#so I'm not even sure if it made it to the final script | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allgoodnamesrgoneee · 3 months ago

Note

could you do a long smut where Jude and Reader are dating and she's just extremely innocent and that turns Jude on, but at the same time he wants to corrupt her, he wants to protect her innocence. The reader sits on his lap or is always wearing short clothes (as she is inside the house) and he can't take it anymore... one time, they are kissing and Jude loses control, he gets on top of her and kisses her with desire and So she's all confused because she feels strange, like she's never felt before and she wants more, but Jude gets off her right away and he's so hard and the reader can't help but watch that with curiosity... they don't They talk about Aquil, but as the days go by, she notices that he doesn't want to kiss her and always pushes her away and this makes her sad and she decides to talk to him about it... he is frank with her saying that she is extremely innocent and that the things he wants to do to her have destroyed her innocence; She says she trusts him and wants to go all the way with him (even though she doesn't know exactly what to do) and then Jude takes her virginity, being extremely careful and always asking if she's sure. Reader stares in fascination upon seeing him naked for the first time and Jude can't help but be enchanted by how adorable she is. She had never felt that way, Jude's hands are all over her body and when Jude enters her, no matter how much it hurts, it makes her feel so good (please could you put dirty talk in that, I'm just a bitch about Jude being naughty and talking dirty)

I finally did it! After two weeks of writing, I’ve finished this project! This is the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I poured my heart into it as an apology for my long absence. If you notice any repeated scenes… well, that’s because I wrote this over two weeks, and my memory is about as reliable as a goldfish’s. Plus, I was way too tired to edit. I tried to stick to the request as much as I could but my imagination got carried away.

-Much love, Bianca 🌻

Inocencia

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — In which you and Jude are soulmates.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏�� — Jude Bellingham x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 24.2k

Warnings! FLUFF! Jude is so soft with her, he's so in love, insecurities, first love, established relationship, this is the softest thing I've ever written, slight angst for the plot (nothing serious), NSFW! SMUT (18+), corruption kink, virgin reader, first time, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), fingering, soft sex, multiple orgasms, dom!Jude, sub!reader, a little surprise at the end for y'all

Growing up, your life wasn’t just structured; it was scripted.

A carefully choreographed routine, every step dictated by expectations you had no hand in setting.

Your parents didn’t ask for much, just obedience, and you learned quickly that nodding and murmuring yes was easier than explaining the no lodged in your throat. Childhood wasn’t about exploration; it was about perfection. Whims were traded for polished manners, because mistakes were lessons learned the hard way.

Mornings began with perfectly made beds and meticulously crafted schedules, while evenings were reserved for review sessions of tests you wouldn’t take for weeks. Every minute of the day was accounted for, leaving little room for anything but perfection.

So you became a master of disguise.

The messy, loud, imperfect parts of you? Those were hidden away, locked behind a wall of politeness and precision. You never thought to question it. This was life, wasn’t it?

At school, the contrast was striking.

Your classmates had lives that seemed so chaotic, so mesmerisingly beautiful. At least to you. You dreamed of being like them. Of joining the dance team, of skipping class, of reading books that your mother didn't pick out for you.

They had the kind of freedom you couldn’t fathom. They whispered about parties that ended at sunrise, secret crushes, first kisses stolen under streetlights. You listened, fascinated but silent. Rules first, fun later.

But "later" had a funny way of never showing up.

And then came Charlie.

You first met her on orientation day, a whirlwind of awkward introductions and icebreakers that felt anything but natural. Later, you discovered she was your roommate.

At first, you weren’t sure what to make of her. Charlie was… a lot.

At first glance, she seemed like someone you might not click with—her energy almost too big for the room, her laugh too loud for the small spaces you preferred to inhabit. But Charlie wasn’t the kind of person you could easily dismiss. She had a way of pulling you into her orbit before you even realized it.

She was the type to breathe chaos into order, and somehow, it felt exhilarating instead of terrifying.

Her hair was perpetually tousled, like she’d just stepped out of a convertible, and her eyeliner was smudged in a way that teetered between effortlessly cool and slightly rebellious. Charlie didn’t believe in plans or schedules. She just lived.

And that scared you as much as it fascinated you.

Charlie’s world was the opposite of yours. Plans? Schedules? Those were foreign concepts to her. She moved through life with a kind of chaotic grace, unburdened by rules or the need to please anyone. It wasn’t just her confidence that drew you in; it was her freedom, the way she seemed to exist without fear of judgment.

So when she begged—insisted—you come to her boyfriend’s birthday party, you barely had time to think up an excuse. “It’s downtown,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement. “You never go downtown. You’ll love it. Or hate it. But at least you’ll survive it. Please?”

You hesitated, of course. Clubs weren’t your thing. Loud music, strangers, flashing lights—it sounded like a nightmare. But Charlie had this way of pulling you out of your shell with sheer force of will.

And that’s how you ended up there.

The nightclub was chaos incarnate.

The music wasn’t just loud—it was alive, a relentless bassline that seemed to sync with your heartbeat and vibrate in your throat. The air was thick with perfume, cologne, sweat, and the faint tang of spilled drinks. Lights pulsed like strobes, casting sharp shadows and brilliant flashes over the crowd.

You clung to the drink Charlie had handed you—something neon pink and overly sweet—sticking to the edge of the dance floor, hoping to blend into the wallpaper. But, alas.

“Having Fun!” She had shouted over the music when she found you a half-hour later. Her smile was wide, her cheeks flushed from dancing.

“Yeah!” you’d shouted back, though you were far from it. Your feet ached from heels you regretted wearing the moment you stepped outside, and your head throbbed from the bassline that seemed to shake the very floor.

Charlie didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press. She just grinned and teased, “Loosen up! We're here to partayyyy!” before spinning back into the crowd.

Loosening up was easier said than done.

You stayed, partly out of stubbornness and partly because she’d promised burgers afterward. But the crowd didn’t get any less overwhelming, and the bass didn’t grow any quieter. Soon enough, the drinks you’d nervously sipped started making demands on your bladder.

Navigating the club was its own kind of ordeal, like threading a needle through a sea of moving bodies. By the time you reached the bathroom line, you were convinced the club had been designed by sadists who enjoyed watching people suffer in heels.

And that’s when you met him.

You were half-distracted, balancing your drink in one hand while trying to make your way through the packed hallway without spilling it. Your friends had already disappeared into the crowd, and you were craning your neck, trying to spot them, when you took the corner too sharply.

It happened fast. A solid wall—or at least that’s what it felt like—stopped you in your tracks. Your drink, the bright, sticky concoction it was, jumped out of your cup, splattering the pristine white shirt in front of you.

“Ah, no!” you yelped, realizing what you’d done as you stumbled back a step. The sound of your drink hitting fabric was followed by an awkward silence.

Your eyes shot up, wide with panic. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The words tumbled out before you could think, your heart pounding like it might leap out of your chest.

The guy blinked, looking down at his now-ruined shirt, then back at you. For a split second, you braced yourself for anger, irritation, or some sharp comment that would make the whole situation worse. Like you were so used to. Your head instinctively bent, ready for the scolding you were sure you'd get.

But instead, he laughed—short and low but unmistakable.

“Guess I shouldn’t have worn white, huh?” he said, his accent soft, the words rolling off his tongue like he found the whole thing funny.

You blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. “I—uh—wait, let me—” You spun around, spotting a table nearby and snatching up a handful of napkins. Your hands were shaking as you turned back to him. Memories of fists and broken plates and your fault, your fault danced in the corners of your mind.

You pushed them away.

The napkins were gone before you knew it, your fingers flying over his shirt, trying to mop up the pink liquid. His brows furrowing in concern as he watched your panicked motions, but when he reached out to touch your wrist, you flinched.

“Hey,” he said gently, “it’s okay.” And you had to force yourself to relax into his grip. “Look, why don’t I go clean up in the bathroom real quick, and you can take a deep breath. I’m sure we can get the stain out.”

He stepped away, and you could feel your breath return in increments, your heartbeat slowing as he spoke. Your gaze followed him, watching the way his shoulders moved under the white fabric, now blotched with pink. He disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing there, clutching a pile of sticky napkins, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

You wanted to melt into the floor, vanish into the neon lights and pounding music. Instead, you took a deep breath, like he’d suggested, and tried to shake off the lingering panic.

When he came back, his shirt was damp but clean enough, a faint pink stain barely visible. “See?” he said, grinning as he gestured to his shirt. “No harm done.”

You managed a small smile. “I’m still really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He shrugged, the movement easy, as if he genuinely didn’t care. “It happens. You okay?”

The question caught you off guard. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “I dunno. Just… you looked kinda spooked back there.”

“Nah, I was just worried about your shirt is all.” You could feel your cheeks start to flush, a mix of embarrassment and self-consciousness. “I didn’t mean to ruin it. I'm sorry.”

He grinned. “I told, it's cool. How about this,” He gestured toward the bar, where a long line snaked out into the crowded hallway, before continuing. “Next drink is on me. You game?”

You hesitated for a split second. This was the part where you should say no, walk away and find Charlie or the bathroom. This was the part where your mom would warn you against talking to strangers. And then you’d go back to your normal, structured life and forget the whole incident.

But something about him made you pause.

For some weird reason, you felt safe with him, which was strange because he was still a stranger. But then again, that’s life, right? Making mistakes? Learning by them? Trying things and seeing if they work out or not? Maybe it was time to do that.

Maybe it was time to try.

So you nodded. “Yeah.”

*******

Eight months. That’s how long it’s been, and somehow, he’s still just as captivating as the first day. Maybe even more so.

You’ve never felt anything like this before—not with anyone. The way Jude looks at you, the way he listens when you speak, it’s like he sees through the layers you’ve spent years building up. Sometimes, it’s unnerving, how easily he seems to read you, like your thoughts aren’t secrets at all, but something written in a language only he understands.

He’s everything you never thought you’d find in someone—charming in a way that feels effortless, patient when the shadows of your past make you falter, and protective in a way that doesn’t smother but shields.

It’s in the way he holds doors open without making it a spectacle, or the way his hand hovers near yours, like he’s waiting for you to reach out, to let him in. He never forces, never pushes—just waits.

And when you finally let him, it’s like coming home to something you never knew you needed.

He makes you feel precious, in a way that’s unfamiliar. His touch is careful, his words thoughtful. He treats you like something rare, something fragile—not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he doesn’t want to be the one to hurt you.

And that’s a feeling you never thought you’d know.

Not after growing up in a house where fists spoke louder than words, where anger lived in every corner. Where the man who should’ve been your protector was your first lesson in betrayal.

For so long, that was all you knew. Rage masquerading as love. Pain disguised as discipline. You’d convinced yourself that was all there was, that kindness and warmth were things meant for other people, not you.

But then Jude came along. And with him, the impossible became real.

He showed you that there are more ways to love than hurt. That there are words that could comfort instead of cut, that there were hands that could hold instead of slap. That maybe—just maybe—you deserved more than what you’d gotten.

He tells you things that make you feel like a goddess, a queen, a princess. That you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. That he could stare at you all day and never get tired of it. That he’s falling in love with you, and every word makes you fall even more in love with him too.

He calls you his princess, and it doesn’t make you cringe like you think it would.

You like it.

You love him.

********

The shrill buzz of your phone pulls you from your lecture notes, dragging your attention away from the professor’s voice. You squint at the screen, the light stark against the dimmed classroom. A text from Jude lits up your screen: “I’m outside.”

Your stomach flutters, a small smile creeping onto your lips. Quickly, you tap out a reply, “Coming” before stuffing your phone back into your bag.

The professor's voice drones on, giving out last-minute details about the upcoming assignment, but your focus has already shifted. You glance at the clock, your heart ticking a beat faster. With a whispered "thank you" as class concluded, you gather your belongings in a blur of movement, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you make your way to the exit.

The crisp air outside greets you, a welcome contrast to the stuffy classroom. It doesn't take long to spot him.

Jude leans casually against his car parked by the curb, his hoodie slightly wrinkled and joggers hanging just right. The late afternoon sun catches on the strands of his messy coils, highlighting the slight curve of his lips as he catches sight of you.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice carrying over the hum of campus life. He doesn't move at first, just stands there watching you, a playful glint in his eyes that make your cheeks warm.

You wave, suddenly hyperaware of the way your bag bounces against your side as you walk. By the time you reach him, his smile has softened into something warm and familiar, and before you can say a word, he reaches out, opening the passenger door with a fluid motion.

“You’re late,” he teases, though the way he leans forward to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips told a different story.

"Am not,” you reply, your voice mock-indignant as you slip into the seat.

Jude chuckles, closing the door behind you before circling around to the driver’s side. Once he slides in, he immediately reaches for your seatbelt, the motion so casual it makes your heart skip. His fingers brushes lightly against your arm as he clicks the buckle into place. It's such a small gesture, but it carries a kind of intimacy that leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, sitting back and adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. His gaze flickers over to you, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “You good?”

You nod, still caught in the warmth of his attention. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m better now,” he says, flashing a grin that is so unfairly charming it should be illegal. He starts the car, the low hum of the engine blending with the soft music playing from the speakers. “Hungry?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Is that a trick question?”

Jude huffs, his smirk faltering. “Smartass.”

“Yup,” you agree, grinning back.

He shoots you a look—playfully annoyed but still affectionate—and you giggle in response. It’s the kind of thing that happens so easily between the two of you—a sense of banter that doesn’t feel like fighting, just friendly sparring. It took a while for you to get used to them.

“I can cook tonight,” you offer, reaching for your phone as he eases out into traffic. “What do you want?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“Okay,” you murmur, scrolling through your messages to pull up Charlie's last text. You’d asked her if she was staying over at her boyfriend's, and she’d replied with a thumbs-up and a string of hearts. A smile crosses your lips as you tuck the phone away.

“We've got the apartment to ourselves tonight,” you say, settling back into your seat and gazing out the window. “If you still wanna come over, that is. I can make you dinner.”

Jude's smile turns languid. “You know I do, princess. I’m always up for food at your place.”

“Okay,” you murmur turning to look at the passing scene as the corners of his mouth quirk even higher.

*********

The apartment feels quieter than usual without Charlie.

Not in an uncomfortable way—just different. Her energy always filled the space, a constant buzz of chatter, music, and the occasional burst of laughter that never failed to make you smile. Without her, the silence feels oddly still, like the apartment itself is taking a deep breath.

You emerge from the bathroom wrapped in your fluffy pink robe, the one Charlie always teases you about but secretly adores. Your hair is slightly damp from your shower, loose strands sticking to your neck. The cool air from the air-conditioning brushes over your skin, and you shiver slightly as you step into the living room.

Jude is exactly where you left him, sprawled on the couch like he owns the place, phone balanced precariously on his knee.

His brows are drawn together in concentration, and his thumbs fly over the screen at a speed that seems almost superhuman. He’s clearly playing some game, utterly absorbed in whatever digital battlefield he’s dominating.

You tread softly across the room, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. He doesn’t even glance up, so focused that he doesn’t notice you until you’re right in front of him. When you settle onto the couch beside him, the cushion dips under your weight, and only then does he stir.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, his voice warm and slightly distracted. His arm snakes around your waist without hesitation, pulling you into his side. His eyes stay glued to his screen, but his lips find the top of your head in a lazy, affectionate kiss that makes your heart flutter.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice soft as you lean into him. His embrace is as familiar as it is comforting, the warmth wrapping around you and sinking into your bones. He smells like fresh laundry and that woodsy cologne he always wears, the one that lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone.

For a moment, you just sit there, tucked against him as he plays.

His body is solid, a loving strength that you’ve come to rely on without even realizing it. You let out a contented sigh, your cheek resting against his shoulder. Jude glances at you briefly, his lips quirking into a small smile as he presses another kiss to your temple.

“You smell so good, baby. Like strawberries,” he remarks, his tone teasing but fond.

“It’s my shampoo,” you mumble, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His ability to fluster you with the simplest comments is as maddening as it is endearing to him.

“Smells good.” He pauses his game just long enough to tilt his head down, his nose brushing against your damp hair. “Smells like you.”

You bite your lip, the corners of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. His charm is relentless, and even when he’s trying to be casual, it lands like a full-force assault on your heart.

For a while, the room settles into a comfortable silence.

Jude’s arm stays around you, holding you close as he continues indulging in whatever virtual madness is happening on his phone. You don’t mind.

The warmth of his body against yours, the faint clicking of his fingers against the screen, and the soft hum of the air conditioner create a soothing melody, lulling you to sleep. And for a second you forget about deadlines and responsibilities, if only for a little while.

But eventually, the nagging thought of midterms creeps back in, pulling you away from the comfort of Jude’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders. You shift slightly, sighing as reality nudges its way back in. “I should study,” you mumble reluctantly, already regretting the words as they leave your mouth. “Midterms are coming up, and I need to get a head start.”

Jude freezes mid-controller click, his focus snapping to you with a speed that’s almost comical. His brows knit together in concern as he sets the controller down and turns to you fully. “Do you need help?” he offers, his voice warm, eager, and so earnest it makes your chest ache. He sits up straighter, reluctantly moving his arm so you can wiggle free if you want to. “I could quiz you or something.”

The way his brown eyes lock onto yours tugs at you. For a fleeting moment, you consider saying yes—just to keep him close a little longer. His enthusiasm, the little crease of worry between his brows, all of it makes you want to say yes. But you’ve been here before.

You bite back a smile and shake your head. “You know how it goes when you help me study.”

“What?” His face splits into a boyish grin. “I’m great at helping.”

“You get bored,” you counter, raising an eyebrow at him.

His grin widens, the mischief in his eyes almost tangible. “I don’t get bored. I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” You scoff lightly, though your lips twitch at the corners. “You mean you start distracting me.”

“Distractions are good for you," he says, leaning in closer. His voice dips into that flirty tone that always seems to weaken your resolve. “Keeps your brain from overheating.”

You try to hold firm, crossing your arms as you fight the smile threatening to bloom. “Distractions,” you repeat, deadpan, “like kissing me every five minutes?”

“Only every five minutes?” he teases, his lips quirking upward. “I’m slacking. I’ll make it every two.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands as your cheeks flare with heat. “Jude, stop.”

“Why?” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he leans closer, his hand slipping over yours to gently tug them away from your face. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

You feel your heart do a little somersault as he takes your hand, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles. His touch is maddeningly gentle, and his gaze is soft yet playful. “Come on, let me stay. I promise I’ll behave this time. Swear on… well, on your favorite pen or something.”

“You said that last time,” you remind him, though your voice lacks the conviction you want it to have.

“And I meant it," he says with exaggerated sincerity. “But then you started doing that thing where you chew on your pen and look all smart and adorable. What’s a guy supposed to do?”

“Focus,” you say firmly, though your lips betray you by curving into a reluctant smile.

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, sending a little flutter through you. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to it.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, though his grin tells you he’s far from serious.

True to his word, he pulls himself away from you, standing and stretching lazily before grabbing his phone. But before he leaves, he leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a kiss so soft and lingering that it leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Good luck, baby,” he murmurs, his voice warm and sweet. “You’ve got this.”

The soft click of the door closing behind him echoes in the quiet room, and you let out a long breath, trying to steady the racing of your heart. Even now, minutes after he’s left, his presence lingers—his touch, his whispers, his look that leaves you feeling shy and disarmed.

You force yourself to turn back to your notes, determined to focus on the task at hand. For sixty blessed minutes, you manage to keep your head down and concentrate, letting the scratch of your pen on paper drown out the memory of his teasing grin.

But, as if summoned by your thoughts, he slips back into your space without so much as a sound. You only notice him when you feel the featherlight brush of his lips against the curve of your neck. A startled gasp escapes you, and your pen stills in your hand as his warm breath fans over your skin.

“How’s the studying going?” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with playful mischief.

Your pulse quickens, and you try to muster some semblance of composure. “Jude,” you whisper, his name barely audible as your voice falters at his closeness.

“Hmm?” He hums, the sound rumbling softly against your skin as his hands settle on your waist, fingers toying idly with the hem of your pajama top.

“You’re distracting me,” you manage, though the tremble in your voice betrays your lack of conviction. You're a little thankful for the break he's forcing you to take.

“Am I?” he asks innocently, slipping his hand ever so slightly under your top, his lips now brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. You can feel the curve of his grin, knowing he’s completely aware of the effect he has on you.

You grip your pen tighter, clinging to the pretense of focus, but the heat of his palm against your skin and the teasing lilt of his voice unravel you piece by piece. Desperate for some distance, you push his chest gently, your face flaming as you turn to face him. “I’m going to cook dinner,” you declare, your tone firmer this time, though your skin betray you, burning with an unmistakable flush.

His brow arches, and for a moment, you think he might relent. But as you make your way to the kitchen, his footsteps trail right behind yours.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder, though the teasing lilt in your voice takes the sting out of the words.

“Not when it comes to you,” he replies smoothly, his grin utterly shameless as he catches up.

Once in the kitchen, you busy yourself with pulling out ingredients, determined to create a barrier between you and his relentless touching. But Jude, being Jude, is relentless in his own way. He's being very clingy today, more than usual.

As you start chopping vegetables, he edges closer, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you back just slightly against his chest.

“Jude,” you warn, your voice firmer this time as you wave the knife in a small arc in his direction.

“Dangerous,” he quips, leaning back just enough to dodge your playful swat, though he’s far from deterred. “You’re cute when you’re dangerous.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head as you try to focus on the task at hand.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends shivers dancing down your spine. “Are you sure?” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before leaning in to whisper, “But you love it.”

“I do not,” you retort automatically, though your voice lacks any real heat.

“Liar,” he teases, and you can hear the grin in his voice even without looking.

You spin around, your cheeks warm as you glare at him—or at least try to. “I need to finish dinner. Either help or sit down.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s no hiding the amusement in his expression. “Alright, alright. What do you need me to do, boss?”

You hand him a carrot, your lips quirking into a small smile despite yourself. “Peel this. And don’t distract me.”

“Can’t make any promises,” he says with a wink, but he takes the carrot anyway, grabbing a peeler from the drawer next to you.

For a few minutes, there’s an ease of peace as the two of you work side by side. He whistles softly under his breath as he peels glancing at you every now and then, and you chop in rhythm, the sounds of the kitchen filling the space. It feels so incredibly domestic and your thoughts start to drift to a future that you don't often dare to dream.

Is this what he would be like if we're married? you ask yourself. And deep inside, a part of you aches, and longs to find out.

But then, as you reach for the salt, his hand brushes yours, and you freeze, thoughts scrambling at his touch. He’s quick to close the distance again, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth in a kiss so fleeting you almost think you imagined it.

Your breath catches, and you stare up at him, wide-eyed and utterly flustered.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a second, you can’t think of anything to say.

“Jude,” you manage finally, though your voice is embarrassingly breathless.

“Hm?.” His fingers trace lazy patterns over the curve of your hip, sending little shivers through your skin. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs softly, his lips brushing against your hair, making you shiver. “In your little robe, making dinner for me. Fuck.” The last word comes out as a groan, and he buries his face into your neck.

The sensation of his breath against your skin sends a ripple through your body, leaving your muscles soft and weak. You lean into his embrace almost automatically, your palms flattening on the counter to steady yourself.

You can’t help the little gasp that escapes you as he nips at the curve of your neck, the touch sending sparks coursing through you.

You try to catch your breath, your cheeks warming with heat as your thoughts scatter. His hand trails higher up to rest on your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and you bite back a whimper. He’s being too bold, and it’s thrilling and terrifying and so, so good.

“Jude,” you stammer out finally. “We haven’t finished dinner yet.”

“I’ll survive,” he murmurs huskily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin behind your ear.

And before you can muster up a protest, he spins you around to face him, his grip firm and demanding on your waist. His lips land against yours without warning, all heat and pressure, and your breath stutters out of you as you cling to him, unable to do anything but hold on.

The kiss turns hot and breathless so fast it leaves you reeling, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in bold strokes that leave you dizzy.

Your lips part in response, inviting him deeper, and he takes you up on the offer with a low groan of pleasure. He presses you into the counter, the kiss so urgent it feels like he needs it to survive. Your skin flushes, your body humming with a need you’ve never known before.

It’s too much. It’s like a wildfire burning out of control, and Jude, Jude, Jude.

You’re not even sure what it is that you’re craving so desperately, but you know it involves him.

And when he pulls away abruptly, it feels like being dunked into an ice bath.

Your head spins, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. Your breath is still ragged, your lips tingling, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart stutter.

It’s dark, unreadable, and you feel like prey caught in the sights of a predator—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you hyperaware of every inch of your body.

Your fingers tighten on the counter behind you, grounding yourself as the silence stretches between you. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he steps back completely, dragging a hand over his face in what feels like frustration. The absence of his warmth hits you immediately, leaving you feeling cold, exposed, and a little disoriented.

You lower your gaze, your cheeks burning, unable to meet his eyes. The apartment feels too quiet, too still, and when you finally dare to look up, he’s gone—retreating into the living room with an almost frustratingly casual stride.

Dinner is a blur after that.

You push food around your plate, barely tasting it, too caught up in the memory of his lips on yours, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. It leaves you feeling equal parts flustered and thrilled, and you hate how obvious it must be. Jude, of course, notices. He keeps sneaking glances at you, his smirk growing every time he catches you looking away too quickly or fiddling with the edge of your napkin. But he doesn't say anything.

After dinner, he suggests a movie. You agree, mostly because you don’t trust yourself to say no without stammering, and before you know it, you’re in your room. The lights are dim, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows across the walls. You sit beside him on the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, trying not to focus on how close he is.

“Relax,” he teases, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

You swat at him, your face heating up. “Jude!”

He laughs, low and rich, and you feel the sound settle in your chest. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

For a while, you focus on the movie. Or at least, you try to. Jude, apparently, has other plans. Somewhere halfway through the film, he shifts beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders. You glance at him, confused, only to freeze when his lips brush against the side of your neck.

“Jude,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Hmm?” His voice is soft, playful, but there’s a heat to it that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m trying to watch,” you manage, though your resolve wavers as his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

“Am I distracting you?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin.

You nod, your breath hitching, but it only seems to encourage him. His kisses grow more deliberate, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as he tilts your head toward him. The movie is completely forgotten as his lips capture yours, and this time, there’s nothing hesitant about the way he kisses you.

This kiss is different than the one in the kitchen. This kiss is greedy and demanding, the type that makes you forget how to breathe. You melt into him without hesitation, your hand finding its way to his neck as he pulls you onto his lap.

He lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine, his hands coming to settle on your thighs. The kiss deepens, becoming something more, until the world narrows down to nothing but him. His touches are hot and firm, his mouth demanding in a way that leaves your head spinning.

It’s overwhelming.

His touch, his scent, the low hum of his voice when he whispers your name—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You’re hyperaware of everything: the way his hands skim your sides, the way his thumb brushes against your jaw, the way your own fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

When a soft sound escapes you—half gasp, half moan—he freezes. His forehead presses against yours, his breathing heavy and uneven. Still lost in the haze of lust he's started to awaken in you, your lips chase his in a desperate pathetic attempt to keep him close, and you whine when he pulls back, the sound embarrassing you to no end.

“Baby,” he murmurs hoarsely, his voice the epitome of need and restraint. “Baby, you need to stop that.”

It’s only when you look up into his eyes that you realize how affected he is. His pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed, his breath quickening as he holds your gaze. The intensity of his eyes makes your stomach clench, but the effect is different this time—different in a way that you can’t quite place.

You stare at him for what feels like an eternity, searching for something, anything, to explain the strange flutter in your stomach.

His expression is unreadable, but as you sit there, chest heaving, thighs squirming restlessly on his lap, you feel something press into your inner thigh and Jude groans again, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder.

A little noise of surprise slips out of you, and before you can look down, he's flipping you over, pinning you to the bed with a groan.

“Fuck, baby. You don’t know how good you feel,” he whispers huskily, pulling back just long enough to let you breathe. The sight of him—so desperate, so needy, and so turned on—leaves you reeling.

Your heart is pounding, your pulse frantic in your ears as your body responds to his proximity. The feeling between your legs grows slick, the sensation almost strange enough to distract you from the weight of him above.

Jude must feel the way your body tenses because his voice drops, taking on a soothing quality that makes your muscles relax against him. “Shhh, baby. It’s alright.” He leans in, his lips trailing down the side of your neck to leave featherlight kisses there. “Relax.”

But the feeling of being pinned between him and the bed is overwhelming, and before he can kiss you again, you shift restlessly, trying to escape. He lets you get away, his hands following the curve of your sides as you sit up, his gaze roving over you hungrily.

Your cheeks heat, and your hands flutter over your stomach as if trying to find a way to hide yourself. “I—” you start, but then you stop, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “I’m sorry.”

The apology slips out of you automatically, though you’re not even entirely sure what you’re apologizing for.

Jude shakes his head, a wry smile tilting his lips upward. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. “I just…” He trails off, shaking his head again, though his smile turns into a smirk. “I want you so bad it’s driving me fucking crazy." His voice drops into a growl, his hands tightening on your thighs, and you gasp softly. "And it's—fuck. It's turning me on so much." He leans down, pressing you against the mattress once again, and your whine is audible.

“Jude…” you whisper, your voice quivering as your hands press against his chest in a weak attempt to create some distance. But your resolve falters when you meet his eyes—stormy and filled with a look that leaves you breathless. Hunger.

“Yes, baby?,” he murmurs huskily.

But you don’t get a chance to answer because his lips close over yours, pulling you into a kiss that’s everything and nothing you imagined a kiss to be. It’s urgent, hungry, and maddeningly sweet, and you cling to him without a second thought, your legs wrapping around his waist as if by instinct alone.

It feels like everything in the room blurs to nothing around the two of you, like the world has stopped turning.

The sensation between your legs turns wet, slick, and you can feel his hardness through the thin fabric of your shorts, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming. He groans into the kiss, his hips rocking against you in a motion that leaves you gasping.

You feel so hot all of a sudden—like your whole body is on fire. Your thoughts scatter as you cling to his shoulders, his name on your lips, and it's like he's pushing you higher and higher.

The kiss becomes messy, teeth clashing, lips biting, his hands pulling at your shirt as if trying to pull it off. You’re completely lost to his touch, your body moving against his in a needy rhythm that feels like instinct alone.

But just when you think he might push you further, Jude pulls away abruptly with a sharp groan, his chest heaving as he buries his head against the curve of your shoulder. You’re left with your arms wrapped around his neck, your body trembling as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the word hot against your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His body shudders, his hips rocking forward once, then twice, then he's yanking himself off you like you've just burned him.

