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foreverisntenough · 10 hours

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‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 11 - 'Go | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.3k

When the clock neared 7 AM in Madrid, Jude knew it would be late for you in New York, and although he didn’t know you weren’t there he couldn’t wait any longer. You were laying imagining him this same morning, seeing him, grumbling at his alarm, refusing to get out of bed. But then you imagined his usual routine—how he’d eventually get up, stretch his muscular frame, and peel off his clothes before stepping into the shower. The thought made you sigh, your emotions a mix of longing and frustration. Jude was imagining you stepping out of a shower of your own. How you used to wind down for the night, leaning over his vanity in tiny shorts, your ass out, as you applied your skincare. You’d turn around and wink at him with a coquettish laugh that was haunting him. The smell of you filling the room. It was a scent now he wished he could’ve bottled. Unable to resist any longer, he reached for his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact, his heart was racing with both fear and hope. What if you didn’t want to see him? But what if you did? He took a deep breath and began typing, his heart pounding in your chest.

‘I’m coming to see you’

He stared at the message, his mind stilling as the familiarity of it all washed over him. He was commanding because he’d had enough. He needed you back. The anxiety, the excitement, the undeniable connection you shared—it was all there, in those few simple words. He hit send. The message pinged on your phone, the sound breaking the early morning silence. You reached for it groggily, assuming it’d be anyone but Jude, your heart skipping a beat when you saw who it was from. Your stomach dropping. As you read his message, a slow, relieved smile spread across your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as you read the message. For the first time in weeks, you felt something other than the dull ache that had been plaguing you since you left. The possibility of him wanting to come to New York brought a flicker of hope, though it was tangled with nerves. What did it mean? Was he coming to make things right, or just to say goodbye?

To say Jude been in a terrible funk ever since you left would’ve been an understatement. Nights had become endless stretches of sleeplessness, and his performance on the pitch had suffered as a result. His frustration boiled over in ways that were unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He’d even snapped at his mum a few times, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager. Jude knew he needed to talk to someone about what was going on, but the idea made him cringe. He didn’t want to admit how deeply you had gotten under his skin. He knew if he opened up to someone like Trent, he’d undoubtedly tell him to fix it, or to Toby, who’d probably suggest he forget about you altogether. Neither of those options felt right. But the silence in his room at night was getting too loud. He’d spend hours just staring at pictures of you, writing in his notebook, the memories only making the emptiness worse. Eventually, it got to the point where he couldn’t hold it in any longer, and the tears came—tears he never thought he’d shed over anyone, let alone a girl. Jude wasn’t the type to cry. He didn’t let himself get that vulnerable. But with you, everything was different. He was different and it was time he grew up. One evening as you were helping Whitney put Teddy down for sleep, Trent got an unforeseen but not unexpected call from Jude. He didn’t tell Jude you were down the hall, he kept it to himself, figuring it wasn’t his place to meddle. But he had been watching Jude struggle, not just on the pitch but in everything. His mate wasn’t himself, and Trent knew why, even if Jude wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Tonight they were casually chatting about football as they always did. Jude was unusually quiet, which wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes amidst tactics, but this time, he contributed little.

"You’ve been off lately, mate." Trent, noticing, finally broke the awkwardness, his tone light but deliberate. Jude had clearly called for Trent’s comfort but was hiding behind the guise of football.

“Just tired, I guess. Football's been... rough. I’ve been rough.” Jude shrugged, trying to play it off. Trent raised an eyebrow to himself, seeing though the deflection.

“Come on, we all get tired, it’s mid season but this isn’t just that. You’re not playing like yourself. You’re not acting like yourself.” Trent hesitantly called him out. Jude rubbed the back of his neck, looking down as if he could avoid Trent through his phone that way.

“Yeah, well, I’m working through it.” The conversation drifted for a few more minutes, Jude trying to focus on tactics, on form, on anything but the real issue at hand. But Trent wasn’t going to let it go that easily, not after he’d seen how this was affecting you.

“This is about her. It’s because you’re missing her.” After a pause, his voice softer but more direct, Trent bluntly told him. Jude froze at the mention of you. He hadn’t expected Trent to go there, even though, deep down, he knew Trent saw right through him. Jude’s jaw clenched as he stared at his feet, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to admit it, not because it wasn’t true, but because saying it out loud felt like tearing open a wound he hadn’t yet figured out how to heal. Trent waited patiently, not pushing too hard but not letting it go either. It was time. They’d talk about relationships here and there but you’d become less of a conversation since things turned sour and Jude needed to face the music because now people were getting hurt. Trent wasn’t going to have you come to his house crying and let Jude get away with it. “You’ve been a mess since she left, man,” Trent continued, his tone gentle but firm. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s why you’re struggling, it’s why she’s hurting, you know it as well and maybe it’s time you face it.” Jude’s hands were gripping his knees now, his mind racing. He didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. The regret. The love. The guilt. It all tangled together into a knot that sat heavy in his chest, impossible to untangle.

“I… I’m in love with her.” Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. The admission hung in the air. Jude had said it, the words that had been building inside him for so long. “I know I’ve been in love with her.” Jude whispered again, almost silent. His words came out raw, as if he hadn’t meant to let them slip, but there they were, impossible to take back now.

“There he is. Good lad. Finally,” Trent said, his voice filled with a quiet pride. Trent smiled softly, almost able to hear the weight shift off his friend’s shoulders.

“I know. I know. You were right but bro….” Jude admitted that Trent had been right but it was through gritted teeth. Jude didn’t want to hear Trent’s cockiness right now. “Nothing feels right without her,” Jude admitted, his voice strained. “I can’t function. Every day... it’s like I’m half here, half somewhere else. She’s always in my head.” Jude vented, Trent leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly.

“That’s because you’re in love with her, mate. It’s not supposed to be easy when you’re apart or in a riff. But here’s the thing: you don’t just let it sit there and eat at you. You have to do something about it.” Trent had a sly smile pulling on his lips.

“I fucked up. Badly. I don’t even know how to fix it.” Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair.

“You can’t fix everything overnight,” Trent said wisely. “But at least you're finally being honest about it, finally admitting something you’ve known for ages… I’ve known for ages.” Trent softly laughed. “Bro. you love her… it’s about time you owned up to it but I’m not the one you should be telling.” Jude sat quietly for a moment, letting the conversation sink in. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be in a long time. But at the same time, there was a strange sense of relief in saying the truth out loud, in finally admitting that everything about you—about the relationship, about the love he tried to deny—was real and important.

“Do you think it’s too late?” Jude asked, his voice barely audible. Trent smiled knowing, calm.

“It’s not too late if you mean it. She should know, mate. But you can’t just say it, Jude. You have to show her. You fucked up and you gotta accept that. You have to prove it. She deserves that, doesn’t she?” Jude nodded to himself, his throat tight with emotion. “I know a girl like Y/N and she’s not just going to forget the fact that you’ve been a right ass to her.” Trent laughed a little. You and Whitney weren’t that alike but you both were similar in the way you were going to let someone treat you like shit, probably you more than Whitney, and Trent needed Jude to be prepared for that.

“I know…. But yeah, she does. She deserves everything.” Jude muttered hating himself a bit more for the circumstances he’s put you in. Trent knew you were in love with Jude and so he was encouraging to him but he didn’t want Jude to think this was all resolved by him admitting that. Frankly that bit was just long overdue and probably the easiest bit.

“Then give her everything. Don’t half-ass it. If you want her back, you have to show her you’re all in.” Jude took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of what Trent was saying. He knew his friend was right. You were everything he wanted, and it was time to stop running from that truth. It was time to stop being afraid.

“Do you think…” Jude began to hesitantly ask Trent a question.

“Go.” Trent told him, cutting him off. Jude didn’t need to finish his sentence. Trent knew what he would be asking. Jude stood up, feeling lighter than he had in months, even though he knew the real work was still ahead of him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was ready to face it. Ready to face you.

And the next morning, this morning, was the time. The warmth that spread through your chest when you saw his message was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like a light had been switched back on, and you realized just how much you’d missed that feeling. The idea that he wanted to come to New York made your heart ache with a mix of hope and fear, but most of all, it made you feel alive again. Jude's thoughts had swirled as he clutched his phone, his chest tightening with the realization that he couldn’t ask you to come to him anymore. You weren’t just anyone—you were someone who truly mattered to him, in ways he was still trying to understand. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you deserved more than just a half-hearted gesture. You deserved everything, and he wanted to be the one to give it to you. As the minutes ticked by, Jude sat on the bed, staring anxiously at his phone. He prayed for a response, something to tell him that reaching out hadn’t been a mistake. But as the clock inched closer to 7:30, the silence on the other end felt like a rejection. Jude’s heart sank, and before he knew it, tears were building on his lash line. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the covers over his head in a futile attempt to shut out the growing despair. Maybe you weren’t going to respond. Then, in the darkness, his phone vibrated. He almost didn’t believe it at first, thinking he’d imagined it in his desperation. But the vibration happened once more, and with trembling hands, he reached for his phone. The brightness of the screen burned his eyes.

‘Please.’

That’s all you could say but it was potent. In that moment, everything you both had been feeling—the fear, the doubt, the heartbreak—melted away, replaced by a surge of emotions neither of you could barely contain. Albeit digital, but a bridge had been formed. He was coming to you. You started to cry. The tears that had been primarily of despair now flowed with something else entirely—relief, hope, but most of all… love. You didn't fully understand the weight behind Jude’s text, but your emotions surged all at once, blending tears with laughter. You sprang out of bed, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you began frantically throwing your things into your luggage. The excitement propelled you up the stairs of the massive house, and without hesitation, you barged into Whitney and Trent’s room. You landed on their bed like a child, your energy infectious.

"Good morning." Whitney greeted you with a sleepy laugh and a warm smile.

"He texted me!" You blurted out, your voice tinged with a mix of relief and exhilaration. As you explained your plan to leave immediately and get back to New York before Jude arrived, Whitney's eyes lit up with excitement for you. You chatted excitedly, Whitney offering encouragement and support and a bit of caution while you rambled about not wanting to reveal that you'd been staying with them. A smug smile curled on Trent’s lips, still half-asleep. As you continued to ramble to Whitney, it suddenly dawned on you that both Whitney and Trent were naked under the blankets. You couldn't resist teasing them with a playful grin. "Sorry for barging in on you two," you quipped, eyes twinkling as you got up to make your way back downstairs to finish packing. With each step, your excitement grew. You were going back to New York, and Jude was coming to you. It felt like the beginning of something important, something you weren’t ready to let go of.

“Took him fucking long enough.” Trent yawned with a stretch pulling Whitney into him. Whitney giggled, laying her head onto his chest.

Jude hesitated in the hallway, his phone still in his hand remembering Trent’s quiet, but powerful ‘go.’ Trent’s words hung in the air, echoing in Jude’s head, as if they were the push he needed, the final nudge over the edge. He stared down at the phone, the weight of the moment settling over him like a blanket. He wasn’t sure if he could fix it, if you would even want to hear him out, but Trent’s simple word, his unspoken encouragement, gave him the clarity he had been chasing for weeks. Taking a deep breath, Jude slipped his phone into his pocket and headed towards the kitchen, where his mum, Denise, was finishing her morning tea. She glanced up when he entered, her expression soft and warm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern. She had sensed that things had been off with Jude lately, though he hadn’t said much. She smiled at him softly, almost as if she knew exactly what was on his mind without him having to say a word. Jude stood there for a moment, shifting awkwardly, unsure how to broach the topic.

“Mum…” he began, his voice lower than usual, almost timid. “I need a favor.” He muttered.

“What is it, love?” Denise set her cup down and looked at him, her eyes patient, waiting. Jude swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He had been running from this for too long, burying his feelings, and now it was all spilling out.

“Could you drive me to the airport?” The question hung in the air for a moment, and Denise’s eyes softened, understanding immediately what this was about. She took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing as if the tension she’d been holding for her son was finally easing.

“Finally,” she said with a sigh of relief, her voice gentle but filled with a knowing warmth. She had been waiting for him to take this step, to stop avoiding what was clearly breaking his heart. Jude blinked, slightly taken aback by her reaction, but also relieved. It felt like a weight had been lifted, like he wasn’t carrying the burden of uncertainty alone anymore. Denise stood up and walked over to him, wrapping him in a hug. “It’s about time, Jude.” He hugged her back, his chest tightening. He didn’t know what would happen when he got to England, but for the first time in a while, he felt like he was doing the right thing. Finally facing what he’d been running from. “Go get your things, I’ll drive you.” As they pulled apart, Denise gave him a reassuring smile. Jude nodded, feeling a sense of urgency settle in his bones. This was it. It was time to fight for what mattered most. He turned and headed towards his room to grab his things, his mind racing with the thought of seeing you, of finally telling you everything he should have said long ago. He knew he was late. But at least he was on his way now.

You knew Jude was planning to come to New York, but everything felt so uncertain. You had an idea of when he might show up, but no concrete details. So, when there was a knock at your apartment door, your heart raced. You froze, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of you. Could it be him? Suddenly, a wave of nervous energy hit you, and you bolted to your bedroom. You threw on a tank top, one that accentuated your curves just enough, and adjusted the straps hastily. Running your hands over the fabric, you tugged it down a little lower, exposing more of your cleavage. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and with every second that passed, you felt the anticipation grow. You could hear another knock at the door. Before answering, you stopped at the mirror in the hallway, frantically fixing your hair. You adjusted a stray strand, trying to look effortlessly composed. Slowly, you approached the door, your pulse quickening with each step. When you opened it, you felt like your legs might buckle beneath you—but then your heart shattered.

It wasn’t Jude.

It was a delivery man, holding a massive bouquet of flowers. You stood there, blinking in confusion as a lump formed in your throat. The delivery man smiled politely, handing you the flowers. ‘For you,’ he said simply. You barely managed a thank you, feeling the weight of disappointment crash over you. You took the flowers, and as soon as you shut the door behind you, the tears welled up. You sat down on the couch, trembling, bracing yourself to read a note from Jude. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe this was a goodbye wrapped in beautiful blooms. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and as you hesitantly reached for the card nestled among the flowers, your breath hitched. You feared the worst, and the tears that had been brimming finally spilled over, blurring your vision as you prepared yourself for whatever words were written inside. Your fingers trembled as they pulled the note from the delicate bouquet. The flowers were beautiful, but all you could focus on was that small, fragile piece of paper nestled between the blooms. You felt sick to your stomach as you slid it free, your hands shaking uncontrollably. Everything seemed to hang in the balance of what was written on that card. You had been bracing yourself for a goodbye, or worse, an apology that would tear at your already raw heart. But when you unfolded the note, what you saw wasn’t anything you’d expected.

‘I know I’m late but I’m here now. Please let me in, Angel.’

