Mason Mount X Reader

mason mount x reader

summary: when y/n is wants to be more than fuck buddies but mason doesn’t want anything more

word count: 8,0k words

warnings! smut + angst. I guess you could say dickhead!mason too a little? might have some mistakes so I’m sorry about that

‘Why don’t you visit me anymore?’

You tried not to let it get to this point, but you couldn’t deny it.

You missed him

It was around 8pm and Mason was getting ready to leave training. He had a late training session, he was just coming out of the changing rooms before he froze when he heard your voice at the doorway.

‘What are you doing here?’ His facial expression shifted from neutral to cold, but knowing him that wasn’t much of a difference.

‘I wanted to see you.’ The changing rooms were empty. Everyone had left for the day, but you kind of memorised Masons training days so you knew that he would be here right now, otherwise if he wasn’t, it would’ve made you look like a complete fool.

If it wasn’t for the security guard letting you in, you’d still be standing like a lost person in the parking lot, but you refused to go another week without seeing him.

Mason took a deep breath to calm his nerves before closing the locker door where he kept his belongings. You had caught him at the right time because his coat was already on and his training bag was in his hand, ready to head out of the door.

At least until you showed up.

He sighed before putting all of his things down and walking over to the bench and leant against the bench, not sitting down and crossing his arms. Unfortunately, he knew he would now be longer than he had to, and the way he looked at you indicated that he wasn’t happy about it.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ his voice is stern. ‘Is there something you need?’

Sheepishly, you walked over to him, gently pressing your hands against his t shirt. ‘I waited for you last night,’ you whispered, looking up into his eyes. ‘You didn’t call.’

Mason’s jaw twitched at the feeling of your hands on his chest while making sure he stayed rested on the bench behind him to keep his composure. You caught him off guard and the tension in the air didn’t help. He managed to maintain his professional persona but maintaining his emotional distance was the real challenge.

He quickly understood what this was; the consequences of an impromptu decision he made in a moment of weakness that had finally come back to haunt him.

This was bad. He looked past you to the rest of the empty changing room, making sure there was no one else in sight and no one to catch whatever it was you were about to do.

‘That was a one-time thing,’ he didn’t even bother to look at you as he spoke. ‘We made a mutual agreement, remember?’

‘Then why did it happen more than once?’ You said breathily, sensually sliding your hands up to his shoulder

Mason took a deep breath and finally looked you directly in the eyes. ‘It wasn’t supposed to,’ his voice is low and serious.

It was Friday night, your night. The only day of the week when he would knock on your front door in the middle of the night and relieve his built-up stress from the seven days prior. And you gladly helped him.

You were his secret; Mason’s beautiful guilty pleasure.

Eventually, one Friday turned into two, then four, then eight. No one could tell you that what you two had wasn’t chemistry if they saw the way you lusted for each other. They’d notice the way he held you on the edge of the bed, or the counter, or the shower wall. Or they’d bring up the love marks that hardly got a chance to fade throughout the week before he was back on you, darkening them.

How you wished they heard the noises he fucked out of you echo down the hall, followed by the thumping sounds of the bed frame banging against the wall.

Unabashedly, you did anything just to please him, just hear him say your name between grunts. In public, in private, AM or PM, when he called, you came running, even if it was something unimportant.

For one day out of the week, you both belonged to each other and no one else.

That was until he stopped knocking.

You stepping closer only made it harder for Mason, both literally and figuratively. He could feel the heat of your breath against his skin intertwine with the rush of being this close to you after so long. It was agonizing, and he only had himself to blame. He let himself get swept away by desire, knowing in his heart that a relationship with you was something he could never have.

‘You're only going to get hurt if this continues.’

‘I don’t care.’ Wrapping your hand around the back of his neck, you pulled his face closer to yours. ‘I want to see you.’ You hovered your lips over his.

A taste is all he needs

A small spark to jog the memories of the pleasure he felt when he was with you, memories that he tried so hard to move on from.

His lips brushed against yours. He could feel your desperation and your scent alone was enough to make him go back on his word.

Reluctantly, he let himself lean into your touch. Your noses grazed each other, and you gave his cheek a light lick. Mason shuddered. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes, melting into your embrace, like it was second nature. For a brief second, he placed his hand on your waist, before he quickly pulled away.

‘It was a mistake,’ he exhaled, coming back to his senses.

You frowned. ‘It wasn’t a mistake the other night.’

Your hands slid back down to his chest, but Mason grabbed your wrists before they could go any further. His eyes said more than his lips could. It was heartbreaking how loud they begged you to let him go.

But yours only begged him to stay.

Mason released your wrist and stood up straight, subtly pushing you off of him. It was impressive the way this man reverted back to his professional demeanor without missing a beat.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” he spoke firmly. “This will only hurt us both in the end, and I know you don’t want that.”

“If I cared about that, you think I’d still be here?” You try to step closer to him again, but he brushes past you and strides to the front door.

“Please leave… I’ll pay for your uber if I need to.” He’s trying to be as gentle as he can, hiding his inner frustration in knowing that he so badly he secretly wants you to stay, but he could never say that. “I won’t ask you again.”

The silence was strong.

You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You simply stared at him, taking in the features you used to touch yourself to whenever the right side of your bed was empty. It was all there in front of you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but gaze at his lips, remembering how they felt against your skin. Then his hands, remembering how they pulled you closer to him. Until your eyes found his, remembering them never leaving yours even when he was inside you.

Especially when he was inside you.

So you didn’t move. Better yet, you walked over to the washing machine that was in the corner of the room and sat yourself on it, locking in your decision.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Mason clenched his jaw, his controlled expression turning into one of anger as he aggressively made his way towards you. Instantaneously, he placed himself between your legs, towering over you with a menacing glare.

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You were small in comparison to his tall frame. He would have no problem forcing you into submission, but still, you didn’t budge. It almost excited you.

Neither of you said a word, but this time with more conviction. He's trying to intimidate you out of the changing rooms and out of his life, while you only invited yourself in.

His furrowed brows didn’t soften until you reached for his hand and placed it over your heart without breaking eye contact; It was beating at a steady pace. Only letting your heart speak, you subtly told him he didn’t scare you, and he caught on.

With one final attempt, Mason bent down to your eye level and rested his long arms on either side of you. His face was inches away as his brown eyes peered into yours. It was like he could see right through you. As if he could read your every thought and predict your every move while he waited for your heart rate to spike.

Still, it was calm.

It wasn’t until he tilted his head a bit to the side and grazed his nose against yours that he felt your heart rate pick up in his hands. Mason knew exactly what that meant and he cursed internally at it. The thought of his lips on yours was enough to change your breathing.

For a moment, the two of you practically breathed each other’s air; Your lips almost touching, almost willing to give in.

‘One more time. One more night,’ was all you could say. Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. ‘Let me make you feel good for one more night please.’

Mason opened his mouth, prepared to oppose your proposition until you cut him off. It was a simple reminder, but in this moment, it meant everything.

‘It’s Friday…’

Hearing those two words mixed with hurt and loneliness, Mason’s chest throbbed. A look of pity washed over his face. The tension between the two of you was now one hundred percent physical.

There was a long pause as Mason looked down at you, struggling to make a decision. His heart was pounding inside his chest, and he felt a sense of desire that he had not felt for a long time, at least, not for anyone else.

The worst part about it was you weren’t going to take no for an answer. He knew the consequences of what you were asking him to do, but in your presence, all of his good judgment seemed to disappear. It’s how he got here in the first place.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke. ‘All right,’ he said in a low voice, finally placing his hands on your hips. ‘One more time.’

Without warning, Mason placed his lips on yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. A breathless moan left your throat on instinct. You waited so long for this, to feel him again; which is why you wasted no time slipping your tongue into his mouth and pulling him closer, lacing your fingers in his hair.

Mason groaned at the touch of your tongue lapping around his; his body shivering slightly as you teased and tested his resolve. Your presence was so enticing, so intoxicating, he could feel himself losing control of the situation.

His senses filled with you and it only brought up more feelings he dared not name.

For a moment, Mason parted from your lips, trailing his mouth to your ear and below. You couldn’t help the little noises that escaped your lips as your lover bit, licked, and kissed your neck, and it wasn’t long before he was getting more and more uncomfortable in his slacks.

A wave of excitement coursed through Mason’s body as your hands undid his belt with swift motions. The room filled with sounds of your heavy breathing followed by the sounds of his belt buckle clinking as it came undone. His hands explored you, grazing your calf, grabbing your thigh, going further and further up the fabric of your dress, and feeling nothing underneath it.

You planned this. This is what you came for and he knew it.

Mason hissed when his fingers grazed along where your underwear should have been. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered under his breath.

‘Mason..’ you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as if he could disappear at any moment.

‘Shh,’ Mason whispered into the crook of your neck, causing your skin to tingle. You could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. ‘I'm right here.’

Mason slowly moved your dress further up your thighs exposing your ass to the cool air. The sensation of his short nails pressing into the skin of your hips accompanied by his mouth finding its way back to your lips once again was intoxicating.

“I missed this.”

A shiver ran down Mason’s spine as he pulled the spaghetti strap of your dress off your shoulders, leaving your full breasts visible for him to see.

"I did too," he whispered softly, like he was afraid to admit it. You heard him suck in a breath through his teeth as he saw your uncovered chest. "So, so much." He couldn't help but grasp the soft flesh; the tent in his pants growing impossibly tighter, even with it open and undone.

He was so damned deprived, so pent-up, he didn’t realize he was sucking your tits like it was his last meal.

Even in this state, Mason knows he never should’ve let it get this far. This wasn’t part of the plan, but damn it felt good, caressing and pinching one while kissing and sucking the other one, as he always did.

Your arms supported the extra weight he was pushing against your chest as you leaned back. Biting your lips, you squirmed against his tongue on your perky nipples as you held onto his scalp.

‘Then why are you trying to leave me?’ You practically whined. Despite everything that was happening, you couldn’t let it go—let him go.

Even when he agreed to have you once more, it wasn’t enough.

‘Because you deserve better,’ he growled, his free hand squeezing your ass. ‘Someone who can give you all the attention and affection you deserve.’ His mouth kissed its way back to your neck, his lips grazing against the soft skin and leaving a trail of saliva in its wake.

‘Mason..’

‘I don't want you to get hurt,’ he continued, his voice full of emotion and longing. ‘I don't want to hurt you, I promise, but you have to understand that I'm not suited for this.’

‘Not suited for what? Affection? Love?’ Even without the extra stimulation, you couldn’t wrap your head around his words.

He was kissing you and tearing you down at the same time.

Mason is charming and intelligent. A handsome, successful footballer who makes more than enough to support himself, and anyone else he chooses to be with. He was the kind of man who turned heads and made you feel like the only woman in the world when he was with you.

Mason Mount is the definition of perfect, so what about this is so wrong?

‘I'm not capable of...those things.’ He looked up at you with pleading eyes, but still managed to kiss you before continuing to remove your dress and tossing it to the side. ‘I won't waste your time trying to pretend I can give you that. In a nutshell, we are just two people looking for some relief, and this is our avenue for doing so. That's all.’ His words were blunt but cut like a knife.

That’s all this is?

You were stunned. Before you could process his statement, he lifted you from the washing machine and gently carried you to the chair across the room where he had more space to move.

Once he sat you down, the warmth of his hands left your skin for a moment as he backed away.

You had a front-row seat watching Mason loosen his t shirt.

The lighting was dim, but you didn’t have to imagine how he looked unclothed; Every part of him was already etched into your mind. You had no shame eyeing his smooth chest, muscular arms.

His muscles flexed as he slid his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor before leaning down and positioning himself between your legs again. His hands gripped the armrests on either side of the chair, caging you in, with his face barely inches away from yours.

‘Speak. I know you want to say something.’ He was challenging you. Mason knew that whatever reason he gave you for not showing affection would never be enough.

It was your last chance to do so.

Your heartbeat betrayed you. It wasn't fair. Who was he to decide what’s best for you? You’re supposed to be angry and hurt, yet here you were falling for the same things in him once again.

‘That’s not all this has to be, Mason,’ You struggled to look anywhere but his lips.

‘You don't know what you're asking for,’ he whispered in a husky voice. ‘I can't be what you want me to be.’

Mason’s eyes wandered below your waist for a brief moment. His expression betrayed his words, not hiding how badly he wanted you. He was topless, belt unbuckled, pants unzipped, while you were under him, legs open, vulnerable, and completely naked.

This was exactly what Mason didn’t want to happen. He was drawn to you and everything he was saying to resist you felt like a lie, yet he couldn’t help but find it all so tempting. Everything you did gave him flashbacks; the looks, the sounds, smells, he was losing his cool with each passing second.

You shivered when he gripped the sides of the chair tighter.

‘And what do you think I want you to be?’ You trailed your hands down his abdomen. Mason flexed underneath your touch. Feeling him pin you against the back of the chair, you were desperate to feel more of him, impatient even.

Mason debated whether he should speak, so it started off as a whisper. ‘You want me to be yours. You want me to be your boyfriend, but I can't give you any of that. I care about you, don't get me wrong, but I can never love you the way you deserve to be loved.’

Suddenly, all the air was knocked out of your lungs. It was as if you’d been hit by a truck.

Could he truly read you that easily?

Without missing a beat, he was back to slowly trailing his mouth along your neck and shoulders, placing small kisses on the warm skin like he was kissing a wound. Unfortunately, it aided nothing; tears glossed over your eyes all the same.

Every time he hurt you, his kisses always eased the pain. They made you feel alive even when they were the very thing sucking the life out of you.

Whenever he didn’t answer your calls, or talked to another woman, and even ignored you for days on end, all it took was that damn knock that you looked forward to every week. You were addicted to him. You craved his attention, his affection, his lips. But your addiction was just that— an addiction and nothing more.

But despite all of his wrongdoings, he was just as addicted to you.

So when he pulled away, looked you in the eyes, and finished his sentence.

‘I can't give you everything…but I can give you this.’ He looked at your lips and knew exactly what he was about to do. ‘I hope this is enough.’ With his fingers under your chin, Mason leaned in and gently placed his lips on yours, knowing the damage was already done.

What could you say to that?

Yes, I want you to give yourself to me completely.

We can make this work

What if I don’t deserve to be loved?

He was right, and you knew it. There’s nothing you could say that could make this hurt any less, so you kissed him back, anyway. Even when a tear rolled down your cheek and the pain in your chest pressed against your lungs, you kissed him back. The saltiness on your lips, the same flavor as the bitterness in your heart.

You could both taste it.

Mason didn’t say anything. He just moved his hands down your thighs until he reached your knees, scooting you closer to him. And you let him. You let him move you into whatever position he wanted you in because you no longer had the energy to object.

