ayla'sscr.ts

“it’s not that big of a deal,” your boyfriend, jobe, said.

except it was a big deal, at least to you. he had invited you to his friends party, you politely declined because you had to visit a cousin you hadn’t seen in years. jobe accepted and asked if it was still okay if he went, of course, thinking it’s a small thing his friend is having at his house you told him it was fine.

that was until you came back from a long day of shopping, walking, and eating with your cousin, when you finally settled down in the kitchen for a late-night snack you saw jobe updated his story.

you clicked on it expecting to see happy birthday wishes to his friend, or a cute picture of them together. instead, you saw him at the club, surrounded by women. you instantly swiped up, dm’ing him asking where he was.

you texted him non-stop for an hour or two and he didn’t even read them, you checked his location and it wasn’t updated. you bawled your eyes out, and it ruined the one night you were going to have with your cousin.

he came home the next morning with coffee in his hands like nothing had happened the night before. you were furious and demanded to know where he was, his excuse was his phone died. then, you two were going back and forth for what felt like forever, and now you’re here.

“it is a big deal to me,” your voice cracked, “jobe!”

“you’re overreacting,” he said in a calm tone, which made you more upset because he would do that to make it seem like you were being dramatic, “it was my mates birthday, and i invited you.”

“oh, yeah, you just forgot to mention it was at a fucking strip club!” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose together.

“i didn’t think i had to!” jobe raised his voice, “you know bryan, he’s like that, his party last year was in las vegas for fucks sake!”

you felt your eyes start to tear up, “don’t raise your voice at me,” you said, in a weak voice, “and i don’t know him like that.”

jobe sighed loudly, “okay, fine, but don’t try to blame this on me when it’s not my fault.”

“well it’s certainly not mine.” you sniffled.

“you’re being ridiculous,” he laughed, “i can’t do this.”

“what’s fucking funny?” you scoffed, blocking the exit.

“you, y/n, you.” he said, walking back to his spot to sit, “you’re really making a big deal out of nothing, it’s not like i fucked anyone or they touched me, i stayed away!”

“i believe you, i never said i didn’t,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, “it’s just a weird thing to not mention.”

“okay, you’re right, i’m sorry,” he said, flashing you his bright, dimpled smile that was your weakness, “can we be friends again?”

“i don’t wanna be your friend.” you sniffled again, this time laughing.

“oh, you wanna be more than friends, huh?” he raised his eyebrow, grinning more.

“shut up, i’m still mad at you.” you said, walking off to the living room.

“not for long, you won’t be!” he laughed from behind you.

-

jo. bellingham taglist: @deonegiii , @mariaaaalm , @mmonkeh3000 , @guessv , @night-fury-kamil , @bernalswifeyy <3

A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.

You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.

A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.

After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”

You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”

“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”

You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”

“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.

The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”

You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.

Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.

Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”

You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”

He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".

His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.

You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”

Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.

“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.

One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.

Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.

“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.

You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.

Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.

You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”

Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”

The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”

The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.

“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.

You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.

“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.

You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.

Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.

Jude's hand never really stopped moving.

It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.

You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.

For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.

He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.

author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>

A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.

You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.

A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.

After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”

You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”

“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”

You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”

“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.

The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”

You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.

Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.

Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”

You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”

He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".

His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.

You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”

Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.

“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.

One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.

Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.

“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.

You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.

Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.

You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”

Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”

The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”

The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.

“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.

You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.

“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.

You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.

Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.

Jude's hand never really stopped moving.

It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.

You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.

For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.

He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.

author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>

anyone smarter, anyone with a proper job, someone who can read a book without their eyes glazing over halfway through, someone who doesn't fall asleep ten minutes into a movie. you could've had a lawyer, a doctor, a teacher… but you have him.

just a football-kicking guy who still has to google words you say sometimes.

and he loves you so much it doesn't make sense. loves you so much it almost makes his chest hurt. loves you in a way that makes him feel like he's running after something he'll never fully catch.

he acts like he knows how lucky he is. because he does. because every time you look at him, he's reminded of it.

it's in the way his whole body pauses when you laugh, like he needs to commit it to memory before it's gone. it's in how he listens to every word you say, watches your mouth move around syllables like they're worth more than anything else in the world. it's in how he gets giddy when you wear his hoodies, how he doesn't believe you when you say you think he's good-looking.

