Ok, it's taken me SIX YEARS to make this. But I did it! It's done! Please watch it!
(No AI used fuck AI)
It's my first animation project, which is why it took so long. I had to learn to animate to make it. It's only a bit over 2 minutes, but I made it the best I possibly could. Please please please watch it. I am so proud of it.
It's a trailer for my first novel- a late YA scifi/superhero book.
Is it absurd to make a fully animated book "trailer" for a book that's been out for 6 years, with voice acting and commissioned music (by the fantastic @plottwiststudios) ? I mean yes. Of course. I'm not even doing this for real marketing purposes because this is a ridiculous thing to do. I don't even really think it'll sell books but the process of making it made me really really happy.
I love my fictional disaster queers, and I love my book, and when I was a kid I thought I'd grow up to be an animator. I've always loved animation, and I really, really enjoyed making something animated myself. I'm really proud of how it turned out.
Please watch it. Please share it.
If it does make you actually want to read the story, you can get it as an ebook, paperback, or audiobook. (the ebook is currently free)
I start my next animation project- a fake anime opening credits for book 3 in this series, starting next month.
england was absolutely robbed, you’re telling me it was fair fifatina won when they pulled these moves and didn’t get carded for them?
edit: i’ve turned off the replies for most people bc calling me a xenophobe and racist is what we’re not going to do when i’m literally not any of those, how about we stop using racism as an accusation whenever someone points something out based of facts? argentina is historically racist (and i’m not saying england isn’t), yours fans have been racist and your team has been racist. does that mean all argentines are racist? no, just like not all the people from the UK are racist. we are not mirror images of our countries history, so stop making it out that way.
also all the people sending me anonymous asks and calling me nasty names i hope you feel really good about yourself, im sure hiding ur username really makes you feel tough.
masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hiiii angels it's @purplesectorlew (Lo)!! here with my addition to the jude hype train because i can't stop thinking about his facial expressions and exhausted but clingy jude so here we are. hope you enjoy the fluff-to-spice pipeline as much as i did writing it <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: after england’s dramatic quarter-final win over norway, an exhausted Jude just wants his girlfriend close. post-match cuddles (that definitely don’t stay just cuddles) in the team hotel lead to soft, sleepy, and very needy sex. comfort, praise, and tired-boyfriend vibes.
warnings: smut MDNI, handjob, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, tired but horny jude, whimpering + whiny jude, lowkey sub!jude, lots of praise and pet names, slight possessive talk
wc: 4.5k!
The last notes of Wonderwall had just faded out across the Hard Rock, the lads still buzzing on the pitch with arms slung round each other. Jude was right in the middle of it, singing along like the rest of them, his beautiful smile splitting his face even though you could tell every last inch of him was running on empty.
It had been a grind. The Miami heat and humidity were brutal, thick and sticky, so much so that it had made your lungs burn just watching from the stands. Extra time looked like it nearly broke them, but Jude dragged it through with his second goal in the 93rd minute like something out of a film. Your heart was still hammering, ears ringing, the whole stadium vibrating around you.
Then the fans started up with “Hey Jude” and you had to look away quickly, blinking hard. The pride you feel swells up so huge it doesn’t fit in your chest, it spills over into these stupid tears every single time you hear the song, no matter how many times you see him do something like this.
“He looks exhausted,” Denise says quietly, her arm still hooked through yours, squeezing a little.
“I know. Bless him. I don’t know how he’s still standing out there. He gave that absolutely everything.”
You take some deep breaths with his parents, gushing over his performance as usual and wait for him to finish with everything else he has to do after the final whistle.
Soon enough, you watch him walk over showered and changed into the usual post-match tracksuits, his hood half up already like he’s already trying to shut the world out. Even from a distance you can see the heaviness in his shoulders, the way he’s moving a bit stiffer than usual, his tall frame carrying the weight of a country for ninety-plus minutes. He looks happy though. So, so happy. His dark eyes scan the stands until they find you three, and you can see the sparkle in them as soon as he spots you.
He hugs his mum first, extra tight, murmuring something that makes her laugh and pat his back. All week she’d been saying watch your language, watch your tackles, watch your face so he wouldn’t get booked. You could see how proud she was of him, her eyes closing when they hugged. It almost made your heart burst.
Then his dad, the two of them clapping each other on the shoulder like they always do, that quiet father-son thing that always makes your chest warm. Mark kisses his cheek, and your smile mirrors Jude’s bashful one. Only after that does he turn to you.
“There she is,” he says, voice a little rough from the game, his accent coming through even stronger when he’s tired. He smiles down at you, exhausted but sweet, and you stand up to meet him.
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone, your other arm sliding round his broad back. He’s warm, solid, still carrying the smell of the grass mixed with fresh shower gel. “I’m so proud of you, Jude. That looked so tough out there.”
He leans down and kisses you, soft and quick. He’s never one for big PDA with the cameras hovering, but he never lets you feel unloved. Then his hand comes up, gentle as anything, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear.
His eyes go all soft as he looks at you, the intense match-day fire dialled right down just for you. “Thank you, baby. Yeah… it was hard. Proper hard. But we got there. It was rough though, I’m shattered.”
You sit back down and he drops straight onto the seat next to you, no hesitation. His head finds your shoulder immediately, heavy and trusting, like he’s been waiting for this exact spot the whole night. You slide your hand up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the way he likes, and feel him let out a long breath, sinking further into you. The relief in his body is so obvious it makes your heart twist.
His mum and dad chat lightly for a minute — something about the referee, how proud they are, the usual post-match debrief — and Jude mumbles along, half in it, half gone. His hand finds yours in your lap, fingers threading together lazily.
After a bit he turns his head, lips brushing your ear as he lowers his voice. “Are you gonna come visit me tonight?”
You snort, playfully nudging his head away. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, babe.”
He laughs then, loud and bright, teeth flashing, his eyes lighting up with the loving mischief that always gets you. “What? I can’t get cuddles from my girl? After that?”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “Cuddles?”
His lip twitches, smirk spreading slow and dangerous. “Cuddles,” he repeats, all innocent like. “And a couple of kisses. Just three or four…”
You tilt your head, giving him a look. He’s dead on his feet, shoulders slumped, yet still managing to look at you like that. You ignore the heat pooling in your stomach from the way he's looking at you and try to think logically. The semi-finals are midweek. “You’re gonna cramp up at some point and whatever idea you’ve got of cuddles and kisses is gonna be straight out the window.”
“Can I not enjoy my recovery with my girlfriend? Is that against the law now?” He huffs dramatically, but his hands are already stroking up your sides, warm and familiar.
You huff at him, already giving in. “You’re so spoilt.”
He grins wider, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You can never say no to me.”
And it’s true. You can’t say no to him. Not when he looks at you like that. Cuddles. Right.
It wasn’t long before you found yourself being led by Jude back to his room in the team hotel in Miami. They’d just had a squad dinner, winding down after the match. As soon as players started to retreat he’d texted you and met you in the lobby. Other England camps weren’t like this in the past, you were so grateful the rules had been changed to let you see him, even if he should be resting.
He’d showered again, you could already tell by the cologne and body wash mix you could smell as you followed him down the quiet corridor. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles every few steps. He still moved a little stiff from the game, the beautiful body of his carrying the bruises and the exhaustion, but there was this restless energy in him too, the win still buzzing under his skin.
Once the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop talking. He kicked his slides off, flopping back onto the bed as he kept going, voice low and rough but nonstop the way it always gets when he’s over-excited.
