synopsis: the release of your boyfriend's skims ad had you obsessed to say the least. you've lost count of how many times you've watched the video over and over again. it was supposed to stay your dirty little secret, one that you were willing to take to the grave, but unfortunately for you, your boyfriend came home early from practice and walked in on you fanning out.
content: fluff, 18+ mdni, suggestive (no smut), dry humping, make out session, no use of y/n, use of pet names, established relationship, they match each other's freak.
word count: 2.4k
a/n: wrote this before the world cup 😬 but i'm cleaning out my drafts. yall might've moved on from that skims comercial but i'm still at the restaurant!! not proof read, hope you enjoyed!
“everybody’s wearing skims”
you giggled to yourself for what felt like the hundredth time today. instinctively, you clicked replay on the video so that you could start giggling all over again. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought this ad went on for hours with how long you’d been watching it, but no it was only 12 seconds long. it was safe to say you were maybe…just a tad bit obsessed.
but how could you not be?
the way jude spoke in his midlands accent, juggling the ball between his legs in nothing but a pair of skims boxers, practically seducing the camera with his stunning looks as the camera kept panning up and down his body...god, he was just so—
you let out a sigh. you took a second to glance at the bedroom door. you knew jude was supposed to be at practice right now, so there was no way he’d catch you watching his old advertisement, but you could never be too sure. this was supposed to be your dirty secret, one you were planning on taking to the grave. you didn’t want anyone—especially not jude—to know that in your free time, you thirsted over your own boyfriend’s videos. sometimes, you felt more like a dedicated fan rather than an actual girlfriend. it was embarrassing to say the least, but you couldn’t help yourself. he just looked so fucking good, you didn’t know how to resist his charms!
you thought about it for a second, wondering if you should just stop right now and do something more productive with your day. maybe you could clean or finish that book you were supposed to be reading or…
you pressed the reply button again, letting the music start up again. all you could do is kick your feet and squeal. you rolled around in you and jude’s shared bed, giggling to yourself like a maniac.
it was all fun in games until the door to the bedroom flew open. had you not been squealing like a school girl, you probably would’ve realized a car was pulling up in the driveway. if you hadn’t been kicking your feet, blushing at your boyfriend over and over again, you would’ve heard the footsteps of someone coming up the stairs. and if you hadn’t been watching that fucking skims ad, you would’ve realized that 15 minutes ago, jude had texted you, letting you know that practied ended early and he was coming straight home.
“what are you doing, love?” the sudden sound of someone else’s voice mad you jump, practically falling off the bed and dropping your phone on the floor. before you could even attempt to come up with a decent excuse, the video started playing again.
that voice that you were fawning over just two seconds ago made you cringe. your face twisted in embarrassment and your cheeks quickly started heating up. gosh, you wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
“i can explain, i swear—” you attempted to do some damage control, but to no avail.
“is that…?” jude cut you off, his face morphing into one of genuine confusion.
you were frozen in place, not knowing what to do. you silently pleaded for some kind of way out from this completely embarrassing situation, but your prays went unanswered. instead, jude simply moved away from the door and further into your shared bedroom. casually, as if he didn’t just catch you watching his old underwear ad, jude walks over to you. you don’t know what to say. you keep attempting to come up with sort of justification for getting caught red handed, but no words would come out of your mouth.
jude picked up your phone from the ground, turning it over to confirm his suspicions. staring back at him was him from two years ago, dressed in nothing but skims boxers, holding a soccer ball. he raised an eyebrow at the video and he couldn’t help but laugh.
you let out a groan, slapping your hands over your face to cover yourself from his teasing gaze. you felt so humiliated, but clearing that was amusing to jude, because he just breaks out into a louder fit of laughter.
this was really the worst case scenario. you already felt like such a pervert, drooling over your own boyfriend like he was some fantasy character, and you knew that if anyone found out about your guilty pleasure, they'd probably judge you. but this? him walking in on you, catching you red handed like this? he would probably think you’re so weird or obsessed with him.
you wanted to go back in time to 10 minutes ago and tell yourself to turn the damn video off and do something productive with your day, but now it was too late. the two of you were kind of in a silent stand off, both of you struggling to come up with something to say to the other, but unfortunately jude found his voice first
“how many times have you watched this, anyways?” he asked, feigning genuine curiosity.
you hesitated to respond, you didn't want to tell the truth, but you also knew you were a terrible liar, and jude would clock you instantly. slowly, you removed your hands from your face, bracing yourself for the conversation you didn't want to have at all.
“like once…” your voice cracked and it was unnaturally high pitched.
he gave you a knowing look.
“okay a couple of times…” you couldn’t even meet his gaze fully.
he continued to stare at you, silently judging you for trying to lie straight to his face.
“fine—okay, a lot of time. happy?” you let out a groan, annoyed with how quickly he could get the truth out of you.
you decided to surrender. there was no reality where you could honestly get away with this. you know what he saw and he knows what he saw, which was you being a little weirdo while he wasn't here.
“i thought you were at practice,” you tried to defend yourself again, though your attempt was pretty weak.
“it ended early today. i texted you to let you know i was on my way home…” jude paused, stifling a chuckle, “...but i guess you were too busy to read my text message.”
your face was on fire at this point. you cringed even harder, while jude just bursted out laughing again, as if he had just told the funniest joke known to mankind—which he didn't. god, you wanted to punch him in his perfectly perfect face.
“it's really not what you think,” you mumbled out.
jude didn't even know why you were even still bothering to defend yourself at this point, but it was funny to watch, so he decided to play along for a bit longer.
“oh really?” jude smiled, covering his mouth so that he could keep some of his composure.
you tried stammering something close to justification, but the only thing that you managed to say was “it’s not like that” a couple of times before you gave up completely. jude could only pretend not to laugh.
if he was being honest, he didn’t really care at all. if anything, he actually found it amusing that you would actually watch his old ads. not even he bothered watching any of them. honestly, he completely forgot about the commercial almost immediately after he filmed it, but clearly it wasn’t the same for you.
if anything, he took this as a compliment. his girlfriend thought he was so attractive, she wanted to watch him over and over again. it was an ego boost and he was willing to admit it was pretty fucking hot too. which is why he wanted to continue indulging in this conversation despite your obvious shame.
“so you weren't in here drooling over videos of me?” jude snickered.
you didn't think it was possible, but in one quick instant, he was able to suck the air from out of your lungs. jude decided that he wanted to have this conversation as close to you as humanly possible, so he walked over to you, placing his hands on your thighs. your eyes shot down to your lap, unable to look away from the sight of his veiny hands basically engulfing your thighs.
usually, that was enough to send you over the edge and get you flustered, but jude decided to push you further. he leaned in even closer so that his nose was almost brushing against yours. finally, you looked up to meet his gaze and you instantly regretted it.
the way jude was looking at you was enough to stop your heart for a moment. it was intense to say the least, like he was looking into your soul. it was all too much for you, so you tried to scoot away and create some distance between you two, but jude continued to hold you in place.
“i don't know why you're acting so shy now. you seemed to be enjoying yourself just a couple of minutes ago,” jude grabbed yourself chin in between his fingers.
he was right. you didn't even know why you were so embarrassed, but you couldn't help feeling cringed out by your own behavior. as a result, you ended up missing out on the signals jude was sending your way right now. jude tilted his head and on instinct, your eyes flickered down to his lips.
you swallowed a lump in your throat, forcing yourself to reply, although you were mostly focused on the shape of his lips, how soft they would feel against your own, and how…you almost forgot what you were supposed to be talking about.
“i guess i just feel a little guilty about…”
“guilty? what for?” he cut you off again, this time seeming genuinely surprised by your reasoning. “you haven’t done anything.”
his statement made you relax just a little bit. at least he didn’t find you as creepy as you found yourself. though, you still had that lingering feeling of utter humiliation that getting caught provided.
“i just didn’t want you to find out this way, it’s so embarrassing,” you muttered, biting your lip slightly.
“it’s flattering,” he corrected you with a cheeky smile.
“for you. for, me it’s embarrassing.”
jude shook his head. obviously, him trying to reason with you with words was pointless, so he was going to do the next best thing. he still had a stern grip on your chin, and he used that to advantage, bringing you in closer so that he could kiss you. your eyes widened in shock before you surrendered almost immediately, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. you wrapped your arms around his neck as he fell forward to deepen the kiss, using the bed to catch him.
you pulled him back and he happily obliged, so that he was fully laying on top of you instead of standing up. jude’s hands went from the bed to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. his tongue grazed your bottom lip and immediately, you got the message, opening your mouth to give him full access and he took the opportunity to explore every inch of mouth. you wrap your legs around jude’s waist, causing him to let out a surprised groan. suddenly, he was trapped, but it’s not like he was complaining. without realizing it, you slowly started grinding up against his legs, causing jude to pull away.
