modie x fem reader whose a high maintenance posh girl. they’re from two completely different worlds but opposites attract. he makes sure she gets her nails done, hair done, buys her lipgloss and listens to all her long stories about girl drama, watches all her girly shows with her when theyre home alone like gossip girl etc. and he’s lowkey interested in it
MODIE STEPPED THROUGH THE ENTRANCEWAY TO THE HOUSE, bags of shopping in-hand. It was just before midday, and streams of honey-bright sun were casting a yellow hue throughout the hallway. “I’m home!” he called out, the door closing behind him with a light click. He set the bags down by the windowsill, careful not to knock over the array of miniature sculptures, candles, and potted foliage. Then he stepped out of his trainers, stripping off his coat and balancing it on the rack adjacent to the door. “I’m upstairs!” you replied.
Modie practically leaped up the stairs, bags slung over his shoulder, two steps at a time. Once he found you sprawled out in bed, he practically beamed. “Got all your lipstick—“
“Lip-gloss,” you corrected, smirking. “Lip-gloss,” he repeated, a hand reaching into one of the bags to pull a few out and inspect their labels. “Fenty Beauty Gloss Bomb Universal Lip Luminizer, Fuzzy? Fussy?” he transcribed, voice overly pompous until he could no longer decipher the text. You gave him a small smile, head leaned back against the pillow. Content to simply watch his efforts. Eventually, he got bored after a minute or two, and ended up pouring them out of their bags and onto an empty space on the duvet. You tugged it towards you with a scoff, setting a few on the bedside table and unpacking one of the various lip-glosses to apply it. Immediately, he leaned in to give you a peck on the lips. One that left you giggling after. “You’ve got some on your lips,” you pointed out, cocking your head to the side, smiling with your teeth.
He didn’t wipe it off with his sleeve. “You gonna kiss it off ‘f me?”
You rolled your eyes. “I would just get more of it on you.”
He hummed. “I don’t mind. Still means I get to kiss you.” He smiled dopily, head slightly tipped forward. It almost looked as if he was batting his eyelashes at you, staring through the knit of his brow. Eyes soft. You gave in with a chuckle, trying your best to maintain your unamused demeanour. But you didn’t mind, if anything you wanted it too. He laughed softly into the kiss, tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back momentarily. He let his thumb stray across his lips, trying to wipe some of your lip-gloss off; smearing it instead.
“Here,” you snickered, leaning over him to stroke his lips and remove all trace of if on him. His arms weaved around the small of your back, tugging you closer. You were both in quiet hysterics by the time you finished doing so and reluctantly began to squirm away–allowing you to fall back down next to him in the bed.
“Who’s this?” he pointed out, casting an accusatory jab towards the flat screen tv. A brunette man was depicted across it, light dancing off of his skin. He was seemingly midway through talking before you had paused the show prior to Modie coming back home. “You would know if you were paying attention,” you pointed out. He raised his brows at you, sporting a matching grin.
“Missed the start ‘cause I was too busy buying all your fancy stuff at the shop,” he hummed, smile turning mildly smug. Modie shrugged off his jacket, shifting into the bed alongside you, then you unpaused the programme.
“She’s such a bitch,” you muttered after a few minutes. He glanced over at you, tilting his head to the side. “Who? Serena?”
You grinned at the fact he knew her name, and had been paying a decent amount of attention, but didn’t comment on it. “Yeah, don’t like her. She reminds me of this girl I used to know at school. So annoying,” you shook your head, eyes glued to the screen. Modie seemed more interested in blinking at your side profile in the mean time. “Yeah? What was she like?” he grinned, suddenly intrigued.
“Don’t,” you warned. “I could go on for days.” Instead of heeding your own warning you continued regardless, counting on your fingers as you spoke. “Every time we spoke she just sounded like she thought she was–like, above me. You know what I mean?” Modie nodded intently, head pushed against the pillow. Gossip Girl playing in the background. “Everything she said was basically the only opinion ever, like. If you didn’t agree then you were automatically a bad person according to her. Literally makes zero sense.”
“Oh, and her voice!” you groaned, shaking her head–putting on a whiny, overly-sophisticated accent. “So annoying. Don’t know how I put up with her.” Modie nodded, eyes glued on you. “Sounds it.”