“...and then after the equaliser, I swear the pitch felt like it was moving, the humidity was mad out there. But the lads were buzzing, it was so loud on the pitch. Harry pulled me over after and was saying something about the run we’re on now, and I was just thinking the whole time about that last chance, how I nearly messed up the touch but it just fell right. Then extra time, my legs were gone but you just dig deep, don’t you? Mum’s texts were killing me the whole week about watching my face and my language, I nearly got booked just for breathing heavy at the ref at one point—”
He laughed at himself, running a hand over his damp hair, eyes bright even though his shoulders were sinking deeper into the pillows. You perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, the usual warmth spreading in your chest.
He reached out and tugged you closer by the wrist, still mid-story. “—and then I was like, nah, we’re not losing this one. You get me babe? And then I was like—”
“Jude, take a breath, love. I was there and watching the whole thing,” you chuckle, adjusting to lie next to him on the bed. His arm slipped under your head straight away, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb moved slowly across your cheek, warm and a little rough.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, half-laughing at himself again, voice dropping lower. “I’m just… excited. I don’t know. We left everything out there and…”
He trailed off for a second, eyes half-closed, but his fingers kept moving, tracing your jaw, then down the side of your neck, like he couldn’t quite settle even though his body was heavy with tiredness. Up close like this you could see every little detail: the faint sheen of sweat still at his hairline from how warm it was in Miami, the way his chest rose and fell a bit quicker than normal, a fresh bruise along his jaw starting to darken. You breathed in his warm skin scent that always made your stomach flip.
He shifted closer, leg hooking over yours casually, voice going soft and a little rough with emotion. “It’s mad innit? One minute you’re out there thinking your legs are done, next minute the ball drops and it just… happens. And now we’re in the semis. Semis, babe.”
His grin came back, tired but bright, the one that always made your heart do stupid things. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in like he needed it more than air. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were up there. Makes it all feel different.”
“I love you,” you whisper softly, thumb brushing his cheek, “and I’m so proud of you.”
“How proud?” he beamed, raising an eyebrow, a playful spark lighting up his exhausted face.
“Very proud. Like… prouder than you can even imagine. I think I’ve cried at nearly every game—”
Jude giggles, almost giddy, the sound low and warm in his chest. He loved praise, especially from you, it always turned him soft and a little cocky at the same time. “I know, my little crybaby,” he cooed, voice teasing and fond as he leaned in, pressing little kisses all over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one gentle and sweet, like he was savouring being close after the chaos of the match.
“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “You need to calm down, baby. You have to sleep.”
“My body’s tired,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lingering lower near your jaw, “but the adrenaline is just making me wired, man.”
You stroke his side, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palm, the faint tremor of leftover energy in his muscles. His tall frame was heavy against you, one leg tangled with yours, but his hands kept wandering. Sliding under the hem of your top to rest against your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles there.
After a moment he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at you properly. The lamp on the bedside table casts a soft glow over his face, his beautiful brown eyes and pink lips slightly parted. He looks unfairly good for someone who just played extra time in a stadium that felt more like a sauna.
“So…” he starts, a smirk creeping back in. “About those kisses I was promised.”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile again. “I don’t remember promising anything.”
“Oi, don’t lie to me..” He leans in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your mouth. “I distinctly remember talking about three or four. Minimum.” His hand slides higher under your top, palm flat and warm against your ribs, thumb stroking just under the curve of your breast. “Come on, baby. I earned them, didn’t I? Scored two, dragged us to the semis… least you can do is give your man some proper kisses.”
He’s grinning again now, all cheeky and tired and completely devastating to your self-control . Before you can answer he dips his head and presses one slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear, lingering there like he knows exactly what it does to you.
“You’ve just wasted two kisses…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
He groans in joking frustration, eyebrows furrowing to give you a little puppy dog look that always gets him out of trouble. “I just want cuddles and kisses before i sleep-”
He stops as you tilt your head at him, giving him another look.
“I swear, I swear! Baby, please…”
The pleading look on his face already has your stomach flipping, mouth a little dry. He’s so unfairly gorgeous like this. Tired eyes, messy damp curls,his toned body stretched out next to you, still radiating heat from the match. The way his tracksuit top has ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach… it’s ridiculous how much you want him even when he’s half-dead on his feet.
“Fine,” you say, trying to sound stern but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, “but you need to try and sleep too…”
He shifts slightly so you’re fully facing each other, one hand moving to your lower back, his leg still draped heavy over yours. “I can fall asleep kissing you.”
The kisses start off sweet and slow. Gentle presses of his lips against yours, his hand stroking your lower back under your top. His other hand in your hair, fingers loose and tired. Then they deepen.
Jude lets out a quiet, relieved sigh into your mouth as his lips part wider, tongue sliding in slow and warm. The kisses turn sloppy fast. Wet, lazy, unhurried in an exhausted way that somehow makes it hotter. His tongue moves heavy and deep, tangling with yours in long, messy strokes, licking into your mouth like he’s too tired to do anything but feel you. Every so often he sucks softly on your tongue or your bottom lip, pulling it between his before going back in deeper, slower, wetter. You can taste the faint mint from his post-dinner toothpaste mixed with the warm, familiar taste that’s just him. His breaths are heavier now, little groans vibrating against your lips as the kisses grow filthier. Your tongues sliding slow and slick, mouths open and messy, spit-slick lips catching every time you pull apart for air only to dive right back in.
He’s genuinely exhausted, you feel it in the heavy weight of his body against yours, the way his movements stay soft and sleepy even as they get more desperate. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you there as he kisses you like he’s trying to melt into you. Deep, lazy swirls of his tongue, slow sucks, the occasional sleepy grind of his hips against your thigh. He’s half-asleep and completely turned on at the same time, and it’s doing dangerous things to you.
Your hand slides under his top to rest on his ribs, and the soft, needy sound he makes against your tongue makes you shiver hard in his arms.
“M’so hard for you,” he whispers against your lips, breathing heavily. He presses his hips forward, grinding slowly so you can feel exactly how turned on he is, the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his joggers.
“You need me to help you, baby?” you murmur, letting your hand trail down his stomach until your palm cups the hard bulge. He’s so warm, so fucking hard already, twitching eagerly under your touch.
Jude’s breath hitches, hips jerking up into your hand as he lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “Please…”
“But you’re so tired, Jude.” You stroke him slowly through the fabric, teasing, because you love when he gets like this…all soft, sleepy, and whiny for you.
“Baby—” he whines, the sound high and needy, forehead pressed to yours. His hand moves down to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just a little. “M’never too tired for you… fuck, please touch me properly. I need it. Need you so bad..”
You push his joggers down just enough to free him and wrap your fingers around him. Jude’s whole body shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you start stroking him. You start slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head every time. He’s so thick and hot in your hand, veins pulsing, leaking steadily now. You’re transfixed by the sight of him.
“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he whimpers, voice all sleepy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as soft, desperate little sounds keep falling out of him. “Your hand feels so good, baby… don’t stop, please. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”
You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he jolts, hips bucking lazily into your fist, chasing the pleasure even though his body is heavy with exhaustion. Every whimper is quieter, needier. He’s almost submissive in the way he lets you take control, thighs trembling, fingers clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him.
You lift his shirt higher so you can see his toned stomach, selfishly maybe, but he looked so pretty. You keep going, stroking him faster, tighter, watching the way his abs clench and his chest rises and falls quicker. “So pretty Jude,” you whisper, and Jude lets out a broken whine, biting his bottom lip.
“Baby… I— fuck, I’m so close already,” he pants, voice cracking. “Your hand is gonna make me come if you keep— ah—”
You slide down his body before he can finish, taking him into your mouth in one slow, wet glide. Jude’s back arches off the bed with a loud, guttural moan, one hand flying to your hair, holding on tight as his fingers tremble.
