#i don't know if i will write any of these

[theminecraftbee]

for no reason in particular, i am once again saying that even if the work you're doing is with a content creator you love and on a project you're all passionate about and you trust everyone involved and they would never, say, ghost everyone involved for months leaving you in legal limbo in regards to the ip you've spent the past three years of your life on while everyone is clamoring for a statement or any guidance at all from you...

you should write a fucking contract.

and if someone tells you "we don't need contracts it'll be better that way", run the other direction.

you know. for no reason in particular.

[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[vifilms]

❝ FWB!ABBY HEADCANONS ❞

word count: 2k+

content warning. eighteen+, minors dni, strap!sex, scissorcity, just a lot of p*rn written out, but omgee i'm writing foir abby again? am i returning home? me saying that when all my long fics are about a certain pink-haired butch.

masterlist.

fwb!abby who is a star-athlete, potentially a hockey player because c’mon, look at her. it starts right before the end of last season. there used to be a trio, three girls who grew up together, forever inseparable. but with a nasty fall out of abby’s break up with your best friend — you picked a side. not that anyone would believe you, but it was innocent. purely innocent.

fwb!abby who keeps you close throughout the breakup, she leans on you when she emotionally breaks, when she doesn’t want to be alone; you’re right there for her. ready to help her in whatever way you can. maybe it was naive of you to expect it to be nothing more and it’s exactly how you end up here — abby’s hand shoves down your skirt as she presses you against the locker room right after the most important game of the season. it could be how good your ass looked in the soft fabric, she couldn’t help herself. 

“mhm, how long have you been thinking about this?” gently, abby asks. “pretty girl, wanna have your fill so bad, huh?” 

all she does is tease. it’s all abby wants to do, pull those god-given moans from your lips and your whines are nothing but a symphony to her ears. but all of this is very wrong. in your bones, with every pint of blood pumping to your veins, it feels like something forbidden. even if you aren’t friends anymore, even if she hates you for siding with abby, you can’t help but love the way she strokes your puffy lips with a flick of her wrist. 

you groan as she slips a single finger inside you, whining at the welcomed intrusion. abby knows this is a slippery slope as much as you, maybe even more. it’s not lost on her what would happen if anyone were to find out, but especially your ex-best friend were to find out you loved getting fucked by her ex. 

“shut up and fuck me, yeah? you don't need to know any of that—” you shriek as she slips another inside you, effectively stretching you out as she pumps your slick, back into you as it drips over her fingers like fresh honey. 

“what was that, princess?” abby tilts her head to the side as she presses on your clit with the pad of her thumb. 

“nothing, i—” 

“hm, right. i guess the rumors are true.” 

“what rumors?” 

abby doesn’t provide any response as she fucks you into the stars, each thrust of her fingers effectively shutting you up from saying anything else. as you cry out for a release, she places deliberate kisses along your neck, her hot breath swarms goosebumps along your skin as your hips buck into her body. 

“heard a few…one from your roommate in particular.” 

oh fuck. 

the little shit knows. 

“what did you, f-fuck, hear?” abby chuckles when you can’t keep your thoughts straight. you’re close and she knows it as well when she presses her lip to your ear, it’s intentional, the cocky little shit knows just what you like. 

the first time she’s touched you and you’re already melting in her warm and needy hands. 

the sultry tone in her voice will haunt you whenever you sleep, you’ll see her in your dreams, those taunting pair of blues, the scarred cheek you love but she hates. when she says the words you fear, for some reason it sends you over the edge. 

“i heard you like moaning my name when you get yourself off, so why don’t you put on a show for me, princess?” 

fwb!abby who thinks about you, slumped against the lockers trying to catch your breath. the mantras of her name don’t leave her mind, how pathetic did it make her she couldn’t stop thinking of you. how you couldn’t escape her mind, even during practice, those stupid whimpers wouldn’t leave her. her mind can’t escape that night, the endorphins pounding her skull as she fucked you into oblivion. the secret you held close to your heart raw and exposed as you released over her pumping fingers — it all felt a little too real. a little too perfect. 

fwb!abby who tries to play it cool whenever you’re around. abby knows it’s her best shot of forgetting what happened, slipping back into normalcy. but what she doesn’t expect? how jealous she feels when she sees you chatting up one of her teammates. she suspects you might be doing the same, trying to find a distraction, anything and anyone to stop your mind from thinking of it. it’s the secret she holds close to her as she deciphers on why her blood couldn’t seem to stop boiling. she hadn’t been this possessed, the need for her sweet salvations to be found on each roll of her tongue. it’s agony as she watches you leave with them, but she just sips on her beer, calling it night at the same time as you. but her sheets will be ice while yours will be kept especially warm. 

the first thought entering your mind, this isn’t as good. she doesn’t touch you the way abby did, fuck, this girl’s mouth is eager to devour you, every drop not being wasted but you just pretend it’s abby. even if you feel slimy, a bit dirty, but it gets you where you need to be. 

when you ride the plastic cock, invisioning abby holding your hips, guiding them as you slide down and fuck yourself, chasing the high she gave you just a few weeks ago but you see golden-waves flowing on your navy-blue cotton sheets. your mind drifts to how the blue in the sheets would bring out abby’s eyes, how she might look up at you while you fuck her like it’s your right to. 

as if she belongs to you. 

the more you think of her, the easier it becomes to find your release, it comes to you quickly as you moan; you chase the high. but it still doesn’t feel as good as last time — not when you don’t have her whispering in your ear. telling you just how much you need it, whispering your dirty secrets like an oath. a string for her to pull, only one tug needed until you come apart for her like it’s the only purpose you have in life; you’re just here to please abby anderson. 

fwb!abby who doesn’t see you for a week straight. you’re avoiding her with all of you might. even going as far as missing one of her games which you never do. it pisses her off to no end and the final straw is her teammate talking about how much the two of you can’t stop fucking. yeah, god, she’s so perfect. sweetest i've ever tasted. it’s said in passing, quietly to one of her friends, not meant for abby. slamming the locker form, she sets her sights on you. she’s ending whatever the fuck this is. 

the knock on your door is harsh, spinning you out of your thoughts as you open the door to find her completely outraged. abby might as well be a bull with her nostrils flared, puffing out smoke as she only sees through a tunnel vision of red. you know why she’s upset, and you’re sure she’s heard about just who you have been spending your time with, making this all the more messy. 

“ashton? fucking ashton?” abby burls straight past the entrance, shoulder checking you in the process. 

“why does it matter if it’s her? or anyone? why do you care all of a sudden?” you go back to cleaning, as if you don’t have a very enraged woman standing in front of you. you try not to think of her sweet vanilla scent mixed with mahogany. the way she filled you up perfectly. 

“i don’t care.” abby nods as she showcases a bitter smirk. 

fwb!abby who has you pinned against the wall with her strong frame, pelvis pressed against hers, still sweaty from practice as she has you pinned against the wall. you’re not sure who kissed first, who grabbed the other closer, but she has you turned around, fingers plunging knuckle deep as she reminds you of that night. writhing against her as she whispers in her ear, “next time you crawl in her bed, remember this, when she’s failing to make you come apart. remember how easy it is for me.” 

fwb!abby who brings you back to her apartment. her lips pull the air from your lungs, suffocating you but lighting you ablaze. like a lioness when she paws at you, nearly ripping your closes to shreds with the claws she has buried in you so deep. abby is cocky about it as you pull off her clothes just the same, desperate, needy — with a angelic glint in your eyes she’ll have nightmares about. 

“princess, it will stay between us. alright?” abby groans as her baby blue dildo slips inside you. watching her defined abdomen clenched as she pushes, fully tilted inside you. “promise.”  

another secret to holster, keeping close enough to keep but not close enough where it would seep into your skin, surely to infect whatever she so craved to do. you expect everything to be a little rough, a means to an end — just a way for the both of you to fuck this out of your system — but abby’s delicate. doing her best not to completely lose it. 

you feel full as she hesitates to move, watching your face contort in divine pleasure, the way you try to move your hips, but her hands keep you in place for a moment longer. 

“baby, please, shit i need your—” a groan leaves your mouth as abby moves, thrusting her cock inside you. 

“yeah, you need it, princess?” 

it feels condescending, the stupid pet name is being thrown at you as a way to incite raw need, to instill such a primal emotion, and you feel it stirring the pits of your stomach. with each heartbeat, your chest flutters. 

your mind shuts off, all the worries that infect your mind like a disease, every reason that tells you this is a god-awful, terrifyingly horrible idea. there’s too many webs, you’re bound to be trapped up in her, with no way to come out of it. it’s the only truth settled within your soul but then she’s fucking you. it’s hard but slow. 

she’s taking her time, building you up so she has you right towards the edge. all you do is wrap your legs around her, bringing her close to you, her temple kissing yours as she loses herself inside you. it’s all more than you expected, quiet whimpers echo in her bedroom, her sanctuary she’s coaxed you into. 

“you look so hot taking my cock, pretty girl. fuck, it’s like it was made just for you but i have an appetite for something else.” 

you whimper as abby removes herself and the harness secured on her hips, until you feel her blonde bush and aching lips slide over yours. the woman above you can’t help but chuckle as your eyes roll back into your skull, a leg thrown over her toned shoulder as she slides perfectly against you. 

“you—” you gasp as she pushes her hips faster, you have no choice but to buck against her. “a-abs, oh shit, oh my fucking god.” 

quickly, you’re losing it as abby is being loud. “right in front of me all this time, fuck!” 

almost comes across as animalistic as she grunts, fucking your faster than anyone ever has, you’re so close when she grips your chin, demanding you to open. sliding her fingers inside of your mouth as you suck off your cum. effectively shutting you up in the process. 

“yeah, it’s too much, huh? are you sure you can take it, princess?” you nod your head as one thrust sends you over the end, your body twitching as you come. she soothes you through it, whispering your name over and over in your ear and it goes straight to your cunt. it’s too much but she eventually stops but you still feel her against you. everything becomes sticky and warm. 

the blunt of her nails begin to scrape lightly over the skin of your abdomen, enjoying how much your body twitches. you’re sensitive and abby chuckles.

“whenever you wanna fuck princess, just give me a call.” and after, she whispers so quietly you almost miss it, “i’ll gladly make this pussy mine any day of the week.”

[diagonal-queen]

im basically back so i'm doing this even though nobody will read it lol (i dont even blame you because look at all that TEXT)

Do you have a good relationship with your parents? not really i guess? it's complicated so imma just say nah

Who did you last say “I love you” to? i think to my dog lol

Do you regret anything? i regret writing rpf as a kid 💀 i also regret smacking my little brother's butt to discipline him as a kid. it goes against my stance of 'don't hit children' that i have today and i do feel real bad about it, i just emulated the parenting techniques i knew at that age.

Are you insecure? HELLA lmao

What is your relationship status? single as FUCK boiiiiiiiiiii

How do you want to die? peacefully and in my sleep with my puppies laying next to me

What did you last eat? right now i'm eating crackers

Played any sports? used to be a bit of a discus prodigy as a kid, and was also not a half-bad sprinter. i danced from 2-12 as well and also enjoyed chess. nowadays i don't play any sports

Do you bite your nails? i do on occasion but i try not to

When was your last physical fight? i've never been in one. maybe with my sister when we were kids? idk

Do you like someone? kind of? if that makes sense

Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? no. but i've tried for sure lol

Do you hate anyone at the moment? yeah, but by now it's a dormant hate that just lingers

Do you miss someone? is it possible to miss someone you haven't met irl before?

Have any pets? two doggos!

How exactly are you feeling at the moment? neutral, but like a 6/10

Ever made out in the bathroom? i mean a lot of people pee in the woods right so technically yeah

Are you scared of spiders? i'm desensitised mostly, like if i see one i won't kill it (unless i KNOW it's dangerous). if the spider is on me it's a different story

Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? i literally always think about this lol. there's so much i wish i could change but at the same time, even though i don't like myself, i don't think i deserve to be put through all that again

Where was the last place you snogged someone? the gay bar

What are your plans for this weekend? moving lol

Do you want to have kids? How many? i would usually say 'i'm 20 i'm too young to consider it yet' but one of my classmates from highschool has a baby already so i don't know man T-T

Do you have piercings? How many? just on my ears

What is/are/were your best subject(s)? english and legal studies in highschool, and psychology now.

Do you miss anyone from your past? i reminisce but don't miss

What are you craving right now? a warm brownie would be great

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? HE said i did, i don't believe him, but even if i did he deserved it (trust me on this one. he deserved it.)

Have you ever been cheated on? not that i'm aware of, but i wouldn't be surprised if i was

Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? not that i'm aware of. i hope not??

What’s irritating you right now? the heat. i'm not having a hot girl summer at all T-T

Does somebody love you? i hope so

What is your favourite color? i like baby and dusty pink. and lilac

Do you have trust issues? i'm pretty sure

Who/what was your last dream about? last night i dreamt that i was in a relationship with pt4 jotaro. he was quiet, gentle and loving. this is weird because i am female

Who was the last person you cried in front of? i think my mother? if not then probably my bestie

Do you give out second chances too easily? yes, sadly

Is it easier to forgive or forget? it's hard for me to forgive someone if they don't at least apologise. so i guess forget

Is this year the best year of your life? it's february, but like hopefully yeah!

How old were you when you had your first kiss? sweet 16

Have you ever walked outside completely naked? no T-T

Favourite food? fried chicken, one specific chocolate cake, yellow nectarines and sushi

Do you believe everything happens for a reason? not in the way others do

What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? watched scott cramer

Is cheating ever okay? usually i'd say no. but there are rare instances where i reckon it's not necessarily a bad thing (as bad as that might sound)

Are you mean? i don't think so

How many people have you fist fought? none?? T-T

Do you believe in true love? yes

Favourite weather? dark and overcast (not raining), cool but not cold

Do you like the snow? i've only been in snow once and it was a good time. but i got ice in my eye during a snowball fight and it scarred me a little bit

Do you wanna get married? for sure i do! i know most people think of marriage culture as outdated and heteronormative (which i fully understand) but i do want to be a bride one day. i'd love that

Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? hm...when a girl does it i don't mind but when a boy does it it feels a little icky IM SORRY </3

What makes you happy? clowns, stuffed toys, colourful soap, poofy sleeves, tbh i'm really a six year old at heart and a lot of things make me happy

Would you change your name? okay so i wouldn't legally change my first name (i don't often like when people besides my family use it, but it's rare and pretty so i wanna keep it), but i would like to make Dia my legal alias that would be so sick. i would for sure change my last name though that shit boring asf

Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? no. i'd kiss her again she was nice

Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? i'd marry and adopt kittens with you @jesterph0bic

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? refer to question 55

Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? my brother (hbd btw)

Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? my sister

Do you believe in soulmates? yes but not in the traditional way

Is there anyone you would die for? yes

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tunnel Vision - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: bad boy! Minho x student! reader

summary: You can't stand the boy that sits behind you in class. He's rude, arrogant and a huge Playboy. and now you're paired with him for your newest poetry assignment.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, Playboy Minho, heavy kissing, groping.

It's not that you hated your new poetry course. Just one specific person in your new poetry class. Minho would show up late or sometimes not at all. And when he did bother to show up, he would sit at the desk behind yours. He would lean into your ear and ask you what he missed.

His breath would be warm against your neck and the first time he whispered, you actually felt butterflies. You were nice and smiled. You would turn your head and tell him in hushed tones what he had missed. He'd notice the slight flush in your cheeks and it would make him smirk because he knew. He knew that your head was pounding because of him.

But then one day after the class had ended a girl had pushed her way through a crowd of students to get to him. She yelled and cried because he never called her again. She told him he was an asshole and his response was “what's your name again?”

So now when Minho strolls into class late and takes his seat behind you, you keep your head forward. You suffocate the butterflies in your stomach and square your shoulders. You refuse to be another notch on that man's belt. You refuse to let him make you feel so warm and wet and so-

“I think I'll partner you with Minho this week.”

Your eyes flash to the front of the class where the teacher is looking directly at you. “No, no I can't. I…” you plead but the teacher just shakes his head and hands you the newest template for the poetry course this week.

Minho's dorm room was exactly as you expected. Messy, unkempt, a real boy's place. As the two of you stepped inside he off the cuff mentioned he had a roommate but the two of you should be undisturbed for the night.

“Who's your roommate?” You ask as you pull a few textbooks out of your bag. Your voice was flat and ultimately uninterested but you needed to make some kind of small talk to cut through this tension of being in Minho's living room. Minho rummaged through his fridge and pulled out a few beers before making his way back to you on the couch. “You don't know him.” He said quickly. He slid the second beer across his coffee table to you. You rolled your eyes and pushed it to the edge of the table and pulled out the template from class. “Let's get started, okay? The sooner we get this going, the sooner we can be done and never speak to each other again.”

Minho smirked, his slender fingers tapping against the neck of his beer bottle. “Aw, what's the matter? You don't like me?” He leaned in closer. “Nope.” You snapped back. This response made Minho laugh. A loud, full laugh that promised that he didn't believe you. He was cocky and he was sure that every girl wanted him. His eyes lingered on you as you continued to read over the template. “So, what bullshit do we have to write about now?” Minho asked while taking another swig of his beer. You sighed heavily in response. “Love. The subject is just love. It says to write about any kind of love, however it speaks to you.”

Minho let out a huff. “Between a beautiful woman's legs, that's the only love I need.” He remarks. “You're disgusting.” You retort. You slide a template over to where he sits, “just write something, pervert.” Minho's face scrunches up for a moment, “aren't we supposed to be working on this together, partner?”

“You're a big boy, you can handle it.” You scold, your hand gripping tightly to your pencil. “Just write.” Minho sighs loudly as his body slumps deeper into the couch. An hour goes by without either of you saying a word to one another. Just the sounds of pencils scraping and pages turning fills the air around you. “This is stupid.” Minho complains, finally breaking the silence. The sound of a pencil hitting the coffee table breaks you out of your writing trance and you shoot a glaring look at him. “If you hate this so much, why did you sign up for this class?” You quip back.

Minho's eyes flash an intensity that matches yours. An angry, exacerbated look that contracts with his normal cool and calm demeanor. Has he never had someone challenge him before? Has he never had a girl stand up to him instead of immediately falling to her knees? You hold your stance and the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Then Minho grabs your half-written poem in an instant before you can even process what he is doing. He stands up from the couch and holds it ceremoniously. “Let's see what Miss Goody-Goody wrote about love, eh?” You fumble up from the couch and take a confident dive at Minho to try to get the paper back but miss as he pulls the paper away at the last minute. “Give that back!” You demand. But Minho holds the paper just out of reach, laughing proudly as he does. You look back at the coffee table to find his paper sitting there unprotected and take your chance, snatching it quickly into your hands. Minho's eyes widen as he realizes where this little chess game has led the two of you and his cheeks begin to burn a bright, hot red. His voice drops to a low, intimidating octane, “give it here. I'm serious.” His hand splayed out in front of you.

You let out a triumphant laugh and stick up your nose at him. “No way!” Minho smirk turns to a serious expression and he takes a few steps towards you, causing you to take a few steps back. Soon you are frantically trying to figure out your next move. You quickly fake left before turning to the right and easing your way around Minho and down the hall to an open door welcoming you inside. You hastily run into the room and shut the door behind you, hearing the pounding sound of Minho's palms flat against the other side of the door. “This isn't funny anymore! Come out of there!” He shouts from the hallway.

You clear your throat ready to read the poem out loud. Minho groans loudly before giving the door one last defeated thud. Your eyes scan the page and you find yourself frozen by something you did not expect.

A carnation bright

Unfold for me

This is everything and nothing

I put a ribbon and signed the envelope

Postage stamp

In the garden you wait

Surrounded by a soil that drains

Who waters you?

Where is the watering can that fills your petals, sweet Carnation?

I pluck you so carefully

Lie you down on the softest pillow

You've ever felt

You clutch the page in your hands, a slight tremble causing the paper to crinkle under your fingertips. Your eyes pour over every line again and again. The words are erased and written again, scribbled over and corrected. But the words he chose, the words he decided were the right ones to express himself, they stayed etched in pencil led with a secretive beauty. You slowly make your way to the bedroom door and turn the door knob. You find Minho sitting in the hallway across from the door. He glares up at you, his face painted red in embarrassment. “Don't say anything. I know it's bad.” He whispers, his voice shaking slightly.

You step out into the hallway and kneel in front of where Minho sits. “It's not bad, Minho. It's actually…good.” You confess. You watch Minho's head lift up as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. Then he lifts up your paper, “you didn't write anything.” He smirks.

Then it was your face that burned red. You had written a few pathetic lines of poetry before erasing everything in frustration. “I hate what I wrote. I hate everything I write.” you murmur. This causes Minho's smile to grow and spread across his face. But this smile was different, not a mocking, cocky smile but a smile that seemed to understand exactly what you meant. “That just means you're good at what you do. Come here, I'll show you.” He said and then stood up taking your hand in his and pulling you back into the bedroom. The bedroom that was, in fact, his bedroom. In the far corner of the room stood a tall, broad bookshelf so full that it almost looked like it would bend and break if just one more book was added. Minho searched the shelf for just a moment before pulling out three books. He then turned on his heels to face you. “These authors didn't even get published until their late 40s. Can you believe that? Now everyone reads them!” His eyes lit up with the kind of fascination designated for a child on Christmas morning. He placed the books in your hands and begged you to read them. You looked down at the books in your hands and furrowed your brow. This was not the boy you were expecting. Why did he have to act like such an asshole all the time? Why did he have to act so uninterested and bored all of the time?

You look up from the books and stare at Minho for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of people seeing this side of you?”

Minho jolts from your blunt question. His eyes lock with yours and for a moment his mouth hangs open in silence. Then he steps closer to you. “Because this side is too real, too raw. If they are the real me then they can hurt the real me. And I can't risk that.”

Something snaps in you at his response. You didn't know if it was his honesty or the fact that you had been feeling the exact same way but something outside of yourself brought your lips to his. His lips were surprisingly tender. His hands made their way up to your jawline and nestled there as the two of you worked in tandem. Your nose brushed against one another as his mouth opened in invitation. Your tongue scraped softly against his teeth, giving way to his teeth biting and holding onto your bottom lip. A soft and vulnerable noise escaped you at that moment. And a flash of all the women who have ever been in this room entered your mind, causing you to break the kiss. You stumble back and press your hand over your mouth. “I can't. I'm sorry.” You turn towards the bedroom door and make your way down the hallway to leave. You frantically and admittedly quite clumsily grab your book bag and jacket before making a b-line to the front door.

Minho never tried to stop you, never called your name out and begged you to stay. You walked back to your dorm room and threw yourself onto the bed. You bury your face in your pillow until all light leaves and only darkness remains. He wasn't just a fuckboy, player, or asshole. He was actually someone who you could fall in love with. And that thought was scarier than anything else.

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[eunoiathewriter]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 — Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Sypnosis: Su-bong had always known who she was. For years they had been in the same class. Yet, it's not until now that he has started feeling like this. Like he's being pulled towards her. (Or, part 1 of headcanons about classmate Thanos falling for a girl in his class).

Warnings: Parental neglect, strict parents, mentions of abuse, smoking. Reader is referred to as a girl. Probably OOC, but this is about a part of his life we don't know anything about, so i can make stuff up either way.

