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𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 / • 𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐣𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ; 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘪 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

(𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙚𝙢!) /𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘵𝘷, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘥𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘪 & 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘭.

i hummed quietly as i slightly pulled up my olive colored stringed tube too, examining my now bigger backside through my matching colored leggings, with jewelry to top the outfit off, with a slick back ponytail.

i never felt more beautiful in the world. i mean, after dealing with postpartum depression when i had davi, took a toll on my mental and it effected mostly how i viewed myself, mostly how i looked.

but ney made sure i wasn’t going through it alone. even sitting out for the season for me, which he didn’t have to do, but it was along the lines of “i love you more than ever, why wouldn’t i?”.

best husband i could ever ask for right?

finishing putting on my last anklet, i grabbed me purse, before i opened our shared bedroom door, walking downstairs as i was met with neymar watching tv, just putting down davi for bed.

“tudo bem papi, estou saindo para hoje à noite!” i said, before i bent down to reach my shoes, before being met with my handsome husband, just blatantly staring, like analyzing what i was wearing. ["alright papi, im leaving for tonight!"]

“is it something wrong?” I asked before neymar stood up, walking over to me, his tall figure just standing over me. mnm.

“não... mas sua roupa, é problema meu. você não vai sair com essa roupa meu amor.” neymar shook his head, before slightly leaning against the wall before i kissed my teeth in a attempt to win him over. [“nope...but your outfit, is my problem. your not going out in that outfit my love.”]

“but babyyyyy! i thought this was ‘hubby approved?’” i whined, walking up to him, hoping that he would change his mind on the outfit. i like when he’s like that, possessive, but he wasn’t overly possessive. he just didn’t want anyone to see what was his.

“it is...but i know...you look this good? you might be hiding something under these leggings...your ass is moving way too much princess.” neymar smiled, wrapping his arms around me as he kissed my lips, before burying his face inside of my neck, making me break out in giggles.

“stop-neyyyy! why are you feeling in my pantsss?-” you kept squirming in his arms, before his hands successfully made it to the inside of your tights before he felt around your ass…

he stopped before he felt a thin string run across his hand, standing back, as he felt himmself run hard…just from rubbing against you, he knew you had on a thong, not let alone a g-string.

“princesa, puxe-os para baixo e deixe-me ver o que você está vestindo.” neymar demanded, his demeanor just turning me on in seconds…wet. [“princess, pull them down and let me see what you're wearin’”]

pouting and just irritated in general about the whole ordeal, i whined, him not budging at all. still.

cockblocker.

“what did i say?” his accent was present in his english.

“ugh…fine.” I rolled my eyes, pulling my pants before revealing a black thong, causing him to bite his lip…just examining me and my figure , how natural my curves were and how my body snapped back just easily after birthing davi.

“are you trying to tempt me? by sneaking out in a thong mu amour?” neymar teased slightly, giving me that gaze.

wetted my underwear that fast-

“no…it’s just panties. what’s the big deal?” i sassed, before neymar chuckled, pulling me back swiftly, before his hand was around my throat just like that.

“or should i fix that attitude of yours? you wouldn’t wanna wake up davi would you?” neymar challenged, as my lip was tucked in my bottom teeth, feeling my legs go weak just from him putting me in my place that fast.

before huffing “no papi.” i responded, before he let go, his hands running back down my ass, gripping it in his hands, just caressing it before his lips made it to my ear.

(i have a thing for tatted hands…)

“so be a good girl and change for me. and drop the attitude.” neymar spoke, his breath hitching in my ear as he moved closer, making me whimper, sprinkled with a moan in this midst.

“okay…” i smiled, trailing off before walking back to our shared room, changing my underwear.

a short few minutes later, i walked back downstairs, to be smart, i put on his favorite pink laced panties he bought me for valentines day, standing in front of him.

“better now?” i huffed before standing up. neymar felt a heartbeat down there…the throbbing sensation grew the more he stared…and in his favorite panties? i was bound to be fucked up…

“way much better. covers up nicely.” neymar sarcastically spoke, before you could pull up or grab your leggings from the floor, neymar pulled you by your panties, causing me to fall on him.

“neyyy! i have to go! im gonna be-ouuu shit.” you felt him slap your ass, before softly sucking on your sweet spot, as i caressed his head.

“shhh…eles podem esperar, deixe-me provar baby antes de você sair... foda-se.” neymar muttered across your skin, before slapping your ass again, causing euphoric thoughts to take over as he repeatedly attacked my spot, sucking on it. [“shh, they can wait, let me get a taste baby, before you leave...fuck.”]

i guess im never leaving the house anytime soon…without any more inspections. i don’t mind it tho.

first neymar fic bc im obsessed, give me suggestions!, lemme know how i did loves!

Campeones - Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary: reader wants to remain professional as she interviews Jude after he’s just won the Champions League with Real Madrid, but all he wants to do, is kiss her.

Part 2 of ‘Who are you?’ (Read part 1 here)👈🏻. Can be read as a stand alone but I’d suggest reading part one first.

A/n: I’m so proud I could cry. My Jude Bellingham Masterlist <-

-

White shirts poured onto the pitch the very moment that final whistle blew.

Cheers erupted all around Wembley stadium as you were escorted by a security guard from the media pen and all the way down to the pitch side within a minute of Real Madrid winning the Champions League.

Following your interview with Jude a month ago, you’d been calling each other almost everyday after he finally gave up texting you on instagram and gave you his number.

You were enamoured with each other, utterly obsessed even, to the point where you’d found yourself well acquainted with his family as whenever you’d be on FaceTime, they quite often would walk into frame and speak to you, especially his little brother, Jobe.

It was only a matter of days before you’d developed romantic feelings for him, and even less for him to like you.

So naturally, the two of you had entered a relationship shortly after Jude had confessed his feelings to you while drunk following the La Liga trophy parade.

Whilst your romantic life was blooming, so was your career.

You’d caught the attention of TNT Sports in the way that you’d handled yourself in the face of criticism and how well you’d come across as a result of the excellence of your questions in the post match interview where you and Jude had met.

They offered you a full-time job there next season, as long as you agreed to do the post-match interviews after the Champions League final.

The moment you’d told Jude about his offer, he was screaming down the phone in excitement over the prospect of you being there for him, so long as Real Madrid beat Bayern Munich in the Semi-finals.

They, of course, did.

So here you are, stood pitch side while you watch your new boyfriend jump around with his teammates after winning his first UCL.

Had you not been working and attempting to save professional face, you would’ve been crying just like Jude is.

“One minute until we are live on air” you hear a sound engineer say in your ear piece, a microphone pack having been attached to you moments ago.

“Copy that” you affirm as you hold two TNT sports labelled microphones in your hands, just waiting for the moment you get the green light to go and interview some players.

Your eyes never leave Jude as you watch him with pride, your team noticing.

“Try to keep it professional, okay? The fans loved the two of you after your last interview but they’d love you more if they got to hear from Jude properly” a man you’d grown familiar with recently jests with you.

You laugh at him and nod your head, “I’ll try”.

“Okay, you can enter the pitch now” you hear in your ear and all of a sudden, journalists flood the pitch just begging for a few seconds with the players in white.

“Who am I aiming for?” You ask your team as the camera man follows you onto the pitch.

“Who do you think?” They chuckle and you know who instantly.

Jude.

Professional. Professional. Professional.

