, Cheol-ah, don’t be jealous! Y/N-ie’s our little princess—she needs pampering!”

“Pampering?!” he yelped, pointing at her plate. “That’s a food avalanche! She’ll explode, and I’ll get, what, crumbs?!”

His dad chuckled, tossing Y/N another fish cake. “She’s more fun than you, son—look at her with Kkuma! You just sit there brooding!”

“Brooding?!” Seungcheol wailed, flailing his chopsticks. “I’m resting! I dragged her here to save the dorm from burning down, and now I’m the bad guy?!”

Y/N swallowed a kimbap roll whole, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Face it, Coups oppa—Eomma, Appa, and Kkuma picked me! I’m the MVP!” She leaned down, smooching Kkuma—who’d parked herself at Y/N’s feet, tiara askew—right on the snout. “Right, my queen? You love me best!”

Kkuma barked, licking Y/N’s face, and Seungcheol threw his hands up. “Unbelievable! My own dog’s defected! I’m calling animal control—she’s brainwashed you, Kkuma!”

His mom swatted him with a spatula, laughing. “Stop it, Cheol-ah—she’s adorable! Look at that dress—she’s never been this fancy!”

“Fancy?!” Seungcheol howled, eyeing Kkuma’s pink monstrosity. “She looks like a rejected idol costume! Y/N, take that off her—she’s embarrassed!”

“She loves it!” Y/N shot back, clipping a glittery bow onto Kkuma’s tail. “She’s slaying—way better than you in that boring hoodie!”

His dad snorted, nearly dropping his chopsticks. “She’s got you there, son—Kkuma’s got more style now!”

Seungcheol groaned, sinking into his chair. “I’m living in a nightmare. My parents, my dog—everyone’s Team Y/N!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Upstairs, he’d retreated to his room, the sounds of Y/N’s laughter and Kkuma’s yips echoing through the house. He fired up his video game, muttering, “Finally, some peace—let them spoil her ‘til she bursts.” Deep down, though? He couldn’t stay mad. Y/N’s chaos lit up the place—his parents’ faces glowed with joy, and even Kkuma’s over-the-top outfits were kinda hilarious. She was his little sister, stickers and all, and her antics—however maddening—made every room a circus he secretly loved.

Downstairs, Y/N staged a “fashion show,” parading Kkuma around the living room, his mom clapping like a proud stage mom. “Next look—Kkuma in sparkly clips!” Y/N announced, pinning a rhinestone barrette to the dog’s ear.

“She’s a superstar!” his dad cheered, snapping pics. “Cheol-ah, come see this!”

“I’m good!” Seungcheol yelled back, but peeked out his door, snorting at the sight—Kkuma strutting like she’d auditioned for Seventeen. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, but a grin crept up. “She’s gonna demand a solo next.”

Dinner ended with Y/N sprawled on the couch, Kkuma on her lap, his parents fussing over her like she’d hung the moon. Seungcheol shuffled down, plopping beside her with a fake scowl. “You’re a menace—you stole my family!”

“And your dog!” she teased, booping Kkuma’s nose. “Admit it, oppa—you’re obsessed with me!”

“Obsessed with locking you in a closet!” he shot back, but ruffled her hair, laughing. “Fine, you win—just don’t sticker the house next!”

“No promises!” she sang, pulling a glittery “Y/N” sticker from her pocket and slapping it on his forehead.

His parents howled with laughter as Seungcheol flailed, “Get it off! I’m not your canvas!”—but it was too late. The Y/N takeover was complete, and his once-quiet house was a riot of love, chaos, and one very fabulous dog.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Midnight draped Seungcheol’s parents’ house in a rare hush—well, almost. The guest room, now Y/N’s chaotic domain, glowed faintly with the light of Seungcheol’s laptop, which she’d “borrowed” earlier with a “Pretty please, oppa? I forgot mine!” His parents had already turned the room into her personal palace—new fluffy blankets, a bunny-shaped pillow, even a plush bunny sleeper they’d bought “just for their Y/N-ie.” Her clothes spilled out of suitcases, trinkets jangled from the bedframe, and Seungcheol had surrendered, muttering, “As long as she leaves me alone to game, she can sticker the whole room for all I care.” Spoiler: she’d already slapped a glittery “Y/N” on his laptop lid.

Y/N, wide awake in her bunny sleeper—ears flopping over her face—was sprawled on the bed, binge-watching some drama on the laptop, cackling at the screen. “This guy’s dumber than Hoshi trying to cook!” she snorted, but her stomach growled, cutting through her giggles. She paused the show, peering around the too-quiet house. The living room lights were off, the silence eerie—no Kkuma yips, no parental chatter. She shuffled to the big window, pressing her nose to the glass. The moon hung huge and glowing, practically begging her to step outside.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. “No people, big moon—prime midnight vibes! I need ice cream—now!” Her mind raced—night walks were her thing, a secret joy where the world felt hers alone, and food tasted like freedom. She glanced toward Seungcheol’s room, then back at the moon, gears turning. “He’s always grounding me for sneaking out with the others—Dino, Hoshi, Jeonghan—but I’ve never dragged him out! He doesn’t get why it’s so fun!”

A devilish grin spread across her face. “Time to enlighten Appa Coups—by force!” She tiptoed to his door, her bunny slippers squeaking faintly, and peeked in. There he was, hunched over his gaming setup, headset on, muttering at the screen—“Die, you pixel jerk!”—oblivious to her plotting. She plopped onto his bed with a dramatic bounce, making him jump.

“What now?!” he snapped, pausing his game and spinning around, eyes narrowing at her bunny-eared silhouette. “It’s midnight—go sleep, gremlin!”

Y/N grinned, unfazed, and leaned in with her best puppy eyes—big, watery, weaponized cuteness. “Coups oppaaaa, let’s go outside! The moon’s huge, the air’s crisp, and I’m starving for ice cream! You’ve never come with me at night—you don’t get why I love it! Come on, just once!”

“No way!” he barked, turning back to his screen. “I’m not sneaking out like some delinquent—you’re grounded from that life, remember? Swing incident? Tokyo cats? I’m not risking it!”

“But that’s the point!” she whined, flopping onto his pillow like a dying fish. “You’ve never seen why I do it! The world’s different at night—no fans, no chaos, just us and the vibes! Ice cream tastes better at midnight—I swear it’s science! You’ll love it!”

“Love it?!” he snorted, mashing buttons. “I love sleep—and not chasing you through the streets! Go eat leftovers or something!”

She sat up, dialing up the drama, clutching her bunny ears like a tragic heroine. “Leftovers?! Oppa, you’d let your poor little sister starve? I’m wasting away—look at me, skin and bones!” She pinched her perfectly healthy cheek, pouting harder. “You don’t understand ‘cause you’ve never tried it! One walk, one ice cream, and you’ll see—please, please, pleeeease?”

Seungcheol groaned, headset slipping. “You’re not starving—you ate half the kitchen at dinner! And stop with the eyes—I’m immune!”

“Immune?!” she gasped, scooting closer, eyes now glistening like she’d rehearsed this in a mirror. “You’re breaking my heart, oppa! I’m your baby sister, your pride and joy—don’t you wanna bond with me? What if I trip outside alone and die ‘cause you said no? You’ll cry at my funeral—‘Oh, if only I’d gone for ice cream!’”

“Die?!” he sputtered, spinning to face her fully. “You’re not dying—you’re a cockroach, you’d survive a nuclear blast! And we’re not bonding over a midnight sugar run!”

She smirked, sensing his defenses cracking, and unleashed her secret weapon—gaslighting. “Oh, I get it—you’re scared! Big tough Coups oppa’s afraid of the dark! What if a stray cat jumps you? Or a moth? You’d scream like a baby!”

“Scared?!” he roared, nearly toppling his chair. “I’m not scared—I’m sane! You’re the one who’d adopt the cat and sticker it to death!”

“Prove it then!” she challenged, hopping up and tugging his arm. “Come with me—just ten minutes! Ice cream, moon vibes, and I’ll shut up all night! You’ll thank me when you taste how magical it is!”

He shook his head, muttering, “She’s insane—certifiable,” but her puppy eyes drilled into his soul, and her logic—twisted as it was—wormed in. “Fine!” he barked, yanking off his headset. “Ten minutes, one ice cream, and you’re done—no whining after!”

“YES!” she squealed, fist-pumping so hard her bunny ears flopped. “You won’t regret it, oppa—I’m your midnight guru now!”

“I already regret it,” he grumbled, grabbing a hoodie as she bounced to the door. “If Mom and Dad wake up, you’re explaining this!”

“Deal!” she sang, already plotting. “Wait ‘til you see the moon—it’s basically my spotlight!”

They snuck downstairs, Y/N’s slippers squeaking like a broken toy, Seungcheol hissing, “Quiet, you loud disaster!” She just grinned, tugging him outside into the crisp night air. The moon loomed huge, bathing the empty streets in silver, and Y/N twirled, arms wide. “See? Isn’t it epic? Now—ice cream hunt!”

He trudged after her, muttering, “Ten minutes, then I’m dragging you back by your bunny ears!”—but a tiny smirk betrayed him. Her chaos was infectious, and deep down, he was curious if midnight ice cream really did taste better. Another hilarious misadventure was underway!

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

SUMMER LOVIN'

CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST SUMMER

SUMMARY: It's the summer of 2019 and everything in Azzi's life has changed in a matter of months. But when she meets her new neighbor in Cape Cod, summer might just start to be her favorite time of year.

WORD COUNT: 2.8k PAIRING: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd WARNINGS: None (just Azzi being a little ball of anxiety) (Be warned this is barely proofread)

NOTE: Okayyy new series alert!!! Sorry for being MIA for so long I just wasn't feeling motivated etc etc. This series is gonna be a lot more fun and upbeat, I tried to match the banter and back and forth of some of my favorite writers on here. Also this is mostly just backstory, kinda like a prologue, so the rest of the chapters will mostly be set in the summer of 2024 or maybe 2025, idk it doesn't matter that much. I hope everyone likes this and isn't too disappointed that it isn't a Long, Long Time update. Thanks so much for reading and for all the support!!! I love getting feedback and comments and inbox stuff so feel free to leave that!!! Okay I hope everyone enjoys!!!!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k (whoops, so short) PAIRING: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd WARNINGS: None (just Azzi being a little ball of anxiety)

JUNE, 2019

CAPE COD, MASSACHUSETTS

This was a new level of weird, like a whole new one. Actually, scratch that, not only was it a whole new level of weird it was a whole new plane of weird existence. 

The Fudd’s didn’t own a ‘summer house’, that would be crazy, that couldn’t be real. When they went out for dinner, once in a blue moon, they got tap water and kids meals, and maybe a dessert if it was someone’s birthday. They owned one car, a worn-down, beat-up people mover, which smelt like a mix of vomit and jelly belly air fresheners. Their house was well loved and rent controlled, something they were thankful for each and every day. They were content with what they had. They were happy and they loved each other.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the case anymore - well the last bit was still definitely true. But ever since her mom got a new fancy job at a law firm and her dad got a promotion, a lot had changed. 

Her family’s yearly income basically quadrupling had been the craziest thing to ever happen to anyone in the history of forever. With all the new money her parents were at a loss with what to do, so they went to a financial advisor person, who told them to ‘invest, invest, invest’, which they did.

One stock market thing after the other and suddenly her family had new cars and houses, and she could do twelve out of state college degrees debt free.

But it still didn’t feel real, it felt like a dream, or a mistake. Every day she expected for the IRS to come knocking down her door, taking all their money and belongings and locking all of it in a freezer - she still wasn’t sure what ‘frozen assets’ meant, but she swore it would happen to them.

Her parents had tried and tried to explain that they wouldn’t spend money that they didn’t have, that they were as secure as anyone could be, but Azzi wouldn’t hear a bar of it.

So of course, the existence of a ‘summer house’ had to be fake. But as her family pulled up to the massive, gated, shingled two story it started to feel quite real.

She stumbled out of the car, unsure of herself, the gravel of the driveway crunched under her squeaky-clean sneakers. Her dad handed her the baby pink suitcase she had picked out before they went to Europe - Holy fuck, she went to Europe. 

She dragged her suitcase down the driveway and made her way towards the entryway. Her mom was already standing on the front porch unlocking the door, her squealing brothers behind her, eager to see the house. Azzi felt like she had been removed from her body, like she was simply a floating entity, watching from afar. 

When the door swung open Jon and Jose sprinted inside, their footsteps and laughter ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings. Azzi stepped in slowly, she needed to be careful, what if houses in Cape Cod had floors that fell out beneath sceptical girls named Azzi, how was she to know?

After a few calculated steps inside she finally dared to look up.

Holy fuck.

It was beautiful, all of it, everything.

The front door opened into a hallway with two doors. On one side, an ornate doorway led to a fancy dining room and the other led to an office, both had big, solid oak tables, and nice chairs and glittery chandeliers. 

She walked down further and was met with the biggest windows she’d probably ever seen in her entire life. But it was the view that struck her, the pool in the backyard, the sand dunes and the ocean, the sunrise settling on the horizon. It was beautiful, it looked like it had been plucked straight out of a postcard. Azzi wasn’t even that religious, but if you had told her God had spent his day off building that house, she would’ve believed it.

The living room had big, white, plush couches with mountains of pillows. The kitchen was decked out in white marble and gold appliances. It was a dream come true.

Azzi turned to her parents, who were standing behind her, anxiously awaiting to see what she would say. They were half-convinced she’d beg them to return the house, to save their money in case of an unforeseen complete economic collapse.

Instead, she squeezed them as tight as she could and through a few tears, said, “I love it.”

They went to bed a few hours later after eating chicken caesar salad for dinner. Her mom made them eat on the deck, she said it was called dining ‘alfresco’. Azzi knew that just meant to be snobby and eat outside, but she was happy to go along with whatever her mom wanted.

It turned out that eating alfresco really took it out of her - or maybe she was drained from the extreme levels of unnecessary anxiety she had been operating under for as long as she could remember, either or.

So immediately after dinner she went up to her room. It was a solid half the size of her room at their real house -god saying ‘real’ house felt so pretentious- but at least triple her room at their old house. It was on the left side of the house, her window right across from a window of their neighbor’s house. It had a white-tiled ensuite with a shower and a bathtub, something she planned to use everyday if she could. She even used the bath salts she brought, letting the warm water and rose scent relax her muscles and her mind.

At last she was ready to sleep. With her sleeping mask and bonnet on she tucked herself into the five billion count duvet and started to drift off. As sleep finally began to take over she heard something.

It was quiet at first, a subtle tapping. She rolled over, trying to get the sleep she so desperately needed.

Then it got louder, she realised her window rattling was causing the sound. What the actual fuck was making her window rattle?

She squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance, trying to ignore the impending sense of doom that had settled deep in her stomach. 

Of course this would have to be how it ended for her. The universe couldn’t just give her one single thing. She was going to be murdered by some Cape Cod born-and-raised, white linen wearing, birkenstock loving freak who would use her guts as garnishes for acai bowls eaten alfresco; and there was nothing to be done about it.

