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jarofstyles · 7 months ago

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Pressing Questions

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WC- 4.4k

Warnings- exhibitionism, slight breeding kink, completely cute n flirty babies, husband x wife kink???

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“Hey, husband?”

“Yes, Wife?” It sounded so good coming from their lips. It made her borderline giddy as she looked over at him to find him already looking over at her. The flush she felt in her cheeks bled down to her chest. They were finally fucking married.

“What made you decide you were marrying me?” Y/N asked as she lounged next to him. Their honeymoon in full swing, Harry had rented out a cabana with a daybed so he could cuddle up to her on the beach and Y/N was positive now that it was definitely one of many things he had up his sleeve. The aesthetic had been perfect to her Pinterest board, but she had a feeling Harry knew that.

Roses in the room, champagne upon arrival, brand new swimwear just for her… she had been absolutely spoiled since they landed. Just like he promised.

The warm air flowed over their forms, her head resting on her bent arm as the other held the fruity cocktail she had drunk an embarrassing amount of in the last three days. Some kind of coconut and lime thing that had her feeling more giggly than she could remember being in most of her adult life, but she was safe here. Safe with Harry, just like she had been dreaming of.

Harry chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. He traced a lazy circular pattern on her bare hip with his fingertips as he spoke, his voice low and deep. Slightly hushed, keeping it intimate. Just the way she liked it. It was like he was fine tuned to appear to each and every thing she found attractive- or somehow managed to make everything he did appeal to her. Either way, she felt her tummy flutter.

"Darling, is this a trick question? Do you really think I only have one reason to marry you?” Her husband acted like it was a ridiculous question but pressed a kiss to her forehead, giving her an answer regardless. "You’re beyond beautiful, the funniest person I’ve ever met, smart as a tack... and you put up with all my ridiculous bullshit. All of those cliche reasons and more. Not t’mention you dealing with my insane schedule and giving me your honest opinions whenever I ask, even if they’re a little sassy.” Giving her a look, he got the laugh he wanted out of her before tilting his head in question. “Why wouldn’t I marry you?”

“I dunno, I just feel like…. I mean, I know I’m a catch.” She smirked, giving him a wink that she immediately regretted. At least she could be cringey with him and he would find it endearing. Her winks were not nearly as cute as his were. “But was there a singular moment that you knew you were going to keep me?” His touch always did make her melt.

Harry, ever the touchy and slightly clingy boyfriend- nay, husband-, couldn’t keep his hands off of her before they got married but… compared to this trip? Y/N was genuinely unsure there was a single moment without him with his touch somewhere on her body. It had been a little shocking at first but every single moment made her feel more addicted to the fingertips pressing into her, arms pulling her into his body or the lips ghosting her skin. The real problem would be when they got home and she couldn’t just have this on tap.

Harry let out a deep breath, shifting to roll onto his side and propping his head up with his hand as he took in her beauty. The sun was giving her skin a warm, golden glimmer, and it took all his willpower not to pounce on her at that very moment and take her right there in the cabana.

"You want one singular moment, huh?" He hummed, pretending to think about it as his fingertips continued their slow path tracing her body. "There was this one time..."

Her breathing caught in her throat as his fingers took a lazy trail over her body. Harry had this way about him that had made her a little nervous with how attentive his gaze was, but even so… she loved that feeling. Like he was always clinging onto her last word. Even as her husband, he seemed to use this power to his advantage.

“Mmm?” She asked, tossing back the final bit of her drink before fiddling with the cute little paper umbrella. “What time?”

His lips curled up into a small, smug smirk as he watched her react to his touch. He loved the power he had over her, the way his fingers seemed to make her breathless and her eyes got a little hazy. The way her body subconsciously arched into his touch.

Harry moved his hand from her hip, slowly tracing it up her side and over her ribcage, his touch so light that it almost tickled. "It was very early on," he said, his voice low and husky. "We were at my place, just hanging out. You were wearing this… little fucking tank top." The way he said it made her know that he was thinking about that tank top to this day. Flattering, even if she couldn’t place the moment he was talking about.

She had to wrack her brain for a moment, trying to remember which day it was that he was referring to. The beginning days had been slightly hazy considering their romance had gone from tentative flirtation to a whirlwind as soon as the sexual dam had broken.

“Which tank top?”

Harry's smile grew wider as he saw her trying to remember. It was something he could never forget. "It was that little pink one, with the sexy little bit of lace at the neckline. Lacy straps, too," he said, his voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone as the memory played in his head. "It was so teeny tiny that I could see your bra through it..." Moving closer to her, his hand moved lower on her body, tracing over the soft, sensitive skin of her stomach. He knew exactly how he was affecting her. It was considered a bit of payback for said tank top.

"And those shorts you had on... so short that I could see your hips and legs… and the bottom of your bum when you moved the right way? Mm, I think you’ve always been so cruel with teasing me, baby.” The man obviously loved it though. There was no hiding that from her.

Despite it being a private beach, Y/N felt the flutter of both fear and anticipation as he flirted with her so blatantly. Recalling a time she could definitely remember now, a movie night at his place where she had worn a matching pajama set that wasn’t outright sexy but… definitely was known to show off her body.

“Ohhhh. That one.” She grinned. “Seeing me in that made you know you were gonna marry me? Perv.”

“Hey now, I just appreciate beauty when I see it.” Harry countered with a laugh, acting slightly affronted as if his hand wasn’t now resting just over the waistband of her bikini. “So sue me for thinking y’looked incredible.”

Moving even closer to her, his body pressed against hers as his lips brushed against her ear. His voice was sultry as he spoke, a little kiss pressed right underneath it. “And I distinctly remember you wearing that little outfit just to drive me absolutely wild, you little minx. You can’t even deny it now. I know how that pretty head of yours works.”

Y/N snickered at the call out, knowing he was very much correct. She had done it to test him, to see how much he was willing to put up with back in the day, what would make him tick. He may call it teasing, but she called it an experiment for scientific research.

“You are such a flirt today.” She took a moment to put the glass down before facing him again, carding her fingers through his wavy hair. The sea air did something to it that made her even more attracted to him, something she hadn’t realized possible until she had seen it herself. “But keep the memories coming.” Aka the compliments. She felt loved up and was very much in the mood to hear more. “What else did you think?”

Harry's eyes darkened slightly as her fingers ran through his hair. He loved it when she touched him like that, it sent shivers down his spine, making him want to lean into her like an eager pup awaiting pets.

"Other things that cemented it?" He murmured, his hand on her hip giving her a gentle squeeze. “There’s loads. Mm… I’d have t’say, the way you'd get all flustered when I teased you. The way you'd get all sarcastic and bratty when I annoyed you. How you were so confident and fiery, but at the same time so shy and sweet..." he trailed off, knowing he could go on for hours and hours when it came to what he loved about her. It was hard to get him to shut up about it, actually.

“So you like when I’m bratty. That’s what I’m hearing.” She giggled, teasing him slightly despite him scolding her for it prior. “I think my moment was when you set up that whole thing on Valentine’s Day. Cause god knows you’ve got all the money in the world but you knew I hate fancy restaurants so you did like… the whole blanket fort thing. With the charcuterie board and champagne.” The dreamy sigh left her lips. It had stuck with her every day since. He may not even realize how important it had been for her, but Harry was the first person she’d dated who had ever made her feel that special.

“You listened to me when I said what I liked. You got my favorite movie lined up and made me sweet and salty popcorn like I like. You even remembered you popped the wrong one and told me to wait and… I dunno.” She shrugged with her shy smile lighting up her face. “I knew I’d never find anyone else like you.”

Harry's gaze softened as she spoke, warmth spreading through his chest as she described his absolute favorite Valentine's Day. He hadn't known at the time it had been such a pivotal moment for her, but now it made perfect sense. His wife was sentimental that way. Something personal meant way more than the clothes he had bought her, or the house he’d got for them. His thoughts were everything to her.