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Since i promised to tag you @ivonhart

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had been in the same class as you since elementary school. Through all the years, he had the same role as class clown and often threw out jokes in the middle of class. Often getting reprimanded by teachers. Yet he was a favourite among his classmates and fellow younger students, though not really by the older ones.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found school often to be something he disliked due to never really understanding the way teachers explained things. But he would look at students like you and your two friends who could understand everything and get in a sour mood.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only had brief interactions with you throughout all your years in the same class but still knew you were the smartest in class.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who absolutely loathed whenever they did peer reviews in class. Usually he never wrote down any comments on his classmates works, knowing they always did a lot better than him anyway. So when he was handed a paper, he sighed heavily.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who overheard that you got his essay to review, and internally he cringed at this. Knowing what he had written and that it probably was not up to par with what such an academic student as you could write. Had anyone else gotten his essay, there would not be many notes, as most of them only verbally said if something was good or okay or even bad. But not you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who forgot all about the essay he should be reading and the whole time kept his eyes trained on you. Watching your eyes move across his paper with a form of calmness, occasionally jotting down small comments on his paper that he wished to see immediately. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who averted his eyes from you when the teacher said to give the essay back to whoever you were reviewing. He grumbled a small "It was fine" to his friend Min-ki while handing his essay back. Just as he handed it over, though, he heard his name get called and turned only to be faced with you.

"Hey, here you go." You held out his essay for him to take, a small smile on your lips. 

"Oh, thanks..." Su-Bong took the paper from your hand with a tight smile, expecting you to walk off. But you didn't.

"I liked your essay, by the way, Su-Bong. I never really knew all of that about rap. There's just a few notes, but overall, it was great." 

"Thank you." He thanked not being able to withstand sitting up a little bit more from his slumped-over position. You gave a little nod and another smile before turning. Ha-eun, who stood behind you, handed yours back.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who frowned and looked through his three-page essay and the few notes you had jotted down for him. They were simple ones, only asking to explain a little further on one thing and a few small grammatical errors. Who knew getting to write an essay about something he liked would make him write a good one?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went home that day to his mess of a family and for once did not feel stupid after a long school day. Fixing the parts in his essay recommended by you so he could turn it in the next day to the teacher. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was surprised when the teacher handed back the essays and patted him on the back for "stepping up". Seeing him get a score higher than he had gotten in a long time, especially in a subject that was not music.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got stopped in the hallway by you after school as you asked him how it went with the essay. When he told how well he'd done and thanked you for the advice you'd given him, all you could do was shrug and say it was nothing. But it was something to Su-Bong.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who asked you then and there if you'd be open to helping him with schoolwork, to tutor him as his friends had said you were good at such things. And because his current one was shit. Getting a bright smile and nod as an answer made him raise his brows.

"You can?" He asked, a bit stunned.

"Of course," you nodded. "I'm more than happy to help."

"Are you free on Thursdays after school?" When he asked that, the way you smiled and your brows furrowed a little almost told him it was a stupid question. You were known to stay late and study.

"Mhm, just meet me in the classroom after school. I stay late often anyway."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who unconsciously then began to watch you more, not in a creepy way, but when he saw you, his eyes would linger on you for a moment. If you were in the classroom with friends and he walked past, his eyes would stay on you till he could no longer see you. When he heard your voice, his head would turn in the direction it came from, trying to locate where you were.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who enjoyed being tutored by you more than his old one. Unlike them, you adjusted the way you explained subjects to him. At first he had not understood a word you said, but after a bit of readjusting in your way of explaining, he slowly got the hang of it.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, whose eyes would flicker from the paper or book you were pointing to while explaining and back to you. His eyes would stay focused on you every time you checked his progress, the way you would mouth things that he could not hear and the way you would furrow your brows in concentration.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, despite getting to spend an hour or two extra with you every Thursday afternoon, could not find it in himself to strike up conversation outside of tutoring. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would come to the classroom after school, having said his goodbyes to Min-ki and Dong-hyun as they left to get home, only to find you already in the classroom with your books out and earbuds in that connected to your MP3. He had no idea how you could do such long days in school.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found himself actually improving after only three weeks of help from you, even earning himself more claps on the back from teachers. Even his parents took notice, getting to hear directly from his homeroom teacher of the change in his grades and quality of work as of late. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who never claimed to Min-ki and Dong-hyun that he had suddenly become an academic weapon when they pointed out their grades on the exam were still better than his. He had only said that "Shit’s easier to understand. It's weird." Which made his friends only shrug their shoulders because grades never really mattered anyway for Su-bong. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had been bored out of his mind while wandering the school halls, waiting for you to come to tutor him, had become a drag after ten minutes passed. But the sound that came from the gymnasium quickly caught his attention as he moved closer and creaked the door open slightly before sneaking in behind the equipment to investigate the sound. Much to his surprise, it had been you. Playing your violin. All alone in the gymnasium. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who accidentally made some gym equipment fall as he tried to get a better look, which caused him to curse a bit loudly. Looking up from his fallen-over position with a sheepish smile as you had whipped around and faced him, letting out a sigh at the realisation it was just him. 

"What the— Su-bong?" Your voice came out confused when you saw him.

He sat up and rubbed his neck. "Uhm... surprise?" 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Didn't know you were a musician. Are you hiding a band in here too?" He dodged the question while standing himself up, watching as you put the violin down.

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

"Well, I was waiting for you to tutor me, but you ditched me. So, technically, this is all your fault."

"I didn't ditch you," you shook your head. "I told you yesterday that I would be fifteen minutes late."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me why." He watched as you snapped the buckles to your case shut. "Had I known, I'd have been here much sooner."

"Why?" You could not help but ask with a slight laugh. When your eyes met his with an expectant look, he averted them and tried acting nonchalant.

"Obviously to listen." He shrugged, turning away slightly before speaking again. "You're really good, by the way."

"Oh, I—thank you. But you can't just come spying on me."

"I wasn't spying. I was... appreciating. There's a difference. You're smart, so you should know that."

You chuckled at him, also not missing the flattery that he surely thought would get him out of tutoring. "You're not getting out of tutoring, you know."

"Man, seriously?”

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was relieved that summer had come and that he would finally get a well-deserved break from school. While walking out of school with his friends, spotting you with your friends. Nodding his head at you when you shot him a smile, a way to tell you to have a good summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had in the beginning hoped that his summer break would at least not include sitting at home. Yet, it did. Neither of his mother or father being able to stay home or take him anywhere during the long break. He could not even hang out with Min-ki and Dong-hyun, who were out of Seoul for the entire summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent the first week of summer break lounging on his couch, watching TV, and eating whatever junk he wanted. Only getting minimal texts from the guys who were busy spending time with their families.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after spending a whole week inside, decided he would go out and see if anything would inspire him. But it ended up only being him walking outside in the summer heat with earbuds in as they blasted his newly downloaded music. Rap, to be specific.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who weaved his way between people in the market, giving nasty glares towards guys younger than him who bumped his shoulder. Trying to find where that place that sold his favourite food was now again turned out to be a bigger hassle with so many people lingering around the marketplace.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who stopped in his tracks and had to backtrack a few steps with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows at spotting your familiar face among the crowd. Standing by your bicycle while paying for some groceries. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who could not help but make his way over, hands in his pockets, as he called your name and got your attention. Your face displayed surprise upon seeing him, having thought he would have been with Min-ki and Dong-hyun all summer.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who were surprised, although he did not let it show, to find out your friends Soo-min and Ha-eun were also gone for the whole summer. This has left both of you all alone and without friends to hang out with.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who asks to join in on your shopping round, claiming he has nothing better to do. Which he really didn't. Occasionally, he would poke fun at your seriousness when it came to choosing the right fruits. His joking around would only bring a small smile onto your lips as the two of you walked through the market stand by stand. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who insisted on walking with you to your neighbourhood, stealing glances at you every now and then. For some strange reason, he also felt strangely at ease with you, enjoying that you were so easy to crack a joke to. Every time, he earned either a small laugh or a small smile pulling at your lips.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only reached the edge of your neighbourhood before you stopped him, saying that you could take it all from here. He watched you almost get onto the bike to cycle the last bit but was able to stop you before you were off.

"You know, we should hang out sometime." He said it as casually as he could, hands in his pockets while shrugging.

"Hang out?" You echoed, brows raised a bit. 

"Yeah. I mean, we get along, right? And besides, neither of us really has anything to do either way. So why not keep each other company?"

"I—uh. Hmm." You did not really know what to say.

"Beats sitting inside, bored, all summer." 

"I don't know, Su-bong. My parents are sort of strict about who I meet outside of school. Soo-min and Ha-eun are really the only ones they agree to."

Su-bong clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Come on, (Name). You're smart—I'm sure you can come up with a simple lie."

"If my parents find out, I will be grounded till I'm married." 

"I'm sure you can bat your lashes and come up with something to cover our asses. Or what, do you want to spend all summer alone and doing nothing?"

You sighed and thought about it before answering. "Fine. But my parents really cannot know about this."

"That's the spirit!" Su-bong nudged your arm slightly. "You got my number?"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who walked home that day with your number in his mobile phone. Part of him began to wonder what lies you would tell your parents to be allowed to leave the house without having them hunting you down.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later that night messaged you and asked if you would be free the next day. Only minutes later did he get an answer that you had nothing planned and a question of where to meet. Quickly, he sent back a place, a bit further from your home as he now understood you not wanting him in your neighbourhood, and a time that would at least let him sleep in.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who met up with you the next day five minutes late and could not help but poke fun at your obvious nervousness. Commenting on how you really had to relax a little, also pointing out that the only reason your parents would ever find out about this all was if you ever slipped up with whatever lies you made up. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got surprised an hour or so into the two of you going around town, seeing how you began to loosen up. You were no longer looking around like a child hiding while eating sweets they weren't allowed. The tension in your shoulders left, and instead of just rolling your eyes at his remarks, you shot some back.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went home after hanging out that first day, found himself having enjoyed it a lot more than he originally thought. It was different from when he hung out with Min-ki and Dong-hyun. Sure, they knew him well and had been friends with him since kindergarten, but still.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after three days of hanging out, asked you if the two of you could please take your bike instead of walking. Because of his insistence, you said yes, much to his delight, but that also meant he had to sit on your bike carrier. This led to some arguing as you wobbled a little in the beginning, but when you sternly told him to just sit still and shut up, Su-bong was in no way about to test you and only answered with a slight smirk, "Yes, ma'am."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would fill the silence between the two of you with anything rap-related. You had always known he liked rap and did it himself; he was not shy to ever announce it to the whole class. Surprisingly enough, you ended up learning a lot about the genre you had never indulged in.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who gets pulled along to your favourite bookshop one day and just trails behind you as you point out ones that you desperately wanted to read. He did not understand your love for words on pages, but he did not exactly complain because at least he had someone to spend the summer with. But he would furrow his brows questioningly when you left the bookshop without even buying a single one of the twenty-something books you had pointed out.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who realised you were not just an incredibly study-focused person, but actually someone who had never really gotten to do just whatever.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after a whole week of hanging out, found himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who dragged you along to the best arcade in town where he spent the majority of his money insisting he could win a prize from the claw machine. Finally, you stepped in and won the prize on your first try, leaving the boy to gape at you before jokingly calling you a "witch."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who focused on beating his own record at his favourite game while you stand off to the side, almost yelling at him to listen to your advice. When he does as you suggest and he wins, both of you high-five at the win.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you pulled along to a part of the city where there was a whole neighbourhood with abandoned buildings filled with graffiti. The two of you find one that gives the best view of the city skyline, and from then on, when neither of you knew what to do, that was your place to go. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who did not call or message with Min-ki and Dong-hyun as much only three and a half weeks into summer break. The majority of his calls were instead to you, sometimes even calling when your parents were home. 

"Come on, ditch violin practice and come keep me company. I'm dying over here." His comment made you roll your eyes, as if he could see from the other side of the phone.

"Hm, no thank you. I don't feel like being strung up by my toes today!" You shot back at him, causing him to groan.

"And here I was thinking we were making progress." 

"Who is it you're talking to, (Name)?" Your mother suddenly glanced into your room as you sat on the bed.

"Just Ha-eun." You answered smoothly. The choked sounds on the other side of the phone and snickering made you want to smack him in the head.

"Oh, well, tell her I said hi!" Your mother smiled a little before retracting down the hallway.

"Dude," Su-bong lost it, laughter a bit muffled. "You didn't even hesitate. That was so smooth—look at you becoming a pro at lying!" 

You sighed and rubbed your face, but the smile still pulled at your lips. "Shut up." 

"No, I'm like actually impressed. Should I be worried?"

"For me to hang up? Yes."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found himself thinking about you more often than he liked. His mind often went to think about what he had said, your reaction to it, what you would be doing the next day, and anything that had to do with you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, after almost four weeks of hanging out, slung an arm over your shoulder to prepare for his proposition. Dragging out a "So..." while you gave him a side glance, awaiting whatever dumb idea he had now gotten to come out. When you told him to just tell you, he did as he was told.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who awaited your big blow-up, as you for the moment just stood and stared at him, blinking occasionally, as if he had just suggested the two of you go and steal from the local bank. Especially when all he had suggested was for you to sneak out one night. "Everything's more fun at night," he had claimed.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, instead of getting a full-on lecture, got a question of what the two of you would even do. This made a sly grin spread on his face as it sounded like you were not completely opposed to the whole idea. Was he a bad influence on you?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made out an intricate plan on how you were to sneak out. Both of you came to the conclusion that the upcoming Friday night would be perfect because your parents went to bed slightly earlier. Hours before your parents would come home, you for once showed Su-bong exactly where your apartment was and painted out your window (that was on the first floor, only two meters above the ground). 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who that Friday, at your decided time, waited on the grass below your window as you opened your window and tossed down your jacket for him to catch. Once you had jumped down and stood up, he could not help but make a single comment.

"Not bad for a first escape." Su-bong said with a smirk while handing you your jacket.

"Yeah, you're such a bad influence." You shot back sarcastically, already moving towards your bike by the bike stand and unlocking it. 

"I'm honoured you think so!" 

You shook your head, pulling out your bike and getting ready to go. But you could not help the growing smile, having grown quite fond of the boy's antics. "Just get on, idiot." 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had directed you to a 24-hour convenience store. He jumped off before you parked your bike off to the side and locked it. When you gave him a raised brow, he told you that he was "paying back" for all the free rides you had given him.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who followed you inside and had a hard time keeping up with your speed as you went from shelf to shelf and grabbed your favourite things. It ended up being more than he thought, but at the same time, you had been pedalling around with him on the back of your bike for four weeks, so it was really nothing.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat on the curb of the convenience store with you, looking at all the people going in and out and watching the star-filled sky. When a group of drunk university students walked past and two ended up toppling over each other, you and Su-bong could not keep from laughing.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later that night, when the two of you were quietly sitting on the roof of the abandoned building, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Taking one and placing it between his lips, out the corner of his eye he could see you looking at him. Without saying a word, he held out the pack to you, not expecting you to take one, but you did.

"Something wrong?" You asked while taking the lighter from Su-bong's hand, fingers brushing against his as he took an inhale.

"Since when do you smoke?" Smoke left his mouth as he asked that question.

"I don't do it often if that's what you think." You let out a breathy laugh, lighting the cigarette.

All you got was a dumbfounded face in response, like this was the biggest revelation in his whole life. So you explained further. "My dad smokes; I've taken some of his every now and then. He doesn't notice."

"For real?" Su-bong asked and earned a nod in response. Then it was as if he deflated a bit. "Damn. And I thought I would be a bad influence."

"Sorry to burst your bubble. My dad has a bit more influence than you."

"Wait a moment..." He sat up, exhaling the smoke in his mouth while looking at you with narrowed eyes. "Do Soo-min and Ha-eun know their angel of a friend smokes?"

"First of all, no, they don't. And second of all, angel?"

"What? It fits you, angel."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who that night helped you back up into your room through the window, having to give you a little extra push. Once you were inside and leaned out the window to wave bye to him, he could not help but notice the rather large smile on your face.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who learnt that you were not just smiles, politeness, and intelligence in the form of a human, but you had attitude and humour. It was a huge contrast to the polite and respectful girl who would sit in class and do her work. You did not shy away from a witty comment.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later the next week after spending the day at the arcade, casually mentioned doing something later that same night. He had fully been expecting you to say it had been a one-time thing, but instead, as you grabbed your bike, he got an "I'm in" from you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had not in the beginning of the summer expected to hang out with you every day, and now, also, some nights. It was almost as if he had forgotten about Dong-hyun and Min-ki.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you would run around town with any time of the day, as long as your parents had no idea what you were doing. The adventures consisted of frequent visits to the 24-hour convenience store, urban exploration, bike rides around the closer neighbourhoods, sharing a cigarette or two, or even going around stores in town along with everyone else participating in Seoul's nightlife.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would sit outside your violin lessons in the summer and listen to you replaying the same passage over and over till it would be perfect. He had no idea why the old woman who was your teacher had to be so loud about your mistakes, like screaming about it would help you in any way. It made him pull a face of disdain for the woman he had never met.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who would sometimes sneak inside the big theatre when you had lessons just to hide behind the chairs to listen to you better. The few times you had caught him out of the corner of your eye, he would give you a thumbs up as a silent way to say you were doing great. His goofy face and thumbs up would make you have to hold back a laugh while playing, causing your teacher to stop to ask what was so funny.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you would laugh with after your lesson about the old woman's overdramatic reaction to a single smile. This would then lead to you complaining about the woman as Su-bong sat at the back of your bike and made comments that furthered your laughter.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who for some reason, after that first successful sneak out, began calling you angel. It would often leave you rolling your eyes at him, telling him to quit it, but the heat rising to your cheeks said otherwise. Su-bong could not understand the issue, just shrugging and enjoying the reactions out of you while continuing to call you angel. Instead of your name, angel was what he called you.

"Oi, angel! Over here!" 

"Yo, slow down! The hell? Are you trying to ditch me, angel?"

"Where you at? You're still at home? Hurry up, angel, I'm bored as hell out here!"

"What? You want me to start calling you '(Name)' like some stranger? No way, angel."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who found your reactions priceless, either the roll of your eyes with a small smile or a swift smack to the back of his head. No matter what, he loved them all. Because at least you were paying attention to him in some way. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you noticed had almost no sense of personal space. It was nothing weird; it was just as though you, after only a few weeks, had reached the same level of friendship he had with Dong-hyun and Min-ki. There would be an arm around your shoulder at random times when walking, when you played an arcade game he would be looming right by your shoulder while poking you whenever you were close to winning, his hands would land on your shoulders whenever you agreed to yet another late-night hangout, and he would find himself grabbing the back of your shirt when the two of you navigated through crowds.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sometimes in crowds just had his brain go blank, which made you tell him to just hold onto your bag's shoulder strap. It had once or twice happened that he just walked into a pole in the middle of the street, so you were just being cautious.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who still watched you closely, whenever he said something, was awaiting a reaction from you.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one day suggested you both spend the day at his house. When you walked inside, you could not help but let your eyes go wide at the scale of everything; it was so much bigger than your family's apartment. They even had those fancy fridges with ice and water dispensers. The Choi family was truly rich.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who shrugged about his home, because for him it was a cold and boring one. There was no life, no baby photos of him or old photos of his parents, just two pictures of him and his parents. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who let you roam about his room and find whatever you wanted to entertain yourself, and in your case that had been his Nintendo. He was seated by his computer, downloading music onto his newest MP3. You had found yourself comfy at the foot of his bed while you played the game that had been in his Nintendo.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who immediately sat up from his relaxed position at the slam of the front door. You jumped at the loud sound, not used to such things. Glancing over at the boy, he was already on his feet, cursing under his breath.

"Fuck," Su-bong muttered as he heard the clattering of keys against wood. "My dad's home. Fuck. Come on, angel." 

He ushered you to get up, and you did so, not even arguing about the nickname. "What? What's going on?"

At first he did not answer and only grabbed your wrist lightly, cursing under his breath while trying to gently guide you towards his closet. When you put a hand on top of his on your wrist was when he turned to you, meeting your eyes. "Su-bong."

He stared at you for a second, hearing the steps that seemed to move towards the stairs. Su-bong then sighed. 

"My dad is not like your parents. He doesn't give a single shit about boundaries. If he sees you here, even if he doesn’t know you, he'll start talking shit to you and about you—" He cut himself off with a sigh, hearing the footsteps moving up the stairs. "Look, you don't need to experience him. Just hide—please."

Without another word, you just nodded. Su-bong quickly opened his closet for you to get inside before closing it. With ease he moved and dropped down onto his bed, just as the footsteps up the stairs moved towards his room. He grabbed the Nintendo on his bed and began fiddling with it.

No knock or form of signal that his father was going to come inside was given, the door only opening and revealing him. Su-bong glanced up at him before speaking. "You're home early,"

"And you're still wasting your time here." His father spoke with a grunt. “Did you do anything besides sit here like a bum all day?”

Su-bong stared at his dad for a minute before looking down at the Nintendo in his hands, shaking his head. “Nope. Pretty much perfected the art of breathing, though.”

“You know what, forget it.” His dad let out a sharp breath, waving his hand while pushing the door to Su-bong's room closed again. 

The boy sat for a moment, listening intently to the sound of footsteps descending downstairs once again. Letting out a sigh, he turned towards the closet. “Coast's clear, angel.”

Cracking the closet door open and easily slipping out, your eyes flickered towards the door before moving back to Su-bong on the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, eyes moving all over the place until he looked at her and stood up. “Come on, let's go out instead.”

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had expected you to ask so many more questions after that day, but instead it was as though you had a silent understanding for his situation.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one late night suddenly placed his hands on your waist while you were pedalling towards the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of Seoul. The sudden feeling made only your eyes glance down, as to not alert the boy behind you in any way. After a moment, you looked up as you shrugged it all off and let his hands stay there. It is a better way to keep himself stable and make your work easier either way.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had only felt how you tensed up a bit at the sudden contact, but as quickly as it had happened, you relaxed and focused back on the directions. He could not help the growing smirk on his face. If you had seen it, you would have asked what was funny or even smacked the back of his head for being "weird." But you could not see it.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who always knew you had a small digital camera with you wherever you went. Upon seeing something you deemed beautiful, you would click a photo of it. As of late, you had taken quite a few photos with your camera and sometimes made Su-bong wonder if there was something you did not label as beautiful.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who once stole your camera from where it was lying on the ground and turned it so the lens was turned towards him and snapped about seven or eight photos of himself. Swiftly, he then put the camera down as if it had always lain there untouched. You did not end up finding out until three days later when you went to print out some photos for your wall. You had to cover your mouth to not attract attention in the small store as you looked at the photos, also a bit surprised he got himself somewhat in frame. Su-bong did hear from you later that day about it, but he did not know you had actually not been able to resist printing three of them.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had never been in your family's apartment during the whole summer. As you put it, your neighbours, an elderly couple who had known you and your parents for many years, would more than likely tell your parents that a boy had been with you. But he did not blame you; this whole hanging-out idea was his to begin with.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who one night found himself wandering around your neighbourhood alone, escaping the hellhole of home his parents made it when they both were home at once. Glancing down the familiar road, he pulled out his phone, starting to type a quick message while walking down it. Once he spotted the window he was looking for, he saw a lamp had to be on even if the light curtains were drawn. With that, he sent the message. "Look outside."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only seconds later watched as the curtains were opened and you looked out your window. A minute later your window was open, and you looked down at him.

"What the hell are you doing here? It's past midnight!" You whispered harshly down to the boy. He could not keep from smirking.

"I missed you, angel. Can I come up?" 

You shook your head but leaned out a little further in the window, gently clapping your hands as a signal for him to throw up his backpack. Su-bong did so, and you caught it with ease, pulling it through the window and placing it on your floor. "You're insane." 

When you pulled back into your room, swiftly moving to lock your door, it did not take more than two minutes before Su-bong's head peeked inside your window. You walked over, holding out a hand to help him inside with as little noise as possible. 

Climbing in through your window, he took a quick glance around your room. It was small but in a cosy way. Quietly he stepped down into your room, stumbling a little, from the window, and felt you loosen your grip on his hand, so he let go.

"You're lucky my parents are sleeping. They will kill me if they hear you." You said in a low voice while closing the window and drawing your curtains again. 

"Relax. I'm like a ninja." Su-bong joked, but the usual edge to it was missing. 

