Hi everyone, this is the master list. I have like five jobs, but I really think I need one. I plan to post more and more often. Requests are open, ask for anything! (Except nsft)
In honour of England winning 3rd place at the world cup!
WC: 1.4k, unprotected sex, oral sex, Jude wears his medal while they have sex, Jude just being sexy
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The stadium explodes around you, a living, breathing roar of sound that vibrates through your bones. You're on your feet, pressed against the railing of the family section, your eyes locked on the pitch. Jude controls the ball with that effortless grace that always makes your breath hitch, weaving through the defense like they're standing still. The shot is clean, powerful, unstoppable. The net ripples.
You bite your lip so hard you taste copper, a giddy, primal thrill racing through you. He turns after the celebration, his chest heaving, and his eyes find you in the stands. That confident, cocky smile. And then a wink, quick and private, just for you. God, he is the sexiest man alive. Always so fucking confident.
The medal ceremony is a blur of flashbulbs and proud smiles. You stand shoulder to shoulder with his mum, your phone capturing every angle of him standing on that podium. The bronze medal glints under the stadium lights, swinging around his neck. It isn't gold, but the weight of it, the pride in his eyes, it means everything after the devastation of the semi-final.
The press conference finally ends. The fans filter out. The stadium empties into a quiet cavern, leaving just the players, their families, and a few lingering staff. The tension of the tournament finally unwinds into a soft, shared relief.
You don't walk to him. You run.
He sees you coming and opens his arms, catching you mid-leap, laughing as your legs wrap around his waist. Your mouths meet in a deep, celebratory kiss, tasting of salt and victory and joy. He pulls back, still grinning, and reaches up to unclasp the medal from his neck.
He settles it over your head, the cool metal resting against your chest.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice rough with exhaustion and genuine happiness.
You look down at the bronze disk. It feels good. But it belongs on him. You smile, lifting it off and carefully placing it back around his neck, your fingers grazing his damp skin.
"It looks better on you."
He gives you one last quick, hard kiss. "See you back at the hotel."
You nod, letting him slip away, but the anticipation is already a hot, sharp hook in your ribs.
The logistics of separate cars are a tedious necessity, but the drive back to the hotel is a blur of neon lights and adrenaline. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you're digging through your suitcase, discarding clothes until your fingers find the delicate lace of the black lingerie you packed for exactly this possibility.
You slip it on, the silk and lace cool against your heated skin. The bra cups your breasts perfectly, the panties a tiny triangle of black fabric held up by thin straps. You pull a soft, oversized sweater over it and a tiny denim skirt, the combination innocent and electric with promise.
You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting, your pulse a frantic drum against your ribs.
The door clicks open.
He walks in, still in his full kit, the bronze medal swinging against his chest. His hair is messy, plastered to his forehead. His skin is flushed, slick with the remnants of sweat and grass. The smell hits you—clean exertion, hard-fought triumph—and you fucking love it.
You're on your feet instantly, crossing the room in three steps. Your arms loop around his neck, and you have to rise on your tiptoes, pressing your body against his.
"I'm so happy for you," you whisper against his lips before kissing him deeply.
He smiles into the kiss, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. The softness of the greeting dissolves in an instant. The kiss turns raw, hungry, desperate. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you groan, your fingers tangling in his damp curls.
The shift is immediate. He walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, lifting you onto the mattress. He follows you down, his body covering yours, still fully dressed in his kit. The rough fabric of his shorts grinds against the thin lace of your panties.
His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, wet kisses down your jaw, your throat, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin of your collarbone.
"Need you," he mutters against your skin, his hands impatiently pushing your skirt up your thighs.
You arch into him, your fingers working at stripping off his jersey. "Take this off."
He sits back on his heels, ripping the jersey over his head, discarding it on the floor. His torso is a masterpiece of muscle and sweat-sheened skin. The medal rests against his sternum, swinging as he moves. Your sweater is next, pulled over your head in one swift motion, exposing the black lace.
"Fucking hell," he growls, his eyes darkening. "You planned this."
You don't answer, you just pull his mouth back down to yours. The kiss is messy, wet, devouring. He pushes you back against the pillows, his mouth dropping lower. He presses open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt and panties, dragging them down your legs.
"Spread for me, baby."
You obey, opening your thighs wide. He groans at the sight of you, already slick and ready. He doesn't make you wait. His mouth is on you instantly, hot and greedy. He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, circling it with his tongue before sucking it between his lips.
Your hips buck against his face. "Jude… please…"
He fucks you with his tongue, pushing it deep inside you, then lapping at your clit with a relentless rhythm. He knows exactly how to break you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as the first orgasm crashes over you, a hot, pulsing wave that makes you cry out his name.
He doesn't stop. He licks you through it, groaning against your sensitive flesh, drinking down every drop of your release. Only when you're trembling and oversensitive does he crawl back up your body.
The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance. He holds your gaze, his eyes dark with hunger.
"This," he says, his voice rough, "is the best feeling in the world."
He thrusts into you in one slow, deep motion. Your body stretches to accommodate him, the fullness making you gasp. He fills you perfectly. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, then he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in.
The rhythm he sets is punishing and perfect. Every thrust drives the breath from your lungs. The medal swings against your chest, a cool counterpoint to the heat of his body. He is a champion, and he is yours.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder."
He obliges, fucking you with a desperate power, the bed creaking beneath you. The tension builds again, coiling tight in your gut.
"Cum with me," he grunts, his forehead pressed to yours. "Now."
The command shatters you. Your orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching violently around him, milking him deep. The sensation drags him right over the edge with you. He groans your name, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
He collapses on top of you, his weight a heavy, perfect comfort. The medal is crushed between your chests. You lie there, breathing hard, tangled together in the slick heat of your shared release.
After a long moment, he lifts his head, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your lips. "Thank you for being here."
You run your fingers through his sweaty hair. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
He shifts, pulling you onto your side, tucking your head under his chin. His hand strokes your hair, traces patterns on your back. You feel the last of the tension finally leave his body. The weight of the semi-final loss, the exhaustion of the tournament—it all melts away as he holds you in the quiet of the room.
He is happy. He is loved. And in four years, you'll be right there again, watching him chase the gold. But tonight, this bronze medal, this victory lap, this moment in your arms—it feels like winning everything.
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ghost x reader who crochets?? please???? I wanna make him a hat so bad god please
I'm going to pretend like this request isn't from February (I'm so fucking sorry, I totally forgot i had this in my inbox) Anyways, this idea is really cute.
Simon never expected to date someone in general, much less someone who was absolutely obsessed with crocheting. You two don't live together yet but you've gifted him so many things no matter what room he’s in, there is something there that reminds him of you. Honestly he’s not sure how it happened, he kept telling you no, you didn't need to spend your time making him stuff, but you just didn't listen.
Every morning when Simon goes into his closet to get dressed for the day there's just an odd pop of color. Everything in Simon's closet is black, with maybe an occasional gray, but you say using just black to crochet is too boring and not colorful enough, so now Simon has a whole little pile of clothes that are just super bright and colorful. Most of it is winter stuff, but he has multiple hats in different colors. He has two pairs of mittens, one pair is colorful and covered in little hearts and the other is just plain black, which you only made because you learned his original pair of mittens had holes in them but he refused to get new ones, so you made him the plain black ones first with the yarn you still had, then later the heart ones, and yes Simon wears both. His wardrobe is filled with crocheted sweaters after you learned he only had like two non work shirts, you kept them mostly neutral but still added a small pop of color, maybe a little flowers or hearts on the sleeve. Simon loves it, it reminds him of you, and he will absolutely wear any of it, if someone thinks he looks a little odd wearing an all black outfit with a brightly colored hat and gloves they can mind their damn business.
His wardrobe isn't the only area you've added crocheting too, his kitchen is also filled with crocheted items. Simon doesn't do any homemade cooking but he is amazing at following instructions so as long as something just needs to be warmed up Simon's got that. Does Simon have plenty of burns on his hands and arm from cooking, yes. And that's why you've made him multiple oven mitts, pot holders, and mug cozies, just in hopes that he won't burn himself anymore, it's majorly helped but every once in a while he still somehow manages to burn himself.
Then there's the little random things you've crocheted for him. A bunch of coasters, he switches them out every once in a while, they're so many different ones but his favorite is the ghost. You noticed his wallet was absolutely falling apart, he can’t even hold coins in it, but it didn't bother Simon enough to buy a new one so you just made him one. So now he has this super cute red and black wallet that's just big enough to carry his cards, a few coins, and a picture of you. Soap makes fun of him every time he pulls it out. Simon doesn't mind though, especially because he knows you've decided to make one for everyone on the team, and Simon knows damn well Soap will use it if you ask.
Simons replaced all of the blankets in his house with your own, not like he was going to use them when he has a whole closet full of blankets you've made just for him. He still keeps and uses his regular pillow but only because he doesn't want to ruin the few pillows you've made him. You even made him a weighted stuffed animal for when you're not there, and Simon won't admit it but he sleeps with it every night you're not with him. But that's the whole reason you made it, so that he would have something comforting. Whenever you go over to Simons you make sure to hug it tight so it keeps your smell, or you leave your jacket so Simon has something that smells like you.
jude being absolutely obsessed with the girl he fucks 24/7 (aka you) , loving every inch of her even if she probably enjoys arguing with him more than having sex.
warnings : sex, toxic jude, cussing, pussy eating, over stimulation
not proofread!
jude puts his phone down with a thud, rubbing his tense eyebrows. obviously, he's not taking the loss well, why the fuck would you point that out?
always running your mouth. whatever, he's used to it. he kinda likes it, but he'll never admit that.
twenty minutes later, he hears his phone buzzing and he immediately picks up without even checking if its you, mumbling the room he's in.
after impatiently waiting on the king sized bed, the door finally opens and you walk in wearing shorts and one of his oversized shirts that you stole from him a couple of months ago.
jude gets up, walking over to you and kissing you. his lips smack against yours with some sense of urgency that only you can mimic.
"mm- slow down. i just got here." you try to speak, barely able to pull away before he stuffs his tongue into your mouth, making you moan in surprise.
"please, let me fuck you. im so hard, y/n. i need your pussy." he whines, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and nose.
you roll your eyes but nod in consent.
jude doesn't waste one millisecond, lifting you up and throwing you down on the plush bed, taking his shirt off right above you which makes you bite your lip.
theres nothing more you love than admiring judes body. he's toned, has abs and a big dick, and muscles. what more can a girl want?
you spread your legs teasingly, taking your time unbuttoning your shorts.
jude clearly doesn't find it nearly as funny aa you do, since he roughly grabs them and pulls them down your legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor.
"you're actually pissing me off." he grumbles, pulling your panties off to and leaning down, licking a strip up your already wet cunt.
"so? that's what im best at- ah!" you moan as his plump lips wrap around your pulsing clit, sucking as if his life depended on it.
you squirmed on the bed, unable to move due to his strong hands holding your thighs down. incoherent words and moans come out of your mouth due to how good and overwhelming his tongue is.
he eats your pussy out like a starved man, groaning at the taste and gripping you tighter when he feels your hips trying to move away from his face.
"don't run from me pretty, you taste so good." he practically moaned into your pussy, tongue licking against the gummy walls.
jude was clearly enjoying himself. not only was he moaning just like you, but he was basically humping the mattress.
"im gonna cummm! please please please don't stop-" you babble on and on continuously, pussy leaking straight into his mouth.
jude doesn't stop or slow down, instead he sucks on your clit again because he knows that makes you cum every time.
you immediately orgasm, gasping and closing your eyes shut in nothing but pure pleasure. "jude, fuck."
he continues eating you out to prolong the orgasm until you smack his head.
"im obsessed with your pussy." he smacks it softly, snickering at your legs closing on instinct.
"can i fuck you now?" he mumbles, sliding his shorts and boxers down.
you roll your eyes, clearly exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you 30 seconds ago.
"give me a minute, geez.. i don't have footballer stamina."
jude sighs but lays down next to you , watching as you try to slow your breathing and relax.
"okay.. im good. but im not doing any work, yeah?"
"fine with me. cmon, on your belly." he taps your waist, motioning for you to turn around.
you comply silently, lazily rolling around so your face is stuffed in the pillows, extremely close to falling asleep.
jude rolls on a condom before positioning himself behind you, spreading your ass cheeks and pressing his thick mushroom tip against your pussy.
"fuuck. you're so tight." he pushes in, making both of you moan at the delicious feeling.
once his cocks fully inside you, he starts thrusting. not slowly, not softly, but fast and rough. just the way he knows you love. his hips slam against your with a loud plap-plap-plap! , girthy dick hitting spots you didn't know existed.
"shiiittttt, jude!" you moan mindlessly into the pillow, mouth wide open in pleasure.
he groans in response, lifting your hips up so he can fuck his cock into you in a different angle.
"i love your pussy so fucking much, oh my god." he practically whines, eyebrows furred in pleasure as a thin layer of sweat forms on his beautiful skin.
after a couple minutes of nonstop fucking, jude feels your gummy walls clenching around him just enough to make his hips stutter, losing his rhythm.
