This Is Sooo Good - Tumblr Posts

Actually enjoy wincelz planet human series on yt

Had to draw the short goth first of course

Honestly kinda wanna make my own lol

RUNNING THE TABLE.

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

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jb5 x reader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you remember her?

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

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

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

“Take a right here.”

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

“Yes.”

He’s home.

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

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

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

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

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

“A friend.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you knock?” you hissed.

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

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

“Oh, come on! It’s just Jude!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

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

This must be Jude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? Is he famous or something?”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t glare at him,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N. I’m Marcus’ sister.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re older than me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow. Seemed like a busy day.”

“Nah, I was just chilling.”

“For Jude, I meant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day ends with two cones of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes Jude four hours to finish The Great Gatsby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” He nods. “Did you like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jude stands up straight. “Your turn again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yeah, no, it’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then tell me,” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come ride me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jude,” you moan silently.

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn around for me, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“JUDE BELLINGHAM!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy! Another frequency art dump🤭🤭

History loves to repeat itself

Pairing: Changbin x Reader

Wordcount: 12,944 words.

Includes: Fem!Reader, babysitter!Changbin, MILF!Reader. Age gap between characters (male character is said to be 24, whilst reader's age is not explicited but there's an 11 years gap between the two). It's kind of an important topic throughout the plot, but it's not the main topic. Alcohol consumption. Smut warnings under the cut.

Author's Note: Finally, I finished this Changbin fic I've been work for an embarrassing amount of time. I had fun writing this, but right in the middle I kind of started questioning my existence and I started feeling conflicted about how I was portraying everything. I'm not sure if I'm satisfied, but I had a good time so I guess that's what counts. I know for a fact that there are a couple of grammar mistakes and misspelled words. I promise I'll fix them all soon. In the mean time, enjoy! Also, as usual, please remember that english is not my first language.

If you wish to support my work further, you can leave a reblog/ask/ comment. I also have a ko-fi, in case you want to (and are able to) leave me a tip. As a broke, college student I will highly appreciate it (the job hunting it's definitely not going anywhere, anytime soon. I'm doing my best though!). As I'm based in México, even a dollar helps me tons.

Smut warnings: Perv!Changbin, panty sniffing, jerking off to the smell of used underwear. Non-consensual recording in the beginning (but not really, you'll find out why). Dirty talk, mentions of masturbation (f. and m.), oral sex (f. and m. receiving), mentions of spit/drool, brief pussy slapping, overstimulation, impregnation fantasies (but it's not explicit between the characters), very mild humiliation/fantasies regarding humiliation, consensual recording of sexual activities, unprotected sex, creampie. Changbin talks lot about reader's ex-husband during the smut part so bear with him, it's his ego talking.

“You saw what?!”

Myeong’s high-pitched voice attracts a couple of stares from other people at the café, and you sulk into your spot at the sofa. If there's one person you trust in this world, whole-heartedly, it's her —your friend is good at keeping secrets, but she is not that great at being discreet.

Even so, she is the only one you can talk to about this. You didn't even tell your therapist yet, afraid you might get confronted in a not-so-friendly manner.

“Keep your voice down,” you insist, kicking her leg with your feet underneath the table. The short haired hisses and curses under her breath, but she doesn’t complain. Part of her feels like she earned it by being so loud. “And don’t make me repeat it again”.

“He did not,” Myeong’s eyes embody true shock as she stares right into you, her lips slightly parted while there's a blank expression all over her face. It starts regaining its true colors once her eyebrows quirk, and the corners of her lips turn into a hysterical smirk. “He did not!”

“Yes, he did,” you sigh, brushing a couple of strands away from your face before guiding the white, coffee mug to your lips, “And it’s all video-”.

“Shut up,” Myeong’s hand flies to her mouth and she covers it, repressing any urges to scream or laugh out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m not,” you shrug your shoulders, “and it wasn’t just one video I found”.

 Myeong smacks her palm against her thigh, offering you a warm but teasingly smirk, “this might be the greatest day, ever”.

“This is not okay, Myeong,” there’s a lump in your throat that doesn’t go away, not even with all the sips you’ve taken from your coffee as of right now. The words are caught up in your throat, and you're afraid you might spill them if your friend spins the conversation to the wrong direction.

“How is this not okay?” The amusement in her eyes tells you that she is definitely watching the issue from another perspective. A perspective you know well, but that you no longer share, “he is clearly into you, I bet if you ask him to sleep with you he would do it right away, without thinking it twice”.

“He is a college student,” you emphasize, “and he is barely 24”. 

“So?” Myeong cocks an eyebrow. “It’s not illegal, is it?”

You roll your eyes.

“No, it is not illegal,” your friend smiles proudly when you prove her right, but her smile fades away as you start talking, “but it feels wrong”.

“You’re so boring sometimes, you know,” your friend snorts, taking a sip from her green tea. “When was the last time you got laid?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, actually it does,” the conversation is slowly spinning towards you, and you don’t like it. At the same time, you can’t help but answer every question Myeong has, hoping to get some clarity out of the dilemmas she is putting you through. “If you can look into my eyes and promise that your sexual life is satisfactory enough right now, I will let this go”.

Had you been a hell of a liar, you would've done just that —stare into her eyes and blatantly lie. But is it more embarrassing to lie about having a great sexual life and get caught, or admitting it has been practically non-existent ever since your divorce?

Your silence and crestfallen gaze speaks for themselves, and that sparks curiosity in Myeong.

“Because you do… have an active sexual life, right?” A group of older women passes by your table and stares judgingly, which prompts you to shush your friend. Her blank expressions turns into amusement again, and she pokes her tongue through her cheek. “Oh, my God!”

“Look, I don’t need it, okay?” You're not a good liar, but the frustration and the rising heat on your cheeks prompts you to talk without thinking. “I don’t fuck these days and I totally don’t care”.

“What a day!” Myeong scoffs with mirth, “and it is barely nine in the morning”. 

You pick at the hems of your blazer and don’t dare to look at her, at least not until she regains her composure.

“Oh my God,” she sighs again, taking a sip from her tea. “No, I see it, you definitely look like you haven't had sex in ages”.

“My sexual life is not up for discussion today,” you cut her short, rising your hand to catch the attention of a waiter not that far from your table, wanting to get another coffee refill. “But I really need to figure out what to do with the other thing I just told you about”.

“You’re such a prude,” your friend chuckles softly, “you can’t even say his name or address the situation as it happened —you caught him jerking off with your underw-”

“Don’t,” you stop her, glaring at the waiter that's just approaching you. He gets to your table and offers you both a bright smile, before asking if you need anything else. You hand him your coffee mug and ask for another refill, to which he nods compliantly.

You wish you could have elongated the time of his presence near you, to save you from Myeong's accusatory interventions, but there was little you could do when another table called him. After, the mischevious smile in your friend’s lips appeared again.

“So you caught Changbin jerking him in your bedroom, rubbing himself with a pair of your used panties,” you nod quietly, biting the insides of your cheek. There's something crude about the way she puts it, but that's exactly what happened. “What are you going to do about it? Fire him?”

“Yeah,” you agree, and furrow your eyebrows when Myeong shakes her head in disapproval. “Isn’t that the obvious thing to do in this situation?”

“You said he was great, though”.

“He is great at babysitting,” you let out a frustrated sigh, brushing your hair away from your face, “he is so accessible, and Jihun adores him”.

“And you’re still going to fire him?” Myeong asks with a look of disbelief.

“Isn’t that what I am supposed to do?”  The sudden raise of your voice attracts a couple of stares, to which Myeong responds with a friendly smile. You quickly mutter a quick sorry to your table neighbors and other passerbys, and lower the volume of your voice. “The idea of not firing him just doesn't make any sense”.

“Alright, let’s say you fire him,” Myeong takes a deep sigh and leans back against his seat, “do you already have someone in mind for the job?”

You chew on your bottom lip as you shake your head.

“If you’re going to fire him, you better start there,” your friend rightfully points out. “Once you have a new babysitter, then you can fire him. If not, you’re at risk of being left empty-handed”.

“Yeah, but-” you hesitate. The idea of having to look for someone else to take care of Jihun it’s incredibly overwhelming. What if you can’t find someone like Changbin all over again? What if you end up stuck with a shitty, irresponsible babysitter that Jihun might not even get along with? “God, I just don’t want to fire him”.

“Then don’t!”

“But-”

“Jesus, you’re so complicated,” Myeong huffed, taking one last sip of her tea cup before putting it to the side. “What is so wrong about him jerking off in your room? That he did it with your dirty underwear?”.

You keep quiet for a second, which your friend takes advantage of to continue ranting.

“I mean, that’s a little bit nasty, but is it weird of me to say that it’s kind of hot too?”

“It’s a perverted behavior,” you murmur under your breath, but Myeong picks it on very clearly.

“It turned you on and you know it,” she scoffs. “We have going at this for over an hour, and not once I’ve sense any kind of disgust from you when you talk about it. You’re scared, and awkward, and probably confused, but disgusted? I just don’t see it, no matter how hard you try to portray just that”.

Damned be Myeong, who knows you a bit too well for your own liking.

“What were you thinking when you saw those videos?” the short-haired asks you, stretching her arms and placing both palms on top of the table. “Or better yet, what did you feel?”.

She doesn’t know, you tell yourself, but the heat rising up to your cheeks and the sudden throb between your legs betrays you. Myeong might not know what you thought or felt, but you do —no matter how much you try to repress or deny it, the ghost of your hand trailing from your tummy to your aching core is still there.

“Nothing,” you reply, not daring to share the truth.

“Nothing?” Myeong challenges you, “you mean to tell me that it didn’t spark anything inside you?”

It sparked everything inside you, but you couldn’t get yourself to admit it. The whole situation makes you feel silly, and you can't understand why.

“Alright,” she exhales, scratching her head. “I’m going to be pretty straight forward with you”.

Myeong isn't known for her tact, so you're preparing in advance for whatever it is that she has to say. Whether you want her blunt honesty or not, it is perhaps what you need to get yourself out of this dilemma, “shoot”.

“We’ve been friends for what? 18 years?” you simply nod, unsure where this is going to take her. “We went to college together, we finished our majors and graduated on time. I was there on your wedding day, and the day Jihun was born. I was also there the day you decided to get a divorce”.

“Thank you for the quick trip to memory lane,” you joke.

“What I’m saying is that we have known each other for years, I obviously can tell when you’re lying,” she cocks her eyebrows and gives you an accusatory look, but continues on with her speech. “I also can tell how much you’ve changed since that useless marriage of you, and I hate it. You’re far from being the confident woman I once knew”.

“What does that has any to do with the Changbin situation?” A nervous smile peeks through the corners of your lips.

“Please,” she spits, “it has everything to do with it”.

She keeps quiet for a second and stares at you long enough before continuing, almost as if she's trying to get answers from you telepathically. Not that she needs them.

“What are you so scared of?” Myeong queries. Whether she asked it as a rhetorical question or not, you do have an answer of your own. A bunch, actually. “Why did you stop being a woman, and got stuck with the role of a divorced, single mother?”

You know it wasn't her intention, but the stinging feeling of your tears pricking in the corner of your eyes tells you that she has hit a weak spot. Something you weren't expecting to talk about on a Thursday morning during breakfast at a fucking café downtown.

“I know you like him, Changbin,” the way she stitched those words together makes you feel eerie, but the statement is not far from the truth —you don't picture a long life together, and you don't necessarily want anything serious, but you still like him. You're attracted to him, and you've known that for a while now. “It’s really obvious”.

“How come?” The question is stupid, but you really ought to know why.

“I’m your best friend,” she smiles triumphantly, “I just know”.

Your cup of coffee it’s getting empty, and there’s only a couple of minutes before 10. You invited Myeong to grab some breakfast in hopes of finding a solution to your conflict, yet a ton of more questions were awakened.

You can’t tell if that is a good thing or a bad one.

“It’s obvious he feels attracted to you too,” Myeong tells you, getting you out of your own thoughts. “Perhaps it wasn't the best way to find out, but you can clearly tell he has a thing for you”.

“So?”

“So,” she exhales, grabbing her purse from the side of the table. “Do with that information as you please. Jesus, woman, I can’t solve every single one of your mind riddles for you!”

“You’re saying I should tell him?” you rush to ask before she stands up. “You know, about the videos”.

“I’m saying: do whatever the fuck you want for once,” Myeong smiles. “If you want to get fucked by him, go ahead. If you don’t, then you don’t and that’s it”.

“You’re not helping me,” you huff, crossing your arms against your chest while leaning back.

“No one will be able to help you if you don’t let them,” with a tilt of her head, and her lips pressed together in a straight line, Myeong chooses her next words carefully. “What happened with Kyungho doesn't have to keep on taking tolls in your life, especially in your womanhood”.

She extends her arm on the table and looks out for your hand, holding it carefully while giving you a reassurance gaze.

“It’s difficult,” you exhale, fixing your eyes in the way she rubs your hand with her thumb.

“I know,” the short-haired nods. “But you too deserve to have fun, to meet people and feel desired. It is not wrong, you know?”

After your divorce, picturing you with someone became impossible. At first, and for obvious reasons, you didn't feel like putting yourself out there. You had way too much on your plate at the time to even consider dating, and the idea never really crossed your mind. Your work and Jihun occupied most of the space in your mind and concerns, and there was very little room for you and your needs.

As you got a hang of everything, you started to realize the pitch feeling of dissatisfaction inside your chest —there was something you were missing, and you couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what it was.

Love, with Jihun and your loved ones you had plenty. Money, just enough to live a pretty decent life.

But sex? There was nothing there to tell.

“I’ve got to get going,” Myeong murmurs, squeezing your hand one last time before sliding her chair backwards, “don’t get into your head too much, alright?”

“I can’t promise you that,” you tell her, standing up from the sofa while grabbing your purse while giving her an unapologetic smile. 

The rest of the day you’re spending it thinking about your conversation with Myeong earlier, and the videotapes you found the night before. Most of the things she said are lingering in your head, presenting itself one after the other, like a hook of an essay meant to capture your attention and lure you into all that reading the rest.

She gives you a soft pat on your head and returns the smile, her warmth giving you some sense of comfort, “just try”.

You don’t want to read the rest of your own thoughts. You don't want to acknowledge them, nor deal with them, but Myeong’s voice is still ringing loud and clear in your ears.

What were you thinking? What did you feel? Had you been brave enough, you would have told her everything, from the very start and without gaps. You would have told her about the way your heart started to race as you realized what was hapenning in the tapes, how you stood awake all night watching them, examining them, touching yourself to them.

Now that you think about it, you're not any better than him.

Paperwork is accumulating at the edge of your desk, but you can't begin to care. Time is passing, but you’re still stuck in last night without being able to move forward or backward. Your mind is latched to the sight of him throwing his head back while he wraps your underwear around his cock, the way he starts increasing the movement of his wrist once he is close. Your mind is latched to everything you saw, and all the tiny details you might have missed.

The dates of each footage spin in your head, trying to find a pattern but, at the same time, making no sense. There is, however, a common denominator every single time —Changbin only visits your room when the apartment was empty. It doesn’t happens too often, though, but it has happened a couple of times in the past months. For instance, that April morning you took Jihun to his doctor’s appointment and forgot to inform Changbin, who showed up to your apartment right on time, but found it empty.

It had been a rabbit's hole, the stupid CCTV you haven't gotten rid of despite not being useful anymore. Before yesterday, you didn't even remember you had it —it had been Kyungho’s idea, to install a closed-circuit television system after a spate of burglaries at the apartment complex. At the time, you didn't protest because you thought it was convenient. But, eventually, the burglaries stopped.

After that, the system never came in handy until Wednesday, when you thought you had lost a usb with important work documents. You looked for it everywhere —the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and even Jihun's playroom.

