#fine i’ll read the great gatsby

[dreamdemonden]

going to start moving Gravity Falls things from @redhallow to my GF plush blog

I can’t help but think how terrifying it must’ve been for Bill to find out he was slowly going blind. Not only that he was going blind, but that the people who promised time and time that they’d always love him, “sharp angles and all” were the people responsible for it, and not even because they thought it would improve his physical quality of life.

I could see it as a narrative around the way bodily differences get treated, and a tiny part of me really relates to it as someone with pretty severe strabismus who was terrified of surgery for most of my life. I see it paralleled in the sense that people reassured me they wouldn’t see me any different for the way I looked, but when it finally came to time to undergo surgery for corrective purposes, the biggest reasons my parents gave for wanting me to go through with it all had to do with social impact, such as being unable to look people in the eyes. It really hurt to find out how much they hated it after they spent a lifetime reassuring me otherwise. I’ve heard of other visually impaired people with similar stories as well, of family members wanting them to undergo invasive surgery or other major medical procedures for the sake of “fixing” how they present themselves, without any kind of medical benefit.

So yeah I could see why our intrepid villain would be a little hurt, especially when all the love he has ever received has been in spite of existing as he is

[plathski]

thots on the great gatsby bway musical

let’s get right into it

-i liked it more than i thought i would. i saw boston gatsby back in june and after reading a lot of negative stuff about the one on broadway i thought i’d hate it but i went anyway because i am still not immune to jeremy jordan. but it was solid. i liked it.

-great chemistry between eva noblezada and jeremy jordan. also in the last scene of act 1 gatsby wears light pink and daisy wears light blue and i thought that was neat.

-really good dance numbers. watching jeremy jordan honest to god dance was like watching the big bang

-HATED how they paired jordan and nick as a romantic couple. i know they go on some days in the book but it’s so fake and loveless. nick is jordan’s gbf and jordan is nick’s lbf and you can’t take that away from me!!! ESPECIALLY after i saw boston gatsby!!!

-samantha pauly and alex prakken did great though - i have no complaints about the actors only the script.

-i had no problem with how george wilson is portrayed - all im saying is that his songs are definitely the to break in a glove of is show if you get what im saying

-didn’t like how they turned mr mckee into a sex pest creeping out poor heterosexual nick (and also into a weird joke about opened relationships??? like hello???)

-jeremy jordan’s translantic accent was cute.

-really liked how they did the pool.

-really like the ending - the ending of boston gatsby felt more hopeful while this one felt more cynical and both of them work in the context of the book.

overall i felt like boston gatsby was more earnest while broadway gatsby was more ironic - and both tones work fine! still think boston is the superior of the two tho

alright so now im gonna rant a little. i am pro-bootleg. i understand that bootlegs have given shows new life and have allowed them to prosper in ways they wouldn’t have been able to without bootlegs. i understand that nyc being a train ride away from me is a privilege few have and that a bootleg is very often the only way someone can experience a show. i am, however, anti coming in fifteen minutes late with your entire militia literally as soon as jeremy jordan makes his first entrance and taking videos and pictures while you’re in the second row (there’s a reason so many bootlegs are filmed from the balcony). in the beginning of the tea party scene where jeremy jordan’s the only person onstage i saw one of them take a picture of him and it made me really mad about how the damn phones have ruined the way we experience art and tainted the relationships of those who give us it - how we view them as products instead of artists or in this case performers.

to end this post on a positive note the stagedoor was a lot chiller than i had imagined it would be. i had brought one of my copies of the great gatsby from home for them to sign and everyone that came out did. by the time jeremy jordan came over i had mustered up the courage to ask them to sign it instead of awkwardly holding it out to them (eva noblezada and samantha pauly i am sooooooooooooooooooo sorry) and he said “i’ll sign your book!” and signed it so now my life’s kinda complete ig

(my signed book underneath the cut!)

[justicerikai]

Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #20 Xmas party

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

TL note:

Hojoki is “An Account of My Hut or The Ten Foot Square Hut’’ and sometimes referred to as “Visions of a torn world”, a short work by Kamo no Choumei. Lots to say about it, but just know it’s classic Japanese literature, containing philosophy and Buddhist teachings. This book, according to wikipedia, is part of the Japanese school curriculum. Now imagine if someone were to give you classic English literature you read in highschool like Animal Farm or The Great Gatsby as a fun christmas gift. You can imagine why someone wouldn’t want this. It was kept as Hojoki in my translation due the official English title being too long compared to how short the line delivery is.

In Japan, Christmas has more the connotation of a romantic holiday where couples spend time together. Knowing this will make sense as to why a character brings up something later on.

Sarukawa: Aaah~ Whatta meal~~

Terra: I’m so full~~

Amahiko: The food was delicious, Iori-san. Thank you very much

Rikai: Wasn’t it a struggle to make this much?

Iori: It took me 48 hours to prepare all of it.

Rikai, Terra, Sarukawa & Amahiko: 48 hours!?

Amahiko: A-are you alright?

Iori: Absolutely not. I fainted like five times.

Amahiko: That definitely isn’t okay. Please don’t make any more food while you keep fainting.

Fumiya: Rikai

Rikai: Yes?

Fumiya: Where’s Ohse?

Rikai: Aah.. He didn’t come, huh. Even though I called out to him.

Amahiko: I had gone to his room earlier but he wasn’t there

Fumiya: I see

Terra: Well, can’t say he’s a fan of getting together like this, right? Not much we can do

Fumiya: Yeah

Rikai: Now then! Let us start the main event, the present exchange!

Terra, Fumiya, Iori, Sarukawa & Amahiko: Oooh~~

Terra: Nice~

Amahiko: How exciting

Iori: I wonder what I’ll get

Sarukawa: Ain’t doing it

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Amahiko: Hah?

Terra: There he goes again

Iori: Saru-chan…

Sarukawa: I ain’t gonna exchange presents with a bunch of giddy guys like you

Rikai: No, you’re doing it too

Sarukawa: Ain’t gonna

Rikai: You are. I know.

Sarukawa: Not gonna.

Rikai: You say so but you will. I already know since I found out. You’re only wasting our time like this so just be straightforward and admit to it, Saru

Sarukawa: I keep saying that I won’t!

Terra: Fine, then Sarukawa-kun will absolutely not be participating in the exchange with us, okay?

Sarukawa: OBVIOUSLY I’m gonna do it! Why the hell are you guys only leaving ME out! I’m gonna go fetch the present so just you wait! Merry Christmas!!!!

Rikai: It’s such a pain to do this every single time!!!! Why won’t he just say he will to begin with!!!

Fumiya: Sure sure sure

Amahiko: Isn’t it quite sexy though

Iori: Saru-chan stormed off but, how about we start the present exchange already?

Fumiya: Let’s do it

Amahiko: Who will go first?

Fumiya: Terra will

Terra: Eh, me?

Iori: Terra-san what kind of present did you bring? Can’t wait to see!

Terra: Eh? I didn’t bring anything

Iori, Rikai & Amahiko: Hah?

Rikai: Huh, what do you mean? You didn’t bring? A present?

Terra: Yup

Rikai: Why!? I told you that today everyone will be exchanging presents, didn’t I?

Terra: Yup. But that I won’t give anything and will only be receiving stuff instead, no?

Rikai: Excuse me?

Terra: Eh, isn’t this how Christmas is supposed to be? A day where you normies shower your beloved Terra-kun with tributes one by one

Rikai: That’s in your head! What kind of manservants party is that!

Iori: Just what kind of day did you think Christmas was?

Terra: Eeeh~ I was wrong~~ Then there’s probably no reason for me to stay here

Iori & Rikai: EEEH!?

Rikai: How self-centered can one be…

Sarukawa: Oi! Got the present

Amahiko: Sarukawa-kun!

Rikai: Nice, Saru! Everyone, let us continue the exchange!

Terra: Right. The mood got a bit spoiled but let’s liven things back up

Rikai: That’s not for you to say

Sarukawa: This is what I got for y’all

(Sarukawa places a box)

Rikai: Huh?

Terra: Eh?

Amahiko: What might this be

Sarukawa: Knuckle dusters, an iron pipe, metal bat, stun gun, jackknife, pepper spray, tomahawk, chain-sickle

(PIIIIIIIIIII)

Rikai: OI What’s with all these dangerous articles that look like they were confiscated from a criminal group’s hideout!

Terra: Don’t tell me these are the presents?

Sarukawa: Yeah. My gift’s buncha weapons

Rikai, Terra, Iori: WEAPONS!?

Iori: Eh, I don’t want this

Terra: Don’t want it either-

Sarukawa: Small fry like you guys are gonna need this. It’s for self-defense

Iori: Don’t need it

Terra: Don’t need it either

Terra: Why would anyone want to get weapons for Christmas

Rikai: Besides where have you been even obtaining these articles

Sarukawa: Haah? You can find them walking around these parts

Rikai: Don’t just take them home!

Iori: Where and what are you always up to?

Sarukawa: The hell how dare you only complain, even after I went out of my way to get all this stuff, so goddamn rude

Amahiko: I’ll take them

Rikai, Terra & Iori: He’s taking them!

Terra: Alright onto the next

Rikai: Let’s proceed

Fumiya: Iori, you’re next

Iori: Yes siiiir~ My present to you is this-!

Sarukawa: Haah? A collar?

Terra: One to wear?

Iori: No, no. I’ll be the one wearing it. This is what everyone will be using. A remote.

Rikai: A remote?

Iori: You see, this is a remote collar.

Rikai, Terra & Sarukawa: A remote collar?

Iori: I will be using this new collar from today on, so I ask everyone to please carry this remote around and press onto the button when you want to call me over.

Iori: By doing so it will send out super powerful electric shocks to the collar, then the pain will make me jump up, and I’d be able to instantly rush over to where everyone is

Rikai, Terra & Sarukawa: THAT’S FUCKED UP!

Terra: I am NOT using this!

Rikai: Doesn’t this make it some kind of torture device!

Iori: My present is a torture device.

Sarukawa: Why would anyone want to get a torture device for Christmas

Amahiko: Now then, it is my time to shine everyone!

Rikai, Terra, Iori &  Sarukawa: Hm?

Amahiko: For this year’s Christmas, Tendou Amahiko’s gift is none other than this-!

(Amahiko takes off his clothes)

Amahiko: Me

(Silence)

Amahiko: Hm? What’s wrong, everyone. What are your opinions?

Terra: Put on your clothes.

Iori: Why did you undress

Sarukawa: The hell’s that thing wrapped around your body

Amahiko: A ribbon, because I am the christmas gift here.

Amahiko: Now, everyone. Try it

Amahiko: Please do as you wish.

Amahiko: Why don’t we start a Christmas party for adults?

Amahiko: Ah ha ha ha, Merry Christmas

(PPPPPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII)

Rikai: CEASE AT ONCE!

Terra: Put on your clothes!

Sarukawa: Fucking moron!

(Sarukawa kicks Amahiko away)

Rikai: Haah… good grief. There hasn’t been a decent present at all so far

Fumiya: What did you get, Rikai?

Rikai: I, obviously, have picked a proper present to bring, which is this.

Fumiya: Hm? Books?

Terra: What book is it?

Rikai: It’s Hojoki

Terra, Iori, Sarukawa: Hah!?

Rikai: Reading this would serve as an incredible enlightening experience. Everything you must know has been penned down. Please do read.

Terra: Eeh..you’re not joking?

Sarukawa: Ain’t this mental?

Iori: There’s people that would pick Hojoki as a present for Christmas?

Rikai: Let us read. Even reckless zoo animals like you people will be able to properly get a grasp on common sense.

Sarukawa: Yer the one that needs it the most here

Terra: Geez get to the last one already! Fumiya-kun!

Iori: Fumiya-san! Please give us a decent present!

Fumiya: Mine’s predictable but, since it’s Christmas I pretty much got some cakes

Terra & Iori: Cake!

Rikai, Terra & Iori: Ooooh!

Iori: Amazing!

Rikai: It has been worthless junk one after the other until now, I’m grateful!

Sarukawa: What kinda cakes ya got

Iori: I wanna see it

Fumiya: Strawberry shortcake

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: Ooooh!

Fumiya: Chocolate cake

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: Ooooooh!

Fumiya: Mont Blanc

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: Oooooooooh!

Fumiya: Tiramisu, cheesecake, brownies, gateau chocolat, millefeuille, lemon meringue pie

Terra: Isn’t that a lot?

Fumiya: Eclair, egg tart, fruit tart, choux cream, milk crêpes, baumkuchen, bûche de noël, florentin, chiffon cake, charlotte, ameowrous couple’s heart throbbing loving embrace cake.

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: THAT’S A LOT!

Iori: Did you get THAT much now!? There’s no way I’d be able to eat all of it!

Fumiya: It’d be strange if you couldn’t

Rikai: For you, you’re the one that really loves sweets here.

Fumiya: Rikai

Rikai: Hm?

Fumiya: I really love sweets

Rikai: That’s what I just said? Why did you repeat it

Iori: Well whatever, it’s a concerning amount but I’m happy there’s cake. Let’s dig in

Terra: Same here

Sarukawa: Oi, where you keeping these cakes

Fumiya: Eh? There’s none left

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: Hah?

Fumiya: I couldn’t hold back so I ate all of it

Fumiya: My bad

Rikai, Terra, Iori & Sarukawa: EEEEEEEH!!!!!!!!!?

Iori: Eh, that’s it? Did everyone get their turn?

Terra: Weapons, a torture device, a naked pervert, Hojoki and cake that someone already ate all of it. Geez! Do this PROPERLY!

Rikai: That’s not for you to say

Amahiko: Oh my? What might that be

Iori: What’s wrong?

Terra: What a relief, he put on clothes

Amahiko: Take a look outside

Terra: Woah! What is that!

Iori: Eeeh! How!?

Sarukawa: Amazing!

Rikai: Let’s have a closer look!

Terra: Uwaah, amazing!

Rikai: How splendid!

Amahiko: It’s sexy

Sarukawa: It’s a Christmas tree!

Terra: How though? Who did this?

Amahiko: No idea

Rikai: Ah, Ohse-kun!

Ohse: !

Rikai: Please wait! Why are you fleeing!

Fumiya: Ohse, did you make this?

Ohse: Yes, I’m sorry for acting for my own convenience, I was informed about the present exchange so…

Terra: It’s amazing! You really can make anything!

Amahiko: It’s sexy, Ohse-san

Rikai: It became more like Christmas with this.

Iori: Grrrrr

(Everyone is praising Ohse)

Iori: Grrrrrrr

Fumiya: Ohse, what’s this?

Ohse: Ah, those are extra decorations for the tree. Everyone can put on decorations, if sits well with all of you

Rikai: Let’s do it!

Terra: You too Iori-kun. Join us already

Iori: Grrrrrrrr

Terra: Don’t grrrrr me now

Iori: I’m the one that’s supposed to service everyone~

Terra: C’mon

Iori: I get it. Geez~

Rikai: Wait, Ohse-kun. Why are you heading back, let’s do it together

Ohse: No, if someone as shitty as me participates then surely I’d trample over everyone’s enjoyment

Amahiko: There’s no such thing as that. Please, stay with us

Sarukawa: Get your ass here already

Ohse: Uuh….

Terra: Out with it if you got something to say

Amahiko: Ohse-san

Ohse: Hnng…

Rikai: Ohse-kun. A single word will do.

Fumiya: Ohse

Iori: Ohse-san

Ohse: Hnngh…. then…

Ohse: It looks like everyone is enjoying Christmas night but,

Ohse: Doesn’t anyone here have a lover

Terra: Eh..?

Iori: Eh?

Rikai: Eh?

Sarukawa: Eh?

Amahiko: Eh?

Fumiya: Eh?

(Silence)

Ohse: I’m sorry, I’ll kill myself.

[ohwhatagloomyshow]

screaming crying throwing up BEGGING for the day I’ll finally stop being interested in young adult novels!!

I have been so excited for the remixed classics because I love a lot of classics and I LOVE spins on classics, and My Dear Henry, the Jekyll & Hyde remix by Kalynn Bayron, was very good!! Bayron understood EXACTLY how 1880s literature was written and wrote a protagonist who is loveable but COMPLETELY CLUELESS in the best way! It was tender! The gay longing was EXCELLENT!

I am still early in the Wuthering Heights one, What Souls Are Made Of by Tasha Suri, and it’s fine so far! Loving that the covert racism of the book is made overt, it works really well! Suri is dedicated to making sure Heathcliff and Cathy sound like two VERY different narrators!

But this one…the one I am on now…Self-Made Boys, a trans retelling of Gatsby….

Why didn’t I consider that fundamentally Gatsby cannot happen to teenagers LMAO. Bayron put the characters in medical school! Suri is writing about the three years Cathy and Heathcliff are separated as young adults!

Why is Anne-Marie McLemore almost beat for beat telling the same story as Great Gatsby but aged down! It is remarkably silly! Why did anyone think you COULD age down Gatsby, which is fundamentally a novel about adulthood!

I am just feeling very silly for not recognizing immediately that Gatsby cannot be recreated with teenagers, but I was LURED IN. I have really stopped reading YA on my own this past year which is great - by that I mean no conscious effort has gone into avoiding them, I just have been - but I feel like I’m never gonna break the habit, which is annoying to think about.

[ombreblossom]

Tagged by: @morning-softness

Relationship status: Single

Favorite color: Blue and purple

Favorite food: Mapo tofu, kara-age chicken, hot pot, (super specific but) Firebird’s Chicken Pasta, most things with chocolate, tofu scramble, and a ton more haha. I love food~

Song stuck in my head: “Sakura Nagashi” by Hikaru Utada

Last thing i googled: “shure mv7” (an expensive microphone I might get for podficcing someday)

Dream trip: I want to return to Kyoto, Japan and, if at all possible, find my host family from when I stayed there over a decade ago.

Last book read/currently reading: Add Magic to Taste, edited by Duck Prints Press

Last book enjoyed: Add Magic to Taste, edited by Duck Prints Press

Last book hated: Anna had The Fountainhead here, and same haha. As the years go by, I loathe Ayn Rand more and more. But for me, I think I read The Great Gatsby more recently, so ah. That one.

Favorite thing to cook/bake: Chicken noodle soup and kara-age! I also make a pretty mean omelette. Baking doesn’t interest me as much anymore, but I’ll still bake a few apple crisps this season.

Most niche dislike: Mmmm. Typing on my phone? I’ll do it if I have to, but I’ve gone out of my way to make things that’d normally do on my phone easier to do on my desktop.

Opinions on the circus: Acrobats ARE amazing. All the folks involved in circuses are talented as fuck. I still kind of avoid them, though, because of the history there.

Sense of direction: Ahhh fairly bad. I can follow directions just fine, but it takes me a long, long time to get used to a place enough to navigate without them. 

Some people I want to get to know better!

@wernnaa, @bluejayblueskies, @rosy-cheekx, @acemartinblackwood, and @maliciously-delicious~ and anyone else who wants to do it!

[s6lars]

running the table.

what you thought would be as a boring, week-long stay at your parents’ house takes a turn when your brother’s best friend shows up. (wc: 17.6k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jb5 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff, smut – mdni! brother’s best friend trope, sneaking around, slowburn ish?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, mild spoilers for the great gatsby and the secret history! explicit nsfw content: unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk + more

𝐀/𝐍. first reupload from 888bear! those pool table pics could not have come at a better time. happy reading! (or re-reading <;3)

The last thing Jude wants after a long day of traveling is a swarm of fans in his hotel lobby.

After a particularly rough argument with his mother and a far too clingy air stewardess, the only thing that would ease his growing headache is time to himself.

“Just turn back round, I’ll find another place to stay,” Jude says to the driver in the van. He leans his temple against the tinted windows and watches as the man pulls out of the hotel entrance now packed with screaming teens and bright camera flashes.

As the crowd alongside the noise starts to shrink in the distance, Jude feels like he can breathe again. Out of sight, out of mind. With an exasperated huff, he leans harshly on the seat behind him, making his frustration a point. His fingers tightly grip the seats, eyelids closing as his head tips back to face the ceiling.

Air fills his lungs, peace at last — but he still needs a place to stay for the week. Jude’s eyes shoot open to face the black velvet interior of the Mercedes.

Jude reaches for his phone in his pocket, instinctively dialing a number he’s punched many times before.

“Hey, what’s up? D’you land yet?” The voice of his best friend, Marcus, rings in his right ear.

“Hey. Yeah, not too long ago.” Jude rubs his eyebrows with his free hand, trying not to remember how even more hectic the airport was compared to the hotel. “Slight issue, though. They found me.”

“Ahh, the fans?” Jude nods like Marcus can see him, kissing his teeth. “I don’t know what to tell you, mate. Whole city loves you.”

“If they really did they’d let me sleep in peace…” Jude trails off, his tone letting his best friend know he wasn’t fully serious.

A chuckle escapes from the other line. “Really? They’re at the hotel? Did you make it in one piece to your room?”

“My room? Nah, I can’t be arsed. I just told the driver to turn back round.” A heavier laugh escapes this time.

“So? Where to? Any other hotels in mind?” Marcus questions. Jude’s finger taps the leather surface of the car handle a few times as he looks out into the distance.

“Not… really a hotel, no. I was actually thinking if I could stay at yours for the week.”

When Jude thinks of Marcus’ house, he remembers the smell of sweaty football kits and freshly trimmed grass. He remembers the sound of boisterous laughter past midnight followed by the nagging of his best friend’s parents. It’s a house that holds memories for teenage Jude. Now, an adult, he can’t even remember what the living room looks like.

“If that’s fine with you, I mean, I don’t know if your parents are home or—”

“Of course it’s fine. And no, my parents are out of town for the week. It’s just my sister visiting, do you remember her?” A breath of relief escapes Jude knowing he has a place to sleep tonight, his mind too occupied that the last bit of Marcus’ sentence became barely audible to him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, her.” After more small talk and a final thanks, Jude ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket.

His best friend’s house is nothing in comparison to the glamor of the five-star hotel Jude had originally booked, but maybe it was karma for going against his mother’s wishes who, in her own words, felt it was too much even for someone like him. His mind continues to drift deep in thought as he sways with the car through the streets of his hometown.

It takes a few more minutes of thought-drifting for Jude to finally grasp the last of Marcus' words.

Do you remember her?

Jude tries to. He recalls a girl walking into the kitchen whilst he and his friends were sitting at the dinner table, quiet, and disappearing without him noticing. He remembers opening a door halfway as he’s occupied with his phone, only to be stopped by Marcus gripping his wrist.

The extent of his memory only reaches those cloudy recollections. Jude shakes his head, the presence of a third person in the house shouldn’t be all that of a nuisance.

The views in the window take Jude straight back down memory lane as it morphs from a metropolitan borough to streets he knows like the back of his hand. He leans forward to tap the driver on the shoulder, abstractly pointing to his right.

“Take a right here.”

“To Stourbridge, sir?” The driver glances at Jude, who had returned to lean on his seat.

“Yes.”

He’s home.

Nothing in your mind could come closer to a perfect summer vacation than a week-long getaway to Portofino, toasting champagne glasses on yachts and checking out hot Italian men by the docks. Unfortunately for you, your brother had successfully convinced you to come home to Birmingham instead, for the price of a couple hundred quid and a few favors to complete in the future.

It’s only been a few hours since you landed in your hometown from Spain where you’ve been studying for a semester. The chilling weather that greeted you the moment you stepped off the plane reminded you how happily you’ve been enjoying your time away from home— but the sight of your brother at the gate reminded you maybe just how much you needed it.

You’re deep into a book you’d found under your childhood bed when a series of rapid honks catches your attention. A quick check out the window reveals a black van with windows that are too dark to see who’s inside, a car that couldn’t have possibly belonged to anyone you knew.

Your brother, Marcus, was halfway down the hall when you left to check the commotion. There’s a smile present on his face, his pace eager with every step he takes closer to the stairs.

“Who’s that?” Marcus holds on to the stair railing to turn in your direction.

“A friend.”

“Who?”

“Jude, you remember him.” You don’t. Marcus is in disbelief as he realizes the look on your face shows precisely that.

“God, really? Jude, the loud one. He who used to come over with the rest of the boys. The one who moved to Germany, seriously?” Marcus proceeds to name the other five or so boys he used to hang out with, all of whom ring a bell— except for Jude.

Marcus clicks his tongue and starts walking down the stairs. “Whatever, you’ll have to get used to him.”

You move to lean against the railing, watching your brother from the top of the stairs as he reaches the front door. “Used? What do you mean used to him?”

Marcus looks up to meet your eyes. Your head was tilted in confusion, arms folded against your chest.

“He’s staying over for the week.” With a turn of the doorknob, Marcus is out of the house, but that doesn’t stop you from interrogating him further.

“What?! You said you were alone in the house.” Your brother doesn’t seem interested in your words as his footsteps get further away from the door. After a few unsuccessful calls of his name, you went back into your room with a roll of your eyes and an annoyed grunt.

Part of the reason you agreed to come home was Marcus’ insistence on how he’d “die of boredom alone” and “would get murdered by a serial killer if no one was in the house with him” (his own words) over the hour-long phone call you had. The presence of a third person in the house, and a stranger at that, means you’d sacrificed a glamorous Italian summer for nothing.

Soft footsteps echoed closer to your door before it loudly swung open, causing the book you’d continued reading to fall on your face.

“Can you knock?” you hissed.

“You wanna say hi to him? Jog your memory?” Marcus pays no mind to your sour grimace as you set the book down and pushed the loose hair from your face.

“No, I’ll be too busy to look at flights to Italy tonight,” you snap back. Marcus’ hands fall to his sides, hitting his thighs with an audible thud.

