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cowgirllikef · 6 months ago

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Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do, but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

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cowgirllikef · 8 months ago

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Hogwarts students

and their favorite musicals

blaise zabini- mamma mia.

theo nott- hamilton af

draco malfoy- romeo & juliet

pansy- six

hermione- little women

daphne- wicked

harry- hairspray

ron- heathers

#vibes #theatre #hogwarts #harry potter #gryffindor #slytherin #headcanon #hp headcanon

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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hmu if you look anything like this

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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ساڑھی کی کہانی - JB5

Sari ki Kahani

pairing: jude bellingham x desi!reader

summary: reader needs assistance in taking off her very-pinned sari which jude is happy to do with shared quips, but quickly turns into a sultry, pleasurable night

wc: 2.6k

cw: urdu terms of endearment, smut, MDNI!, kissing, oral sex, female!recieving, helping to take off clothes, a little nipple play, moaning,

based on this request

The party had been a blast. The Real Madrid players had come out in their best outfits, well-pressed suits with classy ties and even classier women on their arms.

A few couples had matched each other, including you and Jude. You’d gone for something a little more…different. Instead of donning a party dress or long gown, you’d chosen to wrap yourself in a beautiful red sari.

It was spun with strands of gold thread, and hugged your curves perfectly, hinting at your form despite not showing an inch of skin anywhere.

The blouse had long sleeves, with a golden pathi of lively designs bordering the sleeves, your intricately embroidered red and gold dupatta tying the outfit together perfectly.

You had worn red chudiyan with gold patterns painted daintily on the thin bangles, paired with a solid gold tikka with red stones set in it with matching dangling earrings, a gift from your naani.

After all, anything less than real gold or silver wouldn’t suffice.

Jude had been wearing a matching red suit with a red-and-gold tie, and you two looked like the most expensive couple at the event, tailored to each other’s style and aura.

It had looked to Jude as if you were a desi princess, a rani, shining under the lights like you were shrouded with golden blessings.

He could not stop staring at you, as you danced with him under the starlight, dined with him in the candlelight, and walked with him under the moonlight.

Now in the hotel room, you take off your jewelry, putting each piece in their designated pushes and boxes, not wanting to misplace any of the expensive jewelry.

Jude is still fully dressed except for the dress shoes and socks he’d practically thrown off the moment you came home. He sits on the bed, almost entranced by your methodical way of removing your jewelry.

You look at him in the mirror and smile. “What are you looking at darling?” He grins. “The way you move, it’s quite…endearing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What does that even mean? I’m just taking off my jewelry.” He cocks his head slightly. “It’s like, the way you move, in that dress. You just have a way so that’s so graceful.”

You laugh, responding to his words, “I think it’s more the sari than me. It does make me feel more elegant and ah, graceful.”

Finished with your jewelry save for your tikka, you spin around on the stool to face him directly. You bite your lip playfully, lowering your head. “I must confess something, however.”

Jude furrows his eyes at the “change” in your demeanour, worried about what you have to say. He comes up to you, kneeling to look you in the eyes and raises his hand to caress your cheek softly.

“Tell me what it is love, Tell me what's wrong,” you shift away slightly, “ I can fix it. We can fix it, I promise you, meri rani.”

You take a deep breath, not daring to look into his eyes. “Well, the thing is, Jude, I—,” you take a deep breath. “I need you to help me take my sari off.”

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Did you not hear me the first time? I said I need you to help me take this off.” You can’t hold off a grin as you meet his eyes before laughter comes over you at Jude’s befuddled expression.

“I thought you—what?—I— thought you had something real to confess to me! Y/n, what the fuck?” You grab onto his shoulders for support as Jude glares at you before the realization of what you meant hits him.

“Oh! You mean…oh,” it comes out seductive, and he matches your smirk. “Okay then, why not.”

He grabs the edge of your blouse and tries pulling it up, causing you to shriek. “No, you idiot, you don’t get it! I can’t reach the zippers or the hundred pins I used, that’s why I’m asking for your help!”

Jude keeps his hands on your blouse, fingers creeping beneath it to make contact with your skin.

“Oh.”

“Come on,” you stand up and turn around,” I’m tired of wearing this.”

With great difficulty, Jude finds the blouse zipper, tucked into your back expertly, but a little too much so for his liking.

He grunts as he struggles to grasp it properly, the little zip slipping out of his large fingers. “It’s impressive that I didn’t even realize there was a zipper, but did it have to be this hidden?”

He finally manages to unzip your blouse slowly, careful not to get your skin stuck in it. “It’s not that hard to impress you Judey,” you quip back, and he rolls his eyes.

“Do you want me to help you or not?” You sigh. “Of course. Except you kind of made a mistake.”

Jude scoffs. “What do you mean? I’ve unzipped your blouse, now let’s get it off you. How on Earth could I have possibly screwed this up?”

Sighing once again, you look at Jude. “Is there anything, I don't know, blocking my blouse from being taken off?” He looks confused at your sari before the realization hits.

“Well, um, perhaps so. How…do I even begin with this?” he whines as he gently tries lifting it from your shoulder but finds it pinned heavily along your upper bodice.

“Well,” you reach up to where it’s pinned to your shoulder before draping down behind, then onto your arm, “let’s start from here.”

