#i love my girlfriend so much hes my pride and joy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyhoshi · 8 months ago

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scarlet, starlet pt. 1

summary: mingyu intends to make his girlfriend's wishes come true — all of them.

this a part of the man of the match universe

genre: professional football (soccer) mingyu, idol oc, porn with a little plot

wordcount: 3,251

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader

warnings: DDlg kink, d/s themes, both parties are safe, sane, and consenting adults, afab reader, lots of mentions of female anatomy, reader is implied to be significantly smaller than mingyu, making out, dry humping, finger sucking, fingering, squirting, huge mingyu, big dick gyu (canon), slight cum play, cum eating, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls dont do it, its not worth it), spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (also bec i wrote it), size kink go bbrrrr, bulge kink, dirty talk

author's notes: yet another work written for my lovely @madeforgyu! this is just part 1 of her birthday gift and is a part of the universe we have lovingly poured soooo much time and effort in. wuv u and all of that!

The excitement that comes with a new album and a comeback sometimes gets lost in just how complicated AM♡RE’s schedule has become. In between having to do pre-recording as a whole team, music shows would request certain members to be part of other variety segments which allowed other members to rest or even take on other schedules.

This led to fussy 4AM pre-recording sessions then running back to the company office to film overseas interviews and just napping during the car rides to and from one venue or another. By the time the whole team made it back to the KBS building for the live broadcast, the only thing fueling you was adrenaline and obligation. It’s a so-so way of celebrating your twenty-fourth birthday.

You try to shake it out of your system when you think of the cute pink drink truck that was parked by the entrance to the studio that your fans were enjoying. You think it could be a lot worse because you did catch a glimpse of the many birthday ads all over Seoul as you moved from one location to another.

But still, it could be better too.

With all the last minute activities and schedules being fit into every free moment you had in the past few weeks, it had been difficult to really set any celebration plans into stone with your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

A pout makes itself present on your face the second you start thinking of him. Having Mingyu around would make everything that wasn’t ideal about your birthday just simply melt away.

At this point, a message from him would suffice. You’re no stranger to receiving and sending messages at odd times but after Mingyu’s good morning message, all your other texts had gone unread.

You’re wracking your head if he had mentioned anything scheduled today but you come up with nothing because you can clearly remember that he said he was taking the entire day off to celebrate with you.

The thought sticks even as you’re being ushered on stage and you only really snap out of it as you find yourself in front of the crowd, the rest of your members bowing and waving before you have to take your starting positions.

You shake it off, thinking instead of how you’re sure a message from Mingyu will greet you the moment you step off stage.

You’re greeted by something far better than a text message when the music cuts and you’re trying to catch your breath.

A large smile is still plastered on your face as the thrill and joy of performing courses through you. The cheers fill you with warmth and satisfaction, hoping that you had given a good performance for the live show’s crowd, but a voice cuts through the usual noise of fans.

There’s a booming voice coming from the side stage and a “That’s my girl!” that sets every nerve on your body aflame in embarrassment and pride in equal measures.

It’s your boyfriend.

It’s Mingyu.

A bright smile splits your face and you can’t help the flush that paints your face pink as the rest of your members turn to see the afternoon’s special guest. With everyone on stage giggling and whispering amongst themselves with their lapels turned away from their mouths, even the crowd was starting to realize that something out of the norm was going on.

You make your goodbyes quick, giving deep bows of appreciation, but the excitement coursing through your body can’t be contained.

Once your leader has deemed you polite enough, offering you a sympathetic smile and nodding towards the general direction of the backstage area, you can’t move fast enough.

You briskly walk towards Mingyu who, despite his effort at dressing to be discreet, is still the most eye-catching person in the room. Standing tall and proud in the hustle and bustle of the music show staff is the top scorer of the Cheongdam Diamonds, offering you the most wicked grin.

There are so many eyes around you. Looks of jealousy, resentment, and also awe are no longer strange when either you or Mingyu are in the room. Having both of you present just meant all of the above, but a hundredfold. None of that matters to you at all when you let out a squeal and jump into his arms.

You don’t care. You’ve stopped caring. Let them see.

You can no longer count how many bad ideas have become good ones when Mingyu whispers them into your ear. You can’t even remember a time you’ve said no to him and his clever ideas. Not that you ever would really, especially when Mingyu always makes it worth your time.

It starts innocently enough, as it always does with you and Mingyu.

The second you managed to drag him into your dressing room, locking the door behind him, you had peppered his face and mouth with as many kisses as you could as he giggled and whispered birthday greetings every time your lips parted.

In no time, Mingyu had managed to wrap your legs around his waist and was guiding you as you slowly rocked your hips down onto his. The friction was so delicious even through all the layers of your stage costume but you knew that this would hardly suffice for either of you.

“I fucking hate these shorts,” Mingyu says with a grimace as his hands find their way to your ass, upset to find the layer of your safety shorts standing in his way.

Mingyu has always hated it when he would reach down and find your smooth skin covered with a seemingly offensive piece of clothing. On most days you barely wore any underwear around the house, just the way he likes it.

You love the little look of annoyance in his face and trace the lines of his eyebrows as you sit pretty on his lap, “They’re there to protect me.”

Mingyu can only snort at that.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Imagine if we stopped wearing these, then everyone would see what’s yours, Daddy.”

You feel his frown relax underneath your finger, “We can’t have that now, can we?”

“Nuh-uh,” You answer, allowing Mingyu to guide your hips. Even through the stupid safety shorts you could feel how his cock was pressing against the zipper of his jeans and Mingyu always knew how to find the cleft of your center to ensure that you were grinding your clit onto him.

“Why’s that?” He whispers against your lips, tongue flicking out to lick at your upper lip for just a split second.

You bite your tongue at the pleasure slowly building up between your legs and how he’s teasing you with his tongue, “Because this is yours.”

He makes a face of faux confusion before asking, “What exactly is mine?”

“This pussy.”

“Good girl.”

In no time, Mingyu has you strip for him and you stand before him, completely devoid of your costume. In the back of your head you can already imagine the frustration of the staff member assigned to assist you with getting fully dressed again, but the look Mingyu gives you has you pushing the thought away.

He’s sprawled on the couch as if he owned it and you’re dying to fall to your knees between his spread legs, but the second you move to do so, Mingyu grabs your wrist to stop you.

“It’s my sweet girl’s birthday today, so we’ll do all the stuff you like,” He says, standing up and crowding you against the counters littered with different makeup brushes and pots of eyeshadow and powder puffs.

“But I want to suck your cock,” You state as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mingyu chuckles and you meet his eyes. You’re entranced.

“I know you do, love. But I don’t want you to bruise your knees when I’m dressing you back in that little skirt.”

He has a point and you frown, “How about tonight?”

He smiles as he brings three fingers up to your mouth, “Okay, I’ll even let you choke on it. Now suck on Dad’s fingers, get them nice and messy.”

You immediately let your mouth fall open and start to lap at the three fingers Mingyu offers you, savoring the salt of his skin and the rough pads of his fingers. If you tried hard enough you could pretend they were his cock, hard and smooth and so so delicious. Your little daydream has you salivating in no time, coating Mingyu’s fingers and lubricating them enough for what he’s no doubt about to do to you.

“Look at that little mouth go,” He marvels, “So small, three fingers can barely fit. Are you sure you can suck my cock?”

You’re shaken from your thoughts and immediately a look of distress spreads on your face, “Yes, it can fit! I can make it fit. You’ll make it fit, won’t you?”

Mingyu’s fingers are barely out of your mouth as you try to convince him. The look on your face makes Mingyu smile. It’s horrible and mean and you love it so much.

“Yeah, I’ll make it fit. I’ll make sure my baby will take it.”

You preen at the promise and wait in anticipation as he pulls his hands away from your lips and pressing his mouth against yours.

This kiss was not exactly a typical one. Instead of pressing your lips together, Mingyu licks into your mouth, his tongue bullying its way inside and pushing your own tongue out of the way. He runs this tongue against the roof of your mouth and against your teeth until you slowly start to press your tongue against his.

You groan in relief as he finally eases up to kiss you properly but tense up when you feel one of his hands grab at your left thigh to lift it up and prop it up on the counter. This position has you spread wide open for him. He loves it when he can see all of you.

The slick that’s been gathering between your folds is surely visible in this position and it makes you clench around nothing as Mingyu pulls away to survey you in this position.

“So so pretty,” He whispers underneath his breath, not even to you, just to himself, “Going to destroy this tiny pussy.”

That’s as much warning as you get before he presses two fingers into you at once.

Mingyu is bigger than most men in all aspects. He’s tall and broad, having put in so much time to get his physique to where it is now. His sheer size followed everywhere else. His fingers were long and thick and the press of two into your core has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Whether it was his cock or his fingers, you knew to always expect a stretch. And you loved it.

“Sooo good, Daddy,” is all you can muster as Mingyu sets a punishing pace that has you trembling in his arms in no time.

Each curl of his fingers sent a jolt down your spine that had you inching closer to the edge despite how Mingyu had just started.

“My pussy is taking two fingers so well,” He says, “I think three would be even better.”

You hate that he pulls his fingers out but you’re immediately placated when he brings the two fingers to his mouth to suck your slick off of them.

He makes a noise of delight before removing his fingers and leaning down. For a second you think he’s going to eat you out but instead Mingyu spits out the saliva and slick he’s collected in his mouth and lets it drip down from your clit.

He moves back to take in the absolutely debauched state of your pussy, smiling to himself, pleased at how messy he’s gotten you, before spreading the wetness with his soiled fingers.

“Are you ready for three, little girl?” He asks, almost mocking. You preen at the nickname and at the promise of the stretch of three fingers inside of you.

Even with the preparation he had given you, he punches a deep exhale from you and he pushes three fingers. The fit is so tight that you can feel how the rough pads of his fingers are. He always did refuse to wear gloves when he lifted weights. Now you want to thank him for it, because the friction inside you makes you want to scream.

It doesn’t help how slowly he’s going either. He’s relishing in how your walls wrap around his fingers, how you tighten up when he slips in a little further. And when he crooks his fingers just right, he can feel how you’re getting just a little bit wetter, slicker.

“You take me so good,” He whispers against your lips, so close it's almost a kiss.

You’re breathless though, mouth slightly ajar, waiting for his tongue to slither between your lips. He doesn’t make a move though aside from a cocky smirk and an arched brow.

Mingyu lets his fingers continue on with their noble job of getting you closer and closer to the edge. Each push and pull of his digits inside you set your nerves alight, but the delicate movement of his right hands make you want to die.

Even as he’s coaxing and orgasm with three fingers on his left hand, the fingers on his right are tracing delicate swirls and unrecognizable patterns along your inner thigh. Every now and then they’d go higher, just by the lips of your pussy.

The pace is much too slow for your liking and you’re worried that your absence would start to seem suspicious. You weren’t at Mingyu’s training center where everything is kept under lock and key with a very well written NDA. You were at Music Bank where staff members were nosy and there was surely another girl group member roaming the halls, praying for your downfall.

“Daddy, faster,” Is all you can manage in between kisses on Mingyu’s jawline, licking a stripe to taste the salt of his sweat and that underlying tinge of just him.

You don’t expect his free hand to come and grip the underside of your jaw, his fingers long enough to reach both sides of your cheeks. He applies just the right pressure to squeeze your cheeks and force your lips into a pucker.

It would be cute if not for the look on Mingyu’s face.

“This is a birthday gift, angel. Be good while I give it to you, hmm?” He says as he begins to pick up the pace.

In no time the pace is punishing, the only thing slowing Mingyu down is how each push of his fingers back inside of you required a stretch and each time your walls made space for him inside you, you let out a little whimper.

When Mingyu presses his thumb against your clit, adding to the already intense pleasure, you can barely keep it together. In no time you feel the telltale signs of an inevitable orgasm.

No matter the method, every single orgasm Mingyu has ever given you was mind blowing, and this would be no exception. You feel the wetness dripping down your ass before you’re comprehending what exactly has happened, having difficulty in processing the immense pleasure coursing through you, your eyes slipping shut at the feeling of cumming all over Mingyu’s fingers.

Your walls tighten around him, even as you spill into his open palm and he continues to push in and out, droplets falling to the floor beneath you and between his feet.

Mingyu’s eyes are fixed on your entrance as he keeps you filled, pleased with how stretched out you are, ready for him to just slip in.

He pulls his fingers out only to move them to cover your clit, gently rubbing, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure, not allowing you a moment to come back to Earth. You’re in that heady space only he take you.

“Eyes open, baby. Watch daddy fuck his cock into you,” Mingyu says with a light slap to your face.

He moves and lifts your other leg up, maneuvering your hands that are wrapped around him to hold yourself open, keeping you fully spread open and seated on the dressing room counter.

Mingyu grasps his cock and gives himself one, two, three pumps to ease the initial need for friction, before he taps the now leaking tip against your clit. A pearlescent drop of precum falls on the hood of your clit and you watch, helpless as he harshly swipes at it with his thumb.

You hiss at rough handling but are immediately silenced when he brings the thumb up and shoves it into your mouth. He presses down on your tongue as if to wipe the cum off his finger.

He grabs a fistful of the hair at the nape of your neck and smashes your mouths together. You love the way even his mouth seems to hold dominance over your own. The movements, no matter how unruly, are still just the right thing to get you going once more.

“We taste so good together, huh?” He whispers after fucking your mouth with his tongue. He pulls away slightly and lolls out his tongue to let a thick wad of spit fall from his lips down to your center.

The impact of the warm liquid has your gaping hole clenching around nothing.

It pleases Mingyu so much that he forgoes all the other teasing he initially had in mind and just guides the head of his cock to sop up the spit on your pussy before pushing in to the hilt in one thrust.

The blissed out sigh that you let out set him on fire.

Gone is the idea of long, languid strokes to stoke the fire in your belly. Instead he goes with a punishing pace that has high pitched cries slipping from your mouth.

His hands find the thickness of your ass to keep you in place, his hips doing all the work of rearranging your guts. In this angle and position, he can see how the head of his cock bulges in your abdomen slightly. It if was possible, he would have gotten harder.

Having already been so sensitive from hardly being able to come down from your first orgasm, Mingyu’s actions had you reeling into your second one in no time.

“My princess deserves to come already,” Mingyu says, slightly breathless, leaning his forehead on yours “Dad wants this pussy to never let him go.”

You nod in agreement, “It's yours forever. I love you.”

It almost seems pathetic for him to cum at those words, but it's a spectacular orgasm as he pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside you before he slams his hips flush to yours and letting himself flood your pussy with his cum.

You’re delirious as he keeps you steady, pulling out so slowly to make sure you keep every single drop of him inside of you.