You chant in your head, but it’s not you you’re worried about, it’s him.

The world had found out about the two of you as Jude had posted a picture of his garden on his story a few weeks ago, the only problem? It had the reflection of you cuddled into his side in the glass door.

You walk up to him, not having to walk far as he’d been looking for you the moment that whistle blew.

“Jude, may i get a few words from you?” You ask him, the camera having started rolling as he’d made his way over to you.

“For you, of course” he smiles as you hand him one of the two microphones you had. As you did, you subtly tapped his hand and widened your eyes at him, silently scolding him.

He laughs, of course.

“Jude Bellingham, Champions League winner. How does that feel?” You ask him, choosing simpler questions as it’s clear his head is foggy with emotion.

At your words, his eyes glass over and a new wave of tears fights to fall.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. And repeats that a few times while looking over your head, trying to avoid eye contact.

He’s speechless, that’s all there was to say. But you didn’t want to push him, you wanted to let him take the moment in.

“Y/n” you hear in your ear piece, but you ignore it.

“Sorry” he turns back to you, “I’ve just seen my mum, dad and brother in the crowd and honestly…I can’t describe the feeling. It’s all we’ve ever dreamed of. They’ve done so much for me, sacrificed so much for me. I just hope I’ve made it up to them” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know you have” oops. “Everyone knows you have. You’ve had an incredible debut season with Madrid and made a name for yourself amongst the stars. What does this mean for you?” You recover.

But Jude hasn’t, he’s smirking.

Smirking so wide and obnoxiously at your little slip up that you want to kiss that little grin away. But alas, you can’t.

“Yeah, I mean it’s obviously incredible for my first season, for the team” he says and he can’t hold back his laugh. When he sees your stern gaze, he attempts to get the ball rolling again.

“Sorry, yeah but i can’t wait for next season. Getting back on it and hopefully winning more trophies” he says and you can tell that’s all you’re getting out of him in this moment in time.

“Thank you so much, Jude. Enjoy your celebrations this evening” you say nodding at him and turning away from him after reclaiming the microphone.

The camera man pans to the crowd for a moment and before you can finish scanning the crowd of players and media on the pitch for your next victim, you feel hands gripping your waist.

You squeal, your head whipping over your shoulder to see Jude, that same smirk on his face.

His hands slide across your stomach until he is simply hugging you from behind, you’d normally be grossed out by his sweat but you think you can ignore it just this once.

“Trying to get rid of me that quickly, baby” he says, his voice filled with humour.

“I told you to keep it professional” you said as you turn around in his arms, picking a little piece of grass out of his hair as he admires you adoringly.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so happy and excited and then seeing you…I just wanted to kiss you the whole time” he says, he looks so sweet and innocent and happy.

Your heart melts at the sight as you smile, letting your hands drift across the expanse of his broad shoulders and up around the back of his neck as his arms remain around your waist.

“So kiss me then” you whisper, and he needs to more encouragement.

His lips are soft and plump in contrast with the passion in which he is kissing you as you hear cheers from his teammates at the two of you.

You both smile and break out of the kiss as Jude raises his middle finger up at Vini, Cama and Tchouameni.

As that was happening however, the camera man had turned back to where he thought you were before he had panned the camera to the crowd, and with that, the camera turned as well…

Right on the two of you embracing in a heated kiss in the middle of the pitch at Wembley stadium.

A fact you become all too aware of when you hear your in-ear piece activate again.

“Whatever happened to professional?” Your team says and before you can even think about replying, Jude has ripped the ear piece out and embraced you in an even deeper kiss.

You just hope you have a job after this, although nothing could make you any happier than how you feel right now, in the arms of the boy you love. A champions league winner.

Who are you? - Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary: Reader is a sports journalist at TNT Sports for a few months. In a post match interview, another interviewer criticises reader and Jude springs to defend her. Inspired by that clip of Lando Norris 🤍

A/n: requests are open while I have the motivation + check out my masterlist

-

The match had just ended. Real Madrid and Manchester City both with one goal each, Madrid winning on penalties.

The atmosphere in the Etihad louder than normal, the city fans quieter than the away fans like they normally are in Premier League games.

The Madridistas sounded like they were having a party in their end, music playing, crowds screaming and chanting as the players were celebrating alongside them.

You were down pitch side having been moved their from the media box during the penalty shootout.

There were about ten journalists, including yourself, all with official lanyards, notebooks, your questions you’d prepared for every player as you still didn’t know who you were to interview.

You were overall in a good mood, but the nerves were eating at you. It was your first sports journalism job since you got the apprenticeship with TNT sports during the Champions League. You weren’t supposed to be the one interviewing, you were just supposed to shadow someone from the company but they were ill and no one else was available to do it. So to say the pressure is on, is no exaggeration.

These nerves only worsened when you realised the other nine journalists were male, old and all stood a few metres away in a little group.

You felt like you were back in school with all their little whispers and glances at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought about how pathetic they were as grown men leaving out a young woman.

If you weren’t in an apprenticeship and you weren’t professional, you would’ve said something, but you told yourself to bite your tongue.

You decided to take the time you had by yourself to read over your questions and review your notes on the match seeing if there’s anything you need to change.

After a few minutes and floods of city fans exiting the stadium, a member of the stadium team comes over to you.

“You’ll be interviewing Jude Bellingham first, but that’s the only interview we can give you today I’m afraid.” The older man says to you sweetly.

“Okay, no worries. How long?” You smile.

“The interview will be in a few minutes after they get the media set up ready and keep it between 2-3 minutes please” he says before walking away and going over to the group of the other journalists, all looking over at you.

You smile and wave at them sarcastically, in response to their hostile glances. You said you’d be profession, not that you wouldn’t be petty.

You head over the the edge of the pitch, set up with a board of all the sponsors logos and a huge camera a metre or two in front of it, there are wires all over the floor leading to a generator behind the barricades at the edge of the pitch.

“Y/n y/l/n?” The engineers ask your name.

“That’s me” you affirm while holding up your lanyard with proof.

“Here’s your microphone” the lady says while handing a mic to you with TNT sports on it.

“Thank you” you reply with a smile and take the microphone in your hand, placing everything but your questions for Jude on the floor by the media set up.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to interview Jude, you weren’t blind and from previous interviews you’d watched, he gives good answers.

You read over your questions one last time before you see a talk figure heading your way.

“Rolling in one minute” an engineer says as you meet Jude’s eye.

He grabs the other microphone from the engineer and takes his place between the camera and the sponsor board.

He looks at you, a hint of curiosity in his eye.

“I’ve not seen you before. I’m Jude” he says and holds his hand out for you to shake. You smile in return before reaching your hand out and making contact with his.

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and your hands stay enclosed for a few seconds before you realise you still haven’t said your name.

“Oh, I’m y/n y/L/n. I’m on an apprenticeship currently, my first interview. It’s nice to meet you” you explain as he lets go of your hand, slightly laughing at you.

“Yeah, you too” he smiles.

“Well played today” you say, hating awkward silences.

“Thank you, it was a good game” he seems very attentive and engaged in whatever you had to say, something you hadn’t seen with other players and interviewers. It was nice to feel heard in an industry where women are often hushed.

“Okay, whenever your ready” the interviewer says, and in an instant, your nervous demeanour switched to one solely of professionalism, something Jude noticed and was largely intrigued by.