You try to hold him closer, but he's too strong and it only seems to make him pull away harder.

“Jude?” you ask, your voice trembling as your thoughts catch up. You’re breathless, your body aching for something you don’t even know how to ask for. "What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just rolls away from you, his hands burying in his hair as he lets out a long groan of frustration.

Your cheeks warm, but there’s something in his look, something that makes your chest flutter. It’s dark, almost possessive, and the intensity steals your breath. You open your mouth to say something—anything—to fill the silence, but before you can speak, Jude rolls to his feet, standing up with a swift motion that sends you sprawling on your back.

“I’m…” He swallows again, “I have to go,” he says, his voice thick, rough. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

You open your mouth, ready to ask why, but he’s already halfway out the door. You catch up just in time to watch him slam the front door closed behind him, the sound of his car roaring to life outside.

You stare at the closed door for a moment, blinking slowly as if you’re half-asleep. Your body still hums from his touches, your muscles soft, your heart pounding, and all you can think is: what did I do wrong?

*********

You don’t see him again for a couple of days.

It’s not unusual for Jude to be busy, his schedule crammed with training sessions, meetings, and endless obligations. But this feels different. He’s never been too busy to send a good morning text, check in with a quick call, or find some excuse to see you, even if it’s just for an hour.

Now, though? It’s radio silence.

The first day, you try to brush it off. You tell yourself that he’s probably exhausted and needs some space. By the second, the worry creeps in, uninvited but persistent. Did you do something wrong? Was it something you said? Something you didn’t say?

By the time he texts you to come over on the third day, you’ve practically convinced yourself he’s about to break things off. The idea leaves your chest feeling hollow.

When you step into his house, he greets you like always, flashing that charming grin that makes your stomach flip. But there’s something off in his posture, the way his arms wrap around you just a little too loosely.

The two of you settle on the couch, a movie playing in the background. Jude is quiet, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch but not quite pulling you in. Normally, he’d be all over you by now, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, his lips brushing against your temple. Tonight, he’s… distant.

You bite your lip, stealing glances at him. He seems engrossed in the screen, but his jaw is set tightly, and his hand keeps flexing like he’s restless.

The movie plays on, and you feel like you’re sitting next to a stranger. Your heart pounds as you shift closer, testing the waters. His arm twitches but doesn’t move to pull you closer.

Your voice comes out soft, hesitant. “Jude?”

He hums, not looking at you.

“I missed you,” you admit, hoping it doesn’t sound as needy as it feels.

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Missed you too.” His tone is distracted, his gaze not straying from the screen.

You frown, your brow furrowing. Something’s wrong. You can feel it in the way his body tenses every time you shift a little closer. His hand tightens, loosens, tightens again, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can I ask you something?” you start, your voice tentative. When he doesn’t respond, you clear your throat. “Why didn’t you call me this week? You’re always so busy, and I know that, but—” You trail off, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you stretches out uncomfortably, but then his gaze shifts, and you catch the way his eyes soften as they land on you. “It’s nothing.” He reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You let him take your hand, but the touch feels fleeting, hollow—like he’s holding back. Your chest tightens, the ache spreading to your throat as you try to steady your breathing. You don’t want to push him, but the silence between you is unbearable.

“Jude,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “It doesn’t feel like nothing.”

He sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Look, I’m just busy. That’s all.”

“You’ve always been busy,” you point out, feeling the sting of rejection. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t find time to call me this time.” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap to hide it.

He shifts then, his body twisting to face yours, his hand cupping your chin as he forces you to meet his eyes. His expression is soft, his brows furrowing as he studies your face. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s not your fault. I just… I was busy with some things.”

“What things?” you press, frowning at the way he looks at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “What did I do? You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. I promise.”

Jude’s lips quirk, his smile almost wry. “I’m not trying to sugarcoat anything, baby.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His voice drops, turning soft. “It’s just hard for me to be around you.”

“Why?” you breathe out.

He hums, his nose nuzzling against your temple. “You're so… fucking innocent, baby. And you have no idea how much that fucking turns me on. I just can’t—You deserve everything, and I don't want to fuck this up.” He pulls back, his expression shifting to one of frustration. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I want to be good for you, baby.” His thumb brushes against your cheek as he whispers against your skin. “I wanna ruin you."

His words make heat pool low in your stomach, your thighs pressing together. His voice is hypnotic, low and husky, and it takes you a moment to respond. "How would you do that?” you whisper.

His pupils dilate, his lips parting. “Oh fuck.” He swallows audibly, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Jude groans softly, his hand trailing up to cup the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You don’t wanna know, sweetheart," he says, his voice thick with restraint. "I shouldn’t even be saying this."

You blink up at him, your lips parting to protest, but no sound comes out. His confession leaves you breathless, and your heart stumbles in your chest. "But I want to know," you whisper, feeling the heat of his gaze settle over you like fog.

His jaw tightens, and he leans in, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You’re playing with fire," he murmurs, his breath warm and tantalizing against your lips. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

You don't move—can't move. It's like his words are pinning you in place with the weight of their meaning.

Jude chuckles softly, the sound low and almost reverent. "God, you’re so cute when you’re shy." His other hand moves to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. "I missed you like crazy these past few days, you know that? Couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus. Just kept picturing you." He swallows thickly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Your lips are so fucking soft, and you taste like fucking honey."

His hand cups your face, his eyes burning into yours as he pulls back enough to meet your gaze. "Do you know how many times I've jacked off this week just thinking about your mouth? About what it would be like to fuck you?" He leans in closer, his voice turning harsh. "Do you even realize how fucking sexy you are? You make me lose my goddamn mind, baby."

You don't answer. You're not even sure if you can. His words have your head reeling, your breath catching in your throat. Heat pulses between your legs, making your thighs clench and unclench restlessly.

Jude groans, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as if seeking shelter. "Fuck. See what you fucking do to me? I can't even have a conversation around you, baby. I'm fucking obsessed." His fingers flex against your skin, his hot breath gusting over your neck. "Just being this close to you is driving me crazy."

Your breath hitches, a small noise escaping you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders instinctively. His words are making you feel… something. Your brain can't quite put a name to it, but it's making you feel soft and needy and… wet.

Jude seems to notice because he freezes, his nose dipping to the side of your neck, breathing you in deeply. "Are you wet, baby?" he murmurs, the question sending a flush up your cheeks. His voice is low, dark, and it does nothing to help the ache between your legs.

You squirm against him, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. His hand cups your ass, pulling your body flush against his as he growls low against your neck.

"Answer me," he grunts, his hips pressing forward with a motion that makes you gasp.

Your head swims as if from a lack of oxygen, but you manage to whisper, "Y-yes."

Jude's whole body shudders against you , his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he groans again. "Fuck, sweetheart." His voice is hot against your skin, the words a mix of frustration and desire. "What did I tell you?" he murmurs almost absently. "About making me lose my fucking mind?"

The tension between you seems to grow thicker with every second that passes, and before you know it, you're being pulled onto his lap, his mouth crashing over yours in a desperate kiss. You cling to him, letting him devour you completely, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters but this.

Except he pulls away again just as quickly, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders and hold you at arm's length. You stare at him, confused, your cheeks flushed, your breath coming out in quick pants.

"Jude," you breathe out, reaching for him.

But he shakes his head, his jaw flexing with restraint as he holds you still. "No, baby. If I touch you again right now, I don’t think I'll be able to stop myself." His voice dips, growing rougher. "You're not ready for that." He leans in to nuzzle your nose, his words coming out as a soft apology against your skin. "You deserve better than me losing control like this."

You frown at his words, feeling them hit somewhere deep in your chest, but before you can find a way to respond, he pulls away and stands up. "Wait!" Your hand shoots out and drags him back to the sofa with a strength that surprises both of you.

"I—I want it. I want you to… have me." The words come out before you can take them back, but instead of being met with rejection, Jude’s eyes darken, his pupils expanding to eat up the color of his eyes. His grip tightens on your hand, and you hear him swallow thickly.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice husky and soft. "Baby, if you let me touch you like that, I won’t be able to hold back." He leans forward as if drawn by gravity, his lips grazing against yours as he murmurs against your mouth. "You want that?"

The question makes your cheeks flush, the sensation traveling down to pulse between your legs. Your stomach clenches, and you find yourself nodding, your lips brushing against his with the motion.

His soft groan vibrates through your entire body. His hand cups the side of your face with a gentleness that contradicts the heat in his eyes. "Baby," he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. He leans back then, his expression softening, a hint of amusement tilting the corner of his lips upward. "You sure? You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?"

You shake your head , your breath hitching when his thumb trails over your bottom lip. "I trust you." The words slip out of you on a whisper, but they seem to mean something to him because he lets out a soft exhale.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. “If you don’t stop being so fucking sweet, baby, I’m gonna fuck you on this couch, and neither of us will be ready for that.” He lets out an unsteady laugh, his words making heat spread through your body. "You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into." He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, a small smirk twisting his lips. "But if you still want me to teach you after tonight, then I promise you that I’ll be the one to ruin you like you want." With that, he leans in and kisses you gently, the motion soft and sweet.

When he pulls back, his voice drops to a growl. “I can't wait to ruin you.” His words are so low, so full of warning that you wonder what he plans to do to you. The idea makes your pulse quicken, your stomach fluttering.

Jude leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his tongue darting out to lick at the seam of your mouth. “I’ll show you just how good it can be,” he whispers against your mouth, and then he pulls away with a soft bite to your bottom lip, leaving you breathless and wanting so much more.

He gives you another kiss that promises to corrupt, then leaves you on the couch feeling like your whole world has been flipped on its head. You wonder what the next few weeks will be like now.

********

"I want to learn how to please Jude." Is not what Charlie expects to hear from you.

You who are painfully shy and would rather hide under the covers than have a conversation about this sort of thing. So you imagine that your words catch her off guard when you approach her in your room, both of you lying on the bed side by side.

Charlie looks at you with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Well shit, girl. What brought that on?" She reaches over and puts a hand on your arm in comfort. "What happened?"

You fidget nervously. "It's just… I want to please him, and I don't know how. We've been dating for a while now, and I feel like it's time to try something new." You lower your eyes at the last part, your cheeks burning like crazy. "We've been together for so long and we still haven't done anything." You take a shaky breath. "I don't want him to get tired of me."

Charlie stares at you for a long moment, then she cracks out laughing. "Girl, you're so silly."

"What?" Your voice comes out pouty.

"Oh, come on." She chuckles. "You're being silly. There's no way in hell that Jude could be upset with you." She gives you a playful push, "Y/N, that guy is madly in love with you. He looks at you like he's obsessed. There's no chance he's getting tired of you."

You smile softly at her words, hope blooming in your chest at her confidence. "Yeah?" you ask, your tone breathless.

"Yeah." Charlie's expression softens, her voice turning gentle. "He looks at you the same way you do him. So please, stop worrying about it and just let him make the first move. Don't feel pressured into doing something you don't want to."

You nod, your brows furrowing as you look away. "That's the thing though. I do want to." Your voice drops to a whisper. "But I don't know what I'm doing."

Charlie looks at you for a second, then nods. "Ok. So what do you want to do?" She asks, her tone soft.

You look up at her, "What do guys like?" You ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. You bite your lip and look away, feeling your cheeks burn.

Charlie laughs softly, the sound almost like a purr, "Ooo, Y/NNNN. Are you trying to turn me on?" She jokes. You know she's kidding because she's making that face she always makes right after telling a really funny joke.

"Charlie!" You push her with a giggle.

"What?" She pushes you back with a grin, "Come on, Y/N. If you're going to be a big girl and have sex, you should be able to talk about it."

You pout at her. "That's not fair. I ask you for help, and you're teasing me."

She chuckles and rolls her eyes with a smile, "Ok, ok. What do you wanna know?"

"Everything." You say, your face heating up even more.

"Everything?" Charlie quirks a brow, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. "Girl, that's a tall order. Are we talking the birds and the bees 'everything' or just the Jude-specific 'everything'?"

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. "This is so embarrassing."

Charlie laughs, a genuine, warm sound that makes you peek at her through your fingers. "Y/N, relax. Seriously. This is normal stuff. And you’re with Jude Bellingham, of all people. Do you have any idea how hungry he is? That man eye fucks you everytime you're in the room."

You groan again, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. "Stop! You're making it worse."

Charlie snorts, patting your back. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Let’s get serious for a sec. First of all, there’s no ‘right’ way to do anything. Everyone’s different. But if you really want to know what Jude likes, just…ask him. You already know him better than anyone else."

You lift your head slightly, just enough to look at her. "But what if I mess up?"

Charlie tilts her head, giving you a soft smile. "Y/N, you can’t mess up with someone who loves you. Jude’s not going to care if you don’t know everything. He’s crazy about you—trust me, I’ve seen it. The guy practically glows when you’re in the room. Just talk to him, be yourself, and let things happen naturally."

You chew on your bottom lip, processing her words. "I guess that makes sense. But what if—"

You’re interrupted by the familiar sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Charlie smirks knowingly. "Bet you ten bucks it’s him."

You reach for your phone, and sure enough, Jude’s name lights up the screen. Your heart does a little flip, and Charlie cackles at the way your face immediately softens.

"Go on," she says, waving her hand. "Answer it. Lover boy’s probably wondering why you’ve been ignoring him all evening."

You hesitate for a moment before swiping to answer. "Hey," you say softly, your voice a little shaky.

"Hey, love." Jude’s deep, smooth voice comes through the line, instantly putting you at ease. "What’re you up to?"

"Just hanging out with Charlie," you reply, glancing at your friend, who’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. You roll your eyes at her. "What about you?"

"Thinking about you," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today."

Your cheeks flush, and Charlie makes a gagging motion, though her grin only widens. "I… I missed you too," you admit shyly, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater.

"Yeah?" Jude’s tone is playful, but there’s an edge of sincerity that makes your heart flutter. "What’re you doing after Charlie goes? Can I come see you?"

Your stomach flips, and you glance at Charlie, who’s mouthing Say yes! with an exaggerated expression. "Um, yeah," you say, trying to sound casual despite the way your voice wobbles. "If you want to."

"Of course I want to," he says, chuckling softly. "I’ll be over in a bit, yeah?"

"Okay," you whisper, unable to keep the smile out of your voice.

"See you soon, love."

You hang up and immediately bury your face in the pillow again, earning a loud laugh from Charlie. "Oh my God, you’re hopeless," she teases, nudging you with her foot. "You’re like a lovesick puppy. It’s adorable."

"Shut up," you mumble, though you’re smiling. You peek at her as you sit up. "Thanks, though. You were really helpful."

She snorts. "Clearly. But seriously, just relax. Be yourself. I promise he’ll love it. And if all else fails just give him a blowjob" She ducks just in time to miss the pillow you chuck her way. "I’ve gotta go. My ride’s coming in a minute." She climbs off the bed and heads over to the dresser to grab her phone. "I think I left my keys downstairs. Tell Jude I said hi."

"Will do," you say, smiling softly.

She waves before heading out the door and leaving you alone. You sink back into the covers, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you.

**********

A half hour later, you’re pacing in front of the living room door, your nerves bubbling up with every step. You keep glancing at the clock, willing the minutes to tick faster and slower all at once.

Your hands feel clammy, and you’re acutely aware of every tiny sound in the apartment—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant chatter of your upstairs neighbors, the soft patter of your socked feet against the floor. You’ve checked your reflection in the hallway mirror at least five times, brushing nonexistent lint from your sweater.

When you finally hear the familiar, rhythmic knock that signals Jude’s arrival, your heart skips a beat. You nearly trip over your own feet as you hurry to the door, pulling it open so quickly that Jude looks startled for a split second before his expression melts into that devastatingly familiar grin—the one that never fails to make your stomach flip.

"There’s my girl," he greets warmly, his voice a velvety blend of affection and amusement. Before you can even stammer out a hello, he steps forward, slipping one arm around your waist and pulling you into him. His lips find yours in a heartbeat, soft and warm, and you let out a small, involuntary sigh as his other hand settles on the back of your neck.

"Hi," you manage to mumble against his lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. "Hello to you too," he murmurs, his thumb brushing an absentminded circle against your hip. His brown eyes are locked on yours, teasing. "You seem a little eager tonight. Miss me, baby?"

The heat rushes to your cheeks in an instant, and you lower your gaze, biting your lip to suppress the shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Maybe," you mumble, your voice so soft it’s almost lost in the space between you.

Jude’s grin widens, and he cups your face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently over the apple of your cheek. "Maybe?" he echoes, pretending to be wounded. "I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I get a maybe?" His tone is playful, but his eyes are so full of adoration that it makes your chest ache in the best way.

You fidget under his gaze, your hands instinctively gripping the hem of your sweater. "Of course I missed you," you admit shyly, barely managing to look up at him.

"That’s more like it," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment, and when he pulls back, there’s a tenderness in his expression that makes your heart flutter. "Missed you too, you know. More than I probably should admit."

Your stomach flips at his words, and you let out a breathless laugh, not quite sure how to respond. Jude doesn’t seem to mind your silence; he just brushes another kiss to the tip of your nose before letting his hand slide from your face to your hand, lacing your fingers together.

"So," he starts, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, "is Charlie still here, or do we have the place to ourselves?"

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks warm again at the implication. "She left about an hour ago," you reply, your voice still soft.

Jude grins. "Perfect. Let’s do something scandalous then," he teases, his voice dripping with faux mischief.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Scandalous?" Is this it?

"Yep," he says with a wink. "Like…watching a movie we’ve already seen twenty times while cuddling on the couch. Absolutely outrageous, right?" You try not to deflate at his words and he must've noticed because he smirks down at you.

You let out a soft force chuckle, not seeing the teasing grin on his face. "Yeah, sure."

"Great!" Jude quips, tugging you toward the living room. "C’mon, let’s pick something good."

By "good," you know he means your favorite DVD, the one you’ve insisted on watching so many times that you’re sure he knows half the lines by heart. Sure enough, you makes a beeline for the small shelf in your room, plucking the case from its spot with a triumphant flourish.

"We have to find something new, you know that right?" he teases as you holds it up for him to see. Like he doesn't love it just as much as you. Maybe more. Not that he'll ever admit that to you.

"And yet you keep coming back," you counter quietly, feeling braver than usual.

Jude’s grin softens into something sweeter as he crosses the room to stand in front of you. "Because you’re worth it," he says simply, his voice so sincere it makes your chest tighten. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before taking your hand again and leading you to your bed. "Now let’s go watch our favorite movie while cuddled in bed like good little nerds."

You follow him, feeling like you’re floating.

The movie’s been playing for about twenty minutes when you finally start to relax, tucked under Jude’s arm with a cozy blanket draped over both of you. The familiar dialogue flows easily in the background, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of Jude’s chest against your side. You're lulled into a state of peace, your head resting against his shoulder, your leg draped over his as you settle in.

It's when the movie gets to the good part that you hear (feel) Jude's stomach growl from under your ear, the low sound vibrating up his chest.

"Shit," he mutters with a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand absently over his stomach. "I’m fucking starving."

You lift your head from his shoulder to peer at his face. “You want me to make you something?” you ask, even though you don't feel like cooking, your hand coming up to copy his gesture.

His eyes flick down to yours, "Yeah," he says slowly, his voice low and soft. He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle you barely feel it. His gaze follows the motion, his eyes darkening. "That’d be great, baby."

Your pulse quickens at the softness of his tone, but you nod and slip out of his arms, the movement sending the blanket tumbling to the bed. You slip out of the room, feeling his eyes on your back like a caress.

When you return with two bowls of popcorn in hand and a couple bags of snacks, Jude looks up from the spot he's settled in on the couch, his eyes sliding to yours for a heartbeat before dropping down to the food.

“Thank God,” he murmurs, taking one of the bowls from your hands with a grin. You try not to notice the way he brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him the bowl, but the touch makes your stomach flip anyway.

You sink back down beside him on the bed and take a seat. His leg presses up against yours, warm through the fabric of your jeans, and you feel yourself melting into him automatically, his warmth and scent pulling you in.

Jude lifts a handful of popcorn to his mouth, chewing as he settles his arm around your shoulder, the motion drawing you in even closer, until you're practically nestled against his side. His other hand lands on your thigh, his thumb brushing a slow pattern against your leg as he watches the movie. The motion sends a shiver up your spine, and you find your eyes dropping to the sight of his large hand against your leg, his fingertips lightly tracing the soft skin.

The feeling of his hand on you, the heat of his body against yours, is so good that you forget everything else around you—his soft, contented munching, the gentle way he tugs you in closer every now and then, the way you can feel his breath ghosting along the back of your neck and sending shivers up your spine.

You forget about it all until you feel his eyes on you, and you glance up to meet his gaze.

Jude is staring at you, his eyes half-lidded and his face tilted toward you. His expression is soft, his gaze almost… hungry. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, his teeth catching it for just a heartbeat before he lets it slide free. You watch the whole thing in rapt fascination, your cheeks flushing when his gaze flicks down to yours and catches you staring.

"See something you like?" he asks with a low smirk, his voice soft and playful.

You feeling your skin heat up, feeling your pulse quicken and your stomach clench. You lower your eyes, biting your bottom lip to try and contain the frown that's threatening to break across your face.

"Y/N." His voice drops even lower, his hand tightening on your leg as you feel him lean in. His warm breath feathers along the shell of your ear, making you shiver and squirm. "Look at me."

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and his gaze is so warm that you can't look away. You're caught in his stare, the heat building between you like a flame.

"You're really fucking cute when you're shy," he murmurs softly, his grin widening as he reaches up to brush his thumb against the apple of your cheek, his touch feather-light. His eyes follow the motion, and his lips part as he takes a shallow breath, his body seeming to lean in on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you forget to breathe for just a heartbeat as he presses his lips to yours, the kiss light and quick. When he pulls back, he doesn't go far, his face still hovering just a breath away.

"What?" you whisper, your pulse quickening at the way his eyes seem to darken as they drop down to look at your lips.

He lets out a soft, deep chuckle that vibrates through his chest. "What do you think?" His gaze is full of heat as he leans in again, the kiss softer this time, his lips barely brushing over yours. The motion makes you melt into him, your body seeming to go pliant under his touch. "You're too fucking sweet."

Your stomach flips at the way he says that, your hand coming up automatically to cup his neck. You draw him in, deepening the kiss with a soft sound, and he makes a pleased noise against your lips as he opens for you, letting you in.

The kiss turns soft and gentle, a sweet press of lips that makes you feel all fluttery inside, and you sink into it like a fish to water, losing yourself in the heat between you.

When Jude pulls back this time, it's with a groan, his brow furrowing as he tugs away, his breathing a little ragged. "We gotta stop."

You frown, feeling the sudden loss of him like a cold shower. You hesitate for a second, then reach out to cup his face with your palm, my thumb brushing over the sharp curve of his cheekbone.

"Jude—" you start softly, and he lets out another soft groan, sinking into your touch as he closes his eyes for a moment.

"Hm?" he hums against your palm, his tone low and tortured.

"I want you," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

His eyes fly open at your words, his gaze snapping back to yours, and for just a heartbeat, he looks almost pained. Then he lets out a harsh breath and drops his head to yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I—fuck," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin, and you can feel his body vibrating with the tension of his emotion. His hand cups the back of your skull, pulling you in closer. "I need a minute."

Your brows furrow at his words. What's wrong? you want to ask, but then Jude lets out a soft groan and bites you lightly on the neck, and all thoughts fly out of your mind.

His lips press to your skin with a soft, wet sound, the suction making your stomach flip. When he pulls back to look up at you, his mouth is swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze roaming down over your features before meeting yours again.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, your heart beating in your throat. I've never been more sure of anything.

Jude groans softly and kisses you again, the motion firm and deep as he pushes you backward until you're lying flat on the bed, his body covering yours. "How far do you want to go?" He mutters against your mouth, his voice deep and husky, his tongue darting out to trace your lips.

You hesitate for a heartbeat, unsure of how to answer. "Just… more than this?" you mumble softly, your hand tracing up his arm and coming to rest on his chest.

His other hand slides down to your waist, his fingers curling around your hip as he shifts, pressing you back into the bed. The weight of him, the heat of his body against yours, is overwhelming in the best way, and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes you.

"God, you’re perfect," he mutters. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses that make your skin tingle. "Tell me if I’m going too far, okay? Promise me."

You nod wordlessly, unable to speak around the pulse pounding in your throat.

Jude trails his lips along your collarbone, nipping gently at the skin before he lifts his head and catches your eyes with a heated look. "If it feels good," he starts slowly, his gaze locked on yours as his hand shifts up to cup your face, "tell me."

His other hand drops to your waist again, his palm skimming along your hip before sliding up underneath your shirt to land on the bare skin of your stomach. You gasp at the feeling of his warm palm against your skin, your breath catching as his fingers splay out over your belly, his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

"You like that, baby?" His eyes are dark with arousal as he stares down at you, his fingers sliding up to trace over the underside of your breast through your bra. The touch sends a shock straight through your body, your eyes fluttering closed. "Tell me, Y/N," he urges softly.

You gasp softly, letting out a wordless sound as you arch under his touch, your hands coming up to cling to his shoulders. You feel like you're melting into him, like your body is going limp as you let out another soft sound. "Yes."

Jude groans and presses a kiss to your neck, his mouth moving against your skin as he speaks. "Good girl." His hand moves up again, his fingers tracing up the bare skin of your side before his palm cups your breast, his thumb brushing lightly over your nipple.

You gasp again, your breath catching in your throat as you squirm under his touch. He doesn't stop, though; his fingers slip under the edge of your bra cup to brush over your nipple with a feather-light touch.

"God," he mutters hoarsely against your skin, his palm moving in a slow circle over your breast. "You have no idea how fucking good that feels."

His other hand shifts down to settle on your thigh, just above the knee, and you feel a shiver run through you. Your pulse is racing in your ears, the touch of him setting your whole body aflame.

You squirm under him, a soft, high-pitched moan slipping from between your lips, and Jude’s groan is immediate and deep. He shifts to settle his leg between your thighs, and you gasp again at the feeling of him against you. You can feel the hard length of him through his jeans, and the sensation sends another shiver up your spine.

"Fuck, Y/N," he rasps against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers trail down your ribs to your stomach, his palm landing flat against your belly with a soft press. "You’re gonna kill me."

The feeling of his hands on you is too much, and you squirm again, arching under his touch as you let out a high, breathless sound. Jude curses softly, shifting his leg against your center, and you feel another rush of wetness slip from you. His palm moves down to settle between your legs, his hand covering your mound with a warm press that makes you gasp.

"Tell me," he rasps, his voice full of emotion as he kisses your neck again. "Does this feel good?"

You can’t speak; all you can manage is a wordless nod, your hips arching up against his hand. Jude groans again, his breath feathering along your neck, his lips brushing a trail down to the neckline of your shirt.

He's still kissing you when he slides his hand down the waistband of your pants, his fingers trailing over the wet cotton of your panties before slipping under the edge to press against your bare skin. You feel a rush of pleasure at the touch, your whole body tensing, and Jude curses again softly as his palm presses against you, the weight of him making you feel warm and safe.

"Is this okay?" he asks raggedly, his fingers moving up to stroke against your clit through your panties.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a soft gasp as your hips shift against his palm. You nod wordlessly, your hands shifting up to clutch at his shoulders, and Jude groans again at the sensation of you against him.

"I need words baby," he rasps, his finger slipping under the cotton to brush against your clit with a slow press.

You let out another high-pitched sound, squirming under his hand as his finger shifts to rub against you in slow circles. His palm presses against your mound with a gentle weight, the pressure building between your legs and making your breath come in short, shallow gasps.

"Jude…please," you gasp, your hips shifting against his hand again.

"Please what?" He nuzzles your neck again, his lips feathering a trail along the skin. His finger doesn't stop moving, though, the feeling sending a rush of warmth through you. "Tell me what you need."

Your cheeks flush at his words, and you swallow hard. "Jude…" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Come on," he rasps gently against your ear. "Tell me."

You squirm again, trying to get away from the feeling of his finger on your clit and the sudden wave of embarrassment that crashes over you. Jude doesn’t let you escape, though; his other arm tightens around your waist as his finger presses down harder against your clit, making the pleasure build between your legs.

"Yes!," you moan again, your voice high and breathless, your legs squirming against his hips. "More! P-please."

He groans loudly against your neck, his teeth catching at the skin in a sharp nip that makes you cry out. "God, fuck. You’re so good for me," he mutters in a hoarse rasp. Then he's pulling away. "Take off your pants for me baby. I wanna see you."

You nod, your hands dropping to your waist as you shove the fabric down. You’re not even fully out of them when Jude slides in the bed behind you. His arms come up around your waist, drawing you back against him, and his mouth drops to nuzzle against the back of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He pulls you flush against him, his hips fitting against your ass in a way that makes you realize just how turned on he is. You let out another soft gasp, squirming back against him as you feel the length of his cock pressing between your ass cheeks.

Jude groans loudly again, his hands coming up to grip your hips as he pulls you more firmly against him. "Fuck, you feel so good," he rumbles, his mouth nuzzling a trail up the back of your neck. He kisses your skin softly, the warm press of his lips sending another shiver through you.

His hands move down to slip under the edge of your underwear, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your thigh. You feel your stomach clench, the anticipation building inside you as his hand skims up to press between your legs. His fingers slide against your wet pussy, his palm cupping you firmly with a possessive press that makes your whole body tremble.

"Fuck," he growls hoarsely again, his lips trailing down to press a kiss to the back of your shoulder. "You're so wet for me." His fingers shift to press your folds through the fabric, stroking lightly against your clit as the wet slick sound of your arousal fills the air. "Do you like it when I touch you?"

You gasp at his words, feeling a hot blush rise up your neck. "Y-yes…" you gasp out.

He groans again, "You're really fucking perfect for me, you know that?" he rasps. "Take these off for me, baby."

You swallow hard, your hands lifting to your sides as you move to shimmy out of your panties, quickly closing your legs as soon as they're off. You hear Jude’s groan against your hair a moment before you feel his palm press down to your thigh.

"You getting shy on me, princess? Hm?" His voice is teasing as he nudges your legs apart again, his fingers trailing down over your skin as he pulls them further and further apart. You gasp softly as you feel your pussy lips spread with the movement, your clit throbbing. "Open up for me."