You didn’t care to notice when he pulled down slacks and his boxers after that. You didn’t care to take in the sight of his pre-cum-leaking length, bobbing up and down and more than ready to split you in two because you didn’t have to. You’d seen it a hundred times before.

The only difference was this was the last time.

Your disheartened state wasn’t invisible to Mason. It pained him more than he expected when you didn’t even glance at him while he stripped like you did before. You didn’t squeeze your legs together or bite your lip, you just sat there, frozen.

‘If you want me to stop, just tell me,’ If only you could’ve seen the way his face fell as he kneeled in front of you to wipe away the tear he caused, only to be met by you flinching and turning your cheek before he could reach.

The message couldn’t be any clearer.

Is this how the night is going to end? He thought. Granted, he didn’t want it to come to this in the first place, but now that it had, this is how it ends? Mason wondered if this pain in his chest was how you felt every Friday; the agonizing feeling of rejection that churned in the pit of his stomach. The two of you were face to face, but you couldn’t be any further apart and he hated it but deserved it.

He doesn’t even know if he can bring it upon himself to say sorry to you again. It won’t change anything—and it certainly wouldn’t make either of you feel any less shitty—but most importantly, it just lengthened the list of the ways he failed you. So he didn’t apologize. He gave you one last sorrowful look before standing up and reaching for his clothes on the floor.

Your lips didn’t tell him you wanted to stop, but everything else did; your tears, body language, lack of eye contact, and closed-off demeanor were louder than the words you didn’t speak. Internally, you thanked him for not saying sorry— you don’t know how many more of his apologies you could take—but you panicked a little when he backed away.

You wanted him to feel your pain, but you didn’t want him to leave.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your hand caught his arm to stop his movements. You cursed yourself for not being stronger, for not cutting him off after the first he hurt you like you usually would with anyone else, but you refused to let this be your last memory of him—of both of you. And now that you had his attention, you had to speak. ‘Just go slow,’ you cleared your throat.

You didn’t even look him in the eyes as you spoke; he doesn’t deserve that.

Mason’s eyes went to his arm and the way you desperately held on to him while hiding your embarrassment; it triggered something in him. You sucked in a shaky breath when he nodded and dropped his clothes back onto the floor.

Without saying a word, he moved you back into the position he had you in before; your head resting against the back of the chair with your hanging ass off the edge, and your legs open on either side of him. Mason rested himself between your thighs, towering over you, taking in the sight of your naked body ready to be used by him .

For two people just looking for some relief, this was strangely…intimate. Other than the kissing sounds, the room was dead silent. His lips gently sucked on your neck, then your collarbone, and your breasts, before moving back up. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and it was painstakingly sensual. You squirmed under his touch, already worked up and exhaling soft moans while he held your hips in place.

He had complete access to you.

Your cunt clenched every time he spoke in your ear, and you didn’t mean to moan when Mason moved his hand between your bodies and slid his middle and ring finger up and down your glistening slit. ‘You’re drenched,’ he sucked in a deep breath, his cock twitching, feeling your arousal coat his fingers. ‘I’m going to put it in. Is that alright?’ He adjusted himself, lining his hips up with yours.

‘Do whatever you want.’ It was clear how this was going to go. You wanted this more than you let on—you yearned for this—but deep down, you told yourself this was all out of sympathy.

In bold letters, your mind told you that Mason pitied you and he was only going to fuck you because you practically begged for it. So, you didn’t tell him to do whatever he wants in a sexy, ‘I’m giving you all control’ kind of way, you said it in a nonchalant, ‘I don’t care. Just get it over with’ kind of way. And deep down, it hurt both him and you.

Mason sighed and took himself in his hand. His forehead leaned against yours as you both watched him give his cock a few relaxed tugs. It was that feeling—that addicting feeling of his thick shaft sliding between your folds to coat himself in your slick, before pushing his tip inside of you that made you both forget everything except how badly you both needed this.

‘Shit’

You both moaned almost too loudly once he got past the head. He was big, bigger than anyone you had been with before. The first stroke was always the most painful, but you were used to him, and you were wet enough to not need any prep. He knew this.

He knew all of your sexual needs, what you could take and what you couldn’t. He knew what drove you crazy and what was too much.

Little by little, he stretched you out and you ate it up. You felt the familiar pressure radiate in your abdomen; clearly, you were out of practice and already full but you never told him to stop or wait. Mason watched your head tilt back and your jaw slack with pleasure, and used that opportunity to kiss any skin he could put his lips on.

The sight of you taking him always made his chest swell.

Mason pushed in another inch, and your hands immediately pressed against his stomach. ‘I know, baby, let me in,’ he cooed, moving your hands from his stomach and bringing them up to his mouth as he kissed the palms of your hands. His soft tone relaxed you, and without warning, he pushed in another inch.

You swear you felt his dick jump.

‘Shit —That’s it…That’s my girl.’

At some point, Mason gave you a chance to settle around him. He paused to stroke your hair or occasionally let his thumb glide over your clit to counteract the pressure before starting up again.

It was disgusting the way he controlled your emotions. He had all the knowledge of your likes and dislikes, and even now, he played into them; whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he filled you up, praising you for every inch you took, and cursing once it was finally all in.

You both sighed in relief like it was routine. Without trying, he pressed against your cervix and there was nothing you could do about it but moan and bury your face in his chest—it was music to his ears. You wanted to stay quiet, to take him and not give him the satisfaction of letting him know how good he was making you feel, but each grind against your hips made your toes curl and your grip on him tighter.

He fucked you at a slow, torturous pace, not because it felt good, but because he needed this to last. He needed to savor every tight ring of muscle he pushed through and every sound he drew from your full lips.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t lie; he’d been thinking about this for weeks. Every time he was inconvenienced at work, or stressed, or had to stay at work longer than he needed to, he thought about burying himself between your thighs while you clawed at his back and begged him not to stop. He thought about releasing his stress inside of you and watching you drink it from him after he fucked your absolute brains out.

And that was just on a Tuesday.

It was like an addict’s first fix after going through withdrawals; he doesn’t remember how or why he went so long without you. The way your walls molded to his size and length, squeezing him in all the right places, and— god— don’t even get him started on your warmth. He didn’t say it, but he could feel your heartbeat between your legs before he even put it fully in.

Up until this moment, it was like you two were back in your bed. His mouth hovered over yours while your hands rested on his thighs with his cock deep in your stomach.

He wanted to taste your lips again, but you didn’t grant him that privilege. This time, boundaries were set.

Fuck buddies don’t kiss, right?

He made it abundantly clear that’s all you were, so this is all he would get. Fuck buddies don’t need to look into each other’s eyes during every stroke, and they don’t need to kiss each other on the mouth—that’s reserved for lovers, right?

So, you shut your eyes and turned your cheek when he leaned in. You could tell he didn’t expect that when his hips stuttered for a moment. Mason’s brows furrowed as he turned your chin with his index finger, but you resisted.

“Don’t be like that…kiss me.” There was hurt in his voice. Your coldness stung more than it should have. Never has Mason ever been refused, especially romantically. He called your name lovingly, still trying to turn your face towards him.

He wanted your attention and your refusing to give it to him felt like a punch in the gut.

Out of frustration, he thought about gripping your jaw and forcing himself onto your lips, simply because he could, but he knew better. Instead, he opted to comfort himself in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t stop him from nibbling on your ear or licking down the side of your neck even if you tried.

Your stifled whimpers turned into moans as Mason picked up the pace of his thrust. He wanted to get a rise out of you. You were distant, in your own little world, while Mason pumped himself in and out of you. The physical pleasure was there, but you showed him emotion.

He wondered how he could be inside of someone and still feel worlds apart.

You used you to beg him to keep going. Every chance you got, your mouth was on his, telling him every thought that came to your mind while he fucked your insides. Mason loved that you were vocal, not just because of your moans, but because he knew you’d always tell him how you felt. He looked forward to hearing what you wanted and how you wanted it, and hearing your eager fucked-out responses even when you didn’t hear what he said because you were too overwhelmed and too focused on your approaching peak.

But now, you didn’t give him any of that. You just laid there with your hands on his stomach, barely letting his chest touch yours, and barely letting yourself moan. Despite how good it felt.

‘C’mon baby, talk to me. You know I hate it when you get quiet,’ he cooed in your ear, grabbing your wrist and pushing himself further against you. ‘Tell me how good it feels…tell me you love it.’

You gasped in time with his thrusts at the extra pressure of him burrowing his dick deeper into you. Mason grunted, waiting for you to respond without stopping. ‘Fuck—Say my name, love.’ It took all your energy to keep quiet. You didn’t answer him and you still didn’t look him in the eyes.

Mason was getting desperate. Sweat dripped down his forehead at the way you were tightening around him. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. He tried so hard to get you to at least look at him—to spare him a quick glance before his inevitable release, but you’d rather focus on the walls behind him than give in to him again.

‘Damn it,’ he grunted. In one last-ditch effort to save the memory of what the two of you once were, Mason grabbed your ass and squeezed it tight, repositioning you on the chair so he could bottom out into you fully.

It wasn’t until his hands cupped the back of your knees and pushed them into your chest, did you finally look at him with wide eyes. His pelvis was now completely flush against your own, and you took it all.

‘Mason wait,’

You swear you heard him thank god when his eyes locked with yours. Your hands shot up to grab his arms and your mouth hung open against his lips as he rested his forehead on yours. ‘There you are,’ he whispered in a low voice. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t kiss you. He understood that wasn’t what you wanted anymore, but he let it be known that he still could, whether you want it or not.

It was his silent dominance that turned you on so, so much. You tried to look away again; no, you needed to look away otherwise, you’d fall back into his painful grasp. But your efforts were useless when he held you by the back of your hair to keep your head facing him. ‘Nuh-uh. Don’t shut down on me, I’m still here…I’m right here,’

He didn’t stop. The sound of skin slapping echoed throughout the building and you hated how much it turned you on. Your hands did nothing to stop his relentless pounding on your cunt; he was now in the perfect position to hit that one spot that led you to your undoing every time, and you could hardly breathe. Mason hissed when you dug your manicured nails into his biceps as he pinned you down. He felt so good it was painful.

Your hands came down in front of you to push him again and minimize the impact of his thrusts, but he held your forearms at your sides before you could protest. The sound of your sobs, along with your beautiful face contorting into one of pleasure, was enough to have him question everything he said earlier. He was so close, so close . ‘Talk to me, love,’ he grunted. ‘Tell me you don’t want me to go.’

How funny.

It was like the roles had reversed. Call it pettiness or bitterness, but you wanted him to hurt; You wanted to make him regret not choosing you because, in reality, you loved him. You wanted more—you needed more than one day out of the week. Hell, you craved him every day… but telling him that wouldn’t make a difference. Mason’s mind was made, and part of you resents him for it.

‘Please, baby…’ he stilled inside of you once both your silence and his pleasure were too much to bear, panting against your neck. His voice sounded like it was on the verge of defeat and he wondered if he had finally lost you. The heat of his breath on your skin made you shiver as your chest heaved up and down.

‘You’re a coward,’ you finally spoke.

Hearing your voice, Mason shot up from the crook of your neck to look at you. You cursed at your heartstrings when you watched his eyes light up.

‘Yes, I’m a coward.’ His hands immediately went to cup your face as if he didn’t register what you said. ‘I don’t deserve you.’ He said it so enthusiastically, placing soft, sporadic kisses all over your face; it was almost pathetic. How could you hate him when he was so happy just to hear you finally speak to him again?

‘I’m so sorry’

There’s that damn apology

For all you know, that was your breaking point. Tears welled in your eyes. ‘I should've never come here, you are an idiot Mason,’ your voice cracked. The light in Mason’s eyes didn’t fade, even as you cursed and called him out his name, hitting and scratching him, he still kissed your skin just as gently as he had before.

You choked out a shaky exhale when he went back to rolling his hips, brushing against your already bruised G-spot. You felt him grow impossibly harder inside of you.

‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘Keep talking.’

Your eyes widened when he picked you up by your waist and held you on his pelvis. ‘No! Stop! Put me down!’ You thrashed and pushed him, but it was no use. He was already walking away from the chair and pushing you against the wall.

You went for his face, his neck, his chest, anything you could put your claws on, and Mason took the pain as he took hold of your wrists. ‘I don’t want this,’ You lied.

Mason knew it was a lie because your voice was softer as you said it, shakier, like it hurt you to say it aloud, and hurt him that you felt like you had to say it. Although he didn’t blame you. He didn’t blame you for any of this. How could he?

He watched the tears slip from the corners of your beautiful, sad eyes. ‘I hate you,’ you choked out. Your breaking voice was barely above a whisper and Mason felt his heart split in two. He always did love to hear what you had to say, even when it was painful to hear. You didn’t mean it even though it felt like you did.

You hated his unwillingness to put his fears or pride aside so you could love each other fully. You hated the hold he had on your heart, your mind, your body. You hated how good the sex was and you hated that he wouldn’t give you more than that. Most of all, you hated that this was how it would end…but you didn’t hate him.

He took your wrists that were in his hands and brought them to his lips. He did his best to comfort you and wipe your tears.

‘I know, baby,’ he cooed, stroking the hairs that stuck to your face as he kissed your tears.

He placed you on the washing machine again as it creaked as he started to move again. You were like putty in his hands, so malleable, so vulnerable. Out of all the men you’ve ever been with, Mason was the only one who had this kind of effect on you. It was unhealthy the way he made you question everything about yourself; your emotions, your sex appeal, you wanted to look good for him.

You wanted to be his

‘Don’t leave me,’ your words came out as a quiet sob and Mason could feel the lump in his throat start to form. He knew that if he spoke, all of his emotions would pour out at once, so he let your shaky hands pull him in. He let your lips graze his and your noses dance around each other.

Testing the waters, his tongue ghosted over your bottom lip as if he were asking for permission and Mason took the faint noise you made in response as an invitation. He tilted his head to his right, before closing his eyes, and finally kissing you once more. This time you didn’t turn away, and you didn’t shut him out.

The kiss was slow and tasteful, just like his strokes. Every groan he let out, every lick and nip at your bottom lip was deliberate. The deep vibrations he moaned into your mouth rang like a love letter to you; it was intimate.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach start up again like a schoolgirl kissing her crush for the first time. Your fingers laced in his hair, tugging it just hard enough to earn a growl and a calculated press against your stomach as he angled his hips upwards; a move that had both of you on the edge.

The irony of him fucking you at this tender, love-making pace when he promised that was something he couldn’t give you. ‘I'm not capable of love,’ he said . ‘You deserve someone that could give you the love you deserve,’ he said.

Was this not it?

Was this not him finally being honest with himself and realizing that maybe something official wouldn’t be so bad?