“you’re making me lose my mind here,” he huffed out, still trying to catch his breath.
“i can’t help it,” you giggled, already moving in, so that you could carry on kissing him.
he pulled back again, continuing to speak, “you have absolutely no idea what you do to me…” his grip on your waist somehow grew tighter and you already knew you’d be waking up with some sort of mark tomorrow morning.
“i like seeing how into me you are.”
“what—does that turn you on or something?” you raised an eyebrow at him.
“a lot, actually,” he confessed, “it makes me feel relieved knowing i’m not the only one in this relationship completely obsessed.”
you let out a laugh, which is quickly engulfed by jude’s mouth as he goes back to kissing you. you let out a satisfied moan as the two of you go back to mixing each other's spit against each other’s tongues, silently battling for dominance.
this time, it’s jude whose hips involuntarily jerk up against yours, causing you to gasp at the feeling of the obvious tent in his pants, but you don’t think about it for long before you go back to grinding against him.
the feeling is euphoric. despite the barrier of clothes stopping the two of you from reaching absolute pleasure, you still felt bliss. you were thankful that your moans were being muffled by your makeout session, otherwise you would’ve been embarrassed by all the sounds you were making. your hands moved down to his back, scratching against his practice tracksuit as you start to feel that familiar damping of your underwear, the longer you grind against him, fused with the feeling of the constant throbbing clit every time he accidentally hits the right spot.
you broke the kiss to let out a whimper, “now you're the one torturing me.”
jude grinned down at you, his breath shaking just as much as yours, “now we’re even then.”
“well i don't want to be even,” you huffed out grabbing him by his shirt collar, “i want to be satisfied.”
“oh—got it. understood,” he nodded slowly, slightly surprised by your demeanor after you had spent the last couple of minutes rolling around in embarrassment.
he only allowed your request to stun him for a second before he was all over you, kissing your neck, behind your ear, under your jaw, everywhere. the feeling of his lips pressed against you, finding the perfect spots was enough to make your toes curl and for you to let out another string of soft moans.
before you could process anything, jude’s hands were trailing down from your waist to your thighs, pushing you further onto the bed and spreading your legs further apart. for a second time you pulled away from him, leaving a trail of saliva to connect the two of you. jude looked genuinely perplexed, but you ignored him.
“totally unrelated, but do you think that you could juggle a soccer ball for me a couple of times…i just want to see something real quick,” you asked, any shame you had before, completely leaving your body.
jude’s jaw fell open before he burst out laughing, shaking his head and letting it fall onto your shoulder. he was both stunned and amused by your audacity.
“yeah, i think i’ll be able to work something out for you.” he laughed again, continuing with his antics against your neck.
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TW : smut , fluff , I don't understand England slangs , sub ! Jobe in some and dom! Reader in some , nicknames such as ‘baby’ - ‘luv’ , SHORT , lowkey that's it
𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛
𝗕𝗳! 𝗝𝗼𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼... likes when you kiss his neck while he whispers nothing but sweet to you — giggling as he does due to the feeling of your wet kisses on his neck, eyes half lidded. His hands grasping your shirt
“Want’ you so bad, luv…”
𝗕𝗳! 𝗝𝗼𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼… likes when you straddle him , seeing you bounce up and down on his cock , it always has him in a daze , always looking down just to see his cock going in and out of you
𝗕𝗳! 𝗝𝗼𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼... loves phone sex whenever he’s far away from you — saying ‘I’ve got time..’
Whenever he starts masturbating , he has to hear your voice — sometimes begging just for you to say his name - ‘baby.. please, just say my name..’
𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧
𝗕𝗳! 𝗝𝗼𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼… always makes time for you , texting you even when he’s getting his hair cut, smiling at his phone at your message.
𝗕𝗳! 𝗝𝗼𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼… loves seeing you in his clothes , he has to take a picture so he can have memories of it anywhere he goes or just feels down.
( A/N - not proofread and I ran out of ideas mid writing fluff 💔 - tagging Jude so this doesn’t flop.. )
synopsis: somehow a rumor is spreading and causes chaos on the internet
warnings: none really
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Jude Bellingham UEFA Nations League Press Conference | Live 🔴
Video Transcript 🎥 7:34 - 7:46
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[Reporter]: Jude, there's obviously been a lot of speculation online over the last couple of days regarding your personal life. Rumors may be pregnant or that the two of you are engaged.
Is there anything you'd like to say about that?
[Jude]: I've not heard that one. Just hearing it from you actually.
[Manager]: Sorry, we’re not going into personal matters. If you have a football question, ask it. Otherwise we’ll move on.
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21 Questions Interview with football star Jude Bellingham!
Video Transcript 🎥 5:37 - 5:55
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[INT]: There have been rumors online this week that your girlfriend is pregnant. Others say the two of you are engaged.
[JB]: People online say a lot of things. Most of it isn't worth the energy. But that's not what we're here for, yea?
[INT]: So you're choosing not to confirm or deny?
[JB]: I’m choosing to keep my business to myself. My private life isn't up for discussion. Everything else can stay where it is— online.
[INT]: Fair enough. Some would say the silence only fuels the speculation.
[JB]: People are going to speculate regardless. That’s their choice. Mine is not to feed it.
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liked by k.mbappe, jobebellingham and 4,303,293 others
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jobebellingham he's holding her stomach👀👀
↳ yourusername how about i punch you in yours?
ynmygoat LMAOOO she stsu real quick
♥︎ by creator
judebellingham how about we make the rumors come true gorgeous
↳ yourusername yes have my babies
↳ jobebellingham 🤢
↳ yourusername next time stay out of grown folks business! 💋
The England vs France match had been something—6-4. By the final whistle, he was satisfied and sweaty… victorious. The locker room erupted in cheers. After the match, Jude made a quick decision—Spain first. You had mentioned you were there on a vacation, and Jude hadn’t seen you in weeks. The distance between them during tournaments was always hard. So instead of heading straight back to England or staying with the team for recovery… he booked a flight to Spain. No announcement, just pure impulse. A surprise reunion was coming.
By 7 PM, Jude’s cab pulled up to the sleek hotel where you were staying. Jude hadn’t warned you he was coming… too eager to surprise you after everything. He paid the driver and walked into the lobby, scanning for directions to your suite number.
Jude stood outside your suite door, heart pounding just a little. After confirming the right room number from the front desk, he reached out and pressed the doorbell—once. A simple ding-dong echoed inside. Jude waited, suddenly hyper-aware of his travel-worn clothes and messy hair from being on planes all day… but too excited to care.
The door swung open, revealing you—in casual clothes, even barefoot. Before you could even say hi properly, Jude launched himself forward, arms locking around your shoulders in a tight hug. You staggered back slightly from the force of it—but instantly wrapped your arms around Jude too, squeezing him like you hadn’t seen him in years, even though it’d only been weeks.
Your laugh was warm and relieved, arms tightening around Jude like you never wanted to let go. You buried your face in the crook of Jude’s neck for a second—breathing him in after weeks apart. The hug lasted longer than expected… no rush to pull away. Just two people who missed each other so much finally reconnecting. A soft kiss landed on Jude’s cheek—sweet.
You effortlessly lifted Jude—one strong arm hooked under his rear while the other grabbed both suitcases. With practiced ease, you kicked the hotel room door shut behind them. Jude clung to you like a koala, legs locked around your waist as they moved inside. The luggage clattered softly against the floor by the entrance—you weren't letting go of Jude just yet.
Your teasing grin widened as you finally set Jude down on the bed—only to immediately poke his chest playfully. The 6-4 scoreline was still fresh, and you couldn’t resist roasting England’s aggressiveness.
“6-4? You Englands are greedy” you snorted, “Couldn’t just settle for a normal 2-0 like civilized people.” The sarcasm dripped… but it was affectionate. You loved watching Jude and his teammates dominate on the pitch.
Jude rolled his eyes at your teasing—classic him, always cracking jokes after matches. He couldn’t stay mad.
“Greedy?” Jude echoed, smirking as he pulled you down with him on the bed “It’s just right.” Jude didn’t care. Right now, he just wanted to kiss his boyfriend stupid after weeks apart.
Jude flopped onto his back beside you after kissing you senseless—sprawling like a starfish, limbs taking up way more space than necessary. One arm draped over your waist lazily, pulling you slightly closer without fully cuddling. Just Jude—tired from flight as he stared at the ceiling. You turned your head slightly, studying Jude’s relaxed expression. Your voice was soft—curious.
“Sleepy?” you asked, nudging Jude’s shoulder gently with your own. The question was simple… just checking if the post-pleasure crash had hit him hard enough to pass out right there.
“Not really. I slept through the flight.” Jude’s mind wandered. Then remind.
