MJ's PYT

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.

JULY 11, 2026 ; Miami, Florida...

The Miami sun was beating down on your glowing skin, its light dimmed by the oversized sunglasses you shielded it with as you walked. Later today would be England vs Norway, and your boyfriend was most certainly going to be centre-stage, as usual.

It was the most heartwarming thing to watch him succeed so beautifully and admirably on the biggest platform within the sport, and you felt so privileged to be the woman by his side. The woman of the man who millions of other women yearned for, those who could only dream of being in his arms every night.

The World Cup so far had been incredible—you'd enjoyed every moment, and with the exciting state of Jude's team, there were only positives to be celebrated and praises to be made about this period in his career. Enjoyable so it was, except for one small thing. Ridiculous, really, for it truly was small, but there were certain decisions managers made and rules they put into firm place that you just couldn't get on board with. There were the silly decisions they made regarding the events and players on the pitch, there were the criticisms that you believed were much too harshly declared, and then there was what you believed to be the stupidest of them all.

It had been said before—by Ancelotti, by Alonso, even by Arbeloa earlier this year—and now, Thomas Tuchel had been very serious when he'd declared the same thing.

❛England players may have sex with their partners at any time during the World Cup, except on match days.❜

No, of course you didn't need to be put through the mattress by your man every day of the tournament, but Jude Bellingham never made it easy for a lady to be in his presence without her succumbing to a burning arousal, and even though he was your boyfriend of five years, that arousal somehow burned evermore.

Tuchel had thought the statement quite an obvious and sensible one, a good compromise in comparison to the initially considered approach where the players' partners would be entirely banned from visiting the players' hotel rooms. He realised that approach would be going too far, and that psychologically it would actually affect the men more to be forced away from their women. However, he still believed in sexual abstinence on the day of the game, to preserve energy and focus.

You on the other hand, along with several of the other WAGs, believed that to be a nonsense theory.

These were high-level, elite athletes, with stamina greater than most, and after doing so much exercise, dealing with so much adrenaline, also had sexual needs more than most. It would be cruel to deprive them of such a necessary release—you believed it was almost like a form of therapy, surely? A catharsis drawn from their very bloodstream, bodies needing oxytocin and dopamine to calm their restless and excitable hearts. One round of sex wasn't going to do any harm to their roles on the pitch.

And so, with that strong belief in mind, you found yourself cornering your unassuming boyfriend in the recovery room of England's designated private training base.

Jude took his athleticism very seriously, always adhering to rules in the interest of playing as skilfully and as successfully as possible. It always paid off, so he wasn't about to start messing with what had so far been working in his favour.

But you knew him well enough. You knew that your assumption was correct—that ejaculatory release could only be beneficial, because restriction and pent-up sexual frustration could only ever be a negative thing. You felt that you'd be doing your duties as a devoted, supporting girlfriend, if he'd hear you out and allow you to.

You'd been sitting with the other WAGs, watching your men run up and down, stretching their muscles, groaning with the exertion. Your eyes never left the gorgeous artwork that was Jude's body, and you hadn't realised you were quite literally biting your lip at him in public, sighing with need, pupils dilated though hidden by your sunglasses. You were wearing a tiny white summer dress with white kitten heels—likely a little too overdressed for merely attending training, but most of the other girls were with you on that.

And when a break was finally called—fifteen minutes, to be back there immediately afterward—you didn't wait a moment to pounce on him.

As he skipped over to you, all sweaty and slightly breathless, you did something very uncharacteristic. You hugged him despite the sweat, despite your ivory white mini dress, the one you cherished so dearly. Usually, Jude would shower before touching you after training or after a game, and that wasn't because you cared more about your appearance than your boyfriend—it was because he got so sweaty sometimes that it left wet stains on your summer-coloured clothing, and the paparazzi were always waiting around the corner.

Jude was surprised at the way you wrapped your arms around his neck without restraint, not even hesitating to allow his half-drenched shirt to collide with the pristine quality of your dress.

"Hey, baby, what's this?" he chuckled, holding your waist tight as you clung to him.

"Come with me," you whispered, stood up on your tiptoes to reach his ear. “Inside.”

He furrowed his brows in intrigue, wondering if something was wrong; and then you pulled away, took his hand, and strolled off inside the training complex, en route to your destination.

You entered into the recovery room, its purpose for ice baths and hydrotherapy, therefore of no use to anyone at present. And it was when you shut the door behind you, turning to give him that tell-tale smirk, that Jude realised exactly what you were up to.

"Hi, baby," you grinned, waiting for him to say something as he looked you up and down in amusement. Sure enough, your dress was already stained with patches of his sweat.

"I don't even think I need to ask what you're plannin' here."

"No, you don't, because asking wastes time, and we only have fifteen minutes, so c—" You began to walk into the corner you'd been eyeing as the perfect spot, where a wide couch sat before the wall, but Jude took you by the wrist and guided you back to face him.

"Darlin', we're not doin' that in here," he said plainly. His expression was still amused, but he was being serious, because he was still stuck on his refusal to rule-break.

"Why?" you pouted. "You have to hear me out first."

"Alright, whatever—go on," he smirked.

You interlaced both hands with his, and explained your own theory. "So, it's my personal opinion that Tuchel is viewing sexual intercourse in entirely the wrong way."

Jude raised a brow.

"He's saying it's gonna affect your performance, right? That it'll reduce focus and deplete you of energy, or whatever?"