Neither of you kept track of the time, but you stayed like that for a while, moaning and grinding until your lips were swollen.

Thoughts started forming in your head. Childish daydreams of you and him eating out and going on walks, Late-night phone calls eventually turning into late conversations when you two finally moved in together, and thoughts of sleeping beside him and waking up to find him still there with the morning sun on Saturday.

You should’ve known better.

You whimpered when you felt him pull away from your lips, but the loss in contact was instantly replaced when rested his forehead against yours again, and his heavy breathing mixed with your own. You loved when he did that, the intimacy of it always made you weak.

Something in you told you he was about to speak, you anticipated it.

His voice rang in your head.

I was wrong

Come home with me

I’ll stay

but instead, you were met with a low, raspy, ‘Tell me this is enough.’

Words cannot describe how quickly your eyes snapped open and your smile fell. ‘What?’

Mason’s jaw clenched as he worked up the courage to repeat himself. ‘This…is all I can give you. I need to hear you say it…for both of our sakes.’

He’s reaching his limit.

His head was still casually, resting on yours like he didn’t just completely undermine the best minutes of your life with five words. ‘You can’t be serious,’ you give an awkward chuckle before realizing he was dead serious.

‘No!’ you spit. You shoved him back, the butterflies in your stomach quickly turned into disgust, and you were back to thrashing around under him. ‘Was that not enjoyable for you? Did I make a mistake?’

Mason shook his head as if you were inconveniencing him. ‘it’s not like that. You know it isn’t.’

‘Then what is it?!’ you yelled. ‘Mase-‘

‘Tell me this is enough…and you will be happy with this. I need you to be happy with this.’

‘I’m not!’

You tried everything. You tried kissing him again, grinding, moaning, touching, anything to reignite the flame that engulfed you mere seconds ago, but he didn’t give in. Mason practically flinched when you brought your hands up to his face again.

‘We don’t have to be together!’ you said, frantically caressing him. ‘We can stay like this. You don’t need to be mine. Just let me be yours.’ You begged him.

‘Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be,’ he pleaded.

‘How could you say that?’ Your glossy eyes scanned his face for any signs of hesitation or emotion. You looked for the light that shined in his irises whenever you spoke. It was gone, dimmed, and dull on his expressionless face.

Was he always so cold?

‘Please don’t make me say it.’ At this point, there was no use in stopping the tears from falling.

With all his might, he wanted to say it. It crawled its way from his heart to the tip of his tongue as he watched you break down because of his selfishness—his cowardice.

He wanted to tell you how much sleep he lost in the weeks he didn’t speak to you. He wanted to tell you how long he debated pressing the dial button last night because he missed the sound of your voice. He wanted to tell you he looked forward to hearing your door unlock whenever he knocked every week.

He wanted to tell you it was never about the sex.

It was the moments like the minutes after when you both laid together and talked about your week. It was the warmth of your skin as you cuddled up next to him under the sheets, and the way you pretended to stay awake and listen to him speak even though you could hardly keep your eyes open. It was when he noticed your soft breathing that indicated that you had finally fallen asleep. And every time, he would stay awake a little longer just to hold you and whisper the things he could never say out loud.

You took one long look at his face and realized this was a battle you could never win. He made up his mind and wasn’t giving you another choice.

This was truly your last moment together.

Mason laced his fingers with yours as he rocked you against the washing machine and you moaned for him, louder than you ever had before, because you wanted your voice to be etched into his mind. You licked your way into each other's mouths, memorizing the taste, and no one said anything about the tears.

You didn’t bring up the salty droplets that dripped onto your face as he kissed you—there was no need. Instead, you brushed your thumb along his cheek and wiped the wetness away, just as he did to you.

Mason’s pace quickened when you announced that you were about to come and— god— did it feel good. Without stopping, he talked you through your orgasm; telling you how pretty you looked coming on him, grunting out how you’re the best he’s ever had, and asking you if it felt good when he fucked you harder.

And you gave him those fucked out responses he loved so much. Your eyelids were low and heavy as you nodded your head numbly, letting out a series of ‘Oh god’s,’ ‘Don’t stop’s,’ and ‘Fuck, Mase. Right there.’ He was going insane.

You clenched around him as you came undone. Your legs caged him in and he thrusted into you like his life depended on it. For the last time, Mason called out your name and dug his nails into your waist, sputtering above you as you milked him from the inside.

He gave you everything he had, and you did the same.

You gave in.

This was enough

if he told you to do anything, you would’ve done it. But now, all you could do was reminisce and imagine a future where Mason wanted to be your boyfriend: a future where he asked you to stay.

before his choice- a.donaldson

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a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

this is like the prelude to the other stuff but i get that it's confusing that it's coming out later- i didn't think i'd turn this into a series so i didn't exactly have a plan, sorry :)

this is 18+, mdni plssss

summary: how it was before art ruined your relationship

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: smuttttt, 18+, piv using protection (don't be silly, wrap it), oral (f receiving), cute couple moments

(i think that's it but pls tell me if i forgot anything:)

PART 2: choices and chances PART 3: choices and meetings

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“There goes Stanford’s favourite couple!” Megan rolled her eyes playfully. Art had his arms draped around your shoulders as you walked around campus as the sun set. Art chuckled and flipped her off, smirking as you laughed. Megan had been your roommate in your first year and you’d been best friends ever since.

You and Art were Stanford’s favourite couple. You were tennis prodigies, both extremely talented and both of you were friends with basically everyone. Everyone was always rooting for the two of you, apparently there was a fan page dedicated to your relationship. 

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“How was practice with Tash?” He asked, his arms circling your waist as you leant against the wall, waiting in line in the canteen. 

“Fine, she’s getting better,” You shrugged. Tashi had never been able to beat you, but she was getting better.

“She’s not going to beat you,” He smirked, pressing kisses against your cheeks.

“She’s really good!” You giggled, feeling his hands squeeze your waist harder. “I wouldn’t mind, maybe then she wouldn’t hate me.”

“Tashi doesn’t hate you,” he shook his head. He knew it was a semi-lie, Tashi didn't like loosing. You were the only person capable of making her loose.

“She doesn’t like me Art, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you sighed. “Anyway, enough tennis, what are we doing tonight?”

Art smirked. “We have that party-”

You groaned. Art always wanted to go out, then leave early. In your opinion, why not just cut out the middleman and go straight to your dorm? “Art, what is the point?”

“You look hot in dresses,” He shrugged and chuckled as you playfully hit him on the arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun! We can dance and hang out with our friends.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he’s pretending it’s a choice. “It’s not like I have a choice, I picked date night last time.” 

“Exactly, so we’re going,” he grinned and you cupped his cheek, kissing him heavily. He was so beautiful, what else were you supposed to do? You pulled away quickly and moved up in the line, beginning to order both your lunches. You drove Art insane sometimes. Your pretty tennis skirts, your sweet lips on his, you. 

He did recognise that his brain was still stuck in the gutter like a teenage boy when it came to sex. He didn’t seem to mind much though. 

He placed his hand on your ass as you ordered for the both of you and he saw how you gulped.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’s head was in the gutter. 

You collected your food and sat at a table together, enjoying the canteen food.

“You’ll wear the red dress, right?” He asked. It was his favourite colour, and the colour of the college that the two of you would be representing. 

“No, Nike sent over something for me to wear, I think it’s purple,” you shrugged. Your partnership with Nike meant at every event you went to, you were representing them. That meant they were often sending you new things. 

“Purple?” He questioned.

“Yeah, like plum-y purple,” you shrugged. 

“Can’t wait,” he winked at you and you kicked him under the table. 

Tonight was going to be a long night. 

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You finished styling your hair as Art walked into your dorm, baby blue shirt and some black formal trousers on, his blonde curls looking particularly beautiful. The dress Nike had sent over was beautiful, Art’s jaw dropped when he saw you. 

You were gorgeous. 

“Hey baby,” You smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his stunned cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He stated. You chuckled at him as his hands gripped your waist, making you look at him. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

“You look handsome,” You smiled, smoothing out his collar. “Ready to go?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” he decided, lust-filled eyes staring into yours before he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss. 

You kissed back immediately, your hands running through his curls. You probably had a ‘thing’ for his hair. His hands smoothed up the expanse of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. This is what he was, passionate, loving, and a little bit possessive. He radiated heat, his chest against your as he pushed you against the wall, his lips never leaving yours. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips as your hands dipped lower, going directly for his trousers zipper. 

“So are you,” you smiled, kissing him again. His hands found the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor at your feet. You unzipped him then started working on his shirt buttons, both of you forgetting about the party. 

His hands quickly pulled at your bra and underwear, leaving you bare as he stripped himself, thanking his past self for keeping a stock of condoms in your bedside table. He leaned over, quickly grabbing one and opening it with his teeth, sheathing his hard cock as you looked at him under you. He met your glazed eyes, lustfully looking at him, a soft smile on your face. 

You were so beautiful. 

You sank down on him, never quite used to the stretch he provided. “Fuck,” you moaned out. 

His eyes rolled back as you buried him inside of you. His hands gripped your waist, the faint remnants of bruises left from earlier in the week, when he was in this exact position. He pulled your face down to his as you started moving and started kissing up and down your neck between moans. He changed the position slightly, thrusting up into you to reach the gummy spot inside of you that made you scream out for him.

“God,” he groaned. “Fuck… f-fuck.”

You felt so good around him, it was one of his favourite feelings, the absolute euphoria of having your wrapped around him, using him to get yourself off.  

“You’re so good,” you whined breathlessly. “So good.”

Your voice and moans spurred him on, he loved your voice. He loved everything about you. 

“You gonna cum?” He whined, thrusting up into you. You nodded, bouncing on him harder as you began reaching your climax. He felt you tighten around him and he gasped, trying to not cum so quickly. 

“I’m c-cumming,” You groaned in his ear and he was a goner. He cupped your cheek, hap-harzardly kissing you to swallow the scream that was bound to leave his lips. You gripped his hips to still his uncoordinated and subscious thrusts as you both came down from your highs. 

Art still wasn’t done, he needed to taste you. “Let me taste it, please?” He begged, pulling himself out of you. “Please?”

“Art, we’re already late,” you reminded him through your sex-fueled haze. 

“Please, just let me kiss it,” he begged, kissing down your body, his fingers finding your sopping core. You moaned at the contact and nodded, a meek ‘please’ leaving your lips. 

That was all the confirmation Art needed. He latched his lips onto your clit, drawing out moan after moan. His fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, paying special attention to your g-spot. His tongue sucked over your over-sensitive clit and brought you to another two orgasms, not being able to stop himself from humping the bed in his enchanted state. He loved how you tasted, he couldn’t get enough of it, he never wanted to. If he could spend his days between your legs he would. 

After you came for the third time that night, he connected your lips again and smiled at you. “Thank you.”

Your fucked-out face was truly a sight to behold, and he had the pleasure of seeing it whenever he pleased. 

“Come on, we have a party to go to,” He smirked and you whined as he cleaned you up by running three fingers through your soaking core and licking them clean. 

He appreciated the new marks on your neck that he had created as you slowly got up. You dressed yourself in the beautiful dress once again, fixing your hair and makeup, then spraying yourself with some more perfume, attempting to cover the smell of sex. 

As you sat in the passenger seat of his car, he thought about how perfect you were, his hand in yours as he drove you to the party. 

Little did he know that this party would lead to the beginning of the end of your relationship.

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art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

Want (Patrick Zweig)

Description: Art wants Patrick’s wife and he knows it.

Warning: A lil smutty

Word Count: 1,042k

It wasn’t a secret that Art thought Y/N was attractive, a lot of people did. She was one of the hottest girls at that party that night with Tashi Duncan. She didn’t play Tennis, she was just Tashi’s best friend. Art didn’t bat an eye at Y/N when Tashi was next to her. He wanted Tashi and so did Patrick. That was until Patrick realized what kind of person Tashi was and how Y/N was. They were complete opposites and it was crazy how they were even friends.

Y/N was nice and sweet and didn’t care about winning or competition. Tashi was the opposite. So when Art saw Patrick with Y/N it hit him hard. What did Patrick do to deserve her? Art wanted her and the life Patrick had. Tashi didn’t love him, she loved Tennis and it stressed him out. He was playing for her and so she was happy not for him. Tashi and Y/N kept in contact unlike Art and Patrick. So Art knew that they were married. It didn’t bug him until he saw her. She was beautiful and she had such a sweet smile. I

t hurt even more to see a baby in her arms that resembled Patrick. Art glared as the two kissed before Patrick came on to the floor. He had a smirk on his face as he saw Art’s face. It was so obvious that Art wanted what he had. Patrick won the game and Y/N cheered for him. Tashi looked pissed at Art and that made his heart sink. Y/N  laughed as Patrick kissed her neck. The crowd cheered for him. 

“How about I give her to my mother and we can have the hotel room to ourselves for the night.” She whispered in his ear, seductively. Art watched the scene waiting for Tashi. “I’d like that.” He said, pulling her closer. “And maybe I can put another one in you.” That made her wet. She couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel room. Art could tell that they were saying dirty things to each other. He wished that he and Tashi had something like that. Patrick noticed his ex best friend staring at his wife. It made him smirk, knowing that he had something that Art wanted. Tashi entered the lobby where the couple and Art were. She saw how Art looked at the couple and knew that it was jealousy.

Not that she cared, she only cared about his Tennis career. It was even crazier that their rooms were next door to each other so Art heard every little moan, whine and gasp that Y/N let out as her and Patrick fucked. He’d give anything to be the reason that Y/N was moaning. Y/N didn’t bat an eye at Art especially like that. She loved Patrick and she always had so why would she think of Art like that? But Art was realizing his mistake. But what could he do about it? “You can’t have her.” Tashi tells him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks at her with confusion. She rolls her eyes, “Y/N. You can’t have her because she loves Patrick.” Art opened his mouth to shut down her testament but she held her hand up. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Art. I see how you look at her.” She didn’t care that he looked at her like that at all. She completely understood, Y/N was an angel.

But she didn’t want that to distract him and make him lose. Art denied her allegations but she knew he was lying. “Art, I don’t care that you stare. Just don’t lose.” And even though those words were harsh and any sane person would have left her alone in the hotel room, he stayed and begged her to hold him while he slept. 

Y/N laid on Patrick’s chest asleep. But Patrick was wide awake, thinking about Art and how he wanted his wife. Patrick knew that Y/N didn’t care about Art so he honestly found it funny. Hell he even made her scream so Art could hear next door. Art fucked up and he wanted him to know that. Y/N’s face nuzzled into his neck making him laugh as he held her tight. 