“Keep it in until you get home,” He says, “I want to slip right in the second you get through the door and still feel me inside you.”

You press your lips to his once, twice, and a third one for good measure before nodding excitedly.

“It’s your gift to me. I won’t let a single drop go to waste.”

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 GUYS I JUST READ THE CUTEST FAN ACCT FROM TODAY'S MUBANK WTFFFF

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 There's a special guest at today's live performance!! After the Midas Touch recording there was a really loud and DEEP cheeer coming from backstage. The members were all looking to see who it was ijbol!!

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 Ahreum was so happy when she figured out who it was that after bowing and greeting fans she left the stage but her mic was still on!!

huhu our baby was probably so happy and giggly as she always is! the op of the fan acct thinks its Mingyu!!

thank you Mingyu for loving and taking care of our precious Ahreum! 🥹🫧🩷

remy @ahreumtouch • may 8 CONFIRMED WTFFFFF 😭😭😭 Mingyu was seen leaving Music Bank today!!

SIR U R A FOOTBALLER U HAVE NO REASON TO BE AT MUSIC BANK IF NOT FOR UR IDOL GF!!

#frizzy fiction #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #au: man of the match

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writingduhh · 8 months ago

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Hii, i was wondering if you were able to write something for hansumfella (tyler) ? I was thinking he talks about him having a girlfriend but no body believes him until he finally brings her into a stream and everyone is amazed because they thought he was joking !! but anything works haven’t rlly seen hansumfella content !! 😅😅

YES!!!!!! Hope this is alright! It’s my first hansumfella fic so I’m super new at this….

Hansumfella || Stream Surprise

You and Tyler had been openly dating for several months, thoroughly enjoying the simplicity and joy your relationship brought into your lives. However, as Tyler's online alter ego, HansumFella, began to skyrocket in popularity, it became clear that managing your private and public lives would need some recalibration. Out of mutual concern for privacy and the unpredictable nature of internet fame, you both agreed it would be best to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the time being.

During one of his lively Roblox streams—a session filled with laughter and playful banter—Tyler unexpectedly let a secret slip, a revelation that even surprised him.

“And yeah, for those wondering why I’ve been a bit off-schedule lately, I’ve been spending some time with my amazing girlfriend,” he mentioned casually, taking a sip of water as the chat erupted into a frenzy.

“You what now, Tyler?!” one viewer exclaimed, their message quickly engulfed by a wave of shocked and curious reactions.

“HE HAS A GF?!”

“NOOOO 😭”

“GIRLFRIEND REVEAL”

“I knew it Ong”

“Proof or it didn’t happen.”

Despite the disbelief, Tyler merely chuckled and steered the conversation back to his gaming strategy, his relaxed demeanor doing little to stop the onslaught of comments.

“Alright chat, calm down I didn’t even say anything! You’re just imagining it! You’re gaslighting yourself. Let’s focus back to absolutely destroying children in best dressed” He jests in his usual dry sense of humor.

In the weeks that followed, each stream dedicated a few minutes to viewers probing for more details about you. Tyler kept his answers vague, strategically revealing just enough to maintain interest without confirming anything definitive.

“What does she look like?”

“Favorite thing about her?”

“I still think he’s lying.”

“Well she looks absolutely gorgeous. Absolute smoke show.” He playfully remarks before continuing.

“Favorite thing about her? Oo that’s a hard one, there’s so much to love. I’ll say sense of humor.”

The curiosity and incessant questioning from his fanbase eventually led Tyler to plan a significant reveal. On a crisp summer evening, his usual streaming time, Tyler adjusted his webcam to capture more than just his usual gaming setup.

“Alright, everyone,” Tyler announced as he started his stream, “tonight is a special night. You've all been incredibly patient—or incredibly nosy,” he joked with a wink at the camera. “I think it's time you meet someone very special to me.”

He reached out and extended a hand off-camera. After a brief moment, another hand appeared, and you stepped into view, your smile bright yet slightly shy as you waved to the camera.

“Hello stream! Is that what I call them?” You ask, a little overwhelmed with the situation

“You can call them whatever you like, babe.” He chuckles, pulling you to sit down beside him.

The chat paused for a split second before erupting.

“OMHH SHES REAL?!”

“She’s so beautiful!!”

“HE WASN’T LYING 💀”

“Literally how did he land her?”

“She’s ours now”

Tyler’s grin widened as he read the comments aloud, his arm comfortably encircling you as you sat comfortably on his lap.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s the reason I’ve been so distracted, so you can blame her for the lack of content.” He jests, earning a playful eye roll from you.

The stream proceeded exceptionally well. You were a natural, laughing and engaging with the chat as if you’d had been a part of the community for years. Tyler felt a mix of pride and relief; not only did his audience adore you, but him as well.

A few weeks after your debut on his stream, Tyler decided it was time to make your relationship Instagram official. He chose a candid photo of you two together, taken during a sunset hike. Both laughing, bathed in the golden hour light, capturing a beautiful moment.

Tyler uploaded the photo with the caption that simply read, “Mine ;)” and tagged you.

The post received thousands of likes and comments in no time. Fans and friends filled the comments section with hearts, congratulatory messages, and more than a few playful jabs at having doubted him in the first place.

Tyler leaned back, watching the notifications pop up one after another, you sitting beside him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Was it worth the wait?” Tyler asked, his voice a soft murmur.

“Definitely worth it,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

#hansumfella fanfic #hansumfella x reader #hansumfella #hansumfella tyler

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

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switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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kingkat12 · 4 months ago

Text

hickeys (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, mentions of sex, softcore-y smut, tw!bullying, Roman using his powers for no good, he's being so weird about virgin!reader, angsty fluff lol

summary: after having sacrificed your friendship with Letha for Roman's limited understanding of love and affection, you suddenly learn the consequences of your actions...

word count: 7,406 (you know me, not sorry anymore)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

Roman had a hickey right on the side of his throat. Thankfully, I knew who gave him that one-- me.

It dawned on me that I had never seen him with one before. Despite how easy it was for me to get lost in the feelings of joy, finding a sense of pride at being the only one allowed to do that to him, I remembered Roman hadn't always been open to these sorts of things. He had warmed up to it gradually, with everything starting as a small incident at my place a week ago.

We had been splayed out on my bed, my face buried in his chest as I took a casual mid-day nap on top of him. It had become a habit-- Roman would come over, we'd bicker about something, then make out for about an hour until he decided to take his smoke break on my balcony. But today was different; the both of us had just finished a rather hard math test, so we were absolutely spent by the time we hit my bed. Roman didn't even have the energy to smoke, and seeing how tired he was, I decided to be bold and cuddle up to him; however, I hadn't expected us to fall asleep like this.

Weirdly enough, he didn't resist my advances. He'd usually start feeling uncomfortable as he wasn't used to affection like this, but today, Roman had his arms around me as I laid with my head on top of his chest. I had been a little embarrassed to wake up to the sight of a tiny puddle of my drool on his sweater, and I tapped the spot with my fingers as though that would make it go away.

Roman awoke, groggy. He let out a low grunt as he raised his head, trying to get a look at what I was doing. "Is that what I think it is?--"

"No," My words barely came out louder than a whisper, now covering the spot with my palm as I looked up at him with a soft smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Roman, being the stubborn asshole he was, didn't even register my question. "Did you drool on me?"

Oh God, this was mortifying. I figured he'd find out anyway; I slowly removed my hand from the spot, sliding off him. "Sorry..." As I rolled over, my back against the bed, I could only sigh. Being Roman's unofficial official girlfriend was hard, especially now that I didn't have any friends to discuss it with.

However, there were moments where the hardships were worth it. Moments like these ones, where Roman now flipped over and unexpectedly snuggled up to me, his face hiding in the crook of my neck. "I've never been drooled on like that before," he said, his words muffled in my hair. "This is my favourite sweater."

With wary movements, I brought one hand up to his brown locks, gently stroking through them. I wasn't sure what the next sound from Roman was, but the closest thing would be a purr. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, my other hand running up and down his broad back. "Want me to buy you a new one?"

Roman huffed; "Don't be stupid. I'll just leave it in the washer here if you don't mind,"

"The washer?" My hands froze, no longer ghosting over his skin with gentle touches. "It will dry up in a second, Roman, get yourself together. And even worse, I might get the urge to wear it if you leave it here." I immediately regretted that joke the second it slipped past my lips-- in hopes of brushing over it, scared he'd climb off me and go back to being his usual self, I resumed running my fingers through his hair and up his back.

To my surprise, Roman didn't react much. The only thing I could notice was a rather shaky breath against my neck, almost as though he had just had a really tempting thought. Eventually, he spoke; "It wouldn't fit you very well,"

I did my best to shrug, although that was hard to do with someone on top of me. "That's not the premise," I huffed. "People usually wear each others' stuff when they're into one another. It's a cute thing."

"... So you'd want me to leave my sweater here?" Roman eventually propped himself up on his elbows, meeting my gaze. "Why? It's not like you'd be able to wear it anywhere."

It was in moments like these that I realized how little Roman actually knew about girls. He was supposedly very good in bed, but with feelings and affection? He was like a very aggressive puppy with gorgeous fur-- some men you simply have to train to be soft. "I'd wear it at home," I said, reaching out to brush his messed up hair away from his green eyes. "Especially when it's stormy outside and I'm doing my homework."

Something about my words seemed to be leaving small cracks in Roman's shell-- had I not been so observant, I wouldn't have noticed the way his pupils dilated or the way his features softened as he looked at me. "Would it be a one-way thing?" he asked; was I imagining things, or did he sound shy? "You get my sweater, and I get..." Roman propped himself up further, taking a quick glance around my room. It didn't take long before his eyes landed on the plain, black hair ties on my nightstand, and he wasted no time reaching for two in one go. "I get these."

Seeing him so serious about this exchange was too funny-- I couldn't help the giggle building in my chest, suppressing a rather obnoxious laugh. "Yeah, I think that's smart," I murmured, stroking my thumb over his cheek. "Your hair is getting a little long... Would probably make your life easier."

Roman rolled his eyes, huffing. "It's not exactly like you have anything else lying around here!"

There was no way in hell I was about to tell him that my room was this clean because I had predicted he'd come over. "Okay, but it still works," I reached for his hand, taking the ties into my palm before rolling them over his fingers, watching as the rubber bands now sat comfortably at his wrist. "There you go!" I exclaimed, beaming up at a rather perplexed Roman. "Sweater, please."

It took a few seconds for him to react-- his eyes fixated on the black rubber ties around his wrist, and before I knew it, I saw slivers of pink appearing on his cheeks. I had never seen him react to anything like this before, and I had no idea why Roman was suddenly unmistakably blushing. "Fuck," he breathed. "That's cute."

To hide his blush, he quickly wried his sweater off his body, throwing it away on a chair nearby before burying his face in the crook of my neck again, putting his whole weight back on me. "Promise to use it for dirty stuff too," he grumbled, probably to save face, before pressing a kiss to my neck.

I was happy Roman didn't see how brightly I was smiling-- I would've been told off immediately, and he'd most likely retract right back into his shell. It was unusual for him to accept any sort of affection, and I wondered whether he had let anyone this close before. The more I got to know Roman, the more he was sleepy and babbling around me, I realized that I had to gradually ease physical kindness into his life to make our weird whatever-ship work.

The whatever-ship I had sacrificed everything for.

And I would've spiraled deeper into thoughts about it, but the sudden pressure I felt against my neck made me snap out of it-- I realized he was giving me a rather hefty hickey, a familiar tingling sensation coursing its way through my body. I let out a satisfied sigh, my fingers burying themselves deeper into Roman's hair as he moved elsewhere on my neck to make a second one. "These will go well with the sweater," he purred against my skin.

I held back a shiver-- The hate I had once felt for him had quickly turned into whatever this was. All I knew, was that it felt good enough to distract me from the guilt that kept gnawing at me after betraying Letha the way I did. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next day at school actually marked a month since the last time Letha and I had spoken on the bleachers. A month of staring at her longingly from afar like a kicked puppy and asking our mutual friends how she was. It didn't take long before they all heard what had happened between Roman and I, and they suddenly became Letha's friends only.

I didn't know how lonely I would be after I chose Roman, and it was slowly breaking my heart. Being blacklisted by nearly all the girls at school was tough, to say the least.

So as I rummaged around my locker, getting ready for my next class, I didn't expect Letha to approach. There was no way I could imagine she'd do that, especially after the way she had been denying all my attempts of reconciliation. But here she was, blonde hair styled to perfection, and her green, stern eyes meeting mine the second I closed my locker door.

I stared right back, at a loss for words despite opening my mouth to speak.

Letha cleared her throat, pressing her books tightly against her chest. "It's been a month," she tried, something about her softening with the weight of her words. "I think I might be ready to... talk."

My heart jumped up like never before, immediately thrown into a feeling of ecstatic victory. "What?" I squeaked, unable to stop my beaming look of joy. "Are you serious?"

Letha shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress her smile. "I think it's time to try, at least?--" Her words came to a halt the second I turned to face her fully, and her green eyes immediately found my neck.

My hair had moved to behind my shoulders as I turned around, revealing the hickeys I had tried my best to cover with setting powder and foundation. It didn't take long before Letha's softening look became one of horror as she took a step back, clearly repulsed.

I immediately went into panic, piecing it together. "No, Letha, wait!--"

There was no stopping Letha before she turned on her heel, bolting down the corridor with heavy steps.

I turned back towards my locker, pressing my forehead against it. There was no way in hell I'd let everyone see me cry in public again. It felt as though Letha had dug her hand into my chest and ripped out my heart, now squeezing it until it finally popped. My breath hitched as I stepped away from the locker, sniffling as I felt a sob build.

Just as I was about to leave and get to class somehow, the familiar scent of cinnamon entered my system. "What did Letha want?" Roman asked, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approached. His brows were drawn together in a disapproving look as he watched Letha disappear down the hallway in unmatched hurry, and I got a good glance at him when I finally turned around to face him. How long had he been watching me from afar?

Roman's glare quickly faded away when his attention shifted and he noticed the way my eyes had glossed over. His whole tough look disappeared within a sliver of a second, and I was unsure whether he noticed it himself. "... Nothing good, I see?"

I shied away from his gaze, my eyes darting down to my shoes. "She wanted to make up all until she saw... well," To demonstrate, I turned a little, showing Roman the once blank canvas which was now covered in about six hickeys that I counted last night. It was clear to me that my attempt at hiding them had failed.

Roman could only sigh, an infuriating grin now spreading across his face. "I'm going to say sorry now, but know that I don't fully mean it because... the sight of you like this is so damn hot," He leaned down, pressing his lips against my forehead as he took my face into his hands. I couldn't help but notice that he was still wearing my two black rubber bands just as my breath hitched at the loving gesture.

