summary: when the heat is too hot and your boyfriend decides to make a refreshing surprise
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The summer in Paris had a peculiar way of turning the “City of Light” into a golden furnace. The asphalt of the avenues seemed to pulse beneath the July heat, and the air, usually filled with the aroma of coffee and car exhaust, now carried the sweet scent of linden blossoms and the lingering smell of sunscreen. For Isadora Beauvoir Marx, the heat was a silent enemy that tested the British patience inherited from her father, while her French half tried, unsuccessfully, to maintain elegance in the midst of the thirty-four-degree temperatures punishing the capital.
—Mon Dieu, Désiré, if you tell me one more time that training was under the sun and that I shouldn’t be complaining, I swear I’ll throw you into the Seine.
You muttered, brushing the back of your hand across your damp forehead.
You were sitting in the passenger seat of Désiré’s car, an air-conditioned luxury vehicle that was the only reason you hadn’t suffered a nervous breakdown yet. You wore a light, short white linen dress, and your hair was tied up in a deliberately messy high bun, exposing the nape of your neck where a few stubborn strands clung to your skin.
Désiré Doué, on the other hand, seemed completely at home. The PSG Golden Boy had one arm resting on the window, his fingers tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of a French rap song playing softly on the radio. He wore only a black tank top that highlighted his defined muscles, tanned skin, and tattoos, all of which seemed to glow beneath the sun.
— Calme-toi, Princesse. — He laughed, flashing that easy, self-assured smile that always disarmed you. — I only said that you’re beautiful when you’re irritated. The heat makes you piquante.
— Piquante? — You raised an eyebrow, your sarcasm as sharp as ever. — I’m melting, Désiré. My brain is turning into fondue. Where are you taking us? If there isn’t water involved, I’m jumping out of this moving car.
— Promis! — He promised, casting you a quick yet intense glance. — We’re going to a refuge. A place where journalists don’t go and where my girlfriend can stop complaining for five minutes and enjoy the sun.
You had been officially together long enough that each other’s presence felt as natural as breathing. The phase of stolen kisses in the Jardin des Tuileries had given way to a solid companionship, although discretion remained the golden rule due to his meteoric rise to fame. But that day, Désiré didn’t want to think about game tactics or the pressure from supporters. He only wanted you.
He drove out of the bustling city center toward a private property on the outskirts of Boulogne-Billancourt, owned by a friend of the Doué family who was traveling. It was a villa hidden behind high walls and ivy-covered fences, with a garden that looked like an Impressionist painting and, most importantly, an infinity pool reflecting the flawless blue of the Parisian sky.
As soon as the electronic gate closed behind you, the silence and cool shade of the trees wrapped around the car. You sighed, feeling the tension leave your shoulders.
— Enfin, amour!
You whispered.
— Do you like it, ma belle?
Désiré parked and turned off the engine, turning toward you.
— It’s acceptable… — you replied, though your eyes sparkled with relief. — Now move. I need water.
You got out of the car and headed toward the pool area. The gentle sound of water spilling over the edge was music to your ears. Désiré, however, wasn’t looking at the pool. He was watching you as you set your straw bag on one of the loungers and began unbuttoning your linen dress.
— Aren’t you going to change in the dressing room?
He asked, his voice suddenly a shade deeper as he leaned against a stone pillar.
You paused, the dress already half open, revealing the thin straps of an emerald-green bikini that contrasted perfectly with your skin. You shot him a challenging look, the kind that said you knew exactly the effect you had on him.
— Why would I? There’s nobody here, Désiré. Just the two of us. And the trees.
You finished removing the dress and let it fall onto the lounger.
Doué felt his throat go dry. You were petite, but every curve seemed sculpted with a precision that left him breathless. The bikini was minimalist, tied with delicate bows at the hips, and the confidence with which you moved—that blend of reserve and audacity—was what fascinated him most.
— Putain…
He muttered under his breath, a curse that always slipped out whenever he lost control of his words.
You smiled, a crooked smile, genuinely amused.
— What is it, baby? Lost your voice? I thought you were the expert when it came to handling pressure.