“You know, kids love small, shiny things,” Myeong had told you over the phone, trying to ease your frustration, “maybe he took it and it’s hidden somewhere in between his toys, I don’t know”.

After a relentless search, and an agonizing feeling of having screwed up, you remembered the CCTV. Although its purpose was to surveill and not precisely find missing things you took a leap of faith —you were too desperate to find it, that the idea didn’t seem too crazy.

So you sat down and searched for the date in which you last remember ever using the USB. Tuesday, this week. You thought doing some home office was a good idea, so you took your stuff home and, after pouring a glass of red wine, you laid down in your bed and started reviewing some documents you have to deliver on Friday.

A glass of red wine became two, and soon you found yourself feeling sleepy. You could clearly see in the CCTV footage how you packed your things, placed your laptop inside your bag, took the glass and bottle of wine to the kitchen and returned to keep on getting your stuff ready for the following morning. Then, some frames of you walking towards one of your drawers, opening and closing them right away.

Perhaps you had been too sleepy, and the alcohol ingested did its thing, but you found the USB right there, where the footage showed it —inside one of the drawers. You smiled triumphantly as you packed the device where it should have been, inside your bag, and returned your attention to the television screen in front of you. What a useless purchase, you thought as you saw the amount of videos stored, but felt glad nonetheless about it becoming in handy.

You could have stop right there. And really, you should have.

But one thumbnail in particular captured your attention. It dated from Wednesday, last week, and it showed you an image of a man walking inside your room, the same 3 frames repeating themselves over and over again.

Wednesday, last week, had been the parent-teaching meeting at Jihun’s preschool. It took longer than expected, so Changbin had to wait at your place for around 20 minutes before you came home. The timestamp in the bottom right corner of the thumbnail confirmed so —it had been recorded at 12:06 p.m., when he was by himself.

Said footage lead you to look for another.

And another.

And another.

[18:01 p.m., You: Do you think I can have a word after your shift today?]

And at one point, you didn’t know who had sunk lower —Changbin, for what he did, or you, for liking it.

[19:23 p.m., Babysitter: Sure. Is everything alright?]

[19:41 p.m., You: Yeah, there’s just something I want to discuss with you]

Myeong's words still resonate inside your mind and, as you park your car outside the apartment complex, you realize you don't have a plan. You had been brave enough to let Changbin know there's something you want to talk about, but you didn't think anything further from it. You just don’t know how to bring the topic up, because there is a lot to explain from your side.

“Yeah, I have cameras all over the apartment and I saw you getting off to my used underwear,” you rehearse, but even the choice of words sounds extremely creepy. You're glad the windows of your car are rolled up, because if any passerby hears you they would’ve give you a perturbated look.

You take a deep breath, grip the steering wheel of your car and go at it again. “Listen, Changbin, I found some videos- fuck!”.

You feel conflicted, and guilty. And a part of you makes you want to believe it is because of the whole CCTV issue, that you should've told him beforehand when he started working with you. But, prior to this week, you didn't even remember it. You didn't avoid telling him out of mischief, but because it was so irrelevant it never cross your mind.

However, the other part of you knows it is because of what you did watching those tapes. You know about the pooling wetness in your underwear as you remember the images of Changbin stroking himself, wrapping your used underwear around his cock and fucking himself with it. You know about the countless times you made yourself come last night while thinking about him, about how good he smells and how much of a gentleman he is.

You know about your attraction towards him, and that is something you can deny to everyone but yourself.

After not being able to find the correct words to use tonight, you leave your car and walk towards your apartment with frustration penting up inside of you. Because, really, what was the worst thing that could happen? Him, quitting his job? At some point, you voted for that solution to this situation. So the more you think about it, the more you expose yourself —the worst thing that can happen is nothing at all.

You take one last deep breath before typing the password in the keypad of your door, and the first thing you're welcomed with is a delicious smell you're not used to.

“I’m home,” you announce, hanging your bag and blazer on the coat rack. These days you're not greeted by Jihun as you usually were. Now that he started his second year at kindergarten, he wakes up earlier than usual and, therefore, goes to bed early too. His absence doesn’t surprise you tonight, but the fact that Changbin isn’t sitting at your living room as he usually does, do. “Changbin?”

“Right here, Miss,” a voice from the kitchen speaks.

You find him standing in front of the kitchen stove, not facing you, wearing some thight jeans, a light blue shirt and your white apron. In the dinner table there's a plate and a glass, along with a bottle of wine you can't quite recognize. Did he bring it himself?

“What is this?” you ask. There's not irritation or annoyance in your voice, but rather confusion and curiosity.

The corner of his lips rise in a soft, proud smirk. One that you can’t capture due to the position he is in. “Dinner,” he tells you, maneuvering a couple of kitchen utensils on his pan. “I figure you might be hungry, and so I decided to cook some dinner for you”.

Static, you stare at his back for endless seconds until his voice brings you back to reality yet again.

“I cooked us some bibimbap, Jihun was craving some,” Changbin explains. “There were a couple of leftover ingredients”.

“Oh,” you murmur, walking cautiously towards the dining table, “you shouldn’t have”.

“It’s no big deal,” Changbin reassures you, getting your dish ready.

You watch him as he moves around the kitchen, and that conversation with Myeong comes back to your mind —he is a college student, 11 years younger than you are. But the more you look at him, the more he doesn't look like one.

His facial features, the way he walks and carries himself. The way he talks and expresses his thoughts, his voice, his gaze... Everything is so appealing to you. He is even more of a man than half men your age, you often think.

“Almost done, Miss,” he tells you, and the title which he uses to address you suddenly weighs heavy on your mind.

“How was Jihun today?” you ask, clearing your throat and preventing any other thoughts from resurfacing.

“He was good,” Changbin walks towards the table and offers you the dish, not without pouring a bit of wine on your glass. “I helped him with his homework, and he asked me if he could watch television afterwards. We spent almost all day at his playroom”.

“Thanks,” you mutter under your breath as he sets the table ready for you. “Is he already in bed?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I hope the dinner is good by the way”.

You give him a quick smile, and thank him again. The dish looks great, and it smells just as good, but you can’t get yourself to take one bite from it. Or at least not when you’re this nervous.

So you decide to start now.

“Changbin,” you sigh, feeling even more conflicted about such gesture. His name it's all that's needed for you to capture his attention, which you do almost immediately. “Please, sit down”.  

He follows compliantly, taking a seat right in front of yours. You're not quite sure how to begin, but you go for it anyways.

“What’s going on?” he asks you, with an innocent smile that gets a little under your nerves. “What was the thing you wanted to discuss?”

You clear your throat and eye the glass of wine in front of you. Silly move, a part of you thinks once you chug it down in one sit. You look nervous, and he can tell. Ironically enough, you're not the one who should be in such a state. You weren't caught doing something wrong, and your job wasn't at risk. So why do you feel cornered, just like he is supposed to feel?

“How do I even say this,” you mumble to yourself, exhaling the sweet taste of wine. It tastes nothing like the ones you usually consume, but it is nice. You know it isn't yours, but you don't dare to ask him the reason behind this odd, unexpected gift. “Jesus”.

He looks at you with empty eyes, that seem to be trying hard to figure out what's going on inside your mind.

“Look, I’m just going to say it like it happened,” Changbin is sitting right in front of you, but it seems as if you’re engaging on a conversation alone with yourself. You hardly recognize his presence there, only fixing your eyes to the now empty glass of wine. “And I know I should’ve told you this when I first met you and hired you as Jihun’s babysitter, but I didn’t because I completely forgot about them and I honestly didn’t think much of it”.

There's a short silence between the two of you, one you use to organize your thoughts, and then continue.

“There’s a CCTV system in the apartment,” you say, without beating around the bush. Saying it out loud, for you, sounds like a shocker, but Changbin doesn't seem fazed at all. “There’s cameras on every room, and they have been there for a while now, longer than you have been working for me”.

After you tell him that, he leans back against his seat and his body relaxes, almost as if he was expecting something else. Something worse.

As if what you’re just about to say isn’t wrong enough.

“I saw some stuff,” you confess, still not daring to look at him.

You hate how this whole interaction is being. You hate how small you feel, even though you're the one calling him out, the one supposed to be in control. You hate how he looks at you, with that heavy gaze of his that secretly whispers an I know what you did. You hate how the eleven-year gap does not cross your mind because in front of him you feel so defenseless.

You hate how you can't even scold him for what he did because you didn't dislike any second of it.

Changbin smiles after a couple of seconds in silence, finding amusement in the way you get flustered as you try to keep your speech going.

“I know about the cameras,” he tells you, and your nervous countenance suddenly drifts into one of confusion. “I’ve known for a while. They’re not hard to spot”.

There's rage within you, probably because of how much time you invested being nervous just for him to shrug it off so lightly.

“Oh,” you blink a couple of times, still in awe.

It takes you a while, but the realization hits you. If he was aware of the CCTV system the whole time, that means…

“Then you know what I saw,” it’s not a question, it’s an affirmation. Hostility lingers in your voice, but that is not enough to alarm Changbin, who licks his lips and tiltes his head at you with a serious deadpan.

“Miss,” he tells you. “What did you see?”

You gulp loudly and finally get the courage to look at him, with an incredulous expression that calls out his cynism. “Do you really want me to say it out loud?”

Another silence dawns up on you, and you're not quite sure how to follow the conversation without his participation, as he isn't really saying anything. So, to save you time and awkwardness, you just let the words freely fall from your mouth.

“I saw footages of you, inside my room,” you spit, seeing if that is enough to get a reaction from him, but realizing you failed again. Not that it surprises you, so you just keep going. “I saw everything, every video there was. I don’t- I’m not sure why I did it, but I did”.

You're reminded of Myeong, again, and how she asked you to do whatever the fuck you wanted for once.

“So, why?” you ask, staring deep into him. You’re not angry, nor disappointed, you also don’t seem grossed out, so Changbin smiles triumphantly. He has gotten away with it. “If you knew there was cameras, why risk doing that knowing I could easily find out?”

“Because I wanted you to find out,” he simply replies, as if the answer wasn’t completely obvious to both parties.

“Yeah, but why?”

“I wanted to end up right here,” Changbin explains, leaning against the table while placing both of his elbows on it. “With you, confronting me about it”.

You look at him in disbelief, trying to give his answers some sense but failing miserably.

“You’re not thinking about firing me,” he continues, looking for your gaze underneath your shock. “It would’ve been the first thing to say”. 

It seems as if the roles have been reversed, and you're now the one who isn't speaking, despite you being the one who initially brought the topic up.Right now you want to listen to him and try to understand what he is meaning with all of this, so you stay quiet.

“So if you’re not firing me, what is it that truly you wanted to discuss?”

The soft smirk he offers you makes you feel dizzy, and you find yourself holding your breath. As if a deep exhale it's going to betray you, to sell you out and reveal your deepest fantasies.

And quickly, you realize can’t fulfill Myeong’s promise, because you’re already too far gone inside your head.

“It was- not okay,” you sigh. “You’re just- way too young for me. I have an exhusband, and a child. I’m a fucking mother, Changbin”.

“So?” he asks you with one of his brows slightly raised. Defiantly, intimidating, ready to prove you wrong. “Does that mean I can't find you attractive?”

The sudden confession makes your heart feel as if you were on top of the roller coaster, despite Myeong bringing the possibility to the table earlier today.

“You shouldn’t,” you cut him short. “There’s nothing I can offer you. You should seek women your age”.

“But I want you,” he makes it very clear, with no hesitation in his voice. There’s a table between you two, but it is not enough of a barrier to prevent you from feeling him close. “It’s you who I think about when I jerk off, not them”.

There’s another silence that accompanies the realization sinking. Changbin is attracted to you, and he does jerks off thinking about you. You shouldn’t feel flattered, but you do, and it’s dangerous.

It has been a while since someone lusted after you like this.

“Changbin,” you swallow thickly, but not even that small amount of saliva does anything to ease the dry feeling in your throat. “You’re too young”.

He gives a smile that hides cockiness behind it, almost as if he wanted you to bring that up.

“I can treat you better than men your age, in every way,” the tip of his tongue grazes against his cheek in an arrogant manner that don’t really hate. The attitude looks good on him. “Even better than your exhusband”.

The heat is rising up to your cheeks, and it feels awkward. Your thighs are squeezing together, too, and you pray for him to not notice any crevice of all that you are trying so hard to hide.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep talking about this,” you mumble, standing up from your seat while he does the same. “Go home, and I’ll see you on Monday”. 

“So you’re really not going to fire me,” Changbin murmurs, dangerously approaching you. “Hm?”

You’re too close to spit it out. To give in, tell him that he can do with you whatever he wants. You’re too close to break in front of him, just like he is to pressing his body against yours.

“No,” you inhale, anticipating the contact of his hand against your hips.

“Is there a good reason behind such a decision?”

You swallow thickly, and think about how long it has been since the last time you felt someone’s body against yours —it has been ages, to say the least.

“I-” you can’t think straight. The mere touch of his hand against your clothes, and his deep gaze staring right through you is enough to overwhelm you. “Jihun likes you too much, I can’t- I don’t want to hire anybody else”.

“And you?” Changbin asks you, tilting his head. “Do you like me?”

What is the point of resisting? Now that his lips are too close to yours, and you're aching to feel his hips pressed against your body, you no longer care about anything you did a couple minutes ago. You like Changbin. You like his body, his gentleness, his sympathy. You like how attractive and confident he is, how he stares at you, how he desires you.

You like him. Isn’t that enough to give in?

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek, “and I’ll take care of the rest”.

“What’s going to happen if I do?” you ask him, nibbling at the skin of your lower lip.

“You know what is going to happen,” Changbin scoffs, so softly it sounds like a melody rather than a teasing laugh. “Didn't the videos gave you enough hints about how desperate I am for you?”

You're not used to him being this straight-forward. Maybe you are a prude, because the way he is talking to you right now is making it difficult to hold the eye contact, and it's making your skin warmer.

Changbin is quick to pick up on that, on the way you can hardly look at him while he speaks, and the way you swallow thickly with each words that leaves his lips —he makes a mental note to remember it later.

“Tomorrow,” you tell him and, for the first time tonight, you feel the air actually getting to your lungs. “Jihun is spending the weekend with his father”.

He smiles cockily against your lips, leaning in further to place a quick peck on them. A quick peck that leaves you craving for more, that makes your chest feel heavy and your limbs numb.

“See you tomorrow, then”.

You can’t stop eyeing your phone screen, thinking that staring at the clock for too long will prevent it from letting time pass.

You've given in. And there's no turning back.

It’s 18:41. And it has been 18:41 for the past hour or so. The seconds are passing excruciatingly slow, and that does nothing to ease your anguish.

You tried to catch up on all the paperwork you left undone yesterday, went and lunch somewhere else rather than the company’s cafeteria to kill some time, and even texted Myeong asking her if she was busy because you wanted to talk to her. Myeong hasn’t texted you back yet, but the two other activities weren’t enough to distract you from the inevitable.

18:41, still. Anticipation is killing you, what have you gotten yourself into?

You can't shake off the feeling of his lips against yours, no matter how minimal and quick the contact was. It wasn’t a kiss in all the sense of the word, it was just a peck. Yet that is enough for your mind to keep on repeating the moment on loop, making you feel the pressure on your lips, despite him not being anywhere around you right now.

You glance at your phone screen again.

18:42. You swallow thickly.

The sudden buzz of your phone inside your hand makes your heart skips a beat, and you hold it right against your chest. Please let it be Myeong, you pray, feeling a pit in your stomach and the sudden sensation of having to visit the restroom. Please let it be Myeong.

[18:42, Myeong: Just got out of a meeting. What’s up?]

[18:42, You: I’m meeting Changbin after work]

Not even two seconds after pressing the sent button, your phone is buzzing repeatedly and Myeong's image is being shown right at the center of the screen.