like, objectively, he knows he's not ugly, but next to you? next to you, he might as well be a regular bloke off the street.

he's so smitten it's ridiculous. embarrassing, even. the team teases him about it. olise gives him looks when he sits next to you and his body turns toward you automatically, when he abandons conversations just to listen to you talk about something that happened at work. leroy makes fun of the way he holds your hand when you're walking somewhere, how he keeps glancing down at you like he can't believe you're real.

they tell him he's whipped. they say he's got it bad. but jamal doesn't care because they're right. he does have it bad. he's got it worse than bad.

he tells you he loves you at least six times a day, and it's never enough.

he says it before he leaves for training, when you're still half-asleep and don't respond properly. he texts it to you between drills, tells you again when he comes back home, breathes it into your skin when you're curled up next to him.

sometimes he just stares at you, eyes soft and tender and full of something he can't put into words, and you'll have to nudge him and be like, “what?”

and he'll shake his head, smile, say, “nothing.”

because how is he supposed to say all of it? how is he supposed to tell you that he still doesn't believe it, that he doesn't understand how he got you, how you looked at him and thought, yeah, him.

he doesn't get it, but he's not about to complain.

he's just going to keep loving you like this, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

because it is.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

you leaned a little closer. “you’re pretty.”

“thank you.”

“very pretty.”

“thank you.”

“especially your nose.”

“again?” he sighed.

“it’s adorable.”

“it’s just a nose.”

“no.”

you gently cupped his face and softly brushed your thumb over the bridge of his nose as he rolled his eyes.

“you’re weird.”

“and proud to be.”

without another word, you leaned forward and placed the gentlest kiss right on the tip of his nose.

it lasted barely a second, but it was enough for his nose to turn pink.

“oh my god,” you giggled. “already?”

“yeah.”

“that’s the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re staring.”

“because you’re adorable.”

“this is embarrassing,” he laughed under his breath.

“for you.”

“yes.”

“for me it’s the best day of my life,” you smiled even wider.

“you’re exaggerating,” he groaned.

“am i?”

“yes.”

“look at it,” you laughed softly, a little mocking.

“it's my nose, i can't.”

“but it’s so cute, even if it disappears quickly.”

he shook his head. “it’s because you kissed it.”

“exactly.”

“my nose always does that.”

“i know,” you leaned closer again. “and that’s why i keep kissing it.”

his eyes widened. “don’t you dare.”

but it was too late, you kissed the tip of his nose once more. you waited and slowly, the pink color deepened again.

“it happened again,” you smiled.

“you’re evil.”

“i’m just very attached to your nose,” you gently bumped your nose against his as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer while you stole one last kiss.

“honey...”

“yeah?”

he sighed, his nose turning pink again and that only made you love it even more.

jude took you on a surprise date to the aquarium as an early birthday gift and of course, you had to get into a silly debate over nothing. it started off with you commenting about how pretty the water looks, jude would go like, “the wa-tuh?”, “the wa-tuh over here, or over there?”, “it just looks like wa-tuh.” he said in his silly, adorable accent.

you’d try to hold in your laughs and comments, but you just couldn’t after he yelled out, “look at that huge shark in the wa-tuh!”

you giggled and covered your mouth, “water, you mean?”

jude raised an eyebrow, “that’s what i said,” he paused, “wa-tuh.”

“no,” you laughed once more, “you’re saying wa-tuh, it’s water.”

“i’m saying it correctly.” he defended himself, looking off at the other sea animals.

“nope.” you teased him, exaggerating the “p”, and turning the other way so he couldn’t see your obvious smirk.

“did two.” jude said as you could feel him staring at you, “and we’re not even in the states.”

you instantly whipped your head to give him, “hey, too far.” eyes, “it’s still water.”

he ignored you and you two continued walking and watching the sea animals, “ugh, jude, i want one.” you said, pouting.

“an orca?” he laughed, “our pool is not big enough to fit that.”

“you hate me.” you said, dramatically walking off.

he caught up to you, tugging your shoulder, “i do not, and you know i don’t like those ‘jokes’.”

you put his arm around you, “fine, fine, it’s funny to me at least.”

“it’s not fun-eh.” he said, in his accent again.

you giggled softly, but kept quiet as to not annoy him, but he asked, “what’s so fun-eh?”

“nothing, babe, look it’s a clownfish!” you pointed, trying to change the subject.