Something about the kiss made my heart skip, but another part was ripping at me; Roman clearly cared more about the fact that he had marked me than how upset I was. I hummed in response, not knowing what else to say before much later; "Don't do that,"

"Do what?"

"Don't kiss me like that," I mumbled, pressing my back against my locker to make as much space between us as possible. "Just... Don't."

Roman's first reaction was on display with a stunned expression, up until his brows drew together in what I could only read as annoyance. "Fine," he said, teeth gritted. His hands fell down at his sides, trying to save face as he took a step away from me; "I'm just trying to make you feel a little better, it's not that fucking deep." In true Godfrey fashion, he also proceeded to storm down the hallway, clearly flustered after being shut down.

I had to take a long breath-- this was a lot to take in for one day. Roman being in denial about his feelings also didn't help much. I wanted to run after him, grab his hand and tell him that he could do absolutely whatever he wanted with me, that I'd love for him to kiss me like that once more, but I knew I couldn't.

It was hard to believe how badly I had fallen for a guy who could barely regulate his own feelings. Someone who insisted on making it apparent to everyone that I was his without actually wanting to put a name to it. I let out a sigh, watching Roman get further and further away. Something told me I maybe should've followed him, at least asked him whether he wanted to come to my place later and sleep next to each other, but my plans quickly fell apart when I witnessed the one thing I hated seeing most in the world.

In the midst of his angry storm-off, Roman managed to turn his head to allow for his eyes to follow a girl with an exceptionally short skirt passing him by.

I wanted to throw up-- the hungry look in his eyes made me nauseous. Everything about Roman looking at someone in the way he usually looked at me made me want to burst into tears all over again.

No matter what I felt for him, one thing would never change; I hated Roman Godfrey. I hated him and the way he made me feel like a stomped bug. Hated the way he'd look at me after he'd make me cum around his fingers, the way he'd stroke my hair away from my forehead with the gentlest touch as I fell asleep, and the way he'd insist on driving me everywhere just to spend some extra time together.

I hated him. I hated this feeling, and especially what it had done to me, my friendships, and my reputation.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... Thoughts of my reputation went out the window now that Roman was back in my bed. Nothing suggestive, of course-- he was currently half asleep next to me. Even more heartwarming, was the fact that he still wore my two hair ties around his wrist, and I could get a proper look at him now that he was resting. I loved this feeling; we were both wearing the items we had exchanged.

"It looks good on you," he mumbled, tugging me closer with the arm he had around me. "My sweater. I thought I would hate seeing you in it, but it's not so bad."

My body was halfway on top of his, and I couldn't help but giggle as he pressed me closer to his chest. "Why did you think you'd hate it?" I adored the feeling of being completely engulfed in Roman-- the lingering scent of his perfume stuck to the gigantic sweater I was in, and his big arms around me made all my pain feel worth it.

All up until Roman hummed, eyes still closed as his hands raked through my hair; "You wearing my stuff makes it real... Like you're mine. I don't know whether I want that responsibility,"

I could only sigh, unsure whether I should let my heart sink just yet. Sometimes, it was best to dig around in Roman's mud of a brain before settling for the version he wanted me to believe. "So you would be okay if I was with someone else?"

Roman opened one eye, glancing down at me as he raised a brow. "Are you with someone else?"

"... No,"

"Would you want to be?"

What an odd question; one he didn't need to know the truth of. "Would you care if I did?"

Roman opened his second eye, now scouring my face to check for cracks in my facade. Something told me he wasn't buying it, but that he wasn't about to take any chances. Eventually, he scoffed, rolling his eyes before closing them again; "Fuck off,"

"Fuck off yourself," I mumbled, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I tried to dull out the fact that his arm automatically wrapped itself tighter around me before I spoke once more; "Answer the question."

"Why?" Roman shifted, pulling my whole body on top of his, letting out a satisfied sigh now that all of my weight was laid on him. "It's a stupid question. Why can't we just enjoy this moment?"

He had a point, sure-- I just didn't deem it enough. "I hope you remember that I have a lot on the line here," I placed my hands next to his head, pushing myself up to get a proper look at him. Roman eventually opened his big, green eyes, and they quickly rounded out as they met mine. Everything about looking into his eyes made me want to squeal and pepper him with kisses; this was dangerous territory. I knew had to pull myself together; "I have, like... zero friends because of this. Because I chose you. And you not wanting to take on that responsibility or whatever it was that you called it, makes me feel like crap. You make me feel like crap."

It was clear that Roman was holding his breath without thinking about it. He stared up at me, unsure what to say; "... All the time?"

"What?"

"Do I make you feel like crap all the time?"

That was certainly a way to spin it-- taken aback, I furrowed my brows as I pondered the question. "Not... all the time, no,"

Roman hummed; he seemed content with that answer. "I know you're upset about the whole Letha thing," he said, his big hands traveling down to grab at my hips as he shifted me to sit in his lap. "I also see that I'm not exactly helping the situation, but... you can't keep blaming me for your decision."

"... Okay," His request was simple enough-- I was ready to adhere to his wishes. "But then you have to say it out loud."

"Say what?"

"That you like me,"

I watched as Roman's eyes widened, his grip on my hips tightening. His whole body tensed up, unsure whether to speak or not. It was clear that he was conflicted about how to tread forward, and I held my breath the second his plush lips parted. Roman sat up, his back now supported by my headboard. Like this, I was sat in his lap with my arms draped around his neck, and he connected our foreheads with a sigh. Roman's words eventually came out like a slow, warm whisper; "I don't know what I feel,"

It felt as though my heart had lodged itself into my throat-- what? I was about to start arguing with him, cursing him out for dragging me through the mud for nothing, all until Roman suddenly reached for my hand. He placed my palm over his heart, his eyes finding mine as he steadied his breathing. "I don't know what I feel," he echoed. "But I know that looking at you makes my heart beat faster. Feel how hard it's going?" He pressed my hand further up against his chest, something about his touch giving away the sincere nature of this gesture. I hadn't seen Roman doing anything this romantic before, and everything was practically perfect all up until he opened his dumb teenage mouth; "I'm serious. It usually only beats like this when I look at pictures of Sydney Sweeney in a swimsuit."

That's it-- I groaned and ripped my hand out of his grip. "Okay, that's enough. You need to leave, it's almost midnight," In an attempt to climb off him, I almost made it out of his lap before his hands grabbed my hips once more, forcing me back down as I yelped. My eyes widened as they met Roman's, watching his signature smirk spread across his lips.

"Where do you think you're going in my sweater?" he purred, suppressing a chuckle. "My sweater, my rules. Give me a kiss before I leave, at least."

I huffed as I snaked my arms around his neck, feeling his hot breath against my lips. "And why should I kiss you?"

"Because you want to?" Roman didn't care to try to suppress his grin, gently nudging my nose with his as his grip on my waist tightened. His voice dropped, getting airy as he whispered against my lips; "You want to so bad."

Everything about him made the butterflies in my stomach flutter-- it didn't help that his hair was tousled in a classic heartbreaker look, along with how ridiculously soft his lips suddenly looked.

Roman definitely noticed the reddening of my cheeks, concluding why I had gone mute. "Don't be like that," he teased, not doing a good job with hiding his amusement. "Just kiss me first, for once. Have you noticed that you never initiate anything?"

I held my breath-- "I just... don't know what I'm doing," My confession was unexpected, but it felt nice to get it off my chest. "I don't want you to think I'm clueless."

"But you are?" Roman's chuckle was one of mischief as his hands shamelessly trailed down my body, now grabbing my ass as he pushed me closer to him. "It's not a bad thing. Just means I can program you to my liking."

I didn't even act as though I wanted his hands off of me, giving in to his antics. Something about the way he was holding me made me feel awfully warm-- maybe it was time to take off the sweater? "Tell me what you like, then," I purred, putting my hands on his chest. I figured that if I had gone down this route, I'd continue my path with conviction.

Roman's smirk only grew, letting out a breathy laugh against my lips as he gave my ass a firm squeeze. "That's my girl," he cooed. "We'll start simple." He nudged his nose against mine once more, his lips parting before his words came out in a hot whisper against mine; "Kiss me."

His words were too alluring to deny-- I leaned forward, my hands carefully laying against his broad shoulder as I kissed him. A sigh of satisfaction escaped Roman, who immediately dug his hands into the flesh of my behind to tug me closer. Everything about the way he was reacting to me reminded me of our first date, and the way he had held and kissed me in the alley when we were hiding from Letha.

The kiss was slow, almost lazy; something about the moonlight hitting us was making it more intense. It mostly consisted of small, loving pecks, and many pauses to simply smile against one another. I wondered whether he had ever kissed anyone like this before, with a softness I didn't see in him very often.

It was hard to believe that this was the same guy that had me running around scared for him to prick me with needles. The only thing pricking me right now was the hardening of Roman's cock beneath me. With every twitch, every time his hands dug into my hips in an attempt to grind me against him, I could only grin into the kiss. There wasn't exactly anything sexual about this kiss, but he would always get hard from the smallest little things-- I couldn't help but find pride in it. At least this was another confirmation that he wanted me.

Roman eventually grew frustrated, now trying to rut up against me just for any sort of friction. With that, I grabbed the headboard, raising myself with my knees so that he wouldn't succeed. As he groaned, I had to bite down on my growing smile; the look on his gorgeous face was too damn thrilling.

Roman's eyes were round, his chest sinking with a shaky exhale as a rosy flush lingered in his cheeks. "Anything," he breathed. "Just give me anything. I'll take it."

"Anything?" I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at; "What do you mean?"

His hands grabbed at my waist, signalizing that he wanted me to sit down on his arousal once more-- perhaps that felt like a relief in itself? Roman stared up at me through his brows, his fingers digging into my flesh. "I'm not asking you for sex. I'm being nice. So I'm saying I'll take anything you'll give me... Even the smallest thing," He leaned forward, pressing a wet kiss against my neck which had me losing my breath within seconds, now whispering against my skin; "Just touch me." Roman's needy kisses trailed up my neck, jaw, and cheeks until his breath was hot against my ear. "However you want. Don't be shy, try it out."

Something told me that Roman was secretly into me being a virgin, after all this time of making fun of me for it. However, I wasn't about to say no to the opportunity to explore with the Roman Godfrey, and I eventually sat back down on his arousal, my cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red at the sound of his muffled grunt.

My hands went up into his soft hair, pressing a kiss against his temple as my fingers stroked through his locks. "There's one thing I might want to try..."

Roman turned to nip at my jaw, his hands traveling back down to my ass. "Go for it,"

I didn't want to give him time to change his mind; my hand in his hair tightened, pulling him away from me with an unexpected roughness. I was about to apologize until I noticed the way Roman closed his eyes, and the way his lips parted in what looked like pleasure. It suddenly dawned on me that he might be the type to like a little pain, not only cause it. However, I wasn't ready to explore that at the moment-- I had another thought to attend to.

Roman's head lolled back against the headboard as I leaned down to kiss his neck, and it was clear to me that he was enjoying himself. It was only when his fingers dug themselves back into the flesh of my behind that I got the confidence to pull through with my original plan; I sucked down on a particular spot, hard enough to leave a mark.

I didn't need to see his face to know that Roman's eyes were wide open with the realization of what was happening. I was ready for him to push me away, tell me off, tell me to stop-- but his arms only wrapped around me, pulling me closer in a swift motion that had me grinding up against his hard cock, and Roman let out a sigh of pleasure as he let himself be marked with a blooming hickey.

Something told me I had to be somewhat special for him to allow me to do such a thing, and it quickly dawned on me that I had never felt this happy with anyone before, despite his shortcomings.

I liked Roman more than I had ever liked anyone before, and I had an inkling that he felt the same. Who knew something so simple could feel so incredibly good?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Knowing I had Roman wrapped around my finger, despite him not being able to properly say it out loud, had me floating around in my own little bubble. Everything concerning Letha suddenly felt irrelevant, and it wasn't taking up as much space in my mind as before. All I could think about was the way Roman had smiled at me as he passed me in the hall, the red hickey on the side of his neck peeking out past his shirt. The cherry on top of it were the two hair ties he still wore around his wrist-- he was enjoying this, wasn't he?

However, I was yanked back into the absolute shitshow I had caused for myself concerning my girlfriends later that same day.

My previous friends had never done anything more than glare at me from across the hall. Maybe the occasional overdramatic huff when they passed me, an extra eye-roll my way, and so I did my best to not pay it any mind.

Which is why I was so shocked when the proceeding followed.

It didn't bother me to sit alone at lunch-- not anymore, at least. I wasn't about to reach out to Roman to ask where he was and whether I could join him either; but just as I picked up my phone, ready put away my nerves and text him, my gaze was diverted from the screen and to the three girls that sat down in front of me.

I held my breath, my eyes widening with the realization that my previous best friends were staring at me with the nastiest looks I had probably ever seen.

Oh no.

Breathing deeply, I did my best to harden my gaze and keep my guard up. "What do you want, Jasmine?" I asked, putting my phone down on the table as I stared down the girl in the middle. Jasmine was the one I had liked the least in our friend group, and I wasn't surprised that she was the one to take action-- the rest of the girls always followed her like dogs, and it had always made me sick; especially now that they were sitting by her like docile animals.

Jasmine cleared her throat, leaning further over the table in an attempt to intimidate me; "We're just here to make you aware of something,"

"Which is...?"

Taken aback by my lack of reaction, Jasmine's eye twitched just slightly as the girls next to her grew more and more uncomfortable. "Letha told me what she saw on your neck. And sitting this close to you, I see it too... Do you not understand how it makes you look?"

There was no way for me to hold back my sarcasm; "How does it make me look? Do indulge, Jas," I couldn't even hold back my grimace at this point. "Why does it even matter to you?"

Jasmine's eye twitched once more, and she slammed her hands against the table with a loud thud. "What upsets Letha, upsets me! I'm just glad I found out what kind of person you truly are, and it brings me immense joy to realize everyone is starting to catch on to the truth as well!"

Despite how hard I attempted to stay neutral, unaffected, and unfazed, I couldn't do anything about the way my heart sunk. I couldn't even muster up anything to counter Jasmine's words, taken aback by the bluntness of my previous friend.

"Letha really wanted to reconcile, do you know that?" Jasmine continued, an evil snicker building in her throat. "But it's fucking disgusting that you walk around like you're proud to be fucking Roman Godfrey, especially when you know how much you've hurt her. Fucking traitor!"