“What?!” Her squealing is what welcomes you after you pick up the call. She screams so loud you have to move your phone away from your ear, allowing her to scream as much as she wants without compromising one of your senses. “Oh my fucking God!”

It takes her a while to regain her composure, but she gets there. After panting and letting out sighs of amusement, Myeong gives you the word.

“I’m nervous,” you admit. “I’m so fucking nervous, I feel like a teenager”.

“Of course,” Myeong sighs, and you don’t have to see her to know she is probably smiling. “Isn’t that expected? It has been a while since, you know, you put yourself out there”.

“Yeah, I know,” you murmur, biting the skin around your nails. “But God, I feel so pathetic”.

“Once you're being dicked down you're definitely going to forget that feeling, don't worry,” your friend jokes with a teasing chuckle, and you huff under your breath. “Or you can ask him to make you feel that way even more, if you’re into that”.

A quick train of thoughts passes through your mind, but Myeong's voice snaps you back into reality again.

“You don't have to feel nervous,” she continues. “It’s just sex. It's not like you haven't had it before”.

“Why am I even making such a big deal out of this?” You let out a frustrated sigh, and lean back against your office chair.

“You’re getting too much into your own head, again,” Myeong scolds you. “I’m praying he can get you out of there”.

“We’ll see,” your lips press into a thin line, and the thoughts that were pushed away by Myeong resuface again. “I have to go, my desk is a mess and I need to tidy it up before I leave”.

It’s part true, your desk is a mess. But you don’t think you can organize it in under 10 minutes, let alone do it while thinking about Changbin. So your say your goodbyes, hang up and stare at the glass doors that lead to your office for a bit too long.

What is Changbin like in bed?

You didn’t ask him, but it’s rather obvious he has a couple experiences of his own. You have some too, but none of them are worth telling —just normal sex, with a little bit of foreplay and, luckily, some cuddles in the end. Nothing wrong with that, but your experiences weren't nearly as fascinating as some you've heard over the past years.

The clock on your phone screen captures your attention, and you realize you can't dwell in your own thoughts too much.

18:58.

Despite knowing the password to the door keypad, Changbin waited for you to let him know you were already at the apartment to finally show up, wearing some tight jeans, and a plain black t-shirt.

Technically, you can leave your office now.

Upon arriving home, you opted for taking a shower and wear much more comfortable clothes.

They aren’t sexy, nor luring. They are just your regular pijamas, ones that make you feel comfortable and aren't as awkward as those work skirts that makes you feel like your stomach it's all the way up to your chest.

They are just your pijamas, but Changbin’s gaze and the soft smirk that peeks from the corners of his lips tells you that he likes them.

“Do you want some wine?” You ask him, just as he follows you around the living room.

He gets the sense that you might need a glass, so he agrees. You grab the bottle of wine he brought yesterday, along with two glasses, and join him in the couch, sitting right next to him while leaving the stuff on top of a small coffee table. Not having a whole table as a barrier feels kind of weird now, and you sigh loudly when you take into account how close you really are from him.

“Thank you, by the way,” you mumble, pouring him some wine. “For the dinner, yesterday. I ate it after you left, it was really good”.

He offers you a soft smile, and you hand him the glass. Is this too formal? you start thinking. Why would I be drinking some wine, on a Friday afternoon, with the college student who babysits my son?

But then again, you’re about to get fucked by him too. So moral questionings doesn’t really matter this time.

“You’re welcome,” Changbin coos. “I’d be happy to cook something else for you another time”.

Another time, the words resonate in your head over and over again. Will this happen another time, too? What will things be like on Monday, for example, when he shows up for work? Will things be weird, or will he be casual about it? What happens if you soon realize it was a mistake?

You’re getting too much into your own head, again, so you clear your throat and shake your head.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, his lips tinted with the cherry color of the wine. The sight makes you want to lean in and kiss him again, to taste the sweet flavor off his lips, but you’re not brave enough to make the first move.

“I’m just nervous,” you admit, staring at the glass between your hands. “It’s weird that we both know why you are here”.

Changbin lets out a soft scoff.

“And?”

“It feels odd, you know?” You lick your lips. “I don't know what to say, or where to begin. I'm not rushed to get into it, it's just... I don't know what the fuck to do”.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he reassures you, taking one last sip from the wine before putting his glass on the table again. “Why don’t you leave everything to me, hm?”

You gulp loudly and nod, unsure of what that means. But either way, you feel relieved.

He places his hand on your naked thigh, and then guides it a little bit further up. It’s a suggestive touch, but not obsecene —still, you feel your breath hitching. You don't even bother to try and hide your reaction, because the proud smile in his face tells you that he noticed it.

“Come here,” he whispers, guiding his available hand to softly grip your chin and turning it to face him. He doesn’t give you time to process the action, and just crashes his lips into yours. It starts like a peck, but when you part your lips and invite his tongue in, it turns into something else.

Changbin smiles against your lips, again, a proud smile. You can feel his soft scoff when he does so, right before losing yourself in the kiss. A kiss that tastes like wine and mint, that is making your thighs squeeze together even with his hand almost in between them, and that has you gasping for air when you realice you’re running out of breath.

He lets go of you to breathe, but kisses you right after without losing any time. You don’t get to complain because you’re dying for him to kiss you again, so you just take all his lips are offering you.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” he murmurs in between kisses. The hand that was forcing your head against his suddenly leaves the sides of your face and travels all the way to your hips, and you instinctively shift your position on the couch until you’re on top of him.

He kisses you one last time on your lips before descending to your neck and chest, peppering kisses all over your naked skin and nibbling at the flesh of your most sensitive spots. You latch your fingers against his dark locks, pulling him in further as you arch your back.

“Changbin,” you sigh, closing your eyes. He hums in response, and you continue, “it has been a while since I’ve been with someone”.

He smirks proudly against your skin and his cock gets even harder; there is something enticing about you being too unfamiliar with sex these days. Knowing that your ex husband, who you utterly despise now, was the last man to ever touch you, turns him on in unimaginable ways.

He has confidence in knowing that probably no man has ever made you feel the same way he is going to make you feel tonight.

“I don’t know why I am telling you this,” you exhale, your body instinctively grinding against his. You can feel some pressure between your legs, and you get wet just by knowing he is hard. Are you really this touch starved?

“You can tell me anything you want,” Changbin smiles, looking up to you with quite a gaze you hadn't seen before.

You whimper when you feel his lips too close to your breasts, and suddenly the clothes you’re wearing feel too uncomfortable. Not only that, but you take him at his word and your mouth starts talking on its own, without your brain knowing about it. Without making any sense. 

“I touched myself,” you sigh, looking down on him while he sucks the naked skin of your flesh. “When I found the videos, I touched myself while watching them”.

He let out a quiet chuckle, and his cock twitches at the sudden confession.

“Did you come?” his voice is low, and raspier than it usually is, “watching me stroke my cock with your underwear?”

You swallow thickly, loud enough for him to notice it. That makes him bring back the mental note he made yesterday, when he realized how receptive you are to dirty words.

“I bet you did,” he continues, and you feel your skin getting warmer with each thing he says. Not only that, but the way he is groping your ass and hips isn't helping you in keeping quiet.

“Y-yes,” it’s all you can answer before your words get muffle with your whines, and your hips acquire a pace of its own against his. “Fuck”.

“What where you thinking while watching those videos?” He removes one strap of your tank top and lets it hang around your arm, placing a kiss on the place that was occupied by it just now. “Tell me”.

There were plenty of thoughts roaming around your head as you watched every video, but there was one that predominated over the rest.

“I was thinking about you, eating me out,” even saying those words out loud makes you feel flustered, but you really can't begin to care. For some reason, the way he is looking at you just makes you want to tell him more, let him know about all the things you've thought. “I was- really, just thinking about having your face between my legs, kissing me and just- you know”.

His gaze darkens when you tell him that, and the fabric of his jeans against his crotch starts being unbearable. He can't spend any more time without knowing how you actually taste and smell, other than those used panties he has jerked off to.

At the same time, though, he wants to take his time with you. He doesn't want to rush anything. He doesn't want to jump straight into it. He wants to savor it, just like he spent doing it the past months when all he had was your underwear and the faint smell of cologne you always left around the apartment.

“Yeah?” he purrs in a way that makes your whole skin get cover in goosebumps. He sounds so good when he is aroused, you wonder if he sounds this nice when he is being pleasured.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I want- that”.

He stops himself for a while, and looks directly into your eyes.

“Do you want me to taste you?”

You nod almost immediately, and you think it's pathetic but Changbin finds it endearing how desperate you are. You really haven’t been touched in a while, he thinks.

“But first,” he guides his hands to the hems of your tank top, and he pulls it up higher as a way of motioning for you to take it off. You follow compliantly and raise it over your arms, discarding it somewhere next to the couch.

Changbin stares at your breasts, and then makes eye contact with you. He holds a teasing gaze that is making you look away timidly.

“Pretty,” he whispers, tracing the lace with the tip of his index finger.  “You wore this for me?”

You know he doesn't mean to embarrass you, but the way he is bringing it up makes you feel shy. What else were you supposed to wear? The sports bra and high-briefs you wear on a regular?

His fingers graze against the hems of the short’s waistband and he pulls them down slightly, only to find a pair of laced panties that match the bra. He chuckles softly, but cockily, and that only makes your skin get even hotter.

“Of course you did,” he murmurs, with such a teasing tone that you're not sure if you like it or you hate it. “What else have you done for me, hm?”

 You stare at him while he sneaks a hand inside your pijamas, between the fabric of your shorts and your underwear. Two of his fingers come in contact with your clothed pussy, sliding them along your slit while he quietly groans.

“All of this?” he asks you, getting his hand out of your shorts. His fingers are glistening underneath the dim lights of the living room, and you’re surprised at how wet his digits are —you can’t recall a moment in which someone has made your body react like that. “Just for me?”

He loses no time into guiding said fingers into his mouth, he loses no time guiding said fingers into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around them and sucking them off while letting out a soft groan. There's a faint taste of you in them, but it is not enough. Nothing will ever be enough other than tasting you himself, to drag his tongue against your pussy and have you coming all over himself.

So, with a quick movement, he switches the position yet again and sits you right on the couch, kneeling in front of you while he drags your shorts and underwear off of you.  

No matter how many times Changbin fantasized about this sight, none of those thoughts compared to the real you. The one in front of him right now, with his legs spread and his cunt soaked.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly and, for a second, fear fear washes upon him. What if he gets to finally taste you, and he loses control of himself? What if he comes in his pants right there? He is nearly about to come untouched, and he fears that your taste might trigger his release.

He wraps both of his arms under your thighs and pull you closer to him, making you slide against the couch in a much more comfortable position for you both.

“Is this what you thought about when you were touching yourself?” Changbin asks you, feeling his breath too close to your core that you’re desperate to pull him against it. “Having me between your legs like this?”

You nod eagerly, anticipating the contact of his wet lips against your pussy. He is so close, you can practically feel his nose brushing against your clit.

“Please,” you whimper, your hips grinding ever so slightly against nothing.You’re desperate for his touch, and he is just as desperate to touch you.

He looks at you, and then at the sight in front of him. Never in a thousand years Changbin thought he would have you all for himself. You, the woman of his wildest dreams, the mother of the kid he babysits as a side gig.

Changbin would be lying if the whole age gap situation didn't turn him on even more. It's not particularly the reason why he got so fixated on you, but it was definitely something that he couldn't ignore. You being older than him only fueled his desire to pleasure you, to prove to you that he is better than every man you can think of.

However, he thinks you're conflicted by it. The age gap. You were so reluctant to fall into his charms that you thought it had everything to do with the fact that he was way younger than you. Which partly, it was.

But truth is that the whole thing turns you on too, despite you trying to deny it to yourself.

“You smell so fucking good,” he whispers underneath his breath, digging his finger tips on the flesh of your thighs. Your heart is going at a thousand miles per hour, and you are impatient to feel him against you. So impatient you latch your fingers onto his hair, and guide him even closer to you, until his nose finally makes contact with your sensitive bud.

“Please,” you beg weakly, one more time.

And the next thing you feel, is his tongue lapping at your slit while the tip of his nose presses against your clit even harder, making you feel a weird but pleasant stimulation by doing so.

“God,” he groans against you, gripping your legs harsher. You can hear him moaning and hissing against your pussy, devouring it, licking and kissing every inch of it. He is kind of messy with it, but you adore it. “You taste- fuck, you’re so good”.

You arch your back against the couch, tightening your legs on either side of him as much as the grip he has on you allows you to.

“I want you to come all over me,” Changbin tells you, spitting all over his fingers and your pussy. “Show me how much you’ve thought about this”.

He then sinks his middle and ring finger inside your cunt, feeling your warmth and the way your walls clench around him. You’ve fucked yourself with your fingers, countless of times. But they can’t compare to the way his feel, how much thicker they are, how better they fill you up.

“Shit,” you murmur, furrowing your eyebrows and closing your eyes when Changbin’s tongue makes contact again with your clit, licking it and softly sucking on it while his fingers. “Just- like that”.

The noise his fingers make every time he thrusts them inside you, and your moans combined with his only send you closer to the edge, reminding you who is the man between your legs and how deliciously he is wrecking you.  

“Who would’ve thought we were going to end up like this, hm?,” Changbin groans, staring right at you while sucking on your clit. “With you practically grinding your pussy against my face in the living room of your apartment?”

You moan at his words, and keep on bucking your hips against him.

“Did your ex husband ever did this for you, right here?” he asks, and when he feels you clenching almost aggressively around his fingers he realices he’s just discovered something. “Did he taste you like this?”

Because of his job babysitting Jihun, Changbin is fully aware who Kyungho is. They know each other personally, and you've seen them engage in small talk every time Kyungho comes to pick up Jihun to spend the weekend with him.

You don’t see the point in thinking about your ex husband right now, but you find it hot when Changbin is the one to bring his name up.

“No,” you whine, gripping his hair with one of your hands while the other grasps the edge of the couch. “He didn’t”.

“Was he good?” Changbin asks, tilting his head at you. “Was he better than me?”

You shake your head, desperate to come, “n-no”.

“No? He wasn’t this good?” There’s a cocky tone in his voice, and you love it. You love how confident he is getting now that the topic is on the table, and because of how honest you’re really being. It is definitely true —your ex husband wasn’t this good at eating your pussy.

“No!” you gasp, feeling your orgasm getting closer and closer with each word that falls from his lips.

“Who would’ve thought,” he chuckles lowly, offering you a tempting smile, “that men your age can’t make you feel like I can”.

“F-fuck, Changbin,” you feel a spark of electricity that starts on your core and drifts all the way to your feet, making you tremble underneath his hold. You’re almost there, but for some reason you’re trying to hold it in.

As if you wanted to live in this feeling forever, in the sight of Changbin’s dark eyes staring right at you with a desire that you haven’t been able to find anywhere else, in any other man.

“Come for me,” he tells you, fucking you even faster with his fingers. “Make a mess, I need you wet for my cock”.

Him and his fucking dirty talk. It leaves you with no time to process anything, as you’re now coming undone for him, riding his fingers and grinding your hips against his palm while you try to hold tight to the couch, doing everything you can to endure the stimulation.

“Don’t run for me,” Changbin groans, forcing your legs open and holding your right in place. “I know you can take it”.

A sharp, painful moan escapes your lips and your body jolts right in its place, with him still between your legs. Waves and waves of pleasure wash upon you, debilitating you and making you feel dizzy. This is the hardest you've come, ever, and there's no doubt of that.

“C-changbin,” you whine, matching the slow pace of his thrusts with the movements of your hips. You're descending now from your high, and you're again looking forward to feel that ecstasy again.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, smearing your wetness with his fingers. He gives you a soft slap to your pussy that makes your body shakes, and he smiles at how overstimulated you are. “You’re so wet, my cock is going to slide right inside you”.