"Orgasms do suck the life out of me sometimes."

You rolled your eyes. "After the fourth round! Not with a quickie. Nobody said we had to fuck all day and night, but I completely disagree with the statement that sex negatively affects performance." Now you stepped forward, dropping one of his hands to run your digits over his collarbone, a sensual smile on your lips. "I think, that really, it can only make a positive difference."

Jude was grinning wide now, entertained by this display of scientific theory governed by nothing other than the empirical evidence of your hormones.

"Do tell," he joked, provoking you to continue.

You giggled. "Well, we all know how difficult sexual frustration is," you sighed, dropping his other hand now and reaching over the crotch of his shorts, where a growing bulge could be felt beneath. "Surely it's unfair for a manager to force his players to deal with such a thing..." As you spoke, you rubbed and squeezed the weight of him, heart racing as you experienced the familiar feeling of his length hardening further under your touch. "And if you're too frustrated... it might only end up backfiring on the team. Tuchel wouldn't want that, would he?"

Jude shook his head, still smirking, because he refused to visibly fold at the way you spoke and fondled him, even while internally he was going insane.

"And you wanna break that rule in here, yeah?" he asked. "In this room?"

"Mhm. Right now, pretty please..." you sung with faux-innocence into his ear, on your tiptoes again to lean into his chest, still kneading your hand over his shorts.

"Pretty please, hm?" he repeated, with a slight mocking tone that sent a deeper rush of arousal through you. Your panties were clinging tight to your glistening folds—you were surely smothered in arousal beneath that fabric.

"Jude..." you whispered, leaning further forward to brush your lips over his neck, breathing in his scent as your tongue darted out within a kiss to the skin.

You heard him hiss, and he felt your reaction, your widening smile just beside his Adam's apple.

“So," he murmured, "first you’re tryna get me to do somethin’ the boss has made illegal, and now you’re tryna get us caught doin’ it too.”

“J…” you beamed innocently, stepping away now and rocking back and forth on your heels. "We won't get caught..."

He shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile that expressed just how predictable this was. Never would you play by the rules, no matter how high-stakes the game ahead. And again, you truly were a firm believer in your own opposing theory that pre-match sex could only be beneficial to England’s star player. It would excellently boost morale, and that was the most crucial quality in this stage of the competition, right?

Without needing to give another plea, you twirled 180 degrees, before strutting over to the smallest corner of the room, past a row of red light therapy beds. Jude followed in tow.

And there you stood by the plush grey couch, admiring it as the most ideal, most comfortable piece of furniture to have a quickie on. It was almost like it had been placed there for that very purpose. The universe knew to give you the idea that you should enter this specific room, because the act really was what Jude needed, even if he might have fought it initially. Now, he was coming round.

"Sit down, handsome," you smiled, guiding him to do so, and even despite another amused eye roll, he did. He sat up against the back of the couch, settled into the furniture with a demeanour that gave away what words didn't need to. He was on your side now.

You giggled as you straddled him, legs bracketing his strong, muscular thighs. "’m gonna ride you, baby—'n I'll be quick, I promise."

"Better be, sweetheart," he murmured, smacking your ass harshly. You yelped, arching your back and taking that as an incentive to begin rocking over his clothed dick. As you did, you watched him raise his right wrist slightly, checking the time on his watch. "Just under ten minutes now, c'mon. If y' need it that badly, y' gonna have to start speedin' up."

You were grinding down harder now, his dick straining through his boxers, your pussy perfectly prepped in its drenched arousal. There would be no time for foreplay—although it was true that you pretty much always needed it with Jude.

Wasting no more time, you tugged at his waistband, pulling both layers down just enough to free his achingly hard cock. It stood up with a pop, thick veins running all along from base to tip, precum leaking from the slit and down the underside. You almost physically salivated at the sight, as though a dog in heat had met its human form.

"Can't be starin' too long, baby," Jude smirked, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You were lost in your own world, always amazed by how lucky you were to have this perfect asset waiting for you every single day.

You chuckled, grinning as you pulled your soaked panties to the side and rubbed the weight of him along your dripping sex. The head of his dick provided the perfect friction, and you spent a few moments too long just gliding it up and down your folds, the anticipation of him filling you almost as satisfying as the fullness itself.

Your eyes were clamped shut, revelling in the feeling, but you had a sharp awakening when you felt Jude's hand suddenly slam down on your asscheek again. He was never intentionally too harsh, but your ass was just too pleasing, too pretty to look at...

"C'mon, princess," he ordered, with a raised brow. "Would've been easier if I'd fucked you against that wall, no?"

"No, baby, shut up, 'm fine, just let me—ohhhhh..." Finally, you eased down onto him, hands immediately gripping his shoulders with the impact of his girth stretching your tight walls.

"Aw, that's it..." he both cooed and groaned, hands settling at the curve of your ass to guide your position.

"J, you're so—oh, mmm, God..." You babbled incoherencies while you slowly took every inch, and of course he talked you through it.

"Yeah, that's it, c'mon now, baby... Nearly there..." "Just a little more... Takin' it so well..." "Pretty pussy, squeezin' me so tight..."

His words only made you even more insatiable, and as you finally sunk down, his girth nestled perfectly in your heat, you began to bounce. There really was no time to waste, and you hadn't planned on going slow.

"Oh, yes, fuck, that's my girl," Jude moaned beneath you, gripping your hips and your ass so tight that you were certain there'd be bruises if he kept it up.

