LAST NIGHT I HAD A DREAM WE STARTED DATING (AND NOW YOU’RE PISSING ME OFF) !
pairings: jude bellingham x reader, mentions of kylian mbappé x reader and jude bellingham x unnamed gf oc
faceclaim: pinkpantheress <3
summary: you and jude have been in each other’s circles since you were young, but whenever one of you is ready, the other never seems to be.
warnings: jealous jude acting ANNOYING!!!!!
sequel to im not attracted to you like i was (back at the start) !
author’s note: i’m referring to this yn as pink!yn so if u want to see any other headcanons etc. look thru my pink universe tag! also i’ll do one more official part to this so if you’d like to be tagged, fill out my taglist!
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liked by yourbestfriend, erling and 23,927 others.
yourusername: sshhh no talking. i’m busy.
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erling: hello
-> yourusername: can’t talk here. message me on the jude bellingham app.
-> judebellingham: u think you’re hilarious. not even a smile from me.
-> user1: if he doesn’t find it funny why is he ALWAYS HERE 😭
→ yourusername: he replied in 14 seconds 😂
→ judebellingham: coincidence.
user2: how was ur dating going?
-> yourusername: apparently i am weird and off ‘pudding’. which makes no sense??? i’m not on a diet. i am ON pudding. so i ended it.
user3: jude being under y/n’s comments and popping out at his game with his girlfriend… oh jude i can never form a coherent thought about you…
-> user4: wym?! yn isn’t his gf?!
-> user3: no 😭 his gf was the girl who was with denise and jobe at the england game.
-> user4: shiiii… pass yn my way then 😮💨
user5: u would be my fav wag yourusername
*liked by yourusername.*
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↗ now playing: human nature by madonna.
liked by jobebellingham, k.mbappe and 45,878 others
yourusername: thinking 💭
view comments
user1: okay booberella 😍
yourbestfriend: home before midnight and smiling. who are you and what have you done with my bestie
-> yourusername: he fed me. i’m easily managed.
user2: YN LIKING A MAN… WE CHEERED
jobebellingham: did he pay
→ yourusername: obviously.
→ jobebellingham: fair enough then
-> user3: jobe doing the older brother inspection because jude is too busy throwing up somewhere
-> user3: NOT HIM LIKING THIS ?! LMFAOSISSKSAJ
user4: jude posting his gf on main for the first time an hour after yn posted this…..
-> user5: wait so jude saw the date post, got mad, and hard launched his girlfriend??? very normal behaviour.
-> user6: he posted that woman like a rebuttal 😭
user7: yn u look sooo good omg
user8: the song !!! queen has great taste. totally not a subtle way to give us context on the situation ofc
*liked by yourusername.*
user9: he has never posted her before but suddenly today was the day. alright babe.
→ user10: subtle as a brick through a window
k.mbappe: nice photos :)
→ yourusername: :)
→ user11: oh jude just dropped to his knees in a tesco express
→ user12: SHE SMILED. wrap it up. JUDE UR OVER!!!!
user13: this whole situation is sooo messy
-> user14: cause no jude in the comments is acc CRAZY
user15: bro remembered he had a relationship IMMEDIATELY after this post 😭😭😭 men ain’t shit
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↗ now playing: hit ‘em up (feat outlawz) by 2pac.
liked by everyone, andyourmama and 238,929 others
ham1ltonshaderoom: uh oh, trouble in spanish paradise? footballer jude bellingham has unfollowed real madrid teammate kylian mbappé after gossip that the latter took his friend out on a date. the british footballer then hard launched his girlfriend.
what are we thinking is the reason ham1lton’s? dinner date drama or something else?
view all comments
user1: men will unfollow their teammate before admitting they’re jealous 😭
user2: wait who is the friend and why are we acting like she’s public property
user3: this is literally probably nothing. footballers accidentally unfollow people all the time.
→ user4: no they don’t 😭 not their starting teammate after one alleged dinner date.
user5: she is single. kylian is single. jude is not. next case.
user6: i just watched the wc. idk who everyone is. but trust!!! i am seated for this!!!!
user7: oh to be in a judekylian love triangle….
user8: messy asf to keep following kylian’s brother 😭
user9: jude’s girlfriend needs to stand up because why is her man unfollowing people over another woman ???
user10: “his friend” oh brother that man has been in love with her since secondary school
→ user11: source: voices in your head
→ user10: source: literally every interaction they’ve ever had online and in public.
user12: can somebody explain this from the beginning i have a job
→ user13: yn is a family friend of the bellinghams, she and jude have known each other forever, kylian took her to dinner and then jude randomly posted his girlfriend and unfollowed kylian
→ user12: oh so everybody involved is annoying. understood.
user14: this is why footballers should not date within the workplace
-> user15: she doesn’t work there 😭
user16: kylian has been at madrid five minutes and already took jude’s girl. generational impact.
-> user17: not his girl btw
-> user16: does jude know that?
user18: THE SONG CHOICE ?!?!
user19: jobe liking the girl’s post but not jude’s girlfriend post is the real tea for me
user20: maybe jude’s girlfriend asked him to unfollow kylian??
-> user21: why would she ask him to unfollow kylian and not yn ?? that makes no sense 😭
user22: does kylian still follow jude?
→ user23: ofc. idk why ppl r weirded out they’ll be hugging after the next match and everyone here will pretend this never happened.
user24: need someone from madrid to leak the group chat immediately
user25: i’m not saying he’s in love with her but i am saying emotionally neutral men do not behave like this.
-> user26: he wanted her available, not necessarily with him. men love a reserved seat they never plan to sit in.
user27: jude and yn are giving right person, wrong time, wrong decisions, wrong everything.
user28: jude’s PR team currently drafting a statement about a “technical glitch.”
-> user29: technical glitch that specifically searched kylian’s profile and pressed unfollow 😭
user30: perhaps kylian borrowed his charger and never returned it. we don’t know these people.
user31: why is everyone blaming jude when kylian knew that was his close friend?
→ user32: because she is a grown woman and not jude’s property ??? hope this helps
→ user31: nobody said she was his property?? it’s still weird to date your teammate’s best friend
→ user32: only if your teammate secretly wants her. otherwise literally who cares 😭
user33: two coworkers unfollowing each other has never deserved 238k likes but here i am
user34: yn hasn’t even posted kylian’s face and jude is already at DEFCON 1
user35: real madrid HR / PR opening instagram this morning: 🧍♂️
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should yn stay w/ jude or leave him for kylian?
jude
kylian
dinner w/ jay-z
Voting ended onJul 27
taglist: @abbotbunny @midnightmadss @yatta-exe (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)
author’s note: look at my shitty editing skills everyone!! also sorry this got long. part three will be posted later and it’ll be less angsty xoxo
IM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU LIKE I WAS (BACK AT THE START) !
pairings: jude bellingham x reader.
faceclaims: pinkpantheress
summary: you and jude have been in each other’s circles since you were young, but whenever one of you is ready, the other never seems to be.
warnings: not any really. besides judeyn being dumbasses!!
author’s note: i’m back!!! hi :D also i was so inspired by this edit of the prince and princess of british biracia that i had to make this. part two is here. wanna be tagged in pt 3? fill out my taglist.
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liked by jobebellingham, judebellingham and 12,827 others.
yourusername: be honest, who outmogged?
view all comments
judebellingham: why are you like this
judebellingham: delete
judebellingham: my lawyers r coming for you
judebellingham: I HATE YOU TIMES INFINITY
judebellingham: WHERE DID U EVEN GET THIS FROM FUCKS SAKE DELETE !!!
-> yourusername: so u want to silence women. wow.
k.mbappe: jude tu t’es fait humilier 😭
-> judebellingham: speak english
-> k.mbappe: you got cooked brother
-> yourusername: merci kylian 😘
jobebellingham: queen outmogged that mouthbreather 😂
-> yourusername: YASSSSS
user1: we all know u mog him babe xxx
user2: yn beefing w/ jude will never not be funny.
-> user3: domestic terrorist 😭
user4: can someone explain this dynamic. who is she?
-> user5: so basically she’s a family friend of the bellinghams. she went to the same school as jude and her mum is besties with denise so she grew up with them. as far as we know, they haven’t publicly dated and seem to be very close friends.
-> user6: they be fuckin
-> user7: i think he’s her beard.
user8: tell jude i can comfort him personally after that england loss.
-> yourusername: comfort ME tf?! who cares about him. i went through a LOT of emotions 💔
user9: one thing about jude he’s gonna like the post while threatening legal action 😭
judebellingham: ur obsessed
-> user10: dude just block her!!!!
-> judebellingham: i’ve tried 💔
-> user11: u have training at 10 stop arguing with women online.
-> judebellingham: MIND UR BUSINESS 🤨‼️
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liked by erling, jobebellingham and 345,628 others.
judebellingham: who outmogs now?
view all comments
user1: her
user2: her
user3: her
user4: her
user5: her
user6: her
user7: her
user8: her
user9: her
user10: her
erling: you bro 👊🏻
-> judebellingham: love you bro 👊🏽
-> user11: now kiss 😍
jobebellingham: this weird foreplay is strange. just kiss and stop dragging us into it!!!!!!!
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📍 new york city, usa.
liked by jobebellingham, yourbestfriend and 21,938 others.
yourusername: new york i love you, but you’re bringing me down.
view all comments
judebellingham: depressing ass song. don’t see that man again.
-> user1: “don’t see that man again” WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS 😭
-> user2: bro the booty police 😭😭😭
user3: girl stand UP jude is literally trying to save u from evil hell situationships
-> yourusername: he wants me miserable.
-> user3: YOU want you miserable 😭😭😭
user4: the way he always appears under her posts within 3 business minutes 😭
-> user5: notifications ON btw
jobebellingham: not this again.
-> yourusername: HE STARTED IT
-> judebellingham: YOU POSTED IT
user6: jude is that one friend who says “he’s weird” about every guy 😭
*liked by yourusername*
yourbestfriend: this is NOT your business btw judebellingham
-> judebellingham: made it my business
-> yourbestfriend: you literally asked ZERO follow-up questions 😭
→ yourusername: he never does
user7: this is NOT a normal friendship btw
user8: possessive but not enough to ask her out. fascinating.
-> user9: if she blocks every guy because of jude eventually she’ll have to date jude… he’s playing chess we’re playing checkers
user10: somebody explain this situationship in football terms
→ user11: VAR checked it. still confusing.
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author’s note: this got ahead of me. i will post another part later ok bye xoxo
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hiiii angels it's @purplesectorlew (Lo)!! here with my addition to the jude hype train because i can't stop thinking about his facial expressions and exhausted but clingy jude so here we are. hope you enjoy the fluff-to-spice pipeline as much as i did writing it <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: after england’s dramatic quarter-final win over norway, an exhausted Jude just wants his girlfriend close. post-match cuddles (that definitely don’t stay just cuddles) in the team hotel lead to soft, sleepy, and very needy sex. comfort, praise, and tired-boyfriend vibes.
warnings: smut MDNI, handjob, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, tired but horny jude, whimpering + whiny jude, lowkey sub!jude, lots of praise and pet names, slight possessive talk
wc: 4.5k!
The last notes of Wonderwall had just faded out across the Hard Rock, the lads still buzzing on the pitch with arms slung round each other. Jude was right in the middle of it, singing along like the rest of them, his beautiful smile splitting his face even though you could tell every last inch of him was running on empty.
It had been a grind. The Miami heat and humidity were brutal, thick and sticky, so much so that it had made your lungs burn just watching from the stands. Extra time looked like it nearly broke them, but Jude dragged it through with his second goal in the 93rd minute like something out of a film. Your heart was still hammering, ears ringing, the whole stadium vibrating around you.
Then the fans started up with “Hey Jude” and you had to look away quickly, blinking hard. The pride you feel swells up so huge it doesn’t fit in your chest, it spills over into these stupid tears every single time you hear the song, no matter how many times you see him do something like this.
“He looks exhausted,” Denise says quietly, her arm still hooked through yours, squeezing a little.
“I know. Bless him. I don’t know how he’s still standing out there. He gave that absolutely everything.”
You take some deep breaths with his parents, gushing over his performance as usual and wait for him to finish with everything else he has to do after the final whistle.
Soon enough, you watch him walk over showered and changed into the usual post-match tracksuits, his hood half up already like he’s already trying to shut the world out. Even from a distance you can see the heaviness in his shoulders, the way he’s moving a bit stiffer than usual, his tall frame carrying the weight of a country for ninety-plus minutes. He looks happy though. So, so happy. His dark eyes scan the stands until they find you three, and you can see the sparkle in them as soon as he spots you.
He hugs his mum first, extra tight, murmuring something that makes her laugh and pat his back. All week she’d been saying watch your language, watch your tackles, watch your face so he wouldn’t get booked. You could see how proud she was of him, her eyes closing when they hugged. It almost made your heart burst.
Then his dad, the two of them clapping each other on the shoulder like they always do, that quiet father-son thing that always makes your chest warm. Mark kisses his cheek, and your smile mirrors Jude’s bashful one. Only after that does he turn to you.
“There she is,” he says, voice a little rough from the game, his accent coming through even stronger when he’s tired. He smiles down at you, exhausted but sweet, and you stand up to meet him.
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone, your other arm sliding round his broad back. He’s warm, solid, still carrying the smell of the grass mixed with fresh shower gel. “I’m so proud of you, Jude. That looked so tough out there.”
He leans down and kisses you, soft and quick. He’s never one for big PDA with the cameras hovering, but he never lets you feel unloved. Then his hand comes up, gentle as anything, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear.
His eyes go all soft as he looks at you, the intense match-day fire dialled right down just for you. “Thank you, baby. Yeah… it was hard. Proper hard. But we got there. It was rough though, I’m shattered.”
You sit back down and he drops straight onto the seat next to you, no hesitation. His head finds your shoulder immediately, heavy and trusting, like he’s been waiting for this exact spot the whole night. You slide your hand up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the way he likes, and feel him let out a long breath, sinking further into you. The relief in his body is so obvious it makes your heart twist.
His mum and dad chat lightly for a minute — something about the referee, how proud they are, the usual post-match debrief — and Jude mumbles along, half in it, half gone. His hand finds yours in your lap, fingers threading together lazily.
After a bit he turns his head, lips brushing your ear as he lowers his voice. “Are you gonna come visit me tonight?”
You snort, playfully nudging his head away. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, babe.”
He laughs then, loud and bright, teeth flashing, his eyes lighting up with the loving mischief that always gets you. “What? I can’t get cuddles from my girl? After that?”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “Cuddles?”
His lip twitches, smirk spreading slow and dangerous. “Cuddles,” he repeats, all innocent like. “And a couple of kisses. Just three or four…”
You tilt your head, giving him a look. He’s dead on his feet, shoulders slumped, yet still managing to look at you like that. You ignore the heat pooling in your stomach from the way he's looking at you and try to think logically. The semi-finals are midweek. “You’re gonna cramp up at some point and whatever idea you’ve got of cuddles and kisses is gonna be straight out the window.”
“Can I not enjoy my recovery with my girlfriend? Is that against the law now?” He huffs dramatically, but his hands are already stroking up your sides, warm and familiar.
You huff at him, already giving in. “You’re so spoilt.”
He grins wider, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You can never say no to me.”
And it’s true. You can’t say no to him. Not when he looks at you like that. Cuddles. Right.
It wasn’t long before you found yourself being led by Jude back to his room in the team hotel in Miami. They’d just had a squad dinner, winding down after the match. As soon as players started to retreat he’d texted you and met you in the lobby. Other England camps weren’t like this in the past, you were so grateful the rules had been changed to let you see him, even if he should be resting.
He’d showered again, you could already tell by the cologne and body wash mix you could smell as you followed him down the quiet corridor. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles every few steps. He still moved a little stiff from the game, the beautiful body of his carrying the bruises and the exhaustion, but there was this restless energy in him too, the win still buzzing under his skin.
Once the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop talking. He kicked his slides off, flopping back onto the bed as he kept going, voice low and rough but nonstop the way it always gets when he’s over-excited.
“...and then after the equaliser, I swear the pitch felt like it was moving, the humidity was mad out there. But the lads were buzzing, it was so loud on the pitch. Harry pulled me over after and was saying something about the run we’re on now, and I was just thinking the whole time about that last chance, how I nearly messed up the touch but it just fell right. Then extra time, my legs were gone but you just dig deep, don’t you? Mum’s texts were killing me the whole week about watching my face and my language, I nearly got booked just for breathing heavy at the ref at one point—”
He laughed at himself, running a hand over his damp hair, eyes bright even though his shoulders were sinking deeper into the pillows. You perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, the usual warmth spreading in your chest.
He reached out and tugged you closer by the wrist, still mid-story. “—and then I was like, nah, we’re not losing this one. You get me babe? And then I was like—”
“Jude, take a breath, love. I was there and watching the whole thing,” you chuckle, adjusting to lie next to him on the bed. His arm slipped under your head straight away, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb moved slowly across your cheek, warm and a little rough.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, half-laughing at himself again, voice dropping lower. “I’m just… excited. I don’t know. We left everything out there and…”
He trailed off for a second, eyes half-closed, but his fingers kept moving, tracing your jaw, then down the side of your neck, like he couldn’t quite settle even though his body was heavy with tiredness. Up close like this you could see every little detail: the faint sheen of sweat still at his hairline from how warm it was in Miami, the way his chest rose and fell a bit quicker than normal, a fresh bruise along his jaw starting to darken. You breathed in his warm skin scent that always made your stomach flip.
He shifted closer, leg hooking over yours casually, voice going soft and a little rough with emotion. “It’s mad innit? One minute you’re out there thinking your legs are done, next minute the ball drops and it just… happens. And now we’re in the semis. Semis, babe.”
His grin came back, tired but bright, the one that always made your heart do stupid things. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in like he needed it more than air. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were up there. Makes it all feel different.”
“I love you,” you whisper softly, thumb brushing his cheek, “and I’m so proud of you.”
“How proud?” he beamed, raising an eyebrow, a playful spark lighting up his exhausted face.
“Very proud. Like… prouder than you can even imagine. I think I’ve cried at nearly every game—”
Jude giggles, almost giddy, the sound low and warm in his chest. He loved praise, especially from you, it always turned him soft and a little cocky at the same time. “I know, my little crybaby,” he cooed, voice teasing and fond as he leaned in, pressing little kisses all over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one gentle and sweet, like he was savouring being close after the chaos of the match.
“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “You need to calm down, baby. You have to sleep.”
“My body’s tired,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lingering lower near your jaw, “but the adrenaline is just making me wired, man.”
You stroke his side, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palm, the faint tremor of leftover energy in his muscles. His tall frame was heavy against you, one leg tangled with yours, but his hands kept wandering. Sliding under the hem of your top to rest against your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles there.
After a moment he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at you properly. The lamp on the bedside table casts a soft glow over his face, his beautiful brown eyes and pink lips slightly parted. He looks unfairly good for someone who just played extra time in a stadium that felt more like a sauna.
“So…” he starts, a smirk creeping back in. “About those kisses I was promised.”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile again. “I don’t remember promising anything.”
“Oi, don’t lie to me..” He leans in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your mouth. “I distinctly remember talking about three or four. Minimum.” His hand slides higher under your top, palm flat and warm against your ribs, thumb stroking just under the curve of your breast. “Come on, baby. I earned them, didn’t I? Scored two, dragged us to the semis… least you can do is give your man some proper kisses.”
He’s grinning again now, all cheeky and tired and completely devastating to your self-control . Before you can answer he dips his head and presses one slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear, lingering there like he knows exactly what it does to you.
“You’ve just wasted two kisses…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
He groans in joking frustration, eyebrows furrowing to give you a little puppy dog look that always gets him out of trouble. “I just want cuddles and kisses before i sleep-”
He stops as you tilt your head at him, giving him another look.
“I swear, I swear! Baby, please…”
The pleading look on his face already has your stomach flipping, mouth a little dry. He’s so unfairly gorgeous like this. Tired eyes, messy damp curls,his toned body stretched out next to you, still radiating heat from the match. The way his tracksuit top has ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach… it’s ridiculous how much you want him even when he’s half-dead on his feet.
“Fine,” you say, trying to sound stern but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, “but you need to try and sleep too…”
He shifts slightly so you’re fully facing each other, one hand moving to your lower back, his leg still draped heavy over yours. “I can fall asleep kissing you.”
The kisses start off sweet and slow. Gentle presses of his lips against yours, his hand stroking your lower back under your top. His other hand in your hair, fingers loose and tired. Then they deepen.
Jude lets out a quiet, relieved sigh into your mouth as his lips part wider, tongue sliding in slow and warm. The kisses turn sloppy fast. Wet, lazy, unhurried in an exhausted way that somehow makes it hotter. His tongue moves heavy and deep, tangling with yours in long, messy strokes, licking into your mouth like he’s too tired to do anything but feel you. Every so often he sucks softly on your tongue or your bottom lip, pulling it between his before going back in deeper, slower, wetter. You can taste the faint mint from his post-dinner toothpaste mixed with the warm, familiar taste that’s just him. His breaths are heavier now, little groans vibrating against your lips as the kisses grow filthier. Your tongues sliding slow and slick, mouths open and messy, spit-slick lips catching every time you pull apart for air only to dive right back in.