"you gonna cum, pretty? can feel you- fuck, clenching around me. 's so tight."
you nod into the pillow desperately, turning your head to the side so you can speak clearly.
"im- im gonna cum. please. please let me cum?" you whimper, tears streaming down your face from how good everything feels , even if you were about to fall asleep 6 minutes ago.
judes thrusts turn even rougher (if possible), his breaths coming out hard and quick. "cum with me, pretty."
at his demand, you immediately start cumming all around his cock. moans turning into whines and pussy clenching impossibly tight as the knot unravels in your lower tummy.
he finishes right after you, moaning your name as his hips still, cumming into the condom.
jude collapses ontop of you, kissing your sweaty shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.
"that was.. really fucking good." he mumbles, kissing your neck, then ear.
you only nod in response, too tired to reply verbally. jude knows you're pleased though, noticing the small smile on your face even though your eyes are closed.
jude knows you two aren't exclusive , but sometimes it's nice to pretend otherwise.
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hello angels! this is VERY explicit, jude is experiencing many emotions so expect a lot of emotional whiplash. i hope u love it <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: after England’s crushing 1-2 semi-final loss to Argentina, a seething and devastated Jude returns to the hotel room filled with raw anger. what begins as furious tears and pacing quickly explodes into desperate, rough, possessive sex as he tries to fuck the frustration out of his system and reclaim control. he only trusts you to see him like this, and remind him exactly who the fuck he is
warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit smut, rough sex, angry sex, spanking, possessive dirty talk, spitting in mouth, emotional hurt/comfort, angry tears, self-blame, brief argument, mood swings, vulnerable jude, very clingy and guilty aftercare, established relationship
wc: 5k!
Jude took the loss incredibly hard. None of you had the right words for him. He was devastated in a way that went far beyond the scoreline. He couldn’t hold back the tears as much as he would have liked, even though he tried. God, he tried.
It’s not that he was ashamed of showing emotion. Jude was a passionate man. About his sport, about his family, about what he believes in, about you. But breaking down on international television in front of millions, was never something someone actively wanted to do.
“Fuck…fuck!”
You heard him shouting from the pitch, emotions raw, just before he covered his face with both hands and started pacing in tight, frustrated circles. The Argentinians were celebrating wildly right in front of him, cheering, bodies jumping. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, eyes squeezed shut like he was physically willing himself to not explode publicly. Then one of the opposing players said something in Spanish – you couldn’t hear or understand what –and Jude lashed out, slapping the back of the player’s head in a flash of blind frustration.
You and Denise both shot to your feet at the same time. His mum muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like “for fuck’s sake, Jude,” her hand flying to her mouth as you all watched the brief altercation unfold. Luckily the England lads were quick, pulling him away, keeping him wrapped up and shielded from the cameras as best they could.
He finished his post-match interviews and finally made his way over to the family section. You could tell from the way he kept hiding his face under the brim of his cap that he was pissed off he couldn’t stop the tears. Pissed off he couldn’t stop those late goals. Pissed off he couldn’t score more, contribute more, do whatever it took to push England over the line. He would have sacrificed almost anything tonight to get them to the final.
He hugged his parents first. Denise held him tight, rubbing his back in slow circles, whispering things only a mother could say. Mark gripped him hard, proud even in defeat, murmuring quiet words of reassurance. But their comfort seemed to ricochet off Jude’s body. He was vibrating with anger, with frustration, with a deep, burning disappointment that lived in his chest after every loss with England.
When he finally sat down next to you, his hand automatically latched onto your thigh, gripping like you were the only steady thing left in his world. You watched as his knee bounced restlessly, as he ran his hand over his face again and tugged his cap even lower, trying to disappear under it.
“Jude, hey… hey… look at me,” you said softly.
He turned his head slowly, propping his chin on his fist. The muscles in his jaw ticked hard. He was devastated, that much was clear in his red-rimmed eyes. But underneath it you could see the anger simmering; at himself, at the way it had slipped away again, at the fact that no matter how hard he ran, how much he gave, it still wasn’t enough to cross that final line for England.
You reached out and gently wiped under his eye with your thumb. He turned his head and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your palm, lingering there for a second like he needed the contact to soothe his very soul. Then his eyes drifted away again, distant and unfocused, staring down at the now-empty pitch where the Argentina celebrations had finally started to die down.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and painful. His hand stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth absently, like he needed something to anchor him to reality and not let him get lost inside his head.
“Can you come to my room later?” he muttered eventually, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”
You nodded instantly, heart twisting at how small he sounded. “Yes… yeah, of course, baby. Whatever you need. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He let out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “Don’t wanna keep crying out here,” he admitted quietly, almost embarrassed. “Not with everyone still watching. Just… need it to be you. Need it to be quiet.”
You squeezed his hand, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. “I’ve got you. I promise. As soon as you’re back at the hotel, I’ll come straight to you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Jude turned his head slightly, pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head. His voice was barely audible when he spoke again.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you tonight.”
You got to his hotel room just after the sun had set, the sky outside still bleeding orange and pink. He’d texted you very bluntly earlier, the way he got when the pain was still too fresh to soften for anyone, even you.
Consequently, you weren’t expecting him to be in a fantastic mood when you finally knocked on his door. He always came down to the lobby to collect you, no matter how tired he was. Not tonight.
“Who is it?” came his voice, sharp.
You could hear him moving inside, pacing, up and down the room like a caged animal.
“It’s me, bab–”
You hadn’t finished your sentence before the door swung open. He pulled you inside and shut the door behind you before you could even blink. His chest was heaving. The second you were over the threshold he let go of you, stepping back like he needed space but also couldn’t stand being far away from you. There were fresh tear streaks down his face that he was angrily wiping away with the heel of his hand. He was being so hard on himself. It broke your heart all over again.
“Do you think I had a shit game?” he asked bluntly, voice a little cold, eyes burning with more tears.
“What? No, I—”
“Good. Because what more could I have fucking done?” He started pacing again, hands tugging at his hair. “I ran until my legs felt like they were going to snap. I covered every blade of grass. I created chances. I defended when I had to. And it still wasn’t enough.”
You sat on the edge of his bed, watching him, heart aching as the words poured out of him.
“Jude… you gave everything out there. Everyone saw that. I saw that.”
“Yeah?” He stopped pacing for a second, eyes flashing. “Well it wasn’t enough, was it? The second goal was right in the middle of the fucking goal. Right there. We had six defenders on the fucking pitch. Six! I’m not a defender! How did we let that happen? How did I not see it coming? I should’ve been there. Should’ve been closer to the ball. I should’ve done more.”
You tried to keep your voice steady. “You can’t carry the whole team on your back every single—”
“I wasn’t trying to carry the whole team,” he cut in, voice rising. “I was trying to win! And we were winning. We were in control. And then it just… slipped. Again. Like it always fucking does–”
He cut himself off with a bitter laugh, shaking his head. His eyes were glassy again, angry tears threatening to spill over. He wiped them away roughly, like they personally offended him.
“Baby, you’re being too hard on yourself—”
“Don’t,” he snapped, but there was no real anger directed at you, just frustration spilling out of him any way it could. “Don’t tell me I’m being too hard on myself. I know what I saw out there. I know what I felt. We were better than that. I was better than that. I always think I can do more and then it’s the same story. We get so fucking close and then—”
You stood up slowly, reaching for him. “Jude, hey… look at me.”
He shook his head, running a hand over his face, body shaking with the tears he was trying to hold back.
“I’m so fucking tired of this. Tired of getting to the last stages and watching it slip away. Tired of the ‘nearly men’ narrative. Tired of people saying we don’t have the mentality when we just went toe-to-toe with the world champions for ninety minutes. What more do they want from us? From me?”
His voice cracked on the last word. He stopped pacing for a second, chest rising and falling fast, fists clenched at his sides. The room felt too small for all the fury and grief rolling off him.
You reached for him again, and he let you pull him in, but his body stayed rigid, vibrating.
“What can I do to make it better then?” you asked softly, stroking his back. “If you don’t want me to criticise the self-blame, then how can I help?”
“I don’t know!” His voice cracked, frustration and pain mixing together. “You can’t. I’m just– I’m so fucking angry and–and–”
He cut himself off, breathing hard. For a second it looked like he might pull away. His face crumpled, eyebrows knitting together as a choked off sob escaped him.
“Baby…baby it’s okay–”
“It’s not okay. Nothing feels okay,” he sniffled, tucking his head into your neck. You stroked his back, not sure what to do next. He was so fragile but so angry. You’d never seen him like this before.
“I know and I’m so sorry, Jude,” you whispered, kissing the top of his cheek as you held him close. “Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything to make you feel a little bit better. Just tell me what you need.”
He lifted his head for a second, wet eyes meeting yours. He looked over your face slowly, like he was searching for something, before his gaze lingered on your lips. You wanted to say something else, anything to help pull him out of the spiral, but he was so focused on your mouth that the self-deprecating words had finally stopped pouring out of him.
“Baby?” you breathed softly.
His grip on your waist tightened almost painfully within seconds. He pulled you flush against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. It was desperate, angry, hungry, like he wanted to drown how he was feeling out with how good your lips felt against his.
You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, walking you backwards until your back hit the wall. One hand slid into your hair, tugging hard enough to tilt your head back as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with desperate need.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion, almost apologetic even as his body pressed harder against you. “I’m not trying to take it out on you. I just…”
He broke off, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were still glassy with frustration and leftover tears, but there was something else burning in them now – a desperate, almost feral hunger he only had for you.
“I need you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I need you to remind me who the fuck I am. Need you to make me feel like me again. Strong. In control. Not this… this version that keeps fucking up.”
His hand slid down to grip your thigh, lifting it around his hip as he ground his hardening bulge against you.
“Want to fuck you so deep you forget every other name but mine,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice dropping into the filthy, dominant tone he only used when he was desperate. “Want you screaming for me. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock so I can remember who I am. The one who takes what he wants. The one who always wins with you.”
He kissed you again, harder this time, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.
“Tell me you want this,” he breathed, eyes dark and wild, hips rolling against you in a slow, filthy grind. “Tell me it’s okay to be rough tonight. Tell me you can take it. Because I need to feel like me again, baby. Need to feel like I own something. Like I own you.”
His fingers dug into your thigh, possessive and trembling with the emotions still raging inside him.
“Please,” he whispered, forehead still pressed to yours. “Let me have you like this.”
You hesitated for a second, searching his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure this was the healthiest way for him to process everything he was feeling…the anger, the grief, the powerlessness from the pitch. But this was Jude, and you didn’t think you could ever say no to him when he looked at you like that, desperate and aching and needing to feel something real.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear, and nodded.
“I can take it,” you whispered. “I’ll take anything you give me. You know I will.”
Relief and hunger flashed across his face at the same time. He squeezed your thigh again, leaning down to kiss you slightly softer at first, but quickly turning deeper, tongue sliding against yours with need and dominance.
“That’s because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his accent thicker with emotion. “My beautiful baby. Always know what I need. Always let me have you exactly how I want.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your eyes were already glazing over, the soft, submissive look he loved so much taking over. It didn’t take much when he spoke to you like that.
“Yeah?” he asked, almost teasing even through the emotions still raging in his chest. “You gonna let me fuck all this frustration out on you, baby? Let me remind myself who the fuck I am?”
You nodded, already a little breathless. “Yes, Jude.”
That was all he needed. In one smooth, powerful movement he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. Your cheek met the cool surface as he yanked your jeans and panties down your legs in one rough tug, barely giving you time to step out of them. His big hands immediately palmed your ass, squeezing, spreading, smoothing over your hips like he was reclaiming every bit of skin for himself.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, pressing his still-clothed erection against your bare ass from behind, grinding slow and hard. “Perfect arse. So fucking pretty for me. Bet you’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you.”
You whimpered as his lips attacked your neck, sucking and biting while his hands slid under your t-shirt, pushing it up so he could feel your skin. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you in place, the other moved up to cup your breast.
“Tell me you’re my beautiful girl,” he growled against your ear, voice thick. “Tell me this pussy belongs to me. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I-I’m your beautiful girl, Jude,” you moaned, pushing back against him. “Belong to you… only you.”
He let out a low, satisfied sound and bit down on your shoulder, grinding his cock against you harder.
“Good girl,” he praised, his voice dropping even lower. “Gonna fuck you right here first. Gonna make you take it so deep. I’m the only one, aren’t I? The only one who makes you scream.”
He shoved his own joggers down just enough to free himself, thick and hot, pulsing with the need to be inside of you. You felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Tell me again,” he demanded, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you against this wall.”
“I’m yours, Jude,” you gasped, pushing back against him. “Only yours.”
He wanted to tease you for longer, but how could he when you were so good and obedient for him? He thrust into you in one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself deep. His hands stayed on your hips as he watched himself disappear inside you and groaned. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, and you cried out, hands bracing against the wall. Jude moaned as you clenched around him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stayed still for a second, letting you adjust.
“Fuck… always feel so tight,” he moaned lowly. “My pretty girl.”