“Hi, Jude. So, you’ve had a bit of time to reflect on the match now. Hod do you feel about the team’s overall performance?” You ask him.

He nods during your question, absorbing every word you say.

“Yeah, I think the team put a good shift in overall. Manchester City is a difficult team to play against, you know when you think you’re through on goal you’ve got more defenders running at you. So in a goal scoring sense, we probably good have done better and not miss so many chances but defensively I think we were quite strong.” He says, it’s interesting how his maturer personality comes out during interviews as opposed to his boyish persona beforehand.

“Other than their goal, of course.” He slightly smiles, like feeling much better about it in hindsight than he did during the moment.

“Sure” you politely laugh at his joke, “as a result of that goal, obviously, it ended up going to penalties, how confident were you going into that?”

He purses his lips as he thinks about his answer, his eyes wondering around the crowd of Madridistas behind you.

“I had no doubt that we had some incredible penalty takers. Experienced ones as well with good heads on them so in terms of our capabilities, I was confident. On the other hand, we were against City, a team with various goal scorers and arguably one of the best keepers in the world at the moment so of course we couldn’t underestimate them.” He nods at you.

“Okay, thank you, Jude. One more question before I have to go, going into the Semi-final, you’re playing against Bayern Munich, a side which you’re largely familiar playing against of course. You’re main rivals last season at Dortmund. Is there anything you picked up on in your performance tonight that you know Bayern will capitalise on if repeated?” You ask, one thing you always pride yourself on is how in depth your research is before an interview, the person you’re shadowing has taken a few of your questions during your apprenticeship.

Jude seems impressed as the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly in a smile.

“You ask the best questions, they’re making me have to think” he says with a laugh.

Before you can thank him, a rough and deep voice startles you from behind, “no she doesn’t”

You turn your head to see one of the other journalists, your heart starts to beat quicker and the nerves kick back in. You start to think you need to defend yourself but you can’t find the words, shocked at how rude he was.

“Sorry, who are you?” Jude looks past you and says the man, his face scrunched up in anger, he can’t even fathom how someone could be so rude and have no shame about it.

You turn to Jude to look at him, his posture and body language changing to a defensive one. You silently thank him as the man retreats, his fave dropping as he senses no humour in Jude’s tone.

Jude glares at him for a little bit longer before turning back to you with concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright? I meant what I said” he tells you and you smile before nodding.

“Reckon I could get an answer to that question?” You ask, poking fun at the altercation.

“Yeah sure” he laughs with you.

“I think if we aren’t more clinical in front of goal then Bayern can obviously punish us with that now they have Harry Kane up front” he replies and you nod, agreeing with him.

“Perfect, thank you so much.” You say smiling at him before the camera is cut.

“Okay, this way please” the engineer says to you, ushering you away from the media spot.

You follow her, smiling one last time at Jude before heading towards the exit.

“Wait” you hear Jude call from behind you, you stop in your tracks and slowly turn around.

“Jude, you need to do another interview” the engineer calls to him as he jogs over to you.

“I don’t want to have one with him anyway” he replies back, referencing the man that insulted you.

You laugh at him as he finally reaches you.

“Can i have your instagram please?” He asks, he seems shy now and you have to bite your lip so as to not smile.

“Instagram?” You tease him.

“My mum doesn’t let me give people my number, only family and friends can have it” he says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“My username is just my name” you say before you turn to walk away.

“Okay! Look out for my follow” he shouts as he runs back to the media set up.

The both of you are left with a smile on your face and a warm feeling in your stomach.

SILK, trent alexander-arnold

- smut, humping, masturbation

His fingers laced through the material, before wrapping the towel round his waist. He groaned softly as the soft material hit his erect shaft.

He was needy, his 30 minute shower consisted of him against the shower wall, moaning out as he attempted to just let go.

Nothing happened, he was stood there for a good 30 minutes, stroking his slimy cock into pure ecstasy, bringing himself to multiple orgasms, but not quite reaching them.

He frowned as he stepped out the shower, the feeling of being needy for weeks creeping into his veins and having an affect on his whole body.

He was tired. He just needed to cum.

His body felt like it was heating up, ready to explode as he stepped into his room. The cold breeze that fall past the windows calmed him down all right, but he was still loopy after such an intense (but not rewarding) shower.

He grabbed his bottle of lotion, before pumping some into his hand and smearing it across his chest. He groaned at the feeling, too lost in pleasure from simply rubbing lotion into his skin. His whole body was sensitive, needy, bothered, but he couldn’t bring himself to cum. Well, as much as he wanted to, it’s like his body hated him. Lost in the train of his thought, he brung some lotion to his inner thighs, before rubbing softly at the bruised skin. Earlier he tried slapping them, embarrassingly, thinking it would unlock a new kink and make him bust right then and there (which it most certainly didn’t). He whinged softly, throwing his head back as his hands lightly grazed his sensitive skin.

To the next morning, he thought, before he switched on a sunset lamp to calm himself, setting it so it would shut off after an hour, then plopping down onto his bed. He thought after being burning hot for so long, it would be the right thing to just sleep nude. He pulled the silk sheets over him, letting himself get engulfed by them, before sighing.

He was definelty hot, horny and bothered.

He curled himself up in the blanket and pulled it over his head, sighing at the feeling of the smooth silk against his skin. As he laid there, the room soon became humid and felt like a hotbox, causing him to throw the covers to the side and grab for the towel he left on the floor, throwing the cold material under his head, and using it to try and cool down.

His body felt like it was overheating, like his blood was boiling in his veins.

He then looked down, sighing dissatisfied as he looked at the sight below him. His dick, leaking pre-cum, was making it hard to focus on anything.

He then got up, not wanting to deal with this shit, and threw the towel onto a radiator (which was not on, which concerned him as to why he was so hot.) and opened the windows further. He then laid back, laid his head back, and sighed contently as his eyes flutter shut.

What felt like hours passed, and all he did was shuffle in bed. His sheets were only loosely wrapped around his thighs, his whole sweaty body on show. He was restless, body glistening with sweat. He was desperate for sleep but he couldn’t. His mind and body were restless, too wired-up to shut down, his eyes feeling like their was grit in them from the lack of sleep.

He whinged as he kicked his legs into the empty space, his body too hot to withstand his sheets, before he sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed, letting the cool air envelope him again. He laid his head back, letting his nude body catch some breeze, before he laid back again. The silk sheets barely covered him, some coming up to his thigh, or when he turned around, the soft material was wrapped around his hips.

He shifted slightly, the cool air sending shivers through his body. It didn’t help, his body was still too hot, and he couldn’t understand why. His body was like a furnace on full heat while the rest of the room was cool and calm.

He twisted in bed, legs flailing to try and get some kind of friction on his sensitive skin, whining softly as he pulled his lips between his teeth, the feeling of the silk barely covering him making him even hotter. The sheets came higher, the silky material hitting his sensitive skin. His back arched up immediately, and he looked down, groaning at the sight.

Pre-cum, running down the sheets.

He felt the material drag across his sensitive skin, the feeling sending sparks of pleasure up his body once more as he dragged the sheets again. “M-m-o-oh!” he managed to croak out, his eyes screwing shut. He let out a breathless gasp, hips twitching as his body reacted to the friction. “O-oh god-“ he whimpered as he grinded against the silk, his legs struggling to support him. “Fuuuck,” he whined, his whole body bobbing up and down, grinding against the silk sheets desperately.

