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jude dempsey. 25 y/o freelance filmmaker from manchester.
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happy pride everyone
#GHHGDVRHJTNJJKTCKFKDKG#MY FRIEND NAI WHO I USED TO RP W JUST SENT ME THIS ABT JUDE I CANT BREATHE#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ musings.
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CHARLENE.
his reference about first dates goes right over her head but she can still pick up what he’s putting down. “yeah, i suppose you’re right. i’m like, definitely willing to see where things go.” with victoria she means. charlene is busy carefully wrapping her hair away from her face, sights set on her own reflection for the most part, only occasionally glancing at him through the mirror. “when you know you know.” charlene offers with a smile, albeit a hesitant one. “as long as you’re happy that’s all that really matters.” is he? ’cus from where charlene is standing, it looks like jennifer has the man on blonde bomb duty, manicured grip firm on his balls… bollocks? so she isn’t all that surprised that he brings up the firepit nor does she blame him for it but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to say her piece. “uh… jude?” charlene knows she shouldn’t, but it’s hard to suppress the scoff that erupts from her. “she is a shit stirrer. like, seriously. who in this villa has she not gotten in a spat with?” it’s a genuine question, one that is meant to encourage reflection because she doesn’t think the problem is that she said something untrue.
“ look – if you want to humor her during her… moods then that’s fine but it’s fucked up for you to expect the rest of us to. i get that she was upset about not getting the hideaway and i think she’s valid for that but like, i’m sure adela and dylan weren’t too happy about it either and you didn’t see them trying to call everyone out.” and since they’re on the topic, she adds, “i get that you have to stick up for her ‘cus she’s your girl but i really don’t like that you act like the only person allowed to express any emotion here is jenny. so she can be angry and cause a scene all she wants but the moment i react it’s suddenly ‘uncalled for’ and ‘harsh’ and i should ‘simmer down’? why is that, jude?” she’s fully facing him now, arms crossed over her chest expectantly, making sure to give him ample time to reply because from where she’s standing the implication is not a pretty one. charlene doesn’t want problems with jude but she doesn’t expect them to see eye to eye on this and maybe that gives her all the more reason to not want to hold back. even if it means jude will hate her forever. “i saw the way you jumped up to try to calm her down and how you avoided saying who you voted for and honestly dude? it’s a sad fucking sight. it’s like she has you walking on eggshells and like, i’m no relationship expert or anything but that doesn’t look like love to me.” or the beginning of it anyways. “i don’t have a problem with jenny but i think she has one with me and with half of the fucking villa so like… maybe it’s time to do some math and look for the common denominator?” translation: hold your girl accountable.
jude shrugs, not exactly sure from the little information he’s garnered that charlene is willing to give victoria a proper shot, but whatever, it’s not his business. he doesn’t know what went down between her and evie for it to end like that. if this were a week ago, he’d probably have asked, but it feels like something’s changed in their relationship and it’s not really his place to pry any more. the acknowledgement comes with a sad little twist of his stomach. “ i am, yeah. she makes me proper happy. ” most of the time. “ when i asked her at the boat party, she was dead shocked, like. kinda thought she might start crying. ” he’s not exactly sure why he’s sharing this much with charlene, knowing what he needs to say afterwards, but maybe it’ll help for him to contextualise it somewhat, how jenny had gone from the highest high to feeling two feet tall in the space of an evening. sure, it doesn’t make her reaction totally justified, but maybe it’ll help to let charlene empathise with her position a little. and it’s not like anyone, apart from angel and charlene, has really even asked jude about the fact that him and jenny are now a package deal. whatever. it reeks of jealousy.
when charlene immediately jumps to her own defence, jude can tell he’s in for a long night, a slow breath pulling through his nostrils. he doesn’t want to fight charlene. all he wants is to say, hey man, i respect your opinion, but maybe just try to be a little more cautious around her — you know how she gets. “ look, i get it. i do. you don’t wanna feel like that fox face bitch from the hunger games, doin’ your hopscotch jumping around the landmines, always tryna’ anticipate if you’re a second from being blown up. i know that it’s not fair to like... ask everyone to walk on eggshells. but you and her were thick as thieves in casa, char. you know how sensitive she is. ” maybe jenny is a shit stirrer, but even shit stirrers deserve someone fighting their corner. fuck sake, his thoughts sound like one of them messed up women who write letters to convicts. wait — jude does write letters to convicts ; his uncle’s banged up in still strangeways. not that jenny occasionally causing a ruccus is anything like being a convict. she’s no less of a shit-stirrer than naomi or adela. why doesn’t naomi get this much flack ? “ you’re probably right. i shouldn’t have told you to simmer down, i just... i knew it would only make it worse to have everyone chiming in with their opinions. when she’s like that, it’s best just to let me deal with it. jenny doesn’t back down in an argument. and i love that about her but... it makes it tough. maybe i don’t have to agree with everything she does, but i’m always gonna be on her team. ” he almost says, you’d be the same if you were in a relationship, but for once jude has enough tact to hold his tongue. is he going soft in the head ? two weeks in this place has totally fucked with his perception. it fucking hurts to hear charlene say all this shit, because while she’d been jenny’s friend before she threw that curveball at the firepit, jude still sees her as a friend, and now she’s calling him a sad fucking sight and saying that he doesn’t love jenny the way he thinks he does, if love’s even crossed his mind. it feels whack, because she’s just not the person he thought she was. maybe that’s on him. maybe he should have known the day she tried to hold him under the water that a friendship between the two of them was never going to last.
“ that’s... uh. wow. okay. ” for a moment, jude doesn’t speak, not trusting say something he won’t regret. instead he paces, tries to put together his thoughts, a habit he’s adopted after finding himself so often with emotional barrel of a gun against his forehead. “ that’s actually pissed me off. ” he eventually settles on saying, slowing to a stop. because what right does she have to comment on his relationship. he’s not going to say to her weird-ass triangle shit storm that resulted in evie walking doesn’t exactly feel like love. he’ll keep that shit to himself. “ yeah, you’re not a fucking relationship expert. ” given her track record of absolutely no-one sticking around. maybe fifth time’s the charm, or whatever she’s on now. maybe him and jenny had a rough start, but at least no one could deny that from the moment they met there’d been something. “ if any of us were, we wouldn’t be in this place. and you’re definitely not an expert on mine... i wouldn’t even be saying anything if i didn’t care about her, char. ” doesn’t look like love to me. why the fuck’s she gotta go and say that for ? “ look... i don’t wanna argue with you, alright. because i think that putting all this aside, you’re actually sound, and i do still want to be your friend. i get your points, but right now... we’re not going to see eye-to-eye on this, so maybe we should just leave this before we start causing fucking damage that doesn’t need to be caused, you know what i’m saying ? ” what he’s saying is he wants to leave this with still some semblance of the friendship they have in tact. he still wants her to be the person who paints his nails, who he goes to for outfit advice when naomi’s being a dick. he doesn’t want his girlfriend’s overreaction to cost him another mate in here. but ultimately, if he’s made to choose between charlene and jenny, he’ll pick jenny. he’s always going to pick jenny.
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location : bean bags
when : lunch time, day 43.
featuring : adela / @bluemmings
“ mate, i am gaggin’ for a greggs, ” jude notes, by way of greeting, dropping down into the bean bag beside adela and popping the cap on his sun cream lotion. “ honestly, think i’m goin’ into withdrawal. the shit they give us for lunch in here. not even joking, who do i have to suck off for a sausage, bean, and cheese melt ? harry hill ? richard branson ? philip schofield ? ” they definitely won’t be airing that last one, or probably any of this conversation. product palcement gone mad. it’s like loose women in here. “ what’s your go-to greggs order, then ? ” because c’mon ! she’s geordie. she’s obviously got one.
#i luv letting them have convos where no one else ic or ooc has any idea what they're talking abt <3#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.#jude & adela.#jude & adela 004.#they've def had more chats than this?????#bt i get lazy posting them.#also jude and adela mostly interact like. in a group they jst go off n ahve their own chat which might be why.
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ARÓN PIPER
— via Instagram Stories (2023)
#when i look at him i am filled with hate. can't explain it.#never felt this way about one of my characters fcs before.#but at the same time i can't change jude's fc bcos.... he's jude. that's literally jude.#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ aesthetics.
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CHARLENE.
it feels like ages since she has had a moment alone with jude. probably before movie night really, after her first spat with jenny. charlene doesn’t blame jude for prioritizing his connection with jennifer but there is a part of her that misses that bombshell unity they shared in the beginning of casa. thinks that the two could have been proper mates under different circumstances. or at least… if she didn’t feel like she had to watch out for jenny to pop in and cause another scene. “hiya jude.” she offers with a cordial smile but makes a point to settle at the sink furthest away from him. thinking that was going to be the end of that, she focuses her attention when it surprisingly gets pulls back to him when he furthers the conversation. “ huh? oh. yeah. i like victoria. i think she’s very pretty. i’m like, surprised that she picked me though.” feels like blonde hasn’t really made an effort to pull charlene aside much, outside of kissing her during challenges ( something she’s pretty much used to at this point lol ). as much as she would love to lean back and spill her guts out to jude, it feels a little awkward telling him her business after the firepit scene. is he asking because he’s genuinely curious? “i don’t know. i think i’m just gonna like, take things one step at a time. i really like dante but like, i don’t think it would be fair for me to cling onto him if he wants to get to know eden too. you know what i mean?” as for his evie question, she decides to avoid it by saying. “ oh! speaking of wildcards, i heard you and jenny decided to make things official now?”
“ is it really that surprising ? ” jude asks, a puzzled little line scratching down between his eyebrows. “ she picked you for a date, didn’t she ? i mean, i’m not that french geezer from first dates, but that’s usually a pretty good indication that they like ya. ” jude only remembers because jenny had also been asked on a date, and had kissed victoria on said date, which had sent him west a bit, even if it was just banter. still feels like shit to see your bird copping off with someone else, even if it was kinda sexy. jude grits his teeth, examines them in the mirror, goes in for another round of fluoride and spits, before potting his toothbrush. “ yeah, i get you. feels kinda like everyone’s all topsy turvy after that recoupling. ” even adela and dylan looked like they were fighting when he’d passed them, not that he was listening. only a little. “ villa’s all over the place like some jackson pollock shit. ” an art reference. jenny would be proud. speaking of... “ yeah, we did. i asked her the night of the boat party. it just felt... i dunno, it’s not been that long but two weeks in here feels like two months on the outside, y’know ? when you know, you know, and i just felt like it was the right time. ” having finished brushing his teeth, he’s hanging around by the sinks, turning to lean against them as he fixes his gaze on charlene. “ kinda what i wanted to talk to you about, actually... ” since he’s got her here, he might as well say something. “ that thing at the fire pit... calling her a shit stirrer and that. like, i dunno if you two have beef now or whatever but... it felt a bit uncalled for if i’m honest, mate. ” jude pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “ i dunno. i know it was a tough night for you, but it shocked me. i thought youse two were good, y’know. ” he certainly didn’t think she had a problem with jenny. “ i guess i’ve just never seen that side of you. all billy big bollocks out of nowhere. ” from where jude stood, charlene’s always been a picture of sunshine and light, someone to turn to when jenny’s driving him up the wall ( affectionately ) not someone tossing around catty insults for the sake of it. “ obviously you and me have always been mates, and i don’t want any animosity between us, but if you’re gonna start saying shit about my girlfriend in front of everyone, i’m gonna get involved. that’s just the way it is. ”
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JENNY.