Your blush deepens, and you hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Jude’s warm breath on your neck is making you melt and your thigh part for him.

"Good girl," he praises softly. "Now let me see what's mine." His hand trails down to settle between your spread legs, his palm cupping your pussy firmly with a warm weight. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. "Look how wet you are," he groans. "You're fucking dripping for me, baby."

His hand shifts, his fingers dipping down to press against your folds, and the feeling is so good it makes you shiver. You gasp again, feeling another rush of liquid heat slip from you as his fingers spread your lips apart. You feel the cool air brush against your wet skin, and you blush hotly again at the sound of your own wetness filling the air.

"Look at that pretty pussy," Jude rasps, his voice deep and rough as he looks down over your shoulder at your wet folds "Fucking gorgeous."

His fingers shift to press against you again, and he lets out a pleased sound as he feels your wetness, his voice dropping to a deep whisper. "You love it, don't you?" he rumbles. "I can tell by the way you soak my fingers." He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck again, his breath making your skin prickle.

"Yes," you moan softly, your eyes drifting closed at the pleasure of his fingers against you.

Jude groans in response, his hand tightening around your hip as his fingers stroke against you faster. The feeling is so good that you can’t hold back your high-pitched sounds.

"Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?" he rasps against the skin of your neck, his fingers finding your clit with a sure press. The pleasure is so intense that you cry out at the sensation, your legs quivering as his thumb begins to rub against you with slow circles.

"Yeah?" Jude whispers in your ear, his voice low and husky. "Give it to me, baby." His voice is like liquid honey against your skin as his fingers shift, two of them sliding up to circle your clit in tight motions, the pad of his thumb rubbing against you in a steady, soft press.

You're so wet that you can hear the sloppy sound of him touching you, his palm cupped around your mound to shield it from the cool air of the room. You can tell he likes it, too; his breath is hot against your neck, and he groans roughly at the feeling of you in his hand.

The contrast between the heat of his palm and the chill of the air makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way his fingers are lazily stroking through your slickness, his touch teasing, reverent.

“God,” Jude groans, the sound raw, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “You hear that, sweetheart?” His voice is heavy with something dark and sweet, something that makes your stomach flip. “So fucking wet for me.”

You let out a tiny whimper, embarrassed but unable to deny how much you like the way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You try to close your thighs instinctively, but he doesn’t let you, his hand pressing you open again with a quiet chuckle.

“No, no, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, your face burning, and he exhales a quiet curse before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Can I stick a finger in, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, like honey, like he already knows the answer. He presses the tip of his middle finger against your entrance, just barely there, waiting, teasing.

You gasp at the sensation, your hips arching against his hand without thinking, seeking more. You don’t even realize how eager you are until you hear the sharp breath he takes in, feel the way his other arm tightens around your waist, holding you flush against him.

“That’s a yes?” Jude teases, but his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back.

You nod, swallowing thickly, and then his finger presses inside you, sinking in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open in the most delicious way. Your breath stutters, a soft, helpless sound escaping you as your body adjusts to the intrusion, and Jude groans in response, his face pressing against your hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost pained. “You’re so tight, baby.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you as he strokes his finger in and out, curling it slightly with each movement. The sensation is foreign but intoxicating, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body with every slow, deliberate thrust.

His lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he moves, his breath fanning over you in hot, uneven bursts. “Little virgin pussy just for me,” he whispers against your skin, and the words send a rush of something heady and desperate straight to your core.

Your body clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans at the feeling, his whole body shuddering behind you. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.”

You don’t mean to, but the way he’s touching you, the way his palm is dragging against your clit every time his fingers move, it’s too much. Your body reacts on instinct, tightening around him again, and he curses under his breath, his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder as if he needs something to ground himself.

“Jude,” you whimper, unsure of what you’re asking for, only knowing that you need more.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and then he’s slipping another finger inside you, filling you even more, stretching you in a way that feels impossibly good. His other hand slides under your shirt, palms up your stomach until he finds your breast, cupping it gently, his thumb rubbing over your sensitive nipple. “You’re taking me so well,” he praises, voice thick with adoration.

The combination of it all—the heat of his body, the skill of his fingers, the sweetness in his voice—is overwhelming, and you can feel something building, coiling tight in the pit of your stomach, desperate to break free.

He can tell. Of course, he can.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jude murmurs against your skin, his fingers moving faster, his palm pressing just the right way against your clit. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna come for me?”

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice dripping with pride, and the praise sends you spiraling.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembling as your release washes through you.

"Oh, God!" You cry out, Jude’s name falling from your lips in a breathless moan, and he groans, holding you tightly as he works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you’re completely spent, boneless in his arms.

You don’t realize how loud you were until the room falls into a thick silence, the only sound left is your heavy breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets.

Jude presses a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your head, his fingers slipping out of you with a wet pop, and you whimper at the emptiness, the oversensitivity. He shushes you gently, soothing you with soft touches, sweet kisses.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your hair. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Your heart is still pounding in your chest, your body still tingling, but all you can focus on is the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath against your back.

For the first time in your life, you feel like you’re seeing color.

"That good, huh?," Jude murmurs as he pulls his fingers from between your legs, sliding them up to cup your pussy possessively with a slow rub. Then he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a quiet groan of pleasure as you watch, your breath catching in your throat at the sight. His eyes locks on yours, the heat between you palpable as you gasp.

You nod, your cheeks flushing as he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his palm.

"Tastes so fucking good too," he mutters, his voice dark with emotion. He drops his head to press a kiss to your neck, your collarbone, his hands slipping up to grip your shoulders firmly.

It's like a switch had been flipped inside you—And all you know is that you never want to go without feeling that again.

You're still breathing fast, your heart still pounding in your ears, "God damn, baby. You're gonna be the end of me."

***********

Pleasure has had a whole new meaning for you since that night.

And Jude is relentless. Ever the indulger.

There are moments when it feels like he can't keep his hands off of you at all. It's like he's gone feral.

Like the other day when you were cooking dinner, and you were wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top that barely covered your ass.

You were leaning over to stir the pot of pasta, completely focused on your task, until you felt Jude’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you back against him. His chest was warm, solid, and you felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing against your back before his hands slid up to cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly with a low groan.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured against your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Walkin’ around like this, actin’ like I won’t do anything about it.”

Your breath hitched as he rolled his hips against your ass, making you gasp. “J-Jude, I’m cooking.”

“Mhm.” He hummed lazily, fingers toying with your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. “And I’m hungry for something else.”

That ended with him eating you out for the first time, right there on the kitchen counter. An experience unlike any other. The way his tongue moved against you, how his fingers rubbed over your clit as he lapped at you—fuck. Just thinking about it makes your cheeks flush and your panties wet.

Then there was the time you fell asleep in his lap while watching a movie at his place.

You woke up to his hands between your legs. He wasn’t even doing anything, just keeping his hand there, warm and possessive. When you stirred and gave him a sleepy, questioning look, he just smirked down at you, dimples flashing.

“S’ mine,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if you belonged to him in every possible way.

And, god, the way he looks at you sometimes. Like he’s starving. Like he’s memorizing every inch of you. Like he’s still in disbelief that you’re his.

Right now you're at his apartment getting ready for your picnic date. You've decided to spend the summer with him since going home is out of the question for you this year. You're super excited to go on this picnic. It’s a surprise, so you have no idea where you’re going. But, from the way Jude looks, you’re pretty sure it's going to be great. He's practically bouncing in excitement.

Jude’s apartment smells like sandalwood and something faintly citrusy, a scent that clings to his skin, to the soft cotton of his hoodie, to the air around you. You’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, smoothing out the fabric of your sundress, your heart fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement that makes your fingers tremble just a little.

Behind you, Jude is practically bouncing on his heels, barely containing his excitement. It’s endearing, the way he can hardly stay still, like a golden retriever about to go on a walk.

“You almost ready, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice warm, teasing.

You catch his gaze in the mirror—he’s watching you with an expression that makes your stomach tighten, makes heat rise to your cheeks. The way he looks at you, dark eyes smoldering with something unspoken, always makes you feel like he’s seeing more than just what’s on the surface. Like he’s memorizing you.

“I—I think so,” you say softly, reaching for your cardigan, but before you can grab it, Jude steps in behind you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His fingers brush over your bare shoulders, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t need this,” he murmurs, lips so close to your ear that you feel the warmth of his breath. “It’s warm out.”

You swallow hard, your skin prickling under his touch. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the worst part is that he enjoys it—loves the way you get all shy and flustered under his attention.

“I might get cold later,” you mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

Jude grins against your hair, his arms slipping around your waist, pulling you back against him. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.”

Your breath catches. The way he says it, so effortlessly, like a promise wrapped in silk, makes you dizzy.

“Jude…”

“Mm?”

“I—I thought we were leaving?” you manage, heart pounding.

He laughs, nuzzling into your neck, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. “We are. But you keep distracting me.”

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, and you don’t trust yourself to say anything without making a complete fool of yourself, so you just push lightly at his arms. He chuckles but lets you go, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. But you really do look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You duck your head, smiling despite yourself. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You shake your head at him, but the warmth in his gaze, the sincerity laced in his words, makes your heart swell.

As you gather your things, Jude grabs the picnic basket, still humming under his breath, his excitement infectious. He won’t tell you where you’re going—he’s been annoyingly secretive about it all morning—but from the way he keeps stealing glances at you, like he’s holding onto some grand secret, you know it’s going to be something special.

The car ride is filled with soft music and Jude’s hand resting comfortably on your thigh, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your skin. Every now and then, he glances at you, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips whenever he catches you sneaking a look at him.

“Excited?” he asks.

You nod, fingers twisting together in your lap. “Yeah. I love surprises.”

Jude grins, squeezing your thigh. “Good. ‘Cause you’re gonna love this one.”

The drive takes longer than you expected, but you don’t mind. With Jude, time always seems to melt away, the world outside shrinking until it’s just the two of you, wrapped in a little bubble of quiet intimacy.

When he finally pulls up to the destination, your breath catches. The sun is beginning to dip in the sky, casting everything in soft golden hues, and in front of you is a secluded little meadow, framed by towering trees. It looks like something out of a painting, untouched and serene.

“Oh,” you breathe, stepping out of the car, eyes wide. “Jude… it’s beautiful.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Yeah? You like it?”

You nod, unable to find the right words.

“I wanted it to be special,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “For you.”

Your throat tightens at that, and you turn in his arms, looking up at him. The sunlight catches in his eyes, turning them into molten honey, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

“Jude…”

His fingers tilt your chin up, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” You swoon at how he still asks.

You don’t even have to answer. You lift onto your toes, closing the space between you, and he meets you halfway, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, filled with all the things he doesn’t need to say out loud.

When you finally pull back, breathless and warm, he smiles against your lips. “Told you you’d love it.”

You laugh, heart full, and let him lead you toward the picnic he’s set up under the trees, the blanket spread out beneath the stars. It’s so romantic you could cry.

Jude wasn’t lying when he said you’d love it.

The picnic setup is nothing short of breathtaking. A thick, cozy blanket is spread over the grass, weighed down at the corners with a wicker basket, a bottle of wine, and a few lit lanterns that flicker warmly against the encroaching twilight. A small tent is pitched just a few feet away, its entrance left open, revealing plush pillows and more blankets inside. Everything about it feels intimate, private, like your own little world hidden away from everything else.

And Jude—God, Jude looks so pleased with himself, hands on his hips, watching your reaction with a boyish grin.

“You really did all this?” you ask softly, still a little stunned, still trying to process just how perfect it all is.

Jude chuckles, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Of course,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. “Wanted to spoil my girl.”

Your face burns at that, heart skipping an entire beat. His girl. It’s ridiculous how much those two little words make you melt, how they settle so easily into your chest like they’ve always belonged there.

“I—I love it,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

His lips graze the sensitive spot just behind your ear, and you shiver, hands gripping his forearms instinctively. “You can thank me later,” he teases, his voice laced with something dark, something promising.

Your breath hitches. “Jude.”

He just chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your neck before pulling away. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s eat before you get all shy on me.”

He’s right—you’re already flustered, barely holding yourself together as you kneel on the blanket. Jude joins you, opening the basket to pull out an assortment of food. There’s fresh fruit, sandwiches, some of your favorite snacks, and even ingredients for s’mores.

“You thought of everything,” you muse, watching as he uncorks the bottle of wine with practiced ease.

“‘Course I did,” he says, winking. “Gotta impress my girl.”

Your stomach flutters. You shake your head, biting your lip as you take the glass he hands you, trying to suppress the ridiculous smile threatening to take over your face.

The two of you eat leisurely, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as it always does. Jude makes you laugh until your sides ache, teasing you in that way only he can—flirty, playful, but always affectionate.

It’s easy. Being with him.

Eventually, the stars come out, a sprawling canvas of light stretching endlessly above you. You lay back on the blanket, staring up in awe, while Jude props himself up on one elbow, watching you instead.

“You brought your telescope, yeah?” he asks.

You nod, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Mhm. It’s in the car.”

Jude smirks. “Think you could teach me some constellations?”

You hum, considering. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On how well you listen.”

He grins, leaning in, his face dangerously close to yours. “I always listen to you, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. His hand finds your hip, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns through the fabric of your dress. “Jude…”

“Mm?”

“You’re distracting me.”

He laughs, low and deep. “Am I?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Very much.”

Jude’s fingers tighten on your hip, just slightly, just enough for you to feel the possessiveness in the gesture. “That’s funny,” he murmurs, dipping his head so that his lips ghost over yours, not quite kissing you, just teasing. “Because you’ve been distracting me all damn night.”

Your pulse stutters. “I—I have?”

Jude exhales sharply, like he can’t believe you’d even ask. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your hands grip at his hoodie, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe through the sudden onslaught of heat pooling low in your stomach. “Jude,” you whisper, barely able to get his name out.

He groans, like you saying his name alone is enough to drive him insane, and then he finally closes the distance, kissing you deep and slow, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.

And you let him. Because it’s Jude. Because you trust him. Because he makes you feel safe even when he makes you feel like you’re coming undone.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, dizzy. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, his fingers still gripping your hip like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, but he’s smiling when he says it, and you can’t help but smile too.

“You started it,” you tease, voice barely above a whisper.

Jude laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.” He presses a quick, final kiss to your lips before rolling onto his back, staring up at the sky. “Go on, then. Teach me something.”

You giggle, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Okay,” you say softly, squeezing his hand once. “See that bright one over there?”

Jude hums, squeezing back. “Yeah.”

“That’s Vega.”

He turns his head to look at you, eyes full of something unbearably fond. “Is it the prettiest star?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Well, I—”

“Because if it is,” he interrupts, grinning, “then it makes sense why it reminds me of you.”

Your heart stutters, cheeks burning, and you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Jude.”

He laughs, warm and rich, pulling you closer until you’re curled into his side, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear.

You stay like that for a couple minutes, his fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you. You feel safe here. Cherished.

And you make your decision.

“You’re quiet,” Jude murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. His voice is low, roughened by the night air, by the intimacy wrapped around you both like a second skin.

You swallow, nerves bubbling in your stomach. You’ve been thinking about this for weeks now, letting the thought sit in the corners of your mind, letting it grow into something more solid, more certain.

And now, in the golden glow of this moment, with the stars watching and Jude holding you like you’re his world, you finally gather the courage to say it.

“Jude…” Your voice is small, hesitant. You shift slightly so you can look up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I—I think I’m ready.”

His brows furrow, lips parting slightly as he processes your words. Then his expression softens, something warm and deep flickering in his gaze. “Ready for what, sweetheart?” He knows what you're asking for. But he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, so he waits for you to confirm.

You bite your lip, fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. It takes everything in you to hold his gaze, but you do, because you need him to know that you mean this. That you want this.

“For… us. For that.” Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure you must look ridiculous, but Jude just watches you, patient as ever. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my first.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you with an unreadable expression, his grip on you tightening slightly. Then, slowly, his thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch feather-light.

“Are you sure?” His voice is barely above a whisper, careful and deliberate, like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You nod, pressing your cheek into his palm. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Something shifts in his gaze—something deep, something intense. His jaw tightens like he’s holding something back, but then he exhales, his hand slipping from your face to intertwine with yours.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, baby.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Let's go inside then.”

You nod and he helps you up, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. Just holds your hand as he leads you toward the tent, zipping it open and stepping aside to let you in first.

The inside is cozy, lit only by the soft glow of the lanterns Jude set up earlier. The air is warm, thick with something unspoken, something electric. You settle onto the pile of blankets and pillows, watching as Jude kneels in front of you, his hands resting on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice barely above a breath, as if the words are meant only for you and the universe.

You duck your head, suddenly shy, but Jude doesn’t let you hide. He reaches out, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your lips. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, exhaling softly. “I know.”

His lips find yours then, slow and tender, like he’s savoring the moment. His hands are gentle as they slide up your arms, over your shoulders, down your back. There’s no rush, no urgency—just soft touches, soft kisses, soft whispers.

The world outside fades into nothingness, leaving only the two of you. The stars, once so distant, now feel like they're watching closely, witnesses to something both innocent and deeply intimate. His kiss deepens slowly, the pressure of his lips soft and coaxing, as if he's waiting for you to lead, to guide him through this moment. His hands are everywhere, but always with a reverence, like he's treating every inch of you as something precious.

You feel your pulse quicken under his touch, the fluttering of nerves mixing with something else, something sweet. He can sense it, too—how your breath catches every time he moves, every time his fingers graze your skin.

“Hey,” Jude murmurs against your lips, his voice a touch rougher now, laced with need. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “It's just me, okay? Always just me.”

You nod, swallowing hard, but Jude's fingers tighten on your waist like he needs more assurance. Like he needs to hear it from you.

“Just you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude's eyes flash with something like triumph, and his lips find yours again in a kiss that's soft, deep, devouring.

Jude is gentle, almost unbearably so, as he slowly tilts you back onto the pillows. The world seems to narrow to just the two of you—the rustling of the blankets beneath you, the warmth of his hands steadying your body, the quiet exhale of his breath fanning against your skin. Your hair spreads out like a halo against the sheets, and Jude just stares for a moment, his gaze roaming over you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

"Fuck baby, look at you," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. "You don't even know how pretty you are, do you?"

You swallow hard, looking at him through wet clumpy lashes, the warmth of him overwhelming you already. Jude bites his bottom lip at the sight of you already so fucked out for him. You're so fucking pretty and he can't wait to ruin you.

Jude’s weight shifts over you as he lowers himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. He’s everywhere—his scent, his warmth, the solid weight of him pressing into you in all the places you’re most sensitive. You feel him, all of him, and your lashes flutter as you try not to tremble beneath him.

His hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, his fingers catching the hem of your dress. He pushes the fabric up inch by inch, exposing more of your skin to the cool air, and then he makes a sound—low, almost pained.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he breathes, dipping his head to your neck. He kisses you there, soft at first, then with more intent, dragging his lips over the delicate skin until he reaches your collarbone. His mouth is hot, open-mouthed, tasting you, lingering. The smell of you putting him in a haze. "Need to taste you. Gonna let me? Mhm?"

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You nod, but the motion is shaky, your lips parted as you struggle to find your voice. "Y-yeah," you whisper, barely more than breath.

Jude smiles against your skin, finding your shyness utterly endearing. Even after all this time you're still so fucking cute. "That’s my girl," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lower.

You feel them at the edge of your panties, feel the soft tug as he starts to slide them down. Your breath hitches, and Jude pauses immediately, glancing up at you. His eyes are warm, searching.

"Hey," he murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your navel. "You okay?"

You nod again, but he doesn’t move right away. He watches you, patient, waiting for you to really settle before continuing. It’s so incredibly tender that your heart squeezes in your chest.

When he finally does pull your panties away, his breath catches. His hands part your thighs, thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there, and he exhales like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. He has.

"Fuck, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "Such a pretty pussy."

Your fingers curl into the sheets as he works his way lower, his lips tracing paths of fire down your legs, teasing, deliberate. You’re already shaking by the time his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your mound.

"Can I kiss it, baby?" His voice is low, dark, laced with something sinful, something that makes your entire body burn.

You can’t even speak. Your lips part, but no words come out, just a soft whimper that makes Jude grin against your skin. He loves this—the way you melt for him, the way you look at him with wide, innocent eyes like you can’t believe what’s happening.

"You’ve gotta tell me, princess," he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles. "Need to hear you say it."

"Y-yeah," you stammer, barely audible, but it’s enough.

Jude groans, his lips pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh before finally, finally—

The first touch of his mouth is pure ecstacy. You gasp, your body jolting against the bed, and Jude hums in approval. His tongue moves slowly, languidly, savoring every inch of you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. You are.

"God, baby," he groans into you, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Taste so fucking good. Could stay here all night."

His hands slide beneath your thighs, pulling you closer, tilting your hips just right so he can get even deeper. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, and your entire body tenses. Your fingers shoot to his hair, gripping onto the dark coils as if they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Jude chuckles, and the sound is pure sin. "That good, huh?"

You let out a broken whimper, your head tipping back, your cheeks burning. He’s watching you—God, he’s watching you. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, dark and hungry, and the sight alone is enough to make your stomach twist with want.

"Look at you," he murmurs, licking into you again, slow and deep. "So fucking pretty when you let go for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed, but he’s not having it. One of his hands moves up your body, sliding beneath your dress until he finds your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"Don’t hide from me, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "Wanna see you. Wanna watch you fall apart."

And you do.

With every stroke of his tongue, every whispered praise against your skin, and wet slick sound of his mouth, your body coils tighter, your breath coming in sharp little pants. It feels like you’re being pulled apart at the seams, every nerve on fire, and it’s terrifying, overwhelming, but Jude—he’s there, holding you, grounding you, whispering sweet nothings against your pussy.

When he flicks his tongue over your clit once more, you lose it.

Your body convulses, your thighs squeezing around him, and Jude holds you through it all, his tongue never ceasing its motion. He groans against your skin, his hand gripping your thigh hard, but you barely feel it. All you can do is sob his name, your head tipping back in a silent scream, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Jude stays with you through it all—licking, sucking, slowly bringing you down from the high. He doesn’t stop until your body finally relaxes against the mattress, limp and warm and pliant. Then he moves up your body in a slow, languid crawl, lips dragging over your skin, kissing everything he passes. His fingers find your hair, stroking it back from your face, and then his mouth meets yours.

You're still reeling from what he's done, from the way he’s touched you, taken you apart like he was born to do it. Your body is thrumming, heat pooling low in your belly, and yet Jude’s kiss is gentle—softer than you expect, coaxing you back to reality, back to him.

He tastes like you—salt and sweetness mixed into something heady and intoxicating. The taste of him makes you whimper against his lips, and he swallows the sound like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours, lips barely ghosting over your mouth as he speaks. "Still with me?"

You hum, nodding shyly, your fingers fisting the sheets beside you.

Jude grins against your lips, his voice turning teasing. "Good girl."

His words send a ripple of warmth through you, but before you can say anything, he leans back, arms flexing as he peels his shirt off in one smooth motion. The sight of him, shirtless and breathtaking, has your breath hitching. His body is all lean muscle, defined and golden brown. Spit pools in your mouth, and you have to swallow quickly to stop from embarrassing yourself.

Jude notices. Of course, he does. His smirk is knowing, his dark eyes full of mischief as he tosses the shirt aside.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" he teases, voice dipping low, sinful.

Your face burns, but you can’t look away.

His laughter is soft, affectionate. "You’re too cute," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek before dipping lower, reaching for the hem of your dress. His knuckles graze your skin, making you shiver. "Let’s get this off you."

Before you can protest, the fabric is slipping over your head and then—then you’re bare for him.

The moment stretches, thick with anticipation. You shift slightly, suddenly shy under his gaze, but Jude just looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, like he’s afraid to blink in case you disappear.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice rough, reverent. "You're so fucking pretty."

You barely have time to register his words before his lips are back on yours—hotter this time, more insistent. There’s no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s trying to consume every last bit of you.

You gasp against his mouth, arching into him, needing more, and he groans, gripping your thigh and pulling it over his hip. The new angle has you feeling him more, the thick press of his cock through his pants sending sparks of desire shooting straight to your core.

"Jude," you whisper, breathless.

He presses his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. "I know, baby," he murmurs, rolling his hips against yours. The friction is maddening, sinful. You moan, and he catches the sound with his mouth, swallowing it greedily.

"You're so soft," he whispers, his hands roaming, fingertips dragging over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. "So warm." Another roll of his hips, slow and deliberate. "I need you, baby."

His words send a shiver down your spine, heat curling deep inside you.

Jude’s mouth finds your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to your chest. His hands follow, palms covering your breasts, kneading softly before his thumbs brush over your nipples. The sensation is too much, not enough, all at once.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, clutching him.

"You're so sensitive," Jude mutters, voice thick with want. He pinches one of your nipples lightly, watching as you jolt beneath him. "Makes me so fucking hard."

His words are filthy, but instead of making you shy away, they send another wave of heat pooling between your legs.

Your eyes flicker downward, and you see it—see the thick outline of him straining against his pants. Your breath catches.

"Take them off," you whisper, surprising yourself.

Jude stills, his gaze snapping to yours, surprised. Then, he smirks, but there’s something darker, hungrier beneath it. "Yeah?"

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he kicks off his pants and boxer briefs, and then he’s bare before you.

Your breath stutters. He’s—God.

Thick, veiny and oh so hard.

Your thighs press together instinctively, and Jude notices. His smirk grows, but there’s a softness in his eyes, too. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your nose.

But then—

"Shit." He suddenly freezes, his face scrunching in frustration. "I don’t have condoms."

You blink, his words slow to register through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Jude groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think we’d be doing this tonight."

You hesitate, then swallow your nerves. "It’s okay," you murmur. You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the warmth, the weight of him in your palm. He sucks in a sharp breath. "I’m on birth control."

"Sweetheart," he groans, his hips jerking slightly into your hand. "Don’t do that."

But you do. You stroke him slowly, experimentally, fascinated by the way his breathing stutters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s barely holding himself together.

Jude curses under his breath, his head dropping to your shoulder. "You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up."

You hum softly, dragging your thumb over the tip, spreading the precum leaking out. He chokes on a groan, his hands gripping your hips tight.

You’ve never seen him like this—so undone, so desperate.

And God, you love it.

"Please, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with need. "Squeeze tighter for me."

You bite your lip as you obey, watching him through your lashes. He’s so big, so hard for you. Your walls clenches just thinking about it, a rush of slick flooding your core.

Jude notices. His eyes flick down to where your thighs press together, and then the last of his control snaps.

He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from him.

His hands slide down, tracing the curve of your waist before gripping your thighs, spreading them open carefully.

"Tell me if it hurts, sweetheart," he murmurs, reaching down to stroke himself. He brushes his lips over your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, soothing you in every way he can. "I’ll stop if you need me to. I’ll take care of you, I promise."

You believe him. You always have.

Then, he shifts, and you feel him at your entrance, his heavy gaze locked between your thighs. A nervous breath hitches in your throat, your fingers fisting into the sheets. Jude notices, of course he does, and his lips curve into a teasing smirk.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and sweet like honey. “I got you.”

You nod, though your body remains tense, overwhelmed by his closeness, by the way his touch ignites something deep inside you. Then, he moves the head of his cock over your clit, slow and deliberate, rubbing lazy circles that have your breath stuttering. The sensation is new, foreign yet delicious, and just as you’re adjusting to the pleasure, he taps it against your swollen bud, making you jolt.

A soft gasp escapes you, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans, shaking his head as he watches how his thick head glides easily between your slick folds. The sound it makes makes you bury you face in his shoulder “You’re so wet, baby. All fucking mine.”

His words send a rush of heat through your body, your cheeks burning as you turn your face to the side, too shy to meet his gaze. But Jude isn’t having it. He cups your chin gently, coaxing you to look at him.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

The hunger in his voice makes you clench and he groans at the feeling. Then, he’s pressing in, the thick head pushing past your entrance, stretching you in a way that makes you suck in a sharp breath. Your lashes flutter, but Jude’s there, his eyes locked on yours, his lips brushing reassuring kisses over your nose, your cheek.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, baby.”

He slides in further, slow, slow. You feel yourself spreading around his girth, the feeling of fullness intense but not quite painful. The dull pressure borders on discomfort, but Jude doesn’t rush you. He moves slowly, carefully, inch by inch, pausing to let you adjust, his hands soothing over your sides.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he praises, his lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, down to your throat. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You exhale shakily, trying to relax as he pushes deeper. There’s a slight burn, your body resisting the intrusion, but the way Jude watches you—so patient, so gentle—eases the tension. He strokes your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles into your skin.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. His voice is wrecked, thick with restraint. “God, you feel so fucking good. So warm, so tight.”

Your nails dig into his back as he finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely. A whimper leaves your lips, overwhelmed by the stretch, by the feeling of being utterly, entirely full. Jude stills immediately, concern flickering across his face.

“Too much?” he asks, his thumb brushing your cheek.

You shake your head quickly, blinking up at him. “No—just… full,” you admit breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softens, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there.

He doesn’t move, just holds you, letting you adjust at your own pace. His lips find your neck, trailing slow, reverent kisses down to your collarbone. His hands never stop moving, caressing your thighs, your hips, your waist—everywhere. It helps, the ache easing into something warmer, something better.

You shift slightly beneath him, testing the sensation, and a tiny moan escapes you at the delicious friction. Jude groans, his fingers tightening on your hips like he’s barely holding on.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight. Pussy feels like heaven, baby.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, making you squirm in embarrassment. You bury your face against his neck, but he only chuckles, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Don’t be shy,” he coaxes, his voice laced with amusement. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart.”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them gently as he pulls out, slow and careful, before sinking back in. The friction sends a shiver up your spine, something new and intoxicating unfurling in your belly. Your breath stutters, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Jude watches you closely, his eyes dark and heated. Then, his lips twitch into a knowing grin.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “You like that, baby?”

Your cheeks flame, but the pleasure is too much to deny. You nod, barely able to form words, and Jude groans, dropping his head to your collarbone as he fights to keep himself together.

“Fuck, this pussy,” the last sound drags out as his jaw goes slack. “fucking made for me.”

His thrusts remain slow, deep, every roll of his hips sending a ripple of pleasure through you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, a sensation you can’t begin to describe. Every brush of his skin against yours sends sparks of sensation through your body.