Before I could protest, she reached for my phone which I had left unattended. There was barely any time to pry it out of Jasmine's hands before she stood up and smashed it into the table, the rest of her posse scurrying away from the table before the pieces of glass could hit them. I didn't have to look to know that the whole cafeteria was watching this scene play out; it was only when I heard gasps coming from around us that I truly realized the extent of what had happened.

As the glass from my phone had bounced off the table, the sharp pieces flying in every direction, I had covered my face with my hands. So, when I slowly pried them away from my eyes, turning them around to identify where the stinging of my skin was coming from, my eyes fell on the three pieces of glass lodged into the back of my hands. It wasn't too deep, not enough to scar or cause real damage, but damn-- it burned like crazy.

With tears in my eyes, I watched as Jasmine snickered, clearly unaffected by the fact that she had caused me physical harm; "We're ready to make your life a living hell," she hissed. "That'll show you. Fucking whore."

Something inside me broke. Usually, I would've fought back, I would've said something-- but I froze. Completely. I had never felt anything like this, the mix of both physical and mental pain turning me to stone.

Fuck. Was this truly how everyone saw me? Nothing more than one of Roman's countless whores?

I knew this would haunt me for the following weeks to come, and I couldn't fight the way my mind shut down. The need to get away overcame me; with shaky steps, I got up from my table, realizing I was about to leave school despite the day not being finished.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had avoided Roman like the plague for the rest of the day-- I was almost as broken as my phone. I held the pieces in my hands under the dim lights of my desk in my room, nudging the glass around on the table. My phone had completely shattered, now just a heap of technology I held onto for the sake of nostalgia in a deep state of shock.

I kept glancing at my hands, my fingers ghosting over the three thin cuts that had parted my skin. They were thankfully not that grotesque to look at, and I was quite sure I could play it off as a scratch from a particularly large cat if anyone asked.

Or... so I hoped.

I wondered whether Letha knew about what had happened. Did she condone it? Had she been the one who ordered Jasmine and her gang to mess with me? Everything about this situation made my head spin-- Choosing Roman might've been the wrong decision. I kept thinking about an alternative universe in which I had never asked him to kiss me in the first place, or one where I had told Letha about my feelings for her cousin before it was too late.

It dawned on me that I had mostly likely made the wrong choice-- how was I supposed to deal with this?

Just as I was about to toss the remnants of my phone into the nearby bin, I heard a few knocks at my window which made me turn towards the sound. There he was, the last rays of today's sunlight making the bronze hues in his hair shine through; Roman tapped against the glass once more, eyes round with an emotion I couldn't piece together from afar.

I walked towards the window and opened it, leaning against the frame as I spoke; "What are you doing here?" My tone was sharper than expected-- seeing him didn't exactly make me feel any better.

"You haven't answered my messages," Roman didn't seem to be in a hurry about getting off my roof, making himself comfortable by sitting down by the window. "All day. Radio silence. I'm not really used to that from you, so... just checking to see whether you're having a stroke or something."

I did my best not to roll my eyes; "A stroke?"

"I don't know?" Roman shrugged, his green eyes never leaving mine. "What other explanation is there for a girl not answering me?"

I grimaced as I watched his expression. It was impossible to push down the intense feelings of frustration when I looked at him, all my love for him manifesting back to its usual hate-- I wouldn't have been in this situation if I hadn't met him. This was technically just as much his fault as mine.

Why did he look so confused? It suddenly hit me that he was being dead serious; he didn't get it at all. He genuinely couldn't find another reason for my absence. "Oh," was what I managed to say, clearing my throat as I sat down on the window sill. "Have you not heard?"

Roman blinked twice, clearly lost as he looked up at me. "Heard what?"

My eyes darted down to my hands, which I had covered with the sleeves of Roman's sweater without even thinking about it. "I thought everyone would be talking about it," I mumbled. "I guess that's a relief, then."

"What are you talking about?" The green of his eyes nearly swallowed me, and I found a tiny trace of genuine concern behind them, so miniscule I could barely notice it. "What happened?"

I wanted to disappear into a heap of nothing; it was so embarrassing that I had let this happen. My pride was definitely trying to choke the life out of me. "My phone broke," I breathed, automatically reaching for the hem of the sweatshirt out of nervous habit-- I felt my cheeks flush, nervous to be revisiting the moment that had haunted me all day.

Roman's brows furrowed, unsure how to react; "You made it sound like something really bad had happened. I could buy you a new one, no problem," He watched me pick at the sweatshirt, now reaching out for my hands to stop my destructive fidgeting.

I let out the breath I had been holding the second our fingers intertwined, feeling the roughness of his hands against mine. My eyes rested on the black hair ties he still wore around his wrist, a blooming warmth igniting in my chest and wading through all my anger. I was so swept up in the moment, comforted by the way he squeezed my hands twice, that I didn't catch the moment the sleeves of the sweater bunched up and revealed the cuts on the back of my hands. "You don't need to buy me a new phone, don't be ridiculous," I said, watching a single strand of his brown hair slowly fall over his eyes as he glanced down. "I'd feel bad--"

"What's this?" Roman's grip around my hands tightened, now bringing them up to his face.

It felt as though my breath had gotten lodged in my throat as I watched Roman's widening green eyes scan the surface of my hands. His brows drew together once more, thumbs swiping over the unhealed wounds. The touch made me hiss, attempting to get out of his grip, but to no avail. "It's the neighbour's cat," I tried. "I bent down to pet it, and--"

"This is not from a cat," Roman's gaze darted up to meet mine, suddenly a lot more intense than usual. "I'll ask you again, what happened?"

I tried to squirm out of his hold once more; "It's not important, Roman... Forget it, please. Actually, I'm going to have to ask you to leave--"

"Tell me,"

"No, seriously, drop it! Can't you just go?!--"

Roman's grip around my hands tightened further, almost to the point of making me wince. "Tell me," His pupils widened at an eerie rate, transfixed on mine. It felt as though his words were echoing through my head, and it didn't take long before I suddenly felt as though my inner monologue froze over.

And before I knew it, my mouth had a mind of its own; "They broke my phone,"

"Who?"

I really, really tried to fight it. Getting Roman involved in this drama was certainly not ideal, and I did my best to push away the urge to tell him; why was it so strong, all of a sudden? It almost felt as though he was controlling my mind, but it was ridiculous to even think so-- that was obviously impossible. Right?

I eventually got around to answering; "Jasmine,"

"... Who?" Roman was beginning to sound like a really confused owl.

"Jasmine," I echoed. "Letha's friend. She brought a few girls over to my table and smashed my phone. Called me a whore."

Roman was silent for a few seconds, his face going unnaturally blank. "These cuts are from your phone?"

"Yeah,"

"And she did it because you're with me?"

"... Yeah," Did he just insinuate that we were together? I held my breath, unsure why my mouth wasn't adhering to my orders-- I so desperately wanted to point it out, but I physically couldn't. What on earth was happening?

Roman hummed, his grip around my hands loosening. "What else did she say?"

I blinked several times in an attempt to get out of the trance-like state I found myself in, but nothing seemed to be working as long as Roman's gaze was locked on me. "She said she's gonna make my life a living hell," As I sniffled, I realized tears were pooling in my eyes. I squeezed them shut, shaking my head to try to snap out of it once more. "I- It's fine, though." It dawned on me that the trick was to not look at him-- I finally started feeling like myself again. "I just need to talk to Letha and check out the options for a truce, or whatever."

As I dared to open my eyes, I watched his blank face. Something about the lack of reaction was unsettling, on the border of uncomfortable, and it almost made me want to squirm. It was in this silence that a thick, red drop of blood suddenly made its way down Roman's nose, and he didn't react when it met his lips. It was almost as though he had frozen to his place on my roof, and I couldn't remember the last time he had blinked.

My eyes widened, concern filling my body. "You're bleeding," I breathed, trying to get my hands out of his. "Let me get something for you, Roman, it's gonna run down to your shirt!--"

Abruptly, he got up with a quickness I hadn't seen in him before, still not saying a word. Suddenly, I couldn't help but notice it-- the hickey on the right side of his throat. One he wasn't even trying to cover up. Despite how much Roman kept denying wanting to be with me, here he was, getting up to do God knows what whilst quite literally baring my mark on his skin.

I watched him, my brows drawing together in complete and utter confusion. "Roman?" Calling out his name didn't seem to do anything; he let the stream of blood run down his chin, now dripping down onto his shirt. I could only look up at him, unsure why he was acting like this.

Finally, Roman spoke; "Living hell, you say?" His voice was low, threatening-- it was suddenly clear to me that he had gotten a very dark idea.

These sorts of proclamations coming from a guy who had an affinity for pricking girls with needles genuinely concerned me. I got up from the window sill, ready to climb out onto the roof to join him. "Come on, Roman, let's just talk!--"

It was as though he was on auto-control, rushing to the edge of the roof before turning around to climb down. My heart beat hard in my chest as I nearly lunged out of my window, hoping to reach him in time. "Hey, where are you going?!"

I didn't make it-- Roman had already managed to land on the grass beneath him, his long limbs an apparent advantage, and he was now storming down my lawn towards his car.

"Roman!" I yelled, crouching down on the edge of my roof; this was definitely not looking good. My mind kept racing as I gave up trying to catch up to him, burying my face in my hands.

I was screwed. I was so screwed.

(a/n: check out PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10 if you haven't!! thank you for reading, more to come!!<33)

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #fanfic #angst #toxic relationship #ARGHHH THIS SERIES LMAOOOO ROMAN IS A MENACE

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nekropsii · 11 months ago

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ALPHA TROLLS RANKED BY HOW WRONG THE FANDOM AT LARGE IS ABOUT THEM:

This is a personal challenge, based entirely on my own experience and perspective, and also ranked from Most to Least Correct. I was bored, and thought this might be fun.

Putting this under a cut, because it's long as hell.

MEULIN LEIJON

People get her mostly correct, from what I’ve seen… Most of the time, fan content of Meulin is absolutely recognizable as Meulin, but her pride in her deafness + joy of learning new ways to interact with the world through/due to her disability is always removed, and I do not often see people tackle the Toxic Positivity aspect of her character. That seems less like character assassination, though, and more like a combination of people not actually playing through the Openbounds, people not being able to fathom disabled people (especially those who gained a disability later in life rather than being born disabled) being happy, and general fandom distaste for the idea of touching anything uncomfortable, especially when that uncomfortable topic is highly mundane, normalized, and potentially applicable to them or their loved ones. Meulin’s toxic positivity was, of course, commentary on Tumblr’s ecosystem at the time, so… It was much harder to touch back then.

ARANEA SERKET

People tend to get her general, broad strokes personality right, but unfortunately she gets treated pretty roughly for the crime of Being A Serket. People refuse to understand her motivations, and she often gets demonized for what she was doing around/during [S] Game Over, even though that was something she’d gotten pushed to and also was cool as fuck to watch. God forbid a woman do anything.

DAMARA MEGIDO

People are right about the racism, 100%. It is completely despicable, hard to look at, and extremely blatant. She does, however, have character outside of that. No, it isn’t “whore”, it’s more like “angry, dysfunctional abuse victim”, and she’s genuinely a very interesting and tragic character. But, again, people are right about the racism, so she gets to be placed way up here.

MEENAH PEIXES

She is such a chaotic little bastard. I love her. I really do. Please understand that she genuinely does not understand the concept of consequences. This girl didn’t have a Lusus, she didn’t have parents, it was functionally illegal to tell her “No, you can’t do that.” That would fuck up literally anyone’s moral compass. That’s not me hand waving away all the fucked up and bad shit she’s done, we all know what she did, but people tend to forget this aspect of her character and it pains me deeply, because it is a very genuinely interesting concept that I want to see more of. She’s capable of regret, we’ve seen her feel it, I just don’t think foresight is her forte. No one raised her to consider consequences, or help her experience them in a healthy way, because nobody raised her period.

Also, her ass is not butch, she is the girliest girl in the entire comic. She is about hot pink and glitter and kiss marks and unicorns and cute little puns and you will respect that. She is not masculine. Her ass is not masculine nor is she butch. Let her be her hyper-feminine self.

LATULA PYROPE

Please for the love of god there is more to her character than “Gamer Girl” and “Mituna’s Girlfriend”. You are falling for her fucking ruse. Please. Please. Please recognize that her entire character is about internalized misogyny, and being forced to overcompensate for misogyny in gaming circles as a gamer who happens to be a woman. Please. I’m begging.

KURLOZ MAKARA

His character is not that deep, it’s mostly just a string of events he is mysteriously, inexplicably involved with. The Makaras are extremely Function Over Form- their characters practically do not exist, they're mostly just plot devices that exist to push the story along. I'm sorry to Makara fans. You just invented a guy in your mind and decided he was real. He is also not that soft, though, and his relationships with both Meulin AND Mituna are not healthy. Hard to stop people from ascribing cutesy squishy lovey dynamics to random men who happened to have looked at each other once, though. Some people truly haven't graduated from 2012.

HORUSS ZAHHAK

I am begging people to consider that maybe the biggest issue here is not that he is “Bad Otherkin/Therian Representation” and is in fact maybe the fact that Hussie was actually making fun of Systems when he was writing Horuss. Because Horuss is canonically a system. He uses the word system. He uses the word switching. He uses the word host. He literally talks about his Plurality at length in extremely upfront, plain terms. I don’t know how him being “Bad Otherkin Representation” was and still is the main discourse about him. It makes me insane. That is a commentary that truly writes itself. Talk about having your priorities out of wack, honestly...

PORRIM MARYAM

No, she is not a MRA, she’s just a regular feminist who happens to live on a different planet with different politics and social hierarchies from Our Real World Earth’s USA. Whatever argument you’re about to pull out of your ass to say that she sucks is bad. She already explained what she meant by that, in more detail, very clearly, and she was right. Half the time she’s literally just giving you factual information about what Beforus was like, and literal plot synopses. She isn’t saying anything insane. She’s literally normal. I don’t know why people cannot handle or process this. Porrim has not ever said anything controversial. If you disagree with this you’re either misconstruing her on purpose or you fell for Kankri’s bait, and that’s just fucking sad at that point.

Also, she’s more than a sex object, and her tits are not huge. Honestly, half the shit she was saying was just “I am more than my sex life”, and so many people took that and made her main character trait her sex life. Just pathetic.