He’s genuinely exhausted, you feel it in the heavy weight of his body against yours, the way his movements stay soft and sleepy even as they get more desperate. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you there as he kisses you like he’s trying to melt into you. Deep, lazy swirls of his tongue, slow sucks, the occasional sleepy grind of his hips against your thigh. He’s half-asleep and completely turned on at the same time, and it’s doing dangerous things to you.
Your hand slides under his top to rest on his ribs, and the soft, needy sound he makes against your tongue makes you shiver hard in his arms.
“M’so hard for you,” he whispers against your lips, breathing heavily. He presses his hips forward, grinding slowly so you can feel exactly how turned on he is, the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his joggers.
“You need me to help you, baby?” you murmur, letting your hand trail down his stomach until your palm cups the hard bulge. He’s so warm, so fucking hard already, twitching eagerly under your touch.
Jude’s breath hitches, hips jerking up into your hand as he lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “Please…”
“But you’re so tired, Jude.” You stroke him slowly through the fabric, teasing, because you love when he gets like this…all soft, sleepy, and whiny for you.
“Baby—” he whines, the sound high and needy, forehead pressed to yours. His hand moves down to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just a little. “M’never too tired for you… fuck, please touch me properly. I need it. Need you so bad..”
You push his joggers down just enough to free him and wrap your fingers around him. Jude’s whole body shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you start stroking him. You start slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head every time. He’s so thick and hot in your hand, veins pulsing, leaking steadily now. You’re transfixed by the sight of him.
“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he whimpers, voice all sleepy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as soft, desperate little sounds keep falling out of him. “Your hand feels so good, baby… don’t stop, please. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”
You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he jolts, hips bucking lazily into your fist, chasing the pleasure even though his body is heavy with exhaustion. Every whimper is quieter, needier. He’s almost submissive in the way he lets you take control, thighs trembling, fingers clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him.
You lift his shirt higher so you can see his toned stomach, selfishly maybe, but he looked so pretty. You keep going, stroking him faster, tighter, watching the way his abs clench and his chest rises and falls quicker. “So pretty Jude,” you whisper, and Jude lets out a broken whine, biting his bottom lip.
“Baby… I— fuck, I’m so close already,” he pants, voice cracking. “Your hand is gonna make me come if you keep— ah—”
You slide down his body before he can finish, taking him into your mouth in one slow, wet glide. Jude’s back arches off the bed with a loud, guttural moan, one hand flying to your hair, holding on tight as his fingers tremble.
“Oh my god— your mouth, fuck—” He’s losing it completely now, sleepy whimpers turning into desperate, broken sounds as you bob your head, tongue swirling around him, sucking him deep. “So warm… so fucking good. Baby, please— I can’t— you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep sucking like that.”
His hips twitch up gently, like he’s trying so hard to be good and not fuck your mouth, but his control is slipping. Whiny, breathy moans fill the room as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing along the underside. Jude’s thighs shake, hand tightening in your hair, voice hoarse.
“Baby… slow, please, I’m so sensitive— fuck, I love your mouth so much…”
You slow down and look up, making eye contact with him. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded with exhaustion and pure bliss, lips parted, chest heaving. The sight of you between his legs like this seems to ruin him even more.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, voice cracking, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “My beautiful girl.”
He keeps watching you with that dazed, adoring look, hips rocking up in tiny, helpless movements as you suck him slow and deep. You swirl your tongue around the head, then take him all the way again, relaxing your throat until your nose brushes his stomach. Jude’s whole body trembles.
“Fuck— baby, look at you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and reverent. “Taking me so well… even when I’m this tired. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”
His praise comes out soft and broken, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or a little whimper. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock throbs heavier on your tongue, the constant little twitches of his thighs, the way his fingers keep flexing in your hair like he’s fighting not to lose it. But he stays so good for you, letting you control everything, just moaning and whining softly every time you swallow around him or suck a little harder.
“Gonna make me come if you keep doing that…” he pants, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth is too good, love. Too warm and wet and— shit—”
You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock as you stroke him slowly with your hand instead. Jude lets out a wrecked, needy sound at the loss, hips chasing your mouth for a second before he catches himself. Before you can say anything, he’s tugging at you weakly, desperate.
“Too far away… come back up here, please.”
You crawl back up his body and he immediately pulls you in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your top, squeezing your waist, your hips, like he needs to feel all of you at the same time. The kiss goes on and on, lazy and filthy, tongues sliding slow while he whimpers softly into your mouth every time you stroke him.
You keep working your hand over his cock, slow and slick, and Jude’s hips rock up to meet every stroke, his breathing getting shakier. He breaks the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting.
“You don’t want to come yet?” you whisper against his lips, still stroking him lazily.
He shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanna be closer to you baby, wanna make you feel good.. wanna.. wanna— fuck.”
His sentence cuts off into a broken moan. For a long moment he just kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your body. His palm smooths over your stomach, then lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts like he’s giving you time to feel the anticipation. His fingers finally slip under the fabric, pushing your shorts and panties down your thighs in one clumsy but eager movement. He helps kick them the rest of the way off, big hands gentle on your skin the whole time.
Once they’re gone he settles between your spread legs, still kissing you slow and deep. His fingers drag through your folds and he curses softly against your mouth.
“You’re so wet for me, fuck…” He circles your clit slowly, almost lazily, but the way his breath catches tells you how much it affects him. “All this for me? After I played like shit for half the game?”
You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips against his hand, and he smiles a tired, crooked grin before leaning in to kiss you again. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on your clit, then dipping inside you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He’s still so hard against your thigh, twitching every time you moan.
Jude buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers work you open. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you around me. Wanna make you come first… then you can ride me slow while I hold you. I just— I need you close. So fucking close.”
He curls his fingers just right and you arch into him, moaning his name. Jude whimpers in response, pressing his cock against your hip like he can’t help it.
“Please, baby,” he breathes against your neck, voice hoarse and shaky. “I need to be inside you. Can’t wait anymore.”
You nod, pulling him up for another deep kiss as he lines himself up. “If you get tired just say, Jude,” you whisper against his lips. He looked so exhausted — eyes heavy, shoulders slumped — and part of you still felt a pang of guilt that he was going to be the one putting in all the effort tonight.
“You’re such an angel,” he whispers softly, pecking your forehead with heartbreaking tenderness, then leaning down for another deep kiss. “As if I could ever be too tired to fuck you.”
The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as he starts pushing in. He’s so slow and careful, even though you can feel how badly he wants to bury himself.
“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Inch by inch he sinks into you, stretching you open until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. The sound he makes is relief mixed with pleasure, a long, broken moan that vibrates through his chest.
For a moment he just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against your lips. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, desperate for the full body contact. You can feel how tired he is, the way his muscles are trembling from the long match and the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. “You feel so good,” he groans. “Just for me, yeah? Tell me this pussy belongs to me. ”
“It belongs to you, baby. Only you,” you moan softly, clenching around him. “I belong to you.”
A shaky breath leaves him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking softly on your skin while he gives one slow, grinding roll of his hips. “Good girl… all mine,” he mumbles, the words slurred with tiredness. “I don’t share you with anyone.”
Then he starts moving with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, grinding deep instead of thrusting hard. Every stroke is deliberate, like he’s savouring every second even though exhaustion is weighing on him. His breaths are heavier, his arms shaking slightly as he holds you, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down his temple. Still, he doesn’t stop. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and Jude lets out a soft, whiny sound again that makes you clench harder around him.
“Baby… yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Feels too good. You’re squeezing me so tight— fuck.”
His mouth finds yours again, the kiss sloppy and tired, tongues sliding lazily while he keeps that slow grind going. One hand stays gripping your hip, the other slides up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, thumb brushing your nipple almost absentmindedly, like even his hands are running out of energy but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s so vocal, whimpering your name, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he needs you.
You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming a little more desperate. “I’m so close,” he whines against your mouth. “Come with me, baby. Please. Wanna feel you come around me.”
One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. The combination of his cock dragging deep inside you, his fingers, his soft sleepy moans, pushes you over the edge first. You clench around him hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you.
Jude follows right after with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he comes deep inside you, hips stuttering. “Fuck— love you, love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, trembling through it.
Afterwards he collapses on top of you, heavy and warm, still buried inside. His arms wrap around you tightly, face tucked into your neck as he catches his breath. Soft kisses press against your shoulder, lazy and sweet.
“Best recovery ever,” he murmurs with a tired little laugh, voice muffled. “But I’m never moving ever again.”
You run your fingers down the muscles of his back, smiling as both of your breathing starts to even out, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion.
You kiss his temple, open your mouth to respond, but he's snoring softly before you can even reply.
Coming over after work was supposed to be a quick check-in. Instead, it turns into dinner, two languages, one very clingy footballer fresh out of the shower, and the quiet realization that your boyfriend has absolutely no concept of personal space.
WARNINGS ◦ established relationship ◦ multilingual couple ◦ reader speaks fluent spanish ◦ jude bellingham being your cozy boyfriend on a sunny madrid morning... that's it that's the tweet ◦ reader is a famous event promoter in spain for context purposes lolz ◦ ittiy bitty angst but nothing major ◦ bellingham brothers drama mentioned 👀 ◦ sfw content but we have kisses and a really touch-starved jude ◦ NOT EDITED
5,861 ━━━━━ oneshot jude bellingham x spanish!reader
۶ৎ 𝓩 , i'm afraid my non-spanish-speaking girlies won't enjoy this to the fullest, my bad 😔 i just had this scenario in my head and thought using real spanish would be top top for the immersion and everything bla bla. just noticing this was unnecessarily long rn lolz, sowwy! thanks for enjoying my very small ballblr era btw, you guys are so sweet ><
━━━━━ read on ao3
translated from spanish ¿qué cocinas, bebé?—what are you making, baby? huele bien—it smells good todavía no lo has visto—you haven't even seen it yet no hace falta—i don't have to eso dices ahora—that's what you're saying now ¿ha dicho que primero va la cebolla?—did she say the onion goes in first? has entendido eso—you understood that claro—of course hace unos meses me habrías mirado esperando una traducción—a few months ago you would've looked at me waiting for a translation
The villa was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of peaceful hush that settled over Jude’s Madrid home after a full day of training. He had been there for well over a year now, long enough for the sleek, modern space with its high ceilings and wide windows to feel less like a temporary base and more like a proper house.
The two of you had been officially together a little more than six months, though the relationship had grown in that easy, gradual way that made weekdays feel negotiable. Surprises like this one, dropping by unannounced, had become possible, even welcome, without needing elaborate plans.
You let yourself in with the code Jude had given you a couple of months earlier. At the time you had refused at first, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, insisting you wouldn’t need it. “I don’t want to intrude,” you had told him. “Weekdays are for my place anyway. I’ll just text when I’m coming over.”
He had listened, then shaken his head with that stubborn, gentle smile of his. “It’s not intruding if I’m giving it to you. Makes life easier—for both of us. What if you finish late and I’m already asleep? Or what if I want you here and you’re stuck waiting outside?”
In the end you had taken the code, the small act feeling heavier than it should have, like another quiet step deeper into each other’s worlds.
Your laptop bag was still slung over your shoulder from the long workday, back-to-back calls coordinating stadium tours, private concerts for international superstars, and high-profile corporate events as you gradually took the reins of your parents’ renowned event promotion company.
The heels came off by the door with a soft click, a small sigh of relief escaping as your bare feet met the cool tiles.
A couple of hours earlier Jude had sent you a blurry selfie from this same gym: sweat on his forehead, mid-cardio face, the caption complaining about the ninety-minute session his trainers had prescribed. You had giggled in your office and replied with your own equally blurry photo from behind your desk, the exchange light and familiar in the middle of busy afternoons.
Then Denise had called.
Jude’s mum had been distant at first, polite but reserved, the natural caution of a mother watching her young son build a life in a new country with a new relationship. She never interfered, but you felt the careful distance in those early months.
Over time, though, she had begun to warm. Small conversations during family dinners, shared coffees in the kitchen, the way she noticed how you showed up for Jude without making a fuss. Tonight’s call had been straightforward but telling: she mentioned the phone call with Jobe, how Jude had sounded a bit flat afterward, and simply said, “I thought you might want to know, dear.” No pressure, just quiet maternal intuition.
You had thanked her, hung up, and decided to come straight over after wrapping your last meeting.
You headed toward the home gym, following the low, steady whir of the stationary bike. The glass door was closed, keeping the air-conditioned coolness inside, Jude was there, pedalling at a consistent pace in a black compression top and shorts, earbuds in, his expression focused but carrying that subtle tension you recognised from the photo.
You knocked lightly on the glass, then pushed the door open a fraction.
“Jude?” you called softly, not wanting to startle him.
He glanced over, slowing the pedals as recognition hit, a tired but genuine smile broke across his face. He pulled one earbud out and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Hey, darling. Didn’t expect you tonight.”
You stepped inside, the cooler air raising goosebumps on your arms after the warmer hallway. “Surprise inspection,” you teased lightly, crossing to him. Leaning down, you pressed a quick, familiar peck to his lips, the kind of casual hello that felt married-couple natural even though there were only six months of weaving your lives together yet. “How’s the cardio going?”
“Almost done,” he said, voice a little breathless as he slowed to a complete stop. The compression top clung to his torso, outlining the hard work of a professional footballer in season.
Jude stepped off the bike with another quiet exhale, one hand reaching automatically for the towel draped over the handlebars. He rubbed it through his hair before slinging it loosely around the back of his neck, then closed the small distance between you without thinking twice.
His free hand settled lightly at your waist while he dipped his head, pressing an absent kiss into your hairline before letting his forehead brush yours for the briefest second. "Long day?" he asked.
"Mhm." You let out a soft breath through your nose, shoulders relaxing now that the workday finally felt behind you.
Jude's thumb traced one absent sweep against your side while he watched you. "Bad long or busy long?" He tilted his head just slightly, studying you with that attentive look he had whenever he was trying to gauge whether you were simply tired or quietly overwhelmed.
Your mouth curved faintly despite yourself. It wasn't the first time he'd asked you that. Somewhere along the line, he'd quietly divided difficult days into categories, insisting they weren't all the same.
"The second one." You answered.
"That's alright then."
His thumb gave your side one lazy stroke before dropping away as he reached for the water bottle perched beside the bike.
You looked him over once more, taking in the damp curls pushed back from his forehead and the way his breathing had already begun to settle now that the bike had stopped. "What about you?"
He took a long drink before answering.
"Ninety minutes of cardio." He swallowed, wiped the back of his wrist across his mouth and glanced briefly toward the bike over his shoulder, as though it had personally offended him. "They're trying to kill me."
The words came with just enough dramatic weight to make you smile. They weren't spoken seriously, not really. Jude had a habit of narrating the more miserable parts of training like they were personal attacks, usually with the same level of conviction he'd argue with a referee.
"They've been trying to kill you since you were sixteen." That earned you a small pause from the english. He looked off to the side for a moment, lips pursing thoughtfully as though he were actually giving your statement the consideration it deserved.
"Yeah..." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Still rude though."
The quiet sincerity with which he delivered it caught you off guard. A laugh escaped before you could stop it, filling the cool gym for the first time since you'd walked in.
Jude's mouth tugged into a grin almost immediately, he tried to hide it behind another sip of water, but the corners of his eyes gave him away. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for making you laugh.
"Oh," he said suddenly, something flickering across his face as though he'd just remembered it. His brows lifted a fraction before he reached back towards the bench where he'd left his phone, unlocking it with one practiced swipe of his thumb.
He glanced at the screen, a smile already beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at you.
"Your brother messaged me."
You blinked, surprised enough that it briefly pulled your attention away from the compression top stretched across his shoulders. Jesus Christ, did he look good... "He did?"
"Mhm."
Jude didn't answer with much more than that. Instead, he wandered back over, still scrolling with his thumb until he found the conversation. He stopped close enough that your shoulders brushed naturally, the familiar contact barely registering anymore, before angling the screen so you could both read it.
"Hi Jude!! My sister said you might've scored tonight. Congrats!! Also tell her she's still ignoring my messages."
The second your eyes landed on the last sentence, a groan escaped you. "Oh my God."
Beside you, Jude's laugh was quiet, more amused than triumphant. "He grassed you up, baby."
You reached for the phone instinctively as though you could defend yourself directly through the screen. "I was in meetings. He knows that."
"I'm guessing he doesn't believe you, darling."
"I literally was." Your protest only seemed to amuse him further. The grin lingering on Jude's face widened just enough for the dimple in his cheek to appear before he scrolled lower, entirely unbothered by your attempt at saving face.
"He asked if I thought he'd make a good midfielder one day." You let out a small breath through your nose, already knowing exactly where this conversation had gone. "I told him to keep enjoying football first."
There wasn't a hint of condescension in the way Jude said it. If anything, he sounded oddly earnest, as though he'd given the question proper consideration before answering. You weren't surprised, he'd always had a soft spot for kids who loved the game, especially the ones who still saw football as something fun before it became anything else.
Still smiling, he turned to gather the resistance bands left on the floor, hanging them neatly back onto their hooks with practiced efficiency. You watched him move around the room, the routine clearly ingrained after months of using the same space every day.
Jude laughed again after glancing at your betrayed face, shaking his head as he headed for the door, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his shorts.
The conversation with your brother seemed to have lifted something from him, the earlier heaviness around his eyes softened now into something lighter, more familiar. He stooped briefly to grab your hand lightly before nudging the gym door open with his shoulder.
The air outside felt noticeably warmer after the chilled gym. You followed him into the hallway, falling into step beside him without really thinking about it.
It always seemed to happen that way, neither of you was particularly attached to leading; you simply drifted through the house together, matching each other's pace until one naturally fell half a step behind.
"I've got to take these before I forget," he said, veering toward the kitchen instead of the stairs. His hand found yours almost absentmindedly as he passed, fingers hooking loosely around them with the quiet confidence of someone who no longer thought twice about reaching for you. "Come here for a second, baby."
You let him tug you along, smiling to yourself as you followed him out of the hallway. Jude walked a pace ahead, still warm from training, your joined hands swinging lazily between you as he occasionally glanced back to make sure you were actually following, as though there were anywhere else you'd be going.
The kitchen was flooded with the last of the afternoon sun, light spilling across the pale stone island where a shaker bottle, a bowl of fruit and a couple of unopened parcels had been left from earlier. Jude crossed straight to one of the cupboards, opening it without hesitation.
You'd noticed long ago that everything in his kitchen had found its permanent place, not because he was especially organised, but because routine had a way of arranging itself around him.
He reached for a white plastic tub, then another, reading neither label before unscrewing the lids.
You leaned your hip against the island, watching him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who'd repeated the same post-training routine hundreds of times. "I've got to go to Amsterdam next week." The words came almost absentmindedly, dropped into the room the same way you'd mention needing to buy milk.
Jude paused halfway through screwing the lid back on. "...Amsterdam?"
"Mhm."
He looked up after your response. "For work?"
"Yeah, baby." You try to take your eyes off him and stare at the counter instead. "It's just three days."
A beat of silence settled between you.
He swallowed the capsules with a mouthful of water before setting the glass down a little more carefully than necessary. "And when," he asked slowly, "were you planning on mentioning that?"
You frowned, already aware of where this was going. "...I just did. I swear I just got the notification, baby."
"No, no." He pointed at you with the bottle still in his hand. "You've been here, what..." He glanced dramatically towards the oven clock. "Nearly ten minutes."
You let out a disbelieving laugh, folding your arms across your chest as you watched him build his own case with alarming confidence. Jude didn't seem remotely interested in dropping it either.
He wandered back toward the island, unscrewing the lid of another supplement tub while talking, the conversation continuing as naturally as his post-training routine. "You let me tell you about cardio."
"Yes, baby, I listened to you."
"You were planning to deceive me."
"C'mon, I wasn't! I was being supportive." You couldn't stop the smile off your lips.
He tipped another two capsules into his palm before looking back at you, his expression suggesting that this only strengthened his argument. "I showed you your brother's messages."
He swallowed the tablets with another mouthful of water, setting the glass down before resting both palms against the edge of the island. Only then did he finally look at you properly again, eyebrows lifting with quiet disbelief.
"And now..." One hand came up in a slow, almost offended gesture. "...Amsterdam."
The dramatic pause was enough to make you smile. "It only got confirmed this afternoon, I swear."
"So?"
"So..." You laughed softly, unable to believe you were actually defending yourself. "I've barely known myself."
"You've had ages."
"I literally haven't."
He frowned as though the timeline genuinely wasn't adding up. Then, with all the seriousness of someone presenting evidence in court, he glanced at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "You've had..." His eyes lifted back to yours. "...At least two hours."
"I was in meetings."
"So text me."
"I am here, Jude."