It’s not long before you find yourself moving with him, arching beneath him, searching for more. He hums in approval, his teeth nipping gently at your neck as he thrusts into you deeper, harder. You cry out, a high whimper, and Jude swallows it greedily.

You’re completely lost in the sensation of him, the way he moves above you like a dream, like a vision. The way his lips drag over your skin, the soft praise against your ear, the heavy weight of him on top of you. It all feels so good, so overwhelming, that you find yourself clinging to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders like he’s the only thing that exists in this moment.

Jude growls, his mouth finding yours as he kisses you hard, deep. He fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, rougher than he ever thought he’d be with you. But you—it’s like you were made for him, like your body was built for this, for his cock.

And it makes him crazy.

“Fuuuckk,” he rasps into your mouth, your lips barely parting for words. “Gonna cum for me? Hm?”

He slips a hand down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He strokes it, hard, slow circles that make you cry out. Your walls clench around him as he rubs you faster—it’s like the best thing you’ve ever felt.

And then…

"Oh, fuck! Jude!" you cry out, your back concaving into him as his tip grazes a spot that has tears spilling down your cheeks. You can only describe it as pure ecstasy and he’s not letting up. “Oh, God. Oh, God”

Jude curses, his hips moving faster, thrusting into your gspot over and over again. You’re sobbing now, "Found it."Jude whispers, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face as he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot over and over. You're getting so close, your body’s a live wire, waiting to snap.

“Jude—fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” you sob.

His hand tightens on your hip, his fingers bruising. “Then cum, baby,” he grunts, his own body tense, close. “Let me feel it. Cum for me, sweetheart. Fucking milk my cock.”

The filthy words send you over the edge, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you, a force so intense it steals the air from your lungs. Your fingers clutch at Jude’s broad shoulders, nails pressing into his flushed skin, as a broken sob falls from your lips. The pleasure is overwhelming—too much, too deep, too consuming—but you surrender to it, trembling as your body spasms around him.

"That’s it, love," Jude groans, his voice rough with desperation, his fingers tangling with yours as he pins your hands above your head, holding you there, helpless beneath him. “Jude,” you gasp, voice trembling, eyes glazed over with pleasure.

The sight of you—flushed, trembling, your lips parted in a breathless moan—Your slick gummy walls spasm around him, clenching tight, and it’s all Jude needs to follow you into the abyss of bliss.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his head tipping back as his thrusts turn frantic, desperate, chasing his own pleasure. You watch as his eyes roll back and his jaw goes slack as his mouth forms an 'O'. “Fuckkkk,” he grits out, his entire body shuddering. “That’s it, princess. Love this fuckin’ pussy.”

His hips stutter, his thick cock jerks inside you once, twice, then he’s gone—spilling deep inside of you with a strangled moan. You feel it—the warmth of him, thick and hot, filling you up completely. His body trembles against yours as he collapses, his chest pressing against your own, heartbeat wild and erratic.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the cool night air brushing over your sweat-slicked skin. The world outside the tent is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets or the distant rustling of leaves.

Jude’s nose brushes against your temple, his lips following in a lazy path along your hairline, down your cheek, over your jaw. He peppers soft kisses across your skin, like he can’t bear to stop touching you. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

You blink up at him, your vision still hazy, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. And then, unexpectedly, a giggle bubbles past your lips.

Jude stirs, lifting his head to look down at you with a lopsided grin. His honey brown eyes are filled with amusement, mischief, and something far softer—something that makes your stomach flip.

“What are you laughin’ at, princess?” His voice is hoarse, still rough with pleasure and a hint of exhaustion. His thumb strokes slow circles over your hipbone.

You shake your head, a little breathless, still giddy. “That was…” You pause, searching for the right words, but nothing feels like enough. Your cheeks burn as you hide your face against his shoulder. “I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Jude chuckles, the deep sound vibrating against your skin. “I think I do.”

You peek up at him, curiosity flickering in your dazed gaze. “Yeah?”

He hums, pressing another slow, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to study your face, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin

“It was,” he starts, dragging the moment out, watching the way your lips part slightly, the way your lashes flutter. He smirks. “Pretty fuckin’ perfect.”

Your blush deepens, and you swat at his chest, but your hand has no real strength behind it. “Jude,” you whine, embarrassed, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to your palm, then your fingertips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. “You’re perfect.”

Your heart stumbles, skipping a beat before thudding heavily against your ribs. You swallow, suddenly shy, suddenly overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his gaze.

The way he's looking at you now. It's too much.

“I…” Your throat feels tight, words catching. But Jude just smiles, like he understands, like he doesn’t need you to say anything at all.

He shifts, rolling onto his side making you wince as you remember he's still inside you, bringing you with him so that you’re tucked against his chest, your leg draped over his hip, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His fingers trace lazy patterns down your spine, soothing, grounding.

It's so intimate; knowing that's he's inside you, the warmth of him filling you completely as you involuntarily clench around him. The knowledge of his cum still inside you and the slight burn from the stretch that's making your hips sore.

Jude groans quietly, his head tipping back at the overstimulation, his eyes falling closed as he tries to calm himself down. “Hold on, love, just a second.” He hisses out a breath and reaches down to grasp himself at the base before gently pulling out, whispering sweet nothings and soft apologies at the wince you let out.

The feeling of emptiness is immediate, your walls clenching, but you say nothing, just bite your lip and look away as Jude reaches for his shirt. He wipes himself clean before he getting up. You watch with confusion as he slips on his boxers and slides out of the tent. But it's not long before he's back. He crawls back inside with a wet cloth, a small bowl of fruits you packed earlier and your water bottle. He sits down next to you with a soft smile, the cloth held out in his hands. Your cheeks grow warm as you realize what he’s doing.

“Spread your legs for me, princess .” His voice is soft, gentle. He waits patiently for you to do as he asks, and the way his eyes soften as you listen… It makes tears well up in your eyes. To be taken care of like this—is beyond what you expected. He cleans you gently before he sets the cloth down and reaches for the bowl of fruit.

His eyes light up as he holds a grape to your lips and you accept it with a giggle. He hands you a slice of apple next, and you take a bite, smiling softly at the sight of his relaxed expression. It's like nothing else exists, like only you two are here in the moment. After you finish your snack, he holds out your water bottle and you thank him as you take a long drink.

Jude watches you with something dangerously close to adoration, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s memorizing every little thing—your flushed cheeks, your sleepy eyes, the way your lips glisten as you sip from the bottle. His fingers trail absentmindedly over your thigh, warm and soothing, tracing lazy patterns onto your skin.

“You okay, love?” he murmurs, his voice thick with something soft, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You nod, still shy, still unsure what to do with all the emotions swirling inside you.

Jude must sense it, must see the way you hesitate, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He tilts your chin up with the barest touch of his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his expression unreadable.

"You're thinkin' too much," he teases gently. "Wanna tell me what's goin' on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You hesitate, your throat bobbing as you swallow. But under his gaze, so open and patient, you find yourself whispering, "Just… I don’t know how to explain it." Your fingers toy with the hem of the blanket, suddenly fascinated by the texture. "I just feel… full."

His brows lift, and for a second, a wicked smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “Full, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you catch the meaning, and you smack his arm with an indignant squeak. "Not like that, Jude!"

His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, rich and warm, and you feel it against your cheek where you’ve buried your face again, hiding. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against him with ease, his lips brushing against your temple.

"Alright, alright," he murmurs, amusement still thick in his voice. "I’ll behave."

You huff, but the way his fingers thread through your hair, his touch slow and methodical, makes your body melt against him. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, taking his time with each one like he’s savoring the taste of you.

“You feel full,” he echoes, more serious now, as if he’s trying to understand. "Full of what, love?"

Your lashes flutter as you blink up at him, "I love you, Jude Bellingham ."

His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, but then a softness takes over, and his arms tighten, his hands cupping your face with such gentle care.

“Y/N Y/L/N” His voice is low, raspy, filled with something deep and real. "I love you too. More than I ever thought it was possible to feel. You’re my everything, Y/N. I never wanna spend another night without you in my arms. Every day without you feels too long, too much, too wrong. Will you marry me?"

The world slows, the weight of his words sinking into your bones, melting into the marrow. You blink, stunned, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs as your heart hammers wildly against your chest.

He shifts slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, the other reaching into the pocket of his discarded jeans. You watch, wide-eyed, as he pulls out a small velvet box. The soft glow of the lantern casts golden hues on his face, highlighting the nervous anticipation in his warm brown eyes.

“Jude…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your fingers trembling as you reach up, touching his cheek as if to confirm it’s real and not some dream spun from the afterglow of your love.

He smiles, tilting his head just slightly into your touch, his thumb tracing gentle circles against the small of your back. “Yeah, love. It’s real,” he murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “Been carryin’ this around for weeks, waitin’ for the right time. And I realized… there’s no better time than right now.”

He flicks open the box, revealing a delicate ring, the band slender and elegant, a diamond nestled in its center, catching the lantern light and scattering it in tiny flecks across the canvas of the tent. Your breath catches, tears welling in your eyes, blurring the sight of it.

“Y/N, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, his voice steady, thick with emotion. “I know we haven't been together long, but I can’t live without you. Every single day, you make me happier than I ever thought I deserved. I love you. I love your shy little smiles, the way you tuck your face into my neck when you get flustered. I love the way you look at me like I hung the stars, when really, you’re the one that lights up my whole world.”

A soft, overwhelmed sound escapes your lips, something between a laugh and a sob, and he grins, his dimples carving into his cheeks.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” he adds quickly, as if he’s worried you might feel pressured, as if he can’t bear to see even a hint of hesitation in your eyes. “I just… I want you to know that I’m all in. I wanna be yours for the rest of my life. Whenever you’re ready, whenever you want me—I’m here.”

Your hands shake as you reach for the box, fingers barely brushing the velvet before you shift, pressing forward, wrapping yourself around him as best as you can. Your lips find his—soft, eager, trembling against his own. He catches your breathy gasp with a quiet groan, deepening the kiss, his hands firm at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

When you finally pull away, you’re breathless, your forehead resting against his. “Yes,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, Jude. I want you—I want forever with you.”

The way his face lights up, the way pure joy radiates from him—it steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” His voice wavers just slightly, disbelief laced into the happiness.

You nod fervently, laughing softly as tears slip down your cheeks. “Yes. A million times, yes.”

A sound rumbles in his chest—something between relief and elation—as he slips the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly. And then he’s kissing you again, laughing against your lips, his hands tangling in your hair, his body pressing you back down onto the soft blanket beneath you.

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, love.” His voice is warm, reverent, as his lips trail along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His fingers find your hand, threading through yours, the cool metal of your new ring pressing against his skin. “I swear, I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret saying yes to me.”

You smile, your free hand slipping into his curls, tugging just slightly until he looks up at you, his eyes dark with something deep, something infinite. “I could never regret you, Jude.”

His breath stutters, and then he’s kissing you again, deep and slow, his love spilling from his lips, from the way his hands trace over your skin.

When he finally pulls away, you’re dazed, breathless, your fingers still curled into his like you don’t want him to go too far.

Jude chuckles, resting his forehead against yours again. “Gotta say, camping’s never been this fun before.”

You giggle, and the sound makes something warm bloom in his chest.

“I think I like it too,” you admit, your voice small, “Especially… with you.”

His arms tighten around you, and when he speaks next, his voice is quieter, raw with something unspoken.

“Good. ‘Cause I plan on makin’ a lot more memories with you, princess.” He tilts his head just enough to steal another soft kiss. “Forever and always, huh?”

“Forever and always,” you echo, smiling into the next kiss.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #jude x you #jude bellingham #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jb5 #jb5 x reader

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claramelooo · 2 months ago

Text

WOVEN FATES (8/20)

You guys put so much expectations into this, that i'm even afraid I won't reach them LOL

Thanks so much for your compliments and every words of supports. Thanks for loving Woven Fates.

I hope you can enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Your change in the script is acclaimed by everyone, especially by Agatha.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

Home

The morning warmth seeped through the gaps in the curtains, tinting the room with a soft golden glow. The sheets were smooth against your skin, and their scent still lingered on the pillows and blanket around you—a familiar blend of jasmine, cinnamon, and sandalwood. It was hard to admit, but the scent was becoming familiar to you. Something that was uniquely theirs.

You blinked slowly, trying to dispel the haze of sleep. The room was silent. No lazy laughter from Rio, no sharp remark from Agatha. Only the echoes of everything that had happened the night before swirled in your mind, mingling with the exhaustion that still weighed on your body.

The bed was empty.

The mattress dipped slightly beside you, a trace of someone's weight that had been there but was no longer. You ran your hand over the space, feeling the cool fabric beneath your fingers. The emptiness was unsettling. As if everything had been a dream and, at the same time, too real to ignore.

Swallowing dryly, you slowly sat up, your muscles still sore, your mind foggy. Your gaze found the large bedroom window, the curtains open, revealing the view of Pacific Palisades.

The sun reflected off the mansion's imposing gate, a solid reminder of where you were and who you were with. Outside, everything seemed normal—the vibrant green of the trees, the cloudless sky, the promise of a peaceful day. But inside you, nothing was at peace.

The remnants of last night still vibrated under your skin. Their touch, their gaze, the weight of the words that had been spoken—and those that had lingered in the air. You felt a lump form in your throat.

Taking a deep breath, you ran your hands over your face, trying to dispel the heat rising, the confusion that wrapped around you. Your fingers clenched the sheets, and an insistent thought took over your mind.

Where had they gone?

And why did this feeling fill you so quickly?

The silence of the room weighed heavily, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you wanted to get up or simply sink back into the sheets, into their scent, into everything that had changed since you entered that house.

Then, the abrupt sound of the door opening made your heart leap in your chest.

Rio entered first, carrying a tray full of food—fresh fruit, cereals, delicate breads, and other things you couldn't even name. Her smile was bright, almost mischievous, as if she was having fun at your expense. Agatha came in right after, her expression neutral, but her eyes sharp, assessing you from head to toe as if she wanted to make sure you were still there, still… hers.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Rio sang, placing the tray on the bedside table. "We were about to call a doctor."

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Neither of them mentioned last night. Neither looked at you with the weight of what had happened. It was as if nothing had been said, as if nothing had happened.

So maybe you should act that way too.

"I… did I sleep too long?" Your voice came out rough, and Agatha only raised an eyebrow before sitting in the nearby armchair, crossing her legs with her usual elegance.

"Enough."

You didn’t know if that was an answer or an assessment. But Rio sat beside you, picking up a piece of strawberry and holding it in front of your mouth. "Here. You need to eat."

There was something in the way she did it, something too implicit to be named. You hesitated for a second before accepting it, feeling the sweet flavor burst against your tongue. Something inside you warmed at that simple gesture. The care. The tenderness—you opened your mouth, letting the sweet and tangy taste of the fruit spread across your tongue. Rio smiled, satisfied.

The taste was sweet and comforting, spreading warmth through your tongue and sliding down smoothly. Rio smiled as if she had just won some silent competition. As if you were a frightened little creature that had just decided to trust her.

She looked at Agatha with her chocolate-brown eyes shining, and your heart pounded in your chest.

You weren’t used to this.

Your whole life, you had been forced to be strong. From a very young age, with no one to hold your hand, no one to guide you. Taking on responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, learning too soon that the world was cruel and that trusting others was an expensive luxury.

But now…

Now, you were here, surrounded by something you never knew how to name. Being taken care of. And, strangely, it felt good.

You lowered your gaze, your throat tightening with something you couldn't describe. Agatha’s hands slid through your hair, smoothing the messy strands with an unexpected, lazy touch down your back.

"Eat slowly," she said, her voice softer than you expected. "We wouldn’t want you to choke."

You simply nodded, accepting another piece of fruit from Rio, allowing yourself, for a moment, to simply be small.

"Good girl," she praised, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Your heart gave a small leap. You lowered your head, feeling the heat rise to your face.

The comfortable silence of the Sunday morning settled in the room as you finished your breakfast in bed, the blankets still tangled around you. Rio had already gotten up, but Agatha remained lying beside you, her eyes closed, her lips pursed in what seemed like a sleepy grumble.

You looked out the window, observing the scenery. The sky was clear, light blue, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the mansion’s vast garden. It was a perfect day to go out, to do something different. So, without thinking too much, you broke the lazy silence with a suggestion:

"Can we go out?"

"Go out?" Agatha asked, evident irritation in her tone, as if the word was distasteful.

"Yes, it's so beautiful outside."

Rio took another sip of her coffee, humming.

"And what were you thinking, dear?"

You shifted your gaze to the scenery again, seeing the sun and the sky once more. "Maybe go to the park or the beach… I’d love to."

The answer came immediately, firm and definitive. "Absolutely not."

You blinked, surprised by Agatha’s abrupt refusal. "Why?"

She didn’t respond immediately, lying back on her side of the bed and staring at you with a scrutinizing look. Then, she closed her eyes, turning to the other side, clearly ending the conversation.

Before you could insist, Rio, who had already gotten up and was near the door rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, intervened with her always calm and melodic voice. "You know, darling, if you want to go out, you can come with me to the garden. I wanted to work on the plants today. It’s a beautiful day for that."

Your eyes lit up at the idea. "The garden? I’d love to!"

Rio smiled back at you, her brown eyes dancing with amusement and a certain pride for having found an alternative that wouldn’t provoke Agatha’s resistance. "Great. Go get changed, then. I want to see you with your hands in the dirt."

You got up excitedly, heading to the closet to pick something comfortable. As you chose your clothes, your mind lingered on Agatha’s reaction. The way she had simply refused to go out, without even giving you an explanation, unsettled you. It was a mystery, like so many other things about her.

Rio, on the other hand, seemed so at ease with everything. She loved the garden, the flowers, the wet earth between her fingers. The way she spoke about it made you curious, as if there was something special about it. Maybe, somehow, spending the morning by her side would help you understand a little more about this woman and, perhaps, a little more about yourself too.

As you stepped out of the room, you cast one last glance at Agatha. She was still lying down, eyes closed, but you knew she wasn’t asleep. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she were controlling her own breathing. You wondered what was going through her mind at that moment. And if one day, she would let you know.

The sun was already high in the sky when you and Rio started working in the garden. The scent of damp earth mixed with the perfume of flowers, creating a serene atmosphere. Rio knelt beside you, her fingers skillfully gliding over the stem of a rose as she explained patiently.

"Did you know roses change color depending on the pH of the soil?" she said, her eyes glinting as she dug into the earth with a trowel. "If the soil is more acidic, they tend to turn reddish. If it’s more alkaline, they shift to lighter shades."

You looked at her, intrigued. "So, it’s like they adapt to their environment?"

Rio smiled. "Exactly. Some flowers do it to survive, to adapt. Others… simply reveal more of themselves over time."

There was something about her words that resonated with you. Your fingers idly played with the soil as you tried to organize your thoughts. "You really love this, huh?"

"I do. Taking care of plants, watching them grow, understanding their cycles." Rio turned to you, her gaze soft but attentive. "It reminds me that everything happens in its own time," she said in a wise, enigmatic tone.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Only the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves filled the space between you. Then, suddenly, Rio leaned in closer, her dark eyes locked onto yours.

"Sweetheart, you have something here…" She reached out, wiping the dirt from your cheek, not pulling away an inch, and your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your chest.

"T-thank you…" you whispered softly.

"You’re so sweet, aren’t you?" Her scent was a mix of earth, cinnamon, and something intoxicating you couldn’t quite name.

Rio’s fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, and her lips hovered near yours, sealing them in a brief, chaste kiss before you pulled away abruptly.

"This… isn't wrong?" you asked, your tone uncertain. "You're married."

Rio held your gaze, but instead of irritation or frustration, there was only patience and something that looked like tenderness. "We’re in agreement about this. We both want you, sweetheart, and that’s no secret."

Your stomach tightened at her words. "But it’s weird… You two are already married, you’ve been together for years. Isn’t this—" your hesitant, flustered voice was cut off.

"First, just because we're unconventional doesn’t mean we’re weird, sweetheart," she gently corrected, making your cheeks heat at her maternal tone. "Second, we’re undeniably drawn to you. We even tried resisting it, but it only gave us more headaches," she concluded with a small, knowing smile.

You didn’t answer right away, your chest rising and falling erratically. It all felt too big, too new. "But… but she’s not even as affectionate with me as you are. How could she want me?"

Rio sighed, but a small smile formed on her lips. "Agatha doesn’t show things the way I do. It was never natural for her." She tilted her head, studying your expression carefully. "But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. You just need to learn how to read the signs. She takes care of you in a different way. It’s in the details."

You remained silent, absorbing her words. Your heart was still racing, and the idea of being part of their lives in such an intense way felt both terrifying and tempting.

Rio smiled again and turned her attention back to the flower in her hands. "Now, help me replant this before the sun gets too strong."

Even in your confusion, you nodded and returned to work. But Rio’s words still echoed inside you, like seeds planted in fertile soil, ready to bloom.

The sun was high by the time you returned from the garden. Your fingers still had traces of soil beneath your nails, and the fresh scent of plants clung to your skin. You felt lighter, in a way you hadn’t in a long time, and Rio noticed. She smirked, satisfied with the effect the peaceful morning had on you.

Then, Agatha’s voice cut through the lazy afternoon silence.

"You two," she called from the veranda, her blue eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses, clad in a deep-cut navy blue swimsuit. "Come, let’s go to the pool."

You blinked, surprised. Agatha had never suggested anything like this before. You glanced at Rio, who also seemed intrigued, but soon broke into an excited smile. "Oh, that sounds like a great idea, love. It’s really hot today."

Your heart pounded at the thought. The day’s heat made your skin tingle, and the idea of cool water felt irresistible. Without thinking too much, a wide, genuine smile lit up your face. "Really? We’re actually going?"

At that moment, Agatha visibly tensed. Her shoulders stiffened, her gaze lingered on you longer than usual, observing that bright smile that, for a brief moment, left her speechless. She cleared her throat, looking away and lifting her chin as if regaining composure.

"That’s what I said," she replied, her gaze averted, trying to sound firm.

Rio chuckled quietly, noticing her wife’s tension but choosing not to comment. Instead, she turned to you with a playful glint in her eyes. "Go change, little gem. But don’t take too long." Her voice was affectionate but carried a teasing tone, as if she wanted to provoke Agatha.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing at the prospect of something so simple yet so rare—an afternoon of leisure with them. As you walked away, you heard Rio whisper to Agatha, "And yet I’m the one who spoils her, huh?"

Agatha grumbled something inaudible, but you were already too far to catch it.

Upon entering your room, you found Lucky lying on his back, belly up, completely relaxed. For a moment, you reflected on how your life had always been about survival—never about truly living.

You grabbed your bikini—a tiny, worn-out piece you’d had since you were 19—and cursed yourself for not updating your wardrobe before agreeing to stay here.

When you returned, already dressed, you found them by the pool. Rio sat on the deck, her hair in a messy bun, wearing sunglasses, applying a generous amount of sunscreen on Agatha, who was lying on her stomach on a bamboo lounger. Rio’s large, gentle hands moved over her pale skin with a devotion you had never seen before. It was beautiful how much she loved her wife, and it made you think back to your conversation earlier.

As you approached them, Rio lifted her sunglasses to get a better look at you, whistling lowly. "Well, would you look at that… I didn’t know we were being treated to a private show, but I love the idea."

Your face instantly heated up, and before you could respond, Rio stood up, grabbing a towel. "I’m heading to the kitchen to make some snacks and grab drinks. Make yourselves comfortable, my queens."

And just like that, you were left alone with Agatha.

The woman lifted her gaze to you, removing her sunglasses, analyzing you slowly, as if pondering something. "That bikini is tiny," she remarked, in a tone that wasn’t exactly scolding but wasn’t entirely neutral either.

You chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve had it since I was 19. I should go shopping.”

Agatha seemed to consider this for a moment before murmuring, “We can take care of that soon.”

You frowned slightly, but before you could question her, she changed the subject.

“You’re going to burn in this sun,” she said simply. Then, she lifted her head, reached for the bottle with a sun drawn on it, and gestured to the lounge chair she had been lying on. “Come. Lie down here.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of her hands gliding over your skin. Agatha’s sharp, disciplined gaze always made you feel small and exposed. Lying there, with her touching you, felt dangerous in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Still, you obeyed, swallowing hard as you felt the chair shift slightly under her weight when she leaned over to reach you. Her fingers pressed gently into your shoulder as she spread the sunscreen. Her touch was firm, meticulous—like she was tending to something precious.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the winds brought, but all you could smell was the woman's floral perfume. Shit.

It was impossible to ignore Agatha’s hands. They glided over your shoulders, her fingers working the sunscreen into your skin with a precision that sent your heart racing. A shiver ran down your spine, and you tried to hide it, but you knew she would notice. Agatha always noticed.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, but carrying an authority that left no room for disobedience. “You’re so tense.”

You tried to obey, but it was difficult to relax when every touch of hers seemed to ignite something inside you. Her hands traveled down your back, her fingers pressing lightly into tense muscles, and you felt a whimper catch in your throat.

“Agatha,” you murmured, your voice trembling, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands continued moving, now spreading sunscreen across your back, her fingers tracing down your spine with a slowness that was almost torturous.

Heat rushed to your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini, her fingers just barely grazing the exposed skin, and a tremor coursed through you.

“You’re shaking,” Agatha observed, her voice still soft but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Are you feeling all right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as her hands slid back up, this time down your arms, her fingers pressing lightly against your skin. Another shiver wracked through you, and you tried to suppress it, but you knew she would notice.

Agatha always noticed.

“Are you always this sensitive?” she murmured, her fingers now brushing against your neck, the touch featherlight but filled with intention. “It’s adorable.”

Heat flooded your face, but it wasn’t from the sun. It was something deeper, more intense—something you couldn’t name. Her hands drifted down to the waistband of your bikini again, fingers barely skimming over the skin, and another tremor coursed through you.

“Agatha…” you murmured again, your voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her hands kept moving, now smoothing sunscreen over your legs, her fingers trailing over your skin with an unbearable slowness.

Your breath hitched as her fingers stilled at the curve of your hip, so close to the crease of your thigh that you could feel their heat through the thin fabric of your bikini.

Agatha leaned in, her hair shining by the sun leaving her brown hair almost golden and that secluded the two of you from the rest of the world. Her ice-blue eyes—so light they were almost translucent—locked onto yours, pupils blown wide like a predator fixating on its prey. You swallowed thickly.

She knew. She knew exactly how you felt.

“So pretty like this…” she whispered, her voice a rasp of velvet as her thumb ghosted over the waistband of your bikini. Not touching—just teasing. “Your skin flushes so easily. It’s like you’re begging to be seen.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, blood roaring in your veins. You tried to look away, but she caught your chin between her fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she ordered, soft yet lethal.

Obedience came automatically. Your eyes met again, and in them, you saw a reflection of yourself—disheveled, blushing, exposed. Agatha smirked, as if reading every chaotic thought spinning in your mind.

Her thumb finally breached the edge of fabric, barely brushing the untouched skin below your navel. Your body arched involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping your lips.

Your lungs tightened. Your fingers dug into the lounge chair, seeking an anchor, but everything smelled like her—jasmine, power, and danger. Agatha leaned in further, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Do you really think you’re hiding it well?”

“I don’t—” You tried, but your voice failed when her fingers pressed again, drawing slow, hypnotic circles that made you tremble.

And then she stopped.

She stopped and pulled away just enough to keep her hands off you.

“All done.” She said it as if she had done nothing at all. “You can go for a swim.”

“Ladies, I’m back!” Rio’s voice broke through the thick air as she returned with a tray of fruit and cold cuts. “This should hold us over until lunch.”

You tore your gaze away from the women for a moment, focusing on steadying your breath, calming your racing mind. You rubbed a palm against your cheek, as if it would wipe away the heat still burning there.

Turning back to them, you offered a small, fleeting smile. “Thanks.” You picked up a slice of watermelon before slipping into the pool. The cool water was a blessed relief against the scorching heat.

Rio didn’t take long to join you, splashing playfully before swimming around you, always maintaining some kind of contact—a light brush of fingers against your arm, a teasing touch at your waist as she laughed at something silly you said. It was easy, effortless, and you couldn’t deny how comfortable you felt around her.

From the other side, Agatha remained on the lounge chair, watching through her sunglasses, her expression unreadable. She looked as composed as ever, but you knew her well enough to catch the subtle way her fingers drummed against the armrest—a small tell, something she would never admit.

“Do you never get in the pool?” you asked Agatha, tilting your head, eyes bright with curiosity.

“I’m not a big fan of pools.”

“Liar,” Rio sang from a distance, biting into a piece of melon from the tray. “She used to swim competitively in her teens. Gold medals and everything.”

You pouted slightly before looking at Agatha.

Your heart sped up at the thought forming in your mind—a sudden impulse to push at her limits, to test the unshakable, untouchable woman. Taking a deep breath, you swam closer to the edge nearest her and tilted your face up, eyes pleading, laced with saccharine sweetness.

“Come in the water with us.” Your tone was honeyed, almost childlike, but with just enough intention to soften her. “Please.”

“I’m fine here.” She didn’t even move, her voice rigid.

“Oh, come on…” You insisted, making a point to blink your eyes bigger, shinier. “Just for a little bit?”

She narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. You could feel the silent battle inside her—her natural resistance to anything frivolous against the impossibility of denying you when you looked at her like that.

A pause. A nearly imperceptible sigh slipped past her lips.

Then, with a fluid motion, she took off her sunglasses and placed them on the side table. Her blue eyes were like ice under the sun—cold, but with a glint of something you swore was curiosity.

“You are insufferably persistent,” she murmured, rising with the grace of a queen.

Rio let out a low whistle as Agatha slipped out of her dress, revealing the swimsuit—cut with such precision that it left little to the imagination. "Always stunning, love," she commented, tossing a grape in her direction.

Agatha ignored her, descending into the water with practiced composure, as if every step needed to be perfect, as if her dignity was tied to not showing hesitation. The cold water met her skin gradually—first her ankles, then her thighs, until it reached her waist. Not even the humidity dared to unravel the immaculate bun holding her hair in place.

She stopped there. Came no closer.

"Happy?" Her arched brow carried impatience, but her eyes… her eyes said something different.

Your heart pounded, and the simple realization that Agatha Harkness—cold, proud, unbreakable—had yielded to you was a kind of intoxicating power.

You grinned from ear to ear, warmth flooding your body in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

"Very!" You said, maybe a little too brightly, but you didn’t care.

