I do not know any of these people in real life and will never claim to. Everything I write is fantasy and comes straight from my imagination. Do not repost my work to any other sites. I do have a wattpad but it has nothing to do with footballers and if you ever see someone claiming my writing it is NOT me.
Rules:
I will write smut, angst, fluff, AU's, imagines, x OC's, etc.
I will not write some AU's, like danganropa AU's or anything that extreme. I also won't write any kinks i find extreme like blood kinks, knifeplay, etc, etc. (you can ask if you're unsure, i won't judge you or anything its just my preference❤️)
I won't write any smutty pieces for people who are married/religious (e.g., i believe in Islam modesty is highly valued, and i don't want to disrespect that), it just doesnt feel right to me sorry but platonic/AU's/bromances are fine!
Who I write for:
Neymar Jr
Mason Mount
Christian Pulisic
Kylian Mbappé
Kepa Arrizabalaga
Achraf Hakimi
Richarlison
Pedri
Basically anyone just ask but those are my favourites and i love them<3
PSA:
requests are always open unless I say otherwise! this doesn't mean I'll write your request, but I'll try to!
You are not superior to the person who is nonverbal. You are not superior to the person who needs a carer. You are not superior to the person who wears diapers. You are not superior to the person who can't manage a job or an education. You are not superior to the person who is intellectually and/or cognitively disabled. You are not superior to the people in psych wards and group homes. You are not superior to the person in the wheelchair. You are not superior to the person on disability benefits. You are not inherently superior to any of these people just by virtue of being more capable in comparison. Leave your ableism at the door or don't enter
Some informations about my fanfictions about Achraf Hakimi
TW: r*pe
I thought about it for a long time. And honestly – I don't want think about it. This is a really difficult situations and I don't know, what can I say. I'm not the right person to judge.
But I decided – Until everything is clear, I will not write about him. I think I would uncomfortable with that.
All Imagines, that I published about him, are now private.
so unrelated but have you guys heard about what's going on in the uk? our main gas company has been breaking into homes of single mothers, the disabled and other such vunerable groups and replacing our gas meters with smart meters while we're not home through a legal loophole. so. lol
reminder we're allegedly about to have the worst economic crisis this year of most western countries and most of us including myself have to choose between heat, electricity and food on a daily basis. lol. Lol. Laugh out loud
summary: you and hakimi are ready to head home after the match against spain
a/n: short and sweet i hope you like it!
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you cup his face in your palms, running your thumb along his flushed cheeks.
"a panenka." you breathe, still in disbelief from the scene you just witnessed.
"you liked it, then?" he laughs, curling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him. he holds you against his chest, ducking his head to press a kiss to your lips.
"disrespectful." you murmur in between kisses. his skin his hot and slick with sweat but you can't bring yourself to care. you're too elated from the match, from hakimi's performance, and you can feel his smile against your lips. "unbelievably disrespectful."
"i didn't think it would work," he hums, resting his head on the crook of your shoulder. "i was so scared."
"i wasn't." you run your fingers along his skin, smiling when you feel goosebumps arise under your fingertips. and you're telling the truth. you weren't worried. your eyes had been on him when he stepped up to take it, the big screen showed his face, jaw clenched and eyes focused on the goal, and you knew he would make it.
and you were right, of course.
straight down the middle, hitting the net where the keeper was standing just moments prior. you were up on your feet and screaming, laughing, before anyone else.
he pulls back to look down at you with inky eyes, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. he's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
"i saw you," he admits, running the fabric of your his jersey through his fingers. "in the crowd, i saw you."
"did you see me screaming?"
achraf kisses you again, and you can feel his smile against your lips.
"i did."
"i'm so proud of you, my love."
he hums in return, walking you backwards towards the wall of the locker room to lean back, the back of his head hitting the wall with a soft thud. his grip on your waist is slipping, and you watch his eyes flutter open and shut as he tries to keep from falling asleep while standing with a soft smile on your face.
he's done enough for today, more than enough, and you can feel his muscles, taut under his skin. it's time for him to rest.
"let's go home, yeah?" he nods at your suggestion, dipping his head to press a kiss to your forehead. it's been a wonderful day. more than wonderful. more than he could ever ask for. but right now he's tired and he wants nothing more than to stand in the shower and let the hot water run over his skin. so he lets you tug him out of the locker room and to the car. he slips into the passenger seat next to you and falls asleep on the drive back to the hotel.