“Oh my god— your mouth, fuck—” He’s losing it completely now, sleepy whimpers turning into desperate, broken sounds as you bob your head, tongue swirling around him, sucking him deep. “So warm… so fucking good. Baby, please— I can’t— you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep sucking like that.”
His hips twitch up gently, like he’s trying so hard to be good and not fuck your mouth, but his control is slipping. Whiny, breathy moans fill the room as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing along the underside. Jude’s thighs shake, hand tightening in your hair, voice hoarse.
“Baby… slow, please, I’m so sensitive— fuck, I love your mouth so much…”
You slow down and look up, making eye contact with him. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded with exhaustion and pure bliss, lips parted, chest heaving. The sight of you between his legs like this seems to ruin him even more.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, voice cracking, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “My beautiful girl.”
He keeps watching you with that dazed, adoring look, hips rocking up in tiny, helpless movements as you suck him slow and deep. You swirl your tongue around the head, then take him all the way again, relaxing your throat until your nose brushes his stomach. Jude’s whole body trembles.
“Fuck— baby, look at you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and reverent. “Taking me so well… even when I’m this tired. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”
His praise comes out soft and broken, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or a little whimper. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock throbs heavier on your tongue, the constant little twitches of his thighs, the way his fingers keep flexing in your hair like he’s fighting not to lose it. But he stays so good for you, letting you control everything, just moaning and whining softly every time you swallow around him or suck a little harder.
“Gonna make me come if you keep doing that…” he pants, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth is too good, love. Too warm and wet and— shit—”
You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock as you stroke him slowly with your hand instead. Jude lets out a wrecked, needy sound at the loss, hips chasing your mouth for a second before he catches himself. Before you can say anything, he’s tugging at you weakly, desperate.
“Too far away… come back up here, please.”
You crawl back up his body and he immediately pulls you in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your top, squeezing your waist, your hips, like he needs to feel all of you at the same time. The kiss goes on and on, lazy and filthy, tongues sliding slow while he whimpers softly into your mouth every time you stroke him.
You keep working your hand over his cock, slow and slick, and Jude’s hips rock up to meet every stroke, his breathing getting shakier. He breaks the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting.
“You don’t want to come yet?” you whisper against his lips, still stroking him lazily.
He shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanna be closer to you baby, wanna make you feel good.. wanna.. wanna— fuck.”
His sentence cuts off into a broken moan. For a long moment he just kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your body. His palm smooths over your stomach, then lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts like he’s giving you time to feel the anticipation. His fingers finally slip under the fabric, pushing your shorts and panties down your thighs in one clumsy but eager movement. He helps kick them the rest of the way off, big hands gentle on your skin the whole time.
Once they’re gone he settles between your spread legs, still kissing you slow and deep. His fingers drag through your folds and he curses softly against your mouth.
“You’re so wet for me, fuck…” He circles your clit slowly, almost lazily, but the way his breath catches tells you how much it affects him. “All this for me? After I played like shit for half the game?”
You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips against his hand, and he smiles a tired, crooked grin before leaning in to kiss you again. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on your clit, then dipping inside you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He’s still so hard against your thigh, twitching every time you moan.
Jude buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers work you open. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you around me. Wanna make you come first… then you can ride me slow while I hold you. I just— I need you close. So fucking close.”
He curls his fingers just right and you arch into him, moaning his name. Jude whimpers in response, pressing his cock against your hip like he can’t help it.
“Please, baby,” he breathes against your neck, voice hoarse and shaky. “I need to be inside you. Can’t wait anymore.”
You nod, pulling him up for another deep kiss as he lines himself up. “If you get tired just say, Jude,” you whisper against his lips. He looked so exhausted — eyes heavy, shoulders slumped — and part of you still felt a pang of guilt that he was going to be the one putting in all the effort tonight.
“You’re such an angel,” he whispers softly, pecking your forehead with heartbreaking tenderness, then leaning down for another deep kiss. “As if I could ever be too tired to fuck you.”
The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as he starts pushing in. He’s so slow and careful, even though you can feel how badly he wants to bury himself.
“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Inch by inch he sinks into you, stretching you open until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. The sound he makes is relief mixed with pleasure, a long, broken moan that vibrates through his chest.
For a moment he just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against your lips. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, desperate for the full body contact. You can feel how tired he is, the way his muscles are trembling from the long match and the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. “You feel so good,” he groans. “Just for me, yeah? Tell me this pussy belongs to me. ”
“It belongs to you, baby. Only you,” you moan softly, clenching around him. “I belong to you.”
A shaky breath leaves him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking softly on your skin while he gives one slow, grinding roll of his hips. “Good girl… all mine,” he mumbles, the words slurred with tiredness. “I don’t share you with anyone.”
Then he starts moving with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, grinding deep instead of thrusting hard. Every stroke is deliberate, like he’s savouring every second even though exhaustion is weighing on him. His breaths are heavier, his arms shaking slightly as he holds you, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down his temple. Still, he doesn’t stop. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and Jude lets out a soft, whiny sound again that makes you clench harder around him.
“Baby… yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Feels too good. You’re squeezing me so tight— fuck.”
His mouth finds yours again, the kiss sloppy and tired, tongues sliding lazily while he keeps that slow grind going. One hand stays gripping your hip, the other slides up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, thumb brushing your nipple almost absentmindedly, like even his hands are running out of energy but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s so vocal, whimpering your name, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he needs you.
You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming a little more desperate. “I’m so close,” he whines against your mouth. “Come with me, baby. Please. Wanna feel you come around me.”
One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. The combination of his cock dragging deep inside you, his fingers, his soft sleepy moans, pushes you over the edge first. You clench around him hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you.
Jude follows right after with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he comes deep inside you, hips stuttering. “Fuck— love you, love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, trembling through it.
Afterwards he collapses on top of you, heavy and warm, still buried inside. His arms wrap around you tightly, face tucked into your neck as he catches his breath. Soft kisses press against your shoulder, lazy and sweet.
“Best recovery ever,” he murmurs with a tired little laugh, voice muffled. “But I’m never moving ever again.”
You run your fingers down the muscles of his back, smiling as both of your breathing starts to even out, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion.
You kiss his temple, open your mouth to respond, but he's snoring softly before you can even reply.
intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 3.2k ) jude bellingham x f!reader ╱ when thomas tuchel makes a clear announcement that his players aren’t permitted to have sex on match days, jude’s girl takes a rebellious approach. she has her man’s best interests in mind, but tuchel won’t be too happy to find out a rule has been broken by his star player. . .
notes ♡⋆°୭ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship of 5 years. unprotected penetrative sex in the recovery room. quickie. softdom!jude. light dirty talk. semi-public. m+f!orgasm. creampie. getting caught!
JULY 11, 2026 ; Miami, Florida...
The Miami sun was beating down on your glowing skin, its light dimmed by the oversized sunglasses you shielded it with as you walked. Later today would be England vs Norway, and your boyfriend was most certainly going to be centre-stage, as usual.
It was the most heartwarming thing to watch him succeed so beautifully and admirably on the biggest platform within the sport, and you felt so privileged to be the woman by his side. The woman of the man who millions of other women yearned for, those who could only dream of being in his arms every night.
The World Cup so far had been incredible—you'd enjoyed every moment, and with the exciting state of Jude's team, there were only positives to be celebrated and praises to be made about this period in his career. Enjoyable so it was, except for one small thing. Ridiculous, really, for it truly was small, but there were certain decisions managers made and rules they put into firm place that you just couldn't get on board with. There were the silly decisions they made regarding the events and players on the pitch, there were the criticisms that you believed were much too harshly declared, and then there was what you believed to be the stupidest of them all.
It had been said before—by Ancelotti, by Alonso, even by Arbeloa earlier this year—and now, Thomas Tuchel had been very serious when he'd declared the same thing.