“they do,” she insists, the words garbled by his shoulder. “it’s my fault we didn’t get the hideaway and it’s my fault they think we’re a joke and it’s gonna be my fault when we get dumped. they don’t like me, jude. none of them like me and it’s not fair that, like…” she pauses, half to focus on stringing her thoughts together in a coherent sentence and half because her breath won’t stop hitching in a series of involuntary gasps, all ragged and shallow. she just about has a handle on it when she’s crumbling all over again, stepping back so he can see her in her full, pathetic glory. “like… you bet on the wrong horse! i’m dead fucking weight.” mimi had said that to naomi once about josh. shouted it, really, during her whirlwind exit, and something about it must’ve stuck because she’s thought of it several times since. her eyes don’t leave his, even as her vision blurs, then clears again like the ebb and flow of the tides with each fresh round of tears, falling faster than she can swat them away. “i’m gonna cost you this whole thing, jude, and it’s not fair. like, i don’t— i don’t know what’s wrong with me or why i can’t just be, like—” another gasp, bunches of them turning her monologue rhythmic and desperate, “—why i can’t just be like, a normal fucking person that gets along with everyone or why i ‘stir shit’ all the time and like, get so fucking emotional.”
her head ducks back into her hands, cradling her forehead while frantic eyes look toward the floor for some answers. god, she’s really lost the plot now. she can already see the writing on the wall, hear the criticisms from the islanders that she’s crying again or better yet, that she’s playing the victim. “and it’s literally starting to affect you now too and like, how people are with you and how they treat you and how they look at you—like, with charlene. you’re being so fucking incredible and saying all the right things and defending me and doing fucking… this,” her arms fling out, gesturing to the ‘hideaway’ he created for them before turning her gaze back on his, a sad sort of defiance to this whole display. like she’s laying it all bare now— take it or leave it, but know that this is what you signed up for. (and please, please don’t leave it.) “like, meanwhile i’ve done nothing but make your time in here harder. i don’t deserve all this, jude. even now i’m ruining the night and i know i am and i still don’t know how to stop. like, i—” her eyes pinch shut, one hand arcing across her forehead from temple to temple, the other reaching down for the necklace—his necklace—anxiously toying with the pendant. “i— i don’t know. are you regretting your decision? to be with me? because i won’t be mad if you are. nobody would blame you. i just… need to know.”
jude can feel jenny getting more rattled by the second. he can see the visual metaphor in his camera brain, the getaway scene of a movie ; anger darting about the room intercut with a bullet shot like a ping pong ball between gas canisters in a warehouse, their whistling holes a monsters inc scream tester set to full sensitivity. he should be compassionate, should be doing everything in his power to cool her down, slow her roll, remind her of what she has to be grateful rather than the elusive promise of a night alone, but there’s only so much back-rubbing and there-there-ing he can do before it starts to feel redundant. “ i fuckin’ like you ! ” jude fires back, firm line etched between his brow, hands dropping from her waist to whip through the air. so much for attempting to distract her. “ i like you. why does it matter what other people think ? ” bold words coming from a guy who can’t divorce himself from other people’s opinions of him, whose always framing himself through the lens of what ‘the boys’ must think, whether it’s the ones in the villa or the ones back home. but the truth is, it does matter — relationships in here are everything, and not just the romantic ones. the people in here are the difference between safety and a flight home, so it’s natural to worry about what they think.
“ look. i get it. i do. ” he’s still pacing a little, though he slows to look at her, meeting her gaze head on. “ i get mad stressed, too, thinking about who hates us and shit. about the bridges i’m burning to keep us afloat. ” josh, miles, charlene, adela, naomi. all of them felt like they could’ve been jude’s mates, but the jenny of it all makes it difficult. it’s weird, because even though his behaviour those first few days of casa was objectively shitty, it feels like as soon as he’s got his act together, nobody wants to be his friend any more. it’s not fair to blame that on jenny, but she’s definitely partially responsible. “ obviously, i want us to have friends and that. i want you to have people you can talk to about shit that aren’t just me and angel. but like... ultimately, it doesn’t matter. ” because ultimately, mates aren’t what they came here for. maybe his heart wasn’t in the right place when he came in — not for love, but to fuck about and have a fun summer, which he’s done — but he also came here to get over lana, and since coupling up with jenny, it feels like he’s barely even thought about his ex. jenny’s completely eclipsed her, eclipsed everyone who came before her, to the point where if she told him she wanted out, he’d up and run with her this second. “ in a few days we’ll probably be all back at home with our mums anyway, and it won’t matter who liked who. it’ll be irrelevant. so just... try and keep a level head til then. ”
jude closes the distance between them, taking her face in his hands, planting a kiss on her forehead, on the tip of her nose, and finally one on her lips, like some weird sign of the cross like his mam does every time they pass a catholic church. “ don’t be daft, you silly mare. ‘course i don’t regret it. ” she talks about costing him this thing like they even had a shot at winning in the first place. day-by-day it feels like they’re coasting, clinging by the skin of their teeth to a shot at the final, but the closer they get to it the less he actually cares. “ i mean, yeah, maybe at one point i thought i wanted to win this thing. buy my mam a new house so she can stop havin’ to pack up forty-eight years of her life into boxes every nine months, just gettin’ shifted wherever the council put her. like, yeah, it would be sweet if i could do that, and got to travel and shit, or buy an actual car instead of pootling about on the fuckin’ vespa. the money would be great. but that’s not what’s important. ” he tucks a soggy lock of hair behind her ear, not stopping to question if it’s snot or tears ( he doesn’t really care at this point ) and bops his finger against the end of her nose. “ this is what’s important, jen. ” maybe it’s true that being with her has made his time in here harder than it would’ve been if he were with someone else, but he doesn’t want his time in here if it’s not with jenny. “ at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if you’ve cost me this experience or not. ‘cos the way i see it, i’ve already won. alright ? ”
#the temptation to reference 'our lives togeva!! we could lose this!!'#producers watch this scene and are just like :) great! send them home :)#jude & jenny.#jude & jenny 020.#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.
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JENNY.
the instant her anger wavered, the tears pushed in as they always do, slightly more hysterical than they maybe ought to have been over a night in a tacky, neon bedroom. but it’s not just about that. it’s the fact that she can’t remember one season where a freshly official couple didn’t get the privilege of some alone time. it’s about how they were the obvious choice to go, next in line after the other strong couples who’d gotten their turns, but everyone voted in fucking miles and santiago instead, a couple that formed that day because miles couldn’t be fucked to shorten his vacation. and why? because they hate her so much that instead of getting her out of their hair for a few hours they’d rather torture her? they all know she’s been dying for the hideaway—it’s a popular joke in the communal bedroom among the rustling sheets and muffled moans from the jennifer & jude bed and the symphony of half-amused, half-annoyed groans from the peanut gallery. is she so awful they couldn’t stomach giving her that win? and now jude’s stuck suffering for her shortcomings. where’s the fairness in that? she’d just barely managed to get a wrangle on her emotions when angel poked his head into the bathroom to request her presence downstairs—that jude had something special planned that would save the night, but she can’t help but feel like she’s already ruined it.
she steps in tentatively, arms wrapped around herself, dwarfed in one of his t-shirts and big, plush socks that mask the sound of her steps as she takes it in. he’s turned the living room completely upside down, decking it out in fairy lights and constructing them a makeshift fort with sheets and cushions until the couch has become their own little diy oasis. it all turns crystal clear, then blurs together suddenly as a fresh round of tears clouds her vision until he’s just a growing splotch of tan. “i’m sorry,” she chokes out, burying her face in her hands and stepping into him, letting him hold her so she won’t run and hide again. “i’m just like, so upset,” she looses a shaky breath through her fingers, attempting a laugh that doesn’t quite land before it morphs back into a sob. “i know it’s stupid, but i— i can’t believe they didn’t give it to us… like, i don’t—” another shuddery gasp. “i don’t get it.” she’d sat in the bathroom trying to rationalize it, think of some other reason they’d give it to miles and santiago—like maybe they have this amazing chemistry that managed to slip under her radar, but even on the off chance that was true, they wouldn’t deserve the hideaway. she couldn’t come up with a single reason that didn’t feel intensely personal, like they were all having a laugh at her and jude’s expense, especially with the onslaught to follow. “like, i knew they didn’t love me, but i didn’t think that, like… do you think— i mean, do they actually hate me?”
jude’s met so many versions of jenny since the two of them coupled up, the jenny that’s a hard drinker, the jenny that dances on tables, the jenny that’ll never back down in argument and gets vicious like a dog when the people she cares about are threatened. despite her tears, and the way she folds herself inwards, the jenny that’s in front of him is one of the jenny’s he likes best, her willingness to be vulnerable with him an unsaid acknowledgement that she’s no longer scared for him to see her stripped back and laid bare. he feels a twist like a linchpin, a shift in the air the second before she starts crying, and jude’s dropping the pillow onto the floor, arms extended as he closes the distance between them, and she tucks herself into him. “ hey… it’s cool, jen. you’re allowed to be upset. ” he’s never really sure if he’s saying the right thing, but his body never seems to worry about what to do, one hand pressed against the small of her back, the other stroking over her hair. “ it’s not stupid. it’s fuckin’... important to you, okay. who the fuck cares if it feels small ? if it matters to you then it’s not stupid. ” jude draws her closer in his arms, head cradled in the crook of his elbow, rocking her side to side like a small child with a scabbed knee. the role of the comforter isn’t foreign to jude, as rough as his exterior may seem. he’s got sisters, and he’s just as likely to wipe their tears and bandage their wounds as he is to accidentally cause them when roughhousing goes too far.
“ fuck off, jen, ” he exhales, astonished, although it’s said with affection. “ nobody hates you. they’re just mardy and bitter. ” and quick to point the finger at an easy scapegoat. “ and if anybody does hate ya’ — which they don’t — then they’re not worth wasting a thought on. other people’s opinions don’t make you, jen, alright. opinions are like arseholes. everybody’s got one, they all fuckin’ stink, so… chin up. don’t let it spoil our night. besides…” jude’s hands slide from her arms down to her hips, backing her towards the tent, a confidence that radiates from him as he tugs her closer by his shirt, half-smile pulling on his lips. “ we’ve got a room to ourselves. these lights might not be neon, but you can pretend like they are. i can stick my arms up in the air and you can do a sexy little routine around me if you want. honestly, fuck the hideaway, we’ve got our own hidden-in-plain-sight away. ”
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location : bathroom
time : evening, day 41
featuring : charlene / @guttcd
jude’s brushing his teeth when he hears the door behind him, eyes catching charlene in the mirror. his instincts are to goof around with her, but it’s immediately followed by the sinking tug of his stomach when he thinks of how she spoke to jenny at the fire pit. he should probably say something, but he’s also thinking no trouble, no trouble, like a mantra on repeat. it’s basically become his and angel’s motto. “ alright, char ? ” jude starts, after spitting out a mouthful of toothbrush, friendly but lacking their usual level of banter. he’s almost finished up here, anyway. “ how you feeling about... y’know. victoria. ” must be weird, since half the couples in here seemed to be matched up with people they don’t even fancy. “ think you’ll go for her or the old marquis de malbec ? was a bit of a wildcard with your lass going home. what’s that all about, then ? ”
#jude & charlene.#jude & charlene 005.#we've had more threads than this bt maybe we didn't copy them across from discord :(#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.