Just a couple words. So simple, but they hit you harder than anything you had prepared for. Your breath caught in your throat, the tears that had been quietly lingering in your eyes now rolling down your cheeks without permission. You blinked, brushing the tears away, staring at the words again as if reading them a second time would make them change. But they didn’t. They were as real as the ache deep in your chest. You set the flowers down, your hands still trembling, and stared at the door. You felt frozen in place, as if opening it meant opening something much deeper inside you. You didn’t know if you were ready. How could you be? Everything between you had been broken, shattered in a way you didn’t think could be pieced back together. But then again, you assumed, there he was, outside that door, asking to be let in. You glanced at yourself in the mirror. You took a shaky breath and pushed some strands of hair back, fixing the edges of your appearance, as if that would somehow prepare you for the emotional storm that was about to blow through your life again. As you stepped toward the door, each step felt heavy with anticipation, your heart thudding louder with every inch closer. You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering over the handle, taking in one last shaky breath. You could practically feel his presence on the other side. Your chest felt tight, and for a moment, you wondered if you could actually go through with this. Your mind was racing with memories — all the good times, the heartbreak, the questions left unanswered. But you couldn’t deny that you wanted this moment, that you needed to see him again, no matter how much it scared you. With trembling hands, you finally unlocked the door and slowly, ever so carefully, opened it. And there he was. Jude stood in the doorway, tall and familiar, his face looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen it before. His dark eyes locked onto yours instantly, and in that moment, you felt the ground drop from beneath you. It was the same Jude you had known, the one who had held you, loved you, and then left you. The boy who had broken your heart. And yet, seeing him there, standing so close, you were overwhelmed by how much you still loved him. The air felt thick between you, the silence stretching out. Neither of you spoke for what felt like forever. You just stood there, frozen, taking each other in, hearts racing but words caught somewhere in your throats. Jude’s expression softened, and he took a small step forward, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Angel," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. The word itself was enough to make your knees weak, your heart breaking all over again, but in a different way this time. Tears filled your eyes again, but you didn’t brush them away this time. You couldn’t. The weight of all the feelings you’d kept inside for so long was crashing over you like a wave. You wanted to be angry, you wanted to tell him how much he had hurt you. But all you could feel in that moment, staring at him, was how much you still loved him. Despite everything. He took another step toward you, his hand reaching out, hesitant but gentle. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, despite the ache it brought. You closed your eyes for a second, letting the warmth of his hand on your skin ground you. “I’m here,” Jude whispered, his voice soft but full of meaning. And in that moment, it felt like enough. Like that was all you had ever wanted to hear. Your lip trembled as you tried to find words, but nothing came out. It was all too much. The feelings, the memories, the love, and the pain. It was overwhelming.

“You’re here," you finally choked out, the words barely a whisper, but they hung in the air between you. Jude’s eyes softened even more, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear away from your cheek.

“I fucking missed you so much,” he said, his voice low and filled with regret. “I’m so sorry, Angel.” You shook your head slightly, not wanting to hear the apology, not yet. All you wanted was him. His presence. His warmth. But then reality set in. Like a rubber band to the back of your neck. You stepped a bit away from him. His hands dropping from your face. The tension going thick in the air. Your body went cold to him. You looked at him on the verge of a sob. Here he was, standing in front of you, his presence filling the room like a storm about to break. He looked different—more tired, more raw. His eyes locked on yours the second he stepped in, as if you were the only thing he’d been searching for. You froze, heart racing, unsure of what was going to happen next. Jude’s brow furrowed. He could feel the shift. Almost as if you were going to slam the metaphorical door shut to your heart. “Nah, enough of all this, alright?” Without wasting another second, he spoke again, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence. His tone was more harsh than you expected now, and it startled you. “I’m done getting my feelings hurt.” He stepped closer, and despite the towering stature he usually carried with such ease, you scoffed. Your eyes, hardened from weeks of silence and heartache, met his.

“You’re getting your feelings hurt?” you asked, mocking him as the words felt absurd coming from someone like him. Jude, always in control, always untouchable, now standing here telling you he was the one hurting. But Jude was quick—he closed the distance between you with another short stride. His hands were on your face again before you could even register it, his touch both gentle and firm as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His fingers dug lightly into your skin, but it wasn’t the pressure that made your breath hitch—it was the look in his eyes. You’d never seen him like this. His gaze bore into you, unwavering, filled with something deeper, something almost desperate.

“Yes, my feelings hurt because being apart from you has been the worst experience of my life. I’m done with it,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. “I’m done pretending. I’m done with all this bullshit. I’m done with hurting you, with hurting myself.” You tried to pull away, tried to come up with something to say, something to protect yourself, but he wouldn’t let you. His grip on your face tightened, his eyes glistening with a vulnerability that left you speechless. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“Jude.” You tried to caution him. You were suddenly filled with fear of hearing or maybe not hearing the three words that had defined the past. It felt like your emotions were a pendulum swinging back and forth. You couldn’t control them.

“I love you, Y/N.” Jude said, the words falling from his lips like they’d been trapped inside him for far too long. The world stopped for a second, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him. “I love you. And I’ve been in love with you.” Jude took a deep breath as his eyes glazed with emotion.Your breath hitched. For a second, you felt paralyzed. You’d waited so long to hear those words, but now they felt too heavy to bear. You wanted to be angry, to remind him of all the times he hurt you, but the moment he said it, something shifted inside you. “I’ve been too much of a coward to admit it to your face but I’ve known.” Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, Jude continued, his voice rough with feeling. “I’ve been an idiot, okay? I know I have. I’ve been selfish, and I’ve done things I shouldn’t have. I’ve hurt you—God, I know I’ve hurt you and seeing you hurt was the most painful thing. But none of them mattered. None of them were you. No one is you.” You shook your head, disbelief flooding your chest.

“Then why?” you managed to get out, your voice trembling. You had to know. “Why did you sleep with other people if it was always me? Why did you entertain them like I was nothing? Why was I nothing?” Your voice wavered and almost faded into silence as the weight of it all hit you, the pain of months, maybe years of uncertainty collapsing in on you. But his eyes—they were locked on yours, and for the first time, you saw it. The fear, the regret, the love.

“You were never nothing. You were exactly the opposite. You were everything and it was terrifying. You once told me that I made you weak but it couldn’t be more on the contrary. It felt like I was losing control and that was the only way to hold onto the old me. But I’m not that person. I haven’t been that person for a long time. I’ve never been good at telling people how I feel but you made me, not want, but need to try. I need you to know I love you.” Jude admitted, his voice hoarse, like the confession was tearing him apart. “I was scared. I was trying to hold onto some stupid idea of who I thought I needed to be. I was running from what I was feeling because I didn’t know how to handle it. But I can’t anymore, you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who loves how all consuming loving you is. Who embraces that you fill my every thought.” His words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Your chest tightened, your anger wavering, giving way to something else—something softer. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke again, quieter this time, almost as if he was scared of the weight of the truth. “I’m so madly, stupidly in love with you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “It’s always been you. It’s only ever been you since I first met you, angel.” Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stood there, frozen in his arms, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so open. His confession hit you like a wave, knocking down all the walls you had built to protect yourself from him. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice trembling, the words slipping out between shaky breaths. “I don’t want to be without you. I can’t.” You were both crying now, silent tears streaming down your face as you tried to catch your breath. The moment felt surreal, like you were floating in some bizarre, euphoric haze but everything was clear but you couldn’t respond, nothing would come out so Jude kept talking. “If you want me to go… If you don’t want to be with me, I understand. I know I hurt you. Hurt you more than you ever deserve to be. I just needed you to know, I needed to look into your eyes and tell you how much I love you. To apologize and thank you. Y/N, thank you for letting me know you. It’s been the greatest privilege of my life to matter to you and I’m sorry I didn’t show you that before…” Jude tried to keep talking but you grabbed his face and pulled him into a desperate kiss.

When Jude arrived in New York, his nerves were shot. He had played in front of tens of thousands of people, faced the pressure of the world watching his every move, but this—this was different. He had never felt more determined or more terrified in his life. Every step up to your apartment door felt like it was carrying the weight of all the mistakes, all the missed chances, all the words he should’ve said. But he had to do this. He had to make things right. It wasn’t the reunion either of you had imagined, but it was real. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could feel the weight of his presence, and every emotion—anger, sadness, love—rushed to the surface all at once.

“I’m so sorry, angel” Jude pulled away from the kiss with a serious expression, his voice low and steady. “But I’m not here for sorry. I’m here to tell you I love you. You need to know how much I love you. I should’ve said that a long time ago.” Your bottom lip quivered. His eyes searching yours. “I love you so much.” Jude cooed. "God I fucking I love you more than I can manage," he repeated, more forcefully this time. Jude watched your face fill with sadness. Like it hurt to hear all of this. He didn’t want you to be hurt anymore. “Come here.” Without waiting for you to respond, he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. But it wasn’t suffocating—it was grounding. For the first time, it felt like Jude was holding on to you like he never intended to let go. Your walls crumbled. Completely. You collapsed against his chest, the sobs coming hard and fast. It wasn’t just crying—it was every emotion you’d suppressed since Madrid pouring out. The betrayal, the insecurity, the hope, the love. It all flooded out as you buried your face into his shirt, your fingers clutching the fabric like it was your lifeline. “I’ve been so wrong,” Jude murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So wrong about everything. But you don’t have to show me how wrong I was anymore. I see it. I know it. You have me now, alright? You have all of me. I don’t want anything else.” His words hit you like a tidal wave, crashing through the remnants of your resistance. His arms were still around you, tight and secure in a way they had never been before. You weren’t afraid of him slipping away. You weren’t afraid of losing him in the noise of his life. He was here, and he was real. You pulled back slightly, enough to look up at him through tear-stained eyes.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” you choked out, your voice breaking as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “Promise me you won’t hurt me anymore.” you whimpered. Jude cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. His own eyes were glassy now, filled with the sincerity of someone who had finally realized what they stood to lose. “

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I won’t ever hurt you. Not again. Never again.” You nodded, but the tears kept coming. It was as if all the pain and heartache of the past months were being released in this one moment, and you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to. Jude kissed the top of your head, his grip on you still tight. “It’s done,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “All the back and forth, it’s over. You have me, all of me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to lose you again.” His words echoed in your mind as you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, both of you crying. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t some magical fix. But it was real. For the first time, it felt like you were both standing on solid ground. Together. And in that moment, as your tears began to slow and your heart settled into the rhythm of his, you believed him. You believed his promise. You believed in the love you had for him and the love he was finally ready to give you back.

After the entryway reunion, the relief you felt was both overwhelming and terrifying. After everything—the heartache, the distance, the uncertainty—it was all hitting you at once. But despite the rush of emotions, you let him inside, past the threshold of your apartment for the first time since your reconciliation. Jude stood there for a moment, taking in the space with a soft smile on his lips. His eyes held a tenderness, one that made you feel like you had nothing to hide, even though everything between you had been so complicated.

“Can I have a tour?” Jude asked, his voice warm and playful.

“It’s just an apartment, Jude. There’s only so much to see.” You giggled, feeling a bit self-conscious. Sure, it was larger than your average but nevertheless an apartment. He pulled you into his arms, swaying the both of you back and forth.

“I want to see every inch,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “Every. Single. Inch.” His words, punctuated by soft kisses, melted away the nerves you’d been holding onto. So, you agreed, guiding him through the space that had become your sanctuary in New York. First was the living room, a space that screamed you. Personal touches were everywhere: your favorite books stacked on the coffee table, a throw blanket in a color Jude remembered you loved, and a few plants that surprisingly looked healthy. Next, you led him to the kitchen. Jude chuckled when he saw it—pristine, untouched, as if it had never been used.

“I order in. You know this.” He raised an eyebrow at you, but you just shrugged with a laugh. Then came your office, which was flooded with sunlight. The space was cozy, but it had an energy about it, like it was where you were most creative. Jude admired the space, taking in the little details—the organized chaos of your desk, the art on the walls, your notebooks scattered around. It felt like he was seeing a new side of you, one that had grown and flourished while you were apart. You continued the tour, leading him to your walk-in wardrobe that was bursting at the seams with clothes. Jude smiled seeing your Louis duffel but then raised an amused brow, muttering something about how you hadn’t changed a bit, making you roll your eyes in jest. Finally, you reached your bedroom. The moment you opened the door, Jude stilled in the doorway. His breath hitched, his usual confidence faltering as he stared into the room. The atmosphere shifted—it wasn’t just another part of your apartment. It was different. This space felt sacred, personal. He stood there, as if frozen in place, his hand gripping the doorframe. It was as if stepping inside would make this all real, make everything you had been through with him undeniable. Like he could contaminate it and he wanted to be sure you wanted him there. He knew that if he crossed the threshold, there would be no going back. No more walls, no more pretending. Jude looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw and vulnerable. He wanted to be part of this—your space, your life—but he also knew that with it came a weight of responsibility. He took a deep breath and, without saying a word, finally stepped into the room. In that moment, it felt like a shift, as if the two of you were crossing into something new. Something deeper. Jude turned to you, gently pulling you into his arms again, but this time his embrace was more serious, more intentional.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against your hair, his voice soft but firm. And for the first time, you believed him.

After your short tour had ended you smiled down at him, feeling a strange mix of joy and disbelief as Jude sat on your bed. There was a brief moment of hesitation-your usual concern about keeping your bed clean of outside germs-but you let it go. This was different. It was Jude. Your Jude, in your bed, and that fact alone outweighed any fleeting worries. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, gently pulling you closer to stand between his legs. His grip was warm and familiar, like everything had finally fallen back into place. You gazed down at him, cupping his face tenderly. The feel of his skin beneath your fingers made your heart swell.

"Are you even allowed to be here?" you asked, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Jude smirked, dropping his hands lower, resting them comfortably on your ass. He squeezed slightly, looking up at you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

"No," he admitted, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Probably not but no one was stopping me. I've stayed away way longer than I ever wanted." The reality of what he was saying hit you. Jude was in the middle of the season, and you knew there were rules, restrictions, things that could get him in trouble. But here he was, breaking them for you. Choosing you over everything. The weight of that choice settled in, and it filled you with an indescribable warmth.

"Jude." You took a deep breath, calling his name softly, your voice full of emotion. He hummed in response, his lips pressing soft kisses to your stomach as if he couldn't stop himself from touching you, from reminding you that he was here. Really here. You hesitated for a moment, the question heavy on your heart. "Am I worth the risk?” Jude stilled. He looked up at you, his eyes serious, the playful smile fading into something more profound. His hands gently moved to your hips, holding you with care, as if the weight of your question mattered more than anything else in the world.

"You're not a risk," he said quietly, his voice full of certainty. "You're the greatest reward. I'd risk everything for you. And I'm sorry... I'm sorry I didn't show that sooner. But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like a risk again." His words pierced straight through your heart, filling the empty spaces that had been left by doubt and fear. You knew, in that moment, that Jude meant every single word. He wasn't just here to fix things—he was here because he had chosen you, and nothing else mattered more than that.

Since he arrived, you refused to let go of Jude, clinging to him as if any distance between you would break the fragile spell of your reunion. That evening, instead of going out, you decided to stay in. The only light in the room came from the city beyond your windows and a single candle flickering on the table. You were both tucked together on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine resting nearby. You lay curled into him, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat—a comforting, steady rhythm that grounded you. Jude's arm was wrapped around you protectively, his fingers occasionally brushing through your hair. Every so often, he would whisper soft words into your ear—sweet compliments and quiet ‘I love yous,’ each one filling the room with warmth. But beneath Jude's affection, there was a quiet ache in his chest. He hadn’t expected this—the fact that you hadn’t said those three words back. He told himself to be patient, that you just needed time. Still, it hurt more than he wanted to admit. After all, he had flown across the ocean, bared his heart to you, and put everything on the line. He had hoped to hear you say it, to feel the reassurance that you still loved him as much as he loved you. You knew you hadn’t said it. Not yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. God, you did. But the past few months had left you raw and bruised, and the weight of the hurt had made you cautious. You needed to be sure—sure that Jude meant every word, that he was here for good, that you wouldn’t lose yourself again in the pain of being let down. Jude shifted beneath you, his fingers pausing in your hair. He pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering there as though waiting for something, for a sign, for you to say something back.

“You okay, angel?” he asked softly, his voice gentle, but you could hear the uncertainty creeping in. He spoke barely above a whisper, as though he was afraid to break the fragile moment hanging in the air. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, a quiet plea for reassurance, and it tugged at your heart. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough—not for either of you. Jude gently lifted your chin, his eyes searching yours with a quiet intensity, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat as your chest tightened. You were tangled up in a mess of emotions—relief, love, fear—all swirling around inside you. “Is it okay if I love you?” Jude asked with a sly smile, his voice trembling ever so slightly. It wasn’t his usual confident tone; it was laced with uncertainty, a vulnerability you rarely saw in him.You nodded, unable to speak at first, because the truth was, you wanted this. You wanted him. But the fear was there too, gnawing at the edges of your heart.