He gave her a tender look, shaking his head, fingers tracing a gentle path along her arm. It was impossible to keep his touch from her, and he didn’t feel like trying. "You mean when I accidentally burned the salted popcorn?" He winced at the memory. It was a weird thing he always thought about, but in his defense the smell had been pretty bad. Thankfully he had air freshener on hand, though apple cinnamon didn’t exactly mask burnt popcorn.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was so focused on making sure everything was just right for you that I didn't pay enough attention to the microwave. Plus, your pretty face was distracting enough. Could barely form a proper sentence.”

The warmth flooded her tummy at the compliment, making her want to kiss him even more. It was held off considering she knew it would most definitely be something that got carried away, but that didn’t stop the urges. “I’ll be honest, I probably would have eaten the burnt popcorn. The fact that you’d even managed to remember those little facts about me had me like… giddy. I hadn’t felt that way about a crush since I was a teenager.” The admission came easily. There was no shame in how much she loved Harry, even if she did tease him to say he was the clingy one.

Another question popped into her head, and considering he seemed happy to talk now that he’d had his beachside nap, she took advantage of it. “Were you nervous to propose?”

Harry's hand moved back and rested on her hip, his fingers rubbing over the soft skin as he answered immediately.

"Nervous? Oh, absolutely. Fucking terrified, my love. Even though I knew you'd say yes, I was still nervous as hell." He let out a sweet hum, softly, leaning in closer to her, his lips almost touching her ear as he spoke. "The most nerve-wracking part was the time between when I proposed and when you actually said yes. It felt like the longest minute of my life..."

“You knew I’d say yes. C’mon, H.” Y/N’s giddy grin made it past her lips. It was weirdly satisfying to know he had been nervous because it meant he had been worried about the prospect of not being with her forever. It had always been her plan to say yes, but still.

Harry chuckled again, his chest rumbling beneath her head "Yes, darling, I did know that." His hand slid under her chin, gently lifting her head to meet his gaze. How much he loved her was visible in his eyes. She’d never experienced visibly seeing love before him.

"But that didn't stop me from being nervous. I was just so… desperate for you to say yes, to be mine forever. The thought of even a moment of hesitation..."

He shuddered slightly and his grip on her tightened ever so slightly "It would've killed me."

“Oh, baby.” She cooed, deciding to baby him a little bit. Hearing that vulnerability really did something to her, tangling her fingers into the hair at his nape. “I’ve been yours since you first kissed me. Y’know that?” Y/N had been completely smitten. It was borderline concerning until she had realized he felt the same. “I had the biggest crush on you when we first met. You only continue to get better and better every day.”

Tossing her leg over her hip, she relaxed into his hold as she gazed over his pretty face. He’d let his stubble grow out a bit, albeit a bit patchy- the look suited him. “You’ve been my husband in my head for a long time. I don’t think I could have ever said no.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat as she spoke. He had always loved it when she got like this, all soft and gentle and sweet on him. It was hard not to be greedy for this sort of affection. The feeling of her tangling her fingers in his hair combined with the press of her body against his had a shiver running down his spine.

"S’That so?" He purred, his voice making her squirm. "Because you’ve been mine since the moment I saw you, darling. You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life, and I knew I had to have you. You belong with me, you always have."

The slight possessive speak made her throat thicken, tummy warm, between her thighs throb a little bit. The tenderness in which he spoke had her melting and it had nothing to do with the beachy heat. This was exactly why she knew she had made the perfect choice with him. Her body knew it was him before her head even did. Her heart? Even before that. “Yeah? I’m yours?” She cooed, brushing her nose against his.

Harry groaned softly as she brushed her nose against his, his eyes falling half-lidded. "Mmm, yeah. You are. You're mine. All mine."

His voice was a low rumble, his grip on her tightening as he spoke. "No one else will ever touch you, darling. You belong to me. I won't ever share you, no part of you is for anyone else but me."

Y/N let out a breathy gasp as his hand skipped over her ass, under the bikini bottom’s to hold bare skin. The flesh was squeezed, heat spreading between her legs as the little grab only managed to make it worse. She couldn’t control it even if she tried.

“H! There are people around.” She squealed nervously, but didn’t move his hand. The people were far away, the beach not too crowded, but she had to say it. It wasn’t unlike him to grab a feel, but he had no intentions of moving his hand. The man had been insatiable since their wedding night with no sign of stopping.

Harry gave her a sly simper as his hand squeezed her ass again, kneading lightly. He knew they were technically in public, and he didn't care in the slightest. It was more exciting this way, he loved the danger of being caught, the thrill of almost being seen… he was on his honeymoon with his wife. Nothing else mattered.

"I don't care, darling. They can't see us over here... Besides, we're on our honeymoon. We can do whatever we want." Licking his lower lip as he pulled her closer to him, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"And right now, I want you."

“Baby…” Y/N’s voice went all syrupy and whimpery as his tongue ran over her jaw, teeth stopping to nibble at her skin. “You’re gonna get me wet. And I’m still a little sore from last night…”

Her face flushed at the memory of him pounding into her, desperate proclamations of love being panted into the air as he fucked her over and over. That had been intense and her poor body hadn’t fully recovered, but it couldn’t help but react to him. She wasn’t saying no though because… she didn’t want to. A glutton for punishment, maybe, but she craved him. Body, mind and soul.

Harry's breath hitched as she whimpered, the sound going straight to his already thickening cock. The thought of getting her all riled up here, of making her feel good while hidden away did little but work him up further. Y/N had a master key to his body and just the tiniest noise, movement of word could have him undone at any moment.

“H…” she whined, feeling his hand slip between them. Finding her already wet, she could feel him groan into her neck as he pressed kisses over her throat. “H- fuck.”

Her pants did nothing to deter him. The slick sound of his fingers rubbing through her slit before finding her swollen clit was the loudest thing she could hear, over the music in the distance and the crashing waves. “God.. you’re so bad.” And it felt so good.

Her husband’s lips curled up in a lazy grin as his fingers slid effortlessly through the wetness of her cunt. He could hear her gasping quietly with every touch, and he knew she was desperately trying to keep it together. It was his job to undo her. "You love it when I'm bad, darling." He taunted, nipping at her neck. With a voice low and needy he continued whispering in her ear. "See.. I think you love it when I'm naughty. Think that you want me to touch you, to slip my fingers over your needy cunt and make you feel good. Y’want that, don’t you baby?”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned her head back, letting his mouth mark up her throat. It felt too good to stop him, and her body was aching for it. This was what a honeymoon was for. Wasn’t it?

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. There was no use protesting when this was what she wanted anyway. “Just be gentle, please.”

Harry hummed in agreement, his fingers still gently teasing her as he continued to mark up her throat.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll be gentle. I'll take care of you, just like I always do." His free hand came up to cup her cheek, guiding her face up to look him in the eyes.

"Just relax, my sweet girl, and let me make you feel good."

Her shaky breathing was only made worse as he made her look him in the eye as he pleasured her. The slick movement of his fingertips where she was swollen from his constant licking and rubbing and sucking had her head swimming, sensitive from the use she had been experiencing- but god, did she love it.

She knew he was feeling even more worked up now that she was his wife officially, and he was letting her feel that. “You always make me feel s-so good.”

Harry's groan caught in his throat as he watched her, her eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He fucking loved seeing her like this, all flushed and breathless because of him. His fingers toyed with her still, slow and gentle as he tried to make himself wait. "Good, because I love making you feel good… S’my favorite thing."

He pressed a few kisses to her cheek, his nose skimming over her skin as he moved to whisper into her ear. It sent shivers over her body, hard to keep herself from losing it as he touched her, practiced and knowing exactly where to taunt.

"You're so damn perfect, darling. My perfect, pretty little wife, letting me do filthy things to you. Love you so much."

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, eyes closing for a moment as he kissed her neck again before whispering in her ear. When he gripped her chin again, he made her watch his face as he slowly sunk a finger into her. It wasn’t difficult given how soaking wet her poor pussy was, but she still felt the stretch. It was hard not to when they were that thick.

A high pitched whine was cut off as she bit her lip, face contorting slightly as she felt him begin to move it. “It’s not f-fair, how easily you can… you can make me feel crazy.”