"Yeah, you love how I bounce on you like this, baby? Feels so good, J..." you whined as you lifted your hips up and down, chasing your peak. You raised your hands to meet your clothed breasts, kneading over the tissue, but wishing the style of fabric had instead allowed for your man's easy access, because his hands on your bare skin was nothing short of heavenly.

The feeling of him filling you up was another slice of heaven, and on his dick you moaned like a whore, rocking back and forth, making figure-eights with your hips.

"So fuckin' tight for me, sweetheart," Jude muttered under his breath, looking up into your ever-fluttering eyes. "Y'so needy, always thinkin' about gettin' fucked..."

You giggled through another whine, placing your hands on his chest now to help with balance as you surrendered your body to him completely. You rode him with force, high-pitched sounds spilling out of your throat with each alteration in movement, and now it was even clearer to you: this was certainly what every player in this World Cup needed to proceed successfully. What could be more galvanising, more energy-inducing, than the inspiring motivation of a woman's sex? You knew Jude would be thinking about this throughout the rest of the day—you knew he'd get flashbacks during the game—but never did that mean a disruptive distraction. No—you were essentially his muse, his source of stimulation to drive him to success, that last piece of the puzzle on top of all the hard work he put in. As your pussy squeezed his aching length (for the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours, mind you), you ascended toward climax, riding impossibly faster while the outside world became a blur, nothing existing but the two of you...

"Oh, Jude, 'm gonna cum—" you nearly screamed, rubbing circles over your clit now, desperate to reach your peak. Beneath you, Jude was bucking up his hips with an eagerness mirroring yours, and with it he groaned profanities.

"Yeah, baby, fuck—need you to cum for me..."

"I'm so close, J, oh, yes..."

The couch, as sturdy as it was, creaked beneath you, and you bounced your ass down onto him as hard as possible, moaning without restraint as Jude grabbed and smacked at the flesh, wet snapping noises echoing throughout the room and surely through the hall. You leaned down to kiss him as you finally came, his tongue swallowing the extent of your lewd sounds, although you'd already made enough of a noise in the last few minutes.

He was so close too, and with a few more thrusts upward into your sweet spot, his orgasm crashed through his sensitive body.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh—that's it, take it, baby..."

Hot ropes of cum shot up into your womb, filling you wholly as you sighed breathlessly into his neck, collapsing forward.

"J, oh my..."

Jude caught his breath too, blinking rapidly to bring himself back to earth. He'd obviously be fine to play tonight, but would he definitely be fine to resume training with his teammates in—he checked his watch again—just two minutes time?

"Shit, darlin', you've got me fucked up," he murmured in your ear, and you smiled wide, peppering kisses all over his face. He mirrored your expression, relishing in your facial kisses, but internally cursing the fact that he'd have to pull out in a moment. His cock was softened now, but your wet, cosy heat felt too heavenly enveloping him, and he wished the rest of the day could be called off so that he could spend it with only you and your ethereal body. In that room, so perfectly entwined, it really did feel like you were the only two people inhabiting the earth.

In reality however, you weren’t, and in a moment someone would be reminding you of that. While Jude's mind might have been still half-focused on his responsibilities, neither of you expected what came next.

Suddenly, the door creaked open from the opposite end of the room.

"Oh my God—fuck," you both cursed in unison.

Luckily, whoever it was couldn't see you both from that entrance, so, in your shock and panic, you each managed to detach, jump up from the couch and rush over to another corner just in time, fixing yourselves to look presentable.

But there was cum on the couch, and more dripping down your thighs. You'd clean the couch once the person had left, but what were you to do about the sticky mess on your legs? Jude was trying not to laugh, and you kept nudging him, needing to get him to shut up.

"Stop it, you idiot—they'll hear!" you whisper-shouted.

No use, of course; and now the individual was facing you. While earlier you'd praised the universe for granting you the perfect room for sex, you now cursed those same stars for putting you in this horrifying position. Because indeed, the individual facing you was none other than Thomas Tuchel himself.

As he looked you both up and down, you literally almost fainted and threw up at once. The two of you weren't indecent, thankfully, but it was incredibly obvious what you'd been doing. The flustered look on your faces told of that alone. Jude wasn't laughing anymore.

"Had a nice time?" he asked, with a sincerely raised brow.

You both stuttered, and in the awkwardness you decided it had to be Jude to deal with it, because you weren't the one on personal terms with the England manager. Quickly, you rushed into the bathroom just behind you, knowing that no action you made could be more embarrassing than what had just happened, and in there you leaned against the door, clamping your eyes shut in embarrassment.

After a few moments to collect yourself, you then cleaned Jude's cum from your legs, fixed up your hair and your dress, and once player and manager had left the recovery room together, you finally stepped out.

Attending England's training sessions would go on to feel a lot different from then on, and you only hoped that your reckless morning wouldn't make it past those four walls and into a headline.

Your clock reads 1 am, a chill in your room due to the half opened window Michael climbed in from an hour ago, parents passed out down the hall but now you’re not too certain with how loud he’s becoming.

“Michael.” You deadpanned for the third time, pulling away to watch him sheepishly cover his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just tickles..” As if it wasn’t obvious to you already, to which you rolled your eyes at. Deciding to be a little mean, you continue a little more. “Oh, what does? You mean this?”