“Oh, come on! It’s just Jude!”

“To you he’s just Jude! He’s a stranger to me! If I’d known you weren’t actually alone for the week I would’ve never said yes to this. I could’ve been on a yacht by now!” As you spoke, you sat up straight until you sat on the edge of your bed, feet flat on the carpet.

Marcus raises his hand, eyes widened in offense. “Okay, first off— that’s rude. I can’t believe that you’d choose a yacht over your big brother.”

“I’d take the yacht any day,” you interrupt.

“And second,” Marcus speaks a little louder, preventing you from saying more, “I was alone when I called you last week. Jude called, like, 10 minutes ago. What was I supposed to say, no Jude, you can’t stay at my place, my sister hates you.” He lifts his hands in defense, theatrically moving them around to mock you. His face falls flat once the gimmick is over.

“Whatever,” you state, unamused. “I’ll go downstairs when I feel like it.”

You heard the slightest fine escape from Marcus’ mouth as he leaves your room. You left the book to your right untouched, instead opting to use your phone. You weren’t joking about those tickets.

The living room Jude remembers from his childhood memories looks nothing like the area he’s standing in now. It had been upgraded to a foyer, complete with a swirling staircase and a chandelier dangling off the ceiling.

“Looks exactly the same as it did, yeah?” Marcus playfully nudges Jude’s elbow, chuckling at his friend’s awed expression.

“When’d your parents get it renovated?” Jude looks over his shoulder to see Marcus locking the door, fumbling with the keys in his hand.

“Erm… not too long after you moved to Dortmund.” Marcus pulls the keys from the lock and pockets them, making his way over to Jude. “But nothing’s changed too much, so don’t worry.”

“I ordered food for dinner, it should be here any minute.” Marcus explains, hands on his hips. His eyes dart to the suitcase in Jude’s hand. “Oh, and you can put your stuff in the guest bedroom.”

It feels weird for Jude to stay in a room in this house that isn’t Marcus’ or in the living room with the rest of his mates, but times have changed, and he’s gotten older. The guest bedroom will have to do in the meantime.

Jude takes half a step to the stairs before turning back to Marcus. “Where is it again?”

“Just down the hall on the second floor. You’ll find it.”

When Jude finishes hauling his luggage to the top of the steps, he’s greeted with a singular hallway and five doors, all identical to each other. It seems like Marcus’ parents had no interest in signs when decorating the house, and their son doesn’t like going into specifics.

Jude tries the first door on the left side of the hall, knocking twice. There’s no response. He turns the knob— the door is locked. Four more doors to go.

He moves to the door across from it. Once again, he knocks twice and is met with no response. He turns the knob, and the first thing he sees is a woman’s bare back.

You’re halfway through pulling the sweater over your head, arms tangled and your face hidden under the fabric. The cotton shorts underneath cover just about as much skin as underwear would— or even less, as Jude can see your black panties peeking from behind.

Jude’s frozen. The spatial awareness from his footballing experience fails to show up as his brain tries to formulate a plan to leave as quietly as possible, albeit at the pace of a snail. He can only watch as you tossed the piece of clothing to the side, picking up a t-shirt.

The angle makes it impossible for Jude to see your exposed chest, but it does mean his face (thanks to his much taller frame) is now in the mirror. Your eyes meet his in the reflection, and you hurry to cover your front with the shirt in your hand.

You turn around, shrieking as you back up into the mirror. Only the sound of your voice makes Jude whip his head in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?!” You stress every word, anger coursing through your veins. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Do you men not know how to fucking knock?!” Your voice only grows louder with every word, watching as Jude finally slams the door shut.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just, I knocked and I, I didn’t hear anyone answer so I thought this room was empty,” Jude explains profusely from behind the door. He’s still there. For a second, you thought you had sent him running downstairs.

After ridding yourself of the pajamas from earlier and putting on a semi-decent outfit, you open the door to find him leaning against the wall across your door, head hung low in shame. He almost flinches at the sound.

This must be Jude.

“Well it’s not, is it? And you should’ve left the second you realized,” you said, sternly. Jude’s posture is that of a child being scolded by his mother, but you’re sure he’s older than you.

“Fucking perv,” you murmur. The phrase doesn’t make Jude feel any less guilty.

“I thought it was the guest bedroom. Your brother didn’t tell me which door it was.”

You pointed at the farthest door down the hall. “The last one, on the right.”

With a quick thank you under his breath, Jude pulls his suitcase closer to his body and walks as fast as his legs would allow him. Your eyes remain on him even as he opens the door with shaky hands, and lingers until he’s closed it.

Whoever this Jude was, if this was the person you’d be stuck with for the next week, you’d rather sleep at your neighbor’s.

“Alright!” Marcus exclaims, dragging out the word. You see him ruffle through a big plastic bag at the dining table, setting down both of your dinners.

You see him take out a third. Oh right, Jude’s dinner too. Jude.

The sound of his name in your head is enough to have your forehead creasing, grumpily plopping down on a chair as you pick at your food.

Marcus catches on to your pissed-off demeanor, tugging at your hair. You slap his hip in retaliation.

“Can you at least try to not act suicidal because Jude showed up?” he teases. You debate telling him about the incident earlier but decide otherwise. It would’ve been embarrassing on your end, too.

“I couldn’t care less about him.” Marcus lets a slight chuckle escape his throat.

“That is a shocker. You know most girls your age are on their knees for him? They’d probably kill to be in your spot right now.” Whatever your brother is referencing, you don’t catch on to it.

“Why? Is he famous or something?”

Marcus sits next to you, picking up a fork to eat. He looks at you with an expression that just reads, really? You can’t tell if he’s taking the piss.

“Jude!” Marcus beckons, arms raising to invite him over. Speak of the devil.

Jude doesn’t have his head hung low this time, giving you a clear view of his face. You can’t hide it— he’s gorgeous in every sense of the word. The white tank top he has on does not help with your growing attraction, showcasing his toned biceps, almost glowing underneath the soft lights. He briefly looks around the table before sitting across from you.

An elbow pulls you out of your trance. Marcus has a precautionary look on his face.

“Don’t glare at him,” he whispers.

You shake it off and go back to eating your dinner. You’re relieved he thought you were glaring at Jude when you were actually checking him out.

Dinner went on, the two men catching up with each other’s lives as you ate quietly. Jude is insanely attractive, you finally decide. It’s ridiculous— you wanted this man dead 20 minutes ago. But he has a twinkle in his eye and a charm in his smile that makes you forget every bad thought you’ve had of him.

Half an hour and three full stomachs later, you’re left alone in the kitchen to clean up. You wipe the glass surface of the dining table clean with a washcloth, getting every last spot. A light touch to the shoulder makes you jolt and turn around, leaning back with your palms flat on the table.

It’s Jude. For the second time that night, he’s shown up just as you were thinking about him. He sees your startled reaction and takes a small step back, akin to a human trying to protect themself from a wild animal.

Jude’s lips curl into the friendliest grin he could muster. “I don’t think I was able to get a proper introduction. I’m Jude, by the way.” His hand reaches out for a handshake, testing the waters. You accept, taking his hand into yours.

“Y/N. I’m Marcus’ sister.”

“I know.” Jude’s grin has grown into a visible smile. You’re not sure which is more distracting; his eyes, or the fact that his hand is much larger than yours.

“And I… want to say sorry for blowing up in your face earlier.” You retract your hand and continue wiping. “I was already in kind of a bad mood, Marcus mostly.”

Jude lets out a breathy laugh. It was a sight to see this humorous and relaxed side of the girl cussing him out not too long ago.

“Tell me about it. He’s been pissing me off since he came out the womb,” Jude teases. A louder, more unabashed laugh escapes you. He thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re smiling.

“So, Jude…” you trail off, trying to get used to his name on your tongue. “...what brings you to our house?” The youngster opts to lean against the wall rather than sit on the table you just cleaned. “Marcus told me the decision happened last minute.”

Jude scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I have this event I have to do here.”

“Event?” You remember Marcus’ hinting that Jude might’ve been famous and slowly come to the realization that it might’ve been the rare few times he wasn’t joking.

“Yeah. Just a pop-up store for Adidas, they want me to stay for a bit. Fans will come over for photos, sign some autographs.”

“Fans? What are you, famous or something?” Jude cocks his head, chewing on his bottom lip. You’ve decided to take your brother’s word for it, but want to see just how far alleged celebrity Jude’s ego went.

Jude blows raspberries and flashes you that same toothy grin that has your cheeks heating. “You could say the whole city loves me,” he echoes your brother’s words before you two share some laughter.

Once the table is clear of packaging and spotless (a result of overly scrubbing the surface from not wanting to end the conversation with Jude), you moved to sit on one edge of the living room couch, Jude trailing behind you like a lost puppy. He sits on the opposite edge, stretching all 6’3 of his body on the cushions as you brought your knees to your chest.

“But, why couldn’t you stay at your own house?” you question.

“Well, the whole family’s moved out now. Mum’s always lived with me in Germany, and my younger brother’s in Sunderland with my dad. We sold the house not too long ago,” Jude explains.

You bite at your pinky nails as he explains, a habit you’ve tried way too many times to get rid of. An absentminded activity to you— you don’t catch Jude shuffling in his seat as he watched your pretty pink lips enclose the tip of your fingers.

“Why a week, though? The event’s only for a day, no?” Jude blinks rapidly to clear his head.

“I miss home.” Jude shrugs. “I’ve been traveling nonstop since December. All the times I’ve been here since then, it’s with my family. Now I’m alone, and I was hoping to really let loose, you know?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He looks abstractly beside him, running his hand up and down his biceps. You start to wonder if someone turned the heating up in the room.

You hear footsteps grow closer as Marcus steps into the living room. “Oh hey, looks like you finally decided to say hi,” he teases, referring to you. You roll your eyes in response as he stands between you and Jude behind the sofa.

Marcus turns to his best friend. “When’s the event, by the way?”

“Tomorrow, why?” Marcus groans under his breath.

“I have work. ‘Dunno if I can take you then, mate.” Just as the boys share a moment of silence to think of a solution, Marcus remembers you’re in the room. He glances at you fiddling with the hem of your shirt before turning to Jude.

“Y/N can take you!” Your head shoots up to look at your brother, eyebrows furrowed. You then turn to look at Jude with a much softer expression, mouth agape.

“What?” you protest. Marcus folds his arms, nodding in satisfaction.

“She can drive you there. Plus she could use the time out of her room for once,” Marcus snarks. You shove at his hip in retaliation. From the corner of your eye, you swear you can see Jude stifle a laugh watching you two bicker.

Marcus leaves to go back to his room not long after, leaving you and Jude alone again. “You can’t drive?” you ask, tone heavy with disbelief. Jude can only purse his lips before morphing them into a childlike smile.

“You’re older than me!”

“And I’m much busier than you. I just haven’t had the time…” he says trailing off, guilty, like he’s formulating an excuse in his head as he goes. You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head.

When the sky turned pitch-black, you two decided to call it a night. You both have places to be tomorrow morning, anyway. Your conversation only continues as you walk up the stairs, joined by the hip, only stopping once you were in front of your door.

“Good night, Jude.” Your voice comes out mellow as you speak, music to his ears.

“Good night,” he replies, watching as you disappeared behind your door. He stays frozen in place for a few moments, only moving when he hears another door open down the hall— Marcus’ door.

His best friend doesn’t fully leave his room, his hand still lingering on the doorknob. The dim light from within Marcus’ room provided the only source of light in the dark hallway.

“Was that my sister?” he asks. Jude gulps, acting as nonchalant as possible.

“Uh… yeah. She just went to bed.” A factual statement, but hiding so much underneath.

“What are you doing in front of her door?”

Jude hopes Marcus can’t see how scared he is from where he’s standing. “Was just talking.”

“Huh.” Marcus pauses briefly before speaking again. “It better just be talking,” he ejects before closing the door shut.

Jude lies on his bed in his— or his friend’s, he should say— room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the bare silhouette of the girl sleeping three doors down from him.

“You know, usually it’s guys who drive girls around.” You’re leaning against the hood of your car, watching as Jude walks out your front door. He’s locking the door with one hand while juggling a water bottle, his phone, his wallet, and his headphones in the other. There’s a smirk evident on his face as he walks over to you.

“Good morning to you, too,” Jude teases. He clambers into the front seat and you follow suit, buckling in the driver’s seat next to him.

You were up and ready by 7 am to take Jude to the pop-up store. Marcus was already out of the house by then, leaving you and Jude alone.

Speaking truthfully, last night really changed your perspective of him. Who you thought was some perverted douchebag quickly turned into a charming, irresistible gentleman. You also couldn’t resist doing a little digging before you slept; you learned he was a footballer and for Real Madrid at that. Football never piqued your interest, but even you knew that people from around here playing for them is far from a common occurrence.

The more you went looking, the more a part of you felt the need to suppress your desires for him. Not including the 10+ million followers on his Instagram, it seemed like everyone in the world collectively agreed that Jude Bellingham is a player. It didn’t take long for you to find a clip of his former teammate, Giovanni Reyna, proclaiming on camera that he wouldn’t let Jude near his sister. The comments were flooded with thousands of people cracking jokes at his playboy demeanor.

To top it all off— you were the younger sister of his best friend. Could he even see you the way you saw him? If Marcus found out that you as much found Jude attractive, he would shut you down instantly.

But Marcus isn’t with you two today. He’s on the other side of town.

You arrive at the shopping mall where the pop-up store was situated, parking in the basement. Jude was told he had to enter through the back entry as his whole appearance was a surprise.

“Thanks a lot for the ride,” Jude says as he unbuckled his seatbelt. You flashed him a small smile, doing the same.

“Oh! Yeah, by the way…” Jude turns to look at you, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you look at him inquisitively. “Do I just, wait for you? Or do-”

“You can come with me,” Jude interrupts. He jumps out of the car and starts walking— and this time it’s you who’s trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“Oh, okay, cool,” you mutter. Jude’s looking around the area, almost like he’s searching for someone.

“Of course. If anything happens to you, Marcus will never forgive me.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his words, Jude watching in amusement as he chews on his gum. “I’m an adult, I can take care of myself thank you very much,” you state.

Jude lets out a fake haha before his hands ruffle through your hair to make a mess of it—best friend’s little sister.

You two keep walking until a suited man approaches Jude, shaking his hand, then yours. He introduces himself as a representative from Adidas who’s in charge of the pop-up event. The man, who you soon learn is named Henry, leads you and Jude down a series of hallways and stairwells to avoid the main area packed with people.

“The store’s almost full already,” Henry informs as you trail behind the two men, who are walking much faster than you. “They can’t wait to meet you.

As Henry keeps talking, you learn more about this pop-up store in question. It’s a one-day exhibit that turned the Adidas store in the mall into ‘store twenty-two’, selling exclusively Jude’s new Real Madrid home kits and his signature cleats. Henry explains how Jude will get a chance to surprise unsuspecting fans and give out autographs to buyers.

Eventually, all three of you end up in an empty room. You could hear the sound of chattering and camera flashes on the other side— you’re next door to where all the commotion is.

“We’re in the employees-only room right now,” Henry says. “The door leads to the photo booth area of the event. Jude, when I give you the call, you’ll go out there and surprise everyone.”

Henry was now talking to his walkie-talkie almost nonstop in the corner of the room. You opt to sit down in a vacant seat, scrolling through your phone to no luck— there was barely any service in the area. Just as you put it back in your purse, Jude took the seat next to you.

You watch as he stares blankly at his feet, silent. “How’re you feeling?”

Jude’s eyes meet yours, laced with a tinge of worry. “Just normal,” he replies impassively. You’ve forgotten that he’s probably used to this by now— hundreds or even tens of thousands of fans anticipating his presence.

You turn to the door where Jude’s supposed to walk out, hearing where the crowd only gets louder. It’s not an easy life to get used to.

“Jude! 3 minutes until go time,” Henry calls from the other side of the room, hand already gripping the door handle. Jude’s patting down his clothes, trying to put on the best appearance.

“Hey, Jude.” You tap his shoulder, earning his attention. His head leans closer to the point where you can feel his breath fanning dangerously close to your face. You take your hand in his, interlocking the fingers, and Jude subconsciously forgets how to breathe as you do.

You lightly squeeze on the flesh, bringing the back of his palm to rest on your cheek. “Good luck.”

It’s only once you let go that Jude feels the air entering his lungs.

“...and he signed autographs for like two hours. Then he had to do some media for Adidas and that was it, really.”

You’re back in your bed after the pop-up event, retelling the story to Marcus on the phone. He’s still held up at work but will be back soon, in his own words.

“Wow. Seemed like a busy day.”

“Nah, I was just chilling.”

“For Jude, I meant.”

When Jude was finished surprising the lucky few fans in the photo booth before the news spread, you were able to weasel your way out of the cramped room and sneak off to the side. The store was probably nearing its capacity, and there were still more people outside.

As Jude carried on with his duties, you took the time to aimlessly stroll through the small makeshift Jude-centric store. A pamphlet catches your eye, tucked away behind the vibrant white and gold of the Real Madrid home kits.

From Birmingham to the Bernabéu, it read. Your eyes glazed quickly over the text, moving to put it back.

A sudden burst of camera flashes goes off on the opposite side of the room, earning your attention. Jude is gently stroking the crown of a small child, his head buried in his arms as he’s crying. You can see Jude lean in, whispering soft encouragement in the fan’s ear, fingertips dancing through his hair like he’ll break if he dares go any less gently. Jude lets go of the child, beaming as he squeezes in a personal handwritten message on the jersey.

“There was a kid who was crying when he went to get his kit signed.”

Marcus’ laughter fills your ears. “That must’ve gone well.”

“No, he’s…” You fiddle with the pendant dangling off your neck. “...he’s really good with kids.”

After you end the call with Marcus, you spend your evening going through your collection of books. A part of you feels disappointed you never kept up with your avid reading habits once you moved out for uni, and hope this will serve as a reminder to do. You make a mental note to yourself to pack some books for the trip back.

You’re halfway through a chapter in The Secret History, a book you last read far too long ago to forget the storyline, when the dinner bell downstairs rings. Some food would be great after a long day, but your brain tells you it needs to find out how the group kills Bunny. As a result, you drag your feet, taking long, drawn-out steps out of your room as your eyes are glued to the novel.

The dinner bell rings again, briefly invigorating your movements. Bunny shows up unexpectedly. You take your first step down the stairs. Henry takes one for the team. Your feet move faster, the adrenaline unable to be stored solely in your heart. Bunny laughs at Henry’s advances, blissfully unaware of the true nature of their meeting. You’re halfway down the stairwell when you stop walking completely, your heart beating out of your chest.

Bunny asks Henry what they’re doing. The adrenaline is back, and you’re jogging this time around. You make it to the ground floor and into the kitchen. Henry takes a step forward. And the first part of the story ends.

An intense gasp leaves your throat, eyes still on the page.

“What?” a voice calls. It’s not the one you were expecting.

You lift your eyes to find Jude by the dining table, shocked at the noise. Slamming the book shut, you stumble over your own words at the sight.

“Jude! Oh, I thought you were Marcus,” you explain, adding a polite chuckle for good measure. The aroma of something grilled hits your nose before your eyes register the meal in front of you— roasted salmon and the creamiest mash you’ve seen in your life.

“Whoa…” you murmur, taking a seat. Jude pushes a plate closer to you, and it only looks more delicious up close. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Jude scoffs and picks up his utensils to slice into the fish. “It’s nothing fancy. And I really hope you don’t mind me using some of the things in your fridge to make this.”

Your fork slides like a knife through hot butter as you pick up a morsel of salmon to eat. The taste has you moaning, already going in for a second bite. “Oh my god, not at all,” you praise. Jude looks away for a moment, feeling his face get hot.

“You didn’t have to do any of this, you know,” you say in between bites of the mash.

“Think of it as a thank you, for earlier.” Your head tilts in confusion.

“For the ride, and for dealing with all…” Jude’s hands abstractly move in circles in front of him. “...of that, for four hours.”

You flash him a small smile. “All I did was drive.”

“And all I did was cook,” he’s quick to respond. Fair play.

You shove the fork into your mouth, relishing the way the salmon almost melts on your tongue. “God, Jude. You’re so good at this,” you sigh.

It takes a lot for Jude not to choke on his water.

God, Jude. You’re so good at this. The words echo in his head as he looks over to you, focused on finishing your plate, unclear of the effects it has on him. He looks at the way your eyelids flutter shut as you bite, the way your tongue swipes across your pillow lips to catch any remaining seasoning.

You’re so beautiful. You’d be so easy to ruin. Jude squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of the thoughts dissipating.

Jude’s presence beside you doesn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes are glued to his biceps as they flex when he goes to lift his fork. When he reaches over to grab a napkin, his chest is so close to your face that you can smell the remnants of his cologne. His knee occasionally grazes your thigh, and you don’t dare move away when it does.

“Can I ask you something?” Jude asks. Both your plates are cleared and he’s doing his part in washing the mess he left behind while cooking. You decide to stay with him in the kitchen, feeling uneasy if you’d left so early.

“Go for it,” you reply. There’s a pause before Jude answers. He just needs an excuse to keep hearing your voice.

“Why’d you gasp like that earlier?” He hears you giggling through the sound of running water and scrubbing porcelain. Even better.

“I was just… reading this book. It’s called The Secret History.”

“What’s it about?” he questions. Just from the tone of your voice earlier, he can tell he’s hooked you into a topic that could leave you talking for hours.

“A group of friends at a university with a very dark secret.” You move to stand next to Jude by the sink, back against the counter so you’re essentially facing each other.

“And what made you gasp?” Jude can keep going for as long as you want.

“So, there’s two parts in the book. Part one and part two. And, well, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but something really crazy happens, and then the author ends the first part. Super abruptly, almost like a cliffhanger.” Jude nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in acknowledgment.

“You can just tell me what happens, you know,” Jude explains.

“Well, what if you want to read the book?”

“I’m not a huge reader.” You gasp for the second time that night.

“Unacceptable.” You begin listing off your favorite classics, only to be met with Jude frowning and shaking his head, revealing he hasn’t read a single one. Folding your arms against your chest, you tut as Jude turns the sink off. You don’t miss the muscles on his arms as he leans forward on the edge.

“Told you, I’m not a big reader.” Jude shrugs. “I don’t really know what to read, I guess.”

“There’s a local bookstore not too far from here where I used to get all my books from. You should go sometime.”

“Or…” Jude turns around, mimicking your pose with his arms folded. “...you can take me and show me around?”

You look up at him, a glint of excitement in your eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure. You’re the book expert anyway.” Your face lights up and Jude melts in your warmth.

“Okay!” you cheer. You can’t wait for tomorrow.

All of a sudden, the door swings open, bouncing against the wall. Marcus brings dinner— and your conversation with Jude to a halt.

***

After lunch the next day, Jude is by the mirror in your doorway, adjusting his shirt collar. You thank whoever Marcus’ higher-ups are for the number of meetings they’ve decided to involve your brother in.

“Ready to go?” You stand up from the couch, gripping your bag. Jude nods and you’re out the door.

It’s an unusually bright day in Birmingham, and with the bookstore being close by, you two decided to walk there. It seems like almost everything is going in your favor as the streets have also cleared up, allowing you two to candidly converse and joke around.

Jude points out a familiar corner shop or park bench every couple of meters, remembering the days of his youth. You do the same, finding comfort in the similarities between both your memories.

“Can I ask you something?” It’s the second time Jude’s asked that this week.

“Of course.”

“Before I left to see the fans, you squeezed my hand when you said good luck.” Jude’s chest feels warm as he recalls the incident. “Why’d you do that?”

You’re nodding as you walk along, realizing how brash and impulsive your actions were that day. “It’s a thing me and Marcus have. He did it to me first before a play I was in when I was eight. I was so nervous I couldn’t bring myself to go out on the stage. Now it’s just become a subconscious thing between us…” Your hand finds Jude’s, interlacing the fingers and holding it up so he can see. “...as a way to show support.”

Jude nods. His hand doesn’t let go of yours for the rest of the walk.

“Here it is!” you half-whispered as you push the bookstore’s door open with your shoulder. Jude takes a look around the room. It’s cozy, filled with warm yellow lighting and the sound of light jazz echoes through the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He’s never been in here, but it feels familiar. It feels like home.

Your hand finally lets go of Jude to give him the time to explore. The selection of books ranges from classic Russian literature to modern-day poetry books you’ve seen on your Instagram Explore page. Your fingertip glides across the spines of several books, reading the titles to see if any piqued your interest— and find a pick for Jude.

“So, what are you into Jude?” He trails behind you as you walk down an aisle. “You a classics guy? Into the poets, romance, maybe fantasy or sci-fi?”

Jude takes a moment to think. “Maybe you can give me something you’ve read before. I’m open to anything,” he suggests. He catches you nodding from behind.

“How about…” You take a step back and reach for a shelf above you, failing to take the book you want in your hands. Jude sees you struggling and is quick to stand behind you, pointing to one with ease. His chest is pressed into your back and his arms are trapping you between the shelf. You feel the material of his pants graze the back of your exposed thighs, this time thanking the weather for allowing you to wear a skirt.

“This one?” Jude’s voice is deep, low in your ear as his hand grazes yours on the way up. Goosebumps arise on your skin from the contact.

“No…” Your fingers wrap around his wrist to guide him to the book beside it. Turning to look up at him, Jude leans down to meet your gaze. “This one.”

Jude can’t get enough of how you look and sound beneath him.

He takes the book in his hands and steps to the side, releasing you from his embrace. You wish he would’ve stayed for longer.

“The Great Gatsby,” Jude reads, examining the book in his hands. “Like the movie.”