Carefully, Jude feels for the pins, trying not to stab himself, and manages to take off one of the pins. He cocks his head, looking at you. “How the hell did you manage to put this in without showing it?”

You glance at him sideways. “I obviously had help. And now I have help again to take them out.”

Jude purses his lips, turning back to his task. It takes time as he slowly takes out the pins, working his way from your shoulder to your bodice, and you giggle as he fondles your breasts a little. “That can come later! Let's finish this first.”

An eternity or so later, Jude wasn’t sure, he makes it to the waistband of your skirt when a sudden yelp of pain sounds out. “Sorry, I know they hurt if you don’t know the direction they’re put in. Are you okay jaanu?”

Jude nods, and you bring up the finger that’s dotted red to you. You dab it with a napkin lying on your dressing table, before kissing it better. “Does that help darling?” Jude smiles, “of course.”

He’s much more cautious as he makes his way around you, taking out the pins before finally, finally reaching the last part of it tucked in. One more taken out and then the dupatta slips off your waist, the fabric pooling on the floor around you.

“Holy shit, that was a lot of pins.” You both look at the massive pile on the dressing table. There are at least a few dozen, and you’ll have to put them all back in their case where they belong for the next time. “Wow, this was totally worth it, no regrets.”

Jude chuckles. Now can I finally get to your blouse?” you nod, hoping your cheeks don't redden noticeably. He stands behind you, and with soft fingertips, unzips the rest of the blouse.

You pray he doesn’t feel your breath hitch as his own is heavy on your neck. He helps it off your arms and slowly lowers it to the floor on top of the dupatta.

Finally, the skirt. His fingers graze your waist as he struggles to locate the clasp and zip. You can tell him where it is, but you don’t, savouring the intimate moment.

Finally, Jude finds it and gently unclasps the top before dragging the zip down to the end and lets go as the skirt falls, the final barrier between your body and freedom of the restricting clothes, one less barrier between you and Jude.

You turn around to face him in nothing but your lacy undergarments, quite aware of the imbalance between your attire and Jude’s.

Suddenly, it’s just too much, all this teasing and waiting and stripping, and you close the distance between you, taking the risk. Or rather, the tie.

You grab a hold of his matching tie and pull him in for a kiss, his hands immediately flying to the sides of your abdomen to pull you in closer.

With your other hand, you try but fail to push his suit jacket off. He lets go of you to take it off himself, tossing it somewhere on the bedroom floor.

You can feel his muscles ripple through his shirt, and giggle into his mouth. He pulls back, eyebrow raised. “What?” You shake your head, biting your lip as you start to unbutton his shirt.

“Nothing, you’re just very cute.” Jude looks at you strangely. “You’re so very odd,” he comments, before helping you with the rest of the buttons until the shirt drops off from his shoulders.

You lick your lips, not entirely seductively as you overexaggerate. “I can be even weirder if you’d like me to be,” you grin before leaning forward and lightly biting on his nipple, pulling back, then letting it pop back into place.

Jude just stares with a cute confused expression. He looks down and taps his nipple. He blinks at the strange turn of events. Usually, it is he who does it to you, albeit more sexually, but you have a more playful manner about it and he finds it curious.

Before he can come to his senses, you push him back against the wall, leaning up to kiss him whilst struggling to hold back a smile.

The way the confusion spreads to his lips as they meet yours is too much, and you pull back with a cry of laughter, holding your aching abdomen. “You’re too easy to confuse babe, have a little fun!”

Distracted, you don’t even notice the way he comes at you, pushing you backwards onto the bed to smother your body with his own. “I know how to have fun,” as he coats your face with kisses, making you laugh even harder at the ticklish feeling.

“Jude! Let me go!” You struggle to free your hands from under him as he shifts his waist down to trap them even more. He pulls back from your face with his own laugh as he moves back, kissing your hands resting comfortably on your stomach as you smile at the softness of it all.

“As the lady wishes.” You roll your eyes at the sentiment.

He kisses down to your lacy thong, fingering the band. You exhale slowly in anticipation as he gently lowers them, pulling them off your brown legs as he returns to your unclothed pussy.

He could not have cared less about the hair growing back from your latest shaving session a week ago, in fact, he enjoyed the extra seasoning, as he put it.

He kissed it, before slowly licking up and down your slit, tasting the sweet wetness. To him, it was sweet, regardless of whether you’d drank cranberry or pineapple juice beforehand, even when you’d been afraid that wasn’t the case. Nonetheless, if he enjoyed it, you weren't ever going to stop him.

You moan out in pleasure, finally receiving some relief for your begging clit as Jude’s tongue flicks faster, increasing your stimulation. “Ah, Jude, I—ah, finally, I have—ah, ah—been waiting all night for this, ah!”

He looks up at you in response, his grin shining with your slick as you smooth back his fresh trim. “Yeah like that, no don’t stop—,” he’d made to move up to you, “—yeah, please, one more, please Jude, please!” your final gasp ending in a cry as Jude finishes you off again, motivated by your pleas.

As you come down from your high, he moves up to your face, kissing your lips with you still coating them. You did taste sweet, interestingly.

“You do yeah, why do you think I enjoy you so much?” You jolt at his words and realize he was responding to you. Oh lord, you’d said your thoughts out loud.

“Oh, shut up Jude, just kiss me.” You pull him in for another kiss, which he obliges without restraint.