You couldn’t help yourself. Michael’s laughter is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard, dare you’ll say it pleases your ears more than his singing voice. The kind of laughter that has you not wanting it to ever end. However, unfortunately it did, because in the midst of your tickly kisses, your lips pressed a little too firm on a spot near his ear, letting out a moan before he could even think to stop it.

You both simultaneously freeze, Michael due to shock, and you trying to decide if you heard correctly or not. Suspicions were confirmed the minute Michael tried to babble out an embarrassed explanation, but you didn’t care for none of that. You wanted him to make that sound again.

“Oh, did you like that?” You asked, yet knowing the answer already. You don’t even wait for a response, going back in search for that particular sensitive spot, pressing a repeated kiss there.

He delivered another noise for you, this one sounding a little whiny which is coming from his shy nature, and the moan he did earlier because it’s sending heat all the way down to his pants.

And boy, do you feel it.

A tent forming in his pants that is gradually getting tighter because you now let your tongue peek through your slow kisses up his neck. You sense him wanting to say something, worried he’ll get too loud and get the both of you caught, but his greed is stronger as hands now find their way to your hips, encouraging you to start grinding down.

But you don’t, not yet at least.

You don’t budge, hovering a bit. “Don’t do this to me, baby..” He often says when he’s not getting what he wants, having you pull a smile. You get bolder — kiss, suck, then lap the hickey with your tongue. One hand leaves your hips to cover his mouth, aware he won’t be able to help himself.

“Can’t believe I’m now finding out how sensitive your neck is, Mikey. I wonder if I could make you come from just this?”

Surely you must be joking, he thought.

Him fighting to stay quiet with a trembling hand clamped over his mouth only gave you fuel to keep going, pathetic looking real good on him.

The hickeys you create are scattered on all different places on his neck, almost like you’re trying to not miss a single spot. As you like to believe you’re not entirely evil, you pull away to start grinding down on his bulge that’s been aching for any type of friction, soaking up the way he sharply inhales through his teeth. He uncovers his mouth to hold your hips again, to keep your moves real nice and slow.

You press your palms on top of his chest for balance, your grinds getting more desperate and needy when your clit keeps getting hit perfectly by each tiny buck of his hips. Room is no longer filled by the sound of the cold wind coming from outside, instead being of your guys hushed noises of oohh’s and aahh’s.

Until you opened your eyes to look down, and not being a fan on how lonely and naked the left side of his neck looked in comparison to his right, painted by your reverence. You couldn’t let that slide, right?

His voice cracked in the middle of another moan being ripped out from his throat the second you bring your face back down to his neck, repeating the same pattern that’s been turning him into a breathless mess. Kiss, suck, then soothe it with your tongue.

“Please baby, you’re gonna kill me.” He gasps out, since just because you’re back to giving attention his neck, your grinds haven’t stop. Two pleasurable feelings mixing together into one is overwhelming every bone in Michael’s body, mouth open to let all noises be set free that he’s given up on holding back.

You wanted to tease, to edge. Michael being a trembling mess beneath you all because you accidentally discovered something new he enjoys that he himself didn’t know until now, how could you not take advantage of it and have a bit of fun?

Although, you became a little too eager. Lips running across to stop in the middle of his neck, feeling his adam’s apple throb with each whimper. You plant a kiss there, then suck, and that’s what did it for him.

Michael pants heavily from beneath, eyebrows screwed and eyes shut, a face you recognize all too well what it meant. “No way..” You softly breathe, stopping the movement of your hips.

“You’re so mean to me.” He whines into his hands, causing you to huff out a scoff. “Right, like you were telling me to stop.”

You giggle at his silence, all so telling. “You’re not mad though, right?”

He gives you a reassuring shake of his head, pulling you back on top to kiss you all over your face. “Never mad at you.” You hum as his kisses get softer, lolling your head to the side as they get lower.

Until you let out a giggle at a particular one because it tickled, making you both still. There was no point in backing out of it, as Michael’s already flipping your positions, now hovering over you with nothing but a sweet revenging glint in his eyes.

Michael’s a little on edge.

You’d think after the main wedding ceremony, he’d be a little more relaxed but no. In fact, he’s even more nervous.

And excited.

But mostly nervous.

You see, after the officiant said the words “you may now kiss the bride” and the two of you ran down the aisle with beaming smiles on your faces, you had pulled Michael to the side and whispered in his ear that you had a little surprise for him.

And judging from the way you purred it seductively, he figured it was something a little… naughty, if you will.

It was your wedding reception now and he couldn’t shake off the thought of what your surprise would be. Even with all the speeches by his family and special performances by his friends done right in front of him with you by his side, it was the only thing that lingered in his mind. Did you wear something for him underneath your dress? Maybe it was one of those three-piece sets that he really likes. Shit, he was getting worked up just thinking about it.

He was now sitting back on his chair, watching you enjoy yourself on the dance floor with your friends, a loving smile plastered on his face. He liked watching you have fun and live in the moment. It was one of his favorite things to do.

He suddenly feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns to find Cindy, one of your bridesmaids. “Hey, Mike,” she greets. He notices how the corner of her mouth was twitching, almost as if she was holding back a grin.

Michael smiles at her politely. “Hey, what’s up?”

Cindy holds out her hand which was holding what looked like a printed photo faced down. “She wanted me to give you this,” she says, jerking her head towards you on the dance floor. Michael glances in your direction to find you watching with small smile on your face. When your gazes meet, you give him a wink and take a sip from your champagne glass before turning back to your friends.

