𝐼ris ଓ

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who figured out that you had a thing for his thighs early in your relationship (not that you ever tried to hide it but let’s say that looking at them while biting your lip wasn’t very subtle)

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who was the one begging so you would ride his thighs

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who helps you climb on his thigh, spreading his and your legs so your sitting completely on it, his hands moving to your hips so he helps you find a rhythm that you like and smiles when you let out the first moan of the night

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who loves to know he’s making you feel good “tell me how’s that, baby,” his hands slowing you down so you’d grind harder on him “god, yes, like that, feels so good,” you whine gripping his shoulders

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who teases you when he feels you wetting his sweats “you’re making a mess on me, baby, you enjoy riding my thigh that much, huh?” and looks at you with a grin

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who starts undressing you so you can feel better, leaving you completely bare and him completely dressed

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who doesn’t miss the chance of eyeing your naked body as he licks his lips and starts feeling his cock getting hard

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who leads his thumb into your mouth so you can suck on it because he finds your muffled whines hot and sweet

ᥫ᭡ boyfriend jude who rubs your clit with the same thumb that was on your mouth and coos you to let go and soak his clothes

“you saw it?” his voice is still rough from ninety minutes of shouting across the field. “every second,” you tell him.

then he crosses the room and puts both arms around you, still damp, still warm, pressing his face into the side of your neck. you feel his heartbeat against your skin, still going hard. feeling the coolness of the air, his broad frame towers over you, the post match fire turning into something hotter and more possessive.

“every practice,” he says, his voice is muffled. “every single one.”

he grabs your face in both hands, his palms still hot, tipping your head back to look at you, with his chest still heaving.

“you were there,” he says, quieter now, like he’s just remembering it. “i kept looking up and you were just—” he shakes his head. his thumbs move along your jaw.

he kisses you slowly at first, almost careful, his fingers sliding back into your hair. then he makes a low sound against your mouth and pulls you in harder, and you feel the full weight of him, the heat still radiating off his skin, the locker door cold at your back.

“fuck, baby, you don’t know what it did to me seeing you out there clapping like that,” he growls, his voice low and rough. his hands are already under your shirt, palms hot and damp from the ball, sliding up to cup your tits. “all that training, all those late nights, i did it for this. just for you.” he yanks your shirt off, mouth crashing onto yours, tongue demanding and wet. you taste the salt of his sweat, feeling the hardness of his cock straining against his shorts as he grinds into your hip.

he drops to his knees without warning, dominance taking over, tugging your pants and panties down in one impatient pull. the cool air hits your bare skin, but his breath is warming. “spread for me. let me taste how proud you are of me.” his tongue drags through your folds, slow and filthy, lapping at your clit like he’s starving. you moan, fingers twisting in his curly hair, the wet sounds of his mouth filling the empty room. he groans against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you. “so fucking sweet. been thinking about this the whole match— how i’d get you dripping on my tongue.”

“yes,” you gasp out, your hips bucking against his hand. “don’t stop, jobe. please.”

your thighs shake around jode’s head, the heat of his tongue dragging merciless circles over your swollen clit while two thick fingers plunge deep, curling to reach that throbbing spot inside you. the wet sounds of his mouth fill the locker room, mixing with his scent. your own arousal coats his chin, dripping down to soak the bench beneath you as your hips jerk forward, chasing every filthy lap.

“fuck, jobe, baby p-please don’t stop,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers twist into his damp hair, yanking him closer. he growls against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight through your core, and sucks your clit harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your vision blur.

his dark eyes flick up, hungry and feral. “this pretty pussy’s squeezing my fingers like it’s asking for my cock,” he rasps, voice muffled against your folds. “soaking my face, begging to be filled.”

your walls flutter and clench, the pressure building until your back arches hard against the cold metal. he doesn’t ease up, his fingers pumping faster, and his tongue flicking in tight strokes, until the orgasm rips through you in pulsing waves. your thighs clamp around his ears, a cry tearing from your throat as fresh slick gushes over his tongue. he drinks it down with greedy laps, fingers slowing but never stopping their deep, curling thrusts, egding every last shiver from your trembling body.

jobe rises, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, a wicked smirk curling his lips. he fists the back of your neck and drags you into a bruising kiss, tongues tangling so you taste your own tangy sweetness mixed with his. the flavor floods your senses, heat starting fresh between your legs.

he stands and spins you, the roughness of the bench scraping your palms as he bends you over it. his shorts rasp down your ass cheeks, fabric whispering against sweat-slick skin before his cock springs free, thick and veined, with his swollen head slick with precum that smears hot across your thigh. he slaps it against your dripping slit, once, then twice, the wet smack echoing off the locker room tiles, the sharp sting of contact making your clit throb. “so wet, baby. so perfect for me.”

jobe pushes in slow, the blunt head stretching your entrance wide, the burn blooming deep as inch after inch fills you, your walls fluttering and gripping every ridge. the fullness punches the air from your lungs, your vision sparking white at the edges while the musky smell of his sweat and your arousal floods your nose. “god, this pussy’s gripping me like she missed me. you’re mine, please say it.” his hips snap forward, deep and steady, one hand clamping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding around to circle your swollen clit with rough fingers.