“tell me, love.” jude said, rubbing your shoulder.

“it’s funny, jude,” you held in another laugh, “not fun-eh.” you said mocking him.

“okay, too far, that’s just my accent!” he whisper-yelled.

“it’s still fun-eh, but not as fun-eh as wa-tuh.” you said, bursting out laughing.

he gave you a “really?” look and held you closer, “trust me, when you meet my family they’ll grill you about your american accent.”

-

ju. bellingham taglist: @luvrgrl-222 , @soobieewoobiee , @laneyrainy0 , @mmonkeh3000 , @mariaaaalm , @dianazyb , @brune77e , @strwayberrymilktea , @oliseamorr , @secretstvrn , @ceziaa , @sourcandyfish , @rosyyyrube , @auroraeanne , @deieia , @rockurwurld , @frankoceanistz , @norripley , @oharella , @fr0ggieth1nk <3

when you first met him, a meddling stranger had warned with fake concern that kylian was 'too full of himself' and therefore bad news. yet from the very first conversation it was like seeing yourself reflected in someone else. the same drive to succeed in your careers, the same unwavering self assurance. where others saw you as a threat, he saw you as an equal partner, and he didn’t shrink away from you. instead, he was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. or more accurately, like fire meeting fire. together, you bring out the best in each other.

"what a beautiful couple!' people usually exclaim at weddings, birthday parties, or any social gathering. they admire the way you hold yourselves, the way your personalities mesh in such a perfect way. you understand why it works: you see the best in yourselves, and you see it in each other too. and sometimes you play up the cockiness people project onto you two, just cuz it's fun. especially in the bedroom, when its just you two and you can bask in each other's love.

but sometimes, that projection can get under your skin. tonight is one of those nights.

you’ve just gotten back home after an evening game at the bernabeu, a game the team won. it feels like he’s hitting his stride again, growing sharper and more confident in the white shirt he’s always dreamed of wearing. he scored a nice goal, yet the trolls online still seem determined to tear him down.

kylian has never really minded it. whether praise or criticism, he’s used to people talking about him. he knows football fans can be fickle and reactionary, so he usually doesn't put much weight onto whatever they say. in fact, he makes a point to stay offline most of the time, to disconnect from the craziness of twitter. but you? you're very online, and sometimes you can’t help but want to bite back on his behalf.

you’re scrolling through your twitter timeline, sitting on your bed waiting for kylian to come to bed so you can call it a night, when one tweet catches your eye: “the dictator is destroying the locker room”

you roll your eyes. you scroll down and find another: “he’s so arrogant, always calling himself one of the best players in the world”

the audacity.

before you can think twice, your fingers are already typing away. “he talks like this cuz he can back it up!” you hit send, satisfaction coursing through you at having shut up one more idiot spewing nonsense on the internet.

“what are you doing?” kylian’s voice pulls you back to reality.

you glance up, and your breath hitches. he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, having just emerged from the walk-in closet wearing his usual bedtime attire: absolutely nothing but a pair of tight black boxers. your gaze involuntarily slides over the sharp planes of his abs, to his bulging crotch where you can see a hint of a curve beneath the waistband, then finally to his powerful, sculpted thighs. you swallow hard at the sight.

“nothing” you say, a little too quickly.

his eyebrows lift, and he steps closer before sitting down on the bed beside you, taking the phone from your hands. his eyes scan the screen, and his smirk widens. “defending my honor online huh?”

you fold your arms, suddenly defensive. “they were saying ridiculous things and you’re too chill about it”

he shakes his head, chuckling softly. “ma chérie, people have been talking about me for years. i don’t care what they say. why do you?”

“because you deserve better” you say, your voice firm. “they act like it’s a crime that you're confident. it pisses me off”

his expression softens. he cups your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “i don’t need anyone to fight my battles” he says, his voice low. “but it’s cute that you want to”

you glare at him half heartedly. “i’m not cute. i’m right”

“you’re both” he says, leaning his head in the crook of your neck. “and just so you know, i love that you’re always in my corner. i think it's really hot”

he presses his lips to the soft curve of your neck, breathing you in before pressing slow kisses, lips dragging a trail of shivers in their wake. his fingers find the thin strap of your camisole, sliding it down your shoulder as his hands begin to roam from your shoulders to your waist, before tracing the curve of your hips and gliding over your thighs.

then his lips move to yours, his tongue slipping past your lips with ease. your hands move instinctively, one cradling the back of his head, while the other grazes the nape of his neck with your nails. you know exactly what that does to him, the way it sends a shiver rippling through his body. his sharp inhale against your mouth tells you you’ve hit your mark, and it only encourages you, pulling him closer as the kiss grows even more heated.