Désiré took a few steps toward you, the heat of the sun now competing with the warmth rising through his chest. He stopped only inches away, intoxicated by the scent of lavender and sun-warmed skin.
— The pressure at the Parc des Princes is nothing compared to you in that bikini, Princesse.
His voice was rough.
He reached out and lightly touched your waist, where your skin was soft and warm.
— You’re beautiful.
You felt the familiar flutter in your stomach. No matter how much sarcasm you used as armor, the way Désiré looked at you—as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world—always managed to break through your defenses. You placed your hands against his chest, feeling his accelerated heartbeat beneath the tank top.
— Less talking, Doué. — you whispered, moving your face closer to his. — I want to swim.
— So do I.
He replied, but before you could pull away, he drew you into a kiss.
It was a kiss that tasted like summer: warm, urgent, and deep. Désiré held you firmly, as if he wanted to preserve that moment, that peace, that feeling that you belonged to him as much as he belonged to you. When you finally parted, both of you were slightly breathless.
He removed his tank top and shorts in quick movements, revealing the athlete’s physique that made him one of the most sought-after footballers in Europe. But there, beneath that sun, he wasn’t PSG’s star player; he was simply the boy who had loved you long before everything began.
— Race to the water?
He challenged, his eyes gleaming with his usual competitiveness.
— You have legs that are practically two meters long, Désiré! That’s unfair.
You protested, though you were already running.
You dove in almost simultaneously, the shock of cool water against sun-heated skin provoking surprised shrieks and laughter. The pool was an oasis. The next hour was spent playing like children, Désiré trying to dunk you underwater while you retaliated with perfectly aimed splashes, calling him a “spoiled boy” while he called you an “irritated little mermaid.”
Eventually, the heat and the playfulness left you both tired, and you drifted toward the edge of the pool. You rested your arms on the marble ledge, gazing at Paris in the distance, the Eiffel Tower standing like a sentinel on the hazy horizon.
— C’est parfait.
Murmured Désiré, pulling you closer against him beneath the water.
— Yeah…
You agreed, resting your head on his shoulder.
— Sometimes I forget how beautiful Paris can be when we’re not trying to run away from someone.
Désiré kissed the top of your head.
— I wish every day could be like this. No training sessions, no cameras. Just me, you, and that bad mood of yours that I love.
You nudged him lightly with your elbow.
— I don’t have a bad mood. I have personality. It’s different.
— Bien sûr, Madame.
He laughed, using the title that always made you blush, reminding you of the promise represented by the rings you both still carried, even if they weren’t always visible.
— But admit it… you like it when I bring you to places like this. You like being my Princesse.
You sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face and the coolness of the water around your body. Turning in his arms, you wrapped your arms around Désiré’s neck, your fingers disappearing into his damp curls.
— I like being with you, Désiré. The place doesn’t matter that much.
You paused, your sarcasm returning in a whisper.
— But the pool definitely helps. And watching you make an effort to please me is an excellent bonus.
summary: where you deliver his birthday present only after the party.
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The night was still pouring warmly over Dortmund, and the balcony of Jobe's apartment seemed suspended in the air, accomplice of a forbidden and sweet secret. The table was already marked by the raw movements of before, the smell of sex mixed with that of spilled wine, the breathing still heavy in both. But you didn't seem satisfied to stop there, the brightness in your eyes denounced that you wanted more, you wanted to prolong that promise of eternity with something that was only yours, done calmly, but still incendiary.
You slipped from his lap, still panting, and walked barefoot until you took the almost empty wine bottle, filling two glasses with the unpretentious gesture of someone who had already decided the next step. Jobe watched you, sitting on the balcony chair, your naked body shining with sweat, his cock still hard, resting only for seconds. Your way, on your back, the crumpled red dress falling from your shoulders, the skin marked by his hands, made his blood boil again.
You turned slowly, bringing one of the cups, and handed it to him with a malicious smile, before leaning on his lap, sitting on his strong thighs as if it were your natural throne.
-You haven't finished yet, right, honey?
You provoked, your voice low, dragged by the accent.
He raised his glass, his dark eyes fixed on you, and took a sip slowly, savouring the wine while feeling the heat of your pussy settling against his cock.
-Not even close to that...
