Could you write smth abt jobe missing reader while at training camp??? Thanks!
midnight calls
pairing: Jobe Bellingham x f!reader
word count: 0,7k
summary: While at trining camp Jobe can't help but miss his girlfriend. So one night, he decides to call her.
warnings: i don't think there's anything, this is pure fluff.
a/n: first writing after hitting a hundred followers, thank u soso much for all the support u really don't know how much this means to me. all the requests will be posted durning this week or the other, but please have patient because i'm a full time student with a part time job.
with all that said (again, thak u sosososo much for the support), hope this is what you expected.
( 𝑚asterlist )
Jobe wouldn’t consider himself the type of guy who was twenty four seven on their girlfriend Dm’s, he liked his space and he knew she liked hers, but now it was different. Since Jobe moved to Dortmund and didn’t have that —almost daily— touch of her, he was becoming one.
He became more clingy. Not in an annoying way, he made sure of that, but he was constantly checking his phone and debating whether he should call her or not. Jobe did call her every night and if he didn’t do it for any reason she would call him too.
But all that changed for a week, his first training camp with BvB and he had to be as focused as he could. The training was exhausting to say the least, waking up very early in the morning to push his body to the limit and in bed early to do the same the next day.
Of course, that affected the communication, she, being busy with college and work, and him, being busy with training camp, that let them a couple of minutes to chat without interruptions before one of them had to leave.
It was the fourth day when Jobe really felt her absence. Yes, her good morning text was there and the little talk they managed to have, but that feeling was deeper, right on his chest, pushing his heart low.
The day was horrible for him, Jobe had a good practice and the trainer congratulated him, but he did everything without wanting to. Feets heavy and that feeling on his chest almost making him cry. He didn’t know why he was feeling that way, it had never happened before and Jobe only wanted for it to go away.
His day was over, after very long hours he took a well deserved hot shower, all the tiredness falling to his feet with the water but the wish of having her right next to him never went away. Jobe didn’t know that feeling in his heart was because he missed her, but he was sure that all the bad feelings he ever had went away when she was with him.
Walking out of the bathroom with the white towel hanging low on his hips he checked his phone. Two messages for her, she telling him a micro story about something silly that happened to her. He laughed, just a little bit, and checked the hour, late. He thought for a couple of seconds before pressing the button on the screen. Soon enough, after two or three beeps she answered. Her face on full display with the beautiful smile she got the moment she saw Jobe’s name on her screen.
“Hi, baby” She said while looking up her phone, Jobe assumed she was still on her way home. “How was your day?” she looked at her screen while saying it, but her eyes didn’t stay long on her phone, more worried about running into someone.
Jobe didn’t answer right away, he just stared at her. The familiar soft features on her face, those rebel hairs in her face, the ones he loved to play with, her soft cheeks a little pink thanks to the movement. Jobe was mesmerised and suddenly his day became better.
The horrible feeling on his chest dissipating, “Baby, is everything alright?” she asked when he didn’t answer her.
“Yes, it was very tiring tho” his eyes were glued to the screen. Jobe saw how she got into her house and how she moved more into it.
“Yeah?” she asked a little bit distracted with leaving her stuff before turning her whole attention to him only to see him nodding. “Well, today was one less day for you to rest properly,” she said while throwing herself in her bed.
“How was your day?” he lay down still on his towel.
“Good, I finally finished the project,” she answered with the biggest smile on her face, “really missed you tho” the smile faded a little.
“Yeah, me too” they just stared at each other for a couple of seconds, enjoying the presence of the other. “I don’t know if I can do this without you” he whispered, afraid of breaking the bubble they were into.
She pouted and he groaned, wanting to kiss her. “Don’t say that because you’re gonna make me cry” she stayed in silence for more seconds. “It's only half a year, baby, maybe after I finish college I can move in with you”.
“God, please” Jobe said, full of hope.
And it was real, neither of them could live without each other, so she would be definitely moving in with him in less than a year.
JOBE is sitting on the bathroom floor of your room while you finish getting ready in front of the mirror. His gaze never leaves your profile, drawing a suppressed smile from you—though, truth be told, you can't keep it suppressed for long.
When he grows tired of being—oh, so far away from you—he stands up and lean against the vanity right where your makeup is spread out, occasionally leaning in to press quick, light kisses onto your cheek, all while being careful not to ruin your makeup.
You still can't quite wrap your head around how Dortmund's number 7—the guy who argues with referees and looks downright terrifying when he gets frustrated during a match—can be so gentle and loving with you.
Perks of being his girlfriend, you suppose.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured casually after planting another kiss on your flushed cheek—flushed either from makeup or in reaction to the way he was looking at you, as if you were the most beautiful woman in the entire galaxy.
His accent becomes more pronounced whenever his voice drops, making him look far more attractive than he already is.
"Yeah?" you said, your hand resting gently against his cheek; you felt his head nod as he planted a kiss on your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the mirror.
"Well," you added, knowing the reaction you’d get from what you were about to say, "you're not far behind."
His immediate response was to bury his face in your neck, making you feel his smile against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh.
There’s that shy version of him you loved.
You both remained in that position—his face buried in the crook of your neck while his long arms wrapped around your waist, holding you from behind as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup before finally putting on your lipstick.
“I'm going to put on my lipstick; if you're going to kiss me, do it now.”
You offered with a smile, and just as you had imagined, you didn't have to wait long for him to pull away from your neck and cradle your face, kissing you with a blend of intensity and tenderness that made you laugh at his eagerness and brought a smile to his own face.
“What I just tell you?” Jermajesty grunts, pulling your hips flush against his, hands squeezing your flesh tightly. “If you wake somebody up, and they see how I got you, that’s your ass.”
Whoever told you and Jer it was a good idea to be fucking at the sleepover when yall don’t even like each other was lying to ya’ll face.
“I’m not—shit—m’not trying to, damn..” you whimper with annoyance.
You hated Jermajesty full heartedly. Why? Because he always has something to say when no one asks for his input. Or, he ruins his homeboys relationships or chances by giving them the worst fucking advice they’ve ever heard. He was a total dumbass.
Now, Jer hated you for two reasons and two reasons only. One, every time he tries to get at any girl your friends with, you’re quick to cockblock, giving them a full rundown on his history about the girls he’s fumbled. And two, he wholeheartedly thinks you’re the sexiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes upon, and often makes himself mad again just thinking about how the two of you will never happen because you don’t fuck with him as a person.
Now that dick though? Mmh, that was another story. Because being sexy as fuck and an asshole can be true all at once.
And he just so happens to be both.
Hence why you’re positioned here on the side of your mutual friends bed, gripping the edge of the mattress while getting your shit beat in.
“Mmf- fuck mama,” he groans, finger tips digging into your skin as he thrust into you. “wish I could smack this ass right now..” he mumbles, licking his lips.
You whimper softly, tears pricking your eyes as his force pushes your arch impossibly deeper, constantly hitting your cervix.
It’s almost too much to bear, but with the way he’s hitting your shit? Oh, you couldn’t care less.
“D-don’t…fucking call me that.” You huff as a moan slips past your lips, your bottom lip instantly folding between your teeth, as your eyes close tightly.
He scoffs, his chest pressing heavily against your back as a smirk of disbelief forms on his face. “Call you what? Mama? You got a problem with me calling you mama, but you don’t got a problem with me beating this pussy up while our friends are asleep?”
He snickers quietly into your ear. “Okay, mami.”
You moan, this close to letting out a cry as you bite the edge of the mattress, the nickname making you clench around him. “I can’t fucking stand you,” you mutter against the cushion.
“Mhm,” Jermajesty hums, ignoring you as he watches the way your ass ripples against his lower half, entranced. “Can’t stand my guts...” he trails off.
“But I’m all in yours, huh pretty?” He taunts, tilting his head as if you can see him.
You want to look back to scold him, to tell him to shut the fuck up. But you know if you do that, you’ll most likely cum on the spot just looking at him. And he doesn’t need to experience the pleasure in that.
He rolls his hips once again, the pace intoxicatingly addictive as the air gets knocked out your lungs.
And that’s the crazy thing about it—he isn’t going too fast or too slow, he’s fucking you just right. Putting enough momentum into his thrusts to ruin the both of you.
“Fuck jer,” you gasp breathlessly, hand suddenly scrambling to grab at his forearm, grounding yourself.
“Oh fuck, yes..yes, right there maj,” your voice getting whinier as you whimper pathetically into the bedding. “M-mmmmh!”
He grins, internally patting himself on the back for being able to push you over the edge like this. Why, you ask? Well, just a few months ago, you two were talking and you told him his dick game was probably weak as hell.
Next time you’ll just shut up on the topic of Jermajesty’s meat.
“Jer, m’gonna cum—“ you whine suddenly, turning dickdrunk.
He groans, big hand flying against your mouth to muffle your cries. “Then cum mami,” he encourages, pressing kisses to your neck. “gimme that shit..” he grumbles into your ear, sending two more mean thrust into your throbbing pussy before your cumming around him with a choked out gasp.
“Ngh- fuck..” Jermajesty hisses, grabbing your ass as you coat him in white.
He bites his lips as your hole continues to suck him in, making him follow right behind you with a groan, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his thrust become sloppy.
You two stay there for a second, trying to silently catch your breath before he pulls out.
You go limp, falling back against the pillow you were originally lying on against the ground as you come to your senses.
Wow, you really just let Jermajesty Jackson fuck you at a sleepover.
Want more? Check out my masterlist!
🪽- It’s almost 8 in the morning… I started writing this at midnight…🧍🏽♀️
kissmyglxck — don’t copy my work, ask to translate, & if you recreate anything pls tag me <3
Destiny tour Michael who is missing his girlfriend singer!reader. She goes to a show to surprise him. After it ends she’s backstage and he sees her excitedly pulling her to his dressing room. They talk and eventually start making out. One of his brothers comes in and Michael makes a gesture telling him to leave.
🍫summary: You decide to surprise your boyfriend and he shows just how much he misses you!
The bass of “Wanna be startin’ somethin’” shook the stadium. The beat vibrated against your feet, as you clapped your hands and sung along with Michael from backstage. After weeks of sweet talking on the phone, and him whining about how much he misses you, you finally booked a flight.
No one knows you were at their concert other than Marlon who begged you to fly down because Michael was getting on his last nerve bringing you up. You stood to the side, hair tucked in a baseball cap, black shades on, along with a grey hoodie. If anybody in the crowd even caught a glimpse of you, this would be all over the tabloids.
Being two upcoming singers that get a lot of traction came with its perks and cons. A con being once you get noticed, you have to attempt to make it out alive and survive the media.
Times where you expected a nice private outing with Michael sometimes ended with you being chased by paparazzi. Michael was constantly stressed about it while you were mainly worried about how the photos turned out.
As the show came to a close, you maneuvered your way through the staff. A smile was etched into your face, heart beating from finally getting to see him after so long. Their crew was scattered, speaking through headsets, and clearing a way for the boys.
Some of the staff greeted you as you walked towards the dressing room area. You waved back with a kind smile as you finally made it to his door. A large gold star on the front read “Michael” in black print.
You pushed the handle down, and luckily it was already unlocked—you need to bring that up later, that’s so dangerous. As you walked in, the AC hit you, covering your arms with goosebumps. The space was clean for the most part other than the vanity that was covered in makeup and hair products scattered around
You took a seat on the plush dark red couch, taking off the hoodie, baseball cap, and black shades. Laughter from outside of the door hit your ears along with the sound of multiple footsteps.
He’s here!
His familiar chuckle came loud through the door as the handle pushed down. You held your breath, jittering in excitement. He walked in, sweat rolling down his face and his curls were wet and slinky against his skin. Once his eyes landed on you, he stopped in his tracks, mouth dropping open.
You gave him a smile, standing from the couch. As if he finally snapped out of his trance, “MAMA!” He ran towards you, arms wrapping around your figure while he lifted you. “Hi Mikey.” You giggled as he spun you around.
“What are you doing here?” He set you down, “I missed you so much.” His arms were glued to you, refusing to be removed from your body.
“I missed you too, duh! That’s why I’m here.” You told him. “What about your performances?” He asked eyebrows furrowed. Even in the midst of his excitement, he’ll find a way to check in on you.
“All of that is handled Mikey, I promise.” You reassured. His lips met yours in a passionate, loving kiss. Soft and gentle. You melted into his arms finally feeling him after what felt like years.
He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, wet tongue gliding across your lips. God, you missed this. His hands brought you closer trying to mesh you both into one.
You felt your calves hit the couch and he slowly laid you down, not taking his lips off of yours. Too caught up in his hand roaming your waist, and his tongue sweeping against yours, you didn’t notice the door crack open. But Michael did.
Not removing his lips from yours, still keeping an intimate, nasty rhythm, he opened his eyes. Jermaine stood in the doorway with his eyes wide and a smirk forming on his face.
Any other time he may have pulled away but finally seeing his girl after all these years—it’s only been weeks—and the erection stirring in his pants, he didn’t have time for all that.
As one hand continued rubbing up your body, he used the hand closest to Jermaine to shoo him away. A small waving motion for him to get out.
Jermaine shot two thumbs up, proud of his brother who he secretly thought was going to be a shy, nervous man all his life. Finally making his way out of the door, Jermaine quietly shut the door.
Hearing the small click, you pulled away from Michael, eyebrow raised. “You heard that?” You asked. Michael shook his head, “probably just the staff outside.” Before you could respond, Michael’s lips found yours again and a small gasp left your mouth.
His hands trailed under your shirt, brushing against your warm skin. He pressed his body further into you and you felt his stiff length against your thigh.
“I need you so bad.” He mumbled against your lips. His kisses trailed down your neck, trying his best to not leave hickeys.
“Have me, Mikey.” You breathed out.
•••
“O-oh my God.” You panted, doing your best to be quiet. The vanity shook with every thrust from Michael who stood behind you. “Look at my pretty mama.” He cooed, grasping and squeezing your face with one hand.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, black mascara running down your plump cheeks. “You takin’ it so good.” His dick stretched you out, making your legs quiver and you struggled to hold yourself up.