“No, like the book. The movie is adapted from it,” you correct, moving to the other side of the aisle— partly to look for more books, partly to regain composure.

“But I’ve already watched the movie, why do I need to read the book too?” he asks from behind the shelf.

“You asked for my pick, and I’m giving you one. Besides, there’s always a difference between books and movies.” The needed time away from Jude is cut short when he meets you on the other side of the shelf.

You pick up Kafka from one side of the aisle and Ocean Vuong from the other. “And it’s a really short read, so it’s perfect if you’re new to classics.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” There’s that smile again.

You need some fresh air. “D’you want ice cream?”

The day ends with two cones of it.

Beacons of golden light decorate the streets, warming up the air and painting the sky a beautiful gradation of purple and orange. You’re transfixed at the sight as you slowly savor the taste of your cookies and cream cone.

Jude is halfway finished with his, terrified of the heat melting the sweet dessert onto the paper bag he’s carrying. He volunteered to carry the bag containing the books, especially after you paid for them all on your own.

With every lick of his green tea ice cream, Jude feels guilty as he tastes the sugar on his tongue. He’s supposed to be watching his diet. Preseason starts soon— Real Madrid’s coaching staff had already shipped him his training gear to his new address.

But when you offered him the first time in the bookstore, he knew he didn’t have the nerve to turn you down.

“The ice cream here is everything,” you gush, bringing the cone closer to your lips to lick the melt.

Jude might just drop everything in his hands now. “Genuinely.”

“Is there…” you turn your head to look in every direction, causing your hair to fly everywhere with the added evening breeze. “...anywhere else you want to go?”

You take another bite of the ice cream, licking your lips a second, third, fourth time. Jude looks down at his feet, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I think we should head back. Need to read The Great Gatsby,” he utters. You hum in agreement, and Jude can finally lift his head again.

“It shouldn’t take long. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.”

“Well, if I’m done, can I borrow that Secret History book you were reading?”

“Of course. I’ll give it to you tonight,” you reply, watching how his eyes gleam when the sun hits it. It’s impossible to look away. Your phone vibrates in your skirt pocket, probably from Marcus or your friends, but you deliberately ignore it.

A trail of soft cream dribbles down your wrist, pulling you out of your trance. You lick down the inside of your wrist to catch it with your tongue, not wanting it to stain your shirt.

“Let’s go,” you call to Jude so you can start the journey back home. You could’ve sworn his eyes were dark when you turned to look the second time.

It takes Jude four hours to finish The Great Gatsby.

He closes the book and runs his thumb over the embossed cover before setting it on his nightstand. It was a quick read after all— he started the second he got home and didn’t move an inch before he was done.

Jude checks the alarm clock plugged into the wall; 9.15 pm. He’s hungry, a result of skipping his usual dinner time just as Tom confronts Gatsby about his affair with Daisy at the Plaza Hotel.

Looking at the book set atop the nightstand, he remembers your conversation earlier. Once Jude was finished with The Great Gatsby, he could borrow The Secret History. It’s exactly what Jude needs; any excuse to see you.

Jude leaves the room and stops at your door, knocking twice. No response. He knocks a third and fourth time, progressively getting louder and adding in a few calls of your name to make his presence heard.

There’s still no response. Jude’s fingers skim over the doorknob. In the words of Taylor Swift, he thinks he’s seen this film before— and he’s not really sure how to feel about the ending.

Jude takes a deep breath, twists the metal and slowly enters your room. His eyes stay glued to the floor to prevent them from wandering, taking light steps like he’s walking across a decrepit bridge over a cliff.

“Y/N?” He calls. No response for the third time that night. Jude takes it as the green light to look around your room and finds it empty. His eyes scour the perimeter for any sign of life until the sound of a microwave beeping from downstairs catches his attention.

When Jude enters the living room, he’s greeted by a figure hunched over the coffee table, eating silently out of a plastic container. Something in you tells you to turn around, almost sensing Jude as he steps closer.

“Jude,” you murmur, mouth full of food. “Did you need anything?”

“Dinner,” he responds. His sight locks onto the container you’re eating out of, and you take the hint, turning to look at it, too.

“Oh, these are just leftovers from when Marcus bought food the other day. You can have some, I’m not finishing it anyway.” Jude sits on the cushion perpendicular to the couch, not daring to sit beside you.

Your fingers nudge the Tupperware closer to him along with the fork. Jude takes a bite out of the pasta presented to him, realizing upon the first bite just how hungry he truly is. He goes in for a second almost immediately.

You pull the zip-up jacket closer to your body, seeking warmth in the otherwise cold living room. There’s silence between you two, a comfortable one.

Jude is the first to break it. “I finished the book,” he says in between bites. Your eyes widen in amusement, nodding slowly.

“Really?” He nods. “Did you like it?”

“Honestly, yeah. I was hooked from the start.” A small smile creeps up on your face.

“Glad to hear that. I’ll give you The Secret History later when you’re done eating.” Jude lets out an acknowledging hum, focused on finishing his dinner for the day.

You reach for the glass of wine on the coffee table that you’d poured for yourself earlier, swirling it around and taking a sip. Jude watches as you do, feeling the heat build in his taste buds.

“Can I have some?” You’re halfway through your second sip when he asks. The expression on his face and the way he hisses lets you know the pasta’s too spicy for his taste. It’s an opportunity to keep him on his toes.

“No,” you say, tantalizing. Jude’s jaw drops lightly, panting to cool down.

“Oh, come on, please,” he begs, extending his right arm to ask you again. You deny him a second time.

“Y/N! It’s not funny, what kind of fucking pasta did Marcus buy?” You laugh at his frustration, hugging your knees and bringing the rim closer to your lips. You sipped loudly, slurping to annoy Jude about his lack of refreshment.

“Little shit—” Jude leans forward in your direction to forcibly grab the drink, bursting into a fit of laughter when you prevent him from doing so, backing into the throw pillows.

“No! Stop! Get your own!” you manage to choke out in between giggles, already clutching your abdomen from the excessive laughter. Jude leaps onto the couch, arms snaking closer to yours in every direction.

“Just one sip!” Your shared laughter only gets increasingly raucous, covering the glass with your palm as a final act of defense. Jude crawls above you, forehead pressing into yours. If it wasn’t for the humorous nature of your actions, you would’ve noticed his drop-dead features centimeters away from your face.

With one rough nudge of the knee, you jolt forward, splashing the dark red liquid onto your jacket. You gasp at the sight, lifting your palm from the glass to examine the damage. Jude takes this opportunity to swipe the glass away from you.

“My fucking god, this’ll stain for weeks,” you groan, running your fingers over the damp spot. Luckily, your zip-up was a navy blue shade, slightly masking the mess.

Jude giggles, proud of his steal. He takes his first sip of the wine, although the spice had died moments ago. His breath hitches when you slowly unzip the jacket, tossing the tarnished clothing to the side, all while your eyes remain on his.

The realization that he’s on top of you hits him like a truck, and Jude takes a strong gulp of the liquid. You’re just staring at him from below, chest heaving to collect your breath. The white bralette you were wearing underneath leaves little to the imagination, your chest poking through the thin fabric due to the cold. Jude swears he can drop the glass right then and there.

Jude bends lower and to the side, gently placing the wine glass on the coffee table. He’s frozen in place when he feels the pad of your thumb graze his bottom lip, and he turns to face you.

“Wine,” you whisper, not needing to speak any louder due to your proximity. Jude’s heart races in his ribcage, and he thinks it might explode when you suckle on your thumb to catch the last drop of Merlot.

Heavy panting. Lips breathing and eyes boring into each other. It’s all Jude can process as his eyes dart to examine your every feature, every inch of your face as you look on lovingly, the glow of a million stars in your eyes.

Your palm cups his cheek, gently pulling Jude in closer until your noses brush. You’re panting, heart beating fast and hot anticipating something, anything.

“Jude,” you say. It comes out more as a plead than a call.

Jude wants to run at you with all he’s got. He searches deep and hard in his brain for the final push to reach the finish line.

But when he speaks, nothing of the sort comes out. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The stars in your eyes die one by one, Jude observes as he leans farther away from you. “Then we should go back to our rooms.”

Jude’s quick to remove himself from you, adjusting his shirt and wiping his hands on his sweats— like wiping evidence off a crime scene, like he’s guilty. His brain is flashing back and forth between images of you and Marcus sleeping upstairs.

Jude turns around and is ready to make a run for it, until your voice rings in his ears, effectively gluing his feet to the carpet. “Wait, Jude,” you call.

Jude looks over his shoulder, unwilling to make eye contact. You’re handing him your copy of The Secret History.

“I’m sorry I’ve been held up at work a lot,” Marcus says as he swings his arm forward, knocking the cue ball with the stick. It rolls and ricochets off the pool table’s walls, and Marcus stands up straight to walk around. “It’s just, this new manager came in and he’s such a prick, honestly.”

Jude chuckles and gets ready for his turn. Not that he’s ever or will ever know what it’s like to work a 9 to 5, but he understands the sentiment of snobby higher-ups pushing him to work past the healthy limit. He calculates his next move, analyzing which ball to hit to get his remaining few striped ones in.

After Marcus was (finally) able to ensure one day where he has no obligation to come to work, the first thing he did was spend it with Jude. The two remained in the house mostly, playing rounds of FIFA 22 and watching some of Quentin Tarantino’s best works upon Jude’s recommendation. They made the most of the small backyard, challenging each other to increasingly bizarre trick shots before they had to run back inside due to a group of primary schoolers spotting Jude.

To end the day, they’re playing pool in the basement— a room that Marcus had turned into a man cave back in his school days, furnished with a couch, a cooler, a TV, several beanbags, and a drawer full of snacks.

The pool table was his father’s doing. As kids, the equipment went ignored, collecting dust and being used as a place to throw backpacks on. The boys have grown up now, and appreciate the finer activity.

“What have you been doing while I’m gone?” he asks. Jude places his cue stick on the table, targetting an easy shot to knock his 11 ball into the corner hole. Does he tell Marcus that he’s been spending every day since with his sister?

“Other than the Adidas thing, not much.” He doesn’t.

Whack. Jude strikes with shaky hands and the ball rolls in just as it was about to lose momentum. Marcus whistles proudly opposite him.

“Really? One of my coworkers who lives near here says he saw you out once,” Marcus says. Jude freezes— the only time he’s been out was with you, hand in hand.

“Oh, yeah. Just walking around town,” Jude clarifies, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. He conveniently leaves out an important detail from that day and hopes Marcus’ mystery worker paid no mind to the girl he was with.

Jude wants the conversation to end now. “Yeah? What else did you—”

The basement door slams open, followed by a barrage of footsteps. “Marcus, someone’s asking for you on the phone.” Jude’s head whips to the sound of your voice. His wishes were answered, yes, but in the worst way possible.

Your eyes look at the pool table, at your feet, anywhere but at Jude. He’s doing the opposite, blatantly staring at you with a look on his face that screams, we have unfinished business.

Ever since your incident on the couch, you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid facing Jude. The fact that he and Marcus decided to spend the whole day indoors didn’t help your case, resulting in you locking yourself in your room.

You tossed and turned in bed that night, smothering your face in your pillows to forget how he looked hovering over you, how his lips felt on your thumb, how his voice sounds right next to your ear. Turns out, it’s quite difficult to do that when the man in question is sleeping down the hall, across your brother’s room.

Marcus groans in disappointment, setting the cue stick down and debating whether he should go or not. He goes with the former.

As he approaches you on the steps, he nudges you and says loud enough so Jude can hear as well, “Continue my game with Jude for me.”

You’re left in awe, jaw slightly agape at his request. The slamming of the door leaves you and Jude in a room, all to yourselves, for the first time since the incident.

Both you and the youngster stood unmoving in your places, unwilling to take a step any closer. Your hand still lingers on the stair railing, halfway up the first step. You barely comply with most of Marcus’ usual demands anyway, why do you have to listen to now?

Your foot is planted firmly on the step, propelling your body up just as Jude utters his first words after a solid three minutes of silence. “You play pool?” His voice chains you to the ground. You can’t leave now that he’s spoken.

“I’ve only seen people play,” you reply gently, retracting your feet. Just the sight of him with his head titled down, almost glaring at you has your legs intuitively walking closer to the pool table, almost gliding in the air.

“You want to have a go?” Jude picks up Marcus’ cue stick and reaches out to hand it to you. You accept, not missing the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles as you do.

You know the general rules of pool, a feat you can thank GamePigeon and hundreds of 8Ball wins for, but have never played let alone held a cue stick in your hands in person. Bending over the table, you place one leg behind the other, sticking out your knee and aiming for Marcus’ 6 ball.

Jude can only look on as you push your hips behind you, arching your back to get a clearer view of your target. He gulps at the sight, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans.

You take a deep breath, mimicking what you’ve seen time and time again with people in movies or Marcus and your father. You swing— and the cue ball slides in the opposite direction. Kissing your teeth, you lift your head but remain leaning over the table.

“Okay maybe watching other people play wasn’t enough,” you joke, lightening the atmosphere. Jude chuckles in response, pretending that he didn’t just spend the last few minutes staring at your ass.

Your hand beckons to the table, stepping back to make way for Jude. “Your turn.” Jude steps up, smiling politely. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about the right form.”

“I mean it’s just…” Jude demonstrates, getting ready to target a shot before the 8 ball. “I guess an important thing is you’re leaning into the stick, not, like parallel from it,” he explains. Now it’s your turn to pretend like you have any interest in pool that doesn’t involve staring at Jude’s biceps while he plays.

“And when you’re striking the ball, do it kinda slowly, like your arms sort of moving through water. A long stroke.” Jude does as he says, and gets the last ball in smoothly. You nod along, acting like you register even a word of his explanation.

Jude stands up straight. “Your turn again.”

You mumble a soft okay and move around the table to designate your next target. You find one, conveniently right next to where Jude is standing. He has to move backwards to give you space to get into the proper stance.

Following his advice, you place your cue stick on the pool table and bend over, slowly, to get a view of the ball. Jude is transfixed, regretting his decision to stand behind you now as he can see the curve of your ass peaking through your skirt. God, your skirt, it’s the same one from your bookstore date with him, and it’s driving Jude to the point of insanity.

“Like this?” you ask, innocently. Jude takes half a step forward, toying with his own fingers.

“Uh, just, a bit more to the right,” Jude instructs. He hovers over you, one hand gripping your waist and the other on your hand planted on the table. The feeling of his skin on yours sets your body ablaze.

“Oh, okay.” You shift your weight on one of your legs, sticking out your hips. Your skirt rides up with every movement, almost taunting Jude. He feels the bulge in his pants grow more prominent with each moving second.

You strike the cue ball with one long stroke, getting it in the nearby hole. Jude’s advice worked.

“How’d I do?” you ask, looking over your shoulder and up to Jude for a response. He drinks in your sight— bent over below him as his (much bigger) hand engulfs your wrist. The dim glow from the overhead lighting obscures Jude’s vision, but if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that you’re mesmerizing. Your demure, doe eyes staring up at him and inviting him in closer, to do the most sinful things imaginable.

You lift your head to stand up straight, in doing so unintentionally pushing your ass into Jude. You attempt to pull away as quickly as possible, cheeks heating as you felt how hard he had gotten through his pants— but his hand on your waist locks you in place, grinding just the slightest bit forward.

Your hands are shaking from the weight, so you prop yourself up on your palms, only pushing back on him even more. Your head drops, unable to process any thoughts other than how good he feels pressed onto you.

There’s no hiding now. Jude wants, needs you, as you do him.

“Jude,” you gasp, feeling the air knocked clean from your lungs when he repeats his motions a second time.

Jude shushes you. “Quiet,” he grunts, both of his hands now clutching your waist firmly, boldly pulling you back on him. You had built up walls, holding back from the moment you first saw him, and now you’re whimpering, on the verge of begging.

Jude’s palm smooths over the curve of your ass, feeling the flesh below his skin, and squeezes. His hand travels lower, down to the hem where he flips your skirt over to expose more skin. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath, and he can see the damp spot where he’s pressed against you. Jude curses at the sight, pulling you back against the shape of his cock, punching a whine from your throat.

Your hips roll back on their own, meeting the rocking of Jude’s hips, making a mess on his pants from how wet you’ve gotten. You chase the drag of your clit against him, but it’s not enough.

“Please,” you plead. “I need you, Jude.” Jude thinks he’s never heard anything more beautiful than the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

You take matters into your own hands, taking his hand in yours, moving it from your hips to between your thighs. You look back at him, eyes laced with want and lust, shifting from grinding his hard-on to rocking against his fingers.

Jude finds the band of your underwear, gently pulling it down and watching it snap against your ass until it reaches your thighs. The cold air of the basement hits your exposed core, earning a hitched breath from you. Jude watches your slick glisten in the dim lighting, groaning lowly as his fingers separate your folds.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, feeling the wetness gather on his fingertips. Jude’s other hand is rough where he gropes, alternating between feeling your bare ass under his touch and bunching the material of your skirt above your waist.

“Been so good for you, Jude,” you whine, circling your waist on his hands, inviting him for more. He obliges, slipping a digit inside you, focusing on the way your jaw falls slack once he does.

Jude pulls out after a few pumps, leaving you breathless and confused. As you look at him for any idea of what he’s doing, he roughly pushes you down onto the table on your elbows. You’re just about to stand back up when he sinks two fingers in your sopping core, pinning you down to the furniture.

You feel the stretch first, followed by waves of euphoria centered between your thighs. Jude twists his fingers inside you, curling them upwards, and your elbows topple under your weight, pressing your chest flat on the table.

He starts slow and steady, finding his own pace as he savors the feeling of your warm walls sucking his fingers in. Moans began to spill from your lips at a sporadic rate, a symphony Jude hopes he’ll never stop hearing.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Jude curses. You can only whine in response, warm and dizzy on the feeling of Jude inside you.

Jude angles his fingers higher, reaching that spongy spot that has you holding on to the table for dear life. He starts scissoring you at a relentless pace as you beg and whimper beneath him, getting louder with every thrust.

After a particularly loud moan bordering on a scream, Jude is quick to pull you up to him. His hands wrap around your throat, snaking around your chest so your back is flat against his chest. “I said be quiet,” he warns, and you gulp.

“What if your brother hears?” Jude asks, almost taunts, and he swears he feels you get wetter. You throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes shutting in pleasure.

You can practically sense Jude smirking. “Bet you’d like that, huh?” he groans deep and low. “His own best friend, knuckles-deep in his sister.”

Your lip is caught in your bottom teeth, attempting to suppress your voice when you open your eyes again. Jude’s eyes are watching your every move, the way your face contorts when he pumps a little harder into you, and the way your eyebrows crease along with it. His pace never wavers once, a testament to his stamina.

Your jaw falls slack after a while, and Jude takes this as an opportunity to slip his fingers into your mouth. Just the other day he’d been fantasizing over the way your tongue feels around them, and now he gets to experience it firsthand.

You whine and moan around his fingers, bobbing your head back and forth as your tongue swirls around his digits. Jude can’t help himself from groaning at the sight of two of your holes being filled by his fingers. Your eyes are hooded, half-open but you keep your eyes on him the whole time.

“God, just like that,” his praise is mellow and smooth close to your ears, and it only eggs you on further. Jude slips a third finger into your cunt, and you break. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. Wish it was my cock instead.”

He releases his fingers from your mouth and swiftly returns them to your throat. “Fuck, ah, right there, please.” You can’t think straight, a writhing mess solely from the work of his hands.

“Shit, like that?” he coos, and he finds the spot that has your back arching into him.

“Yes!” you whine, feeling lightheaded. Jude only goes harder, smirk doubling as your thighs start to shake around him. His palm rubs over your clit each time he fucks into you, sending slick gushing down the inside of your thighs and on his wrist.

You grab a hold of Jude’s wrist, locking him in place and meeting his movements. Your nails dig deep into his arm in doing so, causing him to hiss at the pain. He catches on the way your walls pulse and flutter around him, breathing getting more sporadic.

“I’m close,” you manage to squeak out in between ah’s, feeling the knot growing tigher in your lower abdomen. Jude tuts, pulling out of you and you almost collapse on the table if it wasn’t for his hands on your waist.

You’re confused, not quite thinking clearly yet when he does. It’s embarassing how fucked out you are, how you’ve turned into a mess below him.

Jude turns you around and hoists you up on the table, making you squeal in the process. Your hands naturally plant themselves on his shoulder as he stands between your thighs, using his knee to push them farther apart.

Jude slowly pulls your (now destroyed) panties down your legs, and you almost miss how he pockets them to keep for himself. One by one, Jude takes your legs and spreads them as wide as you’ll allow it. His hand goes to cup your cheek, gentle as he touches it, and you melt into his palm, sighing in relief.

Your face is flushed, your chest heaving and sweat trickling down your temple. Jude swipes his thumb against your cheek, his other hand squeezing your waist as he looks on with an adoring gaze, completely different from a few moments ago. You wonder if this is the same Jude.

“Hi,” you say, trying to get a response out of him. Jude giggles, letting go of your face and pressing his forehead into yours.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and he’s kissing you. You sigh at the feeling of his pillowy lips molding against yours, the same lips you’ve fantasized about many times before. Jude tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you allow him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer.

Jude bucks his clothed bulge onto your bare pussy, knocking a moan out of you. For a second you’d almost forgotten what got you into this position in the first place.

“Jude,” you beg, pulling away to brush your lips against his ear. “Need to cum.”

“Yeah? Think you earned it?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, humming in response.

You press your forehead into him again, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. “I need it, Jude.” You take his hand and guide him to where you need him the most, where you’re dripping and throbbing.

Jude gawks at you, and you can tell he doesn’t want to stop hearing your voice tell him the filthiest of words. “Need you to fuck me with your fingers, please.”

“You’ll be the death of me, I swear.” Jude covers your mouth with his, and he slams into you.

You moan into his mouth, Jude slipping his tongue into yours. The burning feeling in your abdomen is back and stronger than ever, reignited as Jude pumps at an unforgiving pace. The room is filled with the sounds of your slick between your thighs and your lips on Jude’s, and you hope with all you have that Marcus is far enough away from the basement so he can’t hear.

Jude rocks harder with his fingers, using his other hand to bunch up your skirt and lift it over your waist. He breaks away the kiss, looking down to admire your soaked hole being abused by his fingers.

You throw your head back, biting your bottom lip and Jude is quick to leave a trail of kisses on your throat, your neck, down to the swell of your chest. Your hands find solace on the back of his neck, nails digging into the flesh as Jude sucks on your skin harder.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, and Jude brushes his nose against yours. He releases your skirt and uses your other hand to rub circles on your clit, causing the pleasure to increase tenfold.

Your breathing is erratic, thighs shaking as you hold on to the table for dear life. “There it is,” Jude sounds. “Fuck, give it to me, wanna feel you cum around my fingers.”

“Jude!” you half-scream, and Jude is quick to silence you with his lips. You attempt to kiss back, finding it increasingly difficult as you teeter so close to the edge.

“Come on, you’ve been so good for me,” he praises. “Let go for me, cum for me, baby.”

The endearing term is all you needed to let go, cumming with a muffled cry. Fire courses through your veins as the knot comes undone, sending your release gushing around Jude’s wrist as he fucks you through it. He keeps his fingers inside you, buried knuckle-deep into your hole as you ride out the last few aftershocks.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, looking at your fucked out state. “Talk to me,” Jude urges.

You nod, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face before Jude finishes the job for you. “That was amazing,” you murmur, causing Jude to chuckle.

He slowly pulls out of you, laving over your release with his tongue as you watch on. Jude softly moans at your heavenly taste and finishes with a clean pop. You’re quick to pull him back in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The kiss is slow, dragged out. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull you as close as humanely possible, and Jude engulfs you in his arms so that your chests are touching. You never want this to end, never want to forget how his lips feel moulding on yours, lazily making out for some time— but a loud beep resonating from Jude’s back pocket pulls you to reality.

Jude groans in frustration, reading the name on the screen and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He flips over to show you— it’s Marcus.

You’re panicking, eyes alternating between looking at Jude and at the screen. With a reassuring squeeze on your hip, Jude calms you down and shushes you.

He accepts the call, putting it on speaker for both of you to hear. Your palm goes to cover your mouth, scared of making a single sound.

“Hey,” Jude greets, hoping, praying, Marcus isn’t calling for what he thinks.

“Sorry for dipping. Again, new manager,” Marcus teases. There’s no hostility in his voice and no signs of suspicion— you’re safe.

“Uh, yeah, no, it’s fine.”

“Anyway, I’m in an emergency Zoom call for whatever reason, and I think it could last for a few hours, so you don’t have to wait for me. You can go to bed if you want.”

“Is everything alright?” Jude asks, trying to mask his initial terror between bated breaths.

“Yeah, just an issue with, wait— why are you panting so much?” You go wide-eyed again, and Jude has a smirk playing across his face, leaning closer to you.

“Oh, nothing. Just a… really intense game of pool.”

It’s Jude’s final day before he leaves for Madrid, and he wants to throw himself off the second-floor balcony.

It’s been two days since the pool table incident. After the phone call with Marcus ended, he walked you to your door, feeling déjà vu from a few nights prior. You linger at your open doorway, looking up at him for a few seconds before you bid him goodbye.

You’re an idiot, Jude insults himself as he replays the moment over and over in his head. He should’ve walked inside, pinning you against the wall as he did. He should’ve grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to his room instead, feeling all of you on his bed. Instead, he had to finish himself off in the shower.

When he woke up the next morning, Jude had to take a second to process if last night was a dream or not. When he went downstairs, he almost thought it was— you were silently eating your pancakes and even said a soft hi when he entered as well. You didn’t spare him another word, locking yourself in your bedroom.