Michael gulps before turning back to Cindy and taking the photo from her hand. “What is this?” The woman only shrugs in response, waving her hand to urge him to take a look at the picture before walking away, giggling.

His brows furrow together. Was this your surprise? A photo?

He turns it in his hand to take a look.

When he gets a glimpse of it, his eyes widen and his face heats up. He immediately holds the picture to his chest, looking around him in slight panic to see if anyone was looking. When he confirms that no one was there to see the contents of it, he slowly brings it up to his view.

Fuck, he was doomed.

It’s a photograph of you in bed on your side, leaning on your elbow as you stare seductively at the camera. You were wearing a black lace lingerie set that flattered you in the best way possible and your legs were wrapped in a black stocking which was being held up by the garter on your thighs.

God, you looked good. Michael finds himself swallowing the saliva that had pooled inside his mouth. He looks up from the photo to take a deep breath. He had to look away before a rather big problem would arise. He shakily stores it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and as he does, he catches your eye from across the room.

You’re smiling at him from behind your champagne glass and it takes everything in him to prevent himself from walking over and pulling you into an empty room. So, this was what you wanted. To get him worked up on the night of your wedding reception. He shakes his head at you and lets out a nervous laugh, bringing a hand up to his forehead to dab at the bead of sweat that had formed.

This was going to be a long night.

--

The flavor you chose for the wedding cake was good, Michael thought.

Strawberry shortcake. He liked strawberries.

The cream was really nice too. Smooth, decadent.

But as he stares at the plate in his hands, all he could picture was you. Maybe you’d like it if he sprayed some whipped cream on your body and he slowly licked-

No, it was getting out of hand now.

He had originally grabbed a piece of cake to maybe take his mind off of the picture that was given to him a few minutes ago. But to no avail, evidently.

He was chewing on a strawberry slice when another one of your bridesmaids approach him. He recognizes this one as Lara, the one that liked to invite you to parties a lot. “Michael!” she greets as she skips over, seeming to be a little tipsy with the slightly dazed look in her eyes.

He nods at her, swallowing the food in his mouth. “Hey,” he replies.

Then she holds both of her palms out.

Oh.

Another printed photograph. It’s face down.

He blinks at the sight of it.

“Your wife wanted you to see this.”

Wife.

Right, you were his wife now. He thinks he’d love getting used to calling you that.

He clears his throat and chuckles out of nervousness before he takes the photo. “Oh, god. She’s gonna kill me.” The woman only laughs before walking away with a skip in her step.

Michael takes a rather big bite of cake in attempt to calm himself down before he flips the picture over. And when he does, he inhales way too quickly which causes the food in his mouth to go down the wrong pipe. He gets into a coughing fit, hastily hitting his fist against his chest.

When he finally manages to swallow properly, he tries to catch his breath before taking another look at the photo.

You were on all fours on the bed this time. But instead of you resting on your hands, you rested on your elbows which accentuated the arch in your back and the curve of your ass even more. You were wearing a different set now, it was a lot thinner, a lot skimpier. It looked like you had applied some body oil as well which made you look ethereal with the way the light reflected on your smooth skin.

He was right.

You were gonna be the death of him tonight.

--

“So, how about that new album?”

“Ah- I already have song ideas but… I don’t really know yet, Q.”

“Songs about your wife, I presume?”

Michael feels his face heat up at that question. He looks down at his shoes and giggles shyly. Actually, he already had written out so many songs for you but he hasn’t perfected them yet. “Yeah… I haven’t finished them yet though,” he replies, scratching at his cheek.

Quincy chuckles, holding up his champagne glass to take a sip. He eyes you from across the room as you chat with his sister, Janet, who also happens to be one of your bridesmaids. You two have gotten quite close since the beginning of your relationship with Michael. “She’s a keeper, you know,” he utters, shifting his gaze back to the man in front of him.

Michael follows his gaze and smiles as he watches you grin and laugh with his sister. “I know… It’s why I married her.”

Then as if you felt his stare, your head turns to look directly at him. He watches as you whisper something to Janet before she too looks at him and starts pulling you with her to his direction. He swallows, already sensing some trouble with the way his sister was looking at him mischievously.

“Michael! Talking business on your wedding day? Seriously!” Janet playfully scolds before shifting her gaze to Quincy. “Q, can you give us a moment?” The man relents, raising his hands in surrender before backing out.

You step forward and wrap your arms around your husband’s shoulders and he almost automatically brings his hands up to your waist. You smile up at him. “Hi,” you utter, your eyes shining. Michael chuckles, placing a kiss on your nose.

“Hey, you.”

“Oh, you two are too adorable!”

You both look to the side abruptly, almost forgetting that you weren’t alone. You pull away but Michael keeps one of his hands on your waist. Janet immediately puts her hand up to her mouth and says, “Oh- sorry. I ruined it, didn’t I?” She laughs. But then she reaches into the pocket of her skirt and brings out what seems to be another photograph and holds it out to him.

Michael curses silently and turns back to you, “You are out to get me,” he says as he takes the photo in his hands. You only smile cheekily and shrug in response but he realizes something. “Wait- why my sister?”

Janet seems to take offense to that and swats his arm. “Excuse you! We’re close friends and mind you I gave her the idea so you should be thanking me!” she exclaims, crossing her arms. The two siblings start to bicker playfully as they always do and you watch fondly. Michael was thankful for his close-knit relationship with his siblings, especially Janet. He was glad when you and her started hanging out together often when he had initially introduced you to his family.