Before he jerks away, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Oi, your headpiece kind of hurt, I forgot it was still there.”

You giggle at his exaggerated reaction and touch your tikka, still resting perfectly in place. “Oh come on, how could you miss this beauty? She’s my favourite.”

“Yeah well, you’re my favourite. It is pretty, but,” he clicks his tongue, “I don’t wanna sound like an idiot but, um, how is it still in place? I literally made you orgasm and it hasn't moved, does it have some desi magic that keeps it in place…?”

You look up at him with feigned disgust. “Magic? You can’t be serious Jude.”

Jude’s face falls, and he moves his lips as if he wants to apologize, but you cut off any attempts. “Desi witchcraft is what it has, ‘magic’ doesn’t describe it well enough. Witches are called chudails, by the way.”

You furrow your brows, now feigning hurt. “I thought you would’ve known this? I thought you knew me.”

Your voice grows quiet and Jude cups your face, worry etching his features. “Oh lord, y/n, I am so sorry, I thought I was a better boyfriend to you. I should’ve…I mean it sounds a little crazy like—witchcraft, what—, but if you’re, if you do this stuff, I don’t know. I am so sorry, I should know you better like that.”

He genuinely looks sorry for not knowing, and you lose control of yourself as you shake again, but this time from laughter as Jude’s face changes from confusion into disbelief into exasperation.

“You little witch,” he growls. “I can't believe you fell for that! I suppose I do make a good witch, you fell under my spell of lies!” You surge forward and kiss him, pulling back just enough to say, “and my spell of love.” Jude rolls his eyes and kisses you back.

“Then I shall be the fool who spends the rest of his days living with his rumoured witch-wife. Or chudail.” You laugh into his kiss until his words hit you.

“Wife?”

“Well, of course, I want to marry you, love spell or not.” You look into his sincere brown eyes and tear up a little.

“Well then, the chudail might just accept a ring worthy enough to carry her magic love,” you respond, cuddling into Jude’s body as he lies down next to you, both of you too tired all of a sudden to do anything else.

Jude brings his forehead to yours, still wearing the tikka.

“It seems I’ve learned a love spell from my chudail.” He carefully removes it, discovering the little glue dots that stuck to it. You hiss at the pull on your skin, and after Jude sets it aside on the bedside table, he kisses your throbbing forehead.

“I suppose I need to learn a healing spell now.” He considers something for a moment, then gestures down at your naked bodies, still lying on top of the bed cover.

“Oh, and a new sari. I’ll help you take it off again if it means we get to do all this.”

You giggle again as you snuggle even closer to Jude, and you drift off to sleep. Jude somehow finds the energy to pull the comforter from underneath your bodies and over your drowsy forms.

“Good night, jaanu.” he smiles at your words.

“Good night, meri rani.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

beta read by @cowgirllikef

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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they are not serious

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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oh??

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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…i love jude but i kinda feel bad he gets objectified a lot and it’s so normalized. ofc people know him for his football obviously but what is the point of this video? he’s talented at what he does and he looks good doing it, there is a normal way of acknowledging that which doesn’t involve zeroing in it or dehumanizing and over-sexualizing a person.

obv i find him very attractive too, but i still see him as a person (the bare minimum). i saw a vid the other day where he was looking at this painting of himself and talking abt his stats or wtv, yet every comment was inappropriate & irrelevant bs about his body. the internet/socmed has caused such a disconnect from reality that people forget they’re not talking into the void, and while i may have parasocial relationships, at least i understand that they are in fact real people who deserve respect! i hate it here

also to those who claim “jude wouldn’t/doesn’t care” …did he tell you that or ??? the point is we don’t know whether he would be comfortable with that or not, but as aforementioned, borderline sexual harassment is generally a good thing to steer clear of.

#jude bellingham

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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just cried thinking about the bad blood x should’ve said no mashup from rep tour. that was so beautiful

#taylor swift #debut #bad blood #reputation stadium tour #should’ve said no

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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Sweet Treats are Made of This - AG24

pairing: arda güler x reader

wc: 2.4k

cw: lots of fluff, lots of sweet treats (brush your teeth don’t let them reek), a few kisses here and there, light teasing

an: i've been teasing this since march and finally decided to post it! hope you all enjoy this fic for my pookie, I personally could not stop giggling at the cuteness

At long last, the summer break arrived. After Real Madrid won La Liga and the Champions League, a bittersweet final glory for Tony Kroos, the team was free to disband for the time being to go on vacation.

Well, for at most a couple of days. The Euros were set to begin soon and training had already begun for the national teams, only the Madrid players were still left in England for the final.

But while Arda was set to return to Turkiye, he’d realized someone else could also take some vacation time. An opportunity Arda had seized graciously, as he took you to Türkiye for the first time.

He had been a bundle of excitement and nervousness. What if you didn’t like it? What if the food didn't taste good, or you didn’t like the locals, or the scenery wasn’t pretty, or worse yet, you didn’t get along with his family?

He’d been afraid he’d given you too great a picture of Türkiye, filled with his biased love, and the reality would be a gray disappointment.

As much as he wanted to show you his country, he was terrified it would all go wrong somehow, but he did his best to hide his fears every time you discussed the trip, on the way to the airport, on the plane, and then, in Istanbul.