Accepting her fate, she got out of bed and walked to the window, the freshly varnished hardwood floors cold underfoot. 

She braced herself, opening the shutters, only to be confused at the stark lack of creepy murderer person at her window, and the bountiful amount of tiny rocks in her flowerbed.

What was most surprising was the teenage girl standing in the windowsill of the house next door, her arm out and ready to throw another tiny rock. 

How was she going to be murdered from so far away? Bow and arrow? Gun? Was she actually going to be stoned to death? Like 1800s style?

Maybe she would just see where the moment took her.

Azzi knew that the shock was clearly etched onto her own face, but she knew that the expression on the other girl’s face showed she was more surprised than her.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, the girl’s arm still locked in place. It was then Azzi realised she would have to speak first.

“What are you doing?” She whisper-shouted to the girl, wondering if her voice would make it past the seven metre gap between the houses.

“Uhhh trying to talk to you?” The girl whisper-shouted back, seemingly very unsure of herself.

“Why?” Azzi questioned, genuinely confused. Why would this random girl be interested in talking to her?

“I wanted to?” The girl responded, her voice pitched up at the end.

“Why are you saying everything as a question?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

The girl responded, frazzled to the max, “I dunno! Why are you?” 

Okay. Maybe she had her there. Whatever.

Azzi answered honestly, “Um, actually I don’t know.”

Then she remembered the whole conversation started because her brand new neighbour was trying to kill her with a plethora of tiny stones, “Why were you throwing rocks at my window??”

The girl paused, looking slightly confused, “To talk to you. I said that, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. But like, you don’t even know me. Also it’s the middle of the night, unless I die in the next like seven hours I plan on being here tomorrow.”

She contemplated Azzi’s statement, “Hmm… yeah, I didn’t really think of that. I just wanted to talk to someone my age.”

“How do you even know I’m your age? I could be like thirty-five or something? We’re in Cape Cod for god’s sake doesn’t everybody here drink botox for breakfast?” Azzi interrogated.

She went silent for a moment before a smile broke out across her face, “Yeah, I don’t think a lot of thirty-five year olds sing along to Ariana Grande to unwind.”

Azzi stiffened, she felt her face flush a deep pink despite the slight summer breeze cooling her skin, “You could hear that?”

The girl’s smile grew a little as she crossed her arms across her chest, “I’ll just say that you’re a very talented singer.”

“Oh my god I wish you actually were going to murder me.” She whispered to herself.

Well, she thought she whispered to herself, but she realised she must’ve said it a lot louder when the girl’s face contorted with genuine confusion, “What?”

Azzi tried to regain her cool, “Nothing”

She shrugged, seeming to accept Azzi’s mini soliloquy, before she asked (stated really), “Okay, well, meet me on the beach at sunrise.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Why would I do that?”

She shrugged, her smug smirk never leaving her face,“Cause I’m oh so charming?”

“Hmm I wouldn’t classify tiny pebble window assault as a particularly charming thing to do.” She retorted.

“I guess you could argue that. Sleep tight, see you on the beach nice and early!” With that the girl gave a quick wave before closing the shutters and her window.

What just happened?

Azzi had had some weird interactions in her nearly seventeen years of living, but none had been able to match the incredibly niche awkwardness and confusion of her interaction with- 

Wait.

What was the girl’s name? As a matter of fact, what did she even look like? The warm glow that had been coming out of the girl’s room had only allowed for Azzi to get the slightest idea of what she looked like, and the expressions that she was making.

The questions swirled through her mind at a thousand miles per minute. It was overwhelming, the amount of information she lacked about the girl she was apparently meeting at the beach for sunrise.

She steadied herself.

What was she thinking? Going to the beach to be alone with a complete stranger before the world would even wake up, and also without asking her parent’s permission?

Had her brain been completely scrambled? Had the girl thrown rocks at her so hard the force of it had sent her into a topsy-turvy dimension?

Azzi shut the windows and blinds before walking back to bed and taking a double-and-a-half dose of her melatonin gummy bears.

A little voice told her it was mean not to meet the girl on the beach, then she remembered she never even agreed to do it in the first place, and also, murder was still on the cards, maybe she was just biding her time.

Then at last she fell asleep.

Azzi didn’t even mean to wake up when she did. She didn’t set an alarm, she shut her blinds, she took more melatonin gummies than what was good for her. So when she woke up wide-awake and refreshed at quarter to six, she had no idea why.

She turned back over, trying to lose some of the day to sleep. After what could have been many gruelling hours, but was actually five minutes, of unsuccessfully squeezing her eyes shut, she acquiesced to the sleep gods and rolled herself out of bed.

There was a light chill in the air. Summer was not yet in full swing, with it only being early June and all. So she pulled on denim cutoffs, a purple tank top and an old quarter-zip. 

She plucked her phone off her nightstand and put on her sandals. She slipped out of her room, closing her door as quietly as humanly possible.

Padding downstairs, she silently thanked the universe for allowing her to live in a house without steps that creaked under the lightest  amount of pressure.

Azzi searched for a set of house keys before she found them inside a shell trinket holder on top of the hall console.

She unlocked the back door, wincing as the lock made a slight scraping sound.

It was still dark, but the sun was beginning to poke out above the sea horizon.

Only when she reached the back fence did she remember all the reasons she thought of the night prior as to why she shouldn’t go.

Then she figured, if this was how she was meant to go, she might as well just let it happen. 

So she powered on, trying her hardest to ignore the grains of sand slowly filling up the soles of her sandals as the ground beneath her changed from grass to sand.

When she properly reached the beach she scanned the area, looking for the girl from the night before. She finally spotted her, or at least she spotted the only other person on the beach and figured that was good enough.

“So what’s your name?” Azzi asked as she plopped down next to the girl.

“Well Good morning to you too, sunshine.” She smiled, looking a bit amused by Azzi’s greeting in the form of interrogation.

They fell into silence, Azzi waiting for the girl to respond, and the girl waiting for Azzi to greet her.

Azzi looked at her, studying her face and all the details of her existence she had missed the night before.

She had long blonde hair, cascading over her shoulders, covered up by a big USA basketball hoodie. The lines of her face were sharp and soft at the same time, the curve of her jaw and cheekbones defined. What struck her most about the girl’s appearance were her eyes. They were a bright blue, and reminded her of the waves lapping against the shore only a few feet away from them. The girl was really, really pretty.

After two minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence the girl finally answered, “I’m Paige.”

She smiled at her, at Paige, “Cool, I’m Azzi”

Paige smiled back, “Nice name.”

“Thanks.”

They fell into pleasant chatter. Paige asked a lot of the questions and listened intently as Azzi answered. She laughed at the funny stuff, making witty comments as she listened. It kind of surprised Azzi how charismatic she actually was.

The sun had risen halfway when they fell back into their silence. In the process of their conversation they had unconsciously shuffled closer, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they watched the starburst-colored sky.

“It’s so pretty.” Azzi said in awe, eyes glued to the horizon.

“Yeah it is.” Paige agreed from beside her. 

It was nice, just sitting there together, the both of them watching something beautiful happen at the same time.

They talked and talked and talked as the cool morning air gave way to the warmer summer heat, and the sun rose high into the sky.

Azzi learnt that Paige had been born rich, that her dad was the son of a big investor who grew up to become a crazy successful software engineer. She learnt that she was from Minnesota, that she had three half-siblings that she adored. She learnt that she wanted to play basketball at college, but that she wanted to help people in some way when she graduated.

“Well I should probably get back, lots of unpacking to do.” Azzi said, realising it was almost eight-thirty,

“Yeah of course,” Paige paused in contemplation before she added earnestly, “I’m glad you came down Azzi.” 

“I’m sure you are.” Azzi quipped, then she bumped her shoulder against Paige’s, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, “Yeah, I’m glad too I guess.”

She stood up, brushing as much sand off of her as she could as she made her way off the beach.

“See you later!” Paige called, waving her arm, smiling.

“See you!” Azzi yelled back, her smile bigger than it had been in a long time.

NOTE: I hope you guys enjoyed!! Thanks so much for reading!! As always feel free to leave reactions and feedback and questions in my inbox!

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Sick as a Dog

Where Harry is sick and y/n just wants to help him.

Word count: 3,833

Content warning: cursing, mentions of being sick (no throwing up).

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. The familiar scent of him—clean, woodsy, with just a hint of his cologne—fills the air. For the first time in what feels like ages, Harry’s here. Really here. Not a FaceTime call, not a text, not a fleeting thought as I drift off to sleep alone. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily next to me.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement stirs him anyway. His eyes flutter open, green and warm like spring after a long winter. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his lips as he tightens his hold on me, pulling me closer.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy undertone I adore.

“Morning,” I reply, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.

For a while, neither of us says much. Words feel unnecessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, and finally my lips, slow and unhurried. His stubble grazes my skin, a reminder of how real this is.

Eventually, the world outside our cocoon of blankets starts to intrude. My mental checklist of errands creeps in, and I know his does too. But for now, we linger, soaking in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “I could stay like this forever.”

I laugh softly. “You say that, but we both know the list waiting for us today.”

He groans in mock protest, burying his face in my neck. “I just got home. Can’t we just…not?”

I want to agree. I want to cancel the errands, turn off the world, and spend the day exactly like this. But life has other plans. I kiss him one last time before sitting up, dragging him reluctantly along with me.

“Alright, Mr. Styles,” I tease, “up and at ’em. Groceries won’t buy themselves.”

With a dramatic sigh, he stretches and finally rises, his hair a tousled mess that somehow still suits him perfectly. The day awaits, but in this moment, everything feels right. He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s standing at the dresser, pulling on a simple white graphic tee that hugs his chest just right. He pairs it with light-wash jeans and his trusty white Vans, and I can’t help but stare. His hair is still a little messy from sleep, and there’s this ease about him that makes him look so effortlessly… Harry.

He notices, of course. He always notices. Turning to catch me mid-stare, he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Take a picture, Y/N. It’ll last longer,” he teases, his voice dripping with that cheeky charm.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight the grin tugging at my lips. “Maybe I will,” I shoot back, grabbing my phone and pretending to snap a photo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his wallet and keys.

I pull on my own pair of jeans, a plain tee, and sneakers. Comfort over style today—though Harry always insists I look good no matter what. As we make our way to the kitchen, he hums softly under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize but know I’ll ask him about later.

Breakfast is simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. Harry insists on making the coffee, declaring himself the “king of the French press.” I don’t argue; he really does make it better than I do.

As we finish up, he grabs his sunglasses and tosses me a lopsided grin. “Ready, love?”

We head out to his car—a sleek black Range Rover that feels way too fancy for a trip to the market, but that’s Harry. As he starts the engine, he glances at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Do you remember the last time we went to the market?” he asks as we pull onto the London streets.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not specifically, but I’m sure you’re about to remind me.”

He grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You tried to convince me we needed three different types of cheese for one dish.”

“Because we did,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“And we forgot the bread,” he counters, his laugh filling the car.

The easy banter flows between us as the city passes by outside. It’s moments like these—simple, mundane, yet filled with so much warmth—that make me realize just how much I’ve missed him while he’s been away. He reaches over to squeeze my hand, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

The market is alive with the hum of people, the scent of fresh produce, and the clatter of carts. As soon as we step inside, Harry grabs a cart and immediately veers toward the snacks aisle.

“We don’t need that,” I laugh as he tosses a jumbo bag of crisps into the cart.

“Don’t we?” he counters, feigning offense. “I’ve been deprived of proper snacks for months, love. Let me live a little.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning as he starts piling in more things—chocolates, biscuits, and a random jar of pickles. “Harry,” I warn, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” he says innocently. “Pickles are essential. You can’t deny it.”

We wander through the market, switching off who pushes the cart while the other roams the shelves. He sneaks in a box of cereal I’m pretty sure we already have at home, and I add a bottle of wine, pretending I didn’t see the outrageous snack haul he’s created.

As we pass the fresh pasta section, he stops, holding up a package of tagliatelle. “What do you think? Pasta for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a jar of marinara sauce. “What should we do for a side? Garlic bread?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And maybe a little salad. Gotta stay balanced,” he jokes, throwing in a bag of pre-washed greens with exaggerated flair.

By the time we’re at checkout, our cart is an eclectic mix of essentials, indulgences, and things we absolutely don’t need but couldn’t resist. As he loads the bags into the back of the car, he turns to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think about a movie night tonight?” he asks casually, though there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s up to something.

“I’d love that,” I reply. “I’d love to do anything with you.”

His grin widens, and he leans in just slightly. “Anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive tone.

I shove him playfully, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “What? I’m just saying we could… expand the agenda.”

“Let’s focus on dinner first,” I quip, climbing into the passenger seat.

As he starts the car, he shoots me one last cheeky glance. “Dinner and a movie, it is. For now.”

As we drive back home, the city whizzes by outside the windows, but my attention is completely fixed on Harry. His hand rests casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the radio. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a soft glow over his face.

I take in the details—the way his tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his tee, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends, looking perfectly imperfect. It’s all so him. Effortless, magnetic, entirely Harry.

My chest tightens with a wave of emotion I can’t suppress. For months, I’ve been waiting for this—to have him home, to watch him do something as simple as drive, to just be with him.

“I love you,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I even realize it.

He glances over at me, his green eyes warm and a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it but loves hearing it all the same. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

I shake my head, smiling as I try to find the right words. “No, I mean… I really love you. I missed you so much, Harry. I missed this. Us. You.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches over to place his hand on mine, squeezing it gently as his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I missed you too, love,” he says quietly. “More than I can even put into words.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence, but it’s filled with so much more than quiet. It’s filled with the weight of everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held onto while he’s been away.

As I look over at him again, I realize just how deeply he’s woven into every part of me. The sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like the only person in the world—it’s all part of why I love him.

As we pull into the driveway, Harry shifts the car into park and turns to me with a smirk. “Alright, love, get those muscles ready. It’s time to show me what you’re made of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Excuse me? I’m a delicate flower. I shouldn’t have to carry groceries,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

He rolls his eyes, playing along. “Right, how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll just do it all myself then,” he says, feigning exasperation as he climbs out of the car.

“Good plan,” I call after him, though I follow and grab a couple of bags because I’m not that cruel.

Between the two of us, we manage to carry everything inside, though Harry insists on making a show of flexing his arms every time he brings in another load.

“Impressed yet?” he asks, winking as he sets the last bag on the counter.

“Totally,” I say, deadpan. “Your talent for grocery-hauling is unmatched.”

He grins, leaning against the counter while I start unpacking. As I’m putting things away, I notice him setting a few things aside on the island—the pasta, marinara, garlic, and salad mix.

“Getting a head start on dinner, are you?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Just being efficient,” he replies, pulling out a cutting board and inspecting it like he’s about to perform surgery. “Also, you know I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I tease, but my words are muffled as I reach into a bag and pull out a pack of cookies.

Harry spots them instantly, his face lighting up. “You’re a genius,” he says, grabbing the pack from me and tearing it open.

“Hey! I was going to do that,” I protest, but he’s already popped a cookie into his mouth, grinning as he chews.

“Too slow, love,” he says, holding the pack out to me.