“I missed you so much, mama.” Soft, gentle kisses pressed against your back. The warm embrace of Michael’s arms wrapped around you along with the deliberate, slow strokes he delivered was absolute bliss.
“I-I missed you too.”
Products from the vanity rattled and you would’ve cared about them falling but all you could focus on was the friction of his dick inside of you. One of his hands moved towards your sensitive nipple, and gently rolled it between his thumb and index.
Your legs quivered, tippy toes against the floor as he angled his hips. “M-Michael, slow down,” your hand reached back to press against his hip. “I need you to cum, mama.”
The skin slapping filled the room, no secret to whoever was passing by. Fingers pressing firmly into your waist, he tugged you back to meet his thrust.
“Oh, fuck.” You cried, palms flat on his vanity as you slightly shifted forward from the pressure. “Mama, please stop running. I need this pussy.” He mumbled, bringing you back towards him.
One thing about dating Michael is you found out how filthy he truly was. Just as everyone else, you also believed the facade he put on was true. And to some extent it was.
He’s sensitive, caring, kind and loving but naive, innocent, and scary wasn’t on the list. He never hesitated to tell you just how badly he needs to feel you wrapped around him.
Those weeks of phone calls contained sounds of him panting and moaning, telling you what he’s going to do the next time he saw you.
And clearly his words remained true.
“Y-you have to go soon.” You whimpered, holding yourself up with all the strength you had left. “I know, mama.” He grasped your throat with one hand, bringing the back of your head to rest on his shoulder. “That’s why I gotta fill you up as much as I can.”
A small photo frame of you and Michael embracing each other shook next to you on the vanity. The sweet smiles on your faces, both wearing Minnie and Mickey ears were a complete contrast to both of you in the moment.
Drool ran down your chin, his shirt was halfway off, and his grip was so tight he’d probably leave bruises on your dark skin.
“I feel you clenching, mama.”
Wet, dripping arousal rolled down your thighs, and your pussy squeezed around him in a consistent rhythm. The tight knot in your stomach snapped as you creamed around him. Every drag of Michael's hips pulled out more of your cum.
"Mhm, good girl." He bit his bottom lip, throwing his head back. He was so deep in you, he never wanted to pull out. Hearing your pretty moans has been nothing but heaven for him, a treat after a hard working show.
“Oh my goodness.” He whispered. His breathing became labored, eyes tightly closed as his dick pulsed from his orgasm.
“I-I’m ‘bout to cum, mama. Where you want it?”
You looked at him through the mirror, hooded eyes watching the pleasure form on his face. “In me, Mikey.” You lifted your leg onto the vanity, spreading yourself open more for him.
Once he glanced down to see a clear view of him pumping in you, white cream sliding down his dick, he lost it. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” He groaned. As he sped up, products on the vanity began to fall.
Tubes of eyeliner, foundation, even the photo frame. It all fell to background noise for Michael as he focused on the warmth of your pussy. His hips stilled inside of you as he let out a low groan.
"Nnngh, mama, you feel so good."
Heavy breathing filled the room, and a light giggle left his mouth seeing both of you in the mirror, disheveled and dazed. A rapid knock was heard from the door, "Are y'all done? It's time to wrap it up." Jermaine yelled.
You groaned, placing your forehead on the vanity. "I can't believe I was that loud."
hey i made a request earlier (the comfort one) but i forgot a detail, for the scars theyre on the readers upper thigh
Love You the Same
Pairings ~ Jobe Bellingham x fem!reader
REQUEST ~ heyy, I was wondering if u could do a fluff fic with jobe bellingham where the reader is insecure of her past sh scars and jobe comforts her and kisses her scars.
Warnings/tags ~ Mentions of past self harm, insecurities, established relationship, fluff, Jobe is a sweetheart, slight angst
Word count ~ 780
A/N ~ I couldn't repost the request but you see it anyway, this is only short because I'm working on another fic so be calm be calm..
You were supposed to leave in 30 minutes. Yet you were still standing in the same spot for the past hour, practically glued in front of the mirror. Your gaze was fixed upon the scars that resided on your thighs, face twisted in disgust. Tears brimmed your eyes as you looked at them, your chest tightening with each passing second.
You had made the mistake of buying a dress, attempting to break this vicious cycle of insecurity. But the moment you stood in front of the mirror, you regretted it. They were healed at this point, faded into something that nearly blended into your skin. However, you could still see them.
And that was the issue.
They were a painful reminder of your past, of the constant pain you had to endure. Though you had come a long way from that point of your life, the scars still seemed to haunt you.
The bedroom door opened, revealing your boyfriend. Jobe knew about your self harm, but he didn't know just how insecure you were when it came to the aftermath.
"You ready?" he asked, moving to stand beside you.
His expression shifted as he saw your red brimmed eyes.
"What's the matter?" his tone was full of worry.
You couldn't even lie and say nothing was wrong, the tears were a dead give away. You shifted uncomfortably, still focused on the mirror. You tried to tug down the dress, to cover those hideous scars on your skin. But to no avail.
He followed your gaze, something in his brain clicking. His face softened, guiding you towards the bed. He sat down with a small grunt, bringing you with him.
A silence fell over the room. Not uncomfortable, because Jobe never made it uncomfortable. He was the most understanding and kindhearted person you knew. So why was telling him this so hard for you?
"Talk to me." he said, "Take your time."
You fidgeted with your fingers, looking anywhere but at him. You wanted to say exactly what you've been thinking, but your mouth wouldn't compute.
You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh; an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your shoulders.
"I'm.." you trailed off, still trying to find the words.
"You know about my past self harm, but I don't think I've ever told you about how insecure I am of the scars."
He stayed silent, listening to what you had to say. Like he always did.
"It's just, I hate seeing these on my legs." your eyes begin to water, "They're so disgusting, I can't even wear a dress."
A sob erupts from your throat, your hands coming up to cover your face. Jobe places a gentle hand on your back, sliding it to your shoulder. He brings you closer to him, sheltering you in his comforting embrace.
"I thought that I could get over it, but I don't think I can." you whisper, your voice muffled by your palms.
He rubbed your shoulder soothingly, his heart breaking with each word and sob you let out. He hated seeing you like this, and if he could take it all away he absolutely would.
"Love, healing is a process, a very long one at that." he smiled, "You may have healed from the initial impact, but you still have to heal from the aftermath, if that makes sense."
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in all my years of living, and I love everything about you." his hugged you tighter, "From your head to your toes, all of it."
You slowly uncovered your face, finding his eyes.
"Your scars are visible proof that you are healing, they aren't disgusting, or ugly." he caressed your cheek lovingly, "We can stay home if you'd like, I don't mind."
You thought about it for a second. You always enjoyed a night in with your boyfriend, you also knew he had been planning this for weeks.
"We'll go, I'll change into jeans." you planted a kiss on his cheek.
"You sure?"
You nodded, getting up to find something to wear. Something you felt more comfortable in.
He grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you got too far.
"I want you to know, I'll always love you the same."
Your cheeks heated up, your lips curling into an uncontrollable smile.
"I love you too."
You knew the insecurity wouldn't go away over night, like he said, healing is a process; it takes time. But, your shoulders felt lighter than they did before. And the ache in your chest had dulled down, fading into your heartbeat.
You smiled to yourself, a quiet understanding. It will get better.
A/N ~ So this may be shit.. like DOG shit.. But like lie to my face..
𑣲 . synopsis: rumors about you and michael jackson have been spreading after being, allegedly, seen out on the town together by paparazzi. But, michael is then seen with Lisa Marie a week later. After trying to ignore the questions for weeks, you grow tired of being asked the same thing—so you decide to come clean.
𑣲 . content: fluff(?), angst(?) girl idk, model!reader, suggestive, invasive interviewer, reader has a mouth, michael gets upset (at you and not at you), n word oops, arguing, situationship, Lisa Marie Presley cameo not proofread m.list
𑣲 . a/n: as wanted by this poll, here it is, back to blonde will be posted after this one!
Do anything for news
You couldn’t even go outside your home without being bombarded with questions about the recent sitings of you, a famous model, and The King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
About two weeks ago, you and Michael had a lovely dinner together. You’d been talking to him for a while: conversations over the phone every night, loving nicknames, hanging out with him in his studio, going on fancy outings—anything a couple would do.
But that’s just the thing, you and Michael weren’t together, he never asked you to be his girlfriend, he barely liked talking about being in a relationship. You said you understood, he’s been through a lot with relationships, but that doesn’t mean it still didn’t hurt. So, for now, he would just say you guys were just friends. But, you knew this was more than “friendly” outings and apparently, the public knew it too.
Seen just a few days ago: Rising Model and Michael Jackson—raising questions about the two’s relationship.
It had been the headline ever since you two were spotted by paparazzi and immediately blinded with those same flashing lights. Michael apologized and immediately had his car pulled around back so you two could sneak off—not wanting to deal with the ruckus out front.
You two ended off the night at your house. He walked you to your doorstep, saying a few formalities and apologizing again for the interruption. You forgave him, obviously, saying it wasn’t his fault and you had a great time before they showed up. He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist as you had yours around his back. After the moment of silence in each other’s arms, he pulled away, giving you kiss on the cheek and telling you he’ll call you as he walked back to the car.
He never called. You actually hadn’t spoken to Michael since the date you had, if you could even call it that. You thought it was whatever, he’s a busy man and he doesn’t have much time to be on the phone. That’s when you turned on the news.
Michael Jackson seen with Elvis Presleys Daughter!—Are they back together?
There he was, clear as day, his hand on Lisa Marie’s back as he guided her through the crowd of fans and cameras. Was he serious? He hasn’t called you because he’s been with that bitch?
You turned the TV off after watching a few more moments, not being able to even look at his face. You sat in silence, not knowing what to do—then the phone rang.
You hesitated answering it, what if it was Michael? you truly felt disgusted even thinking of him. The phone stopped ringing, maybe the person would get the hint and not call again, but you were wrong. The phone started ringing again, causing a heavy sigh to leave your mouth as you got up and walked over.
“Hello?”
…
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Sweetheart..”
Michael.
“Don’t call me that shit Michael, why are you calling my phone?”
You could hear him wince at the use of your language, but you honestly couldn’t care less. He had some nerve calling you after two weeks of radio silence and especially after what was just broadcasted on the news.
“Baby, just listen to me..I know you saw the news.”
“Yea nigga, I saw the fucking news! You have some nerve calling my phone after bullshit I just saw! It’s been two weeks since we’ve talked and this is what gets you to call me?”
“I was busy (name), I don’t always have time to be on the phone, you should know this.”
“yea but you have time to be with that bitch, don’t contact me again Michael.”
You slammed the phone down on the receiver, not wanting to be on call with Michael any longer than needed. You couldn’t believe him, the one time in two weeks he calls you, it’s about him being seen with his ex. You were frustrated beyond repair, deciding to just head up to your room and call it a night.
That whole fiasco was a month ago. You hadn’t talked to Michael since, even though he has non-stop been sending gifts to your front door. You gave them to your friends instead, but you kept the good ones for yourself.
Early this morning, your manager had called and said you’d been wanted on a show for an interview. She said it’d be all about you, nothing about Michael, but you knew that was a lie. You knew these interviewers truly didn’t care about your career, they just wanted to know what happened with Michael.
Honestly? You wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about him, he did you wrong and you weren’t afraid to admit it. Nothing too crazy to truly tarnish his career, even if you hated to admit it, you still cared a bit for him.
Your stylist picked out a plaid button down dress, paired with a white collar and tan heels. The outfit was beautiful, it truly complimented your brown skin.
You were currently waiting back stage for your cue, checking your hair and makeup in the mirror to make sure it looked good for the camera. You were a bit nervous, it wasn’t your first interview, but it is your first after such a crazy scandal.
You were called on after a few minutes of introductions, taking your seat across from the woman who would be interviewing you.
“Welcome (name)! I’m so excited to have you here tonight!”
“Thank you, I’m happy to be here.”
The first 20 minutes of the interview were going surprisingly well, she asked all about you, your career, your next project, etc. They were asking nothing about Michael—which you were thankful for.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been so thankful.
After you wrapped up your answer to the previous question, you could see her face change as she shuffled to the next card in the deck.
“So, the people have been wanting to know.”
“I could guess about what.”
“You and Michael! Are you guys still friends? How did you feel after seeing him with Lisa Marie?”
“Of course. First, me and Michael are not friends, I haven’t talked to him since the incident.”
You took a breather before continuing to the next question.
“Seeing Michael with…her was disappointing to say the least. I truly liked Michael.”
“right, right, and has Michael tried contacting you in any way?”
“yes, he’s sent a few things to me.”
“what kinds of things?”
You raised an eyebrow before continuing, “gifts. flowers, things like that.”
“okay, well we just have one more question and then we’ll be out of your hair!”
Finally.
“Do you ever regret what you had with Michael?”
What?
“Regret? I wouldn’t say that, I mean, I don’t even know if I had anything with him to be honest with you. But, I don’t regret my time with him, no.”
“You don’t know if you had anything with him? tell us more.”
“Well, you all saw it. He had dinner with me and then was seen with his ex. Wouldn’t you question if you had something if that happened to you?”
As the woman started to speak, the camera crew signaled that the interview was over.
“Well, that is all we have time for today! This was a great session, hope we can do this again.”
“Likewise.”
You waited for the camera crew to take the microphone off of you before heading backstage to where your manager was waiting for you. As soon as no one could see you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You knew Michael was going to see this interview, you’d just hope it didn’t spark up something again.
Ი︵𐑼
It’d been three days since the interview. Your life was calm and there were no more crazy headlines between you and Michael—having that you cleared everything up.
You were sitting on your couch watching your favorite movie, a bucket of popcorn in your hand when you heard the doorbell ring. You furrowed your eyebrows, you hadn’t been expecting company.
Pausing the movie, you slipped into your shoes and walked over to the door. As you looked through the peephole your eyes widened, what is Michael doing here?
You took a breath, in and out, before stepping back to unlock the door.
“Michael? What are you doing here?”
Even though he was in a terrible disguise, you could still see those big, brown eyes through his sunglasses.
“Can we talk?”
You sighed, “Michael there is nothing to talk about, go home.”