“Tomorrow,” he started “I'm gonna… bring you home” The ‘home’ part carried weight—the Bellinghams’ house, meeting Jude’s family properly as boyfriends…not childhood best friends.
“Yeah?” Your eyes lit up at the mention of going home with Jude—That changed everything. The relationships between two families.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. The Bellinghams had known you for years… but this visit would be different. Official. A mix of nerves and excitement buzzed in him—meeting them again under new terms.
Jude shifted onto his side. The post-game high hadn’t fully worn off—his skin buzzed with energy. It was perfect clubbing time in Spain… neon lights, music pulsing.He turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Wanna hit the club?” he asked—voice already excited at the idea of dancing and taking shots to celebrate his win.
“Of course you would suggest that” you rolled your eyes but smirked—Jude’s post-match energy was predictable. Of course he’d want to hit a club. The snort was affectionate, though. You weren't saying no… just teasing Jude for being so predictable.
Jude whined dramatically—nose scrunched, lips pouting—as he shoved your shoulder again. Just putting on a scene because why not.
“C’monnn,” he drawled, dragging out the word, “Let’s gooo.” The neediness was dialed up to 100… relentless until you gave in and agreed to clubbing.
“Fine—geez” you finally relented with an amused chuckle, pushing yourself up from the bed. You knew Jude hated doing anything fun solo—especially clubbing. The second you moved to get ready, Jude’s pout vanished… replaced by a bright grin. Victory: achieved. Now they’d both dress and head out—probably in matching chaotic energy.
The club was just a few minutes’ walk from the hotel—close enough that they arrived quickly. The second they stepped inside, the bass thumped through their chests, lights strobing wildly. The energy was electric: crowds dancing, drinks being poured… pure chaos in the best way. Jude immediately brightened—this was his element.
You, ever the provider, had your wallet out before Jude could even blink. Whatever Jude wanted—shots? Done. Another round? Paid for instantly. The bartender slid drinks their way without hesitation, you tipped generously too. You didn’t care about the cost… seeing Jude happy and loose was worth every euro.
Jude, buzzing from the shots, grabbed your hand and yanked you toward the dance floor—no hesitation. The music pulsed through them as Jude started moving shamelessly. He wasn’t a perfect dancer… but he was enthusiastic, swaying with hip movements and grinning like an idiot. Pure joy radiated off him. He pressed close, grinding against you in rhythm with the beat. The alcohol had him extra tactile, his body loose and playful, arms looping around your shoulders to pull you closer. They were a tangle of limbs under the club lights.
Jude was wasted—slumped over your back like a sleepy koala, limbs loose and face smushed against your shoulder. Every few steps, Jude mumbled something incoherent.
“You’re handsomeee…can I have your number?” With that cheeky grin you can’t see because you’re busy focusing on the road. You carried him effortlessly—used to Jude’s post-celebration drunk antics—and just focused on getting them safely back to the hotel.
You entertained him back anyway: “Can’t. I have a boyfriend…his name is Jude Bellingham”
Jude’s hands wandered clumsily—tracing your jawline, poking your chest, even squishing your cheeks like a tipsy toddler discovering texture. Every touch was sloppy and affectionate, Jude giggling quietly to himself. His fingers kept exploring your face… then sliding underneath your shirt.
“Really?...That's too bad…I think you deserve two boyfriends. I’m Jude Bellingham, can I get your number?” Jude muttered again. This is going to be a long night taking care of drunk Jude. But fine, you can do this.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, sharp and unforgiving—directly onto Jude’s face. He groaned, a low, miserable sound escaping him as his head pounded like it was being split open with an axe. The hangover hit him full-force: dry mouth, nausea creeping at the edges of his stomach. His body was tangled awkwardly in the sheets—arm thrown over your chest like he owned you while sleeping, one leg hooked over yours too. It wasn’t graceful or cute—just his usual disaster sleep position that always left both of them stuck to each other by morning no matter how they started out at night. Jude didn’t move yet though… not even when sunlight made his eyeballs throb worse. Too busy suffering silently and regretting every single shot from last night.
Jude shifted slightly—careful, even through the hangover haze—because he knew. You always took care of him like this. Without words, without being asked twice. You’d wake up first in the mornings after nights out and wordlessly fetch medicines you always pack with you, grab a glass of water… So Jude nudged you again with his forehead—a soft bump against your shoulder—half-conscious but intentional. It wasn’t demanding or whiny, just that quiet trust between you two where actions spoke louder than groggy apologies ever could.
“What is it…babe?” Your voice was rough with sleep—low and sleep-warm—and it made Jude’s chest tighten for a second, despite the pounding headache. He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked slowly at you through half-lidded eyes, the sunlight still hurting him but not enough to stop this quiet moment between you two.
Then he swallowed hard, his throat dry as hell and finally managed:
"My head hurts…" His words came out sluggish, quieter than usual. No dramatic whining—just stating facts like some pathetic drunk who’d learned his lesson last night but forgot immediately upon waking up today anyway. And then… almost shyly…He leaned forward slightly—not asking outright—but hinting that maybe water or medicine would help…if you wake up and take it for him.
“Mhmm…” you hummed. The bed creaked softly as you untangled yourself from Jude’s weight—careful not to jostle him too much—and sat up. No eye-roll, no sigh of annoyance. Just a quiet routine. The kind that had formed over months of this: you taking care of him after anything. You padded barefoot to your luggage, there’s a bag where you kept everything essential.
Then the mini fridge next—cold water poured into a glass, condensation forming on its surface as you carried both back toward the bedroom. Jude watched through hazy eyes… still curled under blankets like a guilty but hungover stray cat waiting for scraps. And here you came anyway…
Jude took the glass and pills slowly, fingers brushing against your palm—just a brief touch. He swallowed two painkillers with a sip of water, wincing at how even that small action hurt his head. Then he glanced over at you as you lay back down… eyes already closing again like sleep was pulling you under before you could fully wake up. His parents were expecting them both to arrive together by 7AM in the morning, it’s nearly 6AM right now.
That look crossed his face. The one you knew too well—half-lidded eyes, the way Jude’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flickering back up with quiet heat. Jude scooted closer on the bed without breaking eye contact—slowly now—as if asking permission without words. The early morning light still filtered through the curtains. But neither cared about time anymore…you took him to party at the club but yeah. He wanted more. And it’s not like you’re going to say no to his face.
“Gonna reward me for third place?” Jude smirked. Nothing new, really. The bed dipped under Jude’s weight as he closed the distance between you two, his movements smooth despite the lingering hangover fog.
“Yeah…you’re lucky I love you” you pinch the bridge of your nose. Because nobody asks for morning sex right in your face without saying good morning first. But you have an exception.
He dropped the lube and condom onto the mattress beside you—no teasing or slow buildup this time, just focused intent. His hands found your waist first, warm on your bare chest as he leaned closer.
Then his mouth crashed into yours—not rough, but hungry. A kiss that tasted like morning breath and regret of consuming too much alcohol. Jude didn’t speak—just kissed deeper while one hand roaming your body.
“You’re not tired?” You groaned against his mouth. Jude broke the kiss just enough to huff against your lips—annoyed you’d even ask that. Tired? Yeah, his head still pounded a little from last night’s drinking. His body felt heavy. But this? Morning sex with you? That was non-negotiable.
So he rolled his eyes, affectionately before diving back in, kissing you harder this time—all teeth and desperation. One of Jude’s hands slid up your chest while the other tangled roughly in your hair…
“Do you want me to start the day happy? Of course yes. So shut up and do me.” Jude huff, this can fix his hangover pain right now—he believes.
Jude didn’t hesitate—boxers already tossed aside, muscles flexing as he moved. When you grabbed the lube and squeezed some onto your finger, Jude’s breath hitched slightly—watching with darkening eyes. No teasing now, just quiet anticipation. He lay back against the pillows without being told, one arm stretched above his head while his other hand reached for you automatically—pulling you closer by your hip like a silent “come here.” The early morning light caught every scar and tan line on your skin…
The kiss was deep and slow—different from the frantic one earlier. Jude melted into it instantly—lips parting under yours with a soft sound—and then came the sensation of your finger pressing gently against him. He tensed for half a second, always did at first, but didn’t pull away. Just breathed through his nose and leaned deeper into the kiss… letting you work him open slowly.
Jude tilted his head to the side instinctively, giving you better access to his neck—his breath coming quicker now as your lips and teeth worked over that sensitive spot just below his ear. He loved this. Loved how precise you were—how you knew exactly where Jude liked it, how hard or soft to press… like muscle memory from months of intimacy. A quiet moan slipped out when your fingers curled just right inside him—a sound half-surprise, half-relief—and one of Jude’s hands fisted in the sheets beside him while the other gripped your shoulder.