"I know." The answer came quietly. He nodded once to himself, lips pressing together in exaggerated contemplation before the corners of his mouth twitched. "Which now feels suspicious."
"Suspicious?" You stopped where you were on the other side of the island, one hip settling against the cool stone countertop as you folded your arms across your chest.
He looked at you for a second over the rim of his shaker, taking another slow sip as if he had all the time in the world. The silence wasn't hesitation, it was commitment. Commitment to whatever ridiculous argument he was constructing in his head.
He swallowed, lowered the bottle onto the counter with deliberate care and nodded once. "Mhm." One finger came up between you, not accusingly, but thoughtfully. "I thought..."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the floor, shoulders rising in an almost imperceptible shrug before he looked back at you with that terribly convincing expression of someone processing a deep emotional wound.
"...I thought you just missed me, you know."
"I did miss you, baby." Your eyebrows lifted slowly, lips parting as though you were genuinely trying to understand the conclusion he'd somehow reached.
"I see what's happened." His shoulders slumped with theatrical resignation as he looked mournfully into the shaker, turning it slowly between his hands as though searching for answers somewhere inside the plastic. "I was feeling all special."
You couldn't help smiling. "You were?"
"I was." He sounded almost offended that you'd question it.
"You sent me that tragic selfie."
"It was a vulnerable moment." He lifted his eyes to yours again, giving a tiny shake of his head. "I was even thinking I'd cook tonight."
That was enough to break whatever composure you had left, a laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You were not."
"I was."
"You literally complain every time you have to cook, Jude."
"I would've persevered."
"For me?" You folded your lips together, tryin, and failing, not to smile.
He looked at you as though the answer should have been painfully obvious.
"For us." The sincerity lasted exactly half a second before his expression tipped back into something quietly pleased with itself.
He knew full well how ridiculous he sounded, which somehow only made the act more convincing.
"...Turns out you were buttering me up because you're abandoning me."
"Oh, shut up." You closed the distance between you with an exasperated huff, reaching up to poke him lightly beneath the ribs. He caught your wrist almost on instinct, more amused than triumphant now that he'd managed to get exactly the reaction he'd been fishing for all along.
His grin widened, not because he'd won the argument, but because you'd played along.
You let your wrist remain in his hand for a second longer, his fingers warm despite the lingering chill from the shaker bottle he'd been holding moments earlier. He wasn't gripping you, just absentmindedly keeping you there while he looked at you with that unmistakable expression that always meant he was enjoying himself far too much.
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself, William." You laughed quietly, giving his hand a small tug.
"I'm not." He came without resistance, taking the single step that closed the gap between you until there was barely any space left between your bodies.
"You are."
"I've been abandoned, Y/N, have mercy on me."
From this close you could still smell the clean sharpness of his body wash underneath the sweat from training, the compression top clinging stubbornly to his chest where it hadn't quite dried yet.
"It's just three days," you reminded him, your voice softening without you meaning it to. "I fly out Tuesday morning, meetings Wednesday and Thursday..." You counted them off lightly against the back of his hand with your free index finger before looking back up at him. "...and I'm back Friday afternoon."
He listened without interrupting this time. "And?"
"And..." A smile tugged at your lips. "You'll see me at the amistoso."
That finally made something shift behind his eyes. "The friendly?"
"Mhm." You look at him and raise your eyebrows in a provocative smile. "My last meeting finishes around lunchtime, then I'll come straight from the airport."
His mouth pressed into a line that tried very hard not to become a smile. "You've thought this through, eh."
"I even checked your arrival time back from training." That earned you a proper look, not teasing this time, just... one of those quiet glances where he seemed to be taking you in all over again.
"You're like, my favorite person in the world, you know that, right?" You smiled, the warmth of his words settling comfortably in your chest. "I'll even forgive you for abandoning me for three whole days."
"I'm not abandoning you, you drama king." You roll your eyes after taking a step out and loosening your hands from his grip. You see his smirk and give him a last squeeze before continuing your defense. “And I’m going to tell Jobe you said that I'm your favorite now.”
Jude rolled his eyes immediately, the dramatic flair of it exaggerated just enough to make you laugh again. He let you take off your wrist from his grip but didn’t step back, his hand instead finding its way to rest lightly against your lower back as he shook his head.
“Don’t you dare, he’ll never let me live it down. Little shit already thinks he’s got me wrapped around his finger.”
Jude lingered close for another moment, the casual touch at your back familiar and grounding, before he finally moved to put the tubs away. You watched him for a second, his shoulders still carrying a faint tension beneath the compression top, then leaned your hip against the island, arms loosely crossed.
“So… how are things with you two, really?” you asked, voice gentle but direct. You didn’t want to push, but the reason you were here lingered between you. “Your mum mentioned the call to me earlier.”
Jude didn't answer straight away.
He gathered the tubs one by one, screwing the lids back on before sliding them into the cupboard with the same absent-minded precision that seemed to follow every part of his routine. The last one lingered in his hand for a second longer than the others before he set it down and quietly closed the cupboard door.
His shoulders rose with a slow breath. "...Mum called you."
You watched him turn around, the teasing from only moments ago having softened into something quieter. He leaned one hip against the counter opposite you, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
The compression top, still damp from training, pulled taut across his shoulders as he settled there, studying your face with that same attentiveness he'd greeted you with in the gym.
There wasn't any annoyance behind his earlier observation. If anything, it sounded faintly amused.
"That's why you came here, huh."
He watched you for another second before one corner of his mouth lifted.
"And as I expected... All of this surprise inspection excuse wasn't just because I'm devastatingly handsome after ninety minutes on a bike."
You held his gaze for a moment before pushing yourself away from the island, the corners of your mouth already beginning to soften. By the time you reached him, there was barely enough space left between you to call it distance.
"Mm..." you hummed, pretending to give his question some genuine thought.
Your hand found the front of his compression top almost absentmindedly, smoothing a crease across his chest before your fingers drifted to the small zip at the collar, fidgeting with it more than actually fixing anything.
"I'd say that's only..." You paused, finally looking back up at him with the hint of a smile. "...about thirty percent of the reason."
His eyebrow lifted immediately. "Thirty?"
You smiled a little wider. "I missed you," you admitted, your thumb still idly tracing the edge of the zipper. "Today I just... had another reason to come as well."
Jude's expression softened almost immediately.
The teasing disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, his eyes searched yours for a brief second before dropping to where your fingers still toyed absentmindedly with the zip of his compression top.
"...She called you then." It wasn't a question this time, more like an acknowledgment. "Figured she might."
He let out a slow breath through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching in a smile that carried more appreciation than amusement.
“It was nothing major,” he said, though the slight furrow between his brows suggested otherwise. “Mum had her phone on speaker while I was talking to her earlier. I overheard Jobe in the background going on about his housing situation in Germany—some technical problems with the landlord, stupid policies he couldn't meet or whatever. He was proper stressing her out, venting like she wasn’t already dealing with enough.” Jude shrugged, but there was a protective edge to it. “I called him after. Told him straight—he’s a grown man now, can’t be dumping all that on mom every time something goes sideways. Needs to handle it himself sometimes.”
Jude scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish now that the story was out.
“Might’ve talked his ear off, older brother stuff, you know? He got defensive, I got annoyed, we both said some things.” A small, rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “Whatever, we’ll be fine in a couple of days. As usual.”
You nodded, understanding the complicated balance of love and frustration that came with family. “Your mum worries about both of you, that’s why she called me, I think. She knows you take things like this heavier than you let on.”
Jude met your eyes closely, his expression softening. “Yeah… she’s been warming up to you a lot, notices when you show up like this.” One of his hands came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the gesture absentminded and tender. “Didn’t need to come all the way over though, I would’ve been alright.”
“I know,” you said simply. “But I wanted to."
His thumb, still resting against your waist, gave a small, absent stroke through the fabric of your blouse as though he'd forgotten his hand was there in the first place.
The corner of his mouth lifted. "...Thank you, love."
Your own smile answered before you spoke. "You're welcome."
Only then did you gently pat the centre of his chest, the gesture light enough to break whatever seriousness had crept into the kitchen.
"And," you added, glancing toward the grocery bags waiting by the island, "I'm cooking tonight." His eyebrows rose immediately. "So you can stop pretending you were actually going to make that nutritionist recipe."
He let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing further. “It really was dead easy. On paper, at least.”
His hand lingered near your jaw for a second before dropping to rest on your waist again.
“But I’m not arguing with you taking over, especially after that bike tried to kill me.”
The corner of your mouth lifted into a small smile. "Good," you said quietly. "Because I'd rather not spend the evening mediating between the Bellingham brothers."
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. "Fair."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, it simply settled around the two of you, filling the kitchen with the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant villa traffic drifting in through the cracked window above the sink. The conversation had done what it needed to do, there wasn't much else to add.
Jude's hand lingered at your waist for another moment before giving it one absent squeeze. "Right," he sighed, glancing down at himself. "I am absolutely grim."
You looked pointedly at the damp compression top still clinging stubbornly to his chest. "I've been trying to tell you that for the last ten minutes."
He looked offended. "I've had a productive workout, okay?"
"You've also been sweating on me." You pretend to roll your eyes just to annoy him.
"Oh, wow. I'm an occupational hazard, got it."
A smile tugged at your lips as you gave the zip of his top one last playful tug before letting go. "Go shower."
He stayed exactly where he was. "You sure you don't need a hand with dinner first?"
You shook your head. "I'm fine. Besides..." Your eyes flicked toward the grocery bags sitting beside the island. "You've got enough in here to make something decent."
He followed your gaze before nodding once, satisfied. "Alright."
Instead of leaving immediately, he leaned down just enough to steal a quick kiss from your lips. It was brief, familiar, almost absent-minded, the sort of kiss exchanged without interrupting the flow of the evening.
His forehead brushed yours for the smallest moment afterwards. "Shout if you can't find anything."
"William..." He smiled.
"Ok, I'm going, damn." You nudged him lightly toward the hallway with the heel of your hand against his side.
This time he obeyed, laughing quietly as he disappeared down the corridor, one hand already reaching for the hem of the compression top as he walked. By the time he reached the bedroom doorway, the black fabric had disappeared over his head in one easy movement before being tossed somewhere inside the room with considerably more optimism than accuracy.
You heard something hit the floor.
Of course.
Shaking your head to yourself, you turned back to the kitchen. The house fell into that comfortable kind of quiet that only ever seemed to exist after training sessions. Water began running somewhere upstairs as you crossed to the refrigerator, pulling open the heavy door and surveying its contents like you always did when you cooked here.
The shelves were predictably stocked: neatly labelled containers from the club chef, fresh vegetables, chicken, yogurt, eggs, berries, enough fruit to feed a small village, and, wedged somewhat carelessly between cartons of juice, a takeaway sauce he'd almost certainly forgotten was there.
A smile crept onto your face. Some habits, you suspected, even elite footballers never quite grew out of.
Without really thinking about it, you crossed to the opposite side of the kitchen and pulled open a drawer, your hand finding the wooden spatula before your eyes did.
The funny thing was, six months ago you would've had to ask where he kept absolutely everything.
Now you reached for the olive oil without looking, you knew the chopping boards lived in the drawer beside the sink, the good knives were hidden behind the cereal boxes because Jude had somehow convinced himself it was a sensible place to keep them, and the spatula he always reached for had a habit of disappearing into the dishwasher instead of the utensil pot.
Somewhere along the way, without either of you really noticing, his kitchen had stopped feeling unfamiliar.
You reached for your phone where you'd left it beside the fruit bowl, waking the screen with the side of your thumb before opening YouTube almost on instinct.
"Tortilla de patatas..." you murmured to yourself, already typing in Spanish without thinking twice.
Your thumb hovered over the search bar for barely a second before you tapped the first recipe that looked promising. You set your phone against the fruit bowl, propping it up with the salt cellar until it stood at just enough of an angle to see the screen from the chopping board.
A cheerful voice immediately filled the kitchen. "Hola, chicos. Hoy vamos a preparar..."
You didn't bother turning the volume up, it didn't need to be loud enough to follow every instruction, it was more company than guidance, something to fill the quiet while your hands got to work.
The knife found its rhythm against the wooden board almost immediately. Potatoes, onions, garlic. Olive oil warming slowly in the pan. The familiar sequence settled over you with the same ease as the workday had finally begun to fall away.
Without really noticing, your attention drifted between the recipe and your own movements. Sometimes you glanced at the screen, other times you were already a step ahead of it, shaking your head faintly when the woman reached for an ingredient later than you would've.
By the time the potatoes had begun to soften around the edges, the video had wandered onto the subject of whether onion belonged in a proper tortilla at all. The woman on-screen argued passionately for it, you quietly agreed. Upstairs, the shower had long since stopped running.
A few minutes later came the familiar sounds that always followed: drawers opening, wardrobe doors sliding, footsteps crossing hardwood before gradually making their way back downstairs.
Out of the corner of your eye you caught the movement of a clean white T-shirt disappearing over your boyfriend's head, the hem settling across his shoulders as he tugged it down the rest of the way. His hair was damp from the shower, darker than before, a few curls refusing to stay where the towel had left them.
Jude didn't announce himself, he simply wandered over until he was standing behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him before he actually touched you.
One arm slipped loosely around your waist. "¿Qué cocinas, bebé?" he murmured, the words soft against your skin.
His chin found the curve between your shoulder and neck almost instinctively. You smiled to yourself without pausing the knife. "La tortilla."
"Mmm..."
He leaned in just enough to press a slow kiss beneath your ear before settling there again, more interested in being close than interrupting whatever you were doing. His nose brushed lightly against your hair as he breathed in.
"Huele bien."
You let out a quiet laugh. "Todavía no lo has visto."
"No hace falta." His voice came lazily, still muffled where his face was half-hidden against your neck.
You smiled, keeping your attention on the potatoes as you nudged them gently through the oil.
"Eso dices ahora."
"I mean it."
His arms tightened around your waist for the briefest moment before relaxing again, his chin still resting comfortably against your shoulder. For a while neither of you said anything else, the only voices in the kitchen came from the woman on your phone passionately defending her preferred ratio of onions to potatoes.
Jude listened for a second. "...¿Ha dicho que primero va la cebolla?"
You turned your head just enough to look at him. "Has entendido eso."
He looked mildly offended. "Claro."
"No, I mean..." You smiled. "Hace unos meses me habrías mirado esperando una traducción."
He let out a quiet hum, considering it. "Sí... probablemente lo habría hecho…"
Your knife slowed against the chopping board as another thought crossed your mind. "You're speaking with a lot more confidence now."
That finally made him lift his head from your shoulder. "You think?"
"Mhm. You don't slow down anymore."
A small grin spread across his face, one that looked equal parts proud and shy. "That's because of you."
You laughed softly. "Don't give me that much credit, sir."
"I'm serious." He shrugged one shoulder. "I hear you every day." His fingers absentmindedly traced a small circle against your waist as he spoke. "After training, at dinner, on the phone with your parents." Another shrug. "Eventually it sticks."
You smiled to yourself, turning the potatoes once more. "Congratulations, baby. I'm proud of you."
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he simply stayed where he was, chin resting lightly against your shoulder as though the conversation had exhausted whatever words he still had left. One hand remained draped lazily around your waist while the other absentmindedly reached across the counter, stealing an olive from the small bowl you'd set aside.
You heard the quiet clink before you saw him. "...William."
"Mhm?"
"That's for dinner."
"It still is."
He popped another into his mouth anyway.
You shook your head, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips as you nudged him lightly backwards with your hip. He yielded exactly half a step before drifting right back into place a moment later, like muscle memory.
The tortilla hissed softly as it met the oil.
On your phone, the woman had moved on to explaining cooking times, speaking just a little faster now. Jude followed enough to nod every so often, occasionally throwing in the odd word or phrase under his breath before looking at you for silent confirmation. Sometimes he was right, sometimes he wasn't.
You corrected him without thinking and he accepted every correction just as easily.
Outside, the last of the afternoon light slipped across the kitchen floor, stretching long rectangles of gold between the island and the windows. Dinner came together slowly. There was no rush.
No television in the background, no phones demanding attention beyond the recipe propped against the fruit bowl, no conversation that needed solving, just the quiet rhythm of a knife against a chopping board. The occasional murmur of a new relationship in two different languages.
And obviously Jude, who never seemed capable of standing more than an arm's length away from you once he was home.
For now, that was enough for you.
author's note — well hello there, how are we doing :D this is my main masterlist btw, more jude works coming for y'all there teehee >< (i'm sorry this was so long lolz, i think i got too excited with my domestic jude agenda)
Hi, can you do one about Jude Bellingham?He was consoling his girlfriend because they beat Mexico in the World Cup. Thank you
pic from pinterest and isnt mine!
wonderwall
your so happy england beat mexico in wc, the sensitive you can stop crying of joy and jude consoles you.
taglist ( tw ) : established relationship, fem!reader, jude bellingham x reader, crying (from reader), pet names (baby etc), sensitive (crybaby in this case) reader, ooc? (idk jude personally but this doesn’t give ‘jude’ vibes)
a.n. WE are all happy that england beat mexico. 2 goals in 2 minutes my goat. england will win wc 🥹 hopefully norway vs england goes well . also wonderwall by oasis is so flipping peak. “maybeeeeee ypur gonna be the one that saves meeeee”
a sea of white shirts jump up from their seats, players crashing into one another as relieved laughter and triumphant shouts echoed around the stadium. jude disappeared beneath a pile of teammates before emerging again with the widest grin you’d ever seen, throwing an arm around one of them as they made their way towards the travelling england supporters.
the fans were already bouncing.
scarves spun above thousands of heads as the players lined up in front of them, applauding every corner of the stand.
then the opening chords of wonderwall rolled around the stadium.
almost instantly, the england fans took over.
~
~
~
“there are many things that i would like to say to you but don’t know how”
the players laughed, some draping their arms over each other’s shoulders as they swayed in front of the supporters. a few sang every word at the top of their lungs, others simply stood there, soaking it all in. jude threw his head back, singing along with a smile so bright it was impossible to look away from him.
“cause maybe, your gonna be the one that saves me.”
your vision blurred, mouthing the unofficial anthem as you watched jude lovingly.
you’d held it together through ninety minutes, through every chance, the 2 goals of jude in the first two minutes and every agonising minute of stoppage time but watching jude sing with the supporters, medal hanging around his neck, completely lost in the moment he’d worked his whole life for was your breaking point.
“and after all.”
a tear slipped down your cheek.
“oh no…” you whispered to yourself, laughing weakly, not now.
another tear followed. then another.
within seconds, your shoulders were shaking as happy sobs escaped you, your hand covering your mouth as you watched him smile towards the england fans.
“your my wonderwall.”
he looked so happy, a big toothy grin practically stuck on his face like every sacrifice, every injury, every hour spent away from home had been worth it.
then, as if he could feel you watching him, jude’s eyes lifted towards the family section and found you immediately, already crying. even from the other side of the barrier, he could tell.
your eyes were glassy, your nose had already gone pink, and you were frantically trying to wipe away tears before anyone noticed with a big happy smile.
he laughed to himself, nudging kane beside him before subtly pointing towards you.
“she’s crying already?” kane laughed.
jude only smiled, unable to take his eyes off you. “ ‘course she is.”’ not an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. only affection, pure and unmistakable affection. “my little crybaby.”
he stayed with the team long enough to applaud the supporters, clapping above his head before tapping the england badge over his heart. he blew a kiss towards the fans, took a few photos with the squad and accepted yet another crushing hug from one of the coaches.
but every few seconds, he looked back at you.
you were still standing there, still crying. still smiling.
he couldn’t get to you fast enough, obviously having to go through the media.
but the moment there was an opening, he jogged towards the barrier.
fans reached out for him as he passed, shouting his name, asking for high fives, congratulating him, but he apologised with a sheepish smile and pointed towards you instead. “sorry, guys, gotta see my girl.”
your heart melted before he’d even reached you. you’d always loved watching him interact with fans. but reading his mouth say that, like as though getting to you was the most important thing in the world, it made another tear roll down your cheek.
you were so happy that england beat mexico.
jude reached the barrier and immediately opened his arms. “come here, baby.”
you didn’t even think, practically stumbling into him.
he caught you with a laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around your waist before pulling you flush against him. the force of the hug almost knocked the air from your lungs. not that you minded. (getting crushed by jude is the dream)
he always hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in months. he wanted to make sure you were really there. to make sure that you were his love only.
you buried your face into his neck, clutching the back of his shirt as another sob escaped.
he just held you.
one hand rubbed slow, comforting circles across your back while the other cradled the back of your head.
“hey…” he murmured, pressing a kiss against your hair. “we won.”
you nodded against him. “i know.”
another kiss. “we’re through.”
another nod. “i know.”
he smiled, feeling your shoulders shake.
“then why’s my baby crying?”
you let out the tiniest laugh between sniffles.“because…” you paused, trying to steady your breathing. “because i’m so happy.” your voice cracking on the last word.
jude’s heart practically burst. he leaned back just enough to look at you.
your mascara had smudged. your eyelashes were clumped together from tears. your cheeks were bright pink and somehow he’d never thought you’d looked more beautiful.