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location : living room
time : evening, day 41
featuring : jenny / @blondcs
jude’s in the process of decking out the living room with pillows and fairy lights and all that shit. he’s raided the laundry hamper already, managed to secure some spare sheets to the ceiling light, the sides fanning down like an impromptu tent. it was mostly angel’s idea. give jenny something else to focus on to divert the anger. still, it’s pretty fucking cute, even if it is mega cringe. he’s not seen her for a bit, assumes she’s gone to brush her teeth after the fall out, so when she wanders through the door he’s immediately turning his body towards her, a scatter cushion half suspended in the air, not sure what to do with his hands. “ hiya, chicken... ” he starts, uncertainly, scanning her face for any sign of tears, or lingering frustration. “ can we talk about what happened at the fire pit ? ”
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JUDE & JENNY (& ANGEL) — DAY FORTY.
location : boat party, pool and then top deck.
description : jude asks jenny to be gf bf with him
featuring : jenny / @blondcs & angel / @dobits
angel reid
“nuh uh,” he preemptively disregards jenny’s desire for another shot, instead hooking her elbow and dragging her to walk along the pool. “maybe we shouldn’t play who can blackout first tonight.” didn’t work out so well for them on movie night (at least not at first). he’d also like to keep her clear from the dance floor for the time being, though he veils that concern behind his usual puppy dog smile. “tell me about you. what’s the word, baby bird?”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
“nooo…” she whines, a half-assed attempt at reaching back just as she’s toted out of reach of a lemon drop. “that’s not even a real shot.” more sugar than alcohol, so actually angel might be doing future jenny a massive favor there. still, she has nothing but a glass of ice with the tiniest bit of water in her hands and he’s dragging her away from the bar? this is starting to feel like a ploy. “what, am i being messy? i was just trying to give him space so i wasn’t latched onto him all night, but the energy below deck was not it. hey—what are you drinking?”
angel reid
“yeah, i noticed all the space,” angel chuckles dryly. “i’m, like, what the hell. i dunno what you guys are doing.” trying too hard to be whatever they think they’re supposed to be, presumably. both of them chronic over thinkers. “i mean, have you guys been good after… y’know… the thing,” he clears his throat, unsure if she knows that he knows about the fingering exclusivity convo. he smacks his lips, shows his half full beer bottle to her. “corona — you wouldn’t like it.” then, worried she might deign herself out of spite, holds the beer up and away from her. “you really wouldn’t like it. i backwash.”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
“what do you mean?” she stops short so the arm looped through hers wrenches back, then chuckles as she resumes their stroll. “it’s not like i can spend every waking minute with him.” can she? “like, you’re not with callie right now. he needs time with the boys and stuff, right?” duh. where is he now though, if not with angel or josh and miles? “the thing? like, our talk about apparently not being exclusive?” because that’s the alternative. if he doesn’t want to be exclusive, it means he’s just fine if she gets to know santiago and gives him the freedom to revisit things with adela. that’s the last thing she wants to think about. “yeah, we’re good. we’re fine... i dunno, it’s—“ her head tilts side to side trying to streamline her ocean of thoughts into a single coherent sentence. “when i’m with him everything is literally perfect and then it’s like the minute we’re apart i, like…” in the absence of words she just shrugs. “it’s fine.” but now that she’s let a little bit out she can’t quite stop the torrent. “i don’t blame him at all for not wanting to like, completely settle down and close himself off. like, ‘cause who knows who else is gonna come in, you know? or maybe there’s people here he wants to get to know better. i just have to kind of like, change my expectations a little, which, again—totally fine.” she pauses, huffing out a breath like that’s gonna be the end of it but swiftly launches back in.
“he’s just so intense that like, it’s easy to let myself get carried away sometimes, and he feeds into it too like, he was all teasing the other day saying that i love him and all this stuff,” and maybe she does just a little bit. “so it’s just like, a little hard to figure out what’s real and like, what he actually wants. but i’m kind of like, almost proud of myself for asking? about the exclusivity thing. because i got some clarity from it, i guess? but also like, it’s not the answer i was expecting at all and i will literally never be doing anything like that ever again, so… sorry, what was the question?” she reaches for the beer anyway, elbows in full gear to wrangle it away. “c’mon, i love backwash, backwash is my favorite. gimme.”
angel reid
“that’s different.” it seems unnecessary to quantify all the ways in which him and callie are different from jude and jenny, so he’ll just let that sleeping dog lie. he’ll also let her qualification breeze on by ‘cause he’s not sure what boys jude could be spending time with right now if not him. it seems more fruitful to let jenny spiel, only interjecting after her third repeated assurance, “— it sounds fine.” deadpanned, smiling. it really is fine, he wishes she wouldn’t slide that word on like a mask. “for what it’s worth, i really don’t think him not wanting to be exclusive has anything to do with what he wants. like, he’s not trying to get to know anybody else.” as far as angel can tell, jude just wants to make sure jenny’s scratched all of her own itches before she settles down. “no, it’s, like… extremely fucking cool that you told him what you wanted. that takes balls, for real and — he fucked that up, like even i’ll say it. i wish you guys could learn to really trust each other, man. anybody could see you both want it bad.” it’s a hard thing to do though, he’ll admit. ragged groan deflates him. “you sick fuck,” angel complains, holding her back at arms length while he takes a parting sip before handing it off to her. “…you know, you can’t ask him to stop being friends with adela though. like, i know that sucks, but, like, pick your battles, y’know?”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
her head bobs, nodding her acknowledgment and trying to let the words drill their way home while her brain is soft and mushy from the liquor. angel has no reason to lie on jude’s behalf, but there’s still a bit of healthy skepticism that keeps her from abandoning her reservations entirely—she knows firsthand the way boys protect each other. still, she likes to think angel somehow dodged that affliction. “why would i bring up being exclusive if i didn’t want it?” is that what he’s suggesting? her brows knit together, head shaking away the overwhelm of yet another branch of questions springing from what angel probably assumed would be a nice, soothing answer. not quite. “it’s not that i don’t trust him specifically. i just don’t think i trust like, anyone?” ‘even you cheated,’ she wants to say, but thankfully the tequila hasn’t loosened her tongue that much, though she pushes it when she finally gets a hold of his beer. it lingers near her mouth for a moment, fixing him with a look before she downs a swig. “did he say i said that?” and carefully dabs the corners of her mouth with her thumb, feeling her face heating. “because literally what i said to him verbatim was that i would never ask him to do that.” her eyes don’t leave his for a second, not even to blink. “he said she reminded him of home. what am i? satan? like, i’m not gonna tell him not to talk to her and i’ve never told him that,” she goes to take another sip, but interrupts herself— “although i will say i think it’s really fucking hurtful weird that they waited to pursue some kind of ‘friendship’ until after i physically lunged at her because of all the out of pocket shit she was saying to me. but sure, whatever. i’ll ‘pick my battles.’”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“what battles are we picking?” jude asks, sidling up behind jenny, his hands placed on her shoulders, and massaging away any tension there. "damn. lotta knots, girl. what you stressin' about?" if he had stepped in any sooner, he might not be so content, face dipping down to plant a kiss against her cheek, and her jaw, and then the soft mark on her neck where he knows, beneath half an inch of concealer, there’s a bruise left by his mouth. “i'd pick 1066. battle of hastings. five years of GCSE history and that’s the only fact i remember.” although the only reason he remembers it was because it was on an advert for an insurance company. his brain just seems to buzzing with useless commercials, music videos, and obscure drug-related anecdotes. jude plops down onto the poolside between the two of them, one arm swinging around angel’s neck, the other around jenny’s. “my two favourite people.” siobhan will fucking kill him for that ; he wouldn’t be surprised if she skips out on family day — if him and jenny even make it that far. “you mind if i steal the lovely jennifer for a bit?” jude asks, turning to angel with a flash of his eyes, jerking his head as if to say, fuck off, it’s go time. he already knows the plan, so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to get the message and make himself scarce.
angel reid
it’s a big, british blessing, really. all of jenny’s questions stood looming like a liminal hall of doors, each would surely only open up increasingly crazier trains of thought despite angel genuinely believing that none of the answers to her inquiries would be objectively disappointing. that’s jenny for you. he smiles at jude’s presence, partly with wonder. “shit, i thought we were still, like, trying to discover fire then.” guess it’s never too early to go to war. he smacks a hand against jude’s chest. “take her for two bits. i’m gonna go get a shot,” then he makes a face at jenny like . sucker. then off he goes to find callie by the bar.
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
she smiles slightly in spite of herself, tucking into his side, careful not to transfer any foundation onto his shirt. she’s packed it on tonight, rocking the opposite of a natural look but rather something glowy and golden and glam for their chic night on a boat, jude decked out in his matching gold accessories and a cheeky nod to the dirty jerz with his leopard print shirt. god, he’s so hot, even if she is feeling more on edge around him than she should. but his arm is like a weighted blanket around her shoulders that grounds her back in her body, sparing angel another tirade because, as always, the minute jude’s touching her she feels better. her fingers knot through his to steer his hand back up where her neck meets her shoulder, squeezing his hand until his kneading her muscles again. “keep going. i’m so tense,” she sighs, angling her back to him as angel moves to leave, but not before whirling a glare at him. “oh c’mon. are you kidding?” then to jude, “he wouldn’t let me get a drink—god, ‘you’re a fake and a phony and i wish i’d never laid eyes on you!’” her voice takes on the olivia newton-john australian lilt as she quotes a cohen home classic at his back. “evil, evil man,” mumbled through a laugh as she swings her full attention onto jude, a bashful smile on her lips after the rant she’s just gone on. “what’s up, dempsey?”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
despite the roll of his eyes, jude has no problem picking up the hints she’s giving him, his hands sliding back up to her shoulders, thumbs digging in against the muscles there and rolling away the tightness. “you’re tense, huh. i know something that could work for that…” though probably not if angel’s here. thankfully, he’s already fucking off to find the missus, leaving the two of them alone by the dim light of the pool, a ripple in the surface throwing a wavy beam of light across jenny's face. “you look mad good tonight," jude admits, basking in the hazy golden glow of her. "and the way that light’s reflecting on you… damn, bro, that’s some tate britain shit right there.” jude hasn’t seen grease enough times to catch her reference, otherwise he’d tell her that men are amoebas on fleas on rats. he leans down to press a kiss against the back of her neck, hands still working against the tension in her shoulders, until she turns to face him, a rare moment of quiet shared between the two of them. “nothing’s up,” he says, breezily, feeling the calmest he’s felt in weeks. “i'm golden, me.” there’s usually some kind of tension playing on his mind, but tonight everything’s streamlined, like leaving the villa’s left all of his usual angst and disquiet behind. “just wanna’ spend time with you. what, do i gotta get a permit for that?” his hands drop to her hips, tugging her into his lap and meeting her mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss that seems to start in his lips and flood down his whole body. “c’mon, let’s go check out the upper deck,” he breathes, when he pulls away. “hear the view’s pretty fuckin’ swanky up there.” getting to his feet, jude extends a hand to help jenny to hers, the little bracelet she’d given him catching on her ring as he takes her hand. “oh, shit. i’m all caught up.” he ducks down, attempting to untangle their jewellery (smooth one, jude) as he leads her up towards the top deck.