Harry hummed as he watched her face twist with pleasure, his finger still lazily pumping in and out of her. Feeling the walls clench around him and slick up his finger, he couldn’t get enough of her. "Mmm, I know, darling. I know everything that drives you insane. I know all your sensitive spots, where you like to be touched, how you like it when I talk dirty to you..."

Leaning in and biting down gently on her earlobe, his voice a deep murmur in her ear. "And I love that I'm the only one who knows those things."

“Mhm, the only one. You’re the only one.” She agreed vehemently. The pleasure was smooth and slow, building up as the slick sound of his finger being inside of her made it even more hot. “And you’re the only one who’s gonna put a baby in me too.”

Y/N knew just how crazy that sort of talk made him, discovered it not too long ago, and she was aware she was playing with fire. She knew that, and yet she continued.

Harry let out a deep, loud groan at her words, the sound almost feral. If anyone was nearby it would give them away, but he frankly didn’t give a fuck. He loved it when she talked like that, so shameless and filthy. Meeting him where he was at. It was no secret that he had been on a mission this trip, but Y/N knew what she did to him when she brought it up. His free hand dug into her cheek, gripping her tightly as his finger curved inside her, pressing into the slick, spongy walls.

"Yeah? You want me t’get you pregnant, little darling?" His breath came out in huffed pants as his control started to slip a little. A button being pushed, almost all the way down. “Want me t’knock you up? Think we should try again… If you want that.” The memory of him pulling his cock out to watch the creamy mix slip out of her cunt before pushing back in to keep some plugged up into her the night prior came rushing back.

That was exactly what he was craving.

“Yeah, I want to… I want you to do it on this trip. Please? Wanna make you a daddy.” She keened, knowing they had little time at the beach left. He was going to lose control soon, and that had been her quickly executed plan.

Harry's control completely snapped at her words. He let out a low, guttural moan, his grip on her cheek firm as he laid a deep kiss on her mouth, licking into it and feeling her desperate kiss returned before he pulled back with a grunt and wet lips. She was ethereal, even in filthy situations like this. With beachy hair and bleary eyes, swollen mouth and the golden glow of the setting sun on her skin. Every day, every moment served as a reminder as to why he was so lucky to have her.

“God, you drive me fucking insane, darling. Y’know exactly what to say to get me all worked up, huh?" It was clear he couldn’t take it anymore. Y/N had hit her intended target, and he couldn’t be out here any longer because he would definitely get caught with a public indecency charge. Fingering was one thing, but the things he wanted to do to her? They needed privacy.

He withdrew his finger, his voice a gruff whisper as he spoke into her ear. "Get up. Now.”

A cry of loss left her swollen lips as he stood up, not caring at all about the bulge in his pants. He grabbed the beach bag, tossing it over his arm and surprised her as he tossed her over his shoulder too.

“Harry!” She squealed. “H- oh my god. You caveman!” He walked towards the villa with her tossed over his shoulder, like she weighed nothing. Like the blatant show of strength wouldn’t make her even more aroused.

Her husband chuckled at her protest, his hand coming down across her ass to give her a sharp smack. "Hush, wife. I said I'd take care of you, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

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txttletale · 1 year ago

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also obviously making fun of british food is not the same as white people being racist about food from the global south but sometimes it feels like it goes well beyond like light hearted jokes and into trying to like, invent food phrenology and i just think that seriously applying moral and political dimensions to the aesthetics of national cuisine is a silly and abd route to to go dwon. lots of countries with vibrant and exciting and popularly appealing food cultures had brutal religious repression and built colonial empires on the backs of slavery and genocide too

#tattletxt

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blogport · 8 months ago

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bull-shit-suji · 9 days ago

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not that this is a particularly profound take but imo i think the dadbastian trope IS pretty applicable in canon if you just like. Look at it from a slightly skewed angle.

it's not that i'm coming at this in a "sebastian is gradually changing for the better and learning to empathize with and/or regard o!ciel as someone he genuinely cares for" way because, as much as that narrative is fun and angsty and Just So Happens to make sebastian a little easier to relate to, it clashes with how calculated he canonically is.

that being said! he absolutely is changing. his character arc revolves around a realization that the tactics he's comfortable using aren't good enough, and this goes wayyy beyond undertaker being two steps ahead of his "punch first, ask questions later" instinct. everything sebastian does is catalyzed by a belief that, no matter how treacherous the situation becomes, he'll be able to figure it out with little to no effort given his superiority as a supernatural entity.

ciel and sebastian's dynamic prior to emerald witch relies on this ethos. ciel has a goal and views sebastian as the sole avenue through which he can accomplish it because he's a demon. ciel feels unsafe and views sebastian as his only source of protection because he's a demon. all sebastian has to do to maintain this dynamic is be scary and generally infallible which, surprise! are natural dispositions for him.

enter BOC, in which this dynamic is challenged during ciel's initial asthma attack. this is the first time sebastian is relatively helpless to keep ciel alive - he has to defer to a human doctor because there's literally. Nothing he can do. which is then paralleled by ciel's second flair up.

there's a reason ciel's asthma is referenced again in this scene. there's a reason sebastian looks so skip-happy while carrying out ciel's order of burning that bitch to the ground. he doesn't have to question his abilities! he doesn't have to alter the dynamic! he can keep flexing his demon powers anytime shit hits the fan and ciel will always come crawling back to him.

sebastian's fatal flaw isn't just that he's muscle-brained - he's also stubbornly, willfully ignorant of his own weaknesses. sure, he was completely useless in preventing ciel's asthma back at the circus, but that's fine, who cares! he gets to fall back on his strengths and ignore how powerless he actually was.

welcome to BOA! for context, prior to this arc, sebastian rarely, if ever let ciel see him expending any kind of effort, i.e. he's in a constant battle with the servants to keep the manor from descending into chaos and purposefully tries to hide it. this isn't just a butler aesthetics thing, it's also an "I'm a demon and everything is easy for me" thing, to the extent that sebastian continues attempting to uphold his unflappable demeanor when he's quite literally on the verge of collapsing.

sebastian's tactics aren't all that's challenged in BOA - his entire persona gets irreparably damaged. ciel sees him be outsmarted. ciel sees him injured and genuinely struggling to keep the former safe. this should be very bad news for their dynamic;

except, it isn't.

ciel responds so positively that it makes sebastian Yapper Of The Century michaelis momentarily speechless! he then immediately tells ciel to cut that shit out, thus deferring once again to a dynamic that's rapidly crumbling before his eyes and ignoring how effective his accidental appeal to pathos was in retaining and even strengthening ciel's attachment to him.

which leads me to emerald witch, aka the cataclysm for sebastian's change. on top of undertaker being a constant, underlying threat to his food, sebastian ONCE AGAIN has to deal with said food's delicate mortality.

obviously, sebastian is all out of sorts, but his expressions / the way he's framed when he's alone (or not being perceived) absolutely floor me. he looks genuinely distressed after speaking to the other servants. he's drawn in these bird's-eye and wide-shot views while in the forest, creating an isolated, pensive atmosphere and illustrating him (a big, bad demon) as nothing short of small.

he's conflicted. which is weird, right? this isn't the first time his food has gotten sick. moreover, ciel isn't in any active danger - he's having a PTSD response. sebastian is not stupid, he knows this, and should be either confidently reminding ciel of the power he wields or threatening to eat him right then and there; and yet! he waits multiple days before reverting to these (historically effective!!) responses.

it's not just that he's a picky eater - this is sebastian, for the first time in the series, recognizing how fragile ciel's attachment to him is. he's doubting himself. his food no longer views him as its only source of safety, has rejected him, and it's entirely due to sebastian's own negligence.

he's been ignoring his weaknesses. he's been reliant on ciel looking past multiple instances of helplessness in light of how terrified the kid is and how powerful sebastian makes him feel. it's not a coincidence that ciel's near-death experience was exacerbated by sebastian disregarding the former's symptoms to go beat up a werewolf (leaving him ALONE in a foreign, SUPPOSEDLY CURSED castle) until those symptoms, literally, hit him in the face.