Your pussy clenches around thin air at the idea.

“N-not yet,” you tell him, and kiss him when he hovers over you to place a peck on your lips. He kisses you deeply again, fucking your mouth with his tongue, allowing you to taste your own orgasm from him.

“Not yet?” Changbin purrs, biting your lower lip and pulling it just enough for you to whine.

“I want to suck you off”.

As desperate as he is to bury his cock inside you, who is he to say no? It’s comically how it all happens too fast, but in the blink of an eye you’ve already swaped positions and he is now sitting on top of the mess you made on the couch, with his legs spread and his jeans unbuckled just enough to free his clothed bulge.

You kneel in front of him, and your pair of curious hands trace the silhouette of his erection over his underwear. With ease, you lower his clothes and free his hard cock, that is already leaking with precum and it’s warm to the touch. There are several, prominant veins that start at the base and fade right near the tip.

Fuck, it’s making your mouth water.

“Good enough?” he asks you, cockily. Perhaps you’re giving yourself away by the way you stare at him like it’s the first time you ever see a cock —it might be, because you can’t think of any other that’s just as appealing as his.

You just nod and grab it by the base, gripping it tightly while you guide your mouth from the top and all along it. It’s taking him a lot of effort not to bust right then and there, with your lips wrapped around his tip while your hand squeeze the base and part of his testicles.

“Swirl your tongue,” he purrs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Get it nice and wet, remember I’m fucking you with it later”.

Like Changbin, you prefer it messy. So you do as he asks you to, you spit on it and smear your own drool all over its length, not caring if you make a mess in the middle.

“You said it's been a long time since you've been with someone,” he groans, kicking his head back and closing his eyes. “But you're still so good at sucking cock. You didn't forget about that?"

It catches you by surprise, but you find yourself getting wetter at the comment. He is not necessarily implying anything, but the tint of humiliation it carries makes you aroused.

“I like that,” you gasp, breathing for air after having all of himself inside you. “I like it when you talk to me like that. It makes me feel kind of humiliated and I like it”.

It isn’t a shocker that his words have an effect on you —yesterday Changbin noticed how weak you are for dirty talk. However, it is a shocker how you trust him with that information, indirectly asking him to do it more.

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” he chuckles.  

Perhaps this conversation should’ve taken place earlier, when you two were having a glass of wine. You decided to just go for it, without talking about preferences, likes or dislikes.

It’s not too late to get to know each other, you think. Even when his cock is deep inside your throat and he already made you come once tonight.

“I’m just figuring it out,” you tell him, smacking the tip of his cock against your tongue. Had it been any other time, or any other setting, you probably wouldn’t have had the courage to talk openly about this. “There’s a lot of things I wish to try”.

His eyebrows are furrowed, and his half-lidded eyes are staring right at yours, with his lips parted and a couple of quiet groans escaping through them.

“Tell me about them,” he groans, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You stroke him softly, coating all his length with your drool and his precum. You can feel his cock twitching inside your fist, and you can also feel how his body spasms every time you squeeze him a bit too hard. You can tell he is close to coming, and you truly wouldn’t mind.

The thing is, you can’t wait to feel him inside you. So you wish to edge him just a bit because there’s something you want.

“Creampies,” you murmur, smiling shyly, while jerking him off. “Not just… creampies but- I want you to come inside me. Watch how it leaks out, knowing it was you who did it”.

You know you’ve hit a weak spot in Changbin when his hips buck against your fist, and he lets out a quiet whimper that shows just how needy he is for you.

He has thought about it, an insane amount of times. But Changbin isn’t in it just for the sake of a creampie, no. He wants to fill you up, completely. To hear you begging for his release, to wrap your legs around his waist and prevent him from pulling out.

Would that be a bit too much to bring up the first time you fuck?

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he whispers, caressing the sides of your face before putting his thumb inside your mouth. “I want to fuck you right now”.

He stands up from the couch and you follow, feeling a bit confused about the sudden movements. You spent the past half hour or so sucking each other off in this couch, you thought you’d be fucking there too. But it seems as if he prefers a true bed over a couch, and you too, so you don’t say anything.

“This angle is better, right?” Changbin asks you once you’re in your room.

“Huh?”

“The camera,” he replies, grabbing you by your hips and pulling you closer to him. “its placed right above the television, in front of your bed isn’t it?”

You blink a couple of times, trying to understand what he’s all about. Perhaps you're too dizzy from your orgasm and the way his taste lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you're not following him. Still, you nod because he is right —the camera is right in front of your bed.

“I want to fuck you in front of it,” Changbin murmurs, and when the realization hits you can feel your knees going numb. “I want you to go back to this tape when you feel like having my cock inside those holes of you, and I want you to touch yourself watching us”.

You swallow thickly and feel your nipples hardening against his chest, whimpering when you feel the slightest stimulation.

He gives you one last kiss before guiding you into your bed, laying down as you watch how he strips for you.

The way his muscles keep on flexing as he takes off his clothes is hypnotizing. You can see every inch of his soft skin, every curve, every flexed part that demands your attention. You want him to fuck you while he’s hugging you tightly, to trap you between his arms and not allowing you to move.

You want him to use his strength to overpower you, to pin you down and fuck you mercilessly against your own bed.

A bed that you once shared with your ex husband, a bed that will now remind you of that time you fucked with a college student, way younger than you.

“Come here,” he whispers, grabbing your legs and just sliding you over the bed. He then crawls on top of you, positioning himself between your legs while you spread them wide open for him.

God, how much your body turns him on.

“You don’t want me to-”

“No,” you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck when he leans over you. “Please don’t use a condom”.

 He bites his lower lip when he hears those words from you, and his mind spirals again into this silly fetish of him. Impregnation.

“You’ve wanted this all along, don’t you?” Changbin asks you, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time you think about me fucking you raw, letting me come inside you”.

Embarrassingly enough, it isn’t.

“I thought you said yesterday I was too young for you,” he pouts, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. Again, you shouldn’t feel aroused when you’re reminded about the elephant in the room, but you are. “Do you still think the same?”

 “Jesus,” you sigh, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t remind me”.

“Why not?” he teases you, leaving quick pecks on your cheeks and jaw. “You can’t accept the fact that it’s me who is making you feel this good? Someone that apparently is too young for you, but just made you come harder than your ex husband ever did?”

Again, you grind your hips when he says that.

“I’m starting to think you like me bringing him up,” he chuckles. “Every time I say something like that, you get more desperate”.

“It’s- not that,” you try to explain, arching your back against him. “I don’t- know why it turns me on when you say things like that. When you remind me is you who’s between my legs, someone who is not supposed to”.

“Someone who is not supposed to?” he murmurs, leaving a trail of kisses from your cheeks, along your jaw and into the crook of your neck. “Miss, I know we've thought about this since the day you hire me for the babysitter position”.

The low tone of his voice, and the way he whispers such things against your ear is making you go insane. You need him inside you, and you need him to stop talking if you wish to elongate your orgasm as much as you can.

“Or are you going to deny it?” You don’t answer, which only proves him right. “Don’t go around saying we shouldn’t be fucking, because that’s something you’ve wanted since we met”.

It's only after he finishes when you feel a harsh, sharp thrust of his hips around you, and a sudden stretch that's both painful and pleasant at the same time. He sinks his hips against yours, and his cock bottoms out inside you.

“Fuck,” you groan, digging your nails deeper into the flesh of his biceps.

“You know, that pussy of yours did a good job at coming,” he groans through gritted teeth. “It slipped right inside”.

You moan at his words and spread your legs further, wrapping them around his hips. Changbin gives you a couple of times to get used to his girth, and only starts moving when you ask him to.

“It feels so-,” you want to speak, but it’s practically impossible —you’re too distracted by the feeling of his cock stretching you out. “Shit, you feel so hard inside me”.

“I bet all the other dicks you've had before didn't fill you right,” he groans, thrusting his cock iinside you. “but don't worry, you can have mine whenever you feel like having something worthy between your legs”.

You love how cocky he turns in bed.

“Right there,” you gasp when his cock reaches a particular spot inside your pussy. That spot, that no one but you and his fingers has found before. “Fuck, f-fuck, right there, right there”.

He keeps fucking you for a couple more minutes until he starts feeling your walls clenching around him, similar to when he was fucking you with his fingers. He knows you’re close, and there’s nothing he wants more than for you to come all over his cock.

“I can feel you squeezing my cock,” Changbin hisses, forcing your chin to face him. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come again”.

“S-shit,” you cry. “Yes, f-fuck I’m so close”.

“Already?” he asks you, holding your chin firmly. “Is my cock that good?”

You don’t know what to answer, but his cock it’s the best you’ve ever taken. So maybe yes, his cock is that good.

“And to think that you almost reject me,” he murmurs, his dark, half-lidded eyes fixed on yours. “Now you don’t care that I’m younger than you, do you? Because every time I remind you of it, you clench even harder around me, practically begging for my cum”.

You moan loudly, shamelessly. He is right, and he has been right all along.

“I didn’t think you would give in to me,” Changbin groans against your skin, “but I can’t believe all it took me was to jerk off with your underwear for you to realice that you wanted me”.

It’s embarrassing. But nothing far from the truth.

“I’m- close,” you whisper, feeling the rush of pleasure spreading all over your body. “Please- keep, keep fucking me like this”.

“Open your eyes,” he tells you right after leaving a wet kiss on your cheek. “I want you to look at me when you come”.

It’s difficult when the pleasure is too overwhelming, but you still try.

“If you close them, I’ll pull out,” he wanrs you. “And I know that’s not what you want, so you better look at me while you come. I want you to remember who made you feel this good”.

It doesn’t take you long to reach your orgasm, especially after all the things he said. You grasp onto his shoulders tightly, while your body trembles violently underneath him.

You try so hard to keep your eyes open that they end up rolling to the back of your head, but that sight only makes Changbin’s cock spasm inside your pussy just at the same time you clench around him. He is getting really close, and the way you’re moaning and crying for him is only pushing him further to the edge.

“Look at me,” he demands, right after you’re done reaching your high and collapsing onto the bed. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck, and your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to pull out, you want him to fill you up, to give you all that he has been saving for you.

You stare at him with dazed and glossy eyes, waiting to feel his warmth spreading all along your tummy.

You need him to come inside you, and you need him to know how badly you want it.

“Please,” you beg, grabbing both sides of his face with your hands. “Please come inside me, Changbin”.

The overstimulation is becoming painful, but you’re willing to overcome it as long as he rewards you in the way you want to be rewarded.

“Promise me you’ll keep it all inside you,” Changbin says, his skin glistening in sweat while his dark locks stick to his forehead. “If it leaks out, I’ll fuck it back inside you again”.

“Yes,” you moan, arching your back and pressing your chest against his. “I’ll keep it inside me. Please, just- come for me”.

It’s your weak pleas what really triggers his orgasm. That, and the promise you just made. How you’re willing to keep it inside you, even while knowing the risks of it.

He comes a lot, you can feel it even inside you. He groans, and pants as he comes off his high, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while he tries to stabilize his breathing. You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasms, and feeling him buried deep inside you while he shoots his sticky arousal isn’t doing any favors to the painful overstimulation, but it feels good.

It makes you crave more of him. Even when he is still inside your pussy.

It feels nice to be full. And you wonder when you’re going to get the chance to be fucked by him again.

“Fuck,” Changbin sighs, Pulling out of you delicately, trying hard not to stimulate you further. You whine when you feel the sudden absence of him, and he gives you a cocky smirk. “Miss me already?”

You get up with your elbows and arms against the mattress as you stare right down to you crotch. You can't see it, but you can feel his cum leaking out of you, staining your bed sheets.

“Thought I made you a promise,” you smile, teasingly. “Your cum is leaking out, and I don’t see you fucking it back again”.

You’re surely going to be the death of him, but he has fantasized about you for so long that he is conditioned to get hard any time he sees anything that has to do with you.

Good thing he has great stamina.

And that he is going to fuck you sooner than you’d expect him.

If you wish to support my work further, you can leave a reblog/ask/ comment. I also have a ko-fi, in case you want to (and are able to) leave me a tip. As a broke, college student I will highly appreciate it (the job hunting it's definitely not going anywhere, anytime soon. I'm doing my best though!). As I'm based in México, even a dollar helps me tons.

Congratulations to everyone on the new season!

Dragonlord Placidusax, Elden Ring

messy

abandoned space elevator

Deer teeth. For you, kid!

Photobooth - Laïa & Zuri 🤎

A Heffalump Never Forgets Part 2!

>Here’s the link to youtube if the video doesn’t work here on tumblr<

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

taglist form is on masterlist!

wordcount: 4k

masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅰ. I’M GOING BACK TO 505 

Seguir leyendo

stranger. — mark lee 𝜗𝜚

in which mark lee attempts to text his ex girlfriend, not knowing her number was switched over to you.

part one, read part two at the bottom

i’m in big bold letters so u don’t ignore me hi gays and others errr this is the experimental fic i was talking about hhehehehheh.. should i continue or should she be left in the dust sitting next to jisung’s twitch account.

ok byeeeeee loveeee uuuuuuu ♡

ask and you shall receive [read part two here]

SUPER SONS 💥

my headcanon:

1. damian gave jon the robin merch hoodie as a birthday gift because he thought it was funny, but then jon proceeds to wear the hoodie everytime they meet and tell damian he’s the next robin to annoy damian, and damian HATES it ☠️

2. jon asked kon where to buy leather jackets and bought one for damian 🫶

Touchstarved: Ais

based on this scene

From hate to love… or something like that

Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 15.7k (sorrrryyyy)

warnings: arranged marriage, hate-to-love, mentions of rape, mentions of incest, mentions of suicidal thoughts, drinking alcohol, mommy issues, daddy issues, mentions of sex without love, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), porn with plot (but something cheap, tbh) and I probably forgot something but I think that makes it clear that this shit is not for minors, so MINORS DNI :)

A/N: I started this since the second season premiere started so if you find any canon-like scenes I completely promise it wasn't intentional. I also want to make it clear that you are responsible for what you read and if you don't like something please just let it go, that would be very kind of you!

And this doesn't make me team green at all, I'm a defender of the rightful queen to the death… it's just that her brother is too sexy to ignore 🫦

Enjoy!

taglist (who I thought might be interested): @barcelonaloverf1life @ilovequeen978

FIRST ACT: HATE

Finding a wife for Prince Aegon II was probably one of the most difficult tasks Alicent Hightower had to face.

The engagement with his sister Helaena had been broken after a more tempting offer for the princess, which would get them a permanent alliance with the Lannister house that they couldn’t refuse. Viserys himself had agreed to accept and the queen consort had no choice but to give her little daughter in marriage to a blonde lord. The problem was that her son was left without a fiancée.

Aemond didn't worry her, after all he was growing up quite quickly and she knew that he was more inclined to become a warrior than to fulfill his marital responsibilities. But Aegon, however, was a lost cause.

It was no secret that Alicent had always felt disappointed in her eldest son. He was careless, lazy, and a hopeless alcoholic, qualities that couldn’t be celebrated at all. Now that her beloved father had returned, the queen didn’t hesitate to consult him on the matter, hoping that the man had a solution for the problem that afflicted her, and together they analyzed what was the best option to unite the king's first-born son. Especially after, years ago, Rhaenyra and Daemon got married and moved to Dragonstone indefinitely.

“It must be someone we completely trust, someone who cannot dare to hurt us because they know that their blood is linked to ours.”

The Arryns were loyal to the future queen Rhaenyra and some of the houses south of Vale were too. The Westerlands was the richest section of the Seven Kingdoms and was already secured, so it seemed prudent to the king's hand to go for the next widest section: The Reach. The most formidable options within this area were the Hightower and the Tyrell. Obviously taking the first option would be a waste since the members of that house would support Aegon without complaint due to their kinship, so the decision was made with the direct heir of Highgarden.