“Yeah. I want you too. I’m just…I’m scared,” you finally whispered, the words barely making it past your lips. You looked down, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid of what might happen if you fully let him in again. Afraid of the pain that came with loving someone this much. Jude didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though he could soothe all the pain and worry away.

"You're safe with me," he murmured, his voice steady, comforting. He tucked you closer into his chest, like he was trying to shield you from the world, from all the things that had hurt you both. “I promise.” You closed your eyes, letting yourself breathe him in, feeling the warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around you. In that moment, everything else faded away—the doubts, the hurt, the time apart. It was just you and him, right there, and you felt your walls slowly crumbling.

“Jude…” you began, your voice wavering. You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I want you to know… I…” You began to stutter through your words. You didn’t think this would be so hard so you took a deep breath trying to reset. “I love you... It’s just… I don’t know” You trailed off, struggling to explain. Jude looked at you, waiting patiently. Taking another deep breath, you finally let yourself say the words that had been sitting on your heart for so long with a bit more certainty. "I’m in love with you. I have been… for a long time." Your voice wavered, and you felt the weight of the confession lift, but at the same time, you were terrified of what came next. Jude’s eyes widened for a second before his face broke into a soft, almost shy sly smile. He ducked his head in an exaggerated, bashful manner, making you laugh through your tears. It was so ridiculous and yet so perfectly him. “Stop!” You giggled. Your nerves draining. “Don’t act like you didn’t already know,” you teased, poking him in the chest with a playful glare. “You knew I loved you.” He grinned, the familiar spark of confidence returning to his eyes, but there was a tenderness there that hadn’t always been so apparent.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a small shrug. “But hearing you say it, finally hearing those words…” He trailed off, his voice catching for a moment. “From you. It’s perfect.” The way he looked at you—like you were his entire world, like everything in his life had been leading up to this moment—made your heart ache in the best way. You could feel the tears welling up again, but this time they were happy tears, tears of release, of finally letting go of the fear that had been holding you back. You kissed him then, slowly, tenderly, pouring every ounce of love and emotion you had into that kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate like the last time you’d been together. It was steady, reassuring, like you were both saying, we’re here, we made it, and we’re not going anywhere this time. When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breathing heavy, but the moment felt so light. Jude looked at you, his thumb tracing your jawline, and for the first time in a long time, you saw peace in his eyes. He nodded, his expression softening even though the pain was still there. “I know. I hurt you. And I’m so sorry, angel. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I mean what I said.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart aching because you knew he meant it, but part of you was still scared.

“I just need time,” you whispered. “I need to be sure.” Jude nodded again, pulling you back into his chest, holding you even tighter.

“I will make you sure of me but you can take all the time you need. I’ll prove it to you day after day,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.” And as the city lights flickered outside, you lay there in the safety of his arms, both of you knowing that love was there, even if fear was still lingering. It would go in time. You just needed to heal first. "I love you," he whispered again, like it was the only thing that mattered, like he needed to keep saying it just to make sure you knew it was true. "And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I’m not letting you go again. Ever." Your heart swelled, the weight of everything you’d both been through finally lifting. You felt it then—certainty. Not the fear that had been clouding your mind for months, but a deep, unwavering certainty that this, right here, was where you were meant to be. Where you both were meant to be.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve always loved you.” Jude closed his eyes for a moment, letting your words sink in, and when he opened them again, he was smiling, a quiet, content smile that spoke volumes. He wrapped his arms around you tighter, pulling you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, just holding each other, the weight of the past few months finally melting away. The fear, the doubts, the distance—it was all gone, replaced by a love that felt stronger than ever before. And in that moment, you knew—this was it. You had found your home in each other. And while you felt a comfort and a stillness in his arms there was different part of you that was feeling energized, eager, and desperate to be with him in a different way.

When you finally made it to bed that night, everything felt like a dream. You were together and it was as if all the tension, the distance, and the heartache between you had evaporated. You lay wrapped in his arms, your back snug against his chest, the rhythm of his breathing calming your racing thoughts. For the first time in weeks, everything just felt...right. When your phone rang, you hesitated for a moment before picking it up. It was Whitney, of course. You smiled, feeling a little giddy as her name flashed on the screen. As you answered, her familiar, teasing voice greeted you almost instantly.

"Why do I see a certain Jude Bellingham is in New York on Find My Friends?" she asked, her tone playful. You could hear her giggling through the phone. You opened your mouth to respond, but Jude had already started placing soft kisses along your neck. At first, it was gentle-just enough to send a shiver down your spine-but then the kisses grew more persistent, and his hands started to roam. You felt him pull the fabric of your top up slightly, his warm hand brushing over your stomach in slow, teasing strokes. Whitney was still talking, probably cracking jokes, but you could hardly focus on her words. Jude's touch was making it hard to concentrate, his kisses and his fingertips creating a warmth that made everything else fade into the background. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh or a moan-you weren't sure which would come out-but you knew you were losing the battle. Jude smirked against your skin, clearly sensing your distraction. Without a word, he reached over and took the phone from your hand. He held it up to his ear with a casual confidence, still kissing you, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke into the phone.

"She's busy," Jude said, his voice low and smooth. "You'll have to call her back later. She’s got someone in her bed who loves her." Whitney screamed on the other end of the line, a dramatic and over-the-top shriek that made both you and Jude laugh. You could practically hear her laughing as she tried to compose herself, probably throwing some humorous, exaggerated reaction your way. Jude ended the call with a quick, "Goodnight, Whit," before tossing your phone gently onto the nightstand. He turned his attention back to you, a playful grin spreading across his face as his hand settled once again on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"You really didn't have to do that," you whispered, trying to sound annoyed, but the truth was, you loved every second of it. His possessiveness, his confidence-it was intoxicating.

"Oh, I did. I'm not sharing you tonight." Jude pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a soft murmur. His hands reached to pull you on top of him. The covers fell from your body, the cold air hitting your exposed skin.

“Did I say thank you for coming.” You cooed looking at Jude with sincerity in your eyes. You rolled your bottom lip with a bit of a pout.

“I wanted to come, angel.” Jude told you with mischief flickering in his eyes. He sat up a little as you straddled his lap. His big hands gripped your waist pushing you down onto his hardening cock beneath you. “And I want you to come for me now.” Jude whispered and you felt a shiver run up your spine. His hands slid from your hips up to knead your tits. You whimpered, not used to his hands back on your body. “So sensitive. Did you think about this, baby? My hands on you again? Been so long.” He mused in a tone that had your skin on fire. You nodded with a desperate pout. Your hips rocked against his cock. His hands were attempting to touch as much of you as he possibly could. Jude missed you, missed your relationship, but obviously a massive part of him missed having sex with you. Right now you could feel something massive beneath you that you wanted just as much as he wanted to give it to you. His big hands traveled the planes of your body. No one could convince him there was a better place on earth right here in this moment. He grabbed your hips again, rocking his hips up into yours. You moaned, arching your back. His hands ran over your body exactly where he knew and remembered would elicit the reaction he so desperately had been craving to hear from you. He wasn’t hasty though. He wanted to savor this. There was no rush to his movements. They were slow, and more caring than anything else. He sat up right and began peppering your soft and sensitive skin with kisses. You ran your hands over his shoulders, glided up them around his neck up to his jaw, holding him to you. Until you fell into a rare bliss that only Jude could give you and you gripped his hair needing more of it. You could feel his teeth softly graze your neck, threatening to sink into your skin at any moment, but he never even nipped at your flesh. His fingers tracing the lace edging of your lingerie teasingly.

“Jude I missed your hands… I missed your lips. I missed you. I need more.” You moaned. It took Jude moments less than a second Jude had your lingerie peeled off you. Your brain was short circulating you almost forgot how smooth he was.

“I’ll give you more, baby. I’m all yours tonight.” He whispered to you as he kissed down your exposed chest, his lips grazing your sensitive nipple and taking it gently into his mouth, leaving the teeth tucked away for another night. “Forever.” He muffled against your skin. It was as if your time apart had made it all the more clear that Jude had never felt this way about anyone, he was absolutely and completely whipped for you, and there is no way he will ever let you forget it. “Tell me you love me, angel.” It almost felt like he was pleading to hear it but you weren’t going to hesitate. He never needed to ask, you’d do anything for him, you’d especially do anything for him in bed and he knew that.

“I love you Jude. I always will,” you whimpered back to him, before quietly repeating ‘I love you.’ again and again. Your words and the sounds of his lips on you echoing in the space of your bedroom, along the limited space between your bodies.

“God, I fucking love you.” Jude muttered, breathing you in, inhaling you in before he rolled you over onto your back as he hovered above you. He picked up your wrists and pinned them above your head. His eyes darkened with lust as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. His mouth is demanding, yet tender, and you respond eagerly, your tongues dancing in a familiar rhythm. His hands roam over your body, exploring the curves he knows so well, and you arch into his touch, moaning softly into his mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you had been in this exact position, as Jude’s fingers traced down your body and down the front of your panties he could feel his handiwork. You had drenched the fabric and Jude was just as excited as he was the first time he ever felt you get wet for him. “Is this all for me?” There was an almost boyish grin plastered to his face as he traced his fingers through your folds, the tip of his finger gently circling the entrance to your wet heat, threatening to slip inside of you any second. Breaking the kiss, Jude began a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He worshiped your body with his lips and tongue, leaving a path of fire in his wake. His hands slid up you, cupping your tits once more, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples. You gasp, your head falling back as pleasure surges through you.

"Jude," you pleaded, your voice breathy and urgent. "Please, I’m serious, I need you." You couldn’t wait any longer. You didn’t want to be teased. He smiled against your skin, his warm breath sending goosebumps along your neck.

"Patience, angel. I’m getting there," he teased, before taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. You squirm beneath him, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on. His other hand travels lower, sliding between your thighs, and he groans at the wetness he encounters. With slow, deliberate strokes, he teases your clit, making you writhe and beg for more.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growls, his voice filled with satisfaction. He plunged a teasing finger into you. Your back arched immediately in response. He slowly worked his fingers, working you over just the way you loved, craved for him to touch you. It was like a game and he had fucking cheat codes. His thumb grazed over your clit, rubbing harsh deliberate circles. Jude was needy for you, for your touch, for your attention. Jude adds another finger, stretching you, filling you, and you match his rhythm, your body moving in sync with his hand. His thumb continues to circle your clit, and you feel your orgasm building, an intense coil of pleasure in your core. You felt like you were seeing stars over and over again. You couldn’t barely even register that he had you cumming on his fingers until you were shaking in the aftershock. “That’s it, angel. Cum f’me.” He encouraged you. “Cum f’me. Gonna make you cum so many times tonight” He greedily whispered, desperate to see you cum for him. You whined, your hips bucked against his hand as his fingers worked you through the high. “Yeah you like the sound of that angel?” You nodded deliriously, your inhibitions gone as the pleasure consumed you. Your body trembles as the waves of pleasure wash over you, and Jude continues to stroke and caress you through the climax, murmuring words of love and adoration. “It’s really such a shame you can’t see how beautiful you look when you cum.” He beamed, giddy after getting you to cum after so much time apart. As your breathing slowed, Jude gently removed his fingers, leaving you feeling deliciously empty. He kisses you softly. He licked them clean, savoring the taste of you on his skin. “Or how fucking good you taste.” He greedily smiled. "Baby… I want to be inside you, now, yeah?" He whispered, his lips ghosting over yours. His own arousal evident in his boxers, his hard cock tenting and straining against the fabric.

“Jude please, baby. I need you inside me…” He positions himself between your thighs, his hands under your knees, lifting your legs and spreading you wide. “Now Jude.” You desperately begged. You simultaneously moaned as he pushed into you, only dipping into you a couple of inches. He rocked his hips against yours so you get used to the feeling of his big cock. Slowly fucking himself further into you. With one swift thrust, he filled you, his cock sliding deep into your welcoming heat. His face fell into your neck groaning at the feeling of you wrapping around him. The sensation of being joined together after so long is almost overwhelming. Jude began to move, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your slick pussy. He moved slowly but precisely, able to find the spot you loved instantly. Your nails dug into his back as he kissed your skin. Each stroke loving and thoughtful. He picked up his pace though lost in the feeling.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunts, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding back. "So tight, so wet. Soaking my cock.” He grunted, hooking your leg over his arm, pushing your thigh up further to your side, hitting deeper inside you. The grip of his fingers on you dug into your soft thigh. The way he held you made it felt as if they’d leave permanent indents on your hips. You matched his pace, your hands gripping his firm ass, urging him deeper with each thrust. The bed creaks beneath you as Jude pounds into you, his balls slapping against your ass, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. “Need to make up for all this lost time. Gonna have to fuck you for days. Can’t believe I havent been able to fuck the love of my life for so long.” Jude told you. His words combined with the slow, tantalizing thrusts he was giving you made you gasp with a whine. “Like that, angel? You like being the love of my life?” He asked and you moaned in response, hearing the name once more. “You are. Don’t fucking forget that.” The weight of his body on top of yours feeling like nothing compared to the weight lifting off you two. Your orgasm approached faster and faster, minute after minute. He bit onto your earlobe and tugged, grabbing your attention.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" you chant, your voice hoarse with passion. "Please. Harder, Jude, fuck me harder!" You begger and he obliged happily, driving into you with abandon, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. A spot only he knew. “Oh my god. I missed you.” You whined. You could feel another orgasm building, your pussy tightening around him. Your nails digging into his biceps, your legs wrapping around him, dragging your heel down his muscular back.

“I know, baby. Doing so good. F’me. Just hold it. Let me cum with you. I wanna cum with you this time.” All you could do in response was nod, the feeling in your stomach driving you wild as you try to hold it off for a while longer. You whimpered. His mahogany eyes poured back into yours. He felt his heart skip a beat when you pulled him back down into a kiss. He fucked you harder with a harsh grunt juxtaposed by the sweetest kiss. Jude picked up his pace beginning to chase his own orgasm. Frankly Jude had been fighting his own release since he got his hands on you, it wasn’t that big of a feat to get there now. His fingers snaked between your bodies finding your clit once again, teetering to keep you on your edge. The sound of sex and love hung in the air of your room, his skin slapping against yours, the sound of your squelching pussy, and your voices soaked in pleasure mixing.

“Jude…” You whined. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your bodies move as one, a frenzied dance of passion and desire. You climax in unison, your pussy milking his cock. You collapse in a sweaty, satisfied heap, Jude's weight pinning you to the bed, his heart pounding against yours.

“Yeah, angel? You gonna cum on my cock? Let me see how pretty you look cumming on my cock.” He purred. You didn’t need any more encouragement than that before you were slipping over your edge. The knot in your stomach tightened. It only took a few more mind numbing thrusts before Jude’s head dropped into your neck. Your climax erupting inside of you, your vision going white. His cock throbbed inside of you, beginning to paint your walls. You moaned ‘I love yous’ simultaneously. You felt him pouring into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. You hid your face against him. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his breath ragged in your ear. You smiled, your eyes glistening with happiness. After the intense and emotional reconnection, you lay in Jude's arms, your bodies still intertwined in the warmth of the moment. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, save for the occasional soft breath and the rhythmic beating of Jude's heart beneath your cheek.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 12 xx

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #jude bellingham x you

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 days

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09/21-22/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR: David Jenkins: Cast Honks; Fan Honks; Rhys Darby; Ruibo Qian; Kristian Nairn; Vico Ortiz; Nathan Foad; Samba Schutte; Rachel House; Gypsy Taylor; Lindsey Cantrell; Articles; Fan Spotlight; amuseoffyre; Doll Normal; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

= David Jenkins =

Whelp, Chaos Dad is keeping us all on our toes still! Grats @edwarbteach for being perceived and getting answered by Dad!!

