sparkly

i dont know, i was bored, 20

[humannaturess]

　　　　 My Name on Your Back — Jude Bellingham

featuring: jude bellingham x gf!reader. summary: jude notices you always wear white to his games, but you never wear his real madrid jersey. contents: established relationship, little bit of angst. author's note: my first football fic oh my gawd. trying it out to see how it goes. also i kinda like these colors. might change my theme AGAIN.

You and Jude have been together since his days at Dortmund. The two of you met while you were still in college, long before his career skyrocketed to the heights it has today.

The way you met has always been hilarious to you—and incredibly embarrassing for him. It happened early one morning at your local coffee shop, where you were finishing assignments and studying when you noticed a guy in a Borussia Dortmund kit struggling to place his order.

The coffee shop was owned by an elderly couple, and their daughter usually helped them run the place. The problem was that only their daughter and a few of the other workers spoke English. Unfortunately for him, only Greta, the owner’s wife, was working that early morning.

He looked nervous and embarrassed, clearly feeling bad about making her struggle through the interaction, but his German was just as unhelpful as her English.

You watched the scene unfold for a few seconds before stepping in and asking him what he wanted, translating it for Greta. He quickly paid for his order, managing to give her a grateful “Danke” before turning his attention back to you.

"You're an angel."

"Uh no, I'm Y/N."

The rest was history.

He didn’t ask you out right away. Instead, he became a regular at the coffee shop, just like you. Whenever it was only Greta working, he would still try to place his order himself, but by then, she already knew exactly what he wanted, making things much easier for both of them.

After two weeks, he finally built up the courage to ask you out. You accepted, and he took you to a nice, cozy restaurant for your first date. After that came another date, then another, and another, until eventually, the two of you made it official.

Four years had passed, and your relationship was stronger than ever. After four long and exhausting years, you finally graduated from college. You couldn't have been happier to leave behind endless classes and earn the degree you'd worked so hard for, but your excitement was nothing compared to Jude's as he watched you walk across the stage to receive your diploma.

Not long after, the news of Jude's move to Real Madrid became official. You had always known this day would come. Dortmund was a massive club, but Real Madrid was on another level. Even though you weren't a Real Madrid fan, you knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime for your boyfriend.

He asked you to move to Madrid with him. After giving it some thought and securing a great job opportunity in the city, you agreed to go with him. Jude was ecstatic.

You were going to miss Dortmund, but if you were being honest, staying there forever had never been part of your plans.

The first couple of months were better than you expected them to be. Both you and Jude quickly settled into your new routines, adjusting to the new city and meeting new people along the way. Your job was demanding, but also very flexible, allow you to enjoy it and truly make the most of the opportunity.

Jude was still getting used to the team and their style of play. The better he performed, the more confident he became, and watching him grow more comfortable in his new environment made you prouder every single day.

You never missed a single home match. No matter how busy your schedule was or how you were feeling that day, you always found a way to be there for him.

Jude would look up and find you sitting beside his mom in the stands, wearing a white shirt, top, or dress that matched the season and the day’s conditions.

He started noticing a pattern.

You would wear white, or if you were able to travel to see him away from home, you would match his second kit. But you never wore his jersey. Not once.

It wasn’t like you didn’t own one or couldn’t get your hands on one. Jude had plenty of them lying around the house.

Maybe it's because they're too big, he thought.

No, if you really wanted one, you would’ve asked him to get you one in your size. But you never did.

Because you didn’t like Real Madrid.

It wasn’t a secret, but he thought that with time, maybe—just maybe—your dislike for the team would fade. You never made negative comments about the club or his teammates, in fact, you actually liked some of them. But you were passionate about football, and he knew that changing your mind wasn’t going to happen overnight.

It still bothered him to some extent. After all, there was nothing he loved more than seeing you wear one of his jerseys. The last time it had happened was back in Dortmund, not counting the international break.

At first, he tried to ignore it. It was a small thing, dumb even if he gave it any real thought, and he knew there were much bigger things to care about—like the unconditional love and support you'd given him for the past four years.

You supported him in every way that mattered. You had moved to another country for him, you were building a new life alongside him, and you were always there whenever he needed you.

But still, it bothered him. Because to him, the jersey was never just a jersey, it was a milestone.

He had grown up dreaming of moments like this. Playing for a big club like Real Madrid, living the life he'd always imagined—and seeing you wear his shirt would have meant more to him than he could ever explain.

But every match day, he looked up into the stands and saw you dressed in white. You always wore a smile, but never his name. Never his number. Just white.

He hated that it made him feel this way. It almost felt as though it was a part of his life you refused to embrace—which was ridiculous, because you had embraced everything else. Literally.

You helped him adjust when everything felt unfamiliar. You listened as he talked—and ranted—about training, tactics, teammates, and every little thing that came with joining a new club, even if you didn't understand some things. You celebrated his victories and stood by him after the difficult matches. You were there. You were always there.

So why did something so small bother him so much?

Deep down he knew the answer.

He wasn't asking you to love Real Madrid. He wasn't asking you to forget the club you grew up supporting—or the one you'd probably support until the day you died. But a selfish part of him wanted one thing that felt like it belonged only to him.

He wanted to see you wear his name.

So one night, after another match where he found you sitting beside his mom in the stands wearing white, he decided to finally bring it up.

The two of you were curled up on the couch at home when you noticed it. Jude was unusually quiet. You knew him well enough to recognize the silence for what it was.

"What?" You asked, looking up at him. "What?" He looked confused. "You're staring." You pointed out. "I have a question." You raised an eyebrow. "That never sounds good."

"Real Madrid. Do you really hate them that much?"

The question caught you off guard.

"Where did that come from?" Jude shrugged. "You never wear my jersey." That was what was bothering him. "Jude..." He interrupted. "I know it's stupid."

"I just don't get it." He shook his head. "You don't get what?" You asked. "I don't get why you won't wear something that represents me."

The words sat between you. Suddenly, it didn't feel like a conversation about football anymore.

"You think that's what it is?" You looked at him. "I don't know."

That answer hurt more than you expected.

"You actually think me not wearing a jersey means I don't support you?" You were now facing him completely. "No." He said quickly—way too quickly for you not to know he was lying. "You do." He stayed quiet.

You looked away, hurt.

"Jude, I've given up a lot to be here." He rubbed his face with one hand as the other found its way into his hair. "I know."

"No, I don't think you do right now." The guilt immediately crossed his face. "I know you moved here."

"It's not just that, Jude." You were quieter now. "I left my friends behind. A place I knew. Just because I eventually wanted to leave Dortmund doesn't mean I wanted the routine I spent years building to abruptly change. I started over because I wanted to be with you."

"I know."

"I come to every single match. I sit there every week no matter how busy my schedule is. I learn about your team, your opponents, your schedule. I listen when you talk about football for hours, even when you repeat the same stupid stories."

That made the smallest smile appear on his face. But it disappeared when he saw your teary eyes.

"So you don't get make me feel like shit and like none of that counts because I won't wear a fucking shirt."

His expression softened immediately as he grabbed your hands. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't." You sighed. "But that's how it felt."

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Jude looked down at your hands.

"I just miss it." He mumbled. "Miss what?" His eyes found yours. "Seeing you wear my name." And that was when you understood. It wasn't about Madrid or the club. It was about him. "You know I don't have to wear a jersey for me to choose you, right?"

"I know."

"Do you?"

He had gotten so caught up in wanting that small thing that he forgot about all the bigger, more important ones.

"I love you. I love watching you play. I love seeing you succeed. But I'm not going to pretend to love a club I don't like just because you're there."

He snorted.

"You really won't compromise on this."

"Nope." He pouted. "Not even for me?" You smiled, shaking your head. "Not even for you." He shook his head, but this time he was smiling. "You are impossible."

"Dude, you knew that the moment you asked me out."

"Fair." He pressed his lips to the back of your hand before pressing them to your own.

And even though he still secretly hoped that one day you would surprise him, he understood that you didn't need to wear his jersey to prove you were on his side.

You had been proving it all along.

taglist: @youluvyanni @winterosco @escapefromrealitylol @ruesredjacket @4ppl3h34d @tinydreamerpillar @delictezz @heartsforamari19 @sugarrushbell @bangchanunofficial @swavydadon @nayykura @plan3tch1ld @unseenleylinesecret @niyahctrl @animegamerfox @raefoxiegirl @applehead-luvr @a-motherfcking-fish @michaelsgirlie @sebbysbaby @helalokithor @poetsprey @60fspp @kryka83 @ilov3tosle3p @bladeeisjesus @umibug @erynnnn @lauren7050 @onegoodperson @trvpstarxvl @alexablanc @superlegend216 @gravenoirr @heyitsm4di @heartstofiiveunknownn @soimightlikeoldmen69 @cherrishkissed @bambijackson @kisscoqueen @ghazalbambi @aristoleyaferrarii @michaeljacksonlover25 @solelypyt @no1sdolli3 @blameditontheboogie @spiderhook @ghazalbambi @jaafarl

if you want to be added or removed, let me know <3

[rmadridcore]

Love in Slow Motion

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: Nine times Jude felt a strange warmth whenever he was around you, and one time he finally realized what it was.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s note: took a break from writing, but i’m back with a little fluffy Jude fic 🤍 i’ll start getting through my requests as well 🫂

The type of relationship you and Jude had was very special to him. It hasn’t been too long since you two became a couple and he wasn’t the type to get too serious, too fast. He preferred keeping things casual — no heavy responsibilities, no complicated emotions, just light and easy. But that all shifted when you walked into his life. It was like a switch flipped, and suddenly, what used to feel complicated or burdensome didn’t seem that way anymore. He found out how peaceful it could be to have the right person by your side. With you, everything felt good, natural. He was attracted to you, sure, but it went far beyond that. There was this deep respect, an admiration that ran much deeper than anything he had ever experienced before. And he was glad to have you in his life.

But then there was that other feeling. It was subtle at first, a strange, confusing fuzz in the pit of his stomach. A warmth that spread through his chest and left him feeling... overwhelmed, in the best possible way.

The feeling would hit him at the most random times, uninvited but never unwelcome. He couldn’t quite put a name to it at first, but it was undeniable — it was strong, intense, and utterly inescapable when he was around you. And it took him a while, 10 moments to be exact, before he finally realized what that feeling really was.

