#pynkthoughts

summary: i’m ngl this is porn with plot LMAO

warnings: 18+, judes an eater, praise kink central

You were excited to see Jude.

It hadn’t even been that long since you’d seen him, but when you loved someone the way you loved Jude, every day apart felt like a week. He rarely made it out to the States during the season, and when he did, it was quick—just long enough for a dinner, maybe a night together, and then he was gone again. You loved how much he thrived in Madrid, but you hated that you couldn’t show him your side of things like he showed you his.

Fortunately for you—unfortunately for him—Real didn’t make it all the way this year. Knocked out of Champions League, no trophies to bring home. He wouldn’t say it, but you knew it crushed him. Still, it meant he had almost a month free before heading back to Europe for pre-season training. And you were going to make every day of it count.

You wore a red tight silk dress, strapless, soft against your skin and clinging to all the right places. You cooked for him, too—baked chicken, mac and cheese, greens, cornbread. Real soul food. Stuff he’d only ever seen online and begged you to make. You liked taking care of him like this, especially when it reminded him of what home could feel like, even far away from it.

But your final surprise? That was sitting on the coffee table.

A perfectly rolled blunt. Yours.

Jude had mentioned it a few times—joking about how he’d never smoked, not even in England. Between drug testing and being in the spotlight, he never took the risk. But here, in Chicago, off-season, tucked away in your apartment? It felt safe. And something about the idea of him being high for the first time around you made you curious.

You had music playing—smooth R&B in the background—and the scent of dinner filled the space when he finally knocked at your door.

You opened it before he could even knock again. “Hey, baby.”

He smiled, his boyish grin that still made your chest flutter. “My shaylaaa,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. He lifted you off the ground with ease, kissing the side of your face as your dress rode up. “You look... wow.”

You flushed a little, hiding your smile in his neck. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” He stepped in and froze the second he saw the table. “No way you made all this.”

“I told you I got you.”

He set his bag down, still taking it all in, then noticed the blunt.

He looked at you, half surprised, half impressed. “You serious?”

You nodded. “Only if you want to.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s do it.”

You watched Jude fumble with the blunt, his long fingers awkward as hell around it. He rotated it and inspected it, as if he was holding some kind of alien technology. “Jude why would you have me light this shit if you’re just gonna stare at it.” You said slightly getting irritated, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t smoking anymore cause you sure were. Jude mean mugged you as he took a deep drag, held it in like he was trying to prove something, then let out this sharp cough that caught you off guard.

“Oi, that burns,” he muttered, voice rough, eyes watering.

You smirked, handing him a glass of water. “God don’t like ugly.”

He rolled his eyes as took a slow sip, then blinked a few times, trying to focus. “I’m feelin’... a bit dizzy. Like my mouth’s on fire, but my head’s floaty?”

You laughed softly. “That’s to be expected honey, you clearly got yourself a little buzzed”

He slumped back on the couch, blinking like he was trying to process a million thoughts. “ Not really—this one hit is barely doing anything.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re a big guy, Jude. Over six foot, what, 220? One hit ain’t finna get you rapper high.”

He groaned, sliding down further, hair tousled, cheeks flushed from the cough. “Feel like I’m on a boat. Sea’s moving, but no engines yet.”

You took the blunt from him and took a few puffs, already feeling your eyes get heavier and heavier. The familiar high creeping in on you, you took another puff once again and motioned for Jude to come closer. You kissed Jude, exhaling all the smoke from your mouth into his. You could tell he was surprised but it only got him higher. You didn’t even need the weed, your presence made him dizzy enough.

You laughed harder as you pulled away, he looked incredibly dazed. “You gonna be alright?”

He looked over at you, eyes glassy but mischievous. “I don’t know, babe. I think I wanna... I don’t know how to say this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He cleared his throat, voice a little shaky, “I wanna eat you out. Like, really —’cause I feel like I need to focus on somethin’ other than this dizzy nonsense. You get me?”

You bit your lip, surprised but amused. “You’re all hot and bothered already? Thought that would’ve came later in the night…”

“Shut up,” he said, sitting up straighter, fingers twitching. “I swear, if I don’t get my hands on you, I might pass out. You look so good, I can’t think straight.”