it doesn't matter how incapacitated ciel is - sebastian's presence should be enough to calm him, and it isn't, and it's his fault.

this is where sebastian really starts to change. (mind you, the chapter following ciel's initial rejection is titled "That Butler, Change", so do with that what you will.) though we aren't told this explicitly, i think he looks to instances wherein something other than fear drove ciel's attachment (BOA), as well as to the only person ciel would let near him while panicked (finnian, who ciel appears to be closest with amongst the servants and was projecting onto out of grief for his twin). he dials back on the demon vibes. he slowly begins altering his rhetoric.

enter blue cult!

remember what i said about sebastian not wanting ciel to see him struggle? to be cognizant of his weaknesses? as much as the situation was largely out of his control, it's interesting that sebastian allowed his expression to convey upset given that he views emotion of any kind as a weakness.

this isn't to say his sulking isn't genuine - i like to think his clinical narcissist brain was about to pop at the mere thought of not being praised; but! when put in context with his nature, his façade, how every single thing he does is calculated, especially around ciel, this Wildly out-of-character expression gains a new meaning.

another example after ciel returns from getting his blood thieved:

two things: one, sebastian is learning! he almost verbatim references his mistake in emerald witch, meaning he had to have acknowledged it between then and now. two, he does this verbally, explicitly, thereby allowing ciel to witness his panic AND be made aware that sebastian is capable of failure. he could have marched back into the music hall and wrangled the s4. he could have said "ah shit, that's not good, let's go find a doctor". instead, he rambles on about how this is all his fault to a degree that's so excessive it's kind of comical.

and you know what! i don't believe a goddamn word of it. it is so significant that he immediately switches gears after his instinctual big-scary-demon reaction. the sebastian we knew at the beginning of the manga would NEVER let ciel think he was genuinely upset or flawed to the extent of endangering his charge, as that would directly contradict ciel's perception of him as perfect, strong, and safe.

sebastian is thus playing on the dynamic shift that occurred in BOA: he is encouraging ciel to view him as a (rarely!) imperfect being who is struggling to maintain a façade. as someone willing to go to the ends of the earth for him, to care for him, to defy his nature for him, because there are now far too many factors beyond his control to rely on fear alone.

honestly? it's a masterful execution. sebastian's tweaks to his persona are subtle: he gets a little sillier, he offers more praise (under the guise of banter), he tries to make ciel feel bad for "leashing" him.

(i wasn't going to include these panels but. dude. the way he backtracks after the initial comparison between himself and elizabeth only to start pontificating about what the "heart" wants. that is such a purposefully dual-ended rhetoric and insane to hear from mr. evil personified.)

he even displays an artfully-skewed version of grief upon finding angi's body (again, that emotion might have been somewhat genuine, but it feels intentional that he chose to express it with ciel in the room) to foster belief that he is capable of like. Caring for people?

circling back to forces beyond sebastian's control, here are two examples of sebastian's reaction to r!ciel's return:

oh BABY. "neither you nor my love are real"?

on-the-nose dialogue aside, sebastian's expression between these panels had me stumped for years. it would make sense for him to convey sympathy to convince ciel of said "love", HOWEVER it's odd that he would continue to do this despite not actively being perceived while in the carriage. something about this feels a little too genuine - especially considering how he's visibly tweaking throughout all of r!ciel's reveal chapters. as much as looking distressed/concerned is likely a conscious decision, i don't think he's fabricating the emotion entirely.

which leads me to: why does sebastian feel the need to alter the dynamic? sure, it was precarious at best and ran the risk of ciel not liking his pet demon all that much, but there's no imminent danger in that. ciel needs sebastian to achieve his revenge and sebastian has made himself out to be the only dependable, constant person amidst ciel's friends/family inevitably leaving him, AND has a trump card of total autonomy over ciel's soul.

... unless, of course, one of the family members he'd lost miraculously came back from the dead, the exact family member sebastian had eaten right in front of him, and was attached at the hip to a creature familiar with sebastian's flaws far before the demon was ever aware of them, that has proved itself more than capable of killing him.

oh he's concerned alright; there is a very real chance that ciel might back out of the contract. he's forgone his revenge before while in a similar trauma-induced headspace; only, this time, sebastian would be powerless to stop him. in truth, at any point since BOA, his meal could have run off to undertaker and there would have been shit all he could do about it. sebastian was slow to acknowledge this, granted, but up until EW there had been virtually no reason for ciel to do something like that.

now there are reasons. and girl, not only is sebastian concerned, i think he's a little scared.

he's functionally lost all ground in keeping ciel dependent on him. it's no longer enough for ciel to regard sebastian as a maliciously convenient product of circumstance - he has to form some other connection.

so, sebastian blurs the line between servant and guardian. he plays on associations he'd established in the past: nagging over ciel's health, taking over his studies, complimenting him, disciplining him, crafting his own form to look remarkably similar to vincent (and no, i don't consider this an instance of same-face-syndrome, look at their bangs. tell me that's not intentional). choices once made out of cruelty, out of a desire to worsen ciel's emotional turmoil, now repurposed to convince him of a devoted, endearingly-demonic parental figure and hoping this will be enough should there come a time wherein ciel is given a choice between two blasphemous falsifications of his family.

sebastian pivots hard. he avoids relying on his supernatural abilities unless absolutely necessary, despite countless opportunities to do so, to the extent where you almost forget he's not human. he does not leave ciel's side. he lets himself appear dirty and exhausted. he allows ciel to see how uncertain he feels, how helpless he is, knowing the true reason will be lost in translation because ciel is a child, and no matter how conscious that child is of sebastian's nature, he will instinctively revert to seeking out a parent.

the whole "butler aesthetics" shtick flies right out the window at the end of 147. i cannot physically articulate how improper it would be for a servant to grab his master's face and scold him. in front of company. you know who does that? a parent. this is straight up panic on sebastian's part. he is willing to run the risk of acting uncouth in order to brand those fatherly associations right onto ciel's underdeveloped frontal lobe.

and. and this might just be speculation. but.

it's working.

i cannot think of a single goddamn reason for ciel to do this. you wanna know something? his excuse is complete horseshit. sebastian is dressed as a butler, something passengers in a first class train compartment would recognize instantly. even his undercover persona of a valet wouldn't warrant tea with an aristocrat. as much as i'd like to believe ciel is in on the charade, i can't find any evidence nor does it seem realistic that he, a child, would fully grasp that level of manipulation, regardless of how mature he acts.

oh, hey, sebastian's being a little cryptic with that snowfall line. i bet it's completely random and he's never made weather-themed references in any of the prior arcs!

this is. One page. after ciel tells him to take a day off in BOA. he is directly referencing the first time he was made aware of how effective a disingenuous father-son relationship could be.

in BOA, he appears slightly ruffled by the dynamic shift, as this endangered the status quo. in the train car, he's absolutely ecstatic. look at him! that's his "I Just Manipulated This Preteen Sooo Good" face. he looks like an animal. he looks like he's about to turn into a werewolf and jump for joy.

tl;dr: dadbastian is actually so insanely viable, but not in the way you'd think. sebastian in undoubtedly changing, but this isn't an accident or a product of him learning to love or care in any capacity. he is perpetrating the illusion of change, of personal growth in a creature that cannot posses a real identity, thereby humanizing himself in ciel's eyes to keep his food from slipping out of his grasp and it's working so unbelievably well that he's managed to fool a good number of kuro's readers too.

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lotusarchon · 4 months ago

Note

I heard you write for POC? Could you write some sfw and nsfw headcanons of wukong reacting to the reader wearing waist beads, I don't think waist beads is very common in china so maybe it's his first time seeing them?

back to the kitty cause she's kinda pretty (sun wukong x reader)

content warnings: female reader, second pov (you/your), info gathered from wikipedia so may not be accurate completely, reader is of african descent (trini specifically because yes 🇹🇹), fluffy headcanons, sun wukong being curious as ever, nsfw headcanons, minors + ageless blogs DNI, gentle sex, p in v, cowgirl position, mild breeding kink

author's notes: okay so imma bfr right: this is the first time I've genuinely heard of waist beads, like ever, so Wukong here is a reflection of my own surprise and interest too

SFW;

𐙚 I can personally see Wukong being genuinely intrigued when you bring them up the first time. Mind you, he's never been beyond China and while he has borderline visited India on occasion, that really is about the limit he's done on traveling with his free time. So, naturally, his interest is piqued when you mention them.