The first time it hit him was during an ordinary Tuesday at his place. You two had just come back from the gym, snacks in hand — a little indulgence after an intense workout. You sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, meticulously sorting through your favorite candy, arranging them by color like it was some life or death mission. Jude couldn’t help but watch, utterly mesmerized. The way your brows furrowed in concentration, the seriousness in your expression over something so trivial. It was adorable. He didn’t even realize he was smiling, his heart swelling with that familiar warmth. He’d barely noticed it then, but that was the first time the feeling crept in.

The second time was less subtle. You two were lounging in bed, tangled up in each other’s arms as the worst crime series he’d ever seen played on TV. You loved it, adored it, despite how horrendously predictable and dull it was. If it were up to him, that show would never grace his screen, not in a million years. But when you asked him to watch it with you, he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to. Even though he didn’t care for the show, he found himself invested — not in the plot, but in the way your face lit up during the ridiculous twists, how you laughed at the over the top dialogue. It hit him then, that same feeling, stronger this time. He didn’t care about the show. He cared about you, about how happy you were. And somehow, that made it all worth it.

The third time it hit him was at dawn. Thirst had woken him up in the middle of the night, and after a quick drink of water, he climbed back into bed. But sleep didn’t return as easily. Instead, he found himself gazing at you — your sleeping figure, so peaceful, so serene. You looked perfect, nestled into the fluffy pillow with the blanket pulled up to your chin. His heart swelled as he watched you, that same unamenable feeling washing over him again. There was something mesmerizing about how relaxed and beautiful you looked, your soft features illuminated by the faint light creeping through the curtains. You were flawless to him, like a dream come to life. And as he lied there, wide awake, he realized how happy it made him to be the one who got to fall asleep and wake up next to you. He was happy, so happy, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

The fourth time came just before he had to leave for training. He was sitting at the kitchen table, lazily texting his brother, when you came over and placed a cup of coffee in front of him. You gave him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, leaving him to take his first sip. As the warm liquid touched his lips, it hit him — you hadn’t asked him how he liked his coffee in months. Only once, when you first started seeing each other. Since then, you had memorized his exact preferences, down to the smallest detail, making it for him just the way he liked without ever needing a reminder. That tiny, thoughtful gesture struck him harder than anything else could have. You knew him so well, and you cared enough to remember the little things. It was a simple moment, but it made him feel that same warmth, that same fuzzy feeling in his chest, stronger than ever.

The fifth time was during a dinner at your friend’s house. The evening had been fun, filled with laughter and conversations, but it was after dinner when that familiar feeling surged through him again. The guests had spread around the house, sipping on drinks and chatting in small groups. He had just come back from the balcony, where he had been talking with a few friends, when he spotted you across the room. You were sitting on a couch with your girlfriends, your head thrown back in laughter, the sound echoing through the room. God, you were beautiful. The way you laughed, so carefree, so full of joy, it made his breath hitch. Your eyes crinkled at the corners, your cheeks flushed from whatever joke had you in stitches, and he felt like time stopped for a moment. In that instant, all he wanted was to hold onto that image of you, happy and glowing. He wanted to freeze time, to keep you laughing forever. It was in moments like that when he felt it the most, this overwhelming, undeniable feeling.

The sixth time hit him when he was getting ready for an award show. You had been by his side all evening, calming his nerves, reassuring him with your words, building him up when he felt uncertain. He loved how involved you were in his career, how you were genuinely his number one fan. As you stood there fixing his collar, making sure he looked perfect before he walked out the door, that feeling rushed over him again. There was something so tender about the way you took care of him, focused on every little detail, and it hit him just how lucky he was to have someone who cared this much.

The seventh time happened on a simple stroll through the city. You loved being outdoors when the weather was nice, and Jude loved tagging along, happy to do anything that brought a smile to your face. As you two walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk, an adorable white puppy caught your attention. Without a second thought, you dropped Jude’s hand and rushed over to pet the dog, kneeling down and squealing at how cute it was. Watching you gush over the puppy, completely losing yourself in the moment, made that warm, fuzzy feeling flood his chest again. He stood there, grinning, watching as you melted into a bundle of squeaks and giggles, and all he could think was how much he loved seeing you happy.

The eighth time came after one of the hardest days he’d had in a while. Exhausted and stressed, he came home expecting to collapse, but instead, he was greeted by the heavenly smell of his favorite meal cooking. You had surprised him, knowing full well that he’d be grumpy and starving after the long day. The house smelled like comfort, and you acted like it was no big deal, just something you casually did to make his day a little better. But to him, it meant everything. He kissed you as a way of saying thank you, feeling so grateful for how effortlessly you made his life better. You always knew exactly how to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

The ninth time was pure simplicity. He had just gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, another one in hand as he dried his hair. He walked into the living room and saw you lounging on the couch, reading a book and wearing his T-shirt. Something about you in his clothes, looking so relaxed and at home in his space, hit him hard. It was such a small thing, but it sent that familiar warmth surging through him, stronger than ever. The sight of you so comfortable in his world, in his shirt, made him realize — he could get used to this. In fact, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

And the tenth time was the epiphany. You two were out grocery shopping, preparing for a dinner party you were hosting for your friends over the weekend. As you wandered through the aisles, picking and choosing what you needed for the meal, Jude followed behind you, pushing the cart loaded with products. He watched you with soft admiration as you weighed your options, debating what dessert to serve. It struck him how perfectly domestic everything felt; how easy, how natural, and how real it was.

Everything he once feared, commitment, responsibilities, routine, was now something he craved with you. He loved the simplicity of it all, the way you moved through life together with such ease. This wasn’t just about being comfortable; it was about feeling truly at home with you. And then, it hit him. That feeling he had been experiencing all along, that warmth in his chest — it was love.

It was love that made him stare at you sorting candy like it was the most captivating thing in the world. Love that had him watching that awful crime show with you, just to hold you close. Love that kept him glued to your sleeping face at dawn. Love that made your laugh the best sound he had ever heard, and the way you made his coffee exactly how he liked it felt so special. Love that made him emotional when you adjusted his collar, and why watching you squeal over a random dog on the street made his heart melt. It was love that made your cooking the best thing he could ever come home to, and why seeing you in his clothes felt so right.

He loved you — deeply, more than he ever thought possible. And as he looked at you then, standing in the grocery aisle, he was sure of one thing: when you looked back at him, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that you loved him just as much.

[karivinga]

bf!jude hcs:

jude bellingham x reader // dating hcs

warning: fluff

taglist: @luckycrystal @dixheuresdix @ab20567 @sexychickenmagnet -> let me know if you want to be tagged in the comments

author's note: i forgot to say this in my other headcanon but; thank you so much for 124 followers. i'm so thankful for all of your support 💕

-> 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

bf!jude is the type to shower you with compliments everyday, and hug onto you like a koala

he even loves coming with you for your nail appointment so that he can see the new fresh nails first.

bf!jude enjoys flirting with you 24/7

you sometimes get annoyed with his antics but you somtimesalways think — how could you resist this manchild?

bf!jude would beg you to come for his games and expects you to meet him after every single match!!

yes, he's the type to say that he misses you. you miss him too ofc.

when feeling touch starved, bf!jude would calmly drag you right back to him, when he thinks that you're 'far away' from him. clingy ass

this bitch loves to find ways to turn your attention towards him

bf!jude loves matching outfits with you. he tries to copy your style and you would try copy his.

warning: he will also steal your stuff, including your bonnets!!

"it's my bonnet now." jude said proudly sticking his tongue out at you.

"bro." you facepalm, you couldn't deal with his childish antics anymore

anyways bf!jude is very romantic. he loves taking you on extravagant dates and doesn't allow you to pay for anything.

he would go on to talk about you to jobe otp. jobe knows damn well that he's smitten

bf!jude will get jealous of anyone, including his teammates talking to you. he wants you all himself

for an example, during training, he instantly furrowed his brows as he saw you with vini, laughing around at eachother's jokes. jude doesn't want your attention to be focused on someone else — so, he walks over to the 2 of you and wraps an arm on your shoulder. vini notices jude's jealousy and starts teasing him. poor guy lol 🙏🏽😂

bf!jude enjoys listening to music with you whilst you both prepare dinner together

well... that's jude for yall i guess

© karivinga 2026  — do not translate, copy/steal my works .ᐟ

[47foden]

Jude Bellingham request where the reader teases Jude about the news that England players will be allowed to take viagra for the Mexico vs England match because of the altitude. And she makes a joke about how his size and how it might cause and offside.

VIAGRA - ju. bellingham

click here for part two!

inwhich! you tease jude about him and his team taking viagra before the mexico vs. england game.

frannytalks! this is so short, didn’t know if you wanted smut haha, i hope you like this! and he lowkey would cause an offside. 👀 don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!

jude had always left his phone unattended and you would have to shut it off for him. this time he left it on the kitchen table while he was getting ready to go for a game, you were mid yelling his name to get his phone but you stopped before you could finish.

you saw his team group chat going crazy and you had to take a look. as you looked and scrolled you saw mentions of taking viagra for a joke because of the altitude.

you laugh to yourself quietly as jude comes up behind you, “you said my name love?”

you slightly jump, turning his phone face-down, “oh, yeah, your phone.”

he gave you a quick kiss, “thanks baby.”

you grin to yourself, knowing what you’re about to say to him, “you feeling okay?”

“yeah, why?” you furrowed his eyebrows, grabbing his phone.

“even after the viagra?” you hold in your laugh, “or did you not take that yet?”

jude gave you a “really?” look as he rolled his eyes, chuckling softly, “okay y/n, enough.”

“you sure you’ll be able to play tonight baby?” you say, finally letting out a loud laugh.

“i’ll be fine, y/n, were you going through my phone?” he says, scrolling through messages.

you nod no, “why? are you all planning to take it at the same time?”

“y/n.” he says, glaring at you.

“maybe you shouldn’t jude, your size might cause an offside while you’re playing.” you wink, brushing your fingers across his lap.

he twitched, backing away, “shut up.”

“maybe i should help you out!” you say loudly while laughing because he’s walking away.

“just start the car!” he huffs from your shared bedroom.

“you sure you still want to go? they might not let you play with a third leg!” you bite your lip, holding in your laugh once again.

he didn’t respond, “it’s okay to have three legs, don’t be ashamed jude!” you say, finally grabbing the keys and walking away towards the car.

