#about ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saleeba · 6 months

Text

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off.

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person.

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad.

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends.

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for.

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.”

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it.

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words.

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though.

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other.

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel.

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests.

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again.

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late.

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry.

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head.

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home.

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up.

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision.

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs.

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now.

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely.

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy.

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s.

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.”

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release.

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,”

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste.

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once.

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions.

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones.

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail.

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.”

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

#girlies i’ve never had alcohol in my life so i hope the way i wrote reader & jude being drunk was ok !!! 🫶🏽#then again i’ve never had sex in my life and i write extensively about it so u know . 😭😭😭#guys imagine if before every smut fic i wrote a disclaimer like ‘guys i-i’ve never had sex before but i hope i did okay with this 🥺🥺' LMAO #ALSO omg im sorry abt the inconsistencies in tone + tempo i legit wrote this over a 5 month period + came back to it at times when i didnt #feel like writing + i was just tryna get to the good bit iykwim ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)#˗ˏˋ 📝 ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ 💬 ˎˊ˗#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #football imagine #footballer smut #footballer imagine

962 notes · View notes

heraldeez · 1 year

Text

Mistletoe

Viktor x Reader | 2.4K | SFW

Warnings/Tags: KISSIN’, and some pre-relationship shenanigans

You want to steal a kiss from everyone's favorite assistant professor, and by the gods are you going to get what you want.

A/N: Happy holidays, folks! :] Though the season is busy, I wanted to put out some Viktor smoochin, to get us all through the cold months. Enjoy!

---

Today, mischief is afoot.

Mischief in form of you, hauling a canvas duffle of metal poles and custom gearwork into the front doors of the Academy, winter wind nipping at your heels all the way through the grand arches. You quickly tap the clinging rime of powdery snow from your shoes in the drafty entry hall before heading to the stairs.

Despite your wind bitten cheeks, you have ambitions for the day.

And not ambitions for the custom miniaturized planetarium prototype in your bag, no. You have seasonal ambitions, ambitions for the mistletoe carefully tucked, to not knock off any fragile leaves, into the front pocket of your supply bag.

Today, you’re stealing a kiss.

Long enough have you admired Viktor from afar. Today, you’re making your intentions known, even if you have to use a bit of trickery to do so.

Not too much.

Nobody can really complain about mistletoe, right? It’s festive. Even Viktor, who can’t be pried from his work for love or money.

The heavy doors rasp over the floor as you push your way into the Hextech lab.

It’s a good hour to be here. Viktor’s desk sits in a sunspot, likely the warmest part of the lab right now, and he’s curled over his notes, soaking it all in. Gentle late-morning sun slants lazily through the windows, sending warm threads of light through Viktor’s hair to really bring out all those rich golden highlights. As though his profile is glowing, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the point of his chin all carry a halo of precious light from the cloudless day, even shut away in here, hard at work. You can practically see sparkles of it resting on the tips of his eyelashes.

Gods, you’re in deep. You could stare at him all day, but Viktor’s ears perk up to the noise of your entry, and he turns to face your way.

Viktor – thankfully alone, from the looks of things – raises a brow as you step in, one finger twirling aimlessly through his hair, the way he does when he’s swamped in work.

And like the methodical turning of clockwork gears, your plans grind into motion.

“I need a favor.”

Viktor’s other brow creeps up to match. “Not even a hello?”

You grin, easily, confidently. “You prefer when I cut to the chase.”

“Perhaps.” He snorts as he sets his pencil down, giving you a rare slice of his undivided attention. “What did you need?”

You jangle the sack of metal rods.

“I need your lab for testing. Mine isn’t big enough for this project.”

Viktor squints at the bag. “Be my guest, though in return…”

You pause – this wasn’t in your script. And, shamefully, your heart thumps a little harder thinking just what he might want of you.

“You’ll have to explain to me what you’re working on,” he says, simply.

Is that all? You clear your throat, nonchalant, shoving aside thoughts of illicit lab activities for a far more appropriate response, “Uh, yeah, sure! Of course.”

You heft the base of the mechanism out of the bag, setting it heavily in the center of the lab, beginning your explanation.

It’s a small scale planetarium, something Viktor probably could have made years earlier in his schooling. But it was a commission, easy cash and renown, so you’d readily signed up. A moving night sky, panels suspended on spokes, covered in a lightweight dome. A foreign noble had specifically requested it as a party feature, for guests to entertain themselves with while they have their fill of bubbly spirits.