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
it never feels like jude’s complimenting her just to compliment her, even if he is. she knows she can be insatiable where words of affirmation are concerned, but in his lilting accent, dark eyes drinking her in, she can’t imagine his comments are practiced or even considered much before they come out of his mouth. as if independent of her needing to hear it, he needs to say it—looks at her and just has to tell her she belongs in a museum. that’s why it’s so easy to believe the things he says. her whole body warms, beginning at her chest and radiating all the way to the tips of her fingers, the compliment wrapping around her like a hug as she smiles down at her feet. “you’re tate britain shit,” she mumbles, nudging his shoulder with hers. she really doesn’t want him to stop rubbing her back, but at the risk of cumming from that alone, she turns to face him, hands going right for the collar. “i’m obsessed with the fit tonight,” she muses, running her thumbs along the fabric. “no one else here could rock this but you look so fucking good. i almost feel bad that i’m gonna have to steal it later.”
she snorts when he drags her onto his lap, two pieces sliding into place. “not a permit, just a signed permission slip. you have to state your reasons and everything—make a compelling case for why you’re not sick of me yet.” she drapes herself around him, giggling against the lips that press to hers, slow and languid enough to give her pause before leaning into it. everything in the villa is so go, go, go that even the laziest of interactions are hurried along on borrowed time. there’s been a feeling of needing to hit all the milestones quick, take advantage of every possible opportunity in case it’s all ripped away, but jude’s been talking ‘afters’ recently. ‘can you travel with your job? what if you came and stayed with me in manchester after the villa.’ it’s like time itself has gotten bigger to make space for them now, no need to rush, and today he almost looks calm. she dots his nose with a quick peck before docking hers against it, slumping forward when he moves to stand. “i dunno, i’m kinda into the view from down here,” she teases, gaze swooping up from the front of his pants to meet his suggestively before begrudgingly pushing to her feet just in time to get tangle up in him. “aw, babe, look. the universe wants us stuck together,” she teases, looping her pinky finger through his. “c’mon, leave it for now. i’ll fix it when we get up there—i don’t want you breaking’ anything. this ring is real aluminum, you know.” or is it nickel? brass? what’s the jewelry from five below made of? “what’s up here anyway? is it like, a whole ‘nother floor?”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“yeah, but i’m like the bag of rubbish that they put on display as an exhibit and then the cleaner threw it out…” jude adds, self-deprecating, “or like, that banana on the wall worth millions that someone ate and then put the skin back…” whereas jenny? she’s a piece of art that actually deserves to be there, not just a gimmick with a hefty price tag. “you’re like… hm. not the mona lisa cos she’s actually a bit of a minger, but like, one of them bare cool aphrodite sculptures or sommat.” his hand falls to the divot of her spine, skin on skin where her backless dress allows, massaging a spot there just above her ass as he draws her in against him. for now at least, he’ll keep it PG; he’s been planning this moment for days, imagining it weeks into the future, and now it’s like an opportunity he can’t refuse has landed itself in his lap and he’d be a court jester juggling his oranges for the noblemen not to take it. fuck it. why not? it’s not like there’s any point in waiting for another golden opportunity to present itself. “you picked out most of it,” jude responds, flicking his finger against the end of her nose. as with most nights, jude’s ‘getting ready process’ is just modelling a series of outfits for whatever girl’s on hand like he’s in a coming of age late noughties movie. still, the thought of her in any of his clothes warms him. he gets a sick little thrill when she sleeps in his hoodie, or he catches her making her smoothies wearing his birkenstocks as oversized slippers. “right. well my compelling case is that nobody could ever get sick of you. it’s some new crazy shit with you every day,” he’s shaking his head, but it’s clear from the crinkles around the corners of his eyes that he says it with tenderness, adding “—and i’m mad into it,” before she can misinterpret his tone, pout her lips, and ask him something like would you still like me if i was a worm.
her finger loops itself around his, and jude swings their caught wrists, a warmth in his gaze when he looks down at her. it’s a view he could get used to — his girl in a nice dress, tucked into his side — the two of them held together by tangled silver like a pagan hand-wrapping ritual. “aluminum,” jude repeats, cheeks pitching up as he imitates the soft inflection of her jersey accent. “we say it aluminum. like… ally minion, kinda.” usually, he’d take the stairs two at a time, but with jenny at his side he slows his pace to a dawdle, arm instinctively bending to slot hers on top of his elbow as a fail safe, something to grab hold of if her heels catch and she topples on the stairs. “i dunno,” jude says, as if he hasn’t already scoped out every part of the boat with angel, the location scout in him vying for a place with the best angles. “less people? less noise? but also, you can see everyone, and i know you love a gossip, so...” reaching the top of the stairs, he drops his arm, tangling their fingers as he pulls her towards the centre of the upper deck, his free hand going to the small of her back as he draws her in against him. “you know any ballroom dancing typa shit?” jude asks, folding their joined hands up at a right angle and shifting his weight in a messy approximation of slow dancing. jenny feels like the kind of girl who might have attended dance competitions as a kid, fake-tanned and hair sprayed within an inch of her life, like aoife at her irish dancing feis, ringlets hard enough that you could crack them. “i’ve only ever slow danced with my nan, and she’s had two hip replacements, so you’re already miles better.”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
“hey,” she scolds suddenly, yanking his hand hard enough for the shockwave to zip up his arm and snap him out of it. “i don’t like when you say shit like that.” her eyes wait for his to look over, impatiently blinking up at him. “‘cause both of those would actually be like, epic bits of performance art that end up in the news and like, in text books and get studied and start like, massively impactful dialogues because of their commentary on… i dunno, society or whatever, but you’re not saying it like that.” two fingers hook into his waistband so their legs can stay slotted while she arches back for a better look at him. “i’m not trynna be a buzzkill. like, i know it’s just a joke but you say stuff like that all the time and you’re not rubbish and you’re not a banana.” it might sound ridiculous, but she’s being completely earnest, each point driven home by a frustrated tug of his pants—an attempt to drill this into his thick skull with something physical that isn’t a smack upside the head, even if she’s tempted. “like… jude.” be serious. her head slants to one side, one brow lifting, lips pressed into a reproachful line as her hands find his, toying with his fingers. “i wish i was better with words so i could explain how ridiculous it is when you say stuff like that.” but she’s not, and the idea of trying to articulate just how highly she thinks of him feels akin to chasing the wind with a net. how can you explain feelings with words? how can she sum up jude when the language that rushes to mind feels cliched and lazy. ‘you’re not garbage, you’re perfect. you’re awesome. you’re amazing.’ that’s what a teacher would write on an a+ paper, not a suitable antidote for the guy she’s falling for. her eyes linger on his a moment longer before she leans in and gently bonks her forehead against his. that’ll have to do. .
“i’m sorry for, like—i can take a joke, you know.” she’s feeling a little embarrassed for the rant. “i’m just gonna have to refute those ones every time. you’re not allowed to be mean to the guy i’m— to my guy.” she huffs out an indignant breath, reluctantly peeling her gaze away to finally notice the change of scenery. holy shit, this fuckin’ boat. “whoa, look at the sky.” there’s only a moment to try to drink it all in, the view of the deck below, the shoreline, the faint smattering of stars even though it’s not completely dark yet before he’s sweeping her back up. her free hand automatically winds around his neck while his creeps around her waist, the other two clasped together like they’re about to dance. it takes a second to realize that’s exactly what’s about to happen. her gaze shoots to his, confused and tentatively excited but braced for a ‘just kidding’ until he starts swaying them back and forth, and even then she can’t quite believe it. she can’t even remember the last time she slow danced. prom, maybe? some distant relative’s wedding? “oh, do i.” she does not. “i’ve seen a lot of dancing with the stars. would you believe we’re actually viennese waltzing right now.” the hand linked to his—seemingly even more entangled than it was before—lifts, a silent instruction for him to twirl beneath the bridge their arms created before coming back together. her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s beaming at him and trying to contain it. “i should’ve known you were a romantic the minute you sang that jenny song to me, even if you didn’t like me then.” although, according to angel… she steps herself in closer, rests her head on his shoulder as she drags the hand she’s holding hostage up, guiding it to splay out across her chest. “can you feel my heart? it’s like, racing.”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“ouch!” jude shouts, taken aback by her yank, although it wasn’t exactly painful. still, he rubs the socket where his shoulder joins his arm, scowling down at her. “what d’you do that for, you muppet?” she barely lets him get a word in, already going on her long spiel about how he’s an impactful piece of performance art or some shit, and he has to bite his tongue from comparing himself to that shit piece of absurdist theatre aoife dragged him along to in soho. he wouldn’t mind being something a bit andy warhol, though. that stuff’s proper cool. “alright, alright, chill out. i’ll fuckin’... calm it with the self-effacing bullshit, just please don’t beat me up.” like she could take him. his mood sallows slightly, recalling the incident with miles. whatever. he’s not important right now. and this isn’t a direct response to the perceived threat of that either, just a culmination of everything he’s been mulling over, cinnamon sticks and all, for the last few days. miles just gave him a kick up the rear end is all.
“shut up. you’re great with words,” jude parries (en garde!) bracing his arm to dip jenny over it, before he draws her back up against his face, nose to nose as they dance. feels almost like that scene in that new edgar wright film with the fit lass who was in the witch, except jenny doesn’t change into a different person every time she crosses the screen, and honestly, he wouldn’t want her to. his eyes have no reason to wander anywhere else when what’s in front of him’s already more than he deserves. “ i wish i was better with words so i could make you see yourself the way i see you. and probs so i could stop putting my fuck-off massive size 11 air max nike’s in it.” he hadn’t exactly handled the question of exclusivity with grace, decorum, or even an arbitrary grasp on language. “you’re from jersey. you’ve got an excuse. but i’m english and i can’t even speak it, for fuck sake.” she knocks her head against his, and it brings a soft smile to his lips, turns his cerebral cortex to candle wax and renders him mushy around his hard edges. “you try’na knock me out? squaring up? you wanna fuckin’ go, mate?” his hands are in her hair, pulling her lips to his to lose himself in her kiss before she can answer, fingers sinking along her spine, beneath the cowl back of her dress, before he remembers that the reason he brought her up here isn’t to get her naked. although he wouldn’t stop her, if she wanted.
“don’t be daft. i know you can take a joke.” obviously she can if she’s going out with him — it feels like jude’s the one who can’t take a joke, rattled by the smallest of aggravations. “your guy?” he repeats, equal parts teasing and turned on, his mouth against the shell of her ear as he says it again. “i’m your guy?” he spins her out before she can answer, draws her back with just as much fervour, a heat in his eye contact when his gaze meets hers, a quiet settling as the two of them sway. she tells him to look at the sky, but he can’t tear his eyes away from her long enough to, murmuring in agreement as he drinks her in, “ yeah, i know, it’s beautiful,” totally aware of how much of a cliché he’s being, the fact that if he saw this in a film he’d call it lazy writing, but with jenny there’s not much his eyes could look at that he’d find more interesting than her. alright, maybe if he saw marcus rashford in foot locker down the trafford centre or some shit, but like, not much else. “viennese waltz? thought that was a biscuit. them ones you get at your dead posh mate’s house.” he’s thinking of viennese whirls.
laughing, he cringes at the memory, serenading a girl who seemed like she wouldn’t even waste a drip of spit if he was on fire. “i did like you then,” jude admits, groaning. “jenny, i wanted you from the moment i met you. you did that sexy little jessica rabbit impression, i was fuckin’ obsessed with you,” even if the way he expressed it was by spending every waking moment telling anyone who’d listen he was absolutely not interested. “and then you got me with the mixed messages saying i should leave you alone and shit. you parred me off first.” he dips himself (all 6’1 of him) under her arm, with some effort, grips her hips to dip her round in a circle before drawing her back up to him, his own pulse so erratic that when she draws his hand against her chest he can’t tell which heartbeat’s hers and which is his. “yeah, mine too. i’m dead nervous, actually, because i, uh…” his free hand’s scratching at the curls at the back of his head, pulling on one to draw his focus back to the present. “i wanted to ask you something.” fuck. “look, i know i'm not good at speeches or saying how i feel or owt. but i really like you, jenny.” he’s scared to use a stronger word. “i know we talked about this the other day, and i’ve been fuckin’ kicking myself ever since. i said i didn’t think you were ready, but honestly i think it was more that i wasn’t ready to get my heart broken by you. but i dont really give a shit about that any more, because that’s life, innit? like when you’re seeing someone chances are you’ll either get married or you’ll break each other’s hearts, so why fight it.” .