King Viserys agreed to the idea without putting up many obstacles, since poppy milk clouded his judgment most of the time and also the affairs of his first son had never interested him much.

The union was sealed as soon as the deal was offered to Lyonel Tyrell, who was extremely happy to be able to assure his family a future with said marriage. It was thus that he gave you, his only daughter, to Prince Aegon II Targaryen.

And the second the boy saw you, he absolutely hated you.

He had come to the idea (very unpleasant, by the way) of marrying his younger sister and now that his mother was forcing him to marry a complete stranger, he couldn't be angrier. In a short time he would turn twenty and it seemed pathetic to him that at that point he would have to offer shows like those before the kingdom. Because the wedding wasn’t simple, of course, but thousands and thousands of guests were present at the banquet that Alicent forced the king to prepare, claiming by saying that he had done the same for Princess Rhaenyra's wedding.

“It is a pleasure to finally see each other, your grace. They have told me a lot about you”

You had said those precise words the first time you had met, when your mother organized a walk so that you could 'get to know each other better', although supervised by her own eyes that were behind you, making sure that her son didn’t commit any indecency. But no matter how sweetly you smiled and spoke them, Aegon could sense that you were lying.

There was hatred in your eyes and a clear resentment towards the life from which you were torn, as if it weren’t an honor to have the opportunity to marry the prince of the seven kingdoms. Your hypocritical words represented an insult to the boy and that is why he decided from the first moment that he would hate you deeply.

With your mere existence you would have deprived him of his freedom, his entertainment, his youth. He would be tied to you for future occasions, he would have to take you to all the events, secure your food, your clothes. share the same roof and pretend to be nice to you in the eyes of others. And, besides, he could have thought of a lot of candidates better than you, physically speaking. Your beauty was quite ordinary for his taste, as if he were looking at any painting; cheap and repetitive.

“I regret to admit that I am not so fortunate, Lady Tyrell. But I am happy for the union of our houses” he lied, in the same way that you had done.

And it was obvious that this didn’t go unnoticed by you, that you had the same critical eye as your recent fiancé but that you sought to maintain composure in the presence of your future mother-in-law.

On the wedding day Aegon had a good time only because he was able to drown himself in monumental quantities of liquor and because he was able to eat as much as he wanted of the exquisite banquet. He didn't even pay a bit of attention to how you looked in the wedding dress that the royal seamstresses had been in charge of making in record time, because when the time came he flattered you superficially and then ignored the matter. The ceremony kiss was the first you shared, and it was so fleeting and awkward that the prince felt disappointed. On the wedding night he was so drunk that he didn't even look at you.

You knew that the unfortunate day would come when you would have to carnally please the young man and the simple thought of being defiled in this way caused you terror and nausea in equal parts.

It was a stranger whom you had married, of whom the only thing you knew was his noble title and name.

In the days following your marriage, unfortunately or fortunately, Aegon didn’t even speak to you. You didn't have to share a room, so it was easier for him to completely ignore you while he went about his ways.

You had to admit that the only good thing about having taken this trip was the beautiful landscapes that King's Landing offered you. Your room had a direct view of Blackwater Bay and you spent several days looking out the window at the beautiful sea. Sometimes you could watch Prince Aemond ride his dragon, and honestly, the size of the beast scared you a little. You hadn't had the chance to observe Aegon in Sunfyre yet but if he was as impressive as Vhagar, then he would be quite a sight.

A week passed, then another and another where you were nothing more than a guest in the palace. You didn't talk to anyone, you ate dinner alone, you barely saw the outside of the castle. Sometimes you went to the Sept, pretending to pray, but really just killing the endless boring hours of the day. You were somewhat lucky if you found Helaena, the most sensible and calm within the royal family, because you had pleasant conversations with her. When you met the queen it was a little more difficult, because she asked you endless questions in which you had to fake the answers. How could you be fulfilling your parenting responsibilities if the capricious prince wouldn't deign to lay a finger on you?

After a month, Alicent seemed to take matters into her own hands and forced her eldest son to take you to sleep in the same room as him. However, Aegon seemed to want to blame you for something you hadn't chosen. He never spoke to you and every time you went to bed, he would stand with his back to you as far away as possible. And as if that weren’t enough, he had explicitly ordered his guards not to allow you to leave the room unless it was in his company. It was his way of punishing you, of getting even for the complaints of his mother and grandfather regarding his lack of interest in marriage.

“My mother wants us to attend a dinner tonight” you were so unaccustomed to hearing his voice addressing you that it took you a second to process what he was telling you “I will talk to the maids to bring you a suitable dress.”

You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to go to that dinner, nor did you want to be with him, or wear one of those tight, annoying dresses. Aegon, noticing your silence, deigned to look at you and in your eyes he could see the aversion you felt for him. It was something difficult to mask and he had seen it on so many faces that it was nothing new.

“As you wish, prince.”

A bitter laugh came from your husband's throat.

“Don't be a hypocrite, for God's sake. I know you hate me as much as I hate you. Save appearances for guests, not in the chambers."

You wouldn’t have had the courage to admit out loud what his majesty had said, but you didn’t dare to contradict him either. You had to play the role of a self-sacrificing and suitable wife for the man if you wanted to keep your honor, but above all your head.

You tried, with all your might, to see some quality in Aegon that you liked so that you could treat him in a better way, which always resulted in something useless. Perhaps if he had been nicer to you, you could have known how to forgive his faults, but even that wasn’t granted to you.

The dinner was mostly family-oriented, with the guest of honor being from House Baratheon whose purpose was to discuss some political matters with the king and queen. Due to his health, Viserys didn’t usually leave his room more than necessary, however, that night the occasion warranted it.

“Lady Tyrell, how is your stay in King's Landing?”

The king had a reputation for being gentle with his guests and was the first person to ask you a personal question, so the smile you showed him was genuine.

“Very pleasant, your grace. The servants treat me as well as possible and I must admit that the views from my room are beautiful. Your dragon is impressive, Prince Aemond, by the way.”

The boy, who wasn't all that expressive, just looked at you for a moment and tilted his head down slightly.

“I'm glad you like it, princess.”

"And my son? How is our Aegon treating you?”

That question was more complicated to answer, since it required expressing a lie. Everyone present focused their attention on you, except your husband who had been staring into nothingness for a long time.

“Very well, my king. He’s a good husband and I am happy to have been able to unite our houses.”

The aforementioned snorted, incredulous at what you were saying at the table, and took a long drink from his glass of wine.

“And I hope very soon you can give us strong and beautiful heirs.”

Although that was intended as a compliment, you felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on you again.

“I wish the same. It will be an honor to serve the crown and bear the progeny of a house as formidable as yours."

The queen was pleased with your answer and for a moment felt sorry for you. She knew her son well, so deep down she knew that it wasn’t a gift from the gods to be married to him. The rest of the table looked at you curiously, wondering if you were serious, trying to be ironic, or just trying to play the good girl role.

Aegon, as expected, became intoxicated during dinner and when Queen Alicent announced that she was going to retire to sleep you thought it prudent to do the same. Your husband, however, had other wishes.

“Stay here,” he asked, his voice serious.

When he was drunk he looked you up and down, probably evaluating how worth it would be to decide to strip you naked and fuck you once and for all. Your body in the dress you were wearing looked better with a few drinks on him.

“I think it would be best to retire, my husband. This way you can stay with the men to chat and… drink”

“But I want you to stay here to keep me company,” he insisted, holding your wrist tightly “Or don't you want to please your prince?”

It wasn’t a loving request, but one for control. He wanted to have you there only to demonstrate his power over you, without paying attention to you or talking; only as an ornament.

“Aegon, enough,” Alicent interrupted, observing the scene that had begun to unfold. “Daughter, let's go to sleep. “I will accompany you”

“Fine, do whatever you want,” he spat contemptuously, abruptly releasing the wrist that was holding you. There was hatred in his eyes, but also pride.

The queen said goodbye to everyone present and then offered you her hand to take you away from there. You spent most of the way in silence, walking through the long, wide corridors of the fortress followed only by the faithful footsteps of Ser Criston Cole.

“You must be patient with him” he began to say “He is a particular man and sometimes… difficult, but I know that with your docile character you will be able to deal with his temperament.”

What did she know about your character? She didn't know you at all.

“So it shall be, Queen Alicent.”

“I understand what you are going through, dear. We both come from the same lands to endure the difficult task of accompanying a monarch. But it is our duty to carry it out with all the honor and temper worthy of our homes. Of course, I can trust that as a woman you will be able to help him fulfill another of the most important marital commitments, such as having children, to maintain the lineage and blood. For a virgin like you, Aegon may be rough, but... patience and resilience are among the best virtues. A woman in royalty must endure these things to give the best to the people.”

You had never wanted to be a princess. And just when you thought the queen was showing you compassion, you realized that she was only looking out for her interests and those of her family.

"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind"

She smiled and immediately left a kiss on your forehead, which could have been taken as a maternal kiss but which you didn't like at all. The longer you can postpone suffering, the better. If Aegon didn't even want to look at you, it was perfect.

That night, as soon as you touched the mattress and the silk sheets that decorated it, you began to cry until you fell asleep.

SECOND ACT: CONTROL

Time passed again and although the punishment of not leaving your room was not revoked, you found multiple activities with which to entertain yourself in the prince's absence. You filled your mornings and afternoons with reading, writing, knitting and embroidering. The nights were even more boring because most of the time your husband wasn't there either.

Rumors that you hadn’t yet consummated the marriage had spread through the halls of the palace and soon the smallfolk would murmur too. After all, the people couldn’t entertain themselves with anything more than the gossip and the plays that were going on in the poor neighborhoods, making fun of royal affairs.

You no longer even had the energy to deny those accusations and Aegon had given you the perfect opportunity by throwing you out of his room and refusing to leave the four walls of yours: if you didn't leave there, there was no way anyone would question you. And since you didn't have family inside the Keep, you didn't have any visitors either.

One night, however, your husband surprised you by entering your room. It had been days since you two had seen each other and his staggering around the room warned you that he was drunk again. You often wondered how he resisted drinking so much and the long-term effects it would have on his health, but right now your mind could only focus on the fear of what he might want in that state.

“Good night, dear,” he drawled, sounding as sarcastic as possible.

You were in your nightgown and you were carrying in your hand an old book that you had been reading and that you threw on the nightstand as soon as you saw him approaching you. You didn't have time to say or do anything else when he had already approached you in giant steps to grab you by the back of your neck and start kissing you. He was abrupt, careless, with his mouth smelling of wine and tasting even worse. You wanted to cry from helplessness.

“It's what everyone wants, isn't it?” he murmured, separating himself from you, but still holding you by the hair at the back of your neck. “A marriage arranged in a couple of days to form alliances. And that's it, my life was ruined thanks to my father wanting your stupid castle to expand his domain."

The truth is that couldn't be further from the truth. Viserys’s ambition had never been that, as he had been so little involved in the process that he simply didn’t care who his children were or were not married to. Except for Rhaenyra, of course.

Aegon continued:

"I didn’t want this. I didn't want to marry you, or anyone..."

“And you think I do?” you confronted him.

You were tired of the insult, the humiliation and him ignoring you as if you were worthless; even if that was what a husband did. And the most likely thing was that your words would be forgotten due to alcohol or that they would put an end to the wait for your suffering to begin and Aegon decided to take you once and for all.

“You have nothing to lose, prince,” you continued. “You get drunk as much as you want, you run away from your responsibilities and walk everywhere when I have to stay locked up here all day just because you want me to. I have to endure the suspicious looks of everyone because I still don't have an heir in the womb while you go and fuck your whores."

“I'm the prince and I fuck whoever I want, did you hear me?” he hissed. The grip on your hair had already begun to become painful and a few tears slipped down your cheeks “And I stop fucking whoever I want too. I'm not going to please anyone by getting you pregnant. There they will see if they come and force me to put my cock in you”

“Do you doubt that, your grace?” you exclaimed bitterly “Doubts that will force us to conceive?”

“So that's what you want? Do you want me to do it?”

“I want to go home. That is what I want. But my father used me as a bargaining chip and that's why I can't do anything."

“I'm sorry it was like that. If I had chosen my wife, I would surely have chosen someone prettier and more educated than you, but I can't do much either."

Once again, the man pushed you until your lips joined his and the same discomfort settled in you. He didn't kiss you with love, but with fury and violence to the point that you had to push him away when he bit you so hard that a trickle of blood began to come out of your lower lip. Aegon was also stained by it and with an acidic smile he ran the tip of his tongue all over his mouth to remove any traces.

Looking at you he didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. He just seemed fed up.

Everyone knew, or suspected, that the prince was very capable of taking sexual advantage of any woman. He had done it before with maids and prostitutes and had slept peacefully throughout that time. However, there was something about you that encouraged him not to. He didn't even think it was something about you specifically but about the situation, because he wanted to do the opposite of what he was ordered: if everyone ordered him to take you to have an heir, it automatically became an unpleasant act and at the same time that he refused.

He was hurt, not because of you but because of years and years of abuse and neglect. He didn't really know you at all, he only knew what you represented.

You were just the unlucky one who had married him.

"I hate you. I hate that you are my wife and you are not worthy of me even touching you” he snapped with disdain. You were still fighting to keep the tears inside your eyes and his vision had also blurred slightly “I wish I had never met you.”

“The feeling is mutual, your grace,” you expressed, your voice breaking. If it was an offense to the crown, you wouldn't even care anymore and if he killed you right there you wouldn't regret it too much either.

Aegon looked at you one last time before staggering back out the door without another word, closing it behind him with a loud gesture and leaving you alone in the room. The reality that you had escaped, once again, from being raped by the man fell on you like a bucket of cold water and your knees weakened until you fell to the floor.

You were hurt, tired, and defeated by the stress of the situation and the fear that had washed over you the entire time. Luckily he was gone, otherwise you didn't know if you would have endured what he had to do to you. It was better to have him busy in a brothel than to have to endure him in your bed.

You wished you could talk to someone and cry on a loved one’s shoulder, only to realize a second later that that was impossible. Aegon was your new family, now you belonged to the Targaryens and you would have to do as they wished.

Anger completely overwhelmed you to the point where you stood up from your seat and began throwing pieces of glassware all over the room, in a violent outburst at what had just happened and the way you felt. None of the guards outside your door dared to come in to check on you and soon enough you fell back to the ground, exhausted from the effort.

As you cried, perhaps for the umpteenth time since you had been married, you thought about how you would never be able to love Prince Aegon. Not even if you tried.

THIRD ACT: PAIN

After months, the inevitable arrived. The truth was that the first time you felt sorrow and anger, but the following times it became more tolerable. Not because it was better, but because you began to get used to it. Aegon didn't change his attitude towards you one bit. You indeed spent more time together, although that didn’t mean that you got along better or that you had begun to have more sympathy for each other.

The only advantage was that you had started to be friends with some people in the palace. Your sister-in-law, to begin with, as well as some of the maids who were in charge of looking after you, as they turned out to be your only company during those days. Those distractions were more than enough for you, considering the situation you were in, and they kept you sane as time went by.

Almost like a punishment from heaven, it seemed that you weren’t pregnant yet, since your biological processes seemed to continue working to the letter. That meant that, unfortunately, you would have to keep trying; when Aegon was lost enough to forget who you were and you had to stand still as a statue to let him loom over you.

You often liked to imagine what your life would have been like if you had stayed in Highgarden. Nobody knew it yet, but there you had found your first love and although it never went beyond a few kisses, you treasured the memory with particular affection. You had always wanted to marry a sweet man who loved and respected you, who would give you your place as a wife and adore you day and night; someone with whom you could feel protected, cared for, but above all happy. You thought, naively, that that boy you had met and who was nothing more than a commoner could have given you that life, but all those possibilities were nothing more than fantasies in which you tried to lock yourself in to feel less miserable with your unpleasant reality.