Tomorrow they'll be playing in the finals. Patrick had no worries, he was confident and even if he lost, he had a beautiful family that would still love and support him. Art had nothing. If Art lost this game, he’d lose Tashi and that was it for him. Patrick walked into the steam room that Art was in. This would be the first time they exchanged words. It was awkward but Patrick loved that. “Promise me you won’t dominate me?” Art wanted to roll his eyes, he didn’t understand why Patrick was here.

He didn’t like the man at all, but he loved what he had. Jealous of it. “Why are you here, Patrick?” He asked him. “To win.” That answer was obvious and to a dumb question. But Art was searching for more. “When did you start to take a liking to my wife?” Patrick asked him. Art stared at him, no words. Patrick chuckled, “Oh come on. You don’t think I see the way you look at her?” He got closer to Art. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied. “I don’t blame you. She’s an angel. And my god she smells so good and her pussy tastes fantastic.” He whispered in Art’s ear. “The way she looks when she cums and how her eyes roll back. I get hard just thinking about it. See, my wife loves me and not just for my career. She would love me without it. But Tashi? No, if you lose this you lose it all. So I get why you stare at her. But next time you do it, think of me deep inside her wet pussy pumping her full of my cum over and over again.” Art was hard at his words. Patrick gave him a smirk, “Stare all you want Donaldson but just know, that she’s mine and that’ll never change whether I win or lose.” He says as he walks out of the room, leaving Art there with only his thoughts.

Hey! Can you do a Kylian imagine with a heavily pregnant reader who is having a hard time with her pregnancy. Just lots of fluff & supportive Kylian please

Baby Blues

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Your husband loves taking care of you, especially now that you're pregnant

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Kylian Mbappé x Wife!you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.5k

Warnings! Fluff, soft Kylian, tough pregnancy, eating problems, insecurities, sad reader, Kylian being the best husband ever.

Pregnancy was a scam.

A total scam. There were so many things that were a surprise to you once you actually were pregnant, but one of the biggest surprises to me was just how hard it was on your body. It wasn't like you didn't think it would be hard. But this was hell.

Kylian and you had been trying for a year, and when you finally got the positive pregnancy test, you thought everything would be okay. You thought it would be a normal pregnancy and then you'd be able to hold your little baby in your arms.

But it was just too hard.

The morning sickness had been terrible. It didn't just stay in the mornings, and you'd been puking so much that you'd lost weight instead of gaining it. Something which which had your doctors and Kylian worried.

It'd gotten to the point where you couldn't even eat any more. The smell of food would make you sick. It made you sick just to think about it. You'd tried to hide it from Kylian at first. You didn't want to worry him, and you knew he was already worrying.

He'd always worried about you. He'd worried about you since the moment he met you, and he was going to continue to worry about you for the rest of his life.

It was sweet. It really was.

But sometimes, you just wished he'd stop worrying. Worrying so much was making him tired, and you knew he was going to be a father soon. He needed to get some sleep. So did you. You sighed and sat up in bed, looking around the dark room. The sun had barely risen. You could hear Kylian's snores coming from the other side of the bed. It made you smile.

You threw off the covers and stood up, heading to the bathroom. You weren't sure what time it was, but you were hoping it was close to breakfast time. Your stomach growled at the thought of food. You hoped that you could keep something down today.

Maybe some toast.

You opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, flipping on the light. The bathroom was large, and the shower was huge. There were multiple heads, so you could be pummeled with water from all angles. It was heavenly, sometimes being to keep your morning sickness at bay. The pressure feeling so good on your skin.

You flipped on the light and looked in the mirror. The girl looking back at you looked terrible. She was pale and thin and tired. You could the insecurities licking up your spine. How could he still love you when you looked like this.

You sighed and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water flow down your body. You moaned at the pressure of the jets your skin, and your eyes closed. You tried to ignore the thoughts racing through your head, but you just couldn't.

Why was he still with you? You were nothing like the girl he met. You were thin and tired and just plain ugly.

You tried to shake the thoughts away as you washed yourself off. When you were done, you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel. You brushed your teeth, making sure your breath smelled good and not like puke.

When you were done, you left the bathroom and headed to the bedroom. You pulled out a pair of shorts and Kylian's sweatshirt. You slipped them on and walked back to the kitchen.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw what was set up in the kitchen. There were flowers all over the table, and breakfast was made. Kylian was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up when he saw you.

When did he wake up? Why hadn't you heard him? And why did he look better than you did.

"Hey," he smiled at you. "I thought I'd make you breakfast. I didn't know what you were craving, so I made pancakes and eggs." He stood up and pulled out a chair for you. "I hope it's okay."

tears welled up in your waterline at his gesture. Fuck thses hormones. But you couldn't help it. Not when he was such a good husband, so good to you. He deserved better. He deserved the girl he fell in love with.

"It's perfect," your voice was shaky, so you masked it with a smile. "Thank you, babe."

He walked over to you, pulling you into a hug, his warmth melting you. "I'm glad you like it," he kissed the top of your head. "I missed you so much yesterday. I'm sorry I wasn't here for dinner." He pulled back and studied your face. "Are you okay? You were in the bathroom pretty long. Got me worried, pretty girl." Pretty girl. Yeah right. More like fat whale. You wanted to cry.

You nodded, letting him pull you down into a chair. "I'm good," you lied, forcing a smile. "I was just so tired last night. I didn't want to wake you up."

He nodded and kissed the top of your head again. He went back to the kitchen and brought you a plate of pancakes and eggs, along with a cup of tea. You smiled up at him and dug in. It was good. Really good.

He was a good cook. But you didn't want to eat much. You were terrified of getting sick in front of him. He'd been so stressed lately, and you didn't want him to worry more about you.

You took a few bites and then put the fork down, pushing your plate away. "Thank you," you said. "It was really good."

His eyes narrowed, studying your face. You knew you were lying. But you were good at it. Or at least, you thought you were.

He leaned over and grabbed your hands into his. He made sure he was eye level with you, his eyes searching yours. You met them and held his gaze. "Tell me the truth," he said.

"I don't want to eat," you said, your voice low. You hated lying to him. You always felt terrible after doing it. But he didn't need to know about how bad it was. He was stressed enough.

His face softened, and his hands squeezed yours. "Pretty girl, why won't you tell me?" His voice was soft and sweet. He really was such a good husband.

You shrugged your shoulders. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you knew you'd cry. "I just don't want to eat," you mumbled.

He sighed and leaned forward, grabbing your face into his hands. He made sure you looked at him before speaking. "You are my wife," he said, voice low and husky. "My wife, the mother of my child, and my best friend. I love you, and I'm so proud of you. But I can't be there for you if you don't tell me the truth. I need to know what's going on with you. I need to take care of you."

You wanted to cry at his words, at his softness. How could he love you so much when you were such a mess?

"I don't want to worry you," you said, your voice breaking. "You're already so stressed."

His eyes softened, and he pulled you into his arms. You went willingly, letting his warmth melt you. His arms were your happy place, and you knew you'd always be safe with him. He kissed the top of your head and held you close, stroking your hair. You breathed in his scent. It made you feel at peace.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice low. "I love you so much. You don't have to worry about me. I need to take care of you."

You sighed and nodded against him. "I'm sorry," you said. "I just can't eat right now. The smell of food makes me sick. I haven't eaten in days."

He held you closer, his arms tightening around you. He kissed the top of your head again and sighed. "I'm going to call a doctor," he said. "We'll figure this out, okay?"

You nodded against him and smiled. "Okay."

He pulled away and stood up, helping you stand. "Let's go back to bed," he said. "I'll call the doctor from there."

You nodded, letting him lead you back to the bedroom. You climbed into bed and watched him pick up the phone. He dialed a number and pressed send, holding the phone to his ear. You could hear the ringing of the other line.

He looked at you as he talked, his eyes soft. You could see the worry in them, but it only made you love him more. He was always so worried about you. You wanted to make it better, to make him not worry.

He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed. He sat next to you and took your hand into his. "I called the doctor," he said. "He said to bring you in to see him. I'm going to call his office now and tomorrow we're going, okay?."

You nodded and squeezed his hand. "I love you," you said, your voice low. He squeezed your hand back and leaned forward to kiss your lips. His lips were warm and gentle against yours. You sighed into his mouth and let him take control.

He kissed you deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned as he pulled away. You wanted more. But he just smiled and stood up, his phone in hand.

"I love you," he said. "I'll be right back."

You nodded and snuggled under the covers, closing your eyes. You knew you weren't going to fall asleep. Not with all the thoughts swirling through your head. You sighed and turned over, trying to clear your mind. You couldn't. Not when you kept thinking about how he'd said he was so proud of you.

It made you want to cry. He loved you. He truly, truly loved you. He was proud of you. You felt like you were anything but strong. But he still loved you. He still thought you were strong. That made you smile.

You sighed and rolled over, closing your eyes. You let your thoughts run away with you as you drifted off to sleep.

You woke up to Kylian shaking your shoulder. He had a smile on his face and looked so happy. You smiled up at him and sat up (with great difficulty), rubbing your eyes. "hi, beautiful," he said. "Get up the masseuse will be here soon."

You blinked up at him. What was he talking about? Who was the masseuse? He chuckled and ran a hand through your hair. "I thought it would be nice to have a spa day at home," he said. "I got you some scented oils and candles, and I hired a massage therapist. I thought it would help you relax." He smiled at you, his eyes soft. "Plus, I thought it would be nice to spend the day together. We can talk more about everything that's going on."

You wanted to cry at his words, at his sweetness. He was such a good husband, and you loved him so much. He always wanted to take care of you, and he wanted to be there for you.

"Okay," you whispered, voice raspy with sleep. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. His eyes softened, and he kissed your lips. "Come on, babe," he said. "Let's get ready."

He stood and pulled you up with him. You wobbled on your feet, and he chuckled, his hands going to your hips. "Easy," he said. "I've got you." He held you close until you could stand on your own. Then, he let you go, only to grab your hand again. He led you out of the room, to the living room. You stopped in your tracks when you saw what was set up.

He had candles lit all around the room, and the scents of lavender filled your nose. There were towels and oils set up on a table, and the windows were open so there was a nice breeze. It was warm but not too hot.

"This is amazing," you said, smiling at him. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head. "I'm glad you like it," he said. "I wanted it to be perfect for you." He ran his hand down your back. "Now sit here and don't move." He instructed, as he helped you sit on the couch. A task that was now getting more and more difficult for you as your pregnancy moved along.

You nodded and sat down, watching him leave. You could hear him talking to someone on the phone, Then a few minutes later you heard the front door open.

"Hey," you heard him say. "Thanks for coming. She's on the couch. You can go ahead and set up."

You heard the front door shut, and then footsteps coming closer. You turned your head to see a woman coming towards you with him. She was gorgeous, with long brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a black top with what you guesse was her spa logo and black pants.

You hated the way your mind immediately went to wondering how you measured up to her. You felt like a fat whale, and she looked perfect. Kylian wouldn't be attracted to her, would he?

You sighed and forced your mind away from those thoughts. They were not healthy.

"Hey," Kylian said, walking over to you. "This is Ashley. She's the massage therapist I was telling you about."

You mustered a smile and smiled at her , trying to push aside your insecurities. Ashley returned the smile warmly, introducing herself and offering a handshake. Despite your initial self-doubt, you couldn't deny the genuine kindness in her eyes.

It made you feel horrible for the negative thoughts you had about her. You felt like a horrible person.

Ashley began setting up her equipment, chatting lightly with Kylian. You felt a pang at the smile he gave her. You knew you were being ridiculous. Kylian smiled at everyone. But in that moment you couldn't help but wonder if he wished he had a woman who was more like her.

"Y/N, baby are you okay? You spaced out." You blinked, bringing yourself back to the present. Kylian's voice was filled with concern, his eyes searching your face. You nodded quickly, trying to shake off the lingering doubts. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit tired," you mumbled, offering a small smile.

He returned your smile, though the worry in his eyes didn't dissipate. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, his lips warm and comforting. "Just relax, pretty girl. Ashley is here to help you feel better."

You took a deep breath and nodded again. Ashley finished setting up and approached you with a kind smile. "We're going to start with a gentle massage, okay? If anything feels uncomfortable, just let me know."

You appreciated her calm demeanor and found yourself relaxing slightly. You lay down on the soft towels she had prepared, and Ashley began her work. The scents of lavender and chamomile filled the air, mingling with the gentle pressure of her hands on your aching muscles.

For the first time in a while, you felt a semblance of peace. Kylian sat nearby, watching over you with a protective gaze. You loved this side of him. Loved when he watched over you like he would do anything to keep you safe. He would.

You knew a long time ago you had picked the right man to be the father of your children. But everyday he makes you a little prouder of that decision. You couldn't wait to meet your baby. To watch him interact with her.

You had already gotten glipmses of their bond. How she would kick at the sound of his voice. How he would talk to your belly, whispering sweet promises and silly jokes. You knew he would be an amazing father, just as he was an incredible husband.

As Ashley continued the massage, you felt some of the tension in your body ease away. The soothing touch and the warm oils worked their magic, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply be. To exist in the present, without the weight of worries and fears pressing down on you.

Kylian sat close, every now and then, he would reach out to gently stroke your hair or squeeze your hand, silently reassuring you that he was there, that he had you.

"You're doing great, Y/N," Ashley said softly, her voice blending seamlessly with the calming ambiance of the room. "Just breathe and let yourself relax."

You followed her instructions, taking slow, deep breaths. With each exhale, you felt more of the stress melt away. The soft music playing in the background, the fragrant candles, and the tender care of both Kylian and Ashley created a bubble of tranquility that you hadn't felt in a long time.

Time seemed to slow down as the massage continued. You could almost forget the relentless nausea, the fatigue. You could even feel yourself getting a little hungry.

When the massage finally ended, you felt a profound sense of relief. Ashley helped you sit up slowly, her hands gentle and supportive. "How do you feel?" she asked with a warm smile.

"Better," you admitted, surprised at how true the word felt. "Thank you, Ashley. This was exactly what I needed."

"I'm glad I could help," she replied. "Remember to take it easy and stay hydrated. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to reach out." She patted your shoulder one more time before getting up.

As Ashley packed up her things and left, Kylian was by your side in an instant, helping you stand and guiding you back to the couch. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "Do you feel better now, baby?" he asked softly, his eyes full of concern.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest. "Yes, much better," you whispered, feeling a sense of calm you hadn't experienced in weeks. "Thank you for this. It was perfect."

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. "You deserve it, Y/N. I just want to see you happy and healthy. And I know it's hard right now, but we're going to get through this together. Okay?"

You looked up at him, tears welling up in your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude and love. "Okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you, Kylian. So much."