All his fears dissipated the moment you stepped out into the cool city air, the airport a flurry of action, and yet everything seemed to be filled with excitement. You’d looked excitedly out at the bustling city, lights shining bright as you rode in his uncle’s car to his home, while Arda kept his eyes on you.

Despite your fatigue, you stayed up, drinking Turkish tea and listening to his family’s stories of Arda when he was younger, about how much he loved football, the mischief he’d get into with his cousins, and overall how he was such a sweet, loving boy.

You didn’t doubt it for a second, as he was still ever so sweet and caring, and even more passionate about football than before. And of course, still had a mischievous streak you were a witness, and occasional victim, to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

After a couple of days filled with training, family and dinners, Arda finally steals you away from everyone else as you two walk down the streets of Istanbul. He holds your hand as you swing it back and forth, taking in the sights of Istanbul from the streets.

So much is going on and it is hard to take it all in at once. So much to see, so much to do, and thus the first thing he does is take you to the Grand Bazaar.

Colour surrounds you in an explosion of blues and reds and golds, as vendors beckon you over to sell their wares with shouts of “merhaba”.

You look up at the high gold ceiling, decorated with patterns of blue, red and yellow until Arda takes your hand and pulls you towards the heart of the bazaar. “Come on, there’s so much I want to show you.” You squeeze his hand in excitement.

You stop to look at the most beautiful chandeliers, a swirl of Turkish lamps in brightly lit shades of orange, then the one with a multitude of blues, so many shades even you’ve never seen and you want them all, despite knowing you didn't have the space for it in your luggage.

Arda watches your eyes catch on every lamp and makes a mental note to bring you back later, more prepared.

Next, he takes you to a textile vendor who has various shawls and headscarves displayed. He says something to the vendor, who clearly recognizes him, in Turkish, who looks at him with excitement as you study the vivid patterns on the shawls before turning back to you.

“He says he’ll offer a great discount on anything you want, so you can choose right now." You cock your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips.

“I thought you had to put more effort into bargaining, that was so easy!” Arda sheepishly smiles as you nudge him with your arm. “I guess there really are perks of being a football player.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Were the trophies not enough?” You laugh in response as you look through the displays, and settle on a dark red shawl with gray embroidery. “I think they just need a little accessorizing.”

The vendor laughs heartily, more at the joke than the shawl. “Ah, that one’s a pretty one. Handmade, see how perfect it is,” he tells you in English.

He combs through another display before picking out a matching red-and-gray scarf, also embroidered. “You should take this as well,” though you try to protest. “It’s okay, I already have a few,” but he shakes his head, still smiling.

“Wear it at his next game, bring some luck, eh?” He turns to Arda. “You will do great, boy. Our country is praying for you. Bring us honour, yes?” Arda nods as he pays for the shawl. “Of course, how could I not?”

He tries paying for the scarf as well but the vendor refuses to accept the money, citing only his words of luck before Arda relents. The vendor gives you a bag for your goods, and Arda leads you away further into the bazaar.

This next shop held an array of colourful sweets in brightly lit displays. You feel Arda sigh in content as he studies the contents through the glass.

There is no end to the variety of Turkish delights, pink, green, orange, yellow, and brown, some filled with pistachios, some with almonds.

The baklava glistens with clear syrup, keeping the layered pastries sweet and moist. Arda picks up a sample, syrup oozing out just from the touch.

“It’s pistachio, try it.” He cups your chin as he brings you closer to him, places the dessert in your mouth, and your cheeks flush at the public display. Why was he doing this? He didn’t need to, was everything okay?

The flurry of emotions is pushed back the moment Arda places it on your tongue, the syrup coating your tongue as the baklava slowly seems to melt in your mouth, a burst of flavour and texture. The pastry layers are soft and you easily bite through the layers of pistachio and pistachio paste.

You smile in delight up at Arda, who beams back, relieved. You chew slowly, savouring it, as Arda picks up a small pink cube dusted with white powder for himself.

“I haven’t really had good Turkish delights since my transfer to Madrid. I know there are some good shops but I haven’t had the time to go all the way there and try them out.”

He studies the pink sample before looking back at you hesitantly. It’s obvious he has something else to say but is having a hard time trying to string the right words together.

You nudge him with your elbow, signalling that it’s alright for him to say whatever it is. Also, you’re still eating the baklava, so you can’t exactly say the words of encouragement out loud.

Arda takes a deep breath before continuing. “I know we’re just friends and you wanted to come with me to tour around and have fun while I’m training, but…” he trails off, clearly nervous.

You feel your hands begin to shake, just a little bit, at what he implied. “But”, he takes another breath, “I don’t think I can keep this to myself any longer. I didn’t just ask you to come with me because I needed a friend to help me deal with my emotions of the season and trying to relax back at home, or because you were the only one who had the time to come.”

His cheeks flush red. “I could’ve asked Fran or Brahim to come with me, but I didn't, I went straight to you.” His own hands are shaking and he pushes them against the sides of his legs to try to hide them without making it obvious.

“I know I lied about that, and I’m so sorry.” You shake your head a little, slightly dazed. “No it’s–it’s okay, Arda.” He looks just a little bit relieved, but still very tense. “But why? I would’ve come with you anyway, it’s not like I came because I felt bad for you.”

He looks surprised. “Really? I didn’t– I thought– oh.” He shakes his head to clear his mind before he looks back at you, a strong resolve in his bright eyes. “That makes it a bit easier, I think.''