You started to close your door but his foot stopped you.
“Please? Just let me in. I won’t stay f’long.”
You stood there for a moment, contemplating if you should hear him out or make him leave. Deep in your mind, you did want to hear what he wanted to say.
“Fine.”
You opened the door fully, letting him step inside. He walked deeper into your home as you closed the door behind you. You watched him take off his disguise, letting you see his full face. He motioned for you to come sit with him on the couch, which you obliged.
“So,” you started, “what do you want?”
“I saw the interview.”
“..and?”
“and..I’m truly sorry. Me and Lisa had nothing going on, I promise. She just called me over for some help.”
“And you go? Michael, she’s your ex! Do you know how crazy that looks? How crazy I looked?”
“I know, I know. I should’ve never went, It looked wrong and I never meant for it to look like that. I promise you. I haven’t talked to her since the sighting, the public made it out to be something it’s not—you know how they are sweetheart.”
You wanted to believe him, truly you did, but you just couldn’t. Not that easily at least. You hated to believe the public but he still went over there, still went when she called, what if does it again?
“I don’t know Michael. You went at her call what if you do it again? I was truly hurt when I saw you with her. 2 weeks, no contact, and then you go pop out with her? I was disgusted. I thought you played me.”
You could feel your eyes stinging and your vision growing blurry. You quickly used the back of your hand to wipe your eyes, not wanting the tears to start falling.
Michael brought his hand up to your cheek, caressing your face with his thumb like he used to do when you got upset.
“I would never. not again. I want you, not her. I’ve missed you and I honestly didn’t mean to not call for 2 weeks, I was busy, believe me. Please.”
You raised your hand to place it over his, leaning more into his touch.
“I’ve missed you more Mikey.”
A smile formed on Michael faced, he missed hearing you call him that. He pulled you into his chest, caressing the back of your head with his hand. You both sat there for a while, basking in each other’s warmth. You both missed this.
You pulled away to look him in the eyes, “I really missed you.”
“I missed you more, baby.”
His hand moves towards your chin, pulling you toward him. He hesitates, giving you a chance to pull away, but you don’t. He then closes the distance between you as your lips meeting in a soft, slow kiss.
The emotions of being away for so long pour into the kiss as he gently shifts you onto his lap, hands resting at your waist. Your elbows coming to rest on his shoulders as your hands slide into his hair.
You pull away first, resting your forehead against his as you both catch your breath.
“I want you to be mine, mama, please?”
You give him a small smile, pressing another kiss to his lips.
“Of course, mikey.”
𑣲 . a/n 2: I’m so sorry if this is bad, I think i lowkey lost the plot while also keeping it, kind of?
no request for this one i just felt particularly insane about the thought of a stubbly beard on that man!
warnings; making out, grinding, some mouth to boob action. not necessarily explicit but suggestive and for mature audiences
my requests are open if you’d like to request something!
the taxi driver gives you a weird look when you give him the address—not because he recognizes it, but because you're visibly buzzing in the backseat, knee bouncing, refreshing jude's last text every ten seconds like the words might change. door's open, come straight up.
three weeks. twenty-one days of facetime calls that keep dropping because one of you is on a plane or the other is at training, blurry goodnights and worse mornings, and now his flat is eleven minutes away and then six and then two and then the elevator is taking too long and you're going to die in it, actually, you're going to perish in this mirrored box before you ever get to see him.
the door is, in fact, unlocked. you push it open with your shoulder and drop your overnight bag in the entryway because it doesn't matter, none of it matters, because he's already coming down the hallway in grey sweats and socks and a white t-shirt that's too thin and too tight and he hasn't shaved. that's the first thing you notice, the shadow along his jaw, darker than you remember, spreading down his neck a little. the second thing you notice is his smile, wide and stupid and so happy it makes your chest fold in on itself.
"oi, come here, come here—"
you don't even get your shoes off. he catches you around the waist, lifts you clean off the ground, and you yelp, arms flying around his neck, and he's laughing into your hair, squeezing you so tight your ribs creak. he smells like fabric softener and something warm underneath, skin and sleep and him, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck and just breathe for a second. his heartbeat is thudding against your collarbone, fast.
"missed you," he mumbles, mouth pressed to the top of your head. "missed you so much, you don't even know."
"i think i might know," you say, voice muffled against his skin, and he huffs a laugh and sets you down but doesn't let go, hands sliding to your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist over the thin cotton of your dress. he holds you out at arm's length and looks at you, really looks, dark eyes dragging slow from your face down to the little buttons at your collar and further, taking in the whole picture like he's memorizing it.
"you look fit," he says, and his voice has gone a bit rough.
"thanks, i got dressed for you."
"yeah? s'this for me?" his fingers find the hem of your dress where it brushes mid-thigh, tug at it gently. you swat his hand and he grins, all teeth, boyish and pleased with himself.
"maybe..."
"definitely, you mean," he corrects, and kisses you.
the first kiss is soft. just a press of lips, his mouth warm and slightly chapped, and you melt into it, hand curling in the front of his shirt. he kisses you again, slower, and then again, and the scratch of his stubble catches against your chin, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—rough and draggy and you make a small noise against his lips, not quite a complaint.
"scratchy," you murmur.
"mmhm," he agrees, completely unrepentant, and kisses you deeper.
somewhere between the hallway and the bedroom you lose your shoes and he loses his shirt and the kisses get longer, messier, his hand cupping the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin behind your ear. he walks you backwards with his body, nudging your legs with his knees, and you bump into the edge of the bed and go down with a yelp, pulling him with you. he catches himself on his elbows but he's warm and everywhere, settling between your legs like he's been designed to fit there, one knee pushed between yours.
"hi," you whisper.
"hi," he whispers back, and ducks to kiss you again, softer now, a slow drag of his lower lip against yours. your hands slide up his bare back, palms flat against the warm planes of muscle, and you can feel the way he's breathing, deep and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. his fingers trace up your ribs over the dress, feather-light, and then slip underneath the hem, find bare skin at your hip, and you shiver.
"cold hands," you accuse.
"warm now," he says against your mouth, and his palm spreads flat against your waist, big and warm and steadying, pulling you closer. he kisses the corner of your jaw, then lower, dragging his lips down the side of your neck, and the stubble scrapes and catches and you squirm, giggling, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder.
"jude—"
"what," he murmurs into the hollow of your throat, and you can feel him smiling, the bastard.
"it's like sandpaper, oh my god—"
"s'called a beard. very fashionable."
"it's called five o'clock shadow and it's attacking me!"
he laughs, low and warm, breath gusting against your collarbone, and then kisses the spot just below your ear just to hear you squeak. you can feel the rough scrape of his jaw against the tender skin there and it sends a shiver straight through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. his hand slides further up your side under the dress, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, the edge of your ribs, mapping every inch of skin he's been missing.
his other hand finds the top button of your dress, pops it open with his thumb, and then the next one, and then the next, parting the fabric slowly, pressing his mouth to each new inch of skin he uncovers like he's unwrapping something. your collarbone first, a warm open-mouthed kiss right where the bone juts out, and the scratch of his stubble drags across the thin skin and you bite your lip on a laugh because it tickles and it doesn't, both at once, both racing through you in confusing overlapping waves.
"why're you laughing?" he says, mouth against your sternum, grinning, and you just respond with another snort of laughter.
he gets to the fourth button and the dress falls open, fabric sliding to either side, and the air hits your skin for half a second before he replaces it with his mouth, kissing soft and slow down the valley between your breasts. his stubble drags a wide rough path and you suck in a breath, fingers tightening in his hair, and he hums against your skin, low, pleased, barely a sound at all, and tilts his head to kiss the curve of you through the lace of your bra, lips catching on the fabric. your back arches without your permission, chest pressing up into him, and he makes that sound again, quieter this time, and his hand on your waist tightens, thumb pressing into the soft dip above your hipbone.
"lie still," he murmurs, but he's smiling, you can feel the shape of it pressed just below your collarbone.
"you try lying still when someone's taking a cheese grater to your chest."
"cheese grater, really?" he repeats flatly, and bites gently at the swell of your breast just above the lace line, just enough pressure to make you gasp and then laugh, breathless and silly, your fingers tugging at his hair. he soothes the spot with his tongue, flat and warm, and then kisses lower, into the soft space between your breasts where the skin is thin and everything is warm and close, and you can feel his breathing go uneven against you. his hand slides up your side under the dress again, palm hot against your ribs, fingers spreading wide, and his thumb brushes the underwire of your bra and stays there, resting, like he's holding you in place.
you can feel him getting hard against your thigh. he's warm through the grey sweats and neither of you mentions it, but his hips shift once, a small unconscious roll, and you feel the drag of him against bare skin where your dress has ridden up and your breath stutters out of you. his mouth pauses on your skin for a beat—like he feels it too, the way your body goes taut underneath him—and then he keeps kissing, slower now, dragging it out, lips and stubble and the wet heat of his tongue tracing patterns you can't follow across the tops of your breasts.
your hands won't stay still. one is in his hair, fingers tangled in the short curls at the top of his head, and the other is sliding down his shoulder, feeling the muscle shift as he moves, the knob of his spine when he curves lower. you pull him up because you need his mouth again and he comes easily, settling more fully onto you, and you kiss him deep and slow and dirty, licking into his mouth, tasting him. he groans against your lips—a real one this time, low in his chest, almost like he doesn't mean to let it out—and his hips press down again, and you can feel the full hard line of him against you and you wrap a leg around the back of his thigh and pull him closer.
"fucking hell," he breathes, and drops his forehead against yours, and you can see his eyes, blown wide and dark, lashes low. his mouth is swollen and wet and his stubble is pink from kissing you and you probably look the same, maybe worse, and you start laughing because he looks wrecked and you feel wrecked and it's been three weeks and he's here and his hands are shaking a little bit where they hold you.
"what?" he says, but he's half-laughing too, that helpless breathless thing he does.
"nothing, i just really missed you."
"yeah?" his thumb traces along your jaw, tipping your face up. he kisses the underside of your chin, slow and deliberate, and the stubble burns a rough trail across your throat and you shiver full-body underneath him, leg tightening around his thigh.
"yeah," you manage.
he kisses your neck again, lower, mouth hot against your pulse point, and you tilt your head back into the pillows and stare at the ceiling and feel the scratch and press of him everywhere—jaw, lips, the broad hot palm sliding up your stomach under your dress, fingers splayed wide over your ribs like he's trying to hold as much of you as possible. his thumb traces the curve of your waist and his mouth moves back to your chest, pressing sloppy warm kisses along the edge of your bra, stubble dragging rough and electric, and you can feel yourself getting dizzy with it, heat building low and insistent between your legs every time his hips roll against yours in those slow, barely-there movements.
"keep doing that," you whisper, not even sure what you mean—everything, all of it, his mouth and his hands and the rough drag of him and the way his breathing sounds, ragged and close.
"this?" he rolls his hips again, slower, deliberate, and you feel the full hard length of him press against you through too many layers and your mouth falls open against his shoulder, no sound, just a sharp exhale.
"mmh—yeah, that."
your body’s doing that thing where it feels like it’s vibrating underneath your skin, every nerve wound tight and singing, his weight above you and his hands everywhere and his mouth dragging hot, scratchy kisses from collarbone to sternum, your dress falling open and your chest rising and falling too quick. you squirm, arch up into him, chasing the heat of his mouth, the roughness of his jaw, your voice slipping out in a little whimper when he sucks a red mark into the space where your breast curves soft under the lace.
his hands are greedy, fingers splayed wide, sliding up under your dress, palms mapping the soft, warm skin of your thighs and hips and waist like he can’t get enough, like he needs more, always more. you feel him hard and heavy through his sweats, pressing down against your thigh, and there’s nothing patient in you anymore—three weeks is too long, and you want, you want, you want.
“jude,” you breathe, your voice small and needy, shivery with how much you miss him, how much you need him right now. your hands tug at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer even though he’s already flush against you, but it’s never close enough. “please.”
he lifts his head, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his mouth pink and wet, stubble shadowing his jaw and cheeks and down his neck. he’s breathing hard, too, and his gaze flicks up and down your body, taking you in, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“what is it, love?” his voice is rough, teasing, but soft at the edges, warm with affection. “can’t get enough?”
you shake your head, a frustrated little huff escaping you, and wrap your legs tighter around his hips, your dress riding up so high there’s barely anything between you. “missed you so much, jude. need you closer. need you—” your words dissolve into a whine when he grinds against you, slow and thick, his hips rolling down, his cock dragging heavy through the thin fabric and catching right where you’re already aching for him.
he groans, forehead dropping to the pillow beside your head, his breath hot against your ear. “fuck, baby. you feel so good.” his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, pinning your arm above your head, and he presses sweet, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your wrist, his stubble scratching at your pulse point. you giggle, breathless, writhing beneath him, and he laughs too, the sound rumbling in his chest, vibrating through you.
he noses along your jaw, lips finding the corner of your mouth, and you turn, chasing his kiss, whining when he pulls back just enough to make you desperate. “jude, please—” you can’t help it, the neediness in your voice, the way your hips buck up into his, searching for friction.
he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, and then soothes it with his tongue. “s'needy for me, huh?” his words are soft, teasing, but there’s a real hunger in them, a low heat that makes your toes curl. he kisses you again, messier this time, tongue sliding against yours, and his hand slides up, unbuttoning the last few buttons of your dress so it falls completely open, baring you to him. “let me see you—god, you’re beautiful.”
his mouth trails down, kissing every inch of skin—your throat, your chest, the soft dip between your breasts, the swell of your stomach—his stubble leaving a trail of heat and tingling sensitivity everywhere it goes. you can’t stop giggling, breathless and lightheaded, the sensation ticklish and electric, and you twist under him, trying to get away and get more at the same time.
“stop—so scratchy—” you gasp, but your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, and he just grins against your skin, biting gently at the curve where your waist meets your hip.
“can’t help it,” he mumbles, “missed you too much, gotta make up for lost time.” he kisses you again, right over your heart, slow and lingering, and you whimper, your voice breaking on his name.
