Would u do one in which her and Jude are doing it in his familly home and the whole family is downstairs but they're not aware of the noise they're making. smth like that. thx you!! :)
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𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You really shouldn't have teased Jude earlier. Now you're paying the price—with his family just one floor below.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x you
Warnings! FLUFF! established relationship, NSFW / SMUT (18+), explicit sexual content, dirty talk, praise, possessive Jude, family downstairs, risk of getting caught, This chapter contains mature themes and explicit content intended for readers 18+.
You should have known better than to tease him at dinner.
Because now the joke's on you.
Now you're pinned beneath him on this too-small single bed—the same bed he's had since he was fourteen, apparently, with a mattress that creaks if you so much as breathe wrong—and his hand is over your mouth, his hips pressed tight against your ass, voice a ruined whisper against your ear.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" Jude's breath is hot against the shell of your ear, as his palm presses firmer against your lips. "Running your foot up my leg under the table like that. Hm?"
You whimper against his hand, and he groans low in his throat.
"Sh, baby. They're gonna hear us," he murmurs against your skin, and the bastard sounds amused.
His hand spans your waist, thumb pressing into the soft dip above your hipbone. He's behind you, chest flush to your back, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh trapped in his ribcage where it presses into your spine. The mattress groans beneath your combined weight. They've got the telly on downstairs, but neither of you want to risk. As much as you enjoy the slight danger, it would be too embarrassing for both of you.
He noses along your jaw, and his lips brush the spot just below your ear that he knows makes you crazy.
"Couldn't even wait till we got home," he murmurs, and you can hear the grin in it. "Just had to have my cock in you, huh?"
His hand slides from your mouth to grip your chin instead, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His eyes are dark in the low light of his childhood bedroom, hal-lidded with pleasure. He presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.
"Answer me," he says, soft and firm, his thumb dragging across your lower lip.
You blink up at him, dazed. "Yes."
"Yes, wanted to get fucked," you manage, voice barely a breath. "Wanted you."
"That's right," he says, and his hand slides from your chin to wrap loosely around the front of your throat, barely adding pressure. "Couldn't even be good for me at dinner, could you? Had me so hard I couldn't think."
His pace quickens, each one punching a soft sound out of you, ones that you can't swallow back no matter how hard you try. The mattress springs groan in time with his movements, and your eyes fly to the door.
"I know." His forehead drops to the back of your shoulder, his breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts through his nose. "I know, baby. But you're gonna have to be so quiet for me. Can you do that?"
You nod, but the truth is you're not sure you can.
Not when he's fucking you this good.
His hand tightens slightly around your throat—just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm—and he shifts his weight. The new angle hits that spot deep inside that only he's ever managed to, and the sound that escapes you is embarrassing.
"Shh, shh, shh," he soothes, but his hips don't stop. If anything, he goes deeper, rolling into you with a slow grinds that have your toes curling. "God, you're so tight. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
You do.
The stretch of him, the heat of him, the way his stomach flexes against your lower back with every thrust. Your hand shoots back to grip his thigh, nails biting into the muscle there as you try to push him away, and he hisses through his teeth.
"Uh uh—" He catches your wrist, pins it behind your back, and his voice drops even lower. "Don't run from it. Take it." Your face presses into the pillow, and you bite down on the fabric to muffle the moan that builds in your chest. He lets out a breathless laugh behind you. "That's it. Bite the pillow if you have to." His free hand smooths down your spine, "Good girl."
The mattress betrays you both again with a sharp creak, and you both freeze. His hips still, buried deep. From downstairs, you can faintly hear chatter.
Jude's mouth finds your ear. "They're right there," he whispers, rolling his hips slow. "And you're soaking my cock like this." You clench around him involuntarily, and his whole body shudders. "Oh, you like that, don't you? Dirty girl. Like knowing they could walk up those stairs any second." You shake your head against the pillow, but your body tells a different story.