Jude made a tiny, frustrated noise—actually whined—when your fingers left him when it was about to get good. He was right there, so close to that sweet tension-building pleasure… and then you pulled away to strip. His chest rose faster now, eyes tracking every movement as you peeled off your shirt, kicked out of sweatpants. Jude bit his lower lip unconsciously—equal parts impatient and turned on by the way you moved with quiet confidence.
But damn if it didn’t feel like forever while he just lay there bare already… watching you undress slowly in the morning light.
Jude’s gaze traveled over you—appreciating every defined line of your torso, the way your shoulders flexed slightly as you pulled off the last piece of clothing.
You weren’t just hot—you look like someone who could probably bench-press half your teammates without breaking a sweat. And Jude? He loved it. Loved how you looked right now—all lean muscle and confidence—and suddenly he was impatient again. No more waiting. So before you could even crawl back onto the bed properly, Jude reached out and yanked you down by a hand on your shoulder…
The kiss was feral—Jude’s lips crashed into yours with zero finesse, just raw need. Like he hadn’t kissed you in years instead of minutes. His hands immediately fisted in your hair, tilting your head to deepen it further while his tongue slid against yours—hot and demanding. Jude breathed through his nose between desperate kisses, chest rising fast as if oxygen didn’t matter nearly as much as this.
Jude exhaled sharply as the kiss broke—chest still heaving—but his eyes stayed locked on you while you grabbed the condom packet. Jude watched, lips slightly parted, as you stroked yourself—slow and deliberate—to get fully hard. The sight of him like this: naked, waiting, legs loosely bent clearly affected you too. His own stomach tightened with heat when he noticed the way your eyes darkened—how your breath hitched just a little at the view of Jude already open and ready for you. Then the rustle of foil as you rolled the condom down properly before shifting closer on your knees between his thighs. Jude exhaled shakily—anticipation coiling low in his belly.
The kiss was soft at first—just lips meeting, tender and lingering—but then you trailed down Jude’s jawline with his mouth, pressing warm kisses along the sensitive skin there. Jude shivered. By the time your lips reached that spot just below his ear—the crook of his neck where you knew he was extra sensitive—his breath hitched audibly.
And then came it: That first brush of your tip against him… tentative but deliberate. Jude tensed instinctively—not from fear or hesitation, but because anticipation always made him hold his breath like this.
Jude’s fingers dug into your back—nails grazing skin lightly but possessively—as you pushed deeper. Not rough enough to hurt, just… needing to hold on. Every slow inch sent sparks through his body, he bit down on his lower lip hard, trying not to make too much noise even though they were alone. His legs lifted slightly without thinking, knees bending to give you better access as the stretch filled him perfectly. No pain yet—just that delicious pressure of being connected like this after weeks of distance. Jude exhaled shakily through his nose… eyes fluttering shut for a second before reopening again—to watch you.
Jude’s breathing turned uneven—each roll of your hips sending waves of pleasure through him. He wasn’t tense anymore, his body had melted into the rhythm, adjusting perfectly to your pace like they’d done this a thousand times, because they basically had. A quiet moan escaped Jude as you hit that spot inside him—the one that always made his toes curl—and his hand slid from your back up to tangle in your hair instead. Not pulling, just… holding on.
His arousal was obvious—chest flushed, lips parted with little gasps.
Jude’s gaze was locked onto yours—dark, unfocused with pleasure—as he watched the way your cock disappeared and reappeared inside him. The visual of it alone was filthy—the glisten of sweat on your skin, the rhythmic snap of hips meeting his body—and it sent heat straight to his core. He couldn’t look away. Every thrust made a soft sound between you two—the slap of skin, Jude’s hitched breaths.
His eyes can’t stop tracing every detail—hungry—as you move above him. The sharp V-line of your stomach, the faint trail of hair leading downward… all leading to that cock, thick and relentless as it hammered into him with increasing roughness. He loved this view. Loved how effortlessly strong you looked right now—muscles flexing with each thrust, sweat glistening on your shoulders—and how completely focused you were on pleasuring him. No teasing slowdowns anymore, just pure, unfiltered fucking that had Jude’s head spinning and his hips lifting instinctively to meet yours.
Jude’s curses were breathless—mumbled against his own shoulder or the pillow when they slipped out, too overwhelmed to care about volume. “Fuck—” Each one punched out between gasps as you got rougher, hips snapping harder now with that athlete’s strength. His nails raked lightly down your back— A reflex, his body craving more friction even while being completely dominated by your rhythm. The bed creaked softly beneath them… morning light still painting everything gold around their tangled bodies.
The rhythmic thud-thud of the headboard slamming against the wall echoed through the bedroom—each sharp impact syncing with your punishing pace. Jude barely noticed it over his own ragged breathing and moans.
The creaking wood blended into their sounds—the slap of skin, Jude’s bitten-off whimpers when a particularly deep thrust hit just right, your quiet grunts as you worked him open relentlessly.
Jude hated how effortlessly you could pin him—how one large hand easily trapped both of his wrists above his head, holding them there with zero struggle. It was infuriating… and hot as hell. Being smaller and leaner than you meant he’d never been manhandled like this by anyone else—no other guy had the strength or size to just… restrain him so completely during sex.
And right now? You weren't even trying, it came naturally—the way your fingers curled around his wrists, keeping them in place while your hips kept driving into him. No chance to squirm away if Jude wanted to.
Jude was already breathless, sweaty—his body thrumming with pleasure—but you showed no signs of slowing down. That fucking stamina. Your endurance wasn’t a joke. Just endless thrusts that made Jude’s thighs tremble slightly from the constant stimulation… his earlier frustration at being pinned long forgotten under waves of sensation.
Jude’s climax hit him like a freight train—sudden and overwhelming. One second he was gasping, body strung tight with pleasure… The next, his back arched slightly off the mattress as he came untouched, stripes of white landing messily across his stomach. His toes curled into the sheets, muscles tensed for a heartbeat before melting into blissful aftershocks. Pinned beneath your weight and strength? Yeah—that did it. The combination of being dominated physically and mentally pushed him over too fast. Now he just lay there dazed… catching his breath while you kept going above him.
The shift was immediate—you released Jude’s wrists, instead bracing your arms on either side of Jude’s head as you leaned down to kiss him. It wasn’t rough or demanding, it was loving. Soft lips meeting softly, a tender contrast to the brutal pace of your hips still hammering into him. Each deep thrust punched another moan out of Jude—his body overstimulated but not wanting it to stop. The kiss swallowed most of those sounds… just quiet whimpers against your mouth now. This relentless fucking wrapped in affection—the kind only they could balance like this.
The sensation of your teeth on his neck—gentle but possessive—sent a shiver through Jude just as he felt the hitch in your rhythm. Then came those last few deep, grinding thrusts… all the way in, holding there as you came with a low groan muffled against his skin. Jude gasped quietly at the sudden fullness—the warmth between them—as you stayed pressed together like that for a long moment.
The kiss was lazy now—soft, almost drowsy after the intensity of what just happened. You pressed your lips to Jude’s gently, a quiet “mhmm” humming against them before slowly pulling away.
Then you carefully withdrew, moving with deliberate slowness to avoid discomfort for either of them. The room was thick with the scent of sex and their mingled sweat—but neither seemed bothered by it. You rolled onto your side next to Jude…
“Let’s take a shower, starfish” you chuckled at Jude’s laying position after resting for a while. Jude cracked an eye open at the nickname—starfish—and scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. If anything, he found it kinda cute how you came up with weird pet names for him.
"Shower sounds good," Jude mumbled, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up slowly. His body ached pleasantly—the kind of soreness that reminded you of exactly what happened this morning.
You took the driver’s seat without question—Jude never drove anyway. He doesn't even have a license yet, his mom has always picked him up or Jude just relied on teammates or now, you for rides. The car ride was quiet but not tense—just the hum of the engine and Jude watching whatever on his phone. They pulled into Jude's neighborhood, familiar streets leading to his house… The place looked fancy as ever: manicured lawn, curtains in the windows slightly open like someone was peeking out. Jude swallowed hard. First time bringing a boyfriend here.
You noticed Jude’s glance—silent but asking for reassurance—and without a word, you leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. No pressure in it. Just warmth… something soft to ground him before facing his family. The kiss lasted only a few seconds before you pulled back, thumb brushing lightly over Jude’s cheekbone as if saying “you got this” without words. Then you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the car—rounding to open Jude's door for him like an automatic gesture by now.
The warm smell of breakfast hit them as soon as they stepped inside—Jude’s mom stood at the stove in a colorful headwrap and long apron, stirring a pot with focused energy. At the table sat Jobe—his younger brother, already scrolling on his phone while waiting for food. They both turned when Jude walked in… followed closely by you.