“hi,” he said softly.
you sniffled. “hi.”
“there’s my favourite face.”
“i’m literally crying.”
“i know.” he smiled, brushing a tear away with his thumb.“still my favourite.”
you looked at him for a second before your lip wobbled all over again.
he saw it instantly.
“no…”
you nodded.
“don’t.”
“i’m trying.”
“baby…”
“i really am. you just did so well!” two more tears escaping as you spoke.
jude laughed so warmly that you couldn’t help laughing too.“there they are.”
you groaned, hiding your face back against his shoulder.“stop looking at me.”
“can’t.”
“why?”
“‘cause you’re cute.”
“i’m a mess.”
“you’re my mess. a cute mess too.” he kissed your temple, then your forehead and then the tip of your nose just to hear you giggle.
“see?” he whispered. “there’s my smile.”
you couldn’t help it, being around him always made everything feel lighter. like everything didn’t matter. just him and yoi.
“you looked so happy,” you admitted quietly.
he frowned just slightly.“yeah?”
“when you were singing. it was so cute.”
you glanced back towards the england supporters, who were somehow still belting out wonderwall even though the song had long ended.
“you looked like… i don’t know.” you searched for the words. “like little jude.”
his expression softened completely. he stared at you for a moment and then reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.“that’s because i was thinking about everyone who got me here.”
your eyes searched his, onlt finding admiration.
“my family,”
“my teammates,”
“and you.”
you blinked.“me?”
he smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “especially you.”
you looked at him.“baby…”
“you’ve been there after every loss.” his thumb traced lazy circles over your cheek. “every injury.” he kissed your forehead.“every bad headline.” another kiss landed on your temple “every time i’ve been doubting myself.” he rested his forehead against yours. “you’ve never doubted me.”
you couldn’t stop the tears this time and they spilled over before you even realised. “aww jude don’t say things like that when you know i cry easily..”
jude laughed quietly, shaking his head. “there’s my beautiful crybaby.”
you gave his chest the weakest little shove. “it’s your fault.”
“i know.”
“you keep saying things.”
“good.” he wrapped you back up in his arms before you could complain anymore. “because i’ve got a lifetime’s worth left to tell you.”
you melted into him all over again, your cheek pressed against his chest as his medal rested cool against your arm.
around you, the stadium was still alive.
the fans cheered until their voices cracked, children waved england flags from their parents’ shoulders, his teammates danced together in front of the supporters and camera flashes lit up the pitch yet somehow, wrapped safely in jude’s arms, it all faded into the background.
he absentmindedly played with your hair, running his fingers through it while swaying the two of you ever so slightly.
it was something he always did when you cried. he never rushed or teased you. he just let you feel.
after a minute, he tipped your chin up again. “all done?”
you looked at him. “…no.”
he laughed. “thought so.”
“i’ve got more.”
“how many?”
you considered it seriously. “…at least another ten minutes.”
he grinned. “perfect.”
“why?”
he kissed your forehead once more.“’cause that means i get to hold you for another ten minutes.”
warnings/notes ➜ 18+ minors dni. lowkey innocence kink. some slight power imbalance (he’s 2 years older + more experienced). church girl™️, reader having an internal crisis. angst if you squint.
summary ➜ you meet jude on a random saturday night. some might call it serendipity, you just call it the beginning of your downfall.
you don't even like parties like that.
birthday, baby shower, graduation, whatever kind of party it is—you always find yourself standing near the exit, picking at the edge of your cup, smiling when expected, but never really there. even at church gatherings, when aunties are fanning themselves, talking about the goodness of God, and cousins are running around sticky-mouthed from too much cake, you're somewhere on the sidelines, nodding along but never fully melting into the moment.
it's not that you completely hate them. it's just that they've never felt like you.
you don't do the loud music, the heavy bass that rattles your chest. don't like the way people move in dim lighting, hands wandering, voices slurring, bodies pressing too close. don't care much for the mindless small talk, the smell of liquor clinging to the walls, the fake love that seems to ooze from everybody's mouth after their third drink.
it's not you.
and yet, somehow, you're here. at some house party that has absolutely no business being this packed, clutching a red cup full of something you aren't even sipping, standing by the porch like you're waiting on God himself to send you a sign that it's time to leave.
you should've stayed home, but your friend begged and begged, said you needed to get out, live a little, loosen up. said it like you were some wound-up little thing, too afraid to step outside the lines drawn for you.
so you borrowed one of her dresses. it's tight, clings to you in places you don't usually let yourself acknowledge. it's not short, not inappropriate, but it shows off the curve of your thighs, the softness of your waist, enough to make you feel like maybe you should've thrown a sweater over it before leaving. you tug at the hem, shift from foot to foot, take another glance at the gate like maybe—maybe—you should just call it a night.
and then, he walks up.
casual. easy.
he moves like the world bends for him, like he's used to doors opening before he even knocks. like he expects it. welcomes it. like he thrives in it. and maybe he does—because he's jude bellingham, and his name rings bells far beyond this crowded house, far beyond this city.
he's the guy whose face you've seen on billboards, stretched across stadium screens, flashing in sports headlines your daddy flips past in the morning paper. a name your little cousins scream when they're dribbling in the backyard, pretending they're him, tongue poked out, eyes locked on a goal that doesn't even exist.
you know who he is.
he looks like money. like fame. like a world you don't belong to. he looks like the kind of guy your daddy would pray for you to stay away from. there's something about him that screams worldly, that tells you he's seen too much, had too much, lived too much to ever be satisfied with simple things. with quiet things.
he stops in front of you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne. you can't even name it, but you know it smells expensive, smells rich, like something way above your whole bloodline's tax bracket.
"you alright?"
just that. no introduction. no hey, i’m jude. like he expects you to already know. which you do. but still.
his voice is smooth, thick with that accent that makes his words roll off his tongue just a little different. it makes heat lick up your spine, makes your fingers curl tighter around your untouched drink.
you don't answer right away. you just blink up at him, trying to figure out why. why, in a house full of people who probably came here just for the chance to breathe the same air as him, he's standing in front of you.
you shift, clear your throat. "yeah. just—" you hesitate, then sigh, "—not really a party person."
jude's mouth twitches, just barely.
"yeah?" he lifts a brow. "what, you get dragged out here?"
you give a small, tight-lipped smile. "something like that."
his eyes flick down, taking in the way you tug at your dress again, the way your shoulders are stiff, like you're waiting to be judged. he can easily tell you don't belong here, that you slipped in from a whole other world.
he sees it in the way your nails tap against your cup, like you're trying to distract yourself from how much you don't fit into this picture. in the way your eyes flick toward the exit—again—like you're counting the steps it would take to leave.
he almost smirks, because you look like a lost little lamb, dropped into the middle of something you shouldn't be in.
and he likes that.
too much.
"you wanna go somewhere quieter?" he tilts his head just slightly, smiles so sweetly it almost feels calculated.
and you should say no. you should. it's what's expected of you. the voice of every woman in your life rings in your head, your mama's warnings about boys with hands too quick and smiles too sweet, the voice of your youth pastor reminding you of what happens when you stray too far from the path.
"i—" your voice is softer than you'd like, unsure. "i shouldn't."
his smile doesn't waver. in fact, it deepens, like he expected that. like it only amuses him.
"but do you want to?"
"it's just—" you hesitate, shifting on your feet. "my friend's inside, and i don't wanna leave her alone."
jude doesn't react immediately. he just watches you, the corners of his mouth twitching like he's entertained by the excuse you're trying to convince yourself with.
"that her right there?" he asks, nodding toward the open door, where your friend is laughing, deep in conversation with some guy you don't recognise. her body is angled toward him, her hand resting on his arm, her drink half-forgotten on the table beside her.
your stomach twists, because yeah. that's her. looking very much not alone.
jude chuckles, tongue peeking out to wet his lips before he looks back at you. "yeah, she seems real concerned about where you are."
he's got a point. you know he does. and before you can come up with some half-assed rebuttal, he's already stepping in a little closer. soft eyes, even softer smile, head tilting just enough to make you dizzy.
"i won't steal you away forever," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, so smooth it nearly melts into your skin. "just for a little while. promise."
it's stupid. so, so stupid.
but the way he says it makes it feel like the safest danger you'll ever walk into.
so before you can talk yourself out of it, before you can remind yourself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, before you can let the guilt take root in your stomach—
you nod.
and jude grins.
like he knew you would.
—
you don't kiss him that first night.
you almost do. his mouth gets close, real close, and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes your jaw. his touch is warm, gentle, not rushed. but you flinch anyway, just a tiny jerk of your chin, a nervous swallow he doesn't miss.
he steps back, slow. like he can see the hesitation all over your face. like he already knows the battle waging inside your head, between what you've been taught and what your body is starting to want.
"don't worry," he says, voice low. steady. like he's used to getting his way but doesn't mind waiting this time. "won't do anything you're not comfortable doing."
you nod, grateful, embarrassed, confused all at once.
grateful because he didn't push, didn't try to take what you weren't ready to give. didn't make you feel stupid for hesitating.
embarrassed because you wanted to. for a second—half a second—you wanted to feel his lips on yours, to know if they were as soft as they looked, to know if he'd kiss you sweet or if he'd take his time, teasing, drawing it out until you had no choice but to pull him closer. and that thought alone makes heat crawl up your neck, because what kind of girl are you to be thinking like that? what kind of girl stands out here in the dark, alone with a boy like him, heart racing, mind spinning, knowing full well she has no business even entertaining the idea?
confused because none of this makes sense. because he's him, jude bellingham, a name bigger than this city, bigger than you. because you're just some girl from a quiet neighbourhood, the preacher's daughter, the one who plays it safe and follows the rules and doesn't end up in situations like this. you don't flirt with boys who have money and a reputation that stretches across continents. you don't hold conversations with them after midnight, hands stuffed in their pockets, smirking when you tell them about how your daddy would lose his mind if he knew you were out here.
but you do.
you let it happen.
you let him happen.
you watch as he knowingly smiles down at you. soft. indulgent. patient. like he already knows how this story ends. like he already knows that this thing between you isn't about if—it's about when.
and the way your stomach tightens, the way your lips tingle from nothing but the ghost of what almost happened? you know it too.
he's what you'll be craving... eventually.
—
ynprivate
liked by yourbestfriend, yourcousin, and 11 others.
ynprivate life lately.✨
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yourbestfriend: beautiful ass bitch.😍
↳ ynprivate: language☹️
boyfromchurch: you get prettier every time i see you😢 - liked by author
yourfriend: all your angles are good angles😌
↳ ynprivate: 🥹💕
—
ynprivate added to their instagram stories
💬 judebellingham has replied to your story
judebellingham: cheffing up like this and didn’t offer me none? fake.
ynprivate: i don’t share with strangers.
judebellingham: good thing you and i are way past that then.
ynprivate: are we?
judebellingham: if our intimate little interaction from the other night is any indication, yeah.
ynprivate: intimate? you romanticise things. dangerous habit.
judebellingham: no. i remember things how they are. the way you looked at me was anything but casual.🤷🏽♂️
ynprivate: you’re delusional.
judebellingham: and you’re deflecting. which is fine. you’ll say what you mean eventually.
ynprivate: and that is?
judebellingham: you want me
ynprivate: hilarious.
judebellingham: you think i’m charming
ynprivate: even more hilarious. i’m busy. stop texting me, before i burn my cookies.
judebellingham: send me one. wanna taste.
ynprivate: go buy your own, i’m sure you have the budget for it big baller.
judebellingham: problem is, i don’t want a cookie. i want your cookie.
ynprivate: …
judebellingham: i meant that in exactly the way you just thought i did
ynprivate: wow. i’ll pray for you
judebellingham: i’d love that.😊
ynprivate: 🤦🏽♀️
—
he’s right about one thing.
you do think he’s charming.
weeks pass, and jude keeps randomly popping up.
at the coffee shop where you work—just off campus, tucked into the corner of a busy street, a place that smells like roasted espresso beans and vanilla syrup. you don't even see him at first. too busy at the register, wiping your hands on your apron, trying to keep up with the rush.
but then you hear his voice. low, warm, unmistakable.
"medium caramel latte. extra shot."
you look up, and there he is. leaning against the counter, watching you with this lazy kind of amusement, like he's already in on a joke you don't know yet.
you stammer out a "hi," and he grins.
"hey, pretty girl. you work here?"
you nod, suddenly flustered, suddenly too aware of how you probably smell like milk and coffee grounds, how your braids are tied in a lopsided bun at the top of your head.
"since when?" he asks.
you tell him—a few months now, just something part-time, something to keep busy.
"i like it," he says, tapping his fingers against the counter. "suits you."
it shouldn't make you warm inside, but it does.
after that, he starts showing up more. not every day, not even every week, but enough that you notice.
one time, he pops up at that one spot behind the student centre where you go to read alone.
you found it your first year—a little courtyard, quiet, shaded by trees, tucked away from the main pathways. most people don't even know it's there. you go when you need peace, when the world feels too loud, when you just want to sit with a book and let time slip through your fingers.
so when jude shows up on a random tuesday afternoon, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he belongs anywhere but here, you frown.
"how'd you find this place?"
he shrugs, lazy and unbothered, before dropping onto the bench beside you. "a little birdy told me this is your spot. figured i'd find you here."
your best friend. of course. she's been on one ever since she caught wind of whatever this thing is between you and jude. grinning every time his name comes up, eyes wide with something like glee when she saw him talking to you after church that one time.
she's way too invested. and knowing her? she probably handed him the information on a silver platter. all it would've taken was a quick dm, a little charm, and she would've folded in seconds.
you make a mental note to cuss her out later. in the most christian way, of course.
you turn to jude, lips parted, already halfway to telling him that you don't play about your reading time—but then he stretches out, long legs sprawling, his whole body shifting into something that looks too good to ignore.
his arm drapes over the back of the bench, all casual, his fingers just barely brushing against your back. and he's looking at you with something like amusement in his eyes, like he knows you won't ask him to leave.
and maybe you should. maybe you should roll your eyes, tell him to give you space, bury yourself back in the pages of your book. but the way he's sitting there, looking at you like this is exactly where he's meant to be? yeah. suddenly, the company doesn't feel so bad.
the first time, he talks your ear off.
leans back on the bench, eyes flicking between you and the worn-out pages in your hands. asks you what you're reading, why you picked it, if it's boring, if it's "one of them romance novels with the cringy shit."
"it's a classic," you argue, looking up at him, brow raised.
he snorts, shaking his head. calls you a hopeless romantic.
the second time, he brings food.
"thought you might be hungry," he says, pulling a sandwich and a drink from a brown bag. claims it's the best sandwich you'll ever taste because he made it himself.
you try to act unimpressed, try to keep your face neutral, but your stomach betrays you—growling at the smell of warm bread, fresh and tempting. his lips twitch, like he's fighting a smirk, before he nudges the bag toward you.
"go on, then. take it."
his fingers brush yours when you do. a small thing, a nothing moment. but something flickers in his gaze, quick and unreadable, before he looks away.
and maybe that's the moment something shifts. when you stop seeing him as this footballer who keeps showing up and start seeing him as jude.
jude, who doesn't tease when you say you've never even been on a real date. just nods, like he's storing that information for later. jude, who actually listens when you talk about your family, your plans, your fear of failing—like every word you say matters.
jude, who looks at you like he's figuring out a puzzle he likes being confused by.
jude, who's creeping into your life, slowly, surely, and you don't even realise you're letting him.
—
he doesn't kiss you until the third time he sees you outside church.
you're wearing a long, pink dress. something modest, something pretty. it cinches just enough at the waist to remind you that you have one, but it flows past your ankles, grazing the tops of your shoes with every step. it's the kind of dress your mama approves of. the kind that makes the older women at church nod in quiet approval when you walk past, whispering to their daughters about how this is how a young lady should carry herself.
your daddy's sermon is still ringing in your ears as you step out of the church, voice deep and steady in your mind: temptation comes in many forms, but the Lord will always give you a way out. you had nodded along like you understood, like you believed it was that easy, like you didn't already feel something twisting in your stomach—something you couldn't name, something that lingers even as you take careful steps down those stone steps, hands folded in front of you like a proper girl.
and then you see him.
jude's waiting across the street, leaning against a matte black mercedes. he's parked just far enough to not be obvious, but close enough that you know he's waiting for you.
he's watching you.
not in a way that's obvious to anyone else, but you feel it. the weight of his gaze. the way his eyes drop down the length of your dress before dragging back up. the slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips, like he's already thinking something he shouldn't be.
he doesn't belong here. doesn't belong anywhere near your daddy's church. but neither do you—not if the way your pulse jumps at the sight of him is any indication.
he lifts his hand, two fingers beckoning you over, just once. subtle. casual.
your daddy's voice is still in your head. temptation comes in many forms.
and yet, your feet are already moving.
he doesn't say a word when you stop in front of him. just looks at you, the way he always does—like you're something rare, something to be studied.
"what?" you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
he tilts his head, corners of his mouth curling in a small smile. "nothing," he says, but it's very clearly a lie.
you cross your arms, but it's useless. doesn't do anything to shield you from the way he's looking at you. doesn't stop the heat that creeps up your neck, the way your stomach tightens when he reaches out, fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress.
"this new?" he asks, voice low, barely audible over the noise of the street.
you nod, because you don't trust yourself to speak.
he hums, fingertips trailing just slightly before he pulls away. "pretty," he says. simple. like that's that. like it's obvious.
you should leave. should turn around and walk back up those steps, back inside where it's safe, where your mama and daddy are probably still shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. but you don't. you just stand there, rooted to the spot, watching as jude pushes off the car, the heat of his body suddenly much closer than it was a second ago.
he lifts a hand, fingers brushing against the chain resting against your collarbone. it's barely a touch, more like an absentminded gesture, his thumb lingering for a second too long, pressing lightly against the charm hanging there, before he lets it drop.
his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is lower than before, softer.
"can i kiss you?"
it's quiet. barely above a whisper. but it hits you hard, like he just knocked the air out of your lungs. because he's asking, asking—so, so sweetly.
your breath catches. your fingers twitch where they rest at your sides.
you should say no.
you should remind him that you just left church, that your daddy is still inside, probably lecturing girls your age about purity and virtue. that you were raised better than this.
but then you look up at him. and suddenly, none of that matters.
"yes," you breathe.
and that's all it takes.
he doesn't waste time. doesn't hesitate. the second the word leaves your lips, he moves—one hand curling around the side of your neck, the other pressing against the small of your back, pulling you in close, closer, until there's nothing between you but heat and the sound of your own breath catching in your throat.
he kisses you like he's been thinking about it for weeks. like he's imagined it a hundred different ways, but none of them compare to this—to the way your lips part under his, to the little sound you make when he tilts his head and deepens it, to the way your fingers clutch at his shirt like you need something to hold onto; because this isn't the kiss of a boy who's unsure. this is possession, plain and simple.
you feel him smile against your lips when you don't pull away. when instead, your hands slide up, fingers brushing at the nape of his neck, holding him there. when you sigh into his mouth like you've been waiting for this just as long as he has.
and when he pulls back, just slightly, just enough to drag his teeth over your bottom lip, just enough to let you breathe—he doesn't go far. his nose brushes yours, his breath is warm against your cheek, and his voice is lower now, thick with something you don't have a name for.
"you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that," he murmurs.
and then he kisses you again.
when he eventually pulls back, he's got that look. like he's tasting something he didn't expect to love so much. like you're some flavour he's never had before, and now that he has, he's wondering how he ever went without it. his fingers twitch where they're still resting on your waist, like he's fighting the urge to grab you, pull you back in, drown himself in you all over again.
and that's what makes you step back.
because the way he's looking at you cracks you wide open. like he's peeling back your layers without even trying, stripping you bare with nothing but his eyes. it's unnerving. intoxicating. makes your fingers twitch at your sides, makes your breath catch in your throat.
"uh," you trail off, voice thin, trying to ignore the way your heart is in such a frenzy against your ribcage, loud enough that you're sure he can hear it in the space between you.
he tilts his head slightly, watching you, watching the way you fidget under his gaze, the way you bite your lip like you're trying to stop yourself from asking him to kiss you again.
"how come you're here?" you ask, because you don't know what else to do with yourself. "aren't you supposed to be in madrid?"
"break between games," he responds mindlessly. his eyes stay locked on you, intense, unreadable. they trace over your face, your lips, the way your chest is rising and falling just a little too fast, like you're struggling to catch your breath. "i come back home sometimes. clears my head."
you feel warm all over. heat rushing up your neck, pooling low in your stomach.
you want to ask why you, then. out of all the girls he could 'come back home' to. out of all the girls he could have. the models, the singers, the girls who got names blue-check-verified. the ones who post thirst traps and don't flinch when someone touches their thigh.
but you don't ask.
because you like how he looks at you.
like you're something precious he wants to keep for himself.
like he's never had anything like you before. and maybe, just maybe, he never wants to go without it again.