He replied, hoarsely, the lazy smile denouncing how much he was about to get lost again.
You held his base with your delicate hand, slowly guiding the tip against you, rubbing first, wetting it even more with your moisture, until they both gasped in unison. Only then did you go down slowly, sitting on him for real, the body opening centimetre by centimetre, the moans escaping in the rhythm of penetration.
-Oh my God...- the moan escaped dragged, your head tipping back, your breasts rising and falling as you swallowed it all.- Fuck!
The boy squeezed your thigh hard, but he didn't hurry at all. He took the glass of wine to his mouth again, drinking while watching, fascinated, you settle completely on his dick, your hips going down until he was buried until the end.
-What a view, my love, you're a delight... -He murmured, panting, his eyes devouring every detail: the dress down, the beaks of the hard breasts, the belly contracted with the effort. -There's nothing more beautiful or better than that to get as a gift today.
You began to move, first slow, savouring, your hip spinning in an intimate ballet that made his cock throb inside. He drank another sip, his mouth stained with wine, while the other hand slid down your body, holding your waist tightly, sometimes going up to his breast, squeezing, twisting his nipple between his fingers, pulling out your loudest moans.
-Oh... Jobe... so deep, huh?
You rolled slowly, the wet sound of your bodies filling the night, each descent pulling out of him a deep moan, a hoarse sigh.
He dropped the glass, leaving it on the table, and grabbed your hips with both big hands, guiding the rhythm, but still keeping it slow, almost reverent. His organ went in and out with soft, wet pops, and you looked at him with half-closed eyes, your mouth ajar, completely surrendered.
-Look how you sit on me. -He whispered, sliding his hand to your clitoris, rubbing in firm circles while making you sit down again. -What a beautiful thing, my darling...
You moaned louder, your whole body shaking, your hip accelerating involuntarily. His vision of you riding on him, your dishevelled hair swaying, the brightness of sweat illuminated by the city light, it was like a perfect erotic painting. Jobe didn't know whether to look at your face, contorted with pleasure, or at the way the cock disappeared inside you with every movement.
-Just like that, babe, keep going! - You put your hands on his chest, ridding faster now, every beat making the sound of skin against skin echo on the balcony. -I'm going... I'm going to cum again...
He pulled your right breast to his mouth, sucking hard, biting until you screamed, and at the same time rubbed your clitoris mercilessly.
-Shout, Y/n... let all of Germany listen...
He snored against your skin, his cock stocking deep, your hips going down without stopping.
Your scream exploded when you came, your whole body contracting, squeezing him inside in an almost painful way, pulling out of him deep, hoarse moans, while struggling on top of him.
The younger Bellingham held you tightly, his hips cracking against yours, and soon came too, gushing hot, deep, the wine still burning in the mouth, but nothing compared to the heat of the cum inside you.
Both were glued, panting, you lying against his shoulder, sweaty, laughing softly, your hip still shaking with the final spasms. He took the glass once again, drank the last sip of wine and ran his stained lips down his neck, muttering.
- I don't know if it was the wine, you or the birthday party... but I've never tasted anything so good.
You laughed, tired, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.
-Definitely, it was me.
And on the balcony lit by almost extinguished candles, you knew that no party crowded with people would be the best way to celebrate another year of life. That was enough: wine, Dortmund, and the certainty that one would always get lost in the other.
Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)!!
summary: when in an attempt to speak Spanish you ends up seducing your boyfriend.
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The night had already completely plummeted in Barcelona, the city lights flashing lazily through the windows while the apartment was swallowed by a comfortable gloom. After all the absurdly intense day they had lived - a mixture of desire, love, laughter, and moans loud enough for the neighbour to want to exorcise the building - it was almost funny to see you so determined... and so miserably defeated by your own body.
You were sitting on the end of the bed, still wrapped only in a giant towel, desperately trying to maintain dignity. Trying, because your legs trembled again, as if your balance centre had given up on existing, and the cheeks were so hot that they seemed incandescent.
Alejandro, with the training shirt thrown on his shoulder and his hair wet from the bath water, was dropped on the armchair, watching her with an absolutely funny smile.