Hi I loved your fix of dont give in with Jude! If you could do an angst where the reader is expressing her insecurities with Jude (they are at a party or something and there are flirty fans) but Jude just brushes it off which leads to reader leaving and Jude apologizing in the end. (Srry if this was to much)
IT STARTED OFF WITH A PEDICURED HAND WEAVING ITS WAY ACROSS THE SMALL OF JUDE’S BACK. You frowned slightly, but dismissed it nonetheless. Jude had looked back at you with a wide grin moments later–smile lines curving up to reach his ears; the creases of his eyes wrinkling. You forgave the action; doubted he had felt it anyway, at least, that’s what you told yourself. There were bodies swimming between you, colliding like crashing waves. Short skirts and legs rubbing against anything that moved. It could’ve been the crowd pushing you further apart, or the sheer intensity of strobe lights alternating in quick bursts—but you felt yourself slowly pushed away from him. Until he was out of sight. Out of reach. Red and grey plumes of smoke floated around the boundaries of the room; matching monochrome confetti cascading onto the floor.
Your eyes darted across the hordes of people, scanning the area for your boyfriend. It was erratic and you felt your legs distancing themselves from the clubgoers. Eventually, you removed yourself from the crowd and stepped outside of the building. Through the back exit and past the wide, glass doors. Perhaps Jude had had the same idea as you and sought to find you in a more open environment. Or maybe you just wanted a break from it all. The temperature was a cold splash against your skin, chills playing against your bare limbs–the breeze a harsh stroke. You exhaled slowly, glancing back through the doors. A familiar head popped up out of the crowd, all trimmed curls and sharp lines. Jude. You grinned, face lifting, and pushed back past the doors; heading towards him. He was near to the curve of the bar, head craned down as if closely inspecting something. The slope of his neck lowered.
Once you had managed to slide past the tightly-grouped mob of dancers–if that’s what you would even call it–you were faced with Jude’s turned back. Yet another hand on the small of his back, head leaning into his shoulder. The music was too loud, the air too thick. You narrowed your eyes slightly, vision practically locked onto where her hand brushed up against the cotton of his shirt. You distinctly remembered recommending his outfit–his shirt–earlier in the day. Jude had always had poor taste in fashion. Perhaps you shouldn’t have if it garnered this kind of reaction. Not that it mattered, anyway. You’re sure this girl would’ve preferred him without the outfit.
You internally spat at your own words; winding yourself up. You never wanted to come across as some crazy, jealous girlfriend that didn’t even let her boyfriend have a smidge of freedom. Let alone allow other people to touch them. But once you had watched girl after girl drape themselves over him from just a short distance away made your stomach twist, and throat wobble. Why was he not even looking for you? Too occupied taking photos with fans?
All you could see was him–the crowd now nothing more than a hazed blur–smiling, laughing. Strangers’ hands lingered a little too long. Jude was posing for photo after photo. Leaned into another girl’s figure. Grinned at another flash from a phone. Hand on the small of his back. Hand on her waist. Hand on her waist.
You pursed your lips.
Gradually they dispersed; only after what you’re sure was word-of-mouth spreading in live action about a rare sighting of Jude Bellingham at a nightclub in Birmingham. Jude had looked back over his shoulder at you, beaming and slinging an arm around your shoulder.
“Hi, baby!” he smiled. “Where’d you go?
You made a noncommittal sound in response, tucking in your lips. He frowned slightly, brows raised in concern.
“You okay?” he cocked his head to the side, before tugging you towards the hallway by the men’s and women’s bathrooms. “What ‘s it?” he blinked down at you, prior giggly expression erased from his features. You hated how he could sense something was up with you immediately; but not, in some sense, selfishly, that he was the cause of it. How could he not? Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth; a bitter taste washing over it. The audacity.
Nonetheless, you muttered a quick, “it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. Why’re you upset?”
“Why do you think, Jude?” you snapped, glaring up at him. He screwed his face up. “What did I do wrong, baby? Jus’ tell me, ‘m sorry.” You almost felt bad for him. Just for a second. Those big, puppy, brown eyes doing a number on you. It was enough to convince you to blurt out your reasoning anyway.
“Sorry, ‘m jus’--” you paused for a second, gathering the words to formulate an explanation. Why did you feel bad? This wasn’t right. You huffed out a deep exhale, lips running over your next words as if it were bile streaming up your throat. “Jealous,” you continued, eyes suddenly drawn to the floor. “Don’t like girls touching you, and I know they’re fans and whatever but–”
He furrowed his brows at you. “You’re overthinking.”