“that skirt you wore tonight…” he murmurs against your lips, his hands slipping under the hem of your pajama shorts and gripping your upper thighs. “you knew what you were doing, didn’t you? showing off these legs. in the tunnel when you were waiting for me, all the guys there were staring at you”

you break the kiss. “jealous?”

“no" he says calmly. “there’s no one better than me"

you know he means it. and it turns you on.

he continues, “they can try, but they’ll never make your head turn, because no one compares to me”

your hand wanders to his bulge, and you hear his breath hitch as you rub him through his boxers.

“such a huge ego” you tease.

he just shrugs in response, a proud smirk playing on his face. the same smirk he has in press conferences when he’s outsmarted a slick journalist fishing for a soundbite to twist out of context.

you lick the palm of your hand and slide it inside his boxers, eagerly pulling him out. his hips involuntarily jerk at the contact, and you smirk. you swipe your fingers over the fat, swollen head, admiring the sight of what's in your hand. he’s so warm, so so hard, so smooth. and all yours to play with.

“y/n” his voice comes out rugged. “fuck that’s good”

you like watching all of his control dissolve. love replacing that smirk on his face with an agonized look.

“tell me what else is good” you murmur as you slowly stroke him, tightening your grip.

kylian groans, his head tipping back. 

“being inside you. that’s the best” he breathes, his voice rough with desire. “but you already know that”

your smirk widens as you lean closer to him. “i do” you tease, your lips brushing against his ear. your tongue peeks out and sensually drags over his lobe before you bite it, eliciting a breathy sigh from him. “but I like hearing you say it”

you keep stroking him, and the faster you jerk his dick, the more he falls apart. soon he’s moaning, catching your wrist with one strong hand, begging you, “no more. don’t make me come before i get inside you”

you pout before slowing your movements, running your thumb over one thick vein running up the length of him. 

“y/n” he groans, his hips jerking once again. unable to resist, you press a chaste kiss to the place where the vein meets the head. your mouth is watering for him.

but just as you're about to get down on your knees so you can finally put him in your mouth, he suddenly moves, his hands slipping under your thighs to lift you effortlessly and laying you back against the bed. his body hovers over yours, and his gaze locks onto yours, intense and dark with arousal. 

“i was about to suck you off” you whine. 

he grins. "you'll get to, any time you want. its all yours. but i want to taste you tonight"

his mouth moves to your neck, his lips brushing softly before his teeth scrape against your skin. you let out a contented sigh, his words making you very excited for what's to come.

his hands slide under your camisole, pushing it up and over your head in one fluid motion. the cool air meets your heated skin, and his eyes lazily glide over your naked form. he tweaks one nipple, and you shiver.

his hands go lower, and he gently lifts you up by the hip so can he slide your shorts and panties off you. 

“no one compares to you either, you know” he says, his voice thick with meaning as he shifts lower on the bed, his broad shoulders spreading your legs with ease. he pauses, glancing up at you with that infuriatingly confident wink. “not in this lifetime. or the next. or ever. we’re the same. that's why we're made for each other”

and with that, he dips his head, his mouth finding its rightful place.

you let out a quiet yelp as his tongue slides through your folds inquisitively, as if it hasn’t been there a hundred times before. it's warm and probing, and almost reverent, like you're a delicious meal he's trying to savor. his beard that you make fun of serves its purpose in times like these; it rasps against the tender spot where your thighs meet your ass, and the friction amplifies everything, every sensation sharper, hotter, better. you can't help but arch into him, craving more.

and then there’s his hand, his fingers working your clit in such fast, insistent circles that if he stops you might kill him. the intensity builds so quickly it’s almost unbearable, and you grip the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring you. you’re lying on a bed, yes, but his tongue is making you so weak you’re sure you’ll fall apart if it wasn’t for one of his strong arms wrapped around your upper thigh  holding you in place. even then, you writhe and squirm, eyes shut in ecstasy, mouth repeating “yes, please”s and “oh my god”s and nothing else. 