“jude, please, please—”
he hushes you with another kiss, his mouth soft and sweet and hungry, his hands everywhere—on your waist, your thighs, your hips, your ribs—pulling you closer, holding you tight, making you feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.
the room is full of the sound of you, your whimpers and giggles and the soft, desperate noises he makes against your skin, the creak of the mattress beneath you, the heat of his body pressed tight to yours. you’re dizzy with it, high on him, on the feeling of being wanted, of being missed, of being touched and kissed and cherished all at once.
he kisses his way back up, mouth finding yours again, and you sigh into him, all your need and want spilling out in the way your hands clutch at his back, your legs wrapped around him, your body arching up to meet his.
“i love you,” you breathe, soft and honest, the words tumbling out without thought.
he smiles against your mouth, and you feel the scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips. “love you too,” he whispers, and kisses you again, and again, and again, like he’s never going to stop.
request: silent treatment type stuff with Jude PLEASE. Like Jude did something obviously in the wrong or other way around and we try to make it up to them (failed) and then we give up and end up giving him silent treatment aswell and by doing that we end up watching a movie (by we I mean the reader) and like whatever cute actor is on the screen and we don’t even gaf about them but Jude thinks we do so he starts getting clingy and at first we don’t realize but when we do we drive Jude jealous and then from there smut😇 and teasing would go great with this I think and dom jude
warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f recieving), general smut/sexy themes
3707 words, note: i am on vacation so don't expect me to become super active again, just putting this out cuz i had some free time tonight :)
jude was on his phone. that was it, that was the whole thing—you'd come over after your shift, tired and wanting nothing except to put your head in his lap and have him play with your hair while you talked about nothing, and he'd been on the phone. the whole time. scrolling, half-listening, giving you those little "mmhm" and "yeah, mad" responses that meant he wasn't listening at all, and when you'd finally said something about it, not even angry, just tired, just "jude, i'm talking, can you put it down for a sec", he'd waved it off. literally waved his hand at you, still looking at the screen, and said "one sec, babe, i'm just—"
and you'd gone quiet. not the intentional kind, just the kind where something hot and hurt balls up in your throat and you can't make yourself speak even if you want to. you'd pulled your head out of his lap and sat with your knees up and your chin on them and stared at the telly without seeing it, and he hadn't noticed for a full eleven minutes. you counted.
when he finally looked up, he could tell something was wrong, but instead of apologizing he got defensive. said you were being dramatic. said he'd had a long day. said "you're always like this when i'm tired, you take everything personally," which was such an unfair thing to say that you'd actually laughed, a single humorless exhale through your nose, and picked up your bag and gone to the guest room without another word.
that was two days ago.
you'd tried, yesterday. you'd made tea and brought him one and sat on the arm of the sofa where he was watching match footage and held the mug out and said "can we talk about it?" and he'd paused the screen, looked at you, looked at the tea, and said "i don't think i did anything wrong, honestly."
so. that was that.
now it's day two of proper silence and you're on the sofa in one of his hoodies and a pair of panties, legs tucked under you, watching a film you picked more or less at random from his streaming queue. something with a pretty boy in it—glen powell or one of those, all charm and jawline and white teeth—and you don't even care, you genuinely don't, you're not even following the plot, you're just letting the colors and noise wash over you while your brain does its sad angry loop in the background. jude is somewhere in the flat. you haven't seen him in an hour. you haven't spoken to him since this morning when you passed him in the hallway and he opened his mouth to say something and you looked through him like he was a window and kept walking.
the film is fine. glen powell takes his shirt off on screen and you shift, adjusting the blanket over your lap, and reach for your water. that's the moment jude walks in.
he doesn't say anything. he stands in the doorway for a second, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you watch the screen. you can feel him looking but you don't turn. you take a sip of water. on the tv, glen powell is doing something charming with his mouth, smiling at his costar, and you can feel jude's energy shift from across the room, the way it goes watchful and tight.
he crosses to the kitchen. opens the fridge. closes it. comes back. stands behind the sofa, not sitting, just hovering, and you can hear him breathing. you keep your eyes fixed on the screen with more determination than the film deserves.
"good film?" he asks.
you don't answer. you're giving him the silent treatment, and it's his own fault, and you're not going to crack first, you're absolutely not.
he sits down. not on his end of the sofa—he sits right next to you, close, his thigh pressing against your tucked-up knees, and reaches for the remote in your hand. you let him take it because you're not going to fight him for a remote, that's childish, but you also don't look at him.
"what're we watching?" his voice is careful, light, like he's trying to sound casual and overcorrecting.
you stare at the screen. glen powell is shirtless again. you hadn't noticed the first time but he's really quite fit, actually—all lean muscle and easy confidence, the kind of bloke who knows exactly how good he looks and doesn't have to try. you let your eyes track the movement of his body on screen, a slow deliberate consideration, and you feel jude tense next to you.
"is this that new one?" he tries again. "the romcom?"
nothing from you. not a flicker. you reach for your water again and take a long slow sip, and on the screen glen powell laughs, head tipped back, throat long and golden, and you shift again, settling deeper into the cushions like you're getting comfortable, like you're really invested.
jude's hand lands on your knee. just rests there, big and warm through the blanket, his thumb brushing a small circle against the side of your kneecap. you move your knee away, not dramatically, just shifting position, and his hand falls into the gap between your thighs.
he tries again. his hand slides up your calf under the blanket, palm hot and wide, fingers curving around the back of your leg. you let him get about halfway up your shin before you swing your legs off the sofa and stretch them out on the other side, as far from his hands as possible, and pull the blanket up to your chin like a cocoon.
"you're not talking to me?" he says.
wow. incredible observation. you keep your eyes forward and watch glen powell do something with a car.
jude shifts closer. the sofa dips under his weight and he's right there, hip against your hip, shoulder against your shoulder, close enough that you can smell him—that clean warm smell that's just his skin and his detergent, the one that makes your brain go soft and stupid when you're not furious with him. you hold firm. you think about "you're always like this." your jaw tightens.
"babe." his voice is lower now, closer, his mouth near your ear. "come on. talk to me."
you turn your head—not to look at him, but to look at the tv more directly, angling your body toward the screen like you're really absorbed. glen powell is doing a bit now where he's fixing something under a sink and his arms are flexing and he's got grease on his cheek and it's all very cinematic and attractive and you feel literally nothing about it but jude doesn't know that. jude sees you looking. you let your lips part, just slightly, and tilt your head.
"he's fit," you say to the screen, quietly, conversationally, like you're talking to yourself. your first words to him in two days and they're about another man. you feel jude go still beside you, the kind of stillness that's not calm, the kind that's gathering.
"what?" his voice is flat.
"mm." you curl your tongue against your teeth, consider the screen. "like, really fit. look at his arms."
silence. a long, loaded, crackling silence. you can feel the heat of him beside you, the rigid line of his posture, the way his breathing has gone shallow and controlled. his hand is on his own thigh, you can see it in your periphery, fingers pressed hard into the muscle, knuckles tight.
"is that what you're into now?" he says, and his voice has changed. not angry exactly—there's something underneath the anger, something rawer. jealousy looks good on him, you think, and then feel petty for thinking it, and then don't care.
you shrug, one-shouldered. "i'm just watching a film, jude."
"you're staring at him."
"i'm looking at the screen. he's on the screen. what do you want me to do, close my eyes?"
his jaw works. you can hear it, the click of his teeth, and you keep your gaze fixed forward, heartbeat picking up in your throat because you can feel him unraveling next to you, the careful composure starting to fray. he shifts and his hand finds your thigh again, high up, just where the hoodie ends and bare skin starts, and his fingers press in—not gentle anymore, not the soft circles from before. a grip.
"jude—"
"no, go ahead." his voice is low, rough at the edges. "tell me more about how fit he is."
there's something dangerous in his tone now, something that makes heat pool low in your belly, and you feel your breath catch. you should stop. you should turn to him and say "i'm mad at you, you were a dick, apologize," but instead you tilt your head again, looking at the screen where glen powell is now wet, for some plot reason, shirt plastered to his body, and you say, "he's got nice shoulders."
the sound jude makes is barely human. it's a low thing in the back of his throat, frustrated and hot, and then his hand tightens on your thigh and he moves—in one fluid motion he's pulling you across the sofa and into his lap, dragging you sideways until you're sprawled half over him, your back against his chest, your legs across his thighs, and his arms lock around your waist like a vice. you squeak, more from surprise than protest, and try to sit up, but his arm across your stomach pins you down.
"what are you doing—"
"shh. watch your film."
his mouth is at your ear, his breath hot against the shell of it, and his hand flattens against your stomach over the hoodie, palm wide and heavy. he doesn't move it, just holds it there, warm and possessive, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back, fast and hard.
"jude, i'm still mad at you."
"i know."
"so let me go."
"no."
his chin hooks over your shoulder, stubble scraping the side of your neck, and he watches the screen with you, or pretends to. you can feel his eyes on the side of your face instead, tracking every flicker of your expression.
glen powell smiles at someone on screen and you don't react, but jude's hand on your stomach slides lower, just an inch, fingertips dipping under the waistband of your panties, and your stomach muscles clench involuntarily.
"you still watching?" he murmurs against your ear.
"yes," you lie.
"good." his thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, just above the elastic, back and forth, and it's such a small thing but your skin is on fire where he touches you. "tell me if he does anything interesting."
your mouth is dry. on screen, glen powell is doing absolutely nothing interesting but you can't look away because if you turn your head your mouth will be right there, right next to jude's, and he'll feel how fast your breathing has gone. his other arm is under your shoulders, curled around so his hand can rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking the line of your throat, and you can feel your pulse hammering against his finger.
you try to keep your eyes on the screen, try to keep your breathing even, but you’re hyper-aware of every place he touches you, the way his fingers dip and pause, testing the softness of your skin. you’re not sure if you’re winning or losing whatever game this is, but you’re not about to give in first. you cross your ankles, shift your weight, feign indifference.
he sighs, soft and close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “hey.” it’s so gentle it almost doesn’t register as speech, just a vibration down your neck. you don’t answer, chin tilted stubbornly toward the tv, jaw tight. his hand squeezes your hip, just a little, grounding. “can you look at me?”
you hold out for a heartbeat, two, then let your head turn, just enough to catch him in your periphery—his hair a little mussed, lashes low, mouth set in a line that’s more regret than irritation. he looks tired, vulnerable in a way he usually hides under jokes and bravado, and something in your chest loosens, just a little.
“i was a dick,” he says, voice low, words threading right under your ribs. “i know i was. checked out, said some shit i shouldn’t’ve. that’s on me.” his knuckles brush your stomach, a nervous little fidget. “i’m really, really sorry.” he hesitates, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite say. “i don’t ever want to make you feel like you’re just… background, yeah? and i did. that’s not fair.”
the apology lands heavy and real, no deflection, no blame. your shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out in a slow exhale you didn’t know you were holding. you want to say something sharp, something that’ll make him squirm a bit longer, but you can’t—not when he’s looking at you like that, all open and raw.
you shift in his lap, finally letting yourself lean back against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. he wraps his arms around you, pulls you in until you’re snug and safe and pinned in the best way. his nose finds your hair, breath warm at your scalp. you can feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven, matching yours.
“wasn’t nice,” you murmur, the words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “you can’t just wave me off, jude. i wait all day to see you.”
“i know,” he says, immediate, earnest. “i’m a knob. i’ll do better, swear.”
you let him hold you for a long moment, the only sound the movie and the steady rise and fall of your breathing together. his hands trace idle patterns along your thighs, moving slow, not asking for anything, just touching, reminding you both that you’re here, together, and the storm is passing.
still, a small, impish spark flares in your chest—you’re not above a little payback, not after two days of cold shoulders and turning away in bed. you stretch your legs, arch your back just enough that your ass presses more firmly into his lap, and you catch the subtle hitch in his breath. you smile, just barely, and shift again, letting your hips roll in a lazy, innocent-seeming movement.
“so,” you say, voice light, “should i keep watching, or…?”
he’s quiet, his hands tightening on your thighs, but his voice is steadier now, playful at the edges. “depends. you still staring at him?” he flicks his chin at the screen.
you hum as if considering, eyes on glen powell’s broad, too-perfect smile. “he’s alright. bit too clean-cut, maybe. not really my type.” you let that hang in the air, a baited hook.
jude laughs, low and genuine, relief threading through the sound. “nah, you like trouble,” he murmurs, hands sliding up under the hem of your hoodie, fingers splaying across your bare stomach. “you like me.”
his lips find the side of your neck, soft at first, then firmer, kissing along your jaw, a trail of heat and stubble that makes you shiver. “let me make it up to you, yeah?”
you tip your head, offering him more skin. “that depends,” you tease, “you gonna put your phone away this time?”
he grins against your throat, mouth curving with mischief. “can’t even remember where i left it.” his teeth graze your pulse point, gentle, then he soothes the spot with his tongue, his hands sliding higher, cupping your breasts. he squeezes, slow and deliberate, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebble under his touch.
you gasp, arching into him, the movie utterly forgotten. “jude—”
“shh. just want to feel you.” his voice is a rasp in your ear, all focus now, all intent. he shifts you, turning you in his lap until you’re straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, your hands braced on his shoulders. he tilts his head up, eyes dark and hungry, searching your face for any sign you want him to stop.
he kisses you then—deep, claiming, tongue slipping between your lips to taste you. his hands find your ass, squeezing, rocking you against the hard length of him under his sweats. you moan into his mouth, breathy and desperate, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.
“thought you’d never talk to me again,” he mutters between kisses, voice thick with want. “nearly lost my mind.”
you nip at his bottom lip, tugging until he groans. “maybe i should make you work for it.”
he laughs, but it’s rough, desperate. “i’ll do whatever you want, babe. just… let me show you how much i missed you.”
he stands, lifting you easily, carrying you to the bedroom with your legs around his waist, mouth never leaving yours. he lays you back on the bed, climbs over you, his body pinning you down in a way that makes your blood sing.
his hands are everywhere—pushing the hoodie up, trailing down your sides, thumbs stroking the soft skin of your hips. he kisses down your chest, slow and reverent, tongue flicking over your nipples, sucking one into his mouth until you’re panting, hips rolling up desperately to meet him.