"You're a walking disaster." You turned around and faced him. "Seriously though, Su-bong, what are you doing here?"

There was nothing accusatory in your tone, so he shrugged while looking around, eyeing the music sheet on your desk. He then shrugged before answering. "Just didn't feel like being home. Can I stay?"

"I—..." You cut yourself off, your face turning with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'll just hang out here; you can do whatever you were doing." 

You just stared at him. 

"I'll be quiet. Promise."

A small smile pulled on your lips as you watched him look over the books on your bookshelf. "Sure. But if my parents hear you, I'll tell them you broke in.”

"Fair game, angel." Su-bong nodded and gave a light chuckle at your comment; his teasing smirk then returned. "So, this is where the magic happens.

"Oh, shut up!"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made himself comfortable on your bed with his Nintendo and MP3 player as you continued to look over some things for your next violin lesson. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who in a quiet voice made a comment about Soo-min and Ha-eun really having a whole wall that was almost explicitly containing photos of them and you. For the fun of it, he teasingly asked what he needed to do to end up on that wall. In response, all he got from you was "To stop annoying me." That would be impossible.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you sternly told he should not sleep on the floor, but that he also had to keep to his own side of the bed if he did not want to get kicked out. Little did either of you know that both of you experienced an increase in heartbeats.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who a few days later repaid you for risking getting caught and allowing him to stay over with the typical convenience store snacks you liked. But you seemingly made no big deal out of it all.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who noticed you no longer just took photos of the landscape but had caught you snapping a few of him too. At times he would grab it from you and insist on taking one together, to which you did not say no. While these photos could not make their way on your wall without your parents questioning it, you still printed them and kept them in your desk. They laid with your favourite photos of you, Soo-min, and Ha-eun. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who noticed that you no longer would have a reaction whenever he called you angel. You went from telling him to stop it to not even blinking at the use of the nickname. At times, though, you would smile a little at the use of it, which Su-bong could not help but notice.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was completely and utterly baffled to learn that you had never really listened to rap before, even if you would let him ramble on about it as if you understood. When you admitted this to him, he went wide-eyed, yelling out a loud "What?" while staring at you. This led to a long interrogation by Su-bong to figure out how you had never listened to the genre.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made it his own mission to indoctrinate you into rap. It began with playing music from his MP3 player, watching you like a hawk for any sign that you liked the songs. When he would see your head moving the slightest to the beats, slowly bobbing your head along, he would nudge your shoulder while saying that you were finally listening to "real" music. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who started to, without your knowledge, download rap on a new MP3 player he'd bought. It was songs he considered the standard, basic but still good songs. All so you could somehow get into the genre even more on your own. When he was done for the night, he sat back and answered a message from Min-ki, only to then completely question his actions.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who felt like he was going through an existential crisis when it finally hit him that all he had been doing as of late was not something he'd even do for Min-ki or Dong-hyun. It all hit him like bricks being thrown in his face.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who now could explain why he felt like he gained something from hearing you laugh at his jokes. He now has his explanation as to why he wants you to listen to this music so much. He had to sit down on his bed and put his head in his hands, saying a single thing to himself, "Oh, fuck me." 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went to sleep that night still in complete shock at this new revelation. How did he, of all people, find himself having feelings for a girl who less than a year ago he would not even know a single thing about?

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day had the MP3 player in his back pocket the whole time you and he hung out. He was acting the same as always, jokes flying out left and right and endless teasing that made you simply shake your head. Whenever there was a silence that stretched for longer than a minute, he contemplated just handing you the MP3 player. He could just say it was one of his old ones and claim it was since you seemingly liked rap so much. But he put it off.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had just jumped off your bike as you slowed down to get off when you said you and your parents were going away the last five days of summer break, which was next week.

"Angel... no." He spoke as if you had just betrayed him in the worst way possible. You could not help but crack a sheepish smile at his antics.

"It's just for five days—" You went to explain, but his mouth went wider and immediately interrupted you.

"Five days? First Min-ki, then Dong-hyun, and now you? You're all ditching me. Do you want me to go crazy and start talking to myself?" He walked closer to you, trying to stay serious, but when you began laughing lightly, he could not help but crack a smile. 

He was playing around; of course he would not die without you for five days. But he had taken notice that you, unlike many others, did not find his overdramatic joking annoying but endearing. 

"You already talk to yourself." You pointed out to him with a small smile.

"That's besides the point,"

"I will have my phone. We'll still be able to talk."

"Hm," Su-bong hummed, agreeing that did work. His hands slipped inside his pockets, his right hand gracing the MP3 player still in his pockets. 

You shook your head, grabbing the handles of your bikes and beginning to walk the short way to your home. He quickly caught up, an arm finding its way over your shoulder. He could not help but like that you did not pull away from him, letting him hook his arm around you.

"Alright, angel. Since you're ditching me, you owe me—we hang out every day until you leave. No excuses."

"Sure." You shook your head at him. "Damn drama queen."

"Hey!"

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later the next week, after having hung out every day without any excuses like you agreed to, still had the MP3 player in his back pocket. He found himself taking it out of his pocket when getting home every day and fiddling with it, like trying to think of when the perfect time to give it to you would be.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the night before you were going away insisted the two of you go to the abandoned rooftop. Once there, he lit himself a cigarette as the two of you talked and joked about anything you could think about.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who raised his brows when you got a call from Soo-min as the two of you were talking. You answered without hesitation, and from how you were talking, he could tell you had not told her either about the two of you hanging out. A mischievous expression took over his face as he stepped on the cigarette.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who out of nowhere grabbed your wrist and yanked the phone towards himself so he could yell out a hello to Soo-min on the other line. You swiftly smacked him in the head with your hand as he laughed when hearing Soo-min's confused voice. You had rushed out a goodbye before turning and, while laughing, telling him it was not funny. But still, the thought of how Soo-min's face must have looked kept you both laughing for longer than it should have.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who later, when you were both walking back home, pulled out the MP3 player and handed it to you. At your confused face, he explained it had some good songs on it, just to get you started on rap. Jokingly he said you would now have something good to listen to during your almost three-hour car ride the next day.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who made up the excuse that the MP3 player was one of his old ones that he no longer used when you thanked him but said you could not take it. He turned away, hands in his pockets after so you could not see his face, all while shrugging his shoulders as if it was nothing special. You did not say that you knew he was lying; the MP3 player looked way too new. But it made your heart swell.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day, for once during the whole summer, could not simply shoot you a text or even call to ask what you were up to because he already knew. You were in a car on your way to your grandparents. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent that first day more bored than he remembered himself being that first week of summer break. The majority of the time he spent in his room, playing games and only walking downstairs once that night when his parents were home to take up some food for himself.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who the next day went out on his own, having talked to Dong-hyun, who were going to come back the next day, late, when it was only two days until school started again. He found himself visiting all the places that you and he would go to.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who headed for the convenience store around 11 pm, the same one you and he visited, picking out some snacks and a drink for himself. When paying, the same guy that usually worked was there. The worker glanced around the aisles while scanning everything Su-bong had picked up. 

"Where's that girlfriend of yours?" The worker, a twenty-something old guy, spoke suddenly and with a hint of curiosity. 

Su-bong, who had his earbuds in and music from his MP3 player loudly playing in his ears, did not fully hear what the guy had said. He pulled the earbuds from his ears by the cable and furrowed his brows in confusion. "Huh?"

"The girl you're always here with." The worker cleared up, then let out a slight laugh before speaking again. "What, she finally ditched you?"

"She didn't ditch me, man. She's out of town." Su-bong spoke with a hint of annoyance, having hoped it would've been a quick in-and-out of the store.

"So, she is your girlfriend."

"Mind your own business."

"Damn, touchy." The worker smirked. "Thought you'd just say no."

Su-bong grabbed the cash from his pocket and unceremoniously slammed it onto the counter, startling the guy a little. He then snatched back his soda and snacks.

"Maybe I just don't like nosy cashiers who talk too much."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, once he was outside, sat himself down on the curb and popped open the bag of snacks just as his phone began buzzing. While chewing on a chip, he picked it up with furrowed brows, but when seeing your name on the small screen, he did not hesitate to answer it. 

"Well, well, would you look at that—one might actually think you are missing me, angel."

There was a pause before you scoffed lightly on the other side of the phone. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late," he answered. "You've been gone less than two days, and now you are calling me first? I'm basically a priority at this point."

"You are so full of yourself."

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who talked with you for almost an hour that night, getting to know all you'd done while away. He liked it, sitting and listening to you explain the things you had done with your family ever since getting to your grandparents. While talking to you, he slowly began making his way home, occasionally taking a sip or two of his soda. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who spent the whole day after all on his own. But he at least figured out what to do besides being outside. The majority of it consisted of him playing games and listening to music, going out to have a cigarette once. But later that night, he not only got a call from you but also a message from Dong-hyun that he was back and wanted to meet up the next day.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who even if Dong-hyun came back and they hung out the last two days of summer break, got a few texts here and there from you, as if updating him on the strangest things you could think of. But he still appreciated that you still wanted to talk, seemingly having not grown tired of him yet.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who only shrugged and told Dong-hyun that his summer had been pretty uneventful. Su-bong vaguely told him that he kept himself busy while he and Min-ki were away. When Dong-hyun questioned this, saying that many of his calls had not been answered until late and that Min-ki had told him the same, as many of their mails had gone unannounced, all Su-bong did was shrug and repeat he had kept himself busy.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had to withstand Dong-hyun asking him repeatedly to actually tell him what he had been up to all summer. It was like he had become a walking headache to Su-bong; whenever he thought his friend was done asking, a new try at getting information from him was tried. Of course, Su-bong would not tell Dong-hyun and Min-ki—he respected you and did not want to have them running off and telling everyone in school on the first day, especially if you didn't want that.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who actually felt a bit bothered thinking about what would happen when school started again. He heavily disliked the thought of having to act like the two of you were not friends in school, too. With your parents, he understood, and he respected it heavily. Maybe if he did not feel the way he did for you, maybe if you were only a friend to him, it would not be such a bother. But you were not just a friend. No matter how he wanted to feel.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who were hanging out with Dong-hyun and Min-ki, who had just returned, the day before school started, felt his phone vibrate a little. When he picked it up and saw you had written that you were on your way home, he could not help but smile at knowing you would be back. It did not go unnoticed by his two friends; Dong-hyun immediately accused him of having a secret girlfriend, which made Min-ki raise his eyebrows in confusion.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who went to school the next day, was immediately swept up by Dong-hyun and Min-ki, along with some of the other guys in the same class. All of them were catching up outside before even walking inside school, seeing as there was a long time till they had to actually be in class.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who was deep in conversation with four other guys from your class when he spotted your familiar face. You were smiling as you slowed down your bike to park it, along with Soo-min and Ha-eun, who went to do the same. His eyes followed you as you hooked arms with Soo-min as Ha-eun was clearly telling the two of you something.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got nudged by one of your classmates, Woo-jin, asking if he was even listening. He turned his eyes to the group of boys staring back at him, saying he zoned out, and they all shrugged, but the conversation continued nonetheless.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who caught your eye as you walked past the group of boys. Upon seeing him again, you shot him a smile and a small wave with your free hand that had not been hooked with Soo-min. When Su-bong noticed, he gave a slight smile and nod of acknowledgement. A part of him warmed upon seeing you again.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had to hear Dong-hyun, Min-ki, Woo-jin, and Ji-ho ask who that nod was for, as neither of them had seen your smile. Woo-jin and Ji-ho, both confused, got caught up by Min-ki and Dong-hyun about their speculation that Su-bong had spent the summer with someone.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who, once they reached their classroom, felt like he had hit the jackpot. This year he sat one row behind you, diagonally to your right, from what he saw on the seating chart drawn upon the board. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat down at his desk quietly at first, decided to sit and not speak with you if that was what you wanted, but his spirits were lifted when you spoke to him first. You had turned to him, mid-conversation with Hye-ran, smiling and saying hey.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who you struck up a conversation with immediately, ignoring the confused looks on Soo-min's and Ha-eun's faces. You and Su-bong had never spoken like this before the summer. Sure, they knew you had tutored him last semester, but the two of you did not talk like this. This was new. The way you leaned closer and told about what you did those five days away.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who had his conversation with you interrupted by Ha-eun, who finally asked since when you two were friends. Su-bong, who revelled in your slightly flustered expression, asked you to explain to your friends. He found it funny how when away from prying eyes, you were extremely calm, yet under the eyes of your best friends, you got flustered.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who sat back and listened as you, without much detail, explained how the two of you bumped into each other during the summer and hung out a few times. He wanted to laugh out loud—a few times was an understatement. It also amused him how you left out certain details, as if Soo-min and Ha-eun would lecture you about it. Dong-hyun and Min-ki both sat beside him and whispered about how this explained everything. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who got asked by Ha-eun and Soo-min if your parents knew the two of you had hung out, to which silence followed. The two girls had turned to you as if you had committed a crime for not telling them this. 

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who out of what had now become a habit, called you "angel" in front of both your and his friends. Your eyes had widened slightly while staring straight at Su-bong, who realised, but he could not help but pull an amused smile at your flustered face. The wide eyes from your friends that followed were as far as their shock could get, however, because just as they went to loudly ask their questions, the teacher entered the classroom.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who shrugged his shoulders at you when Ha-eun and Soo-min went to sit down, your eyes still on him. For the fun of it, before the teacher could speak, he whispered a quiet "Sorry, angel" to you. The people in front and behind the two of you heard, and your face heated up even more. Before turning to focus on the teacher, you shot Su-bong a pointed look, which earned a quiet laugh.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who prepared himself for you to lecture him after school, but did not expect what you did during lunch instead.

♬.ᐟ  CLASSMATE SU-BONG, who barely had stood up to join Min-ki and Dong-hyun before you had stood up and grabbed his arm, effectively pulling him out of the classroom before your friends could get their hands on you. Dong-hyun and Min-ki whistled at the two of you before laughing along with some other boy in the class who had overheard. Soo-min and Ha-eun tried to catch up to the two of you but failed.

"Where are we—" He had barely any chance to process where you had dragged him off to before a hand hit him over the head. "Ow!"

"What the hell were you thinking calling me that in front of everyone? The whole class, at that!" You asked as Su-bong rubbed the back of his head. He took a glance at you before giving a slight grin to you.

"What? It's not like I said anything bad. Didn't you say you didn't care about that anymore?" 

You stared at him for a moment, your face still hot from the embarrassment that had hit you when some of the boys whistled as you dragged Su-bong off. His grin made you narrow your eyes before swiftly giving him another whack.

"Ow! Calm down, woman!"

"I don't care. But you could have just let me tell Soo-min and Ha-eun properly before." You ignored his dramatics and crossed your arms. Still, your eyes softened when looking at him, but it went unnoticed by Su-bong, who started to speak.

"Well, you can’t blame me for being honest. It's not my fault you're—" Before he could get any further, he felt you gently wrap your arms over his shoulders in a quick but tight hug. 

"It's good to see you again." You said softly to him, causing his heart to beat a little faster. Then, as quickly as you had hugged him, you pulled away. The boy quickly recovered.

"Five days and you miss me that much, huh?" He speaks with a teasing tone, nudging you lightly.

You rolled your eyes. "Don't push your luck."

"You know, you could have just said you missed me without hitting me first."

"Hm, that's boring, and you deserved it."

His grin softened into something more genuine. "It's good seeing you too, angel.”

— If you guys want a part 2, please tell me; I have even more ideas for this. Also, if you have an idea that I could add in that part, I'm always open to suggestions!

[captain-huggy-bear]

Luke would be the type to keep his private life very private so him having a gf only really his family and friends in michigan know so the devils have no clue and i could see the boys always trying to get luke to hookup with people for like a whole season till next season when they finally learn luke has had a gf the whole time

Oh boy, 100%. He always just politely tells them he's not interested in dating anyone or having a casual hookup or pretends he doesn't notice what they're doing. Jack 100% does not help, he finds it hilarious when any of the guys are trying to get Luke to talk to some random girl in a bar, but he will 100% confirm to you that Luke is the most loyal boyfriend you could ask for. I also see Luke feeling guilty about it even though he hasn't done anything, so every time he gets back to the apartment he's telling you if you live together or phoning you if you don't and basically confessing his 'sins', like 'i'm so sorry, baby, Marky tried to get me to go out with this blonde and she wouldn't stop touching my arm and I told her I wasn't interested and I only love you.' Definitely reaches a point where he breaks and just goes 'STOP! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND' and all the guys are just like 'why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?' Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Hey, C'mon, Rusty! What about the blonde at the end of the bar?" Curtis points to a young woman around Luke's age, platinum blonde hair, little black dress, who's eyeing Luke like he might be candy. It doesn't flatter him, if anything it sends a sick feeling to his gut, a roiling discomfort because only you're allowed to look at him like that. You can eye fuck him, no one else. He feels objectified.

"Curtis, I've told you I'm not interested. Not my type." Not his type because his girlfriend is his only type and there's only one of you. It doesn't matter if 100 attractive women all tried to get his number right now, he wouldn't care, wouldn't give it out because you're the one he wants. Literally no one compares to you, he's smitten, whipped, absolutely in love.

"C'mon, seriously! You didn't go out with anyone all last season! Not even a hook up, you're celibate, man! You're young, you should be having fun!" Curtis knocks his shoulder with a grin and Luke just grips his beer tighter, feeling a familiar frustration at the situation. He spent all of last season dealing with the boys trying to goad him into hook ups and flings, throwing women at him like it was their duty to get him laid. He hated every minute of it.

"Yeah, Lukey, you were practically celibate, a monk," Jack chimes in, arm thrown over Luke's shoulder with a grin, the irony of his words not lost on either of them because Luke was definitely not celibate last year. He just wasn't hooking up with random strangers, because he'd started dating you, because you were the only person he wanted to see, to kiss, to sleep with and that still stood firm and true.

"Just go talk to her, maybe you'll get lucky and go home with her tonight! C'mon, what's wrong?" It's Dougie that chimes in this time and Luke wants to die. He wants to die. Or alternative go to your apartment and curl up with you in bed because this is the worst.

"Yeah, are you scared, Lukey?" If Jack wasn't his brother he'd have killed him already, killed him for encouraging all of this bullshit for a year, knowing full well that Luke wasn't single. But, he can't because his mom would be upset if Jack died...he rolls his eyes at him instead, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders.

"You're not secretly a virgin or anything, right, Rusty?"

"Fuck off, Lazar." He snaps, not because it would matter if he was, but because it's stupid that that's the only reason people can comprehend he wouldn't want to sleep around. Maybe it's just not his thing to have hook ups? Maybe he's focusing on his career? Maybe he's already in love and anything else would be cheap and insignificant in comparison?

"Oh, that's hit a nerve, some truth in that?" The guys are all grinning at him like they think they've got it all worked out and it just...it makes him snap, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been cradling to the bar top.

"No, y'know why I don't want to go talk to some random fucking blonde in the bar or hook up with whatever girl you throw my way? Because I've got a fucking girlfriend, okay? I'm not virgin! I'm not celibate! I just don't want to fuck a girl that isn't my girlfriend!" Luke's breathing heavy by the end of it, red it the face because it is so fucking annoying to constantly be bugged about it and he just wants everyone to get off his back. He's happily with you, he doesn't need random hook ups and he certainly doesn't need his team mates trying to get him laid like they have some moral duty to do so.

The way they look at him makes him feel stupid because suddenly they're all calling out variations of, "Dude! Why the fuck didn't you tell us this sooner?!" and he realises that maybe he could have solved this all months earlier by just saying he was seeing someone...like a normal person, maybe? But he'd wanted to keep things private...

He flounders for an explanation, mouth opening and closing, running a hand through his mess curls like that might help his brain to function.

"I just...it was new and...we were keeping it private."

It's Marky that turns to look at Jack, "Did you not know about this?"

"Oh, I knew." Jack is all smug enjoyment, leaning back against the bar and winking at the blonde Curtis had been trying to set Luke up with. Satisfaction rolled off him in cocky waves.

"Why they hell did you let us shove girls at your brother then?" Curtis asks, shocked, nay baffled because Jack had just spent an entire season practically encouraging the behaviour all while knowing full well Luke was dating you.

"It was funny," He shrugs with a grin and mentally Luke is considering whether the price he'd pay is worth putting itching powder in Jack's underwear drawer or maybe if cutting his hair in his sleep would be a better punishment since he can't rip another set of braces off him like Quinn did.

"That's messed up, Jack!" "Yeah, man!"

Luke sighs as the guys all ripped into Jack, downing the last of his beer and grabbing his phone off the bar top.

"Fuck this, I'm going to see Y/N."

"Ohh, you're girlfriend!?" And just like that Luke knows...he knows he's not out of the woods, it's just that the woods have changed from teasing and taunting him about hook ups, to doing so about his girlfriend.

Fuck, he hates being a younger brother.

[lotuseaterconference]

I agree that people are sometimes too hung up on language choice over substance, and you also make a good point that you can express anti-trans ideas in perfectly polite and measured-sounding language. But I do think it says something that I've never heard someone express take one in the kind of "un-PC" register you wrote it in. I've never heard a cishet person who uses "tranny" in mixed company express the belief that trans women are women or that trans men or men, or express confident support for trans people's right to access HRT or use whatever bathrooms, or really any other pro-trans position you could name. And I have heard them say much the opposite, or otherwise offensive things (which I understand you're not arguing with). I expect if you google the word "tranny", you will not find many takes by cis people who use that word and express the sentiments you did in your example. Not just fewer pro-trans than anti-trans, but I would honestly be surprised if you found any.

If someone goes around using slurs or whatever "un-PC" terminology, it isn't a perfect indicator of willful malice or support for harmful policy positions or whatever, and you can definitely argue they should be given more leeway w/ language choice so long as their heart's in the right place so to speak. But... for the most part people don't actually develop their politics and sense of social norms independent of social context, and the social networks and subcultures that give people exposure to a "trans women are women" or "HRT access for everyone" or "let trans people use whatever bathroom" stances also generally expose you to "tranny is a slur" and "don't say slurs*, they're hurtful". Some trans people don't care and that's legit too... but enough trans people care that you know, you'd think they would hear it gives a lot of people a flinch response, esp if they use it so casually.

So if a stranger throws around "un-PC" language, they are genuinely less likely to hold pro-trans views as a whole, and imo it's not unreasonable for trans people to think that hey this thing is highly correlated w/ anti-trans views what's going on here, even aside from the moral case against saying "tranny" or other slurs. And if you're a cis person who doesn't want to be perceived as clueless and/or bigoted by random trans people, you'll have a better chance if you avoid that particular word at the least. I'm not saying it's fair to write strangers off as bigots or go in guns blazing rather than going hey what's up, but you know, it's information.

(*W/ the standard disclaimer re: reclamation.)

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

[acid-ixx]

why do people who send hate messages have to hide through anons, LMAO. first of all, if anybody wants to confront me, or any other writers, then do so without hiding through the safety of anons.

secondly, i do post occasional updates about my writing progress because i don't want others to think that i'm abandoning my writing + i'm not the only writer here spamming the yan batfam tag??? and i don't do so frequently. i'm not calling anybody out, but it's not only me spamming tags with just answering random asks and posts unrelated to it, no?

and as much as i love to write, i have a life outside of tumblr and as prideful as this sounds, let's see how you can try to emulate writing a chapter more than 10k words because you don't want to publish a half-assed fanfic for others to consume.

i take my time, and if that time may take months then let me, because i don't get paid to write, and all the things i post in my blog are self-indulgent, not an obligation. there's plenty of other people out there who can produce works quickly, but not me.

thirdly, yes, i agree. there are more talented writers than me. they deserve more followers and i stand by that! my writing style is simple, very inconvenient at times, but it's what makes me comfortable, it's what makes me happy, but with your last message, it's like you're implying i don't deserve my own space in the writing community, especially in the batfam tags. there's no rules saying that just because i update slowly, then suddenly i'm undeserving of posting in the tags with updates in my work? seriously, anon, this sounds more like barely disguised jealousy and no offense, it's honestly pathetic if you think it hurts my feelings. if people don't like the way i write, then block me, unfollow me, confront me, do whatever.

before anymore hate is sent, i'll be turning off anons temporarily soon. and yes, i'll be posting this in the tags because i know i'm not the only author being targeted by hate asks, this is all for awareness. and to all those wanting to send hate, at least don't hide behind a mask of safety lol.