"I love you too," he replied, holding you even tighter. "Now, are you hungry?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could handle eating. But the massage had genuinely helped, and you felt a glimmer of appetite returning. "A little," you admitted.

Kylian's face lit up with a hopeful smile. "Great! How about a cheese sandwhich? Nice and simple, just the way you like it."

You nodded, feeling a bit more confident. "Sounds good."

He kissed your forehead and stood up, heading to the kitchen. You watched him move with a grace that seemed effortless, and it warmed your heart. The man you loved was doing everything he could to make this easier for you, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude.

As you waited, you let yourself relax further into the couch, savoring the lingering sense of tranquility from the massage. The lavender scent still hung in the air, and you breathed it in deeply, feeling more at peace than you had in days.

Kylian returned shortly with the cheese sandwhich and a small cup of tea. He set it down on the coffee table in front of you and handed you a piece of the sandwhich. "Here you go, trésor."

You took the bread and nibbled on it cautiously. To your relief, the plain taste of cheese and bread was gentle on your stomach, and you managed a few more bites without feeling nauseous. Kylian watched you with a mixture of hope and concern, his eyes never leaving your face.

"This is good," you said softly, giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

He smiled back, the relief evident in his eyes. "I'm glad. You need to eat, even if it's just a little bit at a time."

You finished the toast and sipped on the tea, feeling a little more like yourself. The warmth of the tea spread through your body, soothing you from the inside out. You leaned back against the couch, feeling content in this small moment of normalcy.

Kylian sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You snuggled into his side, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek. It was a simple comfort, but it meant the world to you.

"Thank you for everything," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He kissed the top of your head and held you tighter. "You don't have to thank me, Y/N. I'm just doing what I promised. To love you and take care of you, no matter what."

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. Despite the challenges, despite the sickness and the doubts, you knew you were in this together. And in that moment, wrapped in his embrace, you felt peace beyond comprihension.

The road ahead might be tough, but with Kylian by your side, you knew you could face anything.

-Bianca🌻

Something In The Way You Move

Author’s note: I hope you enjoy reading my first ever one-shot. I got the idea for this after listening to the Ellie Goulding song with the same title. I’m not exactly sure how I would categorise this fanfic, but that’s alright. This is only for fictional purposes only, and please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: bad language, toxic relationship, flirty men at the bar, mentions of bruises, cheating, implied smut, fluff, angst, relationship issues, minors DNI (let me know if I missed anything)

famous!Reader x Jude Bellingham Word count: 8k words

///

‘“Y/N Y/L/N is the most famous woman in football.”’ Winnie dramatically turns towards you, eyes comically wide, her grip firm on the copy of the British Vogue magazine in her grasp. ‘Bestie, did you hear that? According to this article, you’re the most famous woman in football.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, apparently I am.’

‘How are you so calm right now?’

You’re anything but calm, you’ve just mastered the art of concealing your emotions—it’s a skill you developed shortly after meeting Jude. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s the shock, it still hasn’t sunk in yet.’ 

‘It’s definitely the shock, not that I blame you,’ her eyes flit back to the article. ‘This is insane.’

‘In a good way, I hope.’ 

‘Very good way.’ You watch as she takes in the words of the article. ‘Girl, you’re in Vogue. Like, on the cover! They, like, wrote a whole article about you.’

‘God, sometimes I forget how dramatic you can be, Wins.’ 

Her theatrics are what first drew you to her. Never in your life had you come across someone like Winnie, and now you consider her one of your best friends. The two of you met at a fashion show a year ago, and well, the rest is history. . . 

‘Dramatic? How is this dramatic? This is a big deal, Y/N,’ she shuts the magazine, using her fingers as a makeshift bookmark to save her spot, then sits it on her lap. ‘When you told me you were doing a shoot for Vogue, I didn’t think you meant a cover shoot. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

Because the whole thing was surreal, ‘cause I didn’t actually think they’d put me on the cover, the thoughts go through your mind.

‘I guess it slipped my mind,’ you state nonchalantly because that sounds better than the self-deprecating thoughts. 

Your cool exterior makes you seem indifferent about the whole thing, but you truly are flattered and overwhelmed. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on the cover of Vogue, and yet here you are. 

‘“I guess it slipped my mind,”’ she mocks with a hearty laugh. ‘Seriously though, I’m so proud of you. And if we weren’t sitting in this car right now, I’d give you the biggest hug.’ 

‘Thank you, Wins, and I know you would.’

You’re in the back of a black Mercedes Sprinter, there is a Netflix crew with their cameras filming you, and you’re being driven to Wembley Stadium where you will watch your boyfriend’s team play a Champions League final. 

The cameras are there because you’re in the midst of shooting an episode for season one of your yet to be named Netflix reality show. It’s been a month of filming scenes with the crew, but you still feel self-conscious having such intimate conversations with cameras present.

Who’s idea was it to give you a Netflix show anyway?

‘Shall I read it to you, then?’

‘Uh, no. No no no.’  

‘Oh, come on. Why not?’

You squirm in your seat and feel your face heat up, ‘Uh, I don’t know, ‘cause it’s awkward.’

It was a hundred percent your idea to stop at the shops to have yourself filmed buying the magazine, you know, for content for the show, but now it feels so silly, almost like you were bragging or something. To have Winnie read the article to you will only make the embarrassed feeling worse. 

‘Why is it awkward?’

You discreetly point a finger towards the camera. 

‘The cameras?’

‘Shh!’ you want the seats to part and swallow you up. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘But this will make great content for the show.’

‘Oh god.’

Winnie laughs hard, she’s clearly entertained by all that is happening. ‘Are you shy?’

‘You know this about me.’ 

She laughs harder. 

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying this.’ 

Not to be that person, but Winnie doesn’t get it. You can almost predict how the internet at large will react to the footage, should Netflix decide to use it for the show. It’s not beneath the world, namely those wretched online gossip rags, to paint you as some self-involved individual who makes her friends read magazine articles that praise her successes. 

Hell, just this morning you made the mistake of reading the comments of a MailOnline article about your recent night out in Madrid. You had been out for dinner with your manager and his wife, and it was your standard MailOnline article—though they were uncharacteristically nice to you—nothing out of the ordinary, so you felt it was safe to venture into the comments. 

Big mistake, and it’s safe to say that in future, you’ll steer clear of the comments section of anything. 

‘Last chance, are you sure you don’t want me to read it?’

‘I’m begging you not to.’

‘Very well,’ she lifts the magazine back up from her lap, her finger bookmark helping her open to the exact page of the article. ‘I’ll just read it for myself.’

‘Let me know if it’s any good.’

She scoffs, ‘Whatever.’ 

With a wry wink, you blindly reach for your phone that’s seated comfortably on your lap and open the Instagram app to update your story. The hope is that this will distract you from your fretful thoughts. 

Again, on the exterior, you’re as cool as a cucumber, but inside, you’re tightly wound. It sounds like an exaggeration, but so much is counting on Real Madrid winning tonight’s match, so you’re praying for their triumph. 

Will it fix the many issues that riddle your life? No, but a win could mean a less tense Jude, and it could take him out of the foetid mood he’s been in lately.

To be fair, the moodiness is not only exclusive to Jude, but you know.  

‘Gosh, I really hope they win tonight.’

The words slip out your mouth before you can stop them.

‘Huh?’

‘Real Madrid,’ you turn to Winnie, who’s engrossed in the words on the page, ‘I really hope they win tonight.’

She looks up from the magazine, and with a kind smile assures you, ‘Don’t worry, they will.’

She’s so optimistic, so sure, and that’s the attitude you will carry with you through this final.

///

It wasn’t easy, but in the end they came together as a team, and Real Madrid won the Champions League. 

The hours that followed the victory were nothing short of chaotic. First there was the team’s celebration on the field, where they received their trophy and medals. Of all the events of the day,  that’s the bit you hated the most. So much was happening all at once, which overwhelmed you and made you unpleasant, and of course, that led to an argument between you and Jude. 

///

A couple hours earlier. 

‘What the actual fuck is wrong with you?’

And more importantly, what the fuck is wrong with you for still putting up with Jude’s shit? You don’t even know how it got to this point. One minute you were teasing each other and making light conversation on the bed of your hotel suite, and the next you were bickering. But that’s how it is with you and Jude lately, there’s no middle ground. 

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ he challenges. 

‘Yeah, did I stutter? What the fuck is wrong with you?’ you press, refusing to back down. Usually, he can intimidate you into submission with a harsh look and tone, but not tonight. ‘Seriously, Jude, you’re not even fun to be around anymore.’ 

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ he spits back. 

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘As if you don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I did, would I?’ 

The fucking prick, and if it were any other day, you’d tell him that he’s a prick, but that would only prolong the fight, and you both still have to get ready for dinner in an hour. 

‘Why are we even having this argument?’

‘You tell me, you started it,’ he throws the accusation so carelessly. 

‘How is any of this my fault?’

‘You’re so childish all the time,’ he answers without faltering, ‘always acting up in front of a crowd.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Then when I call you out for it, you start hurling insults at me,’ he finishes, a smug expression on his face. 

You hate it when he gets this way, so vindictive and purposeful in his aim to hurt you. ‘You’re such a fucking prick!’

‘Case in point. . .’ 

And you think you might cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you teary over him. 

‘That’s it, I don’t want to go anywhere with you tonight,’ you announce after a stretched silence. 

‘Like hell you’re not.’

Your eyebrows come together in a frown so deep, it’s sure to leave lines in its wake. ‘You can’t force me to go with you.’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop being childish.’

‘How am I being childish?’ With an incredulous scoff, you tell him, ‘You know, there’s something seriously wrong with you. I think that you need to get your head checked.’ 

‘What?’

‘You’re. Insane. There’s something wrong with you, in your head.’ There’s nothing normal about his recent behaviour. ‘If you think I’m going out with you tonight after you’ve disrespected me, you’ve got something–’

‘We’re not doing this shit.’

‘“This shit”? What does that even mean?’

‘I’m not doing this shit with you. What’s this even about?’

‘It’s about you not respecting me.’

‘That’s bullshit, and you know it’s bullshit,’ he responds dismissively. ‘What have I said or done to disrespect you? I only asked why you were frowning on the field.’

‘And I told you that I wasn’t.’

‘You forget that you’re a bad liar.’

‘I am not lying!’ 

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’ he yells right back at you, and his voice is like a whip. 

That’s when the tears spring to your eyes. You know you said you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but it’s all too much. 

‘Oh, don’t cry.’

‘How can I not when you’re being so cruel?’

Jude’s livid now, nostrils flaring livid. You should shut up, but you can’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. It’s like a tap that won’t shut. 

‘And, it’s like,’ sniff, sniff ‘like you enjoy seeing me upset. And I just feel like everything I do sets you off lately, and I don’t know what to do anymore.’ 

The tears are freely falling now, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You want him to feel guilty for the way he spoke to you. 

‘Why do you hate me so much?’

‘Baby, I don’t hate you. How could you even ask that?’

When he reaches out to take your hand, you move it away from him. ‘Don’t.’

‘I’m trying to bridge the gap. I’m trying to comfort you.’

‘I don’t need your comfort,’ you sound so sad, and maybe that’s because you are really sad. 

You can’t believe the current state of your relationship, and you can’t, for the life of you, understand how it got to this point. You and Jude loved each other, you still love each other. . . Well, you still love him, you’re not so sure of his feelings. 

‘And can we drop this, please? I promise I’m not trying to get out of talking about it, but’ sniff ‘just for now, until after dinner.’

/// 

So you both agreed to a temporary truce, but things are still awkward between you. For example, the ride to the restaurant was silent, Jude barely acknowledged you at dinner, and now he’s somewhere in the restaurant socialising, and you’ve been left to your own devices. 

It’s not all bad though, because you’re not completely alone, you have the other WAGs to keep you company. 

‘How’s your cocktail?’

You wish Winnie had come though, she would make it better, more bearable. You tried to beg and bribe, desperate for her to meet you here, but she’s stubborn and she wasn’t in the mood. ‘A night wasted with cunty football WAGs? I don’t think so.’ Her words, not yours. 

‘Good. It’s a bit too sweet for my liking though.’

‘Same,’ Coralie chuckles. 

You’re jonesing for something stronger, a shot of something, but you’re already tipsy after opting out of dinner—your excuse was that you weren’t feeling well—so rather you stick to the sugary beverage. 

The group of you are at some swanky restaurant in Mayfair, and you’re doing your best to be sociable, but it’s hard to do when all you want to do is burst out crying. 

‘How do you plan on celebrating tonight?’

You shrug your shoulders, ‘I thought this was the celebration.’

‘With the team, yes, but how do you plan to celebrate with Jude?’

‘He has to be up early tomorrow morning.’ 

Coralie rolls her eyes.

‘You don’t like that answer?’

‘It’s boring, is all.’ 

And because you don’t know how to respond to that, you take a sip of your cocktail. 

‘You look tired,’ she continues.

You guess she just wants to fill the silence?

More like over it. It turns out, you’re not so great at concealing your emotions. ‘Exhausted. It’s been a long day.’

‘Filming a reality show is exhausting, huh?’ Coralie chaffs. She leans in towards you, probably to prevent someone from eavesdropping on your conversation. ‘I need all the details.’

Coralie’s sudden shift in topic catches you off guard. This whole exchange is not really going the way you want it to go, but you’re playing along because you really don’t want to sit alone. 

‘Uh, the details?’

‘All of it.’ 

Unlike everyone else at this table, Coralie isn’t a WAG. She’s employed by the team, and her job’s to be sort of an assistant to the players. When you moved to Spain at the start of the season, Coralie was actually one of the first people you were introduced to, and she was instrumental in helping you and Jude find your apartment. 

 ‘Where to start?’ When you draw a blank, you inquire, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Hm, how did the opportunity come about?’ she turns in her seat so she’s fully facing you now. ‘How long have you been filming? What is the show about? I want to know it all.’ 

The reality show is the last thing you want to be talking about, but fuck it. You’ve been internally spiralling all night thinking about your fight with Jude, and this will give you something else to focus on for a bit. Without giving too much away, you skim over your agreement with the streaming platform, how they approached you with the offer, and the basic premise of the show. 

‘And it’s not weird for you to have the cameras following you around?’

‘I mean’ you finish the remainder of your cocktail and place the glass back onto the table ‘it’s not like we’re filming every day. There’s, like, a schedule.’

‘And how does that work?’

You do your best to explain the schedule and how it’s set up, but you’re past the point of tipsy, slightly over it, and quite frankly, you want the conversation to be over. 

Truth be told, you still can’t believe that someone at Netflix looked at you and your life and thought you were interesting enough to give a reality show to. Not that you’re complaining, the exposure and paycheque totally make it worth it. 