His hands gripped them, riding the material up and down but it still wasn’t enough. His thighs moved frantically, head grew hot, hands started to shake, and body felt like it was on fire. He felt like every part of him was on fire, his whole body felt like one big raw nerve and every movement was like pleasure and pain all mixed into one. He whined, his hands gripping the sheets harder as his legs trembled and shook, a desperate attempt for friction and contact, any kind of pleasure was needed.

“N-nghh-“ he whinged as his hips bucked, “oh g-god,” he mumbled out as he threw his head back. He ground his hips desperately, whining and gasping as his whole body burned up. “Need-“ he groaned desperately, “God- I need-“ he shuddered again, his legs felt weak, body shaking and tremoring.

He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the need for release grew stronger, body shaking, sweat dripping down his back. “Please-“ he whined, “Please, please,” he ground his hips desperately against the sheets, his legs giving way as he fell forward, his hips bucking against the sheets. The scouse boy cried out, pleasure creeping into his body as he rutted himself into his poor, innocent silk sheets.

His body was suddenly washed over with fatigue, his movements slowing down with every bit of tiredness that hit him.

“Come-come on!” he whimpered, his cock disappointed as it was on the brink of release. He was frustrated. His whole body was trembling and quivering on the edge of release but just not reaching the plateau he so desperately craved. His face was scrunched up in a mixture of pain and pleasure, body shaking. He whined softly, bringing a hand up to rub over his body, trying to give some sort of pleasure, anything, to bring him over the edge.

His hands then trickle down to his waist, his fingers dipping softly into his warm, bothered skin. His body shivered under his own touch, his hands dipping down to his waist and gripping into the skin. He hissed softly, the contact causing his whole body to react and tremble in pleasure. “M-more-“ he groaned out, his body demanding more as he tried to bring himself closer. His breath hitched as his hands wandered across his quivering body, desperate for any form of release.

His hands grew shaky, creeping down until they met his sensitive skin. He groaned out, a few tears trailing down his face as he drowned into pure ecstasy. Weeks of neediness were pent up in one part of the body, the feeling leaking down and dampening the bedsheets.

He was a whimpering, frustrated mess. “Oh god-“ he cried out, his body aching from the intense need, “my- oh- fuck!” His mind was swirling, vision swimming in ecstasy as his body was wracked with a wave of heat and pleasure. “F-fuck-“ he gasped, legs trembling as he desperately tried to keep himself up but he couldn’t. His hands wrap around his shaft, and he hissed as he brung it up and down.

The sunset lamp, the wind from the windows, and the silk sheets loosely covering bits of his body accentuated such a beautiful but dirty moment.

He swore to himself as his legs parted even further, to reveal the trail of pre-cum running down his thighs.

“Oh god!” he cried out, his mouth falling agape as he drowned into utter bliss. His face was scrunched up, chest heaving deeply, the room was filled with his moans and whimpers, begs and pleads for release, and also the sound of his right hand moving up and down vigorously, and the left one running along his body. His thumbs squeeze his sensitive nipples, lightly rubbing along his bud.

He was hot, horny but now not bothered. He was tranquil as he touched himself to the peaceful sunset, the light calming him down as he got to work. He panted softly at the wall, his hands and body growing more and more needy, aching for release.

He pants at the air, tears freely rolling down his face. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, some trickling down his chest. He was shaking, body reacting as pleasure flooded his system. His whole body was like a fire, burning him up and leaving a mark of ecstasy everywhere he touched. His mind was hazy and fuzzy, pleasure building up and building up until it burst.

His body jerks and trembles intensely as the feeling finally releases.

His vision swims, a burst of heat and pleasure surging through his body, legs shaking and quivering, chest heaving as he falls forward. He lets out a loud cry as the feeling finally came, and waves of bliss flooded his body. He whimpers and groans softly as he comes down from the orgasm, his arms flailing to his sides.

“Fuck…me…” the scouse boy sighed.

chicken shop date.

had to make this into a imagine.

summary: you get the chance to interview central cee on your show titled "chicken shop date" but he's obviously into you. sorry to ameila dimoldenburg lmao.

pairings: central cee x reader

genre: fluff / slightly suggestive

word count: 2k (unedited)

a/n: imagine that ameila dimoldenburg doesn't exist for the whole sake of the plot. i stole most of her iconic replies though. thank you and GIVE ME REQUESTS. <3

finally. you've got a special guest on for today that's been a fan of your show for a long time and well.. you. although, you haven't had the pleasure of meeting one another in reality, but luckily he agreed to have a chicken shop date with you.

central cee.

you both sit down behind a table in a small yet cosy morleys, the camera crew sets up and prepares for the show whilst a small yet not too large crowd accumulates outside the shop at sight of you two.

you greet central cee and he beams back at you as you both get comfortable and prepare for the small interview/date. "it's nice to have you on the show." you thank him.

"it's calm, i've always wanted to be here." he responds, insisting that it really isn't truly that big of a deal.

you won't lie to yourself, you've always found central cee to be attractive ever since he happened to become a uk rap sensation. i mean who hasn't. you're excited and feel as if it's a blessing to sit before him.

"i actually watch this show too, i saw your interview with burna boy." he admits, referencing the last interview i held about a month ago.

my mouth agapes as i feel honoured to the fact that he actually took the chance to watch my show, "really?" you ask him out of disbelief and he nods proudly.

you'd admit, you'd thought it would be awkward to hold an interview with central cee considering the fact that he hasn't been too shy about the fact that you're considered his celebrity crush but surprisingly, he's very comforting to be around and is down-to-earth.

"i mean obviously you watch my interviews." you joke referencing to his interest in you and he laughs, not denying it at all.

the interview begins.

"what would you say your type is." you ask him and he pauses for a moment thinking to himself before he breaks into a smile. you notice this and furrow your brows confused.

"i like.. i like-" he starts.

"why're you smiling?" you question him confused, although it's an obvious inside joke with the two of you and everyone else that his type is clearly you.

"i don't really know my type, it changes innit it changes by the season." he denies the obvious making me roll my eyes, he sees this and it only makes him laugh.

"well it's winter." you tell him.

"i want my girl to be able to teach me something." he says, before he glares directly at you. you don't let it faze you and you continue to play along with your passive aggressive humour.

"i know a lot, i could teach you something." you joke and he shrugs raising his brows impressed.

"i guess your my type then." he mumbles, his eyes glancing away towards his box of chips and chicken wings.

"what's your favourite tattoo you have?" you question him before eating on one of your chips, central cee listens carefully to you.

"i'm just one big tattoo and the moment, i don't really, i don't know- it's all just blended into one." he rambles as he thinks to himself looking over his clothed arms and chest.

you find him adorable especially his way of speaking, "i like them." you compliment him and something behind his eyes reads pleased.

"thanks."

it's obvious that he's clearly into you, everything from the way that he looks at you, the way he listens carefully whenever you speak and the way that he sits.

you try your best to not make the episode seem like to serious of a date, but with him sitting in front of you, it seems completely impossible.

"i'm not sure how i feel about face tattoos." you mutter, hinting to the small tattoos that decorate his face, he slightly frowns.

"really?"

"would you get another one?" you ask him curiously and he hums thinking to himself.