Then he started moving with deep, rough strokes that pressed you harder into the wall with every thrust. One hand stayed on your hip, gripping tight enough to leave behind red marks, the other slid up to wrap around your throat, a possessive hold that had your eyes rolling back already.
“Say it again,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping forward. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”
“Yours,” you moaned, voice breaking on every deep thrust. “It’s yours, Jude. All yours.”
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he fucked you harder, deeper, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. His pace was relentless but never cruel. Every thrust was purposeful, like he was trying to fuck the frustration and self doubt out of his system and into you.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your neck between strokes, his voice loving despite his actions being quite the opposite. “Taking my cock so well. Letting me use you like this. Fuck, I needed this. Needed to feel like I can still make you feel good. Still make you mine.”
You whimpered, pushing back to meet his thrusts, and he rewarded you with a particularly deep, grinding stroke that made your knees buckle.
“Tell me you love it,” he breathed hot against your ear. “Tell me you love when I fuck you like this. When I take what’s mine.”
“I love it,” you gasped, cheek pressed to the cool wall. “Love when you fuck me like this, Jude. Love being yours.”
He let out a long moan and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you back against him so he could thrust even deeper. His free hand slid between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, gentle circles.
The difference between his relentless thrusts, but slow and gentle hands made your vision start to cloud white with stars already. “J-Jude I’m gonna come–”
“No you’re not, baby,” he rasped, slowing his hips enough to tease you. “Not until I tell you to. Hold it for me. Good girl… fuck, you squeeze me so tight when you get close. You’re so fucking wet for me.”
“Please–” you whimpered, thighs trembling.
“Nuh-uh. Not allowed until I get to come with you,” he murmured, sucking on your neck. “You’re gonna hold it for me, aren’t you, angel?”
You nodded frantically, trying desperately to hold off your climax by squeezing your eyes shut. He gave you a small mercy, pulling his fingers away from between your legs and bringing them up to your lips instead.
“Open, baby. Taste yourself for me.”
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips and sucking his fingers into your mouth, moaning around them as his hips sped back up to the punishing pace. The taste of yourself on his skin only made everything feel more intense.
“Fuckin’ hell… just like that, baby,” he moaned, tilting his head to watch your pretty lips envelope his fingers. “Look at you. Sucking my fingers while I fuck you against the wall. My perfect girl.”
The sounds he was making, the low and desperate groans and breathy curses, were not making it any easier to hold back. You whimpered, opening your eyes to give him a pleading look. He exhaled through his nose as he bit his lip, eyes rolling back slightly, the look on your face nearly sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm. He suddenly pulled out, spinning you around to face him. Before you could protest, he kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he lifted you up, pressing your back to the wall again.
“My beautiful girl is gonna make me come too quick,” he murmured against your lips, a dark chuckle vibrating through him. “Especially if you keep looking at me like that. We’re gonna change position so I can hold it a little longer. Yeah, angel?”
He spoke to you slowly like you were stupid, and you were, you suppose considering he’d just fucked you dumb against the wall. Normally you’d fight back, push against the power play because he loved when you were bratty, but that wasn’t what he needed tonight. He wanted complete submission, and you’d give him anything he wanted.
“P-please,” you whined, chasing his mouth when he pulled back slightly, hands clutching at his biceps. “Need you back inside me, Jude…”
“Oh, my needy little baby,” he smirked wickedly, nuzzling his nose against yours, eyes still burning with a mix of frustration and hunger. His hand smoothed up your arm, and wrapped loosely around your throat.
“Open your mouth for me,” he whispered. You parted your lips straight away at his command, tongue out, eyes locked on his. His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide as he looked at you, waiting for him. He leaned in closer, hovering above you, and let a slow, thick string of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. You moaned softly as it landed and swallowed it down without hesitation, eyes never leaving his.
Jude groaned deeply as his thumb stroked up and down your throat, feeling you swallow.
“Fuck… that’s my good girl,” he praised, voice hoarse. “Swallowing for me so pretty. You’d take anything I give you, wouldn’t you?”
You nodded, lips still parted, breathing a little faster.
“I want all your clothes off. Get on all fours on the bed. Now.”
You nodded again, still too drunk on submission to speak, stripping off your T-shirt and bra as fast as you could. Jude kicked his joggers and boxers off, throwing his own T-shirt across the room. He was leaking as he stroked himself slowly, watching you climb onto the bed.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer than it was before. “Can’t believe you’re all mine sometimes. Look at you… arching that pretty back for me already.”
The second you were on all fours, you automatically arched deeper for him, presenting yourself. Jude climbed onto the bed behind you, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your spine. His big hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he lined himself up. You were trembling with need now, feeling cold and empty without him inside you.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked, oversensitive heat again. “You love when I use you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whimpered, pushing back against him desperately.
He didn’t make you wait this time. In one powerful thrust he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open again so suddenly you cried out louder than before. Jude moaned loudly, the sound almost animalistic as he bottomed out.
“Fuck– so tight. So fucking good,” he growled, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in. His pace was brutal from the start – deep, hard thrusts that rocked your entire body forward with every snap of his hips. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall echoed through the room.
He reached forward, fisting your hair and pulling your head back to arch your back more.
“Scream my name, baby,” he demanded. “Want to hear you. Want the whole fucking hotel to know who’s fucking you this good.”
“Jude– oh my god, Jude!” you cried out as he hit the specific spot inside you over and over. He knew your body better than you did. You could’ve sworn you could feel him in your stomach.
“That’s it. Louder. Let me hear how much you love my cock,” he groaned, one hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting made you clench around him, and he moaned loudly. “Fuck yes. Again.”
He spanked you again, harder this time, the sound echoing as he kept pounding into you relentlessly.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice breaking with pleasure. “Say it. Tell me who this pussy belongs to again while I fuck you stupid.”
“It’s yours!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure spilling down your cheeks. “It’s yours, Jude– only yours– fuck!”
He let out a wrecked moan and leaned over you, chest pressed to your back as he fucked you even deeper, one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place while his other hand reached down to rub your clit again in tight, fast circles.
“Come for me,” he ordered, rough and desperate. “Come on my cock like the good little slut you are for me. Let me feel you. Scream my fucking name when you do.”
You shattered hard, screaming his name as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching violently around him. Jude fucked you through it, hips never stopping, groaning loudly as your climax milked him.
“Fuck– that’s my girl. So good. So fucking good for me,” he panted, voice breaking with pleasure. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna come so deep inside you. You’re gonna take every drop, yeah?”
“Yes– please, Jude– please come inside me,” you begged weakly, still shaking from your orgasm.
With a final, deep thrust and a loud, broken moan of your name, Jude came hard, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering with the force of it. He kept grinding through it, like he couldn’t bear to stop, whispering filthy praise against your ear the whole time.
When he finally stilled, he stayed buried deep inside you, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped tightly around you as he pressed soft, reverent kisses along your shoulder.
“God… I fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice shaky.
“I love you too baby,” you manage to get out, body feeling limp and hazy with the come down.
The switch happened so quickly you could barely keep up. The anger drained out of him at once, probably with his orgasm, you’d tease him later when you spoke about it. All Jude felt when he heard your soft voice was exhaustion and a sudden wave of nauseating worry. He carefully pulled out, a soft hiss escaping both of you, and immediately turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. His hands were gentle now, too gentle, as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice cracking. His eyes were wide, searching your face desperately. He was so expressive with his face, eyebrows furrowing in the sweetest way. “Baby, tell me the truth. Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to– fuck, I was so angry and I just… I needed you so bad.”
You shook your head, still catching your breath, but he was already looking you over, hands sliding down your body with careful tenderness. He turned you slightly, eyes scanning your hips, your ass, the places he’d gripped hard.
“Shit… there’s marks,” he whispered, sounding devastated as his fingers traced the faint red imprints of his hands on your hips and the light handprint on your ass. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be that rough. This time it wasn’t just…it wasn’t just dominance or playing. I was actually angry and I took it out on you and I–”
“Jude,” you said softly, cupping his face to stop his spiral. He looked up and met your eyes, bottom lip between his teeth with worry. “I’m okay. I wanted it. I wanted you. You didn’t hurt me. You’ve been more rough before, you’ve left marks on me before. Don’t worry. You’re okay…I'm okay..”
He still looked torn, eyes glassy again but this time with guilt instead of rage. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it was almost crushing, burying his face in your neck like he could hide from what he’d just done.
“I know I’ve been rough with you before,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice shaking. “But that’s always been… playing. Power play and acting and shit. This time it was real. I was actually angry and frustrated and I took it out on your body and I– fuck, I’m scared I hurt you because I couldn’t control it. I never want you to feel like you have to take my bad days. I’d never hurt you just because I’m upset or angry. You’re the one person who makes everything better and I just used you like that and I feel sick about it.”
You stroked his back slowly, pressing soft kisses to his temple and the side of his head.
“Jude, listen to me,” you whispered. “I wanted it. I wanted all of you – the anger, the need, everything. You didn’t use me. You let me be there for you in any way I could. And I’m okay. I promise. You know I like it when you act like that.”
He made a small, upset sound and held you even tighter, legs tangling with yours as he pulled you fully on top of him. His hands roamed gently over your body now, soothingly checking every place he’d been rough, pressing soft kisses wherever his fingers found faint marks.
“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering between kisses. “I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”
You kept holding him, fingers running through his hair, letting him cling to you until the guilt slowly started to ease and he could finally breathe again. He eventually settled with his face buried back in your neck, breathing you in like you were oxygen, one hand still gently rubbing your hip where he’d gripped you earlier.
“Stay like this,” he murmured. “Don’t let go. Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, you’re okay Jude.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, finally relaxing completely in your arms. "I love you more," he whispered, voice slurring with sleep. "M'sorry baby..."
He was still feeling bad about how rough he was. In reality, you think it could've been the best sex you'd ever had. You were going to tell him that, but the change in his breathing told you he'd already fallen asleep. You press one last gentle kiss to his forehead, "there's nothing to be sorry for, my love."
tags: @chabelitalace @thesizzler @hvnsinureyes @harryskissies (let me know if u want to be added/removed from the taglist)
guys this was filthy af i'm sorry HAHAHAHA apparently he makes me feral idk
WARNINGS: Smut & Fluff, Secret Relationship, Angst, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Oral Sex (M Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Soft Dom!Jude, Size Difference, World Cup, Protective!Jude, Jealousy, Bathroom Sex and Minors DNI.
Summary: Between having a double life as the England national team captain's sister and secretly dating Jude Bellingham — maybe the hardest part is getting your boyfriend to keep his hands off your body. You'll also find out that a jealous Jude is the worst thing you can deal with.
THE BRITISH CROWD ROARED loudly as the scoreboard showed the final stoppage time that would lead to the national team's victory. The Hard Rock Stadium in Miami was packed and divided between the English and the Norwegians. You were seated in the VIP area reserved for family and friends of the team, wearing the white and red shirt with your older brother's name on it — even though, secretly, your desires were to be wearing one with Jude Bellingham's name.
The two decisive goals were scored by the Real Madrid midfielder. You knew he was happy in the way he looked for you in the crowd when he scored for the team. Then, after minutes of the sport's welcome tension, the English team was in the World Cup semifinals. You were pulled into a hug by Katie Goodland, with Henry, your youngest nephew, in her arms, standing between the two of you.
"I can't believe we're in the semifinals." She said, jumping beside you, making you laugh and follow along. You knew how much Kane had waited, and you were so confident; the country had been waiting for this since the 1960s. Finally, they were so close.
"We're so close, I feel like this time we're going to make it." Your voice came out affirming, after you both let go and watched the team gather in the middle of the pitch. "Come on, kids? Your dad is amazing." You said, looking at your nieces and nephews, Ivy, Vivienne, Louis, and Henry, who were jumping excitedly along with the crowd, clapping.
"It seems like not just him. There was a midfielder who couldn't take his eyes off you when he scored the goals." Katie said, quietly, teasing you while you felt your cheeks blush, looking around to see if anyone else had heard. But everyone was too absorbed by the nostalgic feeling of that historic moment.
"Keep your voice down, someone might hear, Kate." You said, making her roll her eyes playfully. The relationship between you and Jude was recent, and you knew your brother Harry was overprotective, especially when it came to you dating a footballer as famous as Bellingham.
You felt you needed more time to prepare your brother for the news, especially since you were the youngest of the Kane family. It was something that constantly occupied your thoughts: when would you be ready to have that conversation? You knew Jude was growing more impatient, but he still allowed you this time because he knew how massive the media could be and how important your brother was in your life.
"Compared to how he stared at you yesterday during the interview, my comment is nothing." The striker's wife said, as she handed the youngest son to you to give her hand to the other children, like the loving mother she was. The passage for family members was opening.
"I've already talked to him about it, but it doesn't help much." You replied, holding Henry firmly in your arms as the child started playing with your hair, while you both began to move toward the stadium pitch.
"I'm going to have to side with him this time, dear." Katie said, turning back and winking at you. "You have a man who loves you, I can't be against him on that." She answered the question in your eyes. You felt embarrassed by her words, but you knew they were true. Every second by Jude Bellingham's side was nothing short of perfect.