He takes hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly as his gaze never wavers from your own.

“I- I think I’m in love with you. No, not think. I am so deeply in love with you, I can’t handle it. All I can think about when I’m training is how much I want to impress you and wish I could see you in the stands cheering for me.”

“And,” you squeeze his hand back, “when I actually see you there, waiting for me to get on the pitch, it hurts me so much to know you came all this way wearing my shirt just to see me on the bench. I don’t ever want to waste your time like that.”

He pauses, waiting for a response, but your voice is stuck in your throat at how deeply he opened up. Did you really cause him pain like that? You feel your own heart start hurting.

Arda realizes you can’t give him a proper response so he continues. “But I can’t help it when I realize that even when it seemed so clear I was hardly going to get any minutes, not even on my birthday, you were there for me. Even on the bench, you were giving me your sweet smiles of encouragement, and I think that's how I made it through this.”

“You are how I got through this. Because I love you. I have for so long, I just didn’t have the courage to tell you. That’s why I wanted to bring you to my home because I hoped it would give me the confidence I needed. And see if you liked it here, I wasn’t sure if you would.”

His chest feels so heavy, like the weight that was supposed to lift off him only doubled, as his eyes dart between yours, waiting for a response.

“I-,” your hand feels clammy in his, and you hope it isn't sweating, “I didn’t realize you felt this way. I mean, you were so sure of yourself, always patient on the bench and you did so well in training. I didn’t think you felt this way. And about me, I- I thought you only saw me as a friend.”

Arda shakes his head. “That was a long time ago.” You nod your head, biting your lip as you shyly look down at your feet. “I love you too.”

If Arda hadn't been paying such close attention, he might’ve missed the words. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently places a finger under your chin and lifts it, forcing you to look at him.

There’s a softness in his eyes and you wonder how you didn’t notice before. It is the same look he gives every time he takes you out to lunch, or sees you at his games, or when you go on walks.

He doesn't hide anything, and it seems you can't either as he smiles and leans forward to kiss you on your forehead. It brings a smile to your face too, leaving your cheeks flushed.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

With a bag full of Turkish desserts, Arda takes you to Istanbul’s waterside. The blue water is gorgeous, sparkling under the sun as little waves move across with the breeze and laughter fills the air from the children playing on the cobblestones.

You sit on a bench overlooking the dancing water with the bag nestled between you and the armrest and look up to see Arda return with a couple of ice cream cones.

You smile brightly as you accept the one in his outstretched hand and he almost misses the bench when he sits down next to you, distracted by it.

“It’s called dondurma. It’s hard for it to melt because it’s made with a thick flour.” He waits as you try it, licking the sweet dessert. “Arda, this is so good!” you take a bite, forgoing your usual technique of slowly savouring your sweets.

He sighs, relieved at your words, before starting on his own ice cream, eyes still on you. Which is why he accidentally hits his nose instead of his mouth, and you laugh again. “Hold on, I’ve got you. Here.”

You wipe away the ice cream with a napkin as he blushes, and you blush a little bit under his gaze. “You know, if you keep your eyes on your ice cream instead of me, you’ll actually eat it through your mouth and not your nose?”

He laughs. “I think I’m more interested in how much you’re enjoying it. I’ve had this so many times.” You look down at the half-eaten ice cream, already having reached the cone, then look at his barely-eaten one and nudge his shoulder with yours as your blush grows redder. “You are such a tease, Arda. Please eat faster, I’m looking so greedy.”

He kisses your burning cheek, fingers grazing your other one so you can’t turn away to hide the redness. “I know, canım. It’s because I love you. And I think you look more like someone who’s starved of good food. Which we know isn’t true.”

“Arda!” Disgruntled, you look at him for a few seconds before jolting forward to kiss him on the nose, and it’s now his turn to flush redder. You giggle before you turn towards the sea, shoulder-to-shoulder, as you eat in peace, watching the waves dance in the sun, with Arda by your side.

You rest your head on Arda’s shoulder, who then rests his head on yours, peace washing over him like the waves on the sea as he savours the day with you.

There were many difficult decisions he’d made in his life that he regretted.

Taking you to Türkiye and confessing his love for you was not one of them.

He squeezes your hand as he rests it on his thigh, entwining them together, and you squeeze back.

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

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cowgirllikef · 1 year ago

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THE WONDROUS THE TALENTED THE UNSTOPPABLE LOML @inejschumacher HAS DONE IT AGAIN !

what better way to celebrate me & my bday twin than a solid via fic! 😝💕🙌🩵

Happy Birthday Princess - JB5

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

wc: 3.6k

cw: 18+ MINORS DNI, bj, p in v, swallowing, protected sex! pda, kissing, physical touching, sub!jude, princess treatment

an: this is a birthday fic for my darling @cowgirllikef ! since jude and effy are my june 29 babes <3

The countdown on your wall calendar nears the date circled in red: June 29. Holding back on your excitement was difficult as you watched the days grow closer. You had prepared so well for this day and prayed things would not go wrong.

After all, why should Jude Bellingham’s birthday go awry? You’re responsible for making sure his birthday went well, especially after the extraordinary year at Real Madrid.