-

ju. bellingham taglist: @luvrgrl-222 , @soobieewoobiee , @laneyrainy0 , @mmonkeh3000 , @mariaaaalm , @dianazyb , @brune77e , @strwayberrymilktea , @oliseamorr , @ceziaa , @sourcandyfish , @rosyyyrube <3

perm. taglist: @pinkfashionkilla , @koneooo , @random34674 , @mumisntproudofme , @itsopinionsbased , @bangtan7553 , @eerilyjaggedconstruct , @putaaamadre <33

[nosugarallspice]

Can I request Judexfemreader smut all positions all over the house all kinks. Anything plsss I’m ovulating and touch deprived 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I hope this is everything you wanted! Enjoy bb 💛

~

Welcome Home Baby - Jude Bellingham

-

Warnings: Explicit smut | Consensual rough sex | Touch-starved/feral behaviour | Multiple sex scenes (couch, shower, bed) | Praise kink (heavy) | Slight choking (consensual hand on throat) | Heavy eye contact during deep penetration | Possessive dirty talk | Size kink (implied) | Creampie (multiple) | Descriptions of curvy/plus-size body (thick thighs, soft belly, full breasts) | Overstimulation | No prep | Slight possessiveness | Aftercare | All consensual.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I hope yall eat this tf up because I lowkey did.

—

The front door clicks open at 9:17 p.m.

You’re halfway through a pint of ice cream on the couch in nothing but one of Jude’s old Madrid training shirts and a pair of black panties, thighs spread lazily while some mindless reality show drones in the background. You haven’t shaved in four days. Your hair is a mess. You’re horny enough to cry.

Then you hear his voice — low, tired, amused.

“Miss me, baby?”

Your head snaps up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

There he is.

Jude fucking Bellingham, your sexy ass man.

Six-foot-one of lean muscle and golden skin, still wearing travel sweats and a black hoodie, duffel bag dropped at his feet. His curls are a little longer, eyes soft with exhaustion but already darkening the second they land on you — on the way the shirt rides up your thick thighs, on the way your chest heaves under the thin fabric, on the way your lips part like you’ve just seen God.

You don’t think.

You pounce.

The ice cream hits the floor. The spoon clatters. You’re across the living room in three strides, launching yourself at him so hard he actually stumbles back against the door with a surprised laugh that dies the second your mouth crashes into his.

“Missed you,” you pant between kisses, hands already shoving his hoodie up. “Missed you so fucking much, Jude — weeks, it’s been weeks—”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, but his hands are already on your ass, squeezing the soft, full curves like he’s trying to memorize them again. “Fuck, you feel good. Look at you—”

You don’t let him finish.

You bite his bottom lip, tug his hoodie off, and push him toward the couch. He lets you. Of course he does. He’s smirking against your mouth but his hands are greedy — sliding under the hem of his shirt on your body, palms dragging up the sides of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your heavy breasts.

The back of his knees hit the couch and he drops down. You follow instantly, straddling him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. Your panties are already soaked. You can feel it. He can definitely feel it when you grind down against the growing bulge in his sweats.

“Baby—” he tries, voice rough.

“No talking,” you whine, yanking the shirt over your head. Your tits spill free, full and soft and bouncing with the movement. Jude’s eyes drop to them immediately, a low curse leaving him.

“Fuck, I missed these.”

You don’t give him time to worship. You’re too feral.

You shove his sweats down just enough to free his cock — thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. The sight of it after weeks apart makes your mouth water. You don’t even bother with foreplay. You hook your panties to the side and sink down on him in one smooth, greedy motion.

The stretch burns so good.

A broken moan rips from your throat. Jude’s head falls back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before they snap open again — locking onto yours.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, voice suddenly deeper. One hand slides up your throat, not squeezing yet, just resting there. A reminder. “That’s it. Look at me while you take this dick, yeah?”

You nod frantically, lips parted, breath already ragged as you start moving. Rolling your hips in messy, desperate circles, riding him like you’ll die if you stop. The wet slap of skin fills the room immediately. Your tits bounce with every movement and Jude’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, guiding you, helping you fuck yourself on him.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice wrecked. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Look how wet you are — all that for me?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Only you. Missed you so much—”

“I know, baby. I know.” His thumb strokes the side of your neck. “You’re squeezing me so tight. This pussy missed me, huh?”

You moan louder, grinding down harder, taking him deeper. The eye contact is almost too much — his dark eyes boring into yours, watching every flicker of pleasure across your face. He looks like he wants to devour you.

His hand on your throat tightens — just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your walls flutter around him.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you gasp. “You, Jude — fuck—”

“That’s right.” He thrusts up suddenly, meeting you halfway, and your eyes almost roll back. “Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to see you like this — all pretty and feral and creaming on my cock. You hear me?”

You nod, tears pricking your eyes from how deep he is, from how good it feels, from how much you missed him.

He loosens his grip on your throat and slides his hand down to slap your ass — hard. The sting blooms beautifully across your soft skin.

“Ride me properly then. Show me how bad you needed it.”

You do.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and fuck him like you’re trying to break him. The couch creaks underneath you. Your moans mix with his grunts. He keeps praising you the whole time — “That’s it, just like that… fuck, you’re so beautiful… look at those tits bounce for me… good girl, good fucking girl” — until you shatter.

Your orgasm hits you so hard your vision whites out. You cry out his name, thighs shaking, pussy pulsing around him as you soak his lap. Jude doesn’t stop. He grips your hips with both hands and fucks you through it, deep and relentless, eyes never leaving yours.

Only when you start to slump does he slow down, pulling you down for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

But you’re not done.

Not even close.

You’re still clenching around him when you whisper against his lips, “Shower. Now.”

He laughs — low, dark, delighted — and stands up with you still impaled on his cock. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. He carries you like you weigh nothing, mouth still on yours, cock still buried deep as he walks you both to the bathroom.

The shower is barely warm by the time he presses you against the tiles.

He fucks you there too — slower this time, deeper, one of your thick thighs hooked over his arm so he can watch every inch of him disappear inside you. Water cascades over both of you. Your curls are ruined. His are plastered to his forehead. Neither of you cares.

“Look at me,” he demands again, forehead pressed to yours. His hand comes back to your throat — light, possessive. “Eyes on me while I fuck you deep, baby. Want to see you fall apart again.”

You can’t look away even if you wanted to.

He praises you through the entire second orgasm — telling you how perfect you are, how tight, how wet, how no one else will ever make you feel like this. You come with his name on your tongue and his eyes locked on yours, his cock hitting that spot so perfectly you see stars.

He pulls out before he finishes, stroking himself once, twice, and painting your belly and tits with hot stripes of cum. The sight alone almost makes you come again.

You both wash up quickly after that — sort of. There’s a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, his hands soaping up every curve of your body like he’s rediscovering it.

But the second you’re out of the shower?

You don’t even dry off.

Jude throws you onto the bed while you’re both still dripping wet. The sheets soak instantly underneath you. He climbs over you, caging you in, water droplets falling from his curls onto your chest.

“One more,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Need to feel you one more time.”

You nod frantically, legs spreading for him immediately. He slides back inside you in one smooth thrust — so deep your back arches clean off the bed.

“Fuck, Jude—”

“I’ve got you.” He leans down, elbows braced on either side of your head so he can keep that heavy eye contact. “That’s it. Take all of me, such a good fucking girl.”

His hand finds your throat again — firmer this time, thumb pressing just under your jaw so your head tilts back slightly. Not cutting off air, just holding you there. Owning you.

You’re so wet from the shower and from two orgasms already that the sounds are obscene. Every deep stroke makes a filthy wet smack. Your tits jiggle with every thrust. Jude can’t stop looking at you — eyes flicking between your face, your bouncing chest, and where you’re stretched around him.

“Missed this pussy so much,” he groans. “Missed how she grips me. Missed how pretty you look when you cum. Give me one more, baby. Come on. Let me feel it.”

You’re already so close.

The praise, the eye contact, the way he’s fucking you so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach — it’s overwhelming.

His free hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“What did I say baby? Eyes on me,” he reminds you when your lids flutter. “Don’t look away. Want to watch you fall apart while I’m inside you.”

You cum harder than you have all night.

Your whole body locks up, walls spasming around his cock so tightly he curses. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, eyes wide and locked on his the entire time. Jude fucks you through it, hips losing rhythm, praise spilling from his lips like a prayer.

“Fuck — that’s it, baby. So good. So perfect. My girl. My fucking girl—”

He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a broken moan, flooding you deep. You feel every pulse, every spurt, and it makes your orgasm drag on impossibly longer.

For a long moment the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the wet drip of shower water still sliding off your bodies onto the ruined sheets.

Jude collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you, but close enough that you feel surrounded by him. His hand slides from your throat to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, dazed and blissed out, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Missed you.”

He chuckles softly and kisses you — slow, deep, reverent this time.

“Never leaving you that long again,” he promises against your mouth. “Not when you jump me like that. Fuck, I think I’m ruined.”

You laugh, the sound bright and happy, and pull him closer.

The sheets are soaked. Your bodies are sticky. Your thighs ache in the best way.

And you’ve never felt more loved — or more thoroughly fucked — in your life.

[lanaloveydove]

like oh um… haha

[zerocoded]

KISS AND MAKE UP !

You only meant to spend the morning doing absolutely nothing. Your boyfriend, however, has other plans—and apparently no shame whatsoever when it comes to making out with his girlfriend on his parents' sofa.

WARNINGS ◦ sfw content ◦ slow morning makeout with jude there i said it ◦ established relationship bc i'm a lonely bih ◦ detailed descriptions of making out ><

2,892 ━━━━━ drabble jude bellingham x reader

۶ৎ 𝓩 , this is my official ballblr debut... please be kind 😔 i've been spending way too much time on wc twitter lately and those people know how to appreciate fine men, so if this exists... blame them 😝😝

━━━━━ read on ao3

A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside yours, still faintly steaming, while Jude’s was already drained except for the faint ring at the bottom. The blanket you’d pulled over your legs sometime after breakfast had slipped halfway to the floor, one corner pooling near his bare feet. Denise had left earlier for her yoga class; you’d caught her in the kitchen making coffee and the two of you had chatted softly about nothing important while Jude was still half-asleep upstairs. Now the place felt gently emptied out, just the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.

You were curled into the corner of the big sectional sofa, legs tucked under you, still in the soft Alo workout set you’d thrown on after your early Pilates class. The fabric was comfortable, slightly sweat-damp from the session, and it smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you used at your own place. Jude lounged at the other end, barefoot in white joggers that rode low on his hips and an oversized black T-shirt that had seen better days. He had one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, the other holding the remote loosely as he scrolled through YouTube with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t really looking for anything specific.