[marauder-misprint]

I loved Nail polish & cologne, you are such an amazing writer! It's been so long since I read a decent version of Moony in a fic. You made me incredibly happy today 🫣

Sorry if it's rude to ask, any chance you could make a sequel?

Omg, I don't find it rude at all to ask for sequels/more parts to any of my writing! It's one of the highest compliments in my opinion! So, thank you 🥰

Also tagging everyone who asked for a part 2 in the replies/comments ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Fresh parchment & perfume

Remus Lupin x reader

part one

2.3k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining, Y/N, angst if you squint

You want to murder Remus Lupin. 

Okay, not really. But you’re frustrated that he’s taken away one of your simple daily joys: staring at him during class. You’ve been caught staring at him multiple times now and you swear there have been times where he was looking at you first. This never happened before so why is it happening now? 

You come to a conclusion, but you don’t like it. It’s the only thing that makes sense though.

“Lily!” you yell as you enter your dorm and slam the door behind you. “What did you say?”

She looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“About what? To who? When?” she asks, preparing her defense.

“About what I smelled in the Amortentia!”

“You never told me what you smelled,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I mean, I can assume, but you never actually told me. And who would I have told?”

“Oh, I don’t know, James, maybe?”

She laughs. “Potter?” Then she looked down at her hands. “I mean, yeah, we’ve talked a little bit and he doesn’t seem… as bad? But we don’t talk about you.” 

“Oh.” Your voice is small. “Never mind then.”

You collapse on your bed and Lily is sitting at the foot of it within seconds. 

“What gave you the idea that I’ve told Potter about your feelings for a certain quiet prefect?” she asks.

You lift your head to glare at her. You’re not in the mood. 

“He’s been looking at me…” you mumble, which causes Lily to fall into a fit of laughter. “Lily!”

“I-I… I’m sorry, but… that’s ridiculous and you know it,” she manages to say in between her laughs. “He’s been looking at you?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “He’s never looked at me this much before”

You pause as you hide your face in your hands. 

“He must know and he’s trying to figure out how to tell me that he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or he’s working up the courage to talk to you?” Lily offers.

“He can talk to me just fine. We’ve studied before. Played Summoner’s Court. Wizards’ chess. We talk.” 

“Okay, yes, you talk. But have you tried flirting with him?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No… But then why is he just staring at me and not talking to me?” 

“Why have you been staring at him and not flirting with him?” she shoots your question back at you. 

“I don’t need your logic right now,” you groan, rolling over to shove your face into your pillow. 

---

“Has she always stared at me this much?” Remus asks Sirius nervously as they lounge in their dorm. 

James was at quidditch practice and Peter had solo detention. 

“Can’t say I’ve paid much attention to her, Moony. Might be a better question for Prongs.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Because Y/N’s always with Evans? And he stares at her quite often. Come on, mate. Two plus two.” Sirius gives his friend a sympathetic look. “Have you talked to her at all since?”

Remus doesn’t answer, letting the silence answer for him. No, he hadn’t. The amount of times he’s caught you staring at him over the past two days is startling. Each time, you would turn red and look away almost immediately. He hasn’t been able to focus as much in classes, not when he knows you might be looking at him, not when Sirius thinks he might actually have a chance with you. 

“Have you… oh, I don’t know, considered talking to her?”

“Padfoot,” Remus says tiredly. 

“You can’t ask a girl out without words.”

“You would know.” It comes out more as a sigh. 

Remus doesn’t want to admit it, but yes, out of the Marauders, Sirius had the most experience with girls. But whether his “expertise” could actually be trusted was up in the air. He never stayed with a girl for too long and he wasn’t sure if it was his choice or a result of his actions. 

“Yes, I would know. And if she has been staring at you as much as you claim, even if just these past few days, ask. her. out.” 

“What if she’s just been zoning out? You know, when you stare but you’re not really looking?”

“She’s just been zoned out in your direction multiple times a day?”

“Yes.”

Remus knows it sounds ridiculous, and that’s only enforced when Sirius chuckles from the window where he’s smoking. Then he’s standing up and offering Remus one. 

“Stop being so dense,” he says. “And so hard on yourself. I know what that voice in your head is saying.”

Remus takes the cigarette and follows Sirius back to the window.

“And what is it saying?”

“That you’re not worthy of love or attraction, that you’re not attractive. So how could lovely Y/N actually like you when you’re, well, you.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Remus says dryly before taking a drag. 

“Oi, not saying any of that’s true.”

Remus rolls his eyes. 

“Ask. her. out. And you’ll see that you’re wrong.”

The two boys sit on the window ledge for a while, each going through a few cigarettes. Silence fills the room. Sirius is more than content to just let his brain empty while Remus’s mind is running circles around itself.

Was he imagining the blush when he caught you staring? Were you staring because you liked him? Were you just staring into the distance and turning red because you realized you were staring at a person? How often did you stare at him? Was it because of that Potions lesson? What if you were staring near him and not actually at him? Was he being narcissistic to think you looked at him? He sat by Peter, James and Sirius in every class. It was very logical to think that you were staring at one of them. 

“Shit,” Remus mutters.

“What?” Sirius’ voice sounds far away despite being right next to him.

“She’s been staring at you.” 

Sirius laughs.

“No, Pads, think about it. You’ve been next to me every time I’ve caught her staring. It makes so much sense!”

“Moony. You’re delusional,” Sirius says. 

James enters the dorm. Sirius’ eyes light up.

“Prongs, help me out here!” Sirius calls as James throws his bag down on his bed.

“Yeah?” 

“Y/N. Has she been staring at me or Moony in class?” 

“I’m not getting in between you two if you’re fighting over a girl,” James says, laying down on the floor near the window.

“Not fighting over a girl,” Remus says, giving Sirius an annoyed look. “Padfoot just figures you’d know who she stares at, if she’s staring at all, since you, you know, stare at Lily.”

“I do not!” James exclaims as he sits up rapidly.

Sirius laughs, “She’s not in here and we know you do. Don’t lie.” He pauses for a moment to light a new cigarette. “For Moony’s sake, does Y/N stare at him during class?”

James slowly lays back down while giving Sirius a wary look.

“I swear, if I get hexed for answering…”

“Not going to hex you!” Sirius says.

“She stares at Moony. A lot. Think she pays more attention to him than lessons.”

“So she’s gone for you!” Sirius barks, clapping a hand on Remus’ knee and causing him to grimace. “Fucking told you!”

---

You make a serious effort to not look in Remus’ direction during classes. It kills you. It’s been your habit for years and you’re quitting cold turkey. You’re both grateful and mortified that Remus hasn’t called you out for it; he can’t call you out for it if he hasn’t talked to you. 

It doesn’t help that Lily has started gently nudging you every time Remus enters a room or sits remotely near you. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know what she’s thinking. 

“You’re the first thing he looks at when he enters a room,” she whispers during Transfiguration. 

“Or he’s looking for the Marauders,” you retort just as quietly. 

“Yeah, right,” she says sarcastically. 

Professor McGonagall flashes a harsh look in your direction and the two of you fall silent. You’re thankful that she didn’t call you out, or worse, ask you to share what you were talking about with the class. That would have been mortifying. 

You’ve been successful in your mission to not stare at Remus so far, despite the insatiable urge to do so pulling at your eyes. You swear, the man is magnetic. It doesn’t help that Lily has suddenly become relentless in her nudging and subtle poking.

“What?” you hiss, looking down at your notes.

“He keeps looking this way.” 

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to McGonagall. While Lily’s words stoked the flame of hope in your heart, you didn’t need to be losing house points for not paying attention. 

When class ended, Lily put her things away at record speed.

“Potter! Wait up!” she calls, leaving you behind.

You frown as you briefly watch her go. You usually walked to your next class together. You knew that she smelled something like James in the Amortentia and that had fueled her new friendship with him. And as much as you liked seeing your friend this happy, you didn’t like that it meant walking to your classes alone. 

Except when you exit the classroom, you aren't alone. Remus is right at your side. You walk in silence for a few paces. It’s not uncomfortable but it’s charged. Despite the other students in the corridor with you, you swear you can hear every step you take. It doesn’t help that you can feel your heart beating in your throat. 

“How’ve you been?” you ask. You keep your face straight, knowing that if you look at Remus, you’ll likely trip, fall and embarrass yourself.

“Oh… I’ve been relatively good.” He pauses momentarily. “James hasn’t shut up about what he smelled in the Amortentia.” 

You try not to laugh. “Lily’s not been too shy about it either. I think she’ll say yes sooner or later.” 

Remus gestures ahead of you to where the two are. “Seems like it.”

Silence falls between you again. You were used to being with Remus in the quiet; that’s how it usually was when you studied in the library together. Except that was different. When you studied, you had your books in front of you and you were both scribbling away, scrawling on  parchment until your inkwells ran out. 

“Did you really smell the library in the Amortentia?” you ask, breaching the silence. You’re not really sure what made you ask, but something inside of you needed to know.

“Erm, yeah. Yeah, I did,” he answers. He’s not looking at you in the same way you’re not looking at him, meaning you’re both trying to gauge the other’s expression in your peripheral vision. “What did you smell? You got pretty quiet after smelling the potion.”

“Oh, um, I smelled… nail polish, chocolate, parchment,” you listed off with a glaring omission. 

Remus let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. He didn’t want to admit that he was disappointed in your answer. He was hoping you had smelled something more obviously him. It didn’t register in his brain that he was the chocolate and parchment you smelled. 

“That all?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Was the library all you smelled?” you retorted defensively. 

You saw his features tense. 

“Was it?” you repeated, more gentle this time, like talking to a scared child. 

“It was the library. Everything that encompasses my usual visits,” he starts to say as he turns to look at you. “The books, fresh parchment, ink, your perfume.” 

You stop walking. Remus notices immediately, having been watching you and your expression. His heart is racing in his chest. He can’t tell if your reaction is good or bad, based on your wide eyes and sharp intake. You swallow, looking up at the taller, scarred boy next to you.

“My… perfume? You smelled me?” you ask. “You smelled me in the Amortentia?”

Remus flushes with embarrassment. He feels like he should’ve known better than to trust Sirius on this. He was a self-proclaimed ladies’ man afterall. 

Remus nods. He doesn’t know if he trusts his voice, but then he starts rambling.

“I thought… Sirius said you couldn’t look away from me so he said I had a chance, but obviously, if you don’t feel the same way… I don’t want this to change anything between us. I don’t want it to be awkward. I really value our friendship. I’m so sorry if I just ruined it, but I like you. I really do. I have for a while, but I’ll try to stop if it makes you uncomfort-”

“Remus,” you say firmly as you grab his arm. 

He stops talking immediately. His eyes search yours for an answer that he realizes he probably cut off. 

“What do you always carry with you and share with me in the library?” you ask, your voice just as firm.

“Chocolate?” His brows bunch in confusion.

“And what you always, always have a fresh roll of?”

“Parchment?”

“And… I may have smelled one more thing. In the Amortentia.” You took a breath. “Your cologne.”

“My cologne?” he echoes like how you had repeated him earlier. 

You wait for him to connect the dots, pressing your lips together. 

“So you smelled chocolate, parchment and my cologne?”

“Don’t forget nail polish.”

He chuckles. He takes your hand that’s on his arm and holds it in his own. 

“What you’re saying is that I do have a chance? That Sirius was right?” 

“Sirius was right,” you laugh. 

“In that case, would you like to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“I would love to come to Hogsmeade with you, Remus,” you answered with a smile.

Maybe Sirius does know a thing or two about girls, Remus thinks as he walks with you to your next class. 

Tags: @oursweetmoony, @pinkdaiisies, @iloveremmy, @3sriracha, @auntjezzy

[sir-subpar]

Ai is so often used to steal art, writing, I'm sick of it.

Any good use for it is squandered by these negative uses.

The idea of AI taking the jobs we don't want so we can live more comfortably sounds good on paper, but the thing is, we can't afford it.

I hate to sound like one of those South Park rednecks that always talk about how their jobs were stolen by (x) thing, because I know the issue runs deeper than that, but allow me to be a little surface level for a moment.

Companies have already tried using AI to replace workers. Which again, could be cool, if we didn't still have to find ways to pay for living.

It would be cool if companies didn't try to use Bots to replace online therapists.

I know they shut down the bot in that case, because it gave harmful advice, but still, they fired people to try this clearly experimental solution that could have been dangerous to people.

I want AI that helps us, that makes us actually safer, and isn't used for theft.

I want AI that isn't used to make child pornography of people!

These aren't the robots I was hoping for.

I wish there was a way to completely OPT OUT of AI. Like you could set your ENTIRE Internet browser to NOT shove it down your throat.

When social media was getting big, you could just NOT get a Facebook or a Twitter. It was simple as that. You can't do that with AI.

Trying to find a job? It goes straight to an AI filter. Trying to look at art? Here's 100+ ai shit. Trying to look up who was in what movie from the 1980s? GOOGLE GEMINI IS HERE WITH THE COMPLETELY WRONG ANSWER!

Someone PLEASE create a way to allow people to get AI the FUCK OUT of our lives if we DO NOT WANT IT!

[markleessodalite]

They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

[lavenderprose]

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

could you do a long smut where Jude and Reader are dating and she's just extremely innocent and that turns Jude on, but at the same time he wants to corrupt her, he wants to protect her innocence. The reader sits on his lap or is always wearing short clothes (as she is inside the house) and he can't take it anymore... one time, they are kissing and Jude loses control, he gets on top of her and kisses her with desire and So she's all confused because she feels strange, like she's never felt before and she wants more, but Jude gets off her right away and he's so hard and the reader can't help but watch that with curiosity... they don't They talk about Aquil, but as the days go by, she notices that he doesn't want to kiss her and always pushes her away and this makes her sad and she decides to talk to him about it... he is frank with her saying that she is extremely innocent and that the things he wants to do to her have destroyed her innocence; She says she trusts him and wants to go all the way with him (even though she doesn't know exactly what to do) and then Jude takes her virginity, being extremely careful and always asking if she's sure. Reader stares in fascination upon seeing him naked for the first time and Jude can't help but be enchanted by how adorable she is. She had never felt that way, Jude's hands are all over her body and when Jude enters her, no matter how much it hurts, it makes her feel so good (please could you put dirty talk in that, I'm just a bitch about Jude being naughty and talking dirty)

I finally did it! After two weeks of writing, I’ve finished this project! This is the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I poured my heart into it as an apology for my long absence. If you notice any repeated scenes… well, that’s because I wrote this over two weeks, and my memory is about as reliable as a goldfish’s. Plus, I was way too tired to edit. I tried to stick to the request as much as I could but my imagination got carried away.

-Much love, Bianca 🌻

Inocencia

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — In which you and Jude are soulmates.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 24.2k

Warnings! FLUFF! Jude is so soft with her, he's so in love, insecurities, first love, established relationship, this is the softest thing I've ever written, slight angst for the plot (nothing serious), NSFW! SMUT (18+), corruption kink, virgin reader, first time, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), fingering, soft sex, multiple orgasms, dom!Jude, sub!reader, a little surprise at the end for y'all

Growing up, your life wasn’t just structured; it was scripted.

A carefully choreographed routine, every step dictated by expectations you had no hand in setting.

Your parents didn’t ask for much, just obedience, and you learned quickly that nodding and murmuring yes was easier than explaining the no lodged in your throat. Childhood wasn’t about exploration; it was about perfection. Whims were traded for polished manners, because mistakes were lessons learned the hard way.

Mornings began with perfectly made beds and meticulously crafted schedules, while evenings were reserved for review sessions of tests you wouldn’t take for weeks. Every minute of the day was accounted for, leaving little room for anything but perfection.

So you became a master of disguise.

The messy, loud, imperfect parts of you? Those were hidden away, locked behind a wall of politeness and precision. You never thought to question it. This was life, wasn’t it?

At school, the contrast was striking.

Your classmates had lives that seemed so chaotic, so mesmerisingly beautiful. At least to you. You dreamed of being like them. Of joining the dance team, of skipping class, of reading books that your mother didn't pick out for you.

They had the kind of freedom you couldn’t fathom. They whispered about parties that ended at sunrise, secret crushes, first kisses stolen under streetlights. You listened, fascinated but silent. Rules first, fun later.

But "later" had a funny way of never showing up.

And then came Charlie.

You first met her on orientation day, a whirlwind of awkward introductions and icebreakers that felt anything but natural. Later, you discovered she was your roommate.

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of her. Charlie was… a lot.

At first glance, she seemed like someone you might not click with—her energy almost too big for the room, her laugh too loud for the small spaces you preferred to inhabit. But Charlie wasn’t the kind of person you could easily dismiss. She had a way of pulling you into her orbit before you even realized it.

She was the type to breathe chaos into order, and somehow, it felt exhilarating instead of terrifying.

Her hair was perpetually tousled, like she’d just stepped out of a convertible, and her eyeliner was smudged in a way that teetered between effortlessly cool and slightly rebellious. Charlie didn’t believe in plans or schedules. She just lived.

And that scared you as much as it fascinated you.

Charlie’s world was the opposite of yours. Plans? Schedules? Those were foreign concepts to her. She moved through life with a kind of chaotic grace, unburdened by rules or the need to please anyone. It wasn’t just her confidence that drew you in; it was her freedom, the way she seemed to exist without fear of judgment.

So when she begged—insisted—you come to her boyfriend’s birthday party, you barely had time to think up an excuse. “It’s downtown,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement. “You never go downtown. You’ll love it. Or hate it. But at least you’ll survive it. Please?”

You hesitated, of course. Clubs weren’t your thing. Loud music, strangers, flashing lights—it sounded like a nightmare. But Charlie had this way of pulling you out of your shell with sheer force of will.

And that’s how you ended up there.

The nightclub was chaos incarnate.

The music wasn’t just loud—it was alive, a relentless bassline that seemed to sync with your heartbeat and vibrate in your throat. The air was thick with perfume, cologne, sweat, and the faint tang of spilled drinks. Lights pulsed like strobes, casting sharp shadows and brilliant flashes over the crowd.

You clung to the drink Charlie had handed you—something neon pink and overly sweet—sticking to the edge of the dance floor, hoping to blend into the wallpaper. But, alas.

“Having Fun!” She had shouted over the music when she found you a half-hour later. Her smile was wide, her cheeks flushed from dancing.

“Yeah!” you’d shouted back, though you were far from it. Your feet ached from heels you regretted wearing the moment you stepped outside, and your head throbbed from the bassline that seemed to shake the very floor.

Charlie didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press. She just grinned and teased, “Loosen up! We're here to partayyyy!” before spinning back into the crowd.

Loosening up was easier said than done.

You stayed, partly out of stubbornness and partly because she’d promised burgers afterward. But the crowd didn’t get any less overwhelming, and the bass didn’t grow any quieter. Soon enough, the drinks you’d nervously sipped started making demands on your bladder.

Navigating the club was its own kind of ordeal, like threading a needle through a sea of moving bodies. By the time you reached the bathroom line, you were convinced the club had been designed by sadists who enjoyed watching people suffer in heels.

And that’s when you met him.

You were half-distracted, balancing your drink in one hand while trying to make your way through the packed hallway without spilling it. Your friends had already disappeared into the crowd, and you were craning your neck, trying to spot them, when you took the corner too sharply.

It happened fast. A solid wall—or at least that’s what it felt like—stopped you in your tracks. Your drink, the bright, sticky concoction it was, jumped out of your cup, splattering the pristine white shirt in front of you.

“Ah, no!” you yelped, realizing what you’d done as you stumbled back a step. The sound of your drink hitting fabric was followed by an awkward silence.

Your eyes shot up, wide with panic. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The words tumbled out before you could think, your heart pounding like it might leap out of your chest.

The guy blinked, looking down at his now-ruined shirt, then back at you. For a split second, you braced yourself for anger, irritation, or some sharp comment that would make the whole situation worse. Like you were so used to. Your head instinctively bent, ready for the scolding you were sure you'd get.

But instead, he laughed—short and low but unmistakable.

“Guess I shouldn’t have worn white, huh?” he said, his accent soft, the words rolling off his tongue like he found the whole thing funny.

You blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. “I—uh—wait, let me—” You spun around, spotting a table nearby and snatching up a handful of napkins. Your hands were shaking as you turned back to him. Memories of fists and broken plates and your fault, your fault danced in the corners of your mind.

You pushed them away.

The napkins were gone before you knew it, your fingers flying over his shirt, trying to mop up the pink liquid. His brows furrowing in concern as he watched your panicked motions, but when he reached out to touch your wrist, you flinched.

“Hey,” he said gently, “it’s okay.” And you had to force yourself to relax into his grip. “Look, why don’t I go clean up in the bathroom real quick, and you can take a deep breath. I’m sure we can get the stain out.”

He stepped away, and you could feel your breath return in increments, your heartbeat slowing as he spoke. Your gaze followed him, watching the way his shoulders moved under the white fabric, now blotched with pink. He disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing there, clutching a pile of sticky napkins, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

You wanted to melt into the floor, vanish into the neon lights and pounding music. Instead, you took a deep breath, like he’d suggested, and tried to shake off the lingering panic.

When he came back, his shirt was damp but clean enough, a faint pink stain barely visible. “See?” he said, grinning as he gestured to his shirt. “No harm done.”

You managed a small smile. “I’m still really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He shrugged, the movement easy, as if he genuinely didn’t care. “It happens. You okay?”

The question caught you off guard. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “I dunno. Just… you looked kinda spooked back there.”

“Nah, I was just worried about your shirt is all.” You could feel your cheeks start to flush, a mix of embarrassment and self-consciousness. “I didn’t mean to ruin it. I'm sorry.”

He grinned. “I told, it's cool. How about this,” He gestured toward the bar, where a long line snaked out into the crowded hallway, before continuing. “Next drink is on me. You game?”

You hesitated for a split second. This was the part where you should say no, walk away and find Charlie or the bathroom. This was the part where your mom would warn you against talking to strangers. And then you’d go back to your normal, structured life and forget the whole incident.

But something about him made you pause.

For some weird reason, you felt safe with him, which was strange because he was still a stranger. But then again, that’s life, right? Making mistakes? Learning by them? Trying things and seeing if they work out or not? Maybe it was time to do that.

Maybe it was time to try.

So you nodded. “Yeah.”

*******

Eight months. That’s how long it’s been, and somehow, he’s still just as captivating as the first day. Maybe even more so.

You’ve never felt anything like this before—not with anyone. The way Jude looks at you, the way he listens when you speak, it’s like he sees through the layers you’ve spent years building up. Sometimes, it’s unnerving, how easily he seems to read you, like your thoughts aren’t secrets at all, but something written in a language only he understands.

He’s everything you never thought you’d find in someone—charming in a way that feels effortless, patient when the shadows of your past make you falter, and protective in a way that doesn’t smother but shields.

It’s in the way he holds doors open without making it a spectacle, or the way his hand hovers near yours, like he’s waiting for you to reach out, to let him in. He never forces, never pushes—just waits.

And when you finally let him, it’s like coming home to something you never knew you needed.

He makes you feel precious, in a way that’s unfamiliar. His touch is careful, his words thoughtful. He treats you like something rare, something fragile—not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he doesn’t want to be the one to hurt you.

And that’s a feeling you never thought you’d know.