Winner of the Champions League, winner of La Liga, soaring over the Barcelona nursery team with his spectacular goals, the least you can do for your boyfriend is to treat him well on his special day.

It was a little difficult planning the venue as the Euros were taking place in Germany, but his family was there to watch him play with England and his friends came in the form of teammates and spectators.

You greet Jude with a bright smile and charming kiss every time, struggling to keep your mouth shut about his birthday plans. Despite his ever-increasing prodding about what you might have planned, you keep quiet and hold your resolve together.

Especially since England was doing well in the Euros, with Jude having scored in the first game against Serbia and bringing them a much-needed win, one step closer to bringing it home to England. During every celebration, Jude tries to ask if you have anything planned for your birthday, but you only keep mum about any such plans.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The day finally arrives. You wake up early, nestled in his arms, and slowly struggle out of his firm hold. You feel the exhaustion seep away slowly from him as he takes a well-needed rest from his games. Tomorrow he’ll be back on the pitch but for today he would be able to train a little less today.

Grateful for his exhaustion, you slip out of bed and head into the bathroom to begin the day. You wash your face, apply skincare and brush your teeth before checking the time on your phone.

8:28 a.m. Perfect. You change into a sundress before you hear a knock on the door.

Room service. You open the door to see a hotel staff member standing there with a cart and the smell of breakfast hits you with a whiff of heaven. You smile at her and let her in as she places the trays of food on a small table.

A low groan reverberates through the room. Jude is awake.

The room service lady leaves and you walk over to Jude. His eyes open slowly and he looks up at you. It is a calm moment, but before you can wish him a happy birthday, he grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him, smothering you with kisses.

You let out a high-pitched giggle and kiss him back feverishly, leaving not an inch of his face unkissed. You kiss his lips roughly before pulling away enough to look him in his beautiful darkened brown eyes and smile.

“Happy birthday darling,” Jude kisses you again before laying you next to him. His brows furrow and he sits up, slightly confused.

“What’s that smell coming from? It smells…delicious?” You grin at him. “I decided to treat you to breakfast in bed. Thought I should start my wonderful boyfriend’s special day the right way.”

You give him a quick kiss before jumping off the bed and bringing the breakfast to him, and his eyes widen slightly at the number of options. There are eggs, scrambled and fried, toast with packaged butter squares stacked next to it, little waffles in the shape of Germany with maple syrup, and what looks to be the most refreshing orange juice you’ve ever seen.

Jude looks surprised, but he smiles and—is he blushing?—as he looks up at you with adoration. “You didn’t have to do all this, love.” You smile sweetly, “I wanted today to start today all peaceful and private, just the two of us.”

Jude blushes and you know this is the right decision. Of course you did. No one knew Jude better than you did and it would be made all the more evident today.

He reaches over to make his plate and you openly admire his muscles. He smirks as he catches your gaze and you grin back at him before making your plate and settling onto the bed.

You glance at him, ready to devour a piece of toast before an idea hits you. Before he can take a bite, you snatch the other piece of his plate, distracting him. “Hey! What are you-” he shuts up as you quickly place a piece of toast in his mouth and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Jude, it’s your birthday. I’m treating you like the princess you are.” He rolls his eyes and chews on it, eyes sparking up.

“Delicious,” he says before he suddenly shoves a piece into your mouth and you laugh in surprise. You feed each other pieces of breakfast, laughing until your sides start to hurt from the undigested food and heavy laughter.

You kiss him goodbye when he leaves for training and immediately get to work on the next surprise. He won’t be back in the hotel room until after dinner so he took his clothes and toiletries to get ready at the training ground, which was just perfect.

Jude had joked before about wanting one of those decorated bedrooms with balloons and rose petals, meticulously prepared for a long night of love and passion. It might have been just for giggles, but you decided it would be a little funny —and intimate— to actually go through with it.

It takes some time, first blowing up the balloons, then struggling to attach them to the wall, and then figuring out how to place the flowers, petals, and other gifts you’ve brought with you.

It had been a struggle to try and get Jude to stop asking why you had so much heavy luggage, but thankfully an intense enough glare had stopped him from prodding any further.

After a couple of hours, you’re finished. You step back to admire your work before getting on with the rest of your day. Soon enough, it will be time to get ready for his birthday dinner.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Jude is waiting outside the hotel in a sleek blue-and-red Ferrari. Of course, he finds the most prestigious of sports cars in English colours, as he lowers his sunglasses to take in the view in front of him.

You blush under his gaze but walk towards him confidently. You’ve chosen a long blue silk dress that hugs your curves without showing any skin, leaving that part to the imagination for now.

He holds the door open, ever so the gentleman, before he gets in and drives off.

The dinner is held in an upscale restaurant, easily distinguished by the aura of class surrounding it. Women clothed in silks and golds walked inside with their men at their calling, clothed in sleek blacks and expensive watches.

Jude drives over to the valet and quickly helps you out of the car before the valet drives away with it. You take his arm as he leads you inside the fine establishment. The interior is filled with red patterned wallpaper with gold accents in the form of chandeliers, furniture, and ledges.

The receptionist recognizes Jude immediately and takes you to a table further into the restaurant, in a slightly closed-off room that gives enough privacy for the large birthday party streaming in.

Many of Jude’s teammates are there with their wags and the atmosphere is filled with excitement and joy. Trent pulls Jude into a bear hug, smacking his back as others take turns with Jude. “Happy birthday mate” repeats itself over and over.