Marcus invited him for a second round of pool, but when Jude stepped into the basement, the first thing he saw when he looked at the pool table was the image of you bent over it. He wasn’t thinking straight, losing to Marcus every round to the point where he had to ask him if his arm was injured.

Jude knows he has to see you, and has to feel you before he leaves. He doesn’t know how to initiate it. What was he supposed to do, knock at your door and say, hey, remember when I fingerfucked you the other day, do you think maybe I can get something in return? Absolutely not.

So he waits, waits for the opportunity to arise. He spends more time in the living room, in the kitchen, in the basement— hoping you’d ‘accidentally’ stumble into him and he can have a word with you. But you don’t show up every time.

Jude’s given up all hope. In just a few weeks, he’ll be in the States making his official debut as a Real Madrid player, and you’ll be a distant memory. He’s grown, he’s had his fair share of summer flings and every single one of them end up the same. Forgotten.

Something tells him he’s wrong this time, though.

It’s a quiet evening as Jude is deep into Martin Scorsese’s filmography, rewatching The Wolf of Wall Street for (what he thinks is) the fifth time. It’s been his favorite pastime, one that doesn’t involve human interaction— from you, or your brother.

He’s so immersed in his iPad that he doesn’t hear the repeated knocking on his door until it gets so loud it blasts through Matthew McConaughey’s peculiar monologue to DiCaprio.

Jude runs to the door, swinging it in a rush. A pair of familiar eyes stare back at him.

“Y/N!” he gasps, taken off guard. The same can’t quite be said for you.

“Hi, Jude.” There’s a slight gap between your words as you fiddled with your bracelet, looking at him the same way you did the other night.

“What… what did you need?” Jude speaks like he just ran a half-marathon, though your mere presence is more than enough to conjure a similar heart rate.

“My book. I want to bring it back with me.” The Secret History. Jude looks back to see it untouched, collecting dust on a shelf. He hasn’t dared to even look at it considering what happened before you handed it to him.

“I mean, I can find like a free version online if you still want to read it for yourself,” you suggest, noticing the expression on Jude’s face— like he has so much he wants to say, but can’t.

“No, I’ll just… buy a copy for myself. Or an audiobook…” Jude trails off as he goes to collect the book, handing it back to you. Once it’s in your grip, you can somehow tell he hasn’t opened it once.

You examine the book in your hands, chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a bad habit, one Jude hopes you’ll stop. He looks at the flesh between your teeth and glances at Marcus’ door. Jude feels like a ticking time bomb.

“Is that all?” Jude asks, already taking a preliminary step backward to anticipate closing the door. You’re still deep in thought, and it has nothing to do with the paperback in your grip, it’s about the boy standing a meter before you.

You’ve had enough of him. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary that can accurately represent the cocktail of absolute anger, confusion, yearning, love, and hate that you have for Jude. You’ve made it crystal clear you want nothing more than him. Why can’t he do the same for you?

“Why do you hate me?” The sentence is almost forced from your mouth. Even you don’t realize it until you look up at him, seeing his eyes nervously dart across your face.

“I don’t hate you,” Jude scoffs, shaking his head.

“Then why are you treating me like this?” Another sentence, forced.

“Treating you like what?” Jude’s beginning to wonder what your true intentions for showing up in front of his door is.

“Oh, don’t play this game with me, Jude. You get all close to me, closer than I’ll allow most people, get me on a fucking table of all places and you push me away like it never happened,” you protest, and Jude turns around to step into the room. You follow after, shutting the door behind you.

Jude’s speechless, his hands are on his hips, and he’s pacing in circles. It just infuriates you further.

“What is it? What are you so afraid of? Did I do something wrong?” you ask, voice laced with desperation.

“No! No, not you…” Jude rubs his eyebrows in frustration, a million words trapped on the way up and out of his throat.

“Tell me if I did.” You don’t hear him the first time.

“Fucking hell, it’s not about you, okay?” Jude releases his head from his hands, jutting them out in front of him.

“Then tell me,” you demand.

Jude takes a long, deep breath. He opens his mouth to say something, and you eagerly anticipate his response. Instead, he snaps it shut, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Jude?” You’re worried you might’ve taken it too far. Jude is at his breaking point— but you’re not willing to give up just yet.

Slowly, you step closer to him, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Jude hears the soft ruffling of the carpet as you do, letting go of his head to regain his vision.

Every time you two are in a closed room, alone, it never ends well.

Your palms find solace on Jude’s broad shoulders, and he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the contact. Your hands travel upwards, testing the waters until your right palm is on his cheek, moving your thumb back and forth.

Jude holds on to your waist, afraid that you’ll let go, afraid that you’ll leave. His eyes trail up your figure, drinks it in, embeds it into his memory. You’re dressed similarly to the night on the couch: a bralette, shorts, and a zip-up. All he can think of is how perfect you look even in the simplest of clothes, and how he wants to recreate that night— and then some.

Jude keeps his eyes on yours as his hands slide to the back of your thighs, one by one setting them beside him so you’re straddling him, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at his touch.

It feels like you can’t breathe with your heart ramming against your ribcage, and it might as well be ripped out from you as Jude nudges his face slightly closer, just enough to press your foreheads together. You wanted an explanation. Instead, you ended up on his lap.

“Jude…” Your voice calls out to Jude like a siren tempting him from ice-cold waters below a ship deck as he holds on for dear life. Does he take the plunge?

“Don’t push me away,” you whisper, a desperate final attempt— and he lets the freezing waves consume him as he jumps.

All it takes is Jude sitting up straight for him to close the gap, knocking the air clean from your lungs. The feeling of his lips on yours is better than you remember it. His palm cups the back of your head, preventing you from pulling away as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

Your hands free his cheek, resorting to run down his hoodie-clad torso, occasionally dipping down under the hem before sliding back out, and then running your thumb over the band of his Calvins. When your thumbs dip dangerously into undergarments, you feel Jude’s breath hitch.

Jude finally breaks the kiss and is quick to pepper featherlight kisses down the side of your jaw, causing your neck to tilt to one side to give him more access. He finds the spot that draws a shaken whimper out of you, but just as he does, you push him away by the shoulders.

You admire Jude below you, lips puffy and eyes blown out, confused. “Tell me you want me.”

“How about I just show you.” Jude grinds upward, letting you feel just how much he wants you. “Hm?”

The pressure on your clothed core has you humming in content, but you stand your ground. “I need to hear it from you, Jude.”

Jude’s mouth opens slightly and snaps close, taking a pause. You worry he’ll leave you hanging for a third time.

To your surprise, he gently flicks a stray strand of hair away from your face. His knuckles trail down your cheeks, feeling the heat that had risen before it goes further down, unzipping your jacket.

“I want this.” He zips it all the way down, and you help him in discarding the piece of clothing.

“I want you,” Jude grunts, resuming his assault on your neck, hands gripping your waist rougher. His lips ghost over the shape of your collarbone, dipping to the valley between your breasts. You’re sure he’ll leave a purple mark with the way he’s sucking, but at least he left it in a spot where only he can see.

Jude’s back to kissing you, laving his tongue over yours until you give in, letting him explore your mouth. His hands smooth over your back, resting on the curve of your ass as he molds the flesh in his palms.

He pulls your shorts down along with your panties, now ruined and soaked. The cold air hitting your exposed cunt makes you hiss. You need Jude to do something about it.

“Aren’t you gonna show me as well now?” you coo in his ear, dragging your core on his sweats, spreading your slick on his clothed thigh.

“I’m a man of my word.” With a strong grip on your waist, Jude lies flat on the bed, pulling you on top of him. His hold on you never loosens, only beckoning you higher up his body— and it’s clear what he wants you to do.

You inch higher and higher up his torso, breathing increasingly heavier until you’re hovering right above his face. Nothing has looked more glorious than Jude Bellingham below you, between your thighs.

Jude curses at the sight of you, dripping and bare above him. His eyes don’t leave your pussy, taking his finger and spreading your folds, planting a light kiss on it.

“Fuck.” Your knees buckle at the first contact, hands reaching to steady yourself on the headboard.

“This all for me, baby?” The endearing term doesn’t help with your clouded thoughts.

“Mhm.” You hum in anticipation. “Just for you, Jude.”

Jude’s lips ghost over your core, close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over it. “You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, yeah? Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, wanting nothing more than for him to taste you.

You feel Jude smirk beneath you. “Good girl.”

Jude licks one long stripe up your folds, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself moan. He starts eating you out like a starved man, the tip of his tongue dipping occasionally inside you before retracting.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning and whimpering into your palm, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jude moves to wrap his arms around your thighs, locking you down on him.

He lays his tongue flat over your sopping cunt before moving to encircle your clit with the tip, drunk on how heavenly you taste. You’re a writhing mess above him, hesitant for more in fear or hurting Jude below— but his hold on your thighs push you down further, giving you the green light.

Jude laps your juices, pushing his tongue in and out of you and a steady rhythm the way his fingers the other night. He fucks in and out of you, eyes closed, taking it nothing but your taste and your muffled moans as you comply with his request.

His nose nudges your clit each time he pushes impossibly deeper into you, his palms rough as it travels around your lower body. You hold on with so much restraint, so much self control to keep quiet, but the flames roaring in your abdomen grow larger as Jude only picks up the pace, devouring your pussy.

“Fuck—” Your palm drops from your hand, landing on his head, overwhelmed with pressure. You’re close, Jude knows it. “Jude, I’m close,” you spit through bated breaths.

“Let go for me, babe,” Jude sounds against your folds. “You’ve been so good for me, so fucking good.” His praise is low and soft, and your palm is back on your mouth to bite back the scream as you cum around his tongue.

Jude rocks his head slowly, helping you ride out your high as you regain composure, collapsing against the headboard. He taps your thigh twice, in awe of you panting and undone above him.

“I’ve got you. You alright?” You could only nod, Jude chuckling in response. He leaves one final chaste kiss to your inner thigh, gently dragging you down his body so your face hovers above his.

Jude’s chin is glistening with your juices, spread over his cheeks. You lean in to taste yourself on his tongue, settling comfortable on his torso until you slide down onto his bulge, prominent through his pants. Jude groans into your mouth, shifting below you for more friction.

You trail kisses down his neck, palms dipping below his hoodie to trace his defined abs. “Off,” you demand, and Jude’s quick to pull it up and over him, discarding it carelessly. Jude feels shivers shoot up and down his spine as you run your nails across his toned chest, down to his abs, grazing the skin, a testament to his hard work in the gym.

Your hands dip lower until you palm him through his pants, mouth latching onto the crook of his neck. Jude hisses, shutting his eyes, involuntarily bucking his hips up to meet your palm.

“Let me return the favor.” Your lips ghost over his earlobe, tugging it slightly as you pull away. Your hands make quick work of pulling down the clothing, with Jude standing up off the bed to ease the process, joining his hoodie in some corner of the room.

Getting on your knees on the bed, his hard on is just inches away from your face, imprinted on his Calvins. Jude can sense your hesitation, reaching down to stroke your chin adoringly, slightly jutting it up so you can meet his eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Such a gentleman. You lean forward, pressing your cheek against his crotch, nodding with an amorous glance. Jude lets a stray shit slip from his mouth as you suckle on the tip of his thumb, giving him further assurance.

Your fingers dig into the waistband, pulling Jude’s last piece of clothing down before he’s stood completely bare before you— his cock springing from the restraint and slapping against his belly. He’s big, a size you’re not used to encountering in the past.

You spit onto your palm, still slightly wet from earlier, and begin pumping him in your hands, eyes never leaving Jude’s face. His lips are already caught between his teeth at the stimulation, working to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail to help you out.

Your press a delicate kiss on his tip, laving your tongue over the slit. Jude feels his jaw start to go slack, fully falling agape when you lick a long stripe up his shaft, repeating the motions. He swallows hard, throwing his head back when you start to let him in your mouth.

You start slow, breathing through your nose before pulling away with a clean pop, jerking him off as you recollect your breath. When your mouth is around him again, you begin to bob your head up and down his length, hands taking care what your mouth doesn’t fit.

You hollow your cheeks, laying your tongue flat below his cock, focused on nothing more than giving Jude the best head he’ll ever get in his life. Jude’s restrained groans morph to low moans, tickling your ears with every sound spilling from his throat.

“You take me so well,” he praises, and his words go straight to your core. You rub your thighs together for some sort of relief and Jude curses at the sight. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Jude’s hips start to stutter out of his control, causing you to gag around him, tears building in the corners of your eyes. You hold on to his thighs for support, not needing to move your head as he slowly starts fucking into your mouth. Your other hand is cupping his balls, massaging the flesh.

You feel Jude’s fingers run trace down your neck, landing on the straps of your bralette. He slides them down your shoulders one by one, letting them drape loosely over your arms.

Jude’s movements turn erratic, breathing heavily as he starts to thrust into your mouth with more force that you can feel him in the back of your throat. Just before you couldn’t take more, Jude pulls out, roughly stroking himself, leaving you time to catch your breath.

“Need to be inside you, now.” You smirk devilishly at his wishes, sliding backwards on the bed. Spreading your legs wide, you tease your fingers over your folds. Jude moans at the sight before him, his hand only speeding up.

“How do you want it, baby?” You echo his endearing nickname, and Jude sits against the headboard, patting his thigh, beckoning you over.

“Come ride me.”

You’re back to straddling Jude as he pulls your top off, latching onto your breasts instantly. You throw your head back, grabbing the back of his neck. He swirls his tongue across your hardened bud, tugging it with his teeth before diving back in, working the other with his hand. He licks over the valley of your chest, giving your other the same attention.

Jude’s hands are tough on your waist, lightly pushing you down— and you feel the tip of his cock swipe against your pussy. A stray moan escapes your throat and Jude is quick to silence you with another passionate kiss.

“There’s people in the other room,” Jude warns in between kisses. When he means ‘people’, he means your brother, his best friend.

“I know. I’ll be quiet,” you promise. “Now fuck me, Jude, please.”

“So needy.” Jude lowers you on his cock, letting you warm up to the stretch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting back the filthy sounds threatening to escape. Jude peppers your temple with light kisses, moving you lower until he’s buried deep inside you.

The feeling of Jude inside you sends waves of pure ecstasy rushing through you, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Jude smashes his lips into yours, feeling your ass flush onto his thighs, adjusting to his size.

You plant your palms on his shoulders, lifting off of him completely, encircling your waist so the tip of his length rubs against your clit. With one swift move, you sink back onto him, throwing your head back in pleasure. Jude has to stop himself from finishing then and there, feeling your walls suck him back in and your folds flutter around him.

You start to find a steady pace, moving up and down his cock. Jude’s eyes are struggling to stay open, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, addicted to how you look on top of him— tits bouncing in his face, chest decorated with blusih purple marks, eyebrows furrowed as you focused on getting yourself off on him.

“Jude,” you moan silently.

“Shh,” Jude hushes, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, plunging it onto your mouth. He watches as you stifle your desperate cries around it. “Doing so well for me, pretty girl.”

Jude’s grip on your waist has almost entirely loosened, giving you freedom to move at your own pace. You slam down harder on him with every move, driving silent groans from Jude, until you begin to bounce mercilessly on his cock.

Your thighs start to burn with the rapid movements, and you’re not sure if you can hold out for much longer. Jude senses your fatigue, wrapping his arms around your torso, hovering his mouth in front of yours.

“Need help? Hm?” You nod ferverently, panting into his mouth, begging with your eyes. You’re so close, yet so far.

Jude gently leaves a kiss on your lips, accepting the offer. His hands are back on your waist, halting your movements.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

And so you do, hissing when you pull Jude out, leaving you empty. For a second, you’re staring at the sight of his cock, throbbing and glassy with your slick coating it, dripping down onto his balls. He doesn’t miss where your eyes trail, chuckling when he realizes.

“Look at the mess you made,” he taunts, stroking himself, but nothing could compare with the feeling of your walls around him. Jude juts his head, snapping you out of your trance as you turn around and sit against his cock.

You feel him stroke himself against you, feel him smear your wetness against your cheeks before he roughly takes them in his hands, kneading and spreading the flesh. You arch further into him, rubbing your thighs in anticipation. Jude lands a harsh slap against your ass in response, eliciting a choked gasp out of you.

His palms land roughly against your skin, a second, third, fourth time, pushing you further and further down on the mattress until your face is smuthered against the sheets, ass lifted in the air.

You helplessly squirm under him, only growing wetter at the impact, feeling it pool between your thighs. Jude’s hand lock you in place, the other tapping the head of his cock against your entrance, sending your juices dripping down onto the sheets.

“So fucking wet.” You claw at the sheets, bracing yourself when you feel him press against you. “All ruined for me.” The air is knocked clean out of your lungs when he slams into you, forcing you to bury your face into the sheets.

Incoherent, muffled noises flood from your throat, prompting Jude to only ram into you harder. The sight of you, snappy and brainy, fucked out and wrecked below him is nothing short of a masterpiece to him.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this to happen,” Jude grunts through gritted teeth, “Walking around in those fucking skirts all week.” Another helpless whine out from you, silenced by the mattress.

“And with your brother around, too.” Your head snaps up to the door directly in front of you. Marcus. He’s in his room, doing god knows what, utterly oblivious to what his sister was up to a few doors down. Suddenly, the possibility of him barging in at any given moment becomes very real, but you forget about it immediately when Jude pulls you against his chest by your neck.

“What would Marcus think if he saw you like this? Hm?” he goads.

“You said it was wrong,” you spit back. “Fucking your best friend’s sister.”

“But you can’t get enough, can’t you?” You nod, but Jude’s not giving in. His free hand snakes around your waist, finding your clit and drawing figure-eights on the swollen bud.

“Come on. Use your words.” You can’t think clearly, dizzy at the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, his fingers on your clit, his hand on your throat. You lost all your fight.

“Mhm. I need more, Jude. Please, harder,” you beg, and Jude pushes you back into the mattress, freeing himself of any restraints he had earlier. Your eyes crack open at a particularly rough trust, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“And if he walks in? Sees you bent over for his best friend.”

“Jude.” He feels slick gush around him, coating his cock.

“Taking it so well, too.” Jude angles his hips to fuck deeper into you, hitting the spot that has you seeing stars, knees buckling below him. He’s hooked on your pretty face, sweaty and ruined, trembling with every thrust.

Jude feels your walls spasm around him. “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine between low ah’s and curses under your breath. He twitches inside you and knows he’s not far from finishing either. His thrusts get more sporadic, shallower with every move of his hips.

“Can I? Please?” You look up at Jude with demure eyes, and he knows he can’t say no.

“Make a mess all over my cock, baby.” You collapse on the bed as you finish around him, pressing your face into the sheets to stop the cries leaving your throat, milking his cock dry.

Jude doesn’t slow down, chasing his own high. With whatever energy you have left, you reach around him and hold him in place. He’s confused at first, wondering if it’s too much for you, blinking quickly.

“Cum inside me,” you plead and Jude’s vision goes white, hips sputtering as he feels warm ropes of white shoot deep into you. He fucks his cum into you, and you take the overstimulation for him, feeling so full— full of Jude.

You flip over, basking Jude in all of his glory, sweat trickling down his upper body. Your eyes travel down to where you’re two connected, where Jude is still buried in, seeing the faintest outline of his girth in your abdomen.

Jude collapses onto you and you’re quick to rub his back, letting him catch his breath. “Hey, you okay?” You hear him release a soft grunt in response. It’s usually him checking up on you— how the tables have turned.

Your chests rise and fall in unison, worn out and exhausted. You run your nails up and down Jude’s back, the other hand scratching the back of his neck, where his face is buried into your shoulders. He’s trembling above you.

“I’ve got you, breathe,” you reassure him, planting a kiss on his temple and wrapping your legs around his waist. Jude holds your wrist, interlocking your hands together, setting it beside you.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” he murmurs.

“Or we could just…” You pause, feeling your brain return from its clouded state. “...stay here. Like this. For a while.”

Jude slowly nods, lifting his face to meet yours. He looks at you with wide eyes, warmth filling his chest as your eyes gaze right back at his, heart beating in unison. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’d love that.” Stroking his face, you smile in response. You hold Jude in your arms as you drift off, scared that you’ll never be in the same position once you both leave for the airport tomorrow.

“JUDE BELLINGHAM!”

You choke on your tea, sputtering the liquid out of the cup at the commentator’s roaring voice. It dribbles down your arm, and you set the drink down on the tray as you rush to turn down the volume on your phone. You never realized how passionate American commentators could get for a sport that is so looked down on in their country.

“What! A! Goal!” Then, you see him, all 6 feet of him with tan glowing skin, sculpted muscles, running around the pitch, swarmed by his new teammates.

“Jude Bellingham with an amazing goal assisted by Rüdiger gives Real Madrid a comfortable lead against Manchester United tonight in Houston! The 21 year old scores his first ever goal for the reigning Copa del Rey champs, proving people who may have had second thoughts about his transfer to the Spanish club wrong,” chimes in another commentator.

You can’t help yourself from smiling as the video replays the goal in slow motion, taking a bite of your strawberry shortcake. Looking outside, you spot NRG Stadium twinkling faintly in the dark of the night. It’s been several hours since the match, and you’re back in your hotel room, still in the Number 5 jersey from earlier.

You don’t realize you’ve ingested the morsel of cake, leaving yourself to chew on the fork as you admire how Jude looks doing the one thing he loves the most— playing football. He’s full of fight, full of passion as he gives his all and more on the pitch, a burning desire in his chest to win.

A loud knocking on your door, followed by a bell resonating through the room pulls you to reality. You set down the plate, walking to greet whoever was waiting for you behind at the entrance.

You swing the door open, and who else, if not Jude? His eyes take in the sight of you in his kit, the way it hugs your frame and hangs loosely over your body, being several sizes bigger.

“Look who finally learned how to knock,” you joke, taking him by the hand and pulling him inside.

[ajwinter-is-a-nerd]

Le Chat Et Le Serpent - Chapter 51

Please note that the entirety of this story is a ****TRIGGER WARNING***** - mentions of child abuse, graphic violence, alcohol use, mental health, suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm - basically a constant blow of pain towards the characters - as well as some "steamier" moments.

Chapter Summary:

Luka leaves for China with Nathalie. Nino puts together a party at Adrien's place.

Chapter 51: All is Fair in Love and War

We drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The airport was a never ending chatter of people. A pulsating organism of unbridled chaos. Luka slugged behind Nathalie, unfamiliar with the reduced protocol of flying a private jet. It felt uncomfortable, having people dote on him. Beyond carrying his luggage, it seemed as if everyone was in a hurry to kiss his ass. 

“Luka,” Nathalie turned back to him, “how am I walking faster than you with braces on my legs? If carrying your guitar was so hard, why didn’t you let the staff carry it?” 

Luka rolled his eyes, hoping that his face would indicate his irritation around the mirrored aviator sunglasses he wore. “First, no one else touches my guitar. Second, if you ever start getting too far I’ll pick up the pace. It just doesn’t seem worth working harder to match your speed.” 

Exasperated, Nathalie kept moving forward. She understood why he was on edge, but she wished that he would just keep it together. He seemed to be taking the musician cover too literally. 

It was a strange feeling, not having to wait in a gate; the people at the desk barely even checked his passport. When he entered the airplane, he was reminded of the empty promises Jagged had made to take him on his own private jet. This one matched the description his father had raved on about: leather chairs, plush carpets, and champagne on ice. Hopefully the sting of empty promises of happiness wouldn’t carry over into this aircraft.

His nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by Nathalie’s groans as she pivoted her weight through her palm onto the palm of the chair. Her descent was shaky and strenuous as she tried to lower herself to the chair. 

“Are you okay, Nathalie?” Luka stepped closer, unsure how to help her as she trembled to a seated position. 

“It’s fine, Luka. Let me have the autonomy while I still can.” Nathalie’s serious expression was tinted with despair; it seemed no matter what doctor she saw, her hips kept getting worse. 

Motioning for Luka to sit, Nathalie started pulling items out of her bag and resting them on the round table that was bolted to the floor in between them. She started reviewing their plan as she straightened out the items on the table. 

“So, your manager should be coming soon and he will get you into the recording studio immediately after we land.” Nathalie slid Music Corp.’s contract over to Luka. “We have included clauses for certain creative control and the fact that you can depart at any time.”

“I feel like we didn’t need to take it this far. I could have simply played a few small venues and chalked it up as a tour.” Luka held the contract in his hand, knowing that it meant his life was truly about to change.

“We can’t risk the possibility of Adrien poking holes in our plan. Plus, we both know it’s in your blood.” Nathalie frowned as she spoke, knowing her words were honest, but that they would hurt him nonetheless. 

“You don’t think he’s going to find it odd that I decided to go to China for my first taste of the music industry?” Luka’s eyebrow lifted above his sunglasses. 

“Okay Cory Hart, take off the sunglasses.” Nathalie huffed, tired of looking at a mirror of herself. “And it aligns because it is less expensive in China to lay the foundations of your music career. Recording time is cheaper and we’re able to connect to the mainstream quicker instead of fighting through the politics of Hollywood.” 

“You sound like you really want this music thing to work out.” Luka’s tone was low as he removed his glasses, showing off the thick bags under his eyes.

“Luka. Enough. I’m taking this mission seriously, are you?” She slightly leaned onto the table. 

“How can you even ask me that?” Luka growled at her, unmoved from his slouched position in his chair. “Of course I am. Did you take your last mission seriously? Or did you pass over demon rings to fucking Ladybug?” 

Luka regretted his harsh words as tears started to well in Nathalie’s eyes. 

“You’re right.” She ran her finger along the Agreste logo on the corporate pen she held. “If it wasn’t for my mistake, we wouldn’t be here. But we are. And we have to do our best to fix it, for Adrien.” 