It was the most beautiful and dangerous vision in the world: relaxed, beautiful, the dark body still with drops sliding through the hot skin, as if it were the very embodiment of a sexual curse.
You took a deep breath, forcing your head to work, you needed to say something. Do something but Spanish? The damn Spanish, which you spoke with a comfortable fluency on a daily basis, has simply evaporated from your mind now. Every word seemed to disappear under a tsunami of desire.
-Yo... -You started, stopping immediately because even your voice seemed to want to moan alone. He closed his eyes for a second, focussing. Go for it, Y/n, for God's sake.
Alejandro arched an eyebrow, the crooked smile growing even more, as if he knew exactly the inner hell you were living.
You tried again.
-Yo te quiero... - his gaze shone, intense. You felt your own body react immediately, as if every centimetre was begging you to finish that sentence soon.
You stuck at the last word, held your breath. Which verb? Which conjugation? Something, dear, for the love of everything that is sacred!
Alejandro dropped his shirt on the armchair and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, looking at you as if he were seeing the eighth wonder of the world.
You gathered everything you had: all the Spanish learned in the hammer, all the hormonal forces that were exploding inside you, and you managed to release, in a hoarse thread of voice:
-Yo te quiero dar.
The silence that followed was almost theatrical.
Alejandro blinked once, slowly, as if he were processing, and then, an absolutely predatory smile opened on his lips, so beautiful and so dangerous that you were sure you had signed your own death sentence.
-Give me what, amor?
He asked, his voice hoarse, low, dirty with intention.
You wanted to disappear. Or jump on it immediately. Or maybe both. You bit your lower lip, feeling between ridiculous and unbearably provocative, and replied, with the little dignity that remained:
-All.
Alejandro got up slowly from the armchair, like a predator who already knew that the prey was not going to run away. You were hypnotised, your eyes wide, your heart racing so much that it looked like it was going to explode.
He approached, squatting in front of you, and ran his hands over your thighs with an absurd bow, as if he were touching something sacred.
-I'm going to accept you all, then.
He murmured, with his mouth already brushing against your skin.
You let out a nervous laugh, your whole body vibrating under the touch. But the next second, Alejandro lifted you in his arms again - as if you weighed nothing - and gently threw her back on the bed.
You didn't even have time to react before feeling his weight and warmth on you, his hot mouth on yours, your hands mapping your body as if he was decorating every centimetre again. And at that moment, with his tongue invading your mouth, with firm hands and Spanish words mixed with heavy sighs, you could only think of one thing:
Thank you Spanish gods for helping me conjugate the verb.
The room seemed to decrease around you, as if the whole world came down to the heat of the bodies, the heavy breathing, the hoarse words that Alejandro whispered in your ear with that voice of sin. You felt every muscle of his body moving on yours - a perfect dance, almost slow, loaded with a caress that mixed with the electrical voltage that tore the air. Alejandro wasn't in a hurry, not even remotely. He explored you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he wanted to record in his memory every chill he caused in you.
You squirmed under him, your sensitive skin, your senses begging for more, for everything. You let out a low moan when he felt his hand slide down the side of your body, so gently that it hurt. Balde smiled against your neck and lightly bit your thin skin, leaving a hot trail that made her shudder from head to toe.
-¿Todo, sí?
He whispered, repeating your words with a malicious smile.
You just moaned in response, pulling him closer, lightly scratching his wide back, feeling the muscles contract under your fingers. You wanted everything. You wanted to get lost in it. You wanted to forget that the world existed.
summary: when you've been suffering from hormones and he's all careful
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The smell of Spanish food invaded the house strongly, a warm aroma of golden garlic, thick tomato sauce and fresh spices, making the kitchen look like one of those old Italian movies that you liked to see before bed. Pedri, in a tight white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, was in total chef mode, carefully turning the sauce in the frying pan while humming softly some bachata in Spanish.
-Babe?
Your voice came, loaded with something undefined, dragged and provocative, from the kitchen door.
Pedri didn't even look at first. He was too focussed on not letting the sauce splash on his shirt -after all, that was your favourite.
-I'm already finishing here, mi amor. Five more minutes and the dough is on point...
-You don't understand what's going on here.
You murmured, and the tone of your voice made him turn slowly.