You smiled, sliding closer. “Who knew weed turned you into an eater”

He chuckled, voice soft, “Am I not an “eater” any other time?”

You reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it gently. “I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, you’re usually not this excited to eat it”

“Love what are you talking about, i’ve literally ripped the gym shorts off of you and ate you in my kit—“

You promptly stood up, tugging him with you toward the bedroom, the haze around him making every step feel a little surreal.

Once inside, he dropped his bags, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you—your dress clinging to your curves, the candlelight casting soft shadows.

“Fuck, y/n, you look—wow,” he whispered, voice cracking just a bit.

You chuckled, walking over slowly, hand trailing down his arm. “You said that already”

“I know,” he admitted, teeth clenching for a moment. “Every time I look at you I remember how much I wanna taste you.”

You laughed softly, the way he said it was so genuine it made your heart flutter.

“Alright,” you said, “but you gotta tell me if you need a break, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly, voice low and needy. “Promise.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him down with you. His breath hitched as your hands traced the line of his jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmured.

He swallowed, eyes darkening, “I want to make you feel good. I wanna make you cum everyday i’m here.”

You smiled, heart speeding up. “Cmon.”

Your voice was soft but steady as you guided him down between your legs, the silk of your dress rising inch by inch until the back of it kissed your hips. Jude knelt on the floor, fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs like he needed to hold on to something real. His eyes moved slowly, drinking you in like he’d never seen anything so divine.

“You sure?” you asked, the teasing laced in your tone, but your heart still beat hard against your chest.

“I’m not stopping, y/n,” he said, gaze locked on yours. “Not until you’re shaking”

You blinked down at him, lips parting slightly. Something about the way he said it… that slow, quiet confidence… made your stomach twist. His hands ran up your thighs, slow and steady, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your underwear.

“Let me have it,” he whispered. “Been thinking about this all flight—he’ll even during my games Don’t make me beg.”

You laughed, just barely. “I thought this was the begging.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice low and rich, mouth moving close enough that you felt the heat of his breath through the fabric. “But I can & I will.”

Then he kissed over the cotton between your legs, like it was holy. Once. Twice. His lips moved deliberately, mouthing you slow through the softness, and your hips twitched before you even realized you were reacting. His eyes flicked up, watching the way your head tilted back slightly, mouth parting.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he cooed, “just like that.”

His fingers curled around the waistband and you lifted your hips to help him, your panties sliding down your legs and tossed aside. Then came the pause — Jude just stared for a moment. Blinking. Lips parted. A breath caught in his throat.

“My lord,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

Your legs shifted slightly, unsure what to do with all that attention, but his hands were quick to press your thighs apart again.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly. “Let me see you.” Then his tongue was on you. He started slow, so slow it nearly drove you insane. He was gentle at first, tentative — tasting, exploring. You could feel the way he adjusted, learning your reactions, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue traced slow circles, then flattened against your clit, dragging up deliberately. Your hips bucked just slightly as he chuckled against you

“There she is,” he murmured, breath hot against your slick. “Y’like that?” “Mmhm,” you breathed, hand sinking into his curls. “That’s my pretty girl,” he praised, voice thick with hunger. “Give me more. Need all of it.”

Your thighs tried to close around his head, but he kept them spread, arms locked around them as he dove in deeper, tongue flicking in tighter patterns now, confident.

He moaned into you, low and guttural — and that almost sent you over. The vibrations rocked through your core and your hands gripped his hair tighter.

“Jude—shit—right there—don’t stop—” He groaned again like he loved the way you said his name. Then he pulled back just a little, letting his fingers glide into you, one at first, then two, slow and steady as his mouth came back to your clit. Your body arched up into him, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunted, kissing you messily. “You’re squeezing my fingers like youn want me to come out.”

You whimpered — it was all too much. His voice, his mouth, the pace he’d set.

“I could eat you for hours, y’know that?” he said, licking slow up your center again. “I could’ve done it the first night I met you.”

“You didn’t even know me back then—” you choked out, laughing breathlessly.