Nodding, Luka motioned for her to continue. He felt apologetic, but wasn’t ready to say it. He was still angry at her. Angry at her for letting it happen. For taking him away from Adrien. He wished it was possible to do all this with Adrien by his side. 

“While you’re recording, I’m going to start visiting my old contacts to see if they know anything. You will need to come with me to the Black Market, which we will do tomorrow. Have you finished reading the information I provided you?” She flicked her gaze up from her agenda to analyse Luka’s response.

“Front to back. Demons, basically indestructible, controlling family, all that fun stuff.” Luka rested his temple against his fingers. 

“You read all of the archives on Adrien’s grandparents? And the notes regarding Amelie?” Nathalie needed to ensure that Luka was coming into their mission fully informed.

“Yes. All of the fun fucked up trauma in the family. Are you ever going to tell Adrien that Felix is his twin?” That part had not surprised Luka, but he was sure it would still surprise Adrien. 

“That is not our primary focus right now. So, we are overly aware of countless ways that we can not destroy the ring; I have considered the cataclysm as a method of destruction, I would like to further study this. However, even with this theory, we will always run the risk of the rings mimicking the force onto it and could be inviting a lethal experiment, not to mention the issue of what happens when they are destroyed.” Nathalie started running her finger over her meticulous list regarding methods.

“Yeah, all hell breaks loose and darkness takes back over the world.” Luka sighed, letting his face fall deeper into his hand. “Confirmed by Sass.” Luka’s voice dropped even lower, hating that he couldn’t refute the concept. 

“Well… hopefully it won’t come to that.” Nathalie held hope that they could find a way to mend what had been wronged. 

“Hopefully we can find a way that doesn’t involve taking Plagg away from Adrien.” Luka turned his face fully into his hand, unable to cope with how difficult that would be on Adrien. 

“We just have to try and get our investigation underway as quickly as possible. We won’t ask Plagg to leave until the very last moment. But there have already been signs. Crops struggling to grow, water behaving abnormally, the skewed balance is starting to affect the environment.” Nathalie held up the print outs of supernatural-themed environmental headlines. 

“If we take Plagg away from him without an immediate solution, you realise we might all have the same fate as the dinosaurs, don’t you?” Luka peered at the headlines, it would make more sense to take Tikki from Marinette, if only it was possible without alerting her to their investigation. 

“Yes, but Marinette controlling destruction, even without the Ladybug Miraculous, may also bring the same fate. If she starts controlling him to an exceedingly dangerous extent, we know that at least Plagg will be able to convince Adrien to give up ownership.” Nathalie tapped her notes. “A failsafe.”

Going after only Marinette was not an option. Beyond the organisation needed, they would always be fighting both Ladybug and Chat Noir. Under control, Chat Noir may not only kill those closest to him, he could accidentally bring forth the end of the world. 

“He-llo Mr. Couffaine!” Luka’s new manager stepped through the plane door. “Name’s Reggie, I’m looking forward to working with ya! You’ve been the chatter of the industry for a while, that song you wrote was outta sight!” 

It takes two to make an accident

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The whole apartment moved. Humid with breath and sweat. People danced without care as they thrived on their temporary moments of beauty. After the scene at the boat, everyone had been able to put it together that Luka and Adrien had been an item; and everyone could see how some of the light left Adrien when Luka left. Nino tried his best to put together a party to lift up Adrien’s spirits, but sometimes, there’s only so much one can do. 

Sitting on top of the bar, Adrien appreciated the scene in his house. But he didn’t feel like part of it. He wasn’t ready to dance his cares away. His clench on the edge of the bar clamped as he saw Zoe walking towards him. Why did he tell Nino it was fine for her to be here?

Shame weighed down Zoe’s steps as she approached Adrien. He was sitting nearly exactly where Luka was the first time she was in this apartment. Her heart pained Luka’s departure, her soul despised how much she’d hurt Adrien, but most of all, she hated that she had been blinded enough to cause a divide in their close knit group. Adrien was never there when she was there and she had the good sense to assume that wasn’t an accident. When Nino invited her, she thought it was finally her chance to make things right.

“Adrien?” Zoe was incredibly intimidated by him, in more ways than one. She definitely would have approached several things a lot more differently had she known earlier. 

“Yes, Zoe?” Adrien’s eyes trailed to Kim, who continued to curse the climbing wall. At this point, you’d think he’d just understand it wasn’t his sport. 

“I’m… I’m really sorry for how things turned out.” She lowered her head. 

Adrien was trying his best to not be bitter. He knew that she wasn’t working alone and that there were multitudes of facets that led to that situation. But every time he said he was fine, he found an uncontrollable urge brewing in his stomach to punch her in the face. What made him the most angry, however, were the parts he couldn’t voice. That she had the gall to tell Chat to back off. The nights of hoping that she would at least make Luka happy, but she never could. Luka left sad, angry, and alone. There was so much she didn’t know. But she infuriated him nonetheless; a symptom of a broken heart.

“It’s not all your fault.” Adrien tried to use short words. He didn’t want to let his emotions get the better of him. 

Zoe nodded, “Yeah, I guess so…” the silent tension continued as Adrien stared forward. Trying to lighten things up, she tried to warmly chide him; she hoped the same comforts that worked on Luka would work on Adrien. “You’re being a real Great Gatsby here!” 

She regretted taking this method immediately. 

“Rich obsessed asshole that can’t let go of a lost love watching people have more fun in his house than him?” He should have stuck with short answers. 

Sighing, Zoe thumbed the tears at her face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Adrien snorted at Kim’s dramatic descent, arching himself like a limp noodle as the rope lowered him down. 

Zoe turned to Adrien’s line of vision, wanting to confirm he wasn’t laughing at her. Kim’s hyper-dramatic feigned moans of torture broke a small smile out of her as well.

“Are you sure about that?” Adrien turned to her, breaking the brief smile that warmed her face. “What happened that night, Zoe?” 

Reeling under Adrien’s stare, Zoe tried to force the events within a couple phrases. “He was just… he was upset about, well… you. And then it just kind of happened.”

Rotating between slow nods and jaw clenching, Adrien considered her statement, and how it seemed to align with what he already believed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you saw how upset Luka was over me and decided that was your best time to go in for the kill?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Zoe put up both her hands, as if she was holding two whiteboard erasers and was clearing off the accusations. 

“No? Because you know what words I’ll never unhear?” Adrien could sense Plagg pushing against his ribcage. 

Regret was oozing through the bright pink of Zoe’s cheeks. 

Adrien continued to learn forward to her, wanting her to know that he heard. “‘Adrien!’ ‘I promise you, he’s not what’s on my mind’. Do you know what that tells me, Zoe?”

Her head dipped. 

“It tells me that you were talking with it immediately before you started kissing him. You know - if it was an actual relationship between the two of you, or you started it on actual decent terms, I wouldn’t have been as angry. But that’s not what happened. You saw that he was drunk and sad and finally made the move that you have been waiting for, for months.” Adrien rubbed his face, hearing the venom in his own voice. He did not want to have this conversation. He did not want to upset Zoe. He couldn’t seem to help himself from letting his hurt and rage pour out. 

“I really thought that he and I had something… I’m sorry that I was wrong. And I’m sorry that I came in between the two of you.” She had the soft voice of a scolded child. 

Sighing, Adrien slightly ceded. As much as he hadn’t wanted to say those things, they took a weight off his chest. 

“Zoe, I didn’t want to have this conversation. I shouldn’t have had this conversation with you. I just really fucking miss him. He obviously wouldn’t have kissed you if things were perfect. I just. I’m struggling. And you just need to give me time to heal.” He rolled his lip in between his teeth as hard as he could, trying to keep it together. Seeing his opportunity to build a bridge, he allowed a soft chuckle, “Don’t offer me a tattoo to heal my sorrows - I would end up getting a portrait of Luka with profanity scribbled over it.” 

Lightning, Zoe gently smirked. “I can even draw a dick on his forehead, if it will help make you feel better.” 

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Adrien genuinely laughed. “Why don’t we just take out the middleman and actually tattoo it on his forehead?” 

Recognizing the shift in energy, Zoe rested her weight against the bar. “Thanks Adrien, I get what he saw in you.” 

“Besides my dashing good looks, right?” Adrien jumped from the bar to swing into a modelling pose. 

“What are they doing?” Marinette watched Adrien and Zoe in shock. 

“Um… My guess is that they’re finally talking about it like adults?” Alya scrunched her face. 

“But, she hurt him! You saw!” Marinette pointed towards them, Zoe was now comfortably laughing. 

“Marinette, just be happy they’re working through their shit. Zoe’s a part of our group just as much as Adrien and that shit was going to tear everyone apart.” Alya was genuinely proud of Adrien, she couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for him. 

“Oh shit-,” Nino crept up behind Alya, “are they besties now? The Luka Heartbreak team?” 

“Ah yes, because trauma bonding is always the best type of bonding.” Alya replied sarcastically.

“I’m part of the Luka Heartbreak team!” Marinette whined, desperately wanting to be included in the club. 

“Well - I’ve seen his Instagram from his tour, I think that club’s going to start getting pretty big.” Alya chuckled. Luka had already posted several shots from inside the studio and around China and his followers were bouncing by the thousands every day. He was about to be a very popular person. 

“Yeah, but that’s different! They’re just fangirling over him, whereas he and I had something real!” Marinette wanted to be part of the special club, not the ‘I followed him on social media’ club. 

“Ah, I understand, you don’t think obsessing over someone from afar truly constitutes a realistic heart break, right?” Knowing exactly the direction Alya was heading, Nino started to creep away, not wanting to hear the rest of her point. 

Marinette responded with a vigorous nod, because of course! It would be so absurd otherwise. 

“So your relationship with Luka was real and your heartbreak over Adrien was menial?” 

“NO! How dare you! Adrien and I are meant to be!” Marinette nearly shouted back. Fortunately for her, only Mylene heard, noted by the slight squeak before she ran back towards the nucleus of the party. 

“I’m just saying, girl. There’s other dick out there.” Alya wasn’t sure how she was supposed to watch over Adrien, but trying to get Marinette away from Adrien seemed like a first good step. 

“Dude, I understand why you don���t date girls.” Nino sat beside Adrien at the bar at the perfect time, considering the conversation with Zoe was starting to run dry. 

Defensively, Zoe pitched in, “Hey! Guys can be real pains in the asses too, you know?” 

Chuckling, Adrien turned towards Nino. “What’s going on with the Alya/Marinette drama now?” 

Nino rubbed his face, slightly pushing up his glasses. “Girl shit. I just - I can’t.” 

“Shh,” Adrien put his hand on Nino’s arm. 

“What? It’s not like-,”

“Shh!” Adrien held up his finger to signify that he was trying to hear something. 

They sat in silence as they listened to the recommended song on the playlist. 

“Adrien and I will be married one day, I swear.” Marinette huffed in unbacked certainty. “You should see the little things he does for me at work!” 

Alya tried to ignore the fact that she had a strong inclination of why he was doing those things for her. “You do know that the thing that made you upset was not being part of the group that all like the same boy , right?” 

Marinette’s face scrunched, but not from offence or realisation, it derived from confusion. When she looked back at Adrien she could tell he was catching the same thing he was. 

“Oh shit - someone should skip this.” Alya recognized the voice, she’d already heard pieces of the song from Luka’s Instagram Stories and it seemed like the exact opposite reason they were all there. They were there to pick Adrien up, not drag him through the mud.

Tears pricked at Adrien’s eyes. How could Luka be so cold and then write a song about coming home? Was it about Zoe? Did Luka actually fall in love with her and he misread the current state of the relationship? That was the only thing that really made sense. 

He should have skipped it. He was intensely regretting trying to listen to it as the room started to shift their attention towards him and Zoe. 

“Do we run?” Adrien turned to Zoe. 

“I mean, we can streak. Nothing distracts people more than streaking.” Zoe kidded. 

“Nino, if I start streaking, will you do it too?” Adrien tilted his head towards Nino, who started taking off his shirt before Adrien finished his sentence. 

“Oh my god. What is my boyfriend doing?” Alya’s jaw dropped as Nino took off his shirt. “No! Marinette! He’s going for the buckle!” 

Adrien followed suit and stripped off his shirt and his pants. Having incited the strange distraction, Zoe snorted as she took off her layers. They looked absolutely ridiculous. Nino was wearing a pair of overworn Carapace boxers. Adrien’s were neon pink with lime green spots, which seemed to strobe as he bounced up and down. And Zoe wore a camouflage sports bra with a farcical Bob Ross pair of panties. 

“AHHHHH!” Nino started the herd. 

They ran through the party, inviting others to do the same - a moment of shared insanity. With a spark of brilliance, Adrien raised his arms like a plane as he veered outside to the massive hot tub; it nearly made it seem as if it had been the plan all along. 

Kim squealed and snapped his black speedo-style underwear as he belly flopped against the water of the tub. Everyone was roaring as they followed close behind. 

All I kept thinking about, over and over, was 'You can't live forever; you can't live forever.'

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

A/N:

Ever since I put Luka with Angel With a Shotgun - it's all I see. I literally cried when I showed my friend that song after explaining the correlation. It's. It's just so perfect. He just wants Adrien to be okay.

SO this chapter was also used as a little review of what we know about the rings so far. There will be some new information that has been discovered about the rings, but this is a brief overview to help you understand why Luka had to leave. Adrien loves him more = more likely for Adrien to die. Marinette can tell Adrien what to do = Adrien can kill everything and everyone he loves (should she catch on to their plan). Cataclysm = chance that the power will still deflect and it will kill the person trying to do it, chance that it will break and fiery darkness escapes, or chance that both things will happen.

Things are going out of order. Honestly, I thought of the Lucifer scene where Ella is looking up statistics of lost socks! But the point remains, there are things that are happening that are "unexplainable" because someone is controlling the destruction and it is not working as a balancing force towards the creation.

In case anyone is wondering, it is mentioned later but it's so small I really don't see it as a spoiler - Nathalie is travelling under the guise of international relations for Agreste Industries. She ensured that Luka's contract had a clause that he could leave when needed to, because Luka wouldn't have signed it otherwise.

I thought they needed a little bit of happiness in Paris! Similar to the one above, we kind of needed to see where everyone was. Alya knows that she is supposed to watch over Adrien - but Marinette doesn't know she knows - so she's still being close(ish) yet keeping her guard up.

God damn Kim and his fucking speedo at the party in the show KILLED me. So I thought this would be a perfect excuse to remind everyone of that pure hilarity of a moment.

-

Exciting things are happening over here - it looks like we have around 13 chapters left (not saying anything in certainty, because I am never certain).

I was so thrilled to be into Part 4, but now it's scary, because it feels like we're so close to the end… And like… I hadn't prepared for that emotion.

-

THANK YOU FOR READING. YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE.

[dreamdemonden]

my personal au/headcanon of Axolotl is very close to the actual god Xolotl for reasons that have to do with having been in similar shoes to Bill but for some reason my brain is now picturing him capable of speaking Spanish as well as Nahuatl , and using this ability only to sing Rata De Dos Patas to his charge

[pennstateuniversitypress]

Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: An excerpt

From Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: Essays by Scott Donaldson

Fitzgerald’s literary standing was at its nadir at the time of his death. He was memorialized in the New York Times obituary as the author of Jazz Age stories of young love—the kind of fiction he could no longer produce in the last of his four decades, and not at all the subject matter of his major novels. But there was a revival in the mid- and late 1940s and early 1950s. The Armed Forces edition of Gatsby, issued free to soldiers and sailors, helped create a new market for his work. Edmund Wilson, his Princeton friend, put together a book incorporating the “Crack-Up” essays with laudatory articles from major figures and interesting selections from Fitzgerald’s notebooks. Wilson also edited an edition of The Last Tycoon, the highly promising but unfinished novel about Hollywood that Fitzgerald was working on during his final years. Malcolm Cowley issued a fine selection of the best short stories in addition to the reorganized version of Tender.

Nonetheless, Fitzgerald did not quickly or easily achieve his eventual status as one of the greatest twentieth-century American writers—someone whose works, especially Gatsby, became obligatory reading in high school and college, along with novels by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Steinbeck. And Tender Is the Night remained undervalued in the literary marketplace for several decades.

Bennett Cerf of Random House and the Modern Library was one of the first publishers to recognize Tender’s extraordinary poignancy. In a 1934 letter to fellow editor Maxwell Perkins, Cerf described it as “a haunting book” that “reestablishes Fitzgerald . . . way up there among the stars.” Cerf also understood why that was true: because of Tender’s capacity to draw readers into the emotional defeat of its protagonist. “I found the end so distressing that it’s been bothering me for two days. Felt I knew Dick Diver personally, and the spectacle of that gal sucking all the insides from him, and then tossing off the empty skin pained me deep down.” Cerf, however, did not see fit to include Tender in the Modern Library series of outstanding books.

The novel’s exquisitely painful ending is by no means merely about Diver’s personal decline and fall. As historian Alan Trachtenberg observed, the struggle involved illusion vs. reality, at the very heart of American myth. Diver’s traditional values and eagerness to do right are no match for the Warrens’ wealth and hardheadedness. “In the final phase of [his] decline, as he more and more just sits and listens, unable to imagine a future, we learn that an incalculable story was telling itself within him”: the story of what might have been, had the illusions he grew up with proved capable of withstanding the power of the “intensely calculated” world that he encounters. Finally, Diver can only survive by passively surrendering, conceding defeat and carrying that untold story with him as he fades into obscurity.

Tender Is the Night is not only, in novelist Malcolm Bradbury’s words, “a great psycho-historical portrait of the age,” but is also as moving an account of a human being’s collapse as has ever been written. Rereading the novel recently for perhaps the tenth time, in the excellent and authoritative Cambridge edition of James L. W. West III, I was carried away by sorrow and sympathy for Fitzgerald’s leading character. So were several of the senior—not college-senior but generationally senior—students in the seminar I was then teaching. Like the poet Weldon Kees, we were “enormously moved by the last pages of Tender in their compression and as a triumph of dealing with years that are too sad to insist upon.” The book, as Kees wrote, is “soaked” in the tragic sense of life.

I’ll share the last word with the critic John Irwin, whose final book was a brilliant study of the theatricality pervading Fitzgerald’s fiction. “A work’s power to break one’s heart,” Irwin concluded, constituted one criterion for judging greatness in literary art. By that standard, and it is a sound one, like Irwin I can think of nothing that ranks above Tender Is the Night.

Fitzgerald and the War Between the Sexes: Essays is available for pre-order from Penn State University Press. Learn more and order the book here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-09395-6.html. Use discount code NR22 for 30% off.

[cherrycocaineee]

17. Min Yoongi - Aftercare

*Warning - mentions of sex, making out* *Slanted, bold words mean that it’s being spoken in Korean.*

*Min Yoongi’s p.o.v*

      The sweet smell of sex filtered out of the room once I cracked the window open, letting the cool air drift through the hot, sweaty room, emptying it out. Hadley’s tired form was covered by the thin sheet, her sweet, bright brown eyes drooping tiredly. Even though she was tired, she still made an effort to smile at me happily. Chuckling, I crawled back on top of the bed and moved over to her. She turned over to her back and watched as I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

 “Let’s get you taken care of,” I whispered against her fleshy, soft, pink lips.

 “You don’t have to, Yoongi,” she replied, “I’ll do it. You should rest.”

 But I ignored her, gently grabbing her shoulders and pulling her upright. The sheet she was using slipped a little, almost revealing her breast. I looked down at them, spotting the reddish, purple marks I had caused to form after assaulting her flesh with my mouth. Her cheeks started to turn a bit red as she caught me staring.

 “Yoongi,” she whined.

 I took the sheet off of her and pulled her into my arms; her naked form brushing against the cloth of my gray sweatpants. Her head pressed against my shoulder; the feeling of her brown, soft hair touching my skin caused me to shiver. I took her into the bathroom and placed her in the tub. The heat from the hot water mixed with the aroma of the bath bomb and bubbles I had added to it. Vanilla and coffee, the two smells that reminded me of Hadley the most, especially when I was away on tour. Kneeling beside the tub, I grabbed the wash cloth I had pulled out and dipped it in the water. Hadley sunk a little lower into the water, a relaxed breath puffing out as she closed her eyes. I could only smile, feeling absolute love and admiration for the girl sitting in front of me.

  I started dragging the cloth over her body and wiping away the sweat that was still clinging to her skin. My eyes watched her breast move up and down as she continued to breathe; her breath was getting heavier and I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or aroused from all of my touching. Not wanting to take the chance of her being asleep in the water, I reached over and shook her. Her eyes fluttered open.

 “Don’t fall asleep,” I hummed, “it’s dangerous.”

 “Yes sir,” she whispered, tiredly.

 I smiled again and continued to clean her up. Once all of her body was cleaned, I moved to washing her hair, pouring a cup of already soapy water over her head. A soft giggle left her lips as the water showered over her.

 “Yoongi,” she said, “come on, you don’t have to wash my hair too.”

 “Let me spoil you, doll,” I hummed in her ear, “I hardly get to do this being away for so long. And aftercare is important.”

 “Oh fine. But tomorrow, I’m taking care of you.”

 I only hummed in response, letting her go back to relaxing instead of talking. I wanted her to enjoy herself. After washing her hair and rinsing her off, I wrapped a towel around her frame and picked her back up, not caring if I got wet. Placing her on the bed, I went over to the dress and grabbed her brush and hair dryer. It wasn’t good for her to have wet hair.

While I blow dried and brushed her hair, I listened to her read from the book she grabbed off her nightstand. The book was called

“The Great Gatsby”

and it was one of her favorite books. Just hearing her voice when she read from the page made me happy. I stopped the hair dryer and leaned over her shoulder, staring at the book’s pages, unable to read them just yet. However, Hadley was teaching me every day how to read and pretty soon I would be able to read the book to her while she was falling asleep.

   Hadley’s brown eyes turned to look at me, her soft, puppy dog stare watching me curiously.

“Everything okay?” She inquired.

 “Yeah,” I whispered, “I’m just admiring the most beautiful girl in the room.”

 “You’re too kind.”

 I nestled my head into the crook of her neck, she turned back and continued to read a little longer while I rested. After a while, I finished drying and brushing her hair then started her skin care routine. Once again, she tried to tell me to let her do it but I ignored her. My baby deserved much more after sex so this was the least I could do for her. Hadley started laughing when I wiped her makeup off.

 “That tickles,” she laughed.

 All I could do was laugh with her. Hadley told me each step to her normal skin care routine while I did it. I was putting a clay mask on her when she climbed into my lap, wrapping her legs around my waist. When I first arrived, she had asked me if I had worked out because I was starting to get thicker and harder around my torso area. I cleaned my fingers off with a baby wipe just as Hadley reached over and grabbed the clay mask.

 “You do one too,” she said, taking a small amount in her hand and starting to put it on my face.

 I let her put the mask on and couldn’t stop myself from smiling. She was amazing. After putting the clay mask all over my face, she wiped her hands clean and set a timer, telling me that we had to leave it on for 10 minutes before taking it off. In the meantime, I watched Hadley go through her photos on Instagram; recently having posted some photos from her recent trip to the beach with a group of her friends. I enjoyed looking at the photos of her. Soon, she asked me to see the photos from my trip back home. So I showed her the ones I took, and some of the ones Jungkook and Hoseok took of me when I had my hands full.

  We were so content with what we were doing that the sound of Hadley’s alarm going off made us jump. She reached over and grabbed her phone, pressing the off button on her alarm. The two of us headed into the bathroom again and started rinsing off the clay mask that now felt like a sticky paste, ready to be taken off.

 Hadley used warm water to rub the clay off her face, her fingers moving in swift circles. I followed in her footsteps and did the same, watching her as she made sure to get every spot and carefully moving around her eyes and mouth so the clay didn’t touch there. Once all  the clay was gone, she dabbed her face gently with a soft towel, her name printed on it, then handed it to me so I could do the same. I started rubbing my face when she stopped me.

 “No silly,” she smiled, “dab, don’t rub.”

 Nodding my head, I started dabbing the water off my skin; her fingers still lingering against my skin as I did so. Our eyes locked. Setting the towel on the counter, I grabbed her hands and moved closer to her, my lips becoming incredibly close to hers.

 “I love you,” I said to her.

 “I love you too,” she said.

 My lips collided with hers, moving softly at first but then getting rougher with each passing second. Hadley’s arms wrapped around my neck as mine wrapped around her waist. I lifted her up, placing her bare ass on the counter top, our lips never disconnecting. Her small fingers tangled themselves into my hair as she moaned into my mouth. I slid my hands down to her thighs and squeezed, causing her to gasp leaving an opening for me to slip my tongue in. She moaned a bit louder when she felt my tongue exploring the inside of her wet cavern.

  Because of the lack of air, I had to pull away, panting and watching the small drip of drool pull from between us. My lustful eyes staring into her submissive eyes. Not a single word left our lips, but we were interrupted by the sound of my phone going off. Groaning, I removed my hands from her thighs and headed out of the bathroom to see who was interrupting my time with Hadley. Hadley followed soon after, grabbing one of her t-shirts from her drawer and throwing it on, not bothering to put on any panties, and climbed into bed.

I pressed the answer call, seeing that Jungkook was calling, and pushed the screen to my ear.

“Jungkook, why are you calling?”

I asked, stealing a quick glance at Hadley, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep yet.

 “I was told to see when you’re coming home,”

he replied,

“we have a big photoshoot tomorrow, so no one wants you to be late.”

 “I’m not coming back home tonight. I’m spending the evening with Hadley.”

 It was almost silent on the other end as Jungkook was relaying my message to whoever wanted to know my whereabouts. A few moments passed and Jungkook came back to the phone.