You stayed silent after that as you walked, being careful with the children on the stadium steps. The weather was hot and humid in Miami. The pitch was full of journalists walking around and preparing interviews with the players. You walked together, soon finding your brother coming toward you.
Harry approached, picking up Vivienne in his arms and giving a kiss to each of the children, giving you a hug as the youngest sister and then giving his wife a sweet kiss, pulling her into a hug right after. You loved seeing them together, how caring and loving they were with each other, the way they made each other happy.
"You were great, darling." Katie said, as Kane gave her a sweet kiss. You loved seeing them together, how caring and loving they were with each other.
"Thank you, my love." He replied. Then, playfully, you made a sound with your throat to get their attention, since they were lost in each other's world, making your brother and sister-in-law look at you.
"I think we need to give your parents a break, kids." You said dramatically, receiving a joint eye roll from the couple. It was just a sweet teasing you had with your older brother.
"I love having all of you here with me." Kane said, giving you a hug, one of those typical of a protective older brother. You were close, even though he was years older than you.
"You were amazing on that last pass in the first half." You replied excitedly, as you began talking about the match with the couple, while the children played around, with Henry still in your arms, lying on your shoulder, falling asleep even with the noise.
"I feel like it was a good match for our team, especially, but just the way Jude found ways to score both goals was incredible." Bellingham's name was said calmly by your brother, in an unpretentious way, as if it didn't affect you. Of course you would notice the spectacular way your boyfriend participated. Your sister-in-law looking at you with those attentive eyes of someone who knew too much.
"Bellingham was great, wasn't he, dear?" She asked directly to you, the situation making you look at Henry in your arms, distracting yourself while feeling the gazes of both. But the words didn't need to be said before you heard that strong voice that brought butterflies to your stomach, in the way only one man could cause — your midfielder.
"Captain, are you going to the celebration today?" Bellingham's voice arrived, speaking directly to your brother playfully with the title Harry had earned in the match, but you felt the impact of that tone. "Excuse me, ladies." You heard him greet you, feeling the urge to look at him, but you forced yourself to keep your attention on your nephew who was sleeping peacefully in your arms.
"Of course, we're all going." Kane said, looking at Jude in response, while Katie looked between the two of you. "We just need to put the kids to rest, Henry is already in dreamland." He said, pointing to the boy you were holding firmly in your arms. Your hands were sweating slightly because of the attention; you knew that if you looked at him, you might reveal more than you wanted, more than you should, at least for now.
"Looks like we have a tired little one." Jude said, approaching you, feeling his steps closing the distance between you, that sensation of knowing his gaze was on you, watching and searching. "Aren't you going to look at me, darling?" You heard the whisper, making you look to see if your brother had heard, but Harry was already distracted with the children and Katie. You knew Bellingham had that provocative smile on his lips, the one that made you want to blush, but also to seek them with yours in search of his taste.
"We've already talked about this, Jude, nothing near Harry." You said quietly, finally lifting your gaze to your man. You tried to stay strong, but the intense way he looked at you was so burning that it completely threw you off balance, those dark penetrating eyes that took your breath away and took you to another world, one that was only his and yours.
"Don't be like that." He said, turning to stand beside you, so that Kane would be facing Harry and Katie, who were starting to talk to some journalists who had approached, while you watched the children playing around. "I'm trying, it's not my fault you're so..." The midfielder leaned a little closer to your ear discreetly so it wouldn't be too much and draw unnecessary attention from those present. "Delicious in that shirt, too bad it's not my name on the back." You looked at him this time, feeling the intensity of that gaze. You wanted to look at him with reproach for his behavior, but you knew he really was trying, at least a little.
"Just for now, love." You replied, whispering the endearment knowing it was risky, especially that Kane would find out through the press and not from you, but the way he looked at you left you no way out of the feelings you had. "Later I'll be beautiful for you, but keep your hands to yourself at the celebration." Then you winked provocatively, letting out the comfort he caused you, the feeling that you could be yourself with Jude.
"I don't promise anything." The Real Madrid player said, making you roll your eyes in response, knowing that would clearly be his answer.
"Jude..." You called Bellingham's attention, seeing him cross his arms without looking at you, avoiding your inquisitive eyes on him. "Jude Victor William Bellingham." Your voice saying his full name made him straighten his posture, knowing there was no more choice.
"I'll try, okay?" The English national team player replied, finally looking at you. You sighed in response, knowing that was all you would get from him. You hoped it would be enough.
"Say you'll try." You ordered, seeing him look away again, but sigh and answer you with a nod.
"Okay, Miss Kane, I'll try to keep my hands to myself." Jude said, joking with the way he said it. You hoped that would be enough, so you nodded, seeing Jude's name being called by the press, even though you wished it could all be kept secret, at least for now.
You loved having him around, the way his protective presence hovered and made you feel like never before. Seeing him leave was always disheartening, but you understood what his profession demanded.
You heard him sigh, knowing he had to go. "See you later, baby." Then, lovingly, you saw the tall man lean in a little closer, looking between you and your nephew in your arms. "You have a way with kids, darling. It's going to be beautiful when they're ours." He winked, and you felt your face blush again. You tried to open your lips looking for words to answer, but he smiled provocatively again.
He knew he had left you disconcerted, with the prospect of the future, the one you dreamed of one day with him, but which the midfielder had finally said to you. He withdrew, and then your brother returned with Katie. Even when you no longer felt Henry in your arms, you couldn't stop thinking about Jude's words, with the prospect of the future and not being sure he could keep his hands to himself.
THE INTERCONTINENTAL IN MIAMI welcomed the English national team's celebration and their families with open arms. The atmosphere was luxurious, but with chatter from what you could tell because of the players, all celebrating with champagne on the tables and being led by coach Tuchel and Declan Rice in an animated conversation.
You were wearing a burgundy strap dress with light fabric, the slit giving space for your legs to be free. You looked beautiful and shone in the middle of the place, like the chandeliers in the room, but that wasn't seen only by others, but by the way Jude Bellingham had watched you enter the hotel accompanied by your brother and sister-in-law.
The conversations dominated the tables, and the one you were seated at was shared with Harry, Katie, Anthony Gordon, and, of course, your secret boyfriend. Jude clearly finding a way to sit beside you. You felt your hands sweating, knowing the midfielder's restless behavior was suspicious.
"I'm happy about our last match, but I can't help feeling anxious about the next one." Harry Kane said, taking a few more sips of the red wine on the table. You knew why: your brother usually took all the responsibility on himself, even with the team's victories, he demanded more of himself and about not making mistakes.
"You take too much responsibility on yourself, darling." Katie's voice was directed at her husband, as she held his arm lovingly. You actively agreed with your sister-in-law's statement.
"You're a great captain, Kane. Relax and enjoy the celebration a little, we'll do well." Jude replied, taking the lead. He knew, being one of the main players, how difficult the responsibility was and how much was demanded of them, but panicking in advance would bring a rupture in the team's psychology before the match.
"You're right." Harry sighed in response, putting on a wide smile followed by a laugh right after. "With so much support like this, I think it's impossible not to feel motivated." He continued, giving his wife a sweet kiss right after, making you roll your eyes playfully and laugh along.
"I forgot how mushy you two were." You said, making everyone at the table laugh, but you knew Jude was thinking about how you were with each other when no one was watching.
"One day you'll be like that too." You heard your brother's voice reach you, making you almost choke on some of the champagne you were drinking at that moment. Everyone at the table staring at you made you feel your cheeks wanting to blush.
"Are you okay, dear?" Katie asked, concerned, but knowing exactly the reason Kane's words had affected you. It was possible to see almost a laugh in her eyes and caught on her lips.
"Sure she'll find out one day." Jude replied right after, feeling his hand find your thigh under the table in the slit of your dress, making you straighten your spine, going to meet his hand with yours so he wouldn't move it. Kane looked confused by the midfielder's words, perhaps not imagining you two were so close. Your brother looked at you right after, opening his lips as if wanting to say something, his gaze going to something suspicious for a minute, but he was interrupted by Tuchel approaching the table where you were.
"Don't forget not to drink too much for tomorrow's training, boys. Excuse me, ladies." Tuchel's drunken voice standing at the table where you were, clearly having drunk more than usual. You felt relieved for a moment until you felt Jude's hands moving on your thigh. Then you looked for the midfielder's gaze who had sat beside you.
Trying to hold his hand tighter and looking at him with reproach, he kept his face neutral, but that look was absurdly hot, and you felt at the same time the concern taking over your body, but the warmth in your stomach, that one from the nights you spent with him.
"Tuchel, I think you should sit down a bit, you've drunk too much for today, coach." Said the English national team striker, looking at the coach worriedly. Then he stood up, seeming to go accompany him to sit down a bit.
"I think I drank a little too much." The British coach said, almost stumbling for a moment, making Kane hold him quickly and decline Jude's help to take Tuchel somewhere else.
"It's okay, I'll be back soon, you can continue." Kane replied politely, as you watched him lead the coach to the hotel room where he was staying, until you heard yourself being called by Anthony Gordon, who was staring at you fixedly during dinner.
"You look very beautiful, Miss Kane." The English national team player said to you, making you feel Bellingham's grip become more present and firm on your thigh. You knew he wasn't liking the direction the conversation could take.
"Oh, thank you." You replied, a little embarrassed, seeing Katie watch everything as if it were an iconic scene, making you almost beg for help with your look.
"I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of talking to you." The English national team winger said, looking at you with a penetrating look that brought you concern. Fortunately, being interrupted by Katie, when you felt speechless because Bellingham's hand went up, going increasingly slower, reaching your panties. You felt warm, even though you knew it was wrong.
"Usually my sister-in-law doesn't go to the matches, she's very focused on her studies and ends up not having much time." Katie said, while Jude took the opportunity to bring his fingertips to your panties, trying to enter. You brought both hands under the table trying to hold him, but it seemed impossible at the same time to hold back the moan that wanted to escape your lips.
"Oh, I see." Gordon said, making Katie smile calmly and take a sip of wine to her lips. "But do you have a type?" The young player asked shyly, making Katie choke and you look up, feeling Bellingham's hand harden. You didn't know if you were relieved to be able to breathe for a minute or worried about what was to come.
"Definitely not you." Your man's voice came out firm and brutal, making Katie choke and you look at him astonished with wide eyes, while looking at Gordon, who turned red for a minute before looking confused between the two of you. You knew at that moment you needed to leave there and Jude at that exact moment, before anything else could be said.
You interrupted the deafening silence at the table: "Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom." Your voice came out shaky, managing to remove your boyfriend's hands from your legs, looking at him with reproach and a warning that he should follow you right after.
You knew he would understand. You didn't look at the table in shame of the situation, then calmly walked past the people present in the environment, greeting with a soft smile. The way to the restroom was quick; the place was empty. You were grateful, waiting a few minutes for Bellingham to come find you. The place was luxurious like the rest of the environment, spacious and with large stalls, a great place to have a discussion with your boyfriend, who couldn't keep his hands and words to himself.
Soon hearing your man's voice call you. "I think I overreacted, didn't I?" Jude said with a calm voice, when you turned to him, but you felt he was nervous, the way his hands were clenched into fists and his lips pressed together.
"You think, Jude?" Your voice came out exalted. "You did exactly the opposite of what I asked you to do." You said, moving nervously around the restroom. You knew anyone could walk in at any moment, but everyone was too busy at the party, and you needed to let the nervousness out of your body somehow, even if in attacking words.
"You can't think I could stay quiet watching someone hit on my girlfriend in front of me." Bellingham said, approaching you, his eyes catching fire in a mix of desperation and love. You understood him, but at the same time it had been your request.
"Do you think this has been easy for me too?" You said sincerely, the desperation showing in your tone. "I'm scared of what could happen, if in reality this between us isn't going to work out." Your words seemed to hit him deeply, making him take a step back, as if it were a slap in the face.
"So out of fear you'd rather leave what we have behind? Because it seems like what I'm doing isn't enough and wanting you isn't enough." The exchange of harsh words hit both of you. You fell silent, stunned. "I think it's better if we talk later, I'm leaving." Jude's words came out in a discouraged tone, as if he were lost in his own massive thoughts. "I think you need to spend some time alone to find out if I'm really who you want." You felt your heart shatter with the man's words.
You loved him, of course you did, but it was like a block because of everything around you. However, amidst all the doubts, the only certainty was that you couldn't let him go. You watched him turn to leave, but how could you allow it? How could you give up what you loved because of harsh words?
You quickly grabbed his hand, pulling him back. He looked at you confused, seeing you choke on your words, as if they were stuck. Then, when he turned again, you held him and managed to say this time: "Don't go, Jude... I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life." You felt tears staining your face with your makeup slightly, but you couldn't care at that moment. All you couldn't do was let Jude Bellingham leave thinking he had no importance in your life. "I can't let you go... I never could." It seemed like the words were finally freed from you.