RUFIOH NITRAM

This man is a fucking war criminal and I will stop at nothing until he is behind bars for his crimes against Damara. Raging misogynist. Total fucking cunt. Just the worst. If I talk any more about this, this part will be 1,000 paragraphs long. But also, I’m begging people to recognize his relationship with disability, too. He was similar to Meulin in the sense that he didn’t mind his disability, and his biggest gripe with it was the way that Horuss tried to “fix” it… Which is an interesting way to expand upon how Beforus’s culling system is not only very explicitly ableist, but mimicking real world systemic ableism. I also want people to recognize that Hussie is actively having a conversation about the reclamation of slurs with Rufioh’s character, and how not letting people reclaim such language is doing nothing but giving the word power against them while stripping away their own personal agency. Rufioh’s a complicated guy, and he’s interesting and also the worst, and I am really tired of how he gets watered down to nothing but “Pretty Boy Victim Of His Inexplicably Psycho Ex”.

MITUNA CAPTOR

Holy Fucking Shit, You Guys Are Ableist.

KANKRI VANTAS

To this day I see people saying he was just Hussie making fun of SJWs. To this day. To this day people think Hussie was trying to make Every Tumblr Leftist look bad, and that he hates them Because They Are Leftists. When will people recognize him as a bootlicker to the oppressive class and the violently bigoted. When will people recognize that. When will people recognize that this is more of a commentary on the legitimate real flaws of Tumblr’s politics at the time. When. When.

When will people stop portraying him as a lovey-dovey Catholic Whore. I’m going to stab my fucking eyes out and then kill everyone in this building. Me when it's based and cool to ship an aroace character with a sexual predator. I GUESS.

CRONUS AMPORA

I say this with every ounce of sincerity I can possibly muster as a person: What the literal actual fuck.

#homestuck #homestuck fandom #alpha trolls #beforan trolls #dancestors #damara megido #rufioh nitram #mituna captor #kankri vantas #meulin leijon #porrim maryam #latula pyrope #aranea serket #horuss zahhak #kurloz makara #cronus ampora #meenah peixes #nekro.pdf #nekro.txt

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 4 months ago

Text

Embraced

Word count: 816

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Charles girlfriend experiences the electrifying passion of the Tifosi as she celebrates Charles victory at Monza, discovering a deep sense of belonging and love within the Ferrari family.

________________________________________________________

The roar of the engines at Monza had always been exhilarating, but today it was different. Today, it was personal. I stood by the edge of the Ferrari garage, nerves fluttering in my stomach like the hundreds of red flags waving in the stands. The Tifosi had always been passionate, their love for Ferrari unmatched, but this time, it felt like I was a part of that love—a small but significant part of a legacy that had spanned generations.

Charles had won. He had taken Ferrari to victory at Monza, and the roar of the crowd was deafening, vibrating through my very bones. The moment the checkered flag waved, signaling his triumph, the Tifosi erupted in pure, unfiltered joy. Their chants of "Leclerc! Leclerc!" echoed across the circuit, a symphony of adoration and pride that sent chills down my spine.

As Charles climbed out of his car, I watched him raise his hands in the air, taking in the cheers and applause like it was oxygen. He was their hero, the one who had brought glory back to the Scuderia on home soil. And as much as I was proud of him, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. The energy was electric, the passion palpable, and I found myself swept up in it.

The Tifosi began to chant louder, their focus shifting to the team, to the people who had made this win possible. And suddenly, I felt their eyes on me too. Charles had introduced me to a few fans over the past months, but this was different. This was Monza, and today, I wasn’t just Charles’ girlfriend—I was part of the Ferrari family.

A group of fans caught sight of me and immediately beckoned me over. They were smiling, faces flushed with excitement, and before I knew it, they had pulled me into their celebration. They handed me a red scarf, the iconic prancing horse emblazoned on it, and insisted I wear it. "Per la buona fortuna," they said—"for good luck."

As I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders, I felt their warmth, their acceptance. They didn’t just see me as the girlfriend of their hero; they saw me as someone who shared in their love for Ferrari, their passion for this team, and their unyielding loyalty. The weight of the moment hit me, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Charles was on the podium now, and the Italian national anthem blared through the speakers. The Tifosi sang along, their voices merging with the anthem in perfect harmony. It was a moment of pure euphoria, and as I looked up at Charles, pride swelled in my chest. He caught my eye, and even from the distance, I could see the question in his gaze. *Are you okay?*

I nodded, giving him a thumbs-up and a wide smile, which he returned with that charming grin of his—the one that made my heart skip a beat every time.

After the podium celebrations, Charles finally made his way back to me, still on a high from the win. He pulled me into a tight embrace, the scent of champagne clinging to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice soft, concern lacing his words.

“I’m more than okay,” I reassured him, looking up into his eyes. “That was… incredible. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

He chuckled, brushing a stray hair from my face. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? The Tifosi, Monza… It can be pretty intense.”

“It was intense, but in the best way,” I said, my voice full of admiration. “Charles, you were amazing out there. Watching you win, hearing them cheer for you… I’ve never been so proud.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m glad you’re here with me. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

The crowd was still cheering, their energy seemingly endless, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of us. I held onto him, savoring the victory, the love, the passion of the Tifosi, all of it wrapping around us like a protective shield.

As we walked through the crowd, the Tifosi continued to embrace us, their cheers and congratulations never-ending. They called out to Charles, but they also called out to me, their warmth enveloping me like a second skin. And for the first time, I felt like I truly belonged here—with Charles, with Ferrari, with the Tifosi.

Later, as we made our way back to the team area, Charles turned to me, his eyes shining with happiness. “You know,” he said, “this win isn’t just for me or Ferrari. It’s for you too. For being here, for supporting me, for handling all of this so well.”

I smiled, feeling tears threaten to spill over. “Thank you, Charles. But today was all you. You were incredible.”

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fluff #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing #monza gp 2024 #monza24

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 5 months ago

Note

your harry, your winner!!

or peaky blinders!! <33

Euro 2024. Two Wins In One Night.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this is a check in for this fic. ive wanted to write a part two of sorts to this for a while so enjoy hunnies.

word count - 1.2k

July 2024.

England were champions of Europe.

Holy shit.

Holy Shit.

The final whistle echoes through the stadium, and suddenly, the roar of the crowd is all you can hear. England has done it—they've won the Euro 2024 final.

The dream of bringing football home is finally a reality. And at the heart of it all is your husband, Harry, the team’s captain, who played a pivotal role with a perfect assist to Cole Palmer in the 25th minute and then scored the winning goal in the 75th.

The energy in the stadium is electric, with every fan on their feet, celebrating this moment that will go down in history.

You sit in the stands, next to Phil Fodens girlfriend Rebecaa, whose little boy Ronnie has been playing with your little one Hunter.

Throughout the match, he held up a sign that read "Bring it home, Daddy," and now, as the victory sinks in, you feel an overwhelming surge of pride and emotion.

After the trophy ceremony, where Harry had lifted the Euro 2024 trophy high amidst a sea of teammates, you and Rebecca made your way down to the pitch, the atmosphere still buzzing with celebration.

As you approached the field, Hunter, bursting with excitement, broke free from your hand and sprinted ahead, his little voice ringing out,

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Harry, turning at the sound of his son’s voice, immediately dropped to one knee, his face lighting up with pure joy.

“Buddy!” he called back, his arms wide open as he prepared to catch his little boy.

Hunter didn’t slow down, running straight into Harry’s embrace.

“Daddy, you did it! You really did it!” he shouted, his voice filled with awe and pride.

Harry scooped him up, holding him close as if he never wanted to let go.

“We did it, buddy,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion as he kissed the top of Hunter’s head. “I told you we’d bring it home, didn’t I?”

Hunter nodded eagerly, his small hands gripping Harry’s jersey. “You’re the best, Daddy! You’re a hero!”

Harry laughed, a sound full of warmth and love.

“No, buddy, you’re my hero,” he said softly, looking into his son’s wide, admiring eyes. “You gave me all the strength I needed out there. That sign you made… it made all the difference.”

Hunter beamed, his pride shining brighter than the stadium lights. “I knew you could do it, Daddy! I knew it!”

As you watched Harry spin Hunter around, the joy on their faces was everything you had ever hoped for.

You took a few steps forward, your heart full to bursting with pride and love. Harry caught your eye and gently set Hunter down, still smiling as he straightened up and reached out for you.

The distance between you vanished in an instant, and before you knew it, you were wrapped in his arms.

He pulled you close, his embrace warm and strong, the scent of sweat and victory clinging to him. You looked up into his eyes, the same eyes that had captured your heart years ago, now shining with triumph and love.

Without a word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was filled with everything you felt—pride, joy, and an overwhelming love that only deepened with every passing day.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your hands still on his chest.

“I’m so proud of you, H,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion. “You were incredible out there. You made history.”

Harry smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, his voice equally tender. “You and Hunter… you both gave me the strength to push through.”

You shook your head slightly, your eyes welling up with tears of happiness. “No, this was all you. You led them to victory. You brought football home. And you did it with so much heart.”

Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“I wanted to make you proud,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “More than anything, I wanted to do this for you and Hunter.”

You smiled, feeling your heart swell even more. “You’ve always made me proud, H. Today, you just reminded the whole world why.”

You pulled back slightly, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Harry,” you began softly, your voice full of warmth and excitement. “There’s one more thing we need to do before we can really celebrate.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his expression curious but still glowing with happiness.

“What is it?” he asked, his hand still resting on your waist.

You bit your lip, your heart racing as you looked down at Hunter, who was still beaming with pride.

“Look at the back of Hunter’s jersey,” you said, your voice trembling just a little with the anticipation of the moment.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he turned to crouch down beside Hunter, gently guiding him to turn around. At first, he just stared at the back of the tiny jersey, reading the words out loud without fully processing them.

“Big Brother…?”

He paused, the words hanging in the air as his mind started to catch up. For a moment, there was just silence, his eyes still on the jersey as the realization slowly dawned.

Then, like a light switch flicking on, his head snapped up to look at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and hope.

“Wait… does this mean…?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your eyes brimming with tears of joy, a wide smile spreading across your face.

“Yes, H,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion. “I’m pregnant. We’re having another baby.”

For a second, Harry was completely still, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, in an instant, his face lit up with the purest joy you had ever seen.

He scooped you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around, laughing with sheer happiness.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion.

You laughed, nodding as he set you down, his hands still holding your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I’m serious, H. We’re going to be a family of four.”

He let out a joyous shout, his eyes glistening with happy tears as he pulled you close again, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I can’t believe it… This is the best day of my life,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “First we bring football home, and now this? I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Hunter, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, finally caught on and tugged on Harry’s sleeve.

“Daddy, I’m gonna be a big brother!” he declared, his excitement bubbling over.

Harry crouched down again, pulling Hunter into a hug, his voice filled with pride and love. “Yes, you are, buddy. You’re going to be the best big brother ever.”

He looked back up at you, his eyes still shining.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, shaking his head in amazement. “You’ve made me so happy, more than I ever thought possible.”

You leaned in, kissing him softly, your heart full to bursting with love. “You deserve it, Harry. You’ve given me everything, and now our family is growing.”

Harry’s smile was so wide it looked like it might never fade.

“This is our moment,” he said, his voice full of certainty and joy. “Our family, our future… I can’t wait to do this with you.”

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witchthewriter · 7 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐎𝐃 𝐦𝐞𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: fluffy fluff

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

a/n: With each tf141 guy, they're single when they're admirers.

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄: You had been married to Price for two years now, and the team knew you quite well. So well, that their name for you is 'Mrs Captain.' You had a different kind of friendship with each of your husbands work friends/teammates. With Gaz, he was a sweetheart. Loved when you mothered him a little, jokingly calls you and Price his parents. Ghost has respect for you - high respect. He's someone that you knew you can rely on when things start to turn ugly. But with Soap - my god, all he did was flirt with you.

You took it as a joke for a while, until one night when the five of you were at the bar, Johnny had one two many drinks and practically expressed his undying love for you:

"Mrs Cap," he started to say, a holding the outside wall for support.

"Yes, Johnny?" you said, chuckling at his drunkenness.

"If Mr Cap evah broke yer heart, I-I'd break his face-"

"Oh, well...than-" but he cut you off before you could finish.

"I love ya tha' much bonnie, die for ya I would."

Your eyes had then flicked up to the person who was walking towards you. You weren't sure how your husband was going to react...

𝐆𝐀𝐙: The amount of pride Kyle has for you is insane. He couldn't wait to tell the other guys about you. With more and more information, Kyle never realised he was making one of his teammates fall in love with you.

Ghost was always eavesdropping on the conversations that you and Kyle had over the phone. Was the first to look at any selfies you sent or carepackages. But he tried not to make it too obvious. Plus, he was happy that Kyle had found someone. Even if that someone was you.

𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐏: One of the biggest joys about your fiance, was his humour and how you had the exact same type. You two always found something to laugh about. There were so many inside jokes between you two. The understanding in your relationship was on a whole other level. Soap knew he was going to marry you.

Gaz was nearly green with jealousy. Whenever he saw you, all these feelings hit him straight in the gut. You were his type; funny, witty and passionate. And your loyalty was clear. But Gaz had to let it go. It hurt, hurt so bad. But he had to let the thought of you and him go.

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓: Being a newly wed to Ghost was the exact same as being his girlfriend. He looked after you properly from the beginning. Ghost never wanted you to feel unloved, unwanted or undesired. He worked so hard to show you how much he needed you and your relationship was great.

Except... you kept getting small gifts in the mail, sometimes letters flowers, twice you had been sent jewellery. But there was never any name; no inclination to who it could be. It wasn't until you brought it to Simon's attention that it became a serious matter.

But never in a million years did Ghost think his own Captain would do something like this.

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foreverisntenough · 3 months ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 20 - 'Be Yours ' | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.3 k

The morning light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room as you stood with Whitney, watching her transform into a bride. The stylist worked meticulously, zipping up her intricate gown, the soft rustle of beading filling the quiet air. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion well up inside you. Whitney had been through so much, and now here she was—radiant, about to step into a new chapter of her life, one that she deserved more than anyone. Tears prickled your eyes as you took it all in. She caught you wiping at your eyes, and with a soft laugh, shook her head.

“Don’t you dare start crying already. We haven’t even gotten to the ceremony yet!” But the laughter faded as Teddy, in her tiny dress, tugged at Whitney’s gown, her face lighting up.

“Mama is princess!” She exclaimed. Whitney bent down, pulling Teddy into her arms for a tight hug, kissing her forehead. The tenderness of the moment only made your emotions stronger. You had seen Whitney through every phase of her life—the highs, the lows, the struggles, and the triumphs. And now, watching her stand there in her wedding dress, about to marry the love of her life, you were overwhelmed with pride and joy for her. Whitney straightened, smoothing her dress as she turned to you with a glint in her eyes.

“What about you?” she asked, a teasing smile creeping across her face. “Do you think you’ll be next?” She raised her brow. You let out a surprised giggle, quickly wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug. The weight of her question wasn’t lost on you, but in that moment, it was more about the joy you felt for her.

