#girlie is not okay 😭

[roserunodays]

@greenbetula This is in response to your post, but I wanted to say my own thoughts here instead of a reblog!

The Mahiru Undercover shot is really interesting tbh because it seems more unclear compared to the other shots shown. Just what is happening here? Is it a shadow of them holding hands while they’re walking like in ILY? Well, I think it could be, but the angle seems to suggest that Mahiru’s bf’s hand is flat on the ground, which would mean his body is laying there as well. If that were the case, Mahiru would either be reaching down to take his hand, or she’s laying on top of him and taking his hand like that instead. Either way, I don’t think that really matters because it’s clear she’s holding his hand somehow, but why? What’s the reason for her doing that? Imo, I think it’s because she was grieving.

At least with how I interpret this, this seems to be right after he died (which would parallel the rest of the Undercover shots seemingly taking place after the prisoners’ murders, most notably Kazui’s where it’s clear that’s right after Hinako killed herself), and Mahiru, who survived the aftermath of her bf’s death, is trying to compensate for him being dead, either being in complete denial in that moment, or she’s coping because she just…doesn’t know what to do. And who wouldn’t know what to do in that kind of situation? What can she do, now that the person she loved is gone? Try and "bring him back" somehow? I don't think these two things are mutually exclusive btw, it really could've been both. I just think she, especially in her grief like state, would do this sort of thing (aka hold hands with a corpse) for two main reasons:

One: Mahiru is a person who wants to be together forever with her partner. Especially in that moment after he literally just died, she would try to be together with him (which is why she holds his hand). She wants that closeness with him, to continue being with him and loving him despite being dead, because that is what love is to her, after all:

She also believes in the afterlife and yet she still wishes to bring the one she loved back to life. In that grief stricken moment, did she try to do such a thing? Did she have some kind of thought that he would come back somehow if she was together with him? Or was it something much darker, where she wanted to join him in death, because living without him and in a world where she had nothing was much more painful than dying?

This is further supported by the name of this drink in TIHTBILWY, which is called “Corpse Reviver” interestingly enough. To be honest, the worst I can see Mahiru do is somehow keep her bf’s corpse around (which would mirror Shidou heavily), although I highly doubt this because I don’t think it’s realistic, and I feel like it should’ve been hinted at more by now if that was the case. Again, I can’t completely rule that out, but it’s a scenario I could see happening in the short term (in the moment where he just died) compared to Shidou’s long term actions with his patients to try and bring back his family.

I think in that moment right after he died, Mahiru just wanted to be together with him somehow, so she's coping with that loss by being close to him, even if he's...already gone. Hell, she's still having trouble even now with fully accepting her boyfriend's death:

There is nothing that can bring him back, so what else can she do, other than hold his lifeless hand out of a quiet moment of respite?

Two: Shidou Kirisaki parallels

The character she is paired with for prisoner pairs, the one who has many similarities with her in regards to grief and not being to accept death that’s right in front of them — it really highlights just how similar they are in that sense. They are both people who have been overtaken by grief before:

Shidou tries to bring back his loved ones, who are nothing but “corpses” at this point, back at the expense of others so they could be together again. Mahiru, even if it was just in that moment, also wanted to try and “bring the person she loved back”, even if she knew deep down it wouldn’t work. But at least they could be together again, right?

That is why I think Mahiru’s reaction to her boyfriend’s death would also be along the lines of Shidou’s reaction to the death of his family: in a state of complete grief and partial denial that drives them to try and “get them back” somehow. And along with that, a horrible realization that they both have to accept that death because nothing they can do will ever bring their loved ones back from it.

[saleeba]

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off. 

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person. 

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad. 

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends. 

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for. 

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.” 

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it. 

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words. 

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though. 

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other. 

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel. 

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests. 

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again. 

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude 

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late. 

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole  – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry. 

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head. 

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home. 

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up. 

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision. 

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs. 

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now. 

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely. 

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy. 

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s. 

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.” 

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release. 

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,” 

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste. 

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once. 

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions. 

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones. 

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.  

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail. 

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.” 