"maybe not after you said that." he utters jokingly sadly and you both share a short moment of laughter.

"i was joking."

"how long does it take for you to fall in love?"

your question clearly doesn't fall onto interested ears, as a matter of a fact central cee obviously doesn't favour the word love at all.

"i don't know if i've fallen in love before." he admits with a smile to hide how suddenly deep the conversation has gotten.

"you've never fallen in love?" you ask him genuinely surprised.

"no, no- i guess so. i have a weird outlook on love." he responds before pausing looking at you. you ask him to continue on. "i just think it's a delusion innit."

you raise your brows at his response finding it different from your views, "like what, it isn't real?"

"i've been thinking about it a lot recently.. because yeah it's on my mind anyway." he starts finding an interest in the unopened water bottle that lies on the table between you.

"feel like you just have to be a bit deluded."

"that don't mean it isn't real." your response has him in lost of words and he glances about the place before shrugging in response. "i think when you fall in love you'll know." your words make you both share a gaze for a moment before he breaks it, thinking to himself.

"i mean, what if your girl fucks around and it makes your belly hurt, i dunno if that's a good conation on love." he confesses and he notices how it makes you smile.

"maybe that's just what love means to you."

"you've got long hair?" you question him.

"my hair is long." he replies his face looking slightly miserable.

"would you ever take it out of the sock it's always in." you joke and he laughs before he hums thinking of his next words.

"i dunno, i feel like i'm going through a bit of an identity crisis at the moment." he admits, and you hum in reply.

"i like long hair." you smile and he sees so before grinning.

"guess, i'll keep it then." he glances away again.

he's just like a little school boy who's gotten the chance to speak with his crush for the first time. it's cute.

"do i look like i'm hot, like my face is hot." you question him using your hands to fan your face and he shakes his head.

"you're fine." he starts glancing over at your face, "i like it though, it's like natural blush."

"stop flirting with me."

"it's cute." he mumbles gazing at you.

"i'm really bad at flirting." he sighs to himself rubbing his head deep in thought, you furrow your brows in disbelief.

"what do you mean you're bad at flirting?"

"yeah, i'm just shit at flirting, i can't flirt man."

"so what, you don't get with a lot of girls all the time?" he hurries to deny and shake his head, but you only listen to him curiously.

"you're telling me you don't go out with anyone?" you raise his brow and he watches you do so, hurrying to think of his next words.

"no, maybe i do go out sometimes, it's not like i'll go out of my way to do so." he tells you and you hum. "i've just lived a long life." he mumbles making you laugh at how deep it sounds.

"would you go out with me?" your questions sparks his attention and he chuckles to himself at how straight forward it is.

"i'll see."

"this is like a genuine date to me." he says as he opens up with bottle of chilled water, "like i'm genuinely here it's a dinner.. date."

you smile at him as you recall the times he's wanted to go on a date with your for ages, "you've wanted to go on a date with me for ages." you tell him and he smiles.

"i did want to go on a date with you, before my carrer flourished then i got overwhelmed not looking for love it was like a full circle."

"now you're on a date with me." you say proudly and he nods.

"finally." he glares at you and something about it catches you aback, he's really trying to full on flirt with you.

"are you single?" he raises his brow at your question.

"i mean yeah, obviously." he begins laying back into his seat, "i mean otherwise, i wouldn't be here."

"i'm single too." you imply reaffirming him but he doesn't say anything beside humming taking your word.

"what's the quickest way to get to your heart." you ask him, the phrase makes him irk and he frowns.

"don't try to get to my heart." he tells you and you listen to him. "i just think, i don't like girls that like me." he mumbles

"i hate you."

he laughs at your playfulness, "turns me on, i love it."

"guess i'll hate you from now on." you mutter lowly, but he still hears it.

"what's the most romantic thing you've ever done?" you ask him, but learning so much about him you already expect a specific response from him.

"i'm hopeless, i dunno i'm transitioning, this is all hard for me." he rants and you exhale deeply.

"too bad, it's all hard for you."

"it's easier said than done."

"you have a nice smile." you compliment him and he smiles looking at you.

"you're really pretty you know." he responds making you feel your cheeks slightly warm up.

"and you don't know how to flirt?" you frown but he shrugs once again. how can he not understand that he's literally a walking flirt.

"guess you'll teach me then." he glances at you in a suggestive way and you grin as you recall telling him you'll teach him something.

"it was nice talking to you, i'll c you later." you joke and he laughs getting your play on words.

"love and leave me."

"what do you mean love and leave me?"

"like i'll love you and leave you."

"what about love and love me?"

he closes his box gazing at you. "sounds good."

"what's that song you have with pinkpantheress called?" you question him and he shuffles in his seat before responding.

"obsessed with you."

"yeah i know, tell me the song's name." he mentally groans at the word obsessed and you feel the urge to roll your eyes again.

"i don't think i'm the obsessed type." he complains.

"i feel like secretly you are." you tell him implying his obvious celebrity crush on you and he smiles understanding you.

"maybe i am, but i dunno yet."

"i feel like you're the type to catch feelings and get obsessed." he listens to you nodding his head passively aggressively.

"maybe i'm a simp you know." he utters and you both share a gaze with one another before laughing.

"can i get your number, or something?" he asks you taking out his phone from his pocket and passing it towards you.

you blink at his phone for a moment before looking up at him, only to see him watching you expectantly.

you take it from him without a word before typing in your number and adding your contact name followed by a sweet emoji before passing it back to him with a smile.

he glances down at the name and laughs upon noticing the emoji you put before testing it out and calling the number.

your phone buzzes from inside of your pocket and you show it him making him grin with a nod, "i'll call you later yeah, pick up." he tells you and suddenly the tension within the room has changed into hinting something sexual.

"course, i'll pick up." you reply.

"alright."

The Marriage Series | Part I (Chocolat)

Plot: (requested) Inspired by the song Dodo by tayc

Genre: Dom! Kylian, smut

Warnings: a bit...kinky

A/N: I apologize in advance cause this is a bit... Um.. how do I put this... 🌚 just see for yourself. Also I know I say this every time but going through the scenes with Jana really helps lmao so special thanks to my BBG 🩶

Taglist: @okayymochi @kevjrr @darlingmbappe @fictional-l0v3r @neymarloverxxx @jkkyks @xanjoy @mounthings @mywhimsyjournal @mitruscity @anaofc @ihazels @sangriaswined @karotland @venusesworld @brideofmbappe @luz45789 @suzysface @edgyficuselastica @giannislovesney

“GOD!”

Just the slight of your tired mind was enough to release the breath you didn't even know you were holding.

It was a compromise between passion and directed studying, and you needed to have a solid comprehension of that fall outside of your “passion drive.”

Usually, self control becomes more important to you. But your frustration was growing by every minute.

You gulp down some of your water, and place the galss on the table. Everything around you becomes more interesting when you have to study.

You've never really took a close look at that vase in front of you, but suddenly it was so interesting to you.

You turn the antique vase over and over, your eyes following the engravings, enchanted. Your mind spins back to centuries before, one day someone carved this with such love in their heart, how else could it be so beautiful?

You burry your head in the space between your crossed arms on the table.

Focus, girl. Focus.

Focus? jumping straight out of the window when you hear your husband giggling in the other room.