“Say thank you!”

“Alright, alright! Thank you, Dunk. I’ll even send a gift basket to show my appreciation.”

“Good!” Janet then leaves the two of you to do your thing, sending a wink your way which you laugh and shake your head at.

Michael turns back to you, still holding the picture in his hand. He hasn’t looked at it yet. “So, this is your surprise huh? You vixen.” He sets his hands back onto your waist, looking down at you with slightly darkened eyes.

You smile up at him, bringing your hands up to play with the collar of his shirt. “You like them though, right? The pictures?”

He scoffs and bites his lip, his hands gently squeezing around your waist. “I’m doing everything in my power to control myself right now.” You like that answer. He can tell with the excited glint in your eye. He sees you eye the photo in his hand before looking back up at him with a smirk.

“That one’s my favorite, take a look.”

He tsks and narrows his eyes at you before pulling away. He looks around, once again making sure that no one was behind him to get even a peek of what's in the image. He glances back at you and shakes his head when he sees you watching in anticipation with your head tilted and your arms behind your back. “Temptress,” he says, making you laugh. He looks down at the photo.

His first thought was that he was definitely not going to hold himself back once you two get back to that hotel room.

He understands why this one was your favorite.

Shit, it might be his too.

Your bare back was facing the camera but your head was turned to the side, a seductive smile on your lips. The sheets around you were pooled at your hips and your curves were on full display for him. But despite how absolutely stunning you looked, Michael’s eyes went directly to what was on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass.

There, written in calligraphy,

“I want you to know you’re welcome here anytime, baby” “Come over whenever you want. Don’t even worry about knocking.”

“Are you sure, Michael? I wouldn't want to intrude-”

“Of course I’m sure,” “You could never intrude.”

A small smile had tugged at his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“I’m always gonna want you here with me.”

And he meant it.

Atleast you thought he did.

That was why you never hesitated now when you walked through those doors.

You could hear the laughs of some of the brothers in the kitchen so you made your way there assuming thats where you would find your boyfriend. 

And as you were about to step into the kitchen you heard your name.

You stopped.

Not because you were trying to listen.

But Michael’s voice caught your attention before you even had the chance to announce yourself.

“She’s just…. really clingy sometimes.”

Your smile slowly faded.

Clingy.

The word sat heavy in your chest in a way you didn’t expect. You weren’t clingy, were you? I mean sure you did love spending all your free time with Michael and sure, you checked in on him throughout the day but you assumed he liked it too, right?

Apparently not. 

So you quietly turned around and drove home before you could even hear what he had to say next.

Normally, you would have called Michael as soon as you got home. 

But your phone stayed untouched on your nightstand by your bed. 

You set your things down, changed into something more comfortable, and sat on the edge of your bed for longer than you meant to.

It was silly.

You knew that.

But the word kept replaying in your mind.

Clingy.

A small tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized you were crying and you stayed like that for awhile.

It wasn’t until the next day that michael finally decided to call you.

You still answered, but you weren’t as eager to fill the silence afterward.

“Hello?”

“Baby!” He sounded so excited, why was he so excited?

His voice immediately softened something in you.

“Hi, Michael.” There was a small pause on the other end of the line, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could already imagine the way his brows furrow slightly when something was bothering him.

“You okay?” The question made your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It came out too quickly.

“I’m just tired,” you added, trying to make it sound more believable. Another quiet moment passed. Normally, neither of you ever struggled to find something to say. There was always another reason to keep the conversation going.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said.

“I’m just tired.” you reemphasized.

Michael hummed, clearly not completely convinced, but he didn’t push.“You’re not coming over today?”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. I figured you were probably tired.”

“I am tired,” Michael admitted, a small laugh slipping into his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

“..”

“Baby…”

You could hear the concern in his voice, and that almost made it harder.

“I’m okay, Michael,” you said quickly. “Really. I think I’m just gonna rest today.”

Normally, Michael would have asked what was wrong and kept asking until you finally opened up. But something about the way you said it made him hesitate, leaving him unsure whether he should push or give you the space you seemed to be asking for.

“You sure you don’t want me to come by?” “I’m sure.”

A pause.

“Okay.” The disappointment in his voice was small, but you still noticed it.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” he said. “Okay.”

Another silence followed, one that felt too long for two people who were usually so comfortable with each other.

“Alright, baby. Get some rest.”

“Bye, Michael.” You hung up before he could say anything else and for a moment, you just stared at the phone in your hand.

The rest of your days during the week consisted of you and Michael basically playing cat and mouse.

He would call, like he always did, but you would let the phone ring a few extra times before finally answering. The conversations were never long anymore, your replies careful and excuses ready whenever there was a chance he might ask what had changed. 

Michael noticed.

Eventually, he started coming by your house, sometimes with flowers or something small he thought you would like, hoping you would open the door and tell him what was wrong. But every time, you found yourself staying quiet, pretending you weren’t home until he finally left.

You knew you were avoiding him.

You also knew you didn’t really know how else to handle the hurt you were carrying.

Mike on the other hand, had spent the entire week trying to convince himself that he was overthinking it.

That maybe you really were just tired. Maybe you were busy. Maybe there was some simple explanation for why your voice sounded different every time he called and why you suddenly seemed like you were always finding a reason not to see him.

But the more days that passed, the harder it became to believe that.

By the end of the week, it had become impossible for Michael to convince himself that everything was fine.

