#judepedri

hey lovely anon and thank you so much, I'm glad you liked them! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

I'll definitely write more for them, I've had a couple of ideas written down for these two but never enough time to expand on them unfortunately. But I've got more free time these next weeks, let's see how it goes.

OMG OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥹🥹💖💖

I’m so freaking excited. I just hate that their tag is so annoyingly dry. I could literally inhale 100 Judri fics one after another. They are too delicious and spicy together 😫 I can’t wait to read your Judri fic 🫂

Hey thank youu for sending me such a sweet message, I appreciate it a lot 🤍🤍🥺 I didn't expect people to be excited for my fic, that means a lot! 🫶🏼💓 And yes their ship really has a lot of potential tbh, you can explore all kinds of different aspects of their dynamic, because they have such different personalities and both of them also have very distinct playing styles. I mean I like the hatesex fics, but I'm always interested to look at facets that haven't been explored yet much in a ship.

I have most of it written already, it starts with the last Clasico and there's smut, is all I'm going to say 👀 it isn't a very long story but all the grabbing during the game really gave me a lot of inspiration lol. I'll be posting the Link here too when I'm finished ☺️ I'd be really happy if you told me how you liked it, Anon! ❤️

And here is a screenshot of them from the Refcam, because apparently they cannot be separated:

He let out a soft, broken whimper, low in the throat. His hips bucked again instinctual, involuntary, nothing polished or deliberate about it. Just reaction. Raw and worn-out.

“Jesus,” he gasped, the name slipping from him like a breath he hadn’t meant to hold.

Jude laughed.

Not a chuckle. A laugh warm, wicked, effortless, like he’d been waiting for the moment, like it delighted him to hear God’s name. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, it grew more focused. His fingers tightened just enough to draw a twitch from Pedri’s stomach, and then again, gentler this time, coaxing rather than commanding. Still, there was no mercy in it. Just rhythm. Precision.

“Not Jesus,” Jude murmured, leaning down until his mouth brushed the damp skin of Pedri’s temple. He swept the soaked fringe from his face, slow and indulgent, thumb skimming the sharp line of his cheekbone as if to soothe. “Just Jude.”

Pedri exhaled through parted lips, neck arched like he couldn’t bear the contact and needed more of it all at once. Jude’s smile shifted, darker now something wolfish flickering behind it.

“Judas,” he said, and the word settled like smoke against Pedri’s ear.

Pedri whimpered again. It was pathetic. Worse, it was desperate. His hands, once clutching the sheets, reached up weakly as if to push him away, but there was no strength in the gesture. His wrists trembled. His whole body was vibrating with exhaustion, slick with sweat, trembling under the strain of being kept like this — on edge, held just out of reach, again and again.

“You’re tired,” Jude said, not as a question but a fact. He sounded almost amused. His hand never slowed. “Look at you.”

Pedri didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His head lolled to the side, teeth pressing into his bottom lip to keep the noise in. It didn’t work.

“Poor thing,” Jude murmured, leaning down further. His mouth dragged over Pedri’s jaw, lazy and deliberate. “You wanted it rough. Didn’t think you’d come apart this easily.”

He didn’t even wait for a reply. He didn’t need one necause Pedri had indeed asked. Had whispered it into his neck earlier, voice small, almost embarrassed and Jude had made a promise with his mouth, pressed against his skin like a threat.

Now, Pedri was trembling under the weight of it, every nerve stretched to the limit, every exhale thick and helpless. His chest rose in frantic bursts, his thighs kept twitching under Jude’s weight, and his lips were swollen from how many times he’d bitten down to hold himself back.

And Jude — Jude was relentless.

Not cruel for the sake of it. Not violent. Just precise. Focused. Patient. Like he knew every edge Pedri had and wanted to see what happened if he kept him poised right on the brink. Pedri gasped again, his back lifting slightly off the bed, a strangled moan catching in his throat like he couldn’t breathe through it.

Jude pressed his mouth to Pedri’s chest, right above the frantic beat of his heart. “Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. “Let me hear it.”

And Pedri… Pedri did.

His body seized beneath Jude’s hand, every nerve snapping taut in the same instant, like something inside him had torn loose. He cried out — no longer muffled, no longer held back, the sound torn raw from his throat — and his hips jerked upward, spine lifting from the sheets as if his body was trying to flee its own undoing.

He came hard, shuddering through it, the release dragging through him in waves, hot and unrelenting. His thighs trembled, stuttered, then gave out completely. His chest heaved like he’d run a marathon. His head fell back, mouth open around a silent gasp, too far gone for words now. Only sensation.

Only the burn in his lungs and the aftershocks ripping through him, messy and overwhelming. Jude didn’t stop touching him.

He slowed, yes but he didn’t stop. His hand gentled, drawing it out with deliberate cruelty, dragging every last tremor from him until Pedri’s moan twisted into something broken, something hoarse. He twitched, flinched, grabbed at Jude’s wrist with a weak, uncoordinated grip, fingers barely curling tight enough to count as resistance.

“You always look best like this,” he said, soft, like a secret. His voice was close to Pedri’s ear again, low and rich and calm. Too calm. “Messy. Quiet. Not trying to impress anyone.”

Pedri made a sound small, wounded and turned his face away, blinking hard against the blur in his eyes. His body felt distant, sluggish, like it was still catching up to what had just happened. He couldn’t move properly. His limbs wouldn’t listen.

Jude didn’t seem to mind. He stroked his palm once more over Pedri’s hip, his touch feather-light now not arousing, not quite soothing. Just a reminder. That he was still here. That he’d done this. That Pedri had given in. “You’re beautiful like this,” Jude whispered.

Pedri hated how that sentence made his chest ache. Hated that it didn’t feel like praise it felt like possession. Like Jude had carved his name into every inch of him, and now he was just admiring the mess he’d made.

He let out a shaky breath, tried to speak, but the words caught. His tongue felt thick, his lips numb, his throat dry. All he could do was lie there, flushed and shaking, pulse still stuttering in his wrists like an echo.

Jude reached out and ran his fingers through Pedri’s hair again, slower this time, almost tender but the smile on his face hadn’t softened. Not really. His touch said I’ll take care of you now. His eyes said I could do it again.

And god pedri would let him.

Even now, trembling and spent, his body answered the thought with a flicker of something traitorous. Not arousal. Not yet. Just surrender. The knowledge that if Jude reached for him again, he’d fall just as hard, just as fast.

THE HAND GROPING HIS BOOB !!???????

i need to sit down

I am obsessed with this clip, the way Jude is just standing there and watching Pedri sitting on the ground, then watching him get surrounded and hugged by other barca players. Wish the clip was longer but this interaction is delicious regardless, Jude on the sideline watching Pedri being the darling boy of barcelona, very buzzy!!! 🫨😌

ABSOLUTE CINEMA