26 year old drowning in black boy joy. I write for Jude Bellingham. I write for Michael Jackson. I wrote for Cody Fern and many more. If you’re here, thank you.
I’ve rebranded recently, so let me reintroduce myself.
If you were here before, thank you. And if you’re here now, thank you.
I’m a black queer literature enthusiast that writes from both perspectives. A certain topic doesn’t interest you? Move on or simply tell me what you’re interested in. I’d love to hear it and am always open to new ideas.
My current obsessions, while I have too many, are with Michael Jackson and Jude Bellingham, so most, if not all, my new work will be centered around them.
I have zero tolerance for bullying and disrespect and this goes for anywhere I see it on tumblr, not just my own work. As I’ve said already, something doesn’t interest you? Move on. I don’t block because that would be too easy, so I’ll definitely argue with you on behalf of myself or anyone else.
I’m telling y’all right now, I am not artistically inclined what so ever, so if you’re looking for all the magical and pretty writing that I’ve seen from the lovely ladies of tumblr already, you’re in the wrong place. It’s been a while since I’ve wrote on here and everyone has been so inspiring. I just like to get my writing out there whether it sparkles or not.
Please do not ever be afraid to inbox me or comment at me directly. I’m more than willing to listen to what you have to say whether it be feedback or regular conversation. I am always looking to improve.
For my other authors out there, if you feel like anything I’ve wrote is copying or has plagiarized your work, please let me know immediately as this is not and never will be my intention. Everyone’s work that I’ve read or will come across, please keep writing. Your work means so much to me.
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masterlist ᯓ★
lo's commentary: hi angels! i apologise for my absence but im back w another request hehehe. i LOVED this one it was so fun to write <3
pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader
summary: jude has been winding you up all evening – stealing sauce from the pan, balancing the remote on your head, being his usual annoying and clingy self. when you finally snap and tell him to sit still, he goes quiet but obeys, you jokingly say “good boy.” except he doesn’t laugh. he likes it. by the time you’re both on the sofa with your hands around his throat, he’s asking you to take control properly.
warnings: explicit smut, MDNI, praise kink, light choking (non-breath play), submissive!jude exploring it for the first time, established relationship, soft dom!reader, explicit language, brief mentions of physical teasing/playfighting that turns sexual
wc: 3.1k!
The first time you ever took control in bed, it started with a joke.
You only meant it as a joke.
Jude had been pissing you off on purpose all evening. He’d come home from training like a ball of energy, as if he hadn’t been running around all afternoon. He dropped his bag in the hallway, and immediately found his way into the kitchen like a satellite orbiting the only thing that mattered to him as soon as you were in sight. You were at the stove, stirring the sauce you’d spent twenty minutes getting right, and suddenly he was right behind you. His chest against your back, chin hooked over your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.
“Smells good,” he murmured, already reaching past you.
You swatted his hand, already knowing exactly what he was going too. “Don’t.”
He did it anyway, like the toddler he sometimes acted like he was. Two fingers dipped straight into the pan, scooped up a taste, and disappeared into his mouth with a satisfied hum. You turned, wooden spoon still in hand, and stared at him.
“Jude! Be fucking for real… I don’t want your fingers in my sauce!”
“What?” He licked the residual sauce from his thumb, eyes bright with mischief that only ever came out when he was home and safe and decided you were his favourite toy to play with for the night. “I’m helping you! It’s just quality control, babe.”
“You’re being a child.”
“I’m being helpful.” He leaned in again, this time pressing a sticky kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You can’t be grumpy with me baby. Tell me you missed me.”
“Fuck off,” you huff, but you were smiling anyway.
The rest of the evening continued exactly like that.
He carried on doing tiny, deliberate little things he knew would wind you up, all of them wrapped in the soft, obsessive affection that meant you couldn’t actually be pissed off with him. While you plated the food he stole a piece of chicken straight off your fork with his teeth, grinning around it like he’d just won a game you didn’t know you were playing. At the table he kept “accidentally” knocking his knee against yours under the table, then pretending to be deeply offended when you kicked him back. He hummed an off-key version of whatever song had been stuck in his head at training, loud enough that you had to reach over and clap a hand over his mouth just to hear the telly. Every time you tried to scroll on your phone he would lean in, rest his chin on your shoulder, and ask what you were looking at even though he could clearly see the screen. When you got up to get water he followed, pressed you gently against the fridge, and kissed the side of your neck until you were laughing and shoving at his chest. He even tried the classic cold-feet-on-your-thighs move once you were both on the sofa, sliding his icy toes under your leg with the most innocent expression in the world.
It was annoying. It was relentless. It was also so completely, stupidly him that you couldn’t stay mad for longer than thirty seconds at a time.