He tried throwing himself into work the way he always did. Dance rehearsals, recording sessions, meetings. Normally, they were enough to keep his mind occupied.

This time, they weren't.

His thoughts always seemed to find their way back to you.

He replayed your conversations over and over, searching for something he might have missed. Had he forgotten something important? Had he said something carelessly? Was he working too much? He couldn't think of a single reason why the person who he revolved his days to be around suddenly couldn't bear to look at him.

His brothers noticed too.

"You alright?" Marlon asked one afternoon as the two of them sat around the kitchen island.

Michael looked up from the plate he had barely touched.

"Yeah."

Marlon raised an eyebrow.

"You don't sound too sure."

Michael sighed quietly, bringing his hands up to cover his face. "I think... I think something's wrong."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

That was the part that bothered him most.

"I keep asking her if she's okay, and she says she is, but she barely answers my calls anymore. When she does, she's off the phone in five minutes." He looked down at the table, "I went by her apartment twice this week."

"And?"

"She didn't answer."

A silence filled the room.

"I don't think she's mad at me," Michael admitted after a moment. "If she was mad, she'd tell me. She always tells me… she’s just, distant."

Marlon frowned.

"So what are you gonna do?"

Michael didn't answer right away.

After a long moment, he looked up.

"I'm going back."

"And if she still doesn't answer?"

He stood from the table, ready to ask Bill to take him to what was naturally his second home.

"Then I'll keep trying til’ she does."

────୨ৎ────

The knock came just after lunch.

You didn't have to look through the window to know who it was. For a long moment you stared at the front door while the house remained completely silent around you.

 Another knock.

Gentler this time.

You closed your eyes for a second before letting out a quiet breath and reaching for the doorknob. When the door opened, Michael was standing exactly where you expected him to be.

He looked tired.

Not the kind of tired that came from rehearsals or long nights in the studio, but the kind that settled behind someone's eyes after they had spent too many nights wondering what they had done wrong.

His expression softened the moment he saw you.

"...Hi sweetheart."

"Hi."

Neither of you moved.

"I, um..." Michael glanced down for a second before holding out the small bouquet he'd been carrying. "These are for you."

You hesitated before taking them.

"Thank you."

"Can I come in?"

You stepped aside without saying a word.

Now he stood awkwardly in the middle of your living room, unsure if he should sit down or keep standing.

You placed the flowers on the counter and folded your arms loosely across yourself.

Michael looked down for a moment, his fingers brushing over the edge of his sleeve before he finally looked back at you.

"I don't really know where to start.. I just know that something's different."

The words were softer than you expected.

"I've been trying to figure it out all week, and I keep thinking maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I said something, or maybe I haven't been making enough time for you, or maybe..." He paused, letting out a quiet breath as he shook his head. "I don't know. I keep going over everything, but I can't find anything."

You looked away.

Michael noticed.

He always noticed.

"I miss you," he admitted. "And I know that probably sounds so stupid because it's only been a week, but it feels like you've been pulling away from me for so much longer than that."

"I didn't want to bother you."

Michael's eyebrows pulled together.

"Bother me?"

You swallowed.

"I just thought maybe you needed some space."

The confusion on his face only grew.

"Space from you?"

You didn't answer.

The silence told him more than words did.

Michael took a small step closer, his hands coming up to cup your jawline.

"Baby, why would you think that?"

You looked at him, trying to find the right words.

"I heard you."

Michael went still.

"What?"

"At your house Michael."

The room suddenly felt much quieter.

"I wasn't trying to listen," you rushed to explain. "I was just coming over for lunch, and I heard you talking with your brothers."

Michael's expression shifted, confusion slowly replacing itself with realization. "What did you hear?" he says your name softly.

You hesitated.

"I heard you say I was clingy."

For a moment, Michael didn't say anything.

Then his face softened.

"Oh, mama."

The way he said it almost made it harder.

"I thought..." Your voice caught slightly. "I thought I was too much for you."

Michael immediately shook his head.

"No."

"No, no, that's not what I meant."

He pulled your head close to his, making sure you were looking at him, his expression filled with regret.

"Y/n, you didn't hear the rest of it."

You frowned slightly.

"The rest?"

Michael nodded.

"I was talking to my brothers because I was trying to explain how much I love having you around. I was telling them that you're always here, that you always want to spend time with me, and I was laughing because I realized I'm the exact same way."

A small, sad smile crossed his face. "I said you were clingy because I love that about you."

You stared at him. "I love that you call me after a long day. I love that you come over so we can watch movies together. I love that I get to know all the little things about your life because you want to tell me."

His voice softened.

"I didn't mean clingy like it was a bad thing."

You looked away, feeling the weight of the misunderstanding finally start to lift.

"I thought you were getting tired of me."

Michael's expression changed immediately. "Sweetheart, I spent this entire week thinking you were leaving me."

The honesty in his voice made you really look at him.

"I thought maybe you had finally realized that being with me is too much. I thought maybe I was asking too much from you, that with the album and my career.. It was getting too intense for you."

You stared at him for a moment, your heart aching at the thought that he had spent the entire week carrying that fear by himself.

“Michael,” you said softly.

His eyes lifted back to yours.

“I wasn’t leaving you.”

The words came out immediately, because you needed him to hear them.

“I wasn’t thinking about ending anything. I was just hurt and I thought I was giving you what you wanted. I just misunderstood you. I should’ve talked to you instead of disappearing, i’m sorry.”

Michael looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over yours.