Jobe blinked once. Then twice. Oh. His eyes darted between them—the way Jude subtly leaned into your side—Jobe knew. His smirk widened—so obvious—and he muffled a snort into his palm when Jude glared at him.
Meanwhile, their mom turned around from the stove, wooden spoon in hand… and her face instantly lit up.
"Jude!" she exclaimed in that rich, warm voice of hers—all love and no hesitation as she immediately opened her arms for a hug.
You stayed where he was for half a second… suddenly aware this was the moment. First meeting his girlfriend's parents. Except… it wasn't just any girlfriend here, it was him.
Jude practically launched himself into his mom’s arms—hugging her tightly. She hugged him back just as fiercely, rocking slightly while squeezing him. The scent of spices and her floral perfume wrapped around them. Then she pulled back, cupping Jude's face with both hands to look at him properly—eyes soft but scanning for any changes.
Only then did she notice you standing nearby… quiet and respectful near the doorway. Her gaze shifted to you—and immediately softened even more.
Mrs. Bellingham didn’t hesitate—she pulled you into a hug just as warm and tight as the one she’d given Jude. Just motherly love extended to you like you were already family—which, in her mind, you basically were.
She squeezed you gently, patting your back twice before releasing you… then immediately cupped your face with both hands—studying it closely like she always did. You have grown into a handsome gentleman, not the same 10 years old kid carrying her Jude home after he hurted his ankle during a football match.
Jude took a deep breath—suddenly nervous despite knowing his family liked you.
They’d all known you for years, you’d come over for holidays, eaten meals at their table, even helped Jobe with homework. But now? The relationship status was officially boyfriend. So Jude cleared his throat slightly and said—calm but firm:
"Ma…uhm Y/N. He’s my boyfriend." The words hung in the air—just stating it plainly like that was how things were now…
Mrs. Bellingham’s eyebrows shot up, her spoon still hovering mid-air like she’d frozen in place.
"What?" she repeated—voice higher than usual with surprise. "When was this?" She turned fully toward them now, eyes darting between Jude and you as if expecting one of them to laugh and say “just kidding!” But no.
Meanwhile, Jobe bit his lip hard—trying not to grin like an idiot because this reaction from his mom was gold. His dad remained silent for a beat… just absorbing the news calmly from where he stood near the fridge.
Your voice was calm as you answered honestly.
"Last summer, Mrs. Bellingham."
His mom blinked rapidly, spoon now clutched in both hands as her brain recalculated. Last summer meant… they'd been dating for nearly a year without telling her?
Jude stepped forward immediately. "Mom… I’m sorry." he said, voice softer than usual—genuine regret lacing his words. "We didn’t mean to hide it from you guys… we just—we weren’t sure how you’d react."
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. The truth was? They had talked about telling their parents eventually—but Jude had been nervous, worried about how conservative some relatives might be… so they waited. Now that silence felt heavy in hindsight.
Mrs. Bellingham turned off the stove with a quiet click, wiping her hands on her apron before exhaling slowly—like she was organizing her thoughts.
Then she spoke, calm but firm: "I’m not mad… just surprised." She looked between them again—not angry, not disappointed… more processing.
"Y’all have been friends for how long? And now you’re dating?" A small frown creased her brow—not in disapproval of you yourself she clearly adored you, but at the idea that they’d kept this from them for so long.
Your voice was steady—earnest and sincere as you spoke directly to Mrs. Bellingham, meeting her eyes without flinching.
"I love Jude genuinely, Mrs. Bellingham," you said, the weight of your words clear in every syllable. Then added: "And I promise… I’ll take care of him."
Mrs. Bellingham exhaled again—long and slow, like she was letting go of a mental image she’d carried for years. She had always pictured Jude bringing home a nice girl someday… someone who’d make him happy, who he could settle down with. A future daughter-in-law she could fuss over, teach recipes to… maybe even grandbabies eventually. Now? That vision shifted completely—but not in the way most people would expect. Her expression softened further as she studied you—the man her son loved so openly—and something clicked into place for her…
Mrs. Bellingham’s face softened completely—any lingering surprise melting into quiet acceptance.
“As long as Jude is happy, then I’m happy. You’re welcome here."
Then she smiled at them both… and declared:
"Breakfast is ready.”
Jude’s eyes widened slightly—genuinely surprised—as he watched his mom’s calm reaction and then casually announce breakfast like this was the most normal thing in the world. He’d braced for harsher questions. Maybe even mild disappointment or confusion from her… not instant acceptance.
But there she was: already turning back to the stove, plating food with that same loving focus she always had—now including you as part of their family meal without missing a beat. Jobe, meanwhile, smirked into his orange juice at Jude’s stunned expression. Yeah… Mom liked you. If it has to be a man, she’s glad it was you.
Now that she knew about their relationship, everything made sense: Why Jude relied on her less, How he’d suddenly started planning weekends away—always with you, The way his mood improved whenever his phone buzzed.
She studied Jude carefully over her tea cup… then asked gently: "So… how did this even start?”
Jude set his fork down, the sausage now tasting like cardboard in his mouth as he gathered his thoughts. It had been that one fight—the explosive argument after you announced you were leaving Real Madrid to join Manchester City. The tension between them had been unbearable… until it all snapped.
"We argued" Jude started, voice quieter than usual. "After Y/N said he’s leaving I lost it.” He glanced at you briefly—no anger there anymore, just history hanging in the air between bites of breakfast…
He swallowed hard. "It was during that time I… figured out that I liked him. Everything felt empty without him so I decided to confess. And Y/N said yes." he admitted quietly to you across the table—words he’d never said aloud until now…
Mrs. Bellingham took a sip of her tea, then—ever the master of subtle interrogation—shifted gears entirely with a new question.
"So," she began casually, setting her cup down "when are you two moving in together?"
Just straight to housing plans like it was the most obvious next step in their relationship. Jude nearly choked on his orange juice… while you blinked once, caught off guard by how quickly she’d jumped from emotions to logistics…
Jude cleared his throat, setting his glass down carefully.
"Uh… it’s complicated," he admitted with a slight shrug. "Y/N is in England now—Manchester City—and I’m still here with Real Madrid." The distance wasn’t something they could ignore: time zones, busy schedules, only seeing each other during breaks or quick flights between matches. He glanced at you briefly—both of them knew long-distance wasn't ideal… but they also weren’t ready to end things just because of geography yet…
Mrs. Bellingham’s face brightened immediately—like Christmas had come early after you explained your plan.
Oh. So they were planning to be together long-term after all. She smiled, a real one this time, and took another sip of her tea as you explained your plan: finishing your Manchester City contract before potentially returning to Spain… possibly joining Real Madrid again if the opportunity arose.
Jobe whistled under his breath at that level of commitment…
Mr. Bellingham—who had been quietly observing this whole conversation from the head of the table—finally spoke up, his deep voice calm but laced with genuine curiosity.
"Wait," he said, setting down his fork. "You’re really considering leaving Man City… for him?" He studied you carefully—not skeptically, just trying to understand how serious that commitment was. Giving up a top club like Manchester City wasn’t something athletes did lightly… unless their partner meant everything.
You didn’t even pause. "Yes, sir." You answered immediately—voice firm, eyes steady on Mr. Bellingham’s without a single flicker of doubt. Just absolute certainty that yes, you would give up your current club if it meant being with Jude full-time… career implications be damned. The room went quiet for a beat—even Jobe stopped chewing his toast to watch the exchange…
Mr. Bellingham leaned back slightly, still studying you like a puzzle he was trying to solve—but now with a glint of respect forming in his gaze.
"Alright," he said after another sip of coffee. "So if you move back… where would you two live?" No beating around the bush—he wanted details about how this actually played out logistically…
You answered calmly, keeping your tone respectful but confident. "I’m planning to buy a house here in Madrid, sir." you said—already having researched properties discreetly for months now.
Mrs. Bellingham suddenly clapped her hands together—excited—like she’d just mentally decorated the entire estate already.
"Oh! A house here in Madrid?" She glanced at Jude, eyes sparkling with approval. "That’s perfect." No more long-distance calls. No more counting hours until they could see each other again. Just… home. Together.
Jobe kicked Jude under the table subtly—grinning like an idiot because his brother had bagged someone serious. A silent “You got a whole man who would buy you a house. Congrats” in his teasing gaze.
Jude shot Jobe a half-hearted glare—stop grinning like that—but he couldn’t deny the truth in it.
You were a full package: loyal, devoted, strong… and now willing to uproot your entire career for him? That wasn’t just luck—that was love. His chest warmed at the thought. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bellingham kept smiling to herself while clearing plates—already imagining Sunday dinners with them both living nearby…
After breakfast, you stood up—insisting on helping Jude’s mother with the dishes.