One night Helaena had invited you to a modest dinner in her company that you couldn't refuse, since none of your husbands were present and some time with friends could clear your mind. You didn't even know where the prince was, although it was expected that he was spending some time in the town with his friends.

“Sometimes I feel sad about our situation,” said the blonde. You were in the privacy of her chambers, not even with the maids present, so confessions like that were allowed “But I am happy that you are my friend, something that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.”

“I'm glad to talk to you too,” you smiled sincerely. “You're the best thing I've found around here.”

“My brothers aren't that bad, they're just… well, we've had a hard life. And that's why they behave like that."

“I think there is no justification for being a…” idiot, you wanted to say, but you had to remember that you were in the presence of the princess, “a person who is rude to others. But I guess that happens with royalty, right? They do what they want without consequences”

"I guess so. Kings, princes, the heirs, lords, dukes…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laughed bitterly “It's probably a masculine quality.”

You never thought your sister-in-law would have that kind of humor and to be honest, most of the time she was a comic relief for the situations you two were going through. Sometimes her prophecies scared you, especially the way she phrased them, but you wanted to think that her premonitions would never affect you directly.

When you finally got tired of chatting and the food was finished, you decided to return to your room, so you could have a peaceful night's rest. It was raining outside and thunder echoed in the distance, making the atmosphere slightly gloomy, but at the same time cooling every corner of King's landing.

The novelty of your position was no longer important enough to require you to be escorted by guards twenty-four hours a day, so you were able to slowly walk through all the corridors that led to your sanctuary. It was modest but cute, although not on the level of Aegon’s.

A man was guarding the door and you bowed your head to him to let you pass, which he did without any opposition. Once inside you got rid of your shoes and unbuttoned your corset, not caring that the room was almost in darkness; only the moonlight illuminated from the window. You took a few steps forward and squealed when you discovered that there was another person in the room, sitting at the small table with a drink in his hand. You would have started screaming for help if you hadn't noticed that said intruder had silver hair falling like a curtain over his face.

"Your grace?" you asked cautiously.

It isn’t usual for Aegon to drink in your room, as he preferred other places with more interesting company, and when you didn’t receive an answer you approached slowly. You thought that at best he had simply fallen asleep and at worst he would be dead.

At first his long, wavy hair covered your view of his face, but when he noticed your presence he raised his head and then you could see him. His features became clearer as lightning illuminated him from the outside and for a second you were horrified.

His cheek was red and a trickle of blood was dripping from his nose, however, what surprised you the most was seeing his eyes completely swollen.

“For the seven, I… I'll go call a maester”

“Don't even think about it,” he exclaimed hoarsely, seeing that you were already rushing towards the door.

Your husband didn't sound like his usual angry tone, but rather he seemed... hurt.

You thought for a second about what the appropriate reaction to the situation was. You couldn't leave the room because, in addition to the guards murmuring, it would be impolite to leave him in that state; also, where would you go? If you ignored him, he would probably take it as an insult and he had already made it clear that he didn't want to see someone who could take care of those injuries.

You hated him, it was true, but you weren't an insensitive monster either.

"Who did this to you?"

Aegon was surprised by how soft, even kind, your question sounded and the intoxication gave him some courage to answer.

“My mother and my grandfather. Mostly my mother, my grandfather rather dedicated his efforts to reminding me how useless I am”

You didn't know what to say. You never believed that the queen would be capable of hitting one of her sons like that. You didn't believe it from any mother, actually.

With some trepidation you took one of the chairs and placed it in front of him, expecting him to immediately push you away or ask you to get out of his sight. However, the prince didn't seem to have enough energy to do any of those things.

He had a lost look on his face and tears began to run down his face.

“Nothing… nothing I do pleases her. Neither to her, nor to my grandfather. All the time they are pressuring me, demanding me, yelling at me. Apparently Otto still hopes that my father will name me king, but I've never wanted that. They blame me for drinking all the time and how do they expect them not to? My father cares so little about me and my mother hates me. All his life he has hated me. She does it, my brothers… and so do you. My own wife hates me. Everyone… everyone who knows me does it”

You were silent for a moment.

There were mixed feelings inside you, because you couldn't forget the mistreatment that the man had given you during those months, nor the way he used you for his pleasure. He was right when he said you hated him. However, there was a compassionate part of you, deep down, that felt sorry for the man's state.

“And sometimes I just want to be dead. I just wish all the shit would go away and drowning in alcohol and dying would take away Alicent's problem and allow her to focus her attention on something better”

His gaze lifted and he looked at you with crystallized eyes.

“Maybe you should poison me one day. So your suffering would also end”

“Your highness, I cannot do that”

“But would you like it? Do you hate me enough to wish me dead?”

“Of course not,” you said quickly.

"Liar. You lie like everyone else. You want me dead”

You knew that saying something negative at that moment, in the state he was in, could result in him making some incoherence that you would be blamed for the next morning. So it was best to act cautiously.

“I don't think anyone wants that”

“My mother does. My father, Rhaenyra does it, and so does her stupid new husband…”

“Your grace…” you interrupted him harshly. Listening to him sink into his self-indulgence was too much to bear “You better go to sleep, don't you think? Now you're not thinking clearly, you'll feel better in the morning."

But Aegon seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to anything you had to say to him.

“I guess I just wish someone wouldn't completely detest my existence, you know?”

Aegon had done terrible things to you, of course, but seeing him at that moment made you wonder if all of this was the product of poor parenting and psychological abuse that had been perpetuated for twenty long years. You couldn't say your father loved you, not after what he had done, but at least he hadn't constantly hurt you as the man in front of you had. You knew better than anyone that hate had to be healed with empathy and for a brief moment you felt soft for him.

Once Aegon was a small child, without sins, without accumulated hatred, without evil... and apparently that frightened child hadn’t been completely buried, because it was him who cried inconsolably and saw death as a viable alternative to end that suffering. However, there is no redemption without guilt, right? You don't get to heaven without first repenting.

You stayed silent for a long time, listening to him sob, and when you gathered the courage you spoke:

“Prince, can I be honest with you?”

You had spoken in a low and benevolent voice, while you slid from your chair until you were kneeling in front of him. The boy didn't even want to take advantage of that position for a sexual act, he was simply too tired and drained to think. You placed your hands on his knees and seeing that he nodded, you continued:

“You say you wish someone wouldn't hate you, but have you ever made an effort to do so? Or have you even wondered why people feel that way about you?”

“It's something natural for them”

“I didn't feel it,” you said, honestly. You hated the idea of getting married out of obligation, but if he had been different from the beginning maybe your feelings for him would be too “And you made me feel it. With your contempt, your humiliations, your punishments…”

“If everyone thinks you're a monster, what's the point of contradicting them?”

“And then you prefer to agree with them?”

You were probably taking too many liberties with the prince, but you would never have a chance to talk to him like that again. He was vulnerable and therefore less defensive than normal.

“Every person is responsible for their actions,” you continued. “You can't change how the queen or king feels about you, but you can choose to offer something better to others. If it’s your desire that people not hate you, that won’t happen overnight just because you tell it to. It takes time, effort and above all it requires kindness. If you live regretting the concept that people have of you, without doing anything to change it, then you will live a lifetime of dissatisfaction. If you seriously want someone to feel happy about your existence then pursue that goal, don’t expect it to be granted to you as a divine work.”

A deeper cry began to well up from the man and you almost thought he would lean down for your hug. Still, he didn't.

“I don't know how to be someone else. I have always been this”

“Not always, that's for sure. Water that stagnates rots and becomes a swamp. The one that runs, on the other hand, becomes a river and flows into the ocean.”

You raised the handkerchief you always carried and, in an act of kindness that was also intended to be an offering of peace, you gently wiped the tears and dried blood from his face. Aegon squirmed as he had never experienced that kind of care.

“You just have to ask yourself: what do you choose to be?”

For an endless moment he watched you. His judgment was clouded by drunkenness, but he wondered if he wasn't hallucinating and you were simply the voice of his conscience telling him something he had never wanted to accept.

It was easier to blame others for his mistakes, to justify himself by saying that everything about him was his mother's fault and that if he behaved the way he did it was only a defense mechanism. Aegon had never thought about how his treatment of women was a direct consequence of Alicent's upbringing: if his own mother had hurt him, why wouldn't other women do the same to him? And since he was convinced that they were all going to do it, he preferred to turn them into objects that he could use for his benefit.

He was so drunk and so exhausted from all the crying he had shed that he simply pushed your hand away from his face and stood up from the chair, without saying a word. You, now standing, saw him begin to undress and the first thing you thought was that he would seek to heal his sorrows by having sex with you. However, he only got rid of the essentials and then lay on his stomach on the bed. Without any choice, you took off your clothes for the day, put on a nightgown and also lay down on the mattress to sleep.

You were sure that the next day Aegon wouldn’t remember anything and you weighed the possibility of the whole story repeating itself, in an endless and painful loop for the two of you. And if you were right, it would be a shame if you had to live like this for the rest of your days.

FOURTH ACT: REDEMPTION

“Do you know where Meryna is?” you asked one of the maids who had come in to change your bedding.

“No, your grace”

“I'm starting to get hungry and she still hasn't brought my breakfast,” you exclaimed sadly.

You had woken up a while ago and had gotten dressed to go for a walk after eating, to see if this would cheer you up a little. It had been a few days since Aegon had opened up in the privacy of your room and after that you had barely seen him, much less spoken to him. You believed that everything was due to a matter of pride or even shame for what you had witnessed and you simply didn’t give it importance, because you knew that eventually he would approach you again. You just had to wait for him to want to do it.

Almost as if by summons, the black-haired girl appeared through the door, looking agitated and embarrassed by the delay. Furthermore, she came empty-handed.

"Princess…"

“Didn't you bring breakfast?” you asked, still sounding cordial but slightly surprised.

“I'm very sorry, it's just that Prince Aegon asked me to bring the food to the royal dining room. He is waiting for you there, he told me to come and get you.”

He hadn’t mentioned requiring your presence for any breakfast and, according to you, there were no guests in the palace to accompany. The two women noticed your dismay and Meryna stood waiting for a response.

“Did he tell you why?”

“No, your grace”

"Good. Then tell him I'll be there in a moment."

You only took a few minutes to change your dress, one more suitable for being in the presence of the prince and in case there was a guest you didn't know about. There were no guards at your door so you were able to walk to the dining room by yourself and were surprised to see that only your husband was at the table. He had an expression that you interpreted as a mix of impatience and nerves.

“Oh, you finally arrived. Sit down. You, bring the princess something to drink,” he ordered a maid. He used to call you that in the presence of guests, but it was rare for him to have that courtesy when alone.

“Are we waiting for someone?”

"No. I just thought you might want to have breakfast together.”

You were already sitting next to him, and for a second you watched him with a frown. Had he hit his head somewhere or why was he acting so strange?

“Do you prefer juice or wine, your highness?

"Juice"

“And bring her some strawberries,” Aegon exclaimed.

There was something about the situation that scared you, because you imagined that he wouldn't be treating you so kindly without wanting something in return. But you were already his wife and he did whatever he wanted with you, what more could he want from you?

You looked him up and down, as if searching for some sign, but he looked completely normal. He was wearing one of those full black robes he was used to, with a golden chain with emeralds decorating the hem of his neck and a belt accentuating his figure. The dark circles in his eyes were pronounced, as always, but the look was not that of someone angry; you would even say that he looked somewhat passive, even sleepy.

While you were thinking about all that, you remembered the last conversation you had had with him. You feared that madness had finally exploded in your husband and the food you were about to eat was poisoned, as he had suggested at the time. Perhaps out of courtesy he was waiting for you to take the first bite and, trying to control the trembling in your hands, you took a portion of the cold cuts on your plate to put it in your mouth. Luckily the food didn't taste different and after seeing that the man ate it with the utmost calmness, you assumed that it didn't contain any poison either.

There was freshly baked bread, jam, some cheeses, the aforementioned cold cuts, a variety of fruits, scrambled eggs with fresh herbs and chives, as well as some stuffed buns for dessert. It was a mini banquet and as you ate it you couldn't help but wonder why this show of kindness was due.

Aegon didn't seem to have any intention of talking and you didn't try to force him, not wanting to either. The atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility, one you had not experienced since your wedding day until now, and it was a very different but strangely pleasant feeling.

It was just a couple sharing breakfast time, but for two people who come from such a broken home it felt like a totally new experience.

You continued in silence until most of the things served were finished, leaving only what wasn’t to your palate's liking or that your body was simply no longer able to ingest.

“Do you need anything else, your majesty?”

“Clear this table, we won't eat anymore,” he said to the maid, nonchalantly pointing to the leftovers you had left. Then he looked at you “Satisfied?”

"I am. Everything was delicious”

“I want us to do the same tomorrow. I will send a maid for you, so get ready soon,” he said decisively.

Then he got up from his chair, stretched a little, and left the room without saying anything else to you.

You didn't see your husband the rest of the day, but the next morning he kept his promise without fail. Although the breakfast menu was different the routine was the same and again it made you wonder what the reason for it was.

The next day he also requested your presence for breakfast and you concluded that he intended to make it a habit. For the rest of the morning you were supposed to dedicate yourself to your activities, but after a week of following that routine Aegon informed you that he had other plans for you.

“I want you to come with me for a walk.”

"To the exterior?"

"Yeah. I have training with Ser Criston but I don't wish to attend, so you will be my excuse. I'll tell him that the princess wanted to go for a walk and that I couldn't let her go alone."

He was telling you that lie almost like a childish prank and you would swear he was about to smile.

“Huh, okay. If you want it, we will”

You were still confused by his actions, because in all the time you had been there it was the first time he treated you decently. You didn't know if he was still drinking in large quantities, but at least when he went to sleep he no longer reeked of liquor in the same way. And all that week he hadn't forced you to have sex with him.

What had motivated the prince to change his way of behaving towards you?

"Do you want to go to the beach? I will order a couple of horses to be saddled for us” he exclaimed when you had already left the dining room.

You couldn't refuse to go to the bay, because in your entire life you had never seen the ocean and your curiosity was greater than any other feeling. Besides, you loved horses, and being with them might even make you feel better.

Aegon did as he told you and soon enough you were in the stable. He had ordered a beautiful white mare for you, with a silver mane the color of your husband's hair and a formidable build.

You approached to pet the animal, carefully, and tensed completely when you felt another body behind yours. Until that moment you hadn't realized how warm your husband was.

“She's pretty, right?”

His voice sounded at your ear level, as he had also reached out to touch Frostfire’s hair.

"She is"

“I guess you know how to ride,” he muttered under his breath and you let out an offended sigh.

“Of course I do. Highgarden is the heart of the chivalry of the seven kingdoms”

After saying that you turned your head just a little and met his gaze, indigo eyes with hints of lilac looking at you carefully. You could feel his breath against yours and at that closeness your cheeks had already turned red involuntarily.

He separated from you and then went to choose his horse, a black thoroughbred with beautiful braids, to get on it and ask the guards to open the door for you. You almost managed to sneak away, but Ser Criston stopped the two of you just before you could do so, claiming that he had a scheduled practice with the prince.

“I'm taking my wife to Blackwater, she hasn't had a chance to visit since her arrival.”

“But your grace, your father…”

“We will continue with training later, Ser Criston,” he said firmly.

“Will you go to Blackwater without an escort?”

“I will”

"That's impossible"

“Don't worry, I don't want to be accompanied. Just rest for now.”

“But you are the prince.”

"Exactly. I am the prince and I want my orders to be respected."

The boy was a smug son of a bitch when he put his mind to it, just like now. The man had no choice but to obey the words and then the two of you were able to leave. You could get there on foot, but Aegon had felt like riding and had wanted an alternative to quickly escape if something went wrong.