“yours— m’ yours.” whimpers came from your throat, as the slap of skin on skin rings out, wet and filthy, your moans tangling with his grunts as the bench creaks beneath you.

sweat drips from his chest onto your back, hot trails sliding down your spine, the sharp salt taste of it hitting your tongue when you lick your lips. he picks up speed, pounding harder, the wet squelch of his cock driving into your soaked cunt filling the air with every thrust. “fuck, you feel incredible. all that cheering, you always show up for me.” his fingers work faster, pinching your clit just shy of pain, the pressure building tight and hot in your core while his cock drags relentless against that spot inside you.

jobe’s voice cracks, the dominant edge fading into desperate need. “please, baby— cum on my cock. i need it. need to feel you squeeze me. ah— g-god, i love you.” he leans over you, teeth grazing your ear, breath hot and ragged, his free hand fisting your hair to yank your head back. the sound of his cock squelching into you grows frantic, the scent of sex thick and overwhelming, your inner walls clenching tighter around him with every thrust.

your body shakes, thighs trembling around his hips as your orgasm crashes through you in relentless pulses. your cunt clenches tight, gripping his thick shaft like a fist, milking every inch while hot slick floods out and coats his balls. the wet slap of skin echoes off the concrete walls, mixing with the sweetness of love that hangs heavy in the air. your nipples scrape against the rough material of the bench, sending shivers straight to your core.

he growls low, hips jerking in broken thrusts. “fuck— yes, just like that. squeeze that pretty pussy around me. please— milk every drop.” his fingers dig into your waist, bruising, yanking you back onto him as he slams quicker. the bench creaks under the force, your knees scraping the edge while his cock pulses deep inside. thick ropes of cum surge into you, hot and heavy, overflowing in sticky ropes that trickle down your inner thighs and drip onto the floor below.

his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark, tongue quieting the sting as his hands roam frantically over your damp skin. he can’t stop touching, can’t stop grinding, pushing his release deeper while the distant roar of the stadium crowd fades beneath the wet sounds of your joined bodies and the frantic beat of your hearts. the taste of him lingers on your tongue from earlier kisses, sweet and addictive, as the last vibration rips through you both.

the bench beneath you both creaks, it scrapes against your bare skin, a big contrast to the slick heat of his body against yours. squeaking and groaning under the pressure of your movements, the rhythm that mixes the pounding of your hearts. the world outside the small room fades into insignificance, the stadium long forgotten.

his love coats your skin, evidence of the passion that has just unfolded between you. it’s the way his fingers draw lazy patterns on your sweat coated back, the way his breath goes hot and ragged against your neck, and the way his lips press soft kisses to your shoulder. it’s the way he murmurs your name, like whispers that send shivers down your spine.

the taste of him dances on your tongue, a mix of salt and desire that you can’t help but want to savor. his scent fills you, musky and overpowering, paired with the sweetness of sweat and sex. his body is a furnace against yours, radiating heat that seeps into your body. his heart pounding against your back, a steady rhythm that matches the pulsing ache between your thighs. his arms wrap around you, holding you close as if he fears you might slip away.

the room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the occasional creak of the bench beneath you, and the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts his hold on you.

jobe has won matches before, but he has never looked at a trophy the way he looks at you.

"you okay baby?” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion, but his hands are still moving, still brushing over your bare skin, still soothing. he's barely caught his breath, still stretched out on top of you, body warm and heavy, but he's already pressing slow, lazy kisses along your shoulder, reaching for your waist, shifting his weight like he's ready to move.

"stay," you whisper, arms tightening around him. you like the weight of him, the warmth, the solid press of his body on yours.

"i gotta clean you up," he argues, voice all husky and sweet, lips still trailing over your skin.

"not yet," you say, and he listens. of course he does.

b is for body worship

he swears he could spend the rest of his life just touching you. just admiring you.

it’s not just about the way you look—it’s deeper than that. he loves your body because it’s yours. because you exist in it. because it’s the only place he ever wants to be.

"look at you," he mutters, voice laced with something dark, something thick. his hands are all over you, sliding slow and warm over the curve of your hips, up your waist, down your thighs. he kisses your stomach, your ribcage, your shoulders—everywhere.

"jobe," you whisper, but he’s lost in you, too caught up in how soft you are, how perfect you feel under his hands, how he could spend forever like this and never get tired of it.