"I... Love." The midfielder replied caringly, holding your face in his strong hands, but with a gentle touch when he touched you, as if you were made of porcelain and would break at the slightest touch, drying your tears. "Fuck, I could never leave you, of course I could never give you up." Bellingham said, pulling you into an impactful and possessive kiss that dominated your senses. You felt nothing else but him, the touch on your back with affection, the hands going to your hair and the firm squeeze that went down to your bottom. You could only feel breathless, but wanting more of that man.
"Jude... I need you, now." You said, seeing him look at you seeking affirmation because of the place you were in, but you could only look at him breathless with eyes dark with desire, your lips becoming swollen by the way he had sucked them. You had never looked so sinful; you looked like a goddess, and he just wanted to worship you.
Jude moved quickly into one of the stalls. His eyes were quick to capture the name 13B; you laughed, thinking they should be careful with it now. Your boyfriend looked at you confused for a moment. "I think it's better if no one goes into this stall now." You said, seeing him smile maliciously, locking the door behind him, and then pulled him into a hot kiss, your lips being dominated by him, as the player took control after you surrendered in a battle of tongues.
"I think you deserve a reward for your effort, even if it was unsuccessful." You said, giving him small kisses as you watched him lower his lips down your neck. Then you knelt carefully, grateful the stall was larger than normal and the place was absurdly clean, but you wanted so much to feel your man. You watched the player unbutton his pants and lower his formal clothes along with his white boxers.
He had never looked so delicious. You saw him with his member already hard in front of you, that massive size that made you squeeze your thighs together, trying to stop the throbbing desire between them. You needed him all over you. You took it with your hands, masturbating in a firm grip the way you knew he liked, determined to run your tongue a little over the tip that was already starting to release a little pre-cum.
"Fuck, love, I need..." You watched him throw his head back and let out a masculine but needy sound. You knew he needed it, so you smiled, putting the thick cock inside your mouth, sucking the head of his member and masturbating him with what you couldn't fit in your mouth. You knew he was holding back from thrusting into your throat, but you brought his hand to your hair, grateful it was loose and not in an elaborate hairstyle that would cause problems when you returned to the party.
You knew exactly when Bellingham lost control: his left hand going to your hair as you relaxed your throat, knowing he needed depth. He thrust back and forth, letting your throat be used by him, for what he needed, careful with your teeth as he sought his orgasm more and more. But then you felt him stop. You knew he needed you, your folds around him.
"I need you now." He said, making you stand up and let out a little squeal. "I need to come inside you." His voice came out rough, like you'd never seen before, as if he didn't have a single ounce of control left, as if he needed you in all of him and to give you everything he had.
He pulled your panties down under your dress while lifting you with that massive strength of that delicious body. You sought his lips as your legs intertwined around his waist. Jude pressed you against the stall wall, while bringing his fingers to your entrance, making you moan in a needy way, feeling your folds squeeze Jude's fingers. "Jude, please." Your voice came out breathless as you placed your face in the hollow of the Real Madrid player's neck, trying to muffle the sounds.
You felt him begin to move his fingers, opening you, hitting that spot that made you want to feel him deeper and deeper inside you, but you needed more, something bigger, thicker. Something that would hit you completely and make you become just clay in his hands, just a mass he could move and make release the most delicious sounds.
You felt him remove his fingers from inside you and watched him bring them to his lips, opening them and licking them in front of you. "Fuck, your taste is delicious." His voice came out rough with desire, as his darkened eyes brought his hands to your waist completely and aligned his cock at your needy entrance, teasing you, making you moan. Until he, in a firm thrust, penetrated your body while going all the way, making you throw your head back.
His lips sought yours in a battle of tongues that involved saliva, both of you destroyed by each other, while you brought your hands inside his shirt, your nails scratching his broad and muscular back, thanking football for giving that god-like body to your boyfriend. He thrust firmly, hitting the exact point of your desire, finding the place that made you let out the loudest and most delicious sounds, the one that made your folds squeeze his cock inside you while he held back the sounds.
The sound of the restroom door opening made you squeeze Jude's member inside you and kiss him to muffle the sound in second. Someone had entered. You looked at him alarmed, seeing him look at you maliciously as you began to deny, knowing he wanted to keep moving. "Don't even think about it." You said, whispering, seeing him nod and then start moving slowly, while you threw your head back, bringing your hands to your lips, trying to lock in the moan. The person who had come was quick.
The sound of the door closing right after made you almost sigh in relief, if it weren't for him moving without rhythm. Your orgasm was approaching, and you knew it; he could also feel you tightening around him more and more. Then, with a sensation reaching your stomach and your body tingling with the pleasurable feeling of completeness, your orgasm hit you, followed by him, who filled you. You worried about the condom for a moment, but your medication was up to date since you started dating Jude. You just allowed yourself to feel him fill you with his release.
"Fuck... I can't live without you, girl." He said, pulling you into a breathless kiss. You felt your heart warm with the feeling of love, with the feeling that you were with the man who gave you protection and everything you needed. You knew exactly what needed to be done.
"Jude... Let's tell Harry." You said, as you felt the gentle kisses being left on your shoulder, before he stopped and looked for your gaze.
"Are you sure?" He asked, worried, but the joy showing in his eyes, as if it was all he needed to hear, as if relief took over his body. He hugged you firmly.
"I'll always be sure of you, Jude. Always." He took your lips again. You loved him, the man he was and how he made you feel. The protective arms around you, being your home, the kisses on your skin being your path. Everything began with you and would end with you, a life with him without being double. In the end, no matter how many lives you had, all of them would lead to him.
Hello angels, I'm bringing you another fic of our dear Golden boy, Jude Bellingham. A lot of you asked me for another one-shot of him so I decided to write it, I hope you like it.
I'm still numb from the World Cup and a bit sad because I won't get to watch my men anymore (especially Haaland, Bellingham, and Declan Rice), but I'll keep following the other tournaments (yes, I'm obsessed).
And don't worry — we’ll have something about Haaland coming soon if all goes well. My Man gives me so much inspiration, I already feel like it’s my duty to feed the fandom.
I finished writing this while dealing with a headache so please forgive me if anything is off, I did my best.
Requests are open and I’d appreciate it if you leave feedback and like, I love hearing your opinions.
See you next time guys, there’s more coming and if you want more of Jude, just say so.
cw: cheating, bad relationship, Soap x reader, Simon Riley x reader, yearning Simon, asshole Soap.
When Johnny first started bragging about his new missus to the team, Simon didn't think much of it.
With Soap, new girls came and went. This one shouldn't have been any different. That should've been the end of it.
Simon couldn't have given less of a shit.
But this one seemed different.
____ always looked so unhappy around Johnny.
Like the first time Simon met her.
Johnny had introduced her as his girl.
Few drinks later, she gently tugged at Soap's sleeve as the music changed.
"One dance?" Johnny didn't even look at her.
"Nah. Not in the mood, doll."
Simon simply watched from the other side of the room. He wasn't the dancing type either.
Hell. He'd probably step on her feet every ten seconds.
But if dancing meant wiping that sad little look off her face…
He would've become fucking Michael Jackson.
She'd visit the base every now and then just to make sure Johnny had properly eaten.
Always carrying a bento box.
Rice. Meat. Vegetables.
Enough food to feed half the bloody task force.
Sometimes she'd bring sweets for the whole team, too.
The moment she left, Johnny popped the lid open.
"Tch. Don't like this."
Without a second thought, he shoved the whole thing across the table.
"Anyone wants it?" Simon frowned.
The fuck?!
Simon would never do that.
Never.
If she had made that lunch for him…
He would've eaten every last grain of rice.
Hell, he'd lick the damn container clean before letting somebody else touch it.
Days kept passing, and Johnny kept running his fucking mouth.
Complaining.
Rolling his eyes whenever her name came up.
Like loving her was somehow an inconvenience.
How she wanted to dance.
How she always worried if he'd eaten.
How she texted him good morning every single day.
Then came the night at the bar.
Simon hadn't meant to look. Johnny didn't care enough to hide it.
One hand around another woman's waist.
Then..
...a kiss.
What the fuck was wrong with him?!
How could anybody cheat on such a perfect bird like ____?
If she were his… He would've thanked every God willing to listen just for letting her choose him.
Still. As furious as it made him…
That wasn't what finally broke him.
It happened back at base.
Johnny started talking about his first time with the missus.
"She's always asking for kisses. Wants hugs all the bloody time." The whole room laughed. Simon looked up from the paperwork in front of him.
"And don't even get me started on sex. She keeps trying to make it all romantic while I'm just trying to stick it in—" Johnny never got to finish that sentence.
The lieutenant's fist broke his nose before anyone even realized he'd moved.
"THE FUCK, RILEY?!" Blood poured down Johnny's face while he stumbled back, holding his nose. The room fell dead silent.
"I'm taking the missus away from you."
"You what?"
"Heard me."
Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the base.
Somehow, he ended up standing outside their apartment.
He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there.
He just knew he'd started driving.
Now he was here.
"Oh… You're Johnny's teammate, right?" She smiled politely.
"…Yeah."
"What brings you he—"
"You know he's cheating."
Her smile faded.
"You already knew. You're not stupid." She didn´t answer. Didn´t have to.
Simon clenched his jaw.
"…Take me instead." She blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
"Take me instead of that fucking asshole."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough." She looked away.
"I'd treat you better. The way you deserve." She turned to stare at him.
"…Why?"
For the first time that night… Simon hesitated.
Then he didn´t.
"I'd never make you beg."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.
I know I can treeat youu beetterr, than he can...!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ Please give me a Simon Riley like right now ToT
Summary: Reader's POV after the interview. Jude calls her. Jason is the best friend we all wish for, and they agree to meet.
Your phone screen lights up with a number you never thought you'd see again.
You should have blocked him, but you didn't have enough reason to; things ended well, and he didn't give you any reason to hate him.
You knew it was going to happen as soon as the interview came out. You knew it, and yet you decided to go through with it.
"Damn you, Jason."
The bed bounces when you fall back. Moonlight streams through the windows you didn't even bother to put curtains on.
You're on the 30th floor, you have everything, and yet, you have nothing.
You never had enough money for birthday or anniversary gifts, but he was happy with a handmade bracelet. Now you can buy the most expensive watches on the market, but you don't have him.
The call cuts off. You weren't going to answer. It hurts too much, and the longing is killing you.
The phone rings for the second time in ten minutes, and you steel yourself. You answer without looking at the caller ID.
“Look, I know I shouldn’t have said that on international television, okay? I get it. I know you have a new life and you wanted to keep what happened between us quiet, but…”
“Wow, wow, mon cheri, what are you talking about?”
“Jason, oh my god. Thank goodness.”
“Now, that’s got to be the first time anyone’s ever thanked heaven for hearing me.”
“I’m always happy to hear from you, Jay.”
“Liar, what about ‘Jason, shut up already!’ or all the times you told me to stop yelling? Anyway, would you mind sharing with your best friend who you thought was calling?”
“Jude called me…”
“Do you still have his number?”
“No, but I know it by heart.”
“Oh, darling… What kind of romantic tragedy is this? Do you think he called to complain about you mentioning his name?”
Your hand goes to the chain around your neck.
The number 22.
If an interviewer asks, it’s your lucky number, your dog’s birthday number, or the year you started your career…
But you know better.
It was his jersey number.
“I don’t know, Jay, he could be calling me about anything! Did you see those pictures of him? He’s with a girl, and she’s gorgeous. The media says they’re a couple.”
“My love, calm down. You know how the media is, they’ll do anything to sell.”
“But what if it’s true? He’s… he’s gorgeous, it’s not hard to imagine he already has someone. She looks beautiful and she’s exactly his type, I…”
“If he dated you and you were a couple, then you’re his type too. I’m not going to let you compare yourself to other women, my love.”
“Yes, but it’s not the same anymore. I… I don’t know, what if it turns out I was never his type? What if... I don’t know, Jay. He used to love me so much and… and I loved him. What if he just fell in love with a lie?”
“You started dating when you were 15, my love…”
You cut him off before he can continue; he’s so reasonable you hate him.
“Yes, and now he’s 23! People change, their tastes change.”
“Do you still like him?”
“…”
“Tastes don’t change that much, it seems. If you’re still in love with the guy you met when you were fifteen… maybe you’re not the only one who hasn’t changed as much as you think.”
“He has a girlfriend, I know.”
“Listen, sweetheart, I’m going to make some calls and I want you to sit far away from your phone, do you hear me? No social media. You’re going to sit down and put on one of my movies, you’re not going to spiral again. Don’t pick up your phone unless it’s me or an emergency.”
He hung up.
Is that the guy you call your best friend?
Even though he’s right and you do what he said.
Half an hour later he calls again.
“There! He doesn’t have a girlfriend, it’s the woman who manages his image.”
“Jason, if you’re lying to me…”
“I’m not and I would never lie to you, darling.”
“How do you know that?”
“We French brothers help each other out, you know?”
“Did you call Kylian?”
“Obviously! He’s a more reliable source than that tabloid.”
“He’s going to tell him! I don’t want him to know that I…”
“What does it matter if Jude knows?”