I take one and lean against the counter next to him, snacking while we chat about nothing and everything. The kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, the clinking of jars and cans as I finish putting the groceries away, and Harry’s occasional commentary about how he’s “the true mastermind behind dinner.”

Harry hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirs the pot of simmering sauce. It’s a sight I’ve missed—his ease, his focus, and the way he somehow makes cooking look like an art form.

I sit on one of the barstools, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him. He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he dips the spoon into the sauce. “Alright, taste test,” he says, walking over to me with the spoon held out.

I lean forward and take a small sip, the tangy warmth of the marinara spreading across my tongue. “Mmm,” I hum, nodding in approval. “That’s really good.”

Harry grins proudly, but his expression turns playful as he tilts his head. “Really good, huh? Just ‘good’? Not ‘amazing’ or ‘out of this world’?”

I roll my eyes and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Amazing,” I say, teasingly.

He whines dramatically, turning to face me fully. “That’s all I get? A cheek kiss after slaving away over a hot stove?”

Laughing, I reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. He hums in satisfaction, pulling back just enough to look at me, his green eyes sparkling.

“Much better,” he says, his voice low and content. Then, with a grin, he gestures toward the living room. “Now go on, find us something good for movie night. I’ll finish up here.”

I linger for a moment, watching him as he turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing pasta into a pot with the other. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, and I feel a wave of love wash over me.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” I ask, heading toward the couch.

“Something good,” he calls back. “No pressure, though.”

I laugh, flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the streaming options, already knowing whatever I pick, he’ll make it perfect just by being there.

A few minutes later, Harry walks into the living room, balancing two bowls of pasta with garlic bread perched neatly on the side. His careful concentration makes me smile, and he lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as he sets the bowls on the coffee table.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a grin, plopping down next to me and handing me my bowl.

“Thank you, chef,” I say, nudging his shoulder.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replies, leaning back into the cushions and taking a bite of his pasta.

We settle in, the familiar hum of a rom-com filling the room as we eat. Every so often, Harry sneaks a piece of my garlic bread, and I swat at him in mock protest, though I don’t really mind. It’s comfortable.

When the credits roll, Harry stretches with a groan, his head tilting back against the couch. “I hate to admit it,” he says, his voice laced with playful regret, “but I think I’m officially an old man.”

I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re a spring chicken.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “As much as I’d love to expand the evening and, you know, do naughty things, I’m absolutely knackered.”

I giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s fine, Harry. Go on, get some rest. I’ll clean up here.”

He gives me a grateful smile, standing up and stretching again. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Don’t forget it,” I tease, watching him as he heads upstairs, his steps slow and tired.

Once he’s gone, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I rinse out the bowls, wipe down the counters, and straighten up the cushions on the couch. It feels good to take care of the space we share, to know he’s upstairs waiting for me.

When I’m done, I slip into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me, and I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

After drying off and pulling on a cozy t-shirt, I head upstairs and crawl into bed next to Harry. He’s already half-asleep, his arm draped across my side as I settle in.

“Night, love,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled but full of warmth.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of early sunlight streaming through the curtains. I glance over at Harry, expecting to find his side of the bed empty like usual—he’s always the first one up. But this time, he’s still there, lying on his stomach with one arm draped over the pillow.

It’s rare to catch him sleeping in, but he looks peaceful, his face relaxed in the quiet morning light. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully slip out of bed and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I decide to make breakfast—something simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. The rhythmic sounds of the whisk and the faint sizzle of butter in the pan fill the kitchen as I work.

I’m almost done cooking when I hear slow, shuffling footsteps behind me. Turning around, I see Harry leaning against the doorframe, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face looks pale, and there’s a groggy, pained expression in his eyes.

“Morning,” I say, but before I can say more, he groans softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like absolute shit,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Concern washes over me as I set the spatula down and walk toward him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning his face.

He rubs his temples, leaning heavily against the counter. “Head’s pounding, throat feels like it’s on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation at his own body. Then he waves his hand weakly at me. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my brows knitting in worry. “Harry, I don’t care about that. Sit down,” I say firmly, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t argue, letting out another groan as he sinks into the seat. His head drops into his hands, and I can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s clear he’s not feeling himself.

“I’ll get you some tea and medicine,” I say softly, already moving to put the kettle on.

He glances up at me, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with affection. “You don’t have to fuss over me, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I do,” I reply, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.”

He smiles faintly, leaning back in the chair as I set about getting him what he needs, determined to nurse him back to health.

I set a mug of tea in front of Harry, the steam curling up in delicate clouds. “Tea with honey,” I say softly, sliding the plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to it. I make sure to add two Tylenols, placing them neatly on the napkin.

He looks up at me, his face still pale but his expression grateful. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

I sit across from him, watching as he takes a sip of tea and winces slightly. “It’s the post-tour crud,” he says with a small, tired chuckle. “Happens every time. My immune system’s just catching up after weeks of running on adrenaline.”

“Well, it’s catching up hard,” I reply, leaning my elbows on the table. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel bad, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. And I don’t want to get you sick.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, I don’t care. You’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. Remember when I had that horrible flu last year? You didn’t leave my side.”

“That’s different,” he says, his lips tugging into a weak smile. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “Well, now it’s my turn. You’re always looking out for me, Harry. Let me look out for you this time, alright?”

He doesn’t argue further, just looks at me with a mix of gratitude and affection, his eyes slightly glassy from the fever. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yes, you do,” I say firmly, standing to refill his tea. “Now eat, take your Tylenol, and let me fix you.”

Despite his groans of protest, I can see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

After breakfast, I set to work transforming the couch into a fortress of comfort. I grab every blanket I can find, piling them up alongside a collection of fluffy pillows, creating a cozy little nest. I pick a lighthearted show—something easy to watch, the kind Harry loves to have on in the background when he’s feeling off.

“Alright,” I say, standing back to admire my work. “Your throne awaits, Mr. Styles. Sit down, relax, and get comfy.”

He shuffles over from the kitchen, looking every bit the part of someone who’s feeling under the weather. As soon as he sinks into the pile of blankets, a sneeze erupts, followed by a series of coughs.

“Bless you,” I say, walking over to him. I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he holds up a hand weakly, stopping me.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice hoarse. “I’m sick. You shouldn’t—”

I ignore him, leaning in anyway to kiss his warm skin. “I really don’t care,” I say softly. “You’re stuck with me, germs and all.”

He shakes his head, clearly too tired to argue further, as I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s definitely running a fever, but I don’t let go.

Once he settles, I sit on the couch and tug him gently toward me, guiding him to rest against my chest. He lets out a tired sigh, letting his body relax into mine as I drape a blanket over both of us.

I start running my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and rub his back gently. “You’re burning up,” I whisper.

“I told you not to get close,” he mutters, though his voice is soft and grateful.

“Well, I told you I don’t care,” I reply, pressing my cheek to the top of his head.

He shifts slightly, snuggling closer, his hand resting lightly on my leg as the show plays quietly in the background. I keep stroking his hair and tracing light patterns on his back, hoping the touch soothes him.

For the first time since he woke up, he seems to relax fully, his breathing evening out as he watches the screen. Even though he’s warm to the touch and clearly miserable, I can feel the tension in his body melting away.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding him a little tighter.

[goldfades]

weee need Luka dad! x reader!!!!🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Your daughter is dramatic. Luka swears she gets it from you, but you know better—she gets it from him. It’s in the way she stomps through the house in her light-up sneakers like she’s got somewhere urgent to be, the way she argues with her father like a seasoned lawyer, her little brows furrowed in defiance, hands on her hips.

Most of all, it’s in the way she throws herself onto the couch now, spine melting into the cushions like she’s just been dealt the worst hand life has to offer.

“We have to go,” she says, voice lined with desperation. “Mama, we have to.”

She looks at you with those wide blue eyes, Luka’s copy-and-paste, but softer, rounder—more dangerous. She knows how to use them, too, lashes fluttering with the kind of precision that makes Luka grumble under his breath about how unfair the world is.

You humor her, pushing her curls away from her face. “Go where, baby?”

She gasps, appalled that you don’t already know. “To see Sabrina Carpenter!”

Your lips twitch, but you hold back the laugh, nodding along like this is Very Serious Business. “Right. Of course.”

This is her thing right now. A month ago, she wanted to be an astronaut. Two weeks ago, she was practicing her model walk in the hallway mirror, demanding that you and Luka call her Gigi Hadid. And now? Now, it’s Sabrina Carpenter. She’s been watching music videos on repeat, humming melodies under her breath, twirling around the kitchen like she’s waiting for someone to roll out a red carpet.

You turn to Luka, who’s sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, blissfully unaware of what’s about to hit him.

“Baby,” you say sweetly, watching him glance up with suspicion. “Wanna take your girls to a concert?”

Luka squints. “What concert?”

Your daughter, already exasperated, huffs loudly. “Sabrina Carpenter!”

Luka blinks, expression blank. You swear you can see the loading symbol in real time. “…Who?”

Your daughter’s jaw drops. “Daddy,” she whispers, horrified. “How do you not know?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking between the two of you like he’s just realized he’s outnumbered. “I—what? I don’t know her! What she do?”

Your daughter gasps again, clutching her chest like he’s just struck her down. “She sings Feather!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?”

Your daughter turns to you, pleading. Luka looks at you, helpless. And you? You’re just enjoying the show.

You let the silence stretch for a moment, just to watch Luka suffer. He looks between you and your daughter like he’s missed a crucial piece of information, like maybe he should know who Sabrina Carpenter is but has somehow failed a test he didn’t know he was taking.

“She’s a singer,” you finally say, taking pity on him.

“Uh-huh,” Luka nods, still clearly confused. “Like…Taylor Swift?”

Your daughter lights up at the name drop. “Yes! She opened for Taylor! But she’s also her own person, Daddy.”

Luka scratches his jaw. “So she’s like…baby Taylor Swift?”

Your daughter makes a sound so offended, so deeply wounded, you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Daddy, no! She’s Sabrina! You have to know who she is!”

Luka looks at you for help, and you shrug, enjoying this way too much. He mutters something in Slovenian under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face like this is somehow harder than an NBA game. “Okay, okay,” he sighs. “You like her, you want to go to her show. When is it?”

Your daughter is already scrambling for the iPad on the counter, fingers flying across the screen as she pulls up the concert dates with the urgency of a stockbroker watching the market crash.

“She’s coming here next month!” she announces proudly. “And we need to go.”

You expect Luka to hesitate, to ask more questions, to try and find a way out of this. But he just looks at her—his little girl, the light of his life, the tiny human who has him wrapped around her tiny little finger—and sighs in defeat.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “We go.”

Your daughter shrieks in delight, launching herself at him, her little arms barely making it around his broad chest. Luka catches her with ease, lifting her up like she weighs nothing, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek.

“You’re the best, Daddy!” she beams.

Luka groans dramatically. “I know, I know.”

But you? You know this is just the beginning. Because Luka might have agreed, but he still has no idea what he’s signed up for.

That night, after your daughter is asleep, you find Luka on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a deep frown.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” you ask, plopping down beside him.

“I look her up,” he says, turning his phone to you. Sure enough, Sabrina Carpenter’s Spotify page is open, her discography in full display. “I don’t know a single song.”

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. “You could’ve just asked me, you know.”

“I try to learn!” he says, exasperated. “So I don’t look stupid at the concert. But all these songs…‘Feather’? ‘Espresso’? What is this?”

“They’re hits, baby.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “She sings about coffee?”

You snatch the phone from his hands and press play. Instantly, the opening beats of Espresso fill the room, bright and bubbly, and Luka’s face twists like you just gave him a pop quiz in a language he doesn’t speak.

“This?” he points at the phone. “This is what she loves?”

You snort. “Luka, she’s six. She thinks Bluey is the height of emotional storytelling.”

Luka exhales loudly, dropping his head against the back of the couch. “I’m not ready for this.”

You hum, settling against him. “You weren’t ready for Barbie either, but you ended up loving it.”

“That was different,” he argues. “That was a movie. This is a concert. A bunch of screaming kids. Loud music. And you know what’s worst?”

You raise a brow. “What’s worst?”

Luka gestures vaguely. “She’s gonna want merch.”

You bark out a laugh. “You mean like the five different Luka Dončić jerseys she owns?”

He glares at you. “That is different.”

“Is it?”

Luka groans, rubbing his temples like he’s already exhausted. “I just—why can’t she be into something normal?”

You tilt your head. “Like basketball?”

“Yes!”

You smile. “Luka, she already loves basketball. But she also loves pop music, and Barbies, and dressing up, and changing her mind every two weeks. That’s the fun of being a kid.”

Luka sighs, but you can tell he’s softening.

“And,” you add, nudging him. “You love making her happy.”

That gets him. He grumbles something under his breath, but you see the fond smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” you tease, “wanna hear Feather next?”

Luka groans, but he doesn’t stop you from playing it.

And as much as he pretends to suffer, you don’t miss the way his foot starts tapping along to the beat.

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Seventeen

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Little bit of smut, angst, fluff

A/N: Bucky has my whole heart 🤍🤍

Masterpost

----

A few hours had passed since Bucky had dropped you off. The shower had helped, washing away the heat of the day, the exhaustion from walking around all afternoon, and the heaviness from certain moments. But you still felt restless, like you couldn’t quite settle, like there was something buzzing beneath your skin that water and soap couldn’t rinse away.

You sat on the edge of your bed, towel-drying your hair, your phone balanced in your lap. A part of you had been waiting, maybe for a text, maybe for something else entirely but when your screen finally lit up, it wasn’t Bucky.

Steve: We’re home. Hope you had a wonderful day.

You stared at the words, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard. You thought about your day. The flea market, Sam leaving, the graveyard, the slushies. The bracelets. Bucky.

Finally, you typed back:

I did.

Not even a minute later, another text buzzed through.

Steve: I love you.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers twitching, hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. You always would. But the fight had left something fractured between you, something unsettled.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind.

“Then listen to your heart, honey. It’s never led you wrong before.”

And God, you wanted to. But how were you supposed to, when your heart and your brain were at war? When your heart was screaming a name that wasn’t your husband’s, but your brain was reminding you Steve, Lily, the life you built.

Your life.

Your daughter.

The weight of it all pressed down on your chest, crushing, suffocating. Because no matter what happened between you and Steve, Lily was yours. And she was his and no matter what the hell your heart wanted, she had to come first.

You couldn’t lose her. You wouldn’t.

That’s why you shut off your phone, setting it facedown on your nightstand, pushing away the ache in your chest. It wasn’t time for this. It wasn’t time to pick apart all the things you still didn’t have answers for.

In the distance, you heard it.

The low, familiar rumble of an engine, the slight squeak of an old brake pedal.

Bucky’s truck.

You didn’t even think. You were on your feet, moving before you could register it, flying down the stairs and slipping out the front door before he had the chance to park.

Just like old times.

Bucky didn’t need to text you that he was here. Didn’t need to knock on your door. You just knew.

You slid into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of leather, motor oil, and faint cologne wrapping around you like something out of a dream. Something long buried and never forgotten.