—
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judebellopriv 😍😍😍😍😍😭😭😭😭😮💨😮💨😱
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—
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—
things get... interesting after that.
kisses that grow longer. hands that travel further. his voice in your ear, soft and deep, saying things like, "you can tell me to stop, pretty. i'll stop whenever you say."
and you believe him. you do. but the problem is you never really want him to stop.
he calls you "pretty girl" when you're shy, when your fingers fidget with the hem of your new pastel cardigan, when you tuck your face into his chest after he says something that makes your skin feel too hot to wear. when you sit next to him in his car, trying to ignore the way he looks at you like you're the kind of girl men start wars over.
he calls you "baby" when you're quiet, when you're watching him with those soft, searching eyes like you're trying to understand every little part of him. when you're curled up against his side, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin like he's coaxing you to say something, anything.
"what you thinkin’ about, baby?" he murmurs, voice all gentle, because he genuinely wants to know where your mind goes when you get quiet like this.
you shake your head, because you can't say it. you can't tell him how deep he's gotten into you, how you're always thinking about him now—when you're in class, when you're at work, when you're sitting in the pews listening to your father preach about temptation and sin and how easily the devil slips into the cracks of your foundation.
he calls you "mama" when you're doing things you know you shouldn't be doing. when you're in his bed, back arching, lips parted, fingers grasping at his shoulders like they're the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. when you let him push you past every boundary you swore you'd never cross, when you let him drag you into the kind of pleasure that feels more like salvation than sin.
and it sounds so good in his mouth. so right. like it belongs to you. like he belongs to you. like every time he says it, he's giving you another piece of himself to keep.
and maybe you are keeping him. maybe he's yours in a way he's never been anyone else's before.
maybe you're his in a way that feels deeper than flesh, deeper than anything either of you have ever known.
—
he keeps showing up more.
in your bed, late at night, when your parents are fast asleep two rooms down the hall. you sneak him in, because that's apparently something you do now. feet tiptoeing across the hardwood, heart pounding so loud you're sure it'll wake up the whole house. you don't even turn on the lamp—just fumble for him in the dark, breathless, nervous, excited in a way you can't explain. and he's there, all warmth and muscle and mischief, slipping under the covers like he belongs there.
on your phone, texting things that make your thighs clench under the covers.
"what you wearing?"
it's the first thing he sends, and you already know where this is going. you hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. but he knows you too well.
"don't get shy on me now, pretty."
you take a breath, then type back.
"my nightgown."
it's a simple answer, nothing suggestive about it—but jude makes it mean something.
"the white one?"
"yeah."
"the one that's real thin?"
you pause. heart hammering.
"yeah."
the typing bubble pops up, disappears, pops up again. then—
"wish i was there."
you exhale sharply. shift under the covers. try to ignore the way your thighs press together on instinct.
"jude..."
"bet you're warm under there."
your breath catches.
"bet you keep rubbing your legs together, trying to make yourself feel good without me."
your fingers shake.
"open your legs for me, baby."
and God forgive you, but you do.
and, of course, he shows up in your mind as well. when you should be studying, praying, thinking about your future.
you sit in the second pew, bible open on your lap, the words on the page nothing but blurred ink. your daddy's voice booms through the church, preaching about temptation — because that's suddenly all he's been preaching about lately.
"flee from sin," he says, voice thick with conviction as he paces back and forth across the pulpit. "do not entertain it. do not welcome it into your home. into your heart. into your bed."
your breath stutters.
you swear your daddy looks at you too long. like he knows something. like he can see the filth on you. your fingers tighten around the edges of your bible, nails pressing half-moon indents into the leather. your mama glances at you, concern in her eyes. you force a smile, nod like everything's fine.
"temptation is a test," he continues. "and the devil is patient. he waits for a moment of weakness. he whispers to you when you're alone."
you suck in a sharp breath, heat crawling up your neck. because he does.
except it isn't the devil whispering to you at night.
it's jude.
"miss me?"
"wish i was there with you, don't you?"
"bet you still feel me, huh?"
you do.
so much so that it's wrong. so much that you feel like the walls of this church are closing in around you.
you shouldn't be here.
but you shouldn't be in jude's bed either. or sneaking him into yours. or texting him back. or letting him touch you like he does.
"resist temptation, and it will flee from you."
your fingers tremble where they rest on the page. because you don't want it to flee.
you want it to stay.
you want him to stay.
—
jude learns your body too quick. too well. too thoroughly.
it should scare you—the way he figures you out like he's done this a hundred times before, like he's studied you in a past life and came back knowing exactly what makes you gasp, what makes your voice shake, what makes you go all pliant and pretty beneath him.
he takes his time with you. always. moves slow, like he's savouring every moment, like he enjoys watching you come undone little by little. because that's the thing about jude—he doesn't just take pleasure from you; he drags it out of you, pulls it from the depths of your belly, coaxes it from between your lips until you're trembling, until you're arching into him, until you can't think straight.
he likes to test your patience, to see how long it takes before you can't handle it anymore. he'll brush his lips against the shell of your ear, mumbling, "look at you. so damn needy." and he'll chuckle when you whine, when you try to pull him closer, when your fingers clutch at his shirt like you're begging.
and your voice—God, your voice.
the way it wobbles when he kisses down your neck. the way it catches when he mouths at your collarbone. the way it pleads before he finally—finally—presses his hips against yours.
you call his name like it's something sacred. like it's something holy.
and maybe it is.
maybe in the heat of this room, in the way he touches you like you're the only girl in the world, in the way he murmurs, "let me hear you, baby. i wanna hear you say my name,"—maybe in all of that, he is holy.
at least, that's what it feels like when he finally gives you what you've been aching for, when he murmurs your name back just as soft, just as breathless, just as wrecked.
and suddenly, the preacher's daughter isn't so pure anymore.
—
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—
he corrupts you in pieces. not all at once.
one night, he's between your legs, looking up at you like you're the only girl that's ever mattered.
it's the first time. and you're nervous. your thighs tremble, and you keep trying to close them, instinct kicking in. but jude doesn't let you. his hands are firm, spreading you open, settling you against his mouth like he belongs there.
"relax, mama," he murmurs, lips brushing against your sensitive skin. "just let me taste you."
and God, do you let him.
his tongue is slow, dragging over you with a patience that makes your head spin. he groans into you, like he needs this, like this is his salvation. his hands grip your thighs tighter, his tongue flicks, swirls, sucks, and you swear you forget how to breathe.
"fuck—" the curse slips out, unbidden, and you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes going wide.
jude pulls back just enough to grin up at you, chin glistening. "that's a first," he teases, before licking back into you, hungrier this time.
you should feel ashamed, should feel guilty, but all you feel is him. the warmth of his mouth, the desperation in the way he grips you, the heat curling low in your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue.
your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging, pulling him closer, closer, closer, and he groans in pleasure against you, like he loves it when you take what you need.
his name spills from your lips, over and over and over, and when you cum, it's with a soft cry and a shudder that rocks you to your core.
he doesn't move for a moment. just presses his lips to your inner thigh, breath warm against your damp skin.
"told you i'd take care of you," he murmurs, voice low, eyes dark as he watches you try to catch your breath.
you don't respond. you can't.
because for the first time in your life, you don't know what comes after.
—
he meets your daddy once.
it's at a football charity event in the neighbourhood. something small, nothing crazy—just a few sponsors, some local businesses, a handful of academy footballers showing up to sign autographs, pose for pictures, and play a friendly game with the kids. you're only there because your mama insisted, said it was a good cause, said it'd "look good" if you showed up because your daddy's church is donating supplies—clothes, food, books for the kids.
you don't ask how jude's dad got involved. maybe he knows somebody who knows somebody. maybe it's just one of those things that happens when your son is famous, and people call in favours like it's nothing.
you also don't know jude himself is going to be there. not until you hear a collective of screams from the little boys and girls, all hyped up and bouncing on their toes like they can't believe their luck.
your stomach instantly drops as you turn to look across the field. to look at your man. the one you could never claim publicly.
he's in his element—long limbs, strong build, the kind of casual confidence that only comes from knowing you're him. he's grinning at the kids, talking to them easy, letting them pass the ball between themselves.
he laughs at something one of the kids says, head tilting back slightly, tongue peeking out between his teeth. your heart stutters. it always does when he looks happy like this—like the weight of the world isn't sitting on his shoulders for once.
his hand ruffles one of the boy's curls before he steps back, rolling the ball under his foot, nodding for them to come take it. and even in something as simple as that, he moves with a smooth athleticism that's almost unfair.
it's mesmerising. it always is.
and then—like he can feel you watching—he glances up. his eyes find yours instantly, like they always do. his grin shifts, turns into something slower, something more knowing. his head tilts slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in those deep brown eyes.
you look away. immediately. pretend to be interested in anything else. the donation table. the banners. the sun, for God's sake. anything but him.
but jude? jude is shameless.
because, before you know it—
"hey, pretty girl."
you freeze for half a second. then slowly, carefully, you turn your head, your heart slamming against your ribs. not because he called you that. he does that all the time, whispers it in the dark when he's got his hands on your waist, when his mouth is on your skin, when you're falling apart beneath him.
but this? this is here. this is now.
you don't even get a chance to say anything before your daddy steps in.
"jude bellingham," he greets, extending a hand, voice firm. "been hearing a lot about you, son."
jude takes it without hesitation, shaking it firm, nodding like he knows how to play the game.
"all good things, i hope."
you side-eye him. but jude just grins, the corner of his mouth lifting, and somehow, it makes him look even cockier.
you want to kill him.
but he plays it cool. stays respectful. makes conversation. even your mama seems to like him, which is ridiculous, because if she had any idea the things he's done to you—
you shake the thought out of your head, forcing yourself to focus.
people come up to him, ask for pictures, autographs. he takes it all in stride. smiles, poses, makes them feel like they matter. it's the first time you really see it—the way he switches it on, the charm, the ease, the star power that makes people want to be near him.
but when the attention dies down and the crowd shifts, he still finds his way back to you.
"nice dress," he murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear, his fingers brushing your wrist for half a second too long.
you step back, shooting him a glare. "stop."
his brows lift, all innocent. "stop what?"
you don't answer.
you can't answer.
because your daddy's watching, your mama's close by, and the last thing you need is for anyone to see the way your breathing falters when he's too close.
jude notices, though. of course he does. his lips twitch. and then—because he's him—he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch.
"see you later, mama."
and with that, he walks off, leaving you there—flustered, irritated, wanting.
you don't even hear the rest of your daddy's speech. don't even remember why you came here in the first place.
all you can think about is later.
when the sun goes down. when the cameras are gone. when it's just you and him.
because he meant it.
and you know—deep in your bones—that tonight, he's going to make you pay for pretending you don't want him.
—
there's a moment—late, after everything, while jude is lying on your chest, tracing lazy circles into your skin as you lay in his california king bed—where he murmurs something that makes your breath catch.
you're still trembling from the weight of what just happened, your body spent, skin dewy, lips tingling from the way he kissed you like he was trying to brand his name into your mouth. the sheets are tangled around your waist, his body warm and lax beside you, his fingers absentmindedly dancing along the curve of your hip like he isn't even aware he's doing it.
the room smells like him—cologne, clean linen, and the faint musk of sex that lingers in the air. the dim glow from the city outside seeps through the cracks in the blackout curtains, casting soft shadows over the luxurious bedroom.
your heart is still beating too fast, your mind caught somewhere between reality and the high of him. you don't even know what time it is. past midnight, probably. maybe later.
then, in that quiet, between the distant hum of cars outside and the slow rhythm of your breathing, he speaks.
"you're the only good thing in my life right now."
his voice is heavy with something you can't quite name. it's almost like a confession, something secret slipping past his lips before he can stop it. it feels unguarded. raw. too honest for a boy like him.
you want to ask what he means. why he said it. if he really believes it.
but you don't.
because you see the way his jaw clenches like he's already regretting saying too much. the way his fingers tighten just slightly on your hip. the way his head stays pressed against your chest, close enough to hear the way your heart stutters at his words.
and maybe you should leave. maybe you should remind yourself that this was supposed to be nothing, that you were never meant to matter to him like this.
but instead, you exhale, slow and careful, and thread your fingers through his curls. soft. comforting.
"i'm not going anywhere," you whisper, and it feels like a promise you shouldn't be making.
but he sighs against your skin, like it's exactly what he needed to hear.
and so you hold him.
because you're not so pure anymore. not after him. not after the way he's touched you, seen you, ruined you in the best and worst ways.
and honestly? you'd let him do it again.
every night.
every sunday morning before church.
every time he whispers your name like he's afraid he's dreaming you.
because even if it's wrong... even if you go to hell for it...
there's nothing holier than the way he makes you feel.
a/n - been a while since i've done a jude fic heeheh, i feel it is appropriate to post some with the world cup on (maybe its coming home?)
I couldn’t be asked to write more smut for this 😭
ALSO ITS COMING HOME YAYAYA DID ANYONE WATCH THE ENGLAND VS MEXICO CUZ JUDE PULLED THRU 👀👀
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c/w - switch!Jude, switch!reader, foreplay in a hot tub, newly weds, hand jobs, fingering, hickeys and lots of making out
By the time you and Jude got back to the villa, the sun was starting to go down.
The whole day had felt slow in the best way.
No rushing, nowhere to be, no one waiting for either of you. It was strange, honestly. After the wedding everything had been so busy. Family, friends, the afterparty, the travelling. It had all gone by so fast that neither of you had a second to stop.
Now it was just the two of you.
Married.
Even thinking it still felt weird.
—
You stood in front of the mirror tending to your hair after your shower, wearing one of Jude’s shirts while he lay on the bed behind you, fresh out the shower too, scrolling on his phone with damp hair and a towel low around his waist.
You looked at your hand for a second, turning it so your ring caught the light.
—
It was mental to think about
Three days ago you had been standing in front of him, trying not to cry while he smiled at you like he was trying not to do the same.
It still didn’t feel real —
“You alright?” Jude asked.
You looked over at him, caught a bit of guard. “Yeah.”
He was watching you now.
“You’ve gone all quiet.”
You smiled a little. “Just thinking.”
“Right...”
You rolled your eyes and then looked out to the terrace. “Jude do you wanna try out the hot tub?”
Jude looked over too. “Now?”
“Yeah. We haven’t even been in it yet.”
He thought for a second, then shrugged. “Alright.”
You grinned and disappeared to get changed.
When you came back out in your bikini, Jude was standing by the bed now, pulling on his swim shorts.
He looked up at you and froze for a second.
You smiled at how strange he was. “What?”
He shook his head, laughing quietly. “Nothing.”
“It's literally just us two come on.” you replied with a teasing smile.
He walked over and put his hands on your waist. “You look really nice in this.”
You laughed. “Thank you.”
His hands stayed there a second longer than they needed to.
Even now, after being together for so long, after literally marrying him, he still looked at you like that.
Like he was still a bit shocked you were his.
—
The hot tub was already warm when you got outside.
You got in first, sinking into the water with a sigh while Jude got in after you.
You sat on the opposite side at first.
He stared at you.
“What?” you asked credulously.
He shook his head. “Why are you over there?”
You laughed. “There’s room isn't there?.”
“Come here.”
You slid over and he pulled you straight against him, your back against his chest, his arms around your waist under the water.
“That’s better,” he said.
The water bubbled around you while the sky got darker above.
It was quiet, but not awkward.
Just peaceful.
Jude played with your hair, twisting the ends around his fingers and moving it back over your shoulder.
You rested your head against him, it seemed like for the first time in ages, he felt completely relaxed.
No football. No people asking for photos. No training. No stress. Just you.
"You seem suspiciously happy mate..." you said, looking up at him. He laughed softly, the standing out against the bubbling of the water.
"I don't know mate, I think it's because I got married."
You smiled, your fingers tightening slightly over his where they rested against your hand. "True."
His chin dropped to rest against your hair, and you felt him exhale slowly, like he was still catching up to the reality of it. "It still feels mad doesn't it?"
You looked down at where his fingers were laced through yours, thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. "Yeah."
He kissed the side of your neck, slow and deliberate, his lips lingering just a second too long to be casual as he mumbled against your neck. "Best day of my life."
That made your chest go tight, so you turned a little, just enough to hide how flustered you suddenly felt. "You're being soft, Jude."
He smiled against your skin. "Only because it's you."
You leaned in and kissed him slowly, and at first it stayed that way — warm and unhurried. But then his hand moved from your waist up your side, fingers pressing into you like he needed something to hold onto, and the whole thing changed.
His mouth pressed harder against yours, like he'd been holding himself back all day and had finally stopped bothering to try. You shifted until you were facing him properly, legs tangling with his beneath the water, the heat of it was nothing compared to the way his hands were moving now — one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw like he wanted to feel you say the next thing.
"Wow, Jude, this is a bit bold isn't it," you teased against his mouth, breathless already.
"Yeah well, I'm pretty sure we can do whatever we want now, can't we," he murmured back, drunk on the feeling of you pressed flush against him.
When you pulled back to catch your breath, his eyes stayed fixed on your mouth like he hadn't finished with it yet. "You know," he said quietly, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, "I've barely had you to myself since the wedding."
You smiled, a little smug. "You married me."
"Exactly."
His hand slid into your hair then, tipping your head back trailing his lips down your neck eliciting a gasp from your through, he smiled against you the bastard.
"I'm your husband now aren't I?" Jude murmured, slowly sucking against your throat.
"Yes, you are." You replied breathily as the vibrations of his voice travelling to your core.
He smirked at this, getting a bit bolder now and biting at the spot that he's been slowly devouring.
"Fucking hell Jude!" You exclaimed, gripping onto his hair.
He pulled himself off you, his lips now pinkish and spit slicken, and stared at the sight of you before him. "You are so beautiful you know."
You bit back a smile trying to hide the effect that his words had on you, but he saw right through it and pulled you towards him causing the water to get very disturbed.
"Jude!" you giggled at the sudden movement, "Behave idiot."
"It's a bit hard not to when I have my wife in front of me like this." Jude's eyes hazed a little.
You took advantage of his lack of control and shoved him against the edge of the hot tub, "You're so corny." The image in front of your eyes was addictive, his chiseled body, tented shorts, the way his lips were swollen and his eyes were drunk. You decided to prove that he was yours.
"Lay back," You said softly, pushing him against the wall of the hot tub with your finger.
He did as you said, eyes locked onto yours as you straddled him hips and wrapped your arms around his neck. He then immediately parted his lips, letting your tongue to slip inside as you tasted him.
Your breathes mingled as you both bumped noses, "Jude," you said pulled back slightly so your forehead was against him.
He just looked at you with dilated eyes, his body flushed and lips wet and parted, "Y—yea?"
You pressed your lips to his quickly and tilted his head back with your fingers, exposing his neck to you. As you edged your mouth closer to his jaw you paused, letting your breath soften slightly against his pulse point.
He looked down at you with pleading eyes, his heartbeat erratic against your hand on his chest, "I love you reader." he whispered.
You pressed a haste kiss against his jaw and then to his lips, before returning to his jaw, kitten licking the area with your tongue like an in advance apology before slowly mouthing against it. His breath stuttered against your as he realised what you were doing.
The stinging sensation vibrated through his body as his right hand came up from your waist to gently grasping you hair, as you bit down he gasped slightly, eyes closed as the mixture of pain and pleasure grew onto him.
You soothed the new darkening mark on his jaw with your tongue as your lips dragged downwards to his untouched neck.
A trail of reddening bruises slow bloomed across his neck as you worked you way down. God he looked so pretty like this, like he was yours.
As you pulled back to admire your handiwork he pulled you back into him by your waist and flipped you around, now it was you who's back was against the wall of the hot tub, now he was straddling your lap, his hardness pressing into your hip.
Jude immediately started peppering kisses across your exposed neck, his mouth finally landed against your collarbone. Your brain short-circuited as his teeth gently bit into the skin, his tongue coming out in intervals to sooth the ache as if to apologise.
He sucked harder until there was a darkening shape on your collar bone, as you looking down at the sight you couldn't help but see how visually untouched he was, his erection straining out of his shorts, it was only fair to help him out right?
Your fingers traced down his water slicken body, his abs tensing under the gentle graze of your nails. He looked at you with need as he claimed your lips in a deep kiss.
Your hand followed his happy trail, dipping into the waistband of his shorts, his cock twitching in excitement like he was waiting for this.
Your hand felt along the velvety length causing him to stutter against your lips which he only did when he was desperate.
"Jude you're so hard." you teased, nose bumping his and you looked into each other's eyes, His pupils were dilated.
You grazed your thumb on his tip smearing the bead of precum that had formed all over his cock, the sensation releasing a shaky exhale from him.
You started to stroke him, the bubbles of the water clouding your vision from above.
Jude’s noises were muffled by your mouth, “Fuck — your always so so good —”
His hips started rutting into your hand, the sight of your wedding rings glistening through the water on his cock was disorienting his mind.
After a few more strokes he finally came, white hot spurts shooting out of his slit as he rode the wave out, in the hot tub, but that was a problem for later.