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

[httpiastri]

okay it's 3am…. but i just watched the campos vlog for the first time as a new campos girlie and i'm- 🥺🥺 sebas and chris's hand heart? hello??

oh and i could go on a full rant about how freaking cute pepe is but i shall try my best to refrain… it will only send me into a spiral and i will end up not sleeping……. so instead i'll just drop off this vid of his ADORABLE laughter and call it a day 🫡

(also this ^^ specifically @ that one anon who sent me an ask weeks ago about his laughter…….😭)

[huellitaa]

i find it so funny when people try and insult me like no honey sit down

[spoopderman]

OK may I pls pls pls get art of gambit? Xmen 97 version? He has a choke hold on me and I need more art of him GAHHH

Here you go!! I'm ngl I have yet to watch X-Men 97 💀 but I saw Gambit's slutty little crop top and knew I had to recreate it. Hope y'all like it!

[veedyveen]

what music do you think mark and eduardo listen to? like mark is clearly listening to something when he’s wired in and we see eduardo with earbuds in when he’s waiting for mark to get out of the board meeting

i read a fic where mark just listened to whatever dustin suggested to him (dustin was currently into edm in that fic) which i definitely see, but if he had to choose for himself i feel like he’d just put on whatever is playing on the radio. i think its funny to think about mark blasting usher and beyonce in his headphones while hes coding

for eduardo i feel like he doesnt listen to music that much instead i see him listening to like.. podcasts. i dont think podcasts were a thing back then tho so maybe he listens to audiobooks? he just listens to informational stuff (probably about economics or meteorology). if he does listen to music tho i imagine it’s stuff his parents listened to. like old pop music and brazilian music.

[reakeebz]

there's a possibility the tsc series will take place over the course of the following school year, and i just came to the harrowing realisation that we might have to change allegiances of who we want to win in the next exy season. which. i'm having a crisis bc it'll be the fox girls final year so i want them to win but also it will be jean's first year as a trojan so i'll want them to win and neil will be vice captain so i want them to win but we'll be in jerejean's pov so i'll want them to win. and the foxes better win bc i've always been a fox stan but the trojans better win for the plot. this is an impossible scenario ugh

[spaceratprodigy]

Faith and Hiram au :]

@darkfire1177 see this is what happens when my Hiram Girly status gets called into question ✌😔

Commission Info | Ko-Fi | My Links

[3-aem]

What do you think modern Jjk character's favorite songs/bands would be?

Personally I think Sukuna would be a bit of a Gorillaz fan, specifically their song Clint Eastwood . Satoru would 100% be a Swifty. Megumi's would be MCR (for obvious reasons). And Yuji gives me P!ATD fan vibes. But I'm not really sure, thoughts?

GOJO WOULD BE A SWIFTIE. Hands down you are so right. I know he would have been obsessed with shake it off I know it!!! But also I am sure the man has created a 10hr long loop of back to december.

I think Sukuna would be a gorillaz fan but also I think he listens to some esoteric (this is my word of the day) stuff too. There’s an artist tzusing that I think would be in his gym mix.

Yuji mhm I can see as a P!ATD fan but ngl I feel like his tastes would be pretty mainstream. Like I think he would Really like olivia rodrigo.

Megumi strikes me as a looks like he could k!ll u and can k!ll you but is also a cinnamon roll so I actually feel like he’d be more an arctic monkeys/neighborhood type/current joys vibe. I just think being raised by gj he needs as much chill as he can get from other parts of his life 😔😔

I’m including nobara too only to say she’d probably be really into kpop.

[thatsrightice]

This one goes out to the Croz & Bubbles edit making people on tik tok and other platforms who without fail make me cry literally every time (you know who you are).

Now if someone hypothetically wanted to destroy me they would make an edit of Bubbles voice as he read the letter saying “I wish it were him sitting here and not me” and then cutting to a bunch of scenes of them set edit set to that dramatic, slowed-down version of Placebo’s cover of “Running Up That Hill”

[overlyinvestedinlife]

Carlos spotted watching the Rio semifinals ☺️

[mikeytea]

The true reason why I have hands:

To give my loyalty to Ai because as I consistently mentioned, nobody’s stopping me from loving this gal ❤️

[takecarelove]

me when my kids appreciate all the work i put into making this musical be as small of a shit show as possible 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[thatwasntverycashmoneyofme]

{ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 — 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝖻!𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗋, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗃𝗈𝖻, 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍, 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋!𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗋, 𝗁𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗓 𝗁𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖽𝗈. }

you take pride in showing off your little weirdo boyfriend, like a elementary schooler with a sticker notebook, and he loves it, loves being with you, loves that you don’t feel ashamed of being with him, but… he also hates the attention he gets because of it; girls coming up to him only after you posted up with him, tryna get him to cheat.

but he’s loyal and a snitch when it comes to shit like that so he tells you about it and the next thing he knows is those girls are looking like they were being put through the ringer by a 364 pound Samoan, and you calling him on facetime whining that you chipped two nails and asking him for money to get them redone. which he gives you ofc, you just made his dick hard by fighting for him! and don’t let one of y’all shippers send him a video of you fighting those girls consecutively, he’d probably bust a nut watching your angry face the whole time you molly whopping them homewreckers.

he’d open the door to his apartment, off campus, letting you in when you knock on the door to find his favorite signature colors on your nails in his face. he’ll smile dopily when you ask him if he wanted a ‘special something’ nodding his head, blond pony bouncing with his movements, because whenever you said that you would always snatch his soul. he who sat on the couch in his lounging area, hips raised and back arched slightly with his head thrown back, biting on the back of his knuckle as you’re sat in front of him kneeling on a pillow giving him that galaxy-throat goat-vacuum suction-double hand twist combo-deluxe 3000.

you pull off of him, half of your face shiny and full of spit bubbles and cum as you continue to stroke him. “c’mon baby lemme hear your pretty voice, tell me everything i wanna hear or i swear i’ll stop.” as soon as you said that his hand flew from his mouth, moaning as he looked down at your smiling face, satisfied after seeing his teary blue eyes, with hearing his voice before you pounced on him again, nothing could hold back those beautiful moans now.

“h-holyyy fuuuck hmm love it wh-when you fight f’r me.” “I would never e-even look those girls’ wayyy ahhh y/n fuck!” he whimper tears falling from his eyes. “hahhh yer the only auhh one f’r me f’r my cock.” “mmmm-my cock wouldn’t get hahh hhah-hard f’r an’er w’ma.” his words slur as he gets closer to his climax and you make it no better when putting all the suction pressure on his blushing red tip.

one hand going to fondle his balls and the other squeezing his shaft tighter as you continued to stroke him, he throws his head back, not even mind in the dull throbbing. his eyes stuck to the back of his head letting out a loud high pitched whine that his neighbors will no doubt complain about. his pale hips rose off the couch even more as he could literally feel you sucking the cum out of him, straight up out of his cock.

you swallow every drop of cum that landed on your tongue, his body trembling as he drops back onto the couch, spurts of his kids still landing on your pink muscle as your tongue continues to caress his overly sensitive tip. he pulled you off his cock by your braids, whimpering as he does so. “hahmmm s-shiiit!” he held his dick protectively, plopping his full body on the couch facing you as he laid still, face flushed and hazy ocean eyes, his hair ruffled up as he shivers and twitches, taking this chance to look at your seductive face gazing back at him with low eyes.

he mewls at the pain and overstimulation of his dick getting hard again as you speak, giggling. “want me to suck you off again?” he curls into himself looking at you flabbergasted. “stay back you devil woman!” you laugh at his dramatics as you see his junior pop up to look at you. “but… you’re already raring to go cowboy.” you teasingly crawl closer to him and he lets out a yelp, backing further into the couch covering his junk properly.

“back! back i say!” he smiles at your laughter, watching your brown eyes crinkle with tears in your waterlines. you still look so beautiful even after taking half his life force, he can’t help but think to himself… he definitely loves being yours.

𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖣𝖮𝖭𝖳 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾. ©𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅

[toonbly]

like i dont Ship bill and ford bc i personally use the term "ship" to mean "i think these characters SHOULD be in a relationship and it could be healthy and happy", which ik some people just use it to broadly mean "i think these characters are in a relationship but that doesnt necessarily mean i think its healthy", however.

ford fucked that triangle. he fucked the triangle. we live in a world where bill fucked that old man. like canonically. bill is a toxic ex and they had a break up. alex hirsch the man that you are.

[dollvre]

I haven’t listen to sam’s hbs yet, wdym it got taken down 😭😭😭😭