Not after growing up in a house where fists spoke louder than words, where anger lived in every corner. Where the man who should’ve been your protector was your first lesson in betrayal.

For so long, that was all you knew. Rage masquerading as love. Pain disguised as discipline. You’d convinced yourself that was all there was, that kindness and warmth were things meant for other people, not you.

But then Jude came along. And with him, the impossible became real.

He showed you that there are more ways to love than hurt. That there are words that could comfort instead of cut, that there were hands that could hold instead of slap. That maybe—just maybe—you deserved more than what you’d gotten.

He tells you things that make you feel like a goddess, a queen, a princess. That you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. That he could stare at you all day and never get tired of it. That he’s falling in love with you, and every word makes you fall even more in love with him too.

He calls you his princess, and it doesn’t make you cringe like you think it would.

You like it.

You love him.

********

The shrill buzz of your phone pulls you from your lecture notes, dragging your attention away from the professor’s voice. You squint at the screen, the light stark against the dimmed classroom. A text from Jude lits up your screen: “I’m outside.”

Your stomach flutters, a small smile creeping onto your lips. Quickly, you tap out a reply, “Coming” before stuffing your phone back into your bag.

The professor's voice drones on, giving out last-minute details about the upcoming assignment, but your focus has already shifted. You glance at the clock, your heart ticking a beat faster. With a whispered "thank you" as class concluded, you gather your belongings in a blur of movement, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you make your way to the exit.

The crisp air outside greets you, a welcome contrast to the stuffy classroom. It doesn't take long to spot him.

Jude leans casually against his car parked by the curb, his hoodie slightly wrinkled and joggers hanging just right. The late afternoon sun catches on the strands of his messy coils, highlighting the slight curve of his lips as he catches sight of you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice carrying over the hum of campus life. He doesn't move at first, just stands there watching you, a playful glint in his eyes that make your cheeks warm.

You wave, suddenly hyperaware of the way your bag bounces against your side as you walk. By the time you reach him, his smile has softened into something warm and familiar, and before you can say a word, he reaches out, opening the passenger door with a fluid motion.

“You’re late,” he teases, though the way he leans forward to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips told a different story.

"Am not,” you reply, your voice mock-indignant as you slip into the seat.

Jude chuckles, closing the door behind you before circling around to the driver’s side. Once he slides in, he immediately reaches for your seatbelt, the motion so casual it makes your heart skip. His fingers brushes lightly against your arm as he clicks the buckle into place. It's such a small gesture, but it carries a kind of intimacy that leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, sitting back and adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. His gaze flickers over to you, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “You good?”

You nod, still caught in the warmth of his attention. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m better now,” he says, flashing a grin that is so unfairly charming it should be illegal. He starts the car, the low hum of the engine blending with the soft music playing from the speakers. “Hungry?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Is that a trick question?”

Jude huffs, his smirk faltering. “Smartass.”

“Yup,” you agree, grinning back.

He shoots you a look—playfully annoyed but still affectionate—and you giggle in response. It’s the kind of thing that happens so easily between the two of you—a sense of banter that doesn’t feel like fighting, just friendly sparring. It took a while for you to get used to them.

“I can cook tonight,” you offer, reaching for your phone as he eases out into traffic. “What do you want?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“Okay,” you murmur, scrolling through your messages to pull up Charlie's last text. You’d asked her if she was staying over at her boyfriend's, and she’d replied with a thumbs-up and a string of hearts. A smile crosses your lips as you tuck the phone away.

“We've got the apartment to ourselves tonight,” you say, settling back into your seat and gazing out the window. “If you still wanna come over, that is. I can make you dinner.”

Jude's smile turns languid. “You know I do, princess. I’m always up for food at your place.”

“Okay,” you murmur turning to look at the passing scene as the corners of his mouth quirk even higher.

*********

The apartment feels quieter than usual without Charlie.

Not in an uncomfortable way—just different. Her energy always filled the space, a constant buzz of chatter, music, and the occasional burst of laughter that never failed to make you smile. Without her, the silence feels oddly still, like the apartment itself is taking a deep breath.

You emerge from the bathroom wrapped in your fluffy pink robe, the one Charlie always teases you about but secretly adores. Your hair is slightly damp from your shower, loose strands sticking to your neck. The cool air from the air-conditioning brushes over your skin, and you shiver slightly as you step into the living room.

Jude is exactly where you left him, sprawled on the couch like he owns the place, phone balanced precariously on his knee.

His brows are drawn together in concentration, and his thumbs fly over the screen at a speed that seems almost superhuman. He’s clearly playing some game, utterly absorbed in whatever digital battlefield he’s dominating.

You tread softly across the room, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. He doesn’t even glance up, so focused that he doesn’t notice you until you’re right in front of him. When you settle onto the couch beside him, the cushion dips under your weight, and only then does he stir.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, his voice warm and slightly distracted. His arm snakes around your waist without hesitation, pulling you into his side. His eyes stay glued to his screen, but his lips find the top of your head in a lazy, affectionate kiss that makes your heart flutter.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice soft as you lean into him. His embrace is as familiar as it is comforting, the warmth wrapping around you and sinking into your bones. He smells like fresh laundry and that woodsy cologne he always wears, the one that lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone.

For a moment, you just sit there, tucked against him as he plays.

His body is solid, a loving strength that you’ve come to rely on without even realizing it. You let out a contented sigh, your cheek resting against his shoulder. Jude glances at you briefly, his lips quirking into a small smile as he presses another kiss to your temple.

“You smell so good, baby. Like strawberries,” he remarks, his tone teasing but fond.

“It’s my shampoo,” you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His ability to fluster you with the simplest comments is as maddening as it is endearing to him.

“Smells good.” He pauses his game just long enough to tilt his head down, his nose brushing against your damp hair. “Smells like you.”

You bite your lip, the corners of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. His charm is relentless, and even when he’s trying to be casual, it lands like a full-force assault on your heart.

For a while, the room settles into a comfortable silence.

Jude’s arm stays around you, holding you close as he continues indulging in whatever virtual madness is happening on his phone. You don’t mind.

The warmth of his body against yours, the faint clicking of his fingers against the screen, and the soft hum of the air conditioner create a soothing melody, lulling you to sleep. And for a second you forget about deadlines and responsibilities, if only for a little while.

But eventually, the nagging thought of midterms creeps back in, pulling you away from the comfort of Jude’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders. You shift slightly, sighing as reality nudges its way back in. “I should study,” you mumble reluctantly, already regretting the words as they leave your mouth. “Midterms are coming up, and I need to get a head start.”

Jude freezes mid-controller click, his focus snapping to you with a speed that’s almost comical. His brows knit together in concern as he sets the controller down and turns to you fully. “Do you need help?” he offers, his voice warm, eager, and so earnest it makes your chest ache. He sits up straighter, reluctantly moving his arm so you can wiggle free if you want to. “I could quiz you or something.”

The way his brown eyes lock onto yours tugs at you. For a fleeting moment, you consider saying yes—just to keep him close a little longer. His enthusiasm, the little crease of worry between his brows, all of it makes you want to say yes. But you’ve been here before.

You bite back a smile and shake your head. “You know how it goes when you help me study.”

“What?” His face splits into a boyish grin. “I’m great at helping.”

“You get bored,” you counter, raising an eyebrow at him.

His grin widens, the mischief in his eyes almost tangible. “I don’t get bored. I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” You scoff lightly, though your lips twitch at the corners. “You mean you start distracting me.”

“Distractions are good for you," he says, leaning in closer. His voice dips into that flirty tone that always seems to weaken your resolve. “Keeps your brain from overheating.”

You try to hold firm, crossing your arms as you fight the smile threatening to bloom. “Distractions,” you repeat, deadpan, “like kissing me every five minutes?”

“Only every five minutes?” he teases, his lips quirking upward. “I’m slacking. I’ll make it every two.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands as your cheeks flare with heat. “Jude, stop.”

“Why?” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he leans closer, his hand slipping over yours to gently tug them away from your face. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

You feel your heart do a little somersault as he takes your hand, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles. His touch is maddeningly gentle, and his gaze is soft yet playful. “Come on, let me stay. I promise I’ll behave this time. Swear on… well, on your favorite pen or something.”

“You said that last time,” you remind him, though your voice lacks the conviction you want it to have.

“And I meant it," he says with exaggerated sincerity. “But then you started doing that thing where you chew on your pen and look all smart and adorable. What’s a guy supposed to do?”

“Focus,” you say firmly, though your lips betray you by curving into a reluctant smile.

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, sending a little flutter through you. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to it.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, though his grin tells you he’s far from serious.

True to his word, he pulls himself away from you, standing and stretching lazily before grabbing his phone. But before he leaves, he leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a kiss so soft and lingering that it leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Good luck, baby,” he murmurs, his voice warm and sweet. “You’ve got this.”

The soft click of the door closing behind him echoes in the quiet room, and you let out a long breath, trying to steady the racing of your heart. Even now, minutes after he’s left, his presence lingers—his touch, his whispers, his look that leaves you feeling shy and disarmed.

You force yourself to turn back to your notes, determined to focus on the task at hand. For sixty blessed minutes, you manage to keep your head down and concentrate, letting the scratch of your pen on paper drown out the memory of his teasing grin.

But, as if summoned by your thoughts, he slips back into your space without so much as a sound. You only notice him when you feel the featherlight brush of his lips against the curve of your neck. A startled gasp escapes you, and your pen stills in your hand as his warm breath fans over your skin.

“How’s the studying going?” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with playful mischief.

Your pulse quickens, and you try to muster some semblance of composure. “Jude,” you whisper, his name barely audible as your voice falters at his closeness.

“Hmm?” He hums, the sound rumbling softly against your skin as his hands settle on your waist, fingers toying idly with the hem of your pajama top.

“You’re distracting me,” you manage, though the tremble in your voice betrays your lack of conviction. You're a little thankful for the break he's forcing you to take.

“Am I?” he asks innocently, slipping his hand ever so slightly under your top, his lips now brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. You can feel the curve of his grin, knowing he’s completely aware of the effect he has on you.

You grip your pen tighter, clinging to the pretense of focus, but the heat of his palm against your skin and the teasing lilt of his voice unravel you piece by piece. Desperate for some distance, you push his chest gently, your face flaming as you turn to face him. “I’m going to cook dinner,” you declare, your tone firmer this time, though your skin betray you, burning with an unmistakable flush.

His brow arches, and for a moment, you think he might relent. But as you make your way to the kitchen, his footsteps trail right behind yours.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder, though the teasing lilt in your voice takes the sting out of the words.

“Not when it comes to you,” he replies smoothly, his grin utterly shameless as he catches up.

Once in the kitchen, you busy yourself with pulling out ingredients, determined to create a barrier between you and his relentless touching. But Jude, being Jude, is relentless in his own way. He's being very clingy today, more than usual.

As you start chopping vegetables, he edges closer, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you back just slightly against his chest.

“Jude,” you warn, your voice firmer this time as you wave the knife in a small arc in his direction.

“Dangerous,” he quips, leaning back just enough to dodge your playful swat, though he’s far from deterred. “You’re cute when you’re dangerous.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head as you try to focus on the task at hand.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends shivers dancing down your spine. “Are you sure?” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before leaning in to whisper, “But you love it.”

“I do not,” you retort automatically, though your voice lacks any real heat.

“Liar,” he teases, and you can hear the grin in his voice even without looking.

You spin around, your cheeks warm as you glare at him—or at least try to. “I need to finish dinner. Either help or sit down.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s no hiding the amusement in his expression. “Alright, alright. What do you need me to do, boss?”

You hand him a carrot, your lips quirking into a small smile despite yourself. “Peel this. And don’t distract me.”

“Can’t make any promises,” he says with a wink, but he takes the carrot anyway, grabbing a peeler from the drawer next to you.

For a few minutes, there’s an ease of peace as the two of you work side by side. He whistles softly under his breath as he peels glancing at you every now and then, and you chop in rhythm, the sounds of the kitchen filling the space. It feels so incredibly domestic and your thoughts start to drift to a future that you don't often dare to dream.

Is this what he would be like if we're married? you ask yourself. And deep inside, a part of you aches, and longs to find out.

But then, as you reach for the salt, his hand brushes yours, and you freeze, thoughts scrambling at his touch. He’s quick to close the distance again, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth in a kiss so fleeting you almost think you imagined it.

Your breath catches, and you stare up at him, wide-eyed and utterly flustered.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a second, you can’t think of anything to say.

“Jude,” you manage finally, though your voice is embarrassingly breathless.

“Hm?.” His fingers trace lazy patterns over the curve of your hip, sending little shivers through your skin. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs softly, his lips brushing against your hair, making you shiver. “In your little robe, making dinner for me. Fuck.” The last word comes out as a groan, and he buries his face into your neck.

The sensation of his breath against your skin sends a ripple through your body, leaving your muscles soft and weak. You lean into his embrace almost automatically, your palms flattening on the counter to steady yourself.

You can’t help the little gasp that escapes you as he nips at the curve of your neck, the touch sending sparks coursing through you.

You try to catch your breath, your cheeks warming with heat as your thoughts scatter. His hand trails higher up to rest on your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and you bite back a whimper. He’s being too bold, and it’s thrilling and terrifying and so, so good.

“Jude,” you stammer out finally. “We haven’t finished dinner yet.”

“I’ll survive,” he murmurs huskily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin behind your ear.

And before you can muster up a protest, he spins you around to face him, his grip firm and demanding on your waist. His lips land against yours without warning, all heat and pressure, and your breath stutters out of you as you cling to him, unable to do anything but hold on.

The kiss turns hot and breathless so fast it leaves you reeling, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in bold strokes that leave you dizzy.

Your lips part in response, inviting him deeper, and he takes you up on the offer with a low groan of pleasure. He presses you into the counter, the kiss so urgent it feels like he needs it to survive. Your skin flushes, your body humming with a need you’ve never known before.

It’s too much. It’s like a wildfire burning out of control, and Jude, Jude, Jude.

You’re not even sure what it is that you’re craving so desperately, but you know it involves him.

And when he pulls away abruptly, it feels like being dunked into an ice bath.

Your head spins, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. Your breath is still ragged, your lips tingling, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart stutter.

It’s dark, unreadable, and you feel like prey caught in the sights of a predator—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you hyperaware of every inch of your body.

Your fingers tighten on the counter behind you, grounding yourself as the silence stretches between you. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he steps back completely, dragging a hand over his face in what feels like frustration. The absence of his warmth hits you immediately, leaving you feeling cold, exposed, and a little disoriented.

You lower your gaze, your cheeks burning, unable to meet his eyes. The apartment feels too quiet, too still, and when you finally dare to look up, he’s gone—retreating into the living room with an almost frustratingly casual stride.

Dinner is a blur after that.

You push food around your plate, barely tasting it, too caught up in the memory of his lips on yours, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. It leaves you feeling equal parts flustered and thrilled, and you hate how obvious it must be. Jude, of course, notices. He keeps sneaking glances at you, his smirk growing every time he catches you looking away too quickly or fiddling with the edge of your napkin. But he doesn't say anything.

After dinner, he suggests a movie. You agree, mostly because you don’t trust yourself to say no without stammering, and before you know it, you’re in your room. The lights are dim, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows across the walls. You sit beside him on the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, trying not to focus on how close he is.

“Relax,” he teases, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

You swat at him, your face heating up. “Jude!”

He laughs, low and rich, and you feel the sound settle in your chest. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

For a while, you focus on the movie. Or at least, you try to. Jude, apparently, has other plans. Somewhere halfway through the film, he shifts beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders. You glance at him, confused, only to freeze when his lips brush against the side of your neck.

“Jude,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Hmm?” His voice is soft, playful, but there’s a heat to it that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m trying to watch,” you manage, though your resolve wavers as his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

“Am I distracting you?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin.

You nod, your breath hitching, but it only seems to encourage him. His kisses grow more deliberate, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as he tilts your head toward him. The movie is completely forgotten as his lips capture yours, and this time, there’s nothing hesitant about the way he kisses you.

This kiss is different than the one in the kitchen. This kiss is greedy and demanding, the type that makes you forget how to breathe. You melt into him without hesitation, your hand finding its way to his neck as he pulls you onto his lap.

He lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine, his hands coming to settle on your thighs. The kiss deepens, becoming something more, until the world narrows down to nothing but him. His touches are hot and firm, his mouth demanding in a way that leaves your head spinning.

It’s overwhelming.

His touch, his scent, the low hum of his voice when he whispers your name—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You’re hyperaware of everything: the way his hands skim your sides, the way his thumb brushes against your jaw, the way your own fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

When a soft sound escapes you—half gasp, half moan—he freezes. His forehead presses against yours, his breathing heavy and uneven. Still lost in the haze of lust he's started to awaken in you, your lips chase his in a desperate pathetic attempt to keep him close, and you whine when he pulls back, the sound embarrassing you to no end.

“Baby,” he murmurs hoarsely, his voice the epitome of need and restraint. “Baby, you need to stop that.”

It’s only when you look up into his eyes that you realize how affected he is. His pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed, his breath quickening as he holds your gaze. The intensity of his eyes makes your stomach clench, but the effect is different this time—different in a way that you can’t quite place.

You stare at him for what feels like an eternity, searching for something, anything, to explain the strange flutter in your stomach.

His expression is unreadable, but as you sit there, chest heaving, thighs squirming restlessly on his lap, you feel something press into your inner thigh and Jude groans again, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder.

A little noise of surprise slips out of you, and before you can look down, he's flipping you over, pinning you to the bed with a groan.

“Fuck, baby. You don’t know how good you feel,” he whispers huskily, pulling back just long enough to let you breathe. The sight of him—so desperate, so needy, and so turned on—leaves you reeling.

Your heart is pounding, your pulse frantic in your ears as your body responds to his proximity. The feeling between your legs grows slick, the sensation almost strange enough to distract you from the weight of him above.

Jude must feel the way your body tenses because his voice drops, taking on a soothing quality that makes your muscles relax against him. “Shhh, baby. It’s alright.” He leans in, his lips trailing down the side of your neck to leave featherlight kisses there. “Relax.”

But the feeling of being pinned between him and the bed is overwhelming, and before he can kiss you again, you shift restlessly, trying to escape. He lets you get away, his hands following the curve of your sides as you sit up, his gaze roving over you hungrily.

Your cheeks heat, and your hands flutter over your stomach as if trying to find a way to hide yourself. “I—” you start, but then you stop, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “I’m sorry.”

The apology slips out of you automatically, though you’re not even entirely sure what you’re apologizing for.

Jude shakes his head, a wry smile tilting his lips upward. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. “I just…” He trails off, shaking his head again, though his smile turns into a smirk. “I want you so bad it’s driving me fucking crazy." His voice drops into a growl, his hands tightening on your thighs, and you gasp softly. "And it's—fuck. It's turning me on so much." He leans down, pressing you against the mattress once again, and your whine is audible.

“Jude…” you whisper, your voice quivering as your hands press against his chest in a weak attempt to create some distance. But your resolve falters when you meet his eyes—stormy and filled with a look that leaves you breathless. Hunger.

“Yes, baby?,” he murmurs huskily.

But you don’t get a chance to answer because his lips close over yours, pulling you into a kiss that’s everything and nothing you imagined a kiss to be. It’s urgent, hungry, and maddeningly sweet, and you cling to him without a second thought, your legs wrapping around his waist as if by instinct alone.

It feels like everything in the room blurs to nothing around the two of you, like the world has stopped turning.

The sensation between your legs turns wet, slick, and you can feel his hardness through the thin fabric of your shorts, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming. He groans into the kiss, his hips rocking against you in a motion that leaves you gasping.

You feel so hot all of a sudden—like your whole body is on fire. Your thoughts scatter as you cling to his shoulders, his name on your lips, and it's like he's pushing you higher and higher.

The kiss becomes messy, teeth clashing, lips biting, his hands pulling at your shirt as if trying to pull it off. You’re completely lost to his touch, your body moving against his in a needy rhythm that feels like instinct alone.

But just when you think he might push you further, Jude pulls away abruptly with a sharp groan, his chest heaving as he buries his head against the curve of your shoulder. You’re left with your arms wrapped around his neck, your body trembling as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the word hot against your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His body shudders, his hips rocking forward once, then twice, then he's yanking himself off you like you've just burned him.

You try to hold him closer, but he's too strong and it only seems to make him pull away harder.

“Jude?” you ask, your voice trembling as your thoughts catch up. You’re breathless, your body aching for something you don’t even know how to ask for. ��What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just rolls away from you, his hands burying in his hair as he lets out a long groan of frustration.

Your cheeks warm, but there’s something in his look, something that makes your chest flutter. It’s dark, almost possessive, and the intensity steals your breath. You open your mouth to say something—anything—to fill the silence, but before you can speak, Jude rolls to his feet, standing up with a swift motion that sends you sprawling on your back.

“I’m…” He swallows again, “I have to go,” he says, his voice thick, rough. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

You open your mouth, ready to ask why, but he’s already halfway out the door. You catch up just in time to watch him slam the front door closed behind him, the sound of his car roaring to life outside.

You stare at the closed door for a moment, blinking slowly as if you’re half-asleep. Your body still hums from his touches, your muscles soft, your heart pounding, and all you can think is: what did I do wrong?

*********

You don’t see him again for a couple of days.

It’s not unusual for Jude to be busy, his schedule crammed with training sessions, meetings, and endless obligations. But this feels different. He’s never been too busy to send a good morning text, check in with a quick call, or find some excuse to see you, even if it’s just for an hour.

Now, though? It’s radio silence.

The first day, you try to brush it off. You tell yourself that he’s probably exhausted and needs some space. By the second, the worry creeps in, uninvited but persistent. Did you do something wrong? Was it something you said? Something you didn’t say?

By the time he texts you to come over on the third day, you’ve practically convinced yourself he’s about to break things off. The idea leaves your chest feeling hollow.

When you step into his house, he greets you like always, flashing that charming grin that makes your stomach flip. But there’s something off in his posture, the way his arms wrap around you just a little too loosely.

The two of you settle on the couch, a movie playing in the background. Jude is quiet, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch but not quite pulling you in. Normally, he’d be all over you by now, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, his lips brushing against your temple. Tonight, he’s… distant.

You bite your lip, stealing glances at him. He seems engrossed in the screen, but his jaw is set tightly, and his hand keeps flexing like he’s restless.

The movie plays on, and you feel like you’re sitting next to a stranger. Your heart pounds as you shift closer, testing the waters. His arm twitches but doesn’t move to pull you closer.

Your voice comes out soft, hesitant. “Jude?”

He hums, not looking at you.

“I missed you,” you admit, hoping it doesn’t sound as needy as it feels.

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Missed you too.” His tone is distracted, his gaze not straying from the screen.

You frown, your brow furrowing. Something’s wrong. You can feel it in the way his body tenses every time you shift a little closer. His hand tightens, loosens, tightens again, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can I ask you something?” you start, your voice tentative. When he doesn’t respond, you clear your throat. “Why didn’t you call me this week? You’re always so busy, and I know that, but—” You trail off, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you stretches out uncomfortably, but then his gaze shifts, and you catch the way his eyes soften as they land on you. “It’s nothing.” He reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You let him take your hand, but the touch feels fleeting, hollow—like he’s holding back. Your chest tightens, the ache spreading to your throat as you try to steady your breathing. You don’t want to push him, but the silence between you is unbearable.

“Jude,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “It doesn’t feel like nothing.”

He sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Look, I’m just busy. That’s all.”

“You’ve always been busy,” you point out, feeling the sting of rejection. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t find time to call me this time.” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap to hide it.

He shifts then, his body twisting to face yours, his hand cupping your chin as he forces you to meet his eyes. His expression is soft, his brows furrowing as he studies your face. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s not your fault. I just… I was busy with some things.”

“What things?” you press, frowning at the way he looks at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “What did I do? You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. I promise.”