You walked along a path that still belonged to the Red Keep grounds, so there was no great danger of being attacked along the way, and you soon reached the bay. It was even more beautiful up close and as soon as you got off the mare you forgot any courtesy towards your husband, as you rushed towards the shore to watch the waves crash. Your pumps and dress were soaked when the water reached your calves, but it didn't bother you too much because you were happy for the reason.

“Have you never been to the ocean?”

“I'm afraid not, your grace. There was never any business that required me to be on the coast of The Reach and I have always lived surrounded by hills and forests. I had seen some rivers, but…”

Before you could continue your story you staggered because of a wave and to avoid falling you tried to hold on to whatever was within reach, which turned out to be the man next to you. He supported you from the elbows with his strong arms.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed. For the first time in your presence, he had laughed “But we should get away from the shore. I wouldn't want to take you back to the castle all soaked”

You heeded the boy's advice and, still leaning on him, walked towards the sand. The sky was slightly cloudy, so the weather was perfect for walking around without any discomfort.

“I've never visited Highgarden, is it as impressive as rumored?” he asked, as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the Red Keep.

Although you never believed that the prince would be interested in such things, you began to talk to him about your hometown with particular emotion. You told him about his surroundings, about the castle and you also told in greater detail the gardens that once belonged to you and were full of golden roses, as was the emblem of your house.

You were surprised by how attentive the boy was to everything you had to say to him and for the first time since your arrival, you didn't feel like a stranger in your own skin. Talking about your home was like remembering a part of yourself, as if you were showing him your insides through stories of the beautiful hills where you had ridden so many times.

“Everything sounds wonderful,” he concluded. The sea breeze had already ruffled both of your hair and he took advantage of this to brush a strand out of your face “Someday I should go visit it”

“Yes, maybe you would like that” you exclaimed smiling. You had come too far and it was time to walk back, towards where you had left Frostfire and Moonshadow tied up “Your grace, may I ask you a question?”

"Yeah"

You opened your mouth to ask him why he was doing all that and why he had suddenly started showing so much interest in you. You wanted to know the reason for his unexpected kindness and his abstinence from activities that weren’t very pleasant for you. But before you could speak, you took a moment to observe him. His skin looked paler in the light outside and his silver hair waved in the wind, however, what caught your attention the most was the serene expression on his face.

Although you couldn't say that you knew Aegon, the time you had lived together had shown you that his personality was extremely challenging. If you pointed out that he was being nicer to you and questioned him about it, he would most likely revert to his old behavior towards you simply on a whim. So no, you couldn't ask him about anything or you'd ruin the minuscule part of a good relationship you had managed to build.

“I was thinking... Do you think we can one day bring golden roses to the royal gardens? Green and gold are part of your emblem too and that would beautify the place. I could take care of them, if you want.”

“That's a good idea,” he exclaimed happily. You had already turned around to return and you calculated that it must be after noon “I will order them to be brought in as soon as possible, in the hope that the hot weather at King's landing will not ruin them”

“I hope not,” you said, although a little less enthusiastic than before.

You had been lost in thought after the appearance of that question that you did not verbalize and suddenly Aegon feared that he had made some mistake. You walked a few meters in silence, until this state was unbearable for his majesty and he stopped you by holding your shoulders. You were about to ask what had happened when he pulled you against his lips, stealing your breath. It was still a rough kiss, but this time less desperate than before. His hands went down to your waist and held you to his body until there wasn’t even a centimeter of distance left, with your belly touching the heat of his stomach.

“Still no signs that you are pregnant?”

You thought that, perhaps, your answer was in that question and that the only thing the man wanted was to convince you to hurry up the matter of producing an heir.

“I'm sorry to say no. It's very unfortunate."

“We'll have to keep trying,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he wanted to downplay the matter “Mother insists on it.”

“Has your mother always been like this to you?”

"What are you talking about?"

“It's just… she seems to have everything under control all the time.”

You couldn't be further from the truth and rather than describing it that way Aegon would have said that she was controlling. She wanted to have things under control, but she couldn't and as an example was the eldest prince himself, whom she had never been able to persuade to behave the way he did.

“Well, she is the queen. I guess that's how she must be” he exclaimed without much encouragement. He was still holding you by the waist and was surprised by how intimate that position was. “But we better get back, they must be wondering where we are”

“Maybe they even think I ran away, taking advantage of the fact that you weren't there to watch me,” you joked.

"Would you do it?"

"Do what?"

“Run away”

You looked at the man, incredulous, because it was stupid to think that if you were planning to run away you would just tell him like that. That was the characteristic of it, that it was surprising and hidden.

“Why would I do, your grace?”

“Maybe because I'm a bad husband,” he said quietly. You weren't understanding the game Aegon was playing and it was driving you crazy.

“I wouldn't dare do it. I have nowhere to go and I know I couldn't even get through the doors without your majesty noticing,” you replied.

The prince didn’t want pragmatic reasons like that, but rather his question was more aimed at whether it was your will to abandon him.

Against all odds a couple of raindrops began to fall and very soon a storm had already brewed over your head. It was useless to run, but you did it anyway and Aegon held your hand to prevent either of you from falling due to a trip. Somewhere along the way you lost one of your pumps and at this you began to laugh and he, infected by your joy, did the same. It amused you greatly to think of the face the queen would make when she saw you enter the castle, with her eldest son soaked from head to toe and your clothing incomplete. But you also laughed from the joy of feeling so alive in that moment. You felt like a girl playing in the rain and despite the coldness of the falling water, you felt a certain warmth traveling from the tips of your fingers to your chest.

Although he was sure that you were an excellent rider, your husband insisted on taking you on his own horse to avoid any accidents and you agreed without complaint. His body sheltered you all the way to the Red Keep and once there, under the roof, he helped you down from the chair with extreme care. You didn't think he was that strong until you felt him grab your waist and place you on the floor effortlessly.

“Ask the maids to prepare a bath for you, or you will catch a cold,” he said, putting on your back a cloak he had found hanging on one of the walls.

There was the hint of a smile on his face and seeing him behave like this towards you made you feel weird. You almost felt like he was trying to be affectionate with you, even though he wasn't quite succeeding.

“You should do the same,” you exclaimed softly.

Motivated by the kind moment you had shared, you reached out to brush away the wet hair that had stuck to his face and he shivered at your touch. It was the first time you touched him that way, out of conviction and with care.

“Your majesty, Lord Hand is looking for you. He says he needs to talk to you urgently."

“My grandfather,” he sighed at you, as if wanting to apologize for the words the guard behind you had just said.

He gave the man Moonshadow's reins and then explained that someone had to go get the horse you had left in the bay, so you assumed your presence there was no longer necessary. You were about to leave when he stopped you, grabbing your arm somewhat roughly and looking at you with a feeling that you couldn't decipher.

“I'll go to your room tonight,” he informed.

You felt a little disappointed by the reality of having to share a bed with him, after so long without having done so, but you were grateful that he was at least warning you.

You nodded your goodbyes and he did the same, forming an unspoken agreement. You thought maybe that was why he had been polite to you, so he could get back under your bed sheets. But there was no point in doing it, he wasn't courting you to win your hand, but you were already his wife and he had made it very clear that he could do with you whatever he wanted.

Still a little confused, you were escorted to your bedroom, where you hoped that a tub with hot water and essences would be enough to appease all those doubts that were growing in you.

FIFTH ACT: LOVE

At some point Aegon would get tired of all this, you were sure. But while that moment arrived, you were thoroughly enjoying all kinds of attention you received from your husband. He kept his promise to bring golden roses for the gardens and although the queen wasn’t very happy, in the end they adorned some of the busiest sections of the place. You took that as an act of good faith, so you thought that maybe the thought of repaying him for some of the decency he was showing you wouldn't kill you.

There wasn’t a single breakfast that you skipped, except when the prince was required for political matters or had to travel. You were too proud to admit that you had begun to genuinely enjoy his company, as you still had some distrust due to how temperamental the man was. It wasn't all sunshine and flowers, as the young man still had some outbursts that made you fear him and reminded you that this was who you were really talking to.

His drinking habits hadn’t changed much, since although he was able to handle it during the first week after that period, it was inevitable that he would go back to his old ways and drink an entire jug of wine in a couple of minutes. With sex it was the same, because he continued to fuck you without signs of care and regularly when he was lost in drink. It amused you to think that perhaps that was the reason why you still didn't carry a child in your womb; that he was too drunk when you tried to be of any use.

However, as your relationship strengthened you could notice slight (you almost swore they were imaginary) changes when having sex. He was no longer as rough towards your body as before and tried to thrust into you a little slower, as if he wanted to lengthen the moment and not just unload into you and sleep like a baby after that. Maybe it was just that the drink made him lethargic, but he had even started seeking your lips in the middle of the act or kissing everything within reach of the skin on your neck. You didn't intend to spend much time analyzing his behavior because for you it already represented a victory that he had stopped hurting you after every time you had sex and, honestly, you didn't want to inquire about it. Once again you thought it was more prudent not to question the prince and simply let him continue behaving that way.

Until one night, things looked different for you.

When you heard your husband open the door, quite late at night, and saw him approach your bed, you knew that the same dynamic of nighttime visits would take place. Aegon, already hard as a rock, would kiss you a few times, undress, order you to undress, and then position on top of you to satisfy himself. Needless to say, under the confidence that being in the dark gave you and your husband's lack of interest, you looked away or concentrated on something else while your martyrdom was carried out. He would finish, lie naked next to you, and then sleep soundly with no memory the next morning of what had happened.

Aegon called your name, just to check that you were awake or otherwise wake you up, and you were surprised to hear that his voice sounded quite normal. He wasn't slurring his words like usual.

"Your grace?" you called back, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him.

He did what was expected and as soon as he was far enough away, he started kissing you. You must have known something was wrong from that first moment, when he grabbed your cheek with his wide hand and offered you the most passionate kiss you had ever had. It is reiterated that Aegon was always somewhat careless in intimacy, but this first contact hadn’t felt as impatient as others, but rather was something more careful and planned.

Only one other man had kissed you like that in your life and although the feeling brewing in your chest must have been pleasant, the truth was that it wasn't. You had endured too much abuse from the white-haired man so your body didn't know how to react otherwise. That's why when he continued kissing you for longer than usual and then laid you down meekly, you couldn't do anything but tense uncomfortably.

You were only in your nightgown so there wasn't much difficulty in sliding the straps to the side, almost exposing your tits. Suddenly Aegon lowered his kisses to your neck, where his stubble scratched your skin. Knowing that he would be busy in that area, you turned your head away to focus your gaze on a tapestry on the wall. However, you got a surprise when you felt the prince move away from you and then a bigger one when he took your face between his fingers, placing his index finger and thumb on each of your cheeks to force you to look at him. At first you thought there was anger in his eyes, but after looking at them for a second more you concluded that the feeling was more like that of someone insulted. And why? you asked yourself. What had you done that had offended the prince?

“Why are you looking away?”

His question had a certain aggressive tone, but, at the same time, he sounded hurt. With that you confirmed that he wasn’t drunk or that, if he was, he had drunk just enough to make him feel slightly dizzy. You couldn't tell the way your eyes looked at him, but Aegon interpreted your expression as one of disdain.

Unbeknownst to you, he had his own whirlwind of feelings inside him, one that was driving him crazy and causing him to look you up and down while still holding you. He’d never been like this on another night, so you were at the mercy of knowing how good or bad that would turn out.

Suddenly he seemed upset, you would even say disgusted, and surprisingly stood up from his position. The cold air hit you where he had been before and you sat on the bed to watch him, completely confused by the way he was behaving.

"What's going on…?"

“You don't want this,” he spoke firmly. It was obvious that you didn't want to and you wondered how he had barely realized it. “Not like that… I… no. Not this way"

His babbling confused you even more and when you saw him walk away with exaggerated steps until he left through the door, you couldn't help but feel totally amazed.

What was the reason for what your husband had just done?

The feeling of being abandoned was more hopeless than having him fuck you would have been, and for a moment you even felt ashamed. Maybe he didn't like you anymore or he would just go and cure his frustration in the bed of a woman you didn't know.

He had watched you very strangely and the whole scene wasn't like him. You even pinched yourself just to check that it wasn't some strange dream, getting a moan of pain in response to your question. You thought that perhaps you were acting impulsively, but barely a minute later you put on a green robe over your nightgown and headed towards the door, still not knowing exactly what you were going to do.

“Where are you going, your grace?” the guard on duty asked, putting his voluptuous body in your way.

“Prince Aegon, do you know where he went?”

“In that direction, your majesty. But I'm afraid I must recommend that you return to your room, it is dangerous to walk around the palace at this time."

“But I wish to see my husband,” you said firmly.

The man let out a sigh and then slid to the side of the hallway, leaving you a clear path. Even so, when you started walking you felt his footsteps following you because he probably wanted to make sure that something didn't happen to you. You walked for a while, but you knew it was useless when all you found were locked doors that you couldn't knock on and that you couldn't open either. If Aegon was in any of those rooms, you wouldn't know it. Defeated, you returned to your room and, as expected, found it empty again.

The next morning there wasn’t a single word about that event, but it was present in your mind throughout the day. You had already lived with him enough to realize that something was bothering him, however, upon noticing that he was less talkative during your usual breakfast, you decided to give him time.

You were about to leave the table when he stopped you, asking you to take your seat again and looking at you seriously.

“I have to travel for a couple of weeks,” he informed you. You were surprised to hear that he almost sounded sad “The king is required on some business and since my father can no longer travel, I will have to do it.”

“I hope the entire journey is favorable and the visit profitable, your grace,” you exclaimed cordially. However, your husband didn’t seem pleased with it.

One of his hands slid to hold yours, with a strength that surprised you. There was urgency in his grip, like he needed to hold on to something.

“Is that all you have to say?”

A couple of wrinkles appeared on your brow, as you clearly weren't understanding what he expected of you. Accompanying him would be reckless and you didn't know if he wanted you to keep him there at King's landing.

During those last months something had changed in the man's face, because those eyes surrounded by purple marks no longer saw you with the same aversion as the first time. And it disheartened Aegon that his attempts to please you were yielding no apparent fruit. He was giving you time, effort, and being kind to you like you had said was necessary, but he still couldn't help but feel that you still considered him a stranger.

He had been patient because he thought that, as time went by, you would begin to seek him out or not shy away from his touch. Aegon cared a lot about the physical, so every time he sneaked into your room he did so with the hope that you would welcome him with open arms and give yourself to him willingly. Countless nights he waited in his own room for you to show up to keep him warm and love him throughout the night. But it never happened and a part of him couldn't blame you either.

However, he was already tired of it. He wanted to make it clear to you that he not only wanted to give, but also receive. But forcing you to do anything would ruin everything; you had to want it.

“Have I said something that offended you, prince?”

“I just thought you would say you were going to miss me”

A laugh echoed in your throat at those words and for a second Aegon felt hurt, like you were mocking you. He was going to let go of your hand and walk away, insulted, but you squeezed his hand harder as a sign that you didn't want him to do that.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just didn't think that if I harbored feelings of that kind they would be of interest to your majesty."

“Do you miss me when you don't see me?” he asked now, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of you “Or are you glad to have me away?”

You didn't know what those direct questions were about, because you didn't expect that a man like him would be plagued by uncertainty about knowing the answers.

“Not at all. I will always be willing to be with you whenever you want.”

“And you want to be with me?” he insisted.

“I think that what I want is not important”

“But I'm trying to make it so. I thought I was making it clear enough,”

He was angry, but not for the reasons you might think. It frustrated him that he was trying hard to improve and that your eyes continued to see him like that first time. Too many people were already observing him like that and he thought that, perhaps, since you were the most recent to do it, you could also be the first in whom he could manage to modify it.