“What?”
He sounded impatient, irritated almost. A stark contrast from his prior concern. “It’s just a photo.”
A girl walked past from the bathroom, straightening out her minidress. She cast a glimpse over to Jude, giving him a coy smile. You stared up at him and scoffed, shaking your head. “You are–this is fucking ridiculious.”
He caught your wrist as you turned to walk away, giving you a pointed look. “Seriously, it’s not an issue. It’s fine, yeah?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a sense of distaste at how he was so openly dismissing your feelings, brushing them off. You had initially believed yourself to be irrational–of course you could trust Jude. But now you were doubting yourself.
“Are you joking?” you glared back at him; his hand still wrapped around your wrist. He kept blinking at you, confused, looking all innocent. Fuck him. “It’s not about the photos, Jude. You know that,” you retorted, spite dampening your tone. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go; just absentmindedly soothing it with his thumb as it stroked across the skin there–almost as if attempting to placate you. His brows were still knit together, lips slightly parted as if about to speak. Your stomach churned.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise,” he eventually blurted, voice steady and quiet. You let out a humourless laugh. “Exactly.”
“What’s that s’posed t’ mean?”
The bass from the room out through the corridor, and to the dancefloor, thrummed against the walls. Muffled voices and laughter bled into the dimly lit corridor. “I don’t know what you want me to,” he conceded, rubbing his temples. “They’re fans, I can’t control what they do. It’s not like ‘m going to see them again.”
Your glare was unwavering, gently shrugging off his grip on your wrist, and swallowed. He slowly returned his arm back by his side; the motion hesitant. “I’m sorry, okay?” he said tentatively. “I wasn’t thinking.”
This only served to frustrate you further. You wet your lips and shook your head at him, turning to leave once more. Chest tight and vision blurred. He didn’t stop you that time.
He saw you next curled up in bed; duvet up to your nose. He had texted and called you, he swore, about one-hundred times once you stormed off in the middle of your previous argument. He searched on the dancefloor, almost shoving off any new approaching fans wanting photos, much to their dismay. Outside of the club, and the car park. Then he decided to return back home; where you were. Phone on the nightstand, switched off.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated like a mantra, likely the third time in the night he had done so. “I should’ve listened,” he admitted, voice thick with regret and, possibly, guilt.
Have you read any other good sully fics on tumblr cause i cant find any. If you have some dont be shy drop em!
i literally can’t find any sully fics on tumblr icl 😭 there are some decent ones on wattpad though if u wanna explore that app 🧍♀️i’ll probs start continuing my silly fic soon tbf asw so … 🫡
ERLING ROLLED OVER IN BED. Both of you recovering from your highs and gasping for breath, muttering phrases of endearment into the air towards each other. “So good f’me,” he praised, breath uneven. He blinked over at you, cheek pressed into the pillow as he shifted himself over to look at you and the fall and rise of your chest with a coy grin. “You okay?” he rasped.
You glanced over at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a lazy downturned smile. “Mhm.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead gently, then withdrew and clambered out of the bed; looking over his shoulder momentarily to cast a last glimpse of you. Hair tousled and splayed over the duvet haphazardly, cheeks flushed and marked by his touch. “Where you goin’?” you tilted your head at him, cocking it to the side.
He chuckled, tongue-in-cheek, his back turned to you as he called out, “I’ll be back in a minute, elskling,” from down the corridor. You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and pulling the duvet further over yourself, the sun painting a line of orange sunlight into the room. You faintly heard the sound of running water carrying itself through the walls, the sound of Erling’s hummed tunes accompanying it. He returned a moment later, hovering by the doorway, blue eyes skimming across your form. A smirk tugged at his lips as you looked up and over at him. “You’re so beautiful,” he commented offhandedly, pushing off from the doorframe and padding towards you in bed.
“Thank you,” you replied, a cheeky smile adorning your features. Erling leaned down slightly, pecking you on the lips whilst his calloused hand found its way to your hip, gently starving shapes into your skin. “Jus’ running you a bath, ‘kay?” he mentioned, and you nodded. “Thank you, again.” He grinned back, shoving your face playfully whilst clambering back into bed next to you. He swiftly settled himself flush against you, peppering kisses against the side of your neck and profile that he could reach.