Jude looked into your eyes, his glassy, and wide, “I love you so much baby.”
“I love you too”
“It’s your turn then isn’t it?”
Before you could clock what he meant his hand immediately trailed down your wet curves into the water, palming your ass as he leaned in to kiss your neck slowly with fervour.
“Jude…” you breathed.
He continued his ministrations on your neck as his hand edged your bikini bottoms down. His fingers slipping between your folds.
Even though you were in water he could feel the wetness of your core, “Your my wife now, and I’m your husband.
The soft gasp that culminated from you made him smile against your neck. His index finger now slipping into your hole slowly. He pulled away from and you crouched down slightly, his eyes fixated on your as he pulled your bottoms completely off.
The visual was a stark contrast to how he was just moments earlier with his eyes pleading and watering.
He started to thrust his finger in you slightly faster eliciting soft sounds from your tongue.
“Jude can you — faster?” You asked quietly as your brows furrowed in pleasure.
“Of course I can.”
His fingers picked up the pace, his other hand coming down to nudge your clit.
The sensation became sweet as his fingers slipping between hit that same spot in you whilst his thumb was toying with your bundle of nerves causing you to start riding his hands.
To him this sight was something he would never get enough of, your eyes shut, brows furrowed, puffy lips slightly parted but silent like you couldn’t coordinate a response.
“I’m close baby — fuck”
You whimpers only egged him if as he sped up the pace slightly, your hands grabbing his hair will full force, a feeling that he very much enjoyed.
Your body started convulsing as you came, breath staggered, the waves of the orgasm washing over you slowly.
After you rode out on his finger he pulled it out, the sudden emptiness bringing you back to reality.
The hot tub slightly cloudy with cum, your bikini bottoms in the water, Jude’s cock hardening against your thigh.
Jude gave you a cheeky look, “Maybe we should take this inside?”
You smiling back, reaching into the water for your bottoms, “Yea maybe we should…”
a/n: reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated!! lmk if you wanna be on the taglist <3
No titles, no descriptions, and absolutely no strings attached, that were the invisible rules of their secret bond. But a month-long tour changes everything, transforming a routine hookup into a heavy, agonizing attachment. Stranded in the silence of unknown feelings, the physical distance forces them to think about what they’ve actually become.
"N-no," you stammered, feeling his hands pinch your nipples hard. Your body arched instinctively as Jungkook rubbed his hard cock against your thigh.
"Jungkook..." A small moan escaped your mouth.
He captured your lips in a messy, urgent kiss, his tongue diving into your mouth and tasting the sweetness of the chocolate you both had just shared. He kissed you with a fierce passion, as if he had no time left, no time to waste when it came to you.
"J-Jungkook..."
He pressed his hardness right against the center of your pussy, letting himself friction against your warmth.
"See how hard I get for you?" he whispered against your jaw. His lips trailed down to your collarbones and then to your neck, a spot he loved to mark every single time.
His tongue met your heated skin, the slick warmth of his mouth licking and sucking a deep bruise into your flesh before he softened the ache with a kiss.
Jungkook pushed himself up onto his elbows, his dark eyes burning with an intense, unwavering focus as he looked deep into yours. "I missed you," he murmured against your skin.
Without waiting for a response, he claimed your lips again. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling just firmly enough to tilt your head back and give him deep, effortless access to your mouth. A surprised gasp escaped you when his teeth sharply nipped at your bottom lip, the slight tug on your scalp only heightening the sudden rush of heat between you.
With your eyes closed and your senses overwhelmed, your hand instinctively crawled down his torso. Your fingers found the rigid length of his cock through his pants, squeezing him firmly.
A ragged, broken groan tore from his throat. He opened his eyes, heavy with pure desire, his gaze dropping to your swollen lips, slick with his saliva.
"Look at you..." he breathed, his voice a low tremble. He pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly before leaning in to trail burning kisses along your jawline.
As he spoke, he ground his hips forward into your hand. The friction of his cock moving against your palm made him let out a loud, breathless groan, the desperate reaction of a man who hadn't touched you in a long, agonizing month.
Jungkook let out a low, ragged moan the moment your lips pressed against his jaw, tracing a path down his throat until you captured his nipple. You knew exactly how sensitive he was there, and the sharp intake of his breath confirmed it. Shifting your weight, you changed positions, straddling his lap until you were completely on top of him.
"Gosh, you're so sexy," he growled, his large hands immediately wrapping around your waist before sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, anchoring you against him.
You leaned down, your lips lightly grazing the hard, defined muscles of his chest. He had gotten bigger while away, more muscular, broader, and noticeably stronger.
The truth was, you had missed him terribly. He had been away on tour for a solid month, and you had craved him a lot more than you would ever care to admit out loud. Officially, you and Jungkook were nothing. You weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, and you weren't even in a defined situationship. You simply met up two or three times a month to hang out, drink, and eventually have sex—the absolute best sex either of you had ever experienced. Staying away from him and waiting while he was on the road had been incredibly hard, but you had waited anyway, counting down the days until he finally came back to you.
A loud gasp tore from his throat when your lips pressed directly against his navel. You licked across the warm expanse of his lower stomach before hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down, letting his thick, rigid cock spring completely free.
Your mouth watered just looking at him. A small bead of precum glistened at the very tip, leaking out slowly. As if reacting to the intense, unwavering weight of your stare, his cock twitched heavily in your hand.
"Suck it..." he whispered, his voice thick with need as he lifted his hips just a fraction, practically begging for your mouth.
You loved the power of it, knowing that this man, revered by millions and wanted by countless others, was completely coming undone just for you. With both hands, you tightly gripped the thick length of his cock, leaning down to press a soft, deliberate kiss right to the very tip.
Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut at the familiar, agonizingly sweet touch of your lips. His fingers instantly tangled back into your hair, a low groan vibrating in his chest. "No teasing," he warned, his voice thick and rough.
A quiet chuckle escaped you against his skin. Defying him, you slowly slid your tongue all the way down the rigid veins of his hard dick. The reaction was instant; his hips jerked upward, seeking more.
Locking your eyes with his, you hollowed your cheeks and took his entire length deep into your mouth, deliberately bobbing your head in a slow, agonizing rhythm just to push his limits.
Jungkook endured the torture for only a few moments before his control shattered completely. Gripping your hair with a firm, unyielding hold, he abruptly pulled your mouth away and dragged you upward. Before you could catch your breath, he pinned you flat on your back and crawled over you, his knees settling heavily on either side of your face.
"Enough games," he growled.
His large hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your head swim with a rush of heat, but light enough to let you breathe. Driven by the sheer intensity of the moment, you parted your lips and parted your tongue out greedily for him.
Jungkook leaned down, his eyes dark as he dragged his tongue in a long, wet stripe against yours, tasting the slick mix of his own precum and your shared heat.
You let out a whiny moan at the action. He was dirty, unapologetically filthy in bed and you loved every single bit of it.
"Let me use this mouth, hm?" he murmured, fisting his cock and slapping the head of it against your parted lips. Your tongue darted out instinctively, licking the slick tip the moment it made contact with your skin.
"Please..." you begged, your voice thick and desperate.
"Want my cock? You want it to fuck your mouth?" He chuckled darkly, slowly pushing himself past your lips, but before you could actually suck him, he cruelly pulled back.
Your eyes widened when, without a single second of warning, he suddenly pushed deep inside again. Tears welled in your eyes as he pulled back and thrust right back in, establishing a relentless, bruising rhythm. You made heavy, involuntary gagging sounds, a wet noise that made his cock twitch violently inside your throat. He absolutely loved it when you gagged for him.
"Take it..." he growled, pushing his entire length deep down, holding it there for a agonizing second before sliding back out.
Once you regained a fraction of your composure, you swirled your tongue against his rigid length each time he deep-throated you. His breath was entirely uneven, his large hands mercilessly fisted into your hair to control the pace.
The room fell silent except for the wet sounds of your gagging and his low, ragged groans. You hollowed your cheeks and actively moved your head to meet his deep, punishing thrusts until he was right on the edge.
To your immediate disappointment, he suddenly pulled out completely. Your lips were swollen and tingling, your chest heaving violently up and down as you fought to catch your breath. Before you could even blink, Jungkook gripped the center of your bra, tearing it out of the way to expose your bare skin, and released his cum all over your boobs.
His head threw back in pure pleasure, a low grunt escaping him as he absentmindedly patted your head. You watched the thick, white cum spill across your chest. It was incredibly hot. Your mouth opened greedily on instinct; a part of you wished he had released all of it right down your throat.
Your chest was still heaving up and down, coated in his warmth. He looked down at the mess he made and smirked.
"Want a taste? Look at you..." He pinched your cheeks firmly, tilting your face up. "Panting like a puppy for my taste. You're so fucking needy."
He swiped a finger through the cum on your boobs and deliberately smeared it across your cheeks, tracing down near your jaw and right at the corner of your lips. Your tongue immediately darted out to taste him.
A sharp moan escaped you the moment the familiar, musky, and salty flavor hit your tongue, the exact taste you had craved for a month.
"Like the taste of me? Does it turn you on?" he whispered, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
He took another heavy swipe of cum from your chest and used his knees to roughly force your legs wide apart. Your back arched off the mattress instantly, desperate and waiting for whatever dirty thing he was going to do next.
"K-Kook," you moaned in sheer need, wanting him everywhere at once.
"Patient," he commanded softly.
He pinned your hips flat to the bed with one hand, using the other to part your swollen folds. "How wet..." He clicked his tongue in approval and spread the slick warmth of his cum directly over your pulsing clit. The sudden contrast of his touch made your entire body jerk. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you moaned his name like an absolute addict, lifting your hips and pressing your aching center right toward his face.
He hummed in deep satisfaction as the heavy scent of your arousal hit him. "So fucking delicious. I can smell how bad you want it."
Without taking his eyes off you, he leaned down and spat directly on your folds and delivered a long, slow, soaking lick directly up your parted folds.
Your body jerked violently at the sudden sensation of his tongue, a sharp, delighted moan tearing from your throat. Jungkook didn't stop, continuing to press his nose against your clit, breathing in the deep, heavy scent of your arousal.
"Fuck..." he rasped against your folds, his voice incredibly deep before he captured your clit between his lips. A violent shiver ran down your spine as you felt his mouth move perfectly, expertly against you.
While his tongue worked over your clit, he pressed his middle finger against your soaking wet entrance, slowly drawing torturous circles. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers gripping the dark strands tightly. "So good, baby... it feels so good," you moaned loudly, your voice echoing in the quiet room. "Take it all..." you whined as he continued to tease your opening.
"All mine," he whispered against your skin before sucking one of your sensitive folds right into his mouth. Your eyes watered, your lips parted as helpless moans spilled out one after another. "So good, so tasty. I was dreaming about this pussy the entire month on tour." Every time he spoke, the vibration of his voice against your center made your clit throb relentlessly for more.
Without a single second of warning, he suddenly pushed two fingers deep inside you, hard and fast, exactly the way he knew you liked it. He hooked his fingers inward, instantly finding and rubbing against your G-spot. Your body arched completely off the bed at the overwhelming wave of pleasure, your hands clenching tightly in his hair. "Kook! Ah... right there... like that!"
The pleasure was completely intoxicating. His tongue moved faster and faster against your clit while his fingers pumped ruthlessly in and out of your hole.
Hearing your loud, desperate moans only made his dick ache with a hardness that felt almost painful. Your eyes rolled back as a tight knot coiled in your abdomen, tension building rapidly until you finally broke, releasing a heavy wave of your juices right onto his tongue.
Jungkook kept his mouth wide open, shamelessly waiting to lick you entirely clean. He watched your fluids leak out, a dark smirk plastering across his face as he took in the sight of your body squirming beneath him. He didn't give you a moment to recover, continuing to finger you deeply even as you came. "So fucking delicious," he growled, lapping at your juices until your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably.
"Jungkook! Stop..." you begged, your entire body shuddering with a mix of exhaustion and overstimulation as he kept up the rhythm.
His hand moved in and out with practiced, skillful ease. Defying your plea, he slid a third finger inside you, his eyes locking onto your face to watch you unravel. He watched your chest heave up and down, your heavy boobs coated in his dried cum, as you cried out his name.
The moment your second orgasm hit, your entire body became blindingly sensitive.
"No..." you mumbled weakly when he leaned down, ready to lick you again.
"Too sensitive?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low purr. He deliberately flicked your clit, rubbing it with a heavy pressure. "Can't take it?"
"No!" you gasped, trying to squirm away as he rubbed your overstimulated clit at a brutal, delicious pace.
You struggled to move away, whimpering against the overwhelming sensation. "No... too much... I can't," you pleaded, your voice breaking. Hearing your desperate words, he gave your clit one last, slow suck before finally pulling back with a dark, satisfied smile.
"Too much? Your thighs are trembling uncontrollably," he noted, leaning up to press a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead.
His eyes roamed shamelessly over your body, taking in the sight of his cum painted across your chest, your cheeks, and your lips. He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. "I should seriously take a picture of this."
"I will kill you," you breathed, letting out a weak laugh as you pushed him away with what little strength you had left.
He chuckled softly and stepped out of bed. Walking over to the bathroom, he returned with a warm, wet cloth. Slowly and meticulously, he began to wipe your breasts clean, moving up to gently tend to your cheeks and your jawline. He was incredibly gentle now, and you loved this side of him—the way he always took care of you so tenderly during the aftercare.
Once you were cleaned up, he slid back into bed and cuddled close next to you, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist. "No one makes me come quite like you do," he whispered against your cheek, his breath warm.
You hummed softly, a small smile returning to your lips. "I love it when you're dirty. All needy and desperate for me," you teased gently.
He smiled, clinging even closer to you. He was never usually this clingy after sex, and this sudden, vulnerable side of him made a quiet giggle escape your throat. He pressed his face right into the softness of your chest, letting out a deep sigh. "My body just reacts like this to you. Only you. I swear, I couldn't come half as hard when I fucked some random girl on tour."
The smile instantly froze on your face, your heart dropping heavily into your stomach. Your expression flattened. He fucked someone else?
"Oh," you managed to utter, your voice tight. You didn't know what else to say. Honestly, you didn't even know if you had the right to feel the fierce spike of jealousy currently tearing through you. You and Jungkook had no titles.
Jungkook despised titles. He was a wildly famous man, constantly consumed by world tours, music video shoots, and packed schedules. From the very beginning, he had made it crystal clear that he had no time or desire for a committed relationship. What was supposed to be a one-time hookup had simply turned into a routine for the both of you. Over time, you had foolishly grown attached to the idea of him being yours. But who wouldn't? He was handsome, caring, incredible in bed, sexy, talented, and unimaginably rich. Thinking that he actually wanted you exclusively, though, had been your mistake.
Of course you were just another girl he was seeing. Another girl he was flirting with and fucking whenever he felt like it. Nothing more.
"It was right after the Goyang concert, when we flew to Japan," Jungkook continued blindly, entirely unaware of the shift in the room. "Honestly, I was totally wasted, and she was one of our tour—"
"I see," you interrupted him sharply, unable to bear hearing another single detail. "I think I should go. I just remembered I have some important chores to take care of. I didn't realize how late it was." You abruptly sat up, reaching blindly for your discarded bra.
Jungkook pouted, looking up at you with genuinely confused, wide eyes. "So fast? But we haven't even actually fucked yet—"
"I'm busy. Next time," you replied instantly, your throat tightening as you forced yourself to move. You felt like an absolute idiot for harboring real, deep feelings for him.
You deliberately turned your face away, blinking rapidly to force back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "I'll see you later."
Pulling on your pants and slipping your top over your head, you forced a small, entirely hollow smile onto your face. Without waiting for him to reply, you turned on your heel and walked straight out of the apartment.
To him, it was just a normal hookup. Obviously. You weren't special.
°
After a few weeks, you were invited to dinner by the boys. They were leaving for their Europe tour soon and wanted to have a final meal with those closest to them. You were good friends with Seokjin and Hoseok as well, so you gladly accepted.
You knew you would have to face Jungkook there, but you convinced yourself it was fine. If he was okay with treating you like an option, then you were too. From now on, he was just going to be another casual hookup to you, nothing more.
"Oh! Finally!" Hoseok chimed the moment you walked in. No one else knew about you and Jungkook; it was a closely guarded secret, even from the rest of the members. "I missed you, girl!" Hoseok hugged you tightly.
You chuckled and hugged him back. "I missed you too!"
After greeting the other boys and their friends, you settled into a seat between Seokjin and Taehyung. Jungkook waved at you from across the table, his eyes heavy as he clearly noticed how distant you were being.
Over the past few weeks, he had texted you constantly, but your replies were always short, detached, and sent hours later. He had practically begged to spend one last night with you before he left for Europe, but you had coldly declined, claiming you were sick even though you looked perfectly fine and healthy tonight.
By the third round of drinks, you were laughing and playfully flirting with Taehyung, who was obviously very interested in you.
Across the table, Jungkook’s chest twisted with a violent jealousy he had never experienced before. He knew he was growing dangerously attached to you, it had made him sick with longing. He had been sick enough to moan your name while trying to sleep with that girl in Japan, a mistake that ended with her storming out and cursing him in frustration.
He wanted to ask you out, or at least tell you that he wanted to take things to a real stage, but he didn't know how you felt about him. You never showed it.
Now, his eyes burned holes straight through Taehyung. Taehyung was sitting entirely too close to you, his hand resting casually on your thigh as you laughed at whatever he was saying.
After a while, you excused yourself to the restroom to wash your face and redo your makeup, feeling slightly tipsy.
Just as you were about to close the bathroom door, a foot stepped in to stop it. You looked up in confusion, only to see Jungkook. "What...?"
"Enough ignoring me." He pushed his way inside the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.
"Ignoring you? What are you talking about?" you replied with a scoff. If he hated seeing you flirt with Taehyung, you were going to use that to your advantage. You had definitely noticed his eyes earlier, glaring daggers at his own bandmate.
"Y/n... let's go home. I need to talk to you about something," he whispered, his large hands reaching out to grip your waist.
You immediately spun around, deliberately letting his hands drop into empty air. "I'm leaving with Taehyung tonight. He said he has something to show me."
"With him?" Jungkook asked in utter disbelief. "He's my friend..."
"So what? Can't I sleep with your friends?" You pulled out your lipstick, applying it to your lips while watching his reflection in the mirror. His jaw clenched tightly as he stared back at you.
"What about us?"
Oh. Now he remembers 'us'? You internally scoffed.
"Us? There is no us," you said, shrugging your shoulders carelessly. "Weren't we just fuck buddies? Just passing the time with each other?" your tone was ice-cold.
"Passing the time? Are you serious?" He let out a harsh chuckle of disbelief.
"What? You can fuck around with whoever you want, but I can't?" you snapped in a clipped tone.
A harsh chuckle broke from Jungkook’s lips, a sound laced with pure, unadulterated disbelief. He pointed a finger at his own chest, taking a heavy step closer to you until the small space of the bathroom felt entirely suffocating.
"Me? Fucking around?" his voice dropped to a rough, jagged whisper, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheek ticked. "Is that what you think I’ve been doing?"
"Am I wrong?" You didn't back down. You kept your gaze locked onto his reflection in the mirror, carefully capping your lipstick with hands that were only trembling slightly from the sheer tension vibrating between you. "You said it yourself, Jungkook. Right after Japan. You had no problem sharing the details of your tour fun while we were in bed together."
Jungkook closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath as the pieces finally clicked in his head. The sudden distance, the cold, hours-late texts, the sudden 'sickness' right before he was supposed to leave—it all made sense.
"You—" He cut himself off, running a stressed hand through his dark hair, pulling at the strands. When he opened his eyes again, the burning jealousy from earlier was completely swallowed by a desperate, raw vulnerability. "Y/n, I was drunk. I was stupid, and I was completely miserable because all I could think about was you."
You let out a hollow, bitter laugh, finally turning around to face him fully. "Oh, please. Don't rewrite history to make yourself feel better. We had a deal. No titles, no strings. You can do whatever you want, and so can I. So if Taehyung wants to take me home tonight, it's none of your business."
The mention of Taehyung's name made Jungkook snap. In one swift, unyielding motion, he closed the remaining distance between you. His hands shot out, gripping your waist firmly and pinning your lower back against the edge of the marble sink. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes ablaze with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
"Don't you dare say his name to me right now," Jungkook growled, his chest heaving against yours. "You want the truth? You want to know what happened in Japan? I was a total wreck because a whole month without you was driving me insane. I got wasted, I tried to replace you with some random girl, and do you know what happened? I couldn't even finish because I called out your name. She cursed me out and walked out the door."
He leaned in even closer, his forehead resting against yours, his grip on your waist tightening until it almost hurt.
"There is no anyone else, Y/n. It's only ever been you," he whispered, his voice cracking with a desperation you had never heard from him before. "I didn't know how to tell you. I thought you just saw me as a casual hookup. I thought if I asked for more, I’d scare you away. But seeing you out there with him... laughing with him... it's killing me. Please. Tell me you don't actually mean what you just said.”