 “Okay, just make sure that you’re here before noon. That’s when the photoshoot is.”

 “Alright. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Goodnight, tell the others goodnight too.”

 “Goodnight, hyung. Tell Hadley I said goodnight! Bring her to the photoshoot tomorrow if she can come.”

 I wasn’t able to get another word out because Jungkook hung up quickly. Sighing, I placed my phone on the dresser and turned to see Hadley laying in bed, her eyes closed. Smiling, I climbed under the covers with her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She looked up at me.  “Goodnight, Yoongi. Thank you for taking care of me.”  “Goodnight, my love. I’ll always take care of you.”  With that, the two of us fell asleep in each other's arms. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of us breathing and the wind drafting through the room, still ridding the air of our previous sexual encounter. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was able to sleep peacefully. Not worrying about the manager walking in and telling me to get up, or the others walking in to wake me up so I can fix something. I could just sleep with the girl I loved. And I couldn’t picture anything better.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter One / Americano

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Working a dull December morning shift, you meet a seemingly disgraced DEA agent by the name of Javier Peña.

Warnings: Language, talk of death and canon-typical Narcos violence

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: YOU GUYS i am so excited to share this story with you all!! i fuckin love Javi and coffee so this features my two favorite things! big thanks as always to my beta readers for helping me out- especially with chapter 2 (which i was stuck on for 3 weeks lol). I hope you guys enjoy! this story has some twists I don’t think y’all are gonna see coming ;) I’m planning to update this fic once a week! I just wanted to get chapter one out there :)

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Americano: espresso and hot water; has a similar taste to a brewed coffee, but still darker and more caffeinated thanks to the espresso. 

Work is blissfully slow on weekdays, allowing you to putz along at your own speed. Today, however, is boring as hell. You’d had approximately seven customers since the morning rush, meaning about seven drinks to make. There weren’t even tables to clean, no customers having sat in the cozy coffeeshop. You and your coworker had joked around, swept and mopped, and cleaned the espresso machines twice each. 

At this point, with nothing else to do, you sipped your third peppermint mocha while perched atop two stacked milk crates, leafing through your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It was a common occurrence when evening rolled around, but rarely so early in the day. Since you were the one on barista duty, Mandy kept watch for customers and allowed you to relax with your book. It was routine for the two of you. She mindlessly fusses with the product wall and the coffee grinder, cleaning everything for the third time.

The door opens and you pop up from your makeshift chair excitedly. The weather is blustery and cold, with heavy snowflakes starting to fall outside the large windows, and the man who enters is pulling his jacket tight around himself. He looks up and you quickly dodge behind the espresso machines before you can make eye contact. It’s instinctual, and you’re unsure why until your brain reminds you of the man’s face. He’s handsome, even though you got maybe a second’s look at him. Dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, eyes an even darker shade to complement his tanned skin. 

You bite your lip and grab a large ceramic mug, bringing it to the espresso machine. No one would be crazy enough to order a cold drink in this weather. Mandy takes his order and a few seconds later, his receipt pops up through the printer at your end of the shop:

Ticket 114 - 12/3/93

Name: Javier

LG-Redeye

!memo: darkroast

Javier. The name suits the man, you think to yourself and smile as you begin prepping the espresso for his drink. As you walk to Mandy’s station to fill the mug with drip coffee, she smiles and nudges your side. “Isn’t he cute?” She murmurs. You look at the printed ticket then at the coffee warmers: there’s no dark roast. 

“Very,” you giggle a little and fill the mug with light instead. He’s seated in the corner. “I call dibs,” you tease, and Mandy shakes his head. She’s married, but she knows your type, and it’s exactly the man sitting there, staring at a newspaper.

“Yeah, okay,” she shakes her head but smiles at you. “No wedding ring either. I think you should bring his drink to him instead of calling out the order.”

Staring down at the filling mug, you shake your head. “We’ll see,” you chuckle softly and return down to your end of the bar, pouring the two shots of espresso. “Javier?” You call in your barista voice, and the man lifts his head and walks to the bar.

“That’s me,” he says, a small begrudging smile on his face.

“Hi,” you chuckle and hold up the mug. “We’re out of dark roast right now, so I had to use light. Could I put some flavoring or cream or sugar in there for you?” You offer. “Otherwise, I can most definitely make you something else. An americano maybe?”

He pauses for a second. “Yeah, an americano would be great,” he nods. “What kind of flavors… are there?” he asks. 

“Oh, we have a ton,” you say enthusiastically, grabbing the syrup rack and pulling it your way. “Any of these. Hazelnut, vanilla, raspberry,” you smile, rattling off the flavors, “otherwise we also have caramel and any flavor of chocolate.”

Javier raises an eyebrow as he looks at the small display. “Never been somewhere with so many options. Could I do dark chocolate and cream?” He asks, and you nod.

“Of course,” you tell him, dumping the previous mug and grabbing another. “I’ll have that right up for you. You can head back to where you were sitting,” you inform him.

He shakes his head. “I can wait here. Save us both a trip.”

You nod. “Sure,” you say with a smile, prepping more espresso. “The redeye and americano are pretty different in caffeine though, the americano is going to have more since there’s more espresso.”

“I just need as much caffeine as I can get. Tough day ahead,” he nods. 

“I’ve been told bartenders and baristas are wonderful ears to listen,” you offer, a sweet smile on your face.

His guard has fallen like a wrecking ball through a house of cards at the way you smile. “Well, I’m with the DEA.” It feels strange, openly admitting that around here. Colombians weren’t exactly welcoming to American agents, but it felt like citizens around here saw them as some kind of superhero. 

Your eyes light. “Shouldn’t it be a fantastic day for you then?” you ask. “I mean, it’s all over the news. Escobar. Do you know the guys in the photo?” You ask with excitement in your voice.

He nods. Escobar was killed yesterday, and it’s all over the news, including the paper back at his table. “Yeah. The blonde guy in the red shirt is actually my work partner. It’s a tough day because I didn’t get to be there when it happened. I’ve been down in Colombia for years now, and they catch Escobar two days after I leave.”

The smile on your face turns to a frown. “That’s… awful,” you nod, eyes full of sadness for him. “I’m so sorry. At least it must be nice to be home?” you ask, tilting your head slightly and pouring the espresso shots into the mug.

He shakes his head. “D.C. isn’t home. I’m from Texas,” he admits, and the way he speaks finally registers as a slightly slowed speech pattern from the area. “I’m happy for Steve though. The blonde one, my partner. He deserves it. We’ve been down there for… Jesus,” he sighs and looks at the ceiling as he counts the years, “well, a while now. Couple of years. I fucked up, bad. Honestly, I think I’m up here to get fired.” 

You frown slightly as you pump the chocolate into the hot espresso and water, swirling it around with a spoon. “You worked on Escobar for years?” you ask, and Javier nods. “Well, then I personally doubt you’d be getting fired. You guys just caught him, everyone must be in a good mood. I guess it depends on how bad you fucked up,” you shrug as you tap the spoon into the sink and bend down to grab the cream.

“I… do you know who Los Pepes are?” he asks. You shake your head as you stand, pouring some cream into the steaming drink. “Well, they’re a radical group who did some crazy shit to try to weaken Escobar, and I got involved with them. I have a meeting today with the review board.”

You finally make eye contact with him, wincing for him. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound great,” you admit with a chuckle, putting the cream back in the little refrigerator beneath you. 

“It’s not.”

“It’s not necessarily why you got called up here,” you shrug and grab a saucer, putting the mug on top of it and on the bar for him to take.

“Well, I don’t know, I suppose,” he agrees and takes the drink from you.

You shrug. “Best of luck, Javier,” you tell him with a genuine smile of encouragement.

He nods, looking at your name tag attached to your apron. He murmurs your name before looking back up at your face and into your eyes. “Thank you.” He takes his drink and returns to his table, and you sigh and return to your makeshift chair in the corner. 

Mandy pulls up two crates next to you, sitting down across from you with gleaming eyes. “Did it go well? You two talked for a while,” she asks, raising her eyebrows and encouraging you to tell her more.

“A little, but just… how I would with anyone, I guess,” you shrug as you sip your mocha for a moment, drinking the last of the warm coffee. “Not like I got his number or anything.”

“He’s sitting down to drink his coffee. Go offer him a refill when he’s done.”

“That would require me to stare at him, Mandy, and I think he’d notice that,” you shake your head as you stand to make yourself a new drink. 

She stands with you, pushing the crates out of the way. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you. I’ll signal to you when he’s done or getting low on coffee, and you can bring him a refill. How does that sound?” she asks you.

You nod with a sigh. “Since you’re apparently not going to let this go, fine. I will.” 

Mandy claps her hands together excitedly. “Yay!” She sings. “Oh, will you make me a drink while you’re at it? I’ll have a-”

“Skim hazelnut latte with no foam and light whip,” you recite before she can finish her order.

“You’re a babe,” she sings and heads over to clean the tables that haven’t even been touched since she wiped them an hour ago. 

You make her drink and set it aside, then work on your own, fourth coffee. The peppermint and the coffee swirl together deliciously in the air, fitting the weather and the time of year. It’s December, and the snow outside and the warm feeling from the man across the coffee shop contrast in your heart. You sneak glances at him a couple of times, biting your lip to hold back a smile as you admire the handsome face peeking above the newspaper he reads. 

About ten minutes later, you look up from cleaning the machines to see Mandy tucked behind a wall where he can’t see her. She’s frantically waving at you, pointing towards Javier once she catches your attention. Go, she mouths excitedly, beaming at you. 

You wipe your hands on your apron and walk to where she stands. “Fine, I will, but you’re making the drinks if anyone else comes in.”

“Oh no, how will I handle it?” She asks in a deadpan, eyeing the shop that’s empty except for the two of you and Javier. “Go,” she says, giving you a light shove and giggling.

You shake your head but walk over, placing a hand lightly on the table. “Coffee’s looking low. Could I get you a refill?” you offer.

Javier looks up at you, and you feel like turning to jelly as you look into his big brown eyes, filled with confusion but also admiration. He furrows his brow, creating small creases between his eyebrows. “Uh… sure. How much is it?” he asks, reaching for his wallet and setting down the newspaper.

You put a hand on his arm, giving a gentle smile. “You need it. It’s on the shop,” you tell him.

“No, seriously, what, like $5?” he asks, but you put a hand over his. 

“No, Javier,” you chuckle lightly. “Don’t worry about it. Another americano with chocolate and cream?” you ask.

“Uh… make me whatever you like best. And bring one for yourself too.” He says, well, really asks, nodding to the empty chair across from him. “It’s not too busy to talk, is it?”

You swallow hard before you break into a grin. “No, not at all. Uh… do you like peppermint?” you ask. 

“Peppermint is good,” he says, giving you a small smile.

“Perfect,” you smile softly at him, picking up his empty mug and saucer. “We have a peppermint mocha, it’s seasonal. It’s my favorite, I’ll be right back with them,” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip as you turn and walk back to the bar. 

You’re hidden behind the espresso machines as you finally grin and giggle, and Mandy rushes to your side. “Oh my God,” she laughs happily. “He’s so hot. What were you guys talking about?”

“He asked me to sit with him,” you giggle excitedly, preparing four espresso shots. 

She nearly squeals with excitement, grabbing your arm closest to her. You scoop some chocolate chips and pour milk into a pitcher, putting it under the steam wand. “Holy shit. What has he told you so far? What’s his story?”

“Well, he said he’s a DEA agent. He’s on leave from work right now, but the guy in the red shirt in that picture of Escobar after they killed him? That’s his partner,” you tell her, letting the excitement speed your words up. “He’s been in Colombia for a couple of years working on it. Isn’t that cool?” You laugh. 

“So cool,” she nods in agreement. “And he’s so fucking cute. Girl, you need to get your ass back there before I steal him myself.”

You laugh as you pour the shots and then the steamed milk into the mugs. “I’m trying, but you holding onto one of my arms is holding me back, love,” you tease her and she breaks away. You top both mugs with a perfectly peaked whipped cream layer, then sprinkle candy cane pieces and chocolate chips on top. “Wish me luck,” you practically sing as you walk back with a mug for each of you.

Javier’s holding back a grin himself as you make the drinks. He can see your head bobbing along behind the bar, the other woman chatting with you. He’s more transfixed than you than he should allow himself to be, but all fears fade as he sees you approaching with a grin and two large, whipped cream-topped drinks.

You set the drink down in front of him and he smiles at you. “Wow. This…” he looks down at it and smiles a little. “Well, it looks sweet.”

“I have a sweet tooth,” you admit with a soft laugh and sit down, taking a sip and sighing softly. “It tastes like winter. I love it.” He nods and takes a sip too. It’s sweet, but not as bad as he expected. “I added extra espresso to yours,” you tell him, a shy smile on your face. 

“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckles and sets it down, licking the foam off of his mustache. 

You smile a little wider at that and hold back a laugh. “Did you want to talk about the meeting?” you ask him, tilting your head, your expression softening.

Javier’s already falling, and he curses himself as he looks at you. Not a thought except him. He’s already thinking of a sly way to get your number. “No, not really. I just spilled basically my entire life story to you.”

“Then you’ve had a very short and boring life. That was hardly anything. I’ve had customers come in and cry over divorces or lost family members; the whole job situation was mild,” you chuckle and admit, tracing the rim of the mug with your fingertips and staring down at the steaming drink.

“Really? You seem like a therapist and a barista in one,” he teases lightly.

“Well, I did just graduate with a Masters in psychology,” you shrug. “I just graduated with it from Georgetown. That’s why I’m here,” you tell him and look up. “Working here part-time while I decide what I want to do.”

“No shit. I did my undergrad in psych and sociology,” Javier says with a small smile, making your smile grow too. “Texas A&M though. Nothing as prestigious as Georgetown.”

“A&M isn’t anything to sneeze at,” you chuckle as you look over at him. His eyes are deep-set, deeper than they probably normally are. They’re bloodshot and hold bags beneath them. After a breath, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “You look tired. I don’t know you normally, I understand. Maybe you shouldn’t finish this,” you tell him with a concerned smile, scooting his mug towards you. “Too much caffeine.”

“No, I need it, please,” he says, tugging it back and sipping at it again. “Just… until after this meeting. Then I’ll know what my future holds, then I can rest.”

“What time is it at?”

“5:00.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t have any plans tonight,” you say gently, looking at him with a question in your eyes. “Would you like to get dinner? Talk things out, once you know what your future holds?” You offer, a soft smile and hopeful eyes. “I already know enough about you. This could be practice therapy for me,” you tease softly.

Javier thinks for a second, though he knows what the answer will be. At least pretends to think, surprised that you could hear all he had said about Los Pepes and working in Colombia and that you still offered. “I’d like that,” he nods, his voice soft when he looks at you. “I don’t know the area well. You’ll have to tell me where.”

“Do you have a car up here?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. “I can pick you up,” you offer. “Where are you staying?”

He grabs a napkin and pats his pockets for a pen. You hand him the paint pen tucked on your apron and he quickly thanks you before writing down the address to the hotel. You take the napkin and the pen and grab another napkin. “And this…” you say and write down your phone number, sliding it to him, “is where you’ll call me when you’re ready for me to come get you. Okay?” You ask.

Your voice is so soothing, Javier thinks. More than sleep or reassurance or even a hit of Escobar’s private stash or really anything could be to him right now, it’s a comfort. You must be a miracle, he thinks, some kind of blessing for something he isn’t quite sure of, but he must have done something right in the eyes of the Almighty to be here, right now, talking with you. “You know, I was raised Catholic,” he tells you and leans in a little. “I don’t know that I am anymore. But still… I think you might be an angel in disguise.”

Biting your lip, you giggle and look down. “I don’t know about that,” you chuckle as you look up at him again. “Just… right place, right time, maybe. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” you ask him, placing your hand over his and standing.

Javier nods as he looks up at you. “How should I dress?” he asks and tilts his head. His eyes are so expressive, you notice and smile a bit. They betray exactly what he’s thinking.

“Um… what you’re wearing now would be fine. A button down and jeans would work,” you tell him with a nod, patting his hand and picking up your mug. “I’ll see you then. Good luck,” you tell him with a sweet smile and retreat to the back. Javier can’t say anything in return, just sips his peppermint mocha.

Three minutes later, you return with a muffin. “Eat this. You can’t have all that caffeine and no food.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and looks down at it. You’re gone when he looks back up, and he breaks off a piece. What a weird day. It’s only about to get weirder.

-

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[heshoes]

She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.

Warnings: smut, slow burn, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse

Harry Styles x OC (Face claim Zendaya)

Uni Daze Masterlist

Chapter 2 ( Word Count 6.7K )

Harry

My school day was absolutely long but it kept me busy and busy to me is a good thing. It keeps me balanced though I know Chelle would disagree since he keeps telling me as such over the phone.

"The only reason you think that trying to fit 72 hours in a 24 hour day is a balance is because of your parents. Just because they're work driven arseholes doesn't mean that you have to follow in their footsteps.”

"That's impossible to do, I don't work that much. My parent's aren't arsehole's they're just successful. Is that so wrong to want success?”

"It is when its your last year of uni and you're being a kill joy.”

"I said I would go out for drinks, Chelle. How is my compliance to something that I don't want to do being a kill joy?”

"Because you're not doing it with a smile. You've become boring. Your sex life and your regular life has turned about as vanilla as a middle aged man. We never had to beg you to come out last year or over the summer, Harrow. Think of it as a week of extended holidays. No one does anything the first week of classes anyway. It's all rules and instructions on how to prepare. We've been in uni for three years. We should know the jist of it by now.”

"But it's not summer anymore, Chelle and you know some professors like to give assignments in the first few days. We have two papers already in seminar for fucks sake.”

Michelle sighed in annoyance.

"Yeah, but, those aren't due for ages, Haz. Fun is due right now.”

"This is the year to pull your shit together. Everyone can't not study and get perfect marks like you. Sorry.”

"The phrase 'can't not' is a double edged sword.”

"What?" I spun around in my desk at work, handing a first year her keys. Its only the first day and she's already lost her keys and has to use her spare for a fifty pound charge. She looks nervous as well and her face is kind of red. She grins at me and says a shy 'thank you' before walking away, staring back at me and kind of tripping over her own feet on her way to the lift. I tried not to laugh, but honestly it was kind of funny.

"You know, a double edged sword? A double negative?You can't say 'can't not' next to each other in a sentence. It's repetitive of itself. You should be embarrassed. This is primary school stuff Harrow. Mr. “I have to take the UKCAT this year.”"

"Whatever Chelle! See? That's what I mean. I need a balance. I need to be able to be involved in school. I should have taken it more serious when we first started out.”

"You do realize balance means a good amount of your job, school work, AND a social life which includes parties and pubs and going out with your mates without a grumble?”

"I'm going out for drinks tonight! You're starting to piss me off."

"If the truth is anything it's annoying, Harry." I nodded my head and began to swivel around in my chair. I'd just gotten to work and had three and a half more hours to go. I'm glad I have a job and all but this one is fucking boring.

Speaking of truth.

"Do the boys know about your um...your new team?”

"No. Actually they don’t."

Oh.

“Oh?"

"Yeah, um, I was hoping that it was something that we could keep between me and you for now. Just until I can figure things out. I'd love to say that I'm for sure just this one thing. I know I said it this morning, but I'm still not sure, okay?”

"Yeah. Sure, of course." I stopped spinning in my seat and dizzying myself when I heard my manager's voice,"Look I've gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone and my boss is coming.”

"Oh so there is some rebellion left in you? You're living on the edge now, Hazland. Why can't you use your phone? All you do is sit in a chair and answer phones and make people keys when they lock themselves out of their dorm.”

"Bye Michelle!" I quickly hung up the phone and stuck it into my pocket smiling awkwardly at Professor Forrester as he approached the front desk with someone else right next to him. She had on a Cambridge work shirt much like myself letting me know that I more than likely wouldn't be alone for the rest of my shift.

"Rion, this is Harry," Professor Forrester spoke to her before addressing me, "today is her first day here at the university and working. I told her that she would be in good hands if I left her here with you. Show her the ropes and maybe show her around campus when you're not at work? I've got to go," Professor Forrester turned to face the new girl before he nodded back at me, "any questions you have, ask him. He'll know all of the answers.”

She nodded her head up and down slowly before giving a shy grin and we were left alone as Forrester left the building.

“Hi."

“Hello."

"I'm Harry.”

She laughed to herself before nodding her head at me.

"So I was told. Nice to meet you.”

Rion, I think her name was, sat down in her seat next to mine after speaking back to me, lowering her rucksack down to the ground before pulling out a book. It was a good idea really. Maybe I should have brought one? I barely get the chance to read, especially living with Michelle. She always finds a way to interrupt, either that or my ADD kicks in, all the more reason for me to put in more effort at school. I took out my phone once I knew that Forrester was gone, but I really had nothing to do with it. I had no new text messages besides Michelle.

Chelle: Drinksssssss 🍻🍺🍺🍺🍻🍻🍻😉

I grinned before shaking my head and replying back to her, something just as stupid as she sent me.

To Chelle: Tortureeeeeeee😣🔫🍺😒

Chelle: Dramatic!

Ignoring her last text, I took out my earphones and turned up the music on my phone as I placed them in my ears. I suppose it was a bit loud because out of the corner of my eye I could see Rion scrunching her nose while she tried to read.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you.”

"No disturbance, I was just trying to figure the tune. Runaway?”

“Wh-what?"

She laughed before she pointed to the phone in my hand and repeated herself.

"Is that Runaway by Ed Sheeran?”

I nodded my head, not able to stop the stupid grin that cut across my face.

"You know Ed Sheeran that’s not on top 40?”

"Who doesn't? The man's a musical genius.”

She smiled at me before she turned back to her book, but I couldn't help but to keep talking to her.

"What school did you used to go to? Um, if you don't mind me asking…"

"Nope, don't mind at all. I used to go to Bristol Uni. How about yourself? Have you been at Cambridge all of your university career?”

I nodded my head and she looked impressed, but I'm sure she wouldn't be if she knew that I was a legacy and that I slacked off for the first three and a half years. Good thing that I'm getting my shit together now.

"Yeah, it’s alright here.”

"Just alright?”

"One of the best alrights I guess. Welcome to Cambridge and congratulations.”

"Thank you.”

I smiled at her and the conversation was on the verge of ending, but before I stuck my other ear bud in I paid closer attention to the book that she had in her hand.

"Scott Fitzgerald."

"Pardon?" Rion raised an eyebrow at me.

"That's F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

She raised her book showing me the spine, shocked that I hadn't seen the cover but still got the author right.

"You know F. Scott Fitzgerald?" She smiled at me while relaying my words back to me.

"Who doesn't? The man was a written genius. Not to mention that the book you're reading happens to be one of my favorites.”

She smiled again.

"Usually people only notice Fitzgerald if The Great Gatsby is involved." She turned her chair towards mine giving me a better view of her.

"Gatsby is a classic, but I think that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has more character.”

We continued to talk and before I knew it the shift was over. No one else needed keys and the phone barely rung. I probably would have stayed beyond the time that I was supposed to get off talking and creating awkward conversation with Rion had it not been for Michelle's reminders:

Chelle: Tonight is gonna be fun 😊

Chelle: You're off work in 1⃣5⃣ min🎉🎊

Chelle: I'm gonna get you so fucked up!😝

Chelle: I'm excited 😬

To Chelle: No 💩. Too excited I reckon 😐

I laughed to myself as I gathered my things to leave the building, not fully believing that I allowed Michelle to talk me into drinking tonight, even though part of me knew that I wouldn't be able to break tradition. Rion put her book away, that she never really got into reading and followed behind me out the door and to the parking lot. She seemed cool from what I got to know about her in the amount of time that I did and since she's new, I figure that it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Hey, a couple of my friends and I are getting together tonight to The Mill. Its a pub right up the road on Mill lane, if you're not busy, you should, um, you should come.”

"Mill pub? On a Monday?”

"Yeah, it's kind of a tradition that we started when we started here." I rub my shoulder as I wait for her answer. I don't know why I feel nervous about it but I do.

"It sounds like fun, but I shouldn’t, not tonight at least. I wouldn't be able to bear it if I missed class tomorrow because of a hangover, and I kind of also have plans.”

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it like you didn't have anything else to do or-”

"No it's fine it's just... I have a date.”

"Right. Sorry again.”

"I'll see you around though I hope?”

"Yeah, I'll see you at work.”

Rion nodded her head while giving me a content smile before she got into her car and as she pulled off, she waved to me. I waved back but as soon as her car was out of sight, I slapped myself in the face with the palm of my hand. Maybe six months is too long to go without any type of real interaction with the opposite sex besides Michelle, but honestly she doesn't count...or maybe she counts for both now?

I cleared my head of my thoughts as I got into my car that I feel like I'm too tall for. Even with the seat pushed down as low as it can go, I still can feel the top of my head brush against the roofing of it. By now I'm sure I've saved up enough to get a new one. A new car could be my mini treat to myself for cutting myself off from a social life. The more that I think about the way that my conversation with Rion just ended the more that I start to agree with Michelle and the more excited I get for the night of boozy tradition.

As soon as eleven thirty-five hit, my phone rang. When I answered it Michelle's voice came through clear as if she were sitting here next to me in the car, even though background noise and music blares in the room around her.

"Everyone is here but you. Are you en route?”

"Everyone?" I ask her with skepticism in my tone. I would be shocked if everyone showed up.

"Yes everyone. Niall, Darragh, and Zayn. Everyone but you. Are you on your way?”

I don't know why I even asked her if everyone would be there. I knew that Louis wouldn't show even though it was him and Darragh who started this tradition..