.
there's a bruise blossoming on the side of his ribs, deep purple and yellow. he helps you hook your fingers under the hem of his shirt and pull it off of him to look at him and the bruise.
(mostly him though)
he lifts his arms to check himself over and you pretend not to watch the way his muscles flex under his skin, and pretend like seeing the way his shorts are hung so low on his hips you can see the lines on his pelvis doesn't make you want to do things you would never say out loud. you lean forward and he curls his strong arms around you, pulling you close to him. his fingers brush over your skin and tangle into your hair, and his body is hot under your touch, and you find that champagne tastes the sweetest on winning tongues.
-
a/n sorry for the weird cut off ending i really just cant think of anything else to add lol!
requested: yes! @neymarsgirl anything with sitting on his lap
hope you all like this! it took me like an hour and i havent written anything in months (since my last fic) so forgive me if its bad or messy i'm not too happy with it but i feel like with all the interaction recently (thank you all i love you!!) i needed to get something out there.
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he tries to shut the door lightly, gripping the handle tightly and shifting his weight against the wood to make the hinges quieter, a trick he had learnt years ago on a night just like this.
the big lights in the foyer and living room are off, only the led lights on the bottoms of the couches and under cupboards in the kitchen were on, basking the room with dim, warm light that creep up the high walls toward the darkness.
his back aches. his shoulders ache. his knees ache. the point is everything aches and he's tired.
he had woken up before the sun had risen this morning, kissing you gently and pulling the covers over your shoulders before leaving you, still fast asleep, for training. then there were the interviews, and the back-to-back meetings, and all ney wanted to do was climb into bed and let your hands play with the strands of his hair until your steady breathing lulled him to sleep. but he tries not to make any noise that would wake you, and shuffles toward the couch instead. he sighs and lets his head drop back to stare at the ceiling.
he doesn't notice you padding downstairs to sit by him until you're close enough to reach out and touch him.
"i didn't mean to wake you." he mumbles, watching you slump onto the couch next to him. your face is puffy and you're looking at him with bleary eyes like you can't really see him, but you smile a sleepy smile anyways.
"you didn't." you tell him softly, and both of you know you're lying.
you're wearing an oversized shirt- one of his, he doesn't fail to notice. it's a light cream colour and it drapes loosely across your shoulders and it smells like his cologne and your bodywash, rustic and sweet.
ney's chest aches in fondness. he still finds it hard to believe it's possible to want someone as much as he wants you. he wants your smile, your laughter, your bright eyes and hands built for holding. he has you and he still wants. wants in ways he will never say aloud. wants in ways you already know.
he pulls you onto his lap, hugging you tightly to his chest. he holds you like he'll never let you go, and you'll let him and you'll believe he won't, if only for the night.
you curl your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him in. he relaxes under your touch, a content hum escaping from in between his parted lips.
"i missed you today." his breath his hot against the crook of your neck and his hands trace patterns over your thighs. he tilts his chin up and looks at you through half-lidded inky eyes and you stare back at him and wonder if he will ever know how much you love him.
"i missed you more."
you don't ask him about his day because you know that's the last thing he wants to think about right now, and he doesn't tell you you're wrong even though you are. he doesn't mention the way his heart hurts, actually hurts when he thinks about you when he's away, even though he could. and he doesn't tell you that he loves you, but he does.
he tells you he misses you, because maybe that's easier than admitting he needs you.
and he ignores the aching, because it will always be there.
he holds you in his arms and lets himself fall asleep to the steady babump-babump-babump of your heartbeat.
-
ugh i love when it literally pains him to not be with u
writing smut about men from a womans perspective feels so weird to me because no man has ever made me finish... so i be like "you moaned at the feeling of him" knowing i have never done that ever
Summary: It's your bday and you're Jude's best friend (who he's definitely not in love with or anything like that)
A/N: I wrote this with acrylics on it was really hard
Requested: Yes! a fluff with Jude Bellingham then in which he and her are best friends but he is in love with her and tells her. @hannahsophie0103
.
He knew he was going to fall in love with you the moment he met you. It didn't happen instantly, not even after a couple years, but he knew it would happen, and it did.
.