“I knew,” he said, voice hard now, tongue teasing your clit again. “I knew I wanted you like this. Mouth full of you. Hands holding you open. You makin’ those pretty sounds.”

Your legs started to tremble and he noticed immediately, never letting up, never losing rhythm.

“Yeah… you’re close, huh?” he said, lips glistening, tongue relentless. “Come on, y/n. Don’t hold back. Let me feel it.”

“Jude—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You fell apart then, hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat so raw and loud it made the windows shake. Jude didn’t stop — not right away. He kept licking until your legs were twitching and you had to physically push his head back, breathless and dazed.

When he pulled away, his lips were swollen, chin slick with you, and the look in his eyes?

Starved.

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You okay?”

He nodded, crawling up toward you, hovering above. “Still hungry,” he admitted, smiling. He kissed your lips slow and deep.

“Still hungry? You’re insane” You said as your body still trembled faintly. You laid back on the bed, legs loose and splayed, your chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. Jude’s weight shifted beside you, but he didn’t say anything at first — just watched you like he didn’t quite believe what he’d just done. Or what you let him do.

You turned your head slowly, catching the awe in his expression.“You alright?” you asked, voice soft and hoarse, lips curling gently. He nodded, licking his lips absently, still tasting you. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’m good… better than good. You?”

You chuckled a little, brushing sweat-damp hair off your forehead. “Amazing’.”

That made him laugh, the tension cracking a bit. You sighed, letting your fingers spread across his skin, your nails tracing lazy shapes near his collarbone. “You did good, Jude. Real good.”

He smiled at that — not cocky, but quietly proud. “Didn’t hurt, right?” he asked gently. “I wasn’t too rough?” You shook your head. “You are a good eater, I tell you this every time”

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, then your neck — slow, lingering kisses that felt more like thank yous than anything else.

“Come up here,” you murmured, tugging lightly on his arm until he laid fully beside you, chests pressed together. His skin was still warm from the rush, muscles soft now, loose and pliant.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, your arm resting across his waist as his fingers drew slow circles on your back.

“You still high?” you asked quietly, your breath ghosting over his throat.

“A little,” he confessed, chuckling. “Everything feels... floaty. Warm. Like I’m wearing a blanket made out of you.”

You laughed into his skin. “That’s so corny.”

“You love it.”

You sighed into him, letting the comfort settle. “Yeah. I do.”

His hand found yours again under the sheets, fingers lacing together. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “About wanting to make you cum every day I’m here.”

You hummed softly. “We’ll see if you keep that energy tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, voice dropping just slightly again. “But right now… can I just hold you?”

“Girl you do damage to me”

📷:You’re a former athlete turned rising sports journalist, and you met Anthony Edwards while covering the 2024–25 season. By Christmas, you were inseparable. But even love couldn’t protect you from the kind of betrayal that follows men with too many cameras and too much access.

⚠️ ||makeup sex, unprotected sex, light choking, hair pulling, possessive dialogue, breeding kink, stomach pressure, praise and degradation, mentions of cheating (past), toxic relationship dynamics, strong language blah blah blah

The bass of the after-party pulsed through my chest, but my body wasn’t moving. I sat at the bar in a ed hardy crop top and cheetah print skirt that clung to my thighs, sipping something pink and sweet, smiling politely when anyone came up to speak. My camera crew had already dipped. My manager texted me three times to “network,” but I’d stopped trying to force a good time two hours ago.

I should’ve been happy. This was the biggest moment of my career so far—an invite to cover the Western Conference Finals, interviews with players, press passes, private dinners, free fits, the whole dream package. I had footage to edit, a podcast to record, brand deals to lock in… but my head was stuck on him.

Anthony Edwards had played his ass off. Forty-two points in Game 5. As usual he pissed everybody off, but played so well you couldn’t tell him shit. Carried the Wolves, and then went straight-faced into the press conference like it was just another Tuesday. I watched him answer every question with that cocky smile and pretend like nothing phased him. Not even me, seated front row, scribbling notes like him and I didn’t have a devastating breakup weeks ago.