"Yeah, I'm on my way. This should be fun.”

"That's the spirit I've been looking for Harrow. It sounds like you've had a change of heart since earlier.”

"Yeah, I think I've been looking at my textbooks too long and not at real people. One night won't kill me I suppose.”

"If one night is done right, then yes, yes it will. And what do you mean you don't see real people? I see you everyday.”

"You're not a real person, Michelle. I'm not quite sure what you are yet.”

"I think I might have an idea by now." Michelle said while chuckling on the other end of the line.

"And what would that be?”

"Getting lucky tonight. Get here soon and I can be your wing-lady.”

The pub was in the early stages of being crowded when I got there and I couldn't deny how excited I was to see the boys, Michelle included even though I saw her only just this morning. The last time that we were all together was in the middle of June, but after that we really hadn't had time to hang out. Everyone had gotten busy and into their own things. Besides keeping in touch over the phone occasionally, we haven't really talked that much either.

The first person that I saw when I got in was Niall. He sat next to Darragh with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting down his jeans in search of a lighter no doubt. When we made eye contact, he stuck his arms out to the side with his fingers spread wide and a smile on his face. Darragh looked at him as if he lost his mind until he followed Niall's line of vision and then quickly stood from his seat.

"Harry! How are you lad? Drinks are on Liam so order the most expensive thing possible.”

I received two claps on the back from each of them when I reached the table and then a smack on my ass that made me jump and then turn around find the guilty culprit. I should have known who it was straight away.

"Chelle! That actually hurt.”

She laughed at my discomfort with some kind of frothy drink in her hand as I grabbed my bum cheek and rubbed it over my jeans.

"Probably because there's barely any meat there to cushion the blow.”

I shook my head at her and squinted my eyes before I responded, "It's not about what's back there, its all about what's in the front. Girls don't date me for my bum.”

“Well, according to you, girls don't date you at all, not recently at least.”

Niall and Darragh started to laugh and a stream of smoke came through Niall's nose reminding me of an angry bull from a cartoon before he took another drag from his cigarette, this time intentionally blowing a ring of smoke before sucking it back in through his nostrils. I probably could have strangled Michelle in that moment, but it was true. My mind goes back to Rion and work and I can feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Mitch told us about your six month drought.”

"Stop calling me Mitch!”

Niall ignored Michelle's outburst before continuing, "She says you haven't gotten laid since your birthday.”

"Do you know what a penis fly catcher even looks like anymore?" Darragh added to Niall's teasing causing my nose to scrunch.

"Penis fly catcher?”

"Yeah, it's better than what you call it. What do you say again? Bajango?”

"No Darragh," Niall cuts in, "Django was a movie. He says bajingo. It makes sense to me.”

Michelle scrunches her nose in disgust and confusion at our conversation but doesn't say anything. Really though, what more could be added to this?

"It's not that big of a deal guys." I bring the conversation back to where it was before it drifted into a dark place so quickly. It can't be that bad. Can it? Perhaps it is? I don't even know at this point anymore.

"Oi leave him alone," Zayn chimed in as he walked up to the table with Liam with two beers in hand, passing me one before he sat down, "its alright Harry sex isn't everything...but six months is a long ass time. But enough about that. What has everyone been up to?”

It was almost like a show and tell as we went around the table talking about what we'd missed out on over the summer since we hadn't seen each other. Niall and Darragh went to Ibiza for the month of July staying in hostels and partying until all hours of the morning. Apparently Niall is in love with a girl he met there, but he doesn't remember her name so I don't know how accurate that is

Zayn spent a good amount of time in France with his girlfriend, sorry, fiancé. The fucker got engaged in France. Everyone thought that he and Daphne were gonna be a short lived thing since they met at a club and all, but people find love and fall in it in mysterious ways I guess. Michelle would be a prime example of that...but love is not involved with her apparently. A player not to be played anymore. I still have questions to ask her about that but I guess I'll have to wait until later since she doesn't want the guys to know that she's traded outies for innies. I could out her like she did me and my drought, but that's way more personal and I've decided that I'm not that much of an asshole, if I'm one at all that is.

Liam was arrested and his parents flipped out. For what I'm kind of scared to ask, but I'm sure it was something accidental. Sometimes I wonder how Liam even got into Cambridge, but I guess that they don't test for common sense, only book smarts.

When it got to Michelle's turn, she just talked about how she flew back home for a few weeks at the very start of summer to visit family and then came back here, but of course that's not anything that I didn't already know. When she came back was when I noticed all of the girlfriends that she had. It was odd to me because Michelle generally hated girls and hanging out with them, but then again, she obviously doesn't hate them that much.

When I told them that the most exciting part of my summer had been joining a book club for some work that I had to get ready to do for senior class, studying for the UKCAT that's not until the end of the school year, and sometimes coming here to Mill pub with Michelle I realized that what she said was true. My life had become vanilla, but I'm honestly kind of alright with it.

We continued to talk, share, laugh and drink until it was at least half three in the morning. I was waiting to see if Michelle was going to change her mind and let the lads know about her newfound liking but she kept it private between me and her the way that she said she would and it kind of made me smile. That along with the ridiculous amount of beer and shots consumed brought a goofy smile to my face by the end of the night.

By exactly three forty-five I was seeing double and couldn't drive home. Niall and Darragh had left to go back to their apartment that happened to be a few blocks down from ours, and Zayn and Liam stayed behind at the bar to drink deciding that they were too far gone now and might as well finish strong. They also decided that class tomorrow isn't important.

Michelle would have stayed behind with them I'm sure, but she has the tendency to be this odd motherly type when I get beyond the legal limit. I think she just likes to laugh at me because I start to say foolish things when my tongue loosens up in my mouth and my words slur. I tried to get up from the table discreetly so that I could walk home while Mitch, Zayn, and Liam continued to chat, but I knocked over a chair.

“Oh shit. I'm sorry bro." I chuckled to myself like an idiot as I picked up the chair earning the lads attention.

"Where are you going?" Michelle's eyes seemed to widen as she took in the state of me.

"Home. I've got class in the morrow-morning.”

"Do you honestly think that you're going to make it to class? Look at you, you can barely stand. My job is complete.” Michelle grins in triumph and I squint my eyes at her trying to figure out when she was going to tell me that she was a triplet.

"You're a horrible people and I don't know why we're friends." I think I was looking at her when I said it, but it could have very well been one of her sisters.

"Alright, and that's my cue. We'll see you later guys." Michelle spoke to Liam and Zayn as stood from the table, a little wobbly at best bus still in a better condition than I was in.

"You don't have to walk me home, Michelle. I'm not no kid.”

Michelle laughed as I stumbled, almost tripping on a crack in the pavement.

"Since I live there too I'm not technically walking you home. I'm walking home with you.”

I checked to see if my car was locked before we began our walk. The crisp early morning air sobered me up a bit, but I was still highly intoxicated and grinning.

"How was your first day of classes?" Michelle asked me breaking the silence of our trek back to our flat.

"Hmm, was okay. Good actually... I met this…met this girl.”

"You did? You were holding out on us at the pub! Who is it? Do I know who she is?”

"No, I don't think you do," I paused to hiccup hoping that was all that I had to do, "She's new here and you don't like girls. I mean, well, you know what I mean. You wouldn't know her.”

Michelle laughed while shaking her head.

“So it's a first year? I'm ashamed of you! I know you haven't dated in a while but that's sweeping the bottom of the barrel, Harrow.”

“No not a first year," hiccup "She's around my age, just new to Cambridge.”

“Oh," Michelle spoke putting her key in the door before she opened it "Where'd you meet her?”

“Work. I kind of asked her to come to the pub with me, but she said she had a date and I kind of sounded like a blubbering idiot when I asked her. I don't know.”

“Harry! You can't just invite people to come to the pub and we haven't met them yet! What if she was awful? Good thing she didn't come. That tradition is sacred for us. Whatever you said to her was probably fine. She just had other plans... Do you know why I've recently started calling you Harrow Harry?”

“Because it's one of the many odd nicknames you've created for me?”

“No. Harrow as in the adjective, it just so happens to fit with you. Har•row when used in verbal tense, means to cause distress to. You're causing unnecessary distress to yourself when you worry about things like the UKCAT and assignments that aren't due until the end of the year, and whatever you've said to this mystery bird that you've met at work. Fun. You used to be much less tense and more fun. You need to chill out and relax. You need to I don't know, get some maybe.”

I rolled my eyes before running my hand through my hair and walking into the kitchen, opening the cabinet in search of my favorite drunken snack, grabbing it when I found it and heading for my room. Quickly stripping off into my boxers, I fell against my bed before I turned on my television and got under the covers. I ate my snack in peace before Michelle knocked on my door twice and then let herself in.

"I could have been naked! you could at least wait for me to say come in.”

“Yeah well, its not like I've never seen a penis before and they're not really my main thing anymore you know?” Michelle climbed into bed with me, intruding while I tried to hide my snacks.

"What are you eating?”

“Nothing.” I slowed my chewing in hopes that she would lose interest.

"Harry I see them! Are those teddy grahams?”

“No!”

“They are! They're a snack for a five year old.”

“Teddy grahams don't have an age limit.”

“You should be embarrassed.” Chelle spoke before grabbing the box and taking a handful for herself, moving around too much for my drunken stomach to handle.

"Oohh these are nice. These are new sheets aren't they?”

"Chelle! Stop moving! Why are you in my room? Get out!”

“My room is too hot, so I've decided that we're going to have a sleepover. You get the better ventilation. You should trade with me.”

“What?”

“I'll sleep on the floor. It really is dreadful in my room.”

I sigh before I grab my pillows and comforter and toss them on the ground leaving Michelle the bed as I make my way to the floor.

“Aww Harry you're the sweetest, but I can really take the floor.”

“No, it's fine. Just don't do anything perverted while you're up there.”

“What like masturbate? I'm not you.”

I chuckled turning to face her from my position on the floor.

“Exactly, but if you do at least that I’m asleep first…Thats just common courtesy. ”

“Sure thing, Harlot. I can do that for you.” Michelle responded without pause causing me to chuckle before my head hit the pillow.

****

“ My head,” I groaned, waking up on the floor with my covers wrapped around me too tight much like a swaddling cloth. After successfully the blanket away from me in an attempt to escape confinement, I sat up slowly only to make the headache worse than it already was and add a new pain to the mix. “My back.”

I had almost forgotten that I slept on the floor to be nice and allowed Michelle to stay in my bed, but when I turned around to look at it I quickly discovered that she wasn't there. I could hear fumbling around in the kitchen and when I stood to follow the noise, the pounding in my head grew. When I reached the small space that we mostly use to microwave shitty food and store alcohol and juice, I saw that Michelle was fully dressed. I mean, well, if you can call an oversized sweater and tights with ladders down the legs in random places dressed then thats what she was.

“Morning, sunshine. How do you feel.”

“Like my head might explode all over the kitchen and I still have to get ready for class. Today is going to be long as shit,” my words slurred proving that there was still traces of alcohol in my bloodstream and when I swayed back and forth feeling as if I might lose my balance, I knew, “I'm still fucked.”

Michelle laughed at me before she flipped her pancake onto a plate and ran it back and forth below my nose. I snatched it from her and took a bite of the buttery breakfast cake without using the fork that she offered.

“Don't be such a savage, Haz. I'm not going to take the food from you after I've clearly been slaving over the oven for five whole minutes so that you could eat. Slow down, chew your food, and sit like a civilized human being. If you eat like that you're going to require the heimlich maneuver and unfortunately I don't know it. You'll turn blue and die in front of me on a Tuesday afternoon and that would put a slight damper on my day.”

“Afternoon?” I asked her while chewing around the pancake, “Afternoon?”

“Yes, Styles. Thats what I said.”

I put the plate that I was holding down on our small kitchen bench before I walked out into living room to squint at the only other clock that we had besides our cell phones, only to confirm what Chelle had just said. I rubbed my hands over my eyes hoping that it was just an illusion and what I'd seen was wrong because if it was the truth, I'd missed all of my morning classes for the day.

“Three eleven? It can't be three eleven! I had classes from nine until two!”

“And you slept through them like a baby.”

“Fuck! Michelle why didn't you wake me up? What's the point of having an Ultimate Alarm if it's not going to be used?”

“Harry, remember that little chat we had yesterday about distress and the use of your nickname? And in order for me to wake you up, I would have had to been up too. Even if I was, I wouldn't be using the Ultimate Alarm to save you with the splitting hangover that I had,” Michelle shakes her head in clear disgust before she continued, “too loud.”

My eyes widened as I looked at my friend, bewildered, annoyed, and somewhere deep down, somewhat amused. I waved my hand between the two of us before I gave up and ran it over my face exasperatedly. This is not how I intended to start the year off. My hand ascended from my face to sliding through my hair in distress, “Thats the point of the alarm, Michelle. It's supposed to be loud. It's supposed to wake you up.”

“Harry, calm down. When we got to sleep it was like seven in the morning anyway. I don't know how you expected to be up, awake, and alert in class. Don't you have like seven others that you can go to tonight? Over achiever.”

“If I shower now I can make it to my organic chemistry class.”

“Gross.”

I looked over to Michelle and frowned before I continued, “ Thanks for throwing me off by the way, making pancakes at three in the afternoon and making me think that it was morning.”

“Whatever time of day that you wake up is morning to me. I was feeling like pancakes, so I made pancakes. You didn't seem to mind them by the way that you were eating them a few minutes ago, arsehole.”

The mention of the food reminded me of how dry my throat was and how alcohol will leave your mouth feeling like you'd guzzled sand if you consume enough of it. I felt like a raisin.

“Do we have anymore orange juice?”

"No. Sorry I finished that all yesterday morning when you almost killed me and Alison with that damn fog horn.”

“Alison?” I smirked at Michelle before I started to tease. "Usually a player doesn't remember a conquests name.”

“You would know," she retorted back while squinting her eyes, “ you used to be one. But don't worry, Harry. I'll get so good at it that you won't ever catch one of them leaving the next morning ever again. I'll be like a black widow or is it a praying mantises that kill all other intimacy as soon as they've finished with them? I'll send them on their way so that I can sleep in my bed alone. It'll be like a switch.”

Michelle grinned as she spoke, silently approving her idea as I thought about how lonely it sounded. It actually saddened me. Michelle isn't the type that can handle being cold hearted and callous enough to kick people out of bed. After being in a monogamous relationship for three years, I could tell that she was the type who craved intimacy. She deserved it. What she just explained to me sounded like eventually it would take its toll on her and she would break down like she did before, substituting my shirt sleeves for tissues.

I keep my opinions to myself, not having enough time before my next class starts to really sit down with her and talk about them. If it's one thing that I cherish about Michelle and I's relationship is that we can literally almost talk about anything, if we had the proper amount of time to do so. I shake my head at her before I head down the hall, calling back to her.

“I never was a player, Mitch. I just wasn't steady in my relationships like you.”

"Whatever you say, Harold. Please go put on trousers…I don't want to see your moose knuckle.”

****

I'd made it to my chemistry lecture on time, and though I tried my hardest, it was extremely difficult to keep my eyes open. Even though I'd slept past all of my morning classes, I still didn't get the best rest from sleeping on the floor. Michelle was irritatingly right again. The only thing that was really mentioned today since it was still the very beginning of the school year, was instruction and what the professor expected from us as a class, so when my eyes closed momentarily as I sat at the back of the room, I didn't feel so bad. Before I knew it the lecture was over and I was rustled awake my the movement of students as they gathered their bags to leave the room.

"You've got a bit of dribble there." A familiar voice laughed as I stepped out of the classroom I wiped my mouth sheepishly before smiling at her.

“Rion, hi how are you?”

“I'm good. Getting around campus well enough, but how are you? You look pretty worn out and its only the second official day of the school year. Did your tradition get the best of you last night? You've got imprint marks from your sweater on your face.”

My hand went to the side of my face that she pointed out, the imprints from my clothing giving away my previous position before I flashed her a quick grin and responded ,Um, uh yeah kind of. I may or may not have missed all of my classes this morning. Mitch didn't wake me up, bad influence I guess.”

“Mitch?”

"Oh, um sh- Mitch is just...Mitch is my roommate." I explained in a panic I didn't want to scare her off with the details. I think I might actually have a chance with Rion, if I don't put my foot in my mouth that is.

“Oh I see.”

Rion smiled at me and I didn't even realize that we've been walking and talking this entire time. Conversation flows easily with her even though I stumble over my words. I feel like I'm just remembering how to talk to the opposite sex besides Michelle and feel kind of pathetic, but Rion doesn't seem to mind as she continues to smile laugh and start on new topics of conversation.

“So how long were you out for?”

“I didn't go to sleep until seven this morning and my head was pounding when I woke up. I really have no one to blame but myself. I told my friends that I would only have one drink and ended the night on my ass. I still have to go back to the pub and get my car, because I had to end up walking home. How I got to the right apartment on the first try is a mystery to me.”

Rion giggled in a cute way before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear allowing me to see her features more. Her neck was slender and long, connecting to her shoulders delicately. She had a small tattoo that looked to be a ballet flat behind her left ear. Those tattoos placed just there always seemed like they might hurt, like they deserved to be kissed better even though the ache from the needle has been long gone. I could envision my lips on just that spot. I must have glanced at her just a bit longer than I should have causing a rosy hue to make its presence known on her cheeks. It made me smile before I quickly changed the subject this time, not wanting her to think that I was rude or weird for staring.

"How did your date go?"

She took deep breath before deciding if she wanted give a response or not and we ended up in the courtyard right before the student parking lot.

"It came and went, I suppose. Nothing really interesting to report. It sounds like I would have had more fun if I had taken the offer to go out for drinks with you. I'm usually not really big on drinking on the weekdays, but after that date I honestly might have taken a shot or four."

I smiled, selfishly happy that she didn't have a good time. I want to ask her out, but I feel like its too damn soon. I only met her yesterday anyway. Maybe its a good thing that she turned me down. When the time is right to ask her I'm sure I'll know. Hopefully I will.

"I'm sorry it didn't go as planned. Someone should take you out and show you a good time."

"Yeah, hopefully someone will sooner rather than later."

I think the emphasis that she put on the word someone was aimed at me, but I could be wrong. I don't know what else to say so I cap the conversation off with a , "Yeah" and mentally slap myself in the face before I grin awkwardly at her. I look around the parking lot as we come up to a white Toyota and she takes her keys out signaling that the tiny car is hers.

"Oh, well I'll let you go and get on with the rest of your day. Good seeing you."

"Okay, yeah." She responds quietly before she puts the key in the lock to open the door.

This has to be the most awkward I've felt in a while. I radiate awkward and though I don't want to believe it's because of what Michelle and the boys said, I'm kind of starting to think that they might be right myself.

"Wait, Harry?"

"Yes?" I turn my head to look over my shoulder before turning around to face her.

"I can take you to go get your car if you'd like. It looks like it might rain and it would suck if you were to get all wet."

All wet. I blush at her word choice and from that point on I know. Michelle, Niall, and Darragh were right.

"No. No its okay. You don't have to and I mean, don't you have other classes?"

She shakes her head and then opens her other car door, "I'm done for the day. Really I don't have a problem taking you. Get in."

I walk back towards her, thanking her and then giving her directions to the pub from the main campus. When we pull up, sure enough my car is there. Along with a ticket taped to the window for leaving it in the lot overnight. I sigh and rub my hands over my eyes before I get out and thank Rion again. Just as she's about to pull off, I call her name causing her to stop the car and reverse.

"Yes?" She looks at me eagerly with her eyes slightly widened and and traces of a grin on her face. I scratched my head out of embarrassment before I speak while pointing to the passenger side of the car.

"I left my book bag in your car."

"Oh, sorry. Here you go." The grin falls as she unlocks her car door so that I can get my bookbag. This time when she pulls off, I wave an awkward goodbye to her before getting in my car, knocking my head against the steering wheel in defeat causing the horn to honk.

[teddy06writes]

To Talk To A Crush

Requested by this anon: “Dream x fem reader but make it school AU Pog? And Idk why but at least somewhere in there, can I please get sapnap with his backpack on his chest instead of his back just plowing into someone and knocking them over. Thanks!” 

{Oh my god my brain went haywire, I love this idea- the visual of of Sapnap fucking sprinting down a hallway and just jumping into a crowd of people- holy shit my guy you are on to something}

Dream x fem!reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, slight spoilers for the Great Gatsby?? other than that nothing

Premise: high school AU, a retelling of various events from meeting your friend group freshman year to now, the last time you saw your best friend before graduation

{Also the project scene was an excuse for me to relive that one time I taught myself the Charleston without realizing it}

“blep” speaking

‘blep’ singing/music

Italics = Dream’s memories/flashbacks/whatever you call that

bold = your memories/flashbacks/whatever you call that

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

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

Dream watched in horror as Sapnap went running down the hallway packed with people, his backpack still strapped across his chest and not his back, running straight toward a specific target.

George slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh as Sapnap slammed into you, knocking the books from yours arms and sending you clattering to the ground. 

Wilbur laughed openly as Eret and Bad shoved him forward, “Go help her you idiot!” 

Oh, this that could not have been worse. 

He’d mentioned wanting to talk to his crush once and then along came Sapnap, ready to do just about anything to force his best friend into talking to you. 

Taking a deep breath he made his way forward, shoving Sapnap out of the way, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my friends an idiot.”

You smiled, letting out a giggle, and his heart melted a bit as you took his hand.

~~

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

You barley had time to look up to see someone running at you from the juncture of hallways, a backpack on his chest as he slammed into you. 

Your things spilled everywhere, and you hit the ground, Niki’s gasp sounding loudly from somewhere behind you. 

Great, this was just great. 

All you wanted was to not be bothered in the hallways, to just blend in and not be asked if your brother really was really the greatest football player the school had seen, and yeah that wasn’t how you were being bothered now, but still this was not what you meant.

You looked up to see a group of people practically pushing a cute blonde boy down the hallway, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my friend is an idiot.” 

You glanced over at the kid who had run into you, who was beaming proudly, allowing yourself to giggle as you took his hand. 

~~

You chuckled, taking a sip of your water, “Man that day was weird.” 

The causal reminiscing hadn’t been planned, nor were either of you providing full details, but Dream made good company, even on what seemed like it could be one of the last times you ever saw your bestfriend. 

“Yeah, I think Sapnap did a good job though,” Dream glanced over at you, “If there's any random person he could knock down and then drag into our friend group I’m glad it was you- you and Niki.” 

You looked at him for a minute, “Well I think Niki got dragged in first. I was just brought along to that one party.” 

Dream groaned, “Oh god that party was so cringe. Sapnap and George kept trying to shove me and my crush into talking. And the worst part is they were actually subtle about it!” 

“I didn’t realize that was possible.” You murmured, trying not to continue on looking at him. 

~~ “If you don’t go over there and talk to her I will literally lock you two in a closet.”

The party had been strange, cramped and awkward. 

The first high school party Dream had been too; it was some party that one of Wilbur’s older friends was hosting, and they were the only group of Freshmen there. 

That what he had thought at least, until Niki arrived, with you in tow. 

George had imideaitly tried to get Dream to talk to you, but he was still hesitant. 

It wasn’t until that threat that he finally made a move, quietly moving across the crowded room, to where you were standing with Eret, Niki and Wilbur, “Hey guys.” 

He barley noticed the way Niki shot you a glance, too drown out by Eret laughing, “Did George and Sapnap kick you out of there little group over there?” 

“Something like that.” He’d chuckled nervously, heart swelling when you smiled at him reassuringly. 

~~ “It looks like he wants to talk to you- he might like you! (y/n) if you don’t go talk to him I’ll get Eret to lock you two in a closet.” 

This party wasn’t somewhere you had originally wanted to be, but Niki had insisted that you go with her. 

It was your first high school party, one that Niki had only been invited too because Wilbur had been invited by one of his older friends, Phil. 

You were wary about talking to anyone, but Eret and Niki, the only people you really knew, but then Dream had wandered over. 

You elbowed Niki at her comment, glancing over at Dream, George and Sapnap just as Dream had turned to look at you. 

The next thing you knew he was sidling up to your group, “Hey guys.” 

Niki looked at you, eyebrows raised a little and a small grin on her face.

Eret had laughed, though more about your misfortuane than the comment he made, “Did George And Sapnap kick you out of there little group over there?” 

“Something like that.” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a bit better about the party.

~~

“Wait- did they end up getting you to talk to her?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Dream groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Uh- yeah. They- they did.”

“Who was it?” You asked, starting to laugh when he shook his head, “Come on dude your my bestfriend! You legally have to tell me!” 

“No!” He protested. 

“Why not?” 

He glared at you, “I am not telling you about some girl that I had a crush on freshman year!” 

You huffed, crossing your arms and faking a pout, “Well did you ask her to a dance or something?” 

“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sort of? I didn’t ask her, but we hung out some. It was that dance right before we got closer.” 

~~

‘oh oh! we’re halfway there! Oh living on a prayerr!’ 

Music blared through the gym, and Dream barley stifled a laugh as Sapnap kept trying to get George to dance with him, even as he screamed along to the lyrics. 

The entire friend group was clumped around the center of the gym, halfway mixed with the other people at the dance, though you were all certainly the most obnoxious people there. 

He looked over at you, dancing next to Niki near the edge of the group, looking amazing in the soft green dress you’d picked for the night. 

You looked over catching his eye and smiling. 

He grinned, and paused dancing long enough to point at his tie and then your dress, mouthing “We match”

You smiled, starting to look behind as the song change and both Sapnap and Quackity screamed, “It’s the cha cha fucking slide!!!”

~~

‘oh oh! we’re halfway there! oh living on a prayerr!’ 