Jude’s lips quirk, his smile almost wry. “I’m not trying to sugarcoat anything, baby.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His voice drops, turning soft. “It’s just hard for me to be around you.”

“Why?” you breathe out.

He hums, his nose nuzzling against your temple. “You're so… fucking innocent, baby. And you have no idea how much that fucking turns me on. I just can’t—You deserve everything, and I don't want to fuck this up.” He pulls back, his expression shifting to one of frustration. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I want to be good for you, baby.” His thumb brushes against your cheek as he whispers against your skin. “I wanna ruin you."

His words make heat pool low in your stomach, your thighs pressing together. His voice is hypnotic, low and husky, and it takes you a moment to respond. "How would you do that?” you whisper.

His pupils dilate, his lips parting. “Oh fuck.” He swallows audibly, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Jude groans softly, his hand trailing up to cup the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You don’t wanna know, sweetheart," he says, his voice thick with restraint. "I shouldn’t even be saying this."

You blink up at him, your lips parting to protest, but no sound comes out. His confession leaves you breathless, and your heart stumbles in your chest. "But I want to know," you whisper, feeling the heat of his gaze settle over you like fog.

His jaw tightens, and he leans in, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You’re playing with fire," he murmurs, his breath warm and tantalizing against your lips. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

You don't move—can't move. It's like his words are pinning you in place with the weight of their meaning.

Jude chuckles softly, the sound low and almost reverent. "God, you’re so cute when you’re shy." His other hand moves to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. "I missed you like crazy these past few days, you know that? Couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus. Just kept picturing you." He swallows thickly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Your lips are so fucking soft, and you taste like fucking honey."

His hand cups your face, his eyes burning into yours as he pulls back enough to meet your gaze. "Do you know how many times I've jacked off this week just thinking about your mouth? About what it would be like to fuck you?" He leans in closer, his voice turning harsh. "Do you even realize how fucking sexy you are? You make me lose my goddamn mind, baby."

You don't answer. You're not even sure if you can. His words have your head reeling, your breath catching in your throat. Heat pulses between your legs, making your thighs clench and unclench restlessly.

Jude groans, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as if seeking shelter. "Fuck. See what you fucking do to me? I can't even have a conversation around you, baby. I'm fucking obsessed." His fingers flex against your skin, his hot breath gusting over your neck. "Just being this close to you is driving me crazy."

Your breath hitches, a small noise escaping you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders instinctively. His words are making you feel… something. Your brain can't quite put a name to it, but it's making you feel soft and needy and… wet.

Jude seems to notice because he freezes, his nose dipping to the side of your neck, breathing you in deeply. "Are you wet, baby?" he murmurs, the question sending a flush up your cheeks. His voice is low, dark, and it does nothing to help the ache between your legs.

You squirm against him, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. His hand cups your ass, pulling your body flush against his as he growls low against your neck.

"Answer me," he grunts, his hips pressing forward with a motion that makes you gasp.

Your head swims as if from a lack of oxygen, but you manage to whisper, "Y-yes."

Jude's whole body shudders against you , his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he groans again. "Fuck, sweetheart." His voice is hot against your skin, the words a mix of frustration and desire. "What did I tell you?" he murmurs almost absently. "About making me lose my fucking mind?"

The tension between you seems to grow thicker with every second that passes, and before you know it, you're being pulled onto his lap, his mouth crashing over yours in a desperate kiss. You cling to him, letting him devour you completely, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters but this.

Except he pulls away again just as quickly, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders and hold you at arm's length. You stare at him, confused, your cheeks flushed, your breath coming out in quick pants.

"Jude," you breathe out, reaching for him.

But he shakes his head, his jaw flexing with restraint as he holds you still. "No, baby. If I touch you again right now, I don’t think I'll be able to stop myself." His voice dips, growing rougher. "You're not ready for that." He leans in to nuzzle your nose, his words coming out as a soft apology against your skin. "You deserve better than me losing control like this."

You frown at his words, feeling them hit somewhere deep in your chest, but before you can find a way to respond, he pulls away and stands up. "Wait!" Your hand shoots out and drags him back to the sofa with a strength that surprises both of you.

"I—I want it. I want you to… have me." The words come out before you can take them back, but instead of being met with rejection, Jude’s eyes darken, his pupils expanding to eat up the color of his eyes. His grip tightens on your hand, and you hear him swallow thickly.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice husky and soft. "Baby, if you let me touch you like that, I won’t be able to hold back." He leans forward as if drawn by gravity, his lips grazing against yours as he murmurs against your mouth. "You want that?"

The question makes your cheeks flush, the sensation traveling down to pulse between your legs. Your stomach clenches, and you find yourself nodding, your lips brushing against his with the motion.

His soft groan vibrates through your entire body. His hand cups the side of your face with a gentleness that contradicts the heat in his eyes. "Baby," he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. He leans back then, his expression softening, a hint of amusement tilting the corner of his lips upward. "You sure? You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?"

You shake your head , your breath hitching when his thumb trails over your bottom lip. "I trust you." The words slip out of you on a whisper, but they seem to mean something to him because he lets out a soft exhale.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “If you don’t stop being so fucking sweet, baby, I’m gonna fuck you on this couch, and neither of us will be ready for that.” He lets out an unsteady laugh, his words making heat spread through your body. "You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into." He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, a small smirk twisting his lips. "But if you still want me to teach you after tonight, then I promise you that I’ll be the one to ruin you like you want." With that, he leans in and kisses you gently, the motion soft and sweet.

When he pulls back, his voice drops to a growl. “I can't wait to ruin you.” His words are so low, so full of warning that you wonder what he plans to do to you. The idea makes your pulse quicken, your stomach fluttering.

Jude leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his tongue darting out to lick at the seam of your mouth. “I’ll show you just how good it can be,” he whispers against your mouth, and then he pulls away with a soft bite to your bottom lip, leaving you breathless and wanting so much more.

He gives you another kiss that promises to corrupt, then leaves you on the couch feeling like your whole world has been flipped on its head. You wonder what the next few weeks will be like now.

********

"I want to learn how to please Jude." Is not what Charlie expects to hear from you.

You who are painfully shy and would rather hide under the covers than have a conversation about this sort of thing. So you imagine that your words catch her off guard when you approach her in your room, both of you lying on the bed side by side.

Charlie looks at you with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Well shit, girl. What brought that on?" She reaches over and puts a hand on your arm in comfort. "What happened?"

You fidget nervously. "It's just… I want to please him, and I don't know how. We've been dating for a while now, and I feel like it's time to try something new." You lower your eyes at the last part, your cheeks burning like crazy. "We've been together for so long and we still haven't done anything." You take a shaky breath. "I don't want him to get tired of me."

Charlie stares at you for a long moment, then she cracks out laughing. "Girl, you're so silly."

"What?" Your voice comes out pouty.

"Oh, come on." She chuckles. "You're being silly. There's no way in hell that Jude could be upset with you." She gives you a playful push, "Y/N, that guy is madly in love with you. He looks at you like he's obsessed. There's no chance he's getting tired of you."

You smile softly at her words, hope blooming in your chest at her confidence. "Yeah?" you ask, your tone breathless.

"Yeah." Charlie's expression softens, her voice turning gentle. "He looks at you the same way you do him. So please, stop worrying about it and just let him make the first move. Don't feel pressured into doing something you don't want to."

You nod, your brows furrowing as you look away. "That's the thing though. I do want to." Your voice drops to a whisper. "But I don't know what I'm doing."

Charlie looks at you for a second, then nods. "Ok. So what do you want to do?" She asks, her tone soft.

You look up at her, "What do guys like?" You ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. You bite your lip and look away, feeling your cheeks burn.

Charlie laughs softly, the sound almost like a purr, "Ooo, Y/NNNN. Are you trying to turn me on?" She jokes. You know she's kidding because she's making that face she always makes right after telling a really funny joke.

"Charlie!" You push her with a giggle.

"What?" She pushes you back with a grin, "Come on, Y/N. If you're going to be a big girl and have sex, you should be able to talk about it."

You pout at her. "That's not fair. I ask you for help, and you're teasing me."

She chuckles and rolls her eyes with a smile, "Ok, ok. What do you wanna know?"

"Everything." You say, your face heating up even more.

"Everything?" Charlie quirks a brow, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. "Girl, that's a tall order. Are we talking the birds and the bees 'everything' or just the Jude-specific 'everything'?"

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. "This is so embarrassing."

Charlie laughs, a genuine, warm sound that makes you peek at her through your fingers. "Y/N, relax. Seriously. This is normal stuff. And you’re with Jude Bellingham, of all people. Do you have any idea how hungry he is? That man eye fucks you everytime you're in the room."

You groan again, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. "Stop! You're making it worse."

Charlie snorts, patting your back. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Let’s get serious for a sec. First of all, there’s no ‘right’ way to do anything. Everyone’s different. But if you really want to know what Jude likes, just…ask him. You already know him better than anyone else."

You lift your head slightly, just enough to look at her. "But what if I mess up?"

Charlie tilts her head, giving you a soft smile. "Y/N, you can’t mess up with someone who loves you. Jude’s not going to care if you don’t know everything. He’s crazy about you—trust me, I’ve seen it. The guy practically glows when you’re in the room. Just talk to him, be yourself, and let things happen naturally."

You chew on your bottom lip, processing her words. "I guess that makes sense. But what if—"

You’re interrupted by the familiar sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Charlie smirks knowingly. "Bet you ten bucks it’s him."

You reach for your phone, and sure enough, Jude’s name lights up the screen. Your heart does a little flip, and Charlie cackles at the way your face immediately softens.

"Go on," she says, waving her hand. "Answer it. Lover boy’s probably wondering why you’ve been ignoring him all evening."

You hesitate for a moment before swiping to answer. "Hey," you say softly, your voice a little shaky.

"Hey, love." Jude’s deep, smooth voice comes through the line, instantly putting you at ease. "What’re you up to?"

"Just hanging out with Charlie," you reply, glancing at your friend, who’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. You roll your eyes at her. "What about you?"

"Thinking about you," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today."

Your cheeks flush, and Charlie makes a gagging motion, though her grin only widens. "I… I missed you too," you admit shyly, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater.

"Yeah?" Jude’s tone is playful, but there’s an edge of sincerity that makes your heart flutter. "What’re you doing after Charlie goes? Can I come see you?"

Your stomach flips, and you glance at Charlie, who’s mouthing Say yes! with an exaggerated expression. "Um, yeah," you say, trying to sound casual despite the way your voice wobbles. "If you want to."

"Of course I want to," he says, chuckling softly. "I’ll be over in a bit, yeah?"

"Okay," you whisper, unable to keep the smile out of your voice.

"See you soon, love."

You hang up and immediately bury your face in the pillow again, earning a loud laugh from Charlie. "Oh my God, you’re hopeless," she teases, nudging you with her foot. "You’re like a lovesick puppy. It’s adorable."

"Shut up," you mumble, though you’re smiling. You peek at her as you sit up. "Thanks, though. You were really helpful."

She snorts. "Clearly. But seriously, just relax. Be yourself. I promise he’ll love it. And if all else fails just give him a blowjob" She ducks just in time to miss the pillow you chuck her way. "I’ve gotta go. My ride’s coming in a minute." She climbs off the bed and heads over to the dresser to grab her phone. "I think I left my keys downstairs. Tell Jude I said hi."

"Will do," you say, smiling softly.

She waves before heading out the door and leaving you alone. You sink back into the covers, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you.

**********

A half hour later, you’re pacing in front of the living room door, your nerves bubbling up with every step. You keep glancing at the clock, willing the minutes to tick faster and slower all at once.

Your hands feel clammy, and you’re acutely aware of every tiny sound in the apartment—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant chatter of your upstairs neighbors, the soft patter of your socked feet against the floor. You’ve checked your reflection in the hallway mirror at least five times, brushing nonexistent lint from your sweater.

When you finally hear the familiar, rhythmic knock that signals Jude’s arrival, your heart skips a beat. You nearly trip over your own feet as you hurry to the door, pulling it open so quickly that Jude looks startled for a split second before his expression melts into that devastatingly familiar grin—the one that never fails to make your stomach flip.

"There’s my girl," he greets warmly, his voice a velvety blend of affection and amusement. Before you can even stammer out a hello, he steps forward, slipping one arm around your waist and pulling you into him. His lips find yours in a heartbeat, soft and warm, and you let out a small, involuntary sigh as his other hand settles on the back of your neck.

"Hi," you manage to mumble against his lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. "Hello to you too," he murmurs, his thumb brushing an absentminded circle against your hip. His brown eyes are locked on yours, teasing. "You seem a little eager tonight. Miss me, baby?"

The heat rushes to your cheeks in an instant, and you lower your gaze, biting your lip to suppress the shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Maybe," you mumble, your voice so soft it’s almost lost in the space between you.

Jude’s grin widens, and he cups your face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently over the apple of your cheek. "Maybe?" he echoes, pretending to be wounded. "I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I get a maybe?" His tone is playful, but his eyes are so full of adoration that it makes your chest ache in the best way.

You fidget under his gaze, your hands instinctively gripping the hem of your sweater. "Of course I missed you," you admit shyly, barely managing to look up at him.

"That’s more like it," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment, and when he pulls back, there’s a tenderness in his expression that makes your heart flutter. "Missed you too, you know. More than I probably should admit."

Your stomach flips at his words, and you let out a breathless laugh, not quite sure how to respond. Jude doesn’t seem to mind your silence; he just brushes another kiss to the tip of your nose before letting his hand slide from your face to your hand, lacing your fingers together.

"So," he starts, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, "is Charlie still here, or do we have the place to ourselves?"

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks warm again at the implication. "She left about an hour ago," you reply, your voice still soft.

Jude grins. "Perfect. Let’s do something scandalous then," he teases, his voice dripping with faux mischief.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Scandalous?" Is this it?

"Yep," he says with a wink. "Like…watching a movie we’ve already seen twenty times while cuddling on the couch. Absolutely outrageous, right?" You try not to deflate at his words and he must've noticed because he smirks down at you.

You let out a soft force chuckle, not seeing the teasing grin on his face. "Yeah, sure."

"Great!" Jude quips, tugging you toward the living room. "C’mon, let’s pick something good."

By "good," you know he means your favorite DVD, the one you’ve insisted on watching so many times that you’re sure he knows half the lines by heart. Sure enough, you makes a beeline for the small shelf in your room, plucking the case from its spot with a triumphant flourish.

"We have to find something new, you know that right?" he teases as you holds it up for him to see. Like he doesn't love it just as much as you. Maybe more. Not that he'll ever admit that to you.

"And yet you keep coming back," you counter quietly, feeling braver than usual.

Jude’s grin softens into something sweeter as he crosses the room to stand in front of you. "Because you’re worth it," he says simply, his voice so sincere it makes your chest tighten. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before taking your hand again and leading you to your bed. "Now let’s go watch our favorite movie while cuddled in bed like good little nerds."

You follow him, feeling like you’re floating.

The movie’s been playing for about twenty minutes when you finally start to relax, tucked under Jude’s arm with a cozy blanket draped over both of you. The familiar dialogue flows easily in the background, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of Jude’s chest against your side. You're lulled into a state of peace, your head resting against his shoulder, your leg draped over his as you settle in.

It's when the movie gets to the good part that you hear (feel) Jude's stomach growl from under your ear, the low sound vibrating up his chest.

"Shit," he mutters with a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand absently over his stomach. "I’m fucking starving."

You lift your head from his shoulder to peer at his face. “You want me to make you something?” you ask, even though you don't feel like cooking, your hand coming up to copy his gesture.

His eyes flick down to yours, "Yeah," he says slowly, his voice low and soft. He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle you barely feel it. His gaze follows the motion, his eyes darkening. "That’d be great, baby."

Your pulse quickens at the softness of his tone, but you nod and slip out of his arms, the movement sending the blanket tumbling to the bed. You slip out of the room, feeling his eyes on your back like a caress.

When you return with two bowls of popcorn in hand and a couple bags of snacks, Jude looks up from the spot he's settled in on the couch, his eyes sliding to yours for a heartbeat before dropping down to the food.

“Thank God,” he murmurs, taking one of the bowls from your hands with a grin. You try not to notice the way he brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him the bowl, but the touch makes your stomach flip anyway.

You sink back down beside him on the bed and take a seat. His leg presses up against yours, warm through the fabric of your jeans, and you feel yourself melting into him automatically, his warmth and scent pulling you in.

Jude lifts a handful of popcorn to his mouth, chewing as he settles his arm around your shoulder, the motion drawing you in even closer, until you're practically nestled against his side. His other hand lands on your thigh, his thumb brushing a slow pattern against your leg as he watches the movie. The motion sends a shiver up your spine, and you find your eyes dropping to the sight of his large hand against your leg, his fingertips lightly tracing the soft skin.

The feeling of his hand on you, the heat of his body against yours, is so good that you forget everything else around you—his soft, contented munching, the gentle way he tugs you in closer every now and then, the way you can feel his breath ghosting along the back of your neck and sending shivers up your spine.

You forget about it all until you feel his eyes on you, and you glance up to meet his gaze.

Jude is staring at you, his eyes half-lidded and his face tilted toward you. His expression is soft, his gaze almost… hungry. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, his teeth catching it for just a heartbeat before he lets it slide free. You watch the whole thing in rapt fascination, your cheeks flushing when his gaze flicks down to yours and catches you staring.

"See something you like?" he asks with a low smirk, his voice soft and playful.

You feeling your skin heat up, feeling your pulse quicken and your stomach clench. You lower your eyes, biting your bottom lip to try and contain the frown that's threatening to break across your face.

"Y/N." His voice drops even lower, his hand tightening on your leg as you feel him lean in. His warm breath feathers along the shell of your ear, making you shiver and squirm. "Look at me."

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and his gaze is so warm that you can't look away. You're caught in his stare, the heat building between you like a flame.

"You're really fucking cute when you're shy," he murmurs softly, his grin widening as he reaches up to brush his thumb against the apple of your cheek, his touch feather-light. His eyes follow the motion, and his lips part as he takes a shallow breath, his body seeming to lean in on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you forget to breathe for just a heartbeat as he presses his lips to yours, the kiss light and quick. When he pulls back, he doesn't go far, his face still hovering just a breath away.

"What?" you whisper, your pulse quickening at the way his eyes seem to darken as they drop down to look at your lips.

He lets out a soft, deep chuckle that vibrates through his chest. "What do you think?" His gaze is full of heat as he leans in again, the kiss softer this time, his lips barely brushing over yours. The motion makes you melt into him, your body seeming to go pliant under his touch. "You're too fucking sweet."

Your stomach flips at the way he says that, your hand coming up automatically to cup his neck. You draw him in, deepening the kiss with a soft sound, and he makes a pleased noise against your lips as he opens for you, letting you in.

The kiss turns soft and gentle, a sweet press of lips that makes you feel all fluttery inside, and you sink into it like a fish to water, losing yourself in the heat between you.

When Jude pulls back this time, it's with a groan, his brow furrowing as he tugs away, his breathing a little ragged. "We gotta stop."

You frown, feeling the sudden loss of him like a cold shower. You hesitate for a second, then reach out to cup his face with your palm, my thumb brushing over the sharp curve of his cheekbone.

"Jude—" you start softly, and he lets out another soft groan, sinking into your touch as he closes his eyes for a moment.

"Hm?" he hums against your palm, his tone low and tortured.

"I want you," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

His eyes fly open at your words, his gaze snapping back to yours, and for just a heartbeat, he looks almost pained. Then he lets out a harsh breath and drops his head to yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I—fuck," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin, and you can feel his body vibrating with the tension of his emotion. His hand cups the back of your skull, pulling you in closer. "I need a minute."

Your brows furrow at his words. What's wrong? you want to ask, but then Jude lets out a soft groan and bites you lightly on the neck, and all thoughts fly out of your mind.

His lips press to your skin with a soft, wet sound, the suction making your stomach flip. When he pulls back to look up at you, his mouth is swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze roaming down over your features before meeting yours again.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, your heart beating in your throat. I've never been more sure of anything.

Jude groans softly and kisses you again, the motion firm and deep as he pushes you backward until you're lying flat on the bed, his body covering yours. "How far do you want to go?" He mutters against your mouth, his voice deep and husky, his tongue darting out to trace your lips.

You hesitate for a heartbeat, unsure of how to answer. "Just… more than this?" you mumble softly, your hand tracing up his arm and coming to rest on his chest.

His other hand slides down to your waist, his fingers curling around your hip as he shifts, pressing you back into the bed. The weight of him, the heat of his body against yours, is overwhelming in the best way, and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes you.

"God, you’re perfect," he mutters. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses that make your skin tingle. "Tell me if I’m going too far, okay? Promise me."

You nod wordlessly, unable to speak around the pulse pounding in your throat.

Jude trails his lips along your collarbone, nipping gently at the skin before he lifts his head and catches your eyes with a heated look. "If it feels good," he starts slowly, his gaze locked on yours as his hand shifts up to cup your face, "tell me."

His other hand drops to your waist again, his palm skimming along your hip before sliding up underneath your shirt to land on the bare skin of your stomach. You gasp at the feeling of his warm palm against your skin, your breath catching as his fingers splay out over your belly, his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

"You like that, baby?" His eyes are dark with arousal as he stares down at you, his fingers sliding up to trace over the underside of your breast through your bra. The touch sends a shock straight through your body, your eyes fluttering closed. "Tell me, Y/N," he urges softly.

You gasp softly, letting out a wordless sound as you arch under his touch, your hands coming up to cling to his shoulders. You feel like you're melting into him, like your body is going limp as you let out another soft sound. "Yes."

Jude groans and presses a kiss to your neck, his mouth moving against your skin as he speaks. "Good girl." His hand moves up again, his fingers tracing up the bare skin of your side before his palm cups your breast, his thumb brushing lightly over your nipple.

You gasp again, your breath catching in your throat as you squirm under his touch. He doesn't stop, though; his fingers slip under the edge of your bra cup to brush over your nipple with a feather-light touch.

"God," he mutters hoarsely against your skin, his palm moving in a slow circle over your breast. "You have no idea how fucking good that feels."

His other hand shifts down to settle on your thigh, just above the knee, and you feel a shiver run through you. Your pulse is racing in your ears, the touch of him setting your whole body aflame.

You squirm under him, a soft, high-pitched moan slipping from between your lips, and Jude’s groan is immediate and deep. He shifts to settle his leg between your thighs, and you gasp again at the feeling of him against you. You can feel the hard length of him through his jeans, and the sensation sends another shiver up your spine.

"Fuck, Y/N," he rasps against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers trail down your ribs to your stomach, his palm landing flat against your belly with a soft press. "You’re gonna kill me."

The feeling of his hands on you is too much, and you squirm again, arching under his touch as you let out a high, breathless sound. Jude curses softly, shifting his leg against your center, and you feel another rush of wetness slip from you. His palm moves down to settle between your legs, his hand covering your mound with a warm press that makes you gasp.

"Tell me," he rasps, his voice full of emotion as he kisses your neck again. "Does this feel good?"

You can’t speak; all you can manage is a wordless nod, your hips arching up against his hand. Jude groans again, his breath feathering along your neck, his lips brushing a trail down to the neckline of your shirt.

He's still kissing you when he slides his hand down the waistband of your pants, his fingers trailing over the wet cotton of your panties before slipping under the edge to press against your bare skin. You feel a rush of pleasure at the touch, your whole body tensing, and Jude curses again softly as his palm presses against you, the weight of him making you feel warm and safe.

"Is this okay?" he asks raggedly, his fingers moving up to stroke against your clit through your panties.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a soft gasp as your hips shift against his palm. You nod wordlessly, your hands shifting up to clutch at his shoulders, and Jude groans again at the sensation of you against him.

"I need words baby," he rasps, his finger slipping under the cotton to brush against your clit with a slow press.