Your phone vibrates from where it sits on the counter.
You've always cooked out of stress, and now it's the second batch of cookies you've put in the oven.
"JASON, HE'S CALLING ME AGAIN!"
"Answer him, woman!"
Jason hangs up, and a few seconds later he's Skyped to your tablet where the cookie recipe was. The nosy guy wants to hear everything.
His ugly face appears on the screen as you grab the phone with trembling hands.
Jason mutes his microphone, and you answer.
"Hello?"
"Baby…"
You can see Jason's mouth drop open and he turns his phone so you can see it. He must be calling from his computer because Kylian is on his phone screen with the same expression. The idiot never hung up, and now they're both listening to the conversation.
"Jude?"
"Don't you recognize my number anymore, sweetheart?"
You look at the tablet, waiting for Jason to tell you what to do, but his microphone is muted. He's talking to Kylian, and from the way his mouth moves, you know they're speaking French.
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? I saw your latest photos in that magazine, and you're still as gorgeous as when we were sixteen."
"Jude, stop it. Why did you call me?"
“I saw your interview.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do tons of interviews every day.”
“I know you know which one, love.”
“I’m going to hang up.”
“No, it’s okay. I called because… I don’t really know why, I just needed to hear from you, I guess.”
“Jude, I can’t do this right now…”
“Is it true? What your co-star said?”
You can see Jason making an offended face and Kylian laughing on screen.
“Jason? He always says so much.”
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart, it doesn’t suit you. You were always the smartest girl. My girl.”
“I’m not your girl, Jude.”
“Can we see each other? I miss you…”
“We shouldn’t.”
Jason’s microphone opens, and he and Kylian shout yes at the same time before going silent again.
“What was that? Is someone with you?”
“It was the TV, I accidentally pressed the volume button.”
You shoot the two French people a horrible look and then hang up the Skype call.
“I’m in Germany, we can meet up. I came to visit Jobe.”
“Why do you assume I’m in…”
“You were always a bad liar, babe. Besides, I saw your IG stories today, you're here.”
“See you at Alexanderplatz in two hours. If you don't show up, you'd better not call me again.”
You hang up without waiting for a reply.
You immediately call Jason, who answers right away. He's still on the phone with Kylian.
“JASON ROUSSEAU! I'm seeing him in two hours, what if he doesn't show up? What if he decides he doesn't want to see me? What if…”
“What if he does?”
Kylian speaks for the first time during the entire call.
“I know Jude, he never… he never chases after anything he doesn't really want.”
“Mon cheri, listen to us. Now, go get all dolled up and show us the dresses so we can choose what you'll wear.”
“A dress? Are you crazy? The poor thing is in Germany, she'll freeze. Wear something cute but that will keep you warm, darling.”
The two of them get distracted arguing about prioritizing something cute, with the possibility of hypothermia, or something warm, with the possibility of not impressing Jude.
Half an hour later, and after many arguments between them, they finally decided on something warm that, at the same time, looks gorgeous.
The taxi driver dropped you off near the building, and you can't find the courage to approach the fountain. It's twenty minutes until the agreed-upon time, and he's already there, but you're too scared to go near him.
With a deep breath, you start walking toward where he's sitting, your boots clattering on the concrete, your trembling hands buried deep in your coat pockets.
He looks up as you approach, and you swear his face lights up completely.
smut, backshots, kitchen sex, pinv (be smart!) oral (fem receives), loads of dirty talk, this is just nasty oh my
masterlist , taglist
——————————-
After the two fifteen minute rounds it was finally announced that England had won and would be advancing to the next round. Jude had sat out for the last fifteen minutes, he had scored both the goals that tributed to the win. He immediately ran onto the field, making his way through the crowd of the combined teams. He made his way to you just behind the sideline. He went right into your arms, his face in the crook of your neck as silent tears of relief filled his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.” You say, your words muffled. He presses a kiss against your neck before breaking the hug, your foreheads making contact with each other. “You did amazing.” You praise, rubbing his chin lightly.
“I couldn’t do it without you here,” He says breathlessly, still trying to come down from the adrenaline rush of the overtime. “I’ll always be here baby.” You reply, pressing a quick kiss against his lips. A light salty taste from all the effort he put into the game. “Now go celebrate with your people, I’ll be here when you’re done.” You instruct, pointing to all the people hugging each other. He gives you another sweet kiss before he walks away, looking back at you as if walking away from you was the hardest thing he’s ever done.
They celebrate the win, “wonderwall” begins playing as they all line up and sing the lyrics, the crowd roaring along with them. Finally, people begin exiting. Jude rushes through interviews and media just so he can be back in your arms. You wait around back with vip family access. The fans all lined up around the barricade. You see his familiar face as he walks out the doors, his face lighting up the second he finds you. He runs up to you quickly, dropping his bags at his feet and sweeping you into his arms. A light chuckle escapes your mouth as he holds you tight and spins you around. He lets you back to the ground, pressing his lips roughly against yours, he slides his shirt off swiftly and brings his hands to your waist pulling you flush against him. You feel his bulge grow as you melt into the kiss, tongues exploring like they've never done it before. He pushes you against the cool counter, hands tailing down your body as he kisses against your neck, taking extra time on your sensitive spots. Light hums and moans escape your mouth as you feel him explore you. He adjusts you to bend against the counter, bending himself down to remove your jean shorts. "I'm sorry baby, I can't wait." He expresses, which was no problem to you at all. You loved when he used you to celebrate the win. He pulls down your shorts and underwear in one swift movement, he spreads your legs slightly before popping into a squat and looking up at your exposed pussy.
"Fuck I'm so lucky." He says with an exhale, his hands gripped against your thighs. He looked up at you like a starved man, his breath hot against your exposed center. He licks a stripe against your pussy, a shaky moan escapes you. He doesn't take time to tease, he goes straight in. Eating like he's never ate before. His tongue exploring inside your entrance as his fingers work at your clit, building up the pace. Your hands gripped against the cold marble counter, "Fuck Jude!" You moan out, your sounds growing with your climax. His hand gripped your thigh roughly, keeping you in place while you take it. "Let me taste you baby." He says briefly before going back in. He couldn't hold himself back from your juices. He begins eating at you harder, you felt like you were seeing stars. You couldn't hold back your climax any longer, the coil in your stomach releases with your juices as he takes everything you give him. He licks you clean before he comes back up behind you, removing his own pants and boxers.
He tugs at the hem of your shirt, "Keep this on." He demands, his accent thick and breathless. You nod frantically in response, hungry for more of him. He puts your back into an arched position and lines up with you, his cock rubbing at your clit a few times, your hips already grinding with him. He shoves inside of you in one hard thrust, a loud moan forcing itself out of your throat. The burn was buried into the pleasure, practically unnoticeable. "Fuck baby, you take me so good." He praises. His hand stayed behind your neck, keeping you perfectly in place for him. He builds the pace as you moan harder for him, he can read you like a book, he knows when you finish and when you need more from him. He treats you like you're the prize, not the big golden trophy. "You feel good?" He asks, bringing his free hand from your hip to your stomach pressing right where he's hitting. You couldn't get any words out, only thing running through your mind was the insane amount of pleasure as your eyes rolled back. "Hm?" He asks again, you finally through out a loud "Yes!"
Your nails dug into the underside of the counter, "You look so good takin' me and wearing my last name on your back." He says, his words choked up as he feels you grip around him. He fit inside you perfectly and you took him perfectly, like the two of you were made for each other. "I'm the luckiest man on this team." He praises more, his words driving you harder and harder. "Jude!" You cry out, "I can't!" You could barely hold back your euphoria, it chased you hard and fast. "Don't hold back baby." He replies, thrusting into you harder. His hand left your stomach and moved down, rubbing light circles on your clit, pushing the stimulation and pleasure further. Finally, you let your juices flow onto his twitching cock, he thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out. He rubs up and down his shaft a few times before releasing his warm ropes of cum onto your back, strictly onto the number ten and his last name, painting what you wore so beautifully. "Fuck." He groans.
You look back at him with a smirk on your face, your breath still heavy and the high yet to leave. He keeps you held up, pressing a kiss to your lips as you both melt into it. Your taste still left on his tongue. "You're insane." You laugh breathless as he removes the shirt and carries you to the bedroom where you'd both come back from the incredible high.
hyperspermia Clark….. I bet it makes noise when when he fills you raw 🙈🙈🙈 SORRY
oooohhhhh it 1000% makes noise when he cums inside. the slippery suction is downright nasty, insanely pornographic and filthy. it makes so much noise when he pulls his dick out and the pool just starts to spill and ooze down, her hole trying to get used to the warm, endless thick feeling of his creampie. everything about the wet slapping friction is so audible even from rooms away it is so abundantly clear to hear and know exactly what they’re doing, when it’s the exact moment that clark begins to cum.
he says sorry the whole time, whimpering that he just can’t help it. wishes that he could slow it down just to save her such a mess. tries to pull out halfway through his high when he feels it begin to overflow but she shushes him and makes him keep it in, kissing his face and encouraging him to stay relaxed, to keep feeling good and keep cumming as much as he needs.
it felt so invigorating, a primal type of satisfaction to feel his seed start off by dripping inside and then ultimately spurting like a hose left on blast too long. her pussy clenches to squeeze the rest out when his exhausted dick finally rests against her inner thigh as he tries to catch up to his breath while there’s still slabs and slabs of seed coating her walls and sticking to her skin, getting absorbed into her cervix. clark kisses her forehead and cuddles her so tight, knowing that he’s fully bred her and filled her up, and unless she asks him to take a trip to the pharmacy he could otherwise happily call himself a father to all her babies already
. . .
🤍🤤🤤🤤🤍 hyperspermia clark is fertile and messy and a huge sweetie pie
cw: unprotected p in v, creampie!, hyperspermia, cum eating <3
wc: 260
a/n: i think i'm gonna start doing shorter blurbs for now babes bc i can sort of feel myself getting burnt out and i'd hate to stop writing :(
Clark loves watching you eat his cum.
When he's done fucking you, he'll pull out of you and watch it drip from your puffy cunt for a moment. He then gathers it on his fingers and raises it up to your mouth, smearing it over your lips a little as he says, “Open up, baby.”
And the second your lips part, he's pushing his thick, creamy cum against your tongue. It makes him crazy, watching your lips wrap around his fingers and feeling your tongue trace his digits as you suck them clean. It makes heat pool low in his abdomen, blood already rushing south again.
The thing is, because he's Kryptonian, Clark produces a lot of cum. Like, a lot a lot. So the second you're done licking his fingers clean, he reaches down to gather what's still dripping out of you and gives it to you again.
And you just take it, lapping up the sticky, salty liquid contently, swallowing it all until there's no more dribbling from your cunt.
“That's my girl,” he mumbles, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watches the milky, sticky substance that's coated your lips. He wipes at it with his thumb before pushing that into your mouth too.
By now, his cock is already hard again, and he's got every intention of feeling your warm, tight pussy around him once more.
“Lemme fuck you again, baby,” he whispers, shifting to press the leaking mushroom head against your slick hole. “And then I can give you more cum to swallow, yeah?”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
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𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
Can you do a clark kent smut with reader getting a facial?
yummy
fem! reader, mdni, 336 words. cw: blowjob, facial
Sometimes after a particularly rough night for Superman, you like to take care of Clark — give him a moment of thanks for all that he does for Metropolis. It depends on the circumstance really, on how many hits he had taken. Sometimes you surprise him with a fresh dinner, sometimes it's a bubble bath together, sometimes it's a movie in bed. You simply feel it out each time really.
Though there are times where only your mouth is deemed worthy enough of thanks. Not mouth in terms of words and speech, but rather callously, a hole. Something warm, something wet and needy that he can just sink into as a means of soothing, or distracting.
You're standing on your knees, caps of them encompassed by a pillow he had laid out on the floor for you. The head of his cock is in your mouth, spit running down the length and to your hands encompassed around the base — to your hands jerking and rotating mid shaft.
He's itching closer and closer, he has been for some time now. He's struggling for a full, satisfying breath so it seems, chest rising and falling in a pace he cannot maintain. His fingers remain entwined in your hair, grip teetering into something needy as he stands over you, eyes locked on you between his feet.
"Gosh," he pants, head momentarily tipping back, lips parting, "I'm almost—"
Though the preemptive warning is made almost redundant when he lets go before he can even speak it. He loses himself entirely — milky cum leaking in a messy splodge from the side of your nose, to your mouth and down to your chin, splatters similar to a Pollock painting.
"I'm so—" he cuts himself off with a pant, catching his breath, "so sorry, honey."
You kiss the head of his cock and pull up his boxers from around his ankles, effectively tucking him away. You give him a smile when he meets your eyes and then stand, reaching for his lips.