You turned your head toward the back of the truck and saw it.

The blankets. The pillows.

Your stomach twisted, something warm pooling in your chest, thick and consuming.

You turned to him, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “The field?”

He smirked. “The field.”

And just like that, he shifted into drive, and you were off.

--

You weren’t supposed to end up there.

It had started as nothing more than a lazy summer afternoon, you and Bucky wandering past the outskirts of town, your sneakers kicking up dust as the sun hung golden and heavy in the sky. Neither of you had a destination in mind you never really needed one. Some days, it was enough just to be, to let the world carry you wherever it wanted.

And that’s how you found it.

The trees opened up like a secret, a near-perfect circle of sky breaking through the dense woods. The grass was soft, untamed but inviting, and the air smelled like pine and earth and possibility. It was untouched. Hidden. Yours.

Bucky whistled low under his breath, hands settling on his hips. “Well, would you look at that?”

You turned slowly, taking it all in. The way the treetops curled inward, sheltering the space like it was meant to be found but only by the right people. The way the path leading up to it was just wide enough for Bucky’s truck to make it through.

“This place,” you murmured, awestruck, “it’s perfect.”

“For what?” Bucky asked, grinning as he nudged your shoulder.

“For star gazing,” you said, spinning in a slow circle, tilting your head back to stare up at the sky. “It’s so open… no light pollution from town. You can see everything out here.”

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say much else. Just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was memorizing something important.

The sun was starting to dip lower, shadows stretching long through the trees, and you knew you had to head home soon.

“Come on,” he finally said, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Gotta get you back before your mom thinks I kidnapped you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t argue. You let him walk you home, let him tell you about how his ma was making pot roast for dinner, how he was probably gonna get an earful for staying out so late.

Just as he reached your driveway, he paused. “I’ll be back after dinner.”

You blinked. “Back?”

He smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. You wanna star gaze, right?”

Something warm flickered in your chest, something soft and unspoken.

“You’re the bestest friend a girl could ever want, Bucky Barnes,” you teased, grinning as you walked up your porch steps.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, “I’d do anything for you.”

It had been a few hours and you were waiting impatiently for Bucky to show up so naturally you nearly tripped over your own feet when you saw his truck.

The bed was filled with pillows and blankets, layered haphazardly but comfortably. There was even a thermos of something probably hot chocolate, knowing him sitting near the edge.

You stared at him, your mouth parted in disbelief. “What’s this?”

Bucky, leaning lazily against the side of the truck, just smirked. “Told you I’d be back.”

You shook your head, climbing up into the back, settling into the nest of blankets as he followed. When you both lay down, side by side, staring up at the vast stretch of stars above, it felt like nothing in the world could touch you.

You pointed out constellations, telling him all the stories behind them, and he listened like he actually cared, like every word you said was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard.

You and Bucky lay side by side in the back of his truck, wrapped in blankets, staring up at a sky so big it made you feel like you could get lost in it.

The weight of the day was gone, replaced by something softer. Something that settled deep in your chest as the two of you let the silence stretch between you, comfortable and familiar.

After a long moment, you sighed. “You ever think about what kind of dad you’d be?”

Bucky blinked, turning his head toward you. “That’s random.”

You shrugged. “We both lost our dads young. I guess I just… I don’t ever want my kids to go through that.”

Something in his expression shifted. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, his features unreadable.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Me neither.”

You swallowed, tracing invisible patterns on the blanket beneath you. “Whoever you have kids with… she’s gonna be really lucky.”

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “How many do you want?”

“Three.”

His brows shot up. “Damn. That was fast.”

You grinned. “I’ve got it all planned out. A girl first, she’ll be quite a few years older, give me a chance to get my bearings, she’ll be protective over the younger ones. Then a boy and then another girl, real close in age to him.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “You’re gonna have your hands full.”

You laughed. “Maybe. But my heart will be full, too.”

He was quiet for a second, then hummed. “Three sounds amazing.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Oh, so now you’re just copying me?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “What can I say? You’ve got good ideas.”

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow as you looked at him. “So, what? A little Barnes trio running around, causing trouble?”

He smirked. “Obviously. They’d have the best mom in the world.”

You felt your breath catch for a split second, your heart stuttering in your chest. But before you could let yourself linger on it, you flopped back down beside him, exhaling a slow breath.

“You’re gonna be an amazing dad, Buck.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes locked on you, voice softer now. “You think so?”

You nodded, “Never been more sure of something in my life.”

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just kept looking at you, something unreadable in his expression. The easy smirk he usually wore had faded, replaced by something softer, something heavier.

“You always believe in me more than I do,” he finally murmured.

You turned your head to face him again, your noses just inches apart. “Somebody has to.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat bobbing. His fingers twitched where they rested on the blanket between you, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite know how.

He was about to say something but you were anxious, you weren’t ready for the heaviness you knew would follow and it was like the universe knew it too because all of a sudden you saw a shooting star, you pointed to the sky. “Hey, look. Shooting star! Make a wish!”

“What if I already have everything I want?”

Your breath hitched. Bucky wasn’t looking at the star. He was looking at you.

The weight of his words settled between you, heavier than the night air, thicker than the warmth still lingering from the summer day. You felt your heart stutter, your fingers curling into the blanket beneath you.

You could pretend you didn’t know what he meant. You could laugh it off, roll your eyes, nudge him playfully and tell him to pick something better, something bigger like a brand-new truck or an all-you-can-eat pass to your favorite diner.

But you didn’t. Because in that moment, under that endless sky, you knew. You knew, and you were terrified, you weren’t ready.

So you did what you always did when things got too real, you deflected. “Well, I’m still making a wish,” you said quickly, squeezing your eyes shut, as if wishing hard enough could turn this moment into something safer. Something easier.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just watched you, his expression unreadable, his lips pressed together like he was holding something back. He knew, he could tell you weren’t ready for something more yet, not in the way he was. He didn’t blame you, you two were only Sixteen, still had a year of High School left. So he let you deflect.

When you opened your eyes again, the weight in your chest was still there. The air between you still crackled with something you weren’t ready to name.

“So?” he asked quietly. “What’d you wish for?”

You hesitated, then forced a smirk. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Bucky huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Of course.”

--

The clearing was exactly as you remembered it. The sky stretched wide above you, littered with stars, the air thick with summer warmth.

Bucky parked the truck in the middle of the field, throwing it into park. You both climbed into the back, settling into the nest of blankets and pillows, the case of beer tucked between you. A pizza box sat open, slices already half gone, grease-stained napkins scattered around.

It felt so easy.

Like no time had passed at all.

You leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the sky. “Do you ever wonder what sixteen-year-old us would think if they saw us right now?”

Bucky snorted, taking a sip of his beer. “They’d probably be pissed we never took over New York like they planned.”

You laughed. “They really would.” You paused “There's still time, we're not that old yet Buck.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head toward you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Speak for yourself. I’m practically ancient.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his knee with yours. “Please, you’re, what, four months older than me?”

“Five.”

“Whatever,” you teased, taking another sip of your beer. “You’re still the same punk you’ve always been.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the sky. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable, warm, thick with memories neither of you had to voice to know they were there.

You sighed softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”

Bucky’s grip tightened around his beer bottle. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t look at you right away. When he did, his voice was quiet, steady. “I remember every time we've ever been here.”

Your breath faultered in your throat. Because you knew what that meant. He remembered all of it. The late-night talks. The laughter. The quiet dreams spoken into the night and the one time that should have changed everything. The time you gave yourself to him in the very spot you were sitting now.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you set your beer down beside you, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the way the night air felt against your skin, the way Bucky was looking at you, the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

You hadn’t talked about it since. Not really. You had both let life move forward, had let other things take over, had let that night slip into the past like it was something fragile, untouchable.

But sitting here now, under the same stars, in the same place, you realized it had never really left you.

And from the way Bucky was looking at you, soft, unreadable, something heavy lingering in his eyes you knew it had never left him either.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twisting in the blanket beneath you. “Did it mean anything to you?”

Bucky’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might get whiplash. His brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were even asking.

His voice was raw when he spoke. “It meant everything to me.”

Your heart stammered in your chest.

You let out a shaky breath, looking away, because if you didn’t, you might drown in the way he was looking at you. “That was my first time, Bucky.”

“I know.”

You blinked, turning back to him. “It’s okay that it wasn’t yours.”

Bucky’s face twisted in shock, and then something like frustration. “What?”

You shifted slightly, sitting up straighter. “I mean, I know it wasn’t your first time. You went to parties, kissed all those girls—”

“That was my first and only time.”

Your entire body stilled. You stared at him, stunned. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

He let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “Why wouldn’t you believe that?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Bucky, come on. All those girls—”

“Kissing,” he interrupted firmly. “That’s all it ever was. Yeah, I turned eighteen a couple of months later, and yeah, I deployed. And yeah, I had chances. But you should know me better than that.” His voice softened, “Plus Y/N, I was kept in a dark dirt filled room for years, not really filled with opportunities.” He laughed softly then something almost vulnerable creeped into the edges. “I wasn’t just gonna give something as meaningful as that to someone else. Not when I already gave it to you.”

Your chest tightened.

You swallowed hard. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought you’d been able to tell it was my first time.” Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “And because you weren’t ready for that, for the kind of love I was ready to give,...it would have been too much, would have jeopardised our friendship.”

You let out a breathy, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “How dare you decide that for me?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and then he was looking at you again, really looking at you. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you were ready for something like that? A relationship? When we had all these big plans, when you had just gotten accepted to NYU?”

Your throat ached, but you didn’t break his gaze. “I would’ve given up everything for you, Bucky.”

And that was the truth.

Bucky shook his head, his expression pained. “That’s the thing, you shouldn’t have to give up anything for me. It should just work.”

---

The first time you and Steve had sex, it was different from your first time in every possible way.

With Bucky, it had been sloppy, perfect, desperate, burning with something you hadn’t known how to name at the time you were only a teenager.

But with Steve… with Steve, it was slow. It was careful.

It was two people learning how to touch again after loss, after heartbreak.

Steve's hands cradled your face, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw, as he explored the contours of your mouth. His lips were gentle, yet insistent, and you felt yourself yielding to the pressure, opening up to him like a flower unfolding its petals.

The taste of him was familiar, yet strange, a mix of comfort and excitement that left you breathless. You felt a rush of emotions, a jumble of sadness, longing, and desire, as you kissed him back, your lips moving in tandem with his.

As you broke apart for a moment, gasping for air, Steve's eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, the fear of rejection, of being hurt again. But you also saw the hope, the spark of connection that had ignited between you.

Without a word, you reached out and touched his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Steve's eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into your touch, his skin warm and alive beneath your fingertips.

The air around you seemed to vibrate with tension, as if the very fate of your relationship hung in the balance. But in this moment, you knew that you were ready to take the leap, to risk everything for the chance to heal, to love again.

Steve was gentle with you, his touch reverent, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. His lips ghosted over your collarbone, tracing the delicate skin as if memorizing it.

“You sure?” His voice was hoarse, thick with something you couldn’t name.

You nodded, but Steve still searched your eyes, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I mean it, baby,” he murmured. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

A lump formed in your throat. Steve had always been kind. Patient.

You knew that if you told him you wanted to wait, he would kiss your forehead, pull you into his arms, and hold you close until you fell asleep.

But you didn’t want to wait.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

“I’m ready,” you whispered. “I want you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something deep, something tender.

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to make sure you felt nothing but warmth, nothing but love.

His hands explored every inch of you, worshipping, learning, cherishing and when he finally, finally pushed inside you, his forehead dropped to yours, a shaky breath leaving his lips.

“God,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You feel—”

As Steve slowly began to move, his hips rocking against yours, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. It was as if the world outside had melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this moment of vulnerability and connection. The rain continued to patter against the window, a soothing melody that seemed to match the rhythm of Steve's gentle thrusts.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Steve's eyes fluttered closed as he let out a low groan. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You feel so good," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

You felt a lump form in your throat as you gazed up at Steve, his face etched with a mix of pleasure and tenderness. You knew that this was more than just sex for him, too. This was a connection, a bond, a sense of healing and redemption.

As you moved together, the tension between you built, a slow-burning fire that threatened to consume you both. Steve's hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts. His touch was reverent, worshipful, and you felt like a goddess, worshipped and adored.

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the creak of the bed, and the rain pounding against the window. It was a symphony of sound, a cacophony of sensation, and you felt yourself getting lost in it, lost in Steve, lost in the moment.

Without warning, Steve's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. You felt a surge of pleasure, a wave of sensation that crashed over you, leaving you gasping, trembling. Steve's eyes snapped open, locking onto yours, and you saw the depth of his emotion, the intensity of his feeling.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry it's been so long. I'm so sorry I wasn't—"

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips pressing against his, your tongue tracing the curve of his mouth. "Don't apologize," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. "This is exactly what I need. This is exactly what I want."

Steve's eyes searched yours, and you saw the doubt, the uncertainty, melt away. He knew, in that moment, that you were exactly where you wanted to be. And as he came, his body shuddering, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of closure, wash over you.

You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Steve kissed you again, breathing you in. “You okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

---

Your eyes flickered to his arm, resting beside you, the faded scar on his shoulder barely visible in the dim light. You swallowed, ready to change the subject, needing to. You wanted to keep things light.

“So,” you murmured, “Miller’s old property, huh?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Not Miller’s anymore. It’s Barnes now.”

You grinned, nudging his leg with your foot. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”

He shrugged. “Sam even made me a mailbox.”

“A mailbox?” you repeated, laughing.

Bucky grinned. “Yeah. One of those big ones, real fancy. Has my name on it, right where Miller’s used to be.”

You smiled, warmth swelling in your chest. “Sam is a wonderful friend, I’m glad you had him.”

His expression softened. “I know he is.” He took another sip of his beer before adding, “I’m glad you had Steve.”

You froze.

It was unexpected. The way he said it, gentle, genuine. No bitterness, no resentment. Just a quiet acceptance of the life you had built without him.

It made something in you ache.

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Me too.”

You both let it sit there, neither of you pushing it further.

Instead, you turned back toward the sky, watching as a faint shooting star streaked across the darkness.

“So,” you said after a moment, clearing your throat. “When are you starting on the house?”

“Sam already ordered the lumber for me, he knows a guy,” Bucky said, leaning back on his elbows. “I know how I want the outside to look, just gotta finish up the floor plan.”

You nodded. “What’s the timeline?”

“Hoping to have it done in a year, the major things, small things can be done when I get there.”

A small smile pulled at your lips. “I hope it brings you joy. I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “Me neither,” he said quietly.

Bucky shifted beside you, his fingers idly picking at the label of his beer bottle. He had been quiet for a while now, his mind clearly somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

Then, without looking at you, he finally spoke. “So, you read it? Right? The letter?"

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

He nodded too, like he already knew. Of course he knew. He had seen it in your eyes the morning after you read it, at the diner, the way you looked at him like you had peeled back the layers of time and finally seen all the truth, the love, the heartbreak.

Silence settled again, just the hum of summer night air wrapping around you both.

Then Bucky exhaled, long and slow, and turned toward you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it might as well have been a thunderclap.