“It’s looking a little… incomplete,” Viktor pokes, grinning at where you hold a single spoke instead of twelve or so.

You scowl. “That’s because it is. I’m just – this is the most energy efficient way of testing, okay? Get back to your own work.”

You aren’t actually here to argue about the proper method of creating a prototype.

You have ambitions, damn it.

And you really need him to turn away so you can go about achieving them.

Viktor raises his hands placatingly, though he’s still obviously laughing at you a little from the bemused smile on his face, but obediently twists his seat to face his own work again.

You watch, hawklike, until his shoulders square up, hunched over his work, telltale signs that he’s sucked back into whatever he was working on, before you whip out the sprig of mistletoe.

Deft fingers secure it to the end of the segmented pole, and you hurry to get it attached at the base, lest Viktor find any more teasing commentary within himself and turn around to deliver it.

Unlikely, with how his focus tended to catch while working, but better safe than sorry.

The air seems to still in your lungs as your finger hovers over the ignition switch.

By all your calculations, and perhaps unhealthy obsession, the poles should be the perfect length to span from the center of the room to arc directly over the workstations clustered around the room, Viktor’s desk included.

But if your mental measurements were off, or worse, the motor doesn’t function the way you think –

You just have to get it over with. No progress without a price.

The air wooshes out of you in relief as the motor revs on pleasantly, a quiet chugging hum as the spoke catches in the internal gearwork and shifts, beginning its slow rotation atop the room.

A rotation that passes perfectly, to the inch, about 10 feet above Viktor’s tousled hair, unbeknownst to him.

Victory is sweet. On this day… your ambitions pay off.

You step back to admire your handiwork, pleased that while in motion, it’s difficult to tell what the bundle of silvery green at the end is, all the way up by the ceiling. Even if Viktor were to look up, it wouldn’t be readily obvious what you were up to.

The thought fills you with giddy buoyancy, plucking out your lunch to enjoy while you wait for your plans to come to fruition. You hop up onto Viktor’s desk, all the luck thus far making you bolder, pushing your luck.

He glances at you, lips quirked up, but doesn’t offer any reprimand.

“How long do you intend to let it run?” he asks, scratching away at a complex looking equation on one of the many sheets of parchment littering the desk in front of him. His inkwell is nearing on empty, and his coffee mug already there.

“Oh, probably till I finish my lunch. I have a seminar to get to after this, so not terribly long.”

Viktor nods, and fades back into his work.

You swing your feet absently, watching the slowly spinning herb make its rounds, and take a big bite of your sandwich. A slice of thin cheese tries to chase your mouth as you pull away.

Ah, bliss. Everything was really going just as you’d planned. Good inventions. Good sandwich. Good company.

You cast your eyes over to peek at Viktor, hoping that you’re being subtle. He’s hard at work, like always.

The steady scratching of his pen gives you ample time to admire him. You relax into the warm sunlight draping across your shoulders like a shawl and drink your fill – of the soft cable-knit sweater, loose on his shoulders to ward off the chill of the lab, large buttons undone to leave his dress shirt exposed. The small ink stain on his shirt collar. The way his eyelashes really are sparkling in the light, this close. The deep bags under said eyes.

It wouldn’t kill him, to take a break.

“Do you intend to go home for the holiday?” you ask, lapping a bit of sauce off the side of your thumb where it had seeped out of the delicious crusty bread.

Viktor gives a little hum, to acknowledge that he heard you even as he doesn't raise his gaze, scribbling lines of formulas down. His handwriting gets smaller as he nears the bottom of the parchment. When he runs out of space, he finally replies, "No, not this year. We're close to a breakthrough, I just know it."

He neatly flips the page over.

To your surprise and great pleasure, Viktor pauses instead of resuming his work, pen midair, to glance at you curiously.

"Are you, eh, heading home at the end of the week?"

It gives you pause, the way that borders on asking if you’re available.

“Mmm, I’m still deciding. I could visit family, I suppose, but I am rather partial to the idea of taking an airship out to someplace warmer, a little weekend trip to take in the sights. I suppose I’ll just have to see how… open my schedule remains.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, you're probably going to veg out in your apartment and eat a bunch of junk food and holiday leftovers while trying to beat a record for ‘most time spent without leaving bed’.

But that leaves plenty of time, to hang around here. If Viktor is so inclined.