“Dieu, Ousmane! Tu vas nous faire perdre!” (You will make us lose!)

His giggle rolled about the room like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart warming as it moved around you in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again.

You sigh deeply. He'll keep it down soon, he knows you're studying. But his giggle was a stone bouncing across a glossy lake.

“Kylian! Can you keep it down, amour?” You shout from the dining room, but he didn't hear you.

Of course. He had his headset on. You lick your lips in frustration, and move towards the living room.

The moment you stand by the door, he was squirming again, raising his shoulders to hide the thick neck he had. He then straightens his back, and sits with his legs wide apart - and it only complimented his masculinity even more.

Relaxed posture.

Smooth, gentle hands, yet gripping so hard on that controller.

Brawny, tanned thighs.

Your eyes fell right on his groin. His dangly bits quite tempting and alluring. Though it wasn't his intention to lead your thoughts into oblivion.

Focus.. Remember?

“Kyky?” You call, and only then he notices you're standing right there. You notice it on his eyebrows first, the way they twitch up when he's just noticed something, then in his dilated pupils - he moves the left headset speaker away from his ear.

“Mm?” He hums. “Are you done?”

“No. Can you please keep it down a notch? I'm trying to focus.” You ask, and he simply nods, putting the speaker back on his left ear.

“Bon sang, les gars! (Damn it, you guys) I was only gone for one minute?!” He scolds his mates and you grow even more irritated.

You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“You know what?” You complain, dropping your hands to slap your thighs in annoyance. “I'll take a break.”

You observe him being concentrated on the game with his mates. He relaxes back on the couch, man-spreading again, and you can't help but fantasize about the fact that you fit right there in the space between his legs.

Perhaps a little break is just what you need to get your concentration back on track.

But when he screams for his friends to shoot and then groans, fuck.

The nerve endings in your body - especially inside of your thighs produce a vigorous tingling.

You lean onto the door frame and watch him with needy eyes. Biting the frustration off your nail.

You feel a sense of need, the need to be filled and touched. To be fucked roughly and finally satisfied.

“Bébé...” You say with a sultry voice. “I said I'm taking a break.” You hint towards your desire for him, instantly squinting your eyes, the corner of your lips tilt upwards in a seductive smile.

Alas, he's a man behind a screen, in short: not focused.

He refuses to pause the game and just shows his notice with merely a thumbs up.

“I'm in the zone, babe.” He whispers and his eyes are once again glued to the screen.

How dispiriting!

You feel hunger for his touch - anywhere, everywhere. And you want to do whatever he wants because you need him to release you from that pain. 

You never knew you could be that impatient. But here it is, and you needed a solution for that; quickly.

It was a mixture of annoyance and frustration when you look at his surroundings. How unfocused he gets whenever he plays FIFA with his friends. It was starting to get on your nerves how discouraging his behavior was getting. You glance at the coffee table that was separating you from him and notice the unfinished dessert plate.

“You haven't even finished eating your chocolate mou-”

Spark.

That spark in the mind when it comes up with a wicked idea is the most satisfying to you.

You smirk.

Slow steps.

It’s both incredibly irritating and the most empowering thing. There’s an added dimension to every movement, every step, that just signals “I’ll let you eat me up, if you just tip me over the edge…”

You are about to let yourself off-leash, because if he weren't to notice your sexual desire, you might as well pull him into your orbit, totally focused on pleasing you.

You inspect the mousse. Its dark and rich, it reminds you of the taste of him.

“Well, if you don't want it, I might as well finish it for you..” You coax.

You dip your finger into the richness and swoop a bit of the mousse. And when you finally catch his attention, you take it in your mouth. The tender caress of your tongue and the tiny nibbles on the end of it is a very provocative teaser for what’s to come - If he'd only play it right.

His eyes stare, as if climbing imaginary stairs to some fantasy about you licking his finger instead. His excitement is increasing, and you watch the fireworks commence in his eyes.

“Mmmm..” You wail, and he panics, wide-eyed, pressing his index vertically on his lips as a gesture to shush you. You smile playfully.

Hm.

He has the microphone turned on.

Fun.

His tensed body eases into a more relaxed position when he sees you take the plate with you. He probably thought you would just give in to reality and continue studying with dessert as an emotional support, but you weren't backing out so easily.

To his surprise you climb onto his lap so you're straddling him in a kneeling position and hold on to his left shoulder as you lower yourself onto him.

He holds his breath as he turns off the mic.

“Fine, you want some cuddles?” He fusses and embraces your body with his arms, only to grab the controller and move his head a bit to the side to get a better look at the screen.

Excuse you, Mr.?

You grab his chin and forcefully turn his head to make him lock eyes with you. You had made your lust a consternation of shamless actions and in the bloodshot eyes you held with his, your eyes were speaking volumes of appetite.

If all your previous attempts didn't succeed in gaining his attention, this definitely will.

You dip your finger into the chocolate mousse again, and bring it to his mouth instead. He opens it, sucks your finger clean; A moment of bliss to the tongue as sweet as the moment a rose opens for the eyes.

It causes a tightening sensation in your chest, you kinda feel your breasts expanding. Your loins feel very sensitive, in a good way, and throb, as if it has a heartbeat of its own.

You wipe another bit of the sweetness from your finger on his bottom lip, and kiss him slowly and tenderly, a taste that deserves to be savored.

You feel his hands slide to your waist, and after that he tucks his fingers underneath your shirt and slips them up your back. Kylian pulls away from your mouth to look at you. His hand curves over your hip, and after that slides over your ass, squeezing it.

You lean toward him and keep your bodies close together as you take control of the speed of rolling your hips over him. You could feel his bulge and manoeuvred your butt cheeks until they were either side of it. He was pressed against the back of the couch. Fighting the urge, but you started rocking slightly, trying to make him hard.

“Fuck! Can we do this later, please?” He inquires through heavy breaths, and you shoot him a sophisticated, doubtful look.

You don't answer, instead you wrap your arms around his neck and slide your lips over his jaw.

You observe as chills break out over his arms. He moans, and after that rests his hands on your butt. You roll your hips on his hardness, wanting to feel him hard against you, and he meets your movement with a yielding groan, causing you to chuckle gingerly.

“Just... 30 minutes, baby.” He tilts his head to make more room for you to relish his neck with tongue-kisses. He moans, and the sound encourages you to get that out of him again.

“Kyks? Are you there?” You hear Achraf through the speakers. Kylian scoots you up, clearing his throat to hide the horseness of his voice, then turns his microphone back on.

“Ouais, je suis là. (I'm here.)” He lies while closely watching you execute your evil plan.

You place the plate on the coffee table. Settling your mouth over his ear, you cover up the mic with your hand. Your lips tilt up in a wry smile and you whisper: “Let's see if you can keep quiet..”

You're needy, but kind enough to let him keep his shorts on, you only yank them down a bit along with his stretchy boxers to release his hardness from the pressure of the hugging textile.

You take the remaining bits of the mousse and spread it over his swollen head. He takes his headset off, and wears it around his neck instead. Warning you with his eyes, biting hardly on his lower lip. You can already tell that his blood was rushing through his skin, raising the temperature.

One last look,

It was all you gave him before you kiss the tip of his cock, moving down to the underside with the tip of your tongue. You move up and down his shaft with a series of light, gentle kisses before licking the rest. You swirl your tongue around his tip. Coating it with a mixture of his flavor and the bitterness of cocoa.