the whole time he’s been talking, his wrist’s been fiddling with the clasp of his bracelet, trying to get it off her ring, and it finally comes loose, a little thread of jude’s anxiety untangling itself with it. “but… y’know. we’ve been doing this for a while now. and i trust you, and i love spending time with you, and i think we understand each other pretty well. i wanna keep waking up next to ya. and i’d really like to be able to call you something other than jenny — although it’s a great name. nice one, heather.” he’s a fucking mess of nerves, but when his eyes meet her its like a second wind of confidence. “so what i wanna know is, uh… fuck it.” jude pauses, hands on her hips to steady him as he gets down on his knees — both knees, mind — he doesn’t want her getting any ideas. his hands leave her hips to move to the nape of his neck, unclipping the fiddly clasp of his chain, and sliding it into her hand when he takes it, folds her knuckles over it and kisses them, the little saint christopher hidden inside her palm. “are you gonna be my girlfriend then, or what?”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
cheryl says you can trick anxiety out of your body by convincing your brain it’s just excitement. easier said than done, though. the overly cheery voice in her head grows shakier by the second the very instant he prefaces his question, swiftly shooting down any delusion that this isn’t just sheer panic. people only do that when they’re about to ask something serious. the hand against her chest becomes an anchor, warm and solid and clasped between white-knuckled fingers as her eyes flick nervously between his. she’s surprised to see he doesn’t look much better off. whatever this is has him all worked up too. “hey,” she offers softly, brows knitting together as she squeezes his hand, not as a way of stealing comfort this time, but of gifting some back, “it’s just me.” that must be enough because once he launches in, it’s impossible to get a word in. or maybe she just can’t quite formulate a sentence, her mouth caught in a small ‘o’ as she tries to absorb everything he’s saying, plus anything he might not be. because there has to be a ‘but.’ there has to be. ‘i really like you, jenny’ …….b-but? she’s holding her breath, muscles locked and braced for the worst while he rattles off confession after confession, each sounding more like something ripped straight from her own inner monologue until she can’t help but lean into the fantasy. .
there’s something poetic in their wrists coming free the moment he tears it all away and she hears that dreaded word. a shaky exhale and a brittle smile, deflating as her eyes pinch shut. this was always gonna be too good to be true. she knew that, but why here? why now, in this perfect place at this perfect moment? it doesn’t make any sense. this is the kind of setup for a proposal or something, not a— one eye squints open as his words to come back into focus, feeling confused when it’s all just more of the same clumsy ramblings that sound a lot like everything she’s wanted to hear. and he doesn’t look apologetic like he’s about to break her heart, but hopeful. emboldened even as his hands go for her hips. “wait—“ not a command for him, but a filler as she tries to get her head on straight. what the fuck is going on? hope swells in her chest, fluttering quick as a hummingbird’s as she watches him sink to the floor, struck by the sight of him on his knees in front of her. “sorry, what’s… i’m so confused. i—“ she lets out a slightly hysterical laugh, her hand lifting up to muffle it. “are you being serious?” the metal feels warm in her palm from sitting against his pulse and she carefully unfolds her hands to look at the necklace she’s become so familiar with, then down at him. “jude. are you being serious?” she demands again, her own knees crashing into the floor in front of him, hands going straight for his face, running over it like she’s checking for a fever. she presses a lightening fast peck against his lips, wild eyes not wanting to miss a second. “this is real?”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
god. jenny’s mad fucking cute, especially when the shock of it all hits her with such a force that she laughs, hopefully not at him, though the uncertainty that wells in his stomach doesn’t quite settle until she’s sinking down on her knees before him. “is it too soon?” he asks, an attempt to catch the creases of that laugh and iron them out, needing to know that it’s the situation she finds ridiculous, not him. surely the idea of the two of them trying it, despite the air miles they’d have to cover just for a weekend away, isn’t that ridiculous. if it is, why are they even bothering? “i was gonna wait, but… i don’t want to? never know when your time here’s gonna be cut short, do ya.” or when snakey santiago might strike again, though he feels pretty confident he’s put in enough groundwork that should her focus start to falter he could catch her chin, ease it slowly back to him, before her head had the chance to fully turn. “you what? obviously it’s real, you div.” her lips are on his, not long enough to give him his answer, but long enough to ease his anxiety slightly. he can feel his pulse in his fucking fingertips where their hands meet, hopes to hell his palms aren’t clammy like she’s holding soggy fish fingers. in the back of his head his brain’s already off on a tangent, palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti body working overtime when he draws her closer to keep him rooted in this moment and not miss a second lost in the clutter of his thoughts. “alright jen, you’re freaking me out now. are you gonna say yes, or shall i grab my fucking arm bands and walk the plank?”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
“it’s obviously not too soon. did i not try asking you like, a few days ago?” and spent the next few kicking herself over it. she’d let herself operate on emotion alone, forgetting that once things are out there, they can’t be taken back. not that she wanted to take it back, but she expected her big, bold, take-the-reigns moment to be received with a little more enthusiasm otherwise she would’ve kept her fat mouth shut. naturally, she’d been mortified that she’d read him so wrong, confronted for the first time with this idea that maybe they weren’t as in sync as she’d thought. now she’s exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding until jude’s fingers first started massaging the tension from her body, stress built up from the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “obviously yes,” she breathes with a shaky laugh as her arms slip around him, dragging herself in closer until she can bury herself in his neck. she kind of thinks she might cry for all his tenderness. “you’re… you’re sure about this?” the question is barely above a whisper and gets muffled against his skin where she presses a gentle kiss to his thundering pulse. one final out should he want to take it because she can’t freaking help it—sorry cheryl.
“you’re— you don’t feel pressured, do you? this is what you want too?” she peels back to look at him, eyes embarrassingly misty. “you and me? —sorry, i don’t know why i’m getting all emo. i guess, like… i didn’t really think i would find anyone in here, meanwhile you’re legit made for me, like… it’s all just kind of surreal, isn’t it?” she toys with the necklace in her hands. “like, so much had to line up for us to end up here, so many conditions had to just work out perfectly. we probably never would’ve met if it wasn’t for all this, and now i can’t even imagine spending a day without you and like, i just wanna hang out with you all the time and i know how you take your tea and i can’t wait to meet siobhan and aoife and introduce you to heather, like... isn’t it crazy?”
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ANGEL.
day forty-one: daybeds.
“so, is it gonna be mr. jude cohen?” angel muses. he’s on his stomach, feet kicking in the air, and still positively tickled by the fact that his two buddies finally tied the villa-equivalent knot. “i dunno if she’s the type of chick to take your name, although jenny dempsey is, like, fucking adorable.” despite how firmly the pair have attached themselves to the other’s hip, angel still managed to be a little surprised that jude made such a real-life gesture. maybe things are different in his head, but for angel it feels so official, so binding. “omigod, how many kids? i feel like you guys are just gonna have a bunch of girls. bunch a little jenny’s.” / @gotatext
jude’s vaping on the day beds, sunglasses pulled down over his eyes, cap on backwards and a chain around his neck, factor fifty slathered into his skin. he looks like the costume of a cringey white rapper that they put on between the shows to keep the kids entertained on CITV. but someone loves him, or at least loves him enough to be his fucking girlfriend, and he’s fucking gassed about it. “ man. that’d be mad sexy when i’m all old and shit. mr. cohen will see you now. sounds proper casting couch, that. not that i would ever. ” but his business obviously gets a bad rep for it. “ should probs make me feel like a cuck, but weirdly it doesn’t. but jenny dempsey’s mad cute. ” his cheeks are pinching up just thinking about it. “ you reckon ? nah, i think she’d take my name. maybe jen doesn’t seem like the marriage type, but deep down, i think she goes mad for that romantic shit. would love to be someone’s wife, y’know ? ” jude winces at the notion of kids, a wayward “ gi’ over, you mad ‘ead ! ” tossed in angel’s direction, but seconds later his face is unthreading, thinking of how much fun it is when aoife brings his nephew round, the idea of jenny bouncing one on her lap, jenny with one in her belly — not now, mind, but who knows what’ll be in a few years if they’re still going steady. “ jenny would look propah’ fit preggers, though. ” probably because jude thinks she’d look proper fit any way he saw her.
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JOSH & MILES & JUDE & JENNY — DAY FORTY
location : party boat / bar area
featuring : @heatwayve & @gotatext & @blondcs
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JUDE & ANGEL— DAY THIRTY-NINE.
location : kitchen
time : jude and angel talk about the hideaway. after jenny asks jude to be exclusive, he finds himself wondering if she’s too keen.
featuring : angel / @dobits
angel reid
"mmmmmorning," angel sing-songs, physically unable to remove the wide grin from his mouth as he strolls into the kitchen, bushy-tailed and bright eyed. he's still only in his undies, just made a quick stop at the pisser before seeking out judey. he affectionately scruffs the back of his neck as he walks past, trying to play it oh-so cool for as long as possible. "get good sleep?"
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
jude's in the kitchen, lovingly preparing a granola-yogurt smoothie situation for jenny and a fry up for him (plus an extra few sausages for when jenny inevitably wants one). he's still on a mission to make her a better smoothie than josh had, more out of pride now than any weird paranoia that that's still a thing, focused intently on the sizzle of his pan when angel slides in from behind (cheeky). "alright, mucker? so she took you to the hideaway, then?" jude asks, yet to turn and give angel his full attention. when he does, it's clear from the shit-eating grin on angel's face than they did more than just hash things out. "you dirty fucker." the spatula's already down, heat turned off as jude starts jumping across the kitchen to grab hold of angel's shoulders and make him jump with him. "you got some! second night in a row, bro, you're fuckin' coming for my crown!"
angel reid
there's no shot these two would react to getting laid on the outside as they do in the villa, and it's not helping angel beat the virgin allegations, but as far as he's concerned it's a rite of passage and precisely what he's expecting out of jude. "brooo," angel hypes in a fit of laughter, jumping along with him. his head hangs back in his chuckles, bit bashful. "i thought we were just gonna fight, honestly. like, we were both pretty pissed at each other, but -- dude, oh my god, there's a stripper pole in there." thumb jerks back over his shoulder, a general gesture to the hideaway. the meaning is clear - who can manage a fight in proximity to a pole? then his gaze floats over the counter, jude's morning spread littering the space and angel's mouth quirks with a knowing smile. "for wifey?" a little teasing, he pushes his shoulder into jude's chest. "you guys are really all cuffed up, huh?"
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“don’t even say that shit, man. i’m so jealous,” jude groans, returning to the hob to flip his eggs, tossing them up like it’s a pancake rather than a fry-up. “jenny’s been hankering for hideaway since the day we coupled up. i’m out here dreaming of the hideaway, bro.” they’re not exactly quiet in the bedroom, but the opportunity to be in a soundproof box stocked like a lovehoney warehouse? nice. “yeah, for wifey. although that shit’s kinda weird right now actually. you’re not gonna believe this right, but jenny kinda asked me to be exclusive.” jude turns off the heat, picks up the pan, and slides the contents of it onto his plate. “and i, like a fuckin’ dick, said no? or at least, not yet. i’m kicking myself about it now, but i feel like it’s the best choice. i don’t want her rushin’ that shit to distract me from the fact that she kissed victoria. that ain’t just a plaster you can slap on and make everything okay.” he’s pretty sure angel and callie are closed off, but it feels different with them, somehow. they haven’t had the same hurdles. “also, we’ve known each other, what, like, ten days? i like her a lot, but it feels a bit keen.”