You were leaning against the door, wearing a short and tight dress that perfectly shaped the six-month belly. You had pinned your hair in a loose bun, some strands falling loose, and the red lipstick you wore made an absurd contrast with your intense skin and eyes. But what paralysed the guy was the look. That look. Hunger, but not for food.
-Y/n...-He warned, already tense, turning his eyes to the pot by instinct. -You're pregnant.
-I'm pregnant. Not dying!
You answered, walking towards him in slow steps, almost choreographed.
Pedri looked again, this time more nervous. You reached him, ran your hands around his waist, and put your chin on your husband's broad shoulder.
-You know I don't want dinner now, right?
You whispered in his ear, with a deep and sweet voice like a slow sin.
He swallowed drily.
—Cariño...
-I really miss having you. Of you looking at me and not seeing me as a crystal ball that will break.
He turned slowly, his eyes going down to his belly, then returning to his.
-You know I want you. Always. But... you're six months pregnant. The baby kicks all the time now. I don't know, amor. No quiero hacerte daño.
You ran your fingers around his neck, brushing lightly up to his jaw, with that touch that always disassembled him.
-You won't make mistakes. I'm not asking for a marathon, Pedro. I'm asking you to look at me as a woman. Not only as our baby's mother. I'm still Y/n. The one you loved to pull in the middle of the room when no one was watching.
-I still love it.
He whispered, his voice failing.
You laughed, glueing your body to his.
-Then prove it, darling.
And that's where he lost any remnant of rationality that he was still trying to maintain. He turned the stove of the pot until it went out with a click, abandoned the spoon, and pulled slowly until you sat on the kitchen counter, the bodies finally aligning without interruptions.
-Do you have any idea what it makes me feel every time you look at me like that? -He murmured against your lips. -Siento que voy a explotar.
-That's exactly how I feel with you ignoring my internal fire for two weeks. -you provoked, laughing against his mouth. -Two weeks, babe. You're torturing me.
He let out a muffled laugh, leaning his forehead against yours.
-No more. I promise. Come here, let's go to bed. Now. The dinner that awaits.
-Finally.
You laughed together, hands intertwinged, hearts beating in tune.
And when he carried you in his arms to the room, with all the delicacy of a man who loves too much, you knew: it didn't matter the time, the phases, the body changing, the world outside - between you, passion was non-negotiable. And that night, love spoke louder than any fear.
summary: when he scores the first hat trick for the new team and you surprise him at the hotel
request: yes!
may contain spelling and translation errors!
Kylian was still feeling the adrenaline running through his body when he left the stadium. A hat-trick. A damn hat-trick. He had never felt so good on the field. From the first goal, I knew that night would be special, but the third... the third was like a dream.
The locker room was a party. The companions mocked, threw water at him, even Ancelloti gave a proud smile. The fans were in ecstasy, and he knew that that was one of those nights that would remain forever in the memory.
But, as incredible as it was, there was something even better waiting for him.
When he finally arrived at the hotel, passing through the lobby still dressed in the team's official costume, he already felt a different anxiety. You hadn't gone to the game, but you texted saying you were waiting for him. His heart beat faster as he climbed the elevator.
Kylian opened the bedroom door and lost his breath at the time.
You were lying on the bed, your skin contrasting with a blue lace nightgown, delicate and at the same time provocative. The fabric embraced its curves in a way that defied any logic. The smile on yout lips was pure charm, pure temptation, and his eyes shone full of intention.
-Congratulations, mon amour.
Your voice came out soft, but with weight.
Your boyfriend locked the door without even looking.
He was still recovering from the impact, trying to absorb the vision in front of him. Your hair fell loose from your shoulders, the legs were shamelessly exposed, and that smile... my God, that smile.
-Did you like my game, ma chérie?
He asked, his voice hoarse in a sexy french, as he approached.
You laughed softly, leaning on your elbows.
-I loved it. You were amazing, Kylian.
He climbed on the bed without hesitation, getting on top of you, his dark eyes fixed on your own.
-And you... -Mbappe slid his fingers down your thigh, climbing slowly. -Is that what you were planning while I was playing?
You bit your lip, your smile growing.
-I wanted to congratulate you in the right way.