❛England players may have sex with their partners at any time during the World Cup, except on match days.❜
No, of course you didn't need to be put through the mattress by your man every day of the tournament, but Jude Bellingham never made it easy for a lady to be in his presence without her succumbing to a burning arousal, and even though he was your boyfriend of five years, that arousal somehow burned evermore.
Tuchel had thought the statement quite an obvious and sensible one, a good compromise in comparison to the initially considered approach where the players' partners would be entirely banned from visiting the players' hotel rooms. He realised that approach would be going too far, and that psychologically it would actually affect the men more to be forced away from their women. However, he still believed in sexual abstinence on the day of the game, to preserve energy and focus.
You on the other hand, along with several of the other WAGs, believed that to be a nonsense theory.
These were high-level, elite athletes, with stamina greater than most, and after doing so much exercise, dealing with so much adrenaline, also had sexual needs more than most. It would be cruel to deprive them of such a necessary release—you believed it was almost like a form of therapy, surely? A catharsis drawn from their very bloodstream, bodies needing oxytocin and dopamine to calm their restless and excitable hearts. One round of sex wasn't going to do any harm to their roles on the pitch.
And so, with that strong belief in mind, you found yourself cornering your unassuming boyfriend in the recovery room of England's designated private training base.
Jude took his athleticism very seriously, always adhering to rules in the interest of playing as skilfully and as successfully as possible. It always paid off, so he wasn't about to start messing with what had so far been working in his favour.
But you knew him well enough. You knew that your assumption was correct—that ejaculatory release could only be beneficial, because restriction and pent-up sexual frustration could only ever be a negative thing. You felt that you'd be doing your duties as a devoted, supporting girlfriend, if he'd hear you out and allow you to.
You'd been sitting with the other WAGs, watching your men run up and down, stretching their muscles, groaning with the exertion. Your eyes never left the gorgeous artwork that was Jude's body, and you hadn't realised you were quite literally biting your lip at him in public, sighing with need, pupils dilated though hidden by your sunglasses. You were wearing a tiny white summer dress with white kitten heels—likely a little too overdressed for merely attending training, but most of the other girls were with you on that.
And when a break was finally called—fifteen minutes, to be back there immediately afterward—you didn't wait a moment to pounce on him.
As he skipped over to you, all sweaty and slightly breathless, you did something very uncharacteristic. You hugged him despite the sweat, despite your ivory white mini dress, the one you cherished so dearly. Usually, Jude would shower before touching you after training or after a game, and that wasn't because you cared more about your appearance than your boyfriend—it was because he got so sweaty sometimes that it left wet stains on your summer-coloured clothing, and the paparazzi were always waiting around the corner.
Jude was surprised at the way you wrapped your arms around his neck without restraint, not even hesitating to allow his half-drenched shirt to collide with the pristine quality of your dress.
"Hey, baby, what's this?" he chuckled, holding your waist tight as you clung to him.
"Come with me," you whispered, stood up on your tiptoes to reach his ear. “Inside.”
He furrowed his brows in intrigue, wondering if something was wrong; and then you pulled away, took his hand, and strolled off inside the training complex, en route to your destination.
You entered into the recovery room, its purpose for ice baths and hydrotherapy, therefore of no use to anyone at present. And it was when you shut the door behind you, turning to give him that tell-tale smirk, that Jude realised exactly what you were up to.
"Hi, baby," you grinned, waiting for him to say something as he looked you up and down in amusement. Sure enough, your dress was already stained with patches of his sweat.
"I don't even think I need to ask what you're plannin' here."
"No, you don't, because asking wastes time, and we only have fifteen minutes, so c—" You began to walk into the corner you'd been eyeing as the perfect spot, where a wide couch sat before the wall, but Jude took you by the wrist and guided you back to face him.
"Darlin', we're not doin' that in here," he said plainly. His expression was still amused, but he was being serious, because he was still stuck on his refusal to rule-break.
"Why?" you pouted. "You have to hear me out first."
"Alright, whatever—go on," he smirked.
You interlaced both hands with his, and explained your own theory. "So, it's my personal opinion that Tuchel is viewing sexual intercourse in entirely the wrong way."
Jude raised a brow.
"He's saying it's gonna affect your performance, right? That it'll reduce focus and deplete you of energy, or whatever?"
"Orgasms do suck the life out of me sometimes."
You rolled your eyes. "After the fourth round! Not with a quickie. Nobody said we had to fuck all day and night, but I completely disagree with the statement that sex negatively affects performance." Now you stepped forward, dropping one of his hands to run your digits over his collarbone, a sensual smile on your lips. "I think, that really, it can only make a positive difference."
Jude was grinning wide now, entertained by this display of scientific theory governed by nothing other than the empirical evidence of your hormones.
"Do tell," he joked, provoking you to continue.
You giggled. "Well, we all know how difficult sexual frustration is," you sighed, dropping his other hand now and reaching over the crotch of his shorts, where a growing bulge could be felt beneath. "Surely it's unfair for a manager to force his players to deal with such a thing..." As you spoke, you rubbed and squeezed the weight of him, heart racing as you experienced the familiar feeling of his length hardening further under your touch. "And if you're too frustrated... it might only end up backfiring on the team. Tuchel wouldn't want that, would he?"
Jude shook his head, still smirking, because he refused to visibly fold at the way you spoke and fondled him, even while internally he was going insane.
"And you wanna break that rule in here, yeah?" he asked. "In this room?"
"Mhm. Right now, pretty please..." you sung with faux-innocence into his ear, on your tiptoes again to lean into his chest, still kneading your hand over his shorts.
"Pretty please, hm?" he repeated, with a slight mocking tone that sent a deeper rush of arousal through you. Your panties were clinging tight to your glistening folds—you were surely smothered in arousal beneath that fabric.
"Jude..." you whispered, leaning further forward to brush your lips over his neck, breathing in his scent as your tongue darted out within a kiss to the skin.
You heard him hiss, and he felt your reaction, your widening smile just beside his Adam's apple.
“So," he murmured, "first you’re tryna get me to do somethin’ the boss has made illegal, and now you’re tryna get us caught doin’ it too.”
“J…” you beamed innocently, stepping away now and rocking back and forth on your heels. "We won't get caught..."
He shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile that expressed just how predictable this was. Never would you play by the rules, no matter how high-stakes the game ahead. And again, you truly were a firm believer in your own opposing theory that pre-match sex could only be beneficial to England’s star player. It would excellently boost morale, and that was the most crucial quality in this stage of the competition, right?
Without needing to give another plea, you twirled 180 degrees, before strutting over to the smallest corner of the room, past a row of red light therapy beds. Jude followed in tow.
And there you stood by the plush grey couch, admiring it as the most ideal, most comfortable piece of furniture to have a quickie on. It was almost like it had been placed there for that very purpose. The universe knew to give you the idea that you should enter this specific room, because the act really was what Jude needed, even if he might have fought it initially. Now, he was coming round.
"Sit down, handsome," you smiled, guiding him to do so, and even despite another amused eye roll, he did. He sat up against the back of the couch, settled into the furniture with a demeanour that gave away what words didn't need to. He was on your side now.
You giggled as you straddled him, legs bracketing his strong, muscular thighs. "’m gonna ride you, baby—'n I'll be quick, I promise."
"Better be, sweetheart," he murmured, smacking your ass harshly. You yelped, arching your back and taking that as an incentive to begin rocking over his clothed dick. As you did, you watched him raise his right wrist slightly, checking the time on his watch. "Just under ten minutes now, c'mon. If y' need it that badly, y' gonna have to start speedin' up."
You were grinding down harder now, his dick straining through his boxers, your pussy perfectly prepped in its drenched arousal. There would be no time for foreplay—although it was true that you pretty much always needed it with Jude.