"so fuckin' beautiful," he breathes against your skin, and it’s not just words. you feel it in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you, in the way he won’t stop looking at you like you’re something precious.

he takes his time. kisses every inch of you. makes sure you know exactly how much he loves your body—every dip, every curve, every soft, sensitive part of you.

"could do this all night," he mutters, dragging his lips over your stomach, nipping at your skin just enough to make you gasp.

you believe him.

c is for control

jobe likes to be in control. not because he has to be, but because he wants to. because he likes knowing he’s the one making you feel this way, the one pulling those sweet little sounds from your lips, the one pushing you to the edge over and over again.

but it’s not just about control—it’s about taking care of you. making sure you feel good. making sure you know you’re safe, that you can trust him, that you can give in completely and he’ll catch you every time.

"easy, baby," he murmurs when you start squirming, when your body gets too restless under his hands. his grip tightens, just enough to keep you still. "i got you."

and he does. he always does.

d is for dirty talk

jobe talks you through it. always.

"feels good, don’t it?" he mutters, voice all rough and thick. his lips are right by your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "you like that, yeah?"

you nod, breathless, and his grip tightens just enough to make you whimper.

"nah," he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. "use your words."

"yes," you gasp. "fuck—yes, jobe."

he hums, satisfied. "that’s my girl."

e is for edging

he likes to tease. likes to take you right to the edge, to watch the way your body trembles, to hear the way your voice gets all high and desperate.

likes to make you wait for it.

"not yet," he mutters when you start to beg, when your fingers clutch at his shoulders, when your breath stutters and your thighs shake around him.

"please," you whisper, but he just smirks, drags his lips over your throat, keeps you right there, teetering.

"i’ll let you cum when i’m ready, baby." his voice is soft, almost sweet, but the look in his eyes is anything but.

you whimper, hips twitching against his hold. he just chuckles.

"gonna be good for me?" he asks, slow and teasing, fingers trailing over your skin like he’s in no rush at all.

you nod, glaze-eyed, desperate.

"that’s my girl."

f is for foreplay

jobe takes his time. always.

he doesn’t just rush into it—he builds it up. makes you feel every touch, every kiss, every slow drag of his lips over your skin.

he’s patient. so patient it drives you crazy.

"jobe," you whine, shifting under him, but he just smirks, shakes his head.

"shh," he murmurs, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns over your thighs. "lemme take my time with you, baby."

you want to protest, but then his mouth is on you again, and suddenly, you don’t care how long he takes.

as long as he never stops.

g is for grip

jobe’s hands are big. strong. warm. and he knows exactly how to use them.

they’re always on you—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, wrapping around your wrists, pinning you down just enough to make your breath hitch.

he holds you like he owns you. like you belong to him.

and honestly? you do.

h is for hair-pulling

jobe loves your hair. loves the way it frames your face, the way it feels between his fingers, the way it moves when you ride him, the way you grip it when you’re about to fall apart.

but most of all, he loves pulling it.

"fuck," he mutters under his breath, fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, your lips stretched around him, your eyes all dark and teary. his head falls back for a second, his free hand flexing against the bedsheets, but he’s still watching you, still looking down at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

"look so pretty like this, baby," he breathes, tugging just a little—enough to make your scalp tingle, enough to make you whimper around him.

his jaw clenches. his hips twitch. his breath shudders out of him like he’s trying to hold himself back, like he’s trying not to fuck your mouth the way he really wants to.

but then you moan around him, and he loses it.

his grip tightens, his other hand cupping your jaw, his hips pushing just a little deeper.

"that’s it," he groans, his voice all thick and breathless. "such a good girl for me."

and when you look up at him, eyes glossy, lips wet and swollen—he swears he could cum just from that.

i is for intimacy

it’s not just about sex with jobe. it never is.

he touches you like he’s memorising you. looks at you like you’re something holy. kisses you like he means it, every single time.

even when it’s messy, even when it’s rough, even when he’s got you spread out underneath him, begging—there’s always something deeper in the way he moves, in the way he breathes your name, in the way he presses his forehead against yours when he’s close.

"love you," he whispers, voice all thick and quiet, and you feel it everywhere.

j is for jealousy

jobe doesn’t like to share. at all.

he’s not crazy about it—he trusts you, he knows you love him, knows you’re his. but that doesn’t mean he likes it when other guys look at you for too long, when someone gets too close, when he sees you laughing a little too hard at someone else’s joke.

"who was that?" he asks later, voice all low and tight as he backs you up against the nearest wall.

"just some guy," you tease, tilting your head at him, pushing at his chest just to rile him up.

he exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching.