angel reid
“i’m just glad i got in there before you two freaks,” he says affectionately. angel knows what jude and jenny get up to under the covers in a room full of people, he doesn’t wanna see the aftermath of them finally, truly alone. “not enough disinfectant in the world, my guy.” there’s a comedic pause as he watches jude arrange the plate. “— i thought i was wifey.” the pout is playful, is very aware that at the very least he’ll get jenny’s leftovers. then angel’s distracted by the absolute blindside of jenny wanting commitment. “i mean… you guys are already pretty exclusive, no?” spoken out the side of his mouth, like he’s trying not to say the quiet part out loud. “no, i mean, i feel you. you want it to be for the right reasons. i’m just like… well, i feel like jenny’s the kinda chick who would say it was distraction, but actually totally mean it low key.” plus it was just one silly little kiss on a first date, but he’s not gonna tell jude that, ever the loyal number two. instead he nods, cants his head. “yo, if you aren’t there yet, then honesty’s the best policy and you did good. but i think you should, like, consider the fact that jenny just wants you, dude.” a pause, he smacks jude’s arm with the back of his hand, a playful scowl wrinkling his features. “and ten days so isn’t too soon to wanna be exclusive with somebody, thanks.”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
jude’s already smirking, shaking his head with a low laugh in his throat. “mate, they’d have to fuckin’ blitz the place. disinfectant wouldn’t cut it, you’d need a baptism of fire on that shit. better yet, just knock the whole thing down and build a new one from scratch.” didn’t they do that with the villa each year anyway? or at least, the layout seemed to change year-on-year. this one’s definitely not the version siobhan made on the sims when she heard he was going to be going on the show, a goofy little sim of him that she said she’d use to recreate his journey. kinda fucked now he thinks about it, but makes sense given her whole medic with a god complex vibe. “man, family day can’t come soon enough. obviously, i want jenny to meet them, but i need you to meet ‘em, bro. my mum’s gonna end up as your second mum, fo sho.” at angel’s pout, jude leans in, catching his jaw in his hand and placing a deliberately curt kiss against his lips. “you are wifey. what the girls don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.” jude plucks a sausage from his plate and swallows it in two bites, giving jenny’s smoothie another zhuzh in the blender before pouring it over some ice, two raspberries and a mint leaf. “looks like a dick, that,” he notes, with all the sincerity of david attenborough, serious crease between his brows. considering angel’s words, jude’s stomach curdles a little, feeling even more like he’s fucked up by tactlessly shooting her down. “yeah. yeah. we basically are exclusive. i dunno why i don’t want the label, it’s not like it makes a difference. i’m basically her boyfriend, bro. i think when we seal it off, though, i want it to be a moment i can show my nan, you get me? the big movie moment. can’t exactly show my nan a clip that borders on porno, now can i?”
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SPREE
(2020) dir. Eugene Kotlyarenko
#ladies and gentlemen he's a videographer#the way i thought this was gonna be jude when him and jenny broke up but now they're probs gonna be married forever.#ALSO THE GRANDMA LINE ..SDGSJDLGDJGLDSJSDJG#SO TRUE. HIS GRANDMA WHO GOT KICKED BY A HORSE.#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ musings.
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me and my big stupid cock... 😞 *kicks a tin can down the street with my head hunched over*
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day : forty / evening.
location : boat party
featuring : angel / @dobits
sambuca shot in one hand and a sugary cosmo in the other ( the latter of which is naomi’s doing — but he’s slowly becoming a convert ) jude’s disco-dancing his way around the dance floor back to angel, body-popping and roboting like george sampson on mandy. anyone would think he’s on something, if getting any kind of high in wasn’t like attempting to break out of fort knox. maybe he should ask the bartenders if they have anything. all the bartenders back home are on coke. “ i think i’m gonna do it ! ” he says, with conviction, continuing a conversation they’d been having before ��jude’s song’ came on, though apparently the last six songs have been jude’s song. he doesn’t even listen to ABBA back home, but tonight, something’s gotten through to him. he seems different. “ i’m gonna ask jenny to be exclusive ! ” he’d told himself he’d give it a week. two days seems pretty shocking in terms of that resolve, but when you know, you know. “ or like... ask her back, at least. ” he still feels like he made the wrong call there, but this is a moment he can show his nan without needing a content warning. “ i dunno, man, i kinda feel like my head’s not goin’ anywhere so why waste time. plus, this place is mental. like, if i don’t take advantage someone else will. ”
#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.#jude & angel.#jude & angel 008.#there's probs a few discord ones i've forgotten to post but fuck it#flashing gif tw
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JUDE & JENNY — DAY THIRTY-EIGHT.
location : lounge area i think, idk, it’s kinda cut from a group thread.
time : after movie night. i think she was angry at him in the group thread and now they have a thing where angel leaves and they try n sort their shit out? and jenny asks him 2 be exclusive??? and bcos its them its also nsfw sorry
featuring : jenny / @blondcs
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
the hands in his hair succeed in momentarily distracting him, but soon he's latching his hands around jenny's wrists, tugging them down to her sides to focus his attention on angel's beef, which - at current - seems more pressing than his and jenny's. instinctively, his fingers thread through jenny's, pulling her hand into his, a united front when he tells angel. "you don't have to sleep alone, dude. you're always welcome in our bed." that's assuming jenny's even sleeping in their bed tonight. had that invited to the hideaway been legit? and if it was, would jenny take it? his hand reaches to clasp angel's back, but already the other's walking away. "want me to come?" jude asks, though angel's already halfway to miles. it's probably better that way, anyway. if he puts off sorting this jenny shit out it'll only fester and accumulate. "alright, trouble," jude sighs, turning his attention back to jenny, energy far calmer now that he's seen angel and callie explode right in front of their eyes. usually they're the ones doing that shit, but this villa seems to have been spun on it's head in the space of about half an hour. he sinks down into the sofa, fingers still threaded through hers, and pats the space next to him. "shall we sort this out, then?"
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
“you’re the trouble,” she groans and collapses down half on top of him with her legs draped over his lap and her cheek smushed against the back of the sofa to face him. god, he’s so pretty. she reaches out a hand to gently tug his earring, then sweeps it back through his hair, lingering at the nape of his neck. “i’ve never seen them like that,” she muses. callie and angel. they’ve always been the mellow ones, chill and level-headed to jenny and jude’s chaos, so watching them argue was vaguely unnerving (and kind of hot). it forced a calm over everyone else, partially from the surprise but also as a counterweight. they couldn’t all be fighting, so when the tables turned, jenny and jude rose to the occasion out of sheer necessity and became mom and dad. jenny’ll be sure to lord it over their heads just as soon as they’re all patched up. “it’s really all sorted. mostly. ugh, i just wanted to pretend to be mad for like, a minute and you couldn’t even let me have it.” but her face is soft, her chin tucking lower to hide a smile until it gradually fades on its own. “those were old clips then?” she asks carefully as her eyes fix on a loose thread on one of the cushions, dedicating her full attention to picking at it. the alcohol’s got her tongue looser, but it doesn’t make the conversation any less terrifying. “because i was really excited to couple with you. like, right from the start, so i just kind of… was wondering where your head’s at now,” she pauses to give him a chance to chime in but gets too nervous and plows forward anyway. “i know i can be a bit much and like, i don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me or something, ‘cause like, that’s obviously not how i feel about you, but i also got a lot more time in here to figure out what i wanted and, i don’t know, maybe you feel like you didn’t get as much of a chance to like, shop around or something so… i guess yeah, i just wanted to see what you’re thinking. or whatever.”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
it’s like the moment everybody else disappeared, the weirdness between them fizzled. there’s a silence that comes with the lack of overlapping voices, everything suddenly streamlined in a way that doesn’t feel like constant overwhelming white noise buzzing about his ears like a bee swarm — it’s just him and jen. “yeah, maybe. angel says our red flags match up like jigsaw pieces, or summat.” his hands instinctively move to her waist when she takes a seat in his lap, and despite tapping the space beside him, he always knew she’d end up here, sometimes feels like his body isn’t really a body unless he can feel her thighs against him. “they’ll be ‘reyt. just give it a day.” it isn’t like callie and angel to scrap, much less for callie to tell him he’s sleeping alone, but jude’s pretty sure in an hour or so she’ll change her mind when she gets lonely holed up in the hideaway alone. he kinda wishes she could nominate someone else, since callie’s already been like, three times or whatever, but honestly she’d probably choose naomi over him and jenny anyway.
“so old. like, day three of casa or somethin’,” jude explains, nodding vehemently, scared of losing this fragile thing in his lap. they’d gotten so close to calling it last night, had worked through the bullshit of that attention-seeking kiss, and now this shit’s in the picture it’s like a butterfly’s landed on the tip of his ear, and a wrong move would startle it away. “i don’t even recognise the guy i was then. feels like lookin at a baby photo and your mum’s like ‘remember this’ and you’re like obviously fucking not, you div, i’m like six months old.” jude takes her hand, the one that’s fiddling with the cushion, and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss against each delicate knuckle. “and the thing where charlene asked me if i was happy with you… it was after that big fight. i was feeling some typa way about it. so, yeah. that’s why i said it. also, i can’t be goin’ around telling everyone how gassed i am to be coupled up with the fittest bird in here, it’ll ruin my street cred.” even if he is a bit of a fucking simp, he doesn’t want anybody knowing that shit. “shut upppp. i don’t wanna shop around. you think i’d be so angry about that victoria shit if i wanted to shop around? you’re actually cracked.”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
"aw, that's kinda romantic," she muses only slightly ironically, ghosting her nails along his scalp in little swoops and swirls. "i just can't believe they got the hideaway one night after they finally had sex, like... production's hilarious for that, to be honest." like a little consolation prize for finally caving. "but god, i hope they get their shit sorted fast. like, i'd be so pissed if we got the hideaway in the middle of argument." they won't though, because jenny's been manifesting every single day, picturing the two of them making use of every last inch of that neon-lit bedroom in excruciating detail with her mind's eye. it's not a matter of if, but when, and fighting's only part of the vision during the roleplay portion. "we'd have to get like, really good at multi-tasking."
without all the momentum from movie night and the screaming matches to follow, she can feel her buzz fading, weighing her down the further they get from that critical window to rally and grab another drink. she nuzzles her head against the cushion, watching intently as he skitters kisses along her hands with a lazy smile. "great, so like ages ago," she teases with a roll of her eyes, as if they've even known each other for more than a week or two. that's insane to think about. how can she be so afraid of losing someone she just met? her hand squeezes his back. "ugh, you can, though. you can," she groans and starts rooting around for the hem of his shirt to plant a little pinch against his waist. "ido. i tell angel i'm obsessed with you like, three times a day. you think i'm not worried about my street cred?" whatever earnest expression she's attempting ultimately loses out to a smile as she knocks her forehead against his a bit breathlessly while her stomach drops clean out from under her. could anything feel better than the way he's looking at her right now? "ooooh, you liiiike me," she mumbles quietly, nudging her nose against his while her eyes flick back and forth between his in time to the racing of her heart. "what if we both just stopped playing it cool."
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
when she speaks, the crease that usually sits on his forehead flattens, eyebrows pitching up in surprise. “wait? angel and callie had sex?” jude asks, momentarily astounded, carrying the bit for as long as he can (and the academy award goes to…) before dissolving into a snigger. “nah, i’m kidding. i knew that.” as if angel doesn’t give him a play-by-play when callie so much as makes him a cup of coffee, lays out the scene with shot sizes and location, so that they might break it down and analyse it beat by story beat. “man, don’t trip. if we got the hideaway in the middle of an argument it would make that shit even sexier,” jude counters. “there’s no way we wouldn’t work that shit into it. like imagine being whacked with a paddle when you’re already stewing on your catholic guilt or whatever.” his voice is low, the hand on her back sliding up to tangle her hair around his fist. “if we got the hideaway and we were fighting i would fuck you so hard,” he vows, squeezing her hip as he draws her closer, rolling his hips up so she can feel the way he hardens against his jeans, a little breathy moan at the friction the shifting creates. “thinkin’ about that shit is actually fuckin’ me up, jen. i gotta stop,” he laughs, grabbing the cushion she’s leaning against and sliding it down between their bodies. “don’t start—” jude warns, before jenny can comment. “people are falling out left, right and centre, babe. we can’t be fuckin’ on the couch in front of them. it’s impolite.” since when has jude ever given a shit about what’s ‘polite’? he’s sure the group chat are roasting him within an inch of his life right now, but mostly he’s worried about his buddy angel. he should probably go talk to him, but there’s the issue of the boner parked in his garage, his teeth sinking into his lips as he tries to slow his breathing in the hope that it’ll just go away on it’s own.