"Liar," he murmurs, and you can feel his smile against your neck.
His hand releases your wrist, and immediately his fingers find your hip, gripping tight as he starts moving again. Slow, deep thrusts that make sure you feel every inch of him pulling out before sliding back in.
"Baby, please," you breathe into the pillow, and your voice cracks on it.
"Please what?" Jude's voice is a rasp against the nape of your neck, and you can feel his patience fraying at the edges, the controlled rhythm of his hips stuttering just slightly. "Use your words."
"More," you whimper. "Need more."
Jude makes a sound behind you and his hips snap forward hard enough to shove you up the mattress. Your hand slaps against the headboard, "Gonna be the death of me," he moans into your shoulder, "Want it harder?" he asks, though his gentle tone betrays his intentions. "Tell me. Tell me what you need, sweet girl."
"You. Just—more. Please, Jude."
His hand flexes on your hip. "Since you asked so nicely." Then he gives you what you want.
He doesn't hold back after that.
His grip shifts—both hands now, one on your hip and the other pressing flat between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned to the mattress as he pounds into you. The sound of skin meeting skin is obscene in the quiet of this room. The headboard taps against the wall a little too loudly for comfort, and he slows just enough to slide a hand up, pressing his palm flat against the wall above you to cushion the impact.
"Can't have that," he breathes, more to himself than to you.
But he doesn't slow down. He just adjusts, angling your hips up so he can sink even deeper, and the new position has your face pressing sideways into the pillow, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. His hand finds your hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the root, and he tugs—gentle but firm—tilting your head back.
"Look at me," he says, and it's not a request. Your eyes open, hazy and unfocused, and you find him above you—this man who commands a stadium of thousands, now reduced to gritted teeth and trembling thighs.
"There she is," he murmurs, and his expression is almost pained. "My good girl. Taking everything I give you." His thumb traces down your cheek, wiping at a tear you didn't realize had slipped free. The tenderness of it hits you harder than anything else tonight, and your bottom lip trembles. "Hey," he whispers, softening for just a moment. His hips slow to a deep, grinding roll that makes your breath catch. "You okay?"
You nod, but your voice comes out wrecked. "Don't stop."
Something shifts in his expression at that. His jaw works, and he presses his forehead to your temple, breath warm and uneven against your neck.
"Never," he promises. "Never gonna stop."
His hips pick up again, and you feel a knot tightening low in your belly, building with every drag of him against that spot. Your hand grips the fitted sheet, twisting the fabric in your fist so you can have something to hold onto.
"Jude—" His name comes out cracked and desperate, swallowed by the pillow.
"I know, baby. I feel you," he rasps against your temple. "Feel you squeezing me. Gonna cum for me?"
You can't answer him. You can't do anything except cling to the sheets and try to remember how to breathe. Your body does the talking for you—clenching around him in fluttering waves that bring him closer to the edge too.
"There it is," he barely holds back his moans now. "There she goes. Give it to me. Let go, baby. I've got you." His hand slides from your hair to wrap around your front, pulling you flush against his chest, changing the angle again. His other hand finds yours, fingers lacing together against the mattress, pinning you there. Your back arches, and the knot snaps.
Your mouth opens against the pillow, but no sound comes out. Just a silent, trembling cry that wracks your whole body as your warmwet walls milk him for all he's got.
Jude's breath breaks apart against your neck. "Oh fuck—oh, fuck—" And he's following behind you, burying himself as deep as he can, his hips stuttering through the last few thrusts as he spills into the condom. His hand squeezes yours so hard his knuckles crack, and his whole body goes rigid against your back, trembling, a choked-off moan swallowed by the skin of your shoulder where he bites down to muffle himself.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Jude's weight settles against you, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder. His hand hasn't let go of yours. His fingers are still laced through yours against the pillow.
"I love you," he breathes against your shoulder, and it comes out so quiet you almost miss it.
You squeeze his hand back. "I love you too."