"you think that’s funny?" he mutters, his hands gripping your hips, pressing into your skin.

you do. until he’s got you on your knees, showing you exactly who you belong to.

k is for kissing

jobe kisses like he needs it to breathe.

sometimes it’s soft, lazy—like when he’s half asleep, lips barely brushing over yours, warm and slow and sweet. sometimes it’s teasing—smirking against your mouth, tilting his head just enough to keep you chasing after him.

but sometimes—sometimes it’s something else.

sometimes he kisses you like he’s trying to ruin you. like he’s trying to make you feel him everywhere. like he wants to pull you apart with just his mouth.

"come here," he mutters, voice rough, fingers gripping your chin as he crashes his lips against yours.

and you do. always.

l is for lingerie

jobe loves you in anything. loves you in his shirts, loves you in sweats, loves you when you’re fresh out the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around you.

but he really loves you in lace.

"fuckin’ hell," he mutters when you walk into the room, his eyes dragging over you, his fingers twitching at his sides.

you smirk, turning just enough to give him a better view. "like it?"

"come here," he breathes, and that’s all it takes.

m is for marking

jobe likes leaving reminders.

likes the little bruises on your thighs, the faint bite marks on your shoulders, the fingerprints he leaves on your hips.

"mine," he murmurs, his mouth dragging over your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin just enough to make you gasp.

like you’d ever forget.

n is for needy

jobe acts all tough, but he’s needy as fuck.

always pulling you closer, always touching you, always needing to feel your skin against his.

he’s impatient, too.

"babe," he groans, burying his face in your neck, shifting restlessly against you.

you hum, dragging your fingers through his hair. "what?"

"need you," he mumbles, voice all low and thick and desperate.

and when he’s like this, when he’s all whiny and warm and pressed up against you—how could you ever say no?

o is for oral

jobe eats you out like it’s his last meal.

like he lives for it. like he needs it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin, fingers gripping your thighs, keeping you open for him. "taste so fuckin’ good, baby."

you whimper, back arching, fingers tugging at his hair, but he doesn’t stop.

he never does. not until you’re fully satisfied.

p is for praise

jobe loves hyping you up. loves telling you how good you are, how perfect, how pretty you look when you’re falling apart for him.

"that’s it, baby," he murmurs, voice all thick and sweet. "such a good girl for me."

you whimper, shivering at his words, and he just smiles, dragging his lips over your jaw.

"love you like this," he mutters. "love you always."

q is for quickies

jobe’s impatient. and sometimes, he just can’t wait.

"jobe," you hiss, glancing toward the door, but he doesn’t care.

"be quiet," he murmurs as he presses you up against the nearest surface, fingers slipping under your clothes, already making you gasp.

and yeah, maybe you should stop him because this shit is fucking risky. but when he’s looking at you like that—when he’s already got you shaking for him—how could you?

r is for rough

jobe isn’t always soft.

sometimes he’s all teeth and hands and heavy breathing, all bruising kisses and desperate touches and low, filthy words against your skin.

sometimes he needs you. hard and fast and now.

and you? you absolutely love it.

s is for stamina

jobe could go for hours. and he has.

it’s like he never gets tired. doesn’t matter how many times you’ve cum, doesn’t matter how weak your legs are, doesn’t matter how breathless and spent you are beneath him—he still wants more. still needs more.

"one more," he mutters against your skin, pressing messy kisses down your throat.

"jobe, i can’t," you whimper, body trembling.

he hums, dragging his hand between your legs, touching you so slow, so easy.

"want me to stop?" he murmurs.

and you vehemently shake your head. because absolutely not.

t is for teasing

jobe loves to drag things out. loves to take his time, loves to make you wait, loves to see how long it takes before you break.

"what’s wrong, baby?" he murmurs, his fingers barely grazing over where you need him most.

"jobe, please," you whisper, already shaking.

he just smiles, kisses the corner of your mouth, his hands gripping your thighs.

"not yet."

u is for unexpected

sometimes, jobe surprises you.

like when he wakes you up with his mouth between your thighs.

"jobe," you gasp, your body arching as he hums against your skin.

he looks up at you, his lips already glistening, his eyes dark.

"morning, baby."

v is for vulnerability

jobe isn’t soft with many people. but with you? he lets his guard down.

"stay with me," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

"always," you breathe, and he kisses you like he believes you.

w is for worship

jobe treats you like you’re the best thing in his life. because you are.

"so pretty," he murmurs, his hands tracing over every inch of you.

"so perfect," he breathes, kissing down your stomach.

"so… mine," he mutters against your skin, and you know there’s nothing in the world he means more.

x is for x-rated

jobe loves making videos.

"for me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up so you’re looking into the camera.

"show me, baby."

and you do. because you’d give him anything.

y is for yearning

even when he’s not with you, jobe’s thinking about you.

"miss you," he texts, even though he just saw you.

"need you," he calls, his voice all low and rough through the phone.