𐙚 Wukong's the type of guy to ask you a lot of questions when curious. Though you haven't shown him the waist beads due to cultural reasons, he asks you a lot of questions, like what are their purpose, what do the symbolize, how are they made, etc. It's a good thing he has an amazing memory, but you have to pray he gives you a break between questions. (Which, knowing Wukong, might genuinely be never.)

𐙚 He gives you such a puppy eyed stare to see those waist beads 🥺 please show him, he's just so curious, and you love him, don't you? Don't you wanna show him your pretty waist beads? Pretty please?

𐙚 Dear god he's practically in awe. He wants to touch them so bad―he finds the uniqueness of the chosen gems and your favorite seashells handcrafted by your mother to be gorgeous. The way they settle against your skin and rustle when you move, gods he just wants to touch so bad, but at the same time, he respects you and wouldn't do anything that might make you sad.

𐙚 Consider him surprised when he finds out that in some cultures, the waist beads are intended to be seen only by your significant other. When you confirm he's the first, he is thrilled. To know that you trust him enough to show him…dear god this man is jumping up and down with utter glee. He is not shutting up about it and might also beat up anyone that asks to see it.

𐙚 If it was possible, Wukong would beg you to let him wear one too. He finds them cute and even aesthetically appealing, especially knowing that you don't need them to be all fancy looking or rich. Too bad he's not a girl…

NSFW;

𐙚 Watch him go from sad he can't wear one to intrigued when he finds out in (Igbo) culture, not only does a groom have to give his bride a Mgbájí (waist beads) to ensure her attire is complete, but it's pleasing to watch as the bride dances to her new husband.

𐙚 Well, you know Wukong. Till death till you both part, and he has zero intention of parting with you. You're both practically married at this, point, so wouldn't you love him enough to put on a dance for him, as good wife should?

𐙚 Of course, if you didn't want too, he wouldn't have forced you, but when you wholeheartedly agreed with his request, Wukong thought his dick was gonna bust through his pants.

𐙚 The way the beads looked against your dancing figure, your alluring smile…gah, did he mention how much he loves you? Because, he does, and once you're within grabbing distance he yanks you forward and smooches you so hard.

𐙚 Don't expect to have those waist beads removed, oh hell no. Wukong insists you keep them on, and while he strips you bare, he ensures they're not even hurt by his actions. He wants to see them on your body while he fucks you.

𐙚 His cock literally throbs inside you while you ride him, and the shift of your waist beads while his hands squeeze your ass and your arms are wrapped around his neck are enough to send him over the edge. It genuinely takes a lot for him not to just bend you over right then and there, because he likes watching the beads shift against your body while you bounce on him.

𐙚 Maybe it's your imagination, but you swear he mutters something about knocking you up? And getting you another pair of waist beads to match the one you were gifted with from your mother? Something about you being so utterly divine in this moment, the idea of stuffing you to the brim with his cum and having you as his wife forever and ever..?

𐙚 Long story short, Wukong gives you a baby and keeps his word about granting you another pair of waist beads with pretty flower seeds and shells. Yay.

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cinnaleaf · 15 days ago

Text

In Your DMs: Left on Read - Ch 2: Sticky Situation

summary: you left jude on read once—but after one reckless night, he’s making damn sure you never ignore him again 💫 | MDNI 18+ | Full Series |

warnings: angst/tension, push/pull dynamic, jealousy/possessiveness, verbal altercation, sexual tension, language, cultural references wc: ~6.3k (approx. 23 minutes) 💋: let’s pretend u didn’t see me post this yday when the tag was in shambles song inspo: Gemini x THEY.

You were hungover, running on a questionable amount of caffeine, and about three seconds away from throwing your pen at your professor’s head. Documentary Production & Storytelling was already your least favorite class this semester, mostly because the professor was an eccentric Spanish filmmaker who smoked way too many cigars and had a tendency to talk in circles. Today wasn’t any different.

“Filmmaking isn’t about aesthetics! Not about perfect shots or clever editing tricks!” He slapped the whiteboard for emphasis, where he’d already written EXPOSE THE TRUTH in all uppercase letters. “It’s about reality! Raw. Unfiltered. Humanity! If you want to make a documentary worth watching, you have to dig beneath the surface.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tapped your pen against your notebook instead. Expose the truth. The phrase alone made your head hurt. Bri, who was sitting beside you, leaned over and whispered, “So… are you thinking of exposing how you were crying over a toilet bowl this morning?”

You shoved her off you, whispering, “Shut up.”

Tasha, on your other side, barely contained her laughter. “You know what would be crazy?” she murmured, moving her eyes toward the board. “If you just documented Jude and his desperate ass. Now THAT would be exposing the truth.”

You groaned under your breath, shaking your head, but Bri wasn’t done. “Oh my god, imagine! Surviving Thirst: The Jude Bellingham Story.”

She was joking obviously, but the second she said it, the thought wedged into your brain and refused to budge. Your professor turned away from the board, pacing in front of the class like he was on the verge of an epiphany. The smell of cigars mixed with your lingering hangover made you question every life choice that led to this moment.

“You must capture something real!” He threw a dramatic hand in the air. “Something global but deeply personal! A story that goes beyond what people think they know. Something with weight!” He smacked his hands together which made your head pound even harder. “Something that DEMANDS to be told!”

He surveyed the class, eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me, how do we do that?”

Some overachieving wannabe Steven Spielberg shot their hand up. “By finding a subject that resonates with a wide audience but also reveals something deeper about human nature?”

“YES! Now you’re getting it!” The professor spun toward the board and underlined EXPOSE THE TRUTH so aggressively that the marker nearly flew out of his hand. “This is what great filmmakers do! They take what the world thinks it knows and deconstructs it! They rip apart the facade and show what lies underneath! Think about the subjects people obsess over and glorify.” His voice dropped an octave and he scanned the room. “Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. They are mythologized and turned into icons, but what do we really know about them? What’s behind the curated image?”

He let the question settle in the air before continuing on his artistic yet slightly psychotic tangent. “Your subject must be compelling. It must have global appeal, but you must also find a way to make it deeply personal. You have one week to choose.” He clapped his hands once, signaling the discussion was over. “Class dismissed.”

You sat frozen in your seat as everyone around you started gathering their things.

Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. It wasn’t a bad idea.. if you had actually considered it.

The thing was, you’d already been around these people your whole life. You knew exactly how the glossy image the world saw was never the full picture. Your dad was the go to plastic surgeon for the rich and famous. He was the man behind half the “natural” beauty people idolized on social media. You saw celebrities in and out of his clinic since you were a kid, some slipping in through the back entrance, others coming in with full security detail, all of them desperate to maintain whatever illusion the industry demanded of them.

You knew the aftermath too. NDAs, secrecy, negotiations over what work could be admitted to versus what would go to the grave. You knew which athletes got regular “maintenance” to keep their bodies in peak condition, which actors booked consultations but never followed through, and which A-listers claimed their glow ups were the work of a ‘strict diet and hydration’ (ahem, Drake.) Miami was also crawling with athletes and you watched how they moved before you were even old enough to drink. You saw the girls they rotated in and out of their lives, the ones they wifed publicly while keeping a different roster on the side. You had dinner with your dad and overheard conversations you weren’t meant to hear. You went to exclusive parties, walked through yachts and penthouses where cameras weren’t allowed, and sat quietly as men with the world at their feet made it clear that nothing was ever enough for them.

People were obsessed with them, but if they knew even half of what you saw, they’d have a lot less to say. Your professor wanted something that resonated globally but was deeply personal. Something that exposed the truth.

Well.

You could do that.