“Well,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, “I wouldn’t exactly say no.” Whitney grinned, eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and affection.

“I knew it,” she said playfully, leaning in for another hug, this time a little tighter. “You would say yes so goddamn fast. You’d be like ‘ah oui Judey I love you… wah wah wah.” She giggled mocking you, amplifying the dramatics and thickening your accent that wasn’t there. The moment felt surreal—being there with her on her wedding day, the two of you sharing this quiet, intimate exchange before the whirlwind of the ceremony you were set to take a helicopter out to from Manhattan to Montauk soon. You were both adults now, but it felt like no time had passed since you were younger, whispering about your dream weddings late into the night. And now, Whitney was living hers.

“Mama up now.” Teddy, eager for more attention, ran back over, clinging to her mother’s leg, her giggles filling the room. “Pleabs!” Whitney reached down to pick her up, settling her on her hip.

“What do you think, my beautiful girl?” Whitney asked, bouncing her lightly. “You think Auntie Y/N should marry Judey?” She asked sweetly. Teddy nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she looked at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah huh! Like mama and dada!” Teddy squealed. You laughed, giving her little nose a playful tap.

“Maybe…. Maybe one day, Ted. Maybe one day. Judey would have to ask me.” You cooed looking at Whitney to remind her just that. Whitney looked at you, her expression softening again. It took all Teddy's might not to ask for Jude right then and there but daddy had told her it was a big secret just for him, Judey, and her. So she remained hush.

“You’ll have this too, I know it. And when it happens, I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.” She whispered. Her words touched something deep within you. You smiled, swallowing down the lump of emotion in your throat, and nodded.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The morning buzzed around you as everyone finished getting ready, but that moment between the two of you—between old friends, sisters in spirit—was one you’d hold onto forever. Watching her step into her future felt like watching a piece of your own heart move forward too, and you knew that no matter what, you’d both be there for each other, for every step of the journey ahead.

The waves lapped gently against the Montauk shoreline, the soft murmur of the ocean providing a serene backdrop as you watched Trent and Whitney exchange their vows. The scene was almost too perfect— the horizon stretched endlessly, the sun low and golden in the sky, casting a warm glow over the gathering. The sound of their voices, filled with love and promise, drifted through the air, each word sealing their future together. It was all perfect frankly just as perfect as they were. You sat there beside Jude, his presence grounding you in the moment. But as you looked at Trent, standing there so sure, so devoted, something stirred inside you. It wasn’t just about the beauty of the wedding or the romance of it all; it was about the feeling that had been slowly bubbling up inside you for some time now. The certainty that you and Jude were more than just together. You were meant for each other. Without thinking, you turned your head slightly toward him, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, quiet but sure.

“Jude…” He looked over at you, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

“You okay?” he whispered back, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze. Your heart pounded, your fingers trembling slightly in his. You leaned in closer, your voice so soft it was barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“I want to be yours.” Jude’s gaze softened immediately, his lips parting in surprise before he quickly recovered. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You are,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. “You’ve always been mine." A shiver ran down your spine, not from the breeze that carried the scent of the sea, but from the weight of his words. The salt air mixed with the warmth of Jude’s cologne, the earthy, musky scent wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It was intoxicating—Jude’s presence, the summer air, the emotion of the moment—it all swirled together, making your head spin in the most delicious way. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, leaning into him as his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. His hand sliding crossed your exposed back in your dress. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing as he held you there, close to him, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The sound of Trent and Whitney’s vows carried on in the background, but all you could focus on was Jude—the way his touch seemed to soothe every nerve, the way his whispered words anchored you in place. You were his, and he was yours. And in that moment, beneath the open sky, with the sea stretching endlessly before you, it felt like the world had aligned just for the two of you. You opened your eyes, turning to look at him, catching the soft curve of his smile as he gazed out at the ceremony. His fingers gently traced circles on your back, his touch as calming as the waves. You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the strength of his arm around you, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt perfect. You were his, and there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

And so later into the evening as you stood by Jude, watching Trent and Whitney share their first dance as a married couple, the ambiance was filled with love and joy. The soft melodies floated through the air, and the sight of the newlyweds lost in their own world was enough to make anyone’s heart swell. You expected Jude to lean in and crack a joke about Trent’s dance moves, but instead, he turned to you, his expression serious yet tender.

“What do you think, hmm?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the couple, but his focus was undeniably on you. Jude was a little drunk at this point and he couldn’t bite his tongue. He spent all last night thinking about how he would want to propose and now it felt like he couldn’t shut up about it indirectly. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden change in tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you replied, trying to keep the mood light. But your heart raced at the implication of his question. Was he genuinely curious about your thoughts on the wedding or was he hinting at something more personal?

“C’mon now,” he urged, his voice low as he leaned a little closer. “It sounds good, doesn’t it? Y/N Bellingham—I can already hear it. Be like my missus,” he said, a playful grin creeping onto his face, but there was a glimmer of something more serious behind it. You felt your cheeks flush at his words. A teasing, light-hearted joke or a hint at a future? You weren’t sure, but either way, the mere thought sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“You’d just have to ask,” you whispered cheekily as a reminder to him, trying to maintain your composure, but inside, your mind was racing with possibilities. Unbeknownst to you, just the night before, Jude had been sharing his thoughts with Teddy. The two of them sharing a conspiratorial whisper back in Manhattan. But back in the present, Jude’s gaze was steady, searching yours for any sign of what you might be thinking. As you turned your attention back to Trent and Whitney, your heart fluttered at the thought of possibly sharing a similar moment with Jude one day. You imagined your own first dance, and the thought of being his forever made you smile.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Jude asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts as he nodded towards the couple.

“Probably how lucky they are,” you mused, taking a moment to catch your breath. “I mean, look at them. They’re so happy. You can’t buy those smiles.” You cooed gently.

“Trent did.” Jude cheekily quipped. You bit back a giggle and glared at him for ruining your soft moment. Jude shrugged an apology but then nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, they do though, angel. And you know what?” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, and you could see the sincerity there. “I want that. I want that with you, Y/N. I want us to be that happy.” Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, and you felt warmth spreading through you.

“Yeah, me too, Jude. That sounds nice. More than anything,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with all the emotions you had yet to voice fully. He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your forehead.

“Then let’s make sure we get there, yeah? One dance at a time.” As the music swelled around you, you felt the magic of the moment sink in, knowing that whatever came next, you would face it together. And with that thought, you took a step closer to Jude, ready to create your own memories, one dance at a time.

You and Jude were set with a task that evening sneaking into Trent and Whitney’s room, setting it up for their wedding night. The atmosphere was intimate but simple—just a few candles, creating a soft glow in the dim lighting. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was romantic enough to make it special for them. Whitney would hate anything more but anything less would feel too mundane And so, as you placed the final candle on the nightstand, Jude came up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist.

“Think we should leave them some condoms?” His chin rested on your shoulder as he teasingly asked you with a smirk.

“Oh yeah. Do you even have any?” You turned around with a mock-serious expression.

“Nah, forgot.” Jude laughed, shaking his head. You smiled knowingly.

“I don’t think they’re planning on using any tonight or ever… or have ever.” You giggled. Jude raised an eyebrow, a with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“More Teddysss!” He sang as he playfully swayed with you in his arms, his voice light and teasing. You laughed, shaking your head at his silliness, but then he asked, a bit more seriously, “Do you want babies?” The playful tone faded, and something deeper settled between the two of you. He hadn’t meant it to be so heavy, but the question lingered in the air, the implications hitting you harder than you expected. Your laughter quieted as the thought of it truly sank in. Babies. A future with him. The idea filled your chest with warmth, but also a strange kind of nervousness, like you were standing on the edge of something bigger than the both of you. Jude didn’t seem to notice at first, still smiling, but when you didn’t respond right away, he looked at you more closely. His arms stayed wrapped around you, but his expression softened, sensing the change in your mood. “Hey,” he said quietly, turning you gently to face him, his hands slipping down to hold yours. “I didn’t mean to—” You shook your head, interrupting him.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured him, but your voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “I just… I don’t know, I never really thought about it like that. With anyone before.” Jude’s gaze softened even more. He tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“But you’ve thought about it with me?” Your eyes met his, and suddenly everything felt very real. There was something about the way he was looking at you—like he could see a future, a life where the two of you built something together the way Trent had spoken about it all last night. And the idea didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

“I have,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Jude smiled, pulling you closer. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as he held you tightly against him.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured into your hair, his words sending a wave of warmth through you. The room was quiet now, just the flicker of candlelight casting soft shadows on the walls. Jude didn’t push any further, sensing that the conversation had already gone deeper than either of you had anticipated. But there was a comfort in it, in knowing that the future—whatever it held—was something the two of you could talk about. Something you could figure out together. For now, though, it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, the future a distant but not unwelcome thought.

After all the festivities, the wedding, and the whirlwind of emotions, it felt surreal to be lying next to Jude in bed finally. Everything had been so full of life and celebration, and now the silence between you both felt thick, like the weight of unspoken thoughts was pressing down on you. You were cuddled up close to him, your head resting on his chest, but your minds were racing in different directions. His fingers absentmindedly stroked your arm, but his thoughts were far away—wrapped up in the future. The weight of the past few days, the conversations about marriage and children, after having gotten tattoos for each other, lingered in the back of both your minds. Jude was still thinking about Teddy’s innocent question at the wedding, her excitement when he told her he was going to ask you. The promise he made to her felt more real than ever. He had always known he wanted you, but now that the idea of asking you had been planted, he couldn’t stop wondering how he would do it. Would it be the perfect moment? Would he catch you by surprise? What if you said no, or what if you weren’t ready? The uncertainty gnawed at him, though deep down, he knew your connection was solid. He turned his head slightly, looking at you as you lay peacefully, your breathing steady but your mind clearly not at ease. He wondered if you were thinking the same things. What did you want? Would you want to marry him? What kind of life did you imagine? His thoughts swirled further—where would you live? In Madrid, Paris so you’d be mildly closer, or maybe you’d want to stay here forever? The questions stacked up like bricks, building a future that seemed close yet still distant. You, too, were feeling the weight of those same thoughts. Marriage, children—it had all come up so fast, and suddenly the future seemed like it was looming in front of you, asking you to make decisions you hadn’t fully prepared for. You loved Jude, there was no doubt about that. But the enormity of what those next steps would mean, how they would shift the dynamic of your life together, was beginning to settle into your bones. The quiet stretched on, neither of you daring to break it, as if saying something would make everything too real, too soon. But there was also a comfort in being wrapped up in each other like this, knowing that you didn’t have to rush anything. The love you shared was strong enough to hold these conversations, these uncertainties.

“Angel… You okay?” After a while, Jude broke the silence, his voice soft and low. You nodded against his chest, squeezing him a little tighter.

“Yeah… just thinking.” You cooed.

“Me too,” he admitted, his fingers still gently tracing patterns on your arm. A pause. “About… everything?”

“Yeah. It’s just… a lot, isn’t it?” You hummed.

“It is,” he agreed. “But… I don’t know. I’m not scared of it.” His words settled over you like a warm blanket, comforting in their simplicity. You tilted your head to look up at him, your eyes meeting in the dim light of the room. There was a kind of clarity in his gaze, an assurance that you both would figure this out—whatever it was. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

“I love you more,” you replied, the weight of everything suddenly feeling a little lighter. You both let the silence take over again, your minds still buzzing but a little less frantic, knowing that whatever came next, you would face it together.

You had a few days planned in New York after the wedding, some of which you had decided to stay out in Montauk for. It was your first full morning out there after the wedding, and you woke up early with the sound of the waves gently crashing in the distance. The sun peeked through the curtains of Whitney and Winnie’s family’s summer home you were all staying in, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. You were excited to get out to the beach, but Jude was still half-asleep, his arm draped lazily across your waist, pulling you closer into him. He muttered something under his breath and nuzzled his face into your neck, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Don’t wanna get up,” he grumbled, tightening his grip as you tried to wiggle out of bed. You giggled softly, giving him a playful pout.

“But it’s so nice out! Come on, let’s go to the beach, baby.” He groaned dramatically, pulling you back down into the bed and wrapping both arms around you like a human blanket.

“Stay,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder, his voice soft and sleepy. “We don’t need to go anywhere… just stay here with me.” You rolled your eyes, but there was something sweet about the way he clung to you.

“Jude, you’re hungover and sleepy,” you teased. “I’ll go without you if I have to. If we’re at the beach, I’m going.” He peeked one eye open at you and smirked.

“You wouldn’t…” He playfully teased.

“I would,” you teased back, wriggling free from his hold and standing up. “If I’m staying in bed, I’ll change back into pajamas.” You cooed almost as a threat as you slipped into your bikini, you felt Jude’s eyes on you, and before you could fully finish getting dressed, he groaned again, louder this time, and grabbed your waist, pulling you back into bed with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, okay, I’ll come. Can’t have you putting anymore clothes on around me than this.” You laughed as he finally dragged himself out of bed, grumbling playfully under his breath. Once you both got down to the beach, though, the salty air and the sight of the sun reflecting off the water woke Jude up completely. It was like a switch flipped, and suddenly, he was full of energy, running ahead of you, his hangover seemingly forgotten.

“You’re such a little boy,” you teased, watching as he jogged toward the shore, his excitement contagious.

“Come on, angel, get in the water with me,” Jude called, turning back with that wide, boyish grin you loved. He splashed his feet in the shallow waves, beckoning you with a wave of his hand. You smiled, settling onto the towel, the warmth of the sun sinking into your skin.

“Nooo, baby,” you giggled, shaking your head as you stretched out lazily. “I’m good here, just laying in the sun.” Jude gave you a mock pout, his hands resting on his hips.

“Pleaseee?” he begged, trying to convince you with that puppy-dog look that always worked. You couldn’t help but laugh, sitting up slightly to look at him.

“Go in the ocean without me,” you smiled, waving him off. “I’ll watch you from here.” He groaned dramatically, but there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“Fine, but don’t think I’m not dragging you in at some point,” he teased before running into the water, splashing around like a kid. As you watched him, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Jude’s playful energy, the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun—it was all perfect. You could hear him gasp at waves as they rolled in echoing over the water, and you couldn’t stop smiling as you laid back on your towel, soaking in the moment. It was like you could feel it was one of those perfect summer afternoons, the kind where the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, the ocean was a shade of navy blue only the east coast of the US had, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore melted away every worry in your mind. You could feel the soft terry cloth beneath your back, soaking in the warmth of the sun, your skin tingling with the mix of suncream and salty sea air. The soft breeze brushed your face as you closed your eyes, the world fading into the background. Jude had stayed in the water, swimming and splashing about, he’d call your name out occasionally reaching your ears over the sounds of the ocean begging you to come in but you continued to decline. You were in that blissful in-between state, half-asleep, half-aware of everything around you, when you finally heard his footsteps padding up from the shore. You stirred, thinking about sitting up, but Jude quickly stopped you.