He didn't need anything else. His mouth found yours in an intense, hungry, celebratory kiss. The hands were already exploring every piece of exposed skin, the bodies fitting almost desperately. He felt his own heart beating fast, not only because of the adrenaline of the game, but because of the incredible woman who was there, waiting for him, making him the luckiest man in the world.
That night had already been perfect on the field. But now... now it would get even better.
summary: when he invites you to go to a game for the first time but doesn't think you're going
may contain spelling and translation errors!
Jobe had never been the nervous type for a game. Since he was little, he always knew that soccer was his place, that being on the field was natural for him. But on that specific summer night, when he was in the Sunderland locker room getting ready to enter the field, he felt something different. A chill in the stomach that had nothing to do with the pressure of the game and everything to do with the possibility of seeing a specific person in the stands.
You.
He had invited, of course, but without high expectations. Until then, what you had was something undefined. He liked you. A lot. But at the same time, you always seemed to keep a certain distance, a barrier between you that Jobe was still not sure how to overcome. Inviting you to one of your games was a way to try to see how far you would go. But he never expected you to really accept.
When he stepped on the lawn for the heating, he disguised as much as he could, but his eyes were restless, automatically looking for the stands, trying to find any sign of you. The stadium was gigantic, full of excited fans, and he was already convincing himself that you hadn't come when, suddenly, something familiar caught his attention.
Near the lawn, not so far from the reserve bank, there you were.
Wearing a jacket that he was almost sure wasn't yours, probably from a friend or borrowed by someone from the club, with your hair down and a serene expression, as if it were just another normal event. But Jobe knew it wasn't. For you to be there, something had changed.
For a moment, he was stuck. He felt something hot rise to his chest, a mixture of surprise and happiness. You really came.
A push on the shoulder brought him back to reality.
-What's up, bro?
One of the teammates asked, realising his gaze fixed.
Shirt 7 blinked, disguising the smile that threatened to appear.
-Nothing, nothing...
But that was all.
The warm-up continued, and he forced himself to focus on the game. However, before returning to the locker room for the last conversation with the coach, he looked one last time in his direction.
And you were looking back.
It was fast, but enough for him to see the little smile you sketched before looking away.
The game had been intense, but Jobe almost didn't feel the time pass. His body was exhausted, his muscles burning from the effort, his shirt glued to his skin by sweat, but none of it mattered. Not when, in the back of your mind, a single thing throbbed strongly: you were there.
Throughout the game, he tried not to think too much about you, but whenever he could, between one move and another, his eyes instinctively ran to the side of the field, as if his body knew exactly where to look for it. You were still there, watching, present, and that made you feel different, almost invincible.
When the final whistle sounded, it still took him a few seconds to process everything. Sunderland had won, the fans vibrated, and the players hugged each other in celebration. But he couldn't hold on much to the team's euphoria. His eyes ran to the side of the lawn, and that's where he saw her once again.
You were still in the same place, now more visible, because some people had already begun to leave the stands. His gaze met his before he could even think about how to react. And then, you smiled.
It was a small, discreet, but real smile.
Jobe felt his chest heat up and looked away, swallowing drily. He didn't know exactly why it affected him so much, but he knew he needed to see her up close.
The locker room was a chaos of celebration, the teammates talking loudly, the music playing, but the boy hurried into the shower, changed his clothes anyway, and left before everyone else. His heart beat fast as he crossed the tunnel that gave access to the outside of the field, his eyes attentive to every face that passed. And then, he finally saw her up close that night.
You were leaning against one of the tunnel walls, with your arms crossed, as if you had all the time in the world. When he saw him approaching, he uncrossed his arms and fixed the jacket he was wearing, an unconscious habit that he had already noticed in you.
Jobe slowed down his steps when he got close, stopping a few centimetres from you. His hair was still wet from the hurried bath, a few drops running down the back of his neck, and his breathing was still a little accelerated.
-You came.
His voice came out lower than I expected.
You smiled from the corner.
-Of course I came. I wasn't going to miss it.
Jobe let out a low laugh and shook his head, trying to process that. He wanted to ask so many things, he wanted to know what had made you accept the invitation, he wanted to understand if it meant something. But, at the same time, I just wanted to enjoy that moment.