"can’t wait to be inside you again."

and neither can you.

thinking about sensual morning sex with jude. him catching you stare at the side of his face one warm summer morning. an airy huff leaves his mouth, “i can feel you staring a hole into my face.” he complains with a slight crack in his voice before he opens one eye to peek at you, then burying his face into the pillow. for a man so sweet and gentle during the day, he can be a bit of an asshole for the first 10 minutes of waking up. but fortunately, that just turns you on even more. a smile creeps onto your face as slick warmth pools in between your thighs, lifting a finger and tracing over the muscle of his bicep. "but you're so cute, jude."

“let me sleep.” he grumbles through the pillow, his coily dark brown hair slightly smushed from his slumber.

"i am!” you whisper with a whine, toying with his hair gently, brushing your hand up and down his back with a soft scratch of your nails. "...then can i ride you when you wake up?"

jude's breathing pauses for a second before he hums with approval, rolling onto his back with his eyes still closed. he pats his thighs signaling you to get on. you smile to yourself and proceed to throw a leg over his thighs, pressing your heated core onto his half hard dick. your hips roll lazy circles on his lap almost instantly; a soft moan leaves your lips and onto the skin of his naked shoulder. you bury your face into his neck and leave kisses, nose poking at his jawline and taking a deep inhale of his scent.

his large hands grab at your ass, eyes shutting tighter as he takes control and guides your hips up and down, side to side, and mimicking the small circles you did before. both of your breathing starts to pick up, the peaks of your nipples hardening through the soft fabric of jude's t-shirt, you finally lift your body up from his and run your fingers down his chest. your eyes travel from his happy trail and up to his face, already looking up at you, his expression warm and dreamy. bottom lip tucked under his perfect top row of teeth as he devours you with his gaze.

"mmm fuck-" you gasp, looking down to your bodies clashing; a patch of arousal starts seeping through your panties and onto his growing bulge.

"yeahhh get her nice and wet f'me." he snickers confidently, hands pushing your shirt up to your chest and exposing your tits. "making a mess and we've barely started."

a breathy moan falls from your mouth in response to his praise; shaking your head in disagreement as you lift the shirt and throw it over your head in a swift move. "been this wet since i woke up.... last night really."

he groans as you grind on his dick greedily, "fuck- why didn't you tell me."

"i thought you were sleepy." you pout with a fake sincere voice, digging your nails into his abs and pressing your hips down with force.

"not anymore." jude licks his bottom lip, hands leaving your hips and resting behind his head. "pull it out. take what you've been needing."

you nod and begin to pull off your ruined panties.

"ah-" he calls for your attention. you look up at him once more. "where's your manners?"

"sorry-... thank you, sir."

"there's my girl." he finally flashes a smile at you; it reaches his eyes, mahogany brown irises admiring you as his fingertips fluffs his hair. waiting for you to continue what you started.

you smile back at him. body heated with desire. rolling off of him and slipping your panties off slowly; a cloudy string of arousal connects from your clit to the cotton fabric. you look back to see if he's watching. which he is, of course.

a desperate groan leaves his mouth from watching you. his breathing slows as you turn back to him and pull the comforter off to the foot of the bed, his dick bulging through his navy-blue briefs with growing a patch of precum.

you toy with his waistband for a moment before sliding them down, eyes flicking back and forth from his beautiful face to his perfect dick slapping on his thigh; you continue to drag his briefs down his legs and throw them alongside the rest of your discarded clothing on the floor.

crawling back up to him your noses bump together as one of your hands slip in between the two of you, slowly pushing his tip into your dripping entrance.

"slow... you know i'm big." he hisses at the stretch even though he's halfway in. a hand moves from the back of his head and to your cheek, caressing your skin gently as you push down to the hilt, the dark trimmed hair at his base digging into your clit.

"i know-" you moan with a reassuring tone the sound of your body slapping onto his with every bounce.

"i" plap. "know" plap. "oh shit" plap.

you let out a sharp gasp when his tip presses directly onto your cervix. his eyebrows furrow, groaning lightly whilst his hands grab at your body; your thighs, your back, your ass, drawing hearts on your skin as you fuck yourself onto him.

you lift back up with your hands on his chest, knees digging into the mattress, pushing his body into it. rolling your hips in large circles, making his tip brush into that sensitive spongy spot inside you.

he nods mindlessly, watching your facial expressions fall into a range of desperation to sensitivity. studying how your head falls forward, pretty eyes flutter shut, how you bite your lip in pleasure.

“juuuuuude.” you moan, ass smacking onto his thighs. “hahhh, i love your dick so much.”

“yeah? were you dreaming about it last night?” a cocky grin grows on his face, large hands moving up to cup your tits and playing with your sensitive nipples; twisting and pulling them with grip.

"yes, baby! i dream about it every fuckin' night.." your brain turns into mush, voice breaking as you grind your clit onto his pelvis once more. the feeling of your nipples being teased sends sparks through your body. “oh fuck- ah i can feel it in my stomach." the words slurring and combining together towards the end.