A football skills compilation started playing, some kid in Brazil doing ridiculous step-overs, and Jude let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head. “Look at that touch,” he murmured, more to himself than you, though his gaze flicked your way for half a second. His fingers tapped idly against the cushion near your shoulder, a small unconscious rhythm. You kept scrolling through your phone, smiling faintly at a friend’s story, the comfortable silence stretching between you like it always did on these mornings. No need to fill it.

After a few minutes the video switched to a chaotic British cooking clip, someone attempting to make Sunday roast in what looked like a student kitchen. Jude laughed under his breath, the sound low and easy, and shifted his weight so his leg stretched out, his bare foot nudging gently against your ankle. “You seeing this? Bloke’s about to burn the whole flat down. Reminds me of that time I tried cooking for the lads last year. Disaster.”

You glanced up, lowering your phone a fraction. “You mean the time you set off the smoke alarm making toast?”

“It was fancy toast tho,” he corrected, grinning. His foot stayed resting against yours, warm skin against skin, a casual point of contact that neither of you acknowledged. He reached over without looking away from the screen and stole your phone for a second, tilting it to see what you’d been looking at. “Instagram again? You’re ignoring my superior entertainment over here.”

You snatched it back with a quiet laugh, bumping his knee with yours in retaliation. “Your superior entertainment is a man crying over lumpy gravy. I’m catching up on actual human lives.”

“Harsh,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, then settled again, this time scooting a little closer under the pretense of adjusting the blanket. His hand landed lightly on your thigh, just above the knee, thumb brushing once in an absentminded circle before it stilled.

The YouTube algorithm wandered next to a funny animal video, then back to a quick highlight reel of his own goals from last season. Jude watched himself on the screen with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. “Still can’t believe that one went in. Felt terrible off the boot.”

You set your phone down on the cushion between you, finally giving the screen more attention. The sunlight shifted, warming the side of his face and highlighting the details across his nose that only showed up in certain angle.

Minutes passed like that, easy, unhurried. He commented on the videos occasionally, voice relaxed and expressive, and you offered small replies or teasing jabs that made him chuckle. Jude's hand stayed on your leg, fingers occasionally tapping along to some internal beat only he could hear. At one point he nudged your foot again with his, hooking his ankle loosely behind yours for a moment before letting go, all without taking his eyes off the TV.

Eventually the videos looped into something quieter, a travel vlog through Spanish countryside. Jude’s thumb resumed its slow, unconscious sweep on your thigh. “We should do something like that one off-season,” he said softly. “Just drive somewhere. No schedule.”

You turned your head to look at him properly. He was already watching you instead of the screen, that playful spark still in his eyes but softened around the edges by the lazy morning. “Only if you promise not to turn it into a fitness bootcamp.”

He smiled, slow and genuine, the kind that showed how much he was enjoying his morning off.“No promises. But I’ll let you pick the playlist.” The teasing lilt in his voice lingered, and something in the way you held his gaze made the moment stretch.

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me? Generous of you.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and close. He leaned in just a fraction, as if to deliver another retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead the look held: comfortable, familiar, the kind built from nights spent side by side and mornings exactly like this. His smile softened further, you smiled back, raising your eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the question in your head: "what's wrong?".

His thumb continued its slow sweep on your thigh, the motion so habitual it seemed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The oversized black T-shirt had twisted slightly around his torso from all the shifting, and a faint line from the sofa cushion pressed into his cheek where he’d been leaning earlier.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said after a beat, voice low and a little rough from the quiet morning. The corner of his mouth quirked higher, like he could see the question behind your raised brows. “Just thinking you look comfortable. Proper relaxed. Suits you.” He gave your thigh a light, affectionate squeeze, the kind that said he liked having you here more than any grand statement could. His foot found yours again under the slipped blanket, toes brushing lazily against your ankle before hooking gently behind it, anchoring the contact.

You let out a soft breath of amusement, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same ease. “High praise from someone who just spent twenty minutes watching himself on YouTube.”

Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating faintly where his arm still rested along the back of the sofa near your shoulders.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the familiar rhythm of your teasing. The travel vlog played on, forgotten now, rolling hills and olive groves flickering across the screen while neither of you glanced at it. His free hand lifted from the remote, landing lightly on the cushion between you before his fingers found the edge of your workout top, tracing the seam near your hip in an absent, exploratory way. Not purposeful. Just the natural drift of touch when words felt secondary.

“Oi, I was scouting technique,” he murmured, eyes still on yours. The Brummie lilt thickened a touch with the lazy drawl of morning. “Important research. You should be impressed.” His thumb brushed higher on your thigh, then stilled as he tilted his head slightly, studying the way the sunlight caught in your hair. The space between your faces had narrowed without either of you deciding to close it, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, coffee and the faint mint from his toothpaste earlier.

One of his knees pressed against yours, solid and warm through the thin layers of clothing. His fingers at your hip slipped under the hem of your top by a centimeter, not seeking, just resting skin to skin in that unconscious way he did when the morning felt slow and safe.

Then you said something small, half a tease about his “research methods”, and Jude’s eyes crinkled with another quiet laugh. That laugh brought him the last inch. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, almost an extension of the shared smile, the kind of accidental contact that happens when two people are already leaning into the same small orbit. He exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound carrying a hint of surprise and delight, before pressing in again with more intention. The kiss stayed gentle, exploratory, his lips warm and slightly dry from the morning air. You felt him smile into it, the curve unmistakable, and when your noses bumped he pulled back just enough to let out a low, breathy chuckle that fanned across your cheek.

“Clumsy today,” he whispered, voice laced with amusement, but he didn’t move far. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, palm broad and steady, fingers splaying naturally against the curve there as he drew you a little nearer. The other hand came up to cradle the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheek in a slow sweep. He leaned back in, the rhythm unhurried, kisses that lingered and shifted, sometimes softer, sometimes a touch deeper, guided by the quiet give and take of breathing together. His fingers threaded lightly into the hair at the nape of your neck, not gripping, just holding with the same casual affection he showed in everything else.

You tasted the lingering coffee on him, felt the faint scratch of stubble against your skin when he tilted his head. Another soft laugh escaped him when your hand found the front of his oversized T-shirt, bunching the fabric slightly. He paused once, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you up close, really looked, the kind of pause that said he was savoring the ordinary miracle of this exact moment.

Then Jude shifted, the sofa creaking faintly under his weight as he rearranged himself. He leaned back more fully into the corner of the sectional, stretching one long leg out along the cushions before patting his thigh in a clear, casual invitation. His gaze stayed on you, playful but soft, the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar half-smile. “Come here,” he said quietly, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world.

You hesitated, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes properly. “Really?”

He raised his eyebrows, nodding once with an amused little tilt of his head, as if to say yes, really. “What, you acting shy now?” The teasing lilt crept back into his tone, warm and familiar. “Not like it’s our first kiss or anything.”

Your gaze flicked briefly toward the direction of the front door, the quiet of the apartment suddenly feeling a little more fragile. Denise could walk back in from yoga at any minute. The thought made you pause, even as the warmth of his hand lingered at your waist. Jude seemed to read it on your face immediately. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, patting his thigh again, more insistently this time. “My mum likes you more than me anyway. She knows we sleep together—she’s not blind.” His fingers gave your side a gentle squeeze, reassuring and playful all at once. “She’s probably doing extra sun salutations just to give us time.”

The silence stretched for another beat, your hesitancy still written across your expression. Jude’s eyes softened further, the competitive edge melting into something gentler, more coaxing. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “C’mon baby,” he murmured, the endearments slipping out naturally. “Come here.” He patted his thigh one more time, an open invitation, then added with a low, boyish laugh, “Let your boyfriend have some motivation this morning, yeah? Before I have to go get shouted at on the pitch.”

The words, delivered with that expressive, slightly cheeky grin, finally tipped the balance. You moved, and Jude helped guide you with easy hands on your hips, settling you astride his lap so your knees sank into the cushions on either side of him. The position brought you closer, chests brushing, his oversized T-shirt bunching between you. His hands settled naturally at your waist, thumbs tracing small circles through the soft fabric of your workout set, while he looked up at you with open affection. No rush. Just the same comfortable intimacy that had carried the whole morning, now wrapped a little tighter.

“See? Not bad at all,” he murmured, voice low and warm with that playful lilt, one eyebrow raised like he was proving a point. His hands gave your waist a gentle squeeze, more reassurance than anything else, before one slid slowly up your back, palm broad and steady against the fabric of your top. “Come here,” he added softly, the words almost under his breath as he tilted his chin up.

You leaned down and the kiss picked up where it had left off, slow at first, familiar. Jude smiled against your mouth the moment your lips met, the curve of it impossible to miss. His hand at your waist stayed put, thumb still moving in those absent circles, while the other drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. The contact was constant but easy, like he simply preferred some part of him touching you at all times. When your noses bumped awkwardly he broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second as he caught his breath.

“Seriously?” he teased, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Every time.” But he didn’t pull away. He just tilted his head the other direction and leaned back in, the kiss deepening a touch, unhurried. His fingers at the back of your neck rubbed gently, a soothing rhythm, while his other hand slipped lower to rest on your thigh, palm warm through your leggings. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He kept the little comments coming between breaths, nothing elaborate, just the natural flow of his thoughts. “Missed this,” he whispered against your lips at one point, the words slipping out like they were nothing and everything at once. When you smiled into the next kiss he let out another soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you, and paused again, forehead to forehead, eyes half-open as he studied your face up close. “You alright?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw now, checking in the way he always did: casual, genuine, never making a big deal of it.

You nodded, and he smiled again—the make-out stayed lazy and affectionate, the kind that ebbed and flowed with the quiet morning rather than racing anywhere. His hand on your thigh gave a light squeeze when you shifted closer, then moved back to your waist, anchoring you gently.

Eventually the kisses slowed of their own accord, not because either of you wanted to stop, but because there was nowhere left to rush. They dissolved into smaller moments instead—his lips lingering once against the corner of yours, another absent kiss to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His breathing gradually evened beneath you, the lazy rhythm matching your own until the room fell quiet again.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The travel vlog had wandered somewhere along the southern coast now, the narrator enthusiastically explaining a tiny seaside village neither of you had been paying attention to for the last ten minutes. Sunlight had crept further across the living room, warming the edge of the coffee table and catching the forgotten mugs still sitting where you'd left them after breakfast.

Jude's hand never really stopped moving.

It rested against the small of your back now, fingertips tracing slow, thoughtless patterns through the fabric of your top while the other remained comfortably around your waist. It wasn't an attempt to start anything again. It was simply what his hands seemed to do whenever you were close enough to reach.