As the three of you walked out of the classroom and into the sundrenched halls of the film building, Bri slung her tote over her shoulder and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, so… I’m thinking of making my documentary about Madrid’s club scene. Like a deep dive into the DJs, bouncers, promoters, and all the fuckery behind the scenes.”

You nodded, already seeing the vision. Madrid’s nightlife was lawless, and Bri was a historian on the subject. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know.” She flipped her hair dramatically. “It’s giving investigative journalism.”

Tasha snorted. “More like it’s giving an excuse to party seven nights a week and call it research.”

Bri shrugged. “And what about it?”

You laughed while Tasha transitioned the conversation to go over her own idea. “I think I’m gonna do something about gentrification. Specifically, how it’s affecting Lavapiés and it’s immigrant population.”

You gave her a look of approval. “That’s actually really fucking good.”

“I know. But I’m about to piss off a ton of white people with this one.”

Bri grinned. “Oh, for sure.”

You were still laughing when you all stepped outside in the warm afternoon breeze of Madrid and made your way toward your usual café down the block. You could feel them watching you, waiting for you to speak, and you knew exactly why. You had been quiet about your own project since leaving class, which meant your brain was turning over something serious.

Tasha sighed. “You’re really gonna make us drag it out of you?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone back into your bag. “Fine. I’m thinking about documenting athletes.”

That got their full attention. “Athletes?” Bri repeated with interest.

You nodded. “Think about it. People put them on this insane pedestal, but no one really gets to see what their lives are like outside of what they post or what the media covers.” You shrugged. “I’ve seen that side my whole life. I know what really goes on behind the scenes. Why not film it?”

They exchanged a look before Bri asked the inevitable. “And who are you documenting?”

Tasha raised her eyebrow. “Because if you say Jude, I swear to God…”

You shot her a look. “I’m not doing a documentary about Jude.”

Bri smirked. “But he’s in it?”

You sighed dramatically. “I might use him. I might use Santi too. He’s not on Jude’s level but basketball is still a thing here.. so I could get both perspectives.”

Bri gasped. “Oh my god. You’re pitting them against each other in the name of entertainment.”

“I’m not pitting them against each other.”

“You’re definitely pitting them against each other.”

You shook your head but the idea was already taking place in your mind. The contrast between a man at the height of European football and a man who was well known but didn’t live under the same spotlight could make for a very interesting project.

Tasha smirked. “So… who are you calling first?”

After visiting the café, you made your way back to your apartment and stared at your phone, contemplating if this was really the move. Out of the two of them, Jude was the most likely to be the bigger headache and piss you off within the first few minutes of conversation, but you also knew he’d answer immediately. You tapped his contact and one ring was all it took before he answered.

“You finally had a change of heart and decided to stop ignoring me?” His voice came through the speaker, smug and warm. A normal hello would have sufficed.

You blew out a breath, already over it. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking, that’s for sure.”

There was a pause but then he let out a chuckle that made you clench your jaw. “You were thinking about me enough to call me.”

Your eyes nearly rolled out of your skull. “Are you busy or not?” Your attitude was immediate, rightfully so.

“Not for you, pretty girl.”

You ignored the way your stomach twisted slightly at that and forced yourself to focus. “Good. Come to mine. I just sent you the address.”

“See.. now you’re just making it too easy” he teased.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Jude shut the fuck up and just–”

“I’ll be there in twenty” he cut in smoothly, enjoying the chase. “Missed you too by the way.” The call ended before you could respond, making you stare at your phone in disbelief.

Clearly, this was a mistake.

Twenty five minutes had passed by before you finally heard a knock on your door, because of course he had to be late. You took one last deep breath and pulled the door open, only to be greeted with the ugliest Peaky Blinders ass hat you’d ever seen in your life.

You made a face of disgust because the sheer ugliness of his hat offended you. “Absolutely not.”

Jude stood in front of the doorframe, grinning with one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers. “Good to see you too.”

You didn’t acknowledge what he said and instead waved a hand at the monstrosity sitting on top of his head. “What the fuck is this?”

“What?” He asked innocently, reaching up to adjust the hat. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t like it. You look like you started street brawls in 1923.”

Jude laughed and stepped past you, making himself at home. “I look good in this hat.”

You shut the door behind him and shook your head. “No. You look like a fucking 40 year old who snuck on earth in that hat.”

His ego was too big for him to admit to anything other than him looking good in the hat, so Jude wandered further into your apartment, stretching his long legs and taking in his surroundings with ease. “Nice place,” he mused, glancing at the half empty iced coffee cup on the table, an open notebook filled with scribbled ideas, and a stack of filming equipment tucked near the TV. “This where you plot your next move?”

You sighed, already regretting this. “Jude.”

He turned to you with a cocky half smirk on his lips. “Yeah, angel?”

You clenched your jaw. “Come to my room.”

“Damn at least buy me dinner first.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response and instead turned around to walk to your bedroom as he followed behind lazily. Once inside, you shut the door behind you and watched Jude eye the personal confines of your bedroom. It felt strangely intimate having him in your room, especially since it looked like he was taking mental notes on the little details of your life. Your room was a mix of chaos and personality with half packed bags shoved in a corner, polaroid pictures pinned to the wall, books and videography equipment scattered across your desk. Jude walked over and picked up one of your camcorders without asking, testing the weight of it in his hands.

“You always been into this?” he asked, adjusting the focus ring as if he knew what he was doing even though he could barely put on a headset without looking confused.

You crossed your arms. “Why do you care?”

Jude glanced at you, setting the camera back down. “Because I’m nosy.”

Okay. At least he was honest. You inhaled deeply, preparing yourself for the conversation you actually needed to have. “I need you for a project.”

“Is that why you finally decided to hit me up?”

“Jude..” He laughed and stepped closer to you, shifting his body language into something more relaxed. His hands sat in his pockets as he studied your face, waiting. “I have to make a documentary for class. Something with global appeal that’s also personal. So I figured....”

“Ohhh,” Jude drawled, tilting his head. “You figured me.”

You stared at him, trying to explain yourself more in depth, but the words tumbling out of you dug you into a deeper hole. “You’re one of the biggest footballers in the world right now. It makes sense.”

He licked his lips, nodding slightly, but that smug look didn’t leave his face. “So what’s the angle? Exposing me in bed?”

Your nostrils flared as you clenched your fists at your sides. “Jude be serious.”

He grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth, leaning in only slightly. “I’m joking.”

You tried to push past the fact that he was actively and succeeding at getting under your skin. “I want to capture what your life is actually like. The side people don’t see.”

Jude didn’t respond right away and continued to study your face to figure out what part of this project you weren’t admitting to just yet. “And you think I’m just gonna agree to that?”

You shrugged. “I think you’ll do whatever you want to do.”

“What if I don’t want to do it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll move on.”

“That easy?”

“That easy,” you echoed, even though you both knew damn well that wasn’t the case for reasons beyond the project.

The silence following after was charged with unsaid thoughts. Jude sat on the edge of your bed with his hands clasped in front of him, still watching you with an unreadable expression, but then he reached out for you and wrapped his fingers around your waist, tugging you just close enough that you had to catch yourself with your free hand on his thigh. Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away.

He looked up at you, voice low. “Why me?”

You swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the feeling of his skin against yours. “Because you’re a global name. And because people don’t actually know you.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just for a second. “And you think you do?”

You really should’ve pulled away and put distance between you but you stayed there instead, feeling the heat of his body meld with yours from the way his leg caged you into his personal space. He smelled too good. He was too close. He was looking at you like he knew exactly what was running through your head and he liked it.

“Jude…” you said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Let go.”

His smirk deepened, but he let go slowly to test the waters. You took a very small step back and pulled the hem of your shirt down in order to forget the sensation of him touching you. “Think about it. If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else.”

Jude leaned back slightly, propping himself up on his hands. “Like who?”

You tilted your head. “Santi.”

Jude’s whole demeanor changed with the mention of Santiago. He didn’t hate him, but he definitely didn’t like him always being around you, regardless of if you were ‘just friends’.

“Santi?” he repeated with flexed jaw muscles.

“Obviously he’s not on your level but...”