You let out another high-pitched sound, squirming under his hand as his finger shifts to rub against you in slow circles. His palm presses against your mound with a gentle weight, the pressure building between your legs and making your breath come in short, shallow gasps.

"Jude…please," you gasp, your hips shifting against his hand again.

"Please what?" He nuzzles your neck again, his lips feathering a trail along the skin. His finger doesn't stop moving, though, the feeling sending a rush of warmth through you. "Tell me what you need."

Your cheeks flush at his words, and you swallow hard. "Jude…" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Come on," he rasps gently against your ear. "Tell me."

You squirm again, trying to get away from the feeling of his finger on your clit and the sudden wave of embarrassment that crashes over you. Jude doesn’t let you escape, though; his other arm tightens around your waist as his finger presses down harder against your clit, making the pleasure build between your legs.

"Yes!," you moan again, your voice high and breathless, your legs squirming against his hips. "More! P-please."

He groans loudly against your neck, his teeth catching at the skin in a sharp nip that makes you cry out. "God, fuck. You’re so good for me," he mutters in a hoarse rasp. Then he's pulling away. "Take off your pants for me baby. I wanna see you."

You nod, your hands dropping to your waist as you shove the fabric down. You’re not even fully out of them when Jude slides in the bed behind you. His arms come up around your waist, drawing you back against him, and his mouth drops to nuzzle against the back of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He pulls you flush against him, his hips fitting against your ass in a way that makes you realize just how turned on he is. You let out another soft gasp, squirming back against him as you feel the length of his cock pressing between your ass cheeks.

Jude groans loudly again, his hands coming up to grip your hips as he pulls you more firmly against him. "Fuck, you feel so good," he rumbles, his mouth nuzzling a trail up the back of your neck. He kisses your skin softly, the warm press of his lips sending another shiver through you.

His hands move down to slip under the edge of your underwear, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your thigh. You feel your stomach clench, the anticipation building inside you as his hand skims up to press between your legs. His fingers slide against your wet pussy, his palm cupping you firmly with a possessive press that makes your whole body tremble.

"Fuck," he growls hoarsely again, his lips trailing down to press a kiss to the back of your shoulder. "You're so wet for me." His fingers shift to press your folds through the fabric, stroking lightly against your clit as the wet slick sound of your arousal fills the air. "Do you like it when I touch you?"

You gasp at his words, feeling a hot blush rise up your neck. "Y-yes…" you gasp out.

He groans again, "You're really fucking perfect for me, you know that?" he rasps. "Take these off for me, baby."

You swallow hard, your hands lifting to your sides as you move to shimmy out of your panties, quickly closing your legs as soon as they're off. You hear Jude’s groan against your hair a moment before you feel his palm press down to your thigh.

"You getting shy on me, princess? Hm?" His voice is teasing as he nudges your legs apart again, his fingers trailing down over your skin as he pulls them further and further apart. You gasp softly as you feel your pussy lips spread with the movement, your clit throbbing. "Open up for me."

Your blush deepens, and you hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Jude’s warm breath on your neck is making you melt and your thigh part for him.

"Good girl," he praises softly. "Now let me see what's mine." His hand trails down to settle between your spread legs, his palm cupping your pussy firmly with a warm weight. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. "Look how wet you are," he groans. "You're fucking dripping for me, baby."

His hand shifts, his fingers dipping down to press against your folds, and the feeling is so good it makes you shiver. You gasp again, feeling another rush of liquid heat slip from you as his fingers spread your lips apart. You feel the cool air brush against your wet skin, and you blush hotly again at the sound of your own wetness filling the air.

"Look at that pretty pussy," Jude rasps, his voice deep and rough as he looks down over your shoulder at your wet folds "Fucking gorgeous."

His fingers shift to press against you again, and he lets out a pleased sound as he feels your wetness, his voice dropping to a deep whisper. "You love it, don't you?" he rumbles. "I can tell by the way you soak my fingers." He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck again, his breath making your skin prickle.

"Yes," you moan softly, your eyes drifting closed at the pleasure of his fingers against you.

Jude groans in response, his hand tightening around your hip as his fingers stroke against you faster. The feeling is so good that you can’t hold back your high-pitched sounds.

"Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?" he rasps against the skin of your neck, his fingers finding your clit with a sure press. The pleasure is so intense that you cry out at the sensation, your legs quivering as his thumb begins to rub against you with slow circles.

"Yeah?" Jude whispers in your ear, his voice low and husky. "Give it to me, baby." His voice is like liquid honey against your skin as his fingers shift, two of them sliding up to circle your clit in tight motions, the pad of his thumb rubbing against you in a steady, soft press.

You're so wet that you can hear the sloppy sound of him touching you, his palm cupped around your mound to shield it from the cool air of the room. You can tell he likes it, too; his breath is hot against your neck, and he groans roughly at the feeling of you in his hand.

The contrast between the heat of his palm and the chill of the air makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way his fingers are lazily stroking through your slickness, his touch teasing, reverent.

“God,” Jude groans, the sound raw, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “You hear that, sweetheart?” His voice is heavy with something dark and sweet, something that makes your stomach flip. “So fucking wet for me.”

You let out a tiny whimper, embarrassed but unable to deny how much you like the way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You try to close your thighs instinctively, but he doesn’t let you, his hand pressing you open again with a quiet chuckle.

“No, no, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, your face burning, and he exhales a quiet curse before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Can I stick a finger in, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, like honey, like he already knows the answer. He presses the tip of his middle finger against your entrance, just barely there, waiting, teasing.

You gasp at the sensation, your hips arching against his hand without thinking, seeking more. You don’t even realize how eager you are until you hear the sharp breath he takes in, feel the way his other arm tightens around your waist, holding you flush against him.

“That’s a yes?” Jude teases, but his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back.

You nod, swallowing thickly, and then his finger presses inside you, sinking in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open in the most delicious way. Your breath stutters, a soft, helpless sound escaping you as your body adjusts to the intrusion, and Jude groans in response, his face pressing against your hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost pained. “You’re so tight, baby.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you as he strokes his finger in and out, curling it slightly with each movement. The sensation is foreign but intoxicating, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body with every slow, deliberate thrust.

His lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he moves, his breath fanning over you in hot, uneven bursts. “Little virgin pussy just for me,” he whispers against your skin, and the words send a rush of something heady and desperate straight to your core.

Your body clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans at the feeling, his whole body shuddering behind you. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.”

You don’t mean to, but the way he’s touching you, the way his palm is dragging against your clit every time his fingers move, it’s too much. Your body reacts on instinct, tightening around him again, and he curses under his breath, his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder as if he needs something to ground himself.

“Jude,” you whimper, unsure of what you’re asking for, only knowing that you need more.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and then he’s slipping another finger inside you, filling you even more, stretching you in a way that feels impossibly good. His other hand slides under your shirt, palms up your stomach until he finds your breast, cupping it gently, his thumb rubbing over your sensitive nipple. “You’re taking me so well,” he praises, voice thick with adoration.

The combination of it all—the heat of his body, the skill of his fingers, the sweetness in his voice—is overwhelming, and you can feel something building, coiling tight in the pit of your stomach, desperate to break free.

He can tell. Of course, he can.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jude murmurs against your skin, his fingers moving faster, his palm pressing just the right way against your clit. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna come for me?”

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice dripping with pride, and the praise sends you spiraling.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembling as your release washes through you.

"Oh, God!" You cry out, Jude’s name falling from your lips in a breathless moan, and he groans, holding you tightly as he works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you’re completely spent, boneless in his arms.

You don’t realize how loud you were until the room falls into a thick silence, the only sound left is your heavy breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets.

Jude presses a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your head, his fingers slipping out of you with a wet pop, and you whimper at the emptiness, the oversensitivity. He shushes you gently, soothing you with soft touches, sweet kisses.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your hair. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Your heart is still pounding in your chest, your body still tingling, but all you can focus on is the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath against your back.

For the first time in your life, you feel like you’re seeing color.

"That good, huh?," Jude murmurs as he pulls his fingers from between your legs, sliding them up to cup your pussy possessively with a slow rub. Then he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a quiet groan of pleasure as you watch, your breath catching in your throat at the sight. His eyes locks on yours, the heat between you palpable as you gasp.

You nod, your cheeks flushing as he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his palm.

"Tastes so fucking good too," he mutters, his voice dark with emotion. He drops his head to press a kiss to your neck, your collarbone, his hands slipping up to grip your shoulders firmly.

It's like a switch had been flipped inside you—And all you know is that you never want to go without feeling that again.

You're still breathing fast, your heart still pounding in your ears, "God damn, baby. You're gonna be the end of me."

***********

Pleasure has had a whole new meaning for you since that night.

And Jude is relentless. Ever the indulger.

There are moments when it feels like he can't keep his hands off of you at all. It's like he's gone feral.

Like the other day when you were cooking dinner, and you were wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top that barely covered your ass.

You were leaning over to stir the pot of pasta, completely focused on your task, until you felt Jude’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you back against him. His chest was warm, solid, and you felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing against your back before his hands slid up to cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly with a low groan.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured against your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Walkin’ around like this, actin’ like I won’t do anything about it.”

Your breath hitched as he rolled his hips against your ass, making you gasp. “J-Jude, I’m cooking.”

“Mhm.” He hummed lazily, fingers toying with your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. “And I’m hungry for something else.”

That ended with him eating you out for the first time, right there on the kitchen counter. An experience unlike any other. The way his tongue moved against you, how his fingers rubbed over your clit as he lapped at you—fuck. Just thinking about it makes your cheeks flush and your panties wet.

Then there was the time you fell asleep in his lap while watching a movie at his place.

You woke up to his hands between your legs. He wasn’t even doing anything, just keeping his hand there, warm and possessive. When you stirred and gave him a sleepy, questioning look, he just smirked down at you, dimples flashing.

“S’ mine,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if you belonged to him in every possible way.

And, god, the way he looks at you sometimes. Like he’s starving. Like he’s memorizing every inch of you. Like he’s still in disbelief that you’re his.

Right now you're at his apartment getting ready for your picnic date. You've decided to spend the summer with him since going home is out of the question for you this year. You're super excited to go on this picnic. It’s a surprise, so you have no idea where you’re going. But, from the way Jude looks, you’re pretty sure it's going to be great. He's practically bouncing in excitement.

Jude’s apartment smells like sandalwood and something faintly citrusy, a scent that clings to his skin, to the soft cotton of his hoodie, to the air around you. You’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, smoothing out the fabric of your sundress, your heart fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement that makes your fingers tremble just a little.

Behind you, Jude is practically bouncing on his heels, barely containing his excitement. It’s endearing, the way he can hardly stay still, like a golden retriever about to go on a walk.

“You almost ready, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice warm, teasing.

You catch his gaze in the mirror—he’s watching you with an expression that makes your stomach tighten, makes heat rise to your cheeks. The way he looks at you, dark eyes smoldering with something unspoken, always makes you feel like he’s seeing more than just what’s on the surface. Like he’s memorizing you.

“I—I think so,” you say softly, reaching for your cardigan, but before you can grab it, Jude steps in behind you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His fingers brush over your bare shoulders, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t need this,” he murmurs, lips so close to your ear that you feel the warmth of his breath. “It’s warm out.”

You swallow hard, your skin prickling under his touch. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the worst part is that he enjoys it—loves the way you get all shy and flustered under his attention.

“I might get cold later,” you mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

Jude grins against your hair, his arms slipping around your waist, pulling you back against him. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.”

Your breath catches. The way he says it, so effortlessly, like a promise wrapped in silk, makes you dizzy.

“Jude…”

“Mm?”

“I—I thought we were leaving?” you manage, heart pounding.

He laughs, nuzzling into your neck, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. “We are. But you keep distracting me.”

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, and you don’t trust yourself to say anything without making a complete fool of yourself, so you just push lightly at his arms. He chuckles but lets you go, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. But you really do look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You duck your head, smiling despite yourself. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You shake your head at him, but the warmth in his gaze, the sincerity laced in his words, makes your heart swell.

As you gather your things, Jude grabs the picnic basket, still humming under his breath, his excitement infectious. He won’t tell you where you’re going—he’s been annoyingly secretive about it all morning—but from the way he keeps stealing glances at you, like he’s holding onto some grand secret, you know it’s going to be something special.

The car ride is filled with soft music and Jude’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your skin. Every now and then, he glances at you, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips whenever he catches you sneaking a look at him.

“Excited?” he asks.

You nod, fingers twisting together in your lap. “Yeah. I love surprises.”

Jude grins, squeezing your thigh. “Good. ‘Cause you’re gonna love this one.”

The drive takes longer than you expected, but you don’t mind. With Jude, time always seems to melt away, the world outside shrinking until it’s just the two of you, wrapped in a little bubble of quiet intimacy.

When he finally pulls up to the destination, your breath catches. The sun is beginning to dip in the sky, casting everything in soft golden hues, and in front of you is a secluded little meadow, framed by towering trees. It looks like something out of a painting, untouched and serene.

“Oh,” you breathe, stepping out of the car, eyes wide. “Jude… it’s beautiful.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Yeah? You like it?”

You nod, unable to find the right words.

“I wanted it to be special,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “For you.”

Your throat tightens at that, and you turn in his arms, looking up at him. The sunlight catches in his eyes, turning them into molten honey, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

“Jude…”

His fingers tilt your chin up, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” You swoon at how he still asks.

You don’t even have to answer. You lift onto your toes, closing the space between you, and he meets you halfway, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, filled with all the things he doesn’t need to say out loud.

When you finally pull back, breathless and warm, he smiles against your lips. “Told you you’d love it.”

You laugh, heart full, and let him lead you toward the picnic he’s set up under the trees, the blanket spread out beneath the stars. It’s so romantic you could cry.

Jude wasn’t lying when he said you’d love it.

The picnic setup is nothing short of breathtaking. A thick, cozy blanket is spread over the grass, weighed down at the corners with a wicker basket, a bottle of wine, and a few lit lanterns that flicker warmly against the encroaching twilight. A small tent is pitched just a few feet away, its entrance left open, revealing plush pillows and more blankets inside. Everything about it feels intimate, private, like your own little world hidden away from everything else.

And Jude—God, Jude looks so pleased with himself, hands on his hips, watching your reaction with a boyish grin.

“You really did all this?” you ask softly, still a little stunned, still trying to process just how perfect it all is.

Jude chuckles, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Of course,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. “Wanted to spoil my girl.”

Your face burns at that, heart skipping an entire beat. His girl. It’s ridiculous how much those two little words make you melt, how they settle so easily into your chest like they’ve always belonged there.

“I—I love it,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

His lips graze the sensitive spot just behind your ear, and you shiver, hands gripping his forearms instinctively. “You can thank me later,” he teases, his voice laced with something dark, something promising.

Your breath hitches. “Jude.”

He just chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your neck before pulling away. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s eat before you get all shy on me.”

He’s right—you’re already flustered, barely holding yourself together as you kneel on the blanket. Jude joins you, opening the basket to pull out an assortment of food. There’s fresh fruit, sandwiches, some of your favorite snacks, and even ingredients for s’mores.

“You thought of everything,” you muse, watching as he uncorks the bottle of wine with practiced ease.

“‘Course I did,” he says, winking. “Gotta impress my girl.”

Your stomach flutters. You shake your head, biting your lip as you take the glass he hands you, trying to suppress the ridiculous smile threatening to take over your face.

The two of you eat leisurely, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as it always does. Jude makes you laugh until your sides ache, teasing you in that way only he can—flirty, playful, but always affectionate.

It’s easy. Being with him.

Eventually, the stars come out, a sprawling canvas of light stretching endlessly above you. You lay back on the blanket, staring up in awe, while Jude props himself up on one elbow, watching you instead.

“You brought your telescope, yeah?” he asks.

You nod, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Mhm. It’s in the car.”

Jude smirks. “Think you could teach me some constellations?”

You hum, considering. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On how well you listen.”

He grins, leaning in, his face dangerously close to yours. “I always listen to you, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. His hand finds your hip, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns through the fabric of your dress. “Jude…”

“Mm?”

“You’re distracting me.”

He laughs, low and deep. “Am I?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Very much.”

Jude’s fingers tighten on your hip, just slightly, just enough for you to feel the possessiveness in the gesture. “That’s funny,” he murmurs, dipping his head so that his lips ghost over yours, not quite kissing you, just teasing. “Because you’ve been distracting me all damn night.”

Your pulse stutters. “I—I have?”

Jude exhales sharply, like he can’t believe you’d even ask. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your hands grip at his hoodie, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe through the sudden onslaught of heat pooling low in your stomach. “Jude,” you whisper, barely able to get his name out.

He groans, like you saying his name alone is enough to drive him insane, and then he finally closes the distance, kissing you deep and slow, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.

And you let him. Because it’s Jude. Because you trust him. Because he makes you feel safe even when he makes you feel like you’re coming undone.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, dizzy. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, his fingers still gripping your hip like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, but he’s smiling when he says it, and you can’t help but smile too.

“You started it,” you tease, voice barely above a whisper.

Jude laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.” He presses a quick, final kiss to your lips before rolling onto his back, staring up at the sky. “Go on, then. Teach me something.”

You giggle, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Okay,” you say softly, squeezing his hand once. “See that bright one over there?”

Jude hums, squeezing back. “Yeah.”

“That’s Vega.”

He turns his head to look at you, eyes full of something unbearably fond. “Is it the prettiest star?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Well, I—”

“Because if it is,” he interrupts, grinning, “then it makes sense why it reminds me of you.”

Your heart stutters, cheeks burning, and you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Jude.”

He laughs, warm and rich, pulling you closer until you’re curled into his side, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear.

You stay like that for a couple minutes, his fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you. You feel safe here. Cherished.

And you make your decision.

“You’re quiet,” Jude murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. His voice is low, roughened by the night air, by the intimacy wrapped around you both like a second skin.

You swallow, nerves bubbling in your stomach. You’ve been thinking about this for weeks now, letting the thought sit in the corners of your mind, letting it grow into something more solid, more certain.

And now, in the golden glow of this moment, with the stars watching and Jude holding you like you’re his world, you finally gather the courage to say it.

“Jude…” Your voice is small, hesitant. You shift slightly so you can look up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I—I think I’m ready.”

His brows furrow, lips parting slightly as he processes your words. Then his expression softens, something warm and deep flickering in his gaze. “Ready for what, sweetheart?” He knows what you're asking for. But he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, so he waits for you to confirm.

You bite your lip, fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. It takes everything in you to hold his gaze, but you do, because you need him to know that you mean this. That you want this.

“For… us. For that.” Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure you must look ridiculous, but Jude just watches you, patient as ever. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my first.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you with an unreadable expression, his grip on you tightening slightly. Then, slowly, his thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch feather-light.

“Are you sure?” His voice is barely above a whisper, careful and deliberate, like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You nod, pressing your cheek into his palm. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Something shifts in his gaze—something deep, something intense. His jaw tightens like he’s holding something back, but then he exhales, his hand slipping from your face to intertwine with yours.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, baby.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Let's go inside then.”

You nod and he helps you up, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. Just holds your hand as he leads you toward the tent, zipping it open and stepping aside to let you in first.

The inside is cozy, lit only by the soft glow of the lanterns Jude set up earlier. The air is warm, thick with something unspoken, something electric. You settle onto the pile of blankets and pillows, watching as Jude kneels in front of you, his hands resting on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice barely above a breath, as if the words are meant only for you and the universe.

You duck your head, suddenly shy, but Jude doesn’t let you hide. He reaches out, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your lips. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, exhaling softly. “I know.”

His lips find yours then, slow and tender, like he’s savoring the moment. His hands are gentle as they slide up your arms, over your shoulders, down your back. There’s no rush, no urgency—just soft touches, soft kisses, soft whispers.

The world outside fades into nothingness, leaving only the two of you. The stars, once so distant, now feel like they're watching closely, witnesses to something both innocent and deeply intimate. His kiss deepens slowly, the pressure of his lips soft and coaxing, as if he's waiting for you to lead, to guide him through this moment. His hands are everywhere, but always with a reverence, like he's treating every inch of you as something precious.

You feel your pulse quicken under his touch, the fluttering of nerves mixing with something else, something sweet. He can sense it, too—how your breath catches every time he moves, every time his fingers graze your skin.

“Hey,” Jude murmurs against your lips, his voice a touch rougher now, laced with need. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “It's just me, okay? Always just me.”

You nod, swallowing hard, but Jude's fingers tighten on your waist like he needs more assurance. Like he needs to hear it from you.

“Just you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude's eyes flash with something like triumph, and his lips find yours again in a kiss that's soft, deep, devouring.

Jude is gentle, almost unbearably so, as he slowly tilts you back onto the pillows. The world seems to narrow to just the two of you—the rustling of the blankets beneath you, the warmth of his hands steadying your body, the quiet exhale of his breath fanning against your skin. Your hair spreads out like a halo against the sheets, and Jude just stares for a moment, his gaze roaming over you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

"Fuck baby, look at you," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. "You don't even know how pretty you are, do you?"

You swallow hard, looking at him through wet clumpy lashes, the warmth of him overwhelming you already. Jude bites his bottom lip at the sight of you already so fucked out for him. You're so fucking pretty and he can't wait to ruin you.

Jude’s weight shifts over you as he lowers himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. He’s everywhere—his scent, his warmth, the solid weight of him pressing into you in all the places you’re most sensitive. You feel him, all of him, and your lashes flutter as you try not to tremble beneath him.

His hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, his fingers catching the hem of your dress. He pushes the fabric up inch by inch, exposing more of your skin to the cool air, and then he makes a sound—low, almost pained.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he breathes, dipping his head to your neck. He kisses you there, soft at first, then with more intent, dragging his lips over the delicate skin until he reaches your collarbone. His mouth is hot, open-mouthed, tasting you, lingering. The smell of you putting him in a haze. "Need to taste you. Gonna let me? Mhm?"

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You nod, but the motion is shaky, your lips parted as you struggle to find your voice. "Y-yeah," you whisper, barely more than breath.

Jude smiles against your skin, finding your shyness utterly endearing. Even after all this time you're still so fucking cute. "That’s my girl," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lower.

You feel them at the edge of your panties, feel the soft tug as he starts to slide them down. Your breath hitches, and Jude pauses immediately, glancing up at you. His eyes are warm, searching.

"Hey," he murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your navel. "You okay?"

You nod again, but he doesn’t move right away. He watches you, patient, waiting for you to really settle before continuing. It’s so incredibly tender that your heart squeezes in your chest.

When he finally does pull your panties away, his breath catches. His hands part your thighs, thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there, and he exhales like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. He has.

"Fuck, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "Such a pretty pussy."

Your fingers curl into the sheets as he works his way lower, his lips tracing paths of fire down your legs, teasing, deliberate. You’re already shaking by the time his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your mound.

"Can I kiss it, baby?" His voice is low, dark, laced with something sinful, something that makes your entire body burn.

You can’t even speak. Your lips part, but no words come out, just a soft whimper that makes Jude grin against your skin. He loves this—the way you melt for him, the way you look at him with wide, innocent eyes like you can’t believe what’s happening.

"You’ve gotta tell me, princess," he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles. "Need to hear you say it."

"Y-yeah," you stammer, barely audible, but it’s enough.

Jude groans, his lips pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh before finally, finally—

The first touch of his mouth is pure ecstacy. You gasp, your body jolting against the bed, and Jude hums in approval. His tongue moves slowly, languidly, savoring every inch of you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. You are.

"God, baby," he groans into you, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Taste so fucking good. Could stay here all night."

His hands slide beneath your thighs, pulling you closer, tilting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, and your entire body tenses. Your fingers shoot to his hair, gripping onto the dark coils as if they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Jude chuckles, and the sound is pure sin. "That good, huh?"