‘And how does Jude feel about it?’

Coralie’s question comes as no surprise. She’s got this little crush on Jude, but it’s harmless, endearing even. 

‘I don’t know.’

‘He doesn’t talk about it?’

‘I mean, we have talked about it, just not in great detail.’ You can hear the defensiveness in your tone. ‘We don’t talk much about work.’

‘But this affects him,’ she presses on, clearly not satisfied with your response. ‘Or will he not be on the show?’ 

‘He will be.’

You’re not entirely sure where she’s going with these questions.

‘He just doesn’t have an opinion on it?’

‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.’

Of course this is a lie. After your manager had reached out to you about the offer, Jude was the first person you called because you value his opinion. 

You weren’t sure you could commit to filming six episodes for the season, and you felt like having the crew and cameras around would feel like an invasion of your personal space. 

Jude felt differently and was encouraging.

‘This could be good for your career,’ he had advised. 

He’s even filmed some scenes for the show. 

‘So you’re like Kim Kardashian now,’ Coralie teases. 

‘Jude said the same thing,’ you smile at the memory. 

‘Well, I’ve got an idea for the finale.’

You cock your head to one side, ‘You do?’ 

She nods, a wide smile taking over her beautiful face, ‘I do. Picture this: you’re on vacation, I’ll let you pick the location, and Jude proposes to you.’ 

Oh you’re not drunk enough for this. And the crazy part is that she seems so delighted with herself—proud even. 

‘What do you think?’

‘No.’ 

‘What? Why?’ 

‘No, absolutely not.’ You feel yourself getting worked up. You’re so moody these days, and it’s not hormonal.

‘At least think about it.’

‘Coralie, no.’ 

‘Okay, okay.’ And you think she might drop it, but she continues to ask, ‘Which part don’t you like?’

All of it. In fact, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore. But you don’t want to be impolite, so you force a smile as you tell her, ‘Right now, marriage isn’t on the cards for us.’

With her hands held up defensively, Coralie clarifies, ‘It was just a suggestion.’

‘And I appreciate it.’ 

Well, this is a shitfest. Winnie, Winnie, Winnie, you think, I should’ve pushed harder. 

There’s no use in dwelling on the fact, and there’s no use in staying at this table. But if you leave abruptly, Coralie might take it the wrong way. 

‘I need a refill, want to come?’

She points to her still full cocktail glass, ‘I’m still good.’

‘Okie-dokie,’ you raise off of your chair. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

Coralie’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, it seems the annoyance is mutual. You just wish the night was over and you were back at the suite. Part of you wishes you’d bump into Jude, not because you have anything to say to him, but you sort of miss his face. 

‘Get a grip,’ you mumble to yourself as you manoeuvre through the tables. 

You’re miserable, more than usual, and it’s affecting the way you’re interacting with people. Already Coralie thinks you’re a bitch. She didn’t say anything to you, but she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. And on a different day, the guilt would gnaw at you, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to care. 

‘A vodka tonic, please.’

At least your manners are still intact. 

‘More vodka than tonic.’ 

So you’ll drink in hopes that it will help the time pass quicker, and maybe if he sees your tragic state, Jude might let you go back to the hotel. After tearing into you, of course. 

As if the sadistic fuck would let me leave. 

Knowing Jude, he’d force you to stay but he’d be pissed at the fact that you weren’t on your best behaviour. 

The last time, he called you ‘inconsiderate’. And maybe it’s true, maybe you are ‘inconsiderate’, but he’s no better. Hell, he’s worse, but you can never tell him that. In his heart and in his mind, he is a saint—you just bring out the worst in him. 

‘Thanks.’ 

The tumbler is cold in your hand as you raise it to take the first sip. You wince at the bitter taste of vodka, but it’s just what you need, and you feel some of the tension leave your body. You think you might stay here a while. 

It’s peaceful at the bar. There’s no Coralie and her unsolicited suggestions, there’s no sulking Jude. . . though you’d much rather have him sulking at you than the cold shoulder, at least then he’s showing some emotion. 

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

But then there are the men who think it’s okay to approach you. 

‘I’m John, by the way.’ 

John flashes you a bright smile, and you can’t help but notice his super white and super perfect set of teeth. 

‘John, cool.’

‘And you are?’

Bored. Annoyed. Over this interaction. ‘Do I have to tell you?’

‘It’d be nice, yes.’ He then looks at you, really looks at you, then very thoughtfully, he says, ‘You know, you look familiar.’ 

‘I do?’

‘Yeah, I feel like I know you. . . or I’ve seen you somewhere.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘No, I think I do,’ he waves for the barman’s attention. ‘I think you’re famous.’

‘Well, you’re wrong.’ 

When the barman comes over, John orders himself a scotch. ‘You know, you still haven’t told me your name.’ 

And so, despite your better judgement, you tell him which sparks a conversation. Of course, he’s a ‘finance bro’—his overconfidence is a dead giveaway—and he’s at the restaurant for his uni pal’s bachelor party. There’s a group of them. 

Without being too obvious, your eyes look down at his left hand, which is conveniently hidden away. Your guess is that John’s got a wife at home, and he’s been allowed out for the night, begrudgingly, of course, so he’s trying his luck with you. 

‘Well, since it’s a bachelor party, shouldn’t you be at a gentlemen’s club?’

He shakes his head, ‘Isaac’s not into that.’

‘Isaac is the groom, then?’

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Well, I’m sure Isaac and your friends are missing you, John,’ you raise your glass to your lips. ‘But thanks for the chat.’ 

Your dismissive tone only spurs him on, you literally see his eyes light up. Clearly, he sees you as a challenge, something to conquer. ‘How about you? Are you here alone, with friends?’

You polish off the remainder of your drink, ‘Something like that.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘Well, I–’ Your body tenses when you feel a strong arm snake around your waist, but it immediately relaxes when you smell the all too familiar scent of Jude’s cologne. 

‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ he says, strategically wedging himself between you and John, his back turned to him. ‘Hi.’

Jude leans over to take your lips in a deep kiss, you know, the kind that you feel deep in your core. God, you love this man.

‘Hi.’ 

You don’t have to force a smile, because you’re genuinely pleased to see him, and at first you can’t read his expression as his perfect brown eyes search your own, but then he smiles, really smiles, which causes you to relax. 

‘Vodka tonic?’ you offer.

‘No,’ he leans over to kiss you again, this time it’s on your forehead. ‘Is that what you’re having?’

‘Yeah,’ you raise a hand to wave the barman over. 

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ordering myself another drink.’

‘No, you’re not.’ 

The tone of his voice is one you know all too well. You know not to push him, you don’t want to push him, ‘cause things between you are actually good.

‘I’m not?’ your tone is teasing.

‘No, you’re not. Come.’ 

Before you can question where he’s taking you, he leads you away from the bar, and you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye to John. 

‘Jude, that’s rude,’ you tell him, suppressing the urge to smile. ‘And where are you taking me?’

‘Back to the hotel.’

Finally, ‘The hotel?’ 

‘Yeah, we’ve had enough socialising for the night.’ 

///

You release a content sigh. ‘You know,’ you start nonchalantly as you leisurely stretch your limbs and flex your toes, ‘I should flirt with random guys at the bar more often.’

Keeping your hands off of each other on the car ride back to the hotel proved quite the struggle. Jude’s earlier possessiveness had you putty in his hands, and his actions, paired with the alcohol in your system, had you ready to jump his bones. 

‘Don’t you dare,’ he playfully admonishes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘I might be inclined to, I like it when you get like that.’

‘Like how?’

‘Possessive and all that,’ your heart swells with pride at the memory of Jude moving you away from John.

‘Oh god.’

You burst into fits of obnoxious giggles when he buries his face in the crook of your neck and starts kissing the area. 

You and Jude had managed to behave yourself in the car and on the elevator ride up to your floor, but the moment you stepped into your suite, he took your wrist into his large hand and tugged you into him. Without a word, he pushed you up against the wall of the dark entrance hall, and took your lips in an impassioned kiss. 

‘Jude, stop!’ you screech. 

‘Promise you won’t flirt with random men.’

‘No!’ 

The kisses intensify, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. 

‘I swear I’ll scream,’ you actually can’t breathe, and your stomach hurts like you’ve been doing crunches. ‘Babe, please!’

‘Promise me.’

‘Okay, okay! I promise,’ you relent. 

And so he stops. 

‘If we get a noise complaint. . .’ 

‘Who cares?’ Jude rolls back to his previous position on the bed, his back pressed against the mattress, his toned torso exposed. 

Instinctively, you follow him, curling into his side, craving the connection. ‘You don’t care?’

He shakes his head, ‘No, do you?’

‘I guess I don’t.’ All you care about is the fact that things between you and Jude are good again, and all is right in your world. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘You are?’

‘Ravenous.’ On cue, your stomach starts to grumble. ‘I’m thinking of having a burger and–’

‘What’s this?’ Jude’s hand moves down to your left hip bone, and his index finger lightly traces over the bruise that’s starting to form. ‘You’re hurt.’

The forming bruise is the result of you being pressed against the entry table as Jude fucked you. 

‘Oh that?’ you weave your fingers with his to stop their tracing motion. ‘Don’t worry about that, I honestly don’t mind it.’ But when his eyes remain fixed on the spot, you insist, ‘Babe, please don’t make a big deal of it. It was good.’

Like, really good. So good, Jude had to put his hand over your mouth just to stop the wanton moans that were spilling profusely from your lips. 

The heat creeps to your cheeks at the very welcomed memory. ‘And by the way, don’t act like you’re not pleased with yourself.’

He doesn’t try to deny it, he simply laughs. 

‘Exactly,’ you rest your head on his chest and focus on the calming steady beat of his heart. You wish you could stay like this with him forever, and abandon all your responsibilities.

‘I love you.’

Jude’s admission catches you off guard. It’s not his first time saying those words to you, he’s said them countless times in the past, but there’s something about the way he says them now. . . it’s so heartfelt. 

‘And look, I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months,’ he continues before you can say anything, ‘but starting tonight, I promise to be better.’

His words, so vulnerable and pure, leave you stunned.

You blink away the tears that are starting to collect in your eyes, ‘Jude. . .’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

You drape your arm over his torso, and release a shaky breath. ‘I love you too.’

There’s so much you want to add to that, but you don’t trust yourself to not break down in tears. Recently, your relationship has been put through the wringer, and you admit that you’ve still got a long way to go in terms of repairing it, but this moment is proof that it’s still salvageable. 

After a long and comfortable silence, Jude asks, ‘You still hungry?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Here,’ he hands you the in-room dining menu.

You thank him and start scanning the menu’s offerings. ‘The skinny fries sound good.’

‘I thought you said you were ravenous.’

‘Hold on, I’m not done.’ 

Five minutes later, your main and a side with dessert, were on their way. 

‘And now we shower.’ 

You let out an obnoxious groan. 

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to move from here.’

Jude laughs, ‘Sure you do. Come on, Lazybum.’

‘Lazybum?’

He laughs some more. ‘Yeah, Lazybum. Let’s go.’

Nothing against the shower or anything, but you’re worn out and are too hungry to move. ‘Five more minutes.’

‘No, let’s go.’

You raise your head off his chest, and your eyes lock with his, ‘I can’t persuade you to stay in bed longer?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Oh, babe,’ you whine, and move to straddle him. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘I’m no fun? What do you mean I’m no. . .’ The words sort of fade from his lips when you start writhing against  him, the only thing separating you is the bedsheet.  ‘Stop that.’

‘Stop what?’ you feign innocence, your hip gyrations not ceasing. 

‘What you’re doing right now,’ his hands move to your hips to stop their subtle winding motion. ‘It’s distracting.’

You sigh. 

‘And stop pouting.’

‘Make me.’ 

Jude’s eyes light up at your testy attitude. Then he sits up, and with his hands on either side of your face, he pulls you in for a peck. ‘Behave.’ 

‘Yeah, but babe, I–’

‘Hey,’ swiftly and smoothly, his hand grabs a hold of your wrist and starts massaging the spot just past your palm, and he maintains eye contact when he tells you, ‘We’ll shower, then we can lay in bed after.’

‘Okay.’ 

‘Okay?’

You nod, ‘Yeah, okay.’

Your cooperation earns you a second peck.

‘But babe, can we watch a movie after? My choice.’

Despite having to be up early tomorrow to fly back to Madrid, Jude agrees. A post-midnight dinner with a movie and cuddles from Jude, you like the sound of that. You can’t help but stare at Jude’s pert ass when he gets out of the bed—the guy’s got a hot body. 

‘You like what you see?’

You flush, but make no effort to turn away. If he’s going to give you a show, who are you to look away? ‘Shut up.’ 

‘Pervert.’

‘You’re the one slutting yourself out.’

‘Whatever.’

Then with a final kiss, Jude disappears into the bathroom. Some moments pass, and then you hear the shower water run.

You’re scrolling through Netflix’s romance category when you’re interrupted by the incessant buzzing of a phone. Your initial thought is that it’s your manager—who never seems to sleep—calling about a new work opportunity, but when you grab the vibrating device, you discover that it’s Jude’s phone and not yours. And it’s Coralie calling him. 

You think nothing of the fact that she’s calling Jude at such a late hour. It’s probably something work related that can’t wait till morning, and you’re about to answer the call when the vibrating abruptly stops. That’s when you see the text notification displayed on Jude’s lock screen:

Coralie: I’m drunk and I miss you, call me

Heh? 

Your heart starts hammering against your ribcage and a sick feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. 

What? 

The room starts to spin as you struggle to breathe, and you think you might collapse onto the bed.

Is he. . . Surely he’s not cheating on you. With Coralie? 

‘Babe?’ Jude's voice calls from the bathroom, startling you and causing you to almost drop his phone. 

‘I’m coming,’ you absentmindedly respond back. 

‘Hurry.’ 

The cheek, you think as you punch in his phone’s password. 

The phone unlocks and you think what an idiot he must be—a smart cheater would change the password. 

‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.’

You have a very limited time window, so you’ve got to move quickly. The adrenaline rush makes your fingers fumbley and shaky, but you somehow manage to open the WhatsApp app. Coralie’s chat is right at the top ‘cause she was the last one to text him.

If you had more time, you’d peruse through his other contacts to see if he’s texting other girls. 

‘Here goes nothing,’ you tell yourself.

Then with a deep inhale through your nose, you psych yourself up one last time for what’s to come when you open the chat, and then you open it.

Before the bit about being drunk and missing Jude—drunk texts? How corny—Coralie had sent another lengthy text complimenting the way he looked at dinner tonight, and explicitly told him what she wanted to do to him in the restaurant’s loo. 

The fucking bitch! 