You rolled up your sleeves and started washing plates at the sink while chatting with Mr. Bellingham the local farms in Norway—the simplicity of it, early mornings milking cows, how hard work was just part of life. Mrs. Bellingham listened eagerly from her chair… then perked up when you mentioned cooking.
"Oh! You cook too?" she asked warmly.
“Yes ma’am. I’m a fast learner” you say with a faint smile.
Mrs. Bellingham’s eyebrows shot up. "Wow" she breathed out—genuinely impressed by how versatile you were. Meanwhile, Jude smirked into his cup… remembering all those times you had surprised him with homemade meals even though you two were very busy training.
You flashed that charming smile—the one—soft and genuine as you turned slightly toward Mrs. Bellingham, still drying your hands on a towel.
"I'll take care of dinner tonight, if you let me." You offered… not in a boastful way, but like someone genuinely wanting to contribute.
Mr. Bellingham gave him an approving nod, any man who offered to help with meals was already winning points…
The living room buzzed with life—Jude’s cousins, both older and younger than him had arrived, along with his nephew, a hyperactive 5-year-old who immediately latched onto Jobe. Laughing kids ran around while the adults chatted in clusters: Jude's aunts gossiping over tea, uncles debating football… and you still comfortably holding court with Mr. Bellingham about agriculture.
Meanwhile, Jude sat on the couch sandwiched between two cousins—one teasing him about finally bringing a boyfriend home after years of being single…
The little nephew plopped himself right onto Jude’s lap like it was his royal throne, tiny legs swinging as he munched on a cookie. Meanwhile, the cousins bombarded Jude with rapid-fire questions—way too excited about his new relationship status:
"Is Y/N really that tall?"
"How did you two get together?"
"Do you guys kiss all the time now? Eww!" one cousin teased dramatically. Jude chuckled at their nosiness… but answered patiently between sips of iced water while balancing the kid in his arms…
Jude watched the chaos around him—the laughter, the sibling bickering, his little nephew now trying to touch his hair—with quiet warmth. Even though he was dating a man… this? A big, loving family with kids running around someday? That future still felt right to him. He’d always imagined having children one day—maybe not through traditional means—adoption or surrogacy, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was love… and building something like this.
His gaze flickered toward you across the room for just a second—imagining it all together…
You moved calmly through the buzzling market, thinking of what to cook while two little voices bombarded him with endless chatter—Jude’s cousins insisted on going to the market to shop for ingredients with the two.
"Can we get those chips?"
"Why are you buying so many onions?"
"Is that for cooking? You’re gonna cook dinner? Cool!"
They bounced around your legs like hyperactive puppies, occasionally grabbing items from the rack randomly—only to be gently redirected by Jude.
You balanced the grocery bags effortlessly in two hands—strong from years of training and carrying equipment—but still made space for Jude. Without a word, you stuck out your pinkie, for Jude’s hand to hold… which they did naturally, fingers linking as they walked through the parking lot. Then—because he couldn’t help it—Jude leaned down and kissed you quickly on the lips right there.
The cousins gagged dramatically:
"EWWWW! GROSS! GET A ROOM UNC!!!" they yelled, waving their tiny hands.
Jude shot his cousins a playful glare, still holding your single free finger.
"One day you will have someone you kiss all the time," Jude said matter-of-factly—like it was an inevitable law of life. "So get used to it now." The kids scrunched their noses in protest but didn’t argue further…you chuckled under your breath at Jude’s parenting skills—effortlessly shutting down their dramatics with logic…
Jude let out a soft, content hum—warm breath brushing against your neck as his hands wandered under the fabric of your shirt, fingertips tracing lazy patterns over toned abs. He was perfectly happy like this: holding you from behind while watching you cook with that focused intensity… the way muscles flexed in your arms as you stirred pots.
Without thinking, Jude murmured against you:
"You look really sexy doing domestic stuff." The compliment slipped out naturally—genuine admiration laced in every word….
Mrs. Bellingham observed them from the kitchen doorway… and her expression softened into something tender and happy. Not just because of their relationship—but how right it felt seeing them together like this…
The dining room filled with the sound of chairs scraping and lively chatter as fifteen people—Jude’s entire extended family—settled around the long table. Aunts, uncles, cousins young and old… sitting at the head with a proud smile. The aroma of your cooking had everyone eager. Mrs. Bellingham took her seat beside Mr. Bellingham while Jobe plopped down next to his giggling cousins—the ones who’d called Jude and you "gross" earlier for kissing now eyeing their plates hungrily….
"When’s the wedding?" one aunt joked, grinning into her wine glass.
"Yeah! You two look like you’ve been married for years already." another added.
An aunt leaned over and squeezed Mrs. Bellingham’s arm:
"Y/N? He cooks like this? Ohhh he’s a keeper."
Jude smirked but didn’t deny any of it—his hand resting casually on your thigh under the table…
Mrs. Bellingham shot the aunt a light huff—half-laughing, half-defensive—as she waved her hand dismissively.
"Don’t pressure the kids!" she said warmly but firmly, shaking her head like calm down! She knew they were just excited… but marriage wasn't even on tonight's agenda, though you cooking this well definitely didn't hurt your case.
When it was time to leave, Jude stood up and gave his mom a quick hug—"I’ll be back tomorrow, just have some business to handle." He said smoothly, not a lie…serious business with…you. Mrs. Bellingham raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him, just kissing his cheek before shooing them off.
You grabbed the car keys without a word—used to Jude’s impulsive decisions—and followed as Jude gently tugged you toward the front door by their linked hands…
You paused with the car door open, turning to Jude—genuine question in your eyes.
"Why? We can stay if you want." You said softly, not assuming anything. Maybe Jude had other plans… maybe he just wanted to get away from family for a bit…
Jude didn’t answer with words—just that sly smirk you knew too well.
"You know exactly why." He said. Jude leaned in and kissed you right there by the car—quick but heated—a silent promise of what was coming once they got to the hotel. Then he pulled back just enough to slide into the passenger seat… leaving you standing there for a second, processing how obvious Jude’s intentions were…
The second you parked the car, Jude was out of the passenger seat—eager. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the hotel entrance, practically speed-walking like he couldn’t wait another second. You laughed under your breath at Jude's impatience but matched his energy… both of them brushing past late-night guests in the lobby without breaking stride…
The second the hotel room door clicked shut, Jude crashed into you—lips meeting in a hungry kiss as his hands immediately went to work—fingers fumbling with your belt buckle while their mouths moved together messily, breaths mingling in the small space between them. You let out a quiet sound against Jude’s lips—half-laugh, half-moan—as they backed toward the nearest wall without breaking contact…
Jude crowding you, all urgency and possessive gratitude. The belt clattered to the floor, forgotten. Zippers came next—Jude undoing your pants with quick fingers, his own breathing uneven. Every second of you cooking for his family today… serving them perfectly… had Jude wired. He didn’t care if you were tired. This wasn't about fatigue. It was about reward—about showing appreciation in the most intimate way possible…
Jude’s teeth scraped lightly over your neck—claiming, marking you up without hesitation—as he pushed the fabric of your pants down past your hips. Each nip and kiss was deliberate, a mix of affection and appreciation. A reward for the hours you spent cooking, for being so damn perfect with Jude’s family today… No words beyond that whispered "This is a reward." before Jude sealed their mouths together again—hungry, insistent…
Your faint smirk stayed in place as Jude dropped to his knees without hesitation—determined. The cool air hit your skin briefly before Jude tugged your boxers down, revealing everything beneath. No further teasing buildup, just Jude looking up at him with dark, focused eyes… like this was the only thing he wanted right now.
Jude’s expression was painfully open—eyes full of love, no teasing left in them. Just pure, overwhelming adoration as he gazed up at you from his knees. There was no hiding it. Jude leaned forward and pressed an achingly tender kiss… right where it mattered most.
Your breath hitched—sharp—as Jude dragged a slow, searing lick up your length, the heat of it making your hips twitch instinctively. Then came those soft kisses—teasingly light at first… testing… before growing bolder with each press of Jude’s lips.
Jude’s tongue curled around the sensitive tip, swirling with deliberate precision—before his teeth gently grazed it. A teasing nibble. Not enough to hurt… just enough to send a jolt straight through your nerves, making your fingers around his cheeks shiver. You just put it there.
Jude hummed quietly at the reaction—loving how responsive you were tonight…
Your mutter came out strained—”God, Jude—” as that soft, kitten-lick brush of his tongue sent another wave of pleasure through you. Then Jude took you properly into his mouth… warm, wet and perfect, the suction just right. A broken groan escaped you this time, feeling a burn coil at your stomach as you braced one hand against the wall to stay upright…
Your breath came unevenly—by the sight of Jude on his knees, moving with quiet devotion. Every bob of Jude’s head sent heat coiling low in your stomach… the warmth, the wetness, Jude's throat fluttering around your cock—it was intoxicating.