– summary it slipped out of your mouth before it even registered in your brain, you just called wanda ‘mommy’ by accident and she doesn’t seem to mind ? [f!reader x mommy!wanda]
– warnings mommy kink , fingering, finger sucking, thigh riding, marking, teasing, feral wanda :3, overstimulation, degrading, biting, spanking, name calling (sweetheart, good girl, malysh, etc.), kinda badly written aftercare ngl, not proofread, men & minors dni
– a/n comeback after 5 months, i've been busy bc of school :(( hope yall like this and are as feral for mommy wanda as i am
wanda had you cradled against her. your back against her front as she slipped her ringed fingers in and out of your crying cunt. she spoke the dirtiest words with the sweetest fucking tone as she thrusted her fingers into you, her other hand wiping tears away from your cheek.
"i can't, i can't, please! s' too much!" you cried into her chest, thighs begging to be closed because even you came down from your third orgasm, wanda never stopped the pace.
finally, she pulls her glistening fingers out of your cunt for the first time in… god knows how long, then holds it up to your face, spreading her fingers to show you the string of wetness connecting them.
“if you wanted me to stop you wouldn’t be making such a mess, hm ?” wanda hums, her lips brushing against your ear. she pushes her fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue and making you taste yourself before thrusting the spit-soaked fingers back into your dripping cunt with a low groan.
“your mouth is telling me to stop…” she sighs, “but your pussy,” she lightly pinches your clit, sending waves of electricity up your spine and a loud moan out of your mouth, “is telling me a different story…”
“f-fuck !” you cry, tears brimming in your eyes, your thighs are trying their best to clamp shut but wanda keeps them open by hooking her legs around yours.
your back arches against her front, “mommy please ! i can’t-”
the title slips out of your mouth before it even registers in your brain.
then your eyes widen, you realise your slip up. wanda’s fingers stop their relentless thrusting.
“i- i don’t know why i said that…” you push yourself away from wanda and quickly scramble to explain yourself, “i- i didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out, im sorry wand-”
before you can even complete your sentence, wanda reaches for your waist and flips your body around so you’re now lying on your back, she hovers over you and her fingers enter you again, “no, not wanda,” she shakes her head lightly, her face right above yours as her eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before, "i'm your mommy, isn’t that right ?” she fucks into you even harder.
hearing wanda’s words, your pussy clenches around her fingers, a moan slips out of your lips as your hips jerk upwards against her hand, the movement presses your clit against her palm and your thighs immediately attempt to clamp shut despite the intrusion that is wanda’s body between them.
“yeah, that’s it sweetheart,” she mumbles, pressing kisses against your neck, her movements are sloppy and feral, teeth scraping against your skin and her free hand grabbing for whatever part of your body is available to her. she palms your breast before her nails dig into the soft skin, sure to leave red crescent moon shaped marks for the next few days.
but wanda still needs more, needs more contact, so her legs straddle your thigh as she continues pumping her fingers into you, her hips grind against your thigh and you can feel the wet patch forming on her panties.
“w-wanda what are y- too much- fuck…” you cry, her fingers pushing in and out of your pussy in a way you’ve never felt, her fingers repeatedly hit that spongey part inside of you making you let out a whorish moan at every thrust.
then a bite against a particularly sensitive part of your neck, the pain shoots through your body sharply but then melts down into a hot achy feeling between your legs that makes you grind against wanda’s fingers. you gasp and immediately reach for wanda’s head, not exactly pushing her away but your fingers tangle in her red hair, grasping at her scalp.
“what did i just tell you, huh ?” wanda asks you condescendingly, her lips brushing against your neck as she spoke, “just a dumb little girl…” she murmurs.
wanda’s lips finally leave your neck so her head can come up to look you in the eye, her pupils are blown in a way you never thought possible and glued to the way your eyes are brimming with fresh tears. her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes against your lips with uncharacteristic sweetness, you lean into her touch as you let out unintelligible whines.
“toomuchtoomuchtoomuch,” you cry, your face almost trying to burrow into wanda’s hand for some form of comfort as you squirm in her grasp, trying to escape the way she's plowing her fingers into your pussy. you were feeling so fucking sensitive after the many orgasms she gave you and she was anything but caring towards the way you were feeling right now. your hands reach between your thighs for wanda’s, grasping at her forearm to try to get her to slow down.
“uh uh, malysh,” she tuts, removing her hand from your cheek to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, “you wanted me to be your mommy, right ?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head, a small smirk forming on her lips, “i’m just giving you what you want.”
“maybe my ears are broken but… i don’t hear you saying your safe word, so lie there and take it like a good girl,” wanda’s voice is smooth as honey as she speaks, “you don’t want me to tie you up, do you ?” and it isn't a threat, it isn’t a question either, it’s a promise of what she’ll do to you if you deny her.
you panickily shake your head, “no- no i dont want that.” you hiccup, already imagining how long you'll be in this position if she ties you up, body vulnerable to everything she wants to do to you and more.
“that’s what i thought,” she smiles and then leans down to kiss your tear stained cheeks “now be a good girl for mommy, hm ? let mommy use you.”
wanda removes her grasp from your wrists, trusting that you’ll leave your arms up there and you do, hands curling up in an attempt to stop yourself from pushing wanda away from your sensitive cunt.
“what’s my name ?” she asks, her eyes scanning your face for every tremor of your lips and flutter of your eyelashes, she wants to make sure you give her the right answer, the answer you were giving her just now before getting so embarrassed.
you know what she wants to hear but that embarrassment adorning your cheeks doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t let you say what she wants to hear or what you, deep down, want to say. you open your mouth nervously, lips trembling as you give her your answer.
“wan-”
wrong answer.
suddenly there’s a red hot sting between your legs. wanda’s hand comes down on your clit, smacking it with precision, your thighs immediately try to clamp shut but wanda’s knee between your legs pushes outwards and makes sure that you can’t.
“no mommy, no !” you cry, hands immediately leaving their position above their head to try to push her hand away, “i’m sorry mommy ! please mommy !” you sob, immediately giving in to what she wants to hear, you didn’t need anymore convincing.
wanda hums, a little sound of satisfaction.
“hands back up.” wanda gives you a look, a reminder of her previous promise. her hand hovers above your clit as well, prepared to smack you again if you didn’t listen.
you agonisingly slowly put your hands back up above your head with a whine, a small protest of your own that wanda chooses not to do anything about. your legs are trembling, prepared to clamp shut again if she tries to smack you again.
“good girl.” she praises, her finger delve back into the velvety walls of your pussy with a small smile on her lips.
as wanda settles back into her rhythm, the pace is no longer just frantic, it’s relentless and methodical, every thrust of her fingers aim to draw a noise out of you, a whimper, a moan, a whine, it’s all music to wanda’s ears. her pussy continues grinding against your thigh, her arousal spreading across the expanse of your skin as she angles herself so that her clit hits against you perfectly every time, when she finally finds that spot her eyes roll back and she bites her lip, she lets out shallow breaths and small grunts as her hips grind against your thigh with the same rhythm that her fingers are fucking into you. her fingers hook deep in your cunt finding that sensitive, swollen spot and your hips buck upwards involuntarily.
“for someone who wanted me to stop, you seem awfully desperate…” wanda mutters, her voice dropping into that register that makes your stomach fill with jittery butterflies.
your cheeks grow into an even darker shade of red if possible from hearing her words. your hips grind against her hand as she fucks you, everything that happened, the way she smacked your pussy, her fingers in your cunt, the humiliation from accidentally calling her mommy, her lower register, it all melted together into a hot tingly knot in your lower stomach.
“fuck…” wanda groans, her hips pushing against your thigh with her head keeled back. she looks down at her fingers disappearing in and out of your pussy and almost has to stop herself from letting out a moan.
“gonna cum all pretty on mommy’s fingers like a good girl ?” wanda watches you get closer, watches that feeling build up again despite the overstimulation, all while knowing that you know she’s not gonna stop.
“i can’t, mommy… its too much…” you whine.
“yes you can, malysh. you’re gonna cum for me one last time, just- fuck- one more and we’re all done,” wanda bites her lip, rubbing your clit even harder, her hips starting to grind against your hips sloppier, her breaths get shallower, clear that she was also close.
your back arches violently with the way her fingers curl into you and your walls clench around her fingers, practically sucking her in.
“just one more lyubov, i know my good girl can do it.” her voice feels like a hot chill running down your spine. her voice trembles as she speaks, she’s almost there too.
every muscle in your body locks tight, your back bowing off the mattress as a loud combination of a moan and whine gets torn out of your lungs. it’s all too much and too everything and all you can do is ride the sensation that wanda is making you endure.
before you know it, your legs shake and you cover wanda’s hand with your release. wanda’s hips press particularly hard against your thigh and she cums not too long after, her fingers in your cunt stopping their motions as her pussy squirts all over your thigh.
“good girl- good fucking girl- god- mommy’s dirty little girl” wanda gasps, she leans forward and trails kisses against your neck, moving up until her lips meet yours.
“mommy don’t stop, mommy please-” you cry against her lips, hips wiggling, clearly wanting her fingers in you again. wanda lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers, it feels all too much and you were clearly too sensitive down there right now but it just felt so fucking good you couldn’t get enough.
“thank you mommy- thank you thank you thank you” you mumble as you come down from your orgasm, “thank you mommy.”
your head gets fuzzy and goes to that floaty headspace wanda loves you in, you feel like you’re floating, held in place and still on earth only by the weight of wanda’s body and the heavy intoxicating pull of her presence.
when the aftershocks begin to subside, leaving you heavy limbed and too tired to move, you feel wanda’s fingers leave you and you whine, not enjoying the fullness that was taken away from you. then you feel a kiss against your forehead, wanda says a few words that didn’t register in your brain and her presence falls away.
a few seconds after she leaves is only when you truly realise that she’s left. your eyes blink against the lights that look way harsher than usual and you bite your lip anxiously.
“mommy ? mommy where are you…” you mumble, curling in on yourself, missing her warmth.
her voice comes from afar, “i’m coming malysh, mommy’s right here, she just went to grab something to make you feel better, okay baby ?”
it all went in one ear and out the other for you, just a string of words pieced together that didn’t make any sense.
just as you were about to call for her again, she appears in front of you, you smile and your arms weakly reach out for her.
“want you.”
wanda lets out a happy sigh, “we gotta clean you up moya lyubov, afterwards we can cuddle okay ?”
you nod sleepily, feeling wanda press the warm towel against your skin. you wiggle a little when wanda softly rubs the towel against your sticky inner thighs, they still felt sensitive and the towel felt rough against your skin.
“shhh it’s okay baby, we’re almost done,” wanda reassures you, making quick work with cleaning your thighs before moving on. it was probably only 5 minutes but it already felt like hours to you.
when wanda was finally done, she leaves you again for a moment, but this time she gives you a pillow to cuddle while you waited.
she took her time away to put the towel in the laundry basket and clean herself up but before you knew it, you felt a dip in the bed and slender arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to wanda.
she pulls you close and guides your head to rest against her chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.
“you did so good for me today malysh, i love you so much,” she mutters praises between kisses against your head. all the while, your eyes slowly flutter shut as you drift away, listening to the sound of wanda’s voic as you fall asleep.
– a/n can u guys tell idk how to write orgasms and aftercare idk. i like lowkey need to start reading more orgasm and (especially) aftercare writing this is embarrassing 💔 like i want everyone to know that this fic was delayed by a day bc i didn’t like how i wrote the aftercare, i still don’t and cringed at it but i gave up 🥲🥲🥲
extra a/n this is my third attempt at posting this tumblr pls stop being mean, im just a girl who wants mommy wanda inside of me okay thank you
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)
content: smuttt, established marriage, petnames, p in v, public seggs, fitting room seggs, oral (m!receiving), male whimpering, mommy kink, praise kink, sub!clarkkk, uncircumcised!clark bc yes, hyperspermia!!
⊹★a/n: been struggling w/writer’s block oops!
wc: 2k
꒰๑꒱──────────────★ ˚ ̟ ⊹ ♡
You have money. Tons of money. Like a load of money. So much money, the piles of cash would seem infinite. Naturally, it must be spent. And you have a cutie pie for a husband who you absolutely love to spoil. Especially during your monthly trips to the mall when you have the time.
Today is no different. The Metropolis Mall and its hundreds of stores, especially the luxury ones, were all yours to conquer. You enter the land of endless possibilities with Clark, arm in arm.
Clark is a very humble farm boy at heart who constantly assures you he doesn’t need all your precious gifts, though they are much appreciated. Like that one time you gifted him his first shiny, silver Rolex. He almost fell over when you revealed the hefty price.
“Oh, honey, I can’t accept this! I love it, but that’s so many zeros! How will I pay you back?” He looked up at you with those sweet eyes.
You rolled your eyes and gave him a soft peck. “Ugh, you’re adorable. You don’t repay me, sweetie, you just take whatever I buy you because you deserve it, okay? Let me take care of you.” You cupped his cheek, then slid a hand up to his curls.
Clark melted in your touch. “But I don’t think I could get you anything better than this…” he pouted as he held the box.
“Shh, all I need is this wonderful man in front of me to make me happy. You’re the best gift, Clark. You’re enough for me.”
His heart thumped at that, and he pulled you in for a deep kiss.
Now you don a black halter dress that displays some enticing cleavage, with a lush, white fur shawl over your arms. Topped off with a pair of black shades, of course. Pearl necklace glimmering under the candescent ceiling lights.