I'd ignored the blogs. The Twitter whispers. The random girl tagging herself at his crib with a caption that said “he love it here” Everyone warned me. “All athletes are the same .” “You know he’s a whore.”

But I didn’t care about any of that.

That was the problem. I looked past the chain and the smirk and the shit-talking and saw Anthony, the one who rubbed my feet while I edited videos on deadline and kissed my shoulder before he left for road trips. I thought he was different because he said he liked me for my brain before my ass. Stupid.

“Y/N.”

My eyes snapped up, of course he was here.

He had on a black tee, low gold chain, and sweatpants that screamed “I just threw this on.” Although He did look good—too good. Too tall. Too smug.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he said, sliding next to me at the bar.

“I didn’t come for you,” I replied instantly.

He smirked. “Didn’t say you did.”

I sipped my drink and didn’t look at him.

“You could at least say congrats.”

“Congrats,” I muttered sarcastically, glancing at his lips, then away. “You played great. Amazing, actually. MVP-worthy.”

He leaned on his elbows, his voice low. “That pride shit is gon be the death of you, but let me not talk to you crazy. I know how you get.”

I turned to him. “You still mad I said you weren’t media trained on my podcast?”

He laughed. “You still mad I said being an influencer ain’t a real job?”

I tilted my head. “It’s funny. I actually work for a living. You just bounce a ball and cheat.”

That made his jaw tick.

“You still believe that bullshit?”

“She posted you in her bed, Anthony.”

He scoffed. “After you ghosted me for a week and went to that Spotify summit with your lil media friends.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you couldn’t keep your dick to yourself?”

He leaned in closer, breath warm against my cheek. “You act like you ain’t miss it.”

I scrunched my nose up at him, looking him up and down. His self prostitution always disgusted me. Anthony probably thought his dick had more value than his actual ability to play basketball. I put a few bills on the counter and walked out, needing to get away from the tension in the club.

Outside the club, the cool air hit me like a slap. I was already calling my Uber when he followed me out.

“I’m not letting this be the last time we talk,” he said.

I didn’t even turn around. “You already did that when you let someone else fuck you.”

He sighed. “I know I messed up, you keep punishing me instead of moving forward”

“I’m moving forward, by moving on Anthony“

He stepped in front of me. “Y/N—”

“What?”

“I miss you. And I ain’t gon’ lie like I don’t still think about you every damn day.”

“You think I give a fuck about you missing me?”

“I’m saying I want to fix this.”

I laughed. “With your dick? With your money? With your petty insults? With what Ant?”

I felt my eyes get heavy. I was tearing up outside of one of the biggest events in my career field, how embarrassing? “You could’ve just left me alone, I really don’t understand—”

He ran a hand over his face. “I ain’t come here to fight.”

“I don’t care what you came here to do, I don’t want you here in general”

That one hit.

He went quiet for a moment, staring at me like I’d slipped through his fingers.

“I ain’t never love nobody like I loved you,” he finally said.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “And I ain’t never hate nobody like I hate you.”

My Uber pulled up, and I turned to leave.

“Y/N,” he called after me.

I paused. Only a little.

“Let me come up. Just to talk.”

I exhaled, throat tight. “You get five minutes.”

I unlocked the door to my room and tossed my stuff to the side. I didn’t even take off my shoes before I turned around.

“You cheated. I trusted you.”

He stepped forward. “You ain’t never really trusted me.”

“You made me feel like I could have! You made me feel safe—then you let the internet treat me like a clown.”

“I defended you—”

“Where? In private? Quietly? While you let people say I was just some IG bitch who got lucky?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I was tryna protect you.”

“Don’t flip it,” I snapped. “You let the media drag my name, let people call me a clout chaser while you were out here smiling in post-game interviews.”

He crossed his arms. “Y/N Please. Let’s not act like Ian make yo name jump. You were just doing youtube relationship recaps showing all 32 until we—”

“Wow.” My chest hollowed. “That’s sick.”

He shrugged. “Tell me I’m lying.”

“I have a whole master’s degree, Anthony. A real one. Not honorary. Not gifted. I did the work—publications, bylines, panel talks—before you ever followed me. Don’t ever try me like I’m some groupie bitch you elevated.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Say it again,” I challenged. “Say you made me. I dare you.”