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

= Cast Honks =

Fan Honking hasn't stopped since David's last tweet-- but with the new one, we've got more cast interaction! Con is back with spreading Adopt Our Crew posts on Instagram!

Source: Con's Instagram Stories

Hugo, our darling OFMD Cheerleader is still at it. Netflix has been asking what you'd like to watch on Netflix in 2025-- What a lovely prompt for the honkening- if you haven't already, feel free to let them know!

Source: Hugo's Twitter

= Fan Honking =

The crew is really keeping at it with the honking this weekend! Some kind folks are sharing some fantastic data with everyone to help support!

Special thanks to the darling Katrina, aka kmostran over on Twitter for putting together this EXTREMELY detailed list of Cancellation/David events.

Source: Kmostran on Twitter

And as always our friend Ashley (Seven_Sugars over on twitter) has more fun data for us!

Source: Buttons (Ashley)

There's been so much fun fan-honking going on, memes, and art being created-- I just wanted to share one that caught my eye today:

Source: unpopularcult's Twitter / ramsay_b_OFMD's Twitter

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Rhys Darby =

Outside of the clowning, we've had some Rhys sightings!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rhys Darby (@rhysiedarby)

instagram

Rosie also put out the call for some help with getting Rhys and Rosie's son, Finn, and his band Great Big Cow some more subscribers to their Youtube channel! The goal was to hit 1,000 subscribers-- and great news, they did it! If you aren't already subscribed, and you're interested, I'm sure they wouldn't mind more! Great Big Cow Band Youtube

Source: Rosie's Twitter

= The Cryptid Factor =

There's another video of the Edinburgh Fringe Live shows on The Cryptid Factor Patreon! Night two this time!

Source: The Cryptid Factor's Patreon

= Ruibo Qian =

Our Pirate Queen Ruibo is digging her adorable shoes today <3

Source: Ruibo's Instagram

= Vico Ortiz =

Vico was interviewed by LatiNation! Check it out below!

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A post shared by LatiNation Queer (@latinationqueer)

instagram

Source: Vico's Instagram

= Nathan Foad =

Nathan and friends on the tube <3

Source: Nathan's Instagram Stories

= Samba Schutte =

Samba 🤣🤣🤣

Source: Samba's Instagram

= David Fane =

Apparently it's been 20 years since the release of Bro'Town! David, Oscar Knightley, and Madeleine Sami voiced characters in the animated series back in 2004!

"A modern day fairytale about five Auckland teenagers growing up in the big bad city, bro'Town chronicles the schoolboy misadventures of Vale, Valea, Sione, Mack and Jeff da Maori in a proudly suburban, non PC satire."

David shared some videos but I couldn't fit them all on tumblr-- so here's a link to the repo with more: https://ofmd-renewal-repo.knowledgeowl.com/help/david-fane-brotown-20-year-anniversary

Source: David Fane's Instagram Stories

= Gypsy Taylor =

The fabulous Gypsy Taylor has been immortalized by our badass crewmate @amuseoffyre with a gorgeous Gypsy Muppet!

Source: Gypsy Taylor's Instagram

= Lindsey Cantrell =

Lindsey is so excited to see the tiny boats from s2 are living on!

Source: Lindsey Cantrell Instagram Stories

Also some cool news from the ofmd.buys.boats of Instagram!

Source: ofmd.buys.boats on Instagram

= Rachel House =

Rachel was interviewed by Sirius XM Canada Talks and she talks about working with Taika on Boy!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by @siriusxmcanadatalks

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Source: Sirius XM Canada Talks

== Articles ==

Kristian was interviewed by Queerty and does some lovely shoutouts to Nathan! Please check the article out below, and thank you @adoptourcrew for sharing this!

Source: AdoptOurCrew Instagram

Some WB news-- Our friends over at NeverLeftPodcast shared the news! Thanks dears!

Source: Never Left Podcast Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= A Muse of Fyre =

Okay so I'm SURE you've seen the OFMD muppets around, but I got permission from the EXTREMELY talented @amuseoffyre to share them in the Recaps! I've been meaning to for weeks and then life got in the way--but Gypsy sharing her muppet seemed like the perfect time to spotlight them! If you haven't checked the OFMD Muppets out before, please oh please do! I cannot tell you just how brilliantly made and gorgeously DETAILED these are. From the intricate beads, to the facial hair, their expressions, these beautiful creations bring the OFMD Cast to life in muppet form! Every time I see them pop up on another platform, I continue to be astonished at the gorgeous craftsmanship! If you have a few minutes, please visit some of @amuseoffyre socials! Instagram especially has so many wonderful muppet posts! Thank you @amuseoffyre for bringing our beloved crew to life! More to come in upcoming recaps as there's SO MANY to see! Tumblr / Twitter / Instagram

Source: Fyre's Instagram

= Doll Normal =

Next up on tonight's fan spotlight is Doll Normal! One of our fantastic crewmates has written Netflix a song imploring them to Adopt Our Crew! This is phenomenal! Please give it a listen :) Socials: Instagram / Linktr.ee / Twitter

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A post shared by Doll Normal (@doll.normal)

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Source: Doll Normal's Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Wow Lovelies. What a weekend huh? Yall have been clowning/honking (however you wanna describe it) for days now and it's so incredibly uplifting to see! It feels like the beginning of the year again, all buzzing with life in the fandom!

I've seen lots of mixed emotions on the subject of renewal today, so tonight I just want to send you a couple reminders. If you aren't feeling up to Honking for any reason, whether that be that the ups and downs of the cancellation/renewal news, or you've got things going on in your life, or you just don't want to get your hopes up again-- please know, that is OKAY. If you are honking your head off, tweeting, tumbling, drawing, writing, creating, and putting your whole soul into the clowning after David's tweet on Friday -- That's OKAY too. If you're passively keeping an eye on things, waiting for news, or focused on other things-- that's also OKAY. Every single one of us experienced OFMD different from each other. Every single one of us experienced grief from the cancellation differently from one another. Every single one of us has or has not begun to heal differently. If someone is having fun honking-- that's great, keeping doing it babes! If you're feeling like you just can't bear the disappointment again if something goes wrong-- you do what you need to take care of yourself m'dears! Don't push yourself in a way that makes you feel worse. There's no wrong answer here in how to be involved in what's happening right now. Be kind to one another, and let yourself and others do their thing-- and all is well <3 No matter what happens, we're still here for you crew-- we still care. Don't feel bad for how you are coping and engaging with the fandom right now. Just be yourself. Goodnight lovelies, I hope the week ahead treats you with kindness and healing.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

I didn't wanna miss another day of gifs-- but I'm running out of image room, so we get these two iconic dude together tonight. Gif Courtesy of @dallonismysavior!

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jeonginsleftcheek · 5 hours

Text

The sun to me

Chapter IV. The sprout.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 3.5k

chapter summary: between the gentle stillness of the flowers, a seed is planted to make love grow.

warnings: hyunjin's parents are shitty people here

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

💜 Petunia - wanting the comfort of another person (a token of kindness to new neighbors or friends).

Hyunjin awakens even earlier than the sun that morning, quickly getting ready to leave the house before anything can disturb the comforting silence dancing around him.

He takes his camera and stands in front of his suitcase, the only things he didn't unpack are the tools he needs for painting.

He sighs, grabbing a sketchbook, his pencil case and his paintbrushes with only a few colors he'd need to paint the sunrise on a beach.

He stuffs everything in his backpack and makes his way downstairs as quietly as he could, the creaky stairs making it difficult to be invisible.

After breakfast and a good dose of caffeine, Hyunjin makes his way out of Isaac's house.

The sun isn't even properly out yet and it's eerily quiet around him, even more so than it was when he'd first arrived to the island. Usually, he would drown out the silence with music in his ears, but for some reason he feels that any kind of sound right now would disturb the whole world order.

He's even trying to walk as quietly as he can, like a cat stalking the street, not making a sound.

As he arrives closer to the pier, a figure appears scrunched over and sitting down, turned towards the sea. He can't see much of the person, just that they are buff and wearing a black windbreaker jacket, the hood pulled up over their head.

As he walks slowly towards them, in the slight darkness, he makes out that the person is fishing.

They roll their shoulders slowly for a moment before the fishing rod gets tugged on and the man grips the reel handle, fighting with the creature on the other side.

He manages to reel it in just as Hyunjin approaches him, watching in awe as the man takes out a fish and it lands on the ground with a splat, scaring Hyunjin as it wiggles around, hitting the floor with its tail in a desperate attempt to breathe.

The man mutters something before grabbing it and looking up at Hyunjin, letting out a hearty laugh.

"Careful, it bites!"- he jokes, waving the fish towards Hyunjin making him jolt again before he throws it into a bucket.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you."- Hyunjin clears his throat as he speaks for the first time that morning. Feeling awkward, he decides it's best to leave the strange man alone.

Before he's able to walk away, the man's voice stops him.

"You're that boy staying at Isaac's house?"- he asks.

Hyunjin turns and looks at the man, who has now pulled down his hood, revealing luscious black hair, making him look ten years younger than when only his worn out face was visible.

"Yes."- Hyunjin nods.

"Name's Delmar. Tell Isaac I have some catch for him. And if he or you for that matter wanna join me in my fishing adventures, you're more than welcome to."- the man smiles kindly, putting Hyunjin at ease after the whole fish in the face ordeal.

"Sure, I'll let you know."

"What's your name, kid?"

"Hyunjin."

"Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. Make sure you take some pretty pictures of our little island."- Delmar winks, pointing at the camera resting on Hyunjin's chest.

He promises to do so before bidding his goodbye to Delmar.

Hyunjin walks away towards the little forest you took him through, the sun starting to peak between the leaves of low bushes.

He shakes his head, thinking about the somewhat strange man he just met on the pier.

Lost in his thoughts, he arrives to the hidden cove before he knows it, almost like he got transported there.

He strolls on the beach before finding a nice spot as the sun keeps rising in the sky, slowly waking everything up, bathing it in it's glow.

He takes a few pictures for good measure before willing himself to take his sketchbook out.

He sits down, pencil in hand as he listens to the waves and his own breathing, quiet and slow, a contrast to the waves crashing on the rocks near him.

Hyunjin starts to sketch and remembers.

"Let's see."- his mother hovers above him, as he lowers his hand from the easel, still clutching onto the paintbrush dipped in red.

"Is it okay now?"- he asks in a small voice, tear stains on his puffy cheeks.

"No, it is not! You think this crap will get you into the academy? That's laughable. Can you do one thing right? Are you even my son? I swear it's like I found you on the fucking street or something. Start again."- his mother's voice is low but dripping with venom as she takes another sip of her martini, and Hyunjin hiccups as she throws the canvas to the floor.

"You're not getting up until you do it right even if it takes you all night."

Hyunjin remembers painting all night with eyes blurry from his tears, a constant onslaught of salty water dripping down his cheeks and into his lap, mixing with the paints he held in his hand, transferred onto the canvas his heart bled on.

He remembers wanting nothing but her comfort and warmth, but her hands were always cold, her veins must've had ice in them, freezing her all the way to her heart.

He remembers his mother picking apart every little detail of every painting he ever made, driving him away from her so far that when he grew up, he screamed at her and told her never to come to his gallery.

She cried, but he felt nothing. Just like she didn't feel anything when she stood above him and tortured him for hours, days, years, almost making him hate the one thing he found love in.

The paintings he made furtively were the only thing helping him cope with her wrath and his father's disinterest, the flowers he painted, the ones that were so delicate and gentle, so quiet and peaceful, so pretty and intoxicating, so easy to love.

The flowers you nurtured with your hands and your chest so devotedly that the roots have intertwined with your very heart so much so that it became a beating, live flower.

Hyunjin finds it hard to breathe suddenly, like that fish on the ground, grasping for air and feeling foreign, suffocated and panicked. He grips the pencil, a tear sliding down his cheek and smearing the wave he was sketching a moment ago.

He closes the sketchbook with a thud and gets up quickly, shaking the sand off his jeans and packing his painting stuff away before he makes his way back from the cove, and away from the bad memories threatening to spill from his eyes.

It might be weird to someone who watches from the side, but every time you water your potted plants around the house, you caress their little leaves.

You think they can feel the care and love coming from your heart and traveling through your fingers as you gently brush them against the plant.

You think they grow better if they feel a gentle touch. Maybe you can't embrace them like you would a person, but just a little brush of the fingertips translates to the same thing when it comes to something as delicate as flowers.

A knock sounds on your door and you snap out of your thoughts, a smile forming on your face because you know who it is.

You straighten your dress and check yourself in the mirror for a second before you make your way to the door and open it with an excited swing.

Hyunjin stands there, his head lifting up from staring at his feet as he clutches his backpack and smiles warmly at you.

"Good morning."- he says.

"Morning."- you answer, entranced by the way his eyes roam around your face shamelessly, curiously, genuinely like he's trying to rememeber every little detail that makes up the beautiful you.

"Are you gonna let me in?"- Hyunjin smiles playfully with a rise of his brows and your face warms up in embarassment.

"Right. Sorry."- you chuckle awkwardly and step aside so he can come in.

Hyunjin looks around, your house is just what he thought it would be, bright with pastel yellow details and walls, potted plants everywhere, little ceramic trinkets and of course paintings of flowers on the wall.

It's warm and cozy, smells like flowers and home, sweet and loving just like you are in his eyes.

Hyunjin finds himself inhaling deeply, and finally being able to take a proper breath in, his lungs expanding and freeing him from the suffocating feeling that thinking about his family brought him.

"Do you want some coffee or tea?"- you ask as he follows you to the kitchen and sets his backpack on a chair.

"Coffee would be fine, thank you."

"Sit, please. Relax."- you chuckle at him as he stands next to your table awkwardly.

"Sure."- Hyunjin nods, sitting down and leaning his head on his hand.

"Did you paint these?"- he asks and you turn around to follow his eyes, which were glued to the paintings hung on your wall.

"Yeah, I did, a few years ago."- you nod.

"I didn't know you were a painter too."- Hyunjin chuckles, his knuckles rasping against your wooden table.

"I'm not."- you wave your hand as if to dismiss him. "Not like you. I mostly sketch as you saw."- you add.

"Can I see more?"- Hyunjin feels excited suddenly.

Looking into an artist's sketchbook is like taking a peak into their mind and soul, it's like reading their thoughts but not through words, only through the movement of their pencil against the paper.

"Ugh, sure."- you bite on your lip, hoping you have some sketchbook without the diary parts in it. You don't want Hyunjin to read your embarassing and dark thoughts.

You rummage through one of your shelves and find an older one, maybe from three to four years ago and give it to him, before going back to preparing the coffee for the both of you.

Hyunjin feels like a kid unwraping a present on Christmas as he opens up your sketchbook.

The paper is older and looks recycled, feels good under his fingers and probably even better under a pencil.

He brushes his fingertips against it as he looks at your sketches.

It's mostly different types of flowers, some still life and hands. You seemed to practice drawing hands a lot. Hyunjin wonders about it.

"You like drawing hands? That's like the hardest."- Hyunjin says as you bring the coffee cups to the table and sit down.

"Oh."- you blush, forgetting about that part of the sketchbook. "It's my mother's hands."- you add and flip a few pages to show him the slow deterioration you captured in your sketches, how her hands went from young and soft to bony and thin, skin shriveled up and veins visible.

"Her hands were her most important tools. I just... I wanted to capture them in drawings."

"I understand."- Hyunjin nods. "These are really good sketches, y/n."