“I still do.”

You blinked, unsure you heard him right. “What?”

His gaze met yours, unwavering, steady in a way that made your chest ache.

“In case you were wondering, I can see it on your face that you are” he said, his voice rough, raw, like it was scraping against something tender inside of him. “I still love you. I will always love you.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I loved you when we were kids, when we were just stupid teenagers sneaking out and stealing beers from my mom’s fridge.” He let out a shaky breath. “I loved you the night we drove out to the field, when you told me you wanted a house on Miller’s old property and I promised you’d have it someday.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, but he kept going.

“I loved you the night we fell asleep in the back of my truck, and I woke up with you tangled up against me, breathing me in like I was something you needed to survive.”

His throat bobbed, his fingers gripping the bottle so tightly you thought it might shatter.

“I loved you when we had our first time, and I was so fucking scared to touch you, not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew, I knew that once I did, there’d be no coming back for me. I was yours. I’ve always been yours.”

His voice cracked, and he tore his gaze away from you, blinking fast, his jaw clenching like he was trying to keep himself together.

“I loved you when I left,” he admitted, his voice breaking completely now. “And fuck, I hated myself for it. Every goddamn day I was out there, I hated myself for leaving you but I had to, I needed to prove to myself I was a man, that I could be a man that deserved you”

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek.

He looked back at you then, eyes glassy, burning with something desperate, something infinite.

“It was you,” he whispered. “It was always you.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Bucky swiped his knuckles across his eyes, letting out a broken laugh. “Jesus. I wasn’t gonna say all this tonight. But I can’t keep it in anymore. I can’t pretend like I don’t love you, like I haven’t loved you for my entire goddamn life and will for whatever is left of it.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t bother wiping it away this time.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “I don’t expect you to say anything, or do anything. I hope you know that, I know you have a husband, you're married, you're actually married, you have a beautiful daughter. I know that please believe me I do. I don’t want to ruin anything you have, I just needed you to know.”

His eyes searched yours, waiting for something, anything.

But you couldn’t speak, Couldn’t move. Could only sit there, staring at him, your world tilting on its axis because hearing him say it all out loud for the first time in your life felt like a dream come true but the shadow of your physical life was making you dizzy.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, his fingers running through his hair as he looked away, staring up at the stars like they might have the answers. Like they might be able to fix whatever was breaking between you.

Then, softer now, almost like a prayer, he said, “There’s no one else for me but you.”

Your chest tightened.

“There never has been,” he continued, voice rough with emotion. “There never will be.”

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing into your ribs, into your bones, into every piece of you that had ever belonged to him.

“I don’t care how long it takes, how messy it gets. If all I ever get to be is your best friend, then I’ll take it. I’ll take it, because I’d rather have a lifetime of that than a single second of nothing.” He swallowed hard. “But if there’s even the smallest chance, if there’s some world, some timeline, some universe where we get it right, where I get to love you the way I’ve always wanted to, then I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You exhaled shakily, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

“If it’s not this life,” he whispered, “then maybe the next. Maybe the afterlife. Maybe some place where fate isn’t so fucking cruel.”

His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he reached for his beer bottle again, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

“But even if it never happens, even if this is all we ever get, you still have me,” he murmured. “You will always have me. My whole heart, my whole goddamn soul, it’s yours.”

The words hung between you, thick and unmovable, pressing against your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs.

He smiled then, small and sad, wiping at his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. “And I don’t regret a single second of it.”

You stared at him, the man who had been your best friend, your first love, your everything, and for the first time in years, you saw it all: the weight of loving you, the pain of losing you, the quiet devotion of a man who would wait for you in every lifetime.

You opened your mouth like you were going to speak even though you knew you didn’t even know what to say, your phone rang, shattering the moment like glass hitting the pavement. You jumped, heart slamming against your ribs as the loud vibration echoed through the quiet night.

Bucky blinked, sitting back slightly, wiping at his face before glancing at you. You fumbled for your phone in your pocket, squinting at the bright screen.

Steve. FaceTime.

Your stomach twisted, but you already knew who it was really going to be.

“I have to take this,” you murmured, looking at Bucky.

He nodded once, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You hopped down from the back of the truck, pacing slightly as you swiped to answer.

Lily’s giggling face filled the screen, her eyes sleepy but full of excitement. “Mommy!”

You smiled instantly, the weight on your chest lifting just at the sight of her. “Hey, my love.”

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” she said, curling into her pillow. “I miss you.”

Your heart clenched. “I miss you too, baby. But I’ll be home tomorrow, right after your dance lesson.”

She squealed, kicking her little feet under the blankets. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Can you sing me my song?”

You hesitated, heat crawling up your neck. Your gaze flickered back toward Bucky, who was still sitting in the bed of the truck, watching you. His expression was unreadable, but he nodded slightly, encouraging you.

You sighed softly and turned slightly, lowering your voice. “Okay, baby.”

Quietly, you began to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

Your voice was soft, a little shaky, but filled with warmth. You heard Lily hum along sleepily, her little eyes fluttering.

Bucky watched, his throat tightening, his heart aching in a way he didn’t have the words for.

When you finished, Lily yawned, her tiny voice muffled by her pillow. “I love you, Mommy.”

You smiled, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I love you more, sweetheart.”

The screen shifted, and then it was Steve. His face was relaxed, but his eyes flickered with something you didn’t want to name.

“Sorry to bother you on your last night there,” he said, voice soft. “She’s been asking all day.”

You shook your head. “It’s never a bother. I’d make all the time in the world for her.”

Steve exhaled, his lips twitching. “I know. That’s what I love most about you.”

You nodded, chewing your lip.

Steve hesitated, his voice softer now. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

A beat of silence.

“I love you,” Steve murmured.

Your breath caught. Your fingers tightened slightly around the phone. The words were right there on your tongue, three little words that had once been second nature, effortless. But now…

Now they felt heavy and you hesitated. Just a second too long.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you finally whispered, voice quiet, uncertain.

Steve’s face barely changed, but you saw it. The flicker of something behind his eyes, the briefest flash of realization, of understanding, of hurt.

Bucky saw it too.

You didn’t even have to look at him to know. You could feel the shift in the air between you, the way his posture straightened just slightly, the way his hands curled against his lap.

The call ended.

The silence that followed felt thick, suffocating, pressing against your ribs. You let out a slow breath, setting your phone down beside you.

You turned to Bucky.

His gaze was already on you, something unspoken swimming in the depths of his eyes. He looked at you like he was memorizing you, like he was trying to hold onto something fleeting.

Your voice was quiet, but steady. “You already deserved me.”

[pedrospatch]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags angels 🤍 @mrsmando @honeyedmiller @mermaidgirl30 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @thelightsandtheroses

here are snippets of some of the many wips i am actively working on. or trying to anyway.

the gold room - dbf!joel x stripper!reader

“Jesus Christ.” Joel stares at you, using every last ounce of strength he has in his entire body not to let his gaze wander past your chin. He’s trying not to look at the way your skintight, neon pink dress hugs every soft, heavenly curve of your body, how the matching rhinestone garter shimmers around your deliciously plush thigh. “Is it even legal for you to be fuckin’ workin’ here?” Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shift your weight from one seven inch heel to the other.  “You can dance at eighteen,” you inform him. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m twenty one, Mr. Miller. So with all due respect, chill the fuck out, okay?” “You went to college—“ “College is fucking expensive,” you interject with a shrug. “The job market is shit and I don’t plan on drowning in my student debt for the next ten years. Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Don’t stand there and judge me. Don’t act like what I do is so terrible when you have been paying good fucking money for girls like me to dance for you and sit in your lap all night long.” “That’s fuckin’ different. None of those girls are my best friend’s daughter.”

flutter - post outbreak! joel x pregnant!reader

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the stove, you crack a couple eggs into another, knowing the kid was on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast. “Morning!” Ellie pipes, the plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you. “Ellie,” you warn, walking over to the table. “Don’t—” “You’re bigger!” With a playful glare, you set her plate down along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks, you little jerk,” you say, feigning offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.” “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she starts to sputter. “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach—you didn’t look like this yesterday. You look great, just different.” She’s lucky your raging hormones decided to take the morning off.

chapter 10 for a safe haven

*this is just a short short snippet because it’s being heavily edited rn so i can post it soon!

He peels off his clothes, being careful not to further agitate his sore, inured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you sitting in bed under the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home.”

np tags! 🤍 @sugarcoated-lame @ozarkthedog @amanitacowboy @sp00kymulderr @ilovepedro @ezrasbirdie and anyone else who’d like to share their wips!

[nevernonline]

✧.* just for one night; yjh

for jeonghan's birthday he teased the gift he wanted wrapped in a pretty bow this time was you. little did he know that his joke would turn into his favorite present.

𐦍 paring: jeonghan x reader.

𐦍 genre: romance, bad humor, fluff, "friendly" date.

𐦍 warnings: drinking,  s3xy times, swearing,  smut, minors dni, reader has female genitalia.

𐦍 word count: 2.0k

𐦍 content: non-idol characters, food/drink, cursing, slightly- suggestive, pet names, afab! reader.

𐦍 note: I meant to post this on 1004 but.. maybe forgot to queue it LMAO. this wasn't intended to go this way and I don't rlly write smut often (or read it often tbh) so pls all my baddies who read and write smut give me feedback. (pls) lolol. anyway!! enjoy kk. ily.

It was that time again, time to find a gift for a friend who had nearly everything. Scouring around shops and market places, trying to find something special that had any meaning to the two of you. Sure, you could buy a lux gift or a fancy dinner, but that was basic and well beyond the things Jeonghan had given you. 

You scroll back through texts and posts over the last few birthdays you had spend celebrating him, stumbling across a photo that gave you a good idea. You were sitting on his lap as he blew out his birthday candle. After that wish was put into the universe you recall his lips coming so close to your ear his lips were almost making contact with your pierced lobes. 

“All I want next year is you wrapped in a pretty bow.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t remember that wish, but you did. It was silly and stupid, but your friend did always know what he wanted and wasn’t shy to ask for it. 

You sprinted to the stationary store in order to find a big pink bow in under thirty minutes, so you could make it back to your apartment where Jeonghan was meeting you before his big night out with all of his friends. The options were endless, a sea of glitter, metallic, curling, satin, but you decided to be simple, just a large bound pink ribbon. 

After an overwhelming time spent pondering over pink fabric, you made it home with ten minutes to spare. Lacing yourself up from your sneakers, to your hair, your bag, even a dainty piece wrapped around your neck as a finishing touch just as the doorbell rang, you told him to open up where he found you laced in pink, wearing a black dress, holding a cupcake flame ablaze. 

“Happy Birthday, Hannie.” 

A smile creeped in as he came close to blow his candle out looking at the pink adorned ribbon tied all over you, he remembered. 

“My present I presume?” 

His fingers pointed towards you, again smiling from ear to ear like he couldn’t believe you remembered his wish. 

“Think I’d forget?” 

“You tend to forget your own name while drinking, so yes. I love it.” 

Jeonghan’s hands reached to run his hands over the ribbon in your hair, pausing before he touched the one on your neck. 

“So this means you’re mine for the night?” 

“Your wish is my command, birthday boy. Should we go?” 

“You know when I wished for you to be my present, I meant much more than you wearing bows right?” 

You huffed, watching his eyes still on your neck. 

“I did. I really will oblige any wish, as long as it’s legal and safe.” 

“No promises, babe. Let’s go.” 

Walking hand in hand into Jeonghan’s not so surprise party was not out of the norm for you, you’ve always been the type of friend that clung to close, even for your own comfort. Something seemed to linger in the air around you as a pair. 

“Mind getting me a cocktail? I’m going to go say hi to the guys and thank them.” 

“Again, here to please. Vodka Cran or G&T?” 

“Gin, please.” 

With a small salute as a send off you walked into a line behind three other partygoers in line. 

“Y/n? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in pink before?” 

The voice was Joshua’s coming from behind you. He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders in a half hug greeting you hello. 

“Really? Well, it's for Jeonghan’s gift. Last year he wished that I gift him myself, so here I am adorned in pink ribbon.” 

“You really took him up on that? You are one good friend.” 

“I know that you're thinking it's probably a mistake, you’re right.” 

“Na, he’d never hurt you or let anyone else. He likes you far too much.” 

Your eyes rolled now facing the bartender and placing the matching drink order before turning back to Joshua. 

“Come find me later okay? I need a Shua Hong dance for my payment for being Jeonghan’s bitch for the night.” 

“It's the least I can do.” 

Hours passed by just as quickly as alcohol entered your system, you haven’t left the side of your male counterpart for hours, he wouldn’t let you slide away other than grabbing more drinks or running to the ladies room.

Your buzz is far more prominent now. Jeonghan’s hands slid to the lower half of your body, resting between your bare skin and the hem of your dress and your heart followed along to the beat of the edm music playing over the club loudspeakers. 

“Dance with me, pretty?” 

His eyes burning a hole into your head, you obliged, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the center of the purple lights and faux fog. 

Jeonghan’s hands found a comfortable spot resting on your hips as you twisted around placing your back onto his chest, grinding slowly to the song. 

This proximity between you has never existed, while you’re touchy or clingy the feeling from the warmth of his pants's friction on your upper thighs made you feel differently about your so called friend. 

Thoughts swirled in your brain as you turned back to be face to face with his plump lips and siren like eyes. A hand, that same hand that was resting comfortably on your lower half snaked its way up to your neck, the ribbon placed there was now further from your skin as his fingers laced their way under it. 

“You want to know what else I wished for?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, no words formed other than some incoherent ones that sounded like soft moaning. 

“I wished that you’d be my present forever, not just for the night. I can’t let anybody else get this gift.” 

Your hands reached from the nape of his neck to the side of his face, trying to give him a clue that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

“Come home with me?” 

He placed a small peck onto your cheek, nearing the site of your lips that so badly wanted to feel the crash of his on them. 

The whole ride back in your taxi, your hands rubbed up his thigh. He knew you looked nervous, but also that you would tell him if anything made you uncomfortable. 

Truth be told he was nervous too. This was a line he never thought would be crossed. Jeonghan knew for years that he wanted you and only you for that matter, but he waited for the perfect moment to be put in your hands. 

Saying a quick thank you to your driver, you basically sprinted into his place, not even having a second to throw your jacket and bag down at his front door before you had your back against his white walls in the dark. 

The sense of urgency to kiss you was obvious. A near feral feeling. He tasted like cherries and gin as he kissed you quickly, helping you out of your outerwear and pulling you into his apartment that was only lit by the beautiful view of the city below. 

“Help me?” 

Your voice came out as a whimper, turning your back to him as an indication you needed help out of your dress. 

His cold hands wrapped around the zipper of your dress running a finger down your spine as it unzipped. 

“Wow.” 

His confidence suddenly washing away as he looked at your semi naked body only wearing a matching pink slip dress to the color of your bows and a pair of matching panties below. 

“Dressed up for me too?” 

“Nope. Just like to match.” 

The ‘P’ of your nope popped onto his face and a devious smile appeared. 