“Oh, Bordel de merde. (Oh, for fuck’s sake)” He curses as he plops his head back to rest on the backrest.

Focus becomes... not difficult, exactly, but narrower and shallower and not easy to control.

“Are you alright, Kylian?” Ousmane asks on the other end of the call.

“Mhm..” He fights the urge to groan, but when you push him so deep and choke a bit, he releases the trapped air in his chest.

“Are you in pain or something?” Achraf worries.

He seems to suffocate in this minute and you'd gladly lament it. He might catch fire from this and joyfully turn to cinder. And you seem to enjoy it a little too much; being right here, your mouth doing magic as he sinks into this feeling, his heartbeats undefined from yours.

This. 

Until the end of time. This.

“I'm...” He sighs mid-sentence “, perfectly fine.”

Gathering your hair in his hand, he involuntarily thrusts into you, and you taste him, rub his legs, easing his body under your touch. The heat from your mouth and your breath make him throb with anticipation — practically begging you to slide it back in your mouth. He battles back a moan, torment and joy twining together as he pushes your head up and down in a more profound and harder way.

His grip around the controller loosened, and he was unsure of where to put his now free hand, so he rests it beside him.

“Kylian, you're not paying attention..” Achraf says.

“I am paying attention..” He confesses as he looks at you taking him well.

His legs shake strongly under your hands. You take a frequent break from his member, and move down to lick his balls. Gently massaging and sucking on your man's testicles.

You overpower him with an extraordinary pleasure that feels like nothing he has ever known. It's reckless. Uncontrolable, it's distinctive and wild.

He starts to breathe a little quicker. Everything feels tight and unbareable. You feel him getting incomprehensibly close, and because you're a masochistic she-devil you pull out before he can come.

He turns the mic off, clearly annoyed. “Tu fais quoi là, putain?! (Are you fucking kidding me?!)” He scoots up.

“Sorry..” You cover his private part by pulling his shorts back up, and move backwards with slow steps. “We ran out of chocolate mousse..” You wink, and his freakiness is on the loose.

Something between anger and desire knocks revenge and demonization in his soul. It awakens the most intense desires in him.

“Les gars,... (You guys..) I gotta go..” He gets up, and you swear to yourself that if you don't inhale the ecstasy of existence from his temper, then all this asceticism and restrictions were for nothing.

“No, I just have to take care of something.” He explains as you bite your lip playfully and take your shirt off. You toss it on his face while he throws his headsets somewhere on the couch and hurls after you.

“That's it, young lady. You're gonna get fucked now.” He threats, but you secretly took it as a well deserved treat.

You hurry towards the dining room and giggle, you want to run behind the table for a little more fun and chase, but you married one of the fastest football players in the world, so you didn't really stand a chance. You don't make it that far. He already has his tight grip around your wrist.

“You want to play?” His voice was a snarl. “Fine, we'll play.” He grasps the back of your neck, spins you around, and slamms his lips against yours. Outrage still brimmed inside him, and you push against his hard chest. You can't even tell when he took his sweatshirt off.

He pulls your head back, and you look into his eyes; A strong brown, a sort of visual poetry in the way it magicked tall oaks into your thoughts. And you knew right then you weren't getting slow and sweet.

He was planning to fuck you mercilessly.

“Don't fight me.” He breathes on your lips, and effortlessly pulls your pants down. “You won't win.”

What infuriated you the most is his complete ability to negate your will, that he could control every atom of you, all your upright corners bow down from the look of his eyes, submit to him.

He longs for your weakness, and you long for your immoral truth with him.

You didn't care; if your death were at his hands, what is life to begin with?

What is life if you don't take it from his lips?

He runs his hands over your skin. And you take note how they felt distinctive; slow and concious. You close your eyes when he pulls you against him and buries his face in your neck. Feeling his bare skin against yours, it took you a moment to speak.

“Kylian,....”

He brushes his lips along your neck from one shoulder to the other, unsnapping the clasp of your bra, then tears it totally off, and pushes your back down onto the table. The hard surface cools your back as his warm hands rekindle your soul. He goes for your full breasts, taking each one in his mouth and grinds his hips between your thighs until you were both past ready.

A calm groan escapes his throat when he squeezes his pelvis against yours, and you could feel how much he needed you through his shorts. You hold your breath, knowing the only thing keeping you from that final step was only two thin pieces of fabrics away.

He runs his hands up and down your breasts, making you squirm and float towards him. “How do you want to be fucked?” He purrs.

“I can take you against the table. You'll wrap your legs around my waist like the good girl you are, won't you, sweetheart?”

You bite down on your bottom lip. His messy words and his touch drive you insane.

“And then I'll pound inside you so hard, you'd rub your back against the table. Or I can take you on the floor on all fours until your knees bruise from how hard I'll push in and out of your tight pussy. Oh, the choices we have.”

His hand meanders down your stomach, to the highest tip of your thighs and coast over your folds. “Hmm. You're soaking wet.”

Your eyes close briefly.

You're not wet, you're burning. And his touch is like spilling gasoline on fire.

More.

You need more.

But he doesn't touch you were you mostly needed, instead he cups your breasts with his hands and plays with your nipples as he tastes your neck again.

Earlier, he was tenderly kissing down your throat, now he is sucking hard on the skin at the base of your neck.

“Kylian, baby. You're not gonna leave a mark on my neck. Are you?” You worry.

“That depends...” His sloppy kisses don't stop. “Do you taste less better than last time?” He smirks against your skin, then rips your panties off, the elastic burning your thighs from the friction.

In the years of your marriage he had learned to not touch his naked wife, but to admire her first. So, he walks backwards like a noble being, watches you with the eyes of a king, and all your existence is in question.

You were prepared for anything he had in mind. You prop your upper body up on your elbows to watch his next move.

“Now what?” You ask.

He pushes a chair away from the table and sets it down so he's sitting opposed of your clit.

“Now, while you're sitting there, I want you to look at me with your pretty eyes, and play with yourself.” He commands and everything in you is rushing to fulfill it.

He leans back on the chair, his legs part and he licks his lips in anticipation: “Go ahead, I'm waiting.”

You swallow hard, then part your folds with your fingers. Your head falls back with a delicate groan.

“Eyes on me.” He demands, and you lift your head back up to look at him.

He slips his shorts down over his hips, and after that off his legs. He closes his eyes, and his breathing is deep and heavy as he starts to stroke his long member.

You drill your fingers inside yourself as he pleases himself. You're attempting to hold onto something, the sound of you fingering yourself is louder than your pants. His palm strokes his length in a synchronized rythym.

“Faster.” He inquiries, and you know just by the depth of his look, with their intensity, with his persistence that he is enjoying this torture. All his words, all his muffled groans, penetrate you.

He grunts, “You like that, don't you.”

You can't stop, feeling your stomach twist as the pleasure keeps building up, “You're so fucking wet. Are you gonna squirt for me?”

You nod, because you can't stop what he needs you to do. You can only hold on, hearing your juices squelch around your fingers.

“I'm close. I'm so close.” You whine.

“Look at me.” He says. In your debilitated state, you roll your head down and with your legs parted, you can see everything he is doing to himself clearly.

Your pussy is stretching over your fingers, your swollen clit over it, and you are forced to see him play with himself. You speed it up enough until you feel your release almost hit you.