You let out a broken whimper, your head tipping back, your cheeks burning. He’s watching you—God, he’s watching you. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, dark and hungry, and the sight alone is enough to make your stomach twist with want.

"Look at you," he murmurs, licking into you again, slow and deep. "So fucking pretty when you let go for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed, but he’s not having it. One of his hands moves up your body, sliding beneath your dress until he finds your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"Don’t hide from me, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "Wanna see you. Wanna watch you fall apart."

And you do.

With every stroke of his tongue, every whispered praise against your skin, and wet slick sound of his mouth, your body coils tighter, your breath coming in sharp little pants. It feels like you’re being pulled apart at the seams, every nerve on fire, and it’s terrifying, overwhelming, but Jude—he’s there, holding you, grounding you, whispering sweet nothings against your pussy.

When he flicks his tongue over your clit once more, you lose it.

Your body convulses, your thighs squeezing around him, and Jude holds you through it all, his tongue never ceasing its motion. He groans against your skin, his hand gripping your thigh hard, but you barely feel it. All you can do is sob his name, your head tipping back in a silent scream, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Jude stays with you through it all—licking, sucking, slowly bringing you down from the high. He doesn’t stop until your body finally relaxes against the mattress, limp and warm and pliant. Then he moves up your body in a slow, languid crawl, lips dragging over your skin, kissing everything he passes. His fingers find your hair, stroking it back from your face, and then his mouth meets yours.

You're still reeling from what he's done, from the way he’s touched you, taken you apart like he was born to do it. Your body is thrumming, heat pooling low in your belly, and yet Jude’s kiss is gentle—softer than you expect, coaxing you back to reality, back to him.

He tastes like you—salt and sweetness mixed into something heady and intoxicating. The taste of him makes you whimper against his lips, and he swallows the sound like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours, lips barely ghosting over your mouth as he speaks. "Still with me?"

You hum, nodding shyly, your fingers fisting the sheets beside you.

Jude grins against your lips, his voice turning teasing. "Good girl."

His words send a ripple of warmth through you, but before you can say anything, he leans back, arms flexing as he peels his shirt off in one smooth motion. The sight of him, shirtless and breathtaking, has your breath hitching. His body is all lean muscle, defined and golden brown. Spit pools in your mouth, and you have to swallow quickly to stop from embarrassing yourself.

Jude notices. Of course, he does. His smirk is knowing, his dark eyes full of mischief as he tosses the shirt aside.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" he teases, voice dipping low, sinful.

Your face burns, but you can’t look away.

His laughter is soft, affectionate. "You’re too cute," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek before dipping lower, reaching for the hem of your dress. His knuckles graze your skin, making you shiver. "Let’s get this off you."

Before you can protest, the fabric is slipping over your head and then—then you’re bare for him.

The moment stretches, thick with anticipation. You shift slightly, suddenly shy under his gaze, but Jude just looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, like he’s afraid to blink in case you disappear.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice rough, reverent. "You're so fucking pretty."

You barely have time to register his words before his lips are back on yours—hotter this time, more insistent. There’s no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s trying to consume every last bit of you.

You gasp against his mouth, arching into him, needing more, and he groans, gripping your thigh and pulling it over his hip. The new angle has you feeling him more, the thick press of his cock through his pants sending sparks of desire shooting straight to your core.

"Jude," you whisper, breathless.

He presses his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. "I know, baby," he murmurs, rolling his hips against yours. The friction is maddening, sinful. You moan, and he catches the sound with his mouth, swallowing it greedily.

"You're so soft," he whispers, his hands roaming, fingertips dragging over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. "So warm." Another roll of his hips, slow and deliberate. "I need you, baby."

His words send a shiver down your spine, heat curling deep inside you.

Jude’s mouth finds your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to your chest. His hands follow, palms covering your breasts, kneading softly before his thumbs brush over your nipples. The sensation is too much, not enough, all at once.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, clutching him.

"You're so sensitive," Jude mutters, voice thick with want. He pinches one of your nipples lightly, watching as you jolt beneath him. "Makes me so fucking hard."

His words are filthy, but instead of making you shy away, they send another wave of heat pooling between your legs.

Your eyes flicker downward, and you see it—see the thick outline of him straining against his pants. Your breath catches.

"Take them off," you whisper, surprising yourself.

Jude stills, his gaze snapping to yours, surprised. Then, he smirks, but there’s something darker, hungrier beneath it. "Yeah?"

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he kicks off his pants and boxer briefs, and then he’s bare before you.

Your breath stutters. He’s—God.

Thick, veiny and oh so hard.

Your thighs press together instinctively, and Jude notices. His smirk grows, but there’s a softness in his eyes, too. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your nose.

But then—

"Shit." He suddenly freezes, his face scrunching in frustration. "I don’t have condoms."

You blink, his words slow to register through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Jude groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think we’d be doing this tonight."

You hesitate, then swallow your nerves. "It’s okay," you murmur. You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the warmth, the weight of him in your palm. He sucks in a sharp breath. "I’m on birth control."

"Sweetheart," he groans, his hips jerking slightly into your hand. "Don’t do that."

But you do. You stroke him slowly, experimentally, fascinated by the way his breathing stutters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s barely holding himself together.

Jude curses under his breath, his head dropping to your shoulder. "You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up."

You hum softly, dragging your thumb over the tip, spreading the precum leaking out. He chokes on a groan, his hands gripping your hips tight.

You’ve never seen him like this—so undone, so desperate.

And God, you love it.

"Please, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with need. "Squeeze tighter for me."

You bite your lip as you obey, watching him through your lashes. He’s so big, so hard for you. Your walls clenches just thinking about it, a rush of slick flooding your core.

Jude notices. His eyes flick down to where your thighs press together, and then the last of his control snaps.

He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from him.

His hands slide down, tracing the curve of your waist before gripping your thighs, spreading them open carefully.

"Tell me if it hurts, sweetheart," he murmurs, reaching down to stroke himself. He brushes his lips over your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, soothing you in every way he can. "I’ll stop if you need me to. I’ll take care of you, I promise."

You believe him. You always have.

Then, he shifts, and you feel him at your entrance, his heavy gaze locked between your thighs. A nervous breath hitches in your throat, your fingers fisting into the sheets. Jude notices, of course he does, and his lips curve into a teasing smirk.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and sweet like honey. “I got you.”

You nod, though your body remains tense, overwhelmed by his closeness, by the way his touch ignites something deep inside you. Then, he moves the head of his cock over your clit, slow and deliberate, rubbing lazy circles that have your breath stuttering. The sensation is new, foreign yet delicious, and just as you’re adjusting to the pleasure, he taps it against your swollen bud, making you jolt.

A soft gasp escapes you, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans, shaking his head as he watches how his thick head glides easily between your slick folds. The sound it makes makes you bury you face in his shoulder “You’re so wet, baby. All fucking mine.”

His words send a rush of heat through your body, your cheeks burning as you turn your face to the side, too shy to meet his gaze. But Jude isn’t having it. He cups your chin gently, coaxing you to look at him.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. 

The hunger in his voice makes you clench and he groans at the feeling. Then, he’s pressing in, the thick head pushing past your entrance, stretching you in a way that makes you suck in a sharp breath. Your lashes flutter, but Jude’s there, his eyes locked on yours, his lips brushing reassuring kisses over your nose, your cheek.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, baby.” 

He slides in further, slow, slow. You feel yourself spreading around his girth, the feeling of fullness intense but not quite painful. The dull pressure borders on discomfort, but Jude doesn’t rush you. He moves slowly, carefully, inch by inch, pausing to let you adjust, his hands soothing over your sides.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he praises, his lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, down to your throat. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You exhale shakily, trying to relax as he pushes deeper. There’s a slight burn, your body resisting the intrusion, but the way Jude watches you—so patient, so gentle—eases the tension. He strokes your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles into your skin.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. His voice is wrecked, thick with restraint. “God, you feel so fucking good. So warm, so tight.”

Your nails dig into his back as he finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely. A whimper leaves your lips, overwhelmed by the stretch, by the feeling of being utterly, entirely full. Jude stills immediately, concern flickering across his face.

“Too much?” he asks, his thumb brushing your cheek.

You shake your head quickly, blinking up at him. “No—just… full,” you admit breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there.

He doesn’t move, just holds you, letting you adjust at your own pace. His lips find your neck, trailing slow, reverent kisses down to your collarbone. His hands never stop moving, caressing your thighs, your hips, your waist—everywhere. It helps, the ache easing into something warmer, something better.

You shift slightly beneath him, testing the sensation, and a tiny moan escapes you at the delicious friction. Jude groans, his fingers tightening on your hips like he’s barely holding on.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight. Pussy feels like heaven, baby.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, making you squirm in embarrassment. You bury your face against his neck, but he only chuckles, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Don’t be shy,” he coaxes, his voice laced with amusement. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart.”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them gently as he pulls out, slow and careful, before sinking back in. The friction sends a shiver up your spine, something new and intoxicating unfurling in your belly. Your breath stutters, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Jude watches you closely, his eyes dark and heated. Then, his lips twitch into a knowing grin.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “You like that, baby?”

Your cheeks flame, but the pleasure is too much to deny. You nod, barely able to form words, and Jude groans, dropping his head to your collarbone as he fights to keep himself together.

“Fuck, this pussy,” the last sound drags out as his jaw goes slack. “fucking made for me.”

His thrusts remain slow, deep, every roll of his hips sending a ripple of pleasure through you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, a sensation you can’t begin to describe. Every brush of his skin against yours sends sparks of sensation through your body.

It’s not long before you find yourself moving with him, arching beneath him, searching for more. He hums in approval, his teeth nipping gently at your neck as he thrusts into you deeper, harder. You cry out, a high whimper, and Jude swallows it greedily.

You’re completely lost in the sensation of him, the way he moves above you like a dream, like a vision. The way his lips drag over your skin, the soft praise against your ear, the heavy weight of him on top of you. It all feels so good, so overwhelming, that you find yourself clinging to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders like he’s the only thing that exists in this moment.

Jude growls, his mouth finding yours as he kisses you hard, deep. He fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, rougher than he ever thought he’d be with you. But you—it’s like you were made for him, like your body was built for this, for his cock.

And it makes him crazy.

“Fuuuckk,” he rasps into your mouth, your lips barely parting for words. “Gonna cum for me? Hm?”

He slips a hand down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He strokes it, hard, slow circles that make you cry out. Your walls clench around him as he rubs you faster—it’s like the best thing you’ve ever felt.

And then…

"Oh, fuck! Jude!" you cry out, your back concaving into him as his tip grazes a spot that has tears spilling down your cheeks. You can only describe it as pure ecstasy and he’s not letting up. “Oh, God. Oh, God”

Jude curses, his hips moving faster, thrusting into your gspot over and over again. You’re sobbing now, "Found it."Jude whispers, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face as he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot over and over.  You're getting so close, your body’s a live wire, waiting to snap.

“Jude—fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” you sob.

His hand tightens on your hip, his fingers bruising. “Then cum, baby,” he grunts, his own body tense, close. “Let me feel it. Cum for me, sweetheart. Fucking milk my cock.”

The filthy words send you over the edge, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you, a force so intense it steals the air from your lungs. Your fingers clutch at Jude’s broad shoulders, nails pressing into his flushed skin, as a broken sob falls from your lips. The pleasure is overwhelming—too much, too deep, too consuming—but you surrender to it, trembling as your body spasms around him.

"That’s it, love," Jude groans, his voice rough with desperation, his fingers tangling with yours as he pins your hands above your head, holding you there, helpless beneath him. “Jude,” you gasp, voice trembling, eyes glazed over with pleasure.

The sight of you—flushed, trembling, your lips parted in a breathless moan—Your slick gummy walls spasm around him, clenching tight, and it’s all Jude needs to follow you into the abyss of bliss.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his head tipping back as his thrusts turn frantic, desperate, chasing his own pleasure. You watch as his eyes roll back and his jaw goes slack as his mouth forms an 'O'. “Fuckkkk,” he grits out, his entire body shuddering. “That’s it, princess. Love this fuckin’ pussy.”

His hips stutter, his thick cock jerks inside you once, twice, then he’s gone—spilling deep inside of you with a strangled moan. You feel it—the warmth of him, thick and hot, filling you up completely. His body trembles against yours as he collapses, his chest pressing against your own, heartbeat wild and erratic.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the cool night air brushing over your sweat-slicked skin. The world outside the tent is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets or the distant rustling of leaves.

Jude’s nose brushes against your temple, his lips following in a lazy path along your hairline, down your cheek, over your jaw. He peppers soft kisses across your skin, like he can’t bear to stop touching you. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

You blink up at him, your vision still hazy, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. And then, unexpectedly, a giggle bubbles past your lips. 

Jude stirs, lifting his head to look down at you with a lopsided grin. His honey brown eyes are filled with amusement, mischief, and something far softer—something that makes your stomach flip.

“What are you laughin’ at, princess?” His voice is hoarse, still rough with pleasure and a hint of exhaustion. His thumb strokes slow circles over your hipbone.

You shake your head, a little breathless, still giddy. “That was…” You pause, searching for the right words, but nothing feels like enough. Your cheeks burn as you hide your face against his shoulder. “I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Jude chuckles, the deep sound vibrating against your skin. “I think I do.”

You peek up at him, curiosity flickering in your dazed gaze. “Yeah?”

He hums, pressing another slow, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to study your face, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin

“It was,” he starts, dragging the moment out, watching the way your lips part slightly, the way your lashes flutter. He smirks. “Pretty fuckin’ perfect.”

Your blush deepens, and you swat at his chest, but your hand has no real strength behind it. “Jude,” you whine, embarrassed, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to your palm, then your fingertips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. “You’re perfect.”

Your heart stumbles, skipping a beat before thudding heavily against your ribs. You swallow, suddenly shy, suddenly overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his gaze.

The way he's looking at you now. It's too much.

“I…” Your throat feels tight, words catching. But Jude just smiles, like he understands, like he doesn’t need you to say anything at all.

He shifts, rolling onto his side making you wince as you remember he's still inside you, bringing you with him so that you’re tucked against his chest, your leg draped over his hip, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His fingers trace lazy patterns down your spine, soothing, grounding.

It's so intimate; knowing that's he's inside you, the warmth of him filling you completely as you involuntarily clench around him. The knowledge of his cum still inside you and the slight burn from the stretch that's making your hips sore.

Jude groans quietly, his head tipping back at the overstimulation, his eyes falling closed as he tries to calm himself down. “Hold on, love, just a second.” He hisses out a breath and reaches down to grasp himself at the base before gently pulling out, whispering sweet nothings and soft apologies at the wince you let out.

The feeling of emptiness is immediate, your walls clenching, but you say nothing, just bite your lip and look away as Jude reaches for his shirt. He wipes himself clean before he getting up. You watch with confusion as he slips on his boxers and slides out of the tent. But it's not long before he's back. He crawls back inside with a wet cloth, a small bowl of fruits you packed earlier and your water bottle. He sits down next to you with a soft smile, the cloth held out in his hands. Your cheeks grow warm as you realize what he’s doing. 

“Spread your legs for me, princess .” His voice is soft, gentle. He waits patiently for you to do as he asks, and the way his eyes soften as you listen… It makes tears well up in your eyes. To be taken care of like this—is beyond what you expected. He cleans you gently before he sets the cloth down and reaches for the bowl of fruit.

His eyes light up as he holds a grape to your lips and you accept it with a giggle. He hands you a slice of apple next, and you take a bite, smiling softly at the sight of his relaxed expression. It's like nothing else exists, like only you two are here in the moment. After you finish your snack, he holds out your water bottle and you thank him as you take a long drink.

Jude watches you with something dangerously close to adoration, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s memorizing every little thing—your flushed cheeks, your sleepy eyes, the way your lips glisten as you sip from the bottle. His fingers trail absentmindedly over your thigh, warm and soothing, tracing lazy patterns onto your skin.

“You okay, love?” he murmurs, his voice thick with something soft, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You nod, still shy, still unsure what to do with all the emotions swirling inside you.

Jude must sense it, must see the way you hesitate, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He tilts your chin up with the barest touch of his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his expression unreadable.

"You're thinkin' too much," he teases gently. "Wanna tell me what's goin' on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You hesitate, your throat bobbing as you swallow. But under his gaze, so open and patient, you find yourself whispering, "Just… I don’t know how to explain it." Your fingers toy with the hem of the blanket, suddenly fascinated by the texture. "I just feel… full."

His brows lift, and for a second, a wicked smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “Full, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you catch the meaning, and you smack his arm with an indignant squeak. "Not like that, Jude!"

His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, rich and warm, and you feel it against your cheek where you’ve buried your face again, hiding. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against him with ease, his lips brushing against your temple.

"Alright, alright," he murmurs, amusement still thick in his voice. "I’ll behave."

You huff, but the way his fingers thread through your hair, his touch slow and methodical, makes your body melt against him. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, taking his time with each one like he’s savoring the taste of you.

“You feel full,” he echoes, more serious now, as if he’s trying to understand. "Full of what, love?"

Your lashes flutter as you blink up at him, "I love you, Jude Bellingham ."

His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, but then a softness takes over, and his arms tighten, his hands cupping your face with such gentle care.

“Y/N Y/L/N” His voice is low, raspy, filled with something deep and real. "I love you too. More than I ever thought it was possible to feel. You’re my everything, Y/N. I never wanna spend another night without you in my arms. Every day without you feels too long, too much, too wrong. Will you marry me?"

The world slows, the weight of his words sinking into your bones, melting into the marrow. You blink, stunned, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs as your heart hammers wildly against your chest.

He shifts slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, the other reaching into the pocket of his discarded jeans. You watch, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a small velvet box. The soft glow of the lantern casts golden hues on his face, highlighting the nervous anticipation in his warm brown eyes.

“Jude…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your fingers trembling as you reach up, touching his cheek as if to confirm it’s real and not some dream spun from the afterglow of your love.

He smiles, tilting his head just slightly into your touch, his thumb tracing gentle circles against the small of your back. “Yeah, love. It’s real,” he murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “Been carryin’ this around for weeks, waitin’ for the right time. And I realized… there’s no better time than right now.”

He flicks open the box, revealing a delicate ring, the band slender and elegant, a diamond nestled in its center, catching the lantern light and scattering it in tiny flecks across the canvas of the tent. Your breath catches, tears welling in your eyes, blurring the sight of it.

“Y/N, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, his voice steady, thick with emotion. “I know we haven't been together long, but I can’t live without you. Every single day, you make me happier than I ever thought I deserved. I love you. I love your shy little smiles, the way you tuck your face into my neck when you get flustered. I love the way you look at me like I hung the stars, when really, you’re the one that lights up my whole world.”

A soft, overwhelmed sound escapes your lips, something between a laugh and a sob, and he grins, his dimples carving into his cheeks.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” he adds quickly, as if he’s worried you might feel pressured, as if he can’t bear to see even a hint of hesitation in your eyes. “I just… I want you to know that I’m all in. I wanna be yours for the rest of my life. Whenever you’re ready, whenever you want me—I’m here.”

Your hands shake as you reach for the box, fingers barely brushing the velvet before you shift, pressing forward, wrapping yourself around him as best as you can. Your lips find his—soft, eager, trembling against his own. He catches your breathy gasp with a quiet groan, deepening the kiss, his hands firm at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

When you finally pull away, you’re breathless, your forehead resting against his. “Yes,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, Jude. I want you—I want forever with you.”

The way his face lights up, the way pure joy radiates from him—it steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” His voice wavers just slightly, disbelief laced into the happiness.

You nod fervently, laughing softly as tears slip down your cheeks. “Yes. A million times, yes.”

A sound rumbles in his chest—something between relief and elation—as he slips the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly. And then he’s kissing you again, laughing against your lips, his hands tangling in your hair, his body pressing you back down onto the soft blanket beneath you.

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, love.” His voice is warm, reverent, as his lips trail along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His fingers find your hand, threading through yours, the cool metal of your new ring pressing against his skin. “I swear, I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret saying yes to me.”

You smile, your free hand slipping into his curls, tugging just slightly until he looks up at you, his eyes dark with something deep, something infinite. “I could never regret you, Jude.”

His breath stutters, and then he’s kissing you again, deep and slow, his love spilling from his lips, from the way his hands trace over your skin.

When he finally pulls away, you’re dazed, breathless, your fingers still curled into his like you don’t want him to go too far.

Jude chuckles, resting his forehead against yours again. “Gotta say, camping’s never been this fun before.”

You giggle, and the sound makes something warm bloom in his chest.

“I think I like it too,” you admit, your voice small, “Especially… with you.”

His arms tighten around you, and when he speaks next, his voice is quieter, raw with something unspoken.

“Good. ‘Cause I plan on makin’ a lot more memories with you, princess.” He tilts his head just enough to steal another soft kiss. “Forever and always, huh?”

“Forever and always,” you echo, smiling into the next kiss.

-Bianca🌻

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Irreversible.

Gif credits

Pairing: Professor Reed Richards x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 430 Summary: You get fucked against the blackboard by your hottest professor. Tags/Warning: implied legal but unspecified age gap, reader is a menace, cheating (Mr Richards is married), POV second person, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, a dash of oral sex and nipples play, slurs, panties ripping, swearing, a reference to physics. (Look, I had terrible grades in physics in high school, I tried lol), it obviously has no connection to the plot of the film, in this one Reed Richards is a professor with a chair at Harvard and chalk is definitely more “poetic” than markers. I’m not a Marvel fan, I’m just trying to have some pwp, please don't come @ me 💀 A/N: We've all seen the pics and teasers and gifs, right? This is totally self indulgent, I wrote it because I couldn't get the image of him writing on the board out of my head. No proofreading, no beta, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Masterlist

You loved the way you broke him. Lured him into your web to do exactly what you wanted.

You loved it.

The way he yanked at your bra, exposing your boobs, the way his hands were still chalky and leaving white marks all over you, his scruffy beard pinching your skin, his voice vibrating over your tits as he swirled his tongue over your nipples.

“You wanted this huh?” “Yes.” you cried.

You wanted exactly that when you pretended you didn't understand anything about physics.

Your skirt rolled up over your hips, his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping incessantly between your folds, up to your clit.

He stood up, his forearms muscularly sticking out of the rolled-up sleeves, wrapping around your waist, pushing you against the blackboard.

He stopped to undo his pants and kick them off.

Back on you, he squeezed your ass, coming down on your thigh, pulling up your leg to get a better grip.

"You know I'm married" "Yes" you whined, looking at him honeyed. "And you still flirted like a bitch in heat" he angrily muttered.

Of course you did. You did it every day since you started his class, battling your eyelashes, biting your lower lips, asking for tutoring about everything like you were admitted at Harvard by a fortuitous twist of fate, wearing the sluttiest tops and skirts you owned, marveling at the grey in his hair, telling him it suited him so well, while he tried to explain physics to you maintaining a professional tone.

"You couldn't wait to drag me into this mess, could you?" he snarled on your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

He clutched your panties in his fist and teared them like paper tissues.

"I want you so bad" you purred, burying your fingers in his curls at the base of his neck, encircling his waist with your leg, rocking your naked pussy against his still-clothed cock.

"Fuck me, Mr Richards"

He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his cock, and entered you with one thrust.

"Fuck" he cursed "you're soaked, you hungry slut."

You didn't respond; your pussy clutched tightly on his cock, you moaned as he began to thrust deeper and deeper into you, in a frantic rhythm, making your whole body and the blackboard just on the wall behind you vibrate. Small drops of sweat beaded his forehead, his hair now completely disheveled under the work of your hands, the fabric of his pristine white shirt crumpled as it repeatedly banged against your hard nipples.

You came right there, whimpering and quivering in an empty university classroom where every day he lectured you.

Your lust for him was irreversible, as in the second law of thermodynamics that you had pretended not to understand that day.

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