"Thanks."- you chuckle, picking up your cup.

After taking a sip of coffee, you look back at the sketchbook.

"She really loved flowers."

"More than you do?"- Hyunjin smiles as he looks up at you.

"Probably. She loved them more than she loved me."

Something pierces through Hyunjin's heart.

He knows how you feel as you smile sadly, his mother was probably even worse than yours, she never once said she loved him in his entire life.

Not once.

Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat and you notice he's struggling with something.

"You okay?"- you ask, tilting your head at him. "Is my coffee that bad?"- you try to lighten the mood.

"No, no."- he chuckles. "Coffee is delicious, I was just lost in thought for a moment."

You nod, deciding to not pry anymore.

"Did you go somewhere this morning?"- you ask, pointing to his backpack.

"Oh, I did actually. I went to that hidden cove you showed me. I wanted to try and sketch. I- ugh- didn't manage to do much but I did meet Delmar."

"Ah, you met Delmar."- you snicker.

"He scared me with a fish."- Hyunjin says, shaking his head left and right dramatically.

You laugh a little, your hand coming up to cover your lips.

"Delmar jokes around a lot like that. But he's a harmless dude."- you say.

"Glad to know that because I was actually scared for a moment."

You chuckle again and Hyunjin feigns offence.

"Sorry, it's just that Delmar would never even step on a bug. He laughs all the time, there's no one chirpier than him. Well, except maybe Barbara."

"Barbara?"

"Oh yeah, she's the resident cat lady. She somehow knew about you coming here."- you purse your lips, tapping your chin with your finger.

"She did?"- Hyunjin's brows furrow. "Hm."

He may need to talk to Charlie about that.

The thought of his manager and the life waiting for him outside the island feels bitter on his tongue, even more bitter than the coffee he loves.

The bitterness wraps around his heart and squeezes.

"So, it would be fine to go fishing with Delmar sometime?"- Hyunjin asks after shaking his thoughts away.

"Definitely."- you nod. "You wanna come see my garden now?"- you ask after a moment of silence.

"Yes!"- Hyunjin nods excitedly and you stand up, leading him through the back door.

He doesn't know what exactly to expect when it comes to your garden, but the beauty of it still takes his breath away.

Hyunjin can see that every plant is so carefully planted in their designated spot, probably even sorted by species or something, he's not as good as you are with understanding all the different types of flowers but he can see that you put in all your effort and love.

He's speechless for a moment, the luscious garden gives a soothing feeling to his soul and a longing blooms inside his chest, a longing to be touched by hands as kind as yours.

"Can I take pictures?"- Hyunjin asks, almost breathless and you let out a delighted giggle, throwing your head back for a moment.

"Take as many as you want."- you nod and he quickly runs back into your house to grab his camera.

You watch as Hyunjin takes pictures, his face mesmerized, eyes sparkling and lips pulled into a small sweet smile.

His rosy cheeks make him look even more endearing, surrounded by all the flowers you helped grow makes your heart swell so much so that you want to reach out and wrap your arms around Hyunjin, hold him dear to your heart.

You've never felt something like that hit you so hard and sudden, usually it was gradual and slow, usually you thought with your mind not with your heart, especially when you liked someone. You would calculate the positives and negatives, you would pick the person apart, pick yourself apart in little details until every little thing looked like a negative, ultimately making you give up.

But as Hyunjin turns towards you and smiles wide, something pulls you in, and you can't even get yourself to form a single thought except the word happy.

"Y/n?"- Hyunjin is suddenly closer to you, waving his hand in front of your eyes.

"Ugh- yes?"- you chuckle a little, snapping out of your trance.

"You said you wanted us to plant something together?"- he asks curiously.

"Oh right, I thought you could help me out with my petunias and maybe learn a thing or two. You know, physically working when your mind is stuck can help get the creative juices flowing again. At least it's like that for me."- you say, leading Hyunjin towards an empty spot in your garden.

"I do agree with that."- he nods. "Though, I go to the gym when I feel stuck. I may even be beyond stuck now cause working out didn't help."- he chuckles awkwardly.

"Don't think about it too much. Let's just get to work."- you smile and Hyunjin smiles back as you give him a pair of gardening gloves.

"Alright, what's first?"- he asks.

"Have you ever done any gardening?"

"Never in my life."- he shakes his head.

"Okay so, first thing's first, you have to know a little bit about the flowers you're going to plant. I chose petunias because now is the perfect weather for them, there's enough daily sunlight and also because they're easy to care for, perfect for beginners. They will bloom soon when the summer comes too."- you explain and Hyunjin listens, all the while nodding his head, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"There are different types of petunias too. The ones I chose are floribunda petunias. They're a hybrid of two other types and I chose them because they make excellent cut flowers due to their large blooms and long stems. So, I can use them in my flower shop too!"- you finish with a wide smile and an excited clap.

"That is a lot of information but I'm happy you shared all that with me."- Hyunjin chuckles and you smirk.

"There will be a test later."- you wave your finger at him and he laughs.

"Okay now. The next important thing is to choose the location, which I already did. Petunias need at least six hours of direct sunlight during the day, so I chose this spot where we're standing right now."

"Okay."- Hyunjin nods, looking around. "What do we do first?"- he asks and you chuckle at his eagerness.

"We need to prepare the soil with compost so we can improve the soil's fertility and drainage."- you say and Hyunjin nods again, looking a little lost which in turn makes him look even more adorable.

The two of you get to work, your hands on autopilot as you've done this a hundred times now, watched your mother do it even more times. Hyunjin is a quick learner, starting off too excitedly so you had to calm him down and remind him to be gentle and slow.

It was like a meditative state to be in, the two of you working in silence, close to the earth as both of you kneel, hands deep in the soil.

The sound of the birds singing in the trees makes the experience even richer, as Hyunjin slowly starts forgetting the scary world around him and the sad world inside him, concentrating only on this little pocket in space and time where the only things that exist are the earth and you.

"Now we plant the petunias."- you say.

"How do we plant them?"- Hyunjin asks, sitting back on his legs.

"We need to dig a hole that's slightly larger than the plant's root ball, place the petunia in the hole and then backfill it with soil. We also can't have any air pockets so we'll have to gently press the soil down to avoid them forming."- you show the movement to him. "Also we need to give them at least 30 cm apart so they can have proper airflow and grow."

"Okay, I think I get it."- Hyunjin nods. "I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt the flower."

"You won't, trust me."- you chuckle a little.

You get to work again, Hyunjin being a little clumsy at first, before he manages to follow your lead, his eyes carefully observing your working hands.

He repeats the motions, and you notice his intense stare, his plump lips parted, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the air shifts and it feels almost erotic to work in your garden with Hyunjin.

A spark of lightning shoots through your body at the thought of his hands on your skin like that, to feel the touch you've longed for, for what feels like forever.

You scold yourself for such thoughts, brushing them off, burying them into the earth beneath you as you continue to work.

It takes some time but you both manage to finish the planting process together, your souls feel full of wonder and something intangible that's now woven between the two of you, almost invisible but intricate like a spider's web.

"Wow, we did that."- Hyunjin says after the two of you stand up and you watch him water the petunias.

"We did."- you nod chuckling.

"It feels really good."- he chuckles too, both of you looking at each other with big smiles on your faces.

"Mhm, it does."- you find yourself almost falling into him. If anyone looked at the two of you from outside, they would call you lovers.

"Does it feel like this every time?"

"Every time is different. I've never done this with another person except my mother."- you say as you brush your dress off.

"Oh, I should feel honored then."- Hyunjin giggles sweetly, the sound falling perfectly between the colorful flowers adorning your lovely garden.

You don't think your heart has felt this full in a long time and if you said that to Hyunjin now, he would agree.

"I can't wait to see them blossom fully."- Hyunjin smiles.

"Me too. Maybe you could paint them then."- you smile back at him.

He agrees, thinking that maybe by the time the petunias fully grow into their shape, Hyunjin's hands will be untied of the burden he feels every time he holds a paintbrush between his fingertips.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever

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colorful-bees · 3 days

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I will never be over the friendship between N and the player character of Black and White, even more so with The Ideal Formula story event in Pokemon Masters. The fact that they were so insistent on seeing N again they went searching for him for two years, the way that Hilbert was so keen to see him again, as soon as he hears N is on Pasio, he immediately wants to go see him so he can tell him that he wanted to say goodbye before N left. I so wish we could have seen more of them together in the main series games because the player clearly left such an impact on N and if Pokemon Masters is anything to go by, the same could be said in reverse.

#pokemon #i know that a lot of people ship them #but i honestly think their relationship has so much more of an impact #when they're friends #because the player was the first human friendship n ever had #it's a relationship that clearly means so much to him #and i am a big believer in platonic relationships meaning just as much as romantic ones #the idea that their friendship meant so much to both of them #despite knowing each other for a short period of time #hits harder to me than them being romantically involved #maybe that's just my aromantic ass speaking but i think it works better that way

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 3 days

Text

2. Trusting You To Hold My Heart.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance.

A name of a hotel.

That was it. That was the message that woke you up at 6:15 a.m., your phone vibrating softly on the nightstand beside your bed. Still groggy, you blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the early morning light filtering through the curtains. You squinted at the screen, the name staring back at you: The Langston Hotel.

For a moment, the message didn’t fully register. Your brain was still foggy, your body still heavy with sleep. But then, slowly, the weight of it started to sink in.

He’s here. Or at least, he would be soon.

You sat up, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and something else—something more hesitant, more uncertain—bubbling up inside you. Your thumb hovered over the message for a moment, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts all at once.

That’s when a second message came through.

Pack a bag.

You stared at the words, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

See you soon.

Your stomach flipped.

Remy. He was really coming. After weeks of late-night conversations, of playful banter and those deeper moments where you’d both let your guards down, he was flying in just to see you. It still felt surreal, like you were living someone else’s life. How did this even happen? How did you, the person who loved your quiet apartment with the overgrown garden bed and the peeling wallpaper, end up here—waiting for him?

He’s coming here, you thought again, the reality settling in.

But with that realization came a flood of emotions. You stood up from the bed, pacing the room, your mind spinning.

Excitement, yes. You couldn’t wait to see him. To be near him, to hear his voice in person rather than through a phone or a screen. There was something about him that made everything else fade away when he was around. He had a way of making you feel seen in ways no one else ever had. And the idea of spending time together—of having him all to yourself, even if only for a day—sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

But there was also hesitation. Anxiety.

Because as much as you were looking forward to seeing him, there was still that gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminding you of how different your worlds were. He was Remy LeBeau. The Remy LeBeau. The one whose face was plastered on magazine covers, whose name was whispered about in every corner of the world. He lived a life of limousines, red carpets, and flashing cameras. And you? You were just... you.

You liked your anonymity, your quiet life. You liked walking down the street without anyone paying attention. You liked tending to your little garden out front and making dumb without it being scrutinized on Twitter.

But this wasn’t normal. This was something else. Something bigger than you ever imagined for yourself. And as much as you were drawn to him, as much as you liked the idea of being with him, there was a part of you that was scared—scared of what this could mean, of how much your life might change if you let him in.

You walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the street below. It was still early, only a few people out and about, the world still waking up. You could see the small garden bed you’d planted out front, the flowers you tended to as a way to keep yourself grounded. You loved this place—your sanctuary. It was safe here, quiet.

And yet, all you could think about was him. The way he made you laugh when you were having a bad day. The way he’d stayed up with you on the phone for hours, even when he was exhausted, just because he didn’t want to say goodbye. The way he talked about you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window. You knew you were overthinking it. You always did this—let your mind spiral out of control, imagining a million different scenarios, most of which would never happen. But there was something about this... about him... that felt like it was worth the risk.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from your thoughts. Another message.

Flight lands in three hours. Can’t wait to see you.

You swallowed hard, the words making your heart thud in your chest. Three hours. That’s all the time you had left to prepare—not just physically, but emotionally.

You glanced around your bedroom, at the half-unpacked laundry in the corner, the books scattered across your nightstand, the cup of half-drunk tea from last night still sitting on the windowsill. Your life was messy and real, but so yours. And now, in just a few hours, Remy would be stepping into it.

You moved over to your closet, pulling out an overnight bag, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed. You started grabbing clothes—nothing too fancy, just something comfortable. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about appearances, at least not with you. He always made you feel like you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to be anything other than exactly who you were.

But still... there was that excitement bubbling up inside you. The thrill of seeing him again. The uncertainty of what might happen when you did.

What was this to him? What was it to you? It was hard to define, this thing between you two. It wasn’t just casual, but it wasn’t something you were ready to label either. Every time you thought about it, you felt your heart race, a mix of fear and hope twisting inside you.

As you packed the necessities—clothes, toiletries, a book you’d been reading—you glanced at your phone again, checking the time. You had a few hours. Enough time to get ready, to prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the bag on your bed, your mind racing. What if this changed everything? What if seeing him in person wasn’t the same as talking on the phone? What if the reality of who he was and who you were collided in a way that didn’t fit?

But then, you reminded yourself of all the times you’d doubted yourself and been wrong. Of all the times you’d convinced yourself that you weren’t enough, only to have someone prove you otherwise. Remy wasn’t just anyone. He was someone who chose to fly halfway across the world to see you. Maybe that was enough.

You zipped up the bag and set it by the door, taking a deep breath.

Whatever happened next, you would figure it out. Because, for once, you were letting yourself take the leap. You were letting yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And with that thought, you picked up your phone and sent a quick reply.

See you soon. At exactly 9:00 a.m., you were sitting in your car, parked just outside your apartment complex. The engine hummed quietly beneath you, its steady rhythm doing nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions churning inside. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles white as your fingers dug into the leather. You stared blankly at the empty street ahead, your thoughts far from the world outside.

You let out a long, shaky breath, but it didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for. The exhale felt hollow, heavy, dragging your insecurities up to the surface, where they clawed at you with a persistence that left you feeling raw and exposed.

What am I even doing?

The question echoed in your head, relentless, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you had. You and Remy had agreed to keep things loose, undefined. You’d even told each other you’d “see where it goes,” but deep down, you couldn’t see how it could ever go anywhere beyond this—beyond stolen moments, fleeting weekends, and the brief reprieves from your vastly different lives. The arrangement had been clear from the start: no expectations, no promises, just a way for both of you to scratch an itch you hadn’t been able to satisfy with anyone else.

Yet here you were, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding you together, wondering why it didn’t feel that simple anymore.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ease the tension in your body, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest wouldn’t let go. You knew why you felt this way. It wasn’t just about today. It was about everything—about Remy, about the way your heart clenched every time you saw him on the cover of a magazine or in some tabloid photo, always with another woman on his arm. Women who were perfect in the way you could never be. Women who made you hyper-aware of every flaw you’d ever tried to hide.

Those women.

They were tall, leggy, their hair always perfectly styled, their skin flawless. They wore designer clothes like they were born for it, gliding effortlessly through the same world Remy inhabited—a world you’d never quite fit into. Every time you saw him with them, it was like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder that you didn’t belong in his world. You couldn’t help but pick at your own insecurities every time you saw their photos, comparing yourself to them in ways that left you feeling small, insignificant.

You don’t fit.

You tried to remind yourself that this arrangement was about satisfying a need. That’s all it was. A way for both of you to indulge in something that felt good, something that let you escape from the realities of your lives for a little while. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. You weren’t supposed to care like this. You weren’t supposed to feel this ache in your chest every time you thought about him.

But you did.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to steady your breathing. You had to pull yourself together before you saw him. You couldn’t let him see the cracks, couldn’t let him know how tangled up you were becoming in something that wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Not to him, at least.