The final straw was him trying to balance the TV remote… on your head… whilst you were trying to concentrate on the episode of Love Island that was playing.
You felt the plastic edge of it wobble against your hair and immediately reached up to grab it.
“Jude! Can you sit still for five fucking seconds before we go to bed?! Please!”
Your voice had risen just enough for his eyes to widen. He never actually wanted to upset you or make you angry. Teasing you and winding you up was part of how he showed you how much he loved you.
His eyebrows furrowed. The playful light in his face flickered, then dimmed completely. He stilled instantly, hand dropping the remote so it landed softly in his lap, shoulders dropping, bottom lip poking out ever so slightly like a wounded puppy who’d just been told he wasn’t allowed on the sofa. The living room went quiet apart from the episode droning on.
Your heart lurched a little in your chest as you watched him obey so easily. He looked… sad. Softened into something almost submissive by the way you’d spoken to him, in a way that made something protective and strange twist in your stomach. You hadn’t meant to actually scold him. You never did. The two of you lived in a constant loop of teasing and touching and deliberate annoyance that somehow always circled back to affection. This felt different, though. Like you’d stepped on something fragile without meaning to.
So you made a joke to brighten his face back up. Or what you thought was a joke.
You reached up, brushed your thumb across the pout of his lower lip, and said it lightly, almost laughing—
“Good boy, Jude.”
He blinked at you, eyebrows nearly raising to his hair line. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Sputtered a little with words that wouldn’t come out and then ultimately gave up as he cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from you. You ducked your head to meet his eyes again, but his gaze lingered stubbornly on the floor like he was suddenly too embarrassed to meet them.
The air between you thickened and you both felt it settle over your skin like static.
What was that?
You forced an awkward laugh and nudged him with your toes, trying to shove the moment back into familiar territory. “I was joking, Jude–”
He didn’t smile or tease back straight away. He sat there still as stone for a second longer, the tips of his ears gone unmistakably pink, throat working around a swallow you could see. Then he shifted in his seat, attempting to be subtle, adjusting himself in his joggers like the words had landed far lower than either of you had expected. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, and when he finally spoke his voice was a little rougher than usual.
“Nah, you’re good,” he said, trying for casual and missing it by a mile. “You know what I’m like. Golden boy loves a bit of praise, yeah? Especially from his favourite girl.” He glanced at you then, eyes darker than they should have been, the flush creeping down his neck. “Didn’t mean to piss you off though. I’m sorry, baby.”
Before you could answer he was already reaching for you, his hands settling on your waist and pulling you easily across the sofa and into his lap. You ended up straddling one of his thighs, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he pressed his face into the side of your neck and breathed you in.
“Forgive me?” he murmured against your skin, voice soft and sweet and still a little shaky. He pressed a slow kiss just under your ear, then another to the hinge of your jaw, then one more to the corner of your mouth when you turned your head. “I’ll be good. Promise. No more remote-balancing. No more sauce-stealing. I swear.”
“I don’t believe you, but you’re already forgiven Jude,” you sigh, leaning back into him.
You felt him smile against your cheek as his hold on you tightened, like he needed the contact to settle whatever the “good boy” had woken up in him. His heart was thudding a little too hard against your back. His ears were still pink. Every time your fingers absently stroked over the back of his hand where it rested on your stomach, his breath hitched. You could also feel him twitching against where you were sitting but neither of you bought that up.
He was brushing it off. He was being sweet. But he was also very, very flustered. Interesting.
You stayed in his lap longer than you meant to. Love Island continued on in the background, the contestants arguing about some nonsense in the villa while Jude’s arms stayed locked around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder with no intention of letting you go. Every so often he’d press another lazy kiss to the side of your neck, or nuzzle against the soft skin just under your ear, still more quiet than usual. His heartbeat had slowed, but the flush on his ears hadn’t completely faded.
Eventually you shifted, climbing off him so you could actually see the screen properly. He let you go with a soft, dramatic sigh, like you’d deeply offended him, then immediately stretched out along the sofa and dropped his head into your lap instead.
“Comfier,” he mumbled, already reaching up to play with the hem of your top.
You rolled your eyes and kept watching. For about four whole minutes he was almost well behaved. Almost.
Then the teasing started again. First it was the commentary. Low, continuous, and completely unnecessary.
“She’s lying through her teeth, look at her face–”
“Nah he’s not into her, he’s just bored–”
“Baby, if someone spoke to me like that on national telly I’d never show my face in public again–”
You shushed him. He grinned and kept going, louder.
When that didn’t get a big enough reaction he started poking the soft spot just above your hip with one finger, over and over, until you slapped his hand away. He waited exactly three seconds, then did it again. When you grabbed his wrist he twisted free and used both hands to tickle your sides, laughing when you yelped and nearly kicked the remote off the coffee table.