Wasting no more time, you tugged at his waistband, pulling both layers down just enough to free his achingly hard cock. It stood up with a pop, thick veins running all along from base to tip, precum leaking from the slit and down the underside. You almost physically salivated at the sight, as though a dog in heat had met its human form.
"Can't be starin' too long, baby," Jude smirked, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You were lost in your own world, always amazed by how lucky you were to have this perfect asset waiting for you every single day.
You chuckled, grinning as you pulled your soaked panties to the side and rubbed the weight of him along your dripping sex. The head of his dick provided the perfect friction, and you spent a few moments too long just gliding it up and down your folds, the anticipation of him filling you almost as satisfying as the fullness itself.
Your eyes were clamped shut, revelling in the feeling, but you had a sharp awakening when you felt Jude's hand suddenly slam down on your asscheek again. He was never intentionally too harsh, but your ass was just too pleasing, too pretty to look at...
"C'mon, princess," he ordered, with a raised brow. "Would've been easier if I'd fucked you against that wall, no?"
"No, baby, shut up, 'm fine, just let me—ohhhhh..." Finally, you eased down onto him, hands immediately gripping his shoulders with the impact of his girth stretching your tight walls.
"Aw, that's it..." he both cooed and groaned, hands settling at the curve of your ass to guide your position.
"J, you're so—oh, mmm, God..." You babbled incoherencies while you slowly took every inch, and of course he talked you through it.
"Yeah, that's it, c'mon now, baby... Nearly there..."
"Just a little more... Takin' it so well..."
"Pretty pussy, squeezin' me so tight..."
His words only made you even more insatiable, and as you finally sunk down, his girth nestled perfectly in your heat, you began to bounce. There really was no time to waste, and you hadn't planned on going slow.
"Oh, yes, fuck, that's my girl," Jude moaned beneath you, gripping your hips and your ass so tight that you were certain there'd be bruises if he kept it up.
"Yeah, you love how I bounce on you like this, baby? Feels so good, J..." you whined as you lifted your hips up and down, chasing your peak. You raised your hands to meet your clothed breasts, kneading over the tissue, but wishing the style of fabric had instead allowed for your man's easy access, because his hands on your bare skin was nothing short of heavenly.
The feeling of him filling you up was another slice of heaven, and on his dick you moaned like a whore, rocking back and forth, making figure-eights with your hips.
"So fuckin' tight for me, sweetheart," Jude muttered under his breath, looking up into your ever-fluttering eyes. "Y'so needy, always thinkin' about gettin' fucked..."
You giggled through another whine, placing your hands on his chest now to help with balance as you surrendered your body to him completely. You rode him with force, high-pitched sounds spilling out of your throat with each alteration in movement, and now it was even clearer to you: this was certainly what every player in this World Cup needed to proceed successfully. What could be more galvanising, more energy-inducing, than the inspiring motivation of a woman's sex? You knew Jude would be thinking about this throughout the rest of the day—you knew he'd get flashbacks during the game—but never did that mean a disruptive distraction. No—you were essentially his muse, his source of stimulation to drive him to success, that last piece of the puzzle on top of all the hard work he put in. As your pussy squeezed his aching length (for the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours, mind you), you ascended toward climax, riding impossibly faster while the outside world became a blur, nothing existing but the two of you...
"Oh, Jude, 'm gonna cum—" you nearly screamed, rubbing circles over your clit now, desperate to reach your peak. Beneath you, Jude was bucking up his hips with an eagerness mirroring yours, and with it he groaned profanities.
"Yeah, baby, fuck—need you to cum for me..."
"I'm so close, J, oh, yes..."
The couch, as sturdy as it was, creaked beneath you, and you bounced your ass down onto him as hard as possible, moaning without restraint as Jude grabbed and smacked at the flesh, wet snapping noises echoing throughout the room and surely through the hall. You leaned down to kiss him as you finally came, his tongue swallowing the extent of your lewd sounds, although you'd already made enough of a noise in the last few minutes.
He was so close too, and with a few more thrusts upward into your sweet spot, his orgasm crashed through his sensitive body.
"Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh—that's it, take it, baby..."
Hot ropes of cum shot up into your womb, filling you wholly as you sighed breathlessly into his neck, collapsing forward.
"J, oh my..."
Jude caught his breath too, blinking rapidly to bring himself back to earth. He'd obviously be fine to play tonight, but would he definitely be fine to resume training with his teammates in—he checked his watch again—just two minutes time?
"Shit, darlin', you've got me fucked up," he murmured in your ear, and you smiled wide, peppering kisses all over his face. He mirrored your expression, relishing in your facial kisses, but internally cursing the fact that he'd have to pull out in a moment. His cock was softened now, but your wet, cosy heat felt too heavenly enveloping him, and he wished the rest of the day could be called off so that he could spend it with only you and your ethereal body. In that room, so perfectly entwined, it really did feel like you were the only two people inhabiting the earth.
In reality however, you weren’t, and in a moment someone would be reminding you of that. While Jude's mind might have been still half-focused on his responsibilities, neither of you expected what came next.
Suddenly, the door creaked open from the opposite end of the room.
"Oh my God—fuck," you both cursed in unison.
Luckily, whoever it was couldn't see you both from that entrance, so, in your shock and panic, you each managed to detach, jump up from the couch and rush over to another corner just in time, fixing yourselves to look presentable.
But there was cum on the couch, and more dripping down your thighs. You'd clean the couch once the person had left, but what were you to do about the sticky mess on your legs? Jude was trying not to laugh, and you kept nudging him, needing to get him to shut up.
"Stop it, you idiot—they'll hear!" you whisper-shouted.
No use, of course; and now the individual was facing you. While earlier you'd praised the universe for granting you the perfect room for sex, you now cursed those same stars for putting you in this horrifying position. Because indeed, the individual facing you was none other than Thomas Tuchel himself.
As he looked you both up and down, you literally almost fainted and threw up at once. The two of you weren't indecent, thankfully, but it was incredibly obvious what you'd been doing. The flustered look on your faces told of that alone. Jude wasn't laughing anymore.
"Had a nice time?" he asked, with a sincerely raised brow.
You both stuttered, and in the awkwardness you decided it had to be Jude to deal with it, because you weren't the one on personal terms with the England manager. Quickly, you rushed into the bathroom just behind you, knowing that no action you made could be more embarrassing than what had just happened, and in there you leaned against the door, clamping your eyes shut in embarrassment.
After a few moments to collect yourself, you then cleaned Jude's cum from your legs, fixed up your hair and your dress, and once player and manager had left the recovery room together, you finally stepped out.
Attending England's training sessions would go on to feel a lot different from then on, and you only hoped that your reckless morning wouldn't make it past those four walls and into a headline.
i know this is such a done before concept but i love the idea of jude bellingham x kane!reader as in maybe harry’s little sister she could be adopted anything etc but i just love the concept because i think he’d be so annoyed (harry that is) and jude’s just there.
BREAKFAST - ju. bellingham
inwhich! you were never a morning or breakfast person until you met your boyfriend, jude, which so happens to be your older brothers close friend.
frannytalks! thank you so muchx10 for 700 followers, i appreciate all the support so much!! <33 also, i’d love to make more jude x harry’s sister soon! maybe a world cup related one. ;) don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!
you met jude a few years ago through your older brother, harry. it was technically his fault you two found each other since he’d non-stop talking about jude when he had first met him during his come-up.
and it wasn’t that he didn’t approve of jude, because he did, he loved him as a player and person. he thought he was perfect for you, the only thing he didn’t like was that jude was his friend first.
when you two first started seeing each other it was in secret. you’d text, facetime quietly at night, and hang out only at his place.
the way harry found out was because you forgot to turn off your location one time. it was a random thursday afternoon, you and jude planned a cute movie night since it was winter time.
you took an uber to his house and you were distracted by the release of your favorite show’s new season. you had been scrolling through posts, rewatching clips, and watching theories that you forgot to turn your location off.
you were cuddled on jude’s couch when you got a call from your brother. your heart dropped, so did jude’s, you assumed. you panicked instantly. not knowing if you should answer the call or ignore it.
jude told you to ignore it, then he texted you, once, twice, three times, and then five more. you tried to ignore it, but you eventually picked it up only to read,
-
“where are you?”