The sensation hit Jude’s throat—just the tip brushing there—and for a second, his reflexes kicked in with a small gag. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he swallowed around it, forcing himself to relax as his lips stayed sealed tight… determined to keep going despite the brief discomfort. You felt every flutter of Jude’s throat around your length—the effort and devotion in it making your pulse spike…
Your moan slipped out—low and rough—as Jude’s throat flexed around you again, the tight heat overwhelming for a split second before Jude pulled back just enough to reset. Then he dove right back in, rhythm steady now—bobbing his head with focused enthusiasm, taking you deeper each time like he was on a mission. Just pure dedication to making this good.
Your moan spilled out louder this time—”Oh fuck—Jude!” as those strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place. Just Jude controlling the pace, making sure you felt every second of this slow burn… even though the pleasure was building too fast, too intense—threatening to tip you over the edge already…
Your breath hitched—gasped—when Jude’s nose brushed against your skin, taking your cock all the way in each bob, that tiny sensory spark tipping you over the edge. A shuddering climax ripped through you, waves of pleasure crashing in seconds as you came right then… still braced against the wall with Jude between your legs.
Jude kept moving—gentle, rhythmic bobs of his head even after you had come—milking every last pulse of pleasure from you. Just tenderness… letting you ride it out fully while Jude kissed and nuzzled along your thighs afterward like a kitten, easing the intensity down gradually.
Jude swallowed without a single grimace—cleaning up completely like it was nothing—before pressing soft, lingering kisses to your muscular thighs. The gestures were soothing… grounding. A way to calm you down after the intensity, his lips brushing over warm skin in quiet affection.
Jude stood slowly, still warm from being on his knees—and without hesitation, he kissed you deeply. It was a slow, sweet kiss… letting you taste yourself on Jude’s tongue—hint of salty, mildly sweet and intimate and undeniably them.
Jude studied your dazed expression—the slightly glazed eyes, the soft exhale still lingering from his lips—and smirked. Adorable. He couldn’t help it. Reaching up, Jude brushed a thumb over your cheekbone before leaning in to kiss you again—softer this time… almost playful after all that intensity…
Jude’s eyes flicked toward the bed—subtle, but loaded—before sliding back to you with a look that was pure mischief. Jude stepped closer, hands already reaching for your waist to guide you backward… That gaze said everything:
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when you suddenly became TOO passionate about your recent celebrity crush but you don’t want to feed into the parasocially questionable fanbase that they already have so you lowkey just stfu
Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II
By the time the house finally goes quiet at night, you have already survived three rounds of negotiation, one spilled cup of water, and a very serious argument about whether pajamas count as “comfy enough” if the elastic in the waistband is slightly twisted.
You stand in the doorway of your son’s room with your arms crossed, trying not to smile as Jude kneels on the rug beside the bed, his elbows resting on the mattress while your little boy clutches his blanket like it is a life raft.
“Dad,” he says, with all the gravity a five-year-old can summon, “one more story.”
Jude exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You already had three.”
“Three is not a lot.”
You make a sound that is halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Three is absolutely a lot.”
Your son turns to you with immediate betrayal. “Mum, don’t say that.”
Jude lifts a hand. “No, no, let her say it. Let’s hear the full case against bedtime.”
You lean against the doorframe. “My case is simple. It is late.”
“It is not late,” your son argues.
You glance at the clock. “It is very late.”
“It’s only a little bit late,” Jude says, entirely unhelpfully.
You shoot him a look. He lifts both hands in surrender, though the smile on his face gives him away.
Your son notices. He always does.
“See?” he says, pointing at Jude like he has just won an important court battle. “Dad agrees.”
Jude gasps in mock offense. “I did not agree. I said it was only a little bit late. That is different.”
“It’s basically the same thing.”
“That is a very dangerous statement,” you mutter.
Jude looks at you, eyes bright with amusement. “He’s got a point.”
You stare at him. “Do not become his accomplice.”
Too late. He is already on your son’s side, always is when it comes to bedtime stories. Jude can resist a lot of things. Critics, defenders, a stadium full of people shouting his name, impossible training sessions, endless interviews, even your attempts to convince him to stop leaving his socks everywhere. But one small child with sleepy eyes and a pleading voice? He is absolutely helpless.
Your son senses it. His chin lifts with the confidence of someone who has discovered a secret weapon.
“One more story,” he repeats, softer this time, stretching the words out in a way that makes them even harder to refuse. “Please.”
Jude looks at you as if asking for permission, though the expression on his face already says he is planning to fold no matter what you decide.
You push off the doorframe and walk inside. “You said that after the last story.”
Your son hugs his blanket tighter. “That one was short.”
“It was a chapter book.”
“A short chapter book.”
Jude lets out a laugh, low and warm. “He’s got standards.”
“Apparently,” you say, glancing between father and son, “I’m the only sensible person in this family.”
“Mm,” Jude says thoughtfully. “Debatable.”
Your son giggles, then immediately tries to look serious again when he realizes he has almost lost the argument by laughing.
You sit carefully on the edge of the bed. “Listen to me. We had dinner. We had bath time. We had the long discussion about why dinosaurs cannot sleep in the bed with us.”
“They could,” your son says. “If they were small.”
“Not helpful,” you reply.
Jude folds his arms and nods solemnly, as if he is in a meeting. “He makes a compelling point.”
You turn to him. “Jude.”
“What?” he says innocently.
“You are supposed to help me.”
“I am helping.”
“No, you are enabling.”
Jude presses a hand to his chest as if wounded. “That is such a strong accusation.”
Your son watches the two of you with delighted eyes, clearly enjoying the fact that bedtime has turned into a family debate panel. He has discovered that if he waits long enough, the adults will start talking to each other instead of enforcing rules.
And as usual, Jude is the first to crack.
“Okay,” he says, leaning closer to your son. “What story are we talking about?”
Your head drops back for one second. “Jude.”
He looks at you, all innocent eyes and a smile he knows you find impossible to stay annoyed at for long. “What? I’m just asking.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Your son bounces once under the blanket, suddenly awake again despite how hard he was fighting sleep ten minutes ago. “The dragon one.”
“The dragon one,” Jude repeats, as if considering the matter very seriously. “That’s a good one.”
“It is not happening,” you say.
Your son’s face falls so fast it nearly makes you cave on the spot.
Jude notices. Of course he notices.
He softens immediately, one hand reaching to smooth your son’s hair back from his forehead. “Hey, hey. We’re not saying no forever. We’re just thinking about it.”
Your son’s lower lip pushes out a little. “But I want it now.”
“And you’re very persuasive,” Jude says, completely sincere.
You point at him. “No.”
He glances at your finger, then back at you. “That tone really makes me want to behave.”
“You can behave or you can sleep on the couch.”
Your son widens his eyes. “Dad sleeps on the couch?”
Jude gives you a scandalized look. “Do I?”
“Only in your dreams,” you say.
That earns a laugh from both of them, and just like that the tension in the room dissolves again. Your son sinks deeper into his pillow, a little smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.
Jude reaches down and tucks the blanket around his legs. “What if we do one more, but a very short one?”
You close your eyes for a second. There it is. The exact point where resistance becomes useless.
“Jude.”
“What?”
“You are doing the thing again.”
He tilts his head. “The thing where I try to make bedtime less miserable?”
“Yes. That thing.”
Your son looks from you to Jude and back again. “Mum, please.”
You sigh. “You should not be looking at me like that.”
He blinks slowly. “Like what?”
“Like a tiny victim of injustice.”
Jude bites his lip to keep from laughing.
“It’s working, though,” he says.
You stare at him. “Traitor.”
He grins. “Your traitor.”
The room falls quiet for a moment, the sort of quiet that only exists when the world is slowing down. Outside, somewhere beyond the curtains, the city hums faintly. Inside, the lamp beside the bed paints everything gold,the toy car on the shelf, the stack of books on the floor, the tiny football socks thrown over the chair from earlier in the evening.
Your son yawns, big and dramatic, and Jude immediately points at him like he has caught a witness in the act.
“There,” he says. “That yawn was suspicious. He is clearly not fully committed to staying awake.”
Your son giggles into his blanket. “I am.”
“No, you’re not,” you say. “You’re fighting sleep and losing.”
“I’m not losing.”
Jude leans over him. “I respect the fight, mate, but I think sleep might be winning on points.”
“Dad!”
“What? It is.”
You shake your head and reach for the book on the bedside table. “Fine. One more story.”
Jude turns so quickly it is almost comical. “Really?”
You hold up one finger. “One.”
Your son nearly sits up. “The dragon one?”