You slide eyes full of barely-restrained excitement over at him, even though you know they’re probably revealing your hand right now. “Why do you ask?”

His answer is too swift to be convincing.

“No reason.”

You fight not to beam with delight – not wanting to disturb the careful balance of teasing restraint that you and Viktor seem to have picked up – by popping the last of your sandwich into your mouth and drawing yourself to your feet. Balling the parchment paper wrapping in your hands, your feet carry you nonchalantly to pitch it in the bin before stopping at the base of your contraption.

Just a few more moments. Patience.

Twiggy green sails cheerfully through the air, just before his desk, and you subtly flip the switch as though you’d simply drawn a conclusion to your work. The spoke slides to a halt.

Directly above Viktor’s head, the bundle of vivid green and foggy white berries sits like a crown for your incumbent victory.

Your steps are light with satisfaction as you make your way over to his chair once more.

“Thank you, Viktor, for letting me use the space. Though, before I go, there’s just one more thing…”

Viktor turns, setting his arm on the back of his chair to look at you expectantly, but you merely point a flippant finger upward in lieu of words, sly grin on your face.

The way his eyes widen at the shock is endlessly satisfying.

Viktor seems a mix of guarded and flustered, the cutest flush rising to his cheeks. But his eyes hold a gleam that you can't quite parse.

Cautiously, he fixes you with a stern look, brows knit. "And you intend to partake in this, eh, tradition?"

Mysterious gleam or not, you barrel on. "Rules are rules."

"Ah, well in that case."

Like a switch had been flipped, Viktor's expression sets, determined.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

Capable hands seize your jaw, Viktor tugging you down to his level.

His fingers cup your jaw delicately and confidently, bowing you down to meet his lips and – and they're so soft –

And you can barely keep up with the change in atmosphere, his lips moving passionately against yours, a squeak leaving your throat only for him to hum it into his own, your hands seeking purchase in the sudden maelstrom and clutching at the front of his dress shirt for dear life.

Viktor is kissing you like an expert, and you're wondering just who is stealing a kiss from whom here, when he encourages your mouth open and – tongue! tongue! in an innocent mistletoe kiss! – his soft tongue slides delicately, exploratory against your own.

He tastes you, humming his appreciation as you reel to find balance and return his affections, twining himself tighter with you and for Janna's sake, when did your eyes close?

Who is this guy? What did he do with the shut-in, ‘couldn't make polite conversation for the first two months you knew him’ Viktor?

And who taught him to kiss like that?

Scratch that. You didn't want to know.

You just knew you never wanted him to stop.

But all good things must come to an end. Finally, finally, oxygen makes itself known as a necessity, and Viktor draws back, lips chasing purchase to the very last before finally parting with the softest noise of separation.

He looks at your mouth through long, low-drawn lashes, glittering above molten gold, before his eyes flick up to meet yours, your heart pounding tenfold as you consider that he might just go in for another round.

But his hands slip from your face.

"Mm, I suppose that fulfills our duty to tradition, then. Happy holidays."

Viktor turns to his work casually, clearing his throat, back to business as usual – only the slight flush of pink staining the tips of his ears and the creases at the front of his dress shirt saying otherwise.

"Don't you, eh, have that seminar to get to?"

You aren't sure if it's a cruel tease or if he's having mercy on your scrambled egg of a brain.

You grapple around for words. "Huh? I uh – yeah, yes, I do, that's – Well, now, yes."

So much for intellect.

You pack your things in a daze, shutting off the motor, folding spokes, fitting everything back into well worn canvas that smells of your own lab, your own home.

And your brain is stuck on loop.

Soft lips. Strong hands. Nimble tongue.

And cheeky.

He played you like cards. You’re going to be thinking about this for months.

"Ah, (Y/n)?"

Startled as you're heading out the door, you turn to find Viktor looking at you, that mysterious gleam in his eyes sparkling anew.

"If you do happen to find time in your busy holiday, perhaps we could," Viktor's lips quirk up in a self-satisfied little smirk, "do lunch?"

And all at once, it hits you, just what his eyes are holding.

A mischief, all his own.

Viktor continues, the death knell of your pride and the birth of something excitingly new between the two of you.

"After all, I'd love to address how you have obviously been dying to kiss me for months now."

#don't worry about who taught him that ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)#viktor x reader #viktor #viktor arcane #my work

323 notes · View notes