“please,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging until he groans.
“yeah, baby?” he murmurs, voice shot through with heat. “what do you need?”
“need you,” you breathe, shameless, “need you now, jude.”
he grins, wicked and loving all at once, and slides your panties down your legs, tossing them aside. his fingers find you, slipping through wetness, circling your clit until you’re arching off the bed, your moans filling the room. he slides two fingers inside you, curling just right, and you gasp, clutching at his shoulders.
“god, you’re perfect,” he mutters, watching your face as he works you open. “so fucking perfect for me.”
you’re almost there when he pulls away, and you whine, chasing his touch. he shucks his sweats down, cock springing free, thick and flushed, and lines himself up, eyes locked on yours.
“look at me,” he whispers, and you do, holding his gaze as he pushes into you, slow at first, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds, pressing right where you’re swollen and desperate. your gummy walls stretch around him, tight and pulsing, sucking him in with a wet, obscene slick that echoes in the hush of the room.
his breath stutters and his eyes flutter shut, jaw flexing as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. you feel impossibly full, every nerve ending lit up and aching, the stretch just shy of too much, just perfect.
he holds there, deep, his hips pressed hard to yours, his hands bracketing your waist. you shift underneath him, legs falling open wider, greedy for every inch, and he groans—low, broken, like he’s barely holding himself together.
your fingers clutch at his back, nails dragging red lines down his skin, and he starts to move—slow at first, rolling his hips with languid, teasing thrusts, the thick length of him grinding deep, filling you until your toes curl and your breath comes out in shaky little whimpers. your slick drips down his shaft, pooling hot and sticky where your bodies meet, every thrust drawing a sticky, filthy sound that makes your cheeks burn.
every time he pulls back, your cunt clings to him, walls fluttering, greedy and wanting, and he watches you, eyes dark and fixed on your face, drinking in every gasp and bitten-off moan. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough, “so fucking pretty like this. all mine.”
he leans down, mouth finding yours, swallowing your cries as he picks up the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper, driving into you until the headboard thuds the wall. you arch up, chest pressing to his, nipples dragging against his skin, and he sucks a bruise into your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, stubble burning a raw, sweet trail down your throat.
“jude—oh, fuck—” you pant, legs shaking around his waist. you can feel every ridge, every vein, the thick heat of him spearing you open, the way your walls squeeze and milk him on every thrust. your cunt is a wet, sloppy mess, slick coating his cock, dripping down to soak the sheets.
he grins against your skin, breath hot by your ear. “you like that, yeah? you like me fucking you like this?” his hand slides down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, filthy circles that make your whole body jerk, pleasure spiking bright and sharp through you.
you nod, wild, desperate, unable to form words, just moaning for him, the sound raw and needy. he fucks you harder, faster, hips slamming into yours, the slap of skin on skin echoing, your cunt spasming around him with every stroke.
“gonna come for me?” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw, thumb moving faster, relentless on your clit. “want you to, baby. wanna feel you squeeze me...”
the pressure crests, white-hot and dizzying, and you shatter around him, cunt clenching in powerful, rhythmic waves, slick gushing over his cock. you cry out, voice breaking, body locking up as you ride the high, every nerve lit up with pleasure.
he keeps going, fucking you through it, groaning as your walls flutter and grip him. “fuck—gonna—shit—” his rhythm stutters, hips jerking erratic, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you up, your walls milking every drop.
he collapses over you, breath ragged, mouth finding yours in a slow, sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth and sweet, exhausted laughter. his cock twitches inside you, still hard, and you shiver, hips rocking up for more, greedy even after you’re both wrung out and trembling.
he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, smiling against your skin. “sorry again,” he murmurs, voice soft, sated, and you laugh, burying your face in his neck, arms winding tight around his back.
“don’t you dare do it again, bellingham.”
he grins, nipping your jaw, and you both lie tangled together, bodies messy and spent and perfectly, blissfully close.
Smau fic of maybe mbappe accidentally posting reader (like that one ester pic in his full captains gear) and the reactions to an accidental hard launch- thanks babe ❤️😘😘😘
OOP-;
⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗
kylian mbappé x f!reader.
dating.
note: thanks for ur req!!
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: he accidentally soft launched you and think that at this point, it's better to hard launch you.
k.mbappe ❌ story deleted
reply to the story!
k.mbappe:
bro
i fucked up
yn.ln:
what now
k.mbappe:
i posted a pic of you on my public story
yn.ln:
tell me you’re joking
k.mbappe:
wish i was
yn.ln:
kylian
delete it
k.mbappe:
it was for my private acc i swear
yn.ln:
okay
it’s been two minutes
delete it before people see
k.mbappe:
too late
yn.ln:
wdym
k.mbappe:
200k views
yn.ln:
i actually can’t stand you
delete
the
story
k.mbappe:
or?
okay hear me out
yn.ln:
no
k.mbappe:
what if i don’t
yn.ln:
???
k.mbappe:
it feels like it’s the perfect time
been thinking about hard launching us anyway
yn.ln:
absolutely not
you just clicked the wrong button
k.mbappe:
wrong button right timing
everyone’s already talking
might as well give them something to talk about
yn.ln:
kylian 🤦🏻♀️
k.mbappe:
i’m serious tho
kinda tired of pretending you’re not my girl
yn.ln:
you practiced that line didn’t you 🤣🤣
k.mbappe:
LMAOOO maybe
did it work
yn.ln:
i’m still mad
k.mbappe:
but not saying no
yn.ln:
don’t make me regret dating you
k.mbappe:
so the story stays 😌
yn.ln:
no DELETE IT
k.mbappe:
okay but i'll post you one day ❤️🩹
k.mbappe
liked by judebellingham, achrafhakimi and 8M others.
k.mbappe ☀️
see the comments:
@user1: WAITTTT HARD LAUNCH?????
@yn.ln why none of ur pics are serious LMFAO
@k.mbappe to better highlight you
@user2: THE STORY WASN’T AN ACCIDENT HA
@user3: bro said fine i’ll post the whole relationship atp 😭😭
@user4: SHE’S GORGEOUS OMG
@user5: omggg she's so cute
@user6: nah the soft launch to hard launch pipeline needs to be studied
@user7: “☀️” that’s all???
@user8: we all owe that accidental story an apology
@user9: this man has been smiling differently lately and now we know why
@user10: awww our kyky has a gf
@user11: they look so pretty together
@user12: bro didn't win the world cup and still looks happy but i know why now
@user13: her smile wait stop
@user14: i'm sure she kept herself hidden for MONTHS just for him to post accidentally a story and then this HAHAHAHAHA
@user15: “accidentally” posted a story yesterday and now six instagram photos... sure kylian 😭
You’d thought they secured the win. With a goal in the second half things were looking great. The game was intense with over 15 fouls from both teams before the second half had even started. First ten minutes there was a huge tussle. They’d all gone after Jude, knowing all his breakaways and surprising goals would bite them in the ass so they tried to make sure it wouldn’t happen, by fouling the fuck out of him.
They managed to score two more goals, making the score 2-1, and that was it. Jude covers his face immediately, standing in place taking in what had just happened. You watched him closely as he did, not only did they just get eliminated, the other team was completely shoving it in their face - as expected. Jude hugs a few of his teammates, rushing through each one before running over to you. He didn’t care about what anyone had to say, he knew where he could find the comfort he needed.
You watched him closely as he made his way to you, hopping the barrier between you two and pulling you into a tight hug. Chants coming from both sides of the field, people screaming and yelling causing so much noise in your ear but the hug itself - it was quiet. He melted into your touch, his head rested on your shoulder where tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt. You didn’t say anything, you held him tight against your chest, rubbing lightly against the back of his neck. After a long moment of silence, you whisper to him. “It’s okay.” Just something simple enough to let him know that it really was okay.
He breaks the hug, staying close but looking into your eyes, trying to read your opinion on what had just went down. “Tell them I want you to meet me in the back, please.” He says, his voice shaky as he tries to push it away. Usually, you’d meet him at the back of the stadium but he clearly needed you in sight. “I will babe,” you reply softly. “You’re good, I promise.” You assure.
You wipe his tears and watch as he makes way back to the pitch, as he does you make your way through the crowd and to the tunnel where you let all the crew know that he requested you to be there. After they spent some time on field, talking to other players they finally went inside to have a team chat and clean themselves up for interviews. You stayed in the interview room, you watched as Jude spoke to everyone as if nothing was wrong, he came up with the most perfect answers to every question. His eyes found you on and off, making sure you were still there, by his side.
When they finally released him, he made his way back to you again. The silence remained the same. You knew he wouldn’t fully let it out until it was just the two of you. The drive home felt painfully slow, his hand stayed in place on your inner thigh, rubbing aimless circles with his thumb. Walking into the hotel was quiet too, you could hear a pin drop. He sets his bag down on the floor and leans on the counter, you walk up to him, flashing him a warm smile as you do. "What's going on up there?" You ask, tapping his temple lightly. "I'm frustrated. We knew their tactics and still failed. Not to mention the whole time they were shoving me to the ground. The comments too, it was a terrible game I wish it never happened." He finally lets out, everything he was saying made complete sense, they made nasty comments, treated the whole England team horribly and unfair. You however didn't think they failed and that wasn't just because you loved Jude. They played good and the first half of the game showed it would've gone well. The Argentina team just has their way of things, refs tend to side with them but despite that they've always shined when it comes to comebacks at second half.
You brought your hand up to the nape of his neck, rubbing back and forth lightly. "You had an amazing run baby, everyone was rooting for you. They treated you completely unfair, but you can't let it get to you. You stayed true to yourself and the team the whole time. Everyone noticed and I promise that will go much further than their way of winning." You consol, keeping the eye contact. The anger slowly left his eyes, coming to a soft sense of understanding. "Let's go get cleaned up, hm?" You offer, the Alanta heat had gotten to the both of you bad. You make your way to the hotel bathroom, the both of you undressing and hopping in the shower. The warmth of the water against your bodies seemed to bring comfort to the situation. The were no expectations here, you both helped each other bathe and you gave him lots of love and affection.
Once the shower was finished you both got into clean comfy clothes and cuddled up on the couch together, under a soft blanket, legs tangled together. You massaged your hands through his curls as he rested up against you. "Thank you for being here love." He says softly, the change in his tone was obvious. He wouldn't feel better right away after a loss like this but at least you could provide comfort to him. "Of course baby, I'm not going anywhere ever." You assure, and you meant it. You never felt a love like this for someone in your life. You didn't care about how he performed, or what the media thought of him he was everything to you and more and that would never change. "I can't wait for this to be over, it's too much pressure." He finally admits. He always hated the thought of the pressure getting to him, he always tried his hardest to do the best and be the best. "I know love. I hope you're proud of yourself though, the whole world is." You reply, his performance in this world cup was truly outstanding, every goal, every pass, every tackle. He didn't give up once no matter how hard it was.
You meant what you said about the whole world being proud, his performance brought so many people from around the world together, everyone posted about how insane he was doing, people started watching football just to see him play. He had such an impact through his games and his personality. "I don't care what the coaches say or the other players say. You gave it your all and everyone can see it, every ounce of work you put in paid off and that's why you're the best." You add, a smile flashes on his face as he hears your words. "How do you always say the right things?" He asks. "I swear you're perfect."
You let out a short giggle, "I know you baby." You reply. He comes in closer as if he can't be close enough, his head rests on your chest as he focuses in on your heartbeat. The two of you spend the rest of the night chatting and sharing laughs. His chest rises and falls calmly like the weight had finally been lifted off his chest.
SYNOPSIS . — In which after your model friend, Cassie Lopez, accidentally leaks a upcoming clothing you had with vogue, leaving a bunch of people to copy, steal, and sell them without yours and the company’s consent. Now you try and find a way to rebuild all of your efforts back, you cross paths with two professional athletes, who you use to gain back the audience you once “lost” back.
𝟅ϱ𓈒. ⎯ IMA MAKE YOU LOVE ME ; CHXRRY
ᚙ ⸝⸝ 一 一 HEADLINES REACHING IN, Our new fashion designer has been seen with Jobe Bellingham and Djed Spence, holding hands with both of the men. This new designer seems to not be holding back and seems to know what she wants, who knows what else is under her sleeve.
𝟅ϱ𓈒. HOLLA AT ME. Warning ╱ Heads up. use of n word ( black / caribbean reader ), sneaky behavior, poly relationship, internalized homophobia, miscommunication, reader is blunt and stands on business, fake hoes, fake hoes, did I mention fake hoes?
warning ; cassie slow asf, very short chapter I’m sorry 💔 NOT PROOFREAD
゛ೃ CASSIE ROLLS HER EYES, turning off her phone, placing it on her lap letting out a small sigh. Louis’s immediately catches on, turning his head to look at her with a confused face
“Everything ok?” He asks, his hands resting on the wheel. Cassie sniffles, pretending to wipe the tears off her face. “Do you think im a bad person Louis?” Her tone soft and gentle, her acrylic nail tracing his black sleeved shirt, moving closer
Louis cocks an eyebrow, shifting a little bit from his seat sucking his teeth before he could give an answer. “You want the truth or the fake truth?” Cassie clenched her jaw, almost darting him a dirty look
“The truth” she said, batting her lashes at him. “Then yes you’re a bad person, I mean in some defense it could’ve been an accident but at the end of the day. You nearly risked y/n her job and that says a lot about a person.”
Cassie nearly broke character, her face filled with disgust. Crossing her arms as she shifted in her seat, letting a small hmph. Louis side-eyes her, before putting his eyes on the road. “Well I’m human, Humans make mistakes and obviously I didn’t mean to leak it out there”
Louis lets out an exaggerated sigh, pushing his glasses to his face. “That’s what they all say Cassie. But whatever floats your boat”
— JUNE 15TH
@ kikidoyouloveme . Song detail ; Nice to know ( sugarbaes ) — pinkpatheress
liked by. jobebellingham, judebellingham , England and 457,925 others
— the men’s world Cup aint ready for me #bringingithome
open to see 10,789 comments
user 10 . Jude liked??