“Wait, wait, stay right there,” he said softly, a playful seriousness in his voice. “Don’t move.” Curious, you smiled but stayed where you were, letting your body sink further into the towel. You could hear him rustling around in the sand nearby, collecting something, but you weren’t sure what he was up to. After a few moments, you felt the gentle touch of his fingers, placing something small and cool against your arm. You peeked through your lashes and saw he was outlining your body with seashells. “Stay, just hold on, angel,” he insisted, eyes twinkling with concentration as he carefully placed the shells in a delicate pattern around you. You couldn’t help but giggle at how serious he was being, but you held still, watching him work. It was a simple thing, but there was something so sweet about the way he was so focused on creating his little masterpiece. After a while, though, you grew impatient. He was taking his time, and you wanted him close.

“Judey,” you called softly, “just come here,” You giggled. Without waiting for him to finish, you grabbed his arm and tugged him down onto the towel with you, laughing as he fell beside you. His brow furrowed with a pout initially l. “Did I ruin your art, baby?” You asked him almost patronizingly.

“You are my art,” He mused, pulling you closer and kissing you. He smiled into the kiss, the sun warm on both of your faces as you lay together in the soft sand. The shells he had so carefully placed were forgotten as the two of you lay there, wrapped up in each other, the summer sun and the sound of the waves creating the perfect backdrop. The world beyond the beach seemed to disappear, and in that moment, all that mattered was the two of you—together, tangled in love, the ocean and sky stretching out before you. The connection between you felt effortless, like this moment could stretch on forever. The smell of saltwater, sunscreen, and his familiar scent all mingled together, creating a feeling of perfect peace. The warmth of the sun and the softness of the sand beneath you made everything seem light and easy. As Jude settled down next to you, his head propped on one arm, he gazed at you with that look of pure adoration that made your heart flutter. He shifted the conversation to something more serious, his voice low but sincere.

“You know I was serious the other day… about you getting a gallery in Madrid. I really think you could do it. You could expand to have a second location. It would be amazing.” You giggled, a little shy under the weight of his suggestion.

“I don’t know if my brand is big enough for an international market,” you teased. “I’m not exactly a household name yet.” He smiled softly, shaking his head.

“Nah, you could. But could come be in Madrid more. I’m not asking you to move for me. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just… I want you to know I’m thinking about it. Us.” Your heart melted at his words, his thoughtfulness clear in every syllable. You shifted a little, turning to face him fully.

“Jude, I know you’d never ask me to move for you but it’s nice to know you’d want me there and maybe that’s part of why I’ve been thinking about it.” His eyebrows rose in surprise, his eyes lighting up as he processed your words.

“You’ve been thinking about moving?” You nodded, smiling as you watched his face.

“Yeah… for you. I mean, it would be a big change for me, but I’ve thought about it a lot. I’d want to be with you more, and Madrid is beautiful, you’re not so bad. It could be a little adventure.” Jude’s face broke into the most radiant smile, his eyes bright with excitement and disbelief. He shifted closer, his hand resting on your waist as if grounding himself in the moment.

“You’d really do that? You’d move to Madrid for me… because angel… I don’t want you to feel like… wow— you’d really come?” You nodded, feeling the warmth of the sun and the warmth of his happiness blending together, wrapping around you both.

“Yeah, I would.” His lips found yours again, a little more urgently this time, the kiss filled with gratitude, excitement, and something deeper—like he knew this was the beginning of a new chapter for both of you.

“I love you so much.” When he pulled back, he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

After awhile Jude’s body lay sprawled across yours, his head resting on your stomach, his face smushed against your warm skin as he murmured sweet nothings. His voice was soft and low, talking about how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, just babbling in a gentle, almost sleepy rhythm. You know the way a boy only talks to his girlfriend. A way he’d be mortified if anyone else heard.

“You’re so beautiful, angel… like, the most beautiful, angel,” he mumbled, his words slurring slightly as he continued. “I’m so lucky… you know that? So, so lucky becuase you’re mine..” You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers scratching gently on his scalp as he went on, lost in his little world of affection. It was so sweet in this sort of baby boy talk —until you noticed a shadow fall over you. Glancing up, you saw Winnie walking down from the house, her brow raised in amusement. Winnie sat down next to you, clearly hearing some of Jude’s rambling. You stifled a giggle, trying not to give away her presence just yet. Jude, completely oblivious, kept going.

“God, I love you so much. You’re sooo perfect, angel. Just want you with me all the time. Wanna cuddle all day with my baby,” he babbled, his voice full of affection. You let out a soft giggle, and that was when Jude finally noticed. He froze, lifting his head slightly, and then he saw Winnie sitting there, smirking.

“Oh my fucking God,” Jude cursed, his eyes widening in sheer horror. “I’m gonna die.” He groaned loudly, dropping his head back onto your stomach in embarrassment. Winnie laughed, shaking her head. “Why did you let me keep talking!?” He asked you mortified.

“Because ‘Youre so perfect, angel.’” Winnie teased him, smiling uncontrollably, mimicking his lovesick tone and brummie accent.

“I hate you both. I actually hate you both.” Jude let out another groan, his face buried against your skin as he whined.

“Aww it’s okay, Jude. You’re just soooo in love with your baby,” Whitney teased, pinching at him playfully. Jude pushed himself up, shaking his head in mock frustration before suddenly scooping you up into his arms.

“Yeah, well guess who’s going in the water now,” he grunted, his lips curving into a mischievous smile as you screamed in surprise.

“Jude, no!” you squealed, wiggling in his arms as he carried you toward the ocean. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t!”

“You should’ve thought of that before,” Jude teased, laughing as he stepped into the waves. Before you could protest again, he dropped into the water, taking you under with him. You came up sputtering and laughing, splashing him as he stood there, his grin wide and unrepentant. He pulled you close, water dripping off both of you as you tried to catch your breath, both of you laughing under the bright summer sun.

“I just like hearing that you love me,” you said, your tone teasing but soft. As you gasped for air, still giggling, you gave Jude a playful pout. Jude, his face still slightly flushed from the embarrassment, shook his head with a smirk and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as the water swayed gently around both of you.

“You know how much I love you, angel,” he whined, still cringing at the memory of Whitney overhearing him. You grinned, squeezing him in a tight hug, planting soft kisses along his neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered between giggles, “but it’s cute, and I love you.”You cooed. His embarrassment started to melt away under your affection, and he sighed, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky you’re so beautiful,” he murmured with a grin. You tilted your head, eyes wide with faux innocence.

“Then, you should carry me back.” You cooed. He pulled back slightly, looking at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Erm.. No.” he laughed, shaking his head. You pouted dramatically, sticking out your bottom lip.

“But you carried me down here,” you reasoned, “and I am beautiful.” Jude groaned, running his hand down his face.

“You’re too beautiful,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his playful annoyance. With a resigned sigh, he bent down and scooped you up again, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. You giggled, burying your face in his neck as he started trudging back through the water, his breath heavy from both effort and amusement.

“This is why I love you,” you teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, holding you tightly as he carried you back toward the shore, the sound of the waves crashing behind you.

You and Jude were waiting at the airport to return to Madrid after a few days, the hum of travelers and the muffled announcements filling the air. Jude stood a few steps away, absorbed in something on his phone, while you sat quietly watching people pass by in a lounge. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a little boy lingering nearby, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly working up the courage to approach Jude. The sight tugged at your heart a bit. You could tell he was starstruck, maybe a little intimidated by Jude’s presence. With a soft smile, you gently tapped Jude’s arm to get his attention.

“Hey, baby,” you said, nodding toward the boy. Jude looked up from his phone and turned to the boy, his tall frame towering over him with a smile. The little boy’s eyes went wide as he looked up at Jude, frozen in awe.

“Do you want me to take a picture for you?” you asked, your voice warm and sweet, trying to ease the boy’s nerves. He nodded silently, too shy to say anything. Jude, noticing his nerves, gave him an encouraging smile.

“Yeah? Go on, come here, mate,” Jude said, beckoning the boy closer. The boy hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward. Jude greeted him warmly, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders, leaning down slightly so they were at eye level. Just as you were about to take the picture, the little boy whispered something you could just make out.

“Your girlfriend’s pretty and nice,” he said, his voice almost lost in the noise of the airport. Jude laughed, the sound genuine and light.

“Yeah, she’s great, mate. I’m a lucky lad,” he responded, glancing over at you with a soft smile that sent warmth through your chest. As the boy beamed up at Jude, you snapped the photo. But Jude wasn’t just thinking about the compliment. It went deeper than that. Watching you, sitting there so kind and patient, embracing his world without hesitation—it hit him that you were everything. You didn’t just accept his fame, you handled it with grace and warmth, making everyone around him feel at ease, even when he wasn’t sure how to. You were kind-hearted, understanding, and in that moment, he realized how perfect you truly were for him. As the boy thanked him and ran off to his parents, Jude walked back over to you. His eyes lingered on yours a bit longer, that soft smile still tugging at his lips, and in his mind, all he could think was how lucky he was to have you by his side.

You were finally back in Madrid. The warm breeze floated in through the open windows, filling the room with the scent of the sun-drenched day outside. The white bedding was soft and fluffy, almost glowing in the sunlight that streamed in, casting golden beams across the cool sheets. Your tanned skin contrasted beautifully against the pristine fabric, long forgotten were those itchy sheets of James… or maybe it was John, the warmth of the sun lingering in the air but balanced by the coolness of the breeze. Everything felt light, calm, and perfect, like this could be the rhythm of your life—a gentle, sunlit day, waiting for Jude to come home. You had just closed your laptop, trying to ease a nervous flutter in your chest when you heard the door downstairs. Moments later, Jude stepped into the room, his face lighting up when he saw you. He crossed the room and hugged you from behind, pressing a kiss into your hair, the familiar scent of him grounding you for a moment. His embrace was warm, strong, and exactly what you needed.

“How’s my baby?” he murmured softly, his breath tickling your ear. You smiled, leaning into him, though your nerves from the upcoming series interview still lingered in the back of your mind. He sensed it before you even spoke, his hand gently stroking your arm. “You nervous about the taping?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“No, not really.” You tried to sound casual. But you were lying, and Jude knew it. He tilted his head, brushing his lips softly against your temple.

“Angel… I promise, it’s going to be okay. I’ll be with you the whole time,” he whispered, tightening his hold around you as if he could shield you from the pressure building up inside. You sighed, turning in his arms to face him fully.

“What if I say the wrong thing? Like… am I even supposed to say I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, the anxiety finally slipping into your voice. Jude grinned, playfully teasing you to ease the tension.

“Nah, you don’t have to say that,” he chuckled softly. “You could say love of my life, most perfect woman in the world… whatever feels right,” he added with a mischievous smirk. You groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. It was subtle but Jude’s peeled off his shirt.

“Jude!” you whined, your nerves easing just a little as you leaned against him. “I’m serious.” He laughed, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you a little tighter.

“Angel, relax,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, taking on that teasing edge you knew too well. Suddenly your joggers were off. His hands began to roam, tracing lazy patterns against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Let me help you relax.” His lips ghosted over your neck, and you could feel his mischievous smile against your skin as you yelped his name in protest, though deep down, you were already melting into his touch. Now all clothes were gone. He knew just how to calm your nerves, pulling you deeper into the comfort of this perfect moment, where nothing else mattered but the two of you, the sun, and the soft sheets beneath you. “Just relax f’me.” He cooed, his breath warm against your ear, sending a tingling sensation down your neck. You smile, feeling his strong, muscular body against yours, the soft cotton sheets barely covering his tanned skin. His brown eyes sparkle with mischief as he notices your satisfied smile. "You really don’t need to stress" he says, his voice deep and sensual. "You’ve got me." With that, he started to gently massage your shoulders, his strong hands working their magic on your tired muscles. You sigh contentedly, letting your worries melt away under his skilled touch. Jude's fingers dance across your skin, tracing lazy circles on your back, making you squirm with pleasure. "Relax, angel," he cooed, his lips brushing against your temple. "Let me just get rid of all this stress." As his hands glide down your spine, you feel your body responding to his touch, a familiar warmth building between your thighs. You arch your back slightly, pressing your tits against his chest, enjoying the sensation of his firm nipples against your sensitive skin. "Mmm, see? You’re already feeling better, huh?" Jude purred, his hands now sliding down to cup your full, round boobs. He thumbs your erect nipples, causing you to gasp and squirm. "See I gotcha angel" He smirked. You reached up and pulled him closer, your lips finding his in a slow, sensual kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting the sweetness of your desire. Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same hunger reflected back at you.

"I want you to fuck me, Jude. Show me I'm yours," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need. "But I want you to go slow, take your time with me." You smiled with wide eyes filled with both a bit of innocence laced with lust. Jude's hands traveled down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He knelt between your legs, his eyes fixed on your core, now glistening with anticipation. With a gentle touch, he parts your folds, exposing your swollen clit to the warm morning air.

"You're so wet, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Let me taste you." And with that, he lowers his head, his tongue flicking across your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your back arched off the bed as his mouth teased and pleased you, his tongue delving deep inside your pussy, lapping up your sweet juices. You gripped his hair, holding him close, as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Just when you though you couldn’t take any more, Jude stops, his breath hot against your throbbing clit.

"Not yet, angel," he teased, his fingers replacing his tongue, circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. He slid one long finger inside your tight, wet pussy, his thumb continuing to work your clit. You moaned, your hips rising to meet his touch, your body desperate for release.

"Please, Jude," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. In response, he added another finger, stretching you, filling you, his thumb never ceasing its relentless assault on you. You're on the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasm, when he suddenly stops again, leaving you panting and desperate.

"Shhh, angel… you said you wanted me to take my time.” He smirked. “We have all the time in the world," he reassured you, his voice soothing your frayed nerves. "Just want you to cum on my cock instead, yeah?" You nodded as Jude positioned himself above you, his hard cock brushing against your wet entrance. He teased you, rubbing the head of his dick along your slit, coating himself with your juices, before slowly, oh so slowly, pushing inside. You gasped as he filled you, inch by glorious inch, his cock thick and hard, stretching you in the most delicious way. He set a slow, sensual rhythm, his hips moving in a gentle, rocking motion, his eyes never leaving yours. "You feel so fucking good, Y/N," he groaned, his voice strained as he fought for control. "So tight and warm. I could fuck you forever." You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him. Your hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the play of his powerful muscles as he moved within you. The pace quickened, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, your moans and cries filling the room. You were close, so fucking close, when Jude pulled out, his cock glistening in the sunlight covered in you and flipped you onto your hands and knees. "I want you like this f’me. I know you love taking me like this" he panted, his voice thick with desire.