How dare she? How dare she act friendly with you knowing very well that she was sending dirty texts to your boyfriend behind your back? And the worst part is that you believed the friendly act, believed that she had good intentions.

Rah! 

But there’s no time to get hung up on that, there’s plenty of time to do that later. Moving quickly, you scroll up the chat and stop at a random spot. 

Jude: Y/N’s in Paris, come over?

You recognise the date to be earlier in the year, when you were in Paris for fittings and shoots. He’d called you really late that night, and he’d told you that he loved and missed you, and that he wished you were at the apartment with him. Basically, he’d lied to you because Coralie was warming his bed that night.

Fuck them both! 

The text thread carries on in a similar fashion: Coralie texts Jude saying that she misses him, he texts her when you’re out of town, and sometimes, on special occasions, she’d send a dirty pic. Or if she’s feeling particularly giving, a video. 

Fuck. 

You angrily toss the phone to one side, and try to contemplate your next move, but your mind is all over the place, and you can barely formulate a cohesive thought. 

What now? 

‘I got tired of waiting for you, and got out.’

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the shower water shut.

‘Hm?’

‘In the shower, I waited for you.’

You don’t like the way Jude says that statement, the accusation in his tone. 

‘I’m. . .’ what is it that you’re trying to say? ‘Oh.’ 

‘Are you okay?’

Far from it, actually. ‘Hey, are you. . .’ you pause to think about how you want to phrase the question. ‘Are you cheating on me?’

He didn’t expect you to ask him that question, and he seems taken aback by it—shaken even. ‘What?’

But he doesn’t deny it.

‘Are you cheating on me?’ you repeat, enunciating every word. ‘With Coralie. Are you cheating on me with Coralie?’

You watch as his world slowly unravels, and you can see the invisible wheels turning in his head as he cooks up a lie.

‘Well, are you?’

‘What, cheating? What are you on about?’

‘About the messages on your fucking phone, Jude,’ you grab the phone from the bed and throw it at him. It hits his leg and then lands on the floor, right before his feet. The sound it makes leads you to think you might’ve broken it. ‘I’m talking about the fuck dates when I’m out of town, the nudes and videos she sends you. I saw it all.’

‘You went through my fucking phone?’

‘That’s all you have to say? “You went through my fucking phone?”’ you mimic the way he posed that very stupid question. ‘Give me a fucking break, Jude. Yeah, I went through your phone, but you’re deflecting.’

‘I’m not deflecting.’

‘Yeah, you are!’ 

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’

‘Are. You. Cheating?’

It’s insulting at this point. You’d much rather have him lie to you, it would send you over the edge, but this? He keeps deflecting, there’s no flattery, no lame excuses. . . His blatant lack of effort hurts more than the actual cheating, it’s like he doesn’t even care to save your relationship. 

‘Y/N, I’m just trying to de-escalate the situation.’ 

‘De-escalate what, exactly? Jude, I don’t need you to de-escalate anything, what I need from you is the fucking truth!’ And if you could scream at the top of your lungs with no repercussions, you would. ‘When did it start?’

‘When did what start?’

‘Your affair.’ 

‘It’s not an affair.’

As if that fucking matters. ‘You keep deflecting!’

‘I’m not!’ he fiercely defends. ‘I just want you to calm down, okay? I just want us to have a normal conversation.’

‘Well, for me to be calm, you’d need to answer my question.’ When a tear escapes from your eye, you quickly swipe it away with the back of your hand. ‘I mean, I know things have been bad between us’ another tear, another swipe ‘lately, but I can’t believe you’d cheat on me.’

And with Coralie, of all people. 

Jude sighs, and you can’t place his emotion. It’s kind of hard to place when he’s saying absolutely nothing. 

‘Are you just going to stand there?’ 

‘What? Now you’ve got a problem with me standing?’

‘You know that’s not what I mean.’ This is exhausting, he is exhausting. ‘You’re just standing there saying nothing.’

‘You’re not allowing me to speak.’

‘You’re not really saying much, are you? “Calm down” is not going to cut it.’ 

‘Well, you keep jumping down my throat.’

‘Blame shifting? Really?’ You sigh, ‘How do you expect me to be calm when you keep shifting the blame and upsetting me?’

‘This is pointless.’ Jude walks over to the bed and takes his seat at the end of it, his muscular back turned to you, head in his hands. ‘You do this every fucking time.’

The words come out muffled.

‘Do what?’

‘Act irrational. It makes it hard to talk to you.’

So according to Jude, voicing your opinions and concerns makes you ‘inconsiderate’ and ‘irrational’.

‘I’m irrational all the time?’

‘Yes.’ After a frustratingly long silence, he lifts his head from his hands and turns to regard you. ‘Look, Y/N, I’m not going to say I’m sorry, ‘cause I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear.’ 

‘So you’re not sorry?’

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’ He huffs, ‘I thought it was my turn to speak.’

So you bite your tongue and allow him the space to state his case. 

‘Coralie was. . . a mistake,’ he starts once he’s sure you won’t kick off again. ‘A big mistake and something I regret, and if I could take it all back, I would. There’s no excuse for what I did, and my actions are unforgivable, but baby, I meant what I said earlier when I said I loved you and want to do right by you.’ 

I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months, he’d told you, but starting tonight, I promise to be better.

The revelation of Jude’s affair gives his words a whole new meaning. And to think that for the longest time, you believed that you were the issue in your relationship, that your career picking up and you constantly having to be out of the city was the root of your issues. 

‘We were fighting all the time.’

‘I know.’ 

‘And when I’d take the blame, you’d let me.’

‘And I’m so sorry. I really am so sorry.’ Jude reaches a hand out to you, and you don’t push it away, you let him take your hand into his. ‘It’s something I regret every day.’ 

After a long silence, you have to ask, ‘How did it even start?’

‘Babe, please don’t–’

‘No, I want to know,’ you cut him off. 

He’s apprehensive, but to avoid another argument, he tells you how six months ago, so in December, when you were out of town after a big argument between you, Coralie had come to the apartment to help him with something. For whatever reason, they started drinking wine, and one thing quickly led to another, and the next thing he knew, they were fucking. 

He insists that he felt awful after the act, but that the affair continued because he ‘honestly didn’t have the balls to end it,’ and he feared that Coralie, the woman scorned, would run to tell you about it.

‘And then it sort of got out of hand,’ he continues. ‘Whenever we’d fight or I’d be frustrated with something at work, I’d turn to Coralie.’

‘Why?’

‘‘Cause a lot of the time, you weren’t there.’

So your budding career was part of the issue, your lack of availability led him to turn to Coralie for comfort. 

‘You don’t have a functioning hand?’

With a wry smile, he responds, ‘It’s not the same, and you know it.’

You don’t find the humour in what he’s just said.

‘Too soon?’

‘Way too soon.’

‘Sorry,’ he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit. ‘It wasn’t just the sex, it was the connection.’

‘Connection?’ you pull your hand from his. ‘You act like I’m never home.’

‘Y/N, be honest.’

‘About what?’ You feel yourself getting worked up all over again, ‘Jude, if you’re going to accuse me, at least make it make sense. I make it a point to not be gone for more than three days in a week.’

‘I know, but–’

‘And don’t act like you’re not the one always encouraging me to take all these jobs across the world.’ 

And if you really think about it, in the last six months, he’d been more encouraging than ever of your career. 

‘So don’t give me that connection crap,’ you conclude.

‘Why is your voice raising again?’

‘‘Cause you’re really pissing me off, and you’re shifting all the blame to me.’ 

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are!’ tears spring back into your eyes. ‘Just admit that you’re a cheater, and that you lack self-control, and that you’re unprofessional, sleeping with the team’s assistant.’ 

‘Fucking hell. . .’

‘It’s not fair that you’re making this all my fault, and I’m not going to stand around for it.’ 

‘Y/N–’

‘No, Jude!’ 

You’re suddenly interrupted by a light knock sounding at the door. When Jude gets up to fetch your food, you slide off of the bed to take the hotel robe to cover yourself with. You hear him thank the person at the door as you crawl back onto the bed, and moments later, he comes back into the room pushing the room service trolley. 

‘Where do you want me to put this?’

‘I’m not hungry anymore.’ 

Jude doesn’t respond to that, he simply abandons the cart and joins you at the bed, closing the distance between you.

‘Don’t.’

‘“Don’t” what?’

‘Sit close to me.’

‘I’m not touching you.’

‘I know but. . .’ 

How do you tell him that sitting in such close proximity to him clouds your judgement and makes it hard for you to be mad at him? 

‘You know, I could always tell she had a thing for you,’ you sigh as you turn away from him, thinking of all the times Coralie had shown interest in Jude. ‘I always just dismissed it as a harmless crush.’

He doesn’t say anything, but then again, what is there to say? 

‘And, like, tonight, she kept asking me about you.’ In fact, she was very pushy in her inquisition. ‘So curious about the details of our relationship. Our sex life. She used the word boring to describe it.’

‘I swear she means nothing to me.’

‘Does she know that? Does she know she means nothing to you?’ 

‘Yes, of course she does.’

‘I doubt it.’ You turn back to Jude. ‘How are you going to end this?’

‘I don’t know.’ 

‘You don’t know?’

‘Yeah, I don’t.’

This is all a mess. All of it is a big, stinky mess and a scandal like this could be detrimental to both your careers should it come out. 

‘Y/N, I’m really sorry and I regret it.’ There is sincerity in his voice, in his eyes. ‘And if you leave me, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘What’s not true?’

‘That I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.’

If it was true, he wouldn’t have cheated on you with the team’s assistant. 

‘It is though.’

‘Whatever,’ you allow yourself to fall back onto the bed, and with a soft grunt, you say, ‘Well, this is a mess.’ 

‘A big one,’ Jude lies down next to you, and weaves his fingers with yours. 

‘I’m so mad at you.’

‘I know.’

‘In fact, I think I hate you.’ 

His grip on your hand tightens, and you think it might be a pained reflex. ‘I know.’ 

‘And I don’t know if I could ever move on from this.’

‘Please try to.’

You turn your head so that the two of you are lying face to face. ‘So what now?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. 

And you’re right there with him. You can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm. You wouldn’t put it past Coralie to run to the tabloids to share the story of her affair with Jude just for her 15 minutes of fame. 

But it hurts your head to think about that. 

‘I’m tired.’

‘Me too.’ And on cue, Jude yawns obnoxiously loudly. ‘We should sleep.’

‘Yeah.’ 

So you get under the covers, and try to pretend that your entire world isn’t falling apart. You close your eyes and try to force yourself to sleep, but there’s so much going on in your mind. 

Tomorrow is a new day, and who knows what it will bring you? Jude says he’s sorry, and maybe you’re an idiot, but you actually believe him. And as for Coralie? Well, that’s a subject for another day. 

///

‘I guess I’ll see you when you get back to Madrid.’

It’s the morning after, and when you went to bed last night, you weren’t sure what to expect of your morning exchange, but this isn’t it. Things are somewhat awkward between you, but you’re also being cordial and some version of normal in your interactions, which is nice. 

 ‘Yeah, I guess so.’ 

This morning, Jude joined you for an early breakfast in your suite. During the breakfast, you mostly talked about possible vacation spots for the summer, and revised the previous day’s events. With all the arguments happening, you didn’t really get to celebrate the fact that Jude had won his first UCL. 

‘Are you filming today?’

And now he’s standing across from you, dressed and ready to join the rest of the team down at the hotel’s lobby for their flight back to Madrid. 

‘Yeah, but only later.’ You smile, ‘I can’t believe I agreed to this.’

Jude laughs. ‘My very own Kim Kardashian.’

‘You know me,’ you tease. 

There’s actually something you want to tell him, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to. 

‘Is everything okay?’

His simple question is a reminder that you can never truly hide things from him, he’s just so good at reading you. 

‘I’m all good,’ you assure him. ‘I’m just going to miss you, is all.’

He flashes you a bright smile. ‘It’s only a few hours.’ 

‘I know.’ You walk into him, right into his tall and strong frame, and wrap your arms around his muscular torso. ‘I’m, like, really going to miss you.’

‘Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me right now.’

You chuckle. ‘I’m not. I promise you I’m not.’

‘Okay,’ he presses a kiss to the top of your head. ‘Okay.’ 

You don’t immediately release him, you’re not ready to, but he’s got to go—duty calls. 

‘Text me when you land.’

‘Yeah.’ 

With a kiss to the lips, and an ‘I love you’ murmured against them, he’s gone. 

///

An hour later.

The timer you have set starts going off. 

Your heart is hammering against your chest as you reach for the Clearblue home pregnancy test. After Jude had left, you had called the hotel’s front desk to request a pregnancy test, if they had one. Within 15 minutes, there was a woman at your door to deliver it. 

With a shaking hand, you reach for the plastic stick. 

‘Holy fucking. . .’ 

You can’t believe your eyes. 

‘I’m pregnant.’ 

///

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Hey can you write one where the reader has a crush on Mason, but he says he only sees her as a friend, and that he has a crush on the reader's friend. But after y/n moves away from him, he realizes that he was always in love with her too. Please, with a happy ending!!!!

confessing love | mason mount

warnings: fluff, a bit of angst maybe? word count: 3767 notes: I LOVED THIS ONE!! remembering that english is not my first language, this has not been revised!!! i hope you like it :) masterlist | requests are open!

Y/N's camera lens traveled around the pitch during Manchester United's training sessions. And she loved her work as a visual media creator for the club's social networks. Combining her passion for football with her passion for photography was perfect. She was living a long-planned dream. Y/N was trying to get the best angles of the training session led by coach Ten Hag. She laughed a little when she saw Rashford and Casemiro play with the ball through the camera lens. He captured good moments of the two of them until she looked for her next target. That's when her lens passed Mason Mount. Y/N always liked to take pictures of Mason last because when her camera found him, it was hard to take the focus off him. She followed him all over the pitch, looking at him through her hyperfocus lens and taking more photos of him than of any other player. Of course, she knew it was a bit unprofessional, but no one needed to know, since she was the only one operating that camera and on the website and social media, all the players received the same publicity. The ones that remained, she kept in her personal collection.

Mason was running around the pitch, until he received a ball from Shaw, which he took on his chest and sent into the back of the net. Y/N made a point of capturing every moment as he celebrated by smiling, messing with his hair in a cute way and every bit of how his body reacted and the expressions on his face. Until he looked directly at her and realized that the camera was pointing at him. Mason began to make faces that made Y/N laugh as she recorded everything, without missing a beat. The truth was that Y/N was very friendly with all the players, they were nice and good company for going out and doing something fun, and nothing was more than friendship, but she had to admit that she had developed a special bond with Mason. She knew that with him, she didn't just want friendship, it was much more than that. But she felt too cowardly to admit it to him. He came running towards her, and she lowered the camera, finally taking the focus off him. She didn't need a camera to observe Mason Mount when she had him so close. "Too much work today, Y/N?"