when you finally come, the pleasure rolls through you in waves, leaving you boneless and trembling. still, he doesn’t stop. his tongue stokes you through the aftershock,  even as your muscles turn into liquid and your body feels like it’s floating.

he finally relents when you place your hand on his head and shake him slightly. he looks up, his lips and the tip of his pretty nose glistening from your wetness, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he’s got a smug look on his face. “see? who else could do this to you?”

you don’t answer him with words; instead, you let your body speak for you. wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him down to you, drawing his mouth to yours. the kiss is slow and languid, your lips moving against his as you savor the taste of yourself on him. 

when your breath steadies and the aftermath of your orgasm fades into a warm feeling, you nip at his bottom lip, tugging it gently before pulling back. the smirk that crosses his face tells you he already knows what’s coming next.

because it’s kylian, and he knows you as intimately as you know yourself. because it always feels like he can read your mind, like your desires are two halves of the same whole. without a word, he rolls onto his back, sprawling against the sheets compliantly, leaving himself open for you to ride him.

you waste no time, sliding over him and straddling his strong thigh, the muscles beneath you flexing beautifully. his hands find your hips, steadying you as you position yourself. your bodies align perfectly, and as you sink down onto him, he slides home with ease.

there’s no painful friction, but there’s still a small pleasurable ache, the stretch that always comes with him. no matter how many times you’ve done this, your body always needs a moment to adjust, to accommodate him. the slight burn is part of the experience, a reminder of just how much of him there is. he groans low in his throat as you take him fully, the sound vibrating through your chest. "you're so big" you moan.

“you okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough but caring.

you nod, resting your palms on his chest as you steady yourself. “yeah” you whisper. "i can handle you"

his lips curve into a  grin, his hands tightening on your hips. “i know” he says, his tone shifting “we fit so good. i told you, we're made for each other”

his words send a shiver through you as you rise slowly and sinking back down on him again. the drag of his cock against your walls sends sparks shooting through your body, and you bite your lip, letting out a soft moan. kylian’s gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes filled with heat and something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

“fuck, you’re perfect” he breathes, his fingers pressing into your skin as you find your rhythm.

you move with deliberate slowness at first,  your hips rolling as you grind against him. the sensation is exhilarating, the way he fills you, stretches you, the way he watches you like you’re the only thing worth watching in the world.

leaning down, you press your lips to his ear. “you like watching me take you like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice dripping with confidence. “because I’m so fucking hot”

he groans, his hands sliding up your sides, over your ribs, until they find your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “you're so fucking hot” he agrees, his hips bucking slightly, pushing even deeper.

you pick up the pace, riding him with more intensity now, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. his hands guide your movements, helping you find just the right angle, and soon you’re both lost in the heat of it, in the raw, unending need for each other. from time to time you lean down to give him a better view of your breasts, the way you know he likes it.

when his hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, it’s almost too much. the added stimulation sends you over the edge, your head tipping back as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“ky” you cry out, your hands clutching at his chest as you fall apart around him.

“baby” he groans. he repeats his upward thrusts, holding you in place so you can do nothing but take it. again, again, and again, until you tighten yourself around him so much he has no chance of holding it off. his own release chases after yours.

finally he stills, his body tensing as he lets go, a deep, guttural moan leaving his mouth. 

for a moment, neither of you moves, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high. then he reaches up, cupping your face and pulling you down for a kiss. It’s slow and tender, a contrast to the fire that had just consumed you both.

when you finally pull away, his lips curve into a lazy smile. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you smirk, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "of course i do”

you know he knows you mean it.

his laugh is soft, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. “god, i love you” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell.

you lean down, pressing your forehead to his. “i love you too, ky” you whisper.

slowly, you lift yourself off him, feeling the tender ache as you slide him out of you. you settle back onto the bed beside him, the sheets cool against your hot, sweaty skin. for a while, you both just lie there catching your breath.

“what was that tweet you saw about me earlier?” kylian asks a little later, after you’ve taken care of the mandatory post sex clean up routine and gotten back in bed.

“hmm?”

“earlier,” he repeats, turning his head to look at you. “i saw your reply, but I didn’t see the tweet you were replying to. what did it say?”