“But?” Jude laughed loudly and shook his head. “Fucking hell. You really know how to push my buttons don’t you?” You smirked, because for once, you were the one getting under his skin.

“Maybe. But only when it’s something I want.” You were taunting Jude with a game of chess, willing him to figure out his next move and decide what was next.

“What if I want something out of this too?”

“Like what?”

“You.”

You knew he wasn’t joking based on the way he blew up your phone after your hook up, thinking he had a right to your attention. Jude had always been persistent, confident, and way too aware that he was the type of man who always got what he wanted. There were women chasing him all over the world and for some reason, you were the one he decided to bother the most. It would’ve been easier if the sex had been forgettable, but it was far from that and every time you saw him, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now you were finding yourself in a sticky situation where you wanted access to his life without giving him too much access to yours. It made sense in your head originally, but you also knew Jude wasn’t the type to back off once he set his sight on things. When he wanted something, he chased it on or off the pitch, and he usually succeeded every time.

You gave him a poker face, refusing to give in so easily. “That’s cute Jude, but that’s not on the table. I don’t even think you truly know what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah I do.” he said with eyes still piercing into yours. “You just don’t like hearing the truth.”

He always flipped it back on you for control. It pissed you off, but worst of all...it was kinda working. “Are you gonna agree to this or not?”

“I don’t know..” he said, stroking his index finger over his facial hair. “Seems like a pretty big commitment. Are you sure you want me in front of your camera, angel?” You cut your eyes at him, giving him a nasty side eye. The nerve of this man to be standing so close to you, going back and forth in a hat that made him look like he was from the prohibition era was really starting to irk you.

“I want a documentary subject” you corrected, pressing your hand against his chest to create distance.

Jude caught your wrist before you could move away and captured you back into his space to remind you of how he could pull you right back in if he wanted to, especially behind closed doors. “Uh huh..” he murmured. “But what’s in it for me?”

Your breaths were a bit uneven by this point, but you forced yourself to keep composure. “The world gets to see a different side of you.”

Jude wasn’t impressed with your answer in the slightest and chose to push you even more. “Yeah? Or you get to keep me on a leash while you figure out whatever the fuck this is between us?”

“There is no this.” You gestured between you and him for emphasis. Before you even had time to finish the sentence, Jude scoffed a laugh at you, unconvinced with your statement. He loosened his fingers around your wrist and slid lower to graze his thumb against your thigh. You felt it everywhere. Heat rose in your stomach and kept rising both higher and lower the longer he touched you. He was barely doing anything, but it was a deliberate touch. He knew exactly what he was doing and knew you wouldn’t step back this time.

“This is professional” you said quietly with your tone not sounding confident at all.

Jude tilted his head. “Professional,” he repeated, brushing up against your skin again before he finally stopped. “You really think you can keep it that way?”

Your heart may as well have been in your ass but you refused to let him see it. “Yes.”

Jude wanted to push a little further just to see what would happen but instead, he leaned back to give you space. “Alright then. I’ll do it.”

The funny thing about exposing truth and reality is that sometimes it comes when you least expect it. A few sharp knocks on the door echoed through your apartment walls, startling you. You hadn’t ordered anything for delivery and all of your roommates had keys so it couldn’t have been them. Jude raised his eyebrow curiously. “Expecting someone?”

“No.” you muttered, knowing he was about to be an inconvenience no matter who was standing on the other side. You weren’t in the mood for any surprises, especially not with the world’s most annoying man sitting comfortably on your bed, grating your nerves. There was no version of events where he sat back quietly and minded his business because Jude’s entire personality revolved around being a pain in the ass.

You walked toward the door and kept your hand on the knob for a split second, opening it just enough to crack the door open and peek through, only to see Santiago standing tall with a brown bag in one hand and a worn food container that his abuelita passed down to him when he moved to Madrid. Your stomach rumbled slightly from smelling the scent of home. Whatever he had smelled like the kind of food you grew up eating that couldn’t be easily found in Madrid, no matter how many restaurants claimed they knew what they were doing with Caribbean flavors.

Santi flashed his bright teeth, putting last night’s drama from the party at the very back of your head. “I thought you might need this after all the rum.”

You shifted to block the doorway from view. “Thanks. You didn’t have to...”

“Yeah, but I wanted to. Brought some ropa vieja (stewed beef), arroz (white rice), frijoles (beans) and arroz con leche (rice pudding).” Santi glanced at your frame through the tiny crack in the door. “You’re looking better than I thought you would.”

Another voice....a very annoying voice spoke from your side of the door.

“She always looks good.”

You closed your eyes in horror, feeling your entire soul leave your body. After a deep breath, you turned your head back toward your room to see Jude standing a few short steps behind you. Santi shifted his legs, moving around because for some reason, athletes could never stay in place like a normal person…including Jude. “Didn’t realize you had company.”

You turned back toward Santi quickly. “They were just leaving.” You didn’t want to tell him outright who was behind the door, but Jude was going to make sure Santiago knew exactly who was in your apartment. He had no intention of making things easy.

“Leaving??” he asked while standing directly behind you, making it painfully obvious who was behind the door with his accent. “I thought we were still having a chat?” He cracked the door open wider so Santi could see him towering over you in the intimate space. Santi was chill and didn’t react right away because he was already familiar with the way Jude moved.

“Didn’t know you two were hanging out.”

“We aren’t.” You cut your eyes at Jude over your shoulder to give him a warning to not make things any worse than it already was. “He was just here for something.”

Jude wrapped his hand around your waist with a lot of gall and a sly smirk, ignoring how you were trying to block him from Santi’s full view. You weren’t doing a good job at it considering both of them were more vertically blessed than you were. “Yeah... something.” Jude inserted himself back into the conversation boldly.

Santiago laughed and kept his laid back demeanor intact, but his eyes bounced between you and Jude which made you wriggle your way out of Jude’s grip on your waist. “So what’s up?” You attempted to shift the conversation. “You just came to drop this off?”

Santi nodded, lifting the food slightly. “I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay after last night.”

Jude stepped even closer, making you feel the body heat radiating from behind you. “She’s good, mate.”

Santi finally looked Jude in the eye, becoming increasingly annoyed with his presence just as much as you were. “She can answer for herself, no?” The tension in the air was so suffocating that you could barely breathe through it. Jude wasn’t backing down and Santi definitely wasn’t one to be pushed into anything..no matter how chill he was.

You cleared your throat to gain some sense of control. “It’s fine Santi.”

“You sure?” he asked, locking his eyes on you and very blatantly ignoring Jude.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “Actually… I needed to talk to you about something.” Jude made a noise behind you but you were ignoring his antics now.

Santi nodded. “Yeah? Que lo que? (what’s up)”

Jude didn’t like the fact that he had been cut out of the conversation, his pride was on the line and he wasn’t going to let it slide. He peeped how you were shifting the conversation and being careful with your words to not reveal too much. Jude was smart but he was also petty, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Santi stand in your doorway for some innocent little check-in that could lead to more behind your closed bedroom door.

“You need to talk to him?” he asked mockingly but also very irked. “For what? I already said yes and you’re still asking him to be in the documentary too?”

“Documentary?” Santi asked.

You opened the door fully now and stepped back to grab the food and place it on the counter, then walked back to Santi. “I was going to ask for your help. It’s a project for class..” you admitted.

Jude walked over to the food and lifted the top off, inspecting the ropa vieja with a curious look before he turned his attention back to you and Santi, who had given you a quick hug while Jude was momentarily distracted. “So I’m not enough, huh? You need another athlete in the mix?” He gestured toward Santi lazily. “I guess that makes sense. You can’t just have me, gotta add a little filler content.”

Santi walked over to Jude, unbothered. “Something on your mind hermano?”

Jude smiled but it wasn’t friendly. “Nah. Just wondering what exactly your part in all this is supposed to be.” He opened the arroz con leche and grabbed a spoon, lifting a bite into his mouth to infuriate Santi. It was cold and creamy with just the amount of sweetness as he chewed. “What’s she gonna cover? The story of an NBA reject who never made it past summer league?” Jude then placed the arroz con leche back on the counter and gave Santi a pat on the shoulder. “Not too bad, mate. Maybe you should stick to cooking.”