Agatha looked away, moving slowly through the water, as if she could pretend none of it mattered. But you knew the truth.

[...]

Monday arrived, dragging with it the relentless rhythm of the film set. Cameras rolled, technicians hauled equipment, and actors rehearsed their lines in hushed tones, as if speaking too loudly might awaken the slumbering beast that ruled over everything.

Agatha.

She stood at the center of the chaos, dressed in a pristine white linen suit that seemed to defy stains and wrinkles alike. Thin, gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she flipped through the script with one hand and gestured with the other, directing lighting adjustments with military precision.

"More to the left. No, your left, Kevin. Christ."

Her voice was like a razor blade—sharp, clean, and leaving a cut that hurt so damn good.

You tried to focus on the notes scribbled in your own script, but it was impossible. Your eyes were magnets to her every movement—the way she adjusted the pendant at her neck when she was impatient, the red flush of her chest when something was done wrong, the curve of her lips when a take was perfect, the click of her heels against the concrete floor as she marched off to scrutinize a detail that seemed insignificant to you.

Focus. You bit your pen, trying to decipher an illegible note from the art director.

But then she laughed—a rare, husky sound—at a joke from one of the cameramen, and your stomach flipped.

Shit.

When you looked up, it was already too late.

Agatha was looking straight at you.

Her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose, and those blue eyes—cold, calculating—burned through the distance between you as if she were reading every forbidden thought crossing your mind. You swallowed hard, cheeks burning, and dropped your gaze to the script, feigning sudden interest in Scene 27.

Click. Click. Click.

The heels drew closer. You smelled her before you saw her—jasmine and power.

"Trouble with the notes?" She leaned over your desk, one hand pressing against the paper, her fingers so close to yours that you could see the subtle sheen of her nude polish.

"I… no. Just trying to decipher Marcus’s handwriting," you laughed nervously, showing her the messy scrawl.

Agatha removed her glasses, hooking them onto the neckline of her suit. "Let me see."

She leaned in further, her wrist brushing against yours as she took the script. Your heart pounded. She knew. She knew you were watching. She knew every casual touch was a match thrown into gasoline.

"Ah, this." She pointed at the note. "Warm colors in the protagonist’s room. Marcus has always been dramatic." Her finger slid across the page, stopping near your hand. "But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

The air left your lungs.

Was she talking about the script? Your stare? The way your knees trembled under the table?

That enigmatic smile never left her lips as she pulled away.

The set was silent, steeped in the thick atmosphere of the scene. The setting was simple but heavy with meaning—fog-covered streets, shadows stretching across buildings, the crushing sense of loneliness engulfing Wanda as she wandered aimlessly.

It was a pivotal moment. Her character, shattered by grief and doubt, desperately searched for her children, only to be confronted with the cruel reality that, to everyone else, they had never existed.

The anguish in her eyes was palpable. The way she searched each passing face, her voice teetering between pleading and rage, sent chills down your spine. It was exactly as you had envisioned when writing that scene—maybe even better.

From the corner of the set, Agatha watched with a critical gaze, her expression unreadable. Every detail had to be perfect, and her rigid posture made it clear she would accept nothing less.

"Cut!" Agatha’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, slicing through the tension. The silence that followed was razor-sharp.

"Wanda, your breathing is too controlled. She’s desperate. I want to hear the air catching in her throat. Like she’s about to choke on her own grief. Understood?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes red from crying between takes. You saw her fingers trembling as she clutched the fake wooden staff. The background music—sharp, discordant violins—resumed, winding tighter around the moment.

The air smelled of chalk dust marking positions on the floor, stale coffee from the thermoses, and a hint of Agatha’s perfume—jasmine and amber, dominating as always. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scent only made the pressure in your chest worse.

You stood beside Yelena, watching the scene unfold. Your fingers grazed the page of the script where your words were printed:

SAGE: You will not find what you seek outside. The abyss you flee from is the same one you carry within.

The ink seemed to pulse under your touch.

The bitter taste of coffee and sour nerves coated your tongue as Wanda started the scene again. She stumbled through the set, eyes unfocused, fingers clutching at the fabric of her peasant dress.

"Where are my children?" Her voice broke in the middle, a ragged sob that made even the camera operator flinch. "Please…"

The sage stepped forward—an elderly actor with eyes painted to look blind. His bony hands reached out for Wanda.

"You run in circles, child," he murmured, his voice fragile as paper. "But the answers are not in the world. They are here."

His hand pressed against her chest, and Wanda recoiled as if burned.

"No…" Wanda’s whisper was barely audible but carried a weight that sent shivers down your spine. "They are alive. I feel them."

Agatha didn’t breathe. No one did.

Your nails dug into your palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. This was your script. Your twist. And Wanda was making it… sacred.

Cold sweat slid down your back, mixing with the scent of burning wood from the artificial fire effects. Agatha leaned forward, her fingers white from gripping the armrest of her chair.

The sage lifted a trembling hand.

"Know thyself, witch. Or despair will consume you."

The woman frowned, irritated. "I am not that."

The words left Wanda’s lips like a dull blade, thick with denial and fear. Her whole body seemed to shrink at the very idea, as if the mere insinuation was a burden too heavy to bear.

The sage didn’t move. His clouded eyes remained fixed on her, empty and yet full of cruel wisdom.

"Then why does the earth tremble beneath your feet?"

"I am not this." She repeated once more, but now her voice trembled. As if the certainty that had once sustained her was crumbling.

Agatha leaned even further into her chair. Her blue eyes burned over the set, absorbing every micro-expression, every tremor in Wanda’s hands. The tense jaw. The rigid posture. The refusal to look directly at the sage.

Wanda was at her limit.

And that was exactly what Agatha wanted.

"Your children are dead." The sage’s voice was barely a whisper. But it was like thunder tearing through the sky.

The impact was instant. Wanda lunged forward, her eyes blazing with pure fury and pain, the veins in her arms standing out as she gripped the old man’s tunic tightly. "LIE!"

The word echoed across the set.

The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

Something crackled. Faint. Low. But audible.

The flames of the fake bonfires grew.

Agatha stood, the shadow of a smile playing on her lips.

The power was there. Hidden. Suffocated. But present.

And Wanda?

Wanda was still fighting.

Her hand trembled as she let go of the sage, her chest rising and falling in quick gasps.

But when she looked at him, something had changed.

"Cut!" Agatha's voice sliced through the silence like a whip, and the spell was broken.

The crew finally exhaled. The cameraman wiped the sweat from his forehead. Some whispered among themselves, in awe.

Wanda was still there, at the center of it all. Chest rising and falling. Eyes unfocused, as if still lost in the scene.

You couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

This was it.

This was magic.

Agatha, with her imposing posture and piercing gaze, gave one last command before stepping away. "Great work, everyone! Let’s wrap for lunch." Her voice echoed with authority, and people started dispersing, relieved for a moment of rest. The set slowly emptied, filled with the murmurs of conversations and the clatter of equipment being put away.

You took a deep breath, still feeling the impact of the scene. Wanda had delivered a brilliant performance, and seeing your writing come to life like that was indescribable.

"Turns out, you are something."

Her voice came suddenly, slow and slightly amused. When you turned, you found Wanda with her arms crossed, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Was that a compliment?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I don’t impress easily. But you made the magic happen. Turned it into something real. So, yeah, you’re something, magic girl."

Warmth spread through your chest at the admission, but before you could respond, Wanda was already walking away to get lunch.

You let out a small laugh and made your way to catering, grabbing a plate and sitting in a relatively quiet corner.

The smell of fresh food filled the air, and the chatter around you created a comfortable background noise. You ate absentmindedly, but you couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of being watched.

Instinctively, you lifted your gaze.

Agatha.

On the other side of the space, she sat with her legs crossed, lazily poking at her Caesar salad, but her eyes were locked on you.

Your stomach flipped. It wasn’t an easy expression to read—she didn’t look angry, nor exactly satisfied. She was just… watching.

You tried to ignore it, to focus on your food, but your body was all too aware of her presence.

Then, you felt the vibration in your jeans pocket.

You discreetly pulled out your phone, careful not to draw attention. A new message.

Agatha.

My trailer. Be discreet.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The simple words carried an immense weight. What did she want? Had you done something wrong? Your mind started racing, retracing every detail of the day, every word, every gesture. But there was no time to hesitate.

You took a deep breath, trying to appear calm, and started walking toward Agatha’s trailer.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you crossed the set, each step toward her trailer feeling heavier than the last. You didn’t know what to expect. The tone of the message didn’t indicate urgency or anger, but it also offered no clues about what was coming.

You swallowed hard, hesitated for a second in front of the door, but before you could raise your hand to knock, it opened.

Agatha.

Her eyes swept over you from head to toe, a flicker of satisfaction gleaming in her expression before she stepped aside just enough to let you in.

You hesitated at the threshold, feeling the trailer’s warm, enclosed air mix with the electric tension.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"You called me." Your voice came out smaller than you’d intended, an involuntary hesitance pressing you against the wall as if some instinct warned you that stepping back was the safest choice.

Agatha smirked, crossing her arms just below her chest, the motion emphasizing her generous curves. Your gaze flickered there for a split second before you could stop yourself, but you looked away too fast—too obvious.

And Agatha always noticed.

"You did well today," she said casually, not looking up. "You transformed the character, gave her life. A purpose to justify her means."

The praise hit like an arrow straight to your chest. Your breath faltered, the impact coming from a place you didn’t entirely understand.

"Thank you." The murmur slipped from your lips before you could control it.

Only then did she lift her gaze, and something inside you recoiled.

Her eyes were intense, gleaming in the dim light, pupils sharp like a predator scenting its prey’s nervousness. And Agatha liked that.

She took a step forward. Then another.

Her bare feet glided over the soft rug, silent without the imposing sound of her Louboutins. Still, every movement felt calculated, a dangerous dance where only she knew the steps.

"You wrote about a desperate mother." Her voice was a whisper wrapped in velvet, laced with humor. "A woman discovering powers that could destroy entire nations."

Another step.

Your back nearly fused with the cold metal of the trailer door. The temperature contrast sent heat crawling up your neck, your ears, the center of your chest.

Her hand lifted, pressing flat against the door beside your head.

You held your breath.

Her other hand reached for a strand of your hair, long fingers curling lazily around it. The touch was slow, indulgent, almost affectionate—but you knew there was nothing innocent about it.

Then, she pulled.

A subtle but precise motion, just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet the sharp gaze burning against your skin.

Your eyes locked.

She was too close.

"Do you always write about the things you want?"

The whisper was warm against your lips, a breath of temptation that made your stomach twist and your breath stutter.

Your eyes dropped.

The small, plump, inviting curve of her lips. So close you could almost feel them, almost taste them, your mind already conjuring the flavor.

Your legs felt like jelly, and you were sure the only reason you hadn’t collapsed was the door supporting your weight.

"What—"

"The need to have someone take care of you—is it really that strong?"

Her tone was a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something indecipherable, lurking in the shadows of her slow, honeyed voice.

The hand that had been playing with your hair slid down, tracing a lazy path along your side until it found your waist.

Cold fingers slipped beneath the hem of your white tank top, touching your warm skin in a contrast that stole your breath.

"A mother."

The word hovered in the air between you, but its weight went far beyond what was heard.

It wasn’t just a provocation.

It wasn’t just a game.

There was something in the way she said it—as if the word meant as much to her as it did to you. As if she was also touching on something she shouldn’t. Something deep. Something painful for her too.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

Her fingers tightened around your waist. And you whimpered, already feeling soaked for her down there.

Pathetic.

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if trying to restrain herself. But when she looked at you again, it was already too late.

Her mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss wasn’t a question. It was domination.

Her lips molded to yours with raw, hungry demand, without hesitation. It was hot, desperate, an invasion that dissolved any sense of identity that wasn’t her. Agatha took. Demanded. And you, pathetic and surrendered, opened up to her as if there was no other choice but submission.

The wet sound of your mouths meeting echoed through the confined space of the trailer, each ragged breath turning into a drawn-out sigh, heavy with desire. Her tongue slid against yours, slow and indulgent at first, only to deepen the kiss the next second with a hunger that almost hurt.

You moaned into her mouth, and Agatha smiled into the kiss—a rough, wicked sound that made something inside you melt. Her fingers dug harder into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper.

Her other hand remained firm at the nape of your neck, fingers pressing lightly into your scalp as she tilted your head just the way she wanted. She dictated the rhythm.

Slow. Then fast.

Bite. Lick.

She explored you as if marking territory. As if she wanted to imprint her taste on you until you could never forget.

The air grew heavy, breaths mixing, the scent of her skin, the woody perfume that always seemed to cling to her, becoming an invisible cage around you.

Agatha pulled back just enough to catch your lower lip between her teeth, dragging slowly, savoring, testing your patience, your obedience.

"You need to be taken care of that badly, don’t you?"

The whisper came against your skin, and you shivered.

She bit your collarbone.

You gasped.

And that’s when you felt it.

Her leg slotting between yours, the perfect pressure, a silent promise of what was to come.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the door, chest rising and falling in desperation.

Agatha smiled against your skin.

"I can give you that," she whispered. "I can give you everything."

Her hand slid under your tank top, cold fingers tracing a slow path over your stomach.

Your body trembled.

"Say it," she murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin in a way that made your whole body vibrate.

Your hands shook at her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of her blouse, seeking something to hold onto, anything to keep you from simply melting right there.

She pressed her hips into you, a reminder of her strength, of the absolute power she had over you in that moment.

"Say it," she repeated, this time her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

You couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t form words.

Agatha didn’t like that.

Her hand slid lower, fingers pressing exactly where you needed them most—and you moaned. Soft. Almost inaudible. But enough to make her smile.

"Oh. Honey…" she whispered, amused. "You can’t hide this from me anymore."

She pressed you harder against the door, her body practically covering yours, those piercing blue eyes slicing into you like sharp blades.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice raspier now, laced with something much darker.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth opening and closing, unable to form a coherent response.

She slid her hand over your hip, fingers curving slightly, tracing slow, torturous circles against your skin.

"Say it."

Her breath burned against your mouth, every syllable sinking into you like a sweet, cruel thorn.

Your body arched against hers, your head falling back, lightly hitting the trailer door. You felt everything, absolutely everything—and it was suffocating, addicting.

Her eyes never left yours, merciless, demanding.

"Say it," Agatha ordered once more, her patience wearing thin.

Pleasure and humiliation burned across your skin in equal measure. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your body pulsing under her hand, your mind a blur of desire and desperation.

The word echoed in your mind, urging you to accept something dark, enticing you…

And then, finally, you gave in.

Your voice came out small, fragile, carrying everything you had never been able to admit before.

"M-Mommy…"

Agatha closed her eyes for a second, drinking in the word as if it were forbidden nectar. A low moan slipped from her lips, and when she looked at you again, her eyes were darker, hungrier.

"Good girl," she murmured.

And then, she took you for herself.

Her fingers, once firm on your waist, slipped below the button of your jeans, knuckles brushing the sensitive, shaved skin of your mound. You gasped, your hips twitching involuntarily, but she held you with a grip strong enough to leave marks.

"Quiet," she ordered, her voice a hot whisper against your neck. "We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?"

Her knee pressed deeper between your legs, the raw pressure making your muscles tremble. You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry, words trapped in a knot of shame and need. Agatha smiled, lips curving into an arc of triumph as her hand finally dipped lower, fingers finding the wet heat beneath the thin fabric.

"God—," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the physical proof of her power over you. "You’re so wet, sweetheart. All that young pride… and deep down, this is all you are."

Her middle finger slid slowly through your entrance, collecting your slick before tracing torturous circles over your swollen clit. You bit your lip, wide eyes locked onto hers as if she were the only anchor in a sea of violent waves.

"Look at me," she commanded, and you obeyed, trapped by the glacial intensity of her blue gaze. "Who do you belong to?"

The question was a knife. You shook your head, denying, but your body betrayed you, hips moving in sync with her fingers.

Agatha laughed, low and rough. "Hmm. Your body speaks the truth your mouth won’t admit."

She pushed two fingers inside you—without warning, without mercy. You cried out, nails digging into her back, but she didn’t stop. Her pace was relentless, each movement deep and precise, as if she knew every inch of you better than you knew yourself.

"Is this what you want?" she whispered, lips against your ear. "To be reduced to this? To a little toy I make whimper?"

You tried to deny it, but all that came out was a long, strangled moan when she curled her fingers, hitting that spot. Your body arched, muscles clenching around her, but Agatha didn’t let you fall.

"That’s it," she whispered, lips pressed against your ear. "You’re so dumb for me, aren’t you? So desperate for a touch, for a word, for anything I’m willing to give you."

Her fingers were relentless, tracing precise circles that made your body tremble. You tried to hold on, tried to maintain some control, but it was impossible. Agatha commanded every movement, every moan, every sigh that escaped your lips.

“This is good,” Agatha smiled, a grin both sweet and deadly. “Because I have plans for you, darling. And you’ll love every second.”

“Mommy,” you whimpered again, your voice broken, barely a whisper.

“Louder,” Agatha ordered, her fingers quickening their pace. “I want to hear you say it.”

“M-Mommy,” you repeated, stronger this time, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

Agatha growled, abruptly withdrawing her fingers. You moaned in protest, legs shaking, but Agatha gripped your chin, forcing your gaze upward.

Her hand, slick with your arousal, rose to your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips. “Lick,” she commanded. “Lick it clean. Every last drop.”

You hesitated, shame burning your cheeks, but the fire in Agatha’s eyes left no room for disobedience. Your tongue darted out, trembling, licking Agatha’s fingers with humiliating devotion. The taste was salty, yours. Agatha watched every movement, her breath ragged, observing as you devoured yourself.

“Rio told me everything,” Agatha pressed your pussy harder against her thigh, forcing another whimper. “Every detail.” She growled against your lips, staring with hunger and devotion.

Agatha brushed her lips against yours—not quite a kiss, but a ghostly touch, a warning, a promise. Your body was trapped between the rigid door and the firmness of Agatha’s thigh, every inch of the woman’s presence burning against your skin.

“She told me how you moaned my name in her lap,” Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk soaked in desire and disapproval. “How you begged without even realizing what you were saying.”

Her fingers rubbed your pink, throbbing bud, her palm positioned perfectly to grind back and forth. You closed your eyes, the memory of what Rio had done to your surging like an electric shock—and with it, raw, searing guilt.

“You want me as much as you want her,” Agatha murmured, her teeth grazing your lower lip before tugging it slowly, almost cruelly.

Your answer was only a needy moan. Your mind screamed to deny it, to fight Agatha’s game, but you remembered those same veined, elegant hands gripping a steering wheel tightly, the same hands that had massaged you body in the pool.

You want this.

It’s impossible not to.

Agatha smiled, that devastating, superior grin radiating absolute control. Her hand slid to the curve of your neck, squeezing the pulsing point, cutting off your air.

“Mommy, harder—” Your voice was barely audible.

You gasped as Agatha’s fingers tightened around your throat—not to hurt, but to remind you who dictated the rhythm of this game.

“Good girl,” Agatha released your throat and licked the reddened skin. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha pushed your knee harder, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. She trailed her fingers along your jawline, as if admiring a masterpiece, then gripped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, and you obeyed, tears spilling without permission. “Tongue out.” Agatha arched an eyebrow, daring you to refuse.

You stuck out your tongue, holding the humiliating, uncomfortable position.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice laced with a darkness that twisted your stomach. “Now… grind. Do it. Ruin Mommy’s pants.” The command was clear, direct.

And you did.

Your movements started timid and clumsy, Agatha’s eyes gleaming with amusement at your inexperience. Agatha grabbed your ass, dictating the perfect rhythm. “Do it,” she said, her voice rough with desire. “Grind on me like the good little slut you are.”

Your jaw muscles trembled, exhausted. Saliva dripped down your tongue. If you could see your own expression now—flushed, desperate—you’d know you looked like nothing but a dumb whore for Agatha to use.

“Oh. Look at you,” Agatha reveled in your tired expression, your hips growing more desperate for praise. “Mommy’s perfect little pet.”

The whine you let out truly sounded like a wounded animal. It made Agatha smile. “You’d do anything for a scrap of my attention, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was soft, almost maternal, but her eyes glinted with cruelty. “That’s what you are, isn’t you? Mommy’s little bitch.”

You nodded without thinking. You weren’t in your right mind. Agatha made it feel like your intelligence was being fucked away, your critical thoughts replaced by images of her.

Agatha. Agatha. Agatha.

And then, deep in your mind—

Rio.

“Rio…” You murmured, a flicker of uncertainty in your voice.

Agatha snarled like a caged animal, her proud composure crumbling. The director sucked on your exhausted tongue, reclaiming every drop of saliva. It was enough to make your climax.

Your back arched against the door, your legs stiffening and trembling around Agatha. Your moan was muffled by Agatha’s mouth, which ravaged your lips and tongue—too weak now to fight for dominance. Your legs gave out, but Agatha held you.

Tears streamed uncontrollably as the intensity crashed over you. You whimpered, and Agatha pulled your into a warm, almost gentle embrace. “Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “Mommy’s got you.”

Agatha gripped your chin firmly, fingers leaving marks, as she studied every tremor rippling through you post-climax body. Her blue eyes, sharper under the trailer’s dim light, missed nothing—the tears, the ragged breaths, the fingers still clinging to her blazer like a lifeline.

“Crying doesn’t make you weak,” Agatha said, her voice softer but still commanding. “It just proves you know exactly where you belong.”

Her hand drifted to your neck, not to choke but to feel your racing pulse—a gesture of possession, not violence. As if she needed to confirm you were still there, surrendered to her.

With her other hand, she pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping your face. Her motions were precise, almost clinical, but the faintest tremor in her fingers betrayed her as the cloth lingered near the girl’s lips.

“Breathe,” she ordered, and you obeyed, gulping air between shaky sobs. “Slower. Control yourself.”

When finished, Agatha adjusted your clothes with determined hands—smoothing your tank top, tugging your pants back into place. Her touch was casual, but her fingers lingered too long on your hip. As if memorizing you. As if reluctant to let go.

"Good girl," she murmured, her lips curving into something that could have been a smile—if it weren’t so sharp. "So good."

Suddenly, you were already on your feet, the woman checking your state. Agatha buttoned the last button of your blouse, her fingers brushing against your exposed nape, and a shiver ran down your spine.

"Get back to work," she said, her voice returning to that commanding cadence, non-negotiable. "And remember..."

You turned your head just enough to see her in the mirror on the wall. Agatha stood there, immaculate, her tailored suit without a single wrinkle, her painted lips untouched. It seemed as if none of this had affected her—until you noticed the faint tremor in her hand as she adjusted a ring.

Almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Her fingers, usually so steady and precise, faltered for a fraction of a second as she twisted the gold band on her finger. She looked at her hand as if surprised by her own weakness, then closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

She realized you saw it. Her eyes gleamed with something indescribable—a warning, a challenge, a secret.

"Be good for me, pet."

The word was a whip wrapped in velvet. You swallowed, nodding, and she opened the door with a fluid motion. The sunset light flooded the trailer, and the hum of the set felt like a distant world.

Before leaving, Agatha stopped at the entrance, not looking back.

"By 7 PM, have all your tasks completed. Rio will pick us up."

It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.

And you knew that at exactly 7 PM, you would be there—on your knees, standing, or in whatever position Agatha required.

Because she wasn’t gentle.

She was perfection.

[...]

The clock read 6:32 PM.

Your fingers flew furiously over the keyboard, your eyes burning from staring at the screen for too long. Your hands trembled above the keys as you adjusted the final details of the corrected script Agatha had demanded—you still had to send it to each actor. Your legs were crossed under the chair, muscles taut with stress.

Damn it.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You should review the data before sending it, but there was no time. No time. Your finger hesitated over the “Enter” key for a fraction of a second before pressing it down too forcefully. The email shot into their inbox, and you barely had the courage to check if the message was there. But it was.

There was still the physical paperwork that needed to be left on Agatha’s desk. You stood up so fast that your chair nearly toppled over. You rushed to the printer, the papers still warm when you gathered them into a folder. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slipped through the company like a ghost, dodging employees who didn’t even notice your urgency. When you reached Agatha’s office door, you paused for a second, taking a deep breath. You placed the documents neatly on her desk—perfectly aligned. No crooked margins. No mistakes.

You were free.

No, you weren’t. You had to rush to the bus stop. You couldn’t raise any suspicions. Your legs ached from the effort, but you couldn’t stop. The streets of Los Angeles were packed, but your mind could only focus on the clock.

6:56 PM.

You had to get there. You had to be there when they arrived. Panic started gnawing at your insides.

6:58 PM.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you finally reached the bus stop. The streetlight cast a pale glow over the cracked pavement. The wind cooled the sweat on your nape, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that at 6:59 PM, the dark car slowed down and stopped in front of you. The window rolled down smoothly, revealing Agatha in the passenger seat and Rio behind the wheel. Rio’s smile was proud.

"Punctual," Agatha remarked, analyzing your flushed face from the effort. "Get in."

You obeyed without hesitation, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you closed the door behind you.

The clock struck 7 PM sharp.

Then, you breathed.

You settled into the backseat, still feeling the lingering adrenaline from the hectic day. The city blurred past the tinted windows, and the familiar scent of leather and woody perfume filled the air, bringing an odd sense of comfort.

Rio, at the wheel, was animated. The sparkle in her eyes was contagious as she spoke about the exhibition she was organizing.

"It’s going to be a spectacle! We’re recreating some of the most iconic pieces from the Modern Age but with a contemporary twist, you know? The essence remains the same, but the reinterpretation adds new layers."

"I’ll only attend if Marie Antoinette graces us with her presence," Agatha teased with a sly smirk, as if it were an inside joke you didn’t understand.

Rio chuckled softly and winked at her wife. "She’ll be there."

You huffed, trying to keep up with her enthusiasm, but something inside you felt off. With every turn, every red light, a thought throbbed in your mind.

You weren’t going home.

Turning away from the window, you bit your lip and dared to ask:

"Where are we going?"

Rio let out a low, amused chuckle, glancing at you briefly. Her eyes were full of promises, and the smile playing on her lips made your stomach twist.

"Agatha said our girl behaved very well today."

Your body reacted instantly to those words. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and a shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t need to look at the passenger seat to know Agatha was watching every tiny reaction.

Her fingers brushed over your knee—a casual touch, yet filled with intent. You tensed, feeling the goosebumps rise under her touch. With two light taps on your knee, as if she were praising you with gestures alone, she withdrew her hand.

"Let’s celebrate that, darling," Rio continued, her gaze back on the road. "After all, a good girl deserves to be rewarded."

The Angelini Osteria was discreet and luxurious. A Michelin-starred Italian restaurant. The kind of secluded place where no one would dare to interrupt you. The entrance was simple, resembling a cozy home. The host guided you to a reserved table, away from curious eyes, away from the outside world.

But nothing could take away the crushing exhaustion weighing on your body.

Your eyes barely managed to focus on the menu. Every word seemed to dissolve before making sense. It was as if your energy had been drained, leaving only a faint echo of yourself. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the haze, trying to pretend everything was normal.

Then, you felt the delicate pressure of Rio’s fingers on your wrist.

She said nothing. Just traced small circles on your skin, as if feeling your pulse, as if grounding you. You blinked, feeling your shoulders relax slightly. That was when you noticed that Agatha wasn’t even bothering to look at the menu. Her sharp blue eyes were fixed on you—calculating, unwavering.

"She’s exhausted," Agatha stated, not looking at Rio, but as if affirming an absolute fact. Her tone was dry, non-negotiable.

A slight wave of embarrassment crept up your throat, as if you had been exposed without saying a word. You tried to protest, but Agatha was already closing the menu, handing it to the waiter without hesitation.

"She’ll have the fileto di manzo with saffron risotto. And bring a fresh orange juice, no sugar," her voice left no room for objection. She knew exactly what you needed.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Rio let out a soft chuckle, leaning in to whisper against your ear. "I know you love carbs," she teased, her voice full of amusement. "But trust me, you need iron more than a plate full of pasta right now. Aggie always knows best."

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the table. The waiter took the order without question, disappearing into the restaurant's dim lighting.

The silence was broken by the clinking of ice in Agatha’s glass. Her long fingers slowly twirled the wine stem, watching you as if she were assessing every reaction. As if she were studying just how far she could push you without breaking you.

When the dish arrived, Rio was the first to move. Without hesitation, she picked up the knife and fork, cutting the meat with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before. The aroma of the food invaded your senses, but you were still distant, lost between exhaustion and the way they enveloped you so effortlessly.

"Open your mouth," Rio ordered softly, holding a piece of meat between the fork's prongs.

You hesitated, but your eyes met hers—golden and patient. She waited, not with impatience, but with an unshakable certainty that you would obey. Slowly, you parted your lips. Rio guided the fork to your mouth with precision, and the rich taste of the meat filled your palate.

"Good girl," Agatha murmured, finally bringing her wine to her lips.

Rio smiled, satisfied, cutting another piece. "Now eat it all."

You chewed slowly, feeling warmth spread through your chest. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced. The control didn’t come from rigidity or coldness. It was encompassing, careful, almost indulgent.

And it was impossible not to yield.

Dinner carried on at a steady pace, and as the food filled your stomach, the crushing exhaustion began to dissipate. The restaurant’s warm ambiance, the scent of fresh herbs, and the rich flavors of a meticulously prepared meal slowly brought some color back to your cheeks.

When the last bite of meat was placed in your mouth by Rio, and you chewed with a satisfied sigh, you realized something almost unfamiliar—you felt whole. Satisfied in a way that went beyond the physical. As if, for a moment, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

That was when the thought came—mischievous, almost innocent.

You bit your lip and glanced sideways at Agatha, hesitant but determined. "Can I... order dessert?"

The corner of her lips curled in a slow, dangerous smirk, a wicked gleam in her blue eyes as she caught onto your boldness. She tapped her fingers against the wine glass, feigning consideration. "Dessert..." Her voice was drawn out, laced with expectation, as if merely the idea of leaving you at the mercy of her decision was already a game.

Rio let out a chuckle beside you, leaning over the table to join in on your little conspiracy. "Oh, Aggie... just look at that face! Are you really going to deny our girl something sweet after such a long day?" Her tone was teasing but affectionate. The unexpected support made warmth bloom in your chest, and you smiled, emboldened enough to meet Agatha’s gaze again.