“why are you at jude’s house?”
“answer my call.”
“what are you doing?”
“i know you see this.”
“you better not be sneaking around.”
“come home, now.”
-
you read them all out to jude too, he couldn’t help but laugh at you for forgetting to turn off your location. jude dropped you off at your place and had a lengthy conversation with harry, that lasted for about two hours.
last night was the first time jude slept over, ever. he was a big breakfast person which you are not. you woke up from jude texting you to come downstairs for breakfast.
you finally got up about twenty minutes later and made your way downstairs. you saw jude and harry, and a full plate in an empty seat. you said good morning to both of them, rubbing your eyes.
“you want juice or water with that love?” jude asked, standing up and walking towards the fridge.
you could feel harry roll his eyes and hold his sigh back, “water is fine, thank you.”
“since when do you eat breakfast?” he scoffs, pushing your plate slightly.
“since today,” you smirked, “problem?”
he squinted his eyes, “you’re only doing it because of,” he said, nodding his head towards jude.
jude handed you the water, “i eat breakfast occasionally, harry.” you said, taking a bite.
“sure, you’ve lived with me for what, five years now?” he laughed, “and you have eaten breakfast maybe ten days out of those five years.”
“you’re just jealous no one made you breakfast, harry.” you laugh, teasing him.
-
jude and harry were now playing some shooting video game, you felt left out and asked jude for a turn. harry begged jude not to give you the controller, but of course jude didn’t listen to him.
he handed you the remote quickly, “thank you!” you smiled, pressing random buttons.
“i don’t even want to play anymore.” harry sighed, watching you play.
“hey!” you yelped, “i’m just not familiar with these control settings, or this game.” you said, mumbling the last part.
“jude take it back, i beg.” harry said while putting his hands together.
jude nodded no, laughing and holding you close, guiding your hands for which buttons to use. harry sighed, and eventually gave up on playing which left you and jude to play alone.
-
later in the day you were playing around with jude hair and put a face mask on him, harry walked by and sighed once more.
you jumped off jude’s lap to go to your bedroom door, “what is your problem?” you playfully asked.
“you’re just annoying,” harry said, as he took a glance at jude, “i can’t believe i let you do this with my friend.”
you laughed softly, “he likes me better,” you say, sticking out your tongue.
he rolls his eyes, laughing a little, “when you’re alone, yeah.”
“jude! me or harry?” you smile, opening the door and turning around so you both are facing him.
jude widened his eyes, looking between you two, and his face was heating up. he stuttered, and didn’t give an answer.
“see, that answer means me.” you shrug and smile, “right, jude?”
jude looked over at you with pleading eyes, he tucked his lips in and nodded while raising his shoulders, still not saying anything.
“thought so.” you said, pushing harry softly, and making your way back over to jude.
“i still can’t believe it.” harry laughed as he made his way out your room.
Can I request Judexfemreader smut all positions all over the house all kinks. Anything plsss I’m ovulating and touch deprived 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
I hope this is everything you wanted! Enjoy bb 💛
~
Welcome Home Baby - Jude Bellingham
-
Warnings: Explicit smut | Consensual rough sex | Touch-starved/feral behaviour | Multiple sex scenes (couch, shower, bed) | Praise kink (heavy) | Slight choking (consensual hand on throat) | Heavy eye contact during deep penetration | Possessive dirty talk | Size kink (implied) | Creampie (multiple) | Descriptions of curvy/plus-size body (thick thighs, soft belly, full breasts) | Overstimulation | No prep | Slight possessiveness | Aftercare | All consensual.
Word Count: 2.9k
A/N: I hope yall eat this tf up because I lowkey did.
—
The front door clicks open at 9:17 p.m.
You’re halfway through a pint of ice cream on the couch in nothing but one of Jude’s old Madrid training shirts and a pair of black panties, thighs spread lazily while some mindless reality show drones in the background. You haven’t shaved in four days. Your hair is a mess. You’re horny enough to cry.
Then you hear his voice — low, tired, amused.
“Miss me, baby?”
Your head snaps up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.
There he is.
Jude fucking Bellingham, your sexy ass man.
Six-foot-one of lean muscle and golden skin, still wearing travel sweats and a black hoodie, duffel bag dropped at his feet. His curls are a little longer, eyes soft with exhaustion but already darkening the second they land on you — on the way the shirt rides up your thick thighs, on the way your chest heaves under the thin fabric, on the way your lips part like you’ve just seen God.
You don’t think.
You pounce.
The ice cream hits the floor. The spoon clatters. You’re across the living room in three strides, launching yourself at him so hard he actually stumbles back against the door with a surprised laugh that dies the second your mouth crashes into his.
“Missed you,” you pant between kisses, hands already shoving his hoodie up. “Missed you so fucking much, Jude — weeks, it’s been weeks—”
“I know, I know,” he murmurs, but his hands are already on your ass, squeezing the soft, full curves like he’s trying to memorize them again. “Fuck, you feel good. Look at you—”
You don’t let him finish.
You bite his bottom lip, tug his hoodie off, and push him toward the couch. He lets you. Of course he does. He’s smirking against your mouth but his hands are greedy — sliding under the hem of his shirt on your body, palms dragging up the sides of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your heavy breasts.
The back of his knees hit the couch and he drops down. You follow instantly, straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. Your panties are already soaked. You can feel it. He can definitely feel it when you grind down against the growing bulge in his sweats.
“Baby—” he tries, voice rough.
“No talking,” you whine, yanking the shirt over your head. Your tits spill free, full and soft and bouncing with the movement. Jude’s eyes drop to them immediately, a low curse leaving him.
“Fuck, I missed these.”
You don’t give him time to worship. You’re too feral.
You shove his sweats down just enough to free his cock — thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. The sight of it after weeks apart makes your mouth water. You don’t even bother with foreplay. You hook your panties to the side and sink down on him in one smooth, greedy motion.
The stretch burns so good.
A broken moan rips from your throat. Jude’s head falls back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before they snap open again — locking onto yours.
“Eyes on me,” he orders, voice suddenly deeper. One hand slides up your throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there. A reminder. “That’s it. Look at me while you take this dick, yeah?”
You nod frantically, lips parted, breath already ragged as you start moving. Rolling your hips in messy, desperate circles, riding him like you’ll die if you stop. The wet slap of skin fills the room immediately. Your tits bounce with every movement and Jude’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, guiding you, helping you fuck yourself on him.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice wrecked. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Look how wet you are — all that for me?”
“Yes,” you whimper. “Only you. Missed you so much—”
“I know, baby. I know.” His thumb strokes the side of your neck. “You’re squeezing me so tight. This pussy missed me, huh?”
You moan louder, grinding down harder, taking him deeper. The eye contact is almost too much — his dark eyes boring into yours, watching every flicker of pleasure across your face. He looks like he wants to devour you.
His hand on your throat tightens — just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your walls flutter around him.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you gasp. “You, Jude — fuck—”
“That’s right.” He thrusts up suddenly, meeting you halfway, and your eyes almost roll back. “Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to see you like this — all pretty and feral and creaming on my cock. You hear me?”