-Did you like the game?
He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
-It was amazing. -You answered, sincere. -You played very well.
He felt his chest inflate with pride, and, without thinking too much, took another step towards you.
-Good to know that I impressed you.
You let out a chuckle, tilting your head back to take a better look at him.
-Don't get excited, Bellingham.
He laughed, and then, before he could control himself, he raised his hand and gently touched your face, his thumb brushing against the hot skin of your cheek. You were slightly tense for a second, surprised, but you didn't back down. In fact, his eyes shone a little more under the dim lighting of the tunnel.
-I'm very happy you came., Y/n.
He admitted, his voice is lower and hoarse now.
-I know, Jobe. But I'm happier for being here with you.
You murmured, and then, without warning, leaned in his direction.
The kiss happened without haste, without the euphoria of a first desperate touch, but with the certainty that that moment was happening at the right time. Jobe's lips were still a little warm from the intensity of the game, and yours were soft, curious, moulding to hin in a way that made his heart speed up more than any race on the field.
For a moment, the world disappeared. The tunnel, the distant noise of the players still celebrating, the fans who began to empty the stadium. Nothing mattered except that kiss and the certainty that something between you had changed forever.
Hi, I'm opening the question box for requests again, if you want to ask for any, feel free!
This time I'm open to trying to write with more players and maybe even F1 drivers :)
summary: when you end up not being able to stand the pain at dawn and need his affection.
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The night was silent, and your house seemed immersed in a peaceful rest. Jude slept deeply next to you in bed, breathing in a rhythmic and serene way. However, for you, tranquillity was just an illusion. The pain in your womb, which had begun as a bearable nuisance during the day, now seemed to multiply in intensity, making it impossible to find a comfortable position.
Lying on your side, you squeezed your eyes, taking a deep breath to try to relieve the pain. With each new sting, your body shranking involuntarily, and you moved from side to side in bed, desperately seeking some relief. But nothing seemed to help. The heat of the blanket seemed to suffocate you, the pillow did not offer enough comfort, and the pressure of the pain gradually increased, becoming unbearable.
You bit your lip so as not to let out a loud moan, not wanting to wake up your boyfriend. But, inevitably, your constant movement in bed and the weight of your discomfort began to affect him. Still sleepy, Jude frowned and turned to the side, feeling the bed move repeatedly.
-Y/n?
He murmured with his voice hoarse with sleep, opening his brown eyes slowly.
You stopped for a moment, closing your eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, as if you could pretend that everything was fine.
-Hum?
Your voice came out weak and hesitant.
He blinked a few times before leaning on one of his elbows, looking at you in the twillness of the room. His gaze immediately detected something wrong. You had your face partially hidden by the pillow, your breathing was irregular, and even in the dark, he could see that your body was tense.
-What's up?
He asked, waking up completely.
You were silent for a moment, but another wave of pain crossed your belly, and you couldn't contain a choppy sigh. Jude moved quickly, turning on the light of the lamp next to the bed, and the soft glow revealed your dejected expression.
-Darling, talk to me.
He insisted, his voice now full of concern.
You squeezed your eyes, trying to ignore his attentive gaze.
-Just... just cramps, Jude. It will pass.
He narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced.
-Just cramps? Babe, you're squirming in pain in bed. This is not normal.
You took a deep breath, resting one of your hands on your abdomen, as if this was able to relieve the discomfort.
-It's normal for me. It's always been like that.
Jude shook his head negatively, sitting next to him.
-That doesn't mean it has to be that way. You're sweating, love. Are you feeling anything else? Dizzy? Nausea?
You hesitated before answering, because, in fact, the cold sweat flowed down the back of your neck, and the feeling of nausea began to manifest itself.
-You don't need to worry... I just...
You tried to speak, but a new intense contraction made you shrink, pressing your face against the pillow.
Bellingham was even more alarmed, his body leaning over hers.
-Fuck, Y/n, that's not right. I'll get you something, maybe a medicine, a hot water bottle... something needs to help.
He was already about to get up when you held his arm, your small but firm hand, preventing him from leaving.
-Just stay here a little bit, babe...