He stepped closer, jaw tight. “I ain’t mean it like that.”

“No—you did. And you know what? That’s what hurts the most. Not the cheating, not the girls in your phone. It’s that deep down, you really believe I need you to be something.”

He didn’t say anything. His breathing was heavy. So was mine.

“You really think after all this I don’t care?”

“I think you care about yourself, and you wanna keep me around—“

“I still read every damn article you publish. I know when you’re faking a smile on camera. I saw that whole Pour Minds interview—you looked sad as hell even while smiling with your favorite people.”

I looked up at him, stunned, silent.

“You think you slick, Y/N? I love you—even when you try so hard to make the fucking media think I don’t .”

My chest heaved. “I hate you.”

He leaned down, his lips a breath from mine. “Then why are you still letting me stand here?”

I kissed him first.

Harsh. Angrily. Like I hated his guts but couldn’t keep my hands off of him.

He caught my face in his hands and kissed me back like he missed the taste of my mouth. Like he'd been starving. His hands roamed my waist, my thighs, gripping and releasing like he didn’t know where to hold on.

He spun me around, pressing me against the door, tongue licking into my mouth like he needed to silence everything we hadn’t said.

“You look so fucking good,” he whispered, teeth grazing my neck. “You wylin for what, knowing damn well you coming home .”

“You’re still not forgiven,” I breathed.

“I know.” His hands slid under my skirt, gripping my ass fingers grazing the growing wetness in my underwear. “But that pussy forgave me”

I moaned as he lifted me, carrying me to the bed, laying me down like I was still a doll he was scared to break. He stripped me slow, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, whispering variations of , “You still mine” “I Love you.” “You so pretty”

“Open ,” he demanded. I hesitated just to spite him, but he didn’t flinch. “Don’t make me ask again.”

I giggled lightly and spread my legs.

The first lick was soft. Gentle. A tease.

But by the third? He was eating me like he’d gone starving since the last time. Hands gripping my thighs, tongue deep and sloppy and deliberate. What Anthony lacked in overall decorum, he made up for in the bedroom.

“Mmmm,” I gasped.

“You still don’t want me?,” he said, rising to kiss me, my taste lingering on his lips. “You still hate me?”

I nodded furiously, only to be grabbed by Anthony suddenly. He had that same smirk on his face, such a prideful man. He loved when he had a point to prove.

He flipped me over, ass up, face down, the way he knew made me melt and rage at the same time.

“You mad, huh?” he muttered as he slid in, slow and thick, my breath hitching with every inch. “Mad as fuck I still feel this good.”

“Ooo you get on my nerves.” I teased

“And you love it.” His hand gripped my throat from behind, bending my back toward him like a bow. “This pussy made for me. She don’t want nobody else.”

He pushed deep and stayed there, grinding into me slow. “Tell me it’s not mine.”

I couldn’t—I wouldn’t

“Go ahead tell me Y/N.”

“You ain’t shit,” I whispered.

“But It’s mine, ain’t it?” he whispered back, voice raw.

His hand slid down my stomach, pressing firm. “You feel that?” he muttered. “That’s me. Deep in this shit. Where I belong.”

He leaned down to my ear, breath warm.

“Finna get sixty acres with you. Our own land. Compound. Goats and shit. You barefoot in our garden pregnant with my fifth.”

“Stop! I told you bout that shit!—,” I hissed, knowing his intentions.

“Hush.” His fingers forcing their way into my mouth, I sucked them on instinct.

Lord we knew each other so well.

He started snapping his hips harder, meaner, but still with that sick, rhythmic control. Every thrust a punctuation mark. I met him just as hard, matching it out of spite, out of need, out of a love i’d never say out loud.

He came in me with a growl, chest pressed to my back, still whispering filth and fantasies.

Afterward, he collapsed beside me, both of us catching our breath, the room silent except for the faint hum of the city.

I turned my back to him. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He pulled me close anyway, hand sliding up my thigh. “Yeah, yeah you still ain’t told me to leave.”

“Shut up.”

“Still mad?”

“I will always be mad.”