"I'm always very busy, Mase." Y/N wiping the camera lens. Ever since she'd discovered her crush on Mason, she'd been a bit awkward around him because she found it hard to look at him and talk to him without looking like a lovesick idiot. A shiver ran through her body when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed with his other hand. "You need a break to relax, you work too much." Y/N was going to ask him what his ideas were for her to relax, but she wasn't so bold. "Today is Maya's birthday." Maya worked in PR at United and was one of her best friends at the club. Working with her was amazing. They always went out together whenever they could. "Oh, I know, she invited me." Mason smiled in a different way, which made a thousand butterflies fly around in Y/N's stomach. "So, I'll see you tonight, right?" She hugged the camera, too nervous to answer and stuttering Y/N just shook her head up and down. Mason left a kiss on her cheek and pulled away when Ten Hag called out to him. Y/N stood there watching Mason walk away for God knows how long, that kiss on the cheek was capable of melting her entire system. She was so caught up that she didn't even notice when Marcus approached.

She could say that Marcus was one of her best friends. He was the first person she had been close to since she started working at the club. She felt she could count on him for anything. "When are you going to tell him?" "What a fright, Rash!" She looked at him unconcerned. "You need to stop this!" "And you need to stop running away from my questions, Y/N." "I don't know what you're talking about…" "Come on, you don't lie to me. You've got a thing for Mase." They both watched Mason from afar. She looked at her friend and rolled her eyes. "How do you know that?" "I know you, honey." He laughed, pinching her nose. "Do you think I don't notice how you spend hours and hours stalking him with that camera?" "Yeah, I have a crush on him, so what?" "So you're really going to leave without exposing your feelings?" Marcus raised an eyebrow and Y/N bit her lip. A few weeks ago, she had received an offer to become a Real Madrid staffer. Moving to Spain wasn't in her plans, but the offer was too good to turn down. Her photos had been successful, and she was getting recognized for her talent, but she still didn't know if she would actually accept. She loved Manchester, she loved United, and she loved the players with whom she was already familiar. To change would be to leave that behind. Leaving Mason behind.

"I haven't decided yet. It's a good opportunity, of course, but…" "I bet having Mason would make you say no to the proposal." "Rash, you don't know what you're talking about." "I'm just suggesting it. I'm going to miss you, and I'd rather you didn't go, but I understand, and I'm advising you, if you go, go without this weight on your back." Rashford winked at her and turned back to the pitch. Y/N took one last look at the two of them before heading to the administration building, she needed to edit those photos and publish them. She knew she had a big decision to make, wondering if her friend Marcus was right. Would Mason be a good reason to make her stay in England?

Later, Y/N was at home getting ready for Maya's party when she received a message from Mason:

mase: do u want me to come and pick u up?

The truth was that Y/N didn't need a ride, but Mason's invitation was impossible to refuse. The minutes she spent in his car in the passenger seat, watching his profile drive through the streets of Manchester, were almost magical. So she quickly replied that yes, she wanted his ride. What she really meant was that she wanted his company at every moment of her life. She finished getting ready in an hour, which was about the time Mason pulled up in front of her house. In the car he seemed very excited about Maya's birthday party and for some reason that was giving Y/N confidence. Maybe Marcus was right, and she should get those feelings out soon before they suffocated her. Maya's birthday was taking place in a fancy hotel and Y/N was enjoying it with her friends, her Manchester United friends and, of course, Mason. He was great company at parties, always daring her to knock back shots of booze or asking her to dance. On the one hand, Y/N loved him, but on the other she felt sad. Every touch he made on her waist or anywhere on her body sent shivers down her spine, and when he looked at her smiling and fiddled with her hair without taking his eyes off her?

She couldn't resist. But the worst part was seeing other girls flirting with Mason when he was with her, and not being able to do anything about it, since Mase wasn't someone she could call her own. So she decided to hide in the bathroom for a while. What was supposed to be five minutes turned into almost thirty, and she decided to go out and look for Marcus. She needed her friend more than anything at that moment, but instead of finding him, she bumped into Mason, who looked five times more altered than the last time she'd seen him. "Mase?" "Y/N! You're gooone!" He said in that slurred, shuffling voice. "What happened to you, Mase? I leave you for a few minutes, and you decide to drink the whole bar?" He moved his mouth laughingly, and she supported him with her shoulders, helping him to walk. Mason in that state meant it was time to go home. She knew the friend she had. "Where are you taking me?"

"To your house." "I'm usually the one who takes the girls there." "Funny." She laughed and pulled him away. They arrived in the parking lot and Y/N guided Mason to where he had parked his thousand-euro car. "The key." She held out her hand, and Mason slipped his hand into the front pocket of his pants without complaint and handed it to her. He wouldn't let just anyone drive his car, but in that state he either obeyed Y/N or he obeyed Y/N. "There. Here we are. You can get to your room on your own, can't you?" she said from outside, in front of Mason's door, who didn't look very well, but well enough to get into his own house. He looked at her worriedly. "How are you going home?" "I'll manage, Mase. I can order an Uber." She shrugged, wanting to get out of there. "Not at all. You can sleep here. I'll drop you home in the morning." He suggested, taking her by the hand and leading her into his house, but Y/N didn't move, letting go of her hand. Mason seemed somewhat loving, but she needed to remind herself that whatever he was doing at that moment, he wasn't in his most sober state. Alcohol could easily manipulate his actions, and she didn't know what was real. "I'm not sleeping at your place."

"Why not?" He frowned at the refusal. Normally, Y/N never said no to him. "You've slept here before." "There were other people along." She said quietly. It was those parties that got a bit out of hand and went on until late, and everyone thought it was safer to spend the night than to drive drunk. "And what's wrong with not having other people?" He asked, moving closer. So close that Y/N could have sworn she felt something in her body fail. It could have been her heartbeat or her breathing. She gave a half-smile, refusing to answer that question. There were all the problems in the world spending the night with a guy she couldn't call her own. It was too much of a disservice to her poor heart. "You look strange." He pointed out, looking right into her eyes. "You were weird the whole party." "I wasn't."

"I know you, Y/N. Yes, you were." Mason took another step forward, holding one of her shoulders. "You don't want to tell me why?" Y/N analyzed for a few seconds, hating that moment. She knew Mason wouldn't stop until he got an answer out of her and that's when she thought of the response she'd gotten from Rashford that morning. So she took a deep breath, making one of the two decisions she needed to make at that point in her life. "This is going to sound really stupid…" "You can tell me anything." "Look…" She looked away, but Mason held her face and his touch felt so good, it brought the best feeling in the world to her heart. "I'll say it straight away, okay?" He warned and Mason nodded, interested. Y/N took one last breath and quickly poured the words over him. "I like you, that's all. I know we're friends and that I shouldn't like you, but I do and I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. I like you. Holy shit! I didn't want to like you, but I do, so what am I going to do? Hell! It's not my fault, I'm not in charge of my heart. Mase, I can't be around you without my heart leaping three hundred times and I need to know what you're thinking right now!"

Mason blinked, a little stunned by the revelation, and felt something bad inside him. The alcohol in his brain wasn't letting him think straight. "Shit…" He muttered softly, letting go of her shoulder. "Y/N…" "What?" she asked, bracing herself for what was perhaps the worst thing she could hear.

"You know I think you're amazing, right? I like you a lot Y/N you, but not like that…" He concluded and the sentence almost made Y/N's world come crashing down. That was definitely not happening. She felt pathetic. "I was actually interested in Maya…" Mason swallowed before saying it and that was the end of the world for Y/N. She could deal with unrequited love, but a relationship between Mason and her best friend? It was too much for her. "Oh my God…" She took a step back, wanting to get out of there and holding back any tears that might fall. "Mason." She whispered and he continued talking as if that wasn't the worst thing he was doing. "I'm really sorry." Y/N couldn't look them in the eye, the street seemed less painful. "We can still be friends after that, right? Nothing have to change…"

She suddenly looked at him, hurt. How could he ask her that after saying he liked her best friend? "I-I…" She stammered. "I don't know if I can go through with this until I'm sure I've gotten rid of all my feelings for you. Bye, Mason." Y/N turned her back on him and walked away as fast as she could. She couldn't do that. Walking away was the best option, until she no longer felt anything, until she saw Mason Mount as just a friend. The problem was that for Y/N it could last a lifetime.

A few days later…

Mason felt strange, he could even say a little unhappy. An unbearable emptiness. Ever since Y/N had left him, he hadn't seen her for a few days. What was that withdrawal? He couldn't even say. He even thought about asking Maya, but he felt like such an idiot after that conversation. He really had an interest in the girl, but after what had happened with Y/N, Mason didn't care, he just wanted to get that feeling out of him. Because his current condition was: he missed a girl with whom he was hopelessly in love. Like almost all of his clubmates, he was always asked what was going on between him and Y/N. Mason always denied any love interest. But it wasn't possible! Could it be that only they didn't see what everyone else saw? Or at least, only he didn't see? Maybe what he felt for Maya was just physical attraction and the person he really liked was Y/N. It had been so long since he had liked anyone and when this person appeared, Mason was terrified.

She was the one who greeted him at the CT with a smile every day and made him laugh with the photos she took of him while he was distracted. It was fun how she would blackmail him with those photos to ask for favors like buying her a milk shake or autographing his shirts. Even though Mason never said no to her, he loved their dynamic. He also liked having her at all his games, cheering him on and giving him a big hug when the game was over. Shit, Mason wanted that back. He wanted Y/N back in his life, he understood her pulling away, but he wasn't going to let it continue.

"Rash, do you know where Y/N is?" He asked Marcus as soon as training was over. "Y/N? She's resigned, Mase." Marcus replied a little sadly, but it had been Y/N's decision and he would respect it. Mason, on the other hand, looked shocked. "What do you mean?" "She received an offer from Real Madrid. Yesterday was her last day. She must be on her way to Madrid…" Marcus looked at his watch on his cell phone. He had managed to say goodbye to Y/N the day before. "Right now." "You can't be serious." "Serious. We've lost the best photographer in the world to a Spanish team." He felt a little guilty. "Do you think…"

"If she went to stay away from you?" Marcus concluded, holding Mason's shoulder. "Don't think too much of yourself, the proposal was very good, but yeah, I think what you said to her may have influenced your final decision." "Damn. I was such an idiot." "Yes, you were." "Do you think I can reverse it?" "If you want to, you can, but please, man, try not to hurt my friend anymore." That hurt, but Mason nodded and understood that it was up to him. Marcus gave him some details, but told him that it might be too late. Y/N was leaving for Madrid at that moment and Mason might have to wait a little longer. Mason found himself defeated for only a few minutes before he realized that if he really wanted her forgiveness, he would have to want it badly and to show it he would have to start right then and there. He left CT like a hurricane in his car and drove as fast as he could to the airport. He wore a hood over his head to avoid being recognized, it would slow him down too much. He looked at the screen and boarding for the next flight to Madrid had already started and Y/N was probably already in the departure lounge. He went to the nearest counter and bought the first ticket he saw. At the counter, while waiting to pay, he thought he was acting out a scene from the clichéd movies Y/N liked, but he couldn't have cared less. Y/N was worth it and if he hadn't been such an idiot, none of this would have been necessary. After passing through the boarding gate, Mason looked as quickly as possible for the flight gate, when he found it he saw the queue forming and Y/N was currently first in line, handing over her documents before getting on the plane.

"Y/N." He shouted so loudly that not only Y/N but most of the people present looked in his direction. She felt someone taking her headphones off and when she looked back she was surprised. "Mason?" The girl went static when she saw him. He came closer and she took the document back and walked over to him. It hurt so much to see him again, but she was curious and a little surprised. "What are you doing here?" "I'm asking you. I can't believe you'd leave without saying goodbye to me." She looked at him a little guiltily. "Besides, you forgot something of yours with me." "What?" "Me." He said quietly, holding her face. At that point, Y/N's brain was going haywire, as if she couldn't imagine that Mason Mount would come to the airport after her to propose. "Answer me this, why did you say that day that you didn't want to like me?" She swallowed. "Why… Because I knew you wouldn't like me back and that would ruin our friendship, like it did." "And how did you know that was true?" Mason arched an eyebrow and Y/N looked around for something to get her out of that situation.

"Well, you told me yourself." "I lied." Mason shrugged his shoulders feeling bad, even worse with the face Y/N was making. "Oh, you lied? Lied that you were interested in my best friend? What did you want with that? To make me feel bad?" Y/N took a deep breath because at that moment she was starting to get angry. "That hurt me so much, you have no idea, and now you come here after me thinking I'm going to be with you whenever you want, Mason?" She finished saying it and took a step back, at which point Mason realized that things were getting very bad for him. He approached her holding her hands, willing to make things right with Y/N. "I'm not proud of it, it's just that I was a bit terrified Y/N. I haven't liked anyone like that for a long time and I loved our friendship, but I didn't even know how much I liked you." He confessed and Y/N had to admit that it shook something inside her. "I found myself smiling for no reason until I realized that I was thinking of you. And that I couldn't waste another day of my life without you. Please give me another chance!" Y/N hesitated. This was difficult because on the one hand she was very hurt, but on the other, the fact that Mason Mount had come up to her in an airport and declared himself like that was all she had ever wanted.

"But what about Maya?" "I have nothing to do with Maya, I never have, and I don't want to. Please understand that." Y/N hesitated for a moment, looking at Mason for sincerity. She sighed, allowing herself to consider the possibility of a second chance. "Mason, it's not easy to forget what happened, but…" She looked into his eyes. "If you've really changed, if you're willing to be honest this time, then maybe we can try again." Mason let out a relieved sigh, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I promise, Y/N, no lies. I want to be more than a friend to you, I want to be someone you can trust." Y/N smiled, giving in to the moment. "All right, Mason. Let's start again, but this time, no secrets. Bring out your true feelings from the start." Mason agreed, determined to make things right. "I'd like that. And I promise I'll make up for any hurt I've caused." The two hugged, deciding to put the past behind them. "So, what's the next step?" Y/N asked, trying to keep things light. Mason smiled. "A date, maybe? Something simple, just to get us started."

Y/N laughed. "That sounds good. But this time, no made-up love triangles, right?" Mason laughed along with her. "Absolutely. Just the two of us, no complications, but…." "What?" "Let me kiss you now? I didn't want to wait until the date." Y/N laughed along with him, letting herself go and kissing Mason as she had always dreamed. And so, with laughter and a promise of honesty, Mason and Y/N took the first step towards a new beginning, redefining not just their friendship, but building something more meaningful and true.