“Please please Jude. Fuck me, make me cum all over you cock. I want you to fuck me til your cums dripping out of me.” You whined desperate as he kept edging you. You eagerly presented your wet pussy, your ass raised high, back arched, your tits hanging tantalizingly below you. Jude entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely, his balls slapping against your clit with each stroke. You cried out, the new angle and the depth of his penetration sending you into a frenzy. "Oh fuck, Jude, fuck me!" you begged, your words punctuated by his deep, relentless thrusts. Jude reached around you, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He began to rub it in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much, and you came apart in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to scream his name. Jude followed quickly, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep within you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his body shuddering with release. As your heart rates return to normal, you collapsed onto the bed, your bodies still joined, the sun still streaming in. As he pulled out you turned to Jude, a satisfied smile on your face, and pulled him close, kissing him deeply.

"I think I’m relaxed now," you whispered, snuggling into his strong embrace. "Thank you,” you giggled. He smiled, his eyes full of adoration.

"I love you so much.” He told you and your heart fluttered as you laid on the bed still havening trouble breathing, your skin covered in a slight sheen. You moved your fingers to intertwine with Judes. You were sore after that one but it was a nice sort of pain and to be honest, you were a little too fucked out to really notice it anyways. “You alright, angel?” Jude squeezed your hand.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, slightly falling into a sleepy daze. You lay curled up in Jude’s arms, the cool breeze from the open windows brushing over your skin as the two of you lay entangled. The exhaustion from your earlier passionate moments left a pleasant heaviness in your limbs, but the comfort of being close to him made you feel completely at ease. Jude’s fingers gently traced patterns along your back as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and tender.

“I want to be with you forever,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, like he was giving each one extra weight. “ Would you want that?” He asked almost sheepishly like as the words came out he got nervous you’d say now. You nodded though to his relief, your head nestled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Yes please,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, the scent of him still lingering in the air. His arms tightened around you as if he was afraid to let go. Jude’s lips grazed your temple again before he asked, his voice filled with concern,

“Promise you’re okay after… all of that?” He smirked but his tone held a softness that told you he wanted to make sure you were genuinely all right after the intensity of your earlier moments together. You nodded again, but he wasn’t having it. “I need real words, angel,” he teased lightly, though there was an edge of seriousness in his voice. You smiled, lifting your head to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassured him softly. “I want you forever, and I definitely want what we just did forever.” You giggled. He smiled, clearly satisfied with your response, his eyes warm as he held your gaze.

“Good,” he murmured, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Want to get cleaned up?” He asked gently. You groaned in protest, burying your face back into his chest.

“Nooo,” you whined playfully, snuggling closer. “Just want a cuddle and a nap.” Jude laughed softly, his chest rumbling beneath you, as he pulled you even closer.

“Alright, angel. You can have whatever you want. You can have a nap and a cuddle from me,” he whispered, his voice fading into a hum as you both drifted into a peaceful, contented quiet.

You and Denise sat in the sunlit kitchen, the hum of Madrid in the distant background. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, of course made from the beloved French press, swirled in the air, but your mind was far from settled. You’d been running over this conversation in your head for days now, and even sitting here with Denise, who’d become something of a second mother to you, you couldn’t shake the anxiety that gnawed at your thoughts. She watched you carefully, sensing something deeper behind your polite smile and quiet fidgeting.

“Can I ask your opinion on something?” you began, hesitant, your voice almost trembling. You looked up from your cup, feeling the weight of the words already forming in your mind. Denise set her coffee down, leaning in slightly, her eyes soft with concern.

“Of course, love. What’s on your mind?” You took a breath, trying to find the right way to explain everything that had been racing through your head.

“Jude wants me to be in the series,” you finally said, a nervous smile flickering across your face. “I mean, like properly be in it. And it’s not that I mind the idea, but I’m just… apprehensive. I keep thinking about how things could change for him.” Denise furrowed her brow slightly, listening intently.

“What kind of changes are you worried about?” She asked. You sighed, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup.

“If I’m publically stamped as his girlfriend,” you began slowly, “everything’s going to be different. People will start making assumptions. Every time he’s seen with another woman, they’ll say he’s cheating, or there’ll be all this gossip. And Jude… I mean, he’s just so trusting. I don’t think he realizes how bad it could get. I don’t want that kind of pressure to mess with his head or affect his game.” Denise’s expression softened as she listened, understanding the depth of what you were saying. She reached over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hun, I hear you,” she said kindly. “You don’t want to say yes to the shoot, and then down the line, Jude feels boxed in by the public scrutiny. That’s a real concern.” She cooed. You nodded, grateful that she seemed to get it.

“Exactly. And I don’t want him to feel like he has to choose between his career and me, or like his life is going to become more of a circus because of my feature in a show.” Denise smiled sympathetically.

“I can see why you’d be worried. It’s a big step. But the only way you affect his performances is when you’re not here. The way I see it, he’s not trying to hide you because he’s embarrassed or anything like that. Jude’s protective of you, sure, but I think he’s reached a point where he’s proud to show you off. He loves you, hun. He’s not going anywhere.” You felt your chest tighten, but this time it was more from emotion than anxiety.

“I guess I just don’t want to make things harder for him,” you murmured, your voice small, almost as if you were admitting something you hadn’t even fully realized until now. Denise gave you a soft smile, her gaze unwavering.

“I think Jude would feel like having you by his side is worth any challenge that comes with it. And as far as pressure goes—look, he’s already dealing with it. Football, fame, it all comes with expectations. But you two have something real, and I think that’s stronger than any of the noise that’s out there. You’re his balance. His constant.” Her words hit you deeply, and you felt the knot of anxiety in your stomach begin to slowly unravel. It wasn’t just about you worrying over what people would say, but about how Jude would handle the inevitable attention. Yet Denise’s words carried a truth you couldn’t deny. He wasn’t asking this of you lightly. He was ready to share this part of his life because he wanted to share it with you. You nodded, the overwhelming weight of your thoughts lightening ever so slightly.

“I guess I just don’t want to be the reason things get complicated.” Denise chuckled softly, her hand still resting over yours.

“Oh, love, you’ve been with him this long—through ups and downs. You’re not making things more complicated; you’re making them better. Trust me, Jude knows that.” The warmth in her voice brought a small smile to your face. Maybe she was right. Maybe Jude had thought this through more than you’d given him credit for. And maybe, just maybe, this was the next step you both were ready to take, together. You smiled at Denise’s words, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort from her. She was like a grounding force, always knowing what to say to ease your worries.

“I just don’t want him to feel like I’m asking to be his wife or anything,” you said softly, but as soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how vulnerable they sounded. You’d forgotten for a moment that you were talking to Jude’s mom, not just a close friend, but she had this way of making you feel like family. You felt your cheeks warm slightly, realizing the gravity of what you had just implied. Denise laughed gently, a soft and knowing sound.

“Hun,” she said, her voice filled with affection, “ I also think that Jude wouldn’t be asking you to do this if he wasn’t sure about how much he wanted you by his side—publicly…. Or privately. Jude’s been telling me he’s been trying to get you to move here for a while. I really don’t think he’d mind that either—if anything, he might be waiting for you to ask. You two are good at communicating, and he knows what comes with all of this. We’ve never dealt with a girlfriend at this height of his fame yet, but we’re all here for you. Truly.” You watched her expression soften, her eyes glimmering with the kind of wisdom that only comes from years of experience and love. “And between us,” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think it’d be wonderful if you spent more time here. I’d love having you around. And Jude—well, he could finally stop spending every day complaining when you’re not.” She chuckled, the sound brightening the room. “Plus, I’d get to see Jobe more often. Promise, hun, these things work themselves out. You just have to focus on what makes you happy.” The truth of her words settled in your heart, comforting and yet a little unsettling. You bit your lip, thinking about how your happiness had become so intertwined with Jude’s.

“Him being happy makes me happy,” you admitted, your voice soft but sincere. Denise smiled, her eyes twinkling with understanding.

“Good, because I like when you’re both happy. You two have something special, and I don’t want you to lose sight of that.” She leaned in, kissing your temple, and gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s important that you take care of yourself in all this, too. Just trust yourselves. You’ll figure it out.” You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in.

“I just worry about how much everything is changing,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “This life, this level of spotlight—it’s all so new to me, and I don’t want it to change how we are together.” Denise nodded knowingly, her expression serious but gentle.

“Change can be scary, especially when it feels like it’s being thrust upon you. But remember, love isn’t bound by circumstances. It’s about how you both navigate those changes together. Talk to him, share your fears. You’ll find that he’s just as invested in this as you are.” A small smile crept onto your face as you thought about Jude, his laughter, his warmth, and how he always seemed to know when you needed reassurance.

“He really is the best but you know that,” you said, the smile widening at the thought of him. Denise smiled back, her eyes shining with maternal pride.

“I like to think so but don’t forget, you’re amazing too. Jude sees that. Just be you, and everything else will fall into place. You’ll both adjust to whatever comes your way.” She told you surely.

“Thank you, Denise,” you said sincerely, feeling grateful for her support. “I really appreciate this. I just want to make the right decision.”

“Trust your heart, hun. It knows what’s best for you. And don’t hesitate to lean on us, okay? We’re here for you, no matter what.” With that, you felt a renewed sense of hope and confidence wash over you. You’d tackle this uncertainty together, just like you always had. And with Denise by your side, you knew you were not alone in this journey.

The room was staged for your interview or maybe you’d call it more of a confessional like on reality tv. It was buzzing, cameras rolling as you settled into your seat, laughing to yourself about how surreal it all felt. Jude was supposed to stay in the other room, but the moment you noticed him lingering just inside, you couldn’t help but call him out, cameras already rolling.

“You can’t be in the room!” you teased, your smile stretching wide. Jude leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised in playful defiance.

“What? Are you going to talk about me?” His grin was as smug as ever, the kind that always made you roll your eyes, but in the most affectionate way. You turned to the camera crew with a long, exaggerated sigh all being recorded.

“He’s so annoying.” You deadpanned, though your laughter quickly broke through your pretend irritation. The crew chuckled along, amused by the obvious chemistry between you two. The man behind the camera peppered you with questions but then steered into a conversation more about football as anticipated.

“And now you watch quite a bit more Real Madrid games, huh?” He asked sort of teasingly after you told him you had watched prior to knowing Jude.

“I do,” you nodded, a knowing smile on your face. “I don’t think I’m allowed to say who I used to support, though…” you trailed off, laughing. “But I’ve been converted according to Jude.” You smiled. “Madrid has some of my favorite players anyway, so it wasn’t that hard.” You continued. Your voice was playful, teasing the fact that you knew Jude would know exactly who those other players were.

“And your favorite player is?” the interviewer asked, leaning forward with a sly grin anticipating Jude to be the answer. You tilted your head, thinking, and then smirked.

“Player or person? Because those are definitely not the same answer.” You giggled. You grinned wider, leaning into the joke. “Person? It has to be Birmingham’s very own.” You shot a quick glance towards the door you knew Jude must’ve been hugging in an effort to try to listen in. “But as for player…” you paused for dramatic effect, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “J’adore Kylian, j’adore. He’s the best in the world, non?” You cheekily told them. Before the words were even fully out of your mouth, Jude’s voice boomed from the door.

“Nah, cut!” he said, storming into the room with a fake, exaggerated look of betrayal on his face.

“Jude!” you whined annoyed he was listening in but you were laughing as he came over, standing in front of you, arms crossed, trying and failing to look serious.

“Say that again, angel. Who’s your favorite player?” His voice dropped playfully, eyes narrowed but full of humor. “Go on, say it to my face then” You laughed, knowing exactly what you’d started.

“What, baby?” you teased back innocently. “Kylian est incroyable. Am I supposed to lie?” You giggled. Jude’s hand shot out to cover the camera lens, and with a swift motion, he knocked it slightly off-kilter, sending the viewfinder up toward the ceiling. The crew was in on the joke now, chuckling behind the scenes as Jude loomed over you, smirking.

“Nah, not having that Angel. ‘Ah Kylian incroyable,’” he murmured mockingly, before burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin as he mumbled sweet but teasing nothings, his words muffled but unmistakably teasing. You could barely contain your laughter, giggling uncontrollably as Jude peppered your neck and shoulders with playful kisses. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you closer, and you squirmed in your seat, trying to push him away, but not really meaning it. The sounds of your laughter filled the room, mixing with the faint shuffling of the camera still recording from its skewed angle.

“Jude, stop!” you gasped through your giggles, but he only kissed you more, grinning against your skin. The camera picked up the noise of kisses against your skin, the pet names, the type of teasing that only two people in love did. All of it saved and set to be included in the final edit of the show.

“Oh my godddd, they’re so cute!” Whitney squealed loudly from the living room, practically bouncing on the couch as she watched the first episode of Jude’s now released series. She pouted, eyes glued to the screen.

“Who’s cute?” From the kitchen, Trent’s voice called out.

“Ugh, come look!” Whitney rolled her eyes playfully as she turned her attention back to the TV. The screen showed one of many clips you seemed to be featured in indirectly. It was a post-match clip, with a wide angle of Jude greeting his family and friends in a box at the stadium. You were standing with Jude, his arm around you. The murmur of the room picked up by microphones low but your voice was amongst them was easily identifiable by Whitney. She could hear you softly saying how proud you were of Jude, and he responded by kissing your temple, keeping you close to him. Whitney practically melted at the sight, throwing a hand over her heart. “He put her in the show!” she yelled, delighted. Trent came sauntering back into the room, leaning on the back of the couch with a smirk.

“Wow… I’m surprised she agreed to that,” he said, watching the clip with a raised brow. Whitney giggled, shaking her head.

“I mean.. she really isn’t in it much but look at them” She was glued to the screen again, not wanting to miss a second. But then much to Whitney’s delight when the next episode rolled, and there you were, sitting down for an interview she squealed once more. “Oh, this is so on-brand for them,” She giggled hearing you call Jude annoying and then him barging in to kiss and tease you. “They’re so good together.” Whitney sighed, her pout returning in full force. But then a soft smile tugged at her lips from how much she adored seeing her best friend in that moment. Trent glanced at the screen and chuckled, then kissed the top of Whitney’s head.

“Good match making, beautiful” he cooed, complimenting her before heading back to the kitchen. Whitney just grinned, completely in agreement.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 21 - Space xx

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