Your legs start to shake.

“Mmmm....” He groans. “Stop.”

The fuck?

“What?”

“Hands off.” He orders, and his body is hovering over yours again. He grazes your lips with his thumbs. “Tell me, Y/N. What do you need?”

“I need…I need to come.”

“You think you deserve to come?” He kisses the top of your breasts, taking little nibbs and enjoying the view of them squeezed hard against his chest.

There is arrogance and confidence in him, which makes you realise that he will certainly set out towards your destruction. You do not know how to expose your eagerness further, how to make him take you off with his madness.

He is in control now that you had declared your submission.

“Only if you want me to.”

The desire and hunger that seethed inside the profundity of his eyes frightens and turns you on.

“Ask me nicely,” he asks.

“Please, make me come.”

“Oh baby, I'm going to do more than make you come. I'm going to mark each sweet inch of your fucking body with my teeth, and when I'm done, you'll know who owns you.”

He kisses you hard, taking your neck in his hands. “Since you're so much into games, lil miss. We'll play a little...” He bites your lip shortly, but hard.

What now?

He takes your hand, and licks your juices off your fingers.

“I'll ask some questions about myself, and if you answer them correctly, you get to come.”

“Ky...?” You gulp.

“How old was I when I started playing for Monaco?” He asks, teasing your opening with his head.

You close your eyes and answer: “16..”

You open your eyes when he breathes a laugh against your mouth. “Good girl.”

You feel the burn of his cock as he thrusts into you.

“Fuck.” You mumble.

“What were my first trainers?”

“The...God, um... The Nike AirMax..” You pant. He leans in and places a sloppy kiss on your lips. This kiss makes you curve your back shakily when chills spread all over it.

He starts to move in and out of you. Your breathing gets so unsteady to the point where you feel like there's a knot to your chest.

His lips are now focusing on one spot in particular. Your mouth falls open whereas your hands slap on his firm shoulders.

He grins when he sees you under his mercy. He was mostly reluctant with you, but the time has come for him to disturb your comfort, to shift your pieces, to tease you, and to come to you with all his power, violence, and revolt.

“Last question, petal.” He indicates, the sweat beads already dripping down his forehead. “How many goals did I score at Monaco?”

Shit.

Your mouth goes dry and your eyes close shut. You know the answer. You know it, it's stored somewhere in your brain, but fuck! Where is it when you need it?

You look at him, your hand grasping his arm that is traveling up your back.

You don't want him to stop.

“Allez, bébé..” His movement turns slower.

“Uh...” You stutter. “18?”

“Wrong.” He declares, and pulls his cock out of you so harshly, you jolt at the sudden emptiness. “The answer is 16.”

“Kylian, please.” You beg with your eyes.

He stares into them, he has a poker face, but his eyes were twitching. Not a good thing to make him angry again.

“You want it?”

“I want it…”

Your chest trembles. Your sticky skin is hot, your core throbbing with the desire to be drenched in his cum.

He leans over you again. Whispers against your mouth: “I'll have you how I'll have you..” He says generously against your lips. “and I'll take you how I'll take you, and there's not. A single. Thing. You can do about it.”

He takes your mouth into his, then breaks the kiss.

“Turn around.”

You couldn't, cause he has already spun you around with force.

“Bend over the table.” He presses your chest flat on the cool wood.

“If you like chocolate that much, take it.” and he doesn't even warn you before he shoves his dick into you.

You gasp, slapping your palm flat on the table.

“I'm the one fucking you,” He growls, driving his cock even harder into you.

“I control when and how hard you come. And right now, I want you to take my cock like a good fucking girl and come all over it. Understood?”

Your lips part and you give into submission.

“Yes.” you pant.

With the pressure he was pounding into you, the table was squeaking. That beautiful antique vase dropping onto the table. The water glass nearing the edge with each hump. You close your eyes when you see it fall.

Cling!

Luckily it doesn't break, but the water reaches your toes and it cools them down.

“Tell me you like it, Y/N.” He had to know that you loved this. That this is not the last time he will do this.

That you were his.

You never planned to allow anybody take you like that ever since you met him.

You were already his. All along.

“Tell me, baby. Say it.”

“I...” You whimper as he moves his hips in a wild I-will-do-that-all-damn-night motion that had you breathing difficult.

You push your hips back, and he thrusts more harder into you. “Say it.”

Tour eyebrows knot together at the great sense of pain as chocked on your words. “I love it.” You breatge. “I love it with you. Fill me up with cum, baby…” Your eyes snap open.

Fuck, what did you just say??

Kylian's eyes widen. His lips part and a frantic fussing pant leaves them as his head drops back, and he moans, “Fuck, yes.”

You have no time to be alarmed by what you just said to him since your body is rubbing against the soft surface of the table.

“Kylian... Oh, Kylian.” Your breast heaves against the table.

Calloused fingertips skim the sensitive skin of your throat as his palm circles the base.

He rocks you many more times, one commanding hand on your hips, and the other presses you down by your neck so you won't be able to escape.

He does not rest until he pounces with all his might, and removes all your strength with the fangs of his lust. He has folded you into the deserted chambers of his mind. Has left his madness and disorder, retreating away from himself.

“Your body is my favorite thing.” He takes an earned breath.

“And seeing my hand around your throat like a necklace is my favorite piece of jewellery.”

His mouth opens. At this point, you have no idea how loud you were being. You might be screaming for all you know…

Your blood is surging and rushing up your ears.

Gulping, you look over your shoulder at his smooth, damp chest. He licks his lips and drops his head. Your eyes meet, and Kylian thrusts even harder to shove his dick into your slit.

His fingers tug onto your hair, holding your head whereas you lose youself under the sense of his bouncing cock.

His deep grunts and groans has your walls clench around him as your cries resound around the room,

Kylian's stomach tightens, his thrusts getting messy. A low moan escapes him, followed by a gravelly fuck, as he spills into you. He rests his cool chest on your back, and kisses it, breathing against it.

He pulls it out gradually with a shuddering breath, dragging the swollen head over your folds.

Your brain is a mixed mass of statics, the sexual cloudiness filling the room as his fingers untangle your hair and he chuckles in satisfaction. Catching for breath for as long as you can, until the climax wears down.

The feeling jerks your body wakeful, and your legs feel paralyzed.

“I don't know about you, but..” He whispers, and you push your body up, turning around. “That was one of the best fucks we've had.”

You attempt to walk, but hold onto him for more balance. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist, planting kisses on that soft spot behind your ear.

You smile, and duck down to take your panties.

“What are you doing?” He wonders.

“Getting dressed.” You imply.

He snortles. “Gimme that.” He snatches your underwear. “Here's what you're gonna do.” He drops your undies on the ground, and your eyes do it too. “You're gonna go to bed, and wait for me there.”

Your eyebrows tie in a knot. “To do... what exactly?”

His lips quiver into a sultry smile, his hands squuze your butt cheek. “to play another game, of course.”

His mouth presses on yours, and you stand still while he walks past you.

“Say, we do have some ice, right?”

“Mhm.” You confirm, and then your eyes go wide when you get his hint.

“Kylian!”

Well,

Wrong man to mess with.

Lesson learned.

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED AN HOUR AGO, BUT TUMBLR DELETED MY PROGRESS!!! URGH.