“Don’t be bad, gifts shouldn’t talk back to their owner.” 

His hands found his way to the place they didn’t seem to leave all night, your hips as he placed you down onto his fresh sheets. 

“Sorry, Hannie.” 

“It’s okay, just be a good girl."  

You nodded as he began kissing you starting at your lips and followed a trail all the way down to your sternum. 

“You know the best part about gifts is opening them.” 

Jeonghan’s fingers now wrapped around the waistband of your underwear as he slowly pulled them down below your knees, around your ankles and onto the floor. 

A pause from kissing came as his pointer and middle finger entered into your mouth and prompted you to spit on them so he could rub circles onto your clit before entering another space he had never been to before. His first finger came in slowly penetrating you softly, when he saw you getting needy his second entered and the beats became more rapid as he used his tumb to rub circles around your much more sensitive sweet spot. 

Your moaning became louder, reminding him of your voice yelling over the sound of the music in the club as you reached your first orgasm of the night. 

Sitting up now watching as Jeonghan places the same two fingers that were inside of you into his mouth, savoring every last drop of the finish you had because of him, you crawled onto you knees now prompting him for some pleasure. 

Undoing the button and zipper of his pants, letting him and his cock catch their breath before going down on him. You placed soft kisses along the pale skin of his stomach, making sure to nip his skin in between as you make your way down his torso. Just as you reach the waistband of his boxers, a hand comes to cup the hard thing lying beneath. 

“Wanted me that bad huh?” 

Jeonghan, now dethroned from his previous position of power, just groaned as a beg to have your mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock. 

“I’ve wanted you forever.” 

Hearing his breathless moans you released your hands from his cock and finished unwrapping yourself for him, leaving that small pink ribbon tied around your neck, before going back down to kiss your lips at the tip of his dick. 

As your hands and mouth worked their way around in unison all over his engorged flesh, it takes only a few minutes for him to fill the dirty mouth that was teasing him just before. 

“Didn’t take you for such a lightweight, Yoon.” 

“Shut the fuck up and please get on top of me.” 

Your legs came to straddle around his still sensitive cock as you teased your entrance. 

“Someone’s so needy.”

“Someone is supposed to be doing far less talking and far more fucking.” 

His arms pulled you down fearlessly so your lips could fall back into place and also so he could shut you up while you finally let him inside of you. 

“Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be so tight.” 

Jeonghan knew he wouldn’t last long being inside of you, not because you were tight, but because of the way he felt about you and how much he dreamed about watching your breasts bouncing as they hovered over his face while he fucked you. 

“I- Uh, Fuck.” 

“You what, pretty? Can’t handle me? Can't it last long? Want me to fill you up as you ride me?” 

“Yes, yes, all of it. Please, Hannie.’"

As his hips pounded their way onto yours, both of you running out of stamina maybe due to the alcohol or maybe the adrenaline reached your climax near the same time. 

“Can you come inside me, please?” 

You were practically begging him to mark you and since you looked so pretty he couldn’t say no to you. 

With the two of you now finished, his cock still inside of you. Jeonghan placed soft kisses on your lips. 

“I don’t want this to stop.” 

His hands came to untie the pink fabric now slightly wet from your shared bodily fluids. 

“Me either. I love you, you know?” 

You lifted your body off of him, now under his covers with your hands placed on his chest. 

“I love you too, Happy Birthday.” 

“Be my present forever, okay?” 

“Okay, handsome.” 

And with another year gone, Jeonghan finally got the birthday present he truly wanted. You.

[beauty-funny-trippy]

President Donald Trump said Wednesday he was pausing higher targeted tariffs for 90 days for most countries, a stunning reversal in his trade war that has sent markets reeling. But the pause didn’t apply to China, which has retaliated — with 84% hikes. Trump instead raised duties for that country to 125%, effective immediately. Although Trump promised to bring oil prices down, this news has caused oil prices to jump 4%. Markets soared on this surprising news, however the trade war isn’t exactly over, and the pause didn’t return the world back to the time before Trump touched off the global instability; a 10% across-the-board duty will remain in place. Trump's frequent flip-flops on tariffs have thrown the markets into stunning turmoil over these last weeks — major stock indexes shed trillions of dollars in value, while alarming signals from the bond market set Wall Street on edge. Under Trump’s new tariffs, the cost for U.S. companies importing goods from China has more than doubled. Those products include everything from toys, clothing and sneakers to televisions, computers and smartphones. Goldman Sachs said it is still forecasting minimal economic growth and a 45% probability of recession given the remaining tariffs in place.

[dippedanddripped]

CASHING OUT OVER $3,000 AT SNEAKER MEETUPS FOR MAJOR PROFIT!

[ragnarockz]

your royal highness, your writings for maya mason didn't stray away from my mind recently. here i am, not trying to sound desperate, but would you be so kind to ruin me with another maya mason one-shot?

and hear me out, i’ve got this idea brewing—maya being utterly obsessed with this character (an actress), full-on hopelessly smitten. but then, she finds out the actress has an insanely graphic sex scene in this movie. the moment maya finds out, possessiveness and jealousy eats her alive, and, well... she decides to take matters into her own hands. 😏🤝

😏😌💛🔒It would be my pleasure (heh) and highest honor to do so my faithful reader!

(gif by gifsbykat)

Maya had glanced over the script a few times, especially the scenes that had Aiden Holt typed in. Maya had followed her for a while now; usually screening her work as an actress. Aiden took jobs that were out of the box and a little bit on the riskier side. She definitely had a name attached to her; a label that some would shrink away from. Holt basically leaned into the adult entertainment side; daring to dip her toe into something a lot more riskier. The script that had graced Maya's desk a few weeks ago was certainly more than a toe dipper.

Marketing execs weren't necessarily needed to show up to shooting sets and locations but Maya, as brash and mean as she was, basically bullied her way onto set to see Aiden in action. There was something about her; a way that she carried herself so seamlessly. Not pushing to a feminine or masculine audience; Aiden made her raunchy scenes enjoyable for everyone. Everyone, without a doubt, included Maya herself.

She was surprised they hadn't crossed paths earlier. None of the stupid and useless parties she attended had Aiden as a guest. She definitely ran with a different crowd; darker and more hush-hush. If it wasn't for Maya's stubbornness and obvious attraction to the actress; she wouldn't have barreled her way onto set that evening.

Maya clutched her copy of the script in her perfectly and freshly manicured orange nails. Of course; she had to impress the actress. She wore a chocolate brown ribbed tank top with a tan pushup bra underneath. Dark printed jeans and her classic and iconic brown Gucci sneakers. She wanted her hair slightly out of the way for this; just in case things went her way. Faux undercut with the sides slicked down; gold clips all on her right side with the left bare. Casual yet deadly; comfy yet sexy. At least ten pounds of gold jewelry dripped from her and the Louis Vuitton bag slung over her arm. She was dressed to kill and impress.

She found the room that was being used to film in; walking past the cast and other crew members until the array of cameras got her to where she needed to be. Aiden was bent over a black leather couch with the other main actor waiting behind her. Aiden was smiling as she listened to the director re-read the scene to her. The male actor Maya had already forgotten the name of, looked bored out of his skull. Maya puffed her cheeks and pouted her lips out in dissatisfaction. Imagine getting to do one of the hottest sex scenes in Hollywood with one of the hottest actresses of modern times and you look like you couldn't give a rats ass.

Maya blew out a loud, annoyed breath which caused the cast and crew to look in her direction. Some of them knew who she was and gave her an eye roll and not much else. Truth be told, a lot of them were scared of her. Her presence wasn't really meant to be questioned or challenged. She was simply just allowed to exist in the same space.

"Look at this fucking idiot...standing there with his useless dick between his legs..."

Maya mumbled under her breath as she found a space to take up space; not blocked by anyone or anything so she could watch the scene unfold as the marker came down and ACTION was shouted.

She clutched the script in her hand, gaze never leaving Aiden. She watched her in full attention and soaked everything up that she could in respectful silence. God, she thought, she looked even better in person. Her hair was short and slicked back for the scene. Maya could see the muscles rippling under her arms and legs; an athletic body that was neither super feminine nor masculine. She held her own in the scene and was obviously the attention grabber. Maya was smitten even if she wouldn't allow herself to realize that. Of course she had followed Aiden's career and of course she got a flutter in her lower abdomen whenever she saw a new movie she was in; a new Instagram photo of her at some shoot or talk show or panel. She was very much in the public eye and maybe even, secretly, Maya wished she had her alone and in the private eye of only hers.

The scene unfolded as the male actor made his move. His hands raked up Aiden's legs; the back of her thighs. It was rough and clumsy and not necessarily hot. Maya scoffed under her breath with caused a few crew members to shoot her a nasty look. The scene was all wrong in the sense that it wasn't sexy enough; pleasurable enough. She shook her head and looked away; felt her face burning with...anger? Disgust? If she could only push that asshole aside and show him how real foreplay was done...

Maya waited for the loud CUT so she could make her move. She found the director easily enough with his stupid chair that had DIRECTOR on the back of it. Other than that, she would have picked that prick out a mile away. He looked like the type of asshole who would have casted that lousy male actor and thought he was the hottest shit since sliced fucking bread.

She waited for everyone to bustle around before she pushed her way up to the scene director; almost hitting him in the head with her purse and the script. She bent down low enough to meet her mouth with the side of his ear. He turned his head to acknowledge her. She hoped that Aiden was acknowledging her; daring to dip herself lower so she could stare at her chest. She prayed that the push up bra was doing its fucking job.

"You gotta get someone to show that lame excuse of a cock and balls how to really spice up the scene. It looks like he's trying to knead wet dough over there! You really want that to be the most depraved sex scene in Hollywood right now?! You'd let a pro show that asshole how it's done."

The director turned his full attention to Maya; obviously knowing who she was. 99 times out of 100, her word was law and something nagged in his mind that she was right about this. The scene was missing something that really punched up the raunchy level he was trying to achieve in such a short scene. He threw up his hands and spoke loudly so that the actor and Aiden could hear the change,

"You get in there then and show him how it's done and don't make this a waste of my time."

"Wouldn't count on it."

The words dripped out of her mouth as she shoved the script into her bag and dropped it by the directors chair. She clapped her hands together to get the actor and Aiden's attention. Aiden, was already focused on Maya since she had walked into the room. She knew instantly who the woman in brown was. She had paid even closer attention when Maya had bent forward and gave her a peep show.

Maya was by the couch in second and basically pushed the actor out of the way. She didn't have time for him. This was her moment; her and Aiden's. She gave Aiden the sweetest smile she could muster as she bent down again to be somewhat level with Aiden's face; wanting to give her the proper attention she deserved.

"I'm gonna show this useless sack of scrotum how to properly fuck you; that ok, Sweetheart?"

Aiden smiled just as sweetly and held back her laugh. She knew Maya was...ecentric; outspoken. She did not care how she spoke or to whom. She was large and in charge and did not care who heard her. If she was in charge, it was her and only her.

"Show him how it's done, Ms. Mason."

"No, Sweetheart...you can call me Maya. He can't."

She flicked her gaze up and shot daggers at the actor before turning her attention back to Aiden. Maya's hand came up to caress Aiden's face gently before standing back up to take her place behind Aiden.

"Watch and fucking learn. Or don't. They can always find a better replacement who knows a fucking thing or two about doing this properly."

She barely looked at him as she pressed her palms flat on the back of Aiden's thighs. They were right above the crease of her knees; the tips of her nails gently scratching against her skin. She already felt goosebumps on her palms. Aiden was already reacting to her touch. She bit her lip and tried to keep her cool. She didn't want to blow it for Aiden or, she rolled her eyes, the director.

Maya's hands slowly moved up and then in. She gently grabbed the inside of Aiden's thighs and made sure to keep pressure. She watched in admiration as Aiden reacted to her touch; watched as her ass lifted a little higher off of the couch. Maya smiled proudly to herself. Aiden was asking for it, begging for it with just her body language. She was asking for more, much more.

She could feel the heat from Aiden's pussy. Felt the slight tense of her muscles as she anticipated Maya's touch. Maya chuckled silently under her breath as her mind melted. This was something she had thought of, dreamed of. This was something she had fantasized about; sat in her bed at night and jacked herself off to. She was touching fucking Aiden Holt between her legs and was about to trace her folds and clit with her fingertips.

Maya shuddered before she bit her bottom lip and locked the fuck in. She had to give Aiden something to really remember her by.

Fingers melt folds and she instantly felt Aiden relax against her fingers. She heard the soft moan and felt the shudder; watched as Aiden lifted her lower back up once more. Oh, Maya clued in as the world around her fuzzed out of existence, she wants my fingers up her cunt.

She gave what the up and coming actress was begging for, what the scene had called for. Maya played up her acting and non-acting skills as she expertly slipped two of her fingers into Aiden. She heard the woman moan low and loud; causing everyone in the room to stop in their tracks and stare. The room was suddenly filled with the sounds and instant smells of sex. Maya was more than a loose canon; untamed. She took what she had and ran with it and didn't hold off. Her fingers pumped quickly into the actress and hoped that that dumbass somewhere beside her was feeling bad.

She hoped that lame excuse for a fucking actor was feeling just as small as his dick was.

"You like that, Baby? That feel good, Angel?"

Maya whispered as her breath tickled her bottom lip that quickly curved up into a smile. Aiden was at her beck and call; grinding her hips back to her fingers. She was the one fucking know; trying to take more of Maya inside of her. She was quickly addicted and needed another hit. Then another. And another. Her knees were hitting the side of the couch and the sound of Maya's fingers fucking and the bang of bone to couch filled the room.

"That's it, you sweet fucking thing come on...show me how much you love these fingers..."

A instant loud moan from Aiden as she pushed her hips back as far as she could and a shiver ran up and down her spine. Her head hung down; the crown of her head touching the seat cushion. Maya felt Aiden's muscles contract and spasm around her fingers before they relaxed and a warm, wet gush crowded around her fingers. Maya chuckled and then sucked in her breath; relished in having Aiden fucking Holt cum on her fingers. Her metaphorical dick felt huge right now.

She waited for Aiden to finish chasing her orgasmic high before slipped her fingers out as gently as she could. She didn't want to leave Aiden sore or in a sour mood. This could be their deal breaker for working together again in the future. Maya held her two wet fingers up as she rubbed the left side of Aiden's ass cheek; soothing her as she got herself back up and not totally bent over the arm rest.

The room was silent and Maya expected to hear a pin drop. She turned her head to look at the director who sat there with his eyes basically bulging out of his sockets. Maya smiled triumphantly as she gave him a slid nod of her head and moved out of the scene. She picked up her purse with her dry hand and pushed her way back through everyone and out of the set.

Hollywood was pitch black now; evening had turned into night. Maya breathed in deeply as she turned her head left and then right and then left again. She bit her bottom lip before realizing the coast was clear. The still wet fingers felt like they burned with neglect and Maya, without thinking too much, gave them all her attention. She brought them up to her mouth to lick them clean.