He's eight, kicking a ball around in the park near his house, and his parents are off somewhere, and Jobe really isn't too much fun because he's five, and no amount of "you were his age once too"'s from his parents can convince him to let him tag along. So Jobe goes with their mum and dad, and Jude plays alone, dribbling through imaginary players.
The grass is green and glittering from the morning dew so brightly it hurts his eyes. He doesn't notice you until you're standing right in front of him, kicking the ball out from underneath his feet.
"Can I play with you?"
All of his friends are at home, and his parents don't know theirs, so he can't just say no and run off to grab someone else to play with.
He kicks the dirt and stuffs his hands into his pockets because he feels so much more grown up when he does that and says "Yeah, alright."
You're not great at football, you pass with your toes and stop the ball with the sole of your foot, but you're fiery. You don't hold back when getting the ball from him, your pushes and shoves where Jude is light feet and taps. You're infuriating to play against.
You play a game you call "dodge", where you take turns with the ball and dribble past the other player. And Jude's good, he's more than good, but you don't know how to play so you run into him and take the ball with all the force of your small body.
Jude loses 2-5. That's when he sits down on the grass and stops playing.
You smile at him and hold out your hand for him to shake. He looks up, and you're illuminated by the sunlight behind you, and Jude is eight years old and he knows he's going to fall in love with you, he feels it in his fragile bones. He shakes your hand and watches your fingers curl around his.
He walks you home and holds your hand the whole way, and you let him. You're eight years old and you don't know that the funny feeling in your stomach means you're in love.
.
"Can you get off your phone, mate?" Sanch hits Jude over the head with a pillow, which is the only thing that's managed to take his eyes off the screen in an hour.
"I can't, I'm trying to buy a gift for Y/N." Sanch groans when Jude smiles at the sound of her name, and Jude continues. "It's her birthday you know."
"Is it really?" He acts like he's surprised, acts like Jude hasn't told all of the boys at least twenty times in the past 24 hours.
"Piss off, you know it is."
"Yeah, so get her a necklace and call it a day."
"I can't do that!"
"I've seen her texts, she doesn't even want a gift, Jude."
"Yeah but it's her birthday, she's going to get a gift."
And Jadon doesn't even try to argue because Jude's attention is already back to his phone with a lazy smile, holding your messages up to his face to giggle at whatever unfunny thing you just sent him, so he trudges up to his room and plays Fortnite on his own, and wonders why he invited Jude over in the first place.
So Sanch gets away with saying things like, "you're whipped, mate", because Jude couldn't deny it even if he wanted to, and he knows it.
.
The sky is dark and cloudless, and you can see a few stray stars. You've always loved stars, in a way that makes Jude want to forge them in a fiery embrace and hang them in the sky just so he can see the way you look up in wonder and whisper in his ear, look up, Jude, look at the stars.
And Jude's walking nervously down your driveway towards your house, and he's holding a little box with a necklace in it, and the box feels so much heavier than it is because you open the door as if you felt his presence and ran into his arms, and suddenly he wants to give you so much more than a little jewellery.
"Happy birthday, love." He says into the crook of your neck, and the feeling of his stomach flipping is still something he has yet to get used to. You are something he has yet to get used to.
So he doesn't pull away until you do, and the feeling doesn't stop. He squeezes your hand like you're the one that needs comforting.
"Thank you."
"I haven't even given you your gift yet."
"You're a gift to me everyday." You say, and he doesn't kiss you, but he wants to. And he doesn't tell you he loves you, but he does.
You know Jude would never make the first move. Your friendship has always been too strong for either of you to take a risk, and by the time you were old enough to know what being in love was, it was too late. You won't wait any longer.
You stand up on your tippy toes and press a kiss to his mouth that almost misses in its haste, and you pull back to see Jude's raised eyebrows and parted lips. And it's too dark to tell that he's blushing, but he is. He would hold your hand up to his cheek to let you feel the heat but he's already leaning forward, taking your lips in his and that's better, he decides.
He's speaking before he's even aware of it. The words tumble from his lips, lips that will never feel the same again, lips that will always feel empty without yours against them.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
You two must've been standing out there in front of your house for hours, illuminated by the golden glow of light from your open door. If it was up to him, he would stay like this for hours.
He doesn't have the chance to speak because you tug his hand and say, "look up at the stars, Jude, aren't they pretty?"
"Yes," He says, but he's not looking at the stars. He's looking at you. "Very pretty."