⤷ user 14 . you must be new here 😭
⤷ user 16 . baby they’re siblings
judebellingham . how many times do you not post? liked by author
⤷ kikidoyouloveme . I post every three seconds keep them notifications on yo
⤷ user 7 . the yo 😭😭😭 liked by author
jobebellingham . was the last slide necessary?
⤷ kikidoyouloveme . of course it was you donut
⤷ judebellingham. hey get ur own insult for jobe 🤨
⤷ user 79 . they’re always fighting in each others comments 😭
user 56 . wait who is she lwk??
⤷ user 45 . shes jobe twin sister, shes been living in the U.S for some time that’s why u barely see in the the family photos
a/n . tag lists are officially closedddd until the next series I make previous others who asked will be tagged in my next series. But anyway welcome our none bird brain friend Kiara ( Kiki ) Bellingham whos not blocked by our hater Cassie. But do we like Cassie or hate her cuz she gets worse 😔
warnings: 18+, mdni, unprotected sex, sub!jude, jealous!reader, angst, swearing, y/n and jude have an argument, mentions of hospitals, jerking off, fingering
pairing: jude bellingham x doctor!fem!reader
summary: y/n’s work has been taking up a lot of her time, and it’s starting to annoy jude with how little attention he’s been getting from her. - requested
masterlist
footballgossip
liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 568,463 others caption: trouble in paradise? reports are showing it’s now the third game in a row that y/n y/l/n, jude bellingham’s girlfriend, has missed. has something happened behind the scenes? a break up, perhaps? 🌶️👀
user1: he’s finally free 😫
-> user2: lol stay delusional, he’d never give you a chance
user3: why would he stay with someone who’s never at his matches anyways??
-> user4: lowkey you have a point…….
user5: maybe if she showed up and actually supported her man…….
-> user6: she has a career to focus on too
user7: it’s no one’s business if they broke up 😭
user8: icl, y’all all our here simping for jude if they broke up, i want y/n….
-> user9: she’s kinda mother though 👀
-> user10: hot as fuck with a career too 😮💨😮💨
-> user11: i’d be at her ward for every minor inconvenience tbh
“i can do two hours overtime at best tomorrow,” y/n said, tapping her bed against her leg.
her stethoscope sat round her neck, as it usually did, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, clipboard in hand.
“can we push it to three?” doctor simmons winced, “i know you need to watch your boyfriend play, but we’re struggling out here,”
she sighed, closing her eyes.
she’d promised jude that she’d at least watch the match, even if she couldn’t be there, but an extra hour of overtime meant she’d almost certainly miss it.
“please?”
y/n’s eyes opened again at the tone in his voice. they really needed her.
“…fine,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “you owe me for this one!” she turned on her heel, marching back into her ward as another patient was wheeled in.
it wasn’t until later that evening, when she was finally free of her duties, that y/n saw the post.
she never usually gave the time of day to gossip blogs - they were always stirring up drama in places it didn’t need to me, twisting truths and spreading misinformation.
but then, she was jude’s face plastered over the post.
trouble in paradise?
“give me a break,” y/n muttered under her breath, the corny title making her scowl as she shoved her phone back into her pocket.
it was no one’s business about their relationship either way, but that wasn’t why y/n was pissed off. in truth, there was trouble in paradise.
she’d noticed the replies from jude getting shorter at shorter every match she missed, his smile getting less wider whenever she face timed him.
but again, it wasn’t the business of gossip blogs.
y/n had made it more than clear that she’d not stop her job for this relationship - being a doctor had been her dream for years. she wasn’t going to let it go in the name of being a WAG.
“hey baby,” y/n smiled, a bagel hanging from her mouth as she grabbed her coat from the breakfast bar.
“hi,”
jude had come back from the match in the early morning, joining her in her when she was already asleep.
he looked tired, lifting his coffee from the side and brining it to his lips, the steam drifting upwards and curling. y/n was too busy to notice, searching for her car keys.
“where are they?” she muttered, eyes flicking to the time on her phone.
shit.
“in your hand,” jude mumbled, taking another sip of his coffee as he watched her realise.
“crap,” she said, pocketing them along with her phone, “i’ve got to run, the ward’s going to be busy as fuck-,”
“you coming to the match next week?”
y/n paused. she hadn’t expected that question.
“i…i’ll have to check if i can find the time,” she swallowed, watching his blank expression.
of course she did. it was always about whether she was free, and never that she wanted to go see him. he felt like an afterthought.
“right,”
“baby, i promise i’ll try make it-,” she out her coat down, stepping towards him, her fingers just grazing the side of his cheek before he turned his head.
“y’said that last time,” jude muttered, raising his eyebrows, unimpressed, as he took another sip of his coffee.
“jude, i have work-,”
“you have a boyfriend too,” he turned back to her, “i’m not an afterthought, y/n!”
y/n swallowed, his voice raising slightly, his grip on his mug tightening so hard, he was sure it could crack under the pressure.
he was hurt.
she could see the hurt in his wide eyes, before he swallowed, turning his head again.
“why do i even bother,” jude laughed bitterly, turning on his heel towards the stairs.
“jude-,”
y/n paused. it was either going after jude, or getting to work late, and she couldn’t afford that.
with a sigh, she gathered her things again, turning to the door.
his words filled her head, taunting her, almost.
why do i even bother?
she didn’t understand them. why did he bother trying to explain? or, why did he bother dating her? or…
her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as she drove towards the hospital.
it wasn’t like she was putting off seeing him on purpose.
the ward had been fuller, these past few weeks. accident season, as y/n called it. they just needed her to help hold down the place.
y/n had come home late that day, her stuff in her arms, tired.
she’d planned out what she was going to say to jude; the explanation, the apology, the sweet kisses…
but he wasn’t home.
“jude?” she stepped into the kitchen, eyes darting round the space. nothing.
she tried the living room, their shared bedroom. still, nothing.
frowning, y/n took her phone from the kitchen island, opening it. and there it was, the notification glaring back at her:
jude: hey, staying with my mum for a few days before the match. couldn’t call. sorry.
y/n blinked.
of all the texts he’d ever sent her, she’d never read something so…un-jude-like.
he’d always been a fond user of emojis - the red heart being his favourite, but this message? void of any. it was like he’d typed it, half-arsed, an excuse he wanted to send her.
y/n hadn’t messaged him much since. the ward had been even busier - she ended up returning home later than usual each day.
their conversations got shorter and shorter, and jude stopped face timing her.
every time he did, he’d get the same excuse.
“hi baby, could you call later? i’m on my way to the ward,”
but whenever he did call her later, she wouldn’t pick up. as always, work took priority for her.
“hi darling,” y/n walked quietly into one of the more quieter rooms.
the tv was on in the background, on low volume, as the old lady in the bed looked up. she was a kind woman, with a sweet face that warmed with a smile when she saw y/n.
“hi dear,” she watched as y/n walked beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“how’re you feeling?”
“good,” the woman smiled, “how about you?”
y/n swallowed. jude came to mind straight away. god, she missed his perfect face.
“i’m alright too,” she said, shaking the thoughts away, “you had dinner?”
she nodded. “compliments to the chef,” her eyes twinkled, “dear, could you ask if they have more channels? all that’s been on this evening has been this football,”
y/n followed her hand, pointing to the screen.
jude.
his face flashed onto the screen, his hand covering his mouth as he leaned over, saying something to his teammate.
y/n hadn’t realised how long it had been since she’d seen his face.
he was smiling too, eyes twinkling as he walked off pitch.
they’d won, probably.
the camera followed as he walked over, his mother beaming at him in the stands.
but what caught her attention was the woman beside his mother. y/n had never seen her before. nor had jude told y/n about her.
she had a wide smile on her face as jude pushed himself onto his tip toes, pressing a kiss to her cheek. dangerously close to her lips.
y/n tensed.
“dear?”
her attention was snapped back to the old woman, who had been watching her quietly.
“is everything okay?”
“oh, yeah,” she nodded, shaking the thoughts from her mind, “i’m okay,”
“that footballer caught your eye?” the lady smiled, looking back to the screen, where jude was, now standing opposite a reporter, “he’s quite handsome,”
y/n laughed, her face heating up.
“shame, i think that young lady was his girlfriend,” the old lady shook her head.
y/n swallowed again, her hands unconsciously balling into fists.
girlfriend.
the word left a bitter taste on her tongue.
“maybe she is,” y/n forced herself to laugh, a smile on her face, “listen, i’ve got to head back to the ward to make sure dr simmons is all good, okay?”
the woman nodded.
“i’ll come back and visit you before i leave,” she gently squeezed the old lady’s hands, turning her back to her.
the tv caught her eye again.
“no girlfriend in that stands today? watching at home?” the reporter had asked, the question seemingly innocent enough.
she noticed the way his jaw ticked at the question.
“…no,” jude swallowed, forcing himself to smile.
y/n shut the door.
y/n barely remembered the drive home. the whole way, the interview played out in her head.
no.
not “she’s working”, or “she couldn’t make it”.
by the time she’d unlocked the front door, she was exhausted, angry, and far too hurt to cry.
by the third day, she’d almost convinced herself she was overreacting. almost.
the front door clicked open just after eight that evening.
“i’m home,”
jude’s voice echoed through the hallway, no answer drifting back from any of the rooms as he toed off his trainers, wandering towards the kitchen.
y/n was chopping vegetables, her knife way too big for such a small job, a lot more force going into each slice than usual.
jude leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
y/n didn’t even look up.
“baby?”
nothing.
“y/n,”
the knife stopped, and y/n looked up, her expression unreadable.
“so..?” he blinked, eyebrow raised.
“who’s the woman?”
“what?” jude’s brows drew together as he frowned, his voice filled with genuine confusion.
“the one you kissed after the match,”
“oh, her,”
“her,” y/n echoed, that one word being enough to make her scowl for a split second.
“it wasn’t-,”
“don’t,” she lifted the knife again, not threatening, just enough to make him know she wasn’t messing around, “who is she?”
“an old friend,” jude put his finger on the edge of the knife, lowering it gently.
“you never told me about her,”
“didn’t know she was going to be there,” he shrugged, dropping his kit bag onto the floor, a very clear smirk on his face, “you’re overreacting-,”
that pissed her off.
“i’m overreacting?” y/n put the knife down, her voice low, “i’m not the one who went on live television and told the world i had no one watching at home or in the stands,”
jude swallowed, the smirk wiping from his face.
he could tell she was serious, a scowl on her face, every word like a direct attack on him. it was kinda hot.
y/n’s gaze followed his hand as it dropped from his side, not-so-subtly moving over his crotch. she blinked. there was no way this man was real…
“are you serious?”
“what?” jude’s voice was tighter, choked almost as he adjust his shorts, almost defensive.
“i’m pissed as fuck at you,” y/n pointed an accusing finger over the island at him, “and you’re covering a fucking boner?”
the way she said it, like he was pathetic.
it was embarrassing to admit the thrill that jumped through him at her condescending tone.
“‘m not covering anythin’,” his voice was stuffy as he pushed down harder, palm splayed over his crotch.
“if there’s one thing i know about, it’s anatomy,” y/n folded her arms over her chest, “don’t lie to me again,”
jude nodded.
as much as it pissed y/n off, the look on his face sure was…something. his eyebrows pulled together, eyes wide, hand desperately moving to cover his growing boner.
she hadn’t even realised he’d moved closer, leaving over the island, lips half pouted.
“i’m not kissing you,”
“y/n,” he groaned, pushing himself back so he wasn’t leaning towards her anymore, “‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to do that,”
she rolled her eyes. his whining wasn’t gonna fool her.
she dropped the chopped vegetables into the bowl, moving round to his side of the island to drop the dishes into the sink.
“you accidentally kissed some random girl?”
“on the cheek!”
“a kiss is a kiss,” y/n scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, wiping the juices of the vegetables clean.
jude almost whined again, his breath hot on the back of his neck, hands coming to the side of her body.
she was in a loose t-shirt and baggy joggers, jude’s chin dropping to rest on her shoulder, pressing a hot kiss to her neck.
as angry as she wanted to be at him, y/n could feel her own body responding to him, her breath catching in her throat and neck unconsciously moving to the side to give him more access.
“go upstairs,” y/n stepped to the side, pulling away from his hot, desperate lips, “i’ll be there soon, okay?”
jude was painfully hard in his shorts now, her wanted nothing more than to take her over the island right then and there, but he knew better then to argue with her.
his hand lingered on her waist for a split second, only letting go when he had to.
of course, jude was upstairs when she got there.
the sight would’ve been absolutely hilarious if y/n wasn’t pissed at him.
jude was sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and lips slightly swollen from biting down on them, his hands in his lap, covering his painfully hard dick.
she nodded.
“good,”
his head perked up at the word, watching as y/n moved forwards, walking towards him.
her hand came to his jaw, pulling his face up, just like he did to her when he was pissed.
god, he was pretty.
y/n leaned down, her lips meeting his almost immediately.
the desperation was evident in the way jude moved, his tongue pushing past her lips, moving into every crevice possible, his arms coming to wrap round her.
he tasted like mint, eyebrows drawn together in pleasure as he deepened the kiss impossibly further.
the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his shorts was evident as she reached a hand down, palming over the bulge as he moaned into her mouth.
“ahh- fuck,” jude gasped, the kiss breaking as his head fell back.
his hands were either wide of his thighs, fisting at the duvet to stop himself from grabbing her right there, his hips bucking and twitching against her hand.
“you’re so hard, aren’t you, hm?” y/n cooed, her voice taunting as she squeezed, his thick cock jumping slightly, a loud moan leaving his mouth.
“it’s f’you, it’s all for you,” jude gasped, eyes screwed shut, “‘m so hard for you,”
“yeah? all for me?” she echoed his words, her other hand pulling the waistband of his shorts forwards so she could grab him properly.
“oh fuck- its f’you, it is, i swear,” jude choked out.
he didn’t expect her to grab him, her hand hot against his throbbing dick, veins popping along his perfect shaft.
that was one thing about jude that pissed y/n off.
he dick was big, it was addictive, and god did he know it.
“jerk off for me,”
jude’s eyes shot open as y/n let go, his hand jumping to her wrist at the loss of contact.