[melancholicstation]

how a vacation with boyfriend!bobby kennedy sr. would go

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123@absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

warnings: nsfw, 18+

you would 100% have to bring bobby's dogs with you because his (trash, nasty ass, ungrateful) family members didn't want to dog-sit for a couple of days

i feel like bobby would be so delicately soft and pseudo-submissive in a way that he didn't feel free enough to be in d.c and places where his family could possibly see you guys together

he would be a paranoid freak about pickpocketer's, he has that damn lanyard with his wallet attached around his neck

is a fiend for a couple of film photography photos... he loves taking photos of you but when it comes to posing in his own photos he's as natural looking as a stone statute

gives you a flower from each touristy location you pass and you're there trying to balance being besotted with you're darling boyfriend and worrying about him getting arrested for disturbing public property😭😭😭

you try to braid that damn chest hair off his and he gets BIG mad...

would a hundred percent be the person in the couple who's going to the hotel manager if you get a room with the wrong view

cause he's annoyingly persistent like that

lots of outfits consist of you wearing flimsy cotton/silk tanks without a bra on, cause its a vacation for gods sake! but it's definitely impacting bobby's ability to cognitively function in your vicinity

when you do wear undergarments, its a simple, unfussy chic one-piece

he gets so spent after time in the sun, despite summering in the cape every year—sometimes even more, so you spend at least a couple of hours of vacation time

still won't lose the damn tie even on an italian vacation... I MEAN COME ON

you both worship your single digit bedtimes, since you guys will be so busy once you return to normal life

long naps spent together with his legs wrapped up across your lower waist

this is absolutely the imagined scent for the trip

boyfriend!bobby gives your feet a massage after a long day of walking across cobblestoned streets

how the soles of bobby's loafers look after the vacation's ended, even though you advised him against wearing loafers and instead wearing... a sneaker:

the type of snacks bobby forages (going to the local market) for you at the absolute crack of dawn

you force him to do you're hair once it's become entirely too much of an effort to manage

and he's posted up like this in front of mirror... helping like a man should!!!

NSFW UNDER THIS CUT:

would be a fiend for fucking under an outdoor shower with people five metres away... as i said he's a us senator AND a man with a voyeurism kink. get with the program people!

you most definitely coerce him into packing those swim trunks that are a little lot too small for him, just so you could shamelessly objectify him on the beach

when you both forget your wallets during lunch you bully bobby into taking his shirt off to sweeten up the older women who run the restaurant!

and it works... what can i say he's a princess of the people... and of older european women

and in return for his hard work (removing a linen shirt) you get on your knees in the alley behind the shop that you're kind of pretty sure has no people around

he gets very excited when put up to the task of applying your sunscreen for the capri sun

and... it turns into a very un-pg 13 experience in which he uses half of your biologique recherché spf 50 sunscreen to explore the planes of your body with direction

an action you use to scold him into apologising to you in a very, very creative way!

[lovelymylene]

FROSTED FLAKES pt.1

In the summer of ‘76,, Matt meets a walking social disaster. In simpler terms.. a girl. I know. Matt Sturniolo and girls aren’t exactly a match made in heaven. But maybe this one is an exception?

September 14, 1976 – A Warm, Late-Summer Evening

The air smelled like gasoline and fading sunlight, warm in that way September gets when summer refuses to let go. The pavement still held onto the heat of the afternoon, radiating up through the soles of Matt Sturniolo’s sneakers as he walked home from McCleary’s Market with a bag of records under his arm. The sky had that golden, hazy look, half dusk, half dream, where everything feels a little too quiet, like the world is holding its breath before night fully settles in.

Matt liked moments like this. When the streets were mostly empty, the radio static in his head quieted, and the only sound was the scuff of his sneakers against the sidewalk.

Then, out of nowhere—

BAM.

A blur of curls. A crash. The sharp edge of a shopping cart jamming into his hip.

Matt stumbled back, nearly dropping his records, as someone practically barreled into him outside the market. A girl.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, immediately grabbing his arms like she could keep him upright through sheer force of will. “Are you okay? Jesus, I wasn’t looking—well, obviously I wasn’t looking, because if I was looking, you wouldn’t be half-dead on the sidewalk right now, but—oh no, did I break something? Are you gonna sue me? Wait, do people actually do that? I mean, I wouldn’t sue if I got hit with a shopping cart, but—”

Matt just blinked at her, trying to process what the hell just happened.

The girl, who had massive brown eyes and a mess of dark curls that looked like they had a mind of their own, stared back at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

“…You talk a lot,” he muttered.

She grinned. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

And then, before he could say anything else, she reached into his grocery bag, dropped a box of Frosted Flakes inside, and walked off like nothing happened.

Matt stood there for a long moment, watching her bounce away down the sidewalk, talking to an old lady who looked very confused but not entirely displeased by her presence.

What the hell just happened?

And, more importantly…

Who was she?

@issysh3ll

Authors note.. (Okay a few things this is my first series that I wanted to start and I have a few questions. Do you guys want her to have a name and be her own character or do you want it to be a reader type thing. And also I tried to write this in a rom com type style so if you don’t like it pls lmk. Tell me anything you don’t like. And lastly do you guys want smut in this later on? Because that’s definitely possible)

taglist.. @italiansunsetsss @b1gba113r @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerlykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

[freshsandwichdinosaur]

Sick baby

📍London, 10:42 PM

The boardroom was still, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the projector and the faint scratching of pens against paper.

Y/N sat at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, poised and professional despite the exhaustion that clung to her. **Black tailored trousers hugged her legs perfectly, paired with a crisp white blouse tucked neatly at her waist.** The glow of the overhead lights caught the soft curls of her **fresh blowout**, framing her face as she delivered the final key points of her proposal.

She had been running on fumes for weeks now—endless late nights of analyzing risk models, fine-tuning investment strategies, and leading teams. But none of it compared to the guilt weighing on her chest whenever she saw Jude’s missed calls, his texts filled with soft “I miss you”s and tired “just wanted to hear your voice”s.

She clicked to the last slide. “By implementing this strategy, we not only hedge against market fluctuations but also ensure long-term profitability for our firm.”

The senior partner leaned forward, nodding. “Impressive work, Y/N. You always deliver.”

She forced a polite smile, shaking hands before stepping out of the boardroom. The second she was alone, she let out a slow exhale and **pulled out her phone.**

**Five missed calls from Jude.**

Her stomach twisted with guilt.

---

### **📍Text Messages**

**Jude 🤍:** _Y/N, please answer_

**Jude 🤍:** _I know you’re busy but I miss you_

**Jude 🤍:** _Just one call?_

**Jude 🤍:** _Ok, love you. Hope your meeting went well._

Her heart clenched. **She had to call him.**

The phone barely rang before he picked up.

“Babe,” his voice was weak, hoarse.

Her brows furrowed instantly. “Jude? What’s wrong? You sound awful.”

A soft chuckle, followed by a sniffle. “Caught something. Been sleeping all day.”

Y/N closed her eyes, hating the distance between them. **He was alone, sick, and she was here, buried in meetings.**

“Have you eaten? Taken anything?” she asked, already walking toward her car.

“Dunno. Just slept,” he mumbled.

That was all she needed to hear.

“I’m booking a flight.”

“Wait, what?” Jude sounded more awake now, voice laced with surprise.

“You’re sick, Jude. You need someone to take care of you.”

“You’ve been working nonstop, baby,” he said, his voice soft. “I don’t wanna—”

“Jude,” she interrupted gently. “You come first. Always.”

A pause. Then, in a sleepy whisper, **“I always need you.”**

Her chest ached. **She was going to Madrid.**

---

### **📍Texting Jude’s Mom**

**Y/N:** _Hey, just booked a flight to Madrid. Jude’s sick, and I feel awful for not being there._

**Jude’s Mom:** _Oh sweetheart, he didn’t even tell me! Thank you for going to him ❤️ Let me know if you need anything._

**Y/N:** _Of course, will keep you updated!_

---

### **📍Madrid, 3:32 AM**

The apartment was dimly lit when she stepped inside, the warmth of Madrid’s night air still lingering in the space. Jude’s sneakers were haphazardly tossed by the door, his jacket crumpled on the couch.

Y/N moved quietly through the space, making her way to the bedroom.

What she saw made her heart break.

Jude was curled up under the blankets, **his face flushed, lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily through his nose.** His usually tanned skin looked dull, his curls messier than usual.

She set her bag down and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, brushing the damp strands of hair off his forehead. His skin was warm—too warm.

“Jude,” she whispered, her voice as soft as the night air.

He stirred, eyelids fluttering open slightly.

“Angel?” His voice was rough with sleep, thick with congestion.

“I’m here, love,” she murmured, her fingers **trailing gently down his cheek, caressing him with delicate touches.**

Jude sighed, shifting toward her, **his body instinctively seeking out her warmth.** He didn’t even have the energy to pull her into him properly, so he just clumsily grasped at her wrist, **holding onto her like a child.**

“Thought I was dreamin’,” he mumbled sleepily.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her lips cool against his burning skin. “Nope. Flew straight here for you, baby.”

Jude let out a soft whimper, **burying his face into her lap.** “Missed you so much,” he mumbled, his words barely audible against the fabric of her blouse.

Y/N’s heart melted.

“I know, my love,” she whispered, running her fingers through his curls, **slowly massaging his scalp.** “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You must’ve felt awful all alone.”

“Felt like shit,” he admitted, **sniffling dramatically like a little kid.** “No cuddles. No forehead kisses.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, **stroking his cheek.** “You’re so dramatic.”

“M’serious,” he whined, **nudging his face against her stomach.** “Needed you.”

Her fingers trailed down to his jaw, cupping it gently as she lifted his face slightly. **His sleepy brown eyes met hers, filled with exhaustion and something softer—something completely and utterly Jude.**

“I’m here now,” she whispered, pressing another kiss to his warm skin. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips curled into a sleepy, lopsided smile. “Promise?”

“Promise, baby.”

Jude sighed in content, his arms finally **snaking around her waist, clinging onto her like she was his lifeline.** She shifted, sliding under the covers with him, letting him rest his head against her chest.

Y/N continued **to caress his face, trailing soft kisses along his temple, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.**

“My poor baby,” she cooed, voice low and soothing. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, nuzzling further into her warmth. “Love you.”

She smiled against his curls, pressing a lingering kiss to his hair. “I love you more.”

And just like that, **Jude finally fell into a peaceful sleep, safe in her arms.**

---

**The End.**

[amymbona]

I love the thought of Tashi with someone younger, but her with someone older 🫠

Tashi's parents had ordered her a private coach to help her improve over summer break during college.

It was so hard to focus on her coach though, not when his hot, older wife sat by the pool in her tiny bikini.

The words of her coach went in one ear and out the other, all that was running through her mind was how plush your thighs were and how she wanted your legs on her shoulders while she buried her face in your cunt.

FUCK YEAH :33333333333 This is so Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

I'm absolutely imagining reader like a 1950s mob wife in her cute little dresses with ruffled sleeves that her insanely rich and hot husband bought her damnnnn.

You're a stay at home wife, but you enjoy it. Probably a major in marketing or economics, you answer to two or three emails per day, and your schedule is really loose during the holiday. Wanting to break the stereotype, you decide to accompany your husband to his summer house which is a part of the rich man residence somewhere in the country. He tells you that some neighbour offered him a ton of money for teaching his daughter tennis, stating that she's a prodigy and such a young age. And the greedy bitch your husband is, he, of course, accepts.

So there you are, in your black and white polka dost bikini, sun bathing and watching your husband teach Tashi. She's young, around 20, you'd say, but has the passion of a lioness. She plays like a machine and you're wondering if she's getting sunburnt under the tortuous caress of the July sun. You being her a milkshake or a bowl of freshly washed grapes every so often, insisting she should be taking care of himself while kissing your husband on the lips. His hands roam down your bare back, only bringing Tashi's eyes to the wonderful curves you choose to display. Fuck. She's never really felt attracted to females before but you're making her feel things she hasn't felt for a single man before.

You are so kind to her, perhaps kinder than her own mother (not that she ever isn't - and perhaps that is concerning, how kind can a person be), offering her soft smiles and clapping from where you're lounging by the swimming pool when you see her score. When your husband allows Tashi a break and talks her ears off, rambling some bullshit about strategy that he has already made her mind about, her eyes stay focused on the water dripping down the length of your body as you rise from the water, the fabric of your swimsuit stuck between the round cheeks of your ass. Fuck.

One day, when your husband gets an emergency call from a friend and has to call the training off, you really don't know and real don't care, you still invite Tashi to spend the afternoon with you. A girls' day, you say, that you need a female presence every so often. She's more than eager to accept.

Now Tashi's sitting between your legs with your feet in her lap, carefully applying a layer of red polish to your nails, while your hands work on neatly braiding her hair.

"Tell me if I tug too tightly," your soft voice breaks the peaceful silence and she almost completely misses one of your toenails and paints a knuckle instead. Luckily, no mess is made.

"It's okay, you can pull more," she responds, gaze focused on the soft skin of your feet, disguising her wish to really have her hair pulled onto by your hands as not wanting the braids to fall loose.

You smile, fingers threading through her dark curls, "Your hair is so soft, Tashi."

Fuck. Her heart is probably gonna burst out of her chest if you don't stop right now. "Um, thanks. I washed it yesterday."

After you're done with the braids, the fresh polish on your nails needing some time to dry, the two of you rest on the loungers, relishing the moments of tranquility. You close your eyes for a while, completely unaware of Tashi's hand that has sneakers under the elastane of hit bikini bottom, already feeling the wetness caused purely by your heavenly presence. Fuck. Being here next to you, in your absolutely adorable two piece swim suit, the soft skin of your body having touched here, the feeling of you thighs around her hips still deeply burning into her skin, it's driving her crazy.

"I'm gonna dip down."

Tashi announces, disappearing in the pool. She needs to her arousal, her sweating body somehow. And the cold, chlorine water seems to do the perfect job.

Just when she thought everything was going to be alright, that she won't have any other issues containing herself around you, you choose to cool yourself off as well. She watches, almost in awe, as you slowly walk down the steps to the pool. The water caresses your calves, knees, then thighs, pooling around your butt as you take one more step and then swallow you up to the shoulders when you fully dip in. You look like a mermaid, like a goddess in her eyes, completely oblivious to her own beauty and seductiveness. And she wonders whether your husband appreciates the beauty you offer, whether he goes out of his way to kiss and caress every square inch of your body, whether he worhips you like you deserve it and whether he fucks and eats your pussy like she would.

You're in front of her, your full breasts on display, the fabric of your swimsuit doing very little to barely cover your nipples and the pink circles of your areolas. At that point, Tashi has to contain yourself from reaching out and tearing your top off.

"This is nice," you comment with a smile, so sweet that Tashi wishes she could taste it.

Tashi never thought it would happen, really, that somebody would have such an effect on her that would completely shut her up. She doesn't know what to say, no snarky remarks, no flirting attempts. And how she wishes she could magically gain her confidence back and convince you that she's ten times better than your husband, that you should leave him for her.