Her eyes flickered from you to Rio, then back to you, as if savoring the scene before her. She picked up the fork delicately, taking a sip of wine before finally murmuring, without breaking eye contact:

"Well, well, well... chocolate seems the most fitting."

Victory gleamed in your eyes, and Rio laughed softly, pleased. Agatha signaled for the waiter with an elegant gesture, never once looking away from you.

"One chocolate tart for our girl."

[...]

The house was quiet when you stepped inside. The only light came from strategically placed lamps, casting a cozy, intimate glow. The faint aroma of dinner still lingered in the air, blending with the floral scent of Agatha and the ever-present woody note of Rio. You barely had time to process before a soft call reached your ears.

"Darling... come here."

Rio’s voice was wrapped in sweetness, but there was a clear intent behind it. When you turned, you saw her already seated on the couch, her legs crossed with the effortless elegance of someone who commanded any space she occupied. Beside her, Agatha mirrored the action, but her gaze was sharper, analyzing every little detail of you.

You hesitated for a second before approaching, unsure where to sit. The space between them seemed obvious, but as soon as you made a move to settle there, you felt Agatha’s firm hand on your waist. In one swift motion, you were pulled onto her lap, the proximity making your heart stumble into an unsteady rhythm.

She adjusted you with ease, as if you belonged there, as if she were molding your position to her liking. Rio watched, amusement dancing in her eyes, but she didn’t interfere.

"We want to talk to you," Agatha began, her voice low against your ear. "About what this means for the three of us."

You swallowed hard, feeling her warm breath against your skin. Rio’s fingers brushed over your leg—a quiet reassurance.

"We know things have been happening fast," Rio continued, her voice as gentle as her touch. "But we want to make sure you understand and feel comfortable with... what we are."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "What you are?"

Rio’s smile widened, while Agatha let out an almost imperceptible sigh, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your waist.

"We are yours," Rio said simply. "And we want you to be ours."

The air seemed to thin for a moment. You blinked, processing the words, feeling the weight and, at the same time, the intoxicating allure of them.

"It means commitment," Agatha continued, her hand sliding up to your chin, tilting it so you were forced to meet her intense gaze. "It means trust. It means we take care of you, and you belong to us."

Your stomach twisted in nervousness—but also in excitement. It was an idea that burned deep, something you had never experienced with such clarity before. They weren’t just playing, they weren’t just seducing you. They were offering something real.

"And it also means we will set rules," Rio added, her thumb tracing a delicate path over your thigh. "Rules that are for your own good. For ours."

You felt the tension in your body, the dance between submission and defiance stirring under your skin. Agatha noticed—of course she did. Her eyes narrowed slightly before a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

"But first, we want to know how you feel about this."

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shifting on Agatha’s lap as you tried to think clearly—but your breath hitched when she tightened her grip on your waist.

"I’m still… confused."

You swallowed hard, feeling their presence all around you, each in their own way, guiding you to where they wanted you to be. But the scariest part was realizing that you wanted to be there. Wanted to belong.

Agatha took hold of your chin between her fingers, forcing you to look at her. Her touch was warm, solid. Her other hand caressed your waist—what could have been a casual gesture, but in reality, reaffirmed the control she had over you.

"We know," Agatha murmured, her blue eyes scanning your face, analyzing every flicker of emotion. "But we don’t want there to be any doubts. You already understand what’s happening between us, don’t you?"

You hesitated, your hands clenching around the fabric of your skirt, but you nodded.

How could you deny it?

The care, the structure, the devotion they poured into you—the way each act, each command, each glance filled something inside you that you hadn’t even realized was empty.

Rio smirked, sliding her fingers down your arm in a reassuring gesture. “We don’t want you to feel lost, kitten. But we’re not going to pretend that what we have is ordinary either.”

Your heart pounded against your chest. You knew it wasn’t. No relationship you’d had before even came close to what you felt now. With them, there was room to breathe, but also to be shaped. To be cared for, but also guided.

Agatha leaned in, her lips grazing your temple, her warm breath against your skin. “You need this, don’t you?” The question was spoken in a low, intimate tone, yet it was non-negotiable. As if she already knew the answer.

You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your face. “I... yes.”

Her smile was small, satisfied. Rio tilted her head, watching you closely. “That means that from now on, when we tell you to do something, you trust us to know what’s best for you.”

The hesitation still existed, but it was a weak spark against the growing certainty inside you. You looked from Agatha to Rio, and understanding settled over you like a warm blanket.

You didn’t have to carry everything alone.

They were here.

“Yes,” you whispered, the response coming out more certain than you expected.

Agatha exhaled softly, as if she had been holding that breath forever. “Good girl.”

Rio smiled more openly and, without rush, ran her fingers through your hair, a touch so tender it made you melt a little more. “You’re so smart.”

They didn’t need to say anything else. The rules were set, and you accepted them. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Because within this dynamic, in this safe space between them, you could be exactly what you had always needed to be.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink further into their embrace. Agatha’s hold around you was comforting, and the yawn that escaped your lips was involuntary.

“Hmmm… looks like our little girl is sleepy,” Rio sang as she twirled strands of your hair around her fingers.

You pulled away from the hug and stood up, rubbing your eyes.

“Good night,” you murmured, intending to head upstairs.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “And exactly where do you think you’re going?”

You blinked, confused. “To my room?”

Agatha let out a slow, drawn-out chuckle and stood up, her bare feet moving casually across the floor. “No, darling. You’re not.”

Rio tilted her head, as if disappointed, though there was already a glimmer of decision in her eyes. “After everything? After everything we talked about?” Her whining tone was a stark contrast to her usual strong, dominant posture.

You blinked again, confused. “What— I don’t understand.”

“You sleep with us,” Agatha said. Just like that. She took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, guiding you to the bedroom as if it had always been this way. As if the idea of you sleeping alone was so absurd it wasn’t even worth discussing.

And before you realized it, you were between soft sheets, nestled between the two of them.

Rio’s scent was something fresh and slightly woody, an enveloping comfort. Agatha, on the other hand, smelled of vanilla and something warm, a presence that slid over your skin like a secret. You felt her fingers trace along your waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your pajamas.

“Relax.” The whisper came against your ear.

You stared at Rio, her chocolate-brown eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite define. She smiled, tracing lazy patterns along your arm.

Safe. Protected. You curled up slightly, feeling your heart slow with the fullness and tranquility settling inside you.

The warmth of the two women surrounded you, their bodies so close that every movement felt like a response to your breathing.

You let out a small sigh and closed your eyes, feeling their minty breath all around you. Their arms formed a cocoon around you—warm, comforting... inevitable.

“You did so well today,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and certain, as if she knew exactly what effect she had on you.

“We’re so proud,” Rio added, a smile evident in her tone.

Their pride should have been trivial, but it made something inside you expand, a satisfaction that mixed with your exhaustion.

Agatha’s soft hands traced slowly down your back. “Good girl.”

You sighed, so relaxed that your muscles had already begun to surrender. Your eyes closed on their own, slowly—you tried to fight it. You didn’t want to sleep. But the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was Rio’s soft whisper:

“You belong here.”

The words were breathed against your hair, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Where you were meant to be.

[...]

The night was a living entity, suffocating, the air so thick that each breath carried the weight of a forbidden secret. You floated between sleep and a fevered haze, your skin clinging to the sheets as if the room itself was devouring you. The scents seeped into your pores, intoxicating. There was no escape.

The first sign came as a scratch against the surface of your consciousness: a hoarse moan, muffled by pillows, followed by the wet sound of flesh against flesh. Your body recognized it before your mind did—Agatha, behind you, her hips arching in a hypnotic rhythm, pressing against your ass with a force that made it clear this wasn’t an accident. Rio, in front of you, thighs spread, grinding against your knee with an urgency that made the fabric of your pajama pants stick to your skin, already soaked.

You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry. Their heat was different—

Agatha, a volcano covered in snow, controlled and deadly; Rio, a wildfire, consuming everything without permission. Their bodies molded against yours as if they knew every curve, every weakness. Agatha’s hand slid over your waist, fingers digging into your flesh possessively, while Rio clutched your knee between her legs, increasing her pace.

“Fuck…” Rio groaned, her voice a muffled thunder, and you felt the shock of the word travel down to your core like a blade. Your muscles clenched involuntarily, a moan catching in your throat. She didn’t stop—each roll of her hips, each slick friction against your leg, was its own form of torture. You could feel her arousal, the viscous heat dripping onto your thigh, and the wetness between your own legs became unbearable.

Agatha leaned in, her lips pressing to your nape in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. “You’re wet,” she rasped, her sleep-heavy voice a whisper, not a question but a statement. Her hand slid lower, slow and deliberate, until she reached the hem of your panties, her fingers teasing the elastic. “Want to help or just watch?”

The question didn’t need an answer.

Rio let out a low chuckle, a rough sound that made your clit throb. “She wants both,” she answered for you, her fingers tangling in your hair and pulling your head back, exposing your neck. “Don’t you, babygirl?”

You couldn’t speak. Not when Agatha finally slid two fingers under the fabric, finding your swollen clit with surgical precision. Not when Rio nipped at your lip, stealing a moan that escaped louder than you intended.

The room spun, whispers in a strange language now echoing like a mantra, and you realized—they were theirs. Rio was humming something between clenched teeth, an ancient melody that sent chills down your spine, while Agatha responded in guttural murmurs, each syllable synchronized with the pressure of her fingers.

It was a ritual.

You were the offering.

Agatha’s rhythm intensified, her fingers circling your clit with a pressure that bordered on pain, while Rio guided your hand between her legs. “Touch me,” she commanded, and the heat there was pulsing, alive. You obeyed, fingers sliding through her swollen folds, and Rio arched like a wounded animal, a moan escaping her throat.

“Good girl,” Agatha whispered, her voice sweet venom. “Now feel.”

And you did.

When the orgasm hit her, it was like being stabbed from the inside out—a wave of fire tearing through her body, leaving her breathless, thoughtless, with nothing but the muffled cry against the sheets and their hands holding her steady, owning her, as she trembled. Rio followed moments later, the muscles in her thighs contracting violently around your hand, your fingers buried in Agatha's hair like anchors.

There was no gentleness in the end—only silence, broken by ragged breaths, and Agatha’s tongue wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized you'd shed.

"This is how we belong," Rio murmured, her mouth still pressed against your skin.

And then, you drifts back into sleep, wondering if it had all been nothing but a cruel, burning dream.

~*~

I just saw this picture of Kathryn and I couldn't contain myself 😩

Tag List <3

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undressrehearsal · 5 months ago

Text

a bite of luxury

part 1

summary: you decide to look for a sugar mommy and stumble across this strange girl that seems to have more to hide

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie (yep, we got it all) alcohol, reader is poor lmao, reader uses she/her and is referred to as a girl once or twice, no smut in this one sorry gotta establish the world first

word count: ~8k

a/n: it's been so long since i posted a fic lol working full time and trying to finish my book is killing my schedule BUT i hope y'all like this this was my fiancee's idea and i'm running with it i got a LOT of plans for this one - plans i think y'all are gonna love

also the drawing in the cover is made by @nramv seriously go check out their work they're so talented!!

if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

part 2

You hadn’t been searching for a sugar mommy.

Truthfully, when your best friend had sent you the link, you had dismissed it immediately. She had been joking about it for months, talking about how much easier it would be if you just found a nice older woman to take care of you. You hadn’t even opened the link - you only rolled your eyes, replied with a middle finger emoji, and left it at that.

And yet things kept piling up. The stack of bills on your kitchen counter was growing to a concerning height, a mountain of unanswered responsibilities that was getting harder to ignore. Your landlord kept calling you - you no longer answered, just watched the phone ring until it finally stopped and ignored the increasingly angrier voicemails. Your apartment was an absolute disaster; you could never be bothered to clean it, because by the time you got home from working both of your jobs, you only had enough energy to eat a bowl of leftovers and promptly pass out in bed.

The link kept popping up in your mind, each bill in your mailbox a gentle reminder. You found yourself scrolling all the way up the text chain to find it again during sleepless nights. So many times you would only stare at it, your thumb hovering over the blue letters, before you closed the chat and threw your phone down.

It was stupid, of course. But as time went on, the idea of letting yourself get buried alive under a mountain of debt - of getting evicted from your apartment and having to crash on your friend’s couch - seemed all the more stupid.

So, late on a Thursday night, after you had had another anxiety attack staring down at your bank account, you went back up the text chain, and you clicked the link.

www.seeking.com

It didn't take long for the messages to start coming in. You should have been flattered, honestly - you had at least a handful of people in your messages practically begging you for the honor of paying your fucking rent - but you really just felt like you were playing a part that you hadn't even read the script for. You had curated your profile with all the things that made you appear more cultured than you actually were: going to museums and pondering over Baroque art and reading poetry over a pretentious cup of coffee. Sure, these were all things you had done - you had photo proof, after all - but somehow you didn't recognize yourself. It felt like you were looking at pictures of a stranger living a life you wanted but couldn't reach.

Most people were fine - charming, even. You got maybe one or two that felt like they would lure you into their sex dungeon to murder you, but that was expected with any dating site. You even went on a few dates, scrounging up the nicest dress you owned and getting pampered at a five-star restaurant or going for a ride on an older woman’s personal yacht. One person even took you for a helicopter ride, which was fun but she was a little too handsy on the first date to warrant a second.

One name kept popping up though, a name that was becoming far too familiar in your notifications.

ellie: meet me at 8 <3

When she first messaged you, you had thought she was like you: somebody searching for a partner to pay their bills. Her pictures didn't exactly scream sugar mommy material. Her first picture was just a normal selfie taken outside; she wore a worn out leather jacket, her short hair tangled from the wind and green eyes squinting in the sunlight. She had stupid pictures of mushrooms and candid shots of her browsing a science museum, looking far too excited in front of a t-rex skeleton. Hell, in most of her pictures she looked like she was wearing clothes she had found at a thrift store.

You had thought she was like you, until she sent you a picture inside her fucking Rolls-Royce.

“Fuck,” you audibly cursed into the quiet of your room. You had been talking for a few days, and she had begun to do that - sending you small selfies throughout the day. In the last one, she had taken a picture in front of the mirror at the gym, flicking off the camera, her lean muscles glistening with sweat. Before that, it had been a blurry picture of her dog, Riley - a huge German Shephard - splayed on her back at a park, leaves stuck in her fur.

So, yeah, when you found out Ellie was not only rich, but rich enough to casually have a Royce, you were more than a little surprised.

The selfie was cute, you couldn’t deny that. Her hair was wind-swept, catching in those long ass eyelashes. Ellie’s nose was scrunched up, freckles popping against her cheeks, holding up a peace sign.

She was fucking adorable and you already knew it. But seeing her worn out leather jacket and messy hair against black and white leather seats that looked like they, alone, cost more than your entire apartment complex combined - it was a little jarring.

And when she asked you out on a date soon after - after finding out she wasn’t Iike you but rather searching for someone like you - how could you say no?

Ellie offered to pick you up - like a gentleman, she had said - but frankly, you weren’t quite convinced yet that she wasn’t some blood-thirsty pervert trying to lure you into her dungeon, so you politely declined. Instead, in your nicest dress and heels you hardly wore because they pinched your toes, you called an Uber.

You had never been to this side of town. You had plugged in the address Ellie gave you - had double and triple checked it while your awkwardly chatty Uber driver tried asking you about what you do for a living - but the streets here were so unfamiliar you may as well have been in another city. You looked at the foreign buildings rising up around you, large windows giving you a glimpse of the life inside them. People were sitting outside in the chilly air, laughing over wine and dinner. Looking at them - with perfectly sculpted hair and clothes you would have to spend several entire paychecks on - you felt like a cheap impersonator dressed up in a costume.

The Uber pulled up in front of a hotel, and your heart stopped. Surely, this wasn’t where Ellie had sent you - leading you to some fucking hotel room when you hadn’t even met yet?

You turned to the driver, your home address at the edge of your tongue, when the car door opened.

You had practically been leaning against the door to peer out the window, and nearly lost your balance when it was suddenly gone without warning. You looked up, ready to yell at whatever pretentious prick in Prada was trying to fuck with you - but your voice died in your throat.

Ellie was shorter than you thought she'd be, honestly. In all her pictures, she had this commanding energy, like she would tower over you in person.

Which, to be fair, she was. She had her arm propped on the doorframe above your head, leaning over so she could meet your eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face, a few stray strands falling over her forehead, and she was looking at you with an intensity that hadn't quite translated through her pictures.

Ellie smiled - that adorably crooked smile you had seen in all her selfies - and said, “Hi.”

And the only word you were able to get your mouth to form was, “Fuck.”

Ellie blinked at you for a moment - long enough that you could feel the flush creeping up your neck and were ready to walk home if you had to - before she finally laughed. That wasn’t like what you had expected either; she had this deep, rough laugh, almost like she was trying to hold it in.

She looked up at you through her lashes - you tried to ignore the way your heart inexplicably skipped - and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment?” Her voice tilted up at the end like it was a question. Ellie ducked her head down further, looking past you to meet the driver’s eyes, and pulled cash from her back pocket. With her most charming smile, she handed it to the driver and said, “Thanks for getting her here safe.”

You didn’t see how much money she gave him, but after she took your hand and guided you out of the car, you turned back just in time to see his grin before he sped off.

“Thanks for coming out.” You looked back at Ellie and found yourself speechless once again. (You, thankfully, were able to hold in the expletive this time.) The worn out jacket that had featured in just about all of her pictures was missing, replaced instead by a pristine, white satin shirt, the top few buttons undone to expose a sliver of collarbone and a gold chain beneath. Despite the chill in the air, she had a classy black jacket hanging from her arm as though it were an accessory. Ellie smiled and looked down, licking her lips before saying, “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

You tried to smile at her but found that your eyes kept flitting behind her, looking at the looming monstrosity of the hotel. It was a nice hotel - the kind that had a huge fountain right in front of it and a chandelier in the lobby that sparkled through the window - but it was a hotel nonetheless. Despite the set in your jaw, traitorous tears stung the corners of your eyes; you wanted to kick yourself for actually thinking that Ellie might be different.

Ellie followed your gaze over her shoulder, her smile dropping, before she quickly turned back to you with panic in her eyes. She stumbled over her words as though her tongue weren’t cooperating: “Shit, I’m sorry, this looks really bad doesn't it?” She grimaced and squeezed your hand she was still holding, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head with the other. “Fuck, this isn’t the first impression I wanted. I could promise it's not what it looks like, but maybe it'd be better if I just showed you?”

You honestly did think about telling her to fuck off. She was a complete fucking stranger that you only really knew from a dating app, and she was trying to lure you into a hotel in a part of town you were unfamiliar with - really, only an idiot would follow her.

But she was looking at you with wide green eyes, the lights around you shining back like stars. While searching for the constellations, you found yourself saying, “Okay.” You blinked, pulled from a trance, and added, “But you should know, I do have a taser in my bag.”

That pulled a shocked laugh from Ellie’s lips. She gently tugged on your hand, pulling you towards the door, and said, “Smart girl.”

You knew that the hotel was outside of your price range because a perfectly groomed doorman opened the door for you, waving you inside with a gloved hand. You didn’t take much time to process the interior - the chandelier was just as grand as it had seemed from outside and elaborate columns rose to the ceiling - because Elllie was pulling you towards the elevators. It was like she wanted to ignore the fact that she had brought you to a hotel at all. You couldn’t decide if that was reassuring.

In the empty elevator, you gently drew your hand back and leaned against the wall opposite her. You tried to ignore looking at the way her pinstripe slacks hugged the curves of her thighs, the fabric straining when she propped one booted foot on the wall behind her.

“So,” you started in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence, “if you’re not leading me into a seedy hotel room on the first date, then what are we doing?”

“Okay, one,” Ellie said, chuckling, “this is anything but a seedy hotel. And two, what kind of a date would it be if I ruined the surprise?”

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” you countered.

Ellie grinned. “I think you’ll like this one.”

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie held her hand out to you as though it were a question. You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand back in hers and letting her lead you out into open air.

You nearly choked on a gasp.

The bar itself was beautiful - fairy lights stretched above your head, twinkling like stars and casting the rooftop in a warm glow. Wooden tables and plush couches were spread artfully around the space, far enough apart to provide the patrons scattered about with some privacy.

The bar was beautiful - but the view was fucking breathtaking.

The city stretched out beyond the railings, open in a way you had never seen before. The skyline rose around you, each building shining like its own little galaxy amidst a sea of stars. The city lights blocked out the actual stars - a fact that never failed to piss you off - but you could see the crescent of the moon rising over the city, casting a quiet glow like a veil.

You looked back at Ellie, and whatever your face held made her grin. She leaned in just enough so that her murmur was for your ears only: “So, was I right?”

You blinked, momentarily distracted by her proximity - she smelled intoxicating, spicy and warm with a hint of tobacco beneath - before you finally said, “What?”

Ellie snorted, breaking whatever spell she had put you under. “The surprise,” she said, leaning away enough for your head to clear. “Was I right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pursing your lips as though you had to think about it. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the skyline stretched before you.

You finally said, “That depends on how good the drinks are.”

When Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her nose scrunching. It was a full, rich sound, hanging in the air above your head like helium. It made something in your chest tighten, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

She squeezed your hand, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “The old-fashioned's to die for.”

You pursed your lips again to hide your smile.

Ellie didn’t bother checking in with the host, simply shot her a smile and a wave as you walked by - you tried to bite back a giggle when you saw the host’s face turn red, her eyes tracking Ellie as she led you to a table right along the edge of the railing. She pulled the chair out for you - “Such a gentleman,” you laughed - before taking the seat opposite you.

As she waved over a waiter, you took a moment to lean your head over the railing. It was made entirely of glass, giving you a clear view of the city below. You could hear the distant sound of traffic, cars racing below you like shiny beetles, but it was like it was coming from a different world altogether. Everything seemed impossibly, wonderfully small from up here.

You looked up at the sound of your name to find a groomed waiter wearing a fucking waistcoat standing before you. Ellie was looking at you with laughter in her eyes, her lips twitching.

“Shit, sorry,” you said, immediately flinching at your own curse. You suddenly couldn’t remember the proper etiquette in a fancy bar, feeling out of place and underdressed even in your nicest outfit. You looked between Ellie and the waiter, wracking your brain for any kind of drink that wasn’t a trashy cocktail you’d find at a dive bar.

Seeing you floundering, Ellie gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Do you like wine?”

Relief washed over you as you nodded. Turning back to the waiter, Ellie ordered something that you couldn’t even hope to pronounce, charm lifting the corner of her mouth. She spoke to the waiter with the steady ease of familiarity, laughing at some inside joke; you briefly wondered just how often Ellie came to this bar. Surely, a nice place like this - at the very precipice of the world, looking down at the stars - wouldn’t be a regular stop on anyone’s schedule, but Ellie and the staff spoke like old friends.

When the waiter left, tussling Ellie’s hair playfully, she turned back to you and the awkwardness of a first date finally set in. Sure, you had been texting Ellie every day for a week now, but you still hardly knew the girl. You knew she liked mushrooms and hiking. You knew that most of her clothes were from the thrift store even though she could afford any designer brand she wanted. You knew her favorite video game was Dishonored. But nothing you knew was enough for a relationship.

But you weren't exactly looking for love, were you?

After a moment of silence, Ellie cleared her throat, looking out over the city. “It's nice out here.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth; it didn't cover the laughter in your eyes. You said, “You're really talking to me about the weather?”

Ellie opened her mouth, an indignant sparkle to her eye, before shutting it again. It was like she was malfunctioning, opening and closing her mouth yet no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, looking at you as though you were something new and interesting, before finally chuckling, looking away. “Yeah, I-I guess I am.” When she looked back up at you, her eyes were surprisingly sheepish. “Not making a great first impression, am I?”

You couldn't stop the smile that crept up to your eyes. You leaned closer, propping your chin in your hand, and said, “I think you're doing okay so far.”

Ellie laughed that wondrous laugh again, her nose scrunching up, and the cord in your shoulders loosened.

“Okay,” she sighed, her eyes still alight with residual laughter. “Okay, damn. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well now this just sounds like a job interview.”

Ellie threw her hands up in mock frustration, trying to stifle her own grin. “Okay, fuck, knock me down again! You're obviously an expert, so show me how it's done.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking at you expectantly, and it was the perfect moment for your drinks to arrive. Ellie did, in fact, order an old-fashioned. The waiter set two wine glasses on the table, producing a bottle seemingly from thin air. He held it out, explaining to you in rehearsed prose the year, acidity, and complexity in words that passed straight through you. You nodded along even as you didn't process a single word he said.

When he left, you turned back to Ellie and said, “How did you find this place?”

Ellie took a sip of her drink. The lights of the city danced in the amber glass. “Just an old haunt of mine, I guess.”

You took a sip of the wine, taking the distraction. It was warm on your tongue, tasting of wood and fruit and something spicy just underneath. The wine you usually drank was the stuff you could find in your nearest grocery store, often tasting concerningly like bug spray and bought with whatever tips you had managed to scrape together from work. It was usually shared with a friend on your kitchen floor, the walls and thoughts spinning over your head.

You much preferred wine like this: The taste of warmth and fire on your tongue, the cool air brushing your shoulders at the edge of the sky, and a beautiful person sitting across from you.

When Ellie lowered her glass, you could see amber droplets of whiskey clinging to her lips before her tongue darted out to catch them. You tore your eyes away, but her smile said that she had caught you staring. A chill ran up your spine that you were sure was just from the cold.

Seeing you shiver, Ellie wordless reached behind her where she had tossed her jacket over the back of her chair. Standing, she rounded the table only for a moment, only long enough to place the coat over your shoulders. Her hands lingered there for a second too long before she retreated, sliding back into her seat as though she had never moved.

“So, why are you here?” she finally said.

You pulled the jacket around your shoulders, distracted by the smell of it. The same smell that must be her perfume clung to it, spiced and warm like an open fire, but something else clung to the fabric too. It was strangely metallic, sharp and intoxicating, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was shockingly warm against your skin.

“I’m here,” you said, raising a brow and ignoring her real question, “because you sent me this address and told me to meet you here at eight wearing my nicest dress.”

The corner of Ellie’s lips quirked, a grin she was trying to hide. She clasped her hands, leaning across the table so you could smell the whiskey on her breath. “And you agreed to meet a stranger at a seedy hotel,” she murmured, mocking your remark from earlier. Her grin revealed itself when your cheeks flushed. “But why are you here - what are you seeking?”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think? It’s pretty obvious why I’m on the app.” You cocked your head, leaning across the table, feeling a strange thrill when her eyes flashed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity, and you couldn’t remember when you had become so easily starstruck. “The real question, Ellie, is why are you?“

Ellie’s eyes darkened, and you weren’t sure if you just imagined her eyes flicking down to your lips. She looked back up at you through her lashes, her voice rough when she said, “That’s a third date kind of question.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure you’ll get a third date?”

Ellie tilted her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips, and said, “Call it a hunch.”

The waiter came to check on you, appearing at your shoulder like a ghost. You hastily retreated, leaning back in your chair as though the electricity in the air had shocked you, and took a sip of wine that was more than a little overzealous. You tried to choke it down as Ellie waved the waiter away with that heartstopping crooked smile. What happened to you? Since when were you so easily charmed by freckles, green eyes, and smart-ass comments? You couldn't remember the last time you had been so infatuated during a normal date, let alone one with these kinds of strings attached.

“So you don't want to be in an interview,” Ellie said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I guess all my typical getting to know you conversations are out of the question.”

“I didn't say that,” you countered, your throat still burning from your accidental wine waterboarding. “But come on - what girl are you going to impress by asking her questions like ‘Tell me about yourself,’ or ‘Why are you here?’ or ‘Why are you more qualified for this position?’”

“Okay, okay, goddamn,” she said, laughing. Grabbing the wine bottle, she looked at you for permission before pouring you another glass.

You brought the glass up to your lips, taking a sip to hide your smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely from the wine and nothing else. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I hardly know you.” On one hand, that felt entirely untrue - but especially after this recent discovery, you really knew nothing about this girl. “Tell me about you.”

Ellie laughed that same rough laugh and your heart jumped. “Oh, so you're allowed to be the interviewer.”

You nodded, twirling the glass between your fingers and looking at her expectantly.

After a moment, Ellie rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but you could see the humor in her eyes. She downed the last of her old-fashioned and, like a good sport, said, “What do you want to know?”

Turns out, there was a lot to know - more than a simple dating app would tell you. Ellie had an older sister, Sarah, who lived in Dallas. Her dog was named after her childhood best friend. Her jacket wasn't thrifted after all, but had been her dad's. Speaking of which, she used to go hunting with him every season (“I haven't been in years, though,” she said, her eyes distant). On the weekends, she'd go to antique stores to look for art and trinkets to fill her house - her favorite antiques were from the 17th century. She hated horror movies and was a sucker for a good romance.

In return, you caved and answered her pressing questions. You told her about your best friend - Ellie laughed when you told her that your friend had sent you the link to the app in the first place. You told her about your favorite show that you binge-watched whenever you felt like you were spiraling. You did not tell her about your apartment that was probably the size of her closet or the fact that you'd have to watch your budget after taking the Uber tonight, not to mention the extra $30 Uber to get home later. You did tell her about your family, and a strange, unexplained sadness crept into the creases around her mouth. You did tell her about your job, but didn't mention the second one you worked to afford groceries. You told her you were hoping for a real, human connection, yet didn't mention that you couldn’t imagine finding it in a fucking sugar mommy.

All too soon, the wine bottle was empty and your chest was comfortingly warm. The lights strung across the bar danced above your head like fuzzy stars, and Ellie's smile was the brightest amongst them. Her glass was still empty, her wine glass dry, and yet her eyes told you she was intoxicated by something far stronger.

“Sorry,” you said, giggling despite yourself. “I didn't mean to drink it all.”

“Don't worry about it, darling,” she said, her voice silky smooth, reminding you of melted chocolate sliding down your throat. She tilted her glass, letting the remnants of melting ice clink against the side. “I wanted to make sure I could drive home okay.”

The waiter arrived then, pulling the bill from his pocket and handing it to Ellie. You couldn't read the number upside down, not through the haze of the wine, but the number of digits made your stomach clench. Ellie dropped a black card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter.

“How much do you want me to Venmo you?” you asked when she turned back to you. You clenched your hands in the hem of your dress, already calculating the extra shift you'd have to pick up to afford it.