You, however, were still too confused by his signs. Sometimes his attitude didn’t coincide with the intentions he had, since antipathy was often the only emotion with which he allowed himself to express and feel, accustomed to what he received during all his years of life.

All those months of effort were a direct product of the talk you had had with him, of that moment of weakness in which, instead of ignoring him like everyone else did, you had stayed with him. Aegon was aware that the treatment towards you was sometimes inhumane and he couldn’t explain how despite this you had wiped away his tears with such care, expressing nothing more than an act of integrity. Sometimes he even just imposed things on you to see if he could push you to the limit and he was surprised to see that you endured everything with honor and decency. You were good, something he could never be.

He didn't want to hear anything more and then let go of your hand, feeling rejected again.

"Majesty…"

"It's getting late. I have to go feed Sunfyre so he can endure the trip.”

“Will you travel by dragon?”

“How else would a Targaryen do it?” expressed obviously.

You were silent for a moment and then he stood up, ready to fulfill his obligations. In the afternoon he had already left, without emotional goodbyes or anything like that.

You had those weeks alone to reflect on everything that had been happening. You firmly believed that a cruel and evil person would always be that way, even if they hid it, because humans can’t change from one day to the next. Still, you had to allow Aegon the courtesy of admitting that he wasn't being a complete jerk lately.

You tried to think of any unpleasant moments with him during that week and although you found a couple, you realized that they had all been because of minor arguments or simply that one of the two of you had woken up in a bad mood. The hatred for the boy had been so ingrained in you that now it was difficult to decipher how much of it was due to things that were really happening and how much of it was a resentment carried from the past, at the beginning of that harmful relationship that existed between you.

He was no longer a mean man to you, he just sometimes had those logical slips for anyone who has never been taught to love. He didn't know how to care for you, how to talk to you, or even how to touch you properly. He had always existed alone and could still be seen reflected in his incessant desire for you to be the one to look for him, in his longing to know that you would miss him during his absence and in wanting you to look forward to his return. He wanted you to pay attention to him. He needed it.

One fine afternoon the vision of Sunfyre finally appeared in the bright blue of the sky, with you watching from the huge window of your room. He looked majestic, flying deftly and confidently with the rider above him grinning from ear to ear. Aegon had once confessed to you that he loved to fly on his dragon and he spoke about it with a devotion that completely touched you.

You thought about going to look for him, grateful that he had returned, but you were afraid that your presence would bother him or, in that case, that there would be murmurs about you. You didn't want to seem like a desperate wife so you thought it would be best to look for him at dinner time and in case he wanted to see you before, you stayed in your room all afternoon.

Once night fell, you put on one of your prettiest dresses and went to the royal dining room hoping to find him there, but it was in vain. Luckily one of the cooks had seen him and he told you that he was in his room, since he had ordered that something to eat and drink be brought there.

Determined, you made your way there and took a moment before entering. You hoped that the time away from King's landing had not hardened your lover's character, because it would be a shame to waste what you had built for some time and have to start over, or not do it at all, which would be even worse. Since there were no guards at the door, you were able to push the wood without any hindrance and then you saw it.

Aegon was sitting near the fireplace, his back to the entrance and leaning against a table that had a jug that you assumed was full (or not so full anymore) of wine. When he heard your footsteps he turned slightly and when he saw you, he kept a serene expression on his face.

“Hey,” he exclaimed quietly.

“The maids informed me that you were here” you explained and he nodded.

You noticed that he no longer wore his black doublet with the Targaryen emblem, he only kept the breeches of the same color and a mint-colored linen shirt that left part of his chest exposed. His white hair had some natural curls that fell delicately over her shoulders.

“Yeah. I don't feel like seeing my parents.”

“I understand” you assumed that if he hadn't wanted to see you he wouldn't have hesitated to tell you, so you approached him. Undecided whether you should greet him with a kiss or just stay to the side, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned a little to look at him “How was the trip?”

“It was good,” he responded with reluctance. “But my body feels completely crushed”

“Hm. It shows” you whispered, amused. The tension in his body was palpable and that's why you began to massage him, pressing hard just where he needed it. Aegon, feeling your skilled hands doing this, let out a satisfied grunt and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.

Doing that wasn’t something you had planned when you went there, it had only happened out of the heat of the moment and the reality that your husband's body was taking its toll on him for the hours he had spent riding his dragon.

With each passing second Aegon's burden felt lighter and lighter, wondering where you had learned those movements and how your hands were strong enough to exert the right pressure.

"Feel better?" you asked kindly and he nodded immediately, eyes still closed.

Suddenly one of your hands slid lower, towards his chest, to caress him. This time your fingers were light as feathers, sending an electrical current up and down the man's spine under your touch. No whore had ever touched him like that, with that force and at the same time so delicately.

But it was clear that you were not a whore. You were his wife.

“Come here,” he said firmly, reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist and pulling you directly into his lap.

It was extremely painful to admit that he had missed you. He was physically frustrated because he hadn't dared to take any other woman in your absence. It had been a long time since he had frequented pleasure houses, since his appetite was awakened only by being with you.

What the hell had you done to him?

“The cook told me that you ordered some food, but I only see wine around here. Have you already eaten anything?”

“Mhmm,” he said absently. Your legs dangled to the side and one of his hands came up to your face, brushing your loose hair away from it. The other one surrounded you until it planted itself firmly on your belly. “Still no signs of anything?”

“Honestly, I don't know. The maesters can’t say with certainty… I am sorry”

“What if you are sterile?” the mere possibility of it made you nervous and you wondered what your fate would be if that was the case. Aegon didn't look so worried “What a disappointment for Alicent.”

You didn't know how to take that, because on the one hand it could be that your husband was amused by the irony of the matter and on the other hand it was that he would never have wanted to have children with you. For a moment you thought that the tranquility of the environment had been fragmented by this, but it turned out that the man couldn't care less. He was completely focused on your lips, almost as if hypnotized.

“I trust that is not the case, your grace. Just… it was a streak of bad luck.”

“I guess so,” he murmured nonchalantly. He was still watching your mouth when you spoke “But now I don’t care much about that.”

He carefully grabbed you by the back of your neck and brought you closer to shorten the distance, giving you an eager kiss that took your breath away. The hand that was on your waist pulled you closer to his body, leaving practically no separation between you and him. You could feel the desperation on his lips and in his touch, like he was eager to make you his. And at the same time, he was kissing you like he had never done before: it was sweet, yearning, passionate. You felt like he really wanted you.

He separated from you so you could breathe and, as best he could, he maneuvered to lift your body until he placed you on the table, where it was easier for him to place himself in the space between your legs. You instinctively placed your hands around his neck and wrapped one of your legs around his body.

“I longed for you. These weeks” you finally confessed. You heard him, and felt him, breathe more erratically at this because your words had fallen on him with the force of an axe.

From there, Aegon acted solely driven by the feeling of knowing that you had wanted to see him as much as he had wanted to see you.

His entire body leaned over you to kiss you, with the same urgency as at the beginning. While he did that he grabbed you by the lower back, pulling you until your body collided with his crotch which, if it wasn't already hard, wouldn't take long.

His kisses were clumsy due to urgency and after a while he moved away from your mouth to descend to your neck. Sometimes he left a kiss or two, at most, but this time he seemed to want to take his time. His tongue ran all over your skin, freshly washed, and he spread caresses without restraint. Every place the dragon's lips touched lit up with fire and his hips grinding against you weren't doing much for the blush on your cheeks. Inevitably you began to sigh from so many stimuli, right at the level of his ear, which only motivated him to continue.

As best he could he pulled the laces on the back of your dress and it didn't take long to get rid of the restraints. He slid one of your sleeves over your shoulder to begin kissing that section, the same way he had done with your neck. An indiscreet moan escaped you as your husband bit into your soft flesh and you could feel him smile against your skin.

“You're mine, right?” he sighed brokenly. You had tilted your head back to give him more space and he took the opportunity to lower the entire torso of your dress. “Only mine…”

With the same devotion he took care of your breasts and you couldn't do anything but continue alternating between sighs and some muffled moans. You could feel how he longed for you, eager to be able to kiss every inch of your skin even if it took him the entire night. Suddenly your body had become a temple, an object worthy of worship. The prince continued to distribute kisses that each time descended towards your belly, until with one hand he violently threw everything that was on the table and you ended up lying completely on it. Then he walked away.

You were about to ask what had happened when he took care of taking off your ballerina flats and throwing them somewhere far away in the room, only to stretch your leg up to the height of his torso to start kissing it. No one, not even him, had ever done that to you, so it was natural for you to be dismayed. His kisses moved quickly up your thigh and once he did that, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The skirt of your dress blocked your view and when you tried to get up something made you scream. Aegon had bitten into the tender flesh of your thighs, quite close to your crotch and with more force than he had hit your shoulder. You could only imagine his face when he carefully licked the mark he had surely left on you, once again making your chest exhale a moan.

What he did next and the sensation it caused, you could never have even imagined. That mouth, which most of the time was used for ironic puns and sloppy kisses, was now taking expert care of all of your pussy. Aegon was devouring you completely, touching just where it was necessary to make you squirm on the table. He wasn't careful at all; it was a touch hungry and extremely dirty.

You wanted to hold on as much as you could to keep yourself attached to reality, but it was difficult with your husband eating you like that. One of his arms wrapped around your leg and placed it over his shoulder, probably to give him better access. You had never moaned like that in his presence and it only made him harder and harder beneath the tight fabric of his breeches.

The pleasure was barely getting to your head when he stopped and a dissatisfied grunt escaped you shamelessly. Aegon laughed unabashedly at this, pleased at the control he had gained over you, and then went up again to kiss you hungrily. You couldn't do anything but welcome his salty lips and you moaned against him as he leaned against your body and you could feel his crotch, not knowing if it was your own wetness or his that was present.

He held you from behind and, without stopping kissing you, carried you until he placed you on the bed. You considered it somewhat unfair that your husband already had you trembling beneath him and still hadn't taken off a single piece of clothing, but your complaints were silenced when he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head and took off his breeches in record time. In the same way, he pulled your dress towards your legs so that a second later it ended up on the floor, along with everything else.

He knelt down on the mattress and spread your legs roughly, lining himself up with your entrance. He began to rub the tip of his member up and down your already wet center and that did nothing but drive you crazy again.

When a delicate, pleading, «please» escaped your swollen lips, Aegon knew it was more stimulating to have you begging for him than to worry about only satisfying himself.

He played with you for a while longer, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of his delicate, pretty wife vibrating from having him close, until he finally plunged into you. For the first time there was enough wetness in you that the stroke felt satisfying rather than painful and both of you let out a delicious moan.

He set the pace, slow at first, but after a while his movements became more desperate. He wanted to get to the core of you, he wanted to fill you completely so you knew that only he could make you feel that way. When his body began to ache he leaned towards you, resting each of his arms on the side of your head and looking directly at you. You had stopped looking away from him, now you were looking at him with your mouth open with pleasure, your eyes watery and your pupils dilated on your completely flushed cheeks.

“Aegon,” you sobbed pathetically, clouded by everything you were experiencing and proving that it wasn't long before you reached your orgasm.

You had never called him by his name. You always referred to him as «your grace», «prince» or «husband», at best. So hearing his name come out of your lips like that, under those circumstances, was too much for him to bear.

Knowing that he couldn't last much longer, one of his hands moved down to rest his thumb on your clit and once there he began to make erratic circles. You closed your eyes, completely seized by pleasure and a couple more thrusts were enough to make you lose the battle. Hearing your whimpers, combined with the way your walls squeezed him, was enough to make him cum too. With trembling legs you felt the warm liquid filling you and, for the first time, it was comforting.

When Aegon plopped down next to you, you immediately missed his body warmth. Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath that the orgasm had taken from you. You could clearly feel your heartbeat bouncing off your bare chest and the stinging sensation coming from your crotch and running through your entire body was something you could get used to. Your hair had stuck to your face from the sweat and not to mention your lips, which you felt were burning from your husband's attention.

Aegon had already had many orgasms in his life so this time he decided to turn his gaze a little to see you enjoying yours. The mere idea that he was responsible for your condition made him completely shake.

“You look beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. You thought he had heard wrong because of the rush, but from the way he was smiling at you, you highly doubted it. “Just like that”

“Like what?”

“Freshly fucked. Well fucked” he corrected himself.

A laugh bubbled up from within you and you blushed even more, if that was possible, perhaps from the nerves and elation of what had just happened. The man stood up a little from his seat and leaned down to kiss you, although this time he did it with a calm and affection that you never thought you would see in him. It was just that he couldn't deny it anymore; from that moment on he would become an open book for you, where you could see all his feelings, desires and fears.

“I don't know why you're doing this,” you suddenly murmured and Aegon pulled away enough to look at you “And I don't know why you've been acting like this these past few months. But I like it. I think it's a good time for you to know."

“You said I could choose who I am,” he said meekly. One of his hands grabbed your chin and stole another fleeting kiss from you. “I haven't forgotten, every word is present in my head. It's just... sometimes it's hard. And I thought I would have a better chance with you, even with the things I did to you when we got married”

You smiled at him and were happy to know that the change in his behavior was because of the talk you once had with him. If he continued like this, ignoring the demons inside him and trying to be better, then your marriage had a chance to become more than just a condemnation.

Driven by the pleasant feeling growing in your chest you reached out towards him to reward him with a kiss. The man's breath hitched when you pushed him to the side and reversed roles, now you being the one pampering him while he was lying down. There was a playful glint in your husband's eyes as you looked at him.

“Do you know this is the first time you kissed me?” he exhaled softly.

You couldn't believe that was possible and for a few seconds you tried to remember so you could contradict him. But every time you remembered you realized that it was always him who initiated the contact to which you only responded, so, effectively, it was the first kiss you gave him out of conviction.

Maybe it was an omen that something good was coming.

Still happy with how everything had turned out, you snuggled into his side, your head resting on his chest while he hugged you and threw a sheet over your bodies. You planted a hand on his bare skin and began drumming your fingers, alternating with small circles made with the greatest delicacy.

You were silent for a long time, you even thought that your husband had fallen asleep until you heard him speak again:

“It's also the first time I'm doing this.”

“Are you talking about sex, your grace?”

“No, I'm talking about cuddling,” he confessed softly, his hand caressing your back the same way you did with him, “And don't call me your majesty anymore. I am Aegon. Or my prince, at any rate. But my is important”

With the affection worthy of a wife, you raised your head to place a kiss on his cheek and assured him that from now on you would call him that in the privacy of your chambers.

Suddenly, after another moment of silence, Aegon pulled you close to him as if afraid you were going to suddenly evaporate. Intending to calm his fears, you climbed until you were on top of his body, hiding your head in his neck so that the distance became minimal.

There was silence for another couple of minutes.

“Do you think I can ever be forgiven?”

Apparently the atmosphere of the moment had managed to soften the boy's heart.

“We can all be absolved, Aegon.”

"And you?"

"Me what?"

“Do you think you can ever love me?” you were quiet for a second, thinking about your response. Then, he added “Or could you at least try? It would be a nice detail for me. No one has ever done it before.”

Not wanting to ruin the mood with a false word you decided to kiss his neck gently and that was enough of an answer for him. He would have to trust in your goodwill and that he could continue to restrain his impulses to keep this newly discovered gem that was his wife. With some luck you could even be that person he prayed for so much all his life, one with whom he could feel safe.

The slowing of the man's breathing revealed to you that he had already fallen asleep and you discovered that it seemed not so bad to find yourself in that position, sheltered by your lover's arms.

Under that scenario, the idea of eventually loving Prince Aegon Targaryen no longer sounded so far-fetched.

I can’t remember when i started this but it took me until a bit less than a week ago.

The new subway has just been opened in Trolberg and who better to run it than the Subway Masters themselves?

I know they’re in different eras/time periods, but could you imagine if they weren’t?

Based off this (x)