“Jude– stop– I’m trying to watch–”
“You weren’t even watching! You were thinking about how cute I looked when I said sorry earlier.”
“I was not!”
“You were. Your blushed”
“You blushed, you absolute–”
He cut you off by sitting up suddenly, crowding into your space, and planting a loud, exaggerated kiss right on your mouth. You shoved at his chest. He only leaned in harder, still grinning, still talking against your lips.
“Admit you missed me being annoying.”
“I will literally smother you with this cushion, Bellingham.”
“Do it then.”
You grabbed the nearest throw pillow and swung it at him. He caught it mid-air with a delighted bark of laughter, yanked it out of your hands, and used it to lightly bonk you on the head before tossing it aside. That was your last straw. The playfight properly started in the next breath, hands grabbing, bodies twisting, both of you laughing too hard to form proper insults. He tried to pin your wrists above your head the way he always did; you slipped free and shoved him onto his back instead. He let you, like he always did. His long legs tangled with yours as you ended up half on top of him, both of you breathing harder than the wrestling really required.
Kissing got mixed in somewhere along the way. Messy, laughing kisses that turned slower without either of you deciding to. His hands slid under your top, warm against your bare back. Yours found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him tilt his head and make a soft, needy sound against your mouth. The television was still playing, forgotten. The only real sounds were the shift of fabric, the quiet hitch of breath, the occasional low murmur of each other’s names.
You ended up straddling his hips properly, knees either side of his waist. He was looking up at you with a soft, dark-eyed expression he got when the teasing started tipping into something hungrier. One of his hands rested loosely on your thigh. The other was still tangled in the hem of your top like he couldn’t decide whether to pull it off or just keep touching you through it.
You leaned down, still smiling, still half in the game of playfighting you wanted to win, and wrapped both hands around his throat. Thumbs resting lightly over his pulse, fingers spanning the strong column of his neck the way you’d done a hundred times before when you were only pretending to choke him out during a playfight.
He stilled completely again. His eyes went wide, brown and shimmering and suddenly so open it almost hurt to look at. The playful light drained out of them again in one slow blink, replaced by something so primal it stole your breath. His lips parted. A soft, shaky breath left him, and you felt his throat move under your palms when he swallowed.
For a second neither of you spoke. Then his voice came out low and rough, almost a whisper, like the words had been dragged up from somewhere he hadn’t meant to show you yet.
“Fuck… keep your hands right there and ride me. I want to feel you while you’re holding me down like that. Please.”
His hips shifted under you, and you felt exactly how hard he already was. His hands stayed where they were, not trying to take control, not trying to move yours. He looked up at you, flushed and waiting and so clearly turned on by the simple weight of your fingers on his throat that the air between you went tight all over again.
The joke was long gone, apparently.
“What?” you breathed, almost laughing from disbelief.
Jude’s throat flexed under your palms. His eyes were so dark they looked almost black, lashes low, mouth parted like he couldn’t quite get enough air. When he spoke his voice came out broken, the words tumbling over each other the way they only ever did when he was desperate.
“I’m dead serious, baby. Keep your hands there… hold me down and ride me. Call me a good boy again. I— fuck, I don’t even know what’s happening right now but you’re making me so fucking hard it’s stupid. Please.”
The last word cracked like he couldn’t believe he was asking for it out loud.
You stared at him for a long second, feeling the way his pulse hammered against your thumbs. Then you leaned down and kissed him slowly once, before sitting back up and rolling your hips against the thick line of him still trapped in his joggers.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “Then be good for me.”
He whimpered and nodded eagerly. You got his joggers and boxers down together, just far enough. He lifted his hips to help, movements clumsy with how worked up he already was, and the second you wrapped a hand around him he made a punched-out little sound that went straight to where you were already soaked for him. You stroked him once, twice, watching his head tip back against the sofa cushions, the long line of his throat still offered up under your other hand.
“Stay still,” you told him.
He nodded, eyes half-lidded, and actually managed it, his body tense and trembling but obedient. It was that obedience that made you unravel. You shifted, tugged your own clothes out of the way, and sank down onto him in one slow, continuous slide. The stretch forced a quiet moan out of both of you at the same time. Jude’s hands flew to your thighs and then immediately dropped away again, like he’d remembered he wasn’t supposed to take over.
“Good,” you breathed, settling fully, both hands finding his throat again. “That’s it. Just like that.”
His whole body shuddered.
You started moving with slow rolls of your hips at first, then deeper, finding a rhythm that made his breath stutter every time you sank down. Every few thrusts you tightened your fingers and watched the way his eyes fluttered, the way his mouth fell open on a gentle moan. He kept trying to thrust up to meet you and then forcing himself still again, thighs shaking with the effort of being good for you.