“y/n, please, i need you,” he tugged on her arm, dick twitching in his lap, pathetic.
“let go,” she said, his hand reluctantly releasing her arm, “good. now jerk it off. you did this to yourself,”
cruel. she was absolutely cruel.
jude stared at her, slowly taking himself into his own hand. it didn’t feel as good as hers.
“go on,”
he swallowed, watching as y/n stepped back, his hand slowly moving up and down along his dick.
it twitched in his palm, barely, a series of soft whines leaving his lips.
he tried closing his eyes, imaging it was y/n’s hands. nothing. hers were softer, nothing like his,
he tried keeping them open, looking over her pretty face, imagining it was her mouth. still nothing. she was just…better.
“y/n, please,” jude tried moving his hand faster, spreading his pre-cum from his tip down his shaft for some sort of lubricant. it barely did anything, “you’re s’much better, need you, baby,”
y/n hummed, watching him. god, what a pathetic sight.
her hands came to the waistband of her joggers, dropping them down to her ankles and kicking them off, her t-shirt and bra following too.
the cool air hit her body as she straightened, jude’s hand speeding up.
it was good, but god, he wanted the real thing.
“fuck, you’re so beautiful- ah, i need you, baby, please, i learnt my lesson,” he whined.
“did you?” y/n let her panties follow too, kicking them off her ankles into the pile with her other clothes. jude swallowed, eyes wide.
“i did,” he nodded frantically, “i won’t do it again, fuck, i just wanted to make you jealous,”
y/n hummed. she wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer yet.
her pussy glistened as she brought two fingers to her lips, spreading them open for him to see.
his gaze dropped down to her sweet core, glistening with arousal, like a flower covered in rain. y/n bit down on her lip, hoping she wasn’t giving away just how hot the sight in front of her was.
she hummed, watching as he stared at her with dark eyes, his hand moving pathetically along his dick, desperate for friction, moans leaving his pretty lips every few seconds.
an almost pitiful little whine left jude’s lips as she slid a finger into her hole, an exaggerated moan leaving her lips as her head tipped back.
y/n watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, hips jerking into his own hand.
“no, eyes on me baby,” she said, pushing another finger into herself, “keep them open,”
she imagined it was his, thicker and longer, curling it just like he usually did.
“oh fuck, baby don’t tease,” jude whimpered, hips bucking i to his hand desperately, “s’pretty, fuck, i need you. i won’t be stupid again, i swear,”
“and?”
“and you’re the-the only girl i want,” jude was rambling, now, his words almost coherent, “please,”
that was enough.
she moved forwards, pulling her fingers gently from her pussy, til her legs brushed against his.
“you promise you won’t do it again?”
“promise,”
y/n pressed her hand flat to his chest, pushing him back until his back hit the mattress, moving to hover over his dick.
jude’s breath hitched, the warmth of her sweet core so close, teasing, almost.
“please,” he gasped, hands coming to her hips.
y/n sank down onto him, his tip stretching through her as they both moaned, the sounds coming out in a sweet symphony.
it felt like she was splitting herself in half on his thick cock, sinking down onto him.
her hot pussy enveloped his dick, her sweet juices coating him from tip the shaft til she was all the way down.
“oh fuck, that’s it,” y/n moaned, head thrown back as he twitched inside of her.
she leaned forwards, resting on her knees as she lifted herself up, leaving just his tip inside of her, before she sank back down.
jude whined, a high-pitched, pathetic sound, his hands coming to her waist.
“oh baby-,” jude gasped as she did it again, his tip slamming into her cervix as she set a rhythm, bouncing on his dick.
“i’ve got a job, jude,” y/n spoke, her breath hot against his cheek, “look at me,”
jude whined, forcing himself to open his eyes.
“i can’t come to every game on a whim, alright? i understand you’re, fuck, pissed because it’d been a while,”
he responded with a moan.
“but i’m trying, okay?”
jude nodded frantically, his hips jerking to meet hers as she bounced, his body burning with pleasure.
he could’ve finished right there and then if he wanted to.
y/n moaned again as his head hit that sweet, spongy spot inside of her, the room filled with the lewd, wet sounds of their sex.
“jude,”
he made a sound, somewhere between an acknowledgement and a moan.
“m’legs hurt,” y/n mumbled, her voice quiet.
he blinked.
“your legs-?”
“don’t make it a big deal,” her bounces slowed slightly, becoming messier as he swallowed.
both of them let out a soft breath as she pulled off of him, letting jude turn her onto her back quick, sliding his dick back into her.
“fuck,” y/n moaned, eyes fluttering closed again as he sat comfortably inside of her.
jude had her knees pushed to her chest, his dick buried to the hilt, filling her to the brim.
“‘m sorry for bein’ stupid earlier,” he leaned down, lips dragging down her neck and collarbone as he set a rhythm, sloppy but better than hers.
his chain hung from his neck, hovering over her face, his hips snapping against hers.
“ah, right there,” she gasped, head pushed back into the mattress as he sped up, slamming into that same spot again and again.
the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin and their moans, mixed together.
“so beautiful, so fucking pretty,” he rasped, slamming into her, “that pretty face,” he pressed a hot kiss to her neck.
he kept his rhythm til his tip slammed into her cervix, setting a quick, deep pace in and out of her.
it was almost too much, her body shaking as she drew closer to her orgasm, a few sloppy, messy thrusts and his hand dropping down between her legs to rub hot circles into her clit-
“fuck, fuck, fuck- jude!” y/n cried out, eyes rolling back as her vision went white.
jude kept on going, fucking her through her orgasm with long, deep thrusts.
“‘m so close, baby,” he gasped into her neck, lips dragging down her hot skin, “y’feel so good, oh fuck-,”
jude pushed all the way into her, his cum spurting out in thick, hot ropes inside of her as he moaned, face buried in her neck.
he moaned into the crook of her neck, his arms that had previously been braced either side of her head now wrapped tightly round her.
“‘m sorry,” jude mumbled again, his voice soft, “for being a dick about your work,”
“you don’t need to keep apologising, baby, it’s okay,” y/n said, biting on her lip to hide a smile. he genuinely was sorry.
“i know, just want you to know,” he muttered into her neck, fiddling with the necklace on her collarbone.
y/n smiled to herself.
“what about we shower, then talk out schedules, hm?”
hiiiiii i’m obsessed with everything u write !!! could you do one where you get really bad cramps after sex with jude and he’s like super concerned (and feels guilty!) at first but then kind of gets used to it and knows how to take care of her?? heating pad and cuddles etc… thank you!!!
when it happens, jude doesn’t understand.
you’re still tangled together when the pain hits, sharp and sudden, like a fist closing around your lower abdomen. you gasp, curling inward instinctively, and jude goes still beneath you.
“what?” he pushes up on one elbow, his hand already hovering over your hip like he’s afraid to touch you. “what happened? did i—”
you shake your head, breath shallow and weak. “not you. just—” another wave rolls through your, and you press your palm flat against your stomach, as if pressure might hold it back. “cramps, sometimes this happens.”
“sometimes?” his voice cracks upward. he’s sitting up now, sheets pooling at his waist, scanning your face like he’s missed something. “this is normal?”
you manage a thin laugh. “for me, yeah.” but you’re wincing as you says it, and jude’s expression crumples into something distraught.
he moves then, suddenly, yanking the blanket up around your shoulders before he’s even fully unraveled himself. “heating pad,” he mutters, already reaching for his discarded sweatpants. “do you have one? where—”
“bathroom cabinet, under the sink.” you watch him stumble slightly pulling on his pants, his usual silliness abandoned in a rush of importance. the door clicks shut behind him, and you let yourself fold forward, forehead to knees, riding out the next cramp in the momentary quietness.
he returns with the heating pad clutched in both hands, its cord trailing behind him. he’d found your lotion too, you notice, set carefully on the nightstand, and a glass of water accompanying it.
“here.” he plugs it in with steady fingers, tests the temperature against his wrist twice before settling it against your abdomen. the warmth seeps in slowly, and you exhale.
jude doesn’t relax. he sits on the edge of the bed, spine stiff, watching your face like he’s waiting for you to confirm he’s to be blamed.
“jude.” you reach for his hand, finding it cold despite the room’s warmth. “this isn’t your fault.”
“i hurt you.”
“you didn’t.” you tugs until he lies down beside your, until you can fit yourself against his chest and feel his heartbeat still pounding against his ribs. “my body just… does this. it’s annoying, but, not dangerous.”
he doesn’t answer immediately. his arm tightens around your shoulders, his chin pressing to the top of your head. when he speaks again, his voice is rough. “tell me what you need, yeah?”
“just this, judy. thank you.”
so sorry to cut it a little short nonny! i have a lottt of requests so i'd just like to keep some short to get through them hehe, this is so cute, he would be so attentive and caring, ughhh, love jude
you’re a journalist interviewing both djed and jude while they’re in the us for the world cup. what happens when both these english boys take a liking to the hot american girl?
you sat in your studio chair, adjusting your lapel microphone and smoothing down the cream-colored vest that matched your tailored pants completely buzzing for your interview.
you’d been prepping for this interview for the last two weeks. to say you were nervous was an understatement. especially when you were interviewing two of the most handsome footballers.
your hair was freshly pressed, bone-straight and flowing past your shoulders, perfectly framing your face. you looked polished, professional, and undeniably fine.
soon, jude and djed walked in wearing their matching sky-blue team nike techs, the color looking entirely too good against their skin. jude took your hand for an initial handshake. his grip firm and his dark eyes lingering on yours just a second longer than necessary. butterflies erupting in your tummy.
"pleasure to meet you," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a soft, deliberate warmth. you could’ve melted on the spot.
djed stepped in right after, his smile sharp and playful as he took your hand next, his thumb gently grazing the back of your knuckles. "yeah, real pleasure."
your mind went to how good he would sound uttering your name in bed, as you ran your fingers through his ginger locs.
a soft flush crept up your neck, but you somehow managed to maintain your composure while introducing yourself. "welcome to the states. ready to get started?" you asked, taking your seat across from the two boys.
throughout the interview, the professional dynamic quickly melted into a competition for your attention. every time you asked jude a question about england’s midfield strategy for the world cup, his answers were directed straight to your eyes, his gaze heavy and focused.
"we're just staying focused on the objective," jude said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "but being in the us has its perks. the scenery is definitely top tier." his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning to your eyes.
you tried your hardest to keep your breathing even as you seen the two sets of eyes on you.
"so, outside of training," you asked, crossing one leg over the other and resting your hand on your thigh, "what have you guys enjoyed the most since landing in the states?"
"we went to our first baseball game," djed added, chuckling softly. "the vibe was crazy. still trying to figure out all the rules, but i loved it."
"you spent half the game asking me what a strikeout was," jude chimed in, rolling his eyes playfully before turning his attention back to you. "as for me, it's just been the overall culture and warmth. people here make you feel welcome straight away." he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping a notch, smooth and warm. "makes you want to extend the stay, really."
you nodded, leaning forward as you asked the next question. "when you're out there on the field, with thousands of people screaming and the entire world watching... what's actually going through your minds in those key moments?"
"well, when we score, you get about ten seconds to enjoy it then it’s immediately back to business," jude said, his tone shifting into that natural intensity he carried on the pitch. "the adrenaline is unbelievable. but there’s nothing else like it."
djed nodded along, leaning his chin on his palm as he looked between jude and you. "yeah, he's spot on. that ten seconds feels like complete slow motion. total high. but you have to flip the switch right back to focus."
"must take incredible discipline," you observed, glancing up from your notes with an appreciative smile.
you pivoted slightly toward djed, lowering your cards to give him your full focus. "djed, this is your first england senior tournament, and you're stepping straight into a semi-final. how are you feeling about your debut?"
djed sat up a bit straighter, the effortless charm softening into a grounded, genuine expression.
"yeah, i feel good," he answered, his voice earnest as his gaze stayed locked on yours. "i’m just blessed to be here. ready to make history."
"with that mindset, i don't think anyone doubts you," you said, smiling softly. "you're both jamaican, right?"
djed grinned instantly, nodding his head with a proud, smooth confidence. "that's where all the speed comes from, trust me."
jude let out a soft laugh, leaning back and shaking his head at djed’s quick boast. "yeah," jude confirmed, his deep voice carrying that calm, magnetic warmth as his eyes stayed locked on yours. "it's in the culture. the energy, the competitive side... it all comes from home."
"so, do the two of you see the edits on social media?" you asked, switching the conversation to something more light.
djed threw his head back, letting out a rich, chest-deep laugh that echoed in the quiet room. "every single one," he admitted without a single drop of shame, his dimples on full display as he looked at you. "my mates send them to the group chat constantly. you literally can't escape them."
jude, however, didn't laugh. instead, he leaned a bit closer, l he tilted his head, his dark eyes heavily hooded and intensely focused on your face as a slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips.
"do you see them?" jude asked, his voice dropping into a low, smooth register that sent a sudden thrill right down your spine.
the question hung in the air, shifting the dynamic instantly. djed raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor turning highly observant as he shifted his stance, waiting for your answer. sitting across two towering, sexy as fuck athletes, the temperature in the room felt like it had spiked by ten degrees.
you cleared your throat, fighting the warm flush rising in your cheeks. "i'm a journalist," you replied, keeping your chin lifted in an attempt to maintain your professional composure. "it's literally my job to stay updated on trending media surrounding the players i interview."
"right. strictly professional research," jude murmured, his smirk widening into a full, devastating grin. "so, strictly professional... which ones are your favorites? the ones of me in the champions league, or..."
"or the ones of me from training?" djed seamlessly cut in, leaning forward from his side. "with the slow-down r&b songs?"
you couldn't stop the soft laugh that escaped you, shaking your head at their relentless confidence. "you two are impossible."
"we're just thorough," jude corrected smoothly, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking back onto your eyes with that quiet intensity. "we just want to make sure your research is accurate."
“whatever,” you playfully rolled your eyes.
you adjusted the cue cards in your hands, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you asked the next question. "okay, next one... who is the most famous person in your phone that you could facetime right now?"
jude opened his mouth to answer, but djed didn't hesitate for a single second.