“I missed you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You almost laughed.

“Mikey, I spent the whole week trying not to call you. Do you know how hard that was?”

That finally got a real smile out of him.

“I had a feeling.”

You rolled your eyes softly.

For the first time in days, you both looked completely at ease.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.” you repeated back again.

And finally, after a week of missed calls and avoiding each other, you closed the space between you.

The kiss was soft, like both of you were making sure this was real. But it didn’t take long for the relief of having each other back to settle in.

A week without him had felt much longer than it should have.

When you pulled away, Michael kept his arms around your waist, holding you close like he was making up for every moment he spent thinking he was losing you.

“I really missed this,” he murmured.

You smiled against him.

“I did too.”

“No more secretly disappearing because you think I need space.”

You laughed. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, pulling you closer. “Because I was starting to think my girlfriend was trying to break up with me without telling me.”

“Michael,” you giggled harder this time.

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “Very rude way to find out.”

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR whose eyes always follow you behind his shades, subconsciously biting his lip as he watches you lounge in the pool with his little brother, yearning to be the stray water droplets that cling to your skin, skimming over your sternum down your plush stomach.

when his dick starts to rise in his trousers from the sight of your tits bouncing in the pool, he unashamedly dips his hand past the hem to adjust his dick, peel his balls off his thighs. and you don’t see a thing.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who makes up any excuse to touch your waist: to move you out of the way, to lift you up on the counter, to help you out of the pool. his hands are always warm too, they’re big. engulfing your waist, your hips, as he moves you any which way he wants, lightly, teasingly squeezing the soft of your hips too.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who jerks off to a napkin with your lipgloss stain on it. it’s a hot pink mark, and the lip product smells cheap and plastic-y, but the shape of your lips rubbing on his length makes jaafar jizz all over the thin tissue paper within a good two minutes.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who ends up taking your virginity in his bedroom at his family’s houseparty. jermajesty is all drunk in the backyard, a deep house beat making the walls crumble as jaafar’s thick digits scissor open your walls for the very first time. “let it out, gorgeous. they’re not gonna hear ya.”

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who eventually ends up sneaking around with you. suddenly you come over way too often, and while jermajesty enjoys your company, he can’t help but become suspicious as to why you always disappear in the middle of the night.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who has you face down in his bed as he lazily pumps into you. his hips rubbing against your ass, his cock gently caressing your inner walls as he grinds his balmy dick into your cervix while you gasp out in the pillows, jutting your ass further into his pelvis. you know you have to come quick, because you absolutely cannot afford jermajesty hearing you two going at it like two bunnies.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who fucks you so good, you can’t sit down normally the next day. literally wincing as you sit your ass down, the muscles burning as you tense them up. “someone did a little too much at the gym.” jaafar teases at the breakfast table. a warm filter coats your cheeks as scenes from last night cloud your mind. “something like that,” you mumble shyly.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to eat you out on the washing machine because 1) the laundry room is small and hidden away, nobody knows where the two of you are, and 2) the rumble of the machine masks your pretty moans and whimpers as you leak into jaafar’s mouth.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to see you in crop tops, because he loves to kiss your stomach. nosing your navel, squeezing your sides as he kneels in front of you, his forehead pressed against your skin as he kisses your cute tummy all over.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who takes photos of your fucked-out state to look back on later, when you’re not around, to get off to. he uses his fancy digital cameras as he takes nasty close up shots of your drooling, cummed up hole, videos of him pushing his cum back into you.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who fucks you in the middle of the day, and then has you walk back out with no panties on, his warm cum sliding down your thighs as you constantly squeeze your thighs together to keep jaafar’s thick cum from spilling out of you.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who sends you late night texts and — very much wanted — dick pics, his pearly white cum all over his bronzed hand, a stark constrast, with the text: “left your bra here and big j couldn’t contain himself lol”.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who, during his many trips to foreign places, also sends you pictures of his cummy, shiny dick, milky cum dripping down the base, his mushroom tip all soggy and swollen, thick cream sitting on his fat balls. “big dick will be back in town soon”.

sends you videos of him rubbing himself with your panties. he’s literally cut a hole through the gusset so his dick fits through the hole as he fucks his hand with your underwear. but as he hardens, he isn’t able to move the lacy fabric over his length anymore, so he ends up pacing around with your flabby panties hanging around his boner.

jerks himself off for you in front of the mirror, and you can see his thick balls resting on his thighs, twitching. when he’s close, he juts his tip on the glass mirror before shooting his entire white load against it.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who calls you “mami” as he eats you out, one big hand clasped around your mouth as his tongue flicks over your sensitive clit, your walls clenching shut around nothing. “lemme eat’cha open, mami, don’t fight me.”

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who accidentally starts calling you “mami” in normal, everyday situations. at the family dinner table, “pass me the salt, please, mami.” tumbles out of jaafar’s mouth. the thing is, he’s not even ashamed of it. he just owns it, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as jermajesty eyeballs him.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who sneaks into the bathroom as you shower. one moment you’re enjoying the hot water spray with your eyes closed, and the other you feel two large hands squeeze your tits, jaafar’s lips kissing your neck as his half-mast dick pokes into your thigh from behind.

⁀➴┊PERVY BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTHER!JAAFAR who loves to show off the hickies you put on him. he enters the living room, purple marks all over his neck while his brothers hype him up, thinking he had some last night. and jaafar? he just passes you a teasing look, winking at you because he knows you put them there last night.