Santi’s expression barely changed but you knew that pissed him off. There was a barely-there tightening of his jaw and a flash of anger dancing across his pupils. Santi didn’t get riled up easily but Jude’s words weren’t just a throwaway jab...they were designed to sting. His words even had you pissed off and you were seconds away from cussing Jude out yourself. He had no business coming for Santiago like that but you knew exactly why he did it. He needed to have the upper hand and couldn’t just let something sit when his ego was at stake. He peeped the way you kept your voice level with Santi but raised it with him. Jude saw how you tried to block the door and realized you didn’t tell him about your full plans for the documentary from the jump. He didn’t like the picture he was getting.

“Is this what you do?” Santi asked in a raised tone. “You throw a bitch fit every time someone else is around her?”

They were arguing over you again. It was flattering honestly. It wasn’t everyday that two hot men stood in your apartment challenging each other from the sight of you, but two days in a row was pushing it..especially when you still had a raging hangover headache.

Jude licked the last bit of arroz con leche off his spoon, satisfied with himself for getting under Santi’s skin. He didn’t need to say more to make his point. He had already thrown the punch by mentioning Santi’s career, his missed shot, and the fact that he wasn’t on Jude’s level and probably never would be.

“You know what’s funny?” Santi’s voiced in a cool tone. “You talk a lot for a man who can’t even handle his own shit.”

Jude’s smirk fell, but only for a second. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

“You act like she owes you an explanation of what she does in her own life. She didn’t mention it to you because she didn’t want to.” Santi’s head tilted just slightly, pushing the knife in deeper. “Or are you mad she’s not hanging onto the bullshit you tell every other girl?”

Jude shifted around to stand taller and laughed. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.” Santi countered. “You’re a mommy’s boy who’s fucking pissed she doesn’t worship the ground you walk on like your hoes do.” Jude gritted his teeth together. He hated when people tried to dissect him, especially when they weren’t wrong. The boy could stomach a lot of things but being read like a book by Santi made his blood boil.

“I’m not the one delivering homemade meals hoping it earns me extra time. She called me to come over here” Jude fired back. “So what’s the plan bro? Feed her and wait around like a good little second choice the same way you waited around for the NBA just to not get drafted?”

You flinched. That was a deep cut and you all knew it. Santi took a step closer to Jude and squared up to him as a warning, daring him to say something else. “You almost got your ass knocked into the pavement last night, carajito (little boy/brat but derogatory). We can run it back right now.”

Jude’s jaw flexed and his muscles tensed around him with balled fists at his side. He was seconds away from doing something reckless and you knew Santi wasn’t just a basketball player, but also someone who did boxing recreationally. He could truly beat Jude’s ass if he was pushed far enough and it was starting to get to that point. Luckily for Jude, you didn’t want anything to do with the online conversation that would be trending if he showed up battered to training, so you stepped in.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” you snapped while stepping between the two of them. “I’m not doing this again.”

Jude exhaled harshly through his nose with his jaw still locked, but he took a step back. Santi was the first to ease up, but his glare never stopped. You were tired of them throwing shots at each other and tired of being caught in the middle of the circus this was turning into. You ran your hands over your hair, exhaling slowly to keep from losing it.

“I want you both to be in this because you have different experiences and different perspectives. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.” You looked at Jude first. “And if you have a problem with that, you don’t have to be involved.”

Jude kissed his teeth but he didn’t argue, he just stared at you instead. You turned to Santi. “Are you in?”

You waited, watching both of them with growing impatience. Santi had already cooled off and nodded at you. “Yeah, I’m in.” Jude took his sweet time, playing with the rim of his stupid hat with his jaw still flexing from his bruised ego. He wanted you to say something that would put him above Santi and everyone else.

Too bad for him. You weren’t doing that.

You crossed your arms, waiting. “Well???”

Jude wanted to make sure he would be the ONLY highlight of this documentary, no matter what extras you planned on adding. He lifted his hat off his head to run a hand over his sponge curls, finally agreeing definitively as he put the hat back on. “I’m in.”

You nodded out of satisfaction but you were still annoyed as hell that it took this much just for both of them to agree. It seemed like they were both agreeing to challenge each other rather than actually helping you, but you pushed that thought aside to get down to the nitty gritty. “Good. Now.. let’s be clear about a few things.” Santi attentively listened but Jude was still scoffing like a school boy who couldn’t get his way. “We’ll be filming over the next few weeks so I need access to your routines, training, travel schedules and whatever I can capture without pissing off Real Madrid or the leagues. When I go to your games, I’m going as media. Not as some fan..” you pointed at Jude before he could even try it. “Or someone in a private box at the Bernabeu. And definitely not courtside at Movistar. Got it?”

Jude rolled his eyes like your request was outlandishly ridiculous. “You think they’ll just let you in like that? I can–”

“I’ll apply for the credentials just like any other person in the media” you cut in sharply. “I don’t need to be paraded around Jude.”

You stared both of them down for a few seconds to make it abundantly clear how serious you were. “One more thing..I’ll be going back home to Miami to visit so you’ll have a break from filming while I’m gone.”

Santi nodded in understanding but Jude just had to push your buttons. “I could come with you to Miami.”

“What?”

“You’re filming my life, yeah?” He leaned back against the counter as if he had declared a normal suggestion. “May as well get the full picture and show them what I’m like on holiday.” Your mind drifted to the night he first liked one of your pictures on Instagram. You thought he was cute but the minute you took a deep dive googling his name, you found out exactly what he was like on his holidays. Seeing it online was enough to never want to see it again, especially right in front of you.

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Jude licked over his lips and looked at you, then at Santi. He was weighing whether he wanted to push further just to get under you and Santi’s skin but you clocked the gears turning in his head and refused to give him another opening or opportunity. “We’re done here.” you stated firmly. “I need food, my bed, and zero testosterone in my immediate vicinity. Goodbye. Both of you can leave now.” You ushered both of them to the door, seconds away from peace and quiet when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Mateo took one sniff of the food, clocked Santiago, Jude, and then you.

“I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me on this day... que vaina es esta?! (what’s this nonsense?)” Mateo waved his finger between you three.

Your head fell back with a groan. “Mateo, pleaseeee.”

“No.” He pointed his finger at you. “I need someone to explain why this is happening.” he gestured at the two athletes standing tall in the same space without throwing hands. “Because last time I checked...these two were fighting over you at the party last night.”

Santi smiled brightly at Mateo to disengage from his dramatics. “I just came to drop off some food as an apology. I was just leaving.”

“And you??” Mateo pointed at Jude with a side eye.

Jude shrugged and pointed at you like the tattle tell he was. “She called me and told me to come over.”

Mateo turned to you in disbelief. There was no ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ with Mateo. He was listening and undeniably judging as he put the puzzle pieces together. “YOU called HIM?”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s for a project Mateo.”

“So you’re telling me out of the millions of people in Madrid, the capital of Spain, that these two fools were your only option?”

“They’re my best options” you admitted with exhaustion, still trying to usher Jude and Santi out of the apartment. Both of them were now intently standing near the door, watching Mateo and his dramatics unfold.

Mateo looked Jude and Santi up and down with a deep, exasperated sigh and then refocused on you. “You do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Jude scoffed. “Mate, I’m literally standing right here.”

“Oh I know.” Mateo shot back without missing an opening for a quick witted jab. “That’s exactly why I’m saying it.”

Mateo had a point which was easily the most annoying thing about him. But just because he was right about some things didn’t mean he had to be right about this. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Maybe a little messy, sure, but terrible? Noooo. You had a vision and you were going to see it through, no matter how many stress inducing headaches it caused. You were determined to capture the essence of what your eccentric professor explained in class earlier that day. You wanted to reveal the truth of their lives, their stories, and their reality beyond what people thought they knew.

But why did it suddenly feel like the only person being put under a microscope was you?

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #jude bellingham imagine #footballer imagines #jude bellingham fanfic

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