You asked in a whisper, your eyes opening slightly and meeting his.
Jude felt his heart tighten in the face of his evident discomfort. Without hesitation, he sat down next to you again and pulled you closer, making you settle against his chest. His hands passed through your hair in a reassuring way, while he deposited soft kisses on the top of your head.
-Breathe in, darling. I'm here.
You closed your eyes and tried to focus on his warmth, on the rhythmic pace of his breathing, but the cramps seemed to be testing your patience to the extreme.
-It's not passing, Jude...
You murmured, your voice fragile.
He tightened his arms around him, as if he could absorb the pain.
-I know, babe, I know...
He whispered, hating not being able to do more.
For a while, he just stood there, holding you, caressing you back and muttering reassuring words. But when you shuddered in pain once again, he realised that it couldn't go on like this.
-Do you want me to get some medicine now?
He asked, his voice full of concern.
You nodded slowly, and he, with a last kiss on your forehead, got up quickly to get what you needed.
When he came back with a glass of water and the medicine, you had a dry mouth and eyes heavy with exhaustion. He helped you sit down, holding the glass while you took the pill.
-You need to rest, Y/n. I know it's hard, but try to relax a little, please.
You lay down again, and he settled next to you, pulling the blanket over you and keeping his hand firm on your belly, as if that could somehow protect you.
-Has it improved a little?
He asked after a few minutes.
You nodded weakly, your eyes already closing with fatigue.
-Thank you for staying with me, Jude.
Jude smiled lightly, depositing a last kiss on his forehead.
I’m sooo happy you’re back! And you came back with something so amazing https://www.tumblr.com/dorabellingham/778032629023899648/baby-doll?source=share
I absolutely loved this. Seriously, your writing always feels so special. Hope you’re feeling better! 💖💖💖
And I'm happy to be back! I'm very glad you liked it, I wrote it with a lot of love after a while. 🤍
~~I'm better yes, I was at the beginning of a burnout syndrome, I'm getting better now but I'll still keep a very slow pace to post the one shots :)
summary: when you argue and you decide to provoke with a sexy baby doll that he bought
may contain spelling and translation errors!
The cold war was still installed at home.
You and Jude hadn't given in. Neither of you wanted to be the first to raise the white flag, apologise or simply admit that the fight was ridiculous. But you... You were cunning. And you knew exactly what to do.
While Jude was in the bathroom, probably taking a shower and ruminating on the fight in his head, you opened the wardrobe and started rummaging through the drawers. And then, you found it, an absurdly short and delicate black silk baby doll, with lace details and thin straps. He had bought that for you months ago and you had never used it. But now seemed like the perfect moment.
You put the piece and analysed yourself in the mirror, there was a vision. And your boyfriend who tried to keep a closed face after that. You adjusted yourself in the mirror, let go of your hair and went to bed.
When Bellingham came out of the bathroom, dry, shirtless and with wet hair, you were already casually lying down, flipping through a magazine as if nothing was happening, he didn't even notice right away. But then, when he turned to say something random, he froze, his eyes scanned you from top to bottom. The delicate piece of clothe, tight to your body, the thin straps falling gently over the shoulders, the short bar revealing your thighs. And Jude completely lost his line of reasoning.
He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't formulate a decent sentence.
-What's up, babe?
You asked, unpretentious, turning another page of the magazine.
Jude took a deep breath. He knew. He knew you were playing dirty. He squeezed the towel around his waist, trying to keep control, but it was useless.
-You're doing this on purpose.
He murmured, approaching the bed.
You closed the magazine with a false sigh of tiredness.
-Doing what?
Your boyfriend arched his eyebrow.
-You know what.
You smiled, sinking a little on the bed and stretching your body casually, like someone who doesn't want anything.
-I'm just comfortable.
Jude narrowed his eyes, he wanted to keep pretending he was angry, but now he just wanted to throw that sweater away and forget about the fight.
-You're cruel, darling.
He said, with a sigh.
You smiled.
-Then give me a kiss and stop fighting with me, Jude.
He stood still for two seconds, and then gave up. He leaned over you, held your face and sealed his lips on yours, you smiled in the middle of the kiss, victorious.