"then show me." he grunts, slapping at your tits firmly with one hand, the other gripping at your hip.

"huh?" you ask while grinding onto him chasing your orgasm.

"show me what you were dreaming about." he cups your face to make you look at him, his thumb traces over your bottom lip.

you nod. "okay..-"

he raises a brow, waiting for the sentence to end properly.

"sir." you clarify, rolling your eyes in embarrassment as you swing your feet from under you and place them on the bed. you lift and shift your hips on top of him to get comfortable, scratching at his pecs to brace yourself.

"that's it darling, plant your feet on the bed." his voice eager and dominate, encouraging you with both hands pawing at your ass and spreading you apart. “fuck me like you mean it. c’mon.”

you slowly lift up to the tip and drop down. whimpering as you feel him hit spots you didn't even know existed. "oh my god." falls from your mouth repeatedly, taking your time to find a pace that works.

"just like that. always looking so pretty when you ride this dick." jude pants, fighting between watching how your pussy swallows him with zero struggle or focusing on your tits bouncing in his face. the shine of your arousal covering his length every time you lift and drop yourself on him.

"fuckfuckfuck." you whine, a hand lifting to grab onto the headboard to keep it from slamming against the wall.

jude eyes widen in shock, surrendering himself so you could use him to get off. the coil in his stomach tightens, groans turning to open mouthed "ah's" correspondent to your thrusts, hands tugging you down onto his dick like you were going to disappear right from above him. "take it. take this cock like you fucking own it. baby, holy shit.”

"i own it, sir." you moan, one hand pressed on his abs for leverage as you bounce harder, the other piercing your nails into the headboard. "it's mine." eyes staring into his. "nobody else's."

"it’s mine." you repeat, panting like you ran a marathon as you slam down to the hilt with a full body quiver; your slick walls clenching around his length with no remorse, orgasm hitting you with a broken whine. practically falling apart in his hands.

"give it to me gorgeous, cum for me." his thumb teases your clit with fast flicks, sending you over the edge. your legs shake atop of him, mouth agape as he rubs you into overstimulation.

“sir- i c-can’t.” you plea in a desperate tone, hand grabbing at his wrist in an attempt to pull him away. “too much!”

“almost there sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me.” he groans, thrusting his hips into you to get as deep as possible. you roll your hips to help him get close, he looks up at you with need as he cums, thighs shaking, head falling back into the pillow in bliss. exhaling your name with a shaky moan like he breathed for the first time.

your head lays back into the crook of his neck, chests smushed together with silence filling the room besides the sounds of your heavy breathing.

he clears his throat after a few minutes pass.

“well good mornin’ to you too.”

bucky barnes! after figuring out the ways of the modern world, he would be interested in trying some bdsm, before realizing how rough in can be which completely turned him off. he's definitely on board with light choking, but when you suggested trying knife play and gun play, he was unsure. it took him a while to understand that you trusted him, out of all people, enough to use weapons he took so many lives with, now creating new memories and a deeper bond between the both of you. apart from that, nothing gives him more of a thrill than when you're at a bar, a few drinks in and he's taking you to the bathroom and making you choke on his cock.

steve rogers! he's a very simple man, not very willing to try new things. he knows what he likes and what works for him, even if it may be considered vanilla, but that's okay! because when he's sitting you on top of him, holding you up by your hips and fucking up into you with a fast and steady pace, you don't care who can hear you or how sore you'll be from yelling the next day. he always makes sure he didn't go to far, even if you assure him that he could be rougher, kissing the top of your head and holding you until you fall asleep in his arms.

tony stark! a pervert, obviously. he'll take you anywhere and anyway he can. he loves trying new things and taking his time exploring your body, figuring out what makes you squirm and moan. loves taking you in the backseat of the car on a way to a meeting; not caring that happy knows exactly what you two are doing back there. he surprises you every month with rigs and gadgets that he made specifically to use you as his test subject. he'd record his findings, of course, propping up a camera in your direction so he can rewatch and figure out how to make his invention better; no other reason...

bruce banner! secretly but unsurprisingly, he's also a pervert. daily pussy inspections, which he claims are for your health, you know better but don't complain. much like his playboy friend, he likes to experiment on you, sometimes they do it together without you knowing. bruce comes to tony with what he suspects is sex pollen and wants to put it to the test. you're unknowingly going about your day, having lunch with wanda and nat when it hits you, excusing yourself after half and hour of unbearable heat pooling between your legs, oblivious to the men turning off the meta glasses they had to log their results.

sam wilson! an ass man through and through. position where he can see your ass he's doing that. he also loves watching your reflection, pressing you against any bathroom counter and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head as your ass bounces back on him. he even went to the lengths of installing a mirror above his bed so he could see you in every possible angle.