You nod, tears pricking your eyes from how deep he is, from how good it feels, from how much you missed him.
He loosens his grip on your throat and slides his hand down to slap your ass — hard. The sting blooms beautifully across your soft skin.
“Ride me properly then. Show me how bad you needed it.”
You do.
You brace your hands on his shoulders and fuck him like you’re trying to break him. The couch creaks underneath you. Your moans mix with his grunts. He keeps praising you the whole time — “That’s it, just like that… fuck, you’re so beautiful… look at those tits bounce for me… good girl, good fucking girl” — until you shatter.
Your orgasm hits you so hard your vision whites out. You cry out his name, thighs shaking, pussy pulsing around him as you soak his lap. Jude doesn’t stop. He grips your hips with both hands and fucks you through it, deep and relentless, eyes never leaving yours.
Only when you start to slump does he slow down, pulling you down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.
But you’re not done.
Not even close.
You’re still clenching around him when you whisper against his lips, “Shower. Now.”
He laughs — low, dark, delighted — and stands up with you still impaled on his cock. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. He carries you like you weigh nothing, mouth still on yours, cock still buried deep as he walks you both to the bathroom.
The shower is barely warm by the time he presses you against the tiles.
He fucks you there too — slower this time, deeper, one of your thick thighs hooked over his arm so he can watch every inch of him disappear inside you. Water cascades over both of you. Your curls are ruined. His are plastered to his forehead. Neither of you cares.
“Look at me,” he demands again, forehead pressed to yours. His hand comes back to your throat — light, possessive. “Eyes on me while I fuck you deep, baby. Want to see you fall apart again.”
You can’t look away even if you wanted to.
He praises you through the entire second orgasm — telling you how perfect you are, how tight, how wet, how no one else will ever make you feel like this. You come with his name on your tongue and his eyes locked on yours, his cock hitting that spot so perfectly you see stars.
He pulls out before he finishes, stroking himself once, twice, and painting your belly and tits with hot stripes of cum. The sight alone almost makes you come again.
You both wash up quickly after that — sort of. There’s a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, his hands soaping up every curve of your body like he’s rediscovering it.
But the second you’re out of the shower?
You don’t even dry off.
Jude throws you onto the bed while you’re both still dripping wet. The sheets soak instantly underneath you. He climbs over you, caging you in, water droplets falling from his curls onto your chest.
“One more,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Need to feel you one more time.”
You nod frantically, legs spreading for him immediately. He slides back inside you in one smooth thrust — so deep your back arches clean off the bed.
“Fuck, Jude—”
“I’ve got you.” He leans down, elbows braced on either side of your head so he can keep that heavy eye contact. “That’s it. Take all of me, such a good fucking girl.”
His hand finds your throat again — firmer this time, thumb pressing just under your jaw so your head tilts back slightly. Not cutting off air, just holding you there. Owning you.
You’re so wet from the shower and from two orgasms already that the sounds are obscene. Every deep stroke makes a filthy wet smack. Your tits jiggle with every thrust. Jude can’t stop looking at you — eyes flicking between your face, your bouncing chest, and where you’re stretched around him.
“Missed this pussy so much,” he groans. “Missed how she grips me. Missed how pretty you look when you cum. Give me one more, baby. Come on. Let me feel it.”
You’re already so close.
The praise, the eye contact, the way he’s fucking you so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach — it’s overwhelming.
His free hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles.
“What did I say baby? Eyes on me,” he reminds you when your lids flutter. “Don’t look away. Want to watch you fall apart while I’m inside you.”
You cum harder than you have all night.
Your whole body locks up, walls spasming around his cock so tightly he curses. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, eyes wide and locked on his the entire time. Jude fucks you through it, hips losing rhythm, praise spilling from his lips like a prayer.
“Fuck — that’s it, baby. So good. So perfect. My girl. My fucking girl—”
He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a broken moan, flooding you deep. You feel every pulse, every spurt, and it makes your orgasm drag on impossibly longer.
For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the wet drip of shower water still sliding off your bodies onto the ruined sheets.
Jude collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you, but close enough that you feel surrounded by him. His hand slides from your throat to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, dazed and blissed out, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Missed you.”
He chuckles softly and kisses you — slow, deep, reverent this time.
“Never leaving you that long again,” he promises against your mouth. “Not when you jump me like that. Fuck, I think I’m ruined.”
You laugh, the sound bright and happy, and pull him closer.
The sheets are soaked. Your bodies are sticky. Your thighs ache in the best way.
And you’ve never felt more loved — or more thoroughly fucked — in your life.
gentleman!jude who . . . lets you ride his dick after a long day.
gentleman!jude who . . . always praises you while having sex. He just wants you to know how pretty and good you are to him. Jude has so many sweet things to say to you.
gentleman!jude who . . . knows you have a huge fixation with his biceps, which is why when he’s fucking you from behind, he wraps his arm around your neck, choking you a little with his bicep.
gentleman!jude who . . . always teases during sex. Even though he’s a gentleman, Jude likes to play around and be the type to make you beg for what you want. To understand Jude's teasing, you have to focus on the questions.
"Does it feel good?"
"Do you want it? How badly do you want it?"
"Will you let me come inside you, my love? Please ask me for it."
gentleman!jude who . . . never, under any circumstances, starts undressing you without first kissing your hands, your shoulders, and your neck.
gentleman!jude who . . . treats your pleasure as a priority. If he notices you’re tired or stressed, he’ll lay you down on the bed, take off your shoes, and take care of you without asking for anything in return. He will spend hours eating you out and using his fingers, making sure you have multiple orgasms. For him, it’s: happy wife, happy life.
gentleman!jude who . . . is the type of boyfriend who opens the car door for you, who wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close to his body when you’re walking down the street, and who looks at you like you’re the most valuable prize he has ever won in his entire life. Jude will give you the dirtiest sex at night, but he will always wake up being the most polite, protective, and deeply in love man in the world. Just a real gentleman.
gentleman!jude who . . . loves looking into your eyes, demanding direct eye contact when things get intense. If you try to hide your face in the pillow or cover your eyes because you’re embarrassed by how loudly you’re moaning, Jude will gently take your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him.
gentleman!jude who . . . uses his suits to drive you crazy during sex. He knows perfectly well the effect he has on you when he’s dressed elegantly. Sometimes, he won’t even take off his shirt or tie, he’ll just unbutton what’s necessary to be sexier. Feeling the cold, expensive fabric of his suit brushing against your bare skin while he thrusts into you deeply is an experience every woman should feel. (just not with your charming boyfriend)
gentleman!jude who . . . adores gifting you fine lingerie just for the pleasure of taking it off you himself.
gentleman!jude who . . . has such a serious sense of chivalry that he prefers to sync his orgasms with yours so you never feel alone at the climax.
gentleman!jude who . . . pays attention to the smallest details you mention in passing. If one day you say that a specific book, perfume, or candy caught your eye while talking, don’t be surprised if a few days later you come home and find it on the table with a cute note written by Jude.
gentleman!jude who . . . never lets you walk on the curbside of the street.
gentleman!jude who . . . loved kisses, both giving and receiving them. He couldn’t live without your lips.
No because what the actual fuck was that decision?
You mean to tell me months—if not YEARS—of development.
…and your solution was to throw the ENTIRE SIXTH LOVE INTEREST into the trash?
ARE YOU SERIOUS?
I'm not saying people shouldn't have been angry about the 731 reference. They absolutely had every right to be. Unit 731 is one of the darkest chapters in history and if that reference was made carelessly, then yes, people deserved an apology and an explanation.
But explain to me how Valko became the sacrificial lamb here.
Who exactly does this help?
The people who were hurt by the reference? They still deserve accountability.