You let your head settle against his shoulder, your cheek brushing the soft cotton of his T-shirt. From here you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath it, slower now than it had been only moments before. His chin came to rest lightly against the top of your head.

For someone whose life was measured in fixture lists, departure gates and recovery schedules, Jude had always been unexpectedly good at doing absolutely nothing.

He never seemed to grow restless in moments like these. There was no instinct to reach for his phone, no urge to fill the silence simply because it existed. He was content to let the apartment breathe around the two of you, to let the television chatter unnoticed in the background, to trace absent patterns against your back without any destination in mind. It was one of the first things you'd learned about him, and somehow one of the things you cherished most.

author's note — no one is going to read this so wtv heheheh BALLBLR PLS ACCEPT ME. cozy makeout with jude >>>>>

[velvetcher]

The Boy is Mine · Erling Haaland x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut & Fluff, Established Relationship, Husband!Haaland, World Cup, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), AU!Norway beats England, Praise Kink, Minors DNI, Cowgirl, Soft Dom!Haaland and Size difference kink.

Summary: “You knew Haaland had become the World Cup phenomenon. But when there are people trying to take your husband, there's nothing you can do but show everyone that that man was yours.”

THE ROAR OF THE CROWD was deafening at the stadium in New Jersey. The match between Brazil and Norway ended with a score of two to one, everything concluded after stoppage time whose seconds passed like the chimes of a clock. You held your hands to your chest as you watched Erling Haaland, Manchester City player, your husband. Your red shirt with his name on the back was marked, and you waited in the VIP area alongside the other players' wives.

You were a big football fan, but you were certainly even more so of your man, one of the season's top scorers. The World Cup was something you'd dreamed of for a long time, but being in that stadium, feeling the vibration of the fans, was extraordinary. The crowd was divided between Brazilians and Norwegians; everyone had fully embraced the competition, and the support had surpassed what would be considered normal for matches.

"I can't believe we made it. Ødegaard was so worried about today's match." You heard Helene's voice, the Norwegian captain's wife, louder than her usual tone because of the noise of the combined "roar" from the Norwegian fans, while Haaland beat the drum, a cultural ritual of theirs. He seemed so happy, but you knew that was also a result of relief.

"Erling too, even though he didn't want to show it as much." Was your reply as you both watched the celebration and took some pictures to capture that historic moment.

"Look, I think we can go over there now." She pointed to the pitch, seeing that it was already open for family members. Then she extended her hand to you; Helene pulled you through the crowd. Most of the audience was Brazilian, but even so, the Norwegians didn't go unnoticed with their red shirts amidst the sea of green and yellow of the opposing team's colors.

You looked for Haaland even from a distance, as there were really a lot of people. You found him greeting the opponents and hugging some of his teammates. He was so sweet and lovable, perhaps more than people imagined given his tall stature and robust build, but you liked knowing that, knowing who you had by your side, and mainly knowing that he was yours.

He found you quickly while Ødegaard was beside him, pulling Helene into a kiss. Erling pulled you into a hug, his body sweaty from the effort of the match, but with that characteristic scent only he had, which left you completely lost and in love. "We won, love." The number nine pulled you into a soft kiss, even in front of some journalists waiting to interview him.

"I think I have the best Viking by my side." You replied, wrapping your arms around his neck, and received the number nine's hands on your waist. Everything was perfect between you two.

He let out a laugh, blushing slightly as he averted his gaze toward Ødegaard, who was hugging Helene from behind. They seemed completely in love with each other, and you loved the friendship you'd built. "For a moment I thought we were going to extra time." The captain said, bringing up the subject.

"I think we played a good match. I can say I feel relieved." Haaland replied, hunching his shoulders, showing his complete physical exhaustion.

"I always knew you guys would win." You said, giving the man a soft kiss on the lips. Players passed by, interviews were about to begin. You knew your husband would soon be pulled into that sea of journalists, but you wanted to enjoy the man's arms around you a little longer.

"I love your confidence in me." He said, looking at you lovingly, and you almost forgot there were thousands of people around. It was like a connection that existed beyond anything tangible.

"I forgot how mushy you two are with each other." Helene said provocatively, bringing you both back to reality at the East Rutherford stadium, causing a series of laughs among you.

"Look who's talking, sounds like you didn't spend the whole match talking about Ødegaard." You replied to the joke, making her blush at the statement. You both knew it was true. The teasing could have continued, but Ødegaard and Haaland were pulled away to answer some interviews as two of the main players of the match.

You stood a little behind the cameras as you watched them answer some questions. The journalist was a woman you hadn't seen at the other games, but the way she stared at Haaland made you uncomfortable, and you knew exactly what that was.

"Haaland, the public wants to know how you feel knowing we're going through the phenomenon you've caused." You watched your man turn his head, confused by the journalist's question. Of course you knew what she was talking about. The "Haaland phenomenon" was all over the internet, practically everyone talking about your husband. Thousands of edits and posts, some of which you were sure insulted you just for being the wife of the man you loved.

"Phenomenon I've caused?" He asked, confused, as he waited for some clarification to come with it. It certainly wasn't one of the questions he expected, but Erling had dealt with inconvenient journalists throughout his life as a football player, with questions looking for holes for gossip pages.

"The phenomenon that apparently everyone wants Erling Haaland for themselves. It's all over the internet, with edits and posts from your fans." She explained, holding the microphone toward the tall, blond man, while fixing her hair with her other hand. For a moment you felt she was trying to adjust her cleavage to get the Norwegian's attention, and your arms crossed as you watched the scene.

Of course you didn't like that. There was the good and the bad side to situations, and it seemed like that one was completely awful. That woman was clearly trying to get your husband's attention in front of you, and there was nothing good about it. You tried to hold your temper, especially since it was an important moment for Norway itself, but there was no minimum respect, even if she couldn't see you on the other side because of the cameras in front and your position slightly to the left. It was clear to everyone that you were a couple. You watched Haaland's forehead furrow in recognition of the situation.

"So, I've seen some posts. I'm really very happy about all the affection from my fans and for my country's football. We're proud of what we're delivering during the World Cup so far." He then looked for your eyes in the corner, in the middle of the interview. "But I have a very angry woman and I don't want problems with her, folks, who by the way is waiting for me so we can be together. So, to put it better: the original is only available to her." Haaland said, letting out a light laugh with a crooked smile, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You knew he was only yours — there was nothing that could take away what you had with each other.

You saw the journalist look discreetly, following his gaze and finding you. Your posture said everything about the situation. She had been caught in her plans, and they had been completely trampled. Your sharp eyes met hers in a silent challenge, but you knew: that man was only yours, and the message had been delivered, by his words and your confident gaze.

The interview ended quickly after that moment. Everything was over, and the plan was to go back to the apartment after the team's celebration. There were some conversations, but the gathering extended into a dinner with some players. All you wanted was to be at the apartment and rest a little.

The apartment was luxurious, but with details that showed the cozy touches you'd brought on the trip. The pastel-toned furniture and the trophies on the walls showed what you lived — how everything was extraordinary in its own way. Your bedroom remained in the same style as the rest of the apartment, but it felt even cozier: books on each side of the furniture leaning against the headboard, with content you read together, slippers in the corner of the room, and the lights that night slightly dimmed.

Your body felt the exhaustion of the day, but your mind worked every moment, remembering the moments you'd experienced. You completely trusted the relationship you had, everything you'd built side by side during those years together. However, the situation still lingered in the air, like a strange need for you to reclaim that man.

You were each other's in all your lives, but maybe it was good to remember he was only yours. Your thoughts still tumultuous as you settled sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing only your husband's oversized Manchester City shirt, small white shorts, and your hair tied in a messy bun done after the hot shower, as you waited for Haaland. The sound of the nearly two-meter-tall man's heavy footsteps reached your ears.

"I already fed Freyr, love." You watched Erling talk about your pet cat, which you couldn't leave at the apartment even during the trip, with a Norwegian name, as he entered the bedroom door. He turned quickly to close it, making you watch his bare back flex. You were aware of how attractive your man was, and the size difference between you made you more desirous of him, of the monstrous strength that touched you in the most loving way. "Wow, I think I'm destroyed." He affirmed, letting out a tired sigh, and went to your side of the bed, throwing himself down.

"Then I think it's better if you just rest today, Mr. 'Haaland phenomenon'." You leaned in, bringing your hand to his bare chest, and brought your lips close to whisper the last call, even though your tone was playful. Seeing him, who had his eyes closed, abruptly open one of them and look quickly at you, seeing your raised eyebrow.

"Love, I have nothing to do with that." Erling replied, sitting up on the bed and looking at you, searching for any sign of irritation in your eyes, making you meet that hypnotic greenish color that trapped you, along with that masculine scent that came from him naturally.

"I know, darling." You affirmed calmly, as you fluffed the pillows on your side of the bed, preparing to turn to the opposite side from him, knowing the sensual intentions your own thoughts were taking. "You can rest. Turn off the lights when you go to sleep." You said, closing your eyes pretending, knowing he wouldn't be able to stay silent for long. You waited a few seconds.

"Love..." He called you affectionately, softly, leaning his lips against your ear and bringing his hand to your waist. "I don't know what's worse, your silence or you screaming." Haaland murmured, and that made you hold back a laugh. Clearly you weren't irritated with him, but the fun way you handled things was always a welcome novelty. You chose to remain silent, waiting for your striker's next move.

"Were you jealous, darling?" This time, the tone was different — perhaps provocative. He knew how to provoke a reaction from you. His hands became bolder, going to your ass and giving a squeeze that made your body want to squirm, and his tongue ran over your ear, making you hold back a moan. "You know I'm only yours." He whispered.

But your next move surprised the bigger man. You quickly got up, sitting on his strong thighs, feeling your core and warm body. "And I love knowing that." You replied, pulling him into a hot kiss, your hands going to his neck and caressing his blond hair, how you loved it.

You felt Haaland's surprise by how he stood still for a few seconds, surprised by your attack, but he returned it, quickly taking control. His agile movements not only on the field, but ready for a quick reaction. His body was placed right above yours when he turned you with his strength, getting on top of you. That same skill that left you weak in the knees, but that also made you let out a small scream of surprise, which was soon dominated by his lips.

Kisses and bites went down your neck, going further down. "You wearing my shirt does so many things to me." The words came out of his mouth, disarming you, even though inside you already knew that statement. Your eyes met his in the dim light, and those irises swallowed you.