"You good, Tash? You zoned out for a bit," she's broken out of her trance by a gentle splash of the water on her face and your almost childish laugh. God, you're such an angel.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," she responds you with a small smile, even through she if far from alright. In reality her whole body is, even enveloped by the cold water, on fire just from the close proximity of your almost bare body to hers. If only she could touch you, just a little, softly, without anyone else knowing.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Digimon Adventure Reboot Sequel AU - Chapter 2: No Matter What You’ll Choose To Become

Summary: Taichi and Agumon arrive at Tachikawa Technologies and aren't just greeted by Mimi and Palmon, but also by Gomamon and Jyou - with the latter being close to a mental breakdown. Meaning to support him in practicing his internship application presentation, Taichi ends up reminiscing over what differentiates a princess from a queen - and a supporter from a leader.

Chapter list: [Prologue] [0] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Resources: [Concept] [Designs] [First Idea] [Playlist] [Ao3]

Word Count: 2940

Being allowed to freely enter the building of Tachikawa Technologies due to having special access privileges - for being friends with the CEO’s granddaughter - still felt surreal to Taichi sometimes.

Mimi had strictly taught him to never show up in hoodie and sweatpants at least. Making a good first - second, third and twentieth - impression was important to her and she did value a proper fashion sense too.

‘Fashion, huh?’, Taichi looked down on himself - blue button-down shirt, school trousers and sneakers were fine, right? - before walking through the entrance area, nodding towards the receptionist. Who was absolutely used to his presence, but still tended to flinch at the sight of the small dinosaur next to him - who did not have to follow any dress code whatsoever. To most people, Digimon were a known occurrence in this world, but more in a “digital hologram companion” sense. Akin to a Tamagotchi who could be projected into reality. They were usually considered to be AI-generated, but not everyone was used to their presence yet. Spreading knowledge, awareness and familiarity about them were just a few of Tachikawa Technologies’ goals. 

Taichi smiled to himself. Mimi was a person who had firm beliefs - not only in regards to company policies and the art of dressing herself. Always classy and feminine, prestigious, with a sense of business and casual luxury.

Suddenly, a glimpse of pink hair, covered in golden stars, flashed through Taichi’s mind.

The “Mimi in his dreams” usually wasn’t too different from the one he knew. Sure, she seemed to have a more extravagant, more experimental - and more daring - fashion sense. She also wasn’t the granddaughter of a company boss, he could tell, even though her family still seemed to have busy businesses abroad - considering how that Mimi seemed to reside in the USA most of the time.

So yeah, maybe her circumstances were a little different after all. Maybe she had gone through more hardship than “his” Mimi led on to have…

Taichi could still recognize her through the haze of a distant memory. A sincere, outspoken girl, a delicate yet strong-willed princess, who fought for what she believed in. Even if he was certain that she would have liked to prevent the fighting entirely sometimes…

As the duo rode up the elevator to meet up at their “usual space” - an empty office room on the 7th floor Mimi referred to as “emergency headquarters” -, they weren’t prepared for the chaos they were about to encounter. Mentioned room looked like it had been hijacked by the marketing department and left behind after a 3-day-meeting of heated discussions, tears and sweat. Several flipchart boards, books, folders, crumbled paper… A disgruntled looking Mimi with folded arms, Palmon as well as Gomamon - and a Jyou who seemed close to a mental breakdown.

“You’re late!”, Mimi said loudly not even a second after he had opened the the door, making Taichi raise both arms with an apologetic look. Agumon copied these gestures.

“We tried our best, promise! Jyou-senpai, you’re here too?”, he smiled a crooked smile, causing Jyou to look up. And the closer Taichi walked to the table he was sitting on, the more he noticed the dark bags under his eyes. “Let me guess, this is what our ‘emergency’ is about, right?”

Jyou only pulled a grimace and couldn’t even answer, before Mimi took charge:

“Precisely. Jyou-senpai has to practice his internship application presentation, so I gathered all of us here for additional mental support!”

Both Taichi and Agumon blinked at Jyou. That was surprising to hear.

“Since he’s been ignoring me fake-boo’ing him”, Gomamon explained as he sat on a stack of books on the chair on Jyou’s left, patting his arm. “You and Agumon will be part of our super judgemental crowd.”

“Thanks a lot, Gomamon…”, Jyou grumbled with a pressing smile, which was returned by a bright, toothy grin from the seal Digimon.

“You’re welcome, hehe!”

“Unfortunately”, Mimi elaborated before taking her seat at Jyou’s right side, while Palmon followed, “As always, it was impossible to gather everyone here, so… We have to make do.”

Taichi followed her lead as well - the table had been big enough for at least fifteen people to take a seat, but he picked the one next to Mimi, as Agumon actually sat down on the other side, next to Gomamon. The yellow dinosaur sniffed the air once more. 

“Mimi-kun has been very insistent on having you guys here, and, well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not entirely sure if that’ll actually help in the long run”, Jyou confessed dryly and scribbled onto a notebook as if to play it casually. 

“You’re really nervous, huh?”, Agumon said, basically speaking Taichi’s thoughts out loud. From what he had gathered and ever since he could remember, Jyou had been pretty much set to join Tachikawa Technologies. Taichi knew he had been busy with his final high school year exams, so they had barely seen him around - and Taichi had no idea how tough it must have been to juggle both at once. 

“Seriously, what’s the deal here? I thought you already had it in the bag, Senpai?”

Jyou huffed in response to that, but at least the smile on his lips had become a little bit less tense. However, Taichi could tell by the anxious scribbling that things were not okay.

“I’m good with the theoretical side of things, studying and stuff like that, but… It’s still a different story when it comes to… Talking freely, you know.”

That checked out somehow - back in the Digital World, when he had been just twelve years old, Jyou had managed to give some impressive speeches. But even then, he had needed Gomamon’s or his friends’ support to succeed. Which, in Taichi’s opinion, was not a bad thing at all, but it still baffled him to hear that he was still that insecure about his performance.

Jyou-senpai had grown a lot in confidence in all these years, now that he was on the brink of adulthood - hadn’t he? It felt like a déjâ-vu to some degree, even though Taichi couldn’t put his finger on it - and immediately shoved away the possibility that his dreams may have had something to do with it... 

Trying to clear his head, Taichi glanced over at everything that was laid right out in front of him on the table: It was covered in utilities; a laptop and projector in front of Jyou, a folder with his CV, countless sheets of paper, both printed and manually written on, as well as pens and sticky notes in various colours. The handwritten notes were obviously by Jyou himself - he was more of an analog guy after all -, whereas Taichi was certain the printed notes were provided by Koushirou. The one right in front of him contained a timetable of the company’s achievements ever since it was founded. What a thorough effort. 

“He’s been a quivering mess”, Mimi explained eventually and stood up again, walking around the table. Her tone had been less sharp than before. Instead of judgement, her voice was laced with encouragement and excitement. “My grandpa will obviously endorse him once he has finished high school either way, buuuuut… I fully support him wanting to work for it, showing determination here.”

“Proving to be a valuable asset for the company early on!”, Palmon added and Taichi had to grin to himself. He leaned over to gain Jyou’s attention, whispering with a hand over his mouth:

“Valuable asset, is that a different word for slave?”

“Shh!” While he tried to sound disapproving of that wording, Jyou, apparently, couldn’t help but to grin himself now. Unable to suppress his amusement at Taichi’s humour, he hissed back with an underlying laugh: “Don’t let her hear that!”

“What was that?” Mimi rushed between them again, but both guys just jumped apart, simultaneously shouting “Nothing!” at her. Taichi still smiled though - the first measure of distraction had been a full success, Jyou already looked a tad bit less tense.

“Stop whispering and let’s get started. I trust that you’ll provide honest feedback in the end, Taichi-san. I’m still disappointed in you for not having joined our open hours the other day. Grandpa would certainly have liked to see you again!”

He did have to ditch the event at the company due to football practice the other day - and because he had felt groggy after a particularly restless night.

“Hey, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea!” Still distracted from his own troubles, Jyou turned towards Taichi. “Especially if you still don’t have any idea where you’re headed?”

“Uh, I’m not in a rush to be honest!”, Taichi deflected. It wasn’t even a lie after all, he simply didn’t feel like talking about his ‘potential’ again. “How about you, Mimi-chan?”

“Me? Oh, seriously, Taichi-san, what a silly question is that?” Mimi’s eyes started to shine as she positioned herself between Jyou and Taichi again. “I’ll take over this company and make sure to increase its appeal to customers and employees alike. We’ll be known for our high-class products - that’s what Koushirou-kun will provide - and our inclusive worker’s rights union all over the globe! With Jyou-senpai managing our HR department with class and dignity and me looking over our marketing campaign, we shall take over the Japanese tech market in the foreseeable future!”

The déjâ-vu washed over Taichi again - but in quite a different way. She really was more confident than “the other Mimi” - or rather, confident in other ways. Where the other Mimi still enjoyed being a “kid”, wanting to experiment and figure herself out more, his Mimi knew exactly where she was headed. With her white blouse and high-waisted burgundy skirt, hair open and wavy, unshaken and straight-forward.

Definitely more of a queen than a princess.

“Progressive as always, Mimi-kun”, Jyou said - and even Taichi hadn’t been able to overhear the glimpse of affection in those words. 

“So world domination is just around the corner, huh?” Taichi refrained from asking whether she intended to expand her reach to the USA specifically… 

“You laugh, but you won’t once it all comes true, thank you! So I have to disappoint you…” The enthusiasm in Mimi shifted a little, as she now looked at him directly. Unavoidably. “Senpai won’t have any time to become a doctor, as you suggested…”

“You did?!”, Jyou exclaimed in absolute surprise and Taichi could feel his heart sink a little. “Well, my brother is the one who’s a doctor in training, but…”

Panic rose in Taichi’s chest, his palms began to become sweaty again. He had no idea what had come over him when he had asked Koushirou about all the printed materials on his desk the other day. “Is this for Senpai’s medicine school?”, he had asked and Koushirou’s confusion had hit him like a truck. He hadn’t even stumbled about it being an irregularity, it had just felt natural to ask such a question… And now nothing made sense about it anymore.

The way Mimi looked at him now with narrowed eyes while Jyou’s were wide open left him struggling to find an answer.

“Taichi…?”, Agumon asked and so he just shook his head. ‘Stay calm, stay cool, you can do this… Nobody shall know.’

“Y-yeah, I was just saying that…”, he cleared his throat, putting his trademark smile back where it belonged as he faced Jyou directly: “You would, technically, make an amazing doctor, seeing how committed, responsible and… Reliable you are, I mean, in general.”

Both Mimi and Jyou gave him a blank stare now, completely flabbergasted - with the former’s face having turned slightly redder in skin tone.

“Well…”, Mimi began, exchanging a glance with Jyou as well now. “That’s an agreeable statement, but…”

Watching Jyou blush even harder at that caused Taichi to smile again - and took away a tiny bit of his nerves as well. It was ironic in a way. Mimi and Jyou had felt pretty familiar with each other within his dreams themselves - so he was relieved to see that their relationship had stood the test of time, quite literally. It was endearing to see them be so in sync with each other. It made him feel nostalgic… And melancholic.

Just like it had felt completely organic to ask about Jyou’s future career in medicine, Taichi had the impression that the dream version of Jyou must have gone through several hardships himself - and yes, just like with the Jyou he knew, there must have been more than just a few doubts and setbacks in terms of choosing his path. Taichi felt a sense of… Sympathy towards him, could relate to him in weird ways. 

As if he had been lost, not knowing his place and sense of self for quite some time. An emptiness he had eventually overcome to replace it with unwavering commitment. To become a doctor. To become the best supporter he could possibly be - and to Taichi, it was surreal to think that his other self had to learn to respect this version of Jyou first. They did seem to have developed a harmonious bond, but… Taichi knew it hadn’t always been that way. 

It was a little disorienting. But now Taichi knew that the Jyou he was familiar with had his own challenges to face. He may not have gone for medicine as his field of choice - but he was unwavering in his unique way. He didn’t seem as steadfast in his abilities as the other Jyou yet, but they would make sure he could get back on track. Determined to get the job in this company, to become the leader he had always wanted to be one day - instead of a supporter. 

As someone who saw himself as the leader of his group of friends, Taichi couldn’t have been more proud of his friend, admired him to no end…

“So, yeah, Senpai”, Taichi said softly - and more assured than before, “If there was ever a time you felt like I didn’t respect you… I wanted to let you know, you’ll do great, no matter what you’ll choose to become.”

Now Jyou’s head was completely indistinguishable from a tomato, a stark contrast to the grey shirt, dark blue pants and tie, all prim and proper. The perfect business partner, companion and ‘asset’ to Mimi he could imagine. Gomamon let out a giggle and patted Jyou’s arm again.

“See, you’ll do fine, won’t ya?!”

“Taichi, what’s with all that flattery, did something happen, did you break something on your way here?”

“Told you, he is being weird”, Mimi folded her arms again, but Taichi simply blocked.

“I’m 100% fine!”

“You seemed a bit scatterbrained recently, wouldn’t you agree?” She kept digging at him, now with a lower, more worried tone. “Sora-san and Koushirou-kun certainly do.”

The other Mimi was close to these two as well. However, she seemed to butt heads with Koushirou a lot more… Thinking back on their bickering didn’t correspond well with the image he had of them. With Koushirou being another key support in their little group, always keen to be of help to him, Mimi, whenever they needed him, almost a little obedient…

Suddenly, his vision became blurry, his thoughts became foggy and incoherent.

‘Not now… Please… Stay on course, Taichi. They’re just reflections, stop overthinking.’

“I think he just needs to sleep a lot more, so he won’t fall asleep with open eyes anymore.”

It almost seemed like Agumon had known that he needed a little help here, so Taichi just felt a surge of thankfness, lessening the panic a little more.

“I-it’s not even that bad…”

Hearing that, Jyou got in full alarm mode, grabbing one of Taichi’s hands over the table. “Have you been suffering from insomnia? That’s serious business, if you need me to look up meds or anything-”

“Huh, maybe you really are a doctor at heart…”, Gomamon cooed and Jyou immediately let go of Taichi.

“What?!”

Instead, Taichi felt both of Mimi’s hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her directly. A bold move - as unpredictable as Mimi could be and even considering how long they had known each other, overstepping physical boundaries like that was unusual even for her. Thus, all three Digimon in the room - and Jyou - gasped at the sight.

“Taichi-san.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You haven’t had a cold recently, have you? Ever felt weird after returning home after gate-hopping? Be sincere. I won’t accept any more deflection.”

Taichi’s eyes widened. This felt like the worst-case-scenario - he absolutely didn’t intend to make them get so worked up over him. And Mimi’s determined yet worried glance was both alarming… And heart-warming. The haze behind his eyes lifted a little, the fog disappeared. Bringing him back to the now.

He was glad that this Mimi was an anchor for him. Who knew how to approach and motivate people.  It was like the princess in his memory made him value the queen in the present a lot more.

Just like the Senpai that would lead the way alongside him.

Gently, he grabbed Mimi’s hands and put more distance between them again, smiling his everlasting smile:

“I’ve been fine. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix and I don’t need any sleeping pills for that either. And you all worry too much. Thanks for caring, but we should focus on Senpai giving the speech of his life now, shouldn’t we?”