“fuck off!” jude barks, half-laughed at the idea that jenny’s going around telling people how obsessed with him she is. “is that why victoria kissed you, yeah? because you told her you’re obsessed with me?” it should be a sore subject, considering how irritated it left him yesterday, to the point where he was considering sacking off the whole thing, but the fact that she’s here on his knee, even after the tape, telling him that she just wanted an excuse to be angry makes jude think the two of them will be alright. “jenny the thing you’ve failed to consider here is the fact that you don’t have any street cred.” he flicks his index finger against her nose, lets his hand trail down to her chin, smushing her face between his fingers and thumb. “you fuckin’ loser.” when he’s looking at her all gooey-eyed like the way he is now, it’s hard to think of him as anything but a loser. her forehead knocks his, and his hands move to her thighs, a feeble little groan on his mouth. “watch it. i’m fragile right now. precious cargo,” he says, hands sliding up under her skirt despite the fact that he’s told her they’re not fucking. still, doesn’t mean they can’t take advantage of the sudden alone time, everyone else up and gone to fight and fuck and drown away their sorrows with shots of tequila and gin.
“well, obviously i fuckin’ like ya.” his cheeks have a dash of colour in them, though he’d never admit it, would say it was sunburn if asked. “i literally can’t stop thinking about you.” it feels exposing to say this shit aloud, and his hand shifts up to distract her, pushing apart the fabric of her underwear and sliding his thumb up over her. “it’s such a piss take. i’m begging myself to think of anything else but you, and fucking you, and fuckin’... showing you off to my mates. they’ll all be gaggin’ to fuck you, you know that right?” especially fucking gaz. prick. he’ll have to keep a tight leash on jenny around him. “the thought of anyone getting with you kinda makes me feel a bit livid, actually. i’ve not had that with a girl in bare long. so yeah, i really fuckin' like ya. can we just... try really hard not to fuck this up?”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
"oh, fuck you," she snorts, hiking her dress up around her thighs so she can sling a leg over his lap, wrestling his wrists up against the back of the sofa. her chin lifts so she can look down her nose at him, slowly rolling her body closer, lowering herself flush against his belly, then his ribs, then his chest until she can feel his breath dancing over her lips. "i don't have any catholic guilt, baby. that must be you, but i can definitely paddle you if you want..." she purrs across his skin, stopping just shy of the shell of his ear. "you know... if you've been a really—ooh," she hisses, head dipping with his fistful of her hair, "—a really bad boy, fuck." her lashes flutter, eyes rolling back as she grips him by the chin, angling him toward her until his mouth and his electric gaze can vie for her attention. usually the choice is easy—his eyes are her favorite, warm and chocolatey and strangely familiar, a live wire to everything happening just behind them, but tonight she can't resist that fucking mouth. it's a bit chapped and tinged pink from the sun, pitched down at the corners but somehow still smirking like he's got her right where he wants her. she reaches out, smudging her thumb across across those lips until they part, tickling them with her breath before finally claiming them in a kiss. "you're so fucking hot," she mumbles against him. saying it doesn't feel like a conscious choice so much as an irresistible impulse, like seeing your pet and having no choice but to point out just how cute it is to everyone you know every chance you get. "note to self, reveal that i'm secretly a huge man city fan right before the hideaway. got it," she teases, grinding herself against the seam of his jeans and finding him already hard for her. "oh, you're so easy."
her brows kick up, a wolfish grin slithering across her lips. "aw, c'mon. you can't pull my hair and talk about how hard you'd fuck me and rub that against me and then pretend to give a shit about what's 'polite.'" she tosses a glance over her shoulder, slapping him with a face full of blonde to scan for any attention aimed their way. "look, there're only a few people out here anyway, and no one's even looking." for the most part. her gaze whips back to his, trouble written all over it. "they're gonna be upset whether we're happy or not. and what's the airplane thing? gotta put your mask on before you can help anyone with theirs?" okay, maybe a bit of a stretch for relevance, but still. can she claim blue balls?
she ducks into the crook of his shoulder, caught between a laugh and a groan. "victoria kissed me because i'm the 'fittest bird in here.'" a peck to the skin there, then a vicious little bite, nuzzling in enough that when she pops back up strands of loose hair flutter over her face. "sorry, sorry, i know... if you wanted to—" hm... how to broach the topic of exclusivity when she has no clue if that's something he even wants or if jealousy's as essential to keeping their relationship interesting as the sex. "i-d-k," she spells out like a sigh. "you're like, my guy, you know?" her hand circles around his wrist, fiddling with the beads of her bracelet. "i like attention, obviously, but... regardless of my street cred, which i definitely do have, you're the one i care about. you know what i mean? jelly bean?" she scrunches up her nose, feeling shy. "that's all just like, superficial stuff. but, yeah. i mean, if you don't want me to, like... i dunno. i don't kno-o-ow!" the word has three syllables with all her whining. her cheeks feel hot to the touch and her fingers press against them for cover, head shaking.
"i don't want to do the whole cliche 'what are we' thing, but it's like a whole 'nother game in here and i feel like i don't know the rules." 'just talk to him,' angel said. like it'd be fucking easy as pie... "not that we have to like, make any decisions or label anything right now. or at all even. i just..." her lips purse to one side, her eyes carefully finding his. "i fuckin' like ya too," his hands find her thighs and she drags them up higher to rest along the crease where her legs met her hips as her gaze darts around his face. she's trying to wring as much information she can out of his expression, but her focus wavers the minute his fingers trace lower and her gaze shoots down just in time to watch his hand disappear under her skirt. "so don't. don't think about anything else," she manages shakily, slinging an arm around his neck to anchor herself so she can rock her hips against his touch, maybe it's the alcohol or the words he's saying or the fact that she can feel evidence of his own arousal between her legs too, but her body's already buzzing and primed to snap, pleasure pulsating out from the place he rubs her. "i don't want to get with anyone else, jude. not your mates, not anyone else here, like... it's just you," a frantic hand reaches down to clasp over the hand between her thighs, not to stop him but to slow him down just enough to think. "i don't want it to be me that fucks it up and i'm so scared it's gonna be. it's like... got me so in my fucking head." she hasn't let up on his hand, just holds it in place and slowly grinds against it, eyes boring into his, wild and desperate before pinching shut. "fuck, this is intense."
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“well yeah, me mam was raised irish catholic so that checks.” hardly a surprise with names like aoife and siobhan in the family. he’s just fucking thankful his mum didn’t name one of them caoimhe, because it sounds like ‘queef-er’ and he’d never live it down. “she’s always bangin’ on about how her da came here in the sixties and worked night and day, seven days a week, and didn’t quit until they laid him off so that she might make summat of herself.” and then, he’d turned to the bottle. jude doesn’t remember much of his grandfather, only that he always used to get jude and harry mixed up and speak to his mam like shit on his shoe, and it would drive his fucking head up the wall, but you’re not supposed to talk shit to old people in case they have any money squirrelled away in their will and write you off because of it. (he didn’t, left them with more debts to pay off, actually). “everyone in manchester’s got some irish in them apparently, though. think it was noel that said definitely maybe was the sound of five second-generation irish catholics coming out of a council estate,” jude notes, speaking of the oldest gallagher brother as if he was a mate from down the pub and not the lead singer of a multi-platinum band. jude doesn’t have long for rambling— not when jenny’s grinding her hips down against him and whispering in his ear. judging by the way this chat (which had started as a fight) is going, she’ll have some second-generation irish catholic in her before the night is done.
he lets out a low chuckle, struck once again by how fucking fit she is whenever she dirty talks with him, his free hand sliding around to lay a smack against her ass as he clutches her closer. “yeah? you like a bad boy? well, i don’t mean to brag but i was once on house arrest for shoplifting sainsbury’s while doing my GCSE’s.” he had to have an invigilator come and sit in his kitchen so he could sit applications of mathematics with his mum there offering cups of tea and asking if he’d have to travel far. we’re under exam conditions, love. but i’ve come from cheadle hulme. trust sarah to extract a romantic narrative from that singular interaction. she hadn’t shut up about it for weeks, half-hoping that jude would’ve failed and have to do a re-sit. “you’re fuckin’ hot. you’re like insta baddie hot, shut the fuck up,” jude says, between kisses, her cigarette breath mingling with his when she blows it into his mouth, a low groan in his throat when she points out how easy he is. “yeah, i’m a fuckin’ horny guy, alright? can you blame me? we didn’t fuck last night, i’m backed up.” all because of the stupid victoria thing that isn’t even a thing anyway, just jude being fucking butt hurt over her embarrassing him in front of the boys. not that naomi and frankie haven’t done shit like that, too. “nah, bro. that would actually be too far. if you tell me you’re a man city fan it’s off, i’m not even joking. if you have to go against me, you can support liverpool, or aston villa at a push, but that’s it.” sometimes jude’s struck by how fucking stupid their football teams must sound to the americans. wolverhampton wonderers? tottenham hotspurs? those are fucking quidditch teams, not squads in the premiere league.
wincing, jude recoils when he’s hit with a face full of blonde, spitting it out of his mouth. “jesus christ, give a guy some warning.” as if hair in his mouth is the most of his concerns. he’s pretty sure most of his neggy little comments are vaguely disguised affection, obvious to even an onlooker that it’s two kids in a trench coat playing at being grown up. “the problem is i don’t have a mask,” jude groans, eyes wide as he nods obviously down at his crotch. “usually i’ve got one in the back of my phone case, but i think i left it in the kitchen.” he’d fuck her without one, obviously, it’s just the showrunners would go fucking ape-shit on them. if they’re responsible for the first fucking love island pregnancy… actually, that would be a bit iconic. she’d have to abort it though, there’s no way jude’s ready for any of that shit. only person who’s daddy he’s interested in being is jennifer’s. (im literally so sorry). his eyebrows scootch together, lips pursed as jenny takes the conversation on a tangent, and while it feels fucking great to hear that he’s her guy he can’t help but feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming, or that she’s merely placating him because it suddenly feels like she’s not the only one with other options. “so it’s superficial when you snog victoria but if i want to have a conversation with adela, or call charlene attractive, i’m a prick?” jude asks, thumb hitching against her harshly as he says it, an innate need in him to hear her little gasp, see her falter a little. there’s a far easier route he could have taken with this, and unfortunately for everyone involved he’s opted for violence. “what are you saying, jen? are you asking to be exclusive? because you’re talking, but you’re not actually saying anything. use your words.” big talk coming from the guy who’s mother tongue is affectionate bullying and weird fucking british idioms.
“if we’re gonna tie this shit off, i don’t want it to feel like it’s because you’ve exhausted all other options and decided i’m your best bet. i want it to be because you actually want it.” ironically, she gets better at saying what she wants the second his fingers are inside her, the way she might in the bedroom — faster, rougher, deeper — telling him that he’s the only one she wants to fuck, that she doesn’t want him thinking of anyone else, that for her it’s just him. it’s almost refreshing when her hand slides over his to slow his pace, because at least it proves that she’s thinking about this, about them, beyond just the immediate satisfaction of getting off. “this is intense?” jude asks, free hand gesturing between them, “or this is intense,” he adds, as his palm shifts up against her, moving against the grain of her hips. “i want to be your guy, jenny, but i don’t want to fuck myself up thinking that you’re only being loyal out of obligation, and not because you fucking want to, or have the willpower to, or whatever.” like those girls who are like i have a boyfriend while twirling their hair around their finger and batting their fuck-me eyes at you ; you know it’s not because they care about their boyfriend too much to cheat, but rather the label and the context of what people would think if they did. plus sticking a label on it makes everything feel more serious. half the fun of their relationship is arguing about what they are. “i don’t want to rush into this just because we’ve been fighting, and it feels like a failsafe way of ending an argument. i mean, actions speak louder than words, don’t they? so why don’t we take a rain check on this conversation.” jude asks, chin tilting up as he presses his hand into her spine, thumb sliding to hook over her hip, and drive it down against his hand. “prove to me you can be loyal without the label, and then if it works, we’ll talk about adding it.”
𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧
there are references and turns of phrases that still go over jenny’s head, but she’s becoming more and more proficient in 'jude.’ his accent rarely even trips her up anymore, though she hasn’t completely lost the impulse to parrot it back sometimes. still, it’s easy to follow the story he weaves and she pictures it in her head like some peaky blinders style flashback sequence. her own irish ancestry looks a little different in her mind’s eye—more kelly green and alcoholism than famine and cobblestone. definitely more fun to envision an old time-y jude in sepia, though it feels like a lot of explanation for one measly little spanking kink she was already willing to try. “you know, you should have a podcast or something—i could listen to you talk forever. or you can just come on my channel and i can ask you questions and stuff about like, your life and your opinions and all your favorite things about me.” she flutters her lashes at him with a teasing roll of her hips. joke's on her though—there's only a scrap of lace between her and the seam of his pants, which is to say not very much at all. and she feels it. “what do you think we would have to do to get on house arrest together so we could just stay home and do this all day?” her thighs tighten around him as she leans in, a hand knotting in his hair to expose his neck to a string of messy nips and kisses. “we really could’ve fucked last night,” she mumbles against his skin, tongue tracing the column of his neck up to toy with his earring, clinking it between her teeth. “i’d already learned my lesson at that point, so really you were just punishing yourself,” and peels herself back just enough to look at him, fingers gently combing through the curls at the back of his neck.
hm... maybe his eyes are her favorite. she can’t tear hers away, staring openly and refusing to be the one to break first even as her chest constructs with that telltale giddiness that makes her want to burrow under his skin and hide. and just under that, a rawness as he strips back her hardened, weather-worn layers to the sensitive, tender bits beneath, foreign even to her. it’s vulnerable and little overwhelming, but there’s a glint in his eye that anchors her, one he’d see reflected back in hers too—something mischievous and playful, competitive and maybe a little nervous, but something that links them both and signals them out as a couple of new souls still just figuring it all out. her brows lift and her eyes narrow but her gaze doesn’t budge as she surrenders to the sensation of both seeing him and being seen by him, surprised by the fullness of it. heat radiates out from her chest out to the tips of her fingers and down to her toes and to all the nooks and crannies in between until just the tiniest shift against him sets her ablaze. and she does kiss him then, muffling a whimper as she winds her arms around his neck and drags him in close so the curves of her body can fill in the gaps between them.
she can feel her rational mind shutting down, replaced with the little gremlin in her brain that can justify whatever means to get her ends. in this case, it’s fucking him right here right now. so production will tell them off. again. are they really gonna fire them both? and by the time they make it out from the back, they can be finished anyway. no one’s even paying attention. her hand snakes its way between them, burrowing a path between their bodies on its descent downward when his words give her pause.“what do you mean?” she mumbles along his jaw, fingers stopping just shy of his waistband as reality comes back into focus. “no, are you kidding?” pinning him with a look before her head drops back with a groan. “jude,” she whines, half-laughing as she bounces her frustration against him. “c’mon, you suuuck.” her hand is rescinded. privilege revoked, but it doesn’t stop her from urging his hand where she wants it, tongue poking out as she focuses on getting him to the perfect—oh! the perfect spot. “i’m starting— i’m starting to think you like torturing me. you’re a right fuckin’ tease, that’s what you are.”
thoughts of anyone else are driven from her mind with his slow, rhythmic strokes, taunting enough to make her feel slightly crazed but not enough to drive her completely out of her head. and then suddenly harder until she’s stuttering on her rebuttal with a sharp hiss as her awareness centers solely on the place between. right there. "i never called you a prick," she breathes. her eyes pinch closed for a moment, bucking against his hand before turning her heavy-lidded gaze on him. "and i never said you can't talk to her." saying adela's name while he's knuckle deep feels like bad luck. like it'll summon her out of the bushes just to call her pathetic right as she crashes over the edge. she knocks her forehead against his, shaking the thought from her head and shuddering out a breath, brows furrowed in frustration. "'she feels like home.' and i'm gonna say you can't talk to her? nah. be best friends with her if you want, i don't care. and i didn't even get mad about the charlene thing, so—" ugh— "watch yourself. you're comparing apples to fuckin' oranges right now." his pace is increasing, some urgency in the way she moves with him, harder and deeper, taking the edge off the conversation. with a chunk of her brain otherwise occupied, she’s operating at half capacity. the words that spew out are unfiltered while the emotions that accompany them are dampened. it doesn’t feel like a fight so much as hashing things out now that she’s been robbed of the ability to censor or the presence of mind to even feel embarrassed. it’s almost therapeutic, like a bit of liquid courage before a major confession—he’s given her the perfect excuse for brutal honesty.
she slows his hand just enough to think, the other hand going for a fistful of hair to tug at her frustration. “i am using my words, you’re just not–ugh. you’re not listening. this is intense,” her breathing is ragged as her heavy-lidded gaze falls on him, pupils swallowing up the blue of her eyes. she gestures between them, “this.” then cups her palm over the hand between her legs, stilling it without moving it away, “and this. all of it, jude. this is all so fucking intense and like, new to me. just… tell me it’s what you want. like, i want it to be you and me. and yeah, like, we can raincheck the conversation. that’s fine. it hasn’t been that long, i completely get that. but… there is gonna be a raincheck, right?” wide eyes flip between his, a crease slicing between her brows as she tries to find the words. “if it’s just time you need, i can prove i’m all in. but if you just don’t think i’m girlfriend material or like, if this is— if it’s just a bit of fun and you don’t really see it becoming something serious, please say that now, jude. because that’d be fine. like, i won’t be mad. but please,” her hands grips his tight enough to whiten her knuckles as tears prick at her eyes. “don’t let me get deeper in this if you already know.”
𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.
“yeah? you want me to make a channel with you?” he’s already heard about the kind of channel she’s envisioning, the x-rated, grainy, arthouse only fans account, how it would be a combination of both their interests — jude could do all his filmy stuff, and they could rack in the cash for it. it’s pretty hot, honestly, and he’d agree to it outright if he knew his mum wasn’t watching. “um… i don’t know, jen. maybe like. commit tax fraud or some shit. anything more high-key than that is like bonnie and clyde lifetime in prison typa shit.” he’s spent enough time on the visitor’s side of his uncle’s table for the allocated half hour of family time to know it’s not a place he’s manifesting for his future. “sorry… can we like, change the topic? i know i brought it up, but it’s not sexy.” his sigh is half-groaned as she kisses her way up his neck, teeth pulling at his ear, a ripple of want licking up his spine. “yeah, well it was punishing you, too, so it was worth it.” doesn’t exactly feel worth it right now, though, when he’s trying his fucking hardest not to fold her over the mini firepit like a collapsible camping chair. her kiss is stirring enough to make him regret the choice not to check his pockets on the way out. part of him should have known it would end like this; it always does with the two of them. how will this work on the outside, when the two of them have adult responsibilities, and jobs, and friends to visit, and families to drive to on the weekend? they can’t spend all of their time fucking, or thinking about fucking each other. it has to be at least a seventy-thirty split, right? “no, jenny, i’m serious as the fuckin’ homeless crisis, alright. i forgot to bring one.”
he sucks, she sucks, this entire situation kinda sucks, knowing that he should be being a good mate to angel right now while his bird’s off yelling at his ex, but all he really wants to do is lose himself in jennifer. a groan rips from him when she retracts her hand from his waistband, hips instinctively bucking against the loss of the contact. “yeah, i know. we’ll just make up for it later, whatever. don’t be such a brat.” a brat is exactly what she’s being, in both senses of the word, when she tells him he loves to torture her. “maybe, yeah. if it gets you off. shall we get one of those mediaeval stretching racks fitted in the flat?” the flat, he says. not your flat, or my flat, and it’s ambiguous enough to maybe mean our flat, but that’s way too fucking serious a conversation to be having when he’s knuckles deep, has no idea whether she’d even want to live with him, and doesn’t trust her enough to close it off yet. still, it’s a pipe dream that exists alongside all the others — jenny and his mum laughing at his childhood pictures in a beaten up photo album, aoife teaching jenny how to crochet, siobhan roasting her selfies in the comments of her instagram. despite their differences, he can see the way she’d slot into his life, queen within the deck, and how the people who love him would love her as effortlessly and easily as he feels he could, when he’s ready to give her his heart. it takes a second or two to realise he’s zoned out, that the imaginary future probably isn’t the best place for him to be when she’s shifting against his hand like that, that crazed, dizzy look in her eyes.
“no, babe, but you implied it by fucking crying about it in front of everyone.” are they fighting again? right when she’s on the cusp of it? is this what she meant when she said them fighting gets her hot? “i don’t wanna talk about her right now. i don’t want you thinking about anyone else but the guy who’s fingers are inside you.” it doesn’t cross jude’s mind to consider that that’s maybe a gross thing to say, doesn’t even cross his mind that they’re still being filmed, or he’d be hoping to god they don’t screen this shit. fuck. as if she’s close already. how are they meant to hide this shit? jenny gets so loud when she’s almost there, sinking her teeth into his shoulder, the pillow, anything to muffle the sound. he’d slide his hand over her mouth in preparation if they weren’t teetering on the edge of an argument right now. he’s not even sure what they’re arguing about — exclusivity, victoria, the fact that he wants to be adela’s mate. “yeah, i know. i think it’s intense, too. we’re two very intense people.” their first few days of casa, it seemed like everyone around them could sense the vibe even before jude could, taking calculated trips to the kitchen to interrupt them, like the time angel had walked in as jenny poured his beer over himself, and reminded him to turn his focus baack to romi. this was never gonna be a calm affair, it was always bound to be messy and raw around the edges and a little desperate, but jude thought she wanted that. he’d thought that was the reason she’d gone for him in the first place, even when he shot her down. the boldness it took to take a hit like that and still decide he’d be hers.
“i thought you liked the intensity?” there’s vulnerability in his tone, though he shrugs it off, roughness rebuked when her gaze turns heavy-lidded and pricked with the start of the emotional waterworks. his slows his roll as her hand slots over his, his other hand sliding up to cup her neck. “fuck, i want it to be you and me, too. and we’ll get there, just… when the time feels right.” he should probably just say fuck it, sure, let’s be exclusive. better yet, let’s put a ring on it, but selfishly, he wants to be the one to take her by surprise, and probably not while he’s knuckles-deep. he wants it to be a moment they can watch back on the youtube highlights on his phone, like will with the stupid texts, or kem’s fucking adorable treasure hunt, the kind of shit that he can show his nan. not the one that got kicked in the head by the horse, obviously. “god, jen. don’t say that shit. you’re girlfriend material, shut the hell up, you’re like wifey material, man.” in a las vegas drive-thru chapel of love kind of way, but the two of them would eat that shit up, her in a thrifted white dress, him a suit two sizes too big, like something out of a talking heads music video. “i feel very fucking lucky to have you. for me, this shit’s already deep. i’m just aware of like… the voracity with which your head can turn. and i don’t want you promising me i’m it for you if you’re gonna end up breaking my fuckin’ heart.” kinda puts a downer on the mood to be saying that when she’s like this. “jesus. i didn’t want this talk to go like this. are you close?” or has he killed the mood by saying he doesn't think she's ready to be boyfriend-girlfriend with him. because as much as he loves seeing her like this, would plaster black and white photos over his walls of her looking at him in this state, they should probably wrap it up before they send in a producer to break it up again.
#⥂ jude dempsey. ╱ threads.#this thread is insane actually???? reading it back#jude & jenny.#jude & jenny 017.#nsfw
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