You hesitate just long enough to make him tense. Jude’s eyes flick to you, wary now, like he already knows you are about to make this harder on purpose.
You soften your face. “A short dragon one.”
Your son gasps. “Yes!”
Jude laughs under his breath and looks at you with obvious admiration. “You’re cruel.”
“I am a survivor.”
“That too.”
You settle against the headboard while Jude stays on the rug at the side of the bed, his forearm resting against the mattress so your son can hold onto his hand if he wants. He almost always does. The gesture is so natural now it barely needs to be noticed, but you notice it anyway,the way Jude never seems to mind being the one your son reaches for, the one he trusts to keep him anchored even when he is too sleepy to say so.
You open the book.
“Once upon a time,” you begin, and your son immediately curls in closer as if the words themselves are a blanket.
Jude watches both of you, his expression gone soft around the edges. He listens too, though you can tell he knows this book almost by heart. He still reacts in the right places, giving tiny dramatic gasps when the dragon gets lost, pretending to be horrified when the knight trips over a root, making your son laugh quietly each time.
Halfway through, your son interrupts.
“No,” he whispers, scandalized. “The dragon should go left.”
You pause. “It’s not your story.”
“It’s my dragon.”
Jude beams. “He’s got standards again.”
You glance up. “Must be inherited.”
Jude touches his chest. “From me?”
“Unfortunately.”
Your son stifles a laugh into his blanket, shoulders shaking. His eyelids are starting to droop now, but he is still clinging to the story with both hands, unwilling to let go until the end.
When you reach the final page, you slow your voice and make it gentler.
“And so,” you read, “the dragon found his way home, where the fire was warm, the bed was soft, and there was no reason to be afraid.”
Your son goes still.
You close the book carefully, then glance down to see him blinking sleepily at the page.
“Was that the end?” he asks, voice very small now.
You nod. “That was the end.”
He seems to consider this in silence, as if deciding whether or not he can complain about it.
Before he can, Jude nudges his foot lightly. “That was a good one.”
“It was too short.”
“It was exactly the right length,” you say.
Your son looks offended for a second, but the yawn that follows ruins the performance completely. He scrunches his face and rubs his eyes with the heel of one hand.
Jude smiles. “I told you. Sleep is winning.”
“No,” your son mumbles, but the protest is weak now.
You set the book aside and reach down to smooth his hair back. “Time to sleep.”
“One more story?” he asks automatically, voice now half-swallowed by tiredness.
Jude looks at you like he is trying not to laugh at the fact that the request has become a reflex.
You shake your head once. “No more stories.”
Your son makes a tiny groan of protest, but it is not serious anymore. It is mostly just habit, a last little attempt at battle before surrender.
Jude bends over him and kisses his forehead. “We can do one tomorrow.”
Your son’s eyes crack open. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Not two?”
Jude looks at you with exaggerated seriousness. “Do not encourage him.”
You smile despite yourself. “I’m not the one promising extra stories.”
Jude gives you a look that says you are absolutely not innocent in this either.
Your son is already fading now, his fingers loose around Jude’s hand. His breathing has slowed. The room feels warmer with that sleepy, settled quiet that always comes after the last fight of the night has finally been won by exhaustion.
You lean down and kiss his other cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Mum.”
He turns his face a little toward Jude without opening his eyes properly. “Night, Dad.”
Jude’s expression changes in an instant. It always does when your son says things like that,soft, proud, almost stunned every single time, as if hearing the word still feels like a gift he never expects to deserve.
“Goodnight, mate,” he murmurs.
You stay for a moment longer, watching the way Jude keeps his hand where your son can feel it, even though he is already asleep now. It is one of those little things that never means much to anyone else and somehow means everything to you.
When you finally stand, Jude does too, quietly so he does not disturb him. You switch off the lamp and close the bedroom door almost all the way behind you.
The hallway outside is dim and peaceful. For a second neither of you speaks.
Then Jude lets out a breath and looks at you with a grin that is equal parts exhausted and victorious.
“Seven stories,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“He started with three and ended with seven.”
You fold your arms. “Because of you.”
“Because of us,” he corrects, stepping closer.
“You are the reason he keeps asking for more.”
Jude shrugs, not even pretending to deny it. “He’s cute.”
You let out a short laugh. “That is not a valid reason to break bedtime rules.”
“It is when he looks at me like that.”
“Yes,” you say. “And that is exactly why you are dangerous.”
Jude’s smile turns softer. “I know.”
You look up at him, trying to stay serious and failing. “You are terrible at saying no.”
“Only to him.”
“Only to him?”
He reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing once over your knuckles. “Okay. Also to you.”
You feel your face warm and roll your eyes to hide it. “You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he says, drawing you closer with an easy tug, “you married me.”
“That was before I knew how bad you were at bedtime discipline.”
Jude laughs, low and quiet, then kisses your temple. “Still worth it?”
You glance back toward your son’s room, toward the tiny boy who had fought sleep with every ounce of determination he had and lost beautifully. Then you look at Jude,at the tired smile, the softness in his face, the way he still seems a little amazed that this is his life too.
“Yeah,” you say. “Worth it.”
Jude’s expression warms at that, and he squeezes your hand once before guiding you down the hall. “Tomorrow he’s definitely asking for eight.”
You groan. “Do not even joke about that.”
“I’m serious.”
“Jude.”
He grins in the dark. “What? We’re a generous household.”
You laugh under your breath and let him pull you closer as the two of you head toward your own room, the house finally settling into sleep around you.
And somewhere behind the closed door, your son sleeps with the deep, satisfied peace of someone who got exactly what he wanted.
Not just one more story.
Seven.
And he already knows his father will probably say yes again tomorrow.
A/N: that picture that’s going around of Erling man spreading, my lord his thighs look SOOOO GOOD.
The living-room lights were low, the city outside Manchester’s tall windows nothing but a distant hum. Erling was sprawled on the oversized couch like a king on his throne—legs spread wide in those black compression shorts that always drove you insane. The fabric had ridden up high on his massive quads, exposing even more of that thick, sculpted muscle you were obsessed with. Veins stood out under smooth, pale skin. Every twitch of his leg made the muscle flex, and your mouth went dry.
He caught you staring again. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips, blue eyes dark with amusement and heat.
“You’ve been eyeing my thighs since I got home from training, baby.” His voice was a low murmur, Norwegian accent thicker with want. One big hand patted the bare expanse of his right quad, the slap echoing softly. “Go on. Use my thigh. You know I let you ride it whenever that pretty little pussy gets needy.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, but the ache between your legs won. You climbed into his lap without another word, straddling the thick pillar of muscle. Erling leaned back against the cushions, arms stretched along the back of the couch, manspreading even wider so you had all the room you wanted. The shorts rode up another inch, the hem now brushing the crease where thigh met groin. You could see the heavy outline of his cock thickening against the fabric, but he made no move to touch it. This was for you.
Your hands braced on his broad chest as you lowered yourself onto his quad. The first drag of your bare, already-soaked pussy along that warm, rock-hard muscle pulled a whimper from your throat. Erling’s eyes flicked down, watching the way your slick immediately glistened on his skin.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice rough. “So wet already. My greedy girl. Grind on it. Make a mess of my thigh like you always do.”
You rocked forward, clit catching on the ridges of muscle, then back again, hips rolling in desperate little circles. The size difference made everything filthier—his thigh was thicker than some men’s waists, forcing you to spread wide, every movement smearing your arousal in shiny streaks down the muscle. Erling flexed deliberately under you, the sudden hard swell pressing up against your folds and making you cry out.
“That’s it… ride it harder,” he encouraged, one hand finally dropping to grip your hip, guiding you. “Use me. Take what you need. I love feeling this sloppy cunt dripping all over me while I just sit here and watch.”
Your head fell forward, forehead against his shoulder as you chased the friction. The wet sounds were obscene—your pussy sliding faster, clit throbbing each time it dragged over a vein. Erling’s free hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch your face.
“Eyes on me, baby. Let me see how much you love my thighs.” He flexed again, bouncing you slightly, and the added pressure tipped you over. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking, flooding his muscle with fresh slick that ran down in rivulets toward his knee. Erling groaned low, his own cock now fully hard and leaking against the shorts, but he still didn’t move to touch himself.
“Good girl,” he praised, voice soft and filthy at the same time. “Look at the mess you made… gonna need another shower before bed. Or maybe I’ll just make you lick it clean while I fuck that pretty mouth.”
You slumped against his chest, panting, still lazily grinding through the aftershocks. Erling’s hand stroked down your spine, then gave your ass a possessive squeeze.
“Whenever you want, elskling,” he whispered against your temple, already patting the other thigh like an invitation. “These legs are yours. Now catch your breath… because I’m nowhere near done letting you use them tonight.”