loki laufeyson! let's be so honest this man is into anything and everything, but i firmly believe that he loves making you wear his helmet and pulling on the horns. especially when he has you on all fours, too tired to hold yourself up, a little spell to make sure the helmet doesn't slip from your head and he's forcing you to arch your back for hours on end. speaking of spells, binding is his favorite go to, contorting you in ways you didn't think possible and keeping you there.

thor odinson! like his brother, he's had many years of experience to try a plethora of positions, toys and locations. he prides himself in his strength so he loves taking you against a wall, or just holding you up as he bounces you up and down his cock. however, he dreams of laying you face down in his silk sheets, spreading your legs and laying mjölnir on your lower back, restricting you of all movement and using you for his own selfish pleasure.

peter parker! he doesn't necessarily have a favorite position, but he does have a preference for cowgirl. entranced by the way your tits bounce in his face, he's willing to do anything and everything you tell him to, still not sure how he managed to date a beautiful woman like you. he would be crushing on you way before you actually got together, almost in a creepy way. even now, he can't help himself from secretly stealing some of your underwear so he can jerk off to it at home. he loves you, and loves pleasuring you, so who is he to be anything but the perfect boy for his favorite girl?

stephen strange! loves edging you for hours, making you beg and squirm around his fingers before he even fucks you properly. he'd tell you he was teaching you patience, and that you were failing miserably. when he finally lets you cum, he's using the time stone to go back a few seconds and make you cum again. on days when he's feeling a bit crueler than usual, he's using the stone to hold you over the edge longer than you could mentally take.

matt murdock! because of his heightened senses, he loves taking his time with you and mapping out your body, no matter how many times he's done this. it could be hours before actually fucks you, taking his time between your legs, marking your thighs and belly with his teeth, wanting to commit your whole body to memory with everyone of his remaining senses. shamelessly sniffs you and your underwear, convincing you he could get high solely from that. he'd never deny you an orgasm, oh no, he'd give in to any request and plead you throw his way, though reluctant to fuck you and have his indulging cut short.

frank castle! not a single gentle moment with this man, at least until it's over and he's making you dinner and bathing you. before that though, he's grabbing both your wrists behind your back and mercilessly pounding into you, holding your head down with his rough palm. not even when he's making you ride his thigh, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other slaps your ass, "come on baby, i know you can do better than that." he's not giving you a break until you make yourself cum, and after that he's cleaning you up with his mouth, not caring how overstimulated you are.

it's a warm saturday in may. your team has just won a match against athletic - with the help of you scoring two goals and jude scoring the third.

you're laying in the bathtub of your 3 bedroom apartment, eyes closed with a small but proud smile on your face.

the match went absolutely fucking great, even though you got a yellow card for talking shit.

a quiet sigh escapes your mouth at the feeling of your muscles relaxing in the warm water.

you chose not to go out and celebrate with the guys, since you're already familiar with how chaotic and loud it can get and you're just too tired for all that.

jude on the other hand is with the guys, drinking in the private club and celebrating, yet his minds occupied. he knows you don't like clubbing, but he was hoping you'd come. especially since you're the reason they won. he debated calling you multiple times, but he's decided against it everytime.

he really doesn't wanna bother you knowing how exhausted you get after matches, even the successful ones.

you get up from the bath, rinsing off the water from your naked body and stepping out to dry yourself off. you put on your pj's, a black tanktop and some random ass sweatpants your brother got you for christmas.

laying down in bed, you open tiktok on your phone and like every post praising you and the team for your guys's performance.

while enjoying your social media scroll, you get a notification from messages. it's jude, checking up on you.

you put your phone down with a quiet laugh, rolling around in bed to get comfy.

you and jude always piss each other off on purpose, finding the most fun in annoying the other.

fans always joke about how protective and gentle he is around you - both on and off the pitch. he hates seeing you get hurt, which is why he usually sacrifices himself and gets hurt instead. like that one time when a player from barca shoved you to the floor so jude body slammed him and got a straight red card. he says it was worth it though.

TIMESKIP - training

"pass it to me!" vini shouts at you from your left, motioning for you to kick the ball his way. you do as you're told, helping him score a goal which makes everyone cheer.

your coach writes down stats, nodding his head in proudness as he looks up at you. "another assist. good job. you're gonna be at top of the assist board if you keep going this direction, y/n."

"shit, that's cool." you mutter, biting your lip in consideration as you head over to the bench to grab a water of bottle.

jude walks over to you and sits down next to you, patting your thigh softly as he praises your skills. "good job, twat. you're starting to play better than me."

you laugh, throwing your head back before looking directly at him. "when have i ever played worse than you? you're forgetting i came from psg."

jude rolls his eyes, scoffing at your flexing. "yeah, well, im still better. or whatever. listen- kylians inviting everyone over tonight for some drinks. just at his place."

you raise your eyebrow, surprised. "seriously? his girlfriends finally letting us come over?"