“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, leaning down so the words brushed his lips. “Taking it so good for me. My good boy.”
Jude made a sound you’d never heard from him before, high and wrecked and almost wounded. His hands fisted in the sofa cushions either side of his head, shaking. Sweat was starting to shine at his temples. Every time you called him that the muscles in his stomach jumped and his cock twitched deep inside you like the praise was wired straight to his nerves.
“Fuck– baby– I can’t–” He was panting now, words half-swallowed. “Feels too good. You’re gonna make me come so quick I-I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” You rolled your hips harder, grinding down on every downward stroke so he felt every inch of you. One hand stayed at his throat; the other slid down to where you were joined, fingers finding your own clit so you could chase your own pleasure while you watched him fall apart. “You can come whenever you need to. You’ve been so good. Look at you… letting me use you like this.”
The visual of you touching yourself made Jude’s eyes fly open, locked onto you, and his expression shattered into complete ecstasy. His back arched clean off the sofa, a broken moan tearing out of him as he came hard, pulsing inside you, completely silent for a second before the sound finally caught up and left him in a long, shaky groan of your name. You felt every throb of it, felt the way his thighs locked and trembled, felt the desperate tiny aftershocks that kept rolling through him while you kept moving, chasing your own edge.
You came with your forehead pressed to his, both hands still cradling his throat, whispering “good boy, good boy, that’s it” against his open mouth until the pleasure crested and broke over you too.
Afterwards he was ruined. Completely fucked out in a way you’d never seen. His chest heaved. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. When you carefully lifted your hands from his neck he made a soft, almost lost sound, like he missed the weight of them already. You stayed on top of him for a minute, stroking his cheek as he came down, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his mouth, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose.
“You okay?” you whispered.
Jude blinked up at you slowly, like he was still somewhere else. Then a tiny, dazed smile tugged at his lips.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “I… yeah. That was– fuck. I’ve never… I didn’t know I could feel like that.” His hands finally came up hesitantly , and settled on your waist like he needed you to anchor him back to reality. “Can we… do it again sometime? If you want. God, that was so fucking good baby.”
You laughed softly and kissed him, slow and sweet, tasting the salt from his sweat on his upper lip. “We can do it as many times as you want, Jude.”
He closed his eyes and nodded, still breathing hard, still looking like you’d rearranged something fundamental inside him.
what if janet celebrates your birthday with you? 18+
“sweeter than cake dollface.” janet softly mutters, the feeling of her fingertips dragging the birthday cake icing over the plump of your ass and only intensifying the damp feeling between your legs. your back arching with every swipe as you felt your tummy push deeper into the skin of her thigh and knee.
janet watches as you melt deeper over her smooth leg with your bare ass lifting upwards. sprinkles and white buttercream coating your ass making her eyes graze over the delicious sight. “mama please eat it.” at your words, janet places her palm on the side of your ribcage before dipping her head forward to stick her tongue out, the wetness now coating your ass with a long slow lick. “jus like that pretty? you like that?” only for a shiver to spread through your core and a whimper to escape past your plump lips.
the way janet’s fingers swiftly hook and move in and out of your soaked pussy as your walls tighten around her, the sensation driving you over the edge instantly. “j-janet…ah baby i…please” your breath catching up in your throat as tears swell in your eyes at the movement of her fingers now deep in you.
your clit rubbing against her knee as her thumb collides below to touch the sensitive bud. a dollop of buttercream smoothing nicely against your clit. “so sweet mama…y’doin’ so good f’me.” her words soft and sweet under the sensual tone displaying in her voice. so needy and so desperate for her girl’s own pleasure.
your moans echoing through the room as janet is know knees deep over the carpeted floor, hands spreading your cheeks to taste the buttercream now covering some bits of your wet pussy. her moans tingling through your bare skin as her tongue swipes and pushes against your hole—wanting to taste you more than ever. best birthday indeed.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pretty much what’s happening to this fandom recently in a nutshell.
same man who sang girlfriend, made i can’t help it, the lady in my life, dirty diana, blood on the dance floor, in the closet, dangerous, give into me, break of dawn, you rock my world, 2000 watts….soooo many more. not to mention the shit he did on tour, what he was planning on doing for this is it tour when performing dirty diana. michael never shied away from sex positivity, he was a known “flirt” anyway, people LITERALLY have stories about how he could’ve taken their women without trying. i need people to treat this grown man like the grown man that he is.
also, michael himself said dirty diana was about groupies and shit, you can not keep treating this man who had kids and was married like what? one/two times and still treat him like a child. you look stupid as shit.