"well, after this, it’ll be you," djed said, his voice smooth as velvet, his brown eyes fixed entirely on you.
the response was so fast and slick that jude burst out laughing, throwing his head back before turning to djed. jude grinned, raising a hand as the two of them dapped each other up, the sheer confidence of the move making even the production crew behind the cameras chuckle.
you instantly brought the cue cards up to cover the lower half of your face, shaking your head as a deep, undeniable blush rushed straight to your cheeks.
"okay, last question," you said, lowering the cards and catching your breath. "hypothetically, if the team was to do a hundred-meter race to finally determine who was the fastest, who would you guys put on the lineup?"
jude spoke first, leaning forward with a light chuckle. "oh man, djed for sure… rashy… ant."
"noni maybe," djed added smoothly, his voice low and confident.
"but the real question is, what place are you coming in?" you asked, turning your attention back to djed.
the two of you locked eyes as he relaxed back on the couch, stretching his long legs. "what do you think?"
"from what i’ve seen this tournament, you’ve been going crazy," you said, a genuine smile breaking across your face as you met his steady gaze.
"yeah, but what do you think?" he pushed playfully, his dimples showing as he kept his eyes pinned to yours.
"i'm putting my money on spence," you said.
djed’s smile widened, and without breaking eye contact, he reached out and took your hand in his, his fingers warm and gentle against yours.
"smart woman," he whispered softly.
jude watched the exchange from beside him, crossing his arms and resting his chin in his hand. a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his eyes flicked between djed's hand wrapping around yours and the quiet blush creeping back onto your face.
"don't go placing all your bets just yet," jude chimed in smoothly, his voice cool and deliberate as he leaned in closer. "i might just have to race him myself to make you change your mind."
synopsis: "don't start no shit, won't be no shit, baby."
pairings: producer!michael (bad era) x collegestudent!stripper!blackfemalereader
tropes & warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI — modern au (2026), toxic!michael, toxic!reader, angst, switchy!michael, switchy!reader, toxic exes, secrets, strippercore, messy breakup, emotional abandonment and manipulation, controlling behavior (slight stalking), posessiveness, messy co-parenting, arguing, use of nicknames, mama, baby, Tink, Tinka (short for Tinkerbell), etc., sexual tension, sliiiiiight coersion if you squint, unbalanced power dynamics, foot play/fetish, multiple mentions/build up of smut (smut adjacent)
wc: 2.5k
an: this series is inspired by the over it trilogy by summer walker! run away from any man that make you sing them songs at full volume!!!! from experience!!!!! i can already see imma get carried away writing for this. i been giggling and kicking my feet writing this chapter (kinda ironic). a little more dialogue heavy than normal but i'm liking it, letting the characters paint the picture! lets set some foundation about their dynamic first before we dig further into their lore with headcanons, moodboards, playlists, etc..
The entire drive over to his apartment, you gave yourself a pep-talk. Pick up your baby and go. Don’t get caught up. Just get your baby. You told yourself that as you keyed in the door code to enter the building. Recited it like a mantra at the same tempo your heels clacked against the porcelain tiles of the lobby you walked across, finding your way into the elevator and pressing the number to his floor.
Get your baby and go.
The hallway stretched a million miles in your mind when the elevator door opened. Every step felt like a conveyor belt doubled the distance. Eventually you made it to the end of the hallway, the unit number right in front of you… you stood there and stared at the door for a while before knocking twice, smoothing your hands down your sleek black dress.
When the door opened, your toddler was bundled up in his favorite brown bear onesie with his furry arms limply wrapped around his daddy’s neck. Seeing your baby so protected and calm softened you immediately, smile blooming as you leaned forward and planted soft kisses on his forehead. Deuce stirred a little, lips poking out into a sweet little pout that indicated his exhaustion and emphasized the drool crusted on his face, a result of a fun-filled day. His breathing was heavy, peaceful, but loud, magnified by how his nose smushed into his daddy’s bare shoulder.
The man holding him smiled softly too, staring down at the sleeping toddler cradled over his heart like he was the manifestation of it beating outside his body—eyes bright with affection. You could stand there and watch them forever. His eyes flickered up to yours, expression still achingly soft as he stared at you like he could see right inside you… and you felt caught, way too close, way too deep.
Your feet shuffled back a bit on the carpet, teetering in your heels.
“C’min.” The sincerity in his request made you freeze before you could stop yourself.
His voice was gentler than normal, extra silky, edges laced with the familiar parental duty of trying not to wake the kid in your arms mixed with the inherent exhaustion that keeping up with a toddler all day would do to you, something you knew too well.
You also knew better than anything… there was nothing or no one to rush off to if you came inside at this hour. Nothing to distract you from things left unspoken or unresolved. Nothing to separate you from your pent up desire. And no one to blame but yourself. You really knew that you shouldn’t risk it.
“I’m just here to get my son, Michael—”
“And if you come in, I’ll get his stuff for you. Unless you wanna stand out here…?”
The both of you just stood there for a beat, him on one side of the door and you on the other. Symbolic really, like any other time as of late, on opposing sides, waiting on the coin to flip to see where things would land.
“Just c’min, Tink. Goosey’s gettin’ heavy.”
He slid over to the side of the doorway to make room for you as you stepped through into another opportunity to make things more fucking complicated.
His penthouse triggered an amalgamation of so many scenes from your once upon an unconventional love story. So tooth-rottingly sweet, soul-stirringly good, exciting, something that you craved, connected to. So passionate, so pornographic that a nun would douse you, him and your sins with holy water at the mere confession. And when the story eventually climaxed, it transfigured into a suspense-drama so off-kilter no one could’ve seen it coming. Enough to reveal how false your sense of security truly was, wiping the smile clean off your face. You just narrowly escaped the typical ending… the where you look in the mirror and don’t recognize who you’ve become at the behest of someone else.
It told a story that offered barely any resolution, just lessons, posing the question as old as time:
What do you do when love isn’t enough?
You spent a lot of time alone, isolated in these very walls searching for a solution that never came. The only answer you could come up with was leaving, especially with the motivation of creating stability to be better for your baby. So you did. But Michael was a man of so many talents, especially in his way of drawing you in. And you mirrored that behavior, unsure if it was just out of survival, love, familiarity, pure stupidity, or a twisted mix of them all.
There was no doubt about it—Michael was tied to some of the best and worst moments of your life. Bonded in a way that couldn’t be dismissed in your typical fashion without it being incredibly selfish of you for the sake of your child, permanently staining your conscience. Deuce was what grounded you these days, nothing and no one in this world was more important to you than him. And Michael was a great father, you would never take that away from him. But the relationship had been strained so long that you didn’t see any resolve, preferring to keep things surface-level… but things just didn’t always work that way. There would be times where the last three years of your life would hit you all at once, categorized in your mind as: things you would prefer to not remember but couldn’t bare to forget, and things you wished you could forget how painful they truly were, holding out on hope that one day the wound you felt remembering how much he still meant to you would feel like a little pinch.
Being in a place that was once your home reminded you of the vulnerability you hid behind your distance and sharp remarks, reminding you of an attachment you taught yourself to ignore.
There were still touches of you left behind. Evidence that the space started off as his and then both of yours, only to be his again. The quirky grass mat under your feet, the forest blue console you set your keys and purse down by the entrance with the left door just as crooked as the day you built it together. Curved standing lamps you picked out with colorful mood lighting LED bulbs. Mother of pearl crystal placemats on the dining room table. Ribbed decor pillows on his oversized sectional couch. You remember the exact moment you found those pillows in the furniture store. The morning started off heated, bickering because he couldn’t agree on anything you wanted to buy for the apartment, which dissolved into hot open mouth kisses on your neck in apology once he compromised, impressed after feeling the velour material…
You remember the aftermath. Seeing them on the couch for the first time. His arms wrapped around you from behind in contentment, whispering in your ear. Excited about the future of sharing a life, creating a life together starting with those cushions. You remember how your body was gently pressed down against them, to test them out. They stayed nice and plush under you as he rewarded you for your vision, head nestled between your legs.
Bittersweet memories of when you were so sure about things.
Sure about him. Sure about raising a family together, despite the circumstances. Sure about making the space as much your home as it was his.
So much for that.
He disappeared down the hall for a second to put Deuce in his room, gone long enough for you to cross the living area and stare into the dark expanse of the city from the tall penthouse windows. You missed this view, the lonely nights you spent admiring how nightlife looked like glitter from so high up.
“Y’look real good, Tink.” Your head turned in the direction of his voice, intercepting you back into reality.
“Good to know your eyes still work.”
Michael was still shirtless, Spiderman pajama pants low on his hips—lean and muscular in the right places, the way his broad shoulders were emphasized by his tired gait did no favors for you at the moment—walking toward you with Deuce’s half-full overnight bag in one hand, fuzzy slippers in the other.
He laughed to himself, too tired to use his wit to think of an equally slick rebuttal, instead using the energy to motion to the couch. “Sit.”
“I’m not planning on staying long—”
“Sit. Please…” The atmosphere around you responded to your eye contact, bubbling, simmering, making the large space feel a little too small. There was a soft smoulder as he stared at you, a plea, seas full of questions and overthinking on his part wrapped into his request that crawled into your chest and took root.
You sat on the couch. Moved those damn cushions as far away from you as you could. Watched as he gently set the diaper bag down on the end table. Then he stood in front of you, placing the slippers down (which suspiciously looked like the ones you thought you lost), instinctively extending his hand out for your left foot.
Your weight shifted underneath you as you hesitantly lifted it, tiptoeing around Pandora’s Box of your own desires by even thinking to comply. He caught your heel before you could change your mind, knowing you, knowing you wouldn’t withdraw or oppose if he touched you. There was a familiar glint in his eyes as his fingers wrapped around your ankle, completely covering it - hands large and soft and scorching against your skin as he gently cradled your foot to carefully undo the studded ankle strap of your shoes. The act, he’d done for you a thousand times.
“Had fun tonight?”
“Michael.”
“Hm? These are sexy.” The edges of his mouth upturned into his boyish smile, admiring the black leather straps crossed over your glittery skin and completely ignoring the warning in your voice as he brushed his thumbs against them. His head lowered his head to get a better look. “When you wore heels like this out… hmph. Drove me crazy. Where’d you go tonight?”
The stiletto hit the carpet with a muffled thump.
“Don’t act like you don’t already know.”
He shrugged. “More of a reason to tell me the truth.”
You sucked your teeth in dismissal, opting to sigh at the freedom of being rid of those heels instead. He wasn’t satisfied with your response but he continued, not without holding his eye contact for a minute before working on the other, the second thump of your right shoe just as ceremonious as the first.
You pressed the ball of your feet against his bare chest as you looked up at him from your lashes, distracting him from his unnecessarily persistent curiosity. You didn’t want to answer, instead, arching your feet against his left pec. The gesture visibly flustered him, eyes widening in surprise as you temporarily disarmed the upper hand he thought he had, feeling his body tense up against the pressure of your feet. He looked down where your soft, smooth skin made contact with his skin, clenching his jaw like he was trying to restrain himself. The sight of his composure slipping, even for a second, did something to you… when his mouth parted, everything moved at half speed. Michael’s head tilted, admiring your absolutely perfect white gel pedicure. The delicate curve of your foot, something he’d grown very obsessed with, mouth upturned into a mischievous smirk. You went to move away and he caught your right foot, rubbing down the bridge of it before pressing and kneading his thumbs into your arch. It felt so good you didn’t have enough time to mask the soft ah! that escaped your lips. The sensation made you adjust your hips a second time… slowly, so subtle that the average man would’ve missed it.
He didn’t.
“Mike...”
“That’s a lot nicer than Michael…” His condescending tone he mocked you in made you scowl and try to pull your foot away again.
“Hmph. Anybody ever told you to keep your hands to yourself?”
“I dare you to tell me that, mama. G’on, I’ll do anything you want.”
Your eyes narrowed, chewing back another jab. You couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.
“Say what you wanna say, Tinka… don’t spare my feelings.” Egging you on even further, he applied deeper pressure to a particular spot of your instep that troubled you from time to time. “Exactly. Feel good, huh?”
Your eyes fluttered closed, pouting and nodding as relief melted over your body and stole most of the fight left in you.
“Yes.”
“Good, now stop being so mean and actually talk to me. Tell me about your date.”
You shrugged. “Please… it was just a date, Mike. Nothing serious.”
“Did he touch you?”
“Is this what you invited me in here for? To disarm and interrogate me?”
“Woah. I’m just your ex, not a police officer,” He started, genuinely amused. “But I might have a pair of cuffs around if you keep resisting me.”
“You don’t take shit serious.”
Michael opted to show you he meant business instead—tugging both your feet up in the air by your ankles with just enough force to lay you flat against the couch, stealing your breath and shutting you up all in one go. You were so taken aback, you didn’t even notice your dress shifted dangerously up your thighs and hips...
“I hate having to have people follow you around the city ‘cause you won’t be honest about what’s mine.”
“That’s you, wasting resources on people that don’t belong to you.”
He snorted at that, planting soft kisses against the back of your toes as you squirmed, movements languid enough to expose your lacy red underwear. You were wearing his favorite color tonight, and he really tried to be a gentleman about that…but he was unable to help himself from glancing between your thighs at the sight, mouth watering. Following his eyeline, you smirked.
“Don’t get distracted, Mikey. We both know what this is about… open your mouth and tell me what you want.” Michael’s pupils were blown as he stared down at you, spreading your legs just enough to stand between them while he kept kissing around your feet and rubbing your calves. He was already hard, erection heavy and firmly pressed against the front of his pajama pants. “I miss you mama, I want you and these pretty toes.”
“You always miss me. You always want me. The problem is you don’t know how to keep me.”
“You’re here though. You sayin’ you don’t miss me?”
“I miss this.” Your left foot moved in a slow pursuit up his inner thigh, brushing against the side of his dick in emphasis.
Michael let out a low hiss, hips bucking toward the contact. The desperation in his eyes told you he was at the very edge of whatever reserve of restraint he had left.
“You can have it baby, fuck—stay… please?” He was right where you wanted him, pupils blown, ready to submit to you. Consume you.
“On your knees, convince me.”
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