The music throbbed through crowds of kids that filled the gym, seeming to make your head spin as Sapnap screamed to the lyrics, harrassing George while he was at it.

The kids you were now beginning to feel comfortable with enough to call them friends were all clumped in the center of the gym, dancing and singing along to the music loudly. 

You laughed, dancing along next to Niki, reveling in the way that your dress swished around your knees.

Niki bumped you, motioning to the side, and you turned, still smiling, to see Dream looking at you. 

He smiled back pointing to his green tie, and mouthing “we match”

Your smile grew, but your attention didn’t stay on him for long as the song changed and behind him someone, who you suspected with Quackity, screamed, “It’s the cha cha fucking slide!” 

~~

“oh- that was right before the group project right?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Dream chuckled, thankful you had dropped the crush thing, “Yeah, the group project from hell.” 

“It wasn’t hell! We killed that thing.” 

“You made me learn a dance to do when we presented it.” He said, looking at you critically. 

“And?” You grinned, “That was the literal only reason we got an A.” 

“And Karl recorded it and sent it to the group chat!” 

~~

“And the last set of partners will be Clay and (y/n)!” The teacher announced, “Everyone find your partners and get situated, I’ll be around with your topics shortly.” 

Dream sighed, grabbing his binder and pencil case before starting across the room toward you, sure he was glad to be spending extra time with you, but also the thought of having to be near you for so long scared him. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey yourself,” You smiled as he sat at the desk next to yours, “I’m glad I’m working with you and not someone I don’t know at all.” 

He nodded, “Me too.” 

Your teacher approached your desks, “And you’re decade is the 1920s, have fun!” 

Dream sighed, “I still don’t understand the point of a decade project.” 

“Well we’ve been reading books that are set in like, every decade from the 1860s to the 1970s, so it sort of makes sense,” You shrugged, opening your laptop, “Besides, the roaring 20s was epic.” 

“Gatsby dying wasn’t epic.” He grumbled. 

You chuckled, “Well I have an idea for extra stuff besides a bunch of slides of major events that we could do, and none of them involving being shot. You wanna come to mine on Saturday to work on it?”

He shrugged, and that's how a few days later he found himself in your basement after finishing most of the slides as you tried to convince him to learn some dance. 

“I’m not doing that!” 

“Yes you are! Our project is bland! This is how we get the grade!” 

He stared at you for a moment, “You seriously think we’re gonna fail if we don’t?” 

“Miss Mcall looked over the slides the other day. She didn’t seem impressed,” You nodded. 

Dream sighed, slowly getting up off the couch, setting his laptop aside, “Fine.” 

You grinned, “Yes!” 

~~

“And the last set of partners will be Clay and (y/n), find your partners and get situated, I’ll be around with your topics shortly.” Miss Mcall announced. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Dream came over, sitting down, “Hey.” 

“Hey yourself. I’m glad I’m working with you and not someone I don’t know at all.” You smiled. 

He nodded, “Me too.” 

“And your decade is the 1920s!” You took the paper the teacher offered you, “Have fun!” 

“I still don’t understand the decade project.” 

You pulled out your laptop, looking to Dream, “Well we’ve been reading books that are set in like, every decade from the 1860s to the 1970s. Besides, the roaring 20s were epic.” 

His face seemed to squish, and you tried not to think of how cute he looked as he grumbled, “Well Gatsby dying wasn’t epic.” 

“Well I have an idea for some extra stuff besides a bunch of slides about major events, and none of them involve getting shot,” You chuckled, “You wanna come to mine on Saturday to work on it?” 

Dream shrugged, and that was how you found yourself in your basement a few days later, beginning him to learn the Charleston.

“I’m not doing that!” He insisted. 

“Yes you are!” You yelled, “Our project if bland! This is how we get the grade!” 

“You really think we’re gonna fail?” His stare bore into you for a moment. 

You sighed, “Miss Mcall looked over the slides the other day. She didn’t seem impressed.” 

Slowly Dream pushed the laptop to the side, standing up, “Fine.” 

You beamed, jumping up and down, “Yes!” 

~~

Dream still flushed at the thought of you trying to show him how to do the dance. 

“We did get an A.” He conceded. 

You spent the rest of the night reminiscing, until near 11 when the sudden weight of the fact that Dream would be leaving only a few days after graduation. 

“Dude- I just realized- your like leaving.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. 

“But collage doesn’t start till the fall. And I know your not taking summer classes.” 

He smiled, “I’m just gonna drive, see where I end up. Have a summer of freedom before for more years of school and a shit ton of student debt.” 

“Man.” You mumbled, trying to comprehend what it would be like without him, “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

Dream sighed, the thought of leaving you for who knows how long eating away at him, “I dunno man.” 

~~ The next day was graduation, and you found yourself taking your place in the student section next to Niki, both of you laughing at how silly you looked in your caps and gowns before the ceremony began. 

Your graduating class wasn’t huge, maybe a hundred people or so, so it didn’t take you long to have your name called, and you headed up to the stage to collect your diploma. 

You looked out over the crowd, meeting Dream’s eyes with a smile, he was grinning, clapping loudly as both Sapnap and George seemed to make fun of him.

Dream didn’t care that his bestfriends were berating him from either side, he still looked up at you, looking as beautiful as ever, trying to commit the moment to memory as you smiled back. 

And then the moment was over and you were heading off the stage to sit back down. 

Sometime later you found yourself moving around out on the school’s lawn, taking pictures with various friends and your parents, when you heard someone call your name. 

“(y/n)!” 

You turned, grinning, “Clay!” 

He practically tackled you in a hug, “We made it baby!” 

You could hear your mom taking a picture, as you laughed, “That we did!” 

~~ It was later, that night, you were sitting in your room, trying to take in the events of the day, and the fact that your bestfriend and crush was leaving the next day when your mom called up to your room, “(y/n)! Clay’s here!” 

You rushed down the stairs, not wanting to waste any of the time that you would have to say goodbye. 

Dream was standing in the doorway, his face full of anxiety as he saw you, but he swallowed the feeling, quickly wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips to yours. 

You froze, hesitating barley a moment before kissing back, looking at him in confusion as he pulled away, you quickly blurted, “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“I don’t want to go where your not.” He said quickly. 

He pulled you into another hug, “Come with me. I- It’s you. Your the girl I like.” 

You chuckled into his neck, “Your the boy I like.” 

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes, repeating, “Come with me?” 

You grinned, “Of course.” 

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

JJ Maybank x reader

Requested by anon // Summary: You’re a kook but only associate with Sarah Cameron. After she gets involved with John B, you’re introduced to the rest of the pogues and catch JJ’s eye with how shy and different you are from the other kooks.

A/N: I may have gone a little crazy with this one. I hope you guys like this! I actually think this one is pretty cute :) 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Sarah, I’m not sure.”

“Please? I want you to meet everyone!” She plops on the bed next to you.

“You know I don’t like meeting new people and I’m shy!”

“Yeah, but I’ll be there. It’s just a nice day on the boat to meet everyone since I’m with John B now.”

You sigh and then groan, “Fine, but I’m bringing a book to read.”

~

“Sarah, I’m still not sure about this.” You say as she pulls up, beginning to freak out. You and her had grew up together and now that she was with John B she wanted you to meet him and the rest of the pogues. However, you were not a fan of making friends with new people. Crowds and new people were not your cup of tea. You’d much rather be left alone in your own little world with a book. Of course, Sarah was the complete opposite and loved attention, which is why you have no idea how you became friends with her.

“You’ll be fine! They’ll love you, y/n. I promise.” She reassures, smiling. “They’re excited to meet you.”

“I’m sure they are.” You mumble, following her and slip your glasses on. You could see the pogues at the dock near the boat.

“Hey guys!” Sarah announces as the two of you make your way down the dock.

“Hey.” They greet. Sarah gives John B a kiss before turning to you, “This is y/n, y/n this is John B, Kie, Pope and the blonde is JJ.” She points to each one.

“Hey.” You gave a small wave as they repeat hey back. 

“nice to meet you, y/n.” John B says, “Sarah’s told us a lot about you.”

“Oh great.” You laugh a little.

“All good things I promise!” Sarah laughs.

~

After everyone is settled on the boat, John B finds a nice place for the boys to fish. You grab your book out of your bag and get comfortable.

JJ fixes the bait on the hook and glances over at you. He wasn’t too happy about adding another kook to the group. Sarah was enough of a kook, but he realized right away, you weren’t like her at all. Quite the opposite. He watched as John B started to hand you a beer, but you shook your head, “I don’t drink.. Thank you though.”

You, a kook, don’t drink? He thought all kooks were alcoholics. You were still in your coverup, even after the girls had took theirs off as soon as they got on the boat. You didn’t say much the rest of the day, unless you were spoken too. You were quiet and shy, nothing like the kooks he knew.

“Whatcha reading?” JJ asked as he sat next to you.

You marked your place, before glancing over at JJ, blushing. He was handsome and shirtless; his hair wet from taking a dip, “The Great Gatsby.”

He nods, “Is it.. good?”

“Yeah. One of my favorites.” An awkward silence fell amongst the two of you. “So, do you read?” You surprised yourself by asking. You weren’t one to make conversation.

He chuckles, shaking his head, “No. Never been a reader.. more of partier.” He glances at the front of the boat and then back at you, “Want to fish?”

“Oh no. I don’t.. I don’t know how.” You blush.

You were too cute, he thought to himself. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” He takes the book from your hands and puts it in your bag before standing and holding his hand to you.

“No no, it’s okay.” You say, shaking your head.

“Y/n, I won’t bite.” He smirks, “Only if you want me too.”

You blush again before taking his hand and standing. He leads you to the front of the boat and begins showing you how to bait your hook and cast the line.

He steps behind you, his hands over yours on the fishing pole, “Just pull back..” He moves his body with yours, showing you what to do “And cast the line.”

You can feel his hot breath on your neck and in all honesty, it was the closest you’d been to a boy. You glanced over your shoulder at him.

His hands had yet to move from yours, “And then if you feel a tug, reel him in,”

You give a small nod and he steps away from you, stepping next to you, “You really have never fished before?”

You shake your head, looking over at him, “Never.”

He smirks, “Well, you’re a natural.”

“Thank you.” You mumble quietly.

He tilts his head at you, intrigued, “You’re shy, you read, and you don’t drink.. unlike any other kook I’ve ever known. You’re sure you’re not a robot?”

You laugh and give a small shrug, “I’m fully of surprises I guess.”

He chuckles and watches as the pole dips a little, “Looks like you got a bite. Reel him in!” He’s back behind you in seconds, ready to help.

You struggle reeling in the fish and notice is pop out of the water, “I caught one!”

He grabs the net and pulls it out, “You did it! Look at you, you’re a pro.” He pulls the fish off the hook and holds it between his thumb and index finger, “He’s a big one.”

You smile as you watch him, “I can’t believe I caught one.”

He glances up at you, “You want to hold him? I can get a picture.”

You quickly shook your head, “Oh gosh, no.”

“come on.” He holds the fish over to you, “He won’t bite.”

Sarah snaps pictures of the two of you, looking at John B, “They’ll thank me for these when they get married.” She looks back at the two of you, “JJ! y/n! Smile!”

JJ looks at Sarah before stepping to you and wrapping his free arm around your shoulder, smiling at the camera.

You can’t help but blush again, smiling at her, “So.. what do we do now?” You ask, motioning to the fish.

“Well, we can let him go, or I can put him in the cooler and we can cook him later.”

You frown, shaking your head, “Let him go.”  

He chuckles, “I knew you’d say let him go.” He reaches over the boat and lets him go, “Now he’s free to live the rest of his life.”

“Let’s do it again.” You smile, grabbing the fishing pole and holding it to him.

He smiles back, taking the fishing pole and baiting it for you. He liked you. He was starting to see you come out of your shell and liked he wasn’t right about you being another spoiled kook. You weren’t like them and he liked that about you.

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​

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[darthkruge]

hey could you do a jess mariano x reader where the reader has dyslexia but loves to read. someone at school makes a comment about her being dumb and she gets insecure but jess is super reassuring to the reader about how intelligent she is. also they can either be already dating or have mutual crushes. whatever you think fits better. <3

Jess Mariano x Dyslexic!Reader ~ All of You

Summary: Someone at school insults the dyslexic reader and their boyfriend, Jess, provides reassurance. 

Warnings: Bullying, language, insecurities, I think that’s it? 

Words: 2.1k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so, so sorry this took me so long to get to! I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mean to keep you in the ask box void. I really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting! I decided to make them already be dating because that’s where my brain went hehe. I hope you like it :)

You walked to school hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, as always. Even though it took him about 15-20 minutes out of the way, Jess never missed walking with you. He hated the thought of you starting your day by yourself and never wanted you to feel forgotten about or lonely. Thus, the tradition began and it has stayed the way you start your day, everyday, for the last few months that you’ve been dating. 

Jess pulled you behind the science building, pressing his lips to yours. Your hands instinctively wove into his hair and his arms wound around your waist, pulling your bodies together. He smiled into the kiss before pulling away from your lips and gently moving his kisses down the side of your neck. You hummed in content before moving to meet his face again, once again pressing your lips to his. 

These stolen moments were what you lived for. You’d never felt too confident in yourself, at least as far as relationships went, and you weren’t used to this kind of affection. Even so, you loved every moment of it. Everything with Jess felt so natural. No matter what, you came first to him and he never failed to show it. 

You both pulled away and he softly kissed your forehead.

“See you after second period?”

“Of course” 

“Okay, love. Text me if you need me. Or if you’re bored. Or if you miss me”

“Oh, yes! That Jess Mariano charm. I’m not sure how I’ll endure two classes without it!”

“I’m sure it’ll prove quite e difficult,” Jess said, laughing. The bell rang and he gave you one last smile before you parted. 

You walked into your English class with a smile on your face, giddy after the experience with him. He made you feel alive. It was the kind of feeling you didn’t know you needed, but once you felt it you couldn’t imagine losing it. 

You sat down in your seat, waiting for the teacher to start class. 

“Okay, everyone. Today we’re just going to be doing some silent reading for the first half of class and then I’ll put you in small groups to work on a new project”

Fuck. Group projects were the fucking worst. Unless you got one of your friends, people were normally assholes and impossible to work with. 

Even though you were upset with the new development, you were excited to have time to read. You pulled out your copy of The Great Gatsby that Jess had lent you and picked up where you last left off. Because you read so much and generally did well or at least half-decent in school, people never assumed you had dyslexia. Lots of people had this false narrative that if you have dyslexia, you must hate reading. It was something you were used to, the stupid comments and assumptions. You tried to not let it get to you but you sometimes felt frustrated. You’d run into loads of ignorant people in your life and while you weren’t ashamed to have dyslexia, you hated having to explain it to every new teacher, every new friend in your life. You never knew how’d they’d react.

Even so, reading was one of your greatest joys in life. Losing yourself in the work, in the story, it was enthralling. You loved to find characters that you connected with. Their emotions were palpable and made you feel validated and less alone. Reading was one of the main things that brought you and Jess together. He knew you had dyslexia and, thankfully, never treated you like you were any less. You were afraid he would break up with you once you told him, but, of course, he didn’t. You were still you, and that’s all he cared about. 

He loved trading books with you and hearing your thoughts on them. In doing so, he felt the two of you were brought closer together. Discussing literature was an almost intimate experience in your relationship. Learning which characters and themes resonated with a person was truly illuminating about their personality and mind. Right now, as you read Gatsby, Jess was reading Pride and Prejudice. You loved Jane Austen, as did Jess, and you completely enjoyed discussing her work. 

After a few moments lost in thought, your teacher’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Alright! Okay so for the group project you will be analyzing the short story “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. Please read it together today and discuss what you think the most pertinent theme is. I’ve already assigned the groups and I’ll display them on the board right now.”

Your teacher stepped back and turned on the projector so you could see the groups. Scanning for your name, you internally groaned when you saw who you were with. Sarah, Justin, and Alex. They were all close and their friend group didn’t exactly have the best reputation. You grabbed your bag, walked over to them, and sat down.

“So, y’all just wanna read it? Then just talk about it, I guess. We’re looking for themes, right?” Sarah asked.

Everyone nodded, opening up the copies of the short story placed on your desks. You jumped in and immediately felt yourself pulled into the writing. After a few minutes, your eyes glued to the story, you heard the rest of your group closing their packets. 

“Alright, everyone done?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, you?” Alex said

Sarah nodded in agreement.

You, on the other hand, felt your cheeks flush. You were only about 70% through the story. “Sorry, I just need a bit more time, is that okay?”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Just hurry up,” Sarah groaned. 

Your face burning, you went back to the reading. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying, you were! They just wouldn’t understand it. You couldn’t count the amount of times people had told you to just “focus more”. It made your blood boil, honestly. It was so dismissive and you couldn't believe people still thought that way. You always focused and it wasn’t your fault, and, yet, morons like these three persisted. After a few more minutes, you heard Alex again.

“Come on! You can’t possibly still be reading?”

“I’m sorry, just-” You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “Please, just a few more minutes?”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid. No wonder no one wants to work with you. All you do is hold people up, you’re a goddamn idiot” Alex said.

Your eyes burned and unshed tears started to push their way up but you fought them down. You wouldn’t let yourself cry in front of them. They didn’t deserve to see how they’d affected you. 

Finally, the bell went off and you were able to leave. Your group glared at you and you realized you  hadn’t discussed the themes. 

“It’s, um, the story’s about the juxtaposition of peace and violence. Even though the people are in a calm, controlled setting, they resort to violence every year. It’s an outdated tradition they keep up and, thus, it highlights the difference between their actions and how they want to be perceived.” You said quickly, voice wavering. 

Your group scoffed before walking off. That didn’t bother you too much. You knew your analysis was accurate and probably far better than anything they could have come up with, even if they’d spent the last 15 minutes of class discussing it. Despite this, you still felt deflated. The shit they’d said, the way they’d treated you? You couldn’t deny it, it got to you. 

You walked over to your locker and put your stuff away. After that, you decided you were just going to go home. You could call the school later and say you were feeling sick or something. Honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were just so drained, you needed to get away from this place and the people in it.

However, you didn’t want Jess to worry. You sent him a quick text saying you weren’t feeling well and put on your headphones before walking out of the school.

What you didn’t expect was Jess to come flying out of nowhere, appearing by your side as if you’d summoned him.

“Jess! What are you doing? Don’t you have class!”

He shrugged. “You weren’t feeling well. Did you honestly expect I’d leave you by yourself? And, seriously, Y/N, you know I hate this place. You’re the only thing that makes it bearable so if you  wouldn’t be here, why should I?”

You nodded and kept walking forward. Jess looked at you quizzically, trying to decode your dejected state. He kept quiet, knowing not to push you to talk. He trusted you’d come to him when you were ready. Therefore, he simply followed you until you made it off campus, where you turned into a random alley and suddenly stopped walking.

Jess caught himself, almost running right into you. You suddenly turned around, dropped your bag, and bolted right into his chest. He was caught off guard but instinctively brought his arms around you, trying to comfort you. He noticed you were crying, your broken sobs getting muffled in his shirt. He soothingly rubbed his arms up and down your back, desperately trying to give you solace. After you finally quieted down, Jess gently and slowly pulled you back.

His hands gripped your shoulders as he studied your face, your sad gaze meeting his. “What happened?”

“Stupid English, that’s all”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t shut me out. What happened?” He said, his tone kind.

“I-” You trailed off, trying to keep your composure. “Some kids just said some shit. I was just reading slower than them and they said some shit. It’s not a big deal, I just- it got to me, okay?”

“Who?” Jess said, firmly this time.

“Jess-”

“Who, Y/N?”

“Alex, Justin, and Sarah.” 

Jess groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Fuck them, Y/N. They’re fucking ridiculous and they don’t know anything about you”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m so goddamn frustrated! Because, like, it did get to me. Jess- Jess, they’re right. I felt like an idiot today, I felt stupid. And I hate feeling that way!” Hot tears smarmed in your eyes, the frustration and anger bringing them out. 

Jess’s gaze softened. As livid as he felt toward the three of them, he knew that’s not what you needed right now. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Love, take a breath. I’ve got you, okay?” 

You nodded, your breathing shaky from the stress of the day. 

“I’m sorry that happened today. Listen to me, Y/N. You’re so smart. You’re smarter than I am, hell, you’re smarter than anyone at that school! They’ve got nothing on you!”

You looked at him and smiled at his words but shook your head. “You don’t need to do that, Jess”

“Yes, I do. We promised we’d be honest in our relationship, right? Well, that’s all I’m doing. Seriously, Y/N, who else at that school could debate the themes in literature with me like you? Who could discuss the importance of accurate representation in books with me? Who could talk to me about just how influential YA books are and why they should be taken seriously-?”

“They are and they should!” You cut in.

Jess laughs, nodding in agreement. “Exactly!! You’re amazing, Y/N. And I swear those fuckheads are gonna get what’s coming to them”

“Jess-” You warn.

“Okay, okay!” He laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “They just- they messed with you and made you upset and I fucking hate that”

“I hated it too. I hate doubting myself because of my dyslexia. I feel so shit about myself when I get in that headspace and I start spiraling and it gets out of control so fast.” 

“I know. It’s not your fault when those spirals happen. And I know you know this, but I’m just gonna remind you: you’re not any less because you’re dyslexic. It doesn’t make you stupid or anything. It’s a part of you and I love you, all of you”

Your heart swelled at his words. Everyone thought Jess wasn’t good expressing his emotions but you knew the truth. He was quite eloquent when he wanted to be, he just sometimes had trouble with vulnerability. You didn’t blame him for it, with his past it made perfect sense. But when you needed that reassurement, that compassion, you could always count on him for it. 

He moved to place a kiss on your forehead before slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay” You smiled up at him and kissed him once more before tucking your head into his shoulder. He pulled you closer and you grabbed his free hand with yours as you continued to walk through the Stars Hollow streets together.

[grandhotelabyss]

I’m late to discussing this now notorious list from a couple days ago, the New York Times’s “25 finalists for Best Book of the Past 125 Years” as nominated by readers. Some have called it “embarrassing.” The books that undeniably belong on the list do stand out. The Great Gatsby and Beloved and Lolita—no quarrel there. And Ulysses and One Hundred Years of Solitude might objectively be the two most important or at least influential novels of the 20th century, one the epic of modernism, the other the epic of postmodernism. 

The 21s-century selections mostly passed me by. I read 10 pages of A Little Life but wasn’t interested in the language; then I read Daniel Mendelsohn’s famous review, which convinced me it was high-end sadist yaoi—but feel free to let me know if I’m wrong. Bold of the Times to let Gone with the Wind stand given the political climate (and, well, the absence of The Sound and the Fury or Absalom, Absalom!), though I’ve never read the book or seen the film and don’t want to. With some of these books—The Fellowship of the Ring, Charlotte’s Web, Lonesome Dove, Harry Potter—I am content with having watched the movie, even if I don’t remember the movie (I do remember Charlotte’s Web). All the Light We Cannot See? Never saw it myself. I don’t always judge a book by its weird, mawkish title, but come on. I’ll finish Infinite Jest someday. A Fine Balance sounds pretty good; I should read it. Pass on The Overstory—as a bad person, I don’t really care about trees.

This mediocre, mannish, whitish list provides a rare opportunity for lovers of the canon and promoters of diversity and equity to join hands. Where are Virginia Woolf, Willa Cather, Nella Larsen, Zora Neale Hurston, Ralph Ellison, Iris Murdoch, Kazuo Ishiguro? It’s not restricted to English—so, for the love of God, where is Thomas Mann? Also, if it’s supposed to be the greatest books, why are they all novels? I vote for The Waste Land, I vote for Omeros. Kafka, Borges. Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop. Seamus Heaney. Tennessee Williams, August Wilson. Shaw, Beckett, Soyinka. Freud, Arendt; Auerbach, Frye. 125 years is enough to encompass some or all of Conrad and James. Saul Bellow, Cynthia Ozick. Thomas Pynchon, Cormac McCarthy. Joan Didion, Don DeLillo. E. M. Forster, W. B. Yeats, W. H. Auden, J. G. Ballard, J. M. Coetzee, A. S. Byatt, W. G. Sebald. Even given a commitment to the history of popular/genre fiction, 125 years include Stoker, Conan Doyle, Wells, Lovecraft. The Maltese Falcon. The Big Sleep. The Martian Chronicles. Babel-17. Kindred. There are graphic novels better and ultimately more influential than some of the pop fiction on this list: Watchmen, Maus, Akira, Sandman, Les Cités obscures. 

Let me be fair, though. Some are stigmatizing these as high-school choices. In that adolescent spirit, I am prepared to defend The Grapes of Wrath (the sentimental novel plus the naturalist chronicle plus the Transcendentalist sermon adding up to an epic of American earth) and Nineteen Eighty-Four (dystopian science-fiction as 20th-century Magna Carta, our bleak postmodern freedom charter). But I admit I did revere those novels when I was 15, and if you didn’t, maybe you can’t see their merit. For example, The Handmaid’s Tale, which I read in my 30s—fine, I guess, often politically insightful, but also a bit silly and tendentious. This might be what Orwell and Steinbeck look like if they didn’t get you when you were a kid. Yet I also read To Kill a Mockingbird and A Prayer for Owen Meaney as a teen too, enjoyed them very much, and would never mistake them for the best novels of the last 125 years. I read The Catcher in the Rye when I was 15 and didn’t like it at all, a judgment I try to keep under wraps because it’s shared with the worst moralists on social media.

Is there any disputing about taste? Of course there is, or else why are we always disputing about it? An aesthetic judgment is universal in form, or why make it? And from the relative height of 20-some years ago or even 15 years ago, we do appear to have suffered a fall.