His lips guiding you as your clothes were removed, your shirt being lifted as your legs intertwined around Haaland's waist. Your core tightened as you felt the volume of his member grow between you, making you both moan. Your hands lost themselves on his bare back as your nails scratched his body, and he moved, rubbing your bodies even through the clothes.

"Erling, I need..." You said in his ear, seeing a crooked smile appear on his lips, as you felt his hands massaging and his mouth on your breasts, the sounds coming out of you before you could hold them back. But that was what Haaland wanted from you.

The kisses and tongue went down your body. You felt his strong hands caressing you, squeezing your ass, as he quickly got up and placed a pillow under your body. A warm feeling formed in the pit of your stomach. You knew what he was going to do and how skilled he was at what he did — not just on the field.

"I think I need to feel a little more of you, love." The words came out of his mouth as he kissed the inside of your thighs and two fingers slowly opened you. You felt yourself trembling in anticipation, but your spine stiffened when you felt his tongue and fingers. He found your clit easily, licking and devouring you as if you were the most delicious delicacy, his favorite sweet. He lost himself between your legs as he made you moan as if he depended on it to live — or as if he could die right there. The moment you closed your legs around his head, almost suffocating him, he didn't complain. He just wanted to feel more of you.

You threw your head back, moaning Haaland's name, as he looked up to see your reactions. He loved watching you reach your pleasure. The orgasm came like the beats of the Norwegian drum. You felt the sensitivity as he sucked everything he could from your essence.

"How could I trade this?" The number nine said, kissing your right thigh and squeezing your ass firmly, when you began to feel the anticipation of what you wanted — the excruciating desire to feel him. That pulsating member when he got up and came over you, bringing it to your entrance, teasing, making you let out the sweetest sounds. Then he brought it inside you.

Feeling the wetness of your pussy and how cozy it was to be inside you, he could never lose that — not just the moment, but what you had together, that connection. The Manchester City player brought his hands to your waist, holding you firmly, in firm and deep thrusts, those that made you roll your eyes, hitting that exact perfect spot.

"Fuck." You heard the curse escape his lips, as you smiled and pulled him into a kiss. Your tongues intertwined as in a battle you both wanted to win, but he dominated, pressing you even tighter against his body as he thrust. "I need to see you on top of me." The words made you moan as he moved you on top of him. He settled on the bed as you watched the sweat on his forehead, his blond hair loose, and in that moment you were more certain than ever that he was the love of your life.

You quickly settled on top. In all the times Haaland had asked you for that, you knew he loved seeing you on top. Your folds settled again around him, and you loved watching how he closed his eyes for a few seconds and let the sounds escape, how he allowed himself to be vulnerable for you too. Your body bounced in search of your orgasm again, feeling his hands squeezing your body and helping you when you felt your thighs get slightly tired. But you knew what he needed and what you yourself needed — he was yours.

Your orgasm came in a whirlwind as your lips met his again, swallowing the sounds that came from each other. You came first, followed by him. It was something you loved: feeling him fill you completely with his seed. You hadn't used protection for a while — it was no longer necessary, as you took care of yourselves with medication. But you didn't want to stop feeling him that way.

"Erling..." You said his name, breathless, feeling him put his head on your shoulder and give a soft kiss on your neck as confirmation that he was listening. "I love you in all our lives." You felt the smile form on his face.

"We're each other's forever, darling." He lifted his head, his blond hair messy from your movements. You loved feeling your hearts beating together, like soulmates, and those green eyes looking at you as if you were the only one in his life. You knew you were — just as he was for you.

When the quarter-final matches arrived in Miami Gardens, between England and Norway, the crowd sang. The Norwegian fans' arms made the sailing motion as your husband scored the winning goal. Then he approached the area where you were, pointed and made the symbol of your name's initial with his hands, looking at you with those loving green eyes, as if to say he would always find you. You heard Helene's voice beside you.

"Looks like you have a Viking completely in love with you, miss." She said provocatively, as was typical of your friendly relationship. But this time, you smiled without blushing. You had a man who loved you out loud.

"Of course, that man is mine." The words came with the tranquility of someone who had the certainty of the love that existed between you, with the certainty that a life side by side couldn't be anything other than the purest perfection.

Hi angels, this is my first time writing about someone from football, so please be kind. I'm absolutely obsessed with this man and I finished writing this while watching the England vs Norway match — in this alternate universe, Norway wins and goes through to the next stage.

I got depressed just watching Haaland's sad face, but as a consolation to our hearts over this defeat, I bring you a fanfic about this delicious Viking. I hope you like it and that it comforts your hearts a little.

Feedback is always welcome and I accept requests — we need more Haaland fanfics, especially because he's perfect.

Unfortunately, I can't console this Viking in my arms today.

[haalandarchive]

Thigh Riding - Erling Haaland

—

Warnings: MDNI | established relationship | messy thigh riding | size kink | dirty talk.

WC: 650

A/N: that picture that’s going around of Erling man spreading, my lord his thighs look SOOOO GOOD.

The living-room lights were low, the city outside Manchester’s tall windows nothing but a distant hum. Erling was sprawled on the oversized couch like a king on his throne—legs spread wide in those black compression shorts that always drove you insane. The fabric had ridden up high on his massive quads, exposing even more of that thick, sculpted muscle you were obsessed with. Veins stood out under smooth, pale skin. Every twitch of his leg made the muscle flex, and your mouth went dry.

He caught you staring again. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips, blue eyes dark with amusement and heat.

“You’ve been eyeing my thighs since I got home from training, baby.” His voice was a low murmur, Norwegian accent thicker with want. One big hand patted the bare expanse of his right quad, the slap echoing softly. “Go on. Use my thigh. You know I let you ride it whenever that pretty little pussy gets needy.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but the ache between your legs won. You climbed into his lap without another word, straddling the thick pillar of muscle. Erling leaned back against the cushions, arms stretched along the back of the couch, manspreading even wider so you had all the room you wanted. The shorts rode up another inch, the hem now brushing the crease where thigh met groin. You could see the heavy outline of his cock thickening against the fabric, but he made no move to touch it. This was for you.

Your hands braced on his broad chest as you lowered yourself onto his quad. The first drag of your bare, already-soaked pussy along that warm, rock-hard muscle pulled a whimper from your throat. Erling’s eyes flicked down, watching the way your slick immediately glistened on his skin.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice rough. “So wet already. My greedy girl. Grind on it. Make a mess of my thigh like you always do.”

You rocked forward, clit catching on the ridges of muscle, then back again, hips rolling in desperate little circles. The size difference made everything filthier—his thigh was thicker than some men’s waists, forcing you to spread wide, every movement smearing your arousal in shiny streaks down the muscle. Erling flexed deliberately under you, the sudden hard swell pressing up against your folds and making you cry out.

“That’s it… ride it harder,” he encouraged, one hand finally dropping to grip your hip, guiding you. “Use me. Take what you need. I love feeling this sloppy cunt dripping all over me while I just sit here and watch.”

Your head fell forward, forehead against his shoulder as you chased the friction. The wet sounds were obscene—your pussy sliding faster, clit throbbing each time it dragged over a vein. Erling’s free hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch your face.

“Eyes on me, baby. Let me see how much you love my thighs.” He flexed again, bouncing you slightly, and the added pressure tipped you over. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking, flooding his muscle with fresh slick that ran down in rivulets toward his knee. Erling groaned low, his own cock now fully hard and leaking against the shorts, but he still didn’t move to touch himself.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice soft and filthy at the same time. “Look at the mess you made… gonna need another shower before bed. Or maybe I’ll just make you lick it clean while I fuck that pretty mouth.”

You slumped against his chest, panting, still lazily grinding through the aftershocks. Erling’s hand stroked down your spine, then gave your ass a possessive squeeze.

“Whenever you want, elskling,” he whispered against your temple, already patting the other thigh like an invitation. “These legs are yours. Now catch your breath… because I’m nowhere near done letting you use them tonight.”

[muertawrites]

Pretty Little Things (Lestat x Reader)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Content warnings: shitty ex boyfriends, body image issues if you squint, slightly ooc lestat but i believe he’s a sweetheart underneath all the trauma-induced fuckery

Author’s note: we’re so back.

Suggested listening: pretty little things - the crane wives

masterlist

Lestat couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a sixth date. Perhaps never; at least not before laying claim to the lover he was courting in his bed. No, this was entirely new, entirely different, and despite the wanton hunger he felt gazing into the eyes of the woman across the table from him, it was… exultant.

He craved to kiss her. He had, many times, always at the steps to her building or in his luxury sports car, previously on the street as they walked to the restaurant they currently sat in, dining in a warm breeze on a rooftop patio and just simply enjoying each other, their company, the laughter and the ease of it. This affection he felt for her was not the sudden onslaught of tumult and passion he’d felt for lovers past; he felt for her carefully, tenderly, a slow, gentle ache that left him wanting, waiting, every hit of her more exhilarating and addicting than any substance he’d ever dabbled in.

And all they did was talk. Learn each other. Slowly begin to love each other. Not the dive into a cold pool he was used to but an ease into a warm bath. He could bathe in her forever.

When their eyes met, he felt a dagger in his chest, the burn of tears behind his eyes; jarring compared to the affection that had just occupied the hollow space behind his ribs. Oh, and it was hollow, crushingly so, the knife twisting and thrusting its way deeper, deeper until he audibly gasped. It wasn’t until her eyes were replaced in his vision by a stranger’s that he realized he was no longer living his own experiences, but hers.

These eyes were soft, sparkling, downturned at their edges and creased with the indents of a faint smile. Words accompanied them too, a hush of “you’re beautiful”, a warm palm clasped in a lovers’ embrace with hers.

The scene shifted in an instant, now dark, shadowed either by night or memory, Lestat couldn’t tell. The eyes themselves were colder now, withdrawing, disappointed; they didn’t linger where they should, on a body meant to be worshipped, and when met with her tentative declarations of meaning, of intent, they showed fear that masked itself under indifference.

These eyes had said one thing and done another. These eyes had spilled love and flattery and turned away when given the same. It had taken months for her to say so, to let on that she felt the way he did, and when she did he revealed that he had never felt that way at all. She had been convenient; a place for a broken man to lay his head and ease his sorrows, uncaring for the ones he would leave in his wake.

Lestat seethed. He hated this man. He hated that he saw himself reflected within him.

“He did not deserve you,” he blurted before he could regain control of himself.

She blinked at him, the faint glimmer of tears still pooling in her eyes.