Trent snickers as he props a shiny gold hat on Jude's head with a little ribbon wrapped around reading "Happy Birthday." Bukayo hands him a matching gold party horn, which Jude cheekily blows into.

There is a table on the side overflowing with gift bags and gift-wrapped items, which you would have a great time opening with Jude afterwards.

After the greetings and hugs, you and Jude sit down at the head of the table. Everyone else follows suit as they wait patiently for Jude to speak.

He looks at the table in realization before standing up again to address them.

“I want to thank you all for coming here, I know it was a bit difficult for many of you to come out so far during the tournament, but it means a lot to me. I see so many of my lads here dressed up all nice with their ladies and I wanted to thank them for being such great teammates.

It’s been a bit of a difficult journey y’know, making it through to the next round but we’re England, yeah? We’ll make it through, I know we can. The World Cup wasn’t it but this is the Euros, look at us. We’re English strong, we’ll make it through!” he raises his glass and everyone does as well, cheering.

Jude sits down and pecks you on the cheek before the dinner finally gets underway. The waiters fill glasses with water as everyone looks at their menus, deciding what to order.

You and Jude flip through the leather bindings, looking at the vast array of exquisite dining items ranging from lobster platters to steak dinners to the ever-intriguing caviar. You settle on a lobster pasta and he chooses a medium-rare steak, citing his dire need for protein.

You converse with a few of the other wags as you all wait for your meals until they slowly begin to be served. The strong scents of spices, smoking meats, seasoned vegetables, and alcohol soon fill up the space as everyone takes to their delicious meals. You don't drink and Jude chooses to stay sober as well so you settle on virgin drinks instead.

It is delicious. The meat melts in your mouth, complementing the pasta perfectly, the spices giving it a strong kick of flavour, and it takes everything in you not to inhale it.

It is difficult finding time to go out to dinner with Jude with his busy football and training schedule, but you relish the time you have with him despite being surrounded by a couple dozen other people.

Jude makes little jokes throughout the dinner, making you laugh and once almost causing you to spit out your drink, which earns him a glare, but overall goes quite smoothly.

You try each other’s food, and while his steak does taste amazing, you’re happy with your own choice of dinner. You feel full from all the meat and vegetable sides, yet when the dessert menus come out you immediately scour through it.

You know Jude wouldn't eat any to keep in top shape for the next round of the Euros, but you don’t, and so you decide on the strawberry cheesecake. You tease Jude with a few pieces as he glances longingly at it, but then surprise him with a kiss, leaving him flustered.

As the night winds down, Jude stands up again, clinking his half-full glass with a spoon just one time to command everyone’s attention. Once more, the table quiets down as everyone turns to him expectantly.

“I wanted to thank everyone again for coming during this busy time. We’ve got a lot to focus on if we want to win, but tonight was a night for us to relax for just a bit. We all needed this, and I can’t wait to see you all on the pitch tomorrow.”

He looks at you before continuing. “I also want to thank my darling y/n for the effort she put into this dinner. I know it was difficult finding a nice place and planning this, but I’d say it worked out alright. A pretty restaurant with a pretty view, it’s amazing.”

He winks at you and you blush, but you grin back at him. It did feel nice to have him appreciate you so openly, especially as it was indeed a difficult task to plan this dinner with his teammates. Jude raises his glasses again, and everyone cheers, calling out your name as your blush and smile grow.

He leans down and pulls you in for a kiss and you hear a few snickers and awws from the table. His eyes shine as he pulls away smirking, and you narrow your eyes playfully at him.

People linger for a little longer before they start to leave to prepare for the next day’s game.

You and Jude bid farewell to everyone, thanking them for taking the time to come out and celebrate Jude’s special day before you two decide to head out as well.

His driver and some restaurant staff have already placed the majority of gifts in the car so you wouldn’t have to worry about that, and Jude takes your hand as he leads you out to the awaiting car.

He opens the door and as you step inside, you feel his fingers brushing your curves and you fight back a smile.

It seems Jude also has a desire for something more tonight.

Perfect.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The ride home was filled with kisses and roaming hands, pulling on hair and exploring chiselled muscles, and you hardly remember exiting the car and making it up to your hotel room.

But you sober up as you reach the room door, pulling away from Jude as he tries to go in for yet another kiss, hand going slowly towards your rear. “There’s cameras here, Jude, why don’t we go inside before we go any further?”

Jude cocks an eyebrow at the sudden sense of shame. “I think we’re well past that darling,” but you shake your head, trying to come off as reserved and wanting to preserve the more intimate contact away from prying eyes.

“You go in first, I’ll make sure no one follows.” You wink at him, trying to play the “role” of a small bodyguard, and Jude relents after a moment, too desperate for more to argue.

He steps inside and you hear him gasp. The room is illuminated by dozens of stringed lights casting a warm glow on the rose petals placed artfully on the floor, forming a path leading toward the bed. Flowers adorn the many surfaces, dark red roses and white lilies enhanced by baby breath and sweetpeas.

He looks back at you. “Y/n, darling, what’s all this?” You gesture for him to follow the trail of petals, which he obliges. “I thought I’d give my princess a grand finale for his special day. He deserves nothing less, no?”