The people who were excited for Valko? Congratulations, you just told them to go fuck themselves.
The developers who spent who knows how long creating an entirely new LI? Their work gets deleted overnight.
So what was the goal here?
Because this doesn't feel like taking responsibility. It feels like corporate damage control.
Fix the story.
Rewrite the chapter.
Delete the offending reference.
Delay the release.
Fire whoever thought using 731 and 611 was acceptable if you have to.
But deleting an ENTIRE CHARACTER because of a mistake in ONE PART OF THE GAME is such an absurd overreaction that I genuinely can't wrap my head around it.
I'm just so unbelievably disappointed. because Infold's response was somehow even worse than the original mistake.
We lost a character.
The developers lost their work.
The fandom lost something people had been excited about.
What an absolute fucking waste.
When you have plausible deniability because your kid looks like you, but some people take one look at her and go, "Yeah… that's definitely Antoine's child."
To celebrate the World Cup (and also because I'm so pumped about it), here's a football game set in the CT:OS universe... yes, the one I've been itching to write for a long time.
Synopsis
At twenty five, you'd been touted as England's next legendary footballer. Then, on the cusp of an actual breakthrough—disaster strikes. An injury, a broken engagement, and a doping ban that sends you into a catastrophic tailspin.
Now, you’re thirty, with a past weighed down by unfulfilled dreams and haunted by what-ifs. Everyone has already written you off as a washed-up has-been who’d never lived up to their potential.
When the English manager decides to believe in improbable lost causes and names you in his World Cup squad, you get one last chance at rewriting your story.
Release
It'll be out for patreon/ko-fi supporters ($6 and above) on Fri, Jun 19. Stay tuned for the link :)
Features
There's about 19k words in the chapter (maybe about 12k or so in each play through?).
It's the last match of the season (Larkspool vs. Armstead—yes, teams are fictionalized), and you're up against Rayyan and Tobin. Deepal and Emerson are on your team
You get a call from the English World Cup manager... then have birthday dinner with Sam.
Unfortunately G didn't get to make it to this chapter (I'm sorry) but in this alternate universe, G's an investigative journalist who gets forced into covering the World Cup because they've ruffled some feathers and their bosses want them to 'lay low' and 'have some fun' for once. Spoiler: G's not very pleased about it.
Disclaimer: It's only a player set-up + prologue chapter (and I have no plans to expand it currently despite absolutely LOVING the process of writing it) but I thought in the spirit of World Cup season, it'll be fun to share it with you guys! Also, just take note that it's not particularly polished (and certainly not beta-tested!)
Omg could you please do some or all of the NSFW alphabet for adrian tepes, i would be extremely grateful 😭😭😭 (if you’ve never heard of it look it up on tumblr and you’ll find the template)
finally got my thoughts together for this
a = aftercare
alucard is incredibly gentle with you afterward, even if you both didn’t get too wild- he is just in a sweet, lovey mood. giving you little kisses everywhere and cleaning you up, then holding you while you fall asleep.
b = body part
alucard loves your hands. he loves holding them in his, intertwining his fingers with yours, trapping them above your head while he sinks into you. he especially loves kissing them, making you fluster at such an innocent gesture while you’re doing something so filthy.
c = cum
i don’t really think he’s one for a breeding kink?? i think he would be terrified at the prospect of having kids. he would be too afraid of crashing out like his father if something happened to you and giving them no choice but to end him and live with the guilt. i did not mean for a prompt about cum to be this depressing
d = dirty secret
we all know how he looks at trevor and sypha. he would only be into if you were into it. that said he would be so into it. watching him be so rough with trevor, so submissive with sypha, and a delicious mix with you. meshing together, exploring each other, cuddling in one big pile after.
e=experience
HE GOT NONE LOL…i do think he is a relatively quick learner though, he’s a very focused and determined person and will learn what makes you tick quick.
f = favorite position
def missionary, holding your hand and looking into your eyes while he fucks you hard and fast or deep and slow, it doesn’t matter so long as he sees your face.
g = goofy
i think i could get a little silly with it, but definitely doesn’t initiate the silly mood during sex. maybe if you’re both a little tipsy, you tripped, your shirt got stuck, etc; he would just look at you and burst into uncontrollable laughter that would give him the giggles all night.
h = hair
doesn’t manscape often given the time period but definitely does…out of sheer boredom at least
i = intimacy
he values it so much, he needs to see you and hear you and feel you. for him, sex isn’t quick fun, it’s connecting, it’s intimacy. it’s literally an act of pouring all his love into you, and he’ll make sure you know that.
j = jack off
he probably has but doesn’t strike me as the type to do it often, he’s very disciplined.
k = kink
PRAISE. he loves hearing you praise him, and he loves the flustered look on your face when he praises you. definitely has a love-biting thing, loves seeing the slight indent of his fangs in your skin. i also think he has a thing for size, being such a tall ethereal being and also having at least a quarter of a predator instinct. like he probably thinks of how small you are compared to him and will short circuit, his brain crowded with the urge to protect you and ravish you in equal measure.
l = location
i do not see this guy getting nasty anywhere but the bed or the couch. he’s definitely old fashioned like that. and he wants to know you’re comfy!
m = motivation
when you run your hands through his hair and tug ever so gently, it’s over. he’s putty in your hands. especially if you praise him in the process.
n = no
i think bondage for obvious reasons, he never wants to feel that feeling again nor does he want you to, so it’s just off the table. he likes biting and playing rough with you, but he will never hurt you. even the slightest frown will get him to snap out of it and check in with you. he could not bring himself to ever hurt you on purpose.
o = oral
oh this man is a giver….like….sinking his fangs softly into your inner thigh and licking up the blood before he goes in LIKE!!! and don’t get me started on when you’re on your period, he’s practically feral, holding your hips down and drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re shaking and can’t go any longer.
p = pace
he can definitely do all, but prefers it deep and slow, he wants to savor everything. he wants to commit your pleasured, flustered, blissed out face to his immortal memory. he wants to make sure he remembers the most divine thing he has ever seen, the most divine thing he’s ever done, if he’s feeling poetic.
q = quickie
he doesn’t like them. like i said, sex is deeply intimate and loving for him and he can’t just fuck one out quickly.
r = risk
i think if you expressed wanting to do something that he wasn’t necessarily opposed to, he’d have an open mind about it and at least try it once.
s = stamina
beast. actual beast. he can control himself, though, and knows you can’t go as many rounds as he could, and he would never push you to. but if you felt like being edged? ohohohoho
t = toys
i don’t think sex toys existed back then…i could be wrong. but even in modern aus i don’t see him using them.
u = unfair
he doesn’t tease you often, but when he’s in a cheeky mood, he’s in a cheeky mood. he definitely can be withholding when he wants to be, and he knows he can stick it out longer than you. will definitely tell you to “ask nicely” and won’t obey until he hears the prettiest pleases.
v = volume
i think he’s fairly low volume, but very breathy. also talkative if he’s in the mood for it. just narrating what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, how he’s making you feel and having you affirm it could bring him to the brink faster. definitely whimpers, though, just tries his hardest to contain it.
w = wild card
reads about sex. like, all the books he can find on it. and will definitely fuck you on the sofa in the library while he asks you to read a passage out loud, whispering how well you’re doing and how good you are for him, all while chuckling as your voice shakes.
x = x ray
well we’ve seen his chest. but his dick is definitely big. not monstrous. but long. definitely a long boy
y = yearning
i think he has a fairly normal sex drive. not too high, not too low. he’s goldilocks :)
z = zzz
doesnt fall asleep until you do. he just wants to make sure you’re okay, and he loves watching how peaceful you look, wrapped up safe in his arms.
🍋𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝙼𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗🍋 @tangylemonade - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