“… What?” she whispered.

“I… I saw him,” Lestat confessed, “the man who I reminded you of, in the way I looked at you. He looked at you the same, non?”

She nodded slowly; he could see her retreating into herself, putting up the wall of effortless confidence she wore when they first met several months ago.

“He did,” she begrudgingly admitted. “Like they write about in those stupid romance novels… ‘like I hung the stars’.”

“If anyone were capable of hanging the stars, it would be you, cherie,” Lestat said. “But to belittle you down to such a cliche does not do you justice.”

She held up a hand, smiling tightly, giving her head a small shake.

“Don’t tell me anything pretty, Les,” she plead. “I’ve heard so many pretty words and all of them are empty.”

Lestat yearned to reach for her hand but did not, afraid the act would trigger another unwelcome memory. Instead he shifted his weight, leveling himself with her, making her equal.

“I will tell you something true, then,” he offered. “I care for you. I enjoy this… us together. I want it to continue. I plan for it to continue. I have not had something so healthy or normal in three centuries and I did not believe I could actually find pleasure without chaos the way I have with you.”

Her lips quirked in a smile, well acquainted with the catastrophes that were his ex lovers.

“I want this with you,” he continued. “Whatever it is we decide we want this to be.”

She regarded him for a long moment, letting the words sink in, her thoughts swirling so quickly and stormily that he couldn’t follow them for himself. For a moment, he breached her mind, allowing her to feel the weight of herself in his heart, the excitement, the calm, the roaring passion tamed into docile affection; the lion become house cat. Her breath sputtered; even with such tangible proof of his intentions, she still could not believe herself worthy of them.

She would never trust him. He knew he would love her in spite of it, never give her reason not to. He would not be the vile man he knew he could be.

After a few long, tense moments, she nodded slowly, laying her palm face up on the table in offering to him.

“I want this, too,” she told him.

Lestat enclosed his own hand over hers, squeezing gently, raising it to his lips and pressing a reverent kiss to the inside of her wrist, above her pulse.

“De magnifiques morceaux brisés; ensemble, enfin.”

She didn’t have to know the words; in any language, she knew he meant them.

[daisy-dooms]

Hollanov fic recommendation

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Ilya is a menace

ten out of ten

- 10k words, oneshot, texting, social media

- a man posted about him topping Shane which activated a jealous freak Ilya

United We Stand

- 21k words, oneshot, texting, social media

- Ilya made a mission to make a season of hell for Voyageurs for being homophobic towards Shane

Ilya’s Guide to Menacingly Soft Launching Your Relationship (and One Extremely Effective Hard Launch)

- 6k words, 6 chapters completed, social media

- Ilya’s 3 steps of soft launch before doing hard launch

Luca is Hollanov’s Child

Ottawa Centaurs Vs Instagram Live

- 6k words, oneshot, texting, social media

- Instagram live went wrong because of their own mouth

What You Deserve

- 5k words, oneshot, social medias

- The Cens are very protective of Shane and cuteness aggression towards him

Stitched Back Up

- 4k words, oneshot

- Luca needs stitches but he’s scared and Hollanov come to help him

ilyuca81 (otherwise known as lucarozanov)

- 8k words, oneshot, social media, texting

- luca had a secret tumblr blog that post hollanov’s arts

Omegaverse

Love in the Dark (E)

- 250k words, 21 chapters completed, Alpha Shane & Alpha Ilya, angst

- Shane have a special condition which lead him to be able to get pregnant.

24hrs (E)

- 6k words, oneshot, Alpha Ilya & Omega Shane

- Shane found out he’s pregnant and had breakdown without Ilya

Scent Drunk With Love (E)

- 4k words, Alpha Ilya & Omega Shane

- Both of just came back from meeting Shane’s parents after being caught making out at his cottage

[sakagoals]

MANCHESTER CITY MASTERLIST main masterlist

*= smut

ERLING HAALAND

helping hand

it’s just us

soft launch

somewhere in bergen

got plans?

yours entirely

alt for norge *

heia norge *

begging you *

JOHN STONES

coming soon!

[sakagoals]

yours entirely — erling haaland summary: erling thinks another guy is flirting with you which unravels deep feelings for him. pairing: erling haaland x fem!reader warnings: fluff + erling jealous a/n: another erling req! swear I’ve turned into an erling blog now haha

smiling brightly, up at an unknown member of the Manchester city team, you nod along to whatever he was rambling about. whether it was about the club, the long lines for the restrooms, or just the rough match in general you weren’t listening. your attention was entirely focused on your tall blond Norwegian boyfriend who took up half the visiting room lobby space with his presence alone.

“and I just wish— oh hey!” his voice shifts, his eyes light up at the sight of the erling haaland approaching. rolling your eyes at the man’s reaction, you reach out for your boyfriend.

“my love.” you say, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him tight into your body.

whether it was the loss or the need for comfort, you weren’t sure, but he crouched down to your level and let you hold him for longer than you normally would. he hated drawing any more attention on you than he already has, but seeing you with another man, it stirred something in him.

you smiling, nodding along and laughing. oh the laughing got to him. your laughter was like the sun shining on a bright day, it belonged to him. and to hear it shared with another man, drove envy through him.

“so what were you saying?” erling gestured to the lad with causality like they knew each other. he pulled you into his side, arm tight around your waist and listened.

he listened and tried to find anything that would make this guy better than him, and there wasn’t. he knew now, that the conversation was just purely based out of boredom. now he knew to hurry up when he got in the lockers so he didn’t keep you waiting among strangers.

the rest of the evening, erling met other fans, and shook other millionaires hands, but he couldn’t shake him. even hours after the match had ended and he’d finally been able to swallow the loss, the lad you were chatting with wouldn’t leave him alone.

huffing, he tossed his pillow onto the bedroom floor, deciding sleep wasn’t happening. every time he shut his eyes, his brain decided to play horrible tricks on him.

“what’s the matter?” you whisper, reaching into the dark for him, but all your hand was met with was warmth of the sheets.

“you and him, that’s the matter.”

instantly sitting up, you find his silhouette. he was masked in the darkness, you could only see he was standing, “who?” you ask.

“him! you were laughing with him. the laugh only you reserve for me.” he points at his chest that was practically heaving. you couldn’t tell if he was going to cry or if he was ready to rip the sheets to shreds.

the feelings he once couldn’t identify coursed through his veins and were part of his beating heart. he was jealous, a bit insecure, and angry. angry that someone whom he did not know could trickle under his skin so easily.

“erling,” you say, gently, crawling over to his side and take his face in your hands, “I only love you.” you say pulling him back into bed. despite his weight, he fell into your body like a feather, relaxing to your touch.

“he just— I don’t know. I got scared, I guess.”

pressing a kiss to whatever part of his skin wasn’t melting into yours, “you will never lose me to some asshole.”

his body vibrated against yours as a chuckles, “he was an asshole?”

“babe, he couldn’t even pronounce your name.”

[sakagoals]

helping hand — erling haaland summary: theres a first time for everything, and erling is happy to be a helping hand. pairings: erling haaland x fem!reader warnings: consensual activities mentioned!! a/n: inspired by all the reqs for me to write erling smut 🫪 you guys never said what kind so here we are!!!

you’d tried many times to get yourself off. any time you got close to the chasing feeling everyone described to you, it disappeared.

you’d never told anyone about this problem. you thought maybe you just weren’t ever able to come, or maybe you needed someone to show you.

enter erling haaland, your boyfriend. he could get you wet with just his tip, but you didn’t dare tell him that even in the lonely nights of thinking about him with your hand or a toy, you couldn’t come.

it was embarrassing, at least well you thought it was embarrassing.

“it’s just a minor problem, I’m sure it’s nothing—“

“how bout I watch?” he suggested. it sounded completely harmless to have him sit in the corner of the bedroom and watch, but it still felt wrong.

“watch? isn’t that weird?”

“only if you make it weird.” he shrugged like it was nothing and then guided you up to the bedroom.

now here you were.

legs spread open, fingering yourself while your boyfriend watches. you thought of him and his body. the scratches he had down his back from your nails and the occasional ones from football. you thought about his large hands, and how he would finger you, but nothing could seem to get you bothered enough to come.

“you’re too stiff.” erling commented.

he came over onto the bed, his cold hand gently pressing your hips down an inch and widening your legs, “if you’re thinking of me, which I know you are, I’m much bigger than this.” he scoffed at your unconscious error.

he carefully guided a second one of your fingers in, “you’re not even close to your clit, that’s why.” he says it gently, in a way that wasn’t judging but helpful.

he carefully guides your fingers to the spot he knew well. a spot he could find with his eyes closed and been spun around several times.

he pumped your fingers slowly, so you could feel yourself actually tightening and the pleasure you should feel.

“fuck,” you whispered slowly taking over the rhythm, erling’s hand still on top of yours for guidance.

he could feel his own cock harden in his boxers. aching to be free at the scene of you coming undone to your own fingers.

“good isn’t it?” he asks, gently he removes his hand from yours, slipping his own finger in making it three, “you can take it.” he smiled down at you, your tits bouncing, your body aching to release.

“good girl,” he purred, feeling his own cock dripping in precum now, just you clamping around his finger was enough to send him to the moon.

“come, y/n.” he demanded and following his orders you yanked your own fingers out and allowed yourself the release. he didn’t remove his fingers until they were dripping in cum.

opening your eyes, you saw he had come undone with you. his grey sweatpants were yanked down, his boxers completely ruined.

“thanks for the help.”

turning to you with a smile, he nods, “that’s what boyfriends do.”

[ray-a-licious]

Hiii i! I LOVEEE your work. Can you please write Ilya X Fem Reader where they kind of know eachother from their childhoods, they grew up together, learned how to kiss from eachother and stuff. They always flirt with eachother but they decide to take it to the next level and start a relationship? I think it would be reallyyyy cute! also maybe (if it's not too hard) make the reader also Russian? so they kinda have that bond too.

i LOVE this idea so yes ofc!!! Finally I get to put my Russian half to good use

Сарая Любовь (old love)

Ilya Rozanov x Russian childhood friend fem!reader

⋆⭒.⋆Summary: Ilya is your childhood best friend that you've shared all your firsts with. Your first kiss, first time getting drunk, first everything. The only first he hasn't shared with you was yet to come.

⋆⭒.⋆Warnings: fluff, !NSFW!, smoking, not many warnings actually just sensual, loving and intimate fucking, maybe a litttle angst?