You sighed deeply, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Are you done?" you asked quietly, placing your hands against his chest to push him back slightly. "We are nothing, Jungkook. It was stupid of me to ever assume I meant something to the world-famous Jeon Jungkook. You’re a global star. Girls swoon over you. Thousands of women want to be with you." You forced your voice to stay steady, swallowing the lump in your throat to make sure you didn't cry in front of him. "Being with you would only make me insecure every single time you're away."
"You need to trust me—" he started, his voice desperate as he tried to grab your hands.
"I can't, and I won't," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Let's not try to force titles on each other now. It's messy with you... it always has been." You shrugged, trying to act like it didn't matter. "Fucking around is best, and honestly? I'm done with you."
You poked his chest firmly with your index finger, turned on your heel, and walked straight out of the bathroom. The moment you stepped away, your heart felt like it was breaking into a million tiny pieces. You bypassed the table entirely, walking straight toward the exit of the restaurant.
Tears threatened to spill over because, deep down, the crushing realization hit you that you would never feel like enough for someone like him. Your thoughts collided in a chaotic blur, and the tears finally streamed down your face the moment you burst out into the cool night air.
"Fucking asshole!" you cursed out loud into the empty street, your voice cracking. "He didn't even come after me!"
Overwhelmed by the alcohol and the suffocating heartbreak, your knees gave out. You collapsed onto the curb, burying your face in your thighs as heavy, unrestrained sobs wracked your entire body. You felt entirely broken.
"Are you okay?"
A quiet, low, and slightly grumpy voice cut through the quiet of the street. You gasped, quickly wiping at your wet cheeks as you looked up.
Yoongi was leaning casually against the side of a sleek black car a few yards away, taking a slow, steady drag from a cigarette. The amber tip glowed faintly in the dim streetlights as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his sharp eyes fixed on you.
You stared back at him, your chest heaving, and helplessly shook your head as another broken sob escaped your lips.
A/n : Hmmm? what was this? I don't know. Want me to write the second part? Or leave it here?
Can you write something about lamine based on the boyfriend head cannon of him dodging your kisses and jokingly calling you clingy but when you actually stop and pretend to get mad he starts acting reallllyyyyy clingy
clingy.
masterlist requests word count: 900
a/n: this is a bit cringy but oh well lol
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: while you're chilling with lamine, he starts avoiding your affection... until you really do stop, and suddenly he's regretting it.
It starts like it always does. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, one leg thrown lazily over his lap, your cheek resting on his shoulder as the soft flicker of the TV lights up the living room. It’s a comfort kind of night, no games, no training, no pressure. Just you, Lamine, a blanket, and a half-finished tub of ice cream.
He shifts, pulling the spoon from your grasp and taking a bite without asking, like he always does.
“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, not moving an inch from your spot.
“You love it,” he replies, mouth full.
He’s right, obviously. You do love it. You love all of him, his dramatic gasps when he loses at FIFA, the way he kicks his feet like a little kid when he’s excited, how he always smells like a mix of his shampoo and the citrusy cologne you love. You even love how, lately, he’s been dodging your kisses like it’s an Olympic sport.
Like just now.
You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he leans away, grinning like a damn idiot.
“Lamine,” you say flatly, giving him a look.
“What?” he says innocently. “You’re always trying to kiss me. It’s kinda clingy.”
Your mouth drops open slightly.
“Clingy?”
“Yeah,” he says, all smug. “Can’t even watch TV in peace without being attacked.”
You sit up, dramatically placing a hand on your chest. “Oh, wow. Okay. Since when am I clingy?”
He shrugs. “Since, like, always. It’s cute though.”
Cute, he says, like that’s supposed to soften the blow. You squint at him.
“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the tub of ice cream back and scooting away just slightly. Not too far, but enough to make your point. “I won’t be clingy anymore.”
He snorts. “You? Not clingy? That’ll last like two minutes.”
“Wanna bet?”
You press your lips together and turn your attention back to the screen. Internally, you’re screaming a little. The logical part of your brain knows he’s joking, that this is your dynamic. But the petty, dramatic part of you decides to go full method actor.
You don’t lean into his shoulder again.
You don’t touch his leg.
You don’t try to kiss his cheek, his jaw, or even his neck like you usually would.
You don’t do any of it.
Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.
You’re playing it so cool. You even laugh at the TV a little extra, just to prove you’re fine.
And that’s when he starts to squirm.
You feel him shifting closer. He pretends to stretch, arms moving up behind his head. One arm drops casually behind your shoulders, but you don’t lean into it. You act like you didn’t even notice.
He clears his throat.
“You’re really not gonna kiss me?”
You hum noncommittally. “Thought I was clingy. I’m trying to give you peace.”
He looks at you like you just kicked a puppy.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, now visibly concerned. “Bebé, come on.”
You offer him the most dramatic side-eye ever. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”
“Says the man who dodged me like I had a disease.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His brain is buffering. Good.
Finally, he scoots closer. Like, really close. His arm wraps around your waist and he leans into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
You stiffen.
He doesn’t let up. In fact, he presses a kiss to your skin.
Then another.
Then five in rapid succession.
You blink.
“Lamine…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me be clingy now.”
You bite your lip, trying not to give in. But his grip tightens around you, and his whole body shifts until he’s basically sprawled across your lap like a golden retriever-sized boy. He looks up at you with big, round eyes.
“You’re mad?” he whispers.
“A little.”
He pouts. Actually pouts. Then tugs you down until you’re lying on the couch with him half on top of you.
“I like your kisses,” he says, voice soft. “They make me feel good.”
You blink at him.
“And warm,” he adds. “And safe. And sometimes dizzy.”
You press your lips together, fighting the smile that’s begging to take over your face.
“Then why do you dodge them?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s fun to tease you. But now I feel bad.”
“As you should.”
He nods solemnly. Then kisses your cheek.
Then your nose.
Then finally, gently, your lips.
You melt into it, because honestly? He’s too cute. Way too cute for his own good. You wrap your arms around his neck and let your fingers tangle in his curls.
After a long pause, you pull back just a little. “You’re clingy.”
“Yeah,” he says shamelessly. “So?”
“You called me clingy.”
“I was projecting.”
You roll your eyes.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, and when he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling.
“Be clingy with me again.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I was just being a little dumb.”
You kiss him softly, then grin. “Good. Because I was about to die holding back.”
He laughs, full and real, his body shaking slightly against yours.
“You’re impossible,” he whispers.
“And you’re annoying.”
“Perfect match then,” he replies, already leaning in for another kiss.
And this time, he doesn’t dodge it. Not even a little.
hiii could you please do the current boyfriend prank that’s on TikTok with Lamine❤️
✮ Current Boyfriend - Lamine Yamal
lamine yamal x fem!reader
sy: trying the viral, ‘current boyfriend’ prank on your bf, lamine.
a/n: hope this did justice ! thanks for requesting 🫶🏼 (moodboard is shite. let’s move swiftly on..)
warnings: just spanish, i think.
per usual, your phone was causally propped up against the limestone shelf below the mirror of your masters bathroom.
purposely, you’d had it on screen-record and video for a while now, so it wouldn’t give away the fact it was recording the soon-to-be prank you were about to deliver to your boyfriend.
lamine, sure he was smart as hell when it comes to football, but common sense-wise?not so much.
lamine has just finished adjusting his golden chain around his neck. “how are you not ready yet?”
“says you who has just finished,” you playfully tease, popping the lid of your lipstick off. “i’ll only be a few seconds.”
he mumbles something incoherent, fidgeting with the blonde strands of his hair. you finish the lipstick addition, sweeping your purse.
“i’m so glad i finally get to go out with you tonight,” you smile sweetly, intertwining your hand with his. “it’s been awhile since ive went to dinner with my current boyfriend.”
lamine nods, then does a double take, his head snapping towards you, that might of just have gave himself whiplash. meanwhile, you’re still gazing at your reflection in the wall-sized mirror.
“wait what? current boyfriend?”
you continue adjusting your hair in the mirror, pretending to be oblivious about the way lamine’s once-bright expression twists into confusion.
he blinks. once. twice. thrice.
“how many do you have!?”
you turn vaguely, offering him a sideways glance. “¿qué?” (what?)
“nada,” lamine tuts, his eyes narrowing as they search your face for any persiflage. “don’t what me. current boyfriend? is there a list or something i should know about?”
you bite the inside of your cheek, merely holding back your laugh bubbling inside your throat. but you manage to stay composed. “there’s no list.”
he tilts his head slightly, suspicious. “..you said that with a little too much confidence for me to believe it.”
you roll your eyes, tapping your foot impatiently. “let’s just go to dinner. we’ll be late otherwise.”
you attempt in starting to move past him, but he casually steps in front of you with a freakishly swift pace.
“al diablo con la cena,” he remarks. “adelante, dilo otra vez.” (screw dinner. go ahead, say that again.)
you glance at him in the mirror. he’s got that lazy frown, brows slightly pulled, arms crossed now, like he’s waiting for an answer that better be a good one.
“say what, baby?”
“that thing,” he says, chin jerking up at your reflection. “about me. say it again.”
you stifle a smile. “what? that i’m glad to go out with my current boyfriend?”
“yeah, that. why’d you say it like that?” he says, tinging possessively, but more so desperately as if that actually stung him.
“look at me when i’m talking to you.”
lamine tepidly curves the angle of your jaw to face him, in which you shrug. “it’s not that deep.”
he takes a step back, eyes scanning your face and jaw slack, as if scanning for hidden answers carved into your skin. “well, it sounds deep! you planning on replacing me or something?”
you chuckle under your breath, flickering between his hazel eyes. “god, you can be so dramatic sometimes, amor. turn that frown upside down.”
you send a roguish smack to his chest, where he stays deadly still. he doesn’t let up, though.
“so i’m just your current boyfriend now?” his tone sharpens, albeit not bitter, just like he’s getting increasingly bothered. “just holding the spot till someone else comes along? someone ugly?”
you sigh. “lamine.”
he looks down to you, arms falling to his sides, and his expression somewhere between annoyed and pouty.
“just say i’m your boyfriend. drop the current.”
you raise an eyebrow. so, this is what jealousy looks like. although after almost four years of dating, jealousy wasn’t a common thing lamine liked to convey.
you can’t deny the smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “are you jealous?”
his cheeks immediately blush with a shade of light crimson like a blush rebellion; the tone of his voice pitches in protest. “jealous? pfffttt. me? never.”
“you aree jealous,” you coo, prolonging the tail of your words as you poke him in the chest. “this is you. jealous. sulky face and everything.”
lamine starts with a fake cough, and both of his hands pressing comically against his inflamed cheeks. “im just saying no other man would know your coffee order like the back of their hand.”
“caramel frappuccino, with a shot of vanilla and chocolate fudge drizzle—extra cream.” he wraps his arm around your waist, deflecting his embarrassment now.
his hands hover above yours, his fingers circling your ring finger like a silent claim. “see?” he gestures, vainly to himself. “no one else would know that.”
you squint at him. “and you say you’re not dramatic, yet you’re spiraling over a sentence.”
lamine huffs, now trailing your spine with his hands. “im spiraling because the sentence made me sound temporary. im not temporary.”
“no? what makes you think that?”
“because if you ever tried replacing me, i’d have to hunt whoever he is and s—”
“okay!” hurriedly, you jump up onto your tiptoes, to kiss his cheek, effectively permitting him to shut up. “it’s a prank! i promise! don’t finish that sentence!”
“a prank?” he scrunches his nose.
you grab your phone from the shelf, and he now, hours later, recognises the red circle at the top of your screen—recording.
lamine immediately groans. “you with tiktok.”
“you’re as much of an addict as i am,” you add, giggling. “are you saying you’ve never seen this trend?”
the spaniard shakes his head, lazily letting his chin drop atop yours. a heavy exhale rakes from his bones, relief washing over him. “no, i’ve seen it. i just didn’t think you’d use me for content and almost give me heart palpitations.”
you usher a breathy laugh. “okay, i’m sorry. i’ll offer to pay for the desserts tonight—as an apology?”
“¿solo los postres?” he faux snorts, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. (just the desserts?)
here comes the pretentious eye roll again. not like hours ago he made it evident that you weren’t to pay a single cent. “bien. yo pagaré.. las bebidas también.” (fine. i’ll pay for.. the drinks too.)
“así está mejor,” he mumbles. though, realistically? he’d backtrack on his words. (that’s more like it/that’s better.)
“soo..” you peer up at him, hands smoothing down his abs. “are you finally happy now?”
“almost.”
lamine steals a kiss from your lips, satisfyingly slow and lingering like he’s trying to brand it in place; sealing his position as your permanent boyfriend.
when he pulls away, his teeth gently nab at your bottom lip, but his voice is weaker, almost smug again.
“now i’m happy.”
🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)
realized it's been a while since i showed up! might not be that good, but hope u enjoy it :)
You weren’t even sure why you and Jude kept constantly fighting. You both worked well together — he was a good, consistent partner and he never took anything out on you. Everyone around you could go on about how the two of you were almost a match made in heaven, with tempers that combined, made a great couple. However, those tempers were exactly what led to so many pointless, useless arguments.
You had been arguing the whole ride back to your place, where he was supposed to sleep at that day. Neither of you remembered exactly how it started — the meaning losing somehow behind the amount of alcohol both of you had while clubbing. You were complaining about something while Jude tried to take deep, long breaths before always replying drying and sarcastically.
When you arrived and left the car, you turned to him after you opened the door up.
“You know what, Bellingham?” You asked. He always hated when you called him by his last name. “Just turn around and go home. I don’t want you here.”
“And I—” he held the door as you tried to shut in his face, failing miserably considering how taller and stronger he was, and he walked inside your place. “Don’t care. I’m staying here, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes and huffed as he sat down on your couch. He was just as bothered as you, if not more, but you were too mouthful when it came to fighting. You stood in front of him once he turned on your TV.
“You’re sleeping here. On the couch.”
He laughed dryly at your attempt to command him. Since you were on his way of watching the TV, he held your waist and, in one, swift move, pulled you onto his lap.
“You’re so fucking annoying.” He muttered in your ear as you began to shift uncomfortably on his lap. You had always hated how easy it was for him to manhandle you, to move you around; but, above all, you always hated how much it affected you, despite every attempt of yours to ignore it. It was like the words you said before were nothing to your body and mind.
You got quiet, and you could hear the movie he had put on behind you. The quieter you got, the calmer you got. Jude still held your waist on a tight grip, not wanting you to move nor leave his lap.
You shifted on his lap once again. Except, this time, you found yourself between one of his thighs, and your skirt and the thin piece of fabric protecting your cloth were doing only so little to avoid the friction, and you gasped before you could process it. Your boyfriend, of course, noticed it.
“You okay there, darling?” He asked, his cocky tone showing once again because he could tell where you mind was when your eyes met. “Aren’t you the one who always says sex doesn’t solve fights?”
You knew he was teasing you, but getting a rise out of you was always too easy.
“I swear to God—”
Jude chuckled, leaning his head against your couch and using his hand on your waist to move you around his thigh, guiding the moves your hips made and the friction of your covered cloth against him.
“Shh,” he hushed you gently in your ear. “Know how much you like it. Just shut for a second, alright?”
It was not like your body had any will to say no when he was moving you against his thigh so deliciously. Your head fell to his shoulder once the friction got to your clit, and that was when his hand began to slide lower down your body.
His fingers worked their way to your core, tossing your panties to the side as the fingertips of his middle and ring finger collected the wetness in your slit, teasing you up and down as you squirmed. You could already feel yourself panting, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, Jude or the meaningless argument. Perhaps a combination of both, considering how much, deep down, you loved when he shut you up.
“Can’t resist you when you wear those skirts around me.” He mumbled against your collarbone as he spread kisses. His fingers were now moving in circular motions against your clit, and your hips subconsciously moved to follow his movements. You whined in his ear, and he could feel his uncomfortable bulge growing on his pants.
“Jude—”
You didn’t even need to ask. Not when he knew what you wanted. Slowly, his two fingers were inside you, but he didn’t move them. You were more frustrated than ever – having his fingers inside you was better than nothing, but you needed him to move them.
“I won’t do a thing. You’ll have to ride them by yourself.” He whispered in your ear, and you moaned out of frustration and arousal. “And you’ll be really, really quiet.”
Before you could protest, two fingers of his other hand were inside your mouth. He moved them enough to make you gag, and your hips were moving again. At first, slowly, to see if Jude would do anything. When you realized you were truly all by yourself, you began to move faster, erratically and desperately, trying to find the right angle as you used his fingers. He watched as you squirmed and clenched around his fingers, and he wanted to fuck you so badly.
But he needed to teach you how to shut up at times. Maybe it’d stop the nonsensical arguments – though a part of him didn’t want that to change.
He curled his fingers inside you just enough to reach the spot he knew you needed, and you rolled your eyes back. When he noticed your moans getting louder, he sank his fingers further down your throat, and you rode him faster until you finally, finally came.
He took his fingers out of your mouth and chuckled once you crumbled down on top of him.
“You sound so much better when you’re quiet,” he joked in your ear as you tried to catch your breath. You whined when he took his fingers off you and led it to his mouth, tasting your juices like it was the last thing he would be able to do.
“Maybe I should stop arguing.” You agreed with him after a while, your eyes shut as you kissed his neck softly.
“You know,” he smirked. “If I get to shut you up like this, I don’t mind having you bitching in my ear at every 5 seconds.”
You laughed softly and rolled your eyes, leaning away just enough to stare into his beautiful, big brown eyes. At moments like this, you were sure there was no one else in the world for you but Jude.
“Dickhead.” You mumbled.
“Careful, smart mouth.” He smiled. “Because I’m not leaving any time soon and, as far as I’m concerned, I’m always very keen to shut you up.
can you write a jude fic where his brother catches you and you get all embarrassed because you see him as a little brother?💙 love your work btw
OMG, Get a Room!
a/n: thank you for ur support anon!! missing newjeans sigh…
You didn’t mean to get this far.
You swore you’d just kiss a little, just a few soft kisses on Jude’s bed while his brother watched TV downstairs. But then he leaned in with that look in his eyes the one that promised you weren’t leaving his room without legs shaking. and suddenly, you were underneath him, breathless, hoodie pushed up, bare thighs wrapped around his waist.
“Jude,” you breathed, hands in his curls, tugging gently.
“Mm?” he hummed against your neck, voice low, teasing. His mouth moved dangerously lower, teeth scraping your collarbone. “You gonna tell me to stop?”
You opened your mouth to say yes, you really did but then his hand slid down between your legs, two fingers slipping under your panties with practiced ease, and all that came out was a whimper.
“Didn’t think so,” he smirked.
His fingers were already teasing you, drawing slow, deliberate circles that made your hips jump. You hid your face in his shoulder, clutching his shirt like it would anchor you.
“We can’t, Jobe’s downstairs,” you whispered, heat flooding your cheeks.
“He won’t come up.” Jude kissed along your jaw, licking into your mouth like he wasn’t about to finger you stupid. “Told him I was taking a nap.”
“Y-You didn’t lock the—”
Too late. His mouth was there, lips hot and open against your skin, and his fingers slipped inside. You gasped, legs tightening around his waist.
“Fuck, you’re wet already?” Jude groaned against your chest, grinning like he won a prize. “Knew you were needy today.”
“I hate you,” you whimpered, clinging to his shoulders.
“You love me,” he corrected cockily, curling his fingers just right. “And you love when I do this-”
Your back arched sharply, a strangled moan escaping your lips. “Jude—”
He chuckled darkly and ducked down further, mouth hot and dangerous, heading south. When he kissed the inside of your thigh, you knew you were done for.
“Wanna taste you, baby,” he said, voice dripping filth. “Been thinking about this since you sent me that pic this morning.”
“You’re a pervert” you panted, eyes fluttering.
Jude didn’t even respond. He just shoved your hoodie higher, dragging your panties to the side, and licked a slow, obscene stripe over your soaked
SLAM.
The door burst open.
“YO, JUDE, DO YOU WANNA—”
“OH MY GOD.”
You screamed, yanking the covers over yourself in a blind panic. Jude froze, literally between your legs, and then of course, he looked over his shoulder, unfazed, and said:
“What you saying, Jobe.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Jobe backed out so fast he hit the wall. “OMDS. OMDS. I’M GONNA BE SICK. BRO—YOU’RE—YOU’RE EATING HER OUT?!”
You made a sound that could only be described as a dying animal. “Jude!Jude, oh my god—”
You buried yourself under the blanket, heart pounding, face redder than you thought humanly possible. Jude didn’t even try to help. he just laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he wasn’t just caught mid-meal.
“Should’ve knocked, mate.”
“NAH. NAHHH. YOU SAID YOU WERE NAPPING. YOU SAID YOU WERE TIRED,” Jobe shrieked from the hallway, pacing like he witnessed a murder.
Jude looked smug. “Guess I got a second wind.”
“YOU’RE SICK. I NEED TO WASH MY EYES OUT WITH BLEACH.”