Ellie tilted her head, her brows furrowed. “Nothing,” she said, as though it were obvious.

“That wasn't exactly a cheap bottle, Ellie,” you laughed. “Let me give you something.”

Ellie hummed, propping her chin in her hand and looking at you with those same intense eyes; it sent a dangerous shiver down your spine. “I like when you say my name.”

You blinked at her. “Excuse me.”

“I want to hear it again. That's how you can repay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie, I-”

“Okay, now we're even,” she interrupted, smiling that crooked grin that you had started to crave. The waiter returned with her card and Ellie produced cash from her pocket, handing it to the waiter directly. He thanked her profusely before making his exit, grinning. When Ellie looked at you again, you were still watching her expectantly, dumbfounded. She finally rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what kind of date would I be if I made you pay?”

“You're not making me, I'm offering.”

“And I'm saying no.” Ellie stood, straightening her shirt; when she tugged at it, the collar fell a bit, exposing sharp collarbones beneath.

Rounding the table, she offered a hand to you, pulling you gently to your feet. You pulled her jacket tighter around yourself, knowing you needed to give it back yet unwilling to part with it just yet.

Taking your arm, Ellie leaned in close enough that your breath caught in your throat and said, “I know why I found you on Seeking, okay? So, if it's alright with you, let me spoil you. Even if that just means one bottle of wine.”

You laughed, but it sounded breathy even to your own ringing ears. “One very expensive bottle of wine.”

Ellie shrugged, a sparkle in her eye. “It's a small price to pay for your company.”

You were silent in the elevator, but you held on to her arm as though afraid to let go. You couldn't figure out why, but something in you urgently wanted nothing more than to be close to her. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt such a pull from somebody.

Back on the street, the lights of the city seemed so much brighter than they had before. Ellie released your arm, turning to face you, and there was a strange pinch between her brows that you couldn't translate.

“Do you want me to call you an Uber, or do you want me to take you home?” she asked, and your brain short-circuited. When you could do nothing but stammer, tripping over your own tongue, Ellie laughed. There was no mockery behind it, only quiet, bright amusement. “I meant I can drive you to your apartment so you don't have to drunkenly sit in an awkward Uber that smells sickeningly sweet and the driver tries to make mind-numbing small talk.”

Your sigh of relief came out more like a laugh.

Ellie tilted her head and stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to graze your fingers, and that sigh was sucked right back into your lungs. Being so close to her made your head spin. Her breath fanned against your cheeks, smelling of warm whiskey, when she said, “Unless you want to come to my place?”

It had the uncertain tilt of a question, and Ellie wouldn't quite meet your eyes.

“We don't have to do anything,” she continued in a rush. She scratched anxiously at the back of her head, a nervous laugh slipping between her lips. “We can just sit and talk more. Or watch a movie - my dad had this huge collection. I'm not gonna - You know, I'm not going to do anything you don't want.” She finally interrupted herself with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Fuck, sorry, I wanted it to sound more suave than this.”

And you would be a fucking idiot to go home with this impossible stranger. You had been taught better - never get into a stranger's car, and for the love of God, never let them take you to a second location. You could let her take you back to your apartment at least - you were admittedly incredibly tipsy and didn't particularly want to endure another ride with an annoyingly talkative Uber driver. You could go home, back to your claustrophobic, quiet apartment, and maybe - maybe - text Ellie about setting up a second date.

You were not stupid enough to go home with somebody on the first date.

Except clearly you were, because you took the hand that was still grazing your fingers and looked up at Ellie - the contours of her face were shockingly etched with insecurity. And your dumb mouth said, of its own volition, “Okay.”

You had expected something flashy, like what a wealthy person would own in a movie - like a penthouse overlooking the city with too-white walls and electric guitars hanging, unused, on the walls. Maybe she had walls completely made of windows so it felt like you were on a pedestal overlooking the world.

You hadn't expected a house that was older than your great-grandparents.

When Ellie pulled into the driveway, you were sure she was just pulling in someplace to turn around, that she had missed her turn somewhere. But she put her stupidly-expensive car into park and killed the engine, shooting you an awkward glance.

“Sorry,” she said, chuckling. “I know it’s not much.”

You could only look at her incredulously, speechless, before looking back up at the house before you. You couldn’t even call it a house really - estate would be more fitting. Maybe mansion. Fuck, her house was the size of your apartment complex. It towered over you, three stories of intricate woodwork, warm brown beams wrapping around the structure like an elaborate skeleton. With beautiful eaves winding around the roof and an entire turret reaching for the moon, it looked like something that had stepped right out of some 1800s southern gothic novel.

Ellie cleared her throat, startling you from a trance. You looked back at her and, for some reason, couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

”Shit, sorry,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just - I’ve just never seen anything like it.” When Ellie’s eyes clouded over with uncertainty, you added softly, “It’s beautiful. Besides, Ellie,” you added, laughing again, “‘not much’ doesn’t really suit you.”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth and yet no words came out. She was looking at you again as though you were something interesting - something new and exciting. Nobody had ever looked at you that way before, and the way your heart clenched at the sight was more than a little dangerous.

Ellie finally smiled, huffing out a laugh - your heart was pretty satisfied with how often you were able to make her laugh - and said, “Do you still want to come inside?”

And, surprisingly, you said, “Yeah, I do.”

As Ellie got out, rounding the car to open your door for you, you discreetly checked that the taser was still in your bag. Sure, you had agreed to go home with a practical stranger, but you couldn't be too careful.

The porch steps creaked as she led you to the door - double doors (of course), with stained glass and twisting vines carved into the wood. When Ellie opened them, it felt like you were transported to a different time on an entirely different world.

The grand staircase caught your eye first - how could it not? Warm wooden steps covered in a blood red runner, a white banister winding up, those same vines that seemed to be the house’s signature carved into it. You could see a large, stained-glass window at the landing before it curved to disappear to the second floor. Moonlight splintered through the window in broken relief.

As though in a trance, you wandered further into the house, walking to the fireplace situated right beneath the stairs. The wood stacked neatly inside was cold, untouched by a flame. There was a large mirror set atop the mantle, its gold frame a work of art alone. In the reflection, you could see the flush to your cheeks, and tried to convince yourself it was only from the cold. You still wore Ellie’s jacket, and you pulled it tight around your shoulders, as though it were a shield.

You watched Ellie’s reflection as she walked slowly towards you, a small smile gracing her lips. She came close enough to touch - close enough that you could feel her cool breath against the back of your neck - and yet she didn’t put a hand on you.

“There’s a lot more to see than the foyer,” she murmured, the words brushing your skin. “If you still want.”

And you couldn’t stop your own smile as you turned back to her, your heart skipping at her proximity. “Show me.”

She took your hand, her fingers shockingly cold, and led you into what must have been her living room - sitting room? Despite the fact that the house felt more like a museum - like you would get scolded for touching anything - the room was surprisingly cozy. A large, plush sectional was situated in front of another fireplace- this one also unblemished. Blankets and quilts were thrown over the couch and the accompanying chairs, leaving this time capsule looking strangely welcoming.

“Okay, I have to ask,” you said, turning back to Ellie. She was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction with soft eyes, and you lost your train of thought. You opened your mouth but no sound came out; you weren’t sure if that was more or less embarrassing than the several curses you had said earlier in the night.

Ellie hummed, raising her hand as though she wanted to touch you. She stopped only inches away from your cheek and dropped her hand, saying, “I’m an open book.”

You had to turn away to collect your thoughts, wandering across the room if just to catch your breath. The opposite wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. You ran your fingers along the spines of vintage classics, an array of science books, and comics, enjoying the irony of seeing Savage Starlight in the middle of all this history. You picked up a copy to keep your hands busy.

“How, um,” you started, stumbling over your words, “how did you end up here?”

Ellie hummed again, and you heard her footsteps following you. “Here as in this town, this country, this world? You gotta be a little more specific.”

You sighed, giving in and turning to look at her. She kept a careful distance, standing a few feet away from you with her hands in her pockets. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Ellie chuckled, but her eyes had grown distant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few more steps closer to you, looking at the comic book in your hands. On the app, she hadn’t struck you as the type to get easily bashful, and yet she had proven you wrong a few times already.

“My family lived here,” she finally said, quiet as a secret. You watched her carefully, jumping at the opportunity to stare at her without those intense eyes looking back at you. Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as though she was in pain, her green eyes shining. “It was just… passed down, I guess? It’s kind of always been here ever since I can remember. I’m not entirely sure when it became mine.”

You tucked the comic book back into its spot between The Iliad and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You said absently, “How old is this place anyway?”

”It was built in 1816,” she said automatically, as though it were memorized.

“It’s an awfully big house for just one person.” You looked up at her through your lashes as she stepped closer - close enough that you could smell that same metallic warmth that seemed to cling to her.

“It is,” Ellie murmured, smiling. She reached out again, and this time she allowed herself to touch you. Her cold fingers brushed against your cheek before she gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at her properly. Her green eyes were downright intimidating. “But I keep good company.”

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t convince yourself to look away. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”

Ellie hummed, bracing her other hand on the bookshelf behind your head, and murmured, “No, I don’t.” She pressed in closer, her gaze dropping to your mouth, and you felt like your heart was going to leap from your throat. Ellie huffed out a laugh as though she could hear it pounding against your chest. When her thumb brushed your bottom lip, your lips parted on instinct. She didn’t look away, transfixed on the point where her skin touched your mouth, and you almost didn’t hear her when she said, “Can I?”

And you had never been the kind of person to kiss on the first date, but she was looking at you with eyes hooded with want, her breath fanning against your cheeks. When she licked her lips, you couldn’t stop your eyes from following the motion. Her lips glistened, parted and plump, looking so impossibly soft. Somehow, past your haze, you heard yourself say, “Yes.”

Ellie took her time in kissing you. She pressed you back gently, your shoulders pressing into the bookshelf behind you, and touched her nose to yours. She took a deep breath, breathing you in. Her hand was soft against your cheek, tilting your jaw up, and you hardly had to move to finally kiss her.

Ellie tasted just like she smelled - spicy and metallic, the old-fashioned still hanging on her tongue. Despite the cold of her hand on your cheek, her mouth was impossibly warm, her breath slipping between your lips; it was intoxicating in a way that the wine couldn’t compare to. Her mouth moved against yours, soft and slow as a dance.

Your hands reached out as though of their own accord, circling her waist and gripping at the slippery silk of her shirt. She pressed in close, crowding you against the bookshelf; you could feel her chest pressing against you, her hips on yours, the line of her body against yours making your head spin. And when Ellie’s tongue pressed against your lips, a gentle request for access, you felt like you’d faint altogether.

Her tongue slipped between your teeth and you couldn’t stop the breathy sound it pulled from your throat. You could feel that infuriating smile against your lips and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. You balled her ridiculously expensive shirt in your hands and pulled her impossibly closer, nipping at her bottom lip, and you wanted to swallow her gasp.

Ellie pulled away, chuckling, but she didn’t go far. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, her lips trailing down to your jaw, and she could probably feel your pulse jump beneath her tongue. You could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Do you do this often?”

Her teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear, and it took you a few moments before you could respond. “Do what?” Despite yourself - despite the way your fingers gripped her shirt, your head swimming and an unexplainable want burning in your veins - you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on a date with somebody I met on an app for sugar babies and go back to their ridiculously old mansion on the first date and-“

You cut yourself off. You weren’t sure exactly what was happening, and you were afraid that voicing it would break whatever spell you were under - whatever spell made this impossible woman’s touch feel like lightning.

But Ellie only laughed, biting at the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Yeah, that.”

You shivered against her touch. “No, I’ve never really done this.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

Ellie kissed you again, only briefly, before she finally pulled away. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with those same constellations; her face wasn’t even flushed, making you feel embarrassed about your burning cheeks. You were panting, intoxicated from the night and wine and Ellie. Her absence felt like an ache, your body craving the feeling of her lips, her teeth, her hands. You were close to tugging her back in, your hands still gripping her shirt, but she gently untangled herself from you with a laugh.

“I want to keep going.” She paused, and then emphasized, “I really want to keep going. But you drank an entire bottle of wine, and I’d be kind of a shitty host if I didn’t offer you something to drink at least. Or are you hungry?”

You were hungry, but it was the kind of hunger that food wouldn’t satiate. Still, you let your hands drop back to your sides, feeling your senses return to you now that they weren’t so tuned into Ellie - how she smelled, tasted, felt. When you laughed, it sounded breathy even to your own ears. “Some water would be nice.”

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Stay here.” She kissed you again, lingering for a few moments longer than needed, before she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculously old mansion.

With nothing else to keep yourself entertained, you did a slow lap around the room, eyeing the ironic blend of elegant antiques and silly trinkets that were so obviously Ellie. A cracked ivory trinket box sat on a shelf, intricate flowers engraved into the lid, set right next to a small figurine of an astronaut. Beautiful paintings lined the walls, signatures dating back to 1830 in elaborate script at the bottom, but there were also a few posters littered here and there - bands and video games.

You walked over to the mantle, your fingers grazing over the marble top. The logs inside were untouched, and you briefly wondered if she’d light a fire soon to chase out the chill of autumn. A small jar filled with guitar picks sat at the corner, and you wondered if she really did have an electric guitar collection hidden around here somewhere. Your foot kicked an empty dog bowl, and yet Riley was nowhere to be found. Maybe Ellie took her to daycare when she knew she’d bring a girl home. You nearly laughed at the idea.

Atop the mantle, hidden behind pictures of what must have been friends or family - hiking or traveling or laughing in somebody’s backyard - there was another picture frame. It must have fallen, face down so that the picture inside was covered. You reached out, careful to not disturb any of the other frames, and picked it up. You were just going to fix it, set it up next to the others, but something in the image caught your eye. You plucked it from its home, bringing it closer, holding it up to the light to get a better look. For a long time, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. Your heart hammered against your chest, your ears ringing, as though your body had figured it out before your brain did.

It was an old photograph, grainy and sepia, faded and frayed around the edges with age. It was the house, looking just like it did today - the huge windows shining in the sunlight, the intricate eaves and wrap-around porch perfectly polished and new. A family stood on the lawn in front of the house, looking awkward and stiff. Back then, cameras took several minutes to actually capture a photo, so people tended to look a little awkward from trying to hold the same expression for so long. But that’s not what had caught your eye.

It was a small family - a weary looking dad and his two daughters, looking just a few years younger than you.

She looked a little different. Her hair was longer, falling in waves around her shoulders. She was definitely a few years younger, and she wore a sweet, full-length gown instead of a worn leather jacket.

You checked the date in the bottom corner at least five times, but there was no mistaking it. The person in the photo was undeniably Ellie, standing in front of this house in 1816.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peejayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x you #tlou smut #tlou 2 x reader #i hope y'all like this one cause i got a lot of plans for it

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babyangelsky · 3 months ago

Text

Okay. I had lunch, dripped barbecue sauce on my shirt, got the barbecue sauce out of my shirt, watered my plants, watered myself, and now I'm finally ready to put some thoughts down.

The thing most largely on my mind, apart from you know...everything?

The implosion had to happen this way.

And it had to happen this way because Sei and Kazuaki had already resolved not to end their relationships.

Complacency is a trap that's very hard to break out of. It almost tricks you into believing that change isn't worth it even if on some level you're aware that it's needed. Except in this case, the change has already happened. They agree to stay as they are so nothing will change and nothing will be destroyed, but it's been changing and that change has gone willfully unacknowledged.

Or it was going unacknowledged, I should say. But it can't anymore because Sei and Kazuaki both broke pattern.

I thought it was odd that Kaori made no mention of how her boyfriend took off in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and didn't come back. Their relationship is very broken but surely that would be a noteworthy occurrence.

Especially given the timing. He takes off moments after she rejected his attempt at intimacy and then just doesn't say anything? Just says she was bored and that's that?

Nope. That is not in fact, that. Kaori didn't say a word only because she never says a word. She exists in her relationship with blinders on. She likes everything about Kazuaki except that he's a man and won't question what that means or why that might be. She's content with the lack of intimacy, knows that Kazuaki isn't, and chooses to live with him asking her for sex instead of saying anything.

She's just as complacent as he is, albeit for different (possibly comphet) reasons, and since she's chosen not to think about it, it's been pretty chill for her.

Until Kazuaki broke pattern.

He didn't go back to his side of the room after her rejection like he always does. He went off-script. He left and didn't come back until the next day and that is a noteworthy occurrence.

So noteworthy, as a matter of fact, that she checked his phone after saying herself that she isn't the type of person to do that. And she didn't just check his phone, she left the house with it!

But not without first smashing the storm glass that Sei gave her on the floor, because in reading those emails, her blinders were torn off. There is no pretending anymore.

For her, or for Fujisawa.

He won't say anything either, but his face more than speaks for him. He knew Sei was lying him before Sei even made it out the door and he was not happy about it. Sei thinks Fujisawa is hiding something from him and I think he's right. What's more, I think that what Fujisawa is hiding is his displeasure and his jealousy.

Because after having seen this episode and the preview for next week's, there is not a doubt in my mind that Fujisawa is jealous. Not because he has romantic feelings for Sei, which I really don't believe he does, but because Sei is breaking pattern.

Everyone in this show is complacent. Everyone. But for Fujisawa in particular, I believe it's less about accepting the way things are and more about needing things to be a certain way. @respectthepetty went more into detail about that here.

And so far, the way he needs things to be IS the way they have been. Nothing has shaken the boat. The towels have all been white, there's been no TV, no parties, no flashy clothing, no one talking to Sei without going through him. Even Sei's attempts at connection and Fujisawa's repeated rejections are part of it because that's also happening the way it's supposed to.

But now the king of non-disruptive design is being disrupted. Sei is going places. He's talking to more people. He left the house in the middle of the night and lied about where he has going and Fujisawa has put himself in a position where he has to pretend to believe him. He has to pretend that nothing is happening.

Except that he can't, because now Kazuaki's phone call has utterly and completely destroyed any hope Fujisawa might've had to be able to bury his head in the sand and carry on as normal.

And he is not going to react well to having his control shaken.

When complacency is this profoundly seated, dragging everything out into the open and being forced to deal with it is the only way for an actual sustainable change to happen. You almost do have to be removed from choice because breaking pattern isn't enough.

You have to break EVERYTHING apart to such a degree and in such a manner that you cannot put it back together in the exact same way it was before.

#when it rains it pours #futtara doshaburi #conversations with leah

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aggieharkness · 4 months ago

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Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 1

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: Miss Stinton is sick so now you are Mr. Amberg's secretary and on one cold December night you go to your boss's residence to hand him some work only to be dismissed by him. Without a car to return to the studio you find yourself being driven by his gorgeous wife and finding a certain amount of work benefits that you hadn't even dreamed of in the form of Avis Amberg.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), a bit of praising kink as well as mommy kink, power play, pet names, tit play (sorry, I'm an absolute sucker for them)

Authors note: I wrote this at two o'clock in the morning, so please, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something, because it's been a moment since I last wrote smut, and I might be a bit rusty. Also, if it gets enough love, and if I feel like it, this might turn into an actual multichapter story. I am here for you, my dear people. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6 Chp.7

Word count: 10K (it's fucking long, but I'm not sorry)

Have I earned it, mother?

It was fucking freezing and yet you walked all the way down the street with that thin coat of yours barely doing anything to keep you warm all because Miss Stinton was out sick, so you were her substitute. Miss Kincaid had asked you personally to be Mr. Amberg’s secretary until the poor woman was able to return, so you were doing double the work without a raise in your salary. Running up and down the building to assist Miss Kincaid while doing whatever Mr. Amberg asked of you had you practically forgetting to have lunch most days, with only a snack in your purse that you would have while in the bathroom, getting to work at six am and leaving at nine pm. This surely would kill you if Miss Stinton didn’t return soon. That’s how on an extremely cold night in December you found yourself walking from your car, another thing you would have to fix as it had just given up on you mid ride, all the way to the Amberg residence per your boss’s request carrying a bunch of scripts and documents that suddenly he needed at ten o’clock on a bloody Friday.

Finally getting to those big front gates you rang the bell. For over ten minutes no one came and there was a moment when you thought that perhaps you were at the wrong house, or it all had been a joke and Mr. Amberg was in fact out and you had just taken documents from the studio for nothing. Your train of thought was broken when you looked up and saw an older man unlocking the metal gates and opening them up for you. He smiled kindly and in the light of the streetlamps you saw that his face was adorned with gentle wrinkles around his eyes and his short moustache was trimmed, a greyish tone that matched his face. Without a word he walked you to the front door. You had been to the house very few times, mainly in the last couple of weeks but the mansion still amazed you. It had a Mediterranean look to it that you adored, a nostalgia for home that you had to push away every time you crossed those gates. The big oak doors stood before you, the man leaving you with a single nod and another smile before the darkness of the night swallowed him whole. With shaky hands your index finger rang the doorbell, your body moving to the side slightly out of habit, almost as you expected people to walk out of the home.

Noises at the other side made you grip the papers harder in your freezing hands before Gertie pushed the heavy doors open. She was gentle and kind and showed you in without so much as a gesture of her right hand, closing and locking the doors once you were inside the hallway. Like the well-behaved employee you were you stood until you were directed towards the living room. That was new. Up until that moment you had always been shown to Mr. Amberg’s office, sometimes he was there, others you had to wait until he arrived, so being escorted by Gertie towards the living room was a total surprise, not that you were complaining. Anywhere in that house would be good enough for you as long as it had some sort of heating system. Coming to stand under the threshold you saw your boss, still wearing his suit, resting comfortably in an armchair with a glass of what you suspected was whisky in his hands. He didn’t even lift his gaze towards you, simply thanked his maid and told her she could retire, that they would inform her if they needed anything. You took a step forward and when he didn’t stop you, you made your way to the coffee table that rested in front of him and placed all the documents for him to see.

He groaned at the sight but didn’t reprimand you, which you were thankful for. There was silence for a few minutes as he nursed his drink all while you stood on the side unsure what to do, where to go. He hadn’t even made an attempt to look over what he himself had asked you to bring, and that bothered you, but you bit your tongue. You were a well-behaved employee after all, Miss Kincaid had said it many times, and you would remain so. The silence was disturbed by the entrance of Mrs. Amberg. She really did fill up the space with her confidence and exuberant energy. Your eyes shot from the sight of your worn shoes to her as she walked in, a beautiful deep salmon dress hugging her figure in all the right spots, the lace sleeves embracing her arms as the bodice wrapped around her torso creating a plunging low cut neckline that showed off her full chest, the skirt flowing swiftly around her legs, her red hair curled and pinned in her usual updo, not a single strand out of place. It amazed you to say the least the way she was always so perfect, it made you feel like you were just a speck of dirt on her carpet, with your thin coat, old worn shoes and cheap dress that definitely needed the hem to be fixed. Not even your long hair could compare to hers. You always ended up with broken elastics and your dark golden locks running down your back all the way to your ass. Right now, was one of those moments when your elastic decided to give up on you, like your stupid car, the sharp pain hitting the back of your neck as it snapped, bringing a pained gasp out of your lips as one of your hands made its way to the back of your head.

The noise made both Mr. and Mrs. Amberg turn their heads towards you, but you were oblivious as with your thumb and index finger you took hold of the elastic and tried to untangle it from your hair. Mr. Amberg was quick to pick up the first script then, not giving a single fuck, not that you expected him to, all while Mrs. Amberg kept her eyes glued to your form as you pushed your hair over your shoulder to your front to finally get rid of the bloody elastic. Once that had been accomplished you pushed it over your shoulder once more before putting the broken item in your pocket and looking around the room. By the drinks was your boss’s wife pouring herself a martini all while still looking at you. Those deep brown eyes held an air of power and a certain level of longing that threw you off for an instant, but it was as if they were hypnotic, as if you could not stop staring until she took a sip from her drink and your eyes travelled to her plump red lips. No one should look that good with red lipstick. A grunt coming from Mr. Amberg broke the spell as you turned your head towards him watching as he stood from his armchair, script still in hand and began to walk out of the room.

-Miss Y/L/N, tomorrow I want you in the office. Tell Miss Kincaid that I will have you at the studio all weekend, because these scripts are shit and I need you to fix it.

-Of course, sir. Is there anything you would like me to do in specific?

-Fire this Mr. Conrad and have Jonathan fix his shitty text or he’ll be next. Understood?

-Yes, Mr. Amberg.

-Ace, Christmas is this weekend, are you really going to…

-I don’t care if it’s the President’s birthday. – you had never seen your boss talk to his wife in a such a manner before, and it made a sudden anger rise in your body. This lady, perfect in posture, glamorous in fashion and beautiful in looks had tried to look out for you and all she got was a biting remark from the man that was supposed to love her and cherish her. You had never wanted to stand before Mr. Amberg acting as a shield for his wife ever before, but you knew better than to stand between a couple. You bit your tongue instead. - This is bullshit. Go ahead Avis, read them, you’ll be wiping your ass with these pages in under five minutes. – he threw the script across the room so it would land at his wife’s feet before turning his face towards you. - Fix it Miss Y/L/N, or you will welcome the New Year without a job.

-Of… Of course, Mr. Amberg. I’ll get to it immediately.

-Good. Take all this back to the studio.

-Including miss Crandall’s contract?

-Yes. I’ll take a look at that some other day. Honestly, why did you bring so much stuff girl, as if I would read it all on a fucking Friday evening.

-I’m sorry Mr. Amberg. I should have been more thoughtful.

-Yes, you should have. I’m going to bed; Gertie will show you out.

-Of course, Mr. Amberg.

In all that time Mrs. Amberg, Avis, had not uttered a single word, she had simply watched it all unfold while sipping her martini. She must have thought you were a fucking twat, answering her husband as if he was fucking Lawrence Olivier, but what else were you going to do? Once he was out the door you sighed and began to pick up the documents from the coffee table before you were kneeling at Mrs. Amberg’s feet to pick up the script. Her shoe, a beautiful cream coloured stiletto showed from underneath her dress, coming to stand over the pages, preventing you from picking it up. Confused you lifted your head to look at her. She was watching you intently as she took a sip of her drink. Honestly, was that drink like being magically refilled or had she at some point poured herself another and you hadn’t even noticed. Either way, the rim of the glass was stained by her red lipstick and her deep brown eyes raked over your figure. After a minute of having you like that she lifted her foot allowing you to finally grab the script and stand. You could smell her rich perfume as she walked closer to you, the aroma filling your lungs making the air around you all too expensive.

-You are eager to please my husband are you not? – the question wasn’t asked with malice, simply with a tone of curiosity as she circled you. It felt as if you were prey and she was a predator, hunting you, waiting for the right moment to strike and kill you.

-I am his employee ma’am; I simply do my job.

-Is that what they call it nowadays? I must tell you that he’s not really that good in bed and whenever he gets tired of you, he will dump you and not look back

-I have not slept with your husband Mrs. Amberg.

-Is that so? Then why are you in my home at ten at night on a Friday?

-Because Miss Kincaid asked me to fill in for Miss Stinton. I would never sleep with him ma’am; I won’t disappoint those who think I am capable of doing this without using my body to achieve it. Not that he has ever shown an interest Mrs. Amberg.

-Never? – there was a tone of incredulity that caught you by surprise, almost as if she thought her own husband was a fucking imbecile for not throwing himself on you. She sat gracefully on the couch crossing her legs, her eyes watching your rigid form over the rim of her glass as she took another sip.

-Never. I’m nothing like you ma’am. He doesn’t even bother to look at me when addressing me. I believe tonight has been one of the very few times he’s done so.

-What do you mean by you are nothing like me?

-I don’t have your personality, your beauty, your style ma’am. I don’t know you, but what I’ve heard is that you are a strong, confident woman and anyone with eyes on their face can see that you don’t lack in the beauty department either. Why would he want me when he has you?

-You are such an innocent kid. – sadness had tainted her words and a shadow of it had crossed those deep oak eyes of hers as they watched the transparent liquid in her glass instead of you. You knew Mr. Amberg had had affairs; for fuck’s sakes many of your female colleagues had shared an evening or two with him, but now that you had his wife sitting in front of you, you could not understand why he would stray like that. Something in your heart and your mind wanted, no, needed for her to believe that she was exquisite even if her own husband could not see it. Over her eyelashes she stared at you once more with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your lungs. - I believe you really haven’t slept with him. You are too good, but you let him walk all over you.

-I need this job. Bills pile up and rent and various expenses that I’m not sure how I’m going to face. I’m sorry if you think I’m a foolish idiot who’s kissing your husband’s ass, but I can’t afford to be fired. Perhaps I’m overstepping with the way I’m addressing you Mrs. Amberg, but you must understand that as much as I like my job, it is still a job to me. A way for me to get money, and If I have to overwork myself, I’ll do it. I’m only a secretary after all, it’s not as if I bring creativity or joy to the world.

-How many times has he done this to you? Asked you to stay late or taken the weekends from you.

-A few.

-And now you’ll miss Christmas with your family because he can’t wait until Monday to fix his own problems.

-I’m alone here Mrs. Amberg, and I don’t have the money to go home, so I’m rather grateful for the work. I’ll be too tired to actually think about the holidays. I should get going, walking to the studio is going to take some time. – placing all the papers a bit better under your arm you began to walk toward the side of the couch before she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. It felt as if she didn’t want you to go, as if she didn’t want to be alone by the way her eyes practically begged you to stay.

-Don’t you have a car?

-I do. It’s on the side of the road. It has just broken down. That’s another expense that I have to add to the list. I really must go now, have a goodnight Mrs. Amberg. – she let go of your arm and with surprising agility she stood from the couch coming to stand right beside you, looking at you as if you were mad. Well, there went the concern, out the window, you thought for a moment before she spoke.

-You are not going to the studio by foot in this weather and alone at night. Do you want to get kidnapped or murdered?

-It’s perfectly alright Mrs. Amberg. I’ve done the trip before, and nothing has ever happened.

-Just because it hasn’t happened those other times it doesn’t mean it won’t happen this time. I forbid you from walking to the studio at night ever again. I’ll drive you.

-I cannot ask you to do that ma’am.

-Good thing you are not asking. Come on.