He kissed the side of my neck. “And I’mma always love you.”

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t move either.

I knew Anthony loved me, he always showed it but I knew I couldn’t trust him. But lord knows I could try.

I reached back, grabbed his hand, and pressed it to my belly.

“Sixty acres?”

|This will be released in the near future, i will not put a date on it, here’s just what im working on|

andrew nembhard x reader (fluff!)✅

jared mccain x reader x2 (smut!) (headcanons)

stephon castle x reader (fluff!) ✅

jalen williams x reader (smut!) (fluff!)

Natisha Hiedeman x reader (angst!)

Anthony Edwards x reader x3 (headcanons) (smut) (fluff)

juju watkins x reader (smut!)

aja wilson x reader (smut)

black!fem!athletereader x clingy!WAG!Rhyne Howard

You turned on the camera, watching the green light blink on as you adjusted the angle. You fidgeted for a second, wiped your palms on your jeans, then sighed and gave a nervous smile to the lens.

“Okay... here goes nothing,” you mumbled. Then, louder: “Y’all remember a couple weeks ago when I mentioned I had a girlfriend?”

You glanced to your left, where your girlfriend was sitting on the edge of the bed, chill as ever, scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t about to be introduced to over 70,000 subscribers. She looked up at you, a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I said when we hit 70k, I’d do a reveal. Didn’t think y’all would move that fast, but here we are,” you said, laughing softly. “Y’all really nosy.”

Aziaha leaned into frame, sitting beside you like she’d done it a hundred times. She wasn’t flashy—dark hoodie, neat locs, minimal makeup—but the confidence was loud in the quietest way.

She kissed your cheek gently, then gave a small wave. “What’s up.”

You smirked at her casual energy and pulled out your phone. “Alright, so to celebrate 70k and Zaza being willing to hop on camera with me, we’re gonna answer some questions y’all dropped on IG.”

You scrolled through a few before settling on one. “Okay, first one says: ‘How did y’all meet?’”

You looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow like, you tell it.

“So... we met at this pickup game back in Charlotte last summer,” you started. “My homegirl dragged me, and Zaza was already on the court, literally killing grown ass men. I didn’t even know who she was at first—I just knew she dropped 30 in a hoodie and some slides and didn’t talk shit once.”

“She was starin’,” Aziaha cut in, finally cracking a real smile.

You gave her a look. “I was not.”

“You was. I hit that stepback and you damn near dropped your phone.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Anyway. After the run, we ended up talking. Nothin’ too crazy. Just some chill back-and-forth. But she followed me on IG later that night, and that’s when I knew something was up.”

Aziaha nodded. “I had to see what you were about.”

“Six months later, here we are,” you said, looking over at her.

She met your eyes and smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. Here we are.”

You scrolled to the next question. “Alright, someone asked: ‘How many kids y’all want?’”

Without skipping a beat, Aziaha said, “Three.”

You blinked. “Where did that number come from?”

“It’s a solid lineup. Two guards and a forward.”

You stared at her. “Girl.”

She shrugged, smirking. “What? It’s strategy!!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Next question.”

After filming for over an hour, you finally shut the camera off. You stretched and tossed your phone to the side, letting out a long exhale. Aziaha slid behind you on the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist like it was instinct.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“So nap,” she said, resting her chin on your shoulder.

You leaned into her, letting the silence settle for a moment before the anxiety started creeping back in.

“I’m nervous,” you said quietly.

She didn’t move, just rubbed her thumb over your side. “About what?”

“Posting the video. Coming out was already a lot, and now putting our relationship out there too... What if people start being weird? What if your fans hate me? Or mine hate you?”

Aziaha was quiet for a second. Not avoiding—just thinking. Then she kissed the side of your neck and said, “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with us.”

You turned to face her.

“I mean it,” she said. “People gon’ talk regardless. But we good, right? You and me?”

You nodded slowly.

“Then that’s it. That’s the only part that matters.”

She kissed your forehead, and you could feel some of the pressure in your chest let go.

“I love you,” you murmured.

She gave you a look—soft, solid. “I love you too. Now come take this nap with me before I start acting needy.”