You yanked Jude down into the blanket with you, mortified beyond belief. “I’m never coming over again,” you whispered, voice shaking.
Jobe yelled again from the hallway, “AND I LIKED HER! I SAW HER LIKE A SISTER, BRO. A SISTER!”
You whimpered. “He’s never going to look at me the same.”
Jude shrugged like he didn’t just destroy every shred of dignity you had. “Eh. He’ll get over it.”
You smacked his chest. “This is your fault!”
“How? You were the one moaning my name.”
“Jude!”
“What? I take pride in my work.” He leaned closer, mouth brushing your ear. “Besides, you taste too good for me to care.”
You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “You’re the worst human alive.”
“I know,” he said smugly. “And yet you’re soaking my sheets right now.”
From the hallway, Jobe shouted, “I’M BURNING THAT BED. YOU GUYS ARE SICK!”
You couldn’t help it, you started laughing into the pillow, even though you were still dying inside. Jude joined in, dropping soft kisses on your shoulder.
“I’m gonna tease you about this forever,” he whispered.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
And you did. Even if he was the cockiest boyfriend on Earth. Even if his brother just saw way too much. Even if your pride was shattered into a million tiny pieces.
From the hallway: “I’M TEXTING MUM.”
You bolted upright. “NO HE’S NOT.”
Jude just snorted. “Relax. She already knows I’m good with my tongue.”
You shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
You didn’t speak for a full ten minutes.
Not out of choice. You were too busy hiding under Jude’s duvet, curled up in a ball of emotional destruction while your boyfriend texted his brother:
Jobe: i hope the sheets rot
Jobe: you’re disgusting
Jobe: AND I SAW HER BOOB
Jobe: i’m calling childline
Jude’s reply?
Jude: she’s legal and fine af. cry harder.
You screamed into the pillow.
“Why are you like this?!” you groaned, shoving your face deeper under the covers. “You’re enjoying this.”
He laughed, dropping his phone. “I mean, a little.”
You slapped his chest. “You’re evil.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You were going down on me! While the door was UNLOCKED!”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “And you were loving every second.”
You shoved him again, and he just grinned like the menace he was.
Eventually, you forced yourself to get up mostly because Jobe kept stomping around downstairs very loudly, muttering things like “my eyes” and “I can never sit on that bed again.”
Jude offered you a hoodie to walk downstairs in, but the moment you reached the kitchen, it was game over.
Jobe looked up from the cereal box he was angrily shoving cereal into, eyes wide with disgust. “Oh. My. Days. She’s alive.”
You froze mid-step.
“Don’t,” you whispered, already blushing.
Jobe stood up dramatically. “Nah, because I actually LIKED you. I actually respected you.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“YOU MOANED HIS NAME. WITH FEELING.”
You covered your face with both hands. “I’m gonna pass out.”
“Bro, I walked in and his face was buried—” Jobe made a wild gesture that made you squeal in horror.
“STOP!” you begged. “I can never come back here again. I’m moving to France.”
“Take Jude with you so I can heal.”
Jude strolled in behind you, absolutely beaming, arms wrapped around your waist like he wasn’t public enemy number one.
“You good now, little bro?”
“No! I’m traumatised!”
“You’re welcome,” Jude smirked, dropping a kiss to your cheek like it was nothing.
You elbowed him hard. “You’re such a bastard.”
“He’s your idiot,” Jobe snapped.
You wanted the earth to open and swallow you.
Jobe wasn’t done. “She was like a sister to me. A sister, Jude. And you were—” He pointed accusingly. “Wrist-deep!”
“Jobe!” you gasped.
Jude lost it. “ ‘Wrist-deep’ is CRAZY.”
“I HATE IT HERE,” you sobbed into your hands.
“Tell her to stop being shy,” Jude laughed, pulling you into him. “You think she was shy about it ten minutes ago?”
You shrieked and smacked him again. “Stop talking!”
“I’m just saying—”
“Shut up before I actually break up with you.”
He raised his brows and leaned into your ear. “You won’t. You’d miss me too much. And my mouth.”
You pushed him away and bolted for the bathroom, yelling, “I HATE YOU,” while Jobe shouted after you:
“AND STAY OUT OF MY ROOM TOO! I DON’T TRUST YOU TWO ANYMORE!”
⸻
Later that evening, after Jobe left the house in dramatic fashion (“I’m going to therapy. Don’t wait up.”), you flopped back onto Jude’s bed, drained from the embarrassment.
Jude just crawled in beside you, stretching like a smug cat.
“You okay, baby?” he asked, brushing your hair back.
“No.”
He kissed your temple. “Still cute when you’re flustered.”
You groaned.
“But also,” he said, crawling between your thighs again, “you never finished earlier…”
Your eyes went wide. “We are NOT—”
“Relax. I locked the door this time.” He winked.
“You said that last time!”
He shrugged. “Didn’t stop you from letting me in your panties.”
You threw a pillow at him.
He just laughed and pulled you under the covers again.
Not when you wore that red dress to his game. Not when you met his family and charmed the whole table. Not even when he saw you at your lowest, messy bun, oversized hoodie, crying through a romcom.
But right now, sitting on his bed in one of his T-shirts, your knees tucked under you, hair slightly damp from your shower… Jude looked like he’d never seen anything more perfect.
“Why are you staring?” you asked softly, heat rising to your cheeks.
He shook his head slowly. “Just trying to figure out how the hell I got this lucky.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Not even.” He leaned in, eyes flicking down to your lips. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“How much I love you.”
Your heart clenched.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. But there was something different about the way it landed this time deeper, heavier, gentler. Like a promise. Like a prayer.
You reached out, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
You kissed him.
Soft. Unrushed. Sweet.
His hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb stroking your skin like you might disappear if he stopped.
You whispered against his lips, “Want you, Jude.”
He pulled back just a little, eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”
You nodded, heart thudding. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Jude let out a shaky breath, forehead resting against yours.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” he murmured. “I swear.”
And you believed him.
Every step, the way he kissed down your neck, the way his hands slid under your shirt but never rushed, never grabbed felt like devotion. His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even once.
When he laid you back on the pillows, he didn’t undress you like a man tearing into something forbidden. He peeled away the fabric slowly, like revealing something sacred.
And when you were bare beneath him, vulnerable and soft and wanting, he just stared for a moment like you were art.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, reverent. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
You reached for him, pulling him down into another kiss.
His body fit against yours like it belonged there. Warm. Solid. Familiar.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispered as he kissed down your collarbone. “Let me make you feel good.”
You nodded, too full of emotion to speak.
Jude’s hand slid down your thigh, slow and patient, thumb tracing lazy circles.
“You don’t have to rush,” you whispered.
He smiled. “Wasn’t planning to.”
Jude kissed you like he was learning your taste. Slow, warm, tongue gliding lazily against yours. His hand slid along your waist, holding you like you were made of something delicate, something breakable.
“You’re sure?” he whispered again, his lips brushing your cheek.
You nodded, voice barely there. “Yes. Just… be gentle.”
His eyes softened even more if that was even possible.
“I got you,” he murmured. “I’ll be so gentle, you won’t even remember what pain feels like.”
You smiled, chest aching in the best way.
Jude moved slowly, impossibly so, as he lined himself up. He kissed you, whispered your name like a prayer, and pressed in, inch by inch. Your breath hitched. He didn’t stop. He just kept his eyes locked to yours, murmuring, “You’re doing so good, baby. So perfect for me.”
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t wild.
It was… everything.
He held you like you were precious, like he’d fall apart if you flinched even once. His hands cradled your face as he rocked into you gently, slowly, reverently.
“I’ve never…” you whispered, your breath catching, “never felt this close to anyone.”
Jude pressed his forehead to yours. “That’s ‘cause you’re mine. Me and you, yeah? Always.”
His hips moved with unhurried rhythm, drawing out soft gasps from you every time he bottomed out. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, completely consumed.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you come.”
You couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped. You weren’t used to this kind of intensity, the way he worshipped you with every stroke, the way his voice wrapped around your name like silk.
He kissed the corner of your mouth. Your jaw. Your nose. “You feel so good. So tight. So warm. Taking me so perfectly.”
Your back arched, thighs trembling.
“That’s it, baby. You’re close, huh? I can feel you.”
You nodded frantically. “Jude, I—”
“Come for me. Let go. I’ve got you.”
Your eyes fluttered shut as your climax crashed through you, slow and sweet and devastating in the most beautiful way. Jude didn’t stop. He kissed you through it, whispered how proud he was, how beautiful you looked.
Then he groaned, burying his face in your neck as he followed you over the edge, voice wrecked with emotion.
After, he didn’t pull away. He stayed wrapped around you, still inside, hand stroking your side, whispering soft things against your temple.
“Didn’t know it could feel like that,” you murmured.
“That’s ‘cause no one ever touched you like they loved you,” he whispered. “But I do. So much.”
Sitting on Jude’s lap in just one of his hoodies and nothing else. Legs straddling him. Your body draped over his while you absentmindedly rolled your hips against the hard bulge under his sweats.
It was innocent, sort of.
You’d just gotten out of the shower. You were tired. Cold. Clingy. He was warm and sprawled across the living room couch, flipping through channels like he wasn’t slowly losing his mind.
“Babe,” he warned, voice low.
“Hm?” you hummed, grinding just a little deeper, brushing up against his length.
His hands gripped your hips. “You keep doing that and I’m not going to stop.”
You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
He looked up at you, his eyes completely dark. “My friends could walk in any second.”
You smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then don’t be so loud.”
That was all it took.
⸻
The hoodie was gone in a second. So were your panties
Jude’s lips were on your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wide as you sat on him.
“Fuck, you’re wet already,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through your folds. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Been teasing me all day.”
“Wanted you to snap,” you whispered, gasping as two fingers slid inside you.
“I always do when it comes to you.
You rocked against his hand, moaning into his mouth as he kissed you rougher, deeper. His fingers curled and thrust, slow but firm, making you writhe in his lap.
“Such a mess for me,” he murmured. “And only me, yeah?”
You nodded. “Always.”
⸻
He kissed down your chest, biting softly over your nipple. His mouth trailed lower, dragging you down with him as he laid back, guiding your hips until you were sitting over his face.
“Hold on to the couch,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m eating you until you’re shaking.”
You whimpered. “Jude—”
But his tongue was already on you, licking slow and deep, his fingers digging into your ass to hold you still as you started falling apart.
He groaned into you. “Tastes like fucking heaven.”
Your hands clutched the top of the couch, thighs trembling as he devoured you like a man starved.
When your moans turned into soft gasps and your hips jerked against his mouth, he pulled away, lips wet and swollen.
“Come here.”
You slid back down, eyes hazy, legs trembling. Jude sat up, lips brushing yours as he fisted his cock and lined himself up.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Please.”
He slid inside in one slow thrust, both of you gasping at the stretch.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “So tight. You feel so fucking good.”
You buried your face in his neck, mouth open in a breathless moan as he started moving. Slow at first. Deep. Then harder.
⸻
Your bare ass slapped against his thighs as he fucked up into you. Your hoodie long discarded. His sweats still halfway on. The two of you tangled and breathless on the couch like animals.
“Ride me,” he said suddenly, gripping your hips and holding you steady.
You blinked. “What?”
“Ride me. Want to see you lose it.”
You obeyed without hesitation, bracing your palms on his chest and lifting your hips, bouncing in a messy, needy rhythm that had you both gasping.
“Just like that,” he growled. “So fucking good.”
You tossed your head back, moaning his name. Jude sat up and wrapped an arm around your waist, bouncing you harder on his cock as he kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it.
Then you heard it.
A shuffle. A cough.
The unmistakable creak of the front door.
You froze.
“Shit,” you whispered.
Jude didn’t even blink. “Keep going.”
Your heart slammed in your chest. “Jude—someone’s here—”
“Don’t care.”
He looked up behind you, directly at whoever had just walked in.
You turned your head slightly, and your eyes met three of his friends, frozen in the doorway like statues.
Jude kept moving.
⸻
Your skin burned.
Your mouth opened but no words came out.
Jude kept his grip on your hips, slamming you down harder onto him as he stared past your shoulder at the group of stunned men standing halfway in the room.
“Problem, boys?” he said casually.
You whined into his neck, trying to hide your face.
One of them, probably Jamal stammered, “W-We didn’t know you were… busy…”
Jude smirked.
“Oh, we’re busy.”
He thrust up particularly hard. You choked on a gasp.
“You alright, baby?” he murmured, eyes locked with his friends as he kissed your cheek.
“Y-Yeah,” you whispered, dazed.
“Good girl.”
He grabbed your ass, spreading you wider as he kept fucking you in long, deep strokes, all while staring the others down like he wanted them to see.
“You watching this?” he said lowly, smirking now.
No one answered. No one moved.
“I told you she was mine.”
You bit your lip, body trembling, the thrill of being watched making you clench tighter around him.
Jude groaned.
“See that? She likes it. Likes when I fuck her like she’s mine.”
He turned your face to him, kissed you rough and deep.
Your mind went blank. All you could feel was him.
He snapped his hips up into you again and again, loud and filthy, the room echoing with slick sounds and the quiet, strangled breaths of the onlookers.
“You want to cum?” he growled in your ear.
“Yes,” you whimpered.
“Then let them hear it. Let them know how good I fuck you.”
You broke right there.
Head thrown back. Mouth open. Your moan loud and helpless as your body convulsed around him.
He held you tight through it, watching every twitch of your body, proud and possessive.
“Good fucking girl.”
His own orgasm followed seconds later, hips stuttering, hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go. He groaned into your neck, hot breath fanning your skin.
When he finished, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped around you protectively.
Then he looked up again.
“You done watching?” he asked, half-laughing.
The guys scrambled back out the door like their lives depended on it.
You were shaking, your face still hidden in Jude’s neck.
Hey love your blog could you do a jude x reader go clubbing and reader gets jealous of girls flirting/dancing on him and they argue then they do it in the car😝
You didn’t even want to come to the club. You knew it the second Jude walked in looking like that. Chains layered on his chest, curls wet from a fresh cut, black shirt hugging his arms too tight. The way girls turned their heads? Predictable. The way they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves?
That’s when your jaw clenched.
They were dancing near him, hands skimming his chest, one girl pressing her tits against his arm like she didn’t see you right there. Jude laughed at something she said. You weren’t even sure he realized she was flirting. He had that cocky, clueless grin on. Dimples out. Eyes low-lidded.
You weren’t insecure, not usually, but this felt different. That girl was pretty. Confident. Clearly used to getting what she wanted. She didn’t even glance your way, like you didn’t matter. Like you weren’t Jude’s girl. Like you weren’t even there.
Your drink hit the bar harder than it needed to.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Waited. Until he looked over, saw your stare, and walked over with that same lazy swagger that made your stomach twist.
He didn’t push her off. Didn’t tell her to back up.
That was your final straw.
You slammed your drink down on the bar and stalked toward him. Jude turned just in time to see your face, and his smirk faded instantly.
“You good?” he asked, sliding his hand to your waist.
You shoved it off. “Yeah, I’m great, Jude. Didn’t realize you were taking fan photos all night.”
He blinked. “What?”
“That girl,” you snapped, jerking your chin toward the brunette still staring over like she had a chance. “She was all over you.”
He frowned, voice dropping. “You serious right now?”
You stepped back. “Dead serious. You didn’t tell her to stop.”
“I didn’t need to. I wasn’t touching her.”
“Oh, congratulations,” you said sarcastically. “Gold star for not cheating.”
Jude’s jaw flexed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you bit out.
He leaned in close. “Start a fight because you’re jealous I get attention. You know you’re the only one I want.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered.
That did it. He took your hand, tight, possessive, and tugged you through the crowd without another word. Out the back door. To the parking lot.
Straight to his car.
He unlocked it with a beep and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
You folded your arms. “Or what?”
His eyes were dark. “You really wanna find out?”
You climbed in.
⸻
The car door slammed. Jude was already unbuckling his jeans. You didn’t even have time to argue before his hands were on you. Yanking your dress up to your hips, his mouth crashing into yours, all tongue and teeth and fury.
“This what you wanted?” he growled, gripping your thigh. “Me acting like I own you?”
“You don’t.”
He shoved two fingers into your panties. “Then why’s your pussy soaking wet, huh?”
You gasped, hips bucking into his hand.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.
You grabbed his jaw. “You let her touch you.”
“And I’m gonna make you forget she even existed.”
He pulled your panties aside and lined himself up. No warning. Just a deep, hard thrust that made you cry out, back arching against the car door.
“Shh,” Jude muttered, hand sliding over your mouth. “You wanna let the whole parking lot know I’m fucking you stupid?”
You moaned behind his palm, your walls clenching around him.
“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Getting jealous like you don’t know who this dick belongs to.”
He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in. Again. Again. The car rocked with every thrust, windows fogging up, your thighs spread wide as he bullied his cock into you over and over.
“Mine,” he grunted. “Say it.”
You shook your head just to be defiant.
He yanked your head back by your hair. “Say it.”
“Yours,” you sobbed. “Fuck! Jude yours.”
“That’s right.” He let go of your mouth to wrap both hands under your ass, fucking up into you like a man possessed. “Gonna fill this pussy so good, you won’t even remember how to walk tomorrow.”
You clenched. “Jude, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he snarled. “Come on my dick. Show me who this pussy belongs to.”
You shattered. Legs trembling, breath catching, walls fluttering around him as you came hard, vision blurring. Jude wasn’t far behind. Grunting, biting your shoulder, spilling inside you with a groan of your name.
⸻
After, the only sound was your shaky breaths and the rain tapping on the roof.
Jude kissed your temple. “You’re mine. Always.”
You leaned into his chest. “I know. I just… hate when girls look at you like that.”
He smiled. “Let ’em look. You’re the one I’m taking home.”
The second Jude closed the front door, his mouth was on yours again.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Hungry.
You barely had time to breathe as he pinned you against the hallway wall, his hands sliding up your thighs under your ruined dress.
“Didn’t fuck the attitude out of you enough?” he muttered against your lips.
“Guess not,” you whispered.
He grinned. “Good.”
Jude grabbed your wrist and walked you backwards into the bedroom, flipping the lights on just enough for the soft glow to light the full-length mirror opposite the bed.
You swallowed.
He knew what he was doing.
“You see that?” he asked, stepping behind you. His hand came up around your neck, tilting your chin so you were looking directly at your reflection. “That’s mine.”
He ran his free hand down your waist, your hips, between your thighs, until you were gasping again.
“And she’s already soaking,” he murmured. “Could fuckin’ ruin you just from watching you fall apart.”
You whimpered, hands gripping his wrists.
“Take it off,” he said lowly. “All of it.”
You slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and let it fall. Panties followed. You stood there bare, flushed, messy from earlier, thighs still sticky with him.
Jude’s eyes were on you through the mirror, gaze dark, mouth parted. He stripped too, slow and unhurried, letting you see everything his strong chest, his abs, the trail of hair leading down to his already-hard cock.
“On the bed,” he ordered. “Face down. Legs spread.”
You obeyed.
He climbed on behind you, dragging his cock between your folds before sinking in again. You gasped, still sensitive, and he groaned deep in his chest.
“You always take me so fuckin’ good,” he growled, hips snapping against your ass. “Even when you’re mad. Even when you’re cryin’.”
Your moans got louder. Your thighs trembled as he fucked you harder, hand gripping your hair to keep you in place.
“Look at yourself,” he said, voice tight. “Look how you bounce on my cock.”
You blinked through the haze, forcing your eyes to the mirror. The sight made you whimper, your body jolting with every thrust, mouth open, hair a mess, Jude behind you looking like sin.
“You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” he teased. “My greedy little girl always cries when she gets too much.”
You nodded, breathless. “Jude, I—”
“On your knees.”
He pulled out fast, flipping you over and tugging you off the bed by your arms until you were kneeling in front of him, face tilted up.
“Open,” he ordered.
You obeyed. He slid his cock into your mouth, slow at first, then deeper. His hand cradled the back of your head as he started to fuck your throat.
“Yeah, take it, baby,” he groaned. “You can cry on my dick like a good girl.”
Tears spilled as he hit the back of your throat again and again. You moaned around him, eyes locked with his through the mirror. His jaw clenched, brows knit.
“Fuck! so pretty with your mouth full,” he panted. “Mine. Every part of you.”
He pulled out with a wet pop, wiping your tears with his thumb, then lifted you back onto the bed.
“Round two,” he whispered, lining himself up again. “You ready to beg?”
You were already clenching. “Please, Jude. Please fuck me again.”
He shoved in hard. You screamed.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Beg me.”
“Please! don’t stop- fuck, I’m yours!“
“You need to come?” he asked, choking your moans with his hand around your throat.
“Yes!!” you sobbed.
“You gonna give me another one like a good girl?”
“Yes, yes—”
He slammed into you until your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. You were shaking, thighs locking, tears falling freely. Jude held you through it, whispering low, filthy praise into your skin.
“So fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”
“Gonna fill you up again. Gonna make sure it stays.”
You gasped as he emptied inside you, deep, slow thrusts until you were full and dripping again.
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