Remy had never made you feel inadequate. He’d never once compared you to the women from his world. He didn’t treat you like you were any less than them—if anything, he made you feel wanted in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. But that didn’t change the fact that you were different. It didn’t change the fact that you could never truly be a part of his world. And it didn’t change the fact that this… whatever this was, had an expiration date.

The thought weighed heavily on you, but you pushed it aside, determined not to let it ruin today. You and Remy had made an agreement, and you’d stick to it. No expectations. No promises. Just… this. A mutual exchange. A way for both of you to explore your fantasies without judgment.

Even though your growing feelings for him complicated things, you knew—you had to know—that this was all it would ever be. Anything more was impossible. You couldn’t imagine a future where you fit into his life, and you doubted he could either, no matter how intoxicating the moments you shared together were.

With another deep breath, you sat up straighter, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. This was just another day. Another moment to escape reality for a little while. Nothing more.

Because that’s all it ever would be.

You knew better than to let yourself hope for anything else. <><><><><><><><><>

You parked the car in the underground garage, the low ceiling and dim lighting giving the space a quiet, almost eerie feel. The echo of your tires on the concrete was the only sound until the engine’s hum faded into an oppressive silence. For a moment, you just sat there, fingers still gripping the steering wheel, your heart thudding against your ribs as if it were trying to escape.

This is it.

With a deep breath, you reached over to the passenger seat, grabbing your overnight bag. The leather strap felt cool and solid beneath your fingers, grounding you as you stepped out of the car. The chill of the underground garage hit you immediately, the air damp and still, clinging to your skin. As you slung the bag over your shoulder, you glanced up at the looming structure of The Langston Hotel above.

The building was sleek and imposing, all polished glass and steel, reflecting the overcast sky in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. It was the kind of place you’d only seen in movies—the kind of hotel where the rich and powerful stayed, where lives were lived in excess behind closed doors. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t quite belong.

You looked down at your jeans and oversized jumper, the fabric soft and comforting but suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. Your reflection in the car window confirmed it—there you were, standing in the shadow of this luxurious monument to wealth and status, looking exactly as out of place as you felt. The person staring back at you wasn’t the kind of woman who walked confidently into a hotel like The Langston without a second thought. She wasn’t the woman who appeared in magazines, dressed in couture, flawless and unbothered.

She was… you. And right now, that didn’t feel like enough.

But Remy didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about the clothes, the appearances, the world of status and wealth he was constantly surrounded by. When he looked at you, it wasn't through the lens of celebrity and glamour. He always saw you. The woman who had captured his attention in a way none of those flawless women ever had.

You swallowed hard, pushing the doubt aside as best as you could. You had to hold onto that. You had to believe it, even if it didn’t always feel real.

You made your way toward the hotel entrance, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the garage. The soft thud of your boots against the concrete was the only thing anchoring you in the moment, each step closer to him, closer to the escape you both craved.

As soon as you passed through the glass doors, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The oppressive quiet of the garage gave way to an overwhelming sense of luxury. The lobby of the hotel was nothing short of breathtaking—designed to impress, to dazzle. The marble floors stretched out in every direction, gleaming beneath the muted light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The chandeliers themselves were works of art, catching the light in sharp, glittering fragments that danced across the room.

A grand reception desk stood at the far end of the lobby, manned by perfectly poised attendants, their smiles polished and professional. They greeted each guest with the kind of warmth that came with years of practice, their eyes flicking over you without a hint of judgment, though you couldn’t help but feel like you were being sized up all the same.

The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and leather. Massive vases, filled with intricate arrangements of orchids, roses, and lilies, stood like sentinels in the center of the room, their vibrant colors almost too perfect, too curated. Everything about this place was designed to make you feel small in the face of its grandeur.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought aside, but it buzzed persistently in the back of your mind. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling just the slightest bit as you typed a quick message to Remy.

Hey, I’m here. What’s the room number?

The message sent, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, waiting. It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Penthouse. Elevator to the top floor.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read his reply, your eyes lingering on the word penthouse. Of course, Remy would be staying in the penthouse. Why were you even surprised? It was just another reminder of the vast difference between your worlds. You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head at how effortlessly he moved through this life of luxury, while you were standing here, just trying to keep your nerves in check.

You slipped your phone back into your bag and made your way toward the elevator, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet garage. The soft music playing in the background as you entered the lobby did little to soothe the tension building in your chest. You felt like you were walking through a dream—everything around you was too pristine, too perfect. Every detail screamed wealth and status, and it only made you feel more out of place.

But you were here. And so was he. That’s all that mattered.

You stepped into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting a version of yourself that looked… hesitant. You pressed the button for the top floor, your finger lingering just a second longer than necessary before you let it go. The doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, and the elevator began its smooth ascent, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound in the enclosed space.

As the floors ticked by, you caught your reflection again. You looked nervous—more nervous than you had expected to be. Even more so now that you were so close to seeing him. The distance had kept things safe, hadn’t it? All those late-night phone calls, the texts that made you smile, the flirty back-and-forth that had grown into something more over the weeks—it had all felt so easy when there were miles between you. It was simple to let your guard down when you weren’t standing in front of him, when you didn’t have to worry about how you looked or how you’d react in person.

But now? Now you were moments away from seeing him face-to-face, from stepping into this life that felt so far removed from your own. Your thoughts raced as the elevator continued its ascent.

What if this feels different in person? What if the connection you had felt over the phone didn’t translate when you were standing in the same room? What if the chemistry you’d shared was just a product of the distance, of the safety that came with not having to look into his eyes and feel the weight of everything that was left unspoken between you?

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. He’s here for you, you reminded yourself. He had invited you here because he wanted to see you, because whatever this was between the two of you, it meant something. Stop overthinking this. But that was easier said than done, especially when the doubts and insecurities you’d been trying to keep at bay came rushing to the surface every time you thought about the life he lived—the life you weren’t sure you could ever fit into.

The elevator chimed softly, signaling that you had reached the top floor. You stepped out into a lavish hallway, the kind that looked like it had only ever seen the most pristine shoes. The plush carpeting muffled your footsteps as you made your way down the hallway, past doors that likely led to equally opulent suites. Your heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of the moment settling onto your shoulders.

And there it was. His door.

You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering uncertainly over the doorbell. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment you’d been building toward for days, weeks. The moment you’d been thinking about endlessly every time you checked your phone for a message from him, every time your heart raced when his name lit up your screen.

You hesitated, the weight of everything that had led to this moment hanging heavy in the air. You could turn around right now. You could walk back to the elevator, go down to your car, drive home, and pretend this never happened. You could avoid the risk, the uncertainty, the vulnerability that came with stepping into his world.

But you didn’t want that.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to know what this—what you—could be. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and pressed the doorbell.

There was a brief pause, a moment where everything seemed to stand still. And then, you heard movement from the other side of the door. The sound of footsteps, the soft click of the latch, and finally, the door swung open.

And there he was—Remy, standing in front of you, his familiar, lazy smile spreading across his face as his eyes met yours. He looked even better in person, if that was possible—his dark hair slightly tousled, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of his chest. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and intimate, like you were the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.

For a second, you just stood there, taking him in. The way his eyes softened when they settled on you, the way he reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you into the room with a confidence that made the rest of the world fall away. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space, the soft hum of the city below barely audible from this height. The penthouse was, as expected, stunning—almost unreal in its beauty and sophistication. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The hazy midday light filtered in through the glass, casting long, golden shadows across the room. Beyond the windows, the city stretched out endlessly, with its buildings and streets sprawled like a living, breathing entity far below.

The space itself was expansive, open, and filled with an effortless elegance that made you feel like you were stepping into the pages of a high-end design magazine. The furnishings were modern, sleek, and luxurious, each piece carefully chosen to exude both comfort and style. A large, L-shaped leather sofa in a muted gray sat in the center of the living area, perfectly positioned to face both the view and the oversized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Plush throw pillows in deep jewel tones were artfully arranged along the couch, adding a touch of warmth to the cool, minimalist decor.

To your right, a glass-and-marble coffee table held a small, understated arrangement of white orchids, their delicate petals catching the light from the massive windows. The table was flanked by two armchairs in soft velvet, their deep emerald hue adding a pop of color against the neutral tones of the space. A low-hanging pendant light above the table cast a soft, ambient glow, making the space feel intimate despite its grandeur.

Near the windows, a sleek, modern dining table made of dark wood sat with enough space to seat at least eight, though it looked untouched, more like a piece of art than something anyone would actually use. Beyond that, you could see a fully stocked bar, its polished surface gleaming under the soft, mood lighting. Bottles of expensive liquor lined the shelves behind it, their labels a testament to the kind of luxury this place embodied.

To your left, an open kitchen flowed seamlessly into the rest of the space, all stainless steel and marble, with state-of-the-art appliances that looked more like they belonged in the home of a professional chef than in a hotel. The countertops were pristine, not a single item out of place, as if the kitchen had never been used. A large island sat in the center, its surface bare except for a bowl of perfectly arranged fruit that looked more decorative than anything else.

And then there was the art. Large, abstract paintings adorned the walls, their bold strokes of color standing in stark contrast to the soft, neutral tones of the room. They were the kind of pieces that could easily be worth more than your entire apartment, but here, they were just another detail in a space that oozed wealth and sophistication.

The entire penthouse felt like the epitome of luxury, from the marble floors that gleamed beneath your feet to the subtle scent of fresh flowers and expensive wood that lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that felt almost unreal, like it belonged to someone who lived a life of constant indulgence and privilege.

But none of that registered. Not really.

Because all you could focus on was him.

Remy stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence grounding you in the midst of all this overwhelming beauty. His eyes locked on yours, a quiet intensity in them that made the rest of the world—the penthouse, the view, the luxury—fade into the background.

In this stunning, extravagant space, he was the only thing that mattered. For a moment, the room was filled with silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you want to fill it with nervous words. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than anything you could say—the kind that was thick with anticipation, with the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air between you. Remy stood just a few feet away, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it felt like everything had come to a halt. Time, space, the world outside—none of it mattered in that instant. It was just the two of you, standing there, both knowing that this was a moment you’d been waiting for longer than either of you wanted to admit.

His gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes melting into something warmer, something deeper. You could feel the weight of it—the way his eyes traced the lines of your face, as if he were trying to memorize the moment, to commit every detail to memory. There was something in his expression that made your heart stutter, a quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, standing in front of him. Like he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

And then, without saying a word, he stepped forward. The movement was so fluid, so sure, that you barely had time to process it before he was right there, closing the distance between you. His hand slid around your waist, his touch firm but gentle, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You felt the warmth of his body immediately, the solidness of him against you as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. It was a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now, the weight of him grounding you, making everything else disappear. For a second, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You just stood there, frozen in the moment, your face pressed against his chest, your ear catching the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

The world outside the penthouse might as well have ceased to exist. The city, the noise, the chaos—it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, entangled in this small, quiet space. In his arms, the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying for weeks seemed to melt away. The distance, the uncertainty, the doubt—they all evaporated in the warmth of his embrace, like fog lifting under the sun.

It felt right. More right than anything had in a long time. Like you’d found something you hadn’t even known you were searching for.

After what felt like a small eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Remy pulled back just enough to look down at you. His hand gently traced the side of your face, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and when your eyes met his again, you could see something new in them. The usual mischief, the playful glint that had always made him seem untouchable, was still there—but now, it was mixed with something deeper. Something raw. Something vulnerable.

He smiled, that easy, lopsided grin that had always made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the moment shifted, lightened. “So,” he said, his voice teasing but soft, “did you get lost on the way up here, or were you just building suspense?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Lost?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Please. I practically own the penthouse life.” You gestured vaguely around the opulent room, your sarcasm dripping. “I mean, this is obviously my natural habitat.”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, yeah? You’ve got a whole fleet of these places, huh? I should’ve known I was dealing with a secret real estate mogul.”

You laughed, the sound coming out a little shakier than you’d intended, but it felt good. Normal. “Obviously. I mean, I thought I’d let you borrow this one for the weekend, you know, just to see how the other half lives.”

He chuckled, his arm still loosely around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Well, thank you for your generosity. I’ll be sure to leave it spotless when I’m done. Maybe even fluff the pillows.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “Please. You don’t know the first thing about fluffing pillows. Remy grinned, “Well maybe you can show me then?”

You swallowed, your gaze flicking to his lips for the briefest of moments before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe,” you said, your voice softer now but still teasing. “If you’re lucky.”

His smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something more tender. “I’m already lucky,” he said quietly, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And just like that, the teasing banter faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, unspoken pull between you, the moment stretching out like an eternity. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

Then, without waiting anymore, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you .

And in that kiss, everything else—the city, the penthouse, the doubts—faded away. All that was left was the warmth of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands holding you close, and the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was real. <><><><>

The morning passed in a slow, lazy haze, the kind of morning where time seemed to stretch and soften around the edges. You were laying between Remy’s legs on the oversized couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you. The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the rhythmic sound of his breathing. His fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down your arms, leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. It was the kind of touch that was soothing, familiar—the kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of him, the solid weight of his body beneath yours, the way his chest rose and fell steadily, keeping time with your own breaths. The world outside the hotel—your doubts, your fears, the chaos of everything that had brought you here—felt distant now, like a bad dream you were slowly waking from. Here, in this quiet bubble of space, it was just the two of you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt... peaceful.

It was strange, being so close to him after all the months of talking, of wondering what it would feel like to be in the same room, to share the same space. And now that you were here, it felt surprisingly natural, like you had been doing this all along. His presence was grounding, his warmth wrapping around you like a safety net, pulling you back whenever your thoughts threatened to drift too far into uncertainty.

“Y’know,” Remy’s voice broke through the quiet, the familiar lilt of his accent sending a warm shiver through you. “I gotta admit, chérie, this is a pretty sweet setup we got going on here.” His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, his tone playful, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your lips curving upward as you shifted slightly to glance up at him. “Yeah, I bet you think so. You’re not doing any of the hard work here.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into that familiar, lopsided smirk that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “Hard work? You call layin’ on me hard work? If this is tough for you, sweetheart, we got bigger problems.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. “Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

His hands stilled for a moment on your arm, and you felt him chuckle softly behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. “Glad it’s you then,” he muttered, the amusement clear in his voice. The banter that had filled the room moments ago seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet intensity that wrapped itself around you both. His fingers resumed their gentle tracing along your arm, the light sweep of his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

It was hard to believe that you were really here, that this was actually happening. After all the late-night phone calls, the teasing texts, the doubts that had plagued you during the weeks apart—it all felt so surreal, like you were still waiting to wake up from a dream. But here, in his arms, the reality of it all was undeniable. The way his hands held you, the way his breath mingled with yours, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek—it was real. And it was better than you had ever let yourself imagine it could be.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. The only sound was the soft hum of the city far below, the distant murmur of traffic a world away from this quiet, intimate space. But then, out of nowhere, the comfortable silence was broken by the soft growl of your stomach, loud enough to make you cringe. You felt Remy’s chest shake with quiet laughter, his arms tightening just a fraction around you.

“Well, looks like relaxation time’s over,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Either that, or your stomach’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I swear that wasn’t me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his tone dripping with playful skepticism. “Sure it wasn’t. I didn’t hear my stomach growlin’, chérie.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you tried to swat at his arm, though the gesture was half-hearted at best. “Shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks warming even more.

He easily caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around it, his touch warm and reassuring. He tilted his head slightly, his grin softening into something fond. “C’mon,” he said, his voice dipping into that low, smooth tone that always made your heart flutter. “You wanna grab lunch or somethin’? I’m sure there’s a place ‘round here that’s got somethin’ decent.”