Jude laughs before taking in the bedroom view. Over the bed hangs a letter balloon display that reads “HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUDE” in red, and on the bed itself lies an artful arrangement of more rose petals in the shape of a heart. In the center lies a singular birthday card, which Jude picks up. On the cover is a shining metallic silver birthday cake, but it is what is on the inside that matters more.

Which is revealed when Jude opens the card and emits a surprised laugh. Taped on the inside is a packaged condom, the reflection of the lights glaring off the silver packaging.

Highlighting the “extra-large” size written on it.

“Y/n…,” Jude looks at you, shock and love in his eyes as he struggles to get the words out.

Until he realizes he doesn’t have to.

With one arm, he pulls you in by the waist for a fierce kiss, more lustful than romantic like the ones before and you hold on to his upper arms to retain your balance. Before he can do anything else, you pull away, not breaking eye contact as you lower yourself down, down onto your knees, hands grazing the sides of his hips as you bring them ever closer to the front of his dress pants.

“Since it’s your birthday Jude, it’s only right to treat you the way you deserve it, hmm?” You see his Adam’s apple bob despite suppressing a throaty reaction so early on in the night and you cock your head ever so slightly.

“I suppose so, yeah.” It takes everything in Jude not to grab your hair and thrust into your face fully clothed, instead gripping the flimsy card. In any other circumstance, you would take your sweet, sweet time teasing him, but he had a game tomorrow and time was of the essence.

You deftly unbuckle his belt, tossing it to the side as you undo the buttons on his pants before lowering them down with his boxers. His cock springs out hard, and you take it in your hand and give it a few strokes as Jude groans from the slight relief of pressure.

You flick your tongue lightly on his brown tip before leaving a kiss on it, then look up into his pleading eyes again. Sometimes, it takes everything in Jude not to come at the sight of you looking up at him like this, but his cock isn’t even in your mouth yet so he holds back.

Neither of you breaks eye contact as you take it in slow, tongue working its magic on the delicate skin as you feel his body tremble slightly. You move slowly at first, first taking in only the tip, then an inch more, another inch, all the while working to stimulate him otherwise.

You fondle his balls with one hand and Jude gasps at the increased contact, still trying to hold back from thrusting into your mouth or grabbing your hair. After all, this was his treat, and he needed to relax as his love gave him the royal treatment she says he deserves, layer by layer, laying him bare. The time for his own actions would come soon, but first, he wanted to focus on the pleasure coursing through his body.

Your other hand grips his hip, nails digging in to try and help you find some balance. It also grounds Jude to reality instead of letting himself go so early, but that won’t last long at this point.

The stimulation from your nails, your hand caressing his balls and the shaft of his cock, and your mouth taking in every inch soon becomes too much, and he feels himself tense for just a moment before he releases.

You’d seen the signs, felt his body strain and so you keep going at it until he comes in your mouth. You swallow every drop of white cum, licking your teeth to get the rest, before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show him what a good girl you were.

Jude’s eyes widen but a sinful smirk plays across his lips. “I didn’t realize how much my darling wanted to treat me today.”

You giggle before he picks you up and throws you on the bed, rose petals be damned. He picks up the card and practically rips off the condom before tearing into the package and putting it on.

“You really can’t wait, can you?” You tease him. “You don’t have to wait any longer.”

Jude grins before placing himself at your legs and spreading them wide, revealing your throbbing core. He kneels tall over you before lining himself up with you, and you feel the slight pressure from the beginning touch of physical contact.

Slowly, he pushes into you and you gasp at the sudden stretch. Fingers curling into the white comforter, you throw your head back as he picks up the pace, finding a comfortable rhythm.

“Feels good, yeah? I’ve only just started darling,” he chuckles, keeping a firm grasp on your hips to keep you in place. He looks to your side for a second, before taking a handful of petals and tries to garnish your abdomen with them.

Try is the keyword as it looks more like little piles, so instead he spreads them across by hand. You laugh at the ticklish feeling, the force pulling you up towards Jude a bit.

Just when he thrusts in, and you both gasp at the extra depth of his cock inside of you. “Careful love,” he wheezes, “don’t wanna hurt you like that.”

His strokes are sure, but not desperate like his kiss outside the door. He’s having a merry time tonight, enjoying the squirming view beneath him as he fucks out his love and gratefulness for the night’s wonderful festivities.

It isn’t long until he feels you tense up around him and realizes you’re close to coming. He keeps his pace steady and when he feels you shake under him from the strength of your orgasm, it nearly triggers his own.

He leans forward, arms wrapping around your waist as his strokes prolong your orgasm. He’s breathing in your ear, whispering “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.” He kisses your cheek as he finally comes and holds you tight to him until you’ve both stopped trembling from the intensity of your orgasms.

He peels himself away from you to grab a wet cloth to clean you up before placing you under the covers where he pulls you in tightly, half-asleep.

Jude doesn’t care that the game tomorrow means it was a shorter session of sex compared to the usual, as long as he is with his sweetheart, who cares for him in action more loving than anything he can ever dream of. He knows how difficult planning the dinner was and he’ll never forget your efforts.

“Thank you for making my birthday so amazing, my darling. I love you so much.” You mumble a quiet response, and Jude kisses your forehead before you both succumb to a deep, sweet sleep.

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

#i’m so lucky #i love her #i love jude so much #jude bellingham #he looks so good #head game

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