“oh that” you giggle. there’s still so much endorphins rushing in you that you can’t even find the anger you felt earlier when you saw the tweet. “it said you’re destroying the real madrid locker room”

kylian arranges his face into a mock scowl. “nonsense” he says, lips twitching. he pauses for dramatic effect, and you know what he’s about to say. “the only thing I destroy is this pussy”

you both burst out laughing. 

A — Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I believe before Kylian started dating you, he was sort of lacking in this department. Not that he neglected the women he had been with before, but it wasn’t anything serious to him. After he met you, however, he realised the importance of aftercare.

Now, Kylian always makes sure to be attentive to your needs and absolutely puts you before himself. No matter how the night went, whatever position he was in, as soon as you both tap out, he's at your beck and call. Cupping your face gently and double—no—triple checking to make sure you are okay.

After you both are cleaned up and back in bed, he's very cuddly. Prefers when you're facing him so he can hold you to his bare chest, gently stroking the curve of your head while his other hand runs up and down your side.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kylian loves his hands. He's known that you've loved them well before you both started dating, so he's always used them to his advantage. When you're both fighting for the upper hand in bed, those slender fingers are a cheat code.

He loves the size difference too—your hand looks so small compared to his. It's the first he notices when he puts his hand into yours. It drives him crazy, thinking about how he notices it when he's pinning you down with his hands, too.

On you, Kylian loves your thighs. He loves to lay his head in your lap, the soft plush of your skin being the best pillow. But he also loves the feeling of your thighs claiming shut around him as he eats you out like a deprived, needy man. He will wrap his arms around them as he does so, hands gripping your flesh. And when he's particularly desperate, he will squeeze your thighs around his face, feeling the need to be absolutely suffocated by you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not particularly picky, especially in the earlier years. Loved to cum on you—thighs, stomach, and maybe even your face. He liked seeing you marked with more than just his lovebites and what better way to finish (literally) the night?

But now, Kylian loves to cum inside you over everything. The more serious your relationship gets, the more his desires change. Develops a serious breeding kink. Realistically, he knows he's in his prime, and you're far too deep into your career to think about children, but he can't help but let his mind swirl with the ‘what ifs,’ and suddenly he's coming more than once inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kylian would never suggest this to you, but in the darkness of a hotel, when you're miles away, and he's all alone, he wishes he had a tape of you going down on him. Only for him. However, Kylian is too nervous about someone hacking into his iCloud and having it uploaded to the internet. He would rather die.

Despite his fears, the idea drives him wild while you’re apart.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Even though the man has been busy with football his whole life, Kylian is pretty experienced given his fame; he knows what he's doing. It works perfectly when you both want to try new things.

If you get with Kylian in his younger years (2017-2019), then he's pretty average. Knows the basics and knows a few tricks from the hookups he's had, but you learn together for the most part. However, Kylian is very perceptive and naturally talented in everything he does/tries so even if he isn't sure, he will figure it out in seconds to make you feel good.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like he has a top three: reverse cowgirl, doggy style, and missionary. And Kylian can't choose only one because he fucking loves all of them. But if we take his love for your thighs and ass into consideration, then doggy style would be his favourite because he loves the way your ass perks up in front of him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kylian definitely doesn’t ruin the moment, but when you are intimate in the mornings, especially, his mischievous personality gets the best of him. Maybe a little chuckle or two, a few jokes. Nothing ridiculously cheesy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well groomed. I don't think he gets fancy with it, but he definitely doesn't let it get out of hand.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I’ve said before, a younger Kylian didn’t really care about this with his hookups. They were just hookups. But when he met you, he valued romantic and emotional connection during sex highly. A gentleman after everything, and I could see him being into pillow talk—unless he is too tuckered out from his match (and sex).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You try to spend as much time together as possible, but with Kylian’s crazy schedule, he ends up having to jerk off pretty often. He would like to wait to see you again, of course, but sometimes he can't help it. Kylian thinks about you all the time, and when you're not there, he gets imaginative. (Pro: he gets new ideas on how to spice things up the next time he sees you.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think this goes without saying. Again; he definitely has a breeding kink. Listen, he's young and doesn't have the time to commit to being a father right now, but have you seen him with children? I think he wants to have several in the future. And the idea that you will be their mother immediately gets him hard at the thought of it.

Kylian also speaks three different languages; so rest assured that he will be grunting dirty babble into your ear. Especially if he's frustrated after a loss, he doesn't shut up. And the way you react by squirming and moaning even louder? It urges him to be oh-so condescending. He would be laughing at you if it were any other situation.