"yeah. i was kinda fucking surprised too but, it's cool. you gonna go? keep me company?" he nudges you, seriously asking but in a playful tone so he doesn't seem too needy.

you hum, pretending to think about it, "hmm.. absolutely fucking not?"

jude scoffs, throwing his hands up in annoyance. "why the hell not? it's gonna be chill. swear."

"you literally know how much i hate gatherings, jude. im not coming."

he sighs, looking more disappointed than angry. "you're taking the piss, right? you can't be this antisocial forever."

"im not antisocial! i just.. protect my peace." you retort back, annoyed he's bringing this up.

"fine. i won't go either then."

"huh?"

"we'll hang, us two. i don't want you to be all alone again, mate."

".. okay. but at my place, yeah?"

he nods, smirking at the change of plans and standing up from the bench - walking over to mbappe to announce the news while you shake your head in disbelief, quietly mumbling "this guy.."

TIMESKIP - your apartment

the two of you are laying on your bed, judes head on your chest as you watch stupid yourube videos on your flat screen tv, enjoying eachothers peaceful company.

he looks up at you, glancing briefly at your lips before focusing on making eye contact.

"what?"

"can't believe it but.. you were actually right. this is far better than drinking with the lads."

"that's why i chose it over a night out everytime."

jude scoffs, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your boobs which makes you raise your eyebrow.

"you're not slick."

"hm?"

you roll your eyes, smacking his head softly but letting him stay in the inappropriate position regardless.

jude kisses the top of your chest, just above your nipple. he rests his hand on your waist, kissing up to your neck.

"jude?"

you whisper, enjoying the feeling of his lips pressing against your skin. he continues to travel up your neck and chin, till he pauses above your lips.

jude looks up at you with hazy eyes, minty breath hitting your face - inches away.

"...."

suddenly, your phone rings. you exhale a shaky breath, grabbing your phone as jude moves away from your face.

"it's vini."

"fucks sake.."

you pick up, answering with a quiet hello?, vinis voice immediately coming through. jude watches you with a tight jaw, arms crossed over his chest, annoyed at the interruption.

he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, but he knows he was enjoying it - and so were you.

after a couple minutes of convincing a drunk vini to not hit up a second club, you hang up with a sigh.

he shuffles closer to you, kissing your neck again. when you don't protest, he keeps going. hands gripping your shirt as he sucks a dark hickey onto your skin.

"fuck.. keep doing that." you moan softly, leaning your head back so he has more space. judes hands find your face, bringing it close to his so he can kiss you. your lips press against his lovingly, softly kissing him to show how much this (and he) means to you. jude slips his tongue into your mouth, forcing another moan out of your throat as your tongues fight over dominance in your mouths.

you can feel yourself getting wet from the action, thighs pressed tightly against each other. he clearly notices this action, cause one of his hands leaves his face and moves to the waistband of your shorts, lips pulling away from yours to ask for consent. "can i?"

"please." you mumble, kissing him again as his hand slides into your shorts and into your panties. jude groans at how wet you already are, fingers finding your clit almost immediately and rubbing those delicious feeling circles that make any girl fall apart.

his lips move down to your sensitive neck once again, pressing soft kisses as his fingers leave your clit and press inside your pussy instead. "ah- jude-" you whine, throwing your head back into the pillows when his ring finger and middle finger rub against your g spot.

he abuses the spot with efficiency, your legs bucking up and consistent whines leaving your mouth.

"that feel good, yeah? mm, listen to how wet she is. she's loving it." jude refers to your pussy - moaning at the sounds it makes everytime he curls his long fingers.

"feels so fucking good jude, fuckfuckfuck-" you moan, clit pulsing in need.

he moves down your body, spreading your legs apart more so he can rub your clit with his other hands thumb. you let out a loud yelp at the combination of his fingers curling against that spongy spot inside you, and his thumb rubbing your needy clit.

"fuck.. can feel you clenching so much. you're loving this, ay?" jude groans, kissing your inner thigh and sucking another hickey onto the skin.

you nod furiously, hips bucking up into his hand. "please keep going- im gonna cummmm!"

jude doesn't think twice and adds a third finger, slamming all three in and out of your pussy.

a loud moan of his name escapes your mouth, squirting all over his face and hands. he doesn't stop, just slows down so you can feel your orgasm till it ends. once he hears you whine in over stimulation he pulls away, stuffing his fingers into his mouth and lickinf your juices off with a low moan.

you watch him with a pout on your face, legs shivering and pussy pulsing.

"stop pouting, twat.. " he kisses you softly, immediately turning your pout into a smile.

jude lays down next to you, pulling a blanket over the two of you as you cuddle up against his chest.

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)

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.