⋆⭒.⋆Words: 1.5K

!Minors dni!

────────────୨ৎ───────────

The snow softly crunched under your feet as you adjusted your legs, which seemed almost frozen in place from leaning against the wall of Ilya's practice centre. It was cold, but the cold reminded you of earlier times with him; when you were younger and everything was carefree. Just as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your thick puffer jacket, the creaky metal door beside you swung open.

A sweatsoaked Ilya emerged, holding his gear bag in one hand and his stick in the other – a scene you've grown fairly used to over the years. "Let's get to the metro quickly; you have turned blue waiting for me out here! '' Ilya almost barks out seeing your blue lips. His tone not even close to one of anger, but rather one of fondness with a hint of genuine concern.

He takes your hand in his and pushes it into his own, warm pocket. His big hand wraps around yours almost completely. The warmth in his hand brings the blood back to your skin. Once you get on the metro, you tiredly rest your head on his shoulder. There was hardly anyone on the train at this hour, especially on a cold winter night like this. You feel Ilya move his head to look down at you. Greedily, you let him look for a few heartbeats before opening your eyes, and as expected, meeting his almost instantly.

He looks down at you fondly, almost opening his mouth as if to say something before the thought seemed to be swallowed back up into his soul. The sheer softness in his features brings a smile to your face, the kind of smile that hurts your frozen cheeks. ''what is it? is something wrong? '' you ask.

You can take a few guesses on what he was to say, but then again Ilya has never been the kind of guy to keep back what he's thinking.

His own words a little delayed, "что..? a...нет, ничего" (what..? ah...no, nothing). He quickly looks away, averting his gaze to his fidgeting hands, which lay somewhat...nervously? in his lap. If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed that that face was pretty similar to the one he made seconds before kissing you years ago. The rest of the ride to his apartment block was spent in a comfortable silence, just the two of you enjoying the casual routine you've built throughout all these years and the comfort of each other's presence.

Ilya roughly pushed the heavy door to his apartment open, after putting the code to the domofon with shaky hands. As soon as you got in to his apartment, he threw his gear bag and stick carelessly by the doorway and sighed happily. He quickly turns on his heels to face you and says with a cheesy grin on his face ''dont you just love central heating?" God...he's so cute you thought, only before quickly shooing the thought away and agreeing with a smile. Just like every other time, he puts the kettle on the stove to let some water boil and prepares two mugs with your favourite tea. A subtle detail you've picked up on that really showed the attention he pays to you. He tugs his practice shirt off, leaving him in his sweats with the waistband of his boxers peeking out slightly from under them. He looks more muscly now... you thought to yourself as he moved across the small kitchen, pouring the now hot water into your unofficially designated mugs.

Once the tea was brewing in your cups, he opened up the door to the balcony despite the cold and grabbed a pack of his favourite cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, a subtle detail you've noted about him. He gestures you over towards him on the balcony. You join him just as he puffs out the first cloud of smoke from the freshly lit cigarette and sets down his white lighter. You can't help but look at him, almost dazed. He looks up from his cigarette. ''you want one?'' he asks, his voice slightly deeper than before. He knows what he's doing, and you know it. But you don't seem to care.

''You know what? why not? i havent smoked in some time.'' you reply. He turns back smoothly, but only with his upper body, and brings you one cigarette from his gradually emptying pack. You bring it to rest between your lips, a force of habit, expecting him to pass you the lighter. Yet, before you can ever process it, his face is inches away from yours, and he brings the lit tip of his cigarette to your fresh one. His big hands shelter the flame from the subtle gusts of wind as he inhales and the tip of his cigarette ignites.

If you had to give your judgement, his eyes lingered for longer than necessary on your face as you moved away and took the first puff. He watches you as you exhale happily. ''I've missed this. '' you said. ''Me or the cigarette? ''Ilya enquires ever so mockingly. ''The cigarette, you idiot.'' you answer through a laugh. Well, mostly the cigarette at least...

''You know, I've missed this too. Not just the smoking," he says through a chuckle, "but having you here too.'' the last part is slightly quieter than the one before. Stupidly, you ask what he means. He moves slightly closer to you after taking a deep breath. "Well, while you were gone, these past few weeks i mean. It's been lonely,'' he said under his breath. You heard every word. ''I missed you too.'' you say bluntly. He looks down as if gathering his courage. "I couldn't bear not having you around." he says, turning his head to face you completely. Your breath hitches; his eyes were filled with so much affection. ''I've grown way too used to you, Золотце (precious). '' His face inches closer to yours. You close the distance left between you two into a warm kiss. Ilya took the cigarette out of your hand and into his, dropping both of them seamlessly into the snow below the balcony before pulling your body closer to his.

He takes you up into his arms, never once breaking the kiss. He walks you inside and shoves the balcony door closed with his leg. He breaks the kiss for a moment, only to carry you to the living room and gently place you on the couch. His large frame climbs over your own, encasing you between his arms, which are on either side of your head. He leans down into your body, kissing you. His tongue works against your own in a wet, warm rhythm while his hands push and pull whatever clothes you had on.

He looks down at your bare body, admiring his work. "You're so beautiful, Золотце (precious). Don't ever let me forget that.'' He says as he dips his head down to capture your nipple between his lips. His hand quickly grasps the other one as your head rolls back with a soft sigh. His lips suck on the sensitive flesh, every once in a while letting his teeth graze it, earning a whimper out of you. On the other side, his hand cups you, squeezing and rolling the nub between his fingers.

His hands move quickly downwards to take his own sweats off. He breaks off his efforts only to reach into the pocket of his discarded pants and pull out a condom. "Is this ok?'' He asks, looking down at you. The tenderness with which his words are spoken cut deeply into your soul. ''Yes. Please, Ilyusha, I need you.'' He groans at the words that just left your mouth. Quickly putting the condom on and positioning himself up above you. "Ready, Золотце (precious)?" The moment he sees you nod, he pushes himself into you slowly. You hear a soft groan coming from his chest, which resonates with all the atoms that make up your body. ''Fuck- Ilya. Move...please. '' you plead breathlessly. He can only oblige, and You feel his body start rocking slowly against yours. One of his big hands running through your hair, sometimes pulling himself down to your face, placing a soft kiss on your lips. The rhythm gradually builds up, until you feel him slam so hard inside you that he pushes your body into the cushions so much that the armrest is banging the wall steadily.

Your moans increase by the second, as do Ilya's, turning from soft and intimate to loud and desperate in seconds. His face, which is now buried in your neck, moaning into your skin, looks up at you occasionally. Every moment his eyes meet yours, you feel his rhythm falter ever so slightly and his dick twitches inside of you. His skin glistens with droplets of sweat, and the thick smell of musk and something uniquely ilya, fills the room. You feel yourself clenching around him as the knot in your stomach builds up quickly. "Holy shit, Ilya! I'm – fuck! - I'm gonna-!!'' your own words are cut off by your orgasm. He follows closely after you, letting out a deep guttural sound into the curve of your neck. After which follow short, hot breaths.

His face lifts up. His cheeks flushed pink, lips red, and eyes swimming in affection. 'I love you.'' he says quietly, looking down at you. Your heart skips a beat. You feel the blood instantly rush up to your cheeks. ''I...I love you too, Ilyusha. '' you reply. A lonely tear of happiness rolls down your cheek as you pull him into a hug, which he quickly returns just as enthusiastically as you.

You both lie in each other's arms as the two mugs of tea in the kitchen slowly go cold in anticipation of the new chapter yet to come.

As alwyas i hope you enjoyed it, and i managed to tackle the idea the way you imagined it!! leave a like and reblog if you liked it, and dont forget requests are always open.

[fallinforerling]

Hi could you write about erling not liking when his girlfriend wears a bra around the house/when they are alone? Him being in love with her and her body, but her being insecure, especially having natural big breasts? Erling having a thing for her boobs, but like not only sexual, he likes touching them, using them as his personal pillow, massaging them (his gf telling him he acts like they are his stress balls). Basically him being her biggest supporter :))

I LOVE YOUR... - e.h

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“Erling?!” It was the third time you called for your boyfriend in the last five minutes. Was he deaf? “Breakfast’s ready! It’s getting cold!” 

Still no response. 

“I swear to God…” You let out a sigh, going upstairs. The house was completely silent due to the sole presence of the two. When you made it to the bedroom, a laugh almost escaped your mouth. 

Erling was still wrapped on the covers, just as you left him thirty minutes ago. Seems like the constant attempts to wake him up were useless. His face was buried on your pillow, making your heart melt. You tiptoed around the bed until you were next to him, taking advantage of his sleepness to brush your fingers through his hair. A tiny smile drew on his face, letting you know he wasn’t as asleep as you thought. 

“So you decided to sleep in while your servant made breakfast?” You joked, dropping yourself on him. 

“Of course not, baby” He replied with his eyes still closed. “It’s just that I’m too tired.” He grabbed you by the hips, and with one movement, you were under him. “What about if we sleep a bit more?” His hands, as usual, slip past your shirt, looking for your boobs. 

Typical. 

They stopped above your bra, and you heard almost immediately his huff. 

“Why are you wearing this again?” He always complained when you wore a bra around the house. Always. 

“I told you! It’s more comfortable this way, they’re way too big for me to just let them hang free!” You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling his hands roll your bra up so he could grab them bare. “What I don’t get is why you are always touching my boobs… You know? They’re not stress balls.” 

“You sure? They always make me feel better and relaxed after touching them for a while.” His hands were still massaging you. At this point, this type of physical contact wasn’t even sexual. It was more of a weird hug. "And, this is the best pair of boobs in the world. Makes sense, because they're attached to the best body as well."

"Look who's talking" You smiled, feeling your heart do a pirouette, like everytime he said things like that.

“I’m average-looking next to you” His eyes met yours for a brief moment before kissing you the only way he knew. God, you loved this man. “You’re beautiful in any way possible. Sometimes I wonder how I got you” 

“Easy. I saw those lips and it was case closed” You said before returning the kiss. 

“Sounds like we’re both drawn by looks. How shallow.” He joked back, giving a final squeeze to your chest before letting them go. “What about breakfast?” 

“Oh, now you want breakfast?” You laughed, biting your lip when he seemed confused. 

“Of course, that food is as delicious as you are, I’m sure” He went inside the bathroom, leaving your blushing self behind. 

“Idiot…” You whispered, feeling more in love than ever. 

Maybe you should stop wearing bras, they were uncomfortable anyways.

[footballerimaginess]

Norway with Erling Haaland 🇳🇴