There really was no room for arguing, not that you were planning on it. The way she had spoken to you wasn’t how a mother speaks to her daughter, no, there was something different in the way she carried her form as she commanded you. No one had ever talked to you in such a way, with such worry and concern while at the same time dominating you with only words. It sent a shiver down your spine, and all of a sudden, the room was warmer than before. Having her turn around until she was right in front of you, her face barely a foot from yours, before handing you her half-finished martini, didn’t help one bit. Without thinking you rose it to your lips, downing it, letting the alcohol bathe your mouth and throat, tasting the carmine of her lipstick on your own lips before leaving the glass on the coffee table. Her pupils dilated at the sight; her breaths slightly irregular as she followed your graceful movements. This was something new to both you and her. Avis could watch you do anything if it meant getting this reaction all the time, the way her body heated, yearning for you, while you held her gaze like a professional temptress as your lips touched the glass over the mark of her own lips.

Before anything or anyone could break the spell, she grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the hallway. Gertie was somehow waiting there. You began to wonder if this woman was a psychic because in her arms she had Mrs. Amberg’s coat. It must be a normal thing though, because she picked it up and placed it over her shoulders before dismissing the maid, grabbing her purse and keys from a little table next to the doors. Unlocking them she stepped out and you followed her without a second thought, still seeking the warmth of her hand on yours as if her skin was a drug and you were completely and utterly addicted. Making your way to the black Cadillac that you had seen her drive every once in a while, she didn’t wait for you before hopping inside, the top protecting the leather of the seats from the cold. Making your way to the other side you did not see the way her eyes racked over the shape of your body, accentuated by that thin coat of yours, her hands on autopilot pulling a cigarette out of her purse before lighting it, letting the smoke of her first puff fill up the car for a moment before it vanished as you finally sat down beside her.

When Avis had seen her husband arrive home without even throwing a glance at her she had thought her evening would be just like any other. Boring, unsatisfied, exactly like the day before and the day before that one, but now she had you in her car. For once she was the one who had a pretty lady all to herself, and the things that were crossing her mind, the ideas she was getting of what she might do to you brought a naughty smirk to her lips. For once she was the one who was going to get lucky, and this time she was not going to pay a single pretty penny for it if your reactions were anything to go by. With her right hand on the ignition she turned the car on, pulling the gear shift down and beginning to move, her left hand bringing the cigarette back to her lips, inhaling the nicotine deep before letting the smoke out her mouth and nostrils giving you a side glance as the car stopped before the gates. The rumours and stories about Avis Amberg could not compare to seeing her in real life only a few feet from you, as the red carmine left a mark on the cigarette, watching the smoke twirl around her face, in between her eyelashes, as it vanished into nothing when it touched the ceiling. You had never known of someone that could be this intoxicating even before you knew them, that could send tingles and shivers all over your body, that could send sparks over your flesh with a single touch of her hand. When the gates finally laid open Mrs. Amberg began to drive out into the road, her eyes glancing over your figure every few minutes.

-Do you always stare so intently at people?

-What? – you hadn’t realised just how much you were staring, your body practically turned in her direction, but you needed to take her in as much as you could, from the curls in her red hair to the veins in her hands as she held onto the steering wheel. A blush crept up your cheeks as you averted your gaze onto the window observing Hollywood at night, with its blinding lights, even in winter. Your grip on the papers had become harder.

-I asked you if you always stare at people so intently.

-I… No. I don’t think so ma’am.

-Good, I wouldn’t appreciate receiving such a treatment only for you to give it to others as well.

-I didn’t mean to… I apologi-

-Did I say I didn’t like it? – her tone was deep, thick as honey and husky in its undertones, the temperature in the car rising by the second as you once again glued your eyes to her face. She had such a characteristic profile, with such a distinctive and exquisite nose. You could drown in every inch of her skin if she’d let you, and something was telling you she might. Her left hand brought the cigarette back to her lips, puffing the smoke in your direction as if she was testing you, seeing how taken you were with her. You inhaled the smoke as if it were the last bits of air left in the universe which brought a smile to her face, her pupils dilating ever further before her eyes travelled back onto the road.

-No.

-Then keep on staring doll and you might get special treatment from me. Sure, my husband employs you, but I can offer advantages that he wouldn’t even read before signing.

-I don’t need privileges, Mrs. Amberg.

-Such a devoted worker. For once I believe my husband to be a fool for not trying anything with you but I’m also glad he has not tainted you with his stupid charming words and empty promises. You, my dear, will get anything you want as long as you keep staring. Because you like what you see don’t you?

-I… Mrs. Amberg…

-Answer the question doll.

-Yes.

The smile now was utterly triumphant and so utterly filthy as well, as if she had won a secret award, you being the prize. You hadn’t realised that your thighs were pressed together tightly until you felt a cramp on your left leg. You tried to relax your legs, feeling how much this woman was truly affecting you. It was sinful, but you didn’t give a single fuck, the woman next to you was perfection, an absolute temptress and somehow you already knew she had plans for you even before she had voiced them. You wouldn’t say no to her no matter what they were though. You hadn’t realised how close the Amberg residence was to the studio until the car stopped before the gates, Mrs. Amberg rolling down the window to talk with Jimmy, the security guard in charge of the front gates, the woman taking one last drag of the cigarette before she flicked it onto the road beside the car. Putting the car in first gear Mrs. Amberg drove and parked expertly in her spot before turning the vehicle off.

The redhead turned her body completely towards you then and as much as part of your brain was yelling to move away, a very small part of it in fact, the rest told you to stay put. She liked the fact that you were so eager to have her in your personal space. Her right hand was on the back of the seats while her left one was now holding onto the steering wheel. Her fingers ghosted over your arm as she pushed her body closer to yours, her hand raising towards your face until her fingertips were tracing the shape of your cheek and jaw leaving a path of goosebumps, a delicious shiver extending all over your body as her perfume now filled your entire being, every cell in your body.

-So receptive. And you really want me to believe you are all alone? No boyfriend?

-I never… I never looked for one Mrs. Amberg. Too much trouble.

-On that I agree. – her face was so close to yours you could have counted the spots in her deep irises had there been a little bit more of light in the parking lot. – These reactions are all for me and only me then?

-Yes ma’am.

-Good. – her stand never faltered, her hand never stopped caressing your skin, her thumb dancing over your lower lip. Her pupils had practically overtaken her entire eyes. The rush of heat you had been feeling since she had walked into the living room was skyrocketing by now, your underwear sticking to your thighs as you pressed them together involuntarily. She was so affected by you and yet she seemed as cool as a bloody cucumber, as if she was used to turned people on and then leaving them to fend for themselves. You hoped she wouldn’t do that to you. - You have to leave those documents in my husband’s office, don’t you?

-Yes ma’am. In specific drawers, or he won’t find them on Monday.

-And have you never wanted to sit on his chair, on the couch, alone or… with company?

-I… I…

-So easily flustered. That blush suits you, honey.

Suddenly she was no longer in your personal space but exiting the car leaving you about to faint from how worked up she had got you in such a short period of time. It was insane. Clumsily you opened the car door, closing it gently as you rested over it to control your breathing. You could swear that by how hot you felt you should be giving off steam in that freezing weather. Mrs Amberg began to walk towards the building without glancing back at you because you both knew she didn’t need to know whether you were following or not, you were practically her shadow. At this time of night no one was in the premises, and by the look of things the security guys were very far away from the main building. Mrs. Amberg was in her element, the confidence and power that poured out of every pore in her body was intense, you could almost feel it as she made her way to the elevator. It surprised you though how utterly patient she was being. You had been told many many times before that this exuberant woman didn’t like to wait and did things whenever she wanted, however she wanted, and she didn’t take it lightly when she was forced to wait. The Mrs. Amberg that stood beside you as the elevator doors closed was toying with you, feeding of your reactions and moving extremely slowly around your persona.

That was what you thought until she pressed you against the wall, her right hand resting next to your head while her left one had a bruising grip on your hip, her body pressed against yours, although you could not feel her fully because of the damn papers that were still in your hands. Her face was right on your neck, breathing in your camomile shampoo and your berries shower gel, her lips ghosting over the skin of your neck until the ding of the fucking elevator echoed inside the cabin and you were left with a single peck of her lips under your jaw. It made you gasp; it made you crave more; you needed more of her. Her hands on your hair, over your hips, her fingers tracing every inch of your body, her lips kissing every inch of skin they could. You wanted to unravel her, unwrap her like a Christmas gift until she laid bare before you. You wanted to do so many things to her and yet she pushed her body off yours as soon as the doors opened and walked out. You were still for a minute before following her hurriedly, the hallway you knew like the back of your hand empty, no voices, no noises to disturb either of you. Miss Stinton’s desk was empty expect for a notepad, a pencil and that fucking phone that somehow never seemed to stop ringing when you were sitting in that chair but that remined silent when she was there. But you didn’t care about any of that, not when Mrs. Amberg had pushed the doors to her husband’s office until they were wide open before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside.

The slamming of the doors made you jump, both out of sheer arousal and because it kind of caught you by surprise how loud they were, though Mrs. Amberg didn’t give you much chance of dwelling on it, not when she peeled her coat off, throwing it on top of the couch and signalled for you to follow her towards the big desk. She rested over it, her backside pressed against the edge as you stepped towards her with shaky legs. She pointed towards the coffee table and then at you and for half a second you were at a complete loss as of what she wanted until you saw the papers, in a slight disarray and barely in your hands, and you were quick to dump them there before turning back to her. She wanted your full attention, and you were going to give it to her. Raising her hand, she motioned with her index finger for you to move towards her, your feet barely making a sound over the carpet that decorated the floor until you stood a couple feet from her. Her chest rose and fell in laboured breaths, her full breasts practically battling the bodice of her dress, her eyes avid with hunger watching you as if you were the most exquisite being that ever graced the earth.

-Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, do you want what I’m willing to give?

-Yes.

-Yes, what?

-Yes ma’am.

-And you are willing to do as I say? – she took one step forward. You could not trust your voice, so you simply nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for Mrs. Amberg. She grabbed your face, her lips inches from yours, sending a rush of heat between your legs. This certainly wasn’t how you had pictured this night going, not that you were complaining. – Use your words doll.

-Ye… Yes ma’am.

-Then you, Y/N L/N, are mine.

It was heaven, she was heaven, of that, you had no doubts. Her lips, soft, full, and so very delicious crashed onto yours, her hands shooting to grab you by the hips to keep you secured in place. At first it was only her mouth pressed against yours but in five seconds flat she was pushing her tongue over your lips, asking of you to open your mouth, which you did, gladly. Her taste, sweet and sour, mixed with the traces of the martini she just had, and the nicotine of her cigarette were an intoxicating mix that made you hum and moan gently against her mouth, your hands jumping to touch her shoulders until the settled on the back of her neck, your fingertips touching her soft hair. Her tongue dominated over yours, the urgency and need seeping from her core to her kiss, you on the other hand were simply exploring, taking in everything she was indeed willing to give. There would be time for you to dominate her if the occasion ever arose again, perhaps maybe even tonight. Breaking the kiss when your lungs began to scream for air you latched your lips onto her jaw, feeling her lull her head back, exposing her neck fully to you as you licked and sucked the skin gently; no need to have her husband find a hickey and go absolutely ballistic. Scraping the skin under her earlobe with your teeth brought on a gasp, the grip on your hips harder, her hips pressing harder onto yours. Your hands travelled slowly down her back bringing your palms to press firmly on her ass, squeezing as you sucked a bit harder on her pulse point. The mix between a gasp and a moan that escaped her lips was like music to your ears.

-You’ve done this before. – her voice was so thick with arousal that it had dropped into a low, husky tone. Separating your lips from her neck you stared at her heatedly.

-I said I hadn’t looked for a boyfriend, not that I was a nun. Ma’am.

That simple sentence sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her hands pressing you impossibly closer to her as she claimed your lips once more. This kiss was fucking explosive, her tongue battling and tracing every inch of your mouth, her teeth scrapping and nibbling your lips, bringing out a groan as you twitched under her grip. Clumsily and without breaking the kiss you pushed her back until her ass was resting over the edge of the desk, your hands pressed flat over the wood. Pulling away you bit her lower lip, showing her that you could also be bratty, if that’s what she desired, a moan parting her mouth as your lips returned to her neck. God, this was a whole fucking new level of desire for Avis. Those boys at the gas station did show her a good time, but she paid them for it, with Ernie it wasn’t always a question of money, and he was most certainly the best of them all, but you had barely started with her and she already practically dripping. She felt your hands travel back up her back, your lips nibbling on her earlobe, pulling gently, sending a shiver down her body before you began to trace the shape of her jaw, her neck, sucking on her pulse point again, her eyes rolling back for a second at the feeling. Your hands moved underneath her arms until they were pressed over her stomach, though that wasn’t where you wanted them, no, you pushed your fingers under her breasts, feeling her hurried breaths as your lips kissed over her exposed collarbone, and yet you wanted more, needed more.

Gentle fingers traced the fabric of her dress, over the top of her breasts, raising goosebumps all over her skin before you pushed the material of her gown aside, revealing the top of an ivory corselette, lace cupping Avis’s breasts. The sight was to die for, her full bosom so perfectly dressed in white, begging to be released, begging to be touched. You would take your time with them, drive her mad with lust until she could not stand it anymore. Kiss by kiss you traced the shape of her collarbone, whines and whimpers breaking the silence that filled the office, your tongue darting out and licking the jugular notch in the middle of her neck. Avis’s hands shot from your hips to your head, one pressed against the back of your neck while the other wrapped itself among your hair, pulling softly as if to encourage you to carry on. Painfully slow you kissed and scrapped the skin of her chest, licking the marks to soothe them before you finally reached the swell of her left breast. The skin was soft, so very smooth under the touch of your lips, the freckles that painted her skin so faint in this light that you had never thought her olive kissed skin could be sprinkled with such beauty. As you continued kissing and sucking the top of her breast your hands travelled to her shoulders pushing the dress off her frame and down her arms, leaving her only in her corselette from the waist up. And what a sight she was in white lace.

Her right hand grabbed your face before you could carry on tasting her delicious skin, bringing your lips to hers. God, her kisses were the most wonderful thing in the universe, her taste, the way she sucked on your tongue. Suddenly she pushed you away from her, and for a moment you were afraid she had changed her mind, but her lust filled eyes quickly reassured you that that was not the case. You had left small red marks all over her, nothing that would bruise, but the sight of her breasts practically spilling from her strapless corselette, her heaving chest and flushed skin was enough to nearly send you over the edge. The way your knickers were drenched under your dress and coat should definitely be studied because you were sure your own arousal should be dripping down your legs at this point. You were fucking boiling now, not having bothered to undress yourself at all before you had begun to please her, so before Avis could command you again you shed your coat, throwing it onto the floor. The sight of you in your tight dark blue dress was approved by Avis, who drank you in like a castaway lost in the desert as they found an oasis at last. Without uttering a word, she pointed at the floor in front of her feet, the gesture of her hand as commanding and domineering as her voice could be. And you obeyed. You knelt before her, watching her as she bent forward and grabbed a fistful of hair, pushing your head back.

-Undress me.

She barely whispered against your lips before she stood at her full height observing you through her thick eyelashes. You didn’t waste a single second as your hands found the hem of her dress, lifting slowly to reveal cream-coloured stilettos adorning her perfect feet as well as a pair of gorgeous shapely legs underneath, dressed in silk nude stockings. Beginning at her ankle, you kissed the skin of her left leg, moving upwards leaving a trail of pecks until you reached her knee. After licking behind it you lifted it off the ground placing it over your shoulder as your lips carried the path of her thigh. The room was filled with gasps and quiet moans, that as soon as you began to kiss along her inner thigh, the dress bunched around her waist, turned into throaty ones. It was amazing how soft her skin was and even more so once your lips actually made contact with her flesh above the lace of her stocking, where the garter clipped it in place. Her breath hitched in her lungs as your mouth came so very close to where she needed it the most, a mewl of disappointment escaping her lips as you knelt again, letting the skirt fall back into place. She was about to complain when she felt your lips on her right leg, the words dying in the back of her throat. Fuck, you were good, better than any of the men that she had had in the gas station. Reaching her inner thigh once more you were rewarded by a string of moans and her hands threading among your soft locks. Your right hand grabbed onto the bunched-up fabric, pulling Avis of the desk, dropping her leg of your shoulder but keeping them open for you, tugging the dress down her hips and onto the floor.

Then and there you took the chance, and sucked hard on her inner thigh, making sure you would leave a mark. She didn’t reprimand you, quite the opposite, she moaned loudly, her nails scrapping your scalp making you groan, the vibrations practically reverberating through Avis’s body. Pulling back, you observed your artwork, brushing your thumb over the red spot before lifting your head to look at her. Her brown eyes had been glued to you all that time, her lower lip in between her teeth. She pulled you up by the hair, bringing out a painful yelp that was quieted down by her lips crashing down onto yours once more. As much as you loved to explore her, you needed to see her loosing herself, you needed to taste more than just her neck and legs. Lifting her off the floor you sat her on top of the desk, a surprised yelp echoing inside your mouth, the kiss never breaking until your hands pushed her body backwards. She was now curious, you were taking liberties, not that she was complaining, and she wanted to see what you could do with that mouth of yours. Bringing her left leg over your shoulder you made quick work of the clips, rolling the stocking down her leg, leaving sweet pecks over the now exposed skin. Removing her heel the silk ended up on the floor, but you didn’t throw the shoe away, no, you wanted to see her in those stilettos as she came over and over again. Placing her leg back over the desk you repeated the action on the other one, finishing off with a kiss to the arch of her foot as you placed her shoe back in place. Now that her legs were free of any fabric your fingers traced the shape of her muscles, scraping your nails over her thighs as you bent forward and sucked on her soft skin again. Her hips buckled under your ministrations and yet you were unbothered by her needy whines. Avis Amberg would lose her mind tonight, if only briefly if you had a say in it. Paying attention to her left leg you made sure she had a matching bruise in her inner thigh, sucking harder to see if you could make her moans any louder. You succeeded as the noise practically echoed off the walls and yet it felt so very little to you. Satisfied, relatively, with her legs you climbed on top of the desk, your knees parting her legs even further, but before you could bend forward Avis placed a hand on your chest, stopping you.

-Take that dress off. Now.

You were thankful for the fact that you had decided on wearing a dress with buttons on the front instead of a zipper in the back. You hopped of the desk, your eyes never leaving hers as she propped herself on her elbows taking in every little movement you made. Your slender fingers undid each button slowly, observing how her chest rose and fell with her ever-growing arousal, until the fabric hung loosely of your shoulders. You let it fall, watching as she groaned at the sight of you in a beautiful pair of black lacy knickers and matching see-through bralette, your own heavy breasts fighting to escape the garment. Around your waist was a garter belt that clipped a pair of black nylon stockings. The sight of you in that outfit sent a whole new wave of pleasure down to her core and with cat like grace you climbed back onto the desk. She didn’t fight you this time as you bent over her frame, your chest pressed firmly over hers as you claimed her mouth once more your hands travelling down her sides until you felt the flesh of her firm ass, pinching and grasping it, drawing out whimpers and whines that you swallowed as you refused to leave her lips. Needing air once more you traced the shape of her neck once more, now a little surer of what spots she preferred, feeling the vibrations of her moans as you sucked over her right collarbone, her fingers once more pulling on your hair. Licking the perspiration layer that had began to collect all over her skin you made your way to the corselette, licking the valley between her breasts.

The garment, as beautiful and erotic as it was, was now an obstacle, and with skilled hands you unclasped the first hook, watching as Avis’s eyes snapped open as she felt the pressure on her breasts lessen. God, each hook you undid was an inch closer to you finally being able to do something about that ache that had settled in between her breasts, the need to have your mouth on her. It was utterly hypnotic to see you so concentrated in each hook, drinking in every inch of skin that the garment freed. With the last one finally out of the way you pushed the corselette open, freeing her full bosom for your eyes to see and by George, they were so deliciously beautiful. Without a second thought you dove in between them nibling and licking as your hands fondled them with care, unsure how sensitive they might be to your ministrations, not wanting to hurt her. You kneaded the flesh gently, drawing out such beautiful gasps and moans out of Avis, simple confirmations that what you were doing was exactly what she wanted. Her hips buckled onto your abdomen, nearly begging for you to take it up a notch and you did. Fuck if you did. Your mouth bit down on her left breasts, making your way to the rosy perky nipple, which you popped into your mouth, twirling it and sucking. Avis screamed in surprise and pleasure, her head falling backwards onto the desk, eyes closed, her hips buckling so hard upwards that they nearly sent you falling forward on top of her, but your hands resting on top of the wood prevented it. You sucked, hard, one of her hands shooting to the back of your neck to keep you in place as she moaned and gasped, her breaths coming in so fast you worried she might hyperventilate for a second there, lifting your head to observe her, liberating her nipple with soft pop.

At the loss of contact she opened her eyes and glanced down. The look of worry in your deep eyes melted her, and she graced you with a kind smile, her other hand caressing your cheek, bringing you back up to her lips. This kiss was nothing like the previous ones, filled with passion and desire, it was gentle, caring, it was almost loving, and to the both of you meant the world. The feeling of her now less raggedy breaths as she pecked your lips bathed you in such warmth and love that it could have drowned you and you would have gladly accepted such fate if the last thing you had seen had been those brown eyes filled with kindness. Separating your lips you rested your forehead over hers, both her hands caressing your cheeks. But the lust was still there, and it was not going to go anywhere, yet the trail of kisses that you gave her on her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose and both her cheeks before pecking her mouth were ever so soft. Your lips left feathered touches down her neck and in the valley between her breasts before you attacked her right one, that you had neglected earlier. This time you were rewarded with hums and contented whines. Finally popping her nipple in your mouth, you licked and sucked gently until you grew tired of how quiet she was being and so you bit down making her scream loudly, her hands once more on your head as you twirled it in your mouth. With your left hand you began to knead the now neglected left breast, pinching the other nipple, massaging the soft flesh. Fuck, your hands and lips were magical, and what you were doing to her breasts was absolutely maddening and yet she didn’t want you to stop.

Releasing her right nipple from your mouth you sucked under her tit, harder than you should, but you hardly thought anyone would see a hickey there, except for Avis herself. Now that her abdomen was also free of fabric you licked the taunt skin there, tracing each stretch mark your eyes could find with your tongue, the unique salty taste of Avis a wonderful flavour in your mouth, your hands now fondling lazily both of her breasts as your mouth came to kiss her lower abdomen, right where the waistband of her white lace knickers were. You felt her breath hitch when with your teeth you began to pull them down as you didn’t want to stop touching her tits, but she was lost in every sensation you were giving her, and you could not undress her if you were still in between her legs. You hopped of the table, releasing those fucking amazing plump breasts, much to your dismay and Avis’s, but you had a brand-new mission. Pressing your hands over her hips you caressed her flesh before placing your finger under the waistband, but the sight of her propped once more on her elbows watching you intensely, tits free and ever so alluring and beautiful rising and falling with each husky breath, her chest and cheeks flushed a deep red, her once perfectly coiffed curls now lose from her updo here and there, gave you a new idea. You bent forward, your ass up in the air as your lips kissed her inner thighs, but you didn’t like the position she was in, you wanted her sprawled out, wide open for you and so you bent her legs, placing her stilettos over the wood of her husband’s desk.

Now she was a sight to be reckoned with and you dove, delightfully in between her legs, kissing and licking her inner thighs getting closer and closer to her centre but never really there, her moans ending always in a frustrated huff before you switched onto her other leg. Maybe if you got the chance to do this with her again you would tease her and see up until what point you could get her before she took matters into her own hands, but today you would give her what she desired. One swift lick over the fabric of her knickers and she dropped onto her back with a loud bang and even louder moan, her hips buckling onto your mouth out of their own accord.

-Fuck!

At last, you were getting decent moans, loud and so utterly sexy as you kept moving your tongue up and down her slit over her underwear brushing purposely your nose against her clit drawing out even louder grunts now and holy shit, you were now really dripping down your legs. You needed to fully taste her. With two fingers hooked over the waistband you pulled them off her legs, her eyes half lidded observing you as you dropped them beside you after giving them a good long lick. She moaned at the sight. Fuck, she really was gorgeous fully naked sprawled before you with nothing but her cream-coloured stilettos on. Taking her in for a moment you traced the shape of her hip joint with your fingers before bending once again. One long lick and Avis’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, one hand shooting to your hair while the other one tried to hold onto the desk above her head as you worked you magic tongue around her. She was addictive, salty and so very delicious as you moved it in between her folds, each moan that you were able to draw out of her louder than the previous one as you felt her movements become more erratic. Travelling upwards you gave her clit a well-deserved suck, her pelvis thrusting upwards onto your face.

-FUCK! God! Y/N.

Another suck and she was nearly utterly lost, screaming your name once more, her hips buckling even if you were trying to hold her in place with one of your hands, but she was not there quite yet and you were sure you could give her the push she needed in about ten seconds flat. Two fingers inside her and you practically threw her over the edge and yet you didn’t feel her walls clenching around you the way you wanted them, no, you had to give her more. Moving slowly at first you were so gentle, curling them ever so slightly driving her insane as she whined your name in between pants.

-Please, Y/N, faster.

And who where you to not obey. Lapping your tongue over her once more you moved from pumping your fingers at the pace of a snail to pumping them hard and fast, and curling them until you could hit that sweet spot inside her every single time. And she screamed, so loud that you were sure if anyone was outside the building they could hear her.

-YES! FUCK! DON’T… DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP! FUCK!

One precise grace of your teeth on her clit followed by you sucking hard and she came loudly and all over your face, but you drank her, every drop of her delicious juices, forcing her legs to remain open as you carried on with that punishing pace, her thighs trembling and her hips trusting into your face, your tongue circling her overstimulated bud without a second thought. She had not even come down from her first orgasm when you were already building the second one, and although at first her hand had tried to push your head away by pulling your hair, she was now pushing you closer and closer if that was possible. She needed that release; she needed you to carry on fucking her like that. Her entire body was on fire, stars dancing over her eyes, the coil in her abdomen growing bigger by the minute but that tongue of yours was doing wonderful things to her and she wouldn’t fucking stop you now when she was so close already. She wanted your head buried between her legs forever. You pulled on her clit as her pants became less raggedy, earning a pull on your hair and several screams.

-YES! YES! DON’T… FU… AHHHH…

Pumping your fingers nonstop, practically slamming into her, every single whine and pant turned into screams that escalated at a speed that even surprised you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she fell over the edge once more. Her second peak had her arching her back of the desk so much you nearly thought she would sit on it, screaming your name as if it were every answer to every single question in the universe but you were not done. She had another one in her, you were sure. And so, you added another finger, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. You could draw out this second orgasm and practically throw her into a third one if only your arm could hold on a little longer and not falter in pace and strength. Her hips were meeting each thrust you gave her and every moan, whimper and pant now mixed into such a guttural sound that you weren't even sure if she would be able to scream, but you carried on in your relentless marathon, sucking her clit and lapping at her folds as your fingers curled and pumped once, then twice, and at the third one she didn’t see stars she saw the entire fucking universe as she came, utterly overstimulated, eyes rolled into the back of her head, back arched of the desk and thighs trembling so much you were sure she would suffocate you.

Her juices gushed out of her at first, but you carried on at the same speed, thrusting your fingers into her, and after a few seconds she squirted all over your arm, face and chest as she released the breath, she had unknowingly been holding screaming so loud that you were sure she would be hoarse tomorrow. You did not slow down until she stopped dripping, drinking every single drop once more, letting her come down from her height at last as gently as you could kissing her thighs, running your free hand over her soft skin as your fingers began to drop in pace. Her walls clenched still around your fingers, but after a few seconds, or perhaps it had been a minute her body fell back onto the desk, absolutely exhausted, only twitching every once in a while, still she was clearly too out of sorts for you to begin a conversation. Carefully you pulled your fingers out earning a disapproving whine from Avis still she did not move, trying to get her breathing into a normal rate. Her legs had dropped over the edge of the table, thighs clenched together now that you were no longer in between them. Watching her like this, so utterly spent and still without looking at you worried you and so you climbed onto the desk right beside her letting your clean hand caress her cheek. She did not pull away. Her eyes, still carrying a shadow of ecstasy opened, and those deep forests stared back at yours, a happy smile gracing her lips as she watched you.

-You, Y/N are quite something. – her words were tainted with desire still, but you would not subject her to another session so soon. The night was young, or as young as she wanted it to be, and if she was willing to wait for a bit until she was ready again, you would give her several other orgasms. But right now, you were content enough with watching her in that absolutely wonderful post climax state. - With a tongue like that I am able to say that my husband is an utter imbecile.

-I thought you would not want him to sleep around Mrs. Amberg.

-Oh, doll, after what you just did you can call me Avis. And well, I don’t, but I’m not willing to give up on someone like you, so he can keep on fucking as many girls as he wants.

-Someone like me?

-Yes. You are quite magnificent, and I think I would very much want to repeat this. So, this can be just sex, or we can let it become whatever we want. – her fingers lazily played with a lock of your golden hair, her body still twitching every once in a while after all three orgasms in one row was something she had not experienced in years. - Up to you, doll.

-I know we are not even acquaintances, but I can assure you that the sight of you utterly naked and so open for me is something I’m not willing to give up either, Avis.

-So just sex? – was there disappointment in her voice? Maybe you were hearing things, still so worked up and needing release of your own, but you had not intended your words to sound so superficial. This woman should be adored both in bed and out of it and she clearly wanted something more than just a dalliance.

-No. Let this be whatever it’s supposed to be. You are the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and if little me is enough for the grand Avis Amberg, I will not disappoint. Besides, I still have a lot of stamina left in me, and there are many many surfaces in this office that I can make you see stars on.

-Good. As for those privileges I mentioned earlier, I’m sure we can discuss a raise, amongst other things, but from now on you are to only please me, and if you are a very good girl, I will please you.

-Have I earned it, mother? Have I pleased you?

-Mother? – perhaps you had not given her enough credit, because by the look in her eyes she was very much ready to go already, and the nickname only added to her desire to ravish you. – I like it, and my good girl has definitely earned it.

She climbed on top of you crashing her mouth onto yours as she once more held the power over you, the control she so adored. She was going to fuck you senseless just like you had done with her. Perhaps she might visit you on Christmas if Ace was drunk enough or somewhere else other than the house, earn herself a holiday orgasm and a date even. She could take you dancing, she could spoil you rotten as long as you looked at her with that marvellous adoration that you had carried in your eyes since she had entered the living room. You moaned in her mouth as she bit on your lower lip, her hands lost in your hair. This was most certainly not the plan she had had for this evening. It had been much fucking better.

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