You hesitated for a beat, the playful banter slipping away as something more serious crept into your mind. You shifted slightly, lifting your gaze to meet his, your expression thoughtful. “Is there… I mean, is there anywhere around here where you wouldn’t get, you know… recognized?”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and his smirk grew wider, a slow, mischievous grin that made your stomach flip. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Room service it is, then.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He pulled back just enough to wink at you, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“Simple tastes?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism as you glanced around the lavish penthouse. “You’re staying in the penthouse, Remy.”

He chuckled, his hands slipping back around your waist, pulling you a little closer until your bodies were pressed together again. “Hey, I can appreciate the finer things in life,” he said, his voice playful. “Doesn’t mean I wanna go out there and deal with people. Not when I got everything I need right here.”

His words were casual, teasing even, but there was something in the way he said it, in the way his eyes softened as they held yours, that made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t talking about the penthouse. He wasn’t talking about the lavish surroundings or the privacy. He was talking about you.

Your smile softened, leaning into him more, your head naturally resting against his chest as you let out a contented sigh. “Room service sounds good to me,” you murmured into his shirt, your voice soft but full of warmth.

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm, that familiar southern drawl wrapping around the words. “’Cause I ain’t plannin’ on sharin’ you with the rest of the world just yet.”

The way he said it—the quiet conviction in his voice, the way his arms tightened around you—sent a warmth spreading through your chest, a fluttering happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was strange, how natural it felt being here with him, how right it all seemed, like you’d found something you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

Remy shifted slightly beneath you, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he reached for the phone on the side table. He brought it to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed the order with the kind of smooth confidence that came easily to him. He rattled off a list of dishes that sounded far too fancy for you to have ever thought to order, but you smiled at the way he did it—so effortlessly, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

When he hung up the phone, he set it aside and settled back into the couch, his arms wrapping around you once more. “Food’ll be here in a bit,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart stutter.

You nodded, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Good,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I’m not ready to leave this spot yet.”

A slow smile spread across his face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Neither am I,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease, like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Here, wrapped up in Remy’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. A slow smile spread across Remy’s face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Mmm, neither am I, *ma chère*,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken. His Cajun accent, thick like sweet molasses, wrapped around the words, making them feel even more personal, more intimate.

The knock on the door broke the quiet, intimate moment, and Remy groaned softly, untangling himself from you. “Ain’t that just perfect timing,” he drawled, his tone playful as he reluctantly pulled away. The warmth of his body left you as he stood, but you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him move with that easy confidence that always seemed to follow him.

He returned with a silver tray piled high with covered dishes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Room service, as requested,” he said, lifting the silver lids with a flourish, his Cajun accent adding a teasing lilt to the words.

You laughed, shaking your head at both his showmanship and the impressive spread. “Did we order for the whole building?” you asked, your eyes wide at the sheer amount of food. There were artisanal sliders, a decadent pasta dish draped in creamy sauce, a side of truffle fries, a charcuterie board, and even a dessert tray that looked like it had been plucked straight from the streets of Paris.

Remy shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth and grinning. “Well, chère, I didn’t know what ya liked, so I jus’ figured I’d get a lil’ bit of everythin’. Ain’t no harm in dat, right?”

You popped a truffle fry into your mouth, the taste hitting you with a satisfying crunch. “Can’t argue with that logic,” you said, settling back into the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you both began to dig into the food, every bite punctuated by playful teasing and lighthearted banter. Remy reached for the charcuterie board, grabbing a piece of prosciutto and holding it out to you. “Here, try this one,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, taking the meat from his fingers. “What, is this some kind of test? If I don’t like it, do I fail?”

He grinned, his voice deep and teasing. “Now, chère, I ain’t that cruel. But, I might take it a lil’ personal if ya don’t like what I picked out.”

You rolled your eyes but popped the prosciutto into your mouth anyway, only to make a face the second the flavor hit your tongue. “Ugh, no. Not for me,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

Remy’s laughter was rich and warm as it filled the room. “Well, more for me,” he said, popping another piece into his mouth with a smug grin. His Cajun accent thickened as he added, “Don’t know what you missin’, ma belle.”

Grinning defiantly, you grabbed a slider, taking a big bite. “Fine, but I’m eating all of these,” you declared, voice full of mock authority.

“Oh, really now?” Remy’s eyebrow quirked, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “You gon’ claim all them sliders, huh?”

Before you could answer, he leaned forward and flicked a piece of prosciutto at you, hitting your shoulder dead-on. You blinked at him, stunned for a moment as the meat slid down your arm, before narrowing your eyes in disbelief.

“Did you just—?”

He was already laughing, his accent thicker with amusement. “What? You said ya didn’t want it!”

“Oh, it’s on now, LeBeau.”

Grabbing a fry, you flicked it at him with a quick motion, hitting him square in the chest. He looked down at the fry, momentarily stunned, before his grin grew even wider.

“Oh, chère, you gon’ regret that.”

Before you could react, Remy grabbed a handful of fries and flung them at you. The room erupted into chaos as food started flying, your laughter mixing with his as you ducked and dodged pieces of cheese, fries, and even a spoonful of pasta.

“Remy, stop!” you cried between laughs, trying to shield yourself as he reached for more ammunition.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, his grin wicked as he flung another spoonful of pasta in your direction.

You squealed as the creamy sauce hit your arm. “Oh my God, you’re impossible!”

“You started it, chère!” he said, laughing as he dodged another fry you flung at him.

“This was your idea!” you retorted, grabbing a handful of salad and launching it at him.

He ducked, but you still managed to hit him with a piece of lettuce. His eyes darkened with mock menace, and he wiped the lettuce off his shoulder with slow deliberation. “Oh, you in for it now, ma petite,” he said, his voice low and dripping with playful danger. His Cajun drawl sent a shiver down your spine, even in the midst of the food fight.

Before you could escape, Remy lunged forward, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his arms. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he lifted you off the couch and spun you around. In a final act of revenge, he grabbed a handful of pasta and smeared it across your face, the creamy sauce cold and sticky as it clung to your skin.

“Remy!” you half-cried, half-laughed, wiping the sauce from your cheek. “Why are you like this?”

His grin was wide and mischievous, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Only for you, chérie,” he teased, his accent thick and smooth, making everything he said feel like a caress.

Your laughter began to fade as the reality of the mess around you set in. The room was a disaster—truffle fries littered the floor, pasta sauce was splattered across the marble countertop, and bits of salad clung to the edge of the couch. You looked around, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well,” Remy said, breaking the silence as he plucked a piece of prosciutto from his chest and held it up like a trophy. “Looks like we done made ourselves quite the mess, huh?”

You snorted, trying to wipe away the worst of the sauce from your arm. “You think?”

He chuckled, stepping closer to you, his eyes softening as his hands found their way around your waist again, completely ignoring the food still clinging to both of you. “Coulda been worse,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low drawl. “We coulda gone out to eat. Now that woulda been somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as he pulled you closer. “I’m pretty sure they would’ve kicked us out after the first flying fry.”

He laughed, the sound rich and deep, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “You think they’d let me back if I offered to clean up?”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hands. “I don’t think anyone could be paid enough to clean up this mess.”

Remy’s grin widened, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. “Good thing we already home, ma belle. We ain’t gotta leave.”

Your breath hitched as the playful banter gave way to something heavier, something warmer. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your back, his touch light but intentional, and you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Guess we’ll clean up later,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, his Cajun accent making your heart race with every word. “Plus tard, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a rush of heat through you.

The playful tension that had woven itself through the room transformed, shifting into something deeper, something electric. Remy’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing along your spine, sending faint shivers through your body as his touch lingered. His lips, still so close to yours, hovered just out of reach, teasing, tempting, as if daring you to close the distance.

His breath was warm against your skin, the spicy, rich drawl of his Cajun accent making your pulse race. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating through the small space between you, “I’ve been waitin’ for dis moment for a long, long time, ma belle.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instinctively to the deep, intimate tone of his voice. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, slid up, tracing the curve of your sides with a slow, sensual intent. You could feel the strength in his hands, the restraint, the way he was holding himself back, as if savoring every second.

Your breath hitched as you tilted your head up, your lips brushing just barely against his. It was a soft, tentative touch, but it sparked something between you—a growing hunger that neither of you could ignore any longer. You felt his grip tighten around you, pulling you closer, pressing your body flush against his.

“Remy,” you whispered, your voice breathless, filled with anticipation.

He groaned softly, the sound low and rough in his chest, vibrating through you. “Chérie...” His voice was thick, his accent curling around the word like a caress.

There was a vulnerability in his question, one that made your heart swell even as the heat between you continued to build. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his dark, tousled hair, pulling him down until your lips finally met his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The moment your lips touched, everything else faded away. The mess, the laughter, the chaos of the food fight—it all disappeared as the kiss deepened, as the connection between you grew more intense. His hands slid down to your hips, his grip firm but tender, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes.

The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as if neither of you could get enough of the other. His lips were soft but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. When you parted your lips for him, the kiss turned molten, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, intoxicating dance.

Remy’s hands moved again, one sliding up your back, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed you even closer to him, his body hard and unyielding against yours. The other hand dipped lower, grazing the small of your back, pulling a soft gasp from your lips as his fingers teased the edge of your shirt.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, filled with need. His accent was thicker now, each word dripping with desire as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I ain’t never wanted anyone like I want you,”

His confession sent a thrill straight through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a deep ache building as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. Your fingers slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, your breath coming faster as your hands worked to pull his shirt up and over his head.

When his shirt finally hit the floor, you took a moment to drink him in—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he reached for you. His eyes, dark and hooded with desire, locked onto yours, and the look in them made your knees weak.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of certainty.

Remy grinned, that familiar, cocky smile curling at the corners of his lips, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that took your breath away. “Chérie, if I’m beautiful, you must be a damn angel.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hips—pulling you closer, touching you like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips never leaving his as he moved with that easy, confident grace, his body strong and sure beneath you.

He kicked the door open with his foot, the sound barely registering as he laid you down gently on the bed. His body hovered over yours, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of awe and hunger that made your heart race even faster.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found yours again, his kiss softer this time, more controlled, but no less passionate. His hands worked with practiced ease, tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your bare skin to him.

The cool air in the room made you shiver, but the heat between you was undeniable. Remy’s lips left a trail of fire as they moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down. His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch reverent, as though he was worshipping every part of you.

His words, his touch, the way he was looking at you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You needed him, needed to feel every part of him, and the ache inside you grew unbearable.

“Please, Remy,” you breathed, your hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

The air between you was thick with anticipation, every breath shared, every touch electric. As Remy pressed his lips softly against yours, his hands never stopped moving over your body—slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every single moment. But there was something more in his touch now, something darker, a tension that made your heart race even faster.

His mouth left yours, trailing down your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way it set fire to every nerve in your body. His hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your waistband, but he hesitated, his lips ghosting over your ear as his voice—low and intimate, dripping with that irresistible Cajun drawl—broke the silence.

“Chère,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’... somethin’ I wanna try with you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as you swallowed hard. “What is it?” you asked, your voice breathless, barely above a whisper.

Remy pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and full of intent. His lips quirked into that familiar, mischievous grin, but there was something deeper behind it now—something that made your stomach flip with both excitement and anticipation.

“I got somethin’ special, ma belle,” he said quietly, almost teasingly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “But I only wanna use it if you trust me.”

You blinked at him, trying to steady your breathing as the weight of his words settled between you. “What do you me The sight of the handcuffs and blindfold on the nightstand sent a wave of anticipation rushing through you. The sleek, polished metal of the cuffs gleamed under the soft light, and the black satin of the blindfold seemed to beckon you into something deeper, something more intense. You could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, each beat a reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

You weren’t naive to what Remy was suggesting. You understood the implications—the idea of surrendering control, of letting go completely and trusting him to guide you through the experience. It wasn’t just about physical restraint; it was about giving him the power to heighten every sensation, to push you to the edge of your comfort zone in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of being bound, of not being able to predict his next move, sent a delicious thrill through your body.

Remy’s eyes, dark and intense, never left yours as he held up the cuffs, the soft clink of the metal seeming to echo in the quiet room. His gaze was steady, filled with both desire and something deeper—an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. His voice, low and husky, dripped with that familiar Cajun accent that always made your pulse quicken. But there was something more in it now, a layer of vulnerability, as though he was offering you not just a new level of intimacy, but a new level of trust.

“I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the cuffs, his tone laced with both mischief and sincerity. “I wanna see you—feel you—when you ain’t in control. I wanna take care of you, chérie.”

The way he said it, the way his voice wrapped around those words, sent another jolt of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You could feel the weight of what he was asking—he wanted you to trust him completely, to let him take you somewhere new, somewhere raw and vulnerable. The idea of being bound, of having your hands restrained, was intoxicating enough. But when your gaze flickered to the black satin blindfold, your breath hitched again.

The blindfold. He didn’t just want to take control of your body—he wanted to take your sight, too. He wanted to heighten every sensation, to make you feel every touch, every kiss, every breath in a way that bordered on overwhelming. With the blindfold on, you wouldn’t be able to see him. You wouldn’t be able to anticipate his next move. You’d be left in the dark, relying solely on the feel of his hands, his lips, his breath as he explored every inch of you. The thought was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Your mind raced with the possibilities. What would it feel like to be so vulnerable, so open to him? To let him lead you, tease you, take you wherever he wanted? The idea wasn’t just thrilling—it was freeing. You realized that part of you wanted to give up control, to let him take charge completely, to trust him to push you to places you hadn’t gone before. It wasn’t just about the physical act of being restrained; it was about surrendering to him, knowing that he would take care of you, that he would know exactly how far to go.

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze again, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted him. Completely. And the thought of what he could do with that trust—the ways he could heighten your pleasure, the ways he could take you apart and put you back together—was more intoxicating than anything you’d ever felt before.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with anticipation. “Remy,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. “I trust you.”

The look in his eyes when you said those words was everything. His expression softened, a mixture of desire, affection, and something deeper—something that told you he understood the weight of what you were offering him. His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips soft but insistent as they pressed against yours.

“Bon,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with anticipation and promise. “You ain’t gon’ forget this, chérie.”

And with that, the handcuffs and blindfold were no longer just objects on the nightstand. They were symbols of the trust you were placing in him, of the deeper connection you were about to explore. The thought of giving yourself over to him—of letting him take you somewhere new, somewhere intense and overwhelming—made the anticipation almost unbearable.

You knew that whatever happened next, it would be more than just an experience. It would be a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you would truly let go and let him take control. And the thought of that—of trusting him so completely—was more thrilling than anything you had ever imagined.

With that, he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, his hands moving quickly now, unlatching your bra and sliding it down your arms to be discarded on the floor. His hands roamed over your bare skin, sending waves of heat through you, and you could feel the growing tension between you—the need, the desire, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Remy sat back slightly, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze hungry. “Lay back,” he murmured, his voice a low, commanding drawl that made your pulse race even faster. “Le’me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, your body trembling with excitement and a little bit of nervousness as you lay back against the pillows. Remy leaned over you, his hands moving to your wrists, his touch gentle but firm as he guided them above your head. The cool metal of the cuffs clicked into place around your wrists, the sensation foreign but thrilling.

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours, making sure you were still okay. You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and his smile widened before he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The next thing you felt was the soft slide of satin as he wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. The absence of sight made everything else sharper—the feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his voice, the way the bed shifted as he moved.

“Can you see, chère?” he asked, his voice soft but full of that dangerous edge that made your body hum with anticipation.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with excitement.

“Good,” he replied, his Cajun accent thick and teasing. “Now, jus’ relax. Let me show you somethin’ real nice.”

You could feel his breath against your skin, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your entire being focused on the sensation of his touch, the way he was driving you to the edge with nothing more than his lips and his hands. The darkness beneath the blindfold was absolute, amplifying every other sense to an almost unbearable degree. Remy's words, a low rumble laced with that Cajun drawl, vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine. Anticipation thrummed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You were a live wire, every nerve ending crackling with the promise of his touch.