You rolled your eyes jokingly and giggled at him, turning around so you were both face to face. “Love you,” you breathed. “Love you too,” he repeated, as if it was a prayer between you two. “How’re you feeling?” he asked eventually, staring attentively at your features. “Not too sore?” you shook your head with a light scoff. “All fine.” He nodded, both of you softly smiling at each other, as if afraid if you looked away the other would simply disappear. He traced your features with his eyes, then made a noise of contentment; snaking an arm around your exposed waist and nuzzling his face into your shoulder.
You let out a small downturned smile. “What?” he laughed quietly. “Nothin’,” you retorted, eyes trained on his, arms reaching out to drape over his chest and behind his head. “Your bath will be ready soon,” he mumbled, eyes flickering closed. You nodded and made a noise of acknowledgment, gently running your nails through his hair; as you silently breathed together in the comfort of your bed, only broken up by the hum of running water down the corridor.
“Erl,” you whispered after some time. He lifted his head groggily at you, cocking his head to the side. “Can you check if the bath’s ready or if it’s flooded?” he chuckled softly, withdrawing himself from your touch, before plodding along to the bathroom and turning the tap off. “All ready,” he called out, dipping a finger in to test the temperature of the milky foam as you walked in. “Want me to join you?” he joked as he was drying his hand on a towel, cocky grin plastered over his face. You gave him an equally unimpressed glare, swatting him out of the bathroom before dipping yourself into its warmth.
Dating Sully was always going to be a struggle, you both knew and accepted that. Most days he came back to your shared flat – if he wasn’t away in a safe house on the other side of the country trying not to get himself killed – clutching at his chest and pushing away any attempts of your comfort or the box of medical supplies you now kept on your bedside table. Sometimes he just gave in, allowing you to wrap strips of gauze around his scarred stomach; other days he was too stubborn to let you think he was in any sort of pain whatsoever, for which he always failed to do so due to the grunts and groans spilling from his lips, or when he grit his teeth stretching, hissing as he sat down. He didn’t want you to worry, to no avail, how were you supposed to not worry when you could practically see blood dyeing his shirt crimson?
After enough time waiting silently for him at home, not knowing when he would come back; until your lips were bitten red and the skin around your fingernails chewed off, you had asked, more-so told him, you wanted to accompany him. He had scowled at you, chuckling softly as quickly as the breath had left your parted lips. “Fuck, no,” he laughed, and that was that. It wasn’t as if you were exactly prepared to kill someone as he did on an increasingly daily basis, and so you understood where he was coming from. It sounded like a joke, and so you treated it as one, laughing it off.
When you first met, at school, neither of you had to worry – as much. When you were both still kids, he often met you behind the bins on the playground to patch him up after his third fight that week, and consequently third detention. Back then, you had just stolen the school’s first-aid kit because your tall classmate with the cute smile had asked you to; now your weekly shopping made heads turn. Nonetheless, you two dating seemed to come naturally. Worry was an integral part of your relationship, one that you begrudgingly couldn’t seem to shrug off; whether that was schoolground fights or Sully leaving the flat with the imprint of a pistol shoved down his trousers. Worry about what state he would come back home in, or whose blood stained his fingertips.
When he can, he makes an effort to stay with you for extended periods of time; but you were still hyper aware of him not being able to take you to certain places, of what you could and couldn’t do being in a relationship with him currently, or even if you ever did break up, of the threat still posed to you because he cared about you. You could always be used as a ploy against him, some kind of bartering.
Kids were off the table, you both knew that, and yet conversations about moving to Italy to get married (somewhere with nice beaches he had repeatedly adamantly, “as far away from this shithole as possible”) to pursue a dream of having three kids and a house with a balcony over the sea still occurred when you stared at each other with small downturned smiles, heads resting on the pillows, legs tangled up in the others. You even had names planned out for nonexistent babies, it seemed almost pathetic reflecting on it: Michael, Isaac, Aaron if they were boys. Amari, Jamila, Christine; if they were girls. The topic wasn’t brought up often as it required him to still be there once you woke up.
Most of the time he was honest with you; it’s hard not to be questioned about certain aspects of his escapades off halfway across the country when he just goes completely mute. You’ve seen him cry once, when Jason died, and didn’t pursue the topic further. You didn’t even say anything, just wrapped your arms around him and let him sob into your hoodie.
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omg are you gonna continue the sully x reader story cause I love it so so much
yes ofc everything is gonna continue (requests n series everythinggg) when my exams end aka june 11 🎉 it’s been too long i’ve been having writing withdrawal symptoms fr
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