On the softer side, Kylian loves when you compliment him and praise him while you're having sex, especially if you're on top of him, riding him, and telling him how good he makes you feel, how much you adore his cock. But he also enjoys praising you, cooing at your reaction to each compliment. (again: big fan of dirty talk.)

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

For peace of mind, Kylian’s favourite place to have you is the bedroom but he also loves bending you over things. The back of the couch, the kitchen counter, hell, you name it, he's probably bent you over it or planning on it at least once.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things with Kylian. If you interact with children around him in any way. Or if you are touchy-feely with him. Sends him reeling when you hold his hand and graze your thumb back and forth absentmindedly against his.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Nothing that involves you getting hurt. He might indulge in some spanking and maybe squeeze your neck a little while he fucks you, but nothing beyond that. Kylian would never think to harm you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think right now, Kylian prefers to give rather than to receive. As I said before, he loves everything about your thighs and the way they latch onto the sides of his head as he goes down on you. But he would never say no to the sight of you on your knees, struggling to get all of his cock inside your sweet mouth. Which is just as addictive as burying his face between his face and eating you out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, it depends on the context. Kylian is slow and sensual when you're doing it first thing in the morning or maybe after date night. He needs to feel you, but doesn't have too much energy to make it fast and rough. But for the most part, Kylian is fast and rough. Have you seen him on the pitch? After a few days of not seeing you or after a frustrating loss, he gets desperate and needs to ruin you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A younger Kylian, like most people, wouldn't mind. Sometimes he needed that extra boost in confidence before an important match, and he would always have you at any chance he could get. Plus the adrenaline rush of such a spontaneous rendezvous was extremely exciting to him.

But currently, quickies aren't Kylian’s favourite thing ever. He prefers to take his time with you, to get the full experience of being connected to you—even if he is rough. For him, spending the whole night together is better than twenty quickies in a day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kylian is quite risky. He would never put you in an extremely embarrassing position, but he would do you anywhere, whether there are people around or not. Think maybe the empty locker rooms, office, or a bathroom at a Michelin-star restaurant.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Unsurprisingly, Kylian’s stamina is a fucking beast. He is an athlete after all, and he is regarded as one of the fastest footballers. It's like he has a recovery time of near zero—Kylian is always ready for round two—three—four with you. You end up being the one who needs a break.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t see Kylian owning any toys while dating you. He strikes me as more of a simple man who prefers to please you with his fingers or cock. But as I said before, he is open to anything as long as it doesn’t harm you. And who knows? Maybe you both will discover something new you like.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I mean, we all know Kylian loves to tease. It's one of his favourite things in the world.

From something small like touching your arm or waist when you're doing chores around the house, to something much bigger like sending you dirty texts when you're halfway across the world from him. He loves feeling you tremble in his arms every time he touches you, even if it's innocently; and when you're flustered in public, trying to hold yourself back? A piece of art that belongs in the Louvre.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I feel like Kylian isn't the loudest, but he definitely makes some pretty, quiet sounds when he's inside you. He can't help it.

I see him more as a dom than a sub, so as I said before, he loves to grunt out dirty things—stumbling over his words as he relentlessly thrusts into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the person)

Although Kylian isn’t the biggest fan of quickies… he may have fucked you in some secluded area at Real Madrid’s campus after a hard match that left him fuming with anger. The press, his managers, and the entire team were looking for him, wondering where the hell he was, while he was fucking you mercilessly in some bathroom or closet.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Normal, maybe slightly above average. Maybe around 7 inches?

I feel like it’s thick, though. And he knows how to use it, which actually is the only thing that matters. I feel like he has a pretty cock—like those that are nice to look at. It looks delicious when he’s hard; all veiny and with a nice, thick head.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High as fuck. We already said that you have to spend some days apart from time to time, so he knows he won’t be able to be with you all the time; thus, he always has his hands on you and gets horny pretty easily. In fact, stress doesn’t kill his drive but rather makes it skyrocket. I’m sending prayers in advance.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bless him. Kylian puts everything into sex, so he’s usually tired after everything. He stays up to clean each other up, have some deep pillow talk—but he eventually lets sleep cascade over him. He’s so exhausted that he will fall asleep with you tightly in his arms. And there’s no place on this planet that Kylian would rather be at.