His breath, hot and heavy on your neck, was a prelude to the gentle pressure of his lips. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering on your skin as if he wanted to savor the taste, the texture, the very essence of you. His hands, large and warm, roamed your body with a featherlight touch that belied the intensity burning in his gaze. You could feel the heat of him even where he wasn't touching, a palpable presence radiating against your side.

He kissed a path down your neck, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His lips lingered on the curve of your shoulder, then trailed lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with agonizing slowness. You arched into him involuntarily, a silent plea for more. The inability to see, to predict his next move, only intensified the experience. Every touch was a surprise, a delicious shock to your system.

When his lips finally found your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple, a gasp escaped your lips. Your body, no longer under your control, arched off the bed, seeking more of his exquisite torture. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound both dark and playful, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"You like that, ma belle?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something else, something that sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you.

You couldn't answer, not with words. Your mind was awash with sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. All you could manage was a frantic nod, your body trembling with need.

Remy’s touch became bolder, his fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He took his time, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your hips as he slowly peeled the fabric down your legs. The cool air hit your bare flesh, making you shiver, but the feeling was quickly chased away by the warmth of his hands. He caressed your thighs, his touch possessive yet tender, before parting your legs and settling between them.

The weight of him, the heat of him radiating against your sensitized skin, was intoxicating. You were completely at his mercy, your senses overloaded, your body thrumming with anticipation. Every tiny movement, every rustle of the sheets, every sigh that escaped his lips, sent a wave of longing through you.

His touch, no longer teasing, became more deliberate, his strong hands mapping the curves of your body with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the warmth of his breath against your inner thigh, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth as he grazed the sensitive skin there. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips instinctively canting upwards, seeking more of his touch.

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of approval that vibrated against you, before his lips continued their exploration. Each kiss was a spark against your sensitized skin, igniting a fire that spread through your core. He took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability, of the power he held over your senses.

And yet, there was no fear, only a thrilling surrender. The trust you felt for Remy transcended the boundaries of the physical. It was in the gentle strength of his hands, the whispered words of encouragement against your skin, the way he seemed to sense your every need before you even did.

As his mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh, you felt a knot of anticipation tighten in your belly. Your hands, unable to reach out, clenched in the sheets, your body thrumming with a need that bordered on unbearable. You were on the precipice of something unknown, something exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you could only trust Remy to guide you through it. "Doucement, cherie," Remy crooned, his voice a low rumble against your heated skin. "Patience."

But patience was a virtue you no longer possessed. His touch, though agonizingly slow, had stoked a fire within you, a desperate yearning that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You wanted to beg, to plead for him to end this exquisite torture, but the words caught in your throat, replaced by breathless moans that only seemed to fuel his amusement.

He continued his slow, deliberate torment, his fingers working magic against your most sensitive flesh. You felt the pressure build with every stroke, every circle of his thumb, until you were sure you would shatter from the intensity of it. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking a friction he expertly denied, drawing out the pleasure until you were whimpering with need.

But just as he tipped you towards the edge, just as your body tensed, ready to shatter, his touch vanished. A gasp of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open despite the blindfold, only to meet darkness.

"Remy?" you breathed, confusion warring with the desperate need still thrumming through your veins.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice closer now, laced with a husky warmth that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his weight shift above you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air that suddenly kissed your damp skin.

And then, his mouth was there, hot and demanding, replacing his fingers with a primal hunger that stole your breath away. A choked cry escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively against his mouth. The feeling of his tongue, swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was too much, too intense, so different from the teasing strokes of his hand.

"Remy," you gasped, your voice a broken plea. You were drowning in sensation, teetering on the brink of release, but it was different now, wilder, uncontrolled.

"Hold it, cherie," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your clit. "Not yet."

Frustration warred with the overwhelming pleasure that pulsed through you. You wanted to disobey, to let go and succumb to the exquisite torture of his mouth, but there was something in his tone, a primal command that held you captive, that made you ache with the need to obey.

He continued his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem, driving you further and further towards the edge, but never quite letting you go. Each time you neared the precipice, he would pull back, replacing the searing heat of his mouth with a cool emptiness that left you gasping, desperate for his return. "That's it, cherie," he growled, his voice rough with desire, "Let go."

The permission, the command in his tone, was all it took to shatter the last vestiges of your control. You were no longer capable of holding back, not with his mouth working such exquisite magic against your oversensitized flesh. The world contracted until it was just the two of you: hands, no longer content to simply hold you in place, roamed your body, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer, urging you to shatter around him.

You were lost in a sea of sensation, your body no longer your own. It moved instinctively, bucking against his mouth, seeking a friction that only intensified the pleasure spiraling through you. His name became a litany, a prayer whispered against his lips, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

And then, just when you thought you could take no more, when you were certain the pleasure would consume you whole, he shifted. His mouth moved, trailing a path of fire up your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You cried out, a sound of protest and longing, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering on yours as the last tremors of your climax subsided.

Even as your body returned to you, piece by trembling piece, the echo of your pleasure lingered, a sweet ache that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You lay there, boneless and pliant, your senses still reeling from the force of what had just transpired.

Above you, Remy chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. He tasted of you, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of your shared desire. It was intoxicating, addictive, a reminder of the primal dance you’d just shared. He didn't let you recover, didn't let you find your footing in the maelstrom of sensation. His mouth trailed fire down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he muttered against your skin, words you couldn't quite grasp, a mix of French endearments and breathless praise that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tu es magnifique," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind your ear, "So beautiful, mon amour."

His hand cupped your ass, urging you to shift, and then he was leaning back, the pressure of his weight shifting on the bed. You whimpered, the sound lost against his lips as he found yours again, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

You obeyed instinctively, your body moving with a will of its own. He guided your legs, his hands strong and sure, until they were wrapped tight around his hips. You felt him shift again, felt the press of his erection against your entrance, and a fresh wave of anticipation coursed through you.

"Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You ready, chère?”

You could only nod, your body trembling with need, your mind a haze of pleasure and anticipation.

And then, he was inside you, filling you completely. His length stretched you, the sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating, and you cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that was swallowed by his kiss.

"Oui, comme ça," he groaned, his hips snapping upward as he buried himself deep inside you. "You feel so good, cherie. So fucking good."

He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove you wild. The cuffs held your hands in place above your head, the blindfold keeping you in darkness, and all you could do was feel—feel the way he moved inside you, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps, the way your bodies fit together with a perfection that bordered on the obscene.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher until you thought you might come undone. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, driving you closer to the edge. Your body responded instinctively, arching against him, seeking more of the intense sensation. His name became a litany on your lips, a prayer whispered between gasps and moans, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

“Come for me,” Remy whispered, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through you. The words were a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. “I’m right there with ya’.”

His breath was hot against your ear, the Cajun drawl in his voice adding an extra layer of intimacy to the moment. The knowledge that he was just as affected, just as lost in this shared experience, sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you to him as he drove deeper, harder, chasing the same release that was threatening to consume you.

Every muscle in your body tensed, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting, until it was almost unbearable. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His name escaped your lips again, this time a desperate plea, a cry for release.

“Remy…”

He groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, a primal echo of your own need. His hips snapped forward, the force of his thrusts pushing you over the edge. The dam finally broke, and the waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. Your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

Remy followed right behind you, his body shuddering as he reached his own climax. He buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his release. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, mirroring your own as he slowly came back down from the high.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, slowly returning to a normal rhythm, and the gentle rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was charged with a mix of emotions—a deep sense of satisfaction, vulnerability, and an overwhelming connection that transcended the physical.

Remy’s grip on your hips softened, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, tender caress. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings. The kiss was not one of raw passion this time, but of tenderness and gratitude, a silent thank you for the trust you had placed in him.

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re incredible, chérie,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You smiled softly, your eyes still hidden behind the blindfold, but you could feel the warmth of his gaze, the intensity of his emotions mirroring your own. “You’re not so bad yourself I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, still laced with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through you. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw before moving to the blindfold. Slowly, he lifted it away, allowing the soft light of the room to filter back in. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the light, and when you finally focused on him, the look in his eyes took your breath away.

There was a mix of desire, affection, and something deeper—a vulnerability that he had only ever shown to you. In that moment, you knew that this experience had changed something fundamental between you both, strengthening the bond that had been growing since the beginning.

Remy’s hands moved to the cuffs, his touch gentle as he carefully unlocked them. As your hands were freed, you instinctively reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back down to you. The kiss was slow and deep, a dance of tongues and breaths that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.

He shifted slightly, his body still pressed against yours, but now with a tenderness that was almost reverent. His hands roamed over your skin, not with the urgency of desire, but with the gentle exploration of someone rediscovering a familiar landscape. Every touch was a reminder of the trust and intimacy that you had shared.

As the minutes passed, neither of you moved to separate. Instead, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies still intertwined, your hearts beating in sync. The world outside could wait; for now, this moment was all that mattered. You both knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges or joys lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by the unbreakable connection that had been forged in this intimate, profound experience.

In that quiet, peaceful moment, you both found a sense of completion and understanding that transcended the physical. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you both let go and surrendered to the depth of emotion that consumed you. And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. <><><>

The room was bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun. The golden rays filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you and Remy lay tangled in the sheets. His arm was draped over your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. The world outside felt far away, distant, almost like it didn’t exist.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as the quiet between you stretched. It was a comfortable silence, but underneath it, something lingered—something unspoken. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the feel of his warmth, the way his hand moved lazily on your skin, but it was there, gnawing at you.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark, but you could still feel the weight of the articles you’d read earlier. The rumors, the gossip—all the things that made it hard to fully let go. You didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the jealousy simmered beneath the surface, a quiet hum you couldn’t quite shake.

Beside you, Remy shifted, his body relaxing deeper into the mattress. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel that he was tuned into you, aware of every little shift in your mood. His fingers paused their idle movements for a beat, and you wondered if he could sense the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself just a little too still.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, the familiar Cajun drawl soft in the fading light.

You swallowed, your eyes flicking to the window, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon. “Just thinking,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice lacked the ease you wanted it to have.

Remy didn’t press you. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Instead, he let the silence settle again, his fingers resuming their slow tracing along your side. But you could feel it—he knew. He always seemed to know when something was weighing on you, even when you tried to hide it.

A few long moments passed, the golden light growing softer, casting shadows across the room. And then, out of nowhere, Remy’s hand stilled again. His thumb brushed over your skin, and you felt him shift slightly beside you, his gaze dropping to meet yours.

“You know somethin’, chérie?” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something more. “When I’m with you… it’s like the rest of the world don’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading through your chest, but they didn’t fully ease the quiet tightness that had been building inside you all day. Still, you smiled softly, meeting his gaze, trying to let yourself sink into the sincerity of what he was saying.

“Yeah?” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly over his chest, tracing the outline of the tattoo near his collarbone.

He nodded, his thumb continuing its slow, steady movement on your side. “Yeah. All that noise out there—” he shrugged slightly, his eyes soft but serious. “It don’t touch this. Don’t touch us.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let those words wash away the lingering doubts, the nagging thoughts about the rumors and the articles. And in this moment, with the fading light casting Remy in a soft, golden glow, it was easy to forget everything else. He made it easy.

But the truth still lingered. The world wouldn’t stop spinning just because you were here, wrapped up in this quiet moment together. And eventually, he’d have to leave.

You shifted slightly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest as you spoke, your voice soft but hesitant. “When do you have to fly back?”

There was a pause, just long enough for you to feel the weight of the answer before he even said it.

“1 a.m.,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with regret.

You closed your eyes, letting that sink in. 1 a.m. It wasn’t that far away. The thought of him leaving—of the quiet, peaceful bubble you’d built tonight being popped—made your chest tighten again. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to remind him of the world outside this room.

Remy’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through the strands in a soothing gesture. “Still got some time,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost like he was trying to reassure himself as much as you.

You nodded against his chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You still had time, and right now, that was all that mattered. You would deal with the rest later—the articles, the rumors, the jealousy. But for now, you were here with him, and that was enough.

The sun had now almost fully disappeared, leaving the room painted in soft twilight. The last traces of daylight clung faintly to the horizon, but the world outside had already surrendered to the steady hum of the evening. You lay wrapped in Remy’s arms, your body nestled comfortably against his. His warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing were grounding, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed, like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the quiet intimacy, feeling the weight of every second you had left together.

But beneath the surface, a familiar ache was beginning to stir—the knowledge that time, as always, was slipping away. He would have to leave soon, and you weren’t ready for the moment when this bubble would burst, when the world outside would intrude again, pulling him back into the whirlwind of his life, leaving you behind in the stillness.

You shifted slightly, resting your head more comfortably against his chest, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on his shirt. “That’s what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace in the room. “A few hours?”

You tried to keep your tone light, playful even, but the sadness lingered there, just beneath the surface. Your chest felt tight at the thought of him leaving again—another flight, another city, another stretch of days, maybe even weeks, without him.

Remy’s hand stilled on your arm, his attention sharpening on you. You felt his gaze lower, the weight of it gently pressing against you. “What were you thinking?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip as you fought the urge to give voice to the emotions swirling inside you. You didn’t want to talk about goodbyes, didn’t want to admit how much the idea of him leaving again was getting to you. So instead, you opted for the easier route—the one that made you both laugh, the one that kept things light.

Sitting up, you turned toward him, your legs still tangled with his beneath the sheets. You met his gaze, a mischievous spark lighting up your eyes. “Well, those handcuffs were fun,” you said, your voice teasing, your lips curving into a wide grin as you let the memory of earlier replay in your mind.

Remy blinked, and then that familiar, lopsided smile of his slowly spread across his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. He leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving yours as his expression shifted from surprise to a playful smirk. “Oh, chérie,” he drawled, his voice low and full of the kind of slow-burning heat that made a shiver run down your spine. “You really wanna go there again?”

You shrugged, but the grin on your face only grew wider, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation. “Why not? We’ve got a few hours, right?” You leaned in slightly, the playful challenge clear in your voice.

Remy’s eyes darkened a little with something more than amusement, his smirk softening into something more intense, more focused. He reached up, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek before trailing down to your chin, tipping your face up so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Careful, ma belle,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the teasing edge still there, but now laced with something deeper. “You’re temptin’ me to miss my flight.”

You laughed softly, though the sound was breathless, and your heart flipped at the idea of him staying just a little longer. “Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered, your lips hovering dangerously close to his.

For a moment, the air between you seemed to thrum with a tension that was both familiar and thrilling. His fingers lingered against your skin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever the two of you were alone like this.

But then, just as quickly, he pulled back slightly, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, his grin returning, though this time it was softer, more thoughtful. “As much as I’d love to stay,” he said, his voice still low, “you know I can’t miss that flight.”

Your smile faltered for just a second, the reality of the situation sinking in again. You tried to hide the disappointment, but Remy saw it—he always did. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself savor the feel of his closeness. “I just… I hate watching you leave.”

Remy’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin. “I hate it too, chérie,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the playful edge gone. “But I promise, I’ll always come back. You know that, right?”

You nodded, leaning into him, resting your head against his chest again. “I know,” you whispered, though the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away. You knew he meant it—knew that he would always come back—but that didn’t make it any easier when he was gone.

For now, though, you pushed those thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the time you still had together. You shifted in his arms, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him again, your smile returning, though this time it was softer, more tender.

“Well then,” you said, your voice playful once more, “we better make the most of the time we’ve got.”

Remy’s grin returned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes again as he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of the hours you still had together.

“Guess we better,” he murmured against your lips, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

And as the night continued to creep in, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him, in the warmth of his touch, in the quiet comfort of knowing that—for now—the world outside could wait just a little longer."

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