Every now and then, you enjoy looking like your net worth during your shopping sprees, even if it’s unnecessary. The countless bags your guards carry behind you each time as you two walk through the place speak for themselves.
Clark is wearing his usual getup: a white button-up paired with black slacks. His sleeves are rolled up, and his beefy biceps are on display for you.
“Let’s get you another watch!” Clark just lets himself be pulled towards the luxury jeweler. Smiling at your enthusiasm.
The jeweler happily welcomes you two in and beckons you over with a “come, come, come!” to the glass counter. He pulls out a tray of the finest watches at hand, and you watch Clark’s eyes grow wide. ‘Ugh, so cute,’ you thought.
You inch closer to the tray and eye the display before turning to Clark. “Which one do you like more, baby?”
“Um…um,” he mumbles in deep thought. Clark honestly thinks they all look divine. Although the brown leather one does grab his attention a bit more than the others. Oh, and so does the navy blue. And the black leather one paired with its intricate clock design. Goodness, it’s probably an unjustifiable price, even for a designer brand like this one.
You can see the cogs turning in his head, and let another moment pass before going for a simple solution, well, your idea of a simple solution.
You lean onto the counter and pull your shades down to look the jeweler in the eye, “you know what? I’ll take them all.” Clark’s brows furrow as he panics.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” The jeweler gives you a warm smile.
“Honey, those are a lot of watches!”
“And my baby deserves each and every one!” You cup his face and cover his face in kisses. Clark wraps his arms around you in defeat, taking in your rich affection.
From there, you hit up all kinds of stores, including the comic book store, so Clark could nerd out all he wants.
Last stop is the tuxedo boutique. You love, love, love getting Clark fitted for suits. A man can never have too many suits.
You walk in, and a trusted worker is already at your beck and call.
“Bring this year’s collection, for my husband, stat. We’ll be by the fitting rooms.” The employee curtly nods before speeding off.
Clark swallows at your stern tone and the power you command without saying much. He finds it to be the hottest thing about you, honestly. Gosh, and the way you always proudly claim him, referring to him as your “husband”. It makes him feel so giddy inside.
Clark watches you, admiring how ravishing you look in that dress. His eyes fall to your peaking breasts, wanting nothing more than to stuff his face in them while you tell him how good he is.
He slightly shakes his head, as if shaking the indecent thought away. He can’t get hard right now; he’s in public, all kinds of eyes on him.
“Come on,” you grab his hand and pull him towards the back. Oh, this was a constant thing in your marriage. You're pulling him everywhere, and he's happily obliging. His favorite navigation system. His lovely wife as his guide.
You take your usual seat on the comforting ottoman and watch as Clark tries on every suit. Making you laugh as he awkwardly models for you, as always. He just can’t take himself too seriously.
“Mhm, I like this color. That navy blue looks good on you, sweetie. Give me a spin.” You lean back on your arms and take in the view.
Clark’s cheeks turn rosy pink, but he does slow 360 for you nonetheless. “Thank you, honey.” He looks down sheepishly as the worker takes his measurements.
“That’s my handsome husband,” you say as you stand up to get a closer look at the fabric.
He really doesn’t want you coming any closer. He already has to keep his composure in front of this lady, and you look the way you do today. So good, so breathtakingly good. And you’ve been complimenting and spoiling him all evening, my gosh.
Clark gets another whiff of your perfume, Coco Chanel No. 5 to be exact, and it almost sends him off the edge. Your fingers brush against his chest and stomach, maybe on purpose, before you reach for the material.
You tug on the suit jacket a bit and share your thoughts with the worker, Angela, as he tries his hardest to act unfazed by your touch. Clark was never good at acting.
“Sorry, Angela, dear, could you please give us a minute?” She nods and quickly leaves.
Once again, it was only you and Clark, who looked as sexy as ever in his new suit. You’re both quiet. He’s nervous and curious as to why you sent her away. You watch his worried expression in amusement.
“This needy, hmm? You can’t even wait until we’re in the car.”
He swallows hard as your soft, velvety cadence sends shivers down his spine. He doesn’t respond, too ashamed of his growing bulge.
You cup his erection, and he jerks a little, “answer me, Clark. Are you so impatient that you don’t even have the decency to wait until we leave this place?”
He rapidly shakes his head before you hook a finger underneath his chin.
“Use your words, love.”
“I-I’m having trouble controlling myself.” He explains, all flustered.
“Well, I can see that.” You smirk and feel him up even more. A small whimper escapes from his lips, spurring you further on. “Poor Angela is just trying to fit you for a suit, and instead of standing here like a good boy, all you can do is think with your dick?” You purr.
“Please, honey, all I can think about is you,” he whines as you grip him tighter.
“Fitting room now.” One command and like an obedient dog, he follows without hesitation.
When you push past the curtains, Clark is already on his knees. Ready to beg for your forgiveness, the best way he knows how.
You look down at him and scoff as you poke his knee with your heel. “Get up, nobody told you to get on your knees like that.”
And he’s up again, but unsure of what to do.
You shrug your shawl off before lightly pushing him against the wall, with your hand on his chest. Without ever breaking eye contact, you slide your hand down as you lower yourself before him, before his fat bulge.
“Now, you’re gonna stand here while I suck your pretty little cock without making a sound, or else you’ll embarrass both of us, especially yourself. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, ma’am.” He manages to say when you unbuckle his new Louis V belt, and pull off his pants and tightie whities down in one go, freeing his aching cock from its previous confines.
It’s so big, heavy, and uncut in your grip. Clark inhales when you rub his shaft while looking up at him with those dark eyes. You push the foreskin back, the sudden motion revealing the head of his cock already leaking with pre-cum.
“Oh, gosh…” he moans as you teasingly lick and kiss his wet slit. “My goodness…” You lick a dangerously slow stripe up his length, and he faintly whimpers again. Music to your ears.
“Not so loud, baby,” smooch, “the customers can,” smooch, “hear you,” another smooch on his serious girth.
“R-right, I’m sorry, mommy, I’ll be qui—oh, my gosh!” He shudders as you wrap your plush lips around him. You take him further into your warm mouth and suck him with every intention of making him break. It was fun to watch him trying his hardest to contain himself. Him biting his lips to suppress his moans, his furrowed brows, and red face in utter ecstasy as you suck him dry.
Clark’s shaking hand hovers over your head, hesitant. He gently places his hand on your hair for stability, and it moves as you bob your head even more, swirling your tongue over his girth.
"Mommy, I-I don't think I'm gonna last..." He pants. You ignore him and go down further, fully deep throating his fat cock. With your free hand, you fondle his balls, and Clark can't help but let out a loud, pitchy moan.
He cups his mouth instantly, scared that he might have alerted someone. The sensations are too much for him. Heck, even the sinful, wet sounds of you slobbing on his dick are driving him mad. He's overwhelmed, and his whimpers keep getting louder. Clark prays for your sake, and his, that nobody has noticed anything yet.
But when you squeeze his balls tighter and hollow your cheeks, it's the last straw. Clark tenses as he spills his hot, white, creamy load into your mouth. And it's heavy, almost non-stop. He's embarrassed and mumbles all kinds of nonsense about how much he loves you and how sorry he is. He has no idea why he produces so much of it; maybe it's a Kryptonian thing.
You don't mind, though, and try to swallow as much as you can before it inevitably flows out of your mouth.
You slowly slide your head back as he catches his breath. There are drips of cum on the corners of your lips, and you chuckle when you feel them. There's some of your dress too. Oh well, you can take it to the cleaners. You lick your lips, and Clark has to avert his eyes, or else he'll be hard in no time. The power you have over him is ridiculous.
"Haven't even bought the suit and I already have to get it dry-cleaned." You joke as you shake your head, nodding at the cum stain on his pants.
"I'm sorry, hon', y'know I can't control it." He gives you that pathetic, sorry look as he helps you up.
You wave him off, "sweetheart, you could cover me in all your cum, and I wouldn't mind."
"Oh, gosh, please don't say things like that!" he whines. You just giggle and help him with his pants.
Out of nowhere, you hear fast heel-clacking near the fitting rooms.
Blunt!Simon, who has never once been good at keeping his mouth shut. He says this exactly as he sees them. Simon, who has the exact same mindset when he sees you enter the bases gym, clad in leggings and a standard issue sports bra.
'Can see yer nipples cuttin' through yer top, luv' he said gruffly, when you came over to say hi. You stopped dead in your tracks, blood rushing to your face, who even says that?!
You try your best to get on with your workout, opting to do some cardio to warm up...
After a few hours, you head over to the water fountain to hydrate, where Simon had been standing, filling up his bottle. 'Been enjoyin' the outline 'f yer cunt, luvie' he says, looking down at you as you cough on your water in shock.
He bends down to get close to you 'dyin' for a taste... give yer LT a han', aye?'
Blunt!Simon who has you throbbing with his crude words.
✨Note: The reader is female and Mexican. This is part of a series of short stories, and you can find them on my master list. If you have any requests, feel free to ask! ✨
Summary: He lost the game and he needs you.
The workday is tough, and you couldn't get out of it this time.
Every time Jude played, you went with him, whether it was to Mexico City or Miami.
This time, he's on the other side of Atlanta, and you're stuck in an office behind a screen. Your job is remote, but they need you in the office from time to time.
It's not even the office where you were hired; it's an international company, and they just wanted you to show up at one of the branches.
The internet is terrible, and the mobile data signal is so weak that there's no way you can watch the game because you're in the basement.
You spoke to him on the phone minutes before the game. You wished him luck, and he said how much he wanted to see you in the stands.
An hour and a half later, your phone rings.
It's him.
Your heart races, as it always does when he calls… or looks at you, or smiles.
"Hey…"
"We lost."
He sounds agitated, even angry. Next to the side of the line, you hear him slamming something metal, which you assume is the locker door.
“We lost. You should have… You should have been here, sweetheart. They play horribly, like savages.”
They must have done or said something to make it sound like that. You know him; he’s a quiet, kind guy, always trying to see the best in everyone.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Didn’t the referee do anything?”
“Don’t get me started on the referee, honey. He’s an idiot. There were loads of free kicks, fouls he didn’t call, and ugh…”
“Sorry, honey, I couldn’t watch the game.”
Guilt churns in your stomach. You know it wasn’t your fault, but he always says you’re his lucky charm. It’s a coincidence that the only game you couldn’t go to is the only game he loses.
“That’s fine, my love. Gordon scored a goal, I couldn’t score a single one. The whole game they were pushing me and knocking me to the ground. I need to see you, my shoulder is killing me.”
“You got hit? Oh my God, Jude, you should have started with that.”
You stand up immediately and start packing your things. Screw your job, you can do the same job and better next to him.
“Because that’s not the most important thing. The Argentinians hit the whole team at some point, mine isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, my love, but your shoulder is already hurting. Don’t tell me it’s not that bad…”
You struggle with your bag to get your headphones out and continue the call with him, at the same time, you order a taxi to the stadium or the hotel.
You’re not going to tell anyone you’re leaving, you don’t even know anyone at this branch. Damn international brands with branches in almost every country.
“Don’t scold me, ma…”
You take a deep breath and decide to meet him at the hotel while putting on one of your earbuds. He always knows how to call you and what tone to use to soften your edges.
“Listen carefully, Jude. You’re going to put ice on that shoulder and go straight to the hotel. You can only give one interview, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“I’ll see you at the hotel. No buts. You’ll get there before me, so I want you showered and in bed. No packing or lifting heavy things.”
“You want me in bed?”
“JUDE BELLINGHAM!”
“Okay, okay… God, honey, I really want to burst into tears.”
“I’ll tell the taxi driver to drive fast to get to you. We’re in the USA; everyone drives like a maniac.”
You hear a soft laugh on the other end of the phone, and your heart calms. You stop biting your thumbnail as the taxi pulls up in front of you.
“Are you biting your nails?”
“No.”
“You were. Don’t!”
“I’m not!”
The driver gives you a strange look, but what does he care? He should be focusing on driving.
As you enter the hotel, you run into Gordon. He looks devastated, and a bruise is forming on his bicep. He’s with Annie, his wife, and their little boy is on her lap.
“Hey.”
“Hi, I’m really sorry, but congratulations on your goal.”
“Thanks, you should go with Jude, he hit one of the players.”
The bastard didn’t tell you that, didn’t even mention it.
“What?”
“I don’t really know what happened. Jude was calm one second and the next he hit the player on the head. I think he said something to him in Spanish, and you’ve been teaching him Spanish then…”
Then Jude understood what he said and hit him on the head.
“Oh my God, thank you.”
You don’t know whether to kiss him until he’s breathless from defending himself—you know he defended himself, he doesn’t go around hitting people; if he did, you never would have dated him—or give him a light tap on the head.
The elevator ride is slow, and the music only makes you more nervous.
Inside the room, he’s on the bed with an ice pack over his shoulder. He’s shirtless, just wearing comfortable gray pants.
“My love…”
When he sees you, his eyes